kiss me and I might drop dead
SYPNOSIS ── One night, bored in bed and unable to sleep, y/n does what any curious girl would do. She searches up Kim Juhoon, the university's star football player everyone seems to adore. It was supposed to be harmless, just a little curiosity. After all, what's the worst that could happen from stalking a handsome stranger on Instagram?
pairing ᥫ᭡ kim juhoon x fem!reader
info ᥫ᭡ FLUFF! hopeless romantic, slightly loser reader, use of profanity, mentions of drama/manhwa characters, slightly rushed
PLAYLIST ! drop dead electric love it's not living (if it's not with you) like the movies kiss me
“I didn’t mean to fall for you, but somehow, you became my favorite part of every day.”
"AAAAAHHHH!" I rolled across my bed, burying my face into my pillow before kicking my legs dramatically.
Why couldn't real life be this romantic?
A sharp smack landed on my butt. "OW!" I shot upright, clutching the offended area. "That hurt!"
"I wouldn't have done that if someone wasn't being so noisy," Minju said flatly. I pointed accusingly at the book in my hand. "Come on! This is so romantic! The male lead is such a green flag."
That finally earned me a glance. Minju stared at me for a long second before saying, "You love romantic crap this much but can't even get yourself a boyfriend." I gasped, placing a hand over my chest. "Excuse me? I have standards."
"You mean none of the guys you've met are exactly like the men in your books and movies?"
She rolled her eyes before laughing. "You seriously need to get a boyfriend eventually, you know." "I know, it's just..." I sighed, hugging the book against my chest. "What if I never find someone like this?"
Minju's expression softened immediately. "Okay, okay. I'm not forcing you." She shrugged. "I just think it's funny that the biggest hopeless romantic I've ever met is also the most single person I know."
I narrowed my eyes at her. "That's rude."
Minju grinned. "Besides," she said, wiggling her eyebrows, "college is starting soon. Who knows? Maybe your fictional male lead is out there waiting for you." I snorted. "Please. Men like that don't exist."
"Crap. This is killing me," I muttered under my breath.
I'd been sitting in this class for almost two hours, nodding along to whatever my professor was saying while retaining absolutely none of it. Every few minutes, my eyes drifted to my bag resting beside my chair. More specifically, to the kindle tucked safely inside it. It was waiting for me.
Mentally, I let out the most dramatic cry imaginable. "Shit. I can't take this anymore." As if the universe had finally decided to take pity on me, the professor concluded his lecture a few minutes later.
"Oh, thank God." I was this close to dying. I packed up my things and immediately headed outside to meet Minju and her boyfriend, Han, who were already waiting near our usual spot.
"Oh, there she is," Minju said around a mouthful of fries. Han spotted me and gave me a friendly wave and smile. I dropped into the vacant seat across from them and let out a long sigh.
"Thirdwheeling for the hundredth time again." "Oh, don't complain," Minju scoffed, pointing a fry at me. "It's been two weeks since classes started, and all you've done is reject every guy who's tried to approach you."
Han laughed. "At this point, she's closer to marrying a cardboard cutout of Izek Van Omerta than getting a boyfriend in real life." Minju nearly choked. She gagged, frantically covering her mouth before she could spit out the food she'd just eaten.
"You say the most ridiculous things."
"It's true, though." Han shrugged. "I've never seen someone more committed to fictional men."
I opened my packed lunch. A chorus of shrieks erupted nearby. I turned toward the commotion, trying to figure out what on earth was happening.
"GIRL! JUHOON IS COMING BACK TOMORROW!" The scream came from a group of girls seated a few tables away. Suddenly, it was everywhere. People were checking their phones. Some were already squealing excitedly to their friends.
I looked at her, confused. "Who's Juhoon?"
Minju stared at me in horror. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHO'S JUHOON?"
I frowned. "Who's Juhoon?"
"Kim Juhoon!" she whisper-screamed, lowering her voice just enough not to attract attention. "THE Kim Juhoon!"
"GIRL!" Minju clutched my arm. "HAVE YOU BEEN LIVING UNDER A ROCK?"
"Well," Han started thoughtfully, "she does spend 90% of her life buried in books and mov—"
Minju immediately slapped a hand over his mouth. "That's not the point!" She whipped her head toward me, looking genuinely offended. "How do you not know him?" I blinked. "Then can you tell me who he is?" Minju crossed her arms over her chest and turned away with an exaggerated huff.
"No way. I'm upset with you."
"Because Kim Juhoon is practically university royalty, and the fact that you don't know him feels illegal." Han carefully removed Minju's hand from his mouth. "To be fair," he said, "y/n's ideal man is a fictional character with over the top green flag personality."
"Exactly!" Minju pointed at him before turning back to me. "You need to stop living in romance novels and pay attention to real people." I took another bite of my lunch. "Real people are disappointing."
Han snorted. Minju looked like she was one sentence away from shaking me by the shoulders. "You know what? Forget it. I'm not telling you."
"You're seriously not curious?"
I shrugged. "If he's that famous, I'll find out eventually." Minju narrowed her eyes at me. "Oh, you will."
At the time, I didn't think much of it.
I definitely didn't think that a few hours later, bored out of my mind and lying in bed, I'd be typing Kim Juhoon into Instagram's search bar.
Okay, in my defense, I wasn't stalking him. I just happened to glance over and see one of my blockmates looking through his account earlier. The username had stuck in my head. That was all. Pure curiosity. Nothing more.
I typed it into the search bar anyway. His account appeared almost immediately. The profile picture alone made me pause. "...Oh." I tapped on it.
There he was. The Kim Juhoon. The university's beloved football player. The guy who had apparently caused half the female population on campus to lose their minds that afternoon.
I scrolled. One picture was of him in his football uniform, grinning with his teammates after a match. Another was a candid photo someone had taken of him laughing, his head tilted back slightly. There were a few pictures from trips, some random posts with captions that consisted of nothing but a single emoji, and an embarrassing amount of comments from girls calling him handsome.
I blinked at my screen. "Okay." I paused for a moment before scrolling again. "I get it..." I hated that I got it. He was attractive. Very attractive.
I tossed my phone onto my pillow and stared at the ceiling. Then, after exactly three seconds, I picked it up again and reopened Instagram. Just out of curiosity of course.
I tapped on his profile again. Then his tagged photos, then somehow, I found myself scrolling all the way down to posts from years ago. I frowned.
"Why am I this invested?" I kept scrolling. Honestly, his Instagram was... normal. Which felt strange. I'd expected something ridiculous. Shirtless gym mirror selfies. A carefully curated feed designed to make girls faint on the spot. Instead, it looked like the account of an actual person. A ridiculously attractive person.
I rested my chin on my pillow. "Huh." Maybe that was why I kept scrolling. Because somewhere between the victory photos and blurry snapshots with friends, Kim Juhoon stopped looking like the campus celebrity everyone had been screaming about earlier.
He looked like just a student. One who happened to be unfairly handsome. I paused on another photo, it wasn't even anything special. He was sitting at what looked like a convenience store at night, wearing a hoodie while one of his teammates made a weird face in the background.
But for some reason, I stared at it longer than the others. Then my brain betrayed me. I imagined sitting across from him, the two of us at some convenience store at midnight. Sharing snacks, arguing over which instant ramen flavor tasted better.
I immediately locked my phone. "Oh my God." I pressed it against my face. "No." I lowered it. "What is wrong with me?"
I had never spoken to this man a day in my life. I didn't even know what the sound of his voice was like. Yet here I was, imagining hypothetical convenience store conversations because of a single Instagram post.
I buried my face into my pillow with a muffled groan. "This is why Minju thinks I need help." Silence filled my room for all of ten seconds. Then—I unlocked my phone again. Opened Instagram and tapped on Juhoon's profile and scrolled. Just for five more minutes. That's it. Five minutes. Surely, nothing life-changing had ever happened because a girl spent five extra minutes stalking a handsome stranger's Instagram account.
I adjusted my position on the bed and shifted my grip on my phone. Then my thumb slipped the screen refreshed the blue Follow button disappeared. My heart stopped. I stared at my phone.
I sat upright so fast I nearly launched myself off the bed. "OH MY GOD."
It said I was following Juhoon. Kim Juhoon. The university's football guy whom I'd only learned existed approximately six hours ago.
"No, no, no, no, no—" My fingers scrambled against the screen as I jabbed the button again. Unfollow. I stared at it for a few seconds, waiting for it to change back.
I wasn't following him anymore. I let out a shaky breath and collapsed back onto my pillow. "...That was close."
Then another horrifying thought hit me. "...Does Instagram notify people when someone follows them and immediately unfollows them?" I froze. Slowly, I grabbed my phone again and opened Google.
And typed, does instagram notify someone if you accidentally follow and unfollow them immediately
The three of us were walking toward our usual spot when people suddenly started sprinting past us. Girls. A lot of girls.
Some were practically running for their lives as they rushed toward the school field, excited screams echoing across the campus. That hit me. "Oh shit." Minju's eyes widened. "He's here!" Before I could even process what was happening, she grabbed my arm. "Minju—!" "Move!"
I barely had enough time to clutch my bag before she dragged me along, weaving through the crowd of equally determined girls. Han jogged behind us with the expression of a man who had long accepted this as his fate. "Why am I even here?" he called out. "You love me!" Minju yelled back. "I do, but not enough for cardio!"
By the time we reached the field, the area beside the benches was already packed. I leaned forward slightly, finally catching sight of the source of all the chaos. The university's beloved football team.
"...Wow." I blinked, I hadn't expected them to be this big of a deal. The field buzzed with energy as students called out names and waved excitedly from the sidelines. And, admittedly... they were all ridiculously attractive.
I glanced at Minju. "You weren't exaggerating." "I never exaggerate." Han snorted beside us. "You absolutely do."
Then, suddenly, the screams grew louder. Louder than before, the kind of screams that made my ears ring. My gaze instinctively followed everyone else's toward the entrance of the field.
And then I saw him. Kim Juhoon. He walked onto the field with effortless ease, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag over one shoulder while one of his teammates said something that made him laugh.
For a brief moment, everything around me seemed to blur. I finally understood why Minju had looked personally offended when I admitted I didn't know who he was.
He looked unfair. Unfairly handsome. Not like the untouchable celebrity I'd somehow built in my head after stalking his Instagram until one in the morning. Just a student walking onto a football field. And yet, surrounded by the deafening cheers of half the campus, he somehow still looked exactly like the boy from those photos.
I stared. "Oh." Minju immediately whipped her head toward me. "Oh?" she repeated. I didn't take my eyes off the field. "...I really get it now." Beside me, Minju looked dangerously close to tears. "Finally," she whispered dramatically. "She sees the light."
"I don't see the light," I said immediately. "You literally just said, 'I really get it now.'"
"That doesn't mean anything."
"It means I understand why everyone is screaming," I corrected. "That's all." Minju narrowed her eyes at me.
"You stalked his Instagram last night, didn't you?" I nearly choked on my own saliva. "What?" Han gasped. "You stalked him?"
"You know," Han said thoughtfully, "that's exactly what someone who stalked him would say."
Minju pointed at me accusingly. “Aha!"
"That is not an admission of guilt!"
I opened my mouth to argue back when another wave of screams erupted around us. Instinctively, my eyes drifted back toward the field. The team had begun warming up. Juhoon jogged across the grass with the rest of them, his hair slightly tousled by the wind. Every now and then, he'd exchange a few words with his teammates before laughing at something one of them said. He looked..really, really attractive. As if sensing my stare, Juhoon lifted his head.
My breath caught. His gaze swept across the crowd. Closer, closer and closer—I immediately looked away. "Oh my God."
"What?" Minju snapped her head toward me. "What happened?"
"He looked at the crowd," Han corrected.
"No," I whispered, pressing a hand against my chest. "He looked over here." Minju grabbed both of my shoulders. "Did you make eye contact?"
"It was, like, half a second!" Han blinked. "You guys are acting like he proposed." I ignored him. My heart was beating way too fast for someone I'd never spoken to.
I glanced back toward the field. Juhoon was already focused on practice again. Of course he was. Why wouldn't he be? He didn't know I existed. I was just another face in the crowd. A girl standing by the benches with her best friend and said best friend's long-suffering boyfriend. Someone who accidentally followed him on Instagram at one in the morning before immediately unfollowing him in complete panic. Someone who had imagined sharing instant ramen with him because of a convenience store picture. Someone who had only learned his name yesterday.
I stared at him for another second before tearing my eyes away. "...I think I'm in trouble." Minju's mouth slowly fell open. Then she grabbed my hand so tightly I almost yelped.
I looked back at the field just as Juhoon laughed at something his teammate said.
"...Okay," I admitted quietly. Minju let out the loudest gasp I'd ever heard. "Oh my God." I buried my burning face in my hands. "Oh no."
"Don't make a big deal out of it," I muttered into my hands. "Don't make a big deal out of it?" she repeated in disbelief. "y/n, you haven't liked anyone in years!"
"You just admitted you did."
Han, who had been quietly observing this entire interaction, suddenly spoke. "You know what's crazy?"
"What?" Minju and I asked at the same time.
"You've never had a real crush before." I blinked. "...What?"
"You've liked fictional characters," Han clarified. "You've loved romance novels. You've rooted for couples in movies. But an actual person?" He pointed toward the field. "I don't think that's ever happened."
I opened my mouth to argue. Then closed it. Because annoyingly enough...he wasn't wrong. The guys who approached me were nice. Some were funny, some were sweet. There had been confessions, awkward attempts at flirting, and DMs that started with hey followed by increasingly creative pickup lines.
But I'd never looked at any of them and wondered what their laugh sounded like when they weren't trying to impress someone. I'd never caught myself imagining random conversations with them. I'd never accidentally followed and unfollowed them on Instagram and then googled whether notifications disappeared fast enough.
Minju slowly placed a hand over her heart. "This is huge."
I stared back at the field. Juhoon was listening to his coach now, absentmindedly spinning a ball in his hands. The crowd screamed every time he did something remotely noteworthy. He smiled politely and waved once. The screaming somehow got louder.
"...How embarrassing," I murmured.
I sighed. "Having a crush on someone this famous." Minju softened immediately. "Y/N." I glanced at her.
"You're allowed to like people."
I watched Juhoon jog back toward his teammates, the afternoon sun catching on the damp strands of hair sticking to his forehead.
"...I don't know." I tightened my grip on my bag. "It just feels ridiculous."
"Because..." I gestured vaguely toward the field. "Look at him." Minju and Han followed my gaze. "He's Juhoon." I said it like that alone should explain everything. "The Kim Juhoon. The football player everyone knows. The boy girls scream for during matches. The one half the university probably follows on Instagram."
Then, without thinking, I pointed at myself. "And I'm just..." I trailed off. "You're just what?" Minju asked. I looked down at my shoes. "Ain't no way he's ever going to like me." The words came out quieter than I intended. I was the girl who spent lectures thinking about the novel waiting for her. The girl who got more emotionally invested in fictional men than real ones because fictional men couldn't disappoint you. The girl who never quite understood the loud excitement over campus crushes everyone seemed to have. The girl who always stood at the edge of things, watching instead of participating.
Minju snorted. "Oh, please." I blinked. "What?" "Can you stop sounding like the female lead from one of your books for two seconds?"
"What does that even mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean." She pointed at me accusingly. "'Oh no, he's handsome and popular. Whatever shall I do? Surely a man of such status could never acknowledge my existence.'" She dropped the act and looked at me. "You realize you've read way too many novels, right?"
Han let out a laugh. "You forgot the part where she trips, falls, and somehow lands in his arms."
"I do not sound like that," I said weakly. "You absolutely do," Minju replied. "You say, 'I'm just me,' like that's supposed to be a bad thing," Han added. I frowned. "It's not a bad thing. It's just..."
I hesitated. "I don't know." I looked back toward the field where Juhoon was laughing with his teammates. "It feels unrealistic." Han hummed thoughtfully. "You know what I think?"
"I think you're overthinking this." Minju grinned. "You don't have to marry him." I nearly choked. "What?"
"You don't even have to date him," she said. "No one's asking you to start planning your future together. You don't need to figure out what your kids would look like."
"You were halfway there," Han deadpanned.
Minju ignored me. "Just enjoy having a crush for once."
"A normal, harmless, slightly embarrassing little crush," Han added. I stared at them. "...Embarrassing?" Minju tilted her head. "Would you prefer pathetic?"
"...I don't like either of those options." Han nodded solemnly. "Understandable." Then Minju and Han looked at each other. A second later, they burst into laughter. "Why are you two laughing?!"
"Because," Minju managed between giggles, "this is the first time you've liked someone who isn't trapped inside a book." Han wiped at the corner of his eye. "We're just happy to witness the occasion."
It was one in the morning, and I was still tossing and turning in bed. The events from earlier kept replaying in my head on an endless loop. I couldn't sleep because of it, which was ridiculous. Because what exactly did Minju mean when she said I liked Juhoon? What did she mean?
More importantly—y/n, what do you mean? I stared at the ceiling. "No," I muttered into the darkness. "Absolutely not." Then I turned to my other side. "...Right?"
I buried my face into my pillow, this was insane. I had spent the last hour arguing with myself. No. No. It was ridiculous. It wasn't like he was Sang Yan from First Frost.
He was just...Juhoon. A guy. An unfairly handsome guy with an annoyingly nice smile and—
I sat upright so abruptly that my blanket nearly fell off the bed. Okay. Okay. I got it.
I immediately climbed out of bed, shuffled to my desk, and pulled out my journal. "This is crazy," I mumbled, flipping to a blank page. "I'm crazy for writing this." Still, I uncapped my pen. At the top of the page, I wrote:
I stared at the list. Then, after a moment of consideration, I added,
Because knowing myself, that one might actually be the hardest. I nodded firmly to no one in particular before closing the journal. Simple. I could do that.
Here I was, stuffing my things into my bag as the professor dismissed the class just a minute ago. It was honestly impressive. For the past five days, I had been trying my absolute hardest to avoid that guy. Was his name even worth mentioning?
Thankfully, the university was huge. Thousands of students, dozens of buildings, different schedules. Avoiding one person shouldn't have been difficult and for five glorious days, it wasn't. Not until—
"y/n, why are you so slow?" A voice suddenly appeared beside me, I nearly jumped. Minju stared at me with narrowed eyes. "So what?" I shot back. Minju gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Excuse me? Did you just attitude me?"
"You interrupted my packing."
"You were packing like you’re a turtle.”
"I like organizing my things."
"You were staring at your pencil case for a full minute."
"That's even worse." I zipped my bag shut. "Why are you here?" Minju's grin widened. "Come with me."
"It's your vacant period, right?"
"Uh... yeah?" I answered cautiously.
"Then c'mon." Before I could react, she grabbed my arm and I stared at her. "Do you have some kind of obsession with grabbing people's arms?"
"You admitted that way too quickly."
"Because if I let go, you'd run away."
"See?" She tightened her grip. "Now move." I let out a dramatic sigh. This friendship was built on affection, trust, and Minju violating my personal space
As we exited the building, I slowly realized where we were headed, toward the field. My entire body froze.
I had successfully avoided that area for five whole days. Rule Number Two existed for a reason. Do not go to football matches or practices. Do not go near the field. Who knew? Maybe their team was practicing there. Maybe he was there. Maybe—
I suddenly placed a hand over my stomach. "Ow." Minju didn't even glance at me. "Ow..." I groaned louder. "Minju... I think my stomach hurts. I need to go to the bathroom."
"Oh, fuck you," she replied immediately. "You ain't trolling me with that shit acting." I looked offended. "I'll have you know I got Best Actress in kindergarten." Minju rolled her eyes. "Relax. He's not there." She finally released my arm. "I just want to try playing football once." I blinked.
"What does that mean?" I stared at her, then at the field, then back at her. "...I don't know why, but this feels like a trap."
"That's exactly what someone setting up a trap would say."
Ignoring me completely, Minju marched ahead. Near the field, Han was already there, stretching. He waved once he noticed us. Oh, finally." And beside him stood another guy.
"Are we even allowed to do this?" I asked. "Don't worry. I asked permission," Han said. Then he gestured toward the other boy. "Oh, by the way, this is James. He's from my class. He's part of the football team too." James gave us an easy smile.
"Hi," Minju replied enthusiastically.
"…Hello," I said awkwardly. Introductions over, everyone turned toward the field. I immediately took a step back.
"I don't think I'm gonna play..." I said quietly.
Because me? Playing football? That was ridiculous. I had spent most of my life carrying books, kindle, and ipad around like emotional support objects. The only running I did voluntarily was when bookstores announced sales. I treated stairs like personal enemies. I had survived PE classes through strategic disappearances, questionable excuses, and the occasional group project that required minimal movement.
And now they expected me to chase a ball? A ball? A round object with no thoughts, no feelings, and an alarming tendency to head directly toward people's faces? Absolutely not.
"I'll just support you guys emotionally," I offered.
"I'll hold your water bottles?..."
Before I could come up with another excuse—a football rolled to a stop right in front of my shoes. I stared at it. Apparently, I could never back out whenever Minju was around.
"I hate all of you," I muttered.
"We love you too," Han said cheerfully.
The first ten minutes were humiliating. I missed the ball repeatedly. Sometimes I kicked air. Sometimes I kicked the ground. Once, I spun too fast and almost collapsed.
"Did you just lose a fight against gravity?" James asked.
"I wasn't built for this lifestyle."
Minju burst into laughter. "y/n, the ball is over there!"
"I know where the ball is!"
"Then why are you running the opposite direction?"
Despite my complaints, laughter gradually replaced embarrassment. Every failed kick became a joke. Every near miss turned into dramatic commentary. "Please understand," I said after tripping over my own feet. "I've only ever exercised my imagination." "You say that like it's an Olympic sport," Minju laughed. "It should be."
Eventually, something surprising happened. I stopped worrying about looking stupid. Because everyone had already seen me look stupid. There was freedom in that. And somehow... I started having fun.
"Again!" Minju shouted. This time, we actually tried. James passed the ball, Han intercepted, Minju nearly missed. Then somehow—the ball rolled toward me. "Oh." I blinked. Everyone stared. "Y/N!" Han yelled. "Kick it!" I took a breath, stepped forward and kicked.
The ball flew beautifully across the field. For a brief, glorious second, time slowed. I had done it. "Oh my God!" I screamed. "I DID IT!" Minju gasped. "You actually did!"
"You absolutely are not!"
My confidence skyrocketed immediately. "I've discovered my hidden talent."
"You've kicked the ball correctly once," James said.
"Natural ability can't be taught."
The ball eventually made its way back to me again and I positioned myself confidently. "I got this."
"I said I got this." I kicked. Hard. Too hard.
Instead of soaring toward my teammates, the ball launched in the complete opposite direction. Straight toward the bleachers, everything happened too fast. The ball shot through the air.
Someone sitting on the bench looked up, there was a metallic clink. A water tumbler slipped from someone's hand. And then—
Every single person froze. My smile slowly disappeared.
"...Did I just hit someone?" I whispered.
Nobody answered. A figure stood from the bench. Tall. Dressed in a black shirt and training shorts. His hand moved up to rub the side of his head before he bent down to pick up the fallen tumbler. Slowly, he looked up. And my soul left my body.
Out of all the people in this entire university. Out of all the students. Out of all the football players. Out of all the benches. Kim Juhoon stood there staring at me. I think my Rule Number Two had just filed for resignation.
My entire body went cold.
"y/n?" Minju said carefully. I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because Kim Juhoon was standing there. Alive and conscious. Rubbing the side of his head where my football had made contact.
The tumbler lay on the ground beside him. I swallowed.
Then I turned to Minju. "I need you to kill me."
"I had a good life," I said numbly. "Tell my future children I loved them."
"You don't have children."
"Then tell Zachary De Arno."
"I can't do this." I spun around.
"You are not running away!"
"I've always wanted to live in a small countryside town where nobody knows my face!" Before I could take even two steps, Minju grabbed my arm. Again. "See?" I pointed accusingly at her. "This is exactly what I mean! Why are you always grabbing people?"
"You hit him with a football!"
"I'd rather throw myself into the ocean."
Han pinched the bridge of his nose. "y/n." I looked at him desperately. "Please tell me you buried the body."
"...He's standing right there..."
I slowly turned back around. Juhoon was still looking at us. At me. He blinked once, then twice. I wanted the earth to open up beneath my feet. He started walking over.
Every step he took felt like the countdown to my execution. I suddenly understood why people in dramas fainted dramatically. Maybe they were onto something. My heart started pounding. Not in the cute romantic way novels described. No, this was pure survival instinct. Unfortunately, my body chose freeze. Juhoon stopped a few feet away. Up close, he looked even more unfair.
His hair was slightly messy, probably from practice. A few strands fell over his forehead. There was still condensation on the tumbler he was holding. And there was a very real possibility that I had given him brain damage.
He looked at me. I looked at the ground, then his shoes, then the grass. Anywhere but his face. "...Sorry," I blurted out. Then I bowed, too fast and too hard. "I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I wasn't aiming for your head." Why would you say that? I squeezed my eyes shut. Of course I wasn't aiming for his head, that implied I could've been aiming for it.
"I mean—" I looked up in horror. "I wasn't aiming for anyone's head." Oh my God. "I mean, I wasn't aiming for the bleachers." I inhaled sharply. "I mean, I wasn't aiming at all."
Silence. I stared at him, Minju stared at me and Han stared at the sky as if asking for divine intervention. James had both hands covering his mouth. I could physically feel my soul trying to leave my body.
"I should stop talking now," I whispered.
"...Yeah," Minju muttered.
A beat passed, then another, then—
"...You weren't aiming at all?" Juhoon repeated. His voice sounded amused. Slowly, I nodded. "...That somehow makes me feel worse."
For a second, he just stared at me, then the corners of his mouth lifted. He laughed. Not a loud laugh. Not mocking. Just one surprised, disbelieving laugh that escaped before he could stop it. "Sorry," he said, still smiling a little. "I just didn't expect that answer." I blinked. He wasn't angry. He wasn't glaring at me. He wasn't threatening legal action.
"You okay?" I asked before I could stop myself. The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to smack myself. You hit him. Why were you asking if he was okay like you weren't the reason he got hit? Juhoon touched the side of his head. "I think I'll survive." Relief flooded through me so quickly my knees nearly gave out. "Oh, thank God." I pressed both hands over my face.
"I genuinely thought I was going to end your football career."
"You thought getting hit by one ball would end my career?"
"I don't know how sports work!" I cried. "For all I know, you could've gotten a concussion and then forgotten how to kick." James snorted. Han looked like he was fighting a smile and Minju is fighting not to burst out of laughter.
And Juhoon—Juhoon looked at me for a moment before shaking his head. "You know," he said, "most people just say sorry." I lowered my hands enough to peek at him. "I panicked…"
"I noticed." Heat rushed to my face. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to evaporate into the atmosphere. I wanted to become one with the grass. Instead, I stood there in complete humiliation while Kim Juhoon looked mildly entertained.
Then he glanced toward the football lying abandoned near the bleachers. His eyes shifted back to me. "You made that first shot too, didn't you?"
"The one before this." He nodded toward the field. "That was pretty good."
I stared at him, then at the ball, then back at him. "You saw that?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. "I've been sitting there the whole time."
My smile slowly faded. "The whole time?"
I felt my stomach drop. "The whole time... as in..." A pause. "...You saw me miss the ball five times?"
"You saw me trip over my own foot?"
"You were fighting for your life out there."
His mouth twitched. I covered my face again. There it was. The exact moment I realized something far, far worse than accidentally hitting Kim Juhoon in the head with a football.
Juhoon had witnessed me being an absolute idiot for the last thirty minutes. And somehow—he was smiling at me like it was the funniest thing he'd seen all day.
"No, but seriously," I said, looking back at him. "I'm really sorry." I bowed again, though significantly less aggressively this time. "If your head still hurts, I can accompany you to the nurse's office." The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "I mean, I hit you, so I feel morally obligated to make sure you don't collapse somewhere five minutes from now." Silence.
Then, because apparently my mouth had declared independence from my brain, I added, "I also don't know if head injuries are one of those things where you're fine at first and then suddenly start seeing the light."
"What?" I whispered back. "I'm being responsible."
"You're making it worse."
"I don't know how to be normal under pressure!"
I turned back to Juhoon. "I'll pay for your medical expenses."
"I don't even know if students have enough money for that, but I'll figure it out." Juhoon blinked at me, then glanced at Han, then back at me. "...You know it was just a football, right?"
"I've been hit by worse."
"That doesn't make me feel better."
I hesitated before asking, "Are you sure you don't want to go to the nurse?"
I studied his face suspiciously. "...Do you still remember your name?" There was a beat of silence. Then, "Kim Juhoon."
"Do you want my student number too?"
Heat rushed to my face. "No!" I said a little too quickly. "I mean—that wasn't—I wasn't trying to—"
I stopped. "...I think I should stop talking again." A snort escaped James. Han looked down, shoulders shaking. Minju covered her face with both hands. “I don't know her," she mumbled.
For a second, Juhoon simply stared at me. Then he laughed. Not the polite kind people gave out to avoid awkwardness, a real one. Soft at first, before it slipped out more freely.
"You really don't have to worry," he said, amusement lingering in his eyes. "I'm okay." I stared at him for another moment before finally letting out the breath I'd been holding.
Then I pointed a finger at him.
"But if you suddenly forget your own name later, I need everyone here to know that I offered to take you to the nurse."
"You're trying really hard to avoid liability," James said. "I'm trying really hard not to end up as the girl who accidentally took out the soccer team's player before a competition." Juhoon's smile widened slightly. "I'll make sure to testify in your favor."
Han and Minju had been staring at me intensely for a couple of minutes now. I pretended not to notice, poking at my lunch instead. Then suddenly, the silence was broken by James. "Hey man, whatchu got for lun—" He stopped.
"Uhm... are you guys okay?" He looked between them, then at me.
Both Minju and Han raised one finger and shushed him. "Okay, dang. What's happening?" James asked as he sat down on the vacant seat next to me.
"You haven't been sleeping," Minju said.
"You look exhausted," Han added. "And don't even try denying it."
"You almost walked into the classroom door this morning," Minju deadpanned. James frowned. "Wait... is this because of the accident?"
Three pairs of eyes stared at me.
I let out a groan and buried my face in my hands. "It's been two days and I still can't stop thinking about it." "Y/n," Minju sighed. "You accidentally hit someone with a ball. You didn't commit a crime."
"It was Juhoon," I muttered.
"That does make it worse." James said.
"What if he remembers me as the girl who almost knocked him out?"
Han snorted. "I think you're the only one who's been replaying it this much."
"...I know," I mumbled. "I just can't stop thinking about it."
After that scene at lunch, since our schedules aligned, we headed to a coffee shop near the university. "Gotta make some use of this vacant period of ours," Minju said.
A few minutes later, Minju suddenly stood up. "Oh, y/n, can you order for us? Me and Han are just gonna check out the store nearby real quick."
Since there weren't that many people, our order was ready pretty quickly. Still no sign of Minju and Han. I shrugged and picked up the drinks from the counter.
I had barely taken a few steps toward our table when a voice beside me made me flinch so hard I almost spilled everything. "Careful," he said. "Don't want any more accidents." I froze. Slowly, I turned my head.
Every survival instinct in my body immediately screamed at me to run. Instead, I bowed so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. "S-Sorry," I blurted out. "Again." Juhoon blinked. "...For what?"
His eyebrows lifted slightly before the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "You know you've apologized enough, right?"
I practically speed-walked back to our table before my dignity could suffer any further. I sat down, staring intensely at the condensation on my cup.
Maybe if I focused hard enough, I could evaporate with it. Please let Minju and Han come back. Please.
A chair scraped against the floor, I looked up. Then immediately wished I hadn't. Because out of all the empty seats in the coffee shop, Kim Juhoon had just sat down at the vacant table right beside ours.
Oh, you've got to be kidding me.
I immediately looked away. Maybe if I didn't acknowledge his existence, the universe would take pity on me. It didn't.
I could hear the soft tapping of fingers against the table beside mine. The rustling of paper. The occasional sound of a cup being set down. I pulled out my phone. Opened it, locked it, and nlocked it again.
Please come back, Minju. Please come back, Han. I risked a glance. Juhoon was looking at something on his laptop. Okay. good. He wasn't paying attention to me. I relaxed a little.
"You look stressed." I nearly jumped out of my seat. "I-I'm not!" Juhoon glanced over. "You kind of are." I stared at him for a few seconds before looking down at my drink. "I'm just embarrassed." His expression softened.
"Because of the ball?" I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. "...Yes." He was quiet for a moment. Then, "I promise it wasn't that serious." I blinked and slowly looked at him. "You don't.…hate me?"
Juhoon looked genuinely confused. "Hate you?" He let out a short laugh. "You accidentally hit me with a ball, y/n.“ My eyes widened. "You know my name?"
The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to slam my head against the table. Juhoon paused, then one corner of his lips lifted. "I'd be a little concerned if I forgot the name of the person who's apologized to me too many times."
For a second, there was silence. "You can relax, you know," Juhoon said. "I don't think you're weird." I blinked. "...You don't?" He shook his head. "I think you're just overthinking it." I opened my mouth. "I do that a lot." "I noticed."
I let out a small, horrified groan and buried my face in my hands. I quickly took a sip of my drink just to have something to do with my hands. Juhoon's gaze briefly dropped to the cup.
I looked down at it. "Uh, yeah. My usual order." He nodded once. Almost absentmindedly. Like he was filing the information away somewhere in his head.
I blinked. "What was I supposed to drink?"
"I don't know." He glanced at me. "Something sweeter."
"Is that supposed to mean something?"
"You just seem like the type."
I stared at him. "You've talked to me for, like, 5 minutes." A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "And?" "And that's not enough time to profile someone."
"It was an observation." I let out a quiet huff. "Well, for the record, I don't like overly sweet drinks."
"You're saying that like you're taking notes."
Juhoon shrugged. "Maybe I am."
Before I could come up with a response to that, movement near the entrance caught my attention. Minju and Han had returned. They took exactly three steps into the café before stopping.
Then their eyes landed on me, and Juhoon. At the same time.
Han slowly looked at Minju and Minju slowly looked at Han. Then both of them looked back at me. I stared right back.
Minju's eyebrows shot up so high they practically disappeared into her hairline. Han's mouth fell open. I shook my head almost imperceptibly.
Minju glanced at Juhoon, then at me, then at the empty seat beside me, then at Juhoon again. "...Interesting," Han said.
"It's not what it looks like," I blurted out immediately. Juhoon glanced between us before looking back at me.
"What does it look like?"
"It doesn't matter," I said way too quickly.
Minju smiled. "Oh, no. I think it matters a lot." I wanted to disappear.
Sitting in class, I tried my best to pay attention to the professor. I really did. My notebook was open, my pen was uncapped and I was even facing the front.
But after nearly an hour of lecture, all I could hear was
"Communication blah blah... audience analysis... media ethics... blah blah blah..." I stared at the PowerPoint projected onto the screen. Then at the clock. Then back at the PowerPoint. "... Please end my suffering," I muttered under my breath.
"As I was saying," our professor continued, immediately snapping my attention back to reality, "since there will be an upcoming competition for our varsity players, you'll be working on a special project." The room quieted.
"You are Communications students, so this will serve as practical experience. Your task is to produce a video feature on one of our varsity teams. This includes planning, conducting interviews, filming, and editing the final output." A few students exchanged excited looks. "You'll be divided into four groups," he continued. "Each group will be assigned a different sport to focus on."
"Yes, sir," the class replied.
"You can choose your own group members. Make sure everyone contributes equally. I don't want any freeloaders." That immediately caused the classroom to erupt into movement.
"y/n, group with us!" I turned to see two of my classmates waving me over.
A few minutes later, everyone had settled into their groups. Our professor looked down at the list in his hand. "Group One will cover basketball." A few cheers erupted. "Group Two, volleyball." Someone near the back groaned. "Group Three..." He adjusted his glasses. "Football."
One of my groupmates gasped. "Wait, football?" she said excitedly. "Isn't that the team with Kim Juhoon?" I froze. "...What?" Another classmate nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! He's pretty popular, isn't he?"
My brain stopped functioning.
No, no, no. Out of all the teams. Out of every single varsity team in this university.
"...Sir," I raised my hand slowly. "Yes, Ms. y/n?"
"Hypothetically speaking…," I began carefully, "if someone were to suddenly develop an intense fear of sports journalism..."
The professor narrowed his eyes. "No."
I lowered my hand. "I haven't even asked the question yet."
"You were going to ask if you could switch groups."
A few snickers spread throughout the classroom. I slumped back in my chair. This was fine. Completely fine. All I had to do was interview the football team. The football team that just so happened to include Kim Juhoon. The same Juhoon whose existence had somehow become a recurring source of embarrassment in my life.
Easy. I stared blankly at the front of the classroom.
Maybe if I dropped out, no one would notice.
A couple of days passed in a blur of group meetings, frantic messages in the group chat, and repeatedly hearing the phrase, "We'll figure it out." We did, somehow.
One classmate handled the shot list. Another prepared the equipment and checked the camera batteries every ten minutes. Someone else worked on lighting and audio. And me? I was one of the interviewers. Which meant I had to speak. On camera. To actual varsity athletes. Wonderful.
I looked up from the cue cards I had been rereading for the twentieth time. My groupmate frowned. "You've been staring at that paper for like five minutes." I looked down at the list of questions.
I nodded stiffly. "I'm fine."
"I'm experiencing a perfectly healthy amount of academic stress."
"You look like you're about to throw up."
Before they could respond, our director clapped their hands together.
"Everyone ready? The football team should be here any minute." Immediately, my stomach dropped.
No. No, actually.I wasn't ready. Not even remotely. I adjusted the microphone clipped to my shirt for what had to be the fifteenth time.
The football field buzzed with activity. Students carried tripods across the sidelines. Someone tested the audio equipment. "Check, check."
"Move the reflector a little to the left."
The cameras were positioned, the questions were prepared. Everything was set. Except for me.
I rubbed my sweaty palms against my jeans. Maybe I could fake a sudden illness. Maybe I'd lose my voice. Maybe I'd get struck by lightning.
Slowly, I lifted my head. And there they were. The football team walked onto the field, talking amongst themselves. Some laughed loudly while others adjusted their uniforms or carried sports bags over their shoulders.
Then—I spotted him. Kim Juhoon. He said something to one of his teammates before laughing softly. Then he glanced toward our production setup. Toward us. Toward me. Our eyes met. Oh. Oh, no. I immediately looked away.
I inhaled deeply. Then another. "I think," I said calmly, "that I'm having an out-of-body experience."
"I can physically feel my soul leaving my body."
"What are you talking about?"
I gripped my cue cards tighter. The papers crumpled slightly in my hands. This was fine. I could do this. I had prepared for this. I had rehearsed these questions in front of my mirror. I had practiced my smile. I had—"Hey."
A familiar voice cut through my internal monologue, I slowly turned. Juhoon stood in front of me. Up close. Again. For a brief second, neither of us spoke. Then his gaze dropped to the cue cards clutched in my death grip.
"You're interviewing us?" he asked.
His eyebrows lifted. "Unfortunately?"
"Respectfully," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "I would've preferred editing." For a second, he blinked.
Then, to my horror—he laughed. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as he looked at me. "You know," he said, "most people seem excited about interviewing us."
"I'm sure they're very happy for the opportunity."
I tightened my hold on the cue cards.
"I haven't recovered from the fact that I accidentally hit you with a ball."
Juhoon stared at me. "You're still thinking about that?"
He looked genuinely surprised. "No..."
I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. Of course. Of course he wasn't. I'd spent days replaying one embarrassing moment while he'd moved on with his life.
"...Right," I said weakly. "Makes sense." He tilted his head slightly. "You really do overthink everything, huh?" I buried my face in my cue cards. "Please don't analyze me before the interview." Another laugh escaped him. "Relax," he said. "You'll do fine." I peeked at him over the edge of my papers. "...You don't know that."
"You've memorized those questions enough to wrinkle the pages."
Then someone called his name from behind. "Juhoon! They're starting!" He glanced back before looking at me one last time.
"You haven't even started yet, but I know you’re gonna do just fine.”And somehow—that made my heart beat even faster. I stared at his retreating figure.
"...Did Juhoon just encourage me?"
I nearly jumped out of my skin. My groupmate stared at me. "We're starting!" Right. The interview. The reason I was currently standing on a football field instead of safely hiding behind editing software.
I swallowed. "Okay," I muttered to myself. "You're a Communications student. You communicate. It's literally in the title." I stepped into position. One of my classmates stood behind the camera.
"We're outside. The sun's doing most of the work."
Our director gave me a thumbs-up. "You got this." I nodded. Immediately regretted it because I definitely did not have this. "Three..." I took a breath. "Two..." I adjusted the cue cards in my hands. "One." The camera started rolling and I forced a smile.
"Hello! We're Communications students, and today we'll be interviewing members of the football team as they prepare for the upcoming varsity competition."
Okay. That wasn't terrible.
"We'll be talking about their experiences as student-athletes, their preparation for the competition, and what motivates them both on and off the field." I glanced toward my interviewee. It’s not Juhoon, thank God.
The captain smiled politely. "Can you introduce yourself?" The interview flowed surprisingly smoothly after that. The captain talked about discipline. Another player spoke about time management. Someone else mentioned how the team had become his second family. I found myself relaxing. Maybe Juhoon had been right. Maybe I could actually do this.
"...And finally," I asked, glancing at my cue cards, "what message would you like to give students who want to pursue sports but are afraid they won't be good enough?"
The player thought for a moment. "Just start," he said. "Nobody's great in the beginning. You improve because you keep showing up." I smiled genuinely. "Thank you."
"Cut!" A wave of relief crashed over me. I immediately lowered the microphone. "Oh my God."
"You survived!" one of my groupmates exclaimed.
"I survived," I echoed weakly. I was free. I had escaped. I could retreat behind the camera and never speak again. Then—"Okay!" our director announced. "Next interview!" I frowned. "...Next interview?" They looked at their notes. "Kim Juhoon." My soul left my body.
"You literally just interviewed three players."
I stared at them. "This one is Kim Juhoon…”
I looked around desperately. "Can someone switch with me?"
"You've been doing great."
They shoved the microphone back into my hands. "Places, everyone!" I looked down at the microphone.
Then at Juhoon, who had just finished talking to one of his teammates before walking over. He stopped in front of me. "You look stressed again."
"I was free," I said miserably.
His gaze shifted toward the microphone in my hand. "Oh." He studied me for a second before nodding toward the microphone. "Then let's get this over with."
I adjusted my grip on the microphone. "Could you introduce yourself for the viewers?" Juhoon glanced at the camera. "I'm Kim Juhoon, second-year student and a member of the football team."
"Thank you." I looked down at my cue cards. "Can you tell us what inspired you to pursue football?"
The interview began. Simple questions. Simple answers. At first, my voice was a little shaky. I stumbled over a word once, accidentally skipped a question. Had to glance down at my notes more times than I'd liked. But Juhoon never rushed me.
Whenever I paused to reorganize my thoughts, he'd wait. Whenever I needed a second to find the next question, he didn't fill the silence. He answered carefully, like he understood exactly what I was trying to ask even when I didn't phrase it perfectly. Eventually, my shoulders relaxed. I stopped sounding like someone being held hostage.
"...And what would you say has been the biggest challenge as a student-athlete?" I asked.
"Probably expectations," Juhoon replied. "You don't want to let people down."
I nodded thoughtfully. "Your teammates?"
"Teammates. Coaches. Yourself."
I glanced down at my notes. When I looked back up—Juhoon was already looking at me. Not the camera. Me.
"...And how do you deal with that pressure?" His eyes blinked back into focus. "Hm?"
"The pressure," I repeated.
His gaze shifted somewhere over my shoulder before returning to the camera. "I just focus on what I can control."
"If you could give one piece of advice to students pursuing something they're passionate about, what would it be?"
Juhoon was quiet for a moment. Then— "Don't quit just because you're scared."
I looked up. "That's it?" A small smile appeared on his face. "Most people are scared." His eyes drifted toward me again. "You just do it anyway."
The cameraman lowered the equipment.
"That was great!" The atmosphere immediately loosened. One of my groupmates started reviewing the footage while another adjusted the audio settings. I finally let out the breath I'd been holding.
"Oh my God," I whispered.
"You sounded good," my classmate corrected.
I looked down at the microphone in disbelief. "I didn't embarrass myself."
Relief flooded through me. Maybe this project wouldn't be the death of me after all. "You okay?" I turned. Juhoon was still standing there. "Yeah," I said. "I think so."
The compliment caught me off guard. "Thanks." A brief silence settled between us, then I hesitated before asking,
"Can I ask you something?"
"Why do you keep looking at me?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it, Juhoon's expression changed instantly. "What?"
"You keep..." I gestured vaguely between us. "Looking at me."
For the first time during the entire interview, he seemed unsure of what to say. His eyes flickered away before returning to me. "I didn't realize I was."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry if it made you uncomfortable."
"No!" I said a little too quickly. "I was just wondering." Then, quietly, almost like he was thinking out loud, he said,
"I think..." He paused. "...I was checking if you were okay."
"You looked nervous at first."
"So I kept looking over."
His gaze met mine again. "But then..." He stopped.
Somewhere behind us, one of my groupmates shouted, "Y/N! We need you to review the footage!" I blinked rapidly. "R-Right!" I hurried away before my brain could process whatever that conversation had been.
Behind me, I heard one of Juhoon's teammates say, "Dude."
"You've been staring at her the entire interview." A pause. Then Juhoon's voice, quieter than before.
And for reasons I absolutely refused to examine, my ears felt very, very warm.
Time passed in a rhythm that quickly became familiar. Film, review footage, lunch, edit, meetings, refilm whatever someone decided wasn't "cinematic enough” and repeat.
Somewhere in between all of that, Juhoon became...close. We exchanged greetings, occasional comments about filming schedules, small conversations that never lasted long enough to become anything more.
We were always interrupted by something. A teammate calling for him and a groupmate needing me. Another meeting, another take, another deadline. And somehow, despite spending so much time in the same space, I still didn't know much about him.
It was lunch break when I escaped outside. The weather was nice enough so I sat on one of the benches near the field, my backpack beside me and my ipad balanced on my lap. Life sucked. I had forgotten my Kindle at my unit.
Which meant I had no choice but to read on an obnoxiously large screen for the entire world to see. Tragic.
I tapped the page, then the next, then the next, just completely absorbed. The world around me slowly disappeared and the chatter from nearby students faded into background noise.
The sound of the football team training became distant. I wasn't sitting on a bench anymore. I was somewhere else entirely. "His fingers brushed against hers before quickly pulling away, as though even touching her frightened him..." I stared. Oh. Oh no. He was yearning.
I immediately turned the page, then another, and another. I was so invested that I nearly jumped out of my skin when a voice suddenly spoke beside me.
"You read romance?" I looked up, it was Juhoon. He had somehow sat down beside me without me noticing. My eyes widened then immediately darted toward my iPad.
Too late. The giant font on the giant screen was impossible to miss. I let out an awkward laugh. "I—uhm. Uh... yeah?" Fucking huge ipad, of course he saw.
Juhoon glanced down at the screen again then back at me. "You sound surprised."
"Well, I wasn't exactly planning on advertising it to the general public."
"It's not exactly a secret."
His gaze returned to the novel.
"'His entire universe narrowed down to the girl standing before him.'" I froze. "Were you reading over my shoulder?" A tiny pause. "Maybe." I stared at him in horror.
"You can't just quote it back to me."
"You had the brightness all the way up."
"I don't know what that means."
I buried my face in my hands. "This is humiliating."
Slowly, I lowered my hands. "Because." I gestured helplessly at the ipad. "Now you know I spend my free time reading fictional characters fall in love."
Juhoon looked genuinely confused. "A lot of people read romance."
"Not on a screen this size." He glanced at the iPad. "It is pretty big…"
"Thank you for pointing that out."
A small silence settled between us, I expected him to leave but instead, he remained seated beside me. "Is it good?" he asked. I blinked. "What?"
I looked down at the page. "Very."
"What's it about?" I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.
"You actually want to know?"
I hesitated then glanced back at the screen. "It's basically about two idiots who are obviously in love with each other."
"But they don't communicate."
"So they spend the entire book misunderstanding each other."
"They're both painfully aware of each other."
"But neither one says anything."
Juhoon was quiet for a moment. "That sounds frustrating."
"Then why are you reading it?"
I stared at him. "Because I need to know if they figure it out."
He looked at me and I looked at him, then unexpectedly—
the corners of his mouth lifted.
"You like watching people suffer."
"You just spent two minutes describing their misery."
"I don't know what that means."
I gasped. "You don't know what yearning means?" I stared at him like he'd just admitted he didn't know how to read.
"It's when—" I stopped. "Actually, never mind."
I turned back to my ipad. "Because romance readers and non-romance readers operate on entirely different frequencies." Juhoon didn't answer immediately.
"What if I wanted to understand it?" I glanced sideways at him. "Why?" He shrugged. "You seem to like it."
"...That's a terrible reason."
"Maybe." He didn't sound particularly bothered by that. I looked down at my novel again then back at him.
"Whatever's assigned in class."
I stared at him. "That's depressing."
Juhoon let out a quiet laugh, the sound was soft enough that I almost missed it. Then he glanced at the page still open on my ipad. "So," he said, after a brief pause, "do they end up together?"
I looked at the progress bar at the screen. 80%.
"You're 80 percent through."
"That means absolutely nothing.
"People break up at ninety percent all the time." His eyebrows lifted.
He nodded thoughtfully. Then, after a moment—"You'll have to let me know how it ends." I blinked. "You want updates?"
"You seemed passionate about it." I looked away before he could see my expression soften. "Fine." I tapped the next page. "But if they don't end up together, I reserve the right to be dramatic about it."
"How dramatic?" I thought about the stack of one-star reviews I'd left in the heat of betrayal.
"You'll find out." Beside me, Juhoon laughed quietly.
Later that night, I was lying in bed. Just freshly showered and had comfortable pajamas on. My kindle had finally been reunited with me. Peace had been restored.
I adjusted my pillows, opened my novel, and prepared to spend the next few hours emotionally investing in fictional people making terrible life decisions.
I frowned. Who was messaging me at this hour? I reached over to my nightstand and grabbed my phone.
kkimjju started following you.
What? I sat straight up. "...Huh?" I blinked once, then twice not believing it. Then I opened Instagram. Maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe this was one of those fake accounts.
Maybe—No. It was him. The profile picture, the username. Kim Juhoon. He had followed me. "...What?"
Then another notification appeared.
Message Request from kkimjju
I stared at it for a moment then tapped.
kkimjju:
no follow back? :(
I dropped my phone onto my blanket from shock, I Immediately picked it back up and ead it again, then again, then again. "What does that mean?"
I looked around my empty room and returned to the message. No follow back? :( There was a sad face. A sad face. I buried my face into my pillow. "Why is there a sad face?"
I checked the time, 10:43 PM.
Deleted it, it’s too formal. Then typed again.
Deleted. No, absolutely not.
I stared at the blinking cursor. Then another message popped up.
kkimjju:
you're thinking too hard about this, aren't you?
I froze, I looked down at the three dots beneath the chat.
Oh. Oh, no. He could see that I'd opened the message and hadn't replied for over a minute. I immediately typed.
"Why did I send that?" The typing indicator appeared almost instantly, then disappeared, then it appeared again.
kkimjju:
that response alone tells me yes.
I stared at my screen, heat crawled up my neck.
you:
I wasn't expecting a DM from you.
This time, his reply took a little longer.
I blinked, my fingers hovered over the keyboard.
you:
no, its just surprising
kkimjju:
we spent almost every day together for your project. I figured we were at least Instagram mutuals.
I read the message twice and looked down at the keyboard, then finally tapped his profile.
Almost immediately, another message appeared.
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
I had expected the conversation to end there. A follow back. A few awkward messages. Maybe a goodnight. Instead, one topic somehow turned into another. It started with him asking about the romance novel I'd been reading earlier. Which turned into me passionately defending slow burns. "The point isn't just them getting together," I typed furiously. "It's the process. The tiny moments before that. The realization. The yearning."
kkimjju:
you're using that word again
you:
because it's important
kkimjju:
i still don't fully understand it
you:
imagine watching someone gradually become the person another person seeks out first
choosing them without realizing they're doing it
it's all the little things before the confession
There was a brief pause before his reply came.
kkimjju:
you think about this a lot.
I looked at the clock in the corner of my phone. 11:37 PM.
I blinked. Hadn't it just been ten-something? I had spent nearly an hour talking to Kim Juhoon. Most of it had been me rambling about fictional couples and why the journey of falling in love mattered just as much as the ending itself.
And somehow...he never told me I was talking too much, he never changed the subject, he kept asking questions.
I hugged my pillow closer to my chest, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips. Maybe romance readers really did operate on a different frequency. Or maybe... It just took the right person to listen long enough to understand why you loved the things you did. I started to look back at the rules I wrote to my journal weeks ago. Yeah, fucking shit I broke that.
Days spent with Juhoon. Somewhere along the way, we had actually become closer. Minju and Han would constantly bug me for updates, acting like they were personally invested in whatever strange friendship this was. And slowly—ridiculously, embarrassingly—real and legit feelings started developing. Which made absolutely no sense.
I was the same person who had spent years rejecting every guy that slid into my DMs because none of them felt like the characters I read about.
I loved romance. I just never expected it for myself. Mostly because my standards had been shaped by fictional men written by women with unrealistic expectations.
Real life wasn't supposed to compete with that. Yet somehow—Juhoon kept doing things that felt straight out of a romance story. The other day, I was sitting on a bench scrolling through my phone when he suddenly dropped down beside me.
"What are your thoughts about Romance 101?" I nearly launched my phone into orbit. "What?" He looked confused by my reaction. "What?"
"How do you know Romance 101?"
"I saw it on your highlights."
I stared at him. "You looked through my highlights?"
He blinked. "Because I was bored."
"I tried reading it." I felt my soul leave my body. "You what?"
"It's actually good." He shrugged casually. "I get why it's your favorite now." I think I stopped functioning for a solid thirty seconds. Because who does that? Who sees a random manhwa on someone's profile and decides to read it just because it matters to them?
And the worst part? He acted like it was completely normal, like he hadn't just permanently altered my brain chemistry.
Then there were the little things. The way he'd casually walk over whenever he spotted me on set, the way he'd start conversations as if we'd been talking all day, the way he'd call out my name from across the room.
Every single time it happened, I could practically feel people staring. And every single time, my brain immediately forgot how to behave like a normal human being.
"Hey." A simple greeting, and yet somehow my heart would react like he'd just confessed his undying love. It was pathetic really. Actually, pathetic wasn't even a strong enough word, because the more time I spent with him, the more I found myself looking for him without meaning to.
Looking for the familiar figure in crowded hallways, looking for his messages, looking for that stupid smile that always appeared whenever he saw me.
And maybe that was when I realized I was in trouble. Not because Juhoon was handsome, not because everyone liked him. But because for the first time in my life, someone felt less like a fictional character I was chasing—and more like a real person I genuinely wanted to know.
And somehow that was much scarier.
Because for weeks I'd been hanging around with them, I kept hearing people talk, way too many people. I mean, Juhoon was ridiculously popular. Of course people talked about him. Most conversations were the usual.
"Did you see him at practice?"
Normal stuff, but lately the conversations had changed.
"There was a girl with him."
"No, seriously. Apparently they talk all the time."
And every single time I overheard something like that, my entire body would freeze. Because there couldn't possibly be that many girls hanging around Juhoon.
Thankfully, nobody seemed to know who the girl actually was.
Yet. Which should have made me feel better.
Because my brain immediately started supplying worst-case scenarios. Oh my God. This is how it starts.
I stopped walking, minju nearly walked into my back. "What now?" I slowly turned toward her. "I've read this before." She stared. "What?"
"I know exactly where this is going."
I pointed dramatically into the distance. "The side characters discover the female lead."
"The rumors spread, then jealous girls unite, then the female lead gets cornered in a bathroom, they would start to throw food at her."
"What kind of stories are you reading?!"
"And then the male lead finds out too late and they're forced apart by misunderstandings!" I grabbed Minju by the shoulders. "Minju."
"I don't think we're in the fluffy part anymore." She looked genuinely concerned. "We were never in a novel." I gasped. Then immediately pointed at Juhoon, who was standing across the hallway talking to his teammates. "That's exactly what a side character would say before the plot gets worse."
"What if somebody already knows?"
"What if they have photographic evidence?"
"Photographic evidence?" Minju stared at me for three whole seconds, then she smacked the back of my head.
"Trust me," she said. "If this were a romance novel, we'd all know."
"Because the female lead would've figured out she likes him and confessed their feelings at least twenty chapters ago."
I opened my mouth, then closed it. "That's actually a good point."
"What if this is the slow burn arc?"
“You probably didn’t see it, but I actually bought this.” Juhoon pulled a book from the paper bag hanging from his wrist. My eyes nearly popped out of my head.
“You don't look like someone who would actually read that.”
“Yeah. I don't know. You look like the type to read sports magazines or something.”
He looked offended. “Sports magazines?”
I grabbed the book from his hands and immediately froze “Wait.” Juhoon looked suspiciously pleased. “Is this—”
“Villains Are Destined to Die?!”
“I figured I'd see what all the hype was about.”
“You willingly spent money on this?”
“Should I be concerned that you're this shocked?”
He laughed. “Also,” he added casually, “I'm like 60% with My Password is 002.”
I nearly dropped the book. “WHAT?”
“Why are you reacting like that?”
“Because that's two manhwa!”
“Two manhwa that I recommended!”
Juhoon shook his head, smiling. “You make it sound like a crime.”
“It is. Since when do you read this much?”
“Since someone wouldn't stop talking about them.” The heat that immediately rushed to my face was embarrassing.
Days passed like that. Somehow, without either of us noticing, spending time together became normal. After class, I'd often find him waiting outside my classroom. Sometimes we'd stop by the bookstore and spend an hour arguing over which covers looked better. Sometimes we'd end up at the park, sitting on the swings while eating ice cream and talking about everything and nothing.
He started sending me pictures of books he thought I'd like. I started sending him voice messages whenever I encountered a character that annoyed me. Being around him stopped feeling unusual, it started feeling expected.
Like if a day passed without talking to Juhoon, something was missing from it. The rumors around school only got worse, but strangely enough, neither of us cared as much anymore.
Because while everyone else was busy trying to figure out what we were—we were too busy spending time together.
Who knew hitting him with a ball would somehow bring me this close to him?
Now back on the field again, just a few days before the final match against the other university—the match that would determine who'd be taking home the championship trophy.
The atmosphere was noticeably different. There were more cameras, more spectators watching practice from behind. Everyone knew what was at stake. "Do you have anything to say for the upcoming final match?" one of my teammates asked, holding the microphone toward Juhoon. "Do you think you can bring home the trophy once again?"
Fortunately, I wasn't the one doing interviews today. I stood off to the side beside the cameraman, watching everything unfold while pretending I wasn't paying attention.
Juhoon rubbed the back of his neck before giving a small smile. "We're not thinking about defending a title," he said. "We're thinking about earning it again." One of the reporters nodded. "Confident?" "I trust my team." He glanced toward his teammates warming up on the field. "We've all worked too hard to let this opportunity slip away."
Another reporter chimed in. "So what's motivating you the most heading into this match?" For the first time, he paused, his expression softened—just slightly. "...There's someone I want to make proud." The words were simple, and yet...my stomach tightened.
For reasons I couldn't explain, I instinctively looked up.
At the exact same moment—his eyes were already on me.
Not for long, just for a second. Then he looked away as if nothing had happened, answering the next question like usual. No. Absolutely not. There were dozens of people standing around me he could've been looking at anyone....Right?
One of the reporters grinned, clearly interested. "Someone special?" A few of the players nearby let out quiet laughs. Juhoon only chuckled under his breath. "Maybe."
The reporters immediately leaned in. "So if you win..." He looked toward the row of cameras lined up along the sidelines before answering. "I already know they'll be there to see it." A few people exchanged knowing looks, one even laughed.
"So they're coming to the finals?" Juhoon smiled. "They don't really have a choice."
My heart did something stupid. No. Don't do this. Don't assume. Maybe he wasn't talking about me, maybe he was talking about his maybe a childhood friend? Maybe... I slapped myself mentally. Maybe I haven't seen his true colors yet, like maybe he's just naturally like this with everyone and maybe he's secretly talking to three other girls like he's one of those guys who smiles at you while collecting phone numbers like photocards.
Okay. Stop. I've read way too many romance novels.
The interview ended, but the conversation around campus didn't. By lunchtime, everyone was talking about it.
Kim Juhoon has someone he likes.
No one knew who, it is quite surprising. Every theory sounded more ridiculous than the last. And somehow...that uncertainty bothered me more than I wanted to admit. Maybe that's why I've always preferred fiction. In novels, you know who loves who, you know which lingering glance means something, you know when a confession is coming.
Real life doesn't come with highlighted passages or an author's notes. People look at you for a second too long....and suddenly you're left wondering if you imagined the entire thing.
Cheers echoed from every corner of the stadium.
Students dressed in our university colors filled the bleachers until there wasn't an empty seat left. Banners waved through the air. The marching band played somewhere in the distance. Every few seconds another chant erupted from the crowd, only to be drowned out by an even louder one. It was chaos.
Meanwhile...I was trying very hard not to throw up.
Minju and Han had already gone up to the bleachers while I stayed near the players' tents, microphone in one hand and cue cards in the other. I was one of today's sideline reporters. A sentence that sounded much cooler in theory than it felt in practice. I inhaled, exhaled, drank water and repeat.
My hands still wouldn't stop shaking. "What if I stutter?" "What if I forget the questions?" I was spiraling. A familiar hand landed gently between my shoulder blades. "You'll do fine." I turned. It’s Juhoon, already dressed in his uniform. His hair was slightly damp from warming up, and there was still sweat clinging to his forehead. Despite the championship being only minutes away...he looked calmer than I did. "...You're supposed to be nervous."
"You're the one about to play the biggest match of the season..."
I looked back up at him. "...Yet somehow you're the one encouraging me."
For a second...he didn't answer, he just looked at me. Not the way people usually look at someone. Not casually, like...like I had his full attention, completely. His voice came out quieter this time.
He took one step closer. "...Would you go out with me?"
My brain stopped functioning. Excuse me? No. Wait. Hold on. What?
Did—Did Kim Juhoon...The Kim Juhoon...from the football team, the same guy half the university had a crush on, just...ask me out? No. No, no, no. This has to be a prank.
Maybe one of his teammates dared him, maybe there's a hidden camera somewhere, maybe I'm hallucinating.
"I've liked you for a while." His eyes never left mine. "I know this isn't exactly the best timing..." A tiny laugh escaped him. "...Actually, it's probably the worst timing." "But if I walk onto that field without telling you..." He shook his head. "...I think I'd regret it."
I couldn't speak, not because I didn't want to but because every single word I'd ever learned had apparently abandoned me. He smiled at me softly. "...You don't have to answer now." My heart was pounding so loudly I was convinced he could hear it. He reached up slowly. "May I?" I nodded before I even realized I was doing it. His fingertips brushed a loose strand of hair away from my face before gently cupping my cheek. Just warm.
and careful, like I was something precious.
He leaned in slowly. My eyes fluttered shut. Then—"JUHOON!" One of his teammates shouted. "We're lining up!" We both froze. Juhoon let out a quiet laugh through his nose, resting his forehead against mine for the briefest second. "...I guess fate likes dramatic timing." I laughed too, mostly because if I didn't...I thought I might actually explode. He stepped back.
"I'll ask again after the match." He held my gaze. "And this time..." A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "...I hope you'll say yes." Then he turned... jogged toward his teammates and disappeared onto the field leaving me standing there...still processing the fact that reality had somehow become more unbelievable than every romance novel I'd ever read.
I think...I finally understood why female leads always forgot how to function after the confession scene.
The referee's whistle pierced through the stadium, the championship had begun. Immediately, the crowd erupted. Our university's cheers crashed against the opposing school's chants until they became one overwhelming roar. I barely heard my own breathing and I made it through my opening report without tripping over my own words.
"You did great," my teammate whispered.
“Yes.” He laughed and mine came out weaker because my attention had already drifted back onto the field. To him. Juhoon jogged onto the pitch with the rest of his teammates, exchanging quick fist bumps before taking his position. Then—he glanced toward the sidelines, towards me. It wasn't dramatic really, no slow motion and no cinematic soundtrack and all of that. Just the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
For 90 minutes, it felt like my heart had forgotten what a normal rhythm was. One team attacked and the other defended. The ball flew from one side of the field to the other so quickly my eyes struggled to keep up. Every near miss made the stadium gasp, every successful tackle earned deafening cheers, every counterattack had the crowd rising to its feet.
"Come on..." I whispered without realizing it. The score remained tied and the clock kept ticking, the pressure only grew heavier and both teams were exhausted now. Sweat soaked through their jerseys.
One of Juhoon's teammates intercepted the ball near midfield, the crowd immediately came alive. A quick pass and another. The defense scrambled back into position. "Juhoon!" Someone screamed from somewhere in the stands. The pass rolled perfectly into his path and he controlled it with one touch. A defender rushed him, he shifted left. Another defender closed the space, he pushed the ball just beyond the tackle.
The goalkeeper stepped off his line, I forgot to breathe.
Juhoon drew his leg back and struck. Time stopped, the ball curved through the air, past the goalkeeper's outstretched fingertips. Into the back of the net.
The place exploded, students leaped from their seats, the marching band erupted. Everyone was screaming, everyone was celebrating.
His teammates rushed toward him—but before they could reach him...Juhoon turned and started running. Not toward the bench, not toward the coaches, but towards me.
At first, I thought I was imagining it, like no, there's no way. He's probably running past me.
"Y/N!" My heart stopped. Before I could even process what was happening, he was already there, he threw his arms around me so suddenly that I let out a startled yelp.
"J-Juhoon?!" He laughed, but this time it was different. It was the laugh of someone who had just achieved the biggest victory of his life, before I knew it, my feet had left the ground. "Wait—!" He lifted me effortlessly, spinning me once...twice...the world became nothing but flashes of confetti, bright stadium lights, and the sound of thousands of people screaming around us.
I couldn't stop laughing and neither could he. When he finally set me back down, I had to grab onto his shoulders just to steady myself. "You're going to make me dizzy." I looked up at him, his hair was a mess, his face was glistening with sweat, his chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to catch his breath.
And somehow...I'd never seen anyone look more beautiful. We simply stood there looking at each other, like the rest of the stadium had disappeared. His smile slowly softened. "I told you..." he said quietly. "I'd ask again." I laughed, still trying to catch my own breath. "I know." He took one small step closer. "So..." His voice was almost swallowed by the roaring crowd. "...Will you go out with me?" For once...there wasn't a single overthought in my head. No imaginary scenarios, no romance-novel logic trying to predict what happened next. Just him standing in front of me waiting patiently, like my answer mattered more than the championship he'd just won.
"...Yes." I barely managed to whisper it, he simply stared at me, as if he needed to make sure he'd heard me correctly. "...Yeah?" I laughed, tears already blurring my vision, and nodded. "Yes." "I'll go out with you." The smile that spread across his face... I don't think I'll ever forget it, like he'd been carrying those words inside him for so long that finally hearing my answer allowed him to breathe again.
Slowly, he lifted one hand, giving me every chance to step away if I wanted to. His fingertips brushed against my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear before his thumb rested lightly against my skin. "So..." he murmured, his voice barely audible beneath the roaring stadium. "Can I kiss you now?"
I don't remember answering. Maybe I nodded, maybe the smile I couldn't stop wearing answered for me. Whatever it was...he understood. He leaned in slowly. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath, close enough that every nervous beat of my heart seemed impossibly loud.
He paused, he was waiting. Giving me one last chance. Instead of pulling away...I closed the remaining distance. Our lips met softly, like we were both afraid this might disappear if we moved too quickly.
The first kiss lasted only a moment. Just enough for us to realize—this was real. When we parted, neither of us moved very far. Our foreheads almost touched and our noses brushed, we were both smiling. Then he let out the smallest, breathless laugh. "...I've wanted to do that." I felt another laugh bubble out of me.
His eyes searched mine, almost asking the question again without words. This time...I was the one who leaned in first. The second kiss wasn't hesitant, it was warmer and longer.
My fingers instinctively curled around the front of his jersey as he gently cupped my face. The cheers around us blurred into meaningless noise, the announcer's voice echoed through the speakers. Confetti drifted through the air, camera shutters clicked relentlessly.
Somewhere in the stands, I was certain Minju was screaming loud enough to lose her voice. None of it mattered. Because somehow...standing in the field filled with hundreds of people...It felt like there was no one else in the world.
When we finally pulled away, neither of us said anything at first. We simply looked at each other, the kind of look that says everything words can't. His forehead rested against mine. "...Hi." I burst into laughter, the laugh that comes when you're too happy to hold it in. "Hi..." He chuckled too.
"I can't believe you actually said yes." I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. "I can't believe you asked before the biggest match of your life."
"Yeah." He laughed, shaking his head. "...That was probably the craziest thing I've ever done."
"And hitting you with a football wasn't?"
He grinned. "No." He looked at me with that same soft expression I'd fallen for. "I'm pretty sure that was the best thing that ever happened to me."
We both laughed again, around us, reality finally came rushing back.
Camera shutters clicked endlessly, my teammates were staring at us with their mouths hanging open. And somewhere in the bleachers—Minju was jumping up and down so violently she almost toppled over the railing. Han had both hands on his head, laughing like this was the greatest plot twist he'd ever witnessed.
The rumors, the whispers. Every question people had been asking for weeks...had just been answered in front of the entire university. And somehow...I couldn't find it in me to care because I'd spent so many years falling in love with fictional stories believing romance was something meant for other people. For female leads, for characters whose endings had already been written, never mine, never me. I thought I was destined to stay on the sidelines—watching, reading, dreaming. Content with borrowing someone else's happily ever after.
But as Juhoon reached down and intertwined his fingers with mine...I realized something. Maybe...the reason I'd always loved romance so much...was because one day—without even realizing it—I was going to become the main character of one.
I never expected that one badly kicked football would change my life. Practice had ended a little earlier than usual. Most of the team had already gone back to the locker room, while a few stayed behind to cool down. I decided to sit by the benches for a while.
The weather was nice, the field was quieter than usual.
I took a drink from my tumbler and let my eyes wander across the pitch. That was when I noticed James, he was laughing. Teaching someone how to kick a football, apparently.
Curious, I looked a little longer, it was a girl. She looked...completely hopeless. She'd miss the ball entirely then she'd kick too early, then too late. James looked like he was trying his hardest not to laugh. I couldn't help smiling.
She looked so genuinely determined despite being absolutely terrible at it. It was strangely entertaining. She crossed her arms, said something to James I couldn't hear. He tossed the ball back to her, she took a deep breath and backed away. Then pointed dramatically at the goal like she was about to score the winning shot in a championship match. I chuckled under my breath.
"This should be interesting."
She swung her leg....hard, very hard. The moment her foot connected with the ball...I knew that wasn't going anywhere near the goal. The ball flew in an entirely different direction straight toward the benches, toward...me. "...Huh?" There was a metallic clink. My tumbler slipped from my hand.
A sharp sting spread across the side of my head, for a second, everything went quiet. I rubbed the spot where the ball had hit me before bending down to pick up my fallen tumbler then I looked up. The girl stood frozen in the middle of the field.
Her eyes were so wide I thought they might actually fall out, she looked less like someone who'd just hit me with a football...and more like someone who'd accidentally committed a crime.
I almost laughed. She just...stood there, absolutely horrified. I don't think I've ever seen someone's face cycle through denial, panic, regret, and the five stages of grief that quickly. For a brief second...our eyes met. She somehow looked even more terrified.
I started going towards them. When I was getting closer, now I see her face more clearly. It felt familiar. I wondered where?
Then suddenly something came to my mind, someone had followed me but unfollowed right away. Her username had been stuck to my head, and was curious so I looked through her profile.
It finally clicked. "Oh." "It's her." The girl from that account, the one who accidentally followed me.
I’ve got to learn that she loves reading, especially the romance genre. One afternoon, out of pure curiosity, I searched for one of the books she'd recommended on her highlights. I told myself it was just because I wanted to understand why she liked them so much.
That was all. At least...that's what I kept telling myself. Days later, one of my teammates caught me standing in a bookstore. Romance in hand, he stared then looked at the book then back at me. "...I have never seen you read something like that."
"So why are you buying romance novels?"
I looked down at the cover before smiling to myself. "Because someone I like loves them." He stared at me for a full five seconds. "You're serious." "I am."
Looking back now...I don't think I fell in love because she hit me with a football or because she accidentally followed me or because she loved books. I fell in love with the way she laughed without realizing it. The way she'd overthink every little thing, the way she'd light up whenever she talked about stories she loved. The way she made ordinary days feel a little less ordinary.
People always ask me when I started liking her. I don't know. Love was never one big moment, it was a hundred small ones. A glance, a simple conversation, a shared walk home, a bookstore, a park swing, an ice cream melting faster than either of us could finish it.
I kept thinking love would arrive all at once. It didn't, it arrived little by little. Conversation after conversation, walk after walk, smile after smile.
Until one day...loving her simply felt as natural as breathing.
Funny. She spent years reading romance novels...never realizing that she had quietly become my favorite story of all.
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