✐ᝰ jungwon’s idea of commitment starts and ends with his 9-to-5: deadlines, structure, and way too much overtime. then you show up, and suddenly he’s the one off balance. he’s falling fast, but you’re crushing on someone else—and also, someone keeps stealing his damn parking slot!
pairing: manager!yang jungwon x intern!gn reader (they’re the same age tho!)
genre: social media au, co-workers to lovers (but lowkey e2l too??), fluff, humor, light drama #lovetriangle, sleep-deprived and grumpy x kinda dumb but means well LOL, he fell first AND harder…
warnings: kms/kys & suggestive jokes, d-word mentions, cursing, love triangle wahaha, drinking/smoking, trapped in a room..., everyone is aged up (+2yrs) and likes to bully e/o, jungwon is tired 24/7, y/n is hard-working but also a lil dumb at the same time?, timestamps do nawt matter!!!!
started: august 10, 2025
status: ongoing!
update schedule: twice a week (taglist is open, comment or send an ask to join!)
a/n: flrtwoo comeback LMAO hey guys... pretty excited for this series! got the inspo from my friends and i judging bad parking HAHAHAHA slow updates for this series but i hope u guys still have a fun time! feedback is greatly appreciated hehe hope you have a good day and thank you for reading! <3
(for more updates on the series, please check out the “#r/bp update” tag under my blog)
We can’t comment pictures so im rebloging this because of this new trend on tiktok 😭😭😭 it reminded so bad of Bad Parking!!! This was literally jungwon while y/n was doing heart eyes at heeseung (not really canon bc of the ceo thing but it have to just to fit the pc) 😭😭😭
Pairing: sim Jake x fem!reader, ft. lee heeseung, sungchan of riize
Genre: brother best friend, beach au, fluff, angst
Warnings: angst, suggestive, sungchan is kind of a toxic ex, cheating, alcohol consumption, slut shaming...
Summary: After a tough school year and a heartbreaking breakup, you escape to a beach house with your brother Heeseung and his best friend Jake. Amidst sun-soaked days and ocean waves, you find an unexpected connection with Jake growing stronger. Just as you begin to heal, an unexpected event stirs up unresolved emotions and complicates your summer retreat.
Words count: 9.4K
The feeling of sea salt drying on your skin, the light breeze flowing through your hair, and the hot sand beneath your feet can seem so near yet so far at the same time.
It was your last day of exams before the summer break, and to be honest, some vacation was needed. It's been a tough year, and as intense as it sounds, it's been hard to combine classes with your part-time job. You were working at a coffee shop near the campus, which was exhausting. That's where you met your boyfriend, Sungchan, well... ex-boyfriend.
The break-up was still fresh, so fresh that you had trouble getting used to it, or at least realizing it.
A week ago, when you had to go to your shift – an unscheduled shift, as you had to replace a colleague – you caught your boyfriend hooking up with one of your colleagues in the supply room... very hygienic, by the way…
As luck had decided not to be on your side on this one, and as if you hadn't already had enough, this summer's vacation would be spent with Sungchan. The trip to Greece you'd been looking forward to had fallen through, and so had the money you'd put into it. Neither the ticket nor the hotel was refundable so close to departure. And it was out of the picture to spend time in the presence of your ex, even if the sea at hand would have been a wonderful opportunity to drown him.
As your older brother, Heeseung, noticed that you were feeling down about not having any plans for the summer due to your recent break-up, he came up with an idea. He knew how hard you had worked all year to make the most of your summer, and it was difficult for him to see you feeling that way.
That's why he offered you to spend the vacation with him and his best friend Jake at the beach. His best friend had invited him many times to his family's beach house. So when Heeseung mentioned your situation to him, he immediately asked if you would like to join them.
You were not very well acquainted with Jake, but you truly appreciated this thoughtful gesture. Even if you knew that he probably just did it to help his best friend, or at least to help him get some peace of mind so he could have a blast all summer with him.
After considering it for some time, you concluded that this well-deserved vacation was a great idea. You'll have all the time you need to unwind and put your break-up out of your mind, even if it means sharing the space with your brother and his best friend. While they are out enjoying themselves, whether by getting drunk or getting laid, topics that hold no interest to you.
---
Sitting on your suitcase so that it could close was not a solution, and yet there were plenty of movies where you'd seen people do it. The only way out was to get some stuff out of it, but that was not an option. The number of outfits you had planned for this trip was not negotiable with the size of your suitcase. And that's why you finally decided to add another travel bag
The boys had already arrived at the beach house, it was agreed that you would join them shortly after their arrival. They'd had to go there a few days before because of some big campfire party on the beach or something like that, but to be honest, you hadn't followed it up. You were too busy organizing your bikini collection when Heeseung came to tell you about their supposedly amazing program.
The plan was for you to take the bus-- the perks of being broke --and for Heeseung to pick you up at the nearest bus station. Knowing that the journey was going to take some time, you took along a book, earplugs, and a sleep mask. Not wanting to be disturbed during the nap you were about to take. It had been an emotional week, and you'd lost count of the sleepless nights you'd spent studying or crying over the fact that you'd been cheated on...
The bus ride seemed to stretch endlessly, with the rumble of the engine and the gentle swaying of the vehicle creating a soothing backdrop for some well-deserved rest. As the miles passed by, you found yourself drifting off into a peaceful slumber, finally able to catch up on the sleep that had eluded you for so long.
When you finally arrived at the small coastal town, you were surprised to find that Heeseung was not waiting for you at the station. Instead, you spotted Jake leaning against his car with a relaxed smile, ready to greet you.
You wiped away any trace of surprise from your face to avoid appearing hostile. You grinned back at him as you struggled towards him with your luggage.
Seeing you struggling with your bags, Jake reacted immediately and came to help you by taking both of them off your hands. "Hey! Let me help you with that."
He lifted them with ease, and it was hard not to notice his biceps flexing as he carried them. You thanked him for this gesture and followed him to his car. You couldn't help but notice the sun-kissed glow on his skin, evidence of the few days he had spent outdoors. His arms, displayed in a sleeveless shirt, revealed his noticeable nice tan.
As you gazed at him, you silently thanked yourself for wearing sunglasses. You didn't want to appear too intrusive, but couldn't help but admire him. The way the ocean breeze played with his hair and the sunlight kissed his skin was simply perfect.
"Hope the ride wasn't too rough," Jake said as he loaded your bags into the trunk. "Heeseung got caught up with a bad hangover, so he asked me to pick you up instead."
"Thank you, Jake. It was fine. Just long," you replied, sliding into the passenger seat.
As you both made your way to the beach house, you couldn't help but admire the short yet scenic drive, with the picturesque coastline providing a perfect backdrop. Despite the beautiful view, your mind kept wandering back to Jake. Heeseung's best friend was even more attractive than you could remember, and his easygoing smile made your heart skip a beat.
--
The beach house surpassed all expectations with its charming white-washed walls, expansive windows that flooded the rooms with natural light, and an awe-inspiring panoramic view of the ocean. Upon arrival, Jake graciously assisted you with your luggage and guided you to your beautifully appointed room.
"This is your room. Make yourself at home," he said, opening the door to a cozy room with a large window overlooking the beach. The walls were painted a soft, calming blue, and the bed was piled high with fluffy white pillows and a matching comforter.
"I hope you'll find it comfortable. If you need anything, my room is right next door."
"It’s perfect, thank you," you said, admiring the view of the sun beginning to set over the water.
Jake's warm smile lingered in the doorway as he extended an invitation. "We're having a barbecue tonight. You should join us," he said.
"I'd love that," you replied, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. The idea of spending the evening with Jake and Heeseung sounded wonderful.
As the sun began to set, you changed into a light sundress and joined the group outside. The backyard of the beach house was spacious, with a wooden deck that led down to the sandy beach. String lights were hung around the area, casting a warm, inviting glow. Heeseung, looking a bit worse for wear from his hangover, was manning the grill, while Jake was setting up a bonfire nearby. The sound of laughter and the smell of grilling food filled the air, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a sense of peace.
"Hey, you made it!" Heeseung exclaimed with a wide grin as he caught sight of you. "Feeling better?"
"Much better," you replied, sinking into the chair beside Jake, who handed you a plate of delicious food.
"You look great," Jake remarked, his gaze lingering on the delicate fabric of your sundress before meeting your eyes with a warm smile. "I hope you're hungry. We've got plenty of food."
"I am, actually. Thanks," you said, feeling a pleasant flutter in your stomach at his compliment.
As the evening progressed, you found yourself drawn to Jake's easygoing nature and genuine kindness. The conversation flowed effortlessly between the three of you, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like yourself again.
But beneath the surface, there was a tension brewing, a silent acknowledgment of the forbidden nature of your growing attraction to Jake. Heeseung may have been your brother, but there was an unspoken rule about his best friend being off-limits.
As the night wore on, the deep navy sky was adorned with twinkling stars, creating a mesmerizing spectacle overhead. Despite the enchanting atmosphere, you couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to be closer to Jake. But you pushed those thoughts aside, reminding yourself of the complications that would arise if you were to act on your feelings.
You thought of every shared laugh and exchanged glances, the connection between you two only grew stronger, deepening with every passing moment. And for the first time in days, you went to bed thinking about things other than your breakup.
--
The next morning, the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the faint calls of seagulls served as your natural alarm clock. You stretched languidly in bed, feeling more rested than you had in weeks. The gentle warmth of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, inviting you to start your day.
You took your time getting ready, savoring the peace and quiet. The beach house was still and calm, the boys probably still asleep or nursing their hangovers. After slipping into a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top, you headed downstairs to find some breakfast.
In the kitchen, you found Jake already up, sipping on a cup of coffee and scrolling on his phone. He looked up as you entered, his face breaking into a smile.
"Morning," he greeted, setting his mug down. "I made some coffee. Want some?"
"Yes, please," you replied, returning his smile. "Thanks."
He poured you a cup and handed it to you. "How'd you sleep?"
"Better than I have in a long time," you admitted, taking a sip of the rich, aromatic coffee. "This place is amazing."
"I'm glad you're enjoying it," he said, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "We were worried you might find it a bit overwhelming, especially after everything you've been through."
You appreciated his concern but shook your head. "No, this is exactly what I needed. Thank you for inviting me."
Jake shrugged modestly. "It was the least we could do."
You both fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying your coffee and the tranquil morning atmosphere. Heeseung stumbled wearily into the kitchen, with his tousled hair and bleary eyes. Despite his fatigue, he wore a warm smile.
"Morning, sunshine," you teased, watching as he squinted at the bright light streaming in through the windows.
"Ugh, morning," he grumbled, reaching for a cup of coffee. "What are you guys up to today?"
"I was thinking of going for a swim," Jake said, glancing at you. "You up for it?"
"Absolutely," you replied, feeling a thrill of excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him.
--
The water was refreshingly cool against your skin as you waded into the ocean. Jake was already out further, diving into the waves with ease. Heeseung had chosen to remain at the house, still recovering from his rough night and promising to join you later.
You took a deep breath and dove under the crystal-clear water, feeling the stress of the past few weeks melt away. When you resurfaced, Jake was gracefully swimming towards you, his radiant smile contrasting against the dazzling backdrop of the sparkling sea.
"This is perfect," you said, floating on your back and looking up at the clear blue sky.
"Yeah, it is," Jake agreed, floating beside you. "I'm glad you came here."
You turned your head to look at him, feeling a rush of affection for the boy who had shown you such kindness. "Me too."
For a while, you both just floated there, enjoying the serenity of the moment. Then, Jake's playful side emerged as he splashed you with water, making you laugh.
"Hey!" you protested, splashing him back.
A water fight ensued, full of laughter and playful shouts. It was a liberating feeling, letting go of your worries and just having fun. After a while, you both retreated to the shore, exhausted but happy.
You collapsed onto the sand, catching your breath. Jake sat beside you, his damp hair glistening in the sunlight.
"Thanks for that," you said, looking over at him. "I haven't had that much fun in ages."
"Anytime," he replied, his gaze meeting yours. There was a moment of silence, the air between you charged with unspoken feelings.
Before you could say anything, Heeseung appeared on the deck, waving you both over. "Lunch is ready!"
Reluctantly, you got up and followed Jake back to the house. The rest of the day passed in a blur of delicious food, beach games, and laughter. However, as the sun began to set, you found yourself drawn to Jake once more.
--
That evening, as the sky turned shades of orange and pink, you found yourself sitting on the beach with Jake. Heeseung had retired early, leaving the two of you alone.
"Tell me something about you I don't know," Jake said suddenly, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
You thought for a moment. "I used to want to be a marine biologist when I was a kid," you confessed. "I loved the ocean and everything in it."
Jake smiled. "I can see that. You seem so at peace here."
"Yeah," you agreed, feeling a pang of nostalgia. "What about you? Any childhood dreams?"
"I wanted to be a pilot," he said with a chuckle. "Flying seemed like the ultimate freedom."
"Do you still want that?" you asked, curious.
"Not really," he admitted. "I've found other passions."
"Like what?"
"Like music," he said, surprising you. "I love playing the guitar. It’s become a big part of who I am."
"I had no idea," you said, genuinely intrigued. "You'll have to play for me sometime."
"I'd like that," he said, his eyes meeting yours. There was a warmth in his gaze that made your heart race.
The moment stretched out, filled with possibilities. You wanted to lean in, to close the distance between you. But the fear of what it might mean held you back.
Instead, you just smiled at him, "It's getting late. We should probably head back."
Jake nodded, though a subtle flicker of disappointment crossed his face. "Yeah, you're right."
As you walked back to the house, the tension between you remained, simmering just below the surface. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to wonder what it would be like to give in to that tension, to see where it might lead.
--
The days at the beach house began to blend in a blissful routine. Mornings started with coffee and easy conversation with Jake, followed by long, lazy afternoons spent on the beach. Heeseung often joined you two, but there were moments when it was just you and Jake, and those were the times you cherished the most.
One evening, after another barbecue dinner, Jake suggested a walk along the beach. The air was cool and refreshing, and the moon cast a silver glow over the water.
You walked in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the gentle crash of waves and the occasional call of a seagull.
"Can I ask you something?" Jake's voice broke the silence, his tone tentative.
"Of course," you replied, curious.
"How are you really doing? With everything that's happened... with Sungchan," he said, his eyes searching yours.
You sighed, looking out at the ocean. "It's been tough. I thought I was over it, but being here, away from everything, has made me realize how much it still hurts."
Jake nodded, his expression sympathetic. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. You deserve so much better."
"Thanks, Jake," you said softly, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "It's getting easier, though. Being here helps. You and Heeseung have made it better."
"I'm glad we could help," he said, his voice sincere.
You continued walking, your hands brushing occasionally as you walked close together. Each touch sent a spark of electricity through you, and you couldn't deny the growing attraction you felt for Jake. But you also knew that pursuing anything with him could complicate things, especially with Heeseung being your brother.
--
Later that night, after the walk, everyone decided to sit on the deck and have a few drinks. The sound of laughter filled the air as they shared stories and reminisced about old times. The stars overhead twinkled brightly, creating a perfect backdrop for the evening.
After several drinks, you felt the alcohol coursing through your veins, making you bolder and more carefree. Heeseung had already stumbled off to bed, leaving you and Jake alone under the stars.
After a short while, Jake noticed you yawning and realized it was time to tuck you into bed.
"Jake..." you slurred slightly as you made your way through the room, leaning closer to him. "You told me that if I needed anything, your room was next door. Do you remember?"
"Yes, of course, Y/N," Jake replied, his brow furrowing with concern. "What do you need?"
You looked at him, your eyes filled with a mix of longing and desperation. "I need you."
Jake's eyes widened, and he took a step back, his face conflicted. "Y/N, you're drunk. I can't—"
"Please," you whispered, reaching out to touch his arm. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
Jake gently took your hand, his expression pained. "I can't, Y/N. Not like this. You're not thinking clearly, and I don't want to do anything we'll regret."
Tears filled your eyes as you nodded, understanding his reluctance. "Okay," you whispered, pulling your hand away. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," he said gently, his voice filled with concern. "Let's get you to bed, okay?"
He kindly ushered you through your room, making sure you were comfortable before he left. Ensuring that you were settled in before bidding you goodnight. As you lay in bed, the events of the night unfolded in your mind like a vivid movie, and you found yourself experiencing a complex blend of embarrassment and relief.
Jake had done the right thing, even though it stung in the moment. You knew that you needed to sort out your feelings and find a way to move forward without the haze of alcohol clouding your judgment. And as you drifted off to sleep, you resolved to face your emotions head-on, knowing that Jake would be there to support you, no matter what.
--
The next morning, you woke up with a slight headache, the events of the previous night replaying in your mind. You cringed at the memory of your drunken confession to Jake and wondered how you would face him. Taking a deep breath, you got out of bed and made your way to the kitchen, hoping a strong cup of coffee would help you feel more human.
When you entered the kitchen, you found Jake already there, making breakfast. He looked up and smiled warmly at you. "Morning. How are you feeling?"
You managed a small smile in return. "A bit hungover, but I'll survive. Thanks for helping me last night."
Jake poured you a cup of coffee and handed it to you. "No problem. How about some breakfast? Might help with the hangover."
You nodded, grateful for his kindness. As you sat down, you couldn't help but notice the way he moved around the kitchen with ease, his presence comforting.
After a few moments of silence, you decided to address the elephant in the room. "Jake, about last night... I'm sorry if I made things awkward."
Jake sat down across from you, his expression gentle. "You don't need to apologize, Y/N. I understand. You were vulnerable, and the alcohol didn't help. But I'm glad we didn't do anything we might regret."
You nodded, appreciating his honesty. "Thank you for that. I guess I was just feeling a bit lost."
"It's understandable," he said, reaching out to squeeze your hand briefly. "But we're here for you. And I'm here for you, as your friend."
His words brought a sense of comfort, and you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. "Thanks, Jake. I appreciate it."
The rest of the day was spent in a relaxed manner, with you, Jake and Heeseung enjoying the beach and each other's company. The awkwardness from the previous night slowly faded away, replaced by a renewed sense of camaraderie.
One evening, a few days later, you found yourself sitting on the beach alone, watching the sunset. The colors were breathtaking, and the gentle sound of the waves provided a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. You had been reflecting on your time at the beach house, the moments shared with Jake, and how much you had grown to care for him.
As if on cue, Jake appeared beside you, sitting down on the sand. "Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all," you replied, smiling at him.
You both sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Finally, Jake broke the silence. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said the other night."
You turned to look at him, your heart beating a little faster. "You have?"
He nodded, his gaze steady. "Yeah. And I want you to know that my feelings for you haven't changed. I care about you, Y/N, more than just as Heeseung's sister."
Your breath caught in your throat. "Jake..."
Before you could respond, a voice interrupted the moment. "Y/N?"
You turned to see Sungchan standing a few feet away, looking awkward and out of place. "Sungchan? What are you doing here?"
"I came to talk to you," he said, his eyes darting between you and Jake. "I realized I made a huge mistake, and I want to make things right."
Jake tensed beside you, his jaw clenched. "I don't think now is the time, Sungchan." You answered.
Sungchan ignored him, focusing on you. "Please, Y/N. I know I messed up, but I still love you. Can we at least talk?"
You felt a wave of conflicting emotions. Part of you wanted to tell him to leave, but another part of you felt a need to get closure. "Fine. Let's talk, but not here. Jake, I'll be back soon."
Jake's eyes softened as he nodded, though you noticed a flicker of frustration in his expression. "Okay. I'll be here if you need me."
You walked a short distance away with Sungchan, just far enough to have a private conversation. "What do you want to say, Sungchan?"
He took a deep breath, his eyes filled with regret. "I know I hurt you, and I'm so sorry. I was an idiot, and I don't expect you to forgive me right away, but I want to try and make things right. I miss you."
You shook your head, feeling a mix of anger and sadness. "Sungchan, you cheated on me. You broke my trust, and that's not something you can just fix with an apology."
"I know," he said, his voice cracking. "But I want to try. Please, Y/N."
You looked back towards Jake, who was watching you from a distance, his expression unreadable. Turning back to Sungchan, you sighed. "I don't know, Sungchan. You've hurt me so much. Being here has helped me start to heal, and I don’t want to lose that progress."
"I understand," he said, his shoulders slumping. "But I love you, Y/N. I do. I was a fool, and I want to prove that I can change."
You felt a pang of confusion and hesitation. You had loved Sungchan deeply, and part of you still did. But the betrayal was a wound that hadn't fully healed. "I need time, Sungchan. I can't just jump back into things."
He nodded slowly. "I'll give you time. But please, think about it."
You watched him walk away, feeling a strange sense of relief mixed with uncertainty. Returning to Jake, you sat back down beside him, the weight of the conversation heavy on your shoulders.
"Are you okay?" Jake asked, his voice filled with concern.
"I don't know," you replied honestly. "Sungchan wants to make things right, and part of me still cares about him. But I don’t know if I can ever trust him again."
Jake's jaw tightened, and you saw a flash of jealousy in his eyes. "He hurt you, Y/N. Don't forget that."
You sighed, leaning into him for support. "I know. It's just... complicated."
Jake wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. "It's okay to be confused. Take the time you need to figure things out."
You appreciated Jake's comforting presence and the warmth of his embrace. The waves continued their rhythmic dance, and the stars began to twinkle above, casting a serene glow on the beach. The complexities of your feelings for Sungchan and Jake weighed heavily on your mind, but you knew that rushing into any decision wouldn't be wise. For now, you decided to enjoy the tranquility of the moment, enveloped in Jake's comforting presence.
–--
The next morning, you woke up with a renewed sense of clarity. You decided that while Sungchan deserved a chance to explain himself, you needed to focus on your own healing first. You couldn't rush back into a relationship that had caused you so much pain without giving yourself the time to fully understand your own feelings.
You took a deep breath and stepped out onto the deck, the salty breeze playing with your hair and the sound of waves crashing against the shore providing a soothing background. Heeseung and Jake were already there, chatting and enjoying their morning coffee. The sight of Jake made your heart flutter, but you reminded yourself to stay focused on your own well-being.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Heeseung greeted with a grin. "We were starting to think you'd never wake up."
"Good morning," you replied, smiling as you grabbed a cup of coffee and joined them. "I just needed a little extra sleep."
Jake's eyes met yours, a spark of warmth and something deeper lingering in his gaze. "Sleep is important. You deserve all the rest you need."
You felt a rush of gratitude for his support. Despite the complicated emotions swirling within you, you felt a sense of peace being there, surrounded by the calming waves and the company of people who genuinely cared about you.
The day was spent enjoying the simple pleasures of the beach. You, Heeseung, and Jake walked along the shoreline, the sand warm beneath your feet and the ocean breeze tangling in your hair. The rhythmic sound of the waves provided a soothing backdrop as you explored the coast, collecting seashells and marveling at the intricate patterns etched into each one.
Jake found a particularly beautiful shell, its surface iridescent and shimmering in the sunlight. He handed it to you with a soft smile. "This one's for you. It reminds me of you – beautiful and unique."
You blushed, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thank you, Jake. It's lovely."
Heeseung interrupted the moment with a playful shout. "Hey, look at this one!" He held up a large, conch-shaped shell and blew into it, producing a surprisingly loud sound. You and Jake burst into laughter, the sound mingling with the crashing waves.
As you continued walking, the three of you came across a smooth stretch of beach perfect for skipping stones. Heeseung, ever the competitive one, challenged you and Jake to see who could skip a stone the farthest.
"I used to be the champion of skipping stones," Heeseung declared with a grin, selecting a flat stone and expertly sending it skimming across the water's surface.
"Challenge accepted," Jake replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He picked up a stone, giving you a quick, encouraging glance before sending it flying with a flick of his wrist. The stone bounced across the water, outdistancing Heeseung's.
"Not bad," you said, smiling at Jake. You chose a stone and took your turn, but it only skipped a couple of times before sinking. "Okay, maybe I need a bit more practice."
Jake laughed and moved closer to you, his hand brushing against yours as he handed you another stone. "Here, let me show you."
You felt a jolt of electricity at his touch, your heart racing as he positioned himself behind you, his arms guiding yours in the correct motion. "Just like this," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. Together, you sent the stone skipping across the water, this time managing several bounces before it sank.
"Much better," Jake said, his voice filled with pride.
You turned to face him, your heart pounding. His eyes lingered on yours, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. The connection between you was undeniable, and it left you both exhilarated and terrified.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the heat became more intense, and you decided to take a swim. The water was refreshingly cool against your sun-warmed skin, and you relished the feeling of weightlessness as you floated on your back, staring up at the clear blue sky.
Jake swam over to you, his presence both comforting and electrifying. The way the sunlight danced on the surface of the water reflected in his eyes, making them appear even more captivating.
"This feels good," you said, smiling at him, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.
"Yeah, it does," he replied, his voice soft. "Being here with you makes it even better."
Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you felt a rush of emotions. You were acutely aware of his proximity, the water doing little to diminish the heat between you. But before you could respond, Heeseung called out from the shore, waving you over to join him for a game of beach volleyball.
Reluctantly, you and Jake swam back to the shore. As you reached the shallows, Jake offered you his hand to help you out of the water. You hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it, feeling the strength and warmth of his grip as he pulled you up.
"Let's show Heeseung what we've got," Jake said with a wink, his playful confidence infectious.
The three of you set up a makeshift volleyball court using driftwood and an old fishing net Heeseung had found. The game was filled with laughter and friendly banter, the competitive spirit between you all making it even more enjoyable.
Despite your best efforts, Heeseung's volleyball skills were impressive, and he quickly took the lead. Jake, however, was determined not to let him win without a fight. He dove for the ball with impressive agility, his athleticism on full display.
At one point, Jake managed a spectacular save, sending the ball soaring back over the net. He landed in the sand beside you, grinning up at you as he caught his breath. "Not bad, huh?"
"Show-off," you teased, unable to keep the admiration out of your voice.
As the game continued, you found yourself growing more comfortable, the tension between you and Jake easing into a natural rhythm. The playful competition brought out the best in all of you, and for a while, you were able to forget the complexities of your emotions and just enjoy the moment.
By the time you all collapsed onto the sand, sweaty and out of breath, the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon. Heeseung declared himself the winner with a triumphant grin, while you and Jake laughed and applauded his victory.
"Okay, okay, you win," Jake conceded, still smiling. "But next time, we'll be ready for you."
Heeseung laughed, patting Jake on the back. "We'll see about that. Good game, guys."
As you lay on the sand, watching the sky change colors, Jake turned to you with a thoughtful expression. "Thanks for today, Y/N. It was fun."
You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the sun. "Yeah, it was. I'm glad we did this."
Jake's eyes lingered on yours, and for a moment, you felt that familiar spark between you. But before either of you could say anything, Heeseung called out, suggesting you head back to the house for dinner.
You got up, brushing the sand off your legs and following Heeseung. Jake walked beside you, his shoulder occasionally bumping against yours in a way that felt both accidental and deliberate. Each touch sent a thrill through you, and you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to close the distance between you and let yourself fall into his embrace.
Dinner was a casual affair, with Heeseung manning the grill and Jake helping to prepare the sides. You set the table on the deck, the warm evening air filled with the scent of grilling meat and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.
As you all sat down to eat, the conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and stories from the day. Jake's hand brushed against yours under the table, and you felt a rush of heat at the contact. He didn't pull away, his fingers lingering against yours in a way that felt both comforting and tantalizing.
After dinner, you all decided to take a walk along the beach. The moon had risen, casting a silvery glow over the water and turning the sand into a sparkling carpet. You walked between Jake and Heeseung, the three of you talking and laughing, the day's events still fresh in your minds.
At one point, Heeseung stopped to examine a particularly interesting shell, giving you and Jake a moment of privacy. You turned to Jake, your heart racing as you met his gaze.
"Today was amazing," you said softly, feeling the intensity of his stare.
"It was," he agreed, his voice low. "I wish every day could be like this."
You felt a pang of longing at his words, the same longing reflected in his eyes. Before you could respond, Heeseung called out, showing you the shell he'd found. The moment was broken, but the connection between you and Jake remained, a silent promise of what could be.
That night, as you lay in bed, you replayed the events of the day in your mind. The way Jake's eyes lingered on you, the feel of his hand brushing against yours, the electric charge of his touch. You couldn't deny the growing attraction between you, but you also knew that you needed time to sort out your feelings.
You drifted off to sleep with thoughts of Jake, the warmth of his presence a comforting balm to your soul. For the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of hope, a belief that things could get better.
–
The next morning, you woke up with a mix of determination and dread. You had agreed to meet Sungchan today to discuss what had happened, but the thought of facing him made your stomach churn. You knew it was necessary to get closure and to move on, but it didn't make it any easier.
As you stepped out onto the deck, you found Jake and Heeseung already there, enjoying their morning coffee. The sight of Jake brought a sense of comfort, but also a flutter of nerves. He looked up, his eyes filled with concern as he noticed the tension in your expression.
"Morning," Jake said softly, his gaze lingering on you.
"Morning," you replied, forcing a smile. "I'm meeting Sungchan today."
Jake's jaw tightened slightly, a flicker of jealousy crossing his eyes. "Do you want me to come with you?"
You shook your head, appreciating the offer but knowing you needed to face this on your own. "Thanks, Jake. But I think I need to do this by myself."
He nodded, his expression softening. "Just know that I'm here if you need me."
With a deep breath, you left the beach house and headed to the café where you had agreed to meet Sungchan. The walk seemed to take forever, each step weighed down by the impending confrontation. When you arrived, you saw Sungchan sitting at a table, looking uncomfortable and out of place.
"Y/N," he greeted, standing up as you approached. "Thanks for coming."
"Let's get this over with," you said, taking a seat across from him.
For a moment, there was an awkward silence. Sungchan fidgeted with his cup, avoiding your gaze. Finally, he spoke. "I know I messed up, Y/N. And I'm really sorry. I want to make things right."
You sighed, feeling the weight of his words but also the anger and hurt they couldn't erase. "Sungchan, you cheated on me. You broke my trust. I'm not sure there's any way to make that right."
He looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and something darker. "I know I made a mistake, but it feels like you've moved on pretty quickly. I saw how you were acting with Jake."
His words stung, the accusation laced with jealousy and bitterness. "Jake has been a good friend to me, that's all."
Sungchan's expression hardened. "Really? Because it sure looked like more than that. You were practically throwing yourself at him. It's like you couldn't wait to get over me."
Anger flared in your chest. "That's not fair, Sungchan. You don't get to judge how I handle my feelings after what you did."
He leaned forward, his voice low and harsh. "Maybe if you hadn't been so easy to replace, I wouldn't have looked elsewhere."
The words hit you like a slap, leaving you breathless with shock and hurt. "How dare you."
"Just calling it like I see it," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "You were all over Jake. Maybe you were just looking for an excuse."
Tears filled your eyes, the pain of his words cutting deep. "I don't have to listen to this." You stood up abruptly, knocking over your chair in your haste to leave.
"You know I'm right," he called after you, but you didn't look back.
You walked back to the beach house, tears streaming down your face. You tried to compose yourself before you arrived, but the emotions were too overwhelming. As you reached the door, you quickly wiped your eyes, hoping no one would notice. But as you stepped inside, Jake was there, his eyes immediately locking onto yours.
"Y/N, what happened?" he asked, concern etched across his face.
You shook your head, trying to hide your tears. "It's nothing. I'm fine."
But Jake wasn't convinced. He gently took your arm, guiding you to your room. "Come on, let's talk."
Once inside, you broke down, the weight of Sungchan's words finally crashing down on you. Jake held you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.
"He said such awful things," you sobbed. "He made me feel like it was my fault, like I was the one who did something wrong."
Jake pulled back slightly, his eyes filled with anger and tenderness. "None of this is your fault, Y/N. Sungchan is just trying to manipulate you. You're amazing, and you deserve so much better than him."
You looked up at Jake, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. He gently wiped away your tears, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "Thank you, Jake."
He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. "I care about you, Y/N. More than you know."
The intensity of his gaze took your breath away. Before you could overthink it, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was filled with all the emotions you had been holding back – the pain, the longing, the desire.
Jake responded instantly, his arms tightening around you as he deepened the kiss. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of shared passion and comfort.
As the kiss ended, Jake pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Are you okay?" he whispered.
You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I am now."
Jake smiled back, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
You spent the rest of the evening together, talking and holding each other, the connection between you growing stronger with every passing moment. For the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of hope and happiness, knowing that you were finally moving forward with someone who truly cared about you.
The next morning, you woke up wrapped in Jake's arms. The warmth and comfort of his presence made it hard to get up, but the sunlight streaming through the window signaled the start of a new day. You gently extricated yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him, and headed to the bathroom to freshen up.
As you looked at your reflection, the events of the previous day replayed in your mind. Sungchan's harsh words still stung, but Jake's comfort and support had made all the difference. You knew you were on the path to healing, and you were grateful for Jake's presence in your life.
After getting dressed, you went to the kitchen to make breakfast. The smell of coffee and pancakes soon filled the air, and you heard Jake stirring in the other room. Heeseung joined you shortly after, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Morning, sis," Heeseung greeted with a yawn. "What's for breakfast?"
"Pancakes!" you replied, setting a plate in front of him.
"Smells amazing," Heeseung said, digging in with enthusiasm.
Jake appeared moments later, his hair tousled and a sleepy smile on his face. "Good morning," he said, his eyes lighting up when he saw you.
"Good morning," you replied, feeling a flutter in your chest at the sight of him. "Breakfast is ready."
The three of you sat down to eat, the atmosphere relaxed and filled with easy conversation. Despite the lingering tension from the previous day's confrontation with Sungchan, you felt a sense of peace and normalcy returning.
After breakfast, you decided to spend the day at the beach. The sun was shining, and the water looked inviting. Heeseung suggested a new friendly competition of beach volleyball, and you eagerly agreed, excited for the distraction and for the volleyball revenge.
As you set up the net, Jake walked over to you, his expression serious. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours.
You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "I'm okay, Jake. Yesterday was tough, but I'm feeling better today. Thanks to you."
Jake's expression softened, and he reached out to gently squeeze your hand. "I'm here for you, Y/N. Always."
The game of volleyball was just what you needed. You, Jake, and Heeseung played with enthusiasm, the friendly competition lifting your spirits. The laughter and playful banter helped you forget about Sungchan and focus on the present moment.
---
As the sun began to set, you all decided to build a bonfire. The glow of the flames cast a warm light on your faces as you roasted marshmallows and shared stories. Jake sat next to you, his arm casually draped around your shoulders, a silent reassurance of his support.
Heeseung went inside to grab more marshmallows, leaving you and Jake alone by the fire. The crackling flames and the distant sound of the waves created an intimate atmosphere.
"Jake," you began, turning to face him. "I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. You've been amazing."
Jake smiled, his eyes reflecting the firelight. "You don't have to thank me, Y/N. I care about you, and I want to be here for you."
You felt a surge of emotion at his words, and before you knew it, you were leaning in to kiss him. The kiss was gentle at first, but it quickly deepened as you both gave in to the passion that had been building between you.
When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless. Jake's eyes were filled with intensity, and he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "I've wanted to do it again for so long," he admitted, his voice husky.
"Me too," you whispered, feeling a mix of excitement and vulnerability.
Jake leaned in to kiss you again, and this time, there was no holding back. The connection between you was undeniable, and you both knew that this was just the beginning of something special.
---
The next few days were filled with moments of closeness and shared affection. You and Jake spent your mornings walking along the beach, your afternoons swimming and lounging in the sun, and your evenings sharing stories and laughter around the bonfire. The bond between you grew stronger with each passing day, and you felt a sense of happiness and contentment that you hadn't felt in a long time.
One evening, as the sun set in a blaze of colors, Jake took your hand and led you down to the water's edge. The gentle waves lapped at your feet as you walked along the shore, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange.
"Y/N," Jake said, his voice soft. "I've been thinking a lot about us. About what happens when we leave here."
You felt a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving the beach house and returning to reality. "Yeah, me too."
"I don't want this to end," Jake continued, his eyes filled with sincerity. "I know things will be different when we go back, but I want to be with you. I want to make this work."
Your heart swelled with emotion at his words. "I want that too, Jake. More than anything."
He smiled, his eyes shining with happiness. "Then let's do it. Let's make this work, no matter what."
You nodded, feeling a sense of determination and hope. "Yes, let's. do it"
Jake pulled you into a tight embrace, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was filled with promise and love. As you stood there, wrapped in his arms, you knew that this was just the beginning of your journey together.
---
The last night at the beach house was bittersweet. You, Jake, and Heeseung sat around the bonfire, reminiscing about the past weeks and making plans for the future. There was a sense of finality in the air, but also a feeling of excitement for what lay ahead.
As the fire burned low, Heeseung excused himself to go to bed, leaving you and Jake alone. You turned to him, your heart heavy with the knowledge that this was your last night at the beach house.
"I'm going to miss this place," you said softly, looking around at the familiar surroundings.
"Me too," Jake replied, his voice filled with emotion. "But we'll always have these memories. And we'll make new ones."
You smiled, feeling a sense of comfort in his words. "Yeah, we will."
Jake leaned in to kiss you, and you melted into his embrace, savoring the feeling of his lips against yours. The kiss started slow, gentle, but quickly deepened, becoming more urgent as if he was trying to convey all the emotions he had been holding back. His hands cupped your face, his touch tender yet firm, and you could feel the warmth of his palms against your skin.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the heat radiating from his body. The world around you seemed to blur and fade away, leaving only the two of you, tangled in each other. Jake's hands moved from your face to your waist, his fingers tracing soft patterns along your skin, sending shivers down your spine.
As the kiss grew more passionate, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins. Your hands roamed over Jake's back, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt, and you could sense his breath hitch as your touch grew bolder. The taste of him, the feel of his lips moving against yours, was intoxicating, making you dizzy with longing.
He captured your lips again, his kiss more demanding, and you responded with equal fervor. You could feel the hunger in his touch, the way his hands roamed over your body, exploring, claiming. His fingers found the hem of your shirt, and with a gentle tug, he lifted it over your head, leaving you exposed to the cool night air.
Jake's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his gaze filled with admiration and desire. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his hands trailing down your sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
You felt a flush spread across your cheeks at his words, but there was no time for embarrassment. You reached for his shirt, pulling it off in one swift motion, your fingers grazing the smooth skin of his chest. The feel of his bare skin against yours was electrifying, and you couldn't help but gasp as his hands found their way to your back, pulling you even closer.
The night air was filled with the sound of your mingled breaths and the gentle crash of the waves in the distance. Every touch, every kiss, seemed to heighten your senses, making you acutely aware of every movement, every sensation.
Jake's lips left yours to trail kisses along your jaw, down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You tilted your head back, giving him better access, and he took full advantage, his mouth leaving a path of burning kisses down to your collarbone.
As the night wore on, the connection between you and Jake grew stronger, the bond forged in shared desire and deep emotion. Every kiss, every touch, seemed to bring you closer together, weaving an unbreakable thread between your hearts.
You lost track of time, lost in the pleasure of each other's embrace, the world outside forgotten. The stars wheeled overhead, a silent witness to the love and passion unfolding beneath them.
As you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. The feelings and connection between you were strong enough to withstand anything, and you felt a deep sense of contentment knowing that this was just the start of your journey together.
The night might have been filled with passion and desire, but it was the trust that you shared that truly made it special. As you drifted off to sleep, you felt a sense of hope and happiness that you hadn't felt in a long time, knowing that with Jake by your side, you'll be safe.
---
The next morning, you packed your bags with a mix of sadness and anticipation. The beach house, with all its memories and moments of closeness with Jake, had become a sanctuary, a place where you had found healing and hope. Leaving it behind was bittersweet, but you knew you were also embarking on a new chapter with Jake, and that brought a thrill of excitement.
Jake helped you with your bags, his touch gentle and reassuring. As you both loaded the car, Heeseung appeared, his usual playful grin in place. "Well, it’s been an amazing summer, hasn't it?"
"It really has," you agreed, glancing at Jake, who gave you a warm smile in return.
Heeseung pulled you into a quick hug, then turned to Jake with a knowing look. "Take care of my sister, alright? I might be her older brother, but I’m not that oblivious or blind."
You felt your cheeks flush, realizing what he was implying. "Heeseung, we—"
He held up a hand, cutting you off with a laugh. "No need to explain. I just wanted to let you know that I'm not as oblivious as you might think. I don't usually take that many naps.”
Heeseung gave you both a warm smile, his playful demeanor softening. "Seriously though, take care of each other."
Jake laughed, clapping Heeseung on the back. "I will. Thanks for everything, man."
"Yeah, yeah," Heeseung said with a wink, his finger pointed like a gun in Jake's direction. "Just remember, I know where you live."
You rolled your eyes, feeling a mix of embarrassment and affection for your brother. "Alright, enough with the threats."
With one last look at the beach house, you climbed into the car. The drive back to campus was filled with laughter and shared memories. Jake recounted funny moments from the summer, making you laugh until your sides hurt. The bond between you felt stronger than ever, fortified by the time you had spent together and the experiences you had shared.
As you drove, the scenery changed from the serene coastal views to the bustling streets near your campus. The familiar sights brought a pang of nostalgia for the summer you were leaving behind, but they also stirred a sense of excitement for the future. You glanced at Jake, feeling grateful for his presence and the promise of what lay ahead.
When you finally arrived back at the campus, Jake parked the car and turned to you, his eyes filled with love. "Welcome back," he said softly, leaning in to kiss you.
"Thank you," you replied, your heart swelling with happiness. The kiss was sweet and tender, a preview of all the good things to come.
As you stepped out of the car and looked around, you saw your friends and classmates, their faces filled with curiosity and excitement. Some waved, while others approached to greet you. It felt strange and yet comforting to be back in the familiar surroundings of your campus.
One of your closest friends, Karina, hurried over, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Y/N! You're back! And... Jake?" Her gaze shifted between the two of you, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "So, what’s the story here?"
You exchanged a glance with Jake, who squeezed your hand reassuringly. "It’s a long story," you said, smiling. "But the short version is that Jake and I are together now."
Karina's smile widened. "I knew something was up when you kept mentioning him in your texts. I'm so happy for you!"
As more friends gathered around, you felt a sense of warmth and belonging. Everyone was eager to hear about your summer, and you and Jake shared stories, each one bringing laughter and excitement.
Throughout the day, Jake stayed by your side, his presence a constant source of comfort and joy. The transition from the serene beach house to the lively campus was made easier by his support and the love that had blossomed between you.
As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the campus, you and Jake found a quiet spot under a large oak tree. You sat together, his arm around you, watching as students milled about, catching up with friends and preparing for the new semester.
"I can't believe summer is over," you said softly, leaning into Jake.
"It might be over, but this is just the beginning for us," Jake replied, his voice filled with conviction. "We have so much to look forward to."
You nodded, feeling a sense of contentment and excitement. "I know. And I'm ready for whatever comes next, as long as we're together."
Jake pressed a kiss to your temple. "We will be."
The evening air was cool and refreshing, and you felt a deep sense of peace as you sat there with Jake. The challenges of the past were behind you, and the future was filled with endless possibilities. You knew that there would be ups and downs, but with Jake by your side, you felt ready to face anything.
As the campus lights flickered on, casting a warm glow over the grounds, you realized that this place, with all its memories and promises, was where your new journey with Jake would truly begin. And you couldn't wait to see what the future holds.
Genre: angst, slow burn, unrequired love, subtle fluff, 60s, apparition of Wonyoung and Heeseung, Flipped inspired
Warnings: emotional neglect, subtle classism/social rejection, passive exclusion, mention of family expectations and internalized shame
Summary: you were always just the girl across the street, sweet, simple, and never quite enough. For Sunghoon, you were always there, and that was the problem. But time has a way of shifting things: admiration fades, people change, and when he finally looks at you again… it might be too late.
WC: 6k
A/N: I worked on this being inspired by the movie Flipped because I really like it, and i thought it could be a great dynamic
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You had always been told that first impressions matter, but somehow, the first time you saw him, it didn’t matter at all.
Sunghoon was a stranger to you then, just another face among many in the neighborhood. But it didn’t take long for your life to be entwined with his.
The first time he moved into the house across the street, you couldn’t help but watch. The sound of moving boxes and the rustling of plastic seemed to pull your attention in, and though you tried to look away, your eyes were drawn to the way his figure moved — with a quiet grace, like everything he did was deliberate. He wasn’t like the other kids in your neighborhood, who yelled and ran around carelessly. No, Sunghoon carried a kind of calm that made you feel like an intruder simply by observing him.
It wasn’t a special day. It wasn’t the kind of moment that would be written down in a diary or remembered for years. But it was in its own small way, the beginning of something that would change everything.
He had walked to the front door, looking back at his parents and when he turned, his eyes had met yours for the briefest moment. A slight tilt of his head, a flicker of recognition — as if he too, had noticed you standing there. You weren’t sure why, but something inside you stirred.
The days that followed were filled with subtle moments, like the way his presence could be felt before he was seen, or how you could sense his movements through the sound of footsteps, a breeze in the air. He wasn’t loud but he was always there, always close enough to catch a glimpse of, if you tried hard enough.
The first time you actually spoke to him, it wasn’t like you imagined. There was no grand opening or carefully planned approach. It was a simple mistake. You were walking to school, your backpack bouncing with each step, when you tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. It wasn’t a big fall, but it was enough to make you feel foolish. And there in that instant, you had been pulled to your feet by a hand you hadn’t expected.
“Are you okay?” The voice was soft, with a faint edge of concern.
It took a moment for you to gather yourself, to blink away the embarrassment. Sunghoon was standing there, eyes focused on you, his hand still hovering, waiting for you to take it. And you did. Without thinking. His touch was gentle, like everything else about him, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause.
“Yeah,” you muttered, suddenly feeling awkward. “Thanks.”
He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Be careful next time.”
That was it. No grand revelation, no heart-pounding confession. Just a simple, quiet moment. But it stayed with you, lingering in the back of your mind.
From then on, you began to notice him more. The way he moved through the world so calmly, so quietly, like he was waiting for something — or perhaps avoiding it.
You saw him at the local park sitting on the swings, his eyes focused somewhere far away.
You saw him at the ice cream truck, paying for a cone without speaking much, offering a polite smile to the vendor.
He was polite, always polite, but there was a distance about him that kept you from truly getting to know him.
At first, you didn’t think much about it. You told yourself it was just another boy, just another neighbor. But as time passed, you started to wonder about him. You started to wonder about the way his eyes would sometimes catch yours across the street, the way he always seemed to be looking at something you couldn’t see.
It wasn’t that you were drawn to him — not yet, anyway. It was just curiosity. He was different, that was all. A mystery waiting to be solved.
The seasons had passed quietly, and the world had grown around you without warning. Middle school had crept in with its awkwardness, and with it came distance — not the physical kind, but the type that forms without anyone noticing.
Your fascination with him had deepened before you even realized it. The simple, quiet boy from across the street had become a figure etched into your daily life, a rhythm you couldn’t unlearn. You had been seen waiting for him sometimes.
Not deliberately — just standing on your porch a little longer, pretending to adjust your backpack while hoping he’d come outside. Some days he did. Most days he didn’t.
And when he did, you were never really spoken to.
If he noticed your presence, nothing was ever said about it. But a shift could be felt. Eye contact that used to linger had grown shorter, tighter, more distant. Your hellos were responded to, but only politely. The kindness had never left him, but something else had replaced the quiet warmth he once offered you. And that something had hurt.
At school, he had been surrounded more often now. Boys who laughed louder, ran faster. Girls who had begun to wear lip gloss and pass folded notes. You weren’t sure when it had changed — only that it had.
Rumors had reached your ears. That Sunghoon had kissed someone behind the gym. That he had turned someone else down.
That he had said your name, once, when someone teased him. You didn’t know what was true and what wasn’t, but you had felt your heart drop every time his name was said in a sentence you weren’t a part of.
You hadn’t meant to keep watching him. You had tried not to. But old habits don’t break easily. Especially not when everylittle thing he did still mattered.
It had been during an art class when you’d been placed near him again. Accidental, but unforgettable. He had been sketching— not talking, not looking at anyone. You had glanced over, just once, and seen the page. A tree. Stark, bare, intricate. You had stared at it longer than you meant to.
“You like it?” he had asked, without looking up.
You had been startled. Words had been hard to find.
“It’s… beautiful,” you had said, truthfully.
A slight nod had been given. No smile. But something in his expression had softened, like a door cracked open for a breath of air. That moment had stayed with you longer than it should’ve.
Still, something had shifted between you — some invisible line had been drawn, and neither of you had known how to cross it again. Childhood closeness had become teenage discomfort. You weren’t a girl he ran to anymore. And he wasn’t just the boy across the street.
You had been changing, too. Learning how to speak up more. Learning to care a little less about whether he noticed. But deep down, you had still been hoping. Hoping that one day, he would look again — really look — and see what had always been there.
You had seen him after school sometimes, waiting by the curb. A new girl would join him. A laugh would be heard. The kind that stung without reason. And though you had told yourself it didn’t matter, your eyes had still followed him until he was gone.
Because once you had cared for someone so quietly, so deeply, that even when they turned away, a part of you kept reaching.
And that part — it had been growing quieter, but it hadn’t let go.
Middle school had taught you more about silence than any lesson ever could.
It had been learned that silence could be louder than words. That sometimes it arrived not as a choice, but as a consequence— of growing up, of being seen too clearly, of someone suddenly deciding to stop looking.
Sunghoon had started ignoring you in ways that couldn’t be explained aloud. No direct cruelty, no obvious insults. Just subtle shifts. A gaze that passed over you in the hallway. A group project where your raised hand went unseen. A lunch table where there had once been room, now full.
Your name had stopped being said — at least, not where you could hear it.
What had hurt more was knowing that once, there had been something different. You had been smiled at. You had been asked if you were okay. That version of him had existed — you remembered it vividly. But somewhere in the in-between, he had learned how to look away. And he had become very good at it.
You had been told, once, that his mother didn’t think highly of your family.
It hadn’t been said directly. But things like that rarely were.
You had overheard it by accident — a soft voice, a sharp tone. Something about “that girl across the street” being sweet, but simple. Something about how not everyone takes pride in how their yard looks, and somepeople just don’t value appearances. It hadn’t been meant for your ears, but it had reached them all the same.
From that day on, you had begun to notice how his mother’s smile never quite reached her eyes when she greeted yours.
How her voice grew thinner when she spoke your name, if she ever did. How her gaze would pass over your house like it was something temporary, like it didn’t quite belong.
And maybe that was where it had started. Or maybe he had changed for other reasons. But after that, Sunghoon’s distance felt colder — like it wasn’t just about drifting apart, but about choosing not to be associated.
You had tried not to let it get to you. You had told yourself it was just middle school. That boys got weird, that popularity shifted things, that he was just busy.
But then there had been that moment in the science lab — when you had dropped a glass slide and every eye had turned toward the sound. You had knelt to pick it up, and when you’d looked up, his gaze had been the only one not meeting yours.
He had looked right past you. Through you.
And that, somehow, had been worse than any laugh.
Another time, in the cafeteria, you had been walking with your tray when someone bumped into you. The milk had spilled— not much, just enough to make a scene. You had laughed it off, cheeks burning, fingers fumbling for a napkin. And from the corner of your eye, you had seen him at a table with friends, watching. Not laughing. Not reacting. Just watching. And then turning back to his food.
A part of you had waited for him to say something after. But he never had.
You hadn’t been invisible. You had been intentionally unseen.
And that kind of hurt didn’t fade quickly.
But the thing was — you had never confronted him. Not once. Not even when the silence had become loud. Not even when his friends had teased him in the hallway for “his little neighbor,” and he had blushed and laughed like it was nothing. You had swallowed it all. Proudly. Because you refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.
You had started walking a little taller after that. You had spoken a little louder in class. You had made friends who looked at you when you talked, who didn’t make you feel small. It had taken time. But slowly, you had learned how to build a world that didn’t orbit around him.
And still, despite everything, you had never stopped glancing toward his window sometimes.
Just to see if he still looked, too.
It had been decided, somewhere in your quiet heart, that maybe the distance didn’t have to stay so wide. You had begun to think that perhaps time had just been unkind — that maybe you had both simply forgotten how to be close. So, like all brave things, you had started small.
You had said hello again in the hallway — just once, soft enough that he could ignore it if he wanted to. And he had.
You had waited after class one day, the kind of wait that could be explained away as “coincidence,” just in case he noticed.
He hadn’t.
And yet, you had still tried.
You had asked him a question once about a book you both were assigned. He had answered politely, voice low, tone neutral.
There had been no cruelty, but there had also been nothing behind the words. Just facts. Just avoidance dressed in kindness.
You had told yourself it didn’t matter — that it was still better than being looked through.
But then there had been her.
She had walked into school like something out of a catalog. Wonyoung — tall, graceful, everything you had never tried to be. She had seemed to glow without effort. People had made room for her in every conversation, every group. Including his.
It had been subtle at first. A glance from him that lasted too long. A shared laugh in the hallway. Her voice saying his name in that soft, familiar way that made your stomach drop even though it had never belonged to you.
And you had seen it — the way he watched her. The way his posture changed around her. Like he was trying to be more than himself, taller, cooler, sharper.
And you had been standing there, unnoticed. Watching a boy you had once believed in reach for someone who wouldn’t have looked twice at your garden-grown dreams.
Still, the kindness in you hadn’t withered yet.
You had gone home that day and looked at the eggs from your small backyard hens — smooth, speckled, imperfect. You had thought of his family, of how they always seemed to value neatness, control, presentation. And maybe, just maybe, this was a way to remind them — to remind him — that not everything had to be polished to be worth something.
You had cleaned them carefully, placed them in a small basket with tissue paper. You had even tied a bow.
And then you had crossed the street.
You had been greeted at the door not by him, but by his mother — her eyes landing on the basket first, then on you. The smile had been given after a beat too long. A thank-you had been offered, clipped and too high-pitched.
You had handed it over and left before the silence could grow.
But you hadn’t been gone long before you’d realized you had left your gloves — soft wool, your grandmother’s, forgotten on their front step. So you had gone back. Quietly. Not to the door, but around the side.
The window had been open. The voices had carried.
“…she gave them to us again. I keep telling you, they’re not safe. Those backyard setups? No regulation. Who knows what kind of diseases…”
“Should I throw them away?”
“Yes. Just… don’t say anything. She means well, but… you don’t owe her anything Sunghoon.”
There had been silence.
And then a quiet, resigned, “…Okay.”
You had stood there long enough to memorize those two syllables.
The basket had still been warm from your hands. And somewhere in the trash, those eggs had cracked without ever being touched.
You hadn’t cried.
But something had shifted.
The hope that had always been carried — quietly, patiently — had finally started to feel foolish.
The gloves had been left where they were. They hadn’t been worth the second trip.
And for the first time, you had stopped looking at his window.
It hadn’t happened all at once.
There had been no grand declaration, no sudden snapping of strings. Just a slow, steady unraveling. The kind that couldn’t be seen until there was nothing left to tie.
You had stopped saying his name in your head. Stopped imagining the what-ifs. Stopped waiting for moments that never came. Not out of spite. Not even sadness, really. Just exhaustion — the quiet kind that lives deep in the chest and weighs more than anything you could explain.
People around you had begun to notice something different. You had started cutting your hair the way you liked, not the way you hoped someone would notice. Your laughter had returned — sharper now, earned. You had grown into your words, found people who heard you the first time.
Even your house, once a source of quiet shame, had begun to feel like home again. The garden had kept blooming. The hens had kept laying. And the eggs? They had been given to people who smiled wide and said thank you like they meant it. They had been appreciated. Just not by the boy you once thought mattered most.
Sunghoon had still existed — at school, across the street, in the places where your lives continued to barely overlap. But your eyes had stopped following him. Your heart had stopped reacting. Or so you had told yourself.
Until the day he looked at you again.
It hadn’t been a long look. It hadn’t been a smile. But it had been real.
He had been standing outside the cafeteria, laughing — not with Wonyoung, not with anyone special. Just existing. And you had walked past, holding a book close to your chest, prepared to keep going.
But his eyes had followed.
Just briefly. Just enough.
And something in his expression had changed — not surprise, not confusion. Just a quiet, dawning awareness.
It had been the first time he looked at you without expecting anything in return.
But you hadn’t slowed down.
Because by then, you had already begun to understand:
Admiration given freely is a kind of gift. But admiration that must be earned — that arrives late, after silence and shame —is not something to welcome with open arms.
So you had kept walking. And maybe that was what made him turn his head again.
Maybe it was the absence of your gaze that finally made him want it.
A week later, you had been approached in chemistry.
“You’re good at this stuff, right?”
His voice had sounded unsure, like it wasn’t used to asking. Like it had been rehearsed.
You had looked up from your notes. Blinked. Then nodded once.
“I guess.”
He had hesitated.
“Would you maybe… want to work together on the project?”
You had tilted your head. Not cruelly. Just curiously.
“Why me?”
He had blinked then. Caught.
“I just thought you— I mean, we— live close by, so… it’d be convenient.”
You had smiled. Not the way you used to — not shy, not eager. Just calm.
“Convenient.”
The word had been echoed. Measured.
He hadn’t replied.
And for the first time, you had seen him flinch just slightly — not physically, but emotionally. Like the version of you he thought would always say yes… no longer lived here.
Maybe that was when it began for him.
The real noticing.
But you? You had already moved on from waiting.
High school had arrived like a storm in the distance — not sudden, but loud. And with it came changes that didn’t announce themselves, only revealed in glances, choices, and the spaces between words.
You had grown quieter, but not small.
There had been something about the way you carried yourself now — not cold, not rude, just deliberate. Like someone who had learned what it meant to be disappointed… and how not to let it define her.
Sunghoon had started watching again.
Not obsessively. Not obviously. But often enough for it to be noticed — by others, by you. Though you never showed it.
In group settings, he had started standing closer. During shared classes, he had leaned over with a question he didn’t really need to ask. And outside, where your houses still stood facing one another like old secrets, his front porch had seen him more often. Sitting. Waiting. Like maybe if he was still long enough, you’d look again.
But you hadn’t.
Not the way you used to.
One afternoon, after school, he’d caught up to you near the bike racks.
“Hey.”
That same careful voice — too casual, too rehearsed.
You’d turned, slowly. “Hey.”
“Are you still doing photography club?”
“Sometimes.”
A pause.
“That’s cool,” he’d said, as if the words were new in his mouth.
You had given a small smile — polite, distant.
“You should come to the showcase next month,” he’d tried again. “If you want.”
“Maybe,” you’d said. No promise. No sparkle.
And that had been the beginning of a pattern.
He had started appearing where he hadn’t before. Study groups. Club meetings. Community clean-up days. Always hovering near enough to be noticed, but never quite enough to matter.
There had been a day when he’d walked past your house and paused — long enough to ask if your garden still had the rosemary bush he liked.
“It does,” you’d said, folding your arms.
“Cool. I kind of missed the smell.”
You had raised an eyebrow.
“Didn’t know you remembered it.”
He had smiled then, a little sheepish. “I remember more than you think.”
But you hadn’t smiled back.
Because what he remembered was no longer your responsibility.
It had been strange, watching the shift. How the boy you used to ache for had begun to soften around the edges — not quite humbled, but uncertain. And how, now that he wanted your attention, it had stopped being something you offered so freely.
You weren’t cruel. That had never been your way.
But you had learned.
Learned how to keep parts of yourself folded away.
Learned that not everyone who knocks deserves to be let back in.
And learned — most of all — how to be seen without needing to be chosen.
Sunghoon hadn’t figured out what to do with this new version of you.
The version who laughed more easily with others.
The version who walked past him in the hall without her heartbeat stuttering.
The version who could look him in the eye and not feel small.
And that — more than anything — had begun to haunt him.
The first time Heeseung spoke to you, it was raining.
Not the heavy kind — just enough to soak the sidewalk and give the world a silver sheen. You had stayed after school to help set up for the club showcase, camera bag slung over your shoulder, sleeves damp from lifting chairs.
He had appeared beside you with an umbrella and that easy half-smile seniors always seemed to wear without effort.
“You take photos, right?”
The question had landed casually, as if it wasn’t the third time he’d passed by your table that week.
You’d glanced up. Nodded once. “Sometimes.”
“Cool. I’ve seen your stuff on the board by the library. You’ve got a good eye.”
You had blinked. Not because of the compliment — but because of the way he said it. Like it was a fact. Not a favor.
He had offered to carry a box inside, and you had let him. Not because you needed help, but because it had felt different from all the other times someone offered out of politeness or pity or obligation.
And from across the room, Sunghoon had watched it happen.
He had been there too, helping with his own club’s table. His sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, doing everything right — except being the one you were looking at.
He had noticed the way you laughed at something Heeseung said — not loudly, just softly, like you didn’t have to force it.
He had noticed the way Heeseung stood close enough to listen without ever stepping over.
And he had noticed the way you leaned in — not like the girl who used to chase, but like someone who had learned how to be wanted.
And something inside Sunghoon had folded.
Not jealousy. Not exactly.
Just realization.
That maybe someone else had begun to see what he hadn’t.
That maybe admiration had an expiration date.
And that maybe — just maybe — you were no longer waiting to be chosen.
He had tried not to care.
But it had stayed with him.
Later that night, after everything had been packed away, he had walked home slowly. He had seen your porch light on. Your silhouette moving through the front window. And for the first time in a long time, he had been the one watching.
You hadn’t looked out.
You hadn’t needed to.
He had been the one left wondering now.
It started with small things.
A returned smile in class. A hesitant wave in the hallway. A notebook you accidentally left behind, returned with your name whispered instead of called.
None of it was dramatic. Sunghoon was never the dramatic type.
But something in the way he moved around you had shifted — like he was orbiting again, closer than before. Hovering near your locker. Taking the long route between periods that conveniently passed your usual path.
You had noticed.
Of course you had.
But you had learned the difference between attention and intention.
And this? This felt like guilt in the shape of curiosity.
So you had been polite.
You hadn’t shut him out completely. You had answered when he spoke. You had nodded when he offered a small compliment on your photography. You had even smiled once — soft, distant, the kind of smile you’d give to someone you used to know well.
But you hadn’t opened the door again.
Not like before.
One afternoon, it finally cracked.
You had been sitting under the maple tree near the field — the one that always turned red before the others in autumn. You’d had your camera in your lap, notebook beside you, back against the bark. Alone, and content.
Footsteps had crunched through the leaves. His.
“Hey,” he’d said.
You’d looked up. Blinked. “Hi.”
He’d stood there for a second too long before sitting beside you — not too close, but not far enough to feel like nothing.
“I miss this,” he’d said. “Talking to you.”
You hadn’t replied at first. Not because you were angry, but because you had nothing to say to that. What version of “this” did he miss? The girl who used to chase him? Or the one who no longer needed to?
He’d picked at the grass between his fingers.
“My mom was wrong. About the eggs. About your family. I… should’ve said something.”
You had looked at him then, steady.
“You didn’t.”
“I know.”
Silence had filled the space again, thick and quiet.
“I was stupid,” he’d said, voice lower now. “I thought it didn’t matter. But it did. I think about it a lot.”
You had nodded once. Just once.
“Thinking about it doesn’t fix it.”
He had flinched — not visibly, but inwardly. You could feel it.
“I know that too,” he murmured.
There had been another pause before he looked up.
“You and Heeseung…”
Your expression had stayed neutral.
“What about us?”
“Are you guys…?”
You hadn’t smiled. You hadn’t fumbled. You had simply met his gaze and asked,
“Would it matter if we were?”
And in that moment, you had seen it: the fear he’d never worn before. The realization that his chance — the one he hadn’t valued — might have passed entirely.
He had looked down again, the weight of it all too much for his eyes to hold.
“You were always there,” he said. “And I never saw it until…”
“Until I stopped being,” you finished, softly.
He’d swallowed hard. Nodded.
You had stood then, brushing leaves from your jeans. Picking up your camera.
Looking down at him in the same way you once waited for him to look at you.
And then you’d said the quiet truth:
“You liked me most when I stopped liking you.”
And with that, you’d walked away.
Not angry.
Not broken.
Just whole.
Heeseung never asked for more than what you were willing to give.
That had been the most surprising thing about him. How easy it was to exist beside him. How he never demanded answers, never waited for performances. He just showed up — consistent, kind, and calm.
It had started with late afternoons at the library. Conversations that drifted from assignments to favorite books. From there, came coffee runs before meetings, notes exchanged in quiet understanding, laughter that made you forget how tightly you’d once held yourself around others.
Heeseung was steady in ways you hadn’t known to want before.
He didn’t try to impress. He didn’t hover. He just… listened. Not with pity. Not with agenda. Just presence.
One evening, he had walked you home after a club event, his hands tucked in his coat pockets, the wind pulling at the ends of your scarf. You had talked about futures — not in that dramatic, overreaching high school way — just gently, curiously.
As if dreaming was allowed.
He had paused at your gate and said, “You’re not like most people.”
You had smiled, not flustered.
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good,” he’d said, without hesitation. “But not because you’re trying to be. You just are.”
And that had been it. No confession. No lingering stares. Just a quiet truth handed over and accepted.
And maybe that’s why you stayed close.
Not for romance.
Not for distraction.
But for peace.
A kind of friendship that didn’t have to be named to be real.
But from the outside — from across the hallway, from behind cafeteria tables, from driveways where a boy stood pretending not to watch — it looked like something else.
To Sunghoon, it looked like he was too late.
Because he didn’t see the stillness of it. The comfort. The way your hand had never reached for Heeseung’s the way it once did for his.
He only saw your smile.
He only saw you leaning in.
And what he didn’t understand was that you weren’t his to understand anymore.
One morning, he had approached you in the hallway, heart pounding beneath a carefully neutral face.
“Hey, I was wondering…” He’d rubbed the back of his neck, glanced toward Heeseung across the room. “Is something going on between you and him?”
You had blinked once. Not surprised. Just… tired.
“Why do you want to know?”
He hadn’t answered right away. Just shrugged.
“I guess I was just curious.”
You had looked him in the eye. Not cold. Just clear.
“You didn’t ask when it mattered.”
And before he could find the words, Heeseung had walked up behind you with a quiet smile and a book you’d left behind.
“You forgot this.”
You had taken it gently. “Thanks.”
And then, with a glance toward Sunghoon — who was standing frozen in a thousand realizations — you had turned and walked down the hall beside someone who saw you, even if it wasn’t the way Sunghoon feared.
Because not all bonds were built on desire.
Some were built on dignity.
On being seen — not as someone to chase, but as someone to respect.
And in the end, that was the part Sunghoon had never understood.
Not yet.
It happened at the end of the year, just before graduation.
The air had started to smell like summer again — grass freshly cut, sun warming the sidewalks. You had been packing away your camera gear after your final photography showcase. He had waited until the room emptied, until the noise faded. Until it was just the two of you.
Sunghoon.
Still handsome in that quiet, reserved way. Still uncertain when it came to you.
He had stood across the room like someone deciding whether to cross a bridge already burned.
“I don’t want to leave things like this,” he’d said.
You had glanced up. Blinked once. “Like what?”
“With you. Us.”
There had never really been an “us,” but you didn’t say that.
He walked forward slowly, hands in his jacket pockets. Like maybe if he moved gently enough, the truth wouldn’t sting.
“I was scared,” he said. “Back then. Of what people thought. Of what it meant to like someone who didn’t fit into the version of life my parents drew for me.”
You’d stayed quiet. Letting him speak.
“I kept thinking I’d have more time to figure it out. That one day, when I was ready, you’d still be there.”
You had looked at him — not with anger. Just with the kind of sadness that only comes from clarity.
“But I wasn’t,” you said.
“I know.”
A silence settled.
“I think about it a lot,” he added. “How I saw you every day and never really saw you until you stopped waiting.”
You smiled then, just a little. Not unkind.
“Sometimes we don’t see the right things until they stop needing to be noticed.”
He flinched — not from the words, but from the truth in them.
“I used to think it would be us,” he admitted. “That eventually, we’d… circle back.”
You paused, thoughtful. Careful.
“So did I.”
He looked up at that. His breath caught.
“But I let go of that version of us a long time ago,” you said, softly. “Not out of bitterness. Just… peace.”
He swallowed hard. Nodded.
“And Heeseung?”
You shook your head once. “He’s important to me. But not in the way you think.”
A beat passed.
Sunghoon exhaled. Long. Slow. Like something inside him had finally broken loose.
“Do you think we ever had a real chance?”
You considered it.
“Maybe,” you said. “But a real chance needs real courage. And back then… you weren’t brave enough.”
He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.
You stepped past him then, camera bag over your shoulder, fingers curled lightly around the strap.
Before you left, you paused.
“Take care of yourself, Sunghoon.”
And that was it.
No kiss. No dramatic goodbye. Just a truth, delivered gently, to the boy who had waited too long to look again.
He watched you go, standing in the soft light of the hallway, where shadows stretched long and quiet.
And maybe for the first time, he understood what it meant to love something only when it’s no longer yours to hold.
Genre: angst, slow burn, unrequired love, subtle fluff, 60s, apparition of Wonyoung and Heeseung, Flipped inspired
Warnings: emotional neglect, subtle classism/social rejection, passive exclusion, mention of family expectations and internalized shame
Summary: you were always just the girl across the street, sweet, simple, and never quite enough. For Sunghoon, you were always there, and that was the problem. But time has a way of shifting things: admiration fades, people change, and when he finally looks at you again… it might be too late.
WC: 6k
A/N: I worked on this being inspired by the movie Flipped because I really like it, and i thought it could be a great dynamic
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You had always been told that first impressions matter, but somehow, the first time you saw him, it didn’t matter at all.
Sunghoon was a stranger to you then, just another face among many in the neighborhood. But it didn’t take long for your life to be entwined with his.
The first time he moved into the house across the street, you couldn’t help but watch. The sound of moving boxes and the rustling of plastic seemed to pull your attention in, and though you tried to look away, your eyes were drawn to the way his figure moved — with a quiet grace, like everything he did was deliberate. He wasn’t like the other kids in your neighborhood, who yelled and ran around carelessly. No, Sunghoon carried a kind of calm that made you feel like an intruder simply by observing him.
It wasn’t a special day. It wasn’t the kind of moment that would be written down in a diary or remembered for years. But it was in its own small way, the beginning of something that would change everything.
He had walked to the front door, looking back at his parents and when he turned, his eyes had met yours for the briefest moment. A slight tilt of his head, a flicker of recognition — as if he too, had noticed you standing there. You weren’t sure why, but something inside you stirred.
The days that followed were filled with subtle moments, like the way his presence could be felt before he was seen, or how you could sense his movements through the sound of footsteps, a breeze in the air. He wasn’t loud but he was always there, always close enough to catch a glimpse of, if you tried hard enough.
The first time you actually spoke to him, it wasn’t like you imagined. There was no grand opening or carefully planned approach. It was a simple mistake. You were walking to school, your backpack bouncing with each step, when you tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. It wasn’t a big fall, but it was enough to make you feel foolish. And there in that instant, you had been pulled to your feet by a hand you hadn’t expected.
“Are you okay?” The voice was soft, with a faint edge of concern.
It took a moment for you to gather yourself, to blink away the embarrassment. Sunghoon was standing there, eyes focused on you, his hand still hovering, waiting for you to take it. And you did. Without thinking. His touch was gentle, like everything else about him, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause.
“Yeah,” you muttered, suddenly feeling awkward. “Thanks.”
He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Be careful next time.”
That was it. No grand revelation, no heart-pounding confession. Just a simple, quiet moment. But it stayed with you, lingering in the back of your mind.
From then on, you began to notice him more. The way he moved through the world so calmly, so quietly, like he was waiting for something — or perhaps avoiding it.
You saw him at the local park sitting on the swings, his eyes focused somewhere far away.
You saw him at the ice cream truck, paying for a cone without speaking much, offering a polite smile to the vendor.
He was polite, always polite, but there was a distance about him that kept you from truly getting to know him.
At first, you didn’t think much about it. You told yourself it was just another boy, just another neighbor. But as time passed, you started to wonder about him. You started to wonder about the way his eyes would sometimes catch yours across the street, the way he always seemed to be looking at something you couldn’t see.
It wasn’t that you were drawn to him — not yet, anyway. It was just curiosity. He was different, that was all. A mystery waiting to be solved.
The seasons had passed quietly, and the world had grown around you without warning. Middle school had crept in with its awkwardness, and with it came distance — not the physical kind, but the type that forms without anyone noticing.
Your fascination with him had deepened before you even realized it. The simple, quiet boy from across the street had become a figure etched into your daily life, a rhythm you couldn’t unlearn. You had been seen waiting for him sometimes.
Not deliberately — just standing on your porch a little longer, pretending to adjust your backpack while hoping he’d come outside. Some days he did. Most days he didn’t.
And when he did, you were never really spoken to.
If he noticed your presence, nothing was ever said about it. But a shift could be felt. Eye contact that used to linger had grown shorter, tighter, more distant. Your hellos were responded to, but only politely. The kindness had never left him, but something else had replaced the quiet warmth he once offered you. And that something had hurt.
At school, he had been surrounded more often now. Boys who laughed louder, ran faster. Girls who had begun to wear lip gloss and pass folded notes. You weren’t sure when it had changed — only that it had.
Rumors had reached your ears. That Sunghoon had kissed someone behind the gym. That he had turned someone else down.
That he had said your name, once, when someone teased him. You didn’t know what was true and what wasn’t, but you had felt your heart drop every time his name was said in a sentence you weren’t a part of.
You hadn’t meant to keep watching him. You had tried not to. But old habits don’t break easily. Especially not when everylittle thing he did still mattered.
It had been during an art class when you’d been placed near him again. Accidental, but unforgettable. He had been sketching— not talking, not looking at anyone. You had glanced over, just once, and seen the page. A tree. Stark, bare, intricate. You had stared at it longer than you meant to.
“You like it?” he had asked, without looking up.
You had been startled. Words had been hard to find.
“It’s… beautiful,” you had said, truthfully.
A slight nod had been given. No smile. But something in his expression had softened, like a door cracked open for a breath of air. That moment had stayed with you longer than it should’ve.
Still, something had shifted between you — some invisible line had been drawn, and neither of you had known how to cross it again. Childhood closeness had become teenage discomfort. You weren’t a girl he ran to anymore. And he wasn’t just the boy across the street.
You had been changing, too. Learning how to speak up more. Learning to care a little less about whether he noticed. But deep down, you had still been hoping. Hoping that one day, he would look again — really look — and see what had always been there.
You had seen him after school sometimes, waiting by the curb. A new girl would join him. A laugh would be heard. The kind that stung without reason. And though you had told yourself it didn’t matter, your eyes had still followed him until he was gone.
Because once you had cared for someone so quietly, so deeply, that even when they turned away, a part of you kept reaching.
And that part — it had been growing quieter, but it hadn’t let go.
Middle school had taught you more about silence than any lesson ever could.
It had been learned that silence could be louder than words. That sometimes it arrived not as a choice, but as a consequence— of growing up, of being seen too clearly, of someone suddenly deciding to stop looking.
Sunghoon had started ignoring you in ways that couldn’t be explained aloud. No direct cruelty, no obvious insults. Just subtle shifts. A gaze that passed over you in the hallway. A group project where your raised hand went unseen. A lunch table where there had once been room, now full.
Your name had stopped being said — at least, not where you could hear it.
What had hurt more was knowing that once, there had been something different. You had been smiled at. You had been asked if you were okay. That version of him had existed — you remembered it vividly. But somewhere in the in-between, he had learned how to look away. And he had become very good at it.
You had been told, once, that his mother didn’t think highly of your family.
It hadn’t been said directly. But things like that rarely were.
You had overheard it by accident — a soft voice, a sharp tone. Something about “that girl across the street” being sweet, but simple. Something about how not everyone takes pride in how their yard looks, and somepeople just don’t value appearances. It hadn’t been meant for your ears, but it had reached them all the same.
From that day on, you had begun to notice how his mother’s smile never quite reached her eyes when she greeted yours.
How her voice grew thinner when she spoke your name, if she ever did. How her gaze would pass over your house like it was something temporary, like it didn’t quite belong.
And maybe that was where it had started. Or maybe he had changed for other reasons. But after that, Sunghoon’s distance felt colder — like it wasn’t just about drifting apart, but about choosing not to be associated.
You had tried not to let it get to you. You had told yourself it was just middle school. That boys got weird, that popularity shifted things, that he was just busy.
But then there had been that moment in the science lab — when you had dropped a glass slide and every eye had turned toward the sound. You had knelt to pick it up, and when you’d looked up, his gaze had been the only one not meeting yours.
He had looked right past you. Through you.
And that, somehow, had been worse than any laugh.
Another time, in the cafeteria, you had been walking with your tray when someone bumped into you. The milk had spilled— not much, just enough to make a scene. You had laughed it off, cheeks burning, fingers fumbling for a napkin. And from the corner of your eye, you had seen him at a table with friends, watching. Not laughing. Not reacting. Just watching. And then turning back to his food.
A part of you had waited for him to say something after. But he never had.
You hadn’t been invisible. You had been intentionally unseen.
And that kind of hurt didn’t fade quickly.
But the thing was — you had never confronted him. Not once. Not even when the silence had become loud. Not even when his friends had teased him in the hallway for “his little neighbor,” and he had blushed and laughed like it was nothing. You had swallowed it all. Proudly. Because you refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.
You had started walking a little taller after that. You had spoken a little louder in class. You had made friends who looked at you when you talked, who didn’t make you feel small. It had taken time. But slowly, you had learned how to build a world that didn’t orbit around him.
And still, despite everything, you had never stopped glancing toward his window sometimes.
Just to see if he still looked, too.
It had been decided, somewhere in your quiet heart, that maybe the distance didn’t have to stay so wide. You had begun to think that perhaps time had just been unkind — that maybe you had both simply forgotten how to be close. So, like all brave things, you had started small.
You had said hello again in the hallway — just once, soft enough that he could ignore it if he wanted to. And he had.
You had waited after class one day, the kind of wait that could be explained away as “coincidence,” just in case he noticed.
He hadn’t.
And yet, you had still tried.
You had asked him a question once about a book you both were assigned. He had answered politely, voice low, tone neutral.
There had been no cruelty, but there had also been nothing behind the words. Just facts. Just avoidance dressed in kindness.
You had told yourself it didn’t matter — that it was still better than being looked through.
But then there had been her.
She had walked into school like something out of a catalog. Wonyoung — tall, graceful, everything you had never tried to be. She had seemed to glow without effort. People had made room for her in every conversation, every group. Including his.
It had been subtle at first. A glance from him that lasted too long. A shared laugh in the hallway. Her voice saying his name in that soft, familiar way that made your stomach drop even though it had never belonged to you.
And you had seen it — the way he watched her. The way his posture changed around her. Like he was trying to be more than himself, taller, cooler, sharper.
And you had been standing there, unnoticed. Watching a boy you had once believed in reach for someone who wouldn’t have looked twice at your garden-grown dreams.
Still, the kindness in you hadn’t withered yet.
You had gone home that day and looked at the eggs from your small backyard hens — smooth, speckled, imperfect. You had thought of his family, of how they always seemed to value neatness, control, presentation. And maybe, just maybe, this was a way to remind them — to remind him — that not everything had to be polished to be worth something.
You had cleaned them carefully, placed them in a small basket with tissue paper. You had even tied a bow.
And then you had crossed the street.
You had been greeted at the door not by him, but by his mother — her eyes landing on the basket first, then on you. The smile had been given after a beat too long. A thank-you had been offered, clipped and too high-pitched.
You had handed it over and left before the silence could grow.
But you hadn’t been gone long before you’d realized you had left your gloves — soft wool, your grandmother’s, forgotten on their front step. So you had gone back. Quietly. Not to the door, but around the side.
The window had been open. The voices had carried.
“…she gave them to us again. I keep telling you, they’re not safe. Those backyard setups? No regulation. Who knows what kind of diseases…”
“Should I throw them away?”
“Yes. Just… don’t say anything. She means well, but… you don’t owe her anything Sunghoon.”
There had been silence.
And then a quiet, resigned, “…Okay.”
You had stood there long enough to memorize those two syllables.
The basket had still been warm from your hands. And somewhere in the trash, those eggs had cracked without ever being touched.
You hadn’t cried.
But something had shifted.
The hope that had always been carried — quietly, patiently — had finally started to feel foolish.
The gloves had been left where they were. They hadn’t been worth the second trip.
And for the first time, you had stopped looking at his window.
It hadn’t happened all at once.
There had been no grand declaration, no sudden snapping of strings. Just a slow, steady unraveling. The kind that couldn’t be seen until there was nothing left to tie.
You had stopped saying his name in your head. Stopped imagining the what-ifs. Stopped waiting for moments that never came. Not out of spite. Not even sadness, really. Just exhaustion — the quiet kind that lives deep in the chest and weighs more than anything you could explain.
People around you had begun to notice something different. You had started cutting your hair the way you liked, not the way you hoped someone would notice. Your laughter had returned — sharper now, earned. You had grown into your words, found people who heard you the first time.
Even your house, once a source of quiet shame, had begun to feel like home again. The garden had kept blooming. The hens had kept laying. And the eggs? They had been given to people who smiled wide and said thank you like they meant it. They had been appreciated. Just not by the boy you once thought mattered most.
Sunghoon had still existed — at school, across the street, in the places where your lives continued to barely overlap. But your eyes had stopped following him. Your heart had stopped reacting. Or so you had told yourself.
Until the day he looked at you again.
It hadn’t been a long look. It hadn’t been a smile. But it had been real.
He had been standing outside the cafeteria, laughing — not with Wonyoung, not with anyone special. Just existing. And you had walked past, holding a book close to your chest, prepared to keep going.
But his eyes had followed.
Just briefly. Just enough.
And something in his expression had changed — not surprise, not confusion. Just a quiet, dawning awareness.
It had been the first time he looked at you without expecting anything in return.
But you hadn’t slowed down.
Because by then, you had already begun to understand:
Admiration given freely is a kind of gift. But admiration that must be earned — that arrives late, after silence and shame —is not something to welcome with open arms.
So you had kept walking. And maybe that was what made him turn his head again.
Maybe it was the absence of your gaze that finally made him want it.
A week later, you had been approached in chemistry.
“You’re good at this stuff, right?”
His voice had sounded unsure, like it wasn’t used to asking. Like it had been rehearsed.
You had looked up from your notes. Blinked. Then nodded once.
“I guess.”
He had hesitated.
“Would you maybe… want to work together on the project?”
You had tilted your head. Not cruelly. Just curiously.
“Why me?”
He had blinked then. Caught.
“I just thought you— I mean, we— live close by, so… it’d be convenient.”
You had smiled. Not the way you used to — not shy, not eager. Just calm.
“Convenient.”
The word had been echoed. Measured.
He hadn’t replied.
And for the first time, you had seen him flinch just slightly — not physically, but emotionally. Like the version of you he thought would always say yes… no longer lived here.
Maybe that was when it began for him.
The real noticing.
But you? You had already moved on from waiting.
High school had arrived like a storm in the distance — not sudden, but loud. And with it came changes that didn’t announce themselves, only revealed in glances, choices, and the spaces between words.
You had grown quieter, but not small.
There had been something about the way you carried yourself now — not cold, not rude, just deliberate. Like someone who had learned what it meant to be disappointed… and how not to let it define her.
Sunghoon had started watching again.
Not obsessively. Not obviously. But often enough for it to be noticed — by others, by you. Though you never showed it.
In group settings, he had started standing closer. During shared classes, he had leaned over with a question he didn’t really need to ask. And outside, where your houses still stood facing one another like old secrets, his front porch had seen him more often. Sitting. Waiting. Like maybe if he was still long enough, you’d look again.
But you hadn’t.
Not the way you used to.
One afternoon, after school, he’d caught up to you near the bike racks.
“Hey.”
That same careful voice — too casual, too rehearsed.
You’d turned, slowly. “Hey.”
“Are you still doing photography club?”
“Sometimes.”
A pause.
“That’s cool,” he’d said, as if the words were new in his mouth.
You had given a small smile — polite, distant.
“You should come to the showcase next month,” he’d tried again. “If you want.”
“Maybe,” you’d said. No promise. No sparkle.
And that had been the beginning of a pattern.
He had started appearing where he hadn’t before. Study groups. Club meetings. Community clean-up days. Always hovering near enough to be noticed, but never quite enough to matter.
There had been a day when he’d walked past your house and paused — long enough to ask if your garden still had the rosemary bush he liked.
“It does,” you’d said, folding your arms.
“Cool. I kind of missed the smell.”
You had raised an eyebrow.
“Didn’t know you remembered it.”
He had smiled then, a little sheepish. “I remember more than you think.”
But you hadn’t smiled back.
Because what he remembered was no longer your responsibility.
It had been strange, watching the shift. How the boy you used to ache for had begun to soften around the edges — not quite humbled, but uncertain. And how, now that he wanted your attention, it had stopped being something you offered so freely.
You weren’t cruel. That had never been your way.
But you had learned.
Learned how to keep parts of yourself folded away.
Learned that not everyone who knocks deserves to be let back in.
And learned — most of all — how to be seen without needing to be chosen.
Sunghoon hadn’t figured out what to do with this new version of you.
The version who laughed more easily with others.
The version who walked past him in the hall without her heartbeat stuttering.
The version who could look him in the eye and not feel small.
And that — more than anything — had begun to haunt him.
The first time Heeseung spoke to you, it was raining.
Not the heavy kind — just enough to soak the sidewalk and give the world a silver sheen. You had stayed after school to help set up for the club showcase, camera bag slung over your shoulder, sleeves damp from lifting chairs.
He had appeared beside you with an umbrella and that easy half-smile seniors always seemed to wear without effort.
“You take photos, right?”
The question had landed casually, as if it wasn’t the third time he’d passed by your table that week.
You’d glanced up. Nodded once. “Sometimes.”
“Cool. I’ve seen your stuff on the board by the library. You’ve got a good eye.”
You had blinked. Not because of the compliment — but because of the way he said it. Like it was a fact. Not a favor.
He had offered to carry a box inside, and you had let him. Not because you needed help, but because it had felt different from all the other times someone offered out of politeness or pity or obligation.
And from across the room, Sunghoon had watched it happen.
He had been there too, helping with his own club’s table. His sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, doing everything right — except being the one you were looking at.
He had noticed the way you laughed at something Heeseung said — not loudly, just softly, like you didn’t have to force it.
He had noticed the way Heeseung stood close enough to listen without ever stepping over.
And he had noticed the way you leaned in — not like the girl who used to chase, but like someone who had learned how to be wanted.
And something inside Sunghoon had folded.
Not jealousy. Not exactly.
Just realization.
That maybe someone else had begun to see what he hadn’t.
That maybe admiration had an expiration date.
And that maybe — just maybe — you were no longer waiting to be chosen.
He had tried not to care.
But it had stayed with him.
Later that night, after everything had been packed away, he had walked home slowly. He had seen your porch light on. Your silhouette moving through the front window. And for the first time in a long time, he had been the one watching.
You hadn’t looked out.
You hadn’t needed to.
He had been the one left wondering now.
It started with small things.
A returned smile in class. A hesitant wave in the hallway. A notebook you accidentally left behind, returned with your name whispered instead of called.
None of it was dramatic. Sunghoon was never the dramatic type.
But something in the way he moved around you had shifted — like he was orbiting again, closer than before. Hovering near your locker. Taking the long route between periods that conveniently passed your usual path.
You had noticed.
Of course you had.
But you had learned the difference between attention and intention.
And this? This felt like guilt in the shape of curiosity.
So you had been polite.
You hadn’t shut him out completely. You had answered when he spoke. You had nodded when he offered a small compliment on your photography. You had even smiled once — soft, distant, the kind of smile you’d give to someone you used to know well.
But you hadn’t opened the door again.
Not like before.
One afternoon, it finally cracked.
You had been sitting under the maple tree near the field — the one that always turned red before the others in autumn. You’d had your camera in your lap, notebook beside you, back against the bark. Alone, and content.
Footsteps had crunched through the leaves. His.
“Hey,” he’d said.
You’d looked up. Blinked. “Hi.”
He’d stood there for a second too long before sitting beside you — not too close, but not far enough to feel like nothing.
“I miss this,” he’d said. “Talking to you.”
You hadn’t replied at first. Not because you were angry, but because you had nothing to say to that. What version of “this” did he miss? The girl who used to chase him? Or the one who no longer needed to?
He’d picked at the grass between his fingers.
“My mom was wrong. About the eggs. About your family. I… should’ve said something.”
You had looked at him then, steady.
“You didn’t.”
“I know.”
Silence had filled the space again, thick and quiet.
“I was stupid,” he’d said, voice lower now. “I thought it didn’t matter. But it did. I think about it a lot.”
You had nodded once. Just once.
“Thinking about it doesn’t fix it.”
He had flinched — not visibly, but inwardly. You could feel it.
“I know that too,” he murmured.
There had been another pause before he looked up.
“You and Heeseung…”
Your expression had stayed neutral.
“What about us?”
“Are you guys…?”
You hadn’t smiled. You hadn’t fumbled. You had simply met his gaze and asked,
“Would it matter if we were?”
And in that moment, you had seen it: the fear he’d never worn before. The realization that his chance — the one he hadn’t valued — might have passed entirely.
He had looked down again, the weight of it all too much for his eyes to hold.
“You were always there,” he said. “And I never saw it until…”
“Until I stopped being,” you finished, softly.
He’d swallowed hard. Nodded.
You had stood then, brushing leaves from your jeans. Picking up your camera.
Looking down at him in the same way you once waited for him to look at you.
And then you’d said the quiet truth:
“You liked me most when I stopped liking you.”
And with that, you’d walked away.
Not angry.
Not broken.
Just whole.
Heeseung never asked for more than what you were willing to give.
That had been the most surprising thing about him. How easy it was to exist beside him. How he never demanded answers, never waited for performances. He just showed up — consistent, kind, and calm.
It had started with late afternoons at the library. Conversations that drifted from assignments to favorite books. From there, came coffee runs before meetings, notes exchanged in quiet understanding, laughter that made you forget how tightly you’d once held yourself around others.
Heeseung was steady in ways you hadn’t known to want before.
He didn’t try to impress. He didn’t hover. He just… listened. Not with pity. Not with agenda. Just presence.
One evening, he had walked you home after a club event, his hands tucked in his coat pockets, the wind pulling at the ends of your scarf. You had talked about futures — not in that dramatic, overreaching high school way — just gently, curiously.
As if dreaming was allowed.
He had paused at your gate and said, “You’re not like most people.”
You had smiled, not flustered.
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good,” he’d said, without hesitation. “But not because you’re trying to be. You just are.”
And that had been it. No confession. No lingering stares. Just a quiet truth handed over and accepted.
And maybe that’s why you stayed close.
Not for romance.
Not for distraction.
But for peace.
A kind of friendship that didn’t have to be named to be real.
But from the outside — from across the hallway, from behind cafeteria tables, from driveways where a boy stood pretending not to watch — it looked like something else.
To Sunghoon, it looked like he was too late.
Because he didn’t see the stillness of it. The comfort. The way your hand had never reached for Heeseung’s the way it once did for his.
He only saw your smile.
He only saw you leaning in.
And what he didn’t understand was that you weren’t his to understand anymore.
One morning, he had approached you in the hallway, heart pounding beneath a carefully neutral face.
“Hey, I was wondering…” He’d rubbed the back of his neck, glanced toward Heeseung across the room. “Is something going on between you and him?”
You had blinked once. Not surprised. Just… tired.
“Why do you want to know?”
He hadn’t answered right away. Just shrugged.
“I guess I was just curious.”
You had looked him in the eye. Not cold. Just clear.
“You didn’t ask when it mattered.”
And before he could find the words, Heeseung had walked up behind you with a quiet smile and a book you’d left behind.
“You forgot this.”
You had taken it gently. “Thanks.”
And then, with a glance toward Sunghoon — who was standing frozen in a thousand realizations — you had turned and walked down the hall beside someone who saw you, even if it wasn’t the way Sunghoon feared.
Because not all bonds were built on desire.
Some were built on dignity.
On being seen — not as someone to chase, but as someone to respect.
And in the end, that was the part Sunghoon had never understood.
Not yet.
It happened at the end of the year, just before graduation.
The air had started to smell like summer again — grass freshly cut, sun warming the sidewalks. You had been packing away your camera gear after your final photography showcase. He had waited until the room emptied, until the noise faded. Until it was just the two of you.
Sunghoon.
Still handsome in that quiet, reserved way. Still uncertain when it came to you.
He had stood across the room like someone deciding whether to cross a bridge already burned.
“I don’t want to leave things like this,” he’d said.
You had glanced up. Blinked once. “Like what?”
“With you. Us.”
There had never really been an “us,” but you didn’t say that.
He walked forward slowly, hands in his jacket pockets. Like maybe if he moved gently enough, the truth wouldn’t sting.
“I was scared,” he said. “Back then. Of what people thought. Of what it meant to like someone who didn’t fit into the version of life my parents drew for me.”
You’d stayed quiet. Letting him speak.
“I kept thinking I’d have more time to figure it out. That one day, when I was ready, you’d still be there.”
You had looked at him — not with anger. Just with the kind of sadness that only comes from clarity.
“But I wasn’t,” you said.
“I know.”
A silence settled.
“I think about it a lot,” he added. “How I saw you every day and never really saw you until you stopped waiting.”
You smiled then, just a little. Not unkind.
“Sometimes we don’t see the right things until they stop needing to be noticed.”
He flinched — not from the words, but from the truth in them.
“I used to think it would be us,” he admitted. “That eventually, we’d… circle back.”
You paused, thoughtful. Careful.
“So did I.”
He looked up at that. His breath caught.
“But I let go of that version of us a long time ago,” you said, softly. “Not out of bitterness. Just… peace.”
He swallowed hard. Nodded.
“And Heeseung?”
You shook your head once. “He’s important to me. But not in the way you think.”
A beat passed.
Sunghoon exhaled. Long. Slow. Like something inside him had finally broken loose.
“Do you think we ever had a real chance?”
You considered it.
“Maybe,” you said. “But a real chance needs real courage. And back then… you weren’t brave enough.”
He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.
You stepped past him then, camera bag over your shoulder, fingers curled lightly around the strap.
Before you left, you paused.
“Take care of yourself, Sunghoon.”
And that was it.
No kiss. No dramatic goodbye. Just a truth, delivered gently, to the boy who had waited too long to look again.
He watched you go, standing in the soft light of the hallway, where shadows stretched long and quiet.
And maybe for the first time, he understood what it meant to love something only when it’s no longer yours to hold.
Genre: angst, slow burn, unrequired love, subtle fluff, 60s, apparition of Wonyoung and Heeseung, Flipped inspired
Warnings: emotional neglect, subtle classism/social rejection, passive exclusion, mention of family expectations and internalized shame
Summary: you were always just the girl across the street, sweet, simple, and never quite enough. For Sunghoon, you were always there, and that was the problem. But time has a way of shifting things: admiration fades, people change, and when he finally looks at you again… it might be too late.
WC: 6k
A/N: I worked on this being inspired by the movie Flipped because I really like it, and i thought it could be a great dynamic
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You had always been told that first impressions matter, but somehow, the first time you saw him, it didn’t matter at all.
Sunghoon was a stranger to you then, just another face among many in the neighborhood. But it didn’t take long for your life to be entwined with his.
The first time he moved into the house across the street, you couldn’t help but watch. The sound of moving boxes and the rustling of plastic seemed to pull your attention in, and though you tried to look away, your eyes were drawn to the way his figure moved — with a quiet grace, like everything he did was deliberate. He wasn’t like the other kids in your neighborhood, who yelled and ran around carelessly. No, Sunghoon carried a kind of calm that made you feel like an intruder simply by observing him.
It wasn’t a special day. It wasn’t the kind of moment that would be written down in a diary or remembered for years. But it was in its own small way, the beginning of something that would change everything.
He had walked to the front door, looking back at his parents and when he turned, his eyes had met yours for the briefest moment. A slight tilt of his head, a flicker of recognition — as if he too, had noticed you standing there. You weren’t sure why, but something inside you stirred.
The days that followed were filled with subtle moments, like the way his presence could be felt before he was seen, or how you could sense his movements through the sound of footsteps, a breeze in the air. He wasn’t loud but he was always there, always close enough to catch a glimpse of, if you tried hard enough.
The first time you actually spoke to him, it wasn’t like you imagined. There was no grand opening or carefully planned approach. It was a simple mistake. You were walking to school, your backpack bouncing with each step, when you tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. It wasn’t a big fall, but it was enough to make you feel foolish. And there in that instant, you had been pulled to your feet by a hand you hadn’t expected.
“Are you okay?” The voice was soft, with a faint edge of concern.
It took a moment for you to gather yourself, to blink away the embarrassment. Sunghoon was standing there, eyes focused on you, his hand still hovering, waiting for you to take it. And you did. Without thinking. His touch was gentle, like everything else about him, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause.
“Yeah,” you muttered, suddenly feeling awkward. “Thanks.”
He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Be careful next time.”
That was it. No grand revelation, no heart-pounding confession. Just a simple, quiet moment. But it stayed with you, lingering in the back of your mind.
From then on, you began to notice him more. The way he moved through the world so calmly, so quietly, like he was waiting for something — or perhaps avoiding it.
You saw him at the local park sitting on the swings, his eyes focused somewhere far away.
You saw him at the ice cream truck, paying for a cone without speaking much, offering a polite smile to the vendor.
He was polite, always polite, but there was a distance about him that kept you from truly getting to know him.
At first, you didn’t think much about it. You told yourself it was just another boy, just another neighbor. But as time passed, you started to wonder about him. You started to wonder about the way his eyes would sometimes catch yours across the street, the way he always seemed to be looking at something you couldn’t see.
It wasn’t that you were drawn to him — not yet, anyway. It was just curiosity. He was different, that was all. A mystery waiting to be solved.
The seasons had passed quietly, and the world had grown around you without warning. Middle school had crept in with its awkwardness, and with it came distance — not the physical kind, but the type that forms without anyone noticing.
Your fascination with him had deepened before you even realized it. The simple, quiet boy from across the street had become a figure etched into your daily life, a rhythm you couldn’t unlearn. You had been seen waiting for him sometimes.
Not deliberately — just standing on your porch a little longer, pretending to adjust your backpack while hoping he’d come outside. Some days he did. Most days he didn’t.
And when he did, you were never really spoken to.
If he noticed your presence, nothing was ever said about it. But a shift could be felt. Eye contact that used to linger had grown shorter, tighter, more distant. Your hellos were responded to, but only politely. The kindness had never left him, but something else had replaced the quiet warmth he once offered you. And that something had hurt.
At school, he had been surrounded more often now. Boys who laughed louder, ran faster. Girls who had begun to wear lip gloss and pass folded notes. You weren’t sure when it had changed — only that it had.
Rumors had reached your ears. That Sunghoon had kissed someone behind the gym. That he had turned someone else down.
That he had said your name, once, when someone teased him. You didn’t know what was true and what wasn’t, but you had felt your heart drop every time his name was said in a sentence you weren’t a part of.
You hadn’t meant to keep watching him. You had tried not to. But old habits don’t break easily. Especially not when everylittle thing he did still mattered.
It had been during an art class when you’d been placed near him again. Accidental, but unforgettable. He had been sketching— not talking, not looking at anyone. You had glanced over, just once, and seen the page. A tree. Stark, bare, intricate. You had stared at it longer than you meant to.
“You like it?” he had asked, without looking up.
You had been startled. Words had been hard to find.
“It’s… beautiful,” you had said, truthfully.
A slight nod had been given. No smile. But something in his expression had softened, like a door cracked open for a breath of air. That moment had stayed with you longer than it should’ve.
Still, something had shifted between you — some invisible line had been drawn, and neither of you had known how to cross it again. Childhood closeness had become teenage discomfort. You weren’t a girl he ran to anymore. And he wasn’t just the boy across the street.
You had been changing, too. Learning how to speak up more. Learning to care a little less about whether he noticed. But deep down, you had still been hoping. Hoping that one day, he would look again — really look — and see what had always been there.
You had seen him after school sometimes, waiting by the curb. A new girl would join him. A laugh would be heard. The kind that stung without reason. And though you had told yourself it didn’t matter, your eyes had still followed him until he was gone.
Because once you had cared for someone so quietly, so deeply, that even when they turned away, a part of you kept reaching.
And that part — it had been growing quieter, but it hadn’t let go.
Middle school had taught you more about silence than any lesson ever could.
It had been learned that silence could be louder than words. That sometimes it arrived not as a choice, but as a consequence— of growing up, of being seen too clearly, of someone suddenly deciding to stop looking.
Sunghoon had started ignoring you in ways that couldn’t be explained aloud. No direct cruelty, no obvious insults. Just subtle shifts. A gaze that passed over you in the hallway. A group project where your raised hand went unseen. A lunch table where there had once been room, now full.
Your name had stopped being said — at least, not where you could hear it.
What had hurt more was knowing that once, there had been something different. You had been smiled at. You had been asked if you were okay. That version of him had existed — you remembered it vividly. But somewhere in the in-between, he had learned how to look away. And he had become very good at it.
You had been told, once, that his mother didn’t think highly of your family.
It hadn’t been said directly. But things like that rarely were.
You had overheard it by accident — a soft voice, a sharp tone. Something about “that girl across the street” being sweet, but simple. Something about how not everyone takes pride in how their yard looks, and somepeople just don’t value appearances. It hadn’t been meant for your ears, but it had reached them all the same.
From that day on, you had begun to notice how his mother’s smile never quite reached her eyes when she greeted yours.
How her voice grew thinner when she spoke your name, if she ever did. How her gaze would pass over your house like it was something temporary, like it didn’t quite belong.
And maybe that was where it had started. Or maybe he had changed for other reasons. But after that, Sunghoon’s distance felt colder — like it wasn’t just about drifting apart, but about choosing not to be associated.
You had tried not to let it get to you. You had told yourself it was just middle school. That boys got weird, that popularity shifted things, that he was just busy.
But then there had been that moment in the science lab — when you had dropped a glass slide and every eye had turned toward the sound. You had knelt to pick it up, and when you’d looked up, his gaze had been the only one not meeting yours.
He had looked right past you. Through you.
And that, somehow, had been worse than any laugh.
Another time, in the cafeteria, you had been walking with your tray when someone bumped into you. The milk had spilled— not much, just enough to make a scene. You had laughed it off, cheeks burning, fingers fumbling for a napkin. And from the corner of your eye, you had seen him at a table with friends, watching. Not laughing. Not reacting. Just watching. And then turning back to his food.
A part of you had waited for him to say something after. But he never had.
You hadn’t been invisible. You had been intentionally unseen.
And that kind of hurt didn’t fade quickly.
But the thing was — you had never confronted him. Not once. Not even when the silence had become loud. Not even when his friends had teased him in the hallway for “his little neighbor,” and he had blushed and laughed like it was nothing. You had swallowed it all. Proudly. Because you refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.
You had started walking a little taller after that. You had spoken a little louder in class. You had made friends who looked at you when you talked, who didn’t make you feel small. It had taken time. But slowly, you had learned how to build a world that didn’t orbit around him.
And still, despite everything, you had never stopped glancing toward his window sometimes.
Just to see if he still looked, too.
It had been decided, somewhere in your quiet heart, that maybe the distance didn’t have to stay so wide. You had begun to think that perhaps time had just been unkind — that maybe you had both simply forgotten how to be close. So, like all brave things, you had started small.
You had said hello again in the hallway — just once, soft enough that he could ignore it if he wanted to. And he had.
You had waited after class one day, the kind of wait that could be explained away as “coincidence,” just in case he noticed.
He hadn’t.
And yet, you had still tried.
You had asked him a question once about a book you both were assigned. He had answered politely, voice low, tone neutral.
There had been no cruelty, but there had also been nothing behind the words. Just facts. Just avoidance dressed in kindness.
You had told yourself it didn’t matter — that it was still better than being looked through.
But then there had been her.
She had walked into school like something out of a catalog. Wonyoung — tall, graceful, everything you had never tried to be. She had seemed to glow without effort. People had made room for her in every conversation, every group. Including his.
It had been subtle at first. A glance from him that lasted too long. A shared laugh in the hallway. Her voice saying his name in that soft, familiar way that made your stomach drop even though it had never belonged to you.
And you had seen it — the way he watched her. The way his posture changed around her. Like he was trying to be more than himself, taller, cooler, sharper.
And you had been standing there, unnoticed. Watching a boy you had once believed in reach for someone who wouldn’t have looked twice at your garden-grown dreams.
Still, the kindness in you hadn’t withered yet.
You had gone home that day and looked at the eggs from your small backyard hens — smooth, speckled, imperfect. You had thought of his family, of how they always seemed to value neatness, control, presentation. And maybe, just maybe, this was a way to remind them — to remind him — that not everything had to be polished to be worth something.
You had cleaned them carefully, placed them in a small basket with tissue paper. You had even tied a bow.
And then you had crossed the street.
You had been greeted at the door not by him, but by his mother — her eyes landing on the basket first, then on you. The smile had been given after a beat too long. A thank-you had been offered, clipped and too high-pitched.
You had handed it over and left before the silence could grow.
But you hadn’t been gone long before you’d realized you had left your gloves — soft wool, your grandmother’s, forgotten on their front step. So you had gone back. Quietly. Not to the door, but around the side.
The window had been open. The voices had carried.
“…she gave them to us again. I keep telling you, they’re not safe. Those backyard setups? No regulation. Who knows what kind of diseases…”
“Should I throw them away?”
“Yes. Just… don’t say anything. She means well, but… you don’t owe her anything Sunghoon.”
There had been silence.
And then a quiet, resigned, “…Okay.”
You had stood there long enough to memorize those two syllables.
The basket had still been warm from your hands. And somewhere in the trash, those eggs had cracked without ever being touched.
You hadn’t cried.
But something had shifted.
The hope that had always been carried — quietly, patiently — had finally started to feel foolish.
The gloves had been left where they were. They hadn’t been worth the second trip.
And for the first time, you had stopped looking at his window.
It hadn’t happened all at once.
There had been no grand declaration, no sudden snapping of strings. Just a slow, steady unraveling. The kind that couldn’t be seen until there was nothing left to tie.
You had stopped saying his name in your head. Stopped imagining the what-ifs. Stopped waiting for moments that never came. Not out of spite. Not even sadness, really. Just exhaustion — the quiet kind that lives deep in the chest and weighs more than anything you could explain.
People around you had begun to notice something different. You had started cutting your hair the way you liked, not the way you hoped someone would notice. Your laughter had returned — sharper now, earned. You had grown into your words, found people who heard you the first time.
Even your house, once a source of quiet shame, had begun to feel like home again. The garden had kept blooming. The hens had kept laying. And the eggs? They had been given to people who smiled wide and said thank you like they meant it. They had been appreciated. Just not by the boy you once thought mattered most.
Sunghoon had still existed — at school, across the street, in the places where your lives continued to barely overlap. But your eyes had stopped following him. Your heart had stopped reacting. Or so you had told yourself.
Until the day he looked at you again.
It hadn’t been a long look. It hadn’t been a smile. But it had been real.
He had been standing outside the cafeteria, laughing — not with Wonyoung, not with anyone special. Just existing. And you had walked past, holding a book close to your chest, prepared to keep going.
But his eyes had followed.
Just briefly. Just enough.
And something in his expression had changed — not surprise, not confusion. Just a quiet, dawning awareness.
It had been the first time he looked at you without expecting anything in return.
But you hadn’t slowed down.
Because by then, you had already begun to understand:
Admiration given freely is a kind of gift. But admiration that must be earned — that arrives late, after silence and shame —is not something to welcome with open arms.
So you had kept walking. And maybe that was what made him turn his head again.
Maybe it was the absence of your gaze that finally made him want it.
A week later, you had been approached in chemistry.
“You’re good at this stuff, right?”
His voice had sounded unsure, like it wasn’t used to asking. Like it had been rehearsed.
You had looked up from your notes. Blinked. Then nodded once.
“I guess.”
He had hesitated.
“Would you maybe… want to work together on the project?”
You had tilted your head. Not cruelly. Just curiously.
“Why me?”
He had blinked then. Caught.
“I just thought you— I mean, we— live close by, so… it’d be convenient.”
You had smiled. Not the way you used to — not shy, not eager. Just calm.
“Convenient.”
The word had been echoed. Measured.
He hadn’t replied.
And for the first time, you had seen him flinch just slightly — not physically, but emotionally. Like the version of you he thought would always say yes… no longer lived here.
Maybe that was when it began for him.
The real noticing.
But you? You had already moved on from waiting.
High school had arrived like a storm in the distance — not sudden, but loud. And with it came changes that didn’t announce themselves, only revealed in glances, choices, and the spaces between words.
You had grown quieter, but not small.
There had been something about the way you carried yourself now — not cold, not rude, just deliberate. Like someone who had learned what it meant to be disappointed… and how not to let it define her.
Sunghoon had started watching again.
Not obsessively. Not obviously. But often enough for it to be noticed — by others, by you. Though you never showed it.
In group settings, he had started standing closer. During shared classes, he had leaned over with a question he didn’t really need to ask. And outside, where your houses still stood facing one another like old secrets, his front porch had seen him more often. Sitting. Waiting. Like maybe if he was still long enough, you’d look again.
But you hadn’t.
Not the way you used to.
One afternoon, after school, he’d caught up to you near the bike racks.
“Hey.”
That same careful voice — too casual, too rehearsed.
You’d turned, slowly. “Hey.”
“Are you still doing photography club?”
“Sometimes.”
A pause.
“That’s cool,” he’d said, as if the words were new in his mouth.
You had given a small smile — polite, distant.
“You should come to the showcase next month,” he’d tried again. “If you want.”
“Maybe,” you’d said. No promise. No sparkle.
And that had been the beginning of a pattern.
He had started appearing where he hadn’t before. Study groups. Club meetings. Community clean-up days. Always hovering near enough to be noticed, but never quite enough to matter.
There had been a day when he’d walked past your house and paused — long enough to ask if your garden still had the rosemary bush he liked.
“It does,” you’d said, folding your arms.
“Cool. I kind of missed the smell.”
You had raised an eyebrow.
“Didn’t know you remembered it.”
He had smiled then, a little sheepish. “I remember more than you think.”
But you hadn’t smiled back.
Because what he remembered was no longer your responsibility.
It had been strange, watching the shift. How the boy you used to ache for had begun to soften around the edges — not quite humbled, but uncertain. And how, now that he wanted your attention, it had stopped being something you offered so freely.
You weren’t cruel. That had never been your way.
But you had learned.
Learned how to keep parts of yourself folded away.
Learned that not everyone who knocks deserves to be let back in.
And learned — most of all — how to be seen without needing to be chosen.
Sunghoon hadn’t figured out what to do with this new version of you.
The version who laughed more easily with others.
The version who walked past him in the hall without her heartbeat stuttering.
The version who could look him in the eye and not feel small.
And that — more than anything — had begun to haunt him.
The first time Heeseung spoke to you, it was raining.
Not the heavy kind — just enough to soak the sidewalk and give the world a silver sheen. You had stayed after school to help set up for the club showcase, camera bag slung over your shoulder, sleeves damp from lifting chairs.
He had appeared beside you with an umbrella and that easy half-smile seniors always seemed to wear without effort.
“You take photos, right?”
The question had landed casually, as if it wasn’t the third time he’d passed by your table that week.
You’d glanced up. Nodded once. “Sometimes.”
“Cool. I’ve seen your stuff on the board by the library. You’ve got a good eye.”
You had blinked. Not because of the compliment — but because of the way he said it. Like it was a fact. Not a favor.
He had offered to carry a box inside, and you had let him. Not because you needed help, but because it had felt different from all the other times someone offered out of politeness or pity or obligation.
And from across the room, Sunghoon had watched it happen.
He had been there too, helping with his own club’s table. His sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, doing everything right — except being the one you were looking at.
He had noticed the way you laughed at something Heeseung said — not loudly, just softly, like you didn’t have to force it.
He had noticed the way Heeseung stood close enough to listen without ever stepping over.
And he had noticed the way you leaned in — not like the girl who used to chase, but like someone who had learned how to be wanted.
And something inside Sunghoon had folded.
Not jealousy. Not exactly.
Just realization.
That maybe someone else had begun to see what he hadn’t.
That maybe admiration had an expiration date.
And that maybe — just maybe — you were no longer waiting to be chosen.
He had tried not to care.
But it had stayed with him.
Later that night, after everything had been packed away, he had walked home slowly. He had seen your porch light on. Your silhouette moving through the front window. And for the first time in a long time, he had been the one watching.
You hadn’t looked out.
You hadn’t needed to.
He had been the one left wondering now.
It started with small things.
A returned smile in class. A hesitant wave in the hallway. A notebook you accidentally left behind, returned with your name whispered instead of called.
None of it was dramatic. Sunghoon was never the dramatic type.
But something in the way he moved around you had shifted — like he was orbiting again, closer than before. Hovering near your locker. Taking the long route between periods that conveniently passed your usual path.
You had noticed.
Of course you had.
But you had learned the difference between attention and intention.
And this? This felt like guilt in the shape of curiosity.
So you had been polite.
You hadn’t shut him out completely. You had answered when he spoke. You had nodded when he offered a small compliment on your photography. You had even smiled once — soft, distant, the kind of smile you’d give to someone you used to know well.
But you hadn’t opened the door again.
Not like before.
One afternoon, it finally cracked.
You had been sitting under the maple tree near the field — the one that always turned red before the others in autumn. You’d had your camera in your lap, notebook beside you, back against the bark. Alone, and content.
Footsteps had crunched through the leaves. His.
“Hey,” he’d said.
You’d looked up. Blinked. “Hi.”
He’d stood there for a second too long before sitting beside you — not too close, but not far enough to feel like nothing.
“I miss this,” he’d said. “Talking to you.”
You hadn’t replied at first. Not because you were angry, but because you had nothing to say to that. What version of “this” did he miss? The girl who used to chase him? Or the one who no longer needed to?
He’d picked at the grass between his fingers.
“My mom was wrong. About the eggs. About your family. I… should’ve said something.”
You had looked at him then, steady.
“You didn’t.”
“I know.”
Silence had filled the space again, thick and quiet.
“I was stupid,” he’d said, voice lower now. “I thought it didn’t matter. But it did. I think about it a lot.”
You had nodded once. Just once.
“Thinking about it doesn’t fix it.”
He had flinched — not visibly, but inwardly. You could feel it.
“I know that too,” he murmured.
There had been another pause before he looked up.
“You and Heeseung…”
Your expression had stayed neutral.
“What about us?”
“Are you guys…?”
You hadn’t smiled. You hadn’t fumbled. You had simply met his gaze and asked,
“Would it matter if we were?”
And in that moment, you had seen it: the fear he’d never worn before. The realization that his chance — the one he hadn’t valued — might have passed entirely.
He had looked down again, the weight of it all too much for his eyes to hold.
“You were always there,” he said. “And I never saw it until…”
“Until I stopped being,” you finished, softly.
He’d swallowed hard. Nodded.
You had stood then, brushing leaves from your jeans. Picking up your camera.
Looking down at him in the same way you once waited for him to look at you.
And then you’d said the quiet truth:
“You liked me most when I stopped liking you.”
And with that, you’d walked away.
Not angry.
Not broken.
Just whole.
Heeseung never asked for more than what you were willing to give.
That had been the most surprising thing about him. How easy it was to exist beside him. How he never demanded answers, never waited for performances. He just showed up — consistent, kind, and calm.
It had started with late afternoons at the library. Conversations that drifted from assignments to favorite books. From there, came coffee runs before meetings, notes exchanged in quiet understanding, laughter that made you forget how tightly you’d once held yourself around others.
Heeseung was steady in ways you hadn’t known to want before.
He didn’t try to impress. He didn’t hover. He just… listened. Not with pity. Not with agenda. Just presence.
One evening, he had walked you home after a club event, his hands tucked in his coat pockets, the wind pulling at the ends of your scarf. You had talked about futures — not in that dramatic, overreaching high school way — just gently, curiously.
As if dreaming was allowed.
He had paused at your gate and said, “You’re not like most people.”
You had smiled, not flustered.
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good,” he’d said, without hesitation. “But not because you’re trying to be. You just are.”
And that had been it. No confession. No lingering stares. Just a quiet truth handed over and accepted.
And maybe that’s why you stayed close.
Not for romance.
Not for distraction.
But for peace.
A kind of friendship that didn’t have to be named to be real.
But from the outside — from across the hallway, from behind cafeteria tables, from driveways where a boy stood pretending not to watch — it looked like something else.
To Sunghoon, it looked like he was too late.
Because he didn’t see the stillness of it. The comfort. The way your hand had never reached for Heeseung’s the way it once did for his.
He only saw your smile.
He only saw you leaning in.
And what he didn’t understand was that you weren’t his to understand anymore.
One morning, he had approached you in the hallway, heart pounding beneath a carefully neutral face.
“Hey, I was wondering…” He’d rubbed the back of his neck, glanced toward Heeseung across the room. “Is something going on between you and him?”
You had blinked once. Not surprised. Just… tired.
“Why do you want to know?”
He hadn’t answered right away. Just shrugged.
“I guess I was just curious.”
You had looked him in the eye. Not cold. Just clear.
“You didn’t ask when it mattered.”
And before he could find the words, Heeseung had walked up behind you with a quiet smile and a book you’d left behind.
“You forgot this.”
You had taken it gently. “Thanks.”
And then, with a glance toward Sunghoon — who was standing frozen in a thousand realizations — you had turned and walked down the hall beside someone who saw you, even if it wasn’t the way Sunghoon feared.
Because not all bonds were built on desire.
Some were built on dignity.
On being seen — not as someone to chase, but as someone to respect.
And in the end, that was the part Sunghoon had never understood.
Not yet.
It happened at the end of the year, just before graduation.
The air had started to smell like summer again — grass freshly cut, sun warming the sidewalks. You had been packing away your camera gear after your final photography showcase. He had waited until the room emptied, until the noise faded. Until it was just the two of you.
Sunghoon.
Still handsome in that quiet, reserved way. Still uncertain when it came to you.
He had stood across the room like someone deciding whether to cross a bridge already burned.
“I don’t want to leave things like this,” he’d said.
You had glanced up. Blinked once. “Like what?”
“With you. Us.”
There had never really been an “us,” but you didn’t say that.
He walked forward slowly, hands in his jacket pockets. Like maybe if he moved gently enough, the truth wouldn’t sting.
“I was scared,” he said. “Back then. Of what people thought. Of what it meant to like someone who didn’t fit into the version of life my parents drew for me.”
You’d stayed quiet. Letting him speak.
“I kept thinking I’d have more time to figure it out. That one day, when I was ready, you’d still be there.”
You had looked at him — not with anger. Just with the kind of sadness that only comes from clarity.
“But I wasn’t,” you said.
“I know.”
A silence settled.
“I think about it a lot,” he added. “How I saw you every day and never really saw you until you stopped waiting.”
You smiled then, just a little. Not unkind.
“Sometimes we don’t see the right things until they stop needing to be noticed.”
He flinched — not from the words, but from the truth in them.
“I used to think it would be us,” he admitted. “That eventually, we’d… circle back.”
You paused, thoughtful. Careful.
“So did I.”
He looked up at that. His breath caught.
“But I let go of that version of us a long time ago,” you said, softly. “Not out of bitterness. Just… peace.”
He swallowed hard. Nodded.
“And Heeseung?”
You shook your head once. “He’s important to me. But not in the way you think.”
A beat passed.
Sunghoon exhaled. Long. Slow. Like something inside him had finally broken loose.
“Do you think we ever had a real chance?”
You considered it.
“Maybe,” you said. “But a real chance needs real courage. And back then… you weren’t brave enough.”
He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.
You stepped past him then, camera bag over your shoulder, fingers curled lightly around the strap.
Before you left, you paused.
“Take care of yourself, Sunghoon.”
And that was it.
No kiss. No dramatic goodbye. Just a truth, delivered gently, to the boy who had waited too long to look again.
He watched you go, standing in the soft light of the hallway, where shadows stretched long and quiet.
And maybe for the first time, he understood what it meant to love something only when it’s no longer yours to hold.
Genre: angst, slow burn, unrequired love, subtle fluff, 60s, apparition of Wonyoung and Heeseung, Flipped inspired
Warnings: emotional neglect, subtle classism/social rejection, passive exclusion, mention of family expectations and internalized shame
Summary: you were always just the girl across the street, sweet, simple, and never quite enough. For Sunghoon, you were always there, and that was the problem. But time has a way of shifting things: admiration fades, people change, and when he finally looks at you again… it might be too late.
WC: 6k
A/N: I worked on this being inspired by the movie Flipped because I really like it, and i thought it could be a great dynamic
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You had always been told that first impressions matter, but somehow, the first time you saw him, it didn’t matter at all.
Sunghoon was a stranger to you then, just another face among many in the neighborhood. But it didn’t take long for your life to be entwined with his.
The first time he moved into the house across the street, you couldn’t help but watch. The sound of moving boxes and the rustling of plastic seemed to pull your attention in, and though you tried to look away, your eyes were drawn to the way his figure moved — with a quiet grace, like everything he did was deliberate. He wasn’t like the other kids in your neighborhood, who yelled and ran around carelessly. No, Sunghoon carried a kind of calm that made you feel like an intruder simply by observing him.
It wasn’t a special day. It wasn’t the kind of moment that would be written down in a diary or remembered for years. But it was in its own small way, the beginning of something that would change everything.
He had walked to the front door, looking back at his parents and when he turned, his eyes had met yours for the briefest moment. A slight tilt of his head, a flicker of recognition — as if he too, had noticed you standing there. You weren’t sure why, but something inside you stirred.
The days that followed were filled with subtle moments, like the way his presence could be felt before he was seen, or how you could sense his movements through the sound of footsteps, a breeze in the air. He wasn’t loud but he was always there, always close enough to catch a glimpse of, if you tried hard enough.
The first time you actually spoke to him, it wasn’t like you imagined. There was no grand opening or carefully planned approach. It was a simple mistake. You were walking to school, your backpack bouncing with each step, when you tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. It wasn’t a big fall, but it was enough to make you feel foolish. And there in that instant, you had been pulled to your feet by a hand you hadn’t expected.
“Are you okay?” The voice was soft, with a faint edge of concern.
It took a moment for you to gather yourself, to blink away the embarrassment. Sunghoon was standing there, eyes focused on you, his hand still hovering, waiting for you to take it. And you did. Without thinking. His touch was gentle, like everything else about him, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause.
“Yeah,” you muttered, suddenly feeling awkward. “Thanks.”
He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Be careful next time.”
That was it. No grand revelation, no heart-pounding confession. Just a simple, quiet moment. But it stayed with you, lingering in the back of your mind.
From then on, you began to notice him more. The way he moved through the world so calmly, so quietly, like he was waiting for something — or perhaps avoiding it.
You saw him at the local park sitting on the swings, his eyes focused somewhere far away.
You saw him at the ice cream truck, paying for a cone without speaking much, offering a polite smile to the vendor.
He was polite, always polite, but there was a distance about him that kept you from truly getting to know him.
At first, you didn’t think much about it. You told yourself it was just another boy, just another neighbor. But as time passed, you started to wonder about him. You started to wonder about the way his eyes would sometimes catch yours across the street, the way he always seemed to be looking at something you couldn’t see.
It wasn’t that you were drawn to him — not yet, anyway. It was just curiosity. He was different, that was all. A mystery waiting to be solved.
The seasons had passed quietly, and the world had grown around you without warning. Middle school had crept in with its awkwardness, and with it came distance — not the physical kind, but the type that forms without anyone noticing.
Your fascination with him had deepened before you even realized it. The simple, quiet boy from across the street had become a figure etched into your daily life, a rhythm you couldn’t unlearn. You had been seen waiting for him sometimes.
Not deliberately — just standing on your porch a little longer, pretending to adjust your backpack while hoping he’d come outside. Some days he did. Most days he didn’t.
And when he did, you were never really spoken to.
If he noticed your presence, nothing was ever said about it. But a shift could be felt. Eye contact that used to linger had grown shorter, tighter, more distant. Your hellos were responded to, but only politely. The kindness had never left him, but something else had replaced the quiet warmth he once offered you. And that something had hurt.
At school, he had been surrounded more often now. Boys who laughed louder, ran faster. Girls who had begun to wear lip gloss and pass folded notes. You weren’t sure when it had changed — only that it had.
Rumors had reached your ears. That Sunghoon had kissed someone behind the gym. That he had turned someone else down.
That he had said your name, once, when someone teased him. You didn’t know what was true and what wasn’t, but you had felt your heart drop every time his name was said in a sentence you weren’t a part of.
You hadn’t meant to keep watching him. You had tried not to. But old habits don’t break easily. Especially not when everylittle thing he did still mattered.
It had been during an art class when you’d been placed near him again. Accidental, but unforgettable. He had been sketching— not talking, not looking at anyone. You had glanced over, just once, and seen the page. A tree. Stark, bare, intricate. You had stared at it longer than you meant to.
“You like it?” he had asked, without looking up.
You had been startled. Words had been hard to find.
“It’s… beautiful,” you had said, truthfully.
A slight nod had been given. No smile. But something in his expression had softened, like a door cracked open for a breath of air. That moment had stayed with you longer than it should’ve.
Still, something had shifted between you — some invisible line had been drawn, and neither of you had known how to cross it again. Childhood closeness had become teenage discomfort. You weren’t a girl he ran to anymore. And he wasn’t just the boy across the street.
You had been changing, too. Learning how to speak up more. Learning to care a little less about whether he noticed. But deep down, you had still been hoping. Hoping that one day, he would look again — really look — and see what had always been there.
You had seen him after school sometimes, waiting by the curb. A new girl would join him. A laugh would be heard. The kind that stung without reason. And though you had told yourself it didn’t matter, your eyes had still followed him until he was gone.
Because once you had cared for someone so quietly, so deeply, that even when they turned away, a part of you kept reaching.
And that part — it had been growing quieter, but it hadn’t let go.
Middle school had taught you more about silence than any lesson ever could.
It had been learned that silence could be louder than words. That sometimes it arrived not as a choice, but as a consequence— of growing up, of being seen too clearly, of someone suddenly deciding to stop looking.
Sunghoon had started ignoring you in ways that couldn’t be explained aloud. No direct cruelty, no obvious insults. Just subtle shifts. A gaze that passed over you in the hallway. A group project where your raised hand went unseen. A lunch table where there had once been room, now full.
Your name had stopped being said — at least, not where you could hear it.
What had hurt more was knowing that once, there had been something different. You had been smiled at. You had been asked if you were okay. That version of him had existed — you remembered it vividly. But somewhere in the in-between, he had learned how to look away. And he had become very good at it.
You had been told, once, that his mother didn’t think highly of your family.
It hadn’t been said directly. But things like that rarely were.
You had overheard it by accident — a soft voice, a sharp tone. Something about “that girl across the street” being sweet, but simple. Something about how not everyone takes pride in how their yard looks, and somepeople just don’t value appearances. It hadn’t been meant for your ears, but it had reached them all the same.
From that day on, you had begun to notice how his mother’s smile never quite reached her eyes when she greeted yours.
How her voice grew thinner when she spoke your name, if she ever did. How her gaze would pass over your house like it was something temporary, like it didn’t quite belong.
And maybe that was where it had started. Or maybe he had changed for other reasons. But after that, Sunghoon’s distance felt colder — like it wasn’t just about drifting apart, but about choosing not to be associated.
You had tried not to let it get to you. You had told yourself it was just middle school. That boys got weird, that popularity shifted things, that he was just busy.
But then there had been that moment in the science lab — when you had dropped a glass slide and every eye had turned toward the sound. You had knelt to pick it up, and when you’d looked up, his gaze had been the only one not meeting yours.
He had looked right past you. Through you.
And that, somehow, had been worse than any laugh.
Another time, in the cafeteria, you had been walking with your tray when someone bumped into you. The milk had spilled— not much, just enough to make a scene. You had laughed it off, cheeks burning, fingers fumbling for a napkin. And from the corner of your eye, you had seen him at a table with friends, watching. Not laughing. Not reacting. Just watching. And then turning back to his food.
A part of you had waited for him to say something after. But he never had.
You hadn’t been invisible. You had been intentionally unseen.
And that kind of hurt didn’t fade quickly.
But the thing was — you had never confronted him. Not once. Not even when the silence had become loud. Not even when his friends had teased him in the hallway for “his little neighbor,” and he had blushed and laughed like it was nothing. You had swallowed it all. Proudly. Because you refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.
You had started walking a little taller after that. You had spoken a little louder in class. You had made friends who looked at you when you talked, who didn’t make you feel small. It had taken time. But slowly, you had learned how to build a world that didn’t orbit around him.
And still, despite everything, you had never stopped glancing toward his window sometimes.
Just to see if he still looked, too.
It had been decided, somewhere in your quiet heart, that maybe the distance didn’t have to stay so wide. You had begun to think that perhaps time had just been unkind — that maybe you had both simply forgotten how to be close. So, like all brave things, you had started small.
You had said hello again in the hallway — just once, soft enough that he could ignore it if he wanted to. And he had.
You had waited after class one day, the kind of wait that could be explained away as “coincidence,” just in case he noticed.
He hadn’t.
And yet, you had still tried.
You had asked him a question once about a book you both were assigned. He had answered politely, voice low, tone neutral.
There had been no cruelty, but there had also been nothing behind the words. Just facts. Just avoidance dressed in kindness.
You had told yourself it didn’t matter — that it was still better than being looked through.
But then there had been her.
She had walked into school like something out of a catalog. Wonyoung — tall, graceful, everything you had never tried to be. She had seemed to glow without effort. People had made room for her in every conversation, every group. Including his.
It had been subtle at first. A glance from him that lasted too long. A shared laugh in the hallway. Her voice saying his name in that soft, familiar way that made your stomach drop even though it had never belonged to you.
And you had seen it — the way he watched her. The way his posture changed around her. Like he was trying to be more than himself, taller, cooler, sharper.
And you had been standing there, unnoticed. Watching a boy you had once believed in reach for someone who wouldn’t have looked twice at your garden-grown dreams.
Still, the kindness in you hadn’t withered yet.
You had gone home that day and looked at the eggs from your small backyard hens — smooth, speckled, imperfect. You had thought of his family, of how they always seemed to value neatness, control, presentation. And maybe, just maybe, this was a way to remind them — to remind him — that not everything had to be polished to be worth something.
You had cleaned them carefully, placed them in a small basket with tissue paper. You had even tied a bow.
And then you had crossed the street.
You had been greeted at the door not by him, but by his mother — her eyes landing on the basket first, then on you. The smile had been given after a beat too long. A thank-you had been offered, clipped and too high-pitched.
You had handed it over and left before the silence could grow.
But you hadn’t been gone long before you’d realized you had left your gloves — soft wool, your grandmother’s, forgotten on their front step. So you had gone back. Quietly. Not to the door, but around the side.
The window had been open. The voices had carried.
“…she gave them to us again. I keep telling you, they’re not safe. Those backyard setups? No regulation. Who knows what kind of diseases…”
“Should I throw them away?”
“Yes. Just… don’t say anything. She means well, but… you don’t owe her anything Sunghoon.”
There had been silence.
And then a quiet, resigned, “…Okay.”
You had stood there long enough to memorize those two syllables.
The basket had still been warm from your hands. And somewhere in the trash, those eggs had cracked without ever being touched.
You hadn’t cried.
But something had shifted.
The hope that had always been carried — quietly, patiently — had finally started to feel foolish.
The gloves had been left where they were. They hadn’t been worth the second trip.
And for the first time, you had stopped looking at his window.
It hadn’t happened all at once.
There had been no grand declaration, no sudden snapping of strings. Just a slow, steady unraveling. The kind that couldn’t be seen until there was nothing left to tie.
You had stopped saying his name in your head. Stopped imagining the what-ifs. Stopped waiting for moments that never came. Not out of spite. Not even sadness, really. Just exhaustion — the quiet kind that lives deep in the chest and weighs more than anything you could explain.
People around you had begun to notice something different. You had started cutting your hair the way you liked, not the way you hoped someone would notice. Your laughter had returned — sharper now, earned. You had grown into your words, found people who heard you the first time.
Even your house, once a source of quiet shame, had begun to feel like home again. The garden had kept blooming. The hens had kept laying. And the eggs? They had been given to people who smiled wide and said thank you like they meant it. They had been appreciated. Just not by the boy you once thought mattered most.
Sunghoon had still existed — at school, across the street, in the places where your lives continued to barely overlap. But your eyes had stopped following him. Your heart had stopped reacting. Or so you had told yourself.
Until the day he looked at you again.
It hadn’t been a long look. It hadn’t been a smile. But it had been real.
He had been standing outside the cafeteria, laughing — not with Wonyoung, not with anyone special. Just existing. And you had walked past, holding a book close to your chest, prepared to keep going.
But his eyes had followed.
Just briefly. Just enough.
And something in his expression had changed — not surprise, not confusion. Just a quiet, dawning awareness.
It had been the first time he looked at you without expecting anything in return.
But you hadn’t slowed down.
Because by then, you had already begun to understand:
Admiration given freely is a kind of gift. But admiration that must be earned — that arrives late, after silence and shame —is not something to welcome with open arms.
So you had kept walking. And maybe that was what made him turn his head again.
Maybe it was the absence of your gaze that finally made him want it.
A week later, you had been approached in chemistry.
“You’re good at this stuff, right?”
His voice had sounded unsure, like it wasn’t used to asking. Like it had been rehearsed.
You had looked up from your notes. Blinked. Then nodded once.
“I guess.”
He had hesitated.
“Would you maybe… want to work together on the project?”
You had tilted your head. Not cruelly. Just curiously.
“Why me?”
He had blinked then. Caught.
“I just thought you— I mean, we— live close by, so… it’d be convenient.”
You had smiled. Not the way you used to — not shy, not eager. Just calm.
“Convenient.”
The word had been echoed. Measured.
He hadn’t replied.
And for the first time, you had seen him flinch just slightly — not physically, but emotionally. Like the version of you he thought would always say yes… no longer lived here.
Maybe that was when it began for him.
The real noticing.
But you? You had already moved on from waiting.
High school had arrived like a storm in the distance — not sudden, but loud. And with it came changes that didn’t announce themselves, only revealed in glances, choices, and the spaces between words.
You had grown quieter, but not small.
There had been something about the way you carried yourself now — not cold, not rude, just deliberate. Like someone who had learned what it meant to be disappointed… and how not to let it define her.
Sunghoon had started watching again.
Not obsessively. Not obviously. But often enough for it to be noticed — by others, by you. Though you never showed it.
In group settings, he had started standing closer. During shared classes, he had leaned over with a question he didn’t really need to ask. And outside, where your houses still stood facing one another like old secrets, his front porch had seen him more often. Sitting. Waiting. Like maybe if he was still long enough, you’d look again.
But you hadn’t.
Not the way you used to.
One afternoon, after school, he’d caught up to you near the bike racks.
“Hey.”
That same careful voice — too casual, too rehearsed.
You’d turned, slowly. “Hey.”
“Are you still doing photography club?”
“Sometimes.”
A pause.
“That’s cool,” he’d said, as if the words were new in his mouth.
You had given a small smile — polite, distant.
“You should come to the showcase next month,” he’d tried again. “If you want.”
“Maybe,” you’d said. No promise. No sparkle.
And that had been the beginning of a pattern.
He had started appearing where he hadn’t before. Study groups. Club meetings. Community clean-up days. Always hovering near enough to be noticed, but never quite enough to matter.
There had been a day when he’d walked past your house and paused — long enough to ask if your garden still had the rosemary bush he liked.
“It does,” you’d said, folding your arms.
“Cool. I kind of missed the smell.”
You had raised an eyebrow.
“Didn’t know you remembered it.”
He had smiled then, a little sheepish. “I remember more than you think.”
But you hadn’t smiled back.
Because what he remembered was no longer your responsibility.
It had been strange, watching the shift. How the boy you used to ache for had begun to soften around the edges — not quite humbled, but uncertain. And how, now that he wanted your attention, it had stopped being something you offered so freely.
You weren’t cruel. That had never been your way.
But you had learned.
Learned how to keep parts of yourself folded away.
Learned that not everyone who knocks deserves to be let back in.
And learned — most of all — how to be seen without needing to be chosen.
Sunghoon hadn’t figured out what to do with this new version of you.
The version who laughed more easily with others.
The version who walked past him in the hall without her heartbeat stuttering.
The version who could look him in the eye and not feel small.
And that — more than anything — had begun to haunt him.
The first time Heeseung spoke to you, it was raining.
Not the heavy kind — just enough to soak the sidewalk and give the world a silver sheen. You had stayed after school to help set up for the club showcase, camera bag slung over your shoulder, sleeves damp from lifting chairs.
He had appeared beside you with an umbrella and that easy half-smile seniors always seemed to wear without effort.
“You take photos, right?”
The question had landed casually, as if it wasn’t the third time he’d passed by your table that week.
You’d glanced up. Nodded once. “Sometimes.”
“Cool. I’ve seen your stuff on the board by the library. You’ve got a good eye.”
You had blinked. Not because of the compliment — but because of the way he said it. Like it was a fact. Not a favor.
He had offered to carry a box inside, and you had let him. Not because you needed help, but because it had felt different from all the other times someone offered out of politeness or pity or obligation.
And from across the room, Sunghoon had watched it happen.
He had been there too, helping with his own club’s table. His sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, doing everything right — except being the one you were looking at.
He had noticed the way you laughed at something Heeseung said — not loudly, just softly, like you didn’t have to force it.
He had noticed the way Heeseung stood close enough to listen without ever stepping over.
And he had noticed the way you leaned in — not like the girl who used to chase, but like someone who had learned how to be wanted.
And something inside Sunghoon had folded.
Not jealousy. Not exactly.
Just realization.
That maybe someone else had begun to see what he hadn’t.
That maybe admiration had an expiration date.
And that maybe — just maybe — you were no longer waiting to be chosen.
He had tried not to care.
But it had stayed with him.
Later that night, after everything had been packed away, he had walked home slowly. He had seen your porch light on. Your silhouette moving through the front window. And for the first time in a long time, he had been the one watching.
You hadn’t looked out.
You hadn’t needed to.
He had been the one left wondering now.
It started with small things.
A returned smile in class. A hesitant wave in the hallway. A notebook you accidentally left behind, returned with your name whispered instead of called.
None of it was dramatic. Sunghoon was never the dramatic type.
But something in the way he moved around you had shifted — like he was orbiting again, closer than before. Hovering near your locker. Taking the long route between periods that conveniently passed your usual path.
You had noticed.
Of course you had.
But you had learned the difference between attention and intention.
And this? This felt like guilt in the shape of curiosity.
So you had been polite.
You hadn’t shut him out completely. You had answered when he spoke. You had nodded when he offered a small compliment on your photography. You had even smiled once — soft, distant, the kind of smile you’d give to someone you used to know well.
But you hadn’t opened the door again.
Not like before.
One afternoon, it finally cracked.
You had been sitting under the maple tree near the field — the one that always turned red before the others in autumn. You’d had your camera in your lap, notebook beside you, back against the bark. Alone, and content.
Footsteps had crunched through the leaves. His.
“Hey,” he’d said.
You’d looked up. Blinked. “Hi.”
He’d stood there for a second too long before sitting beside you — not too close, but not far enough to feel like nothing.
“I miss this,” he’d said. “Talking to you.”
You hadn’t replied at first. Not because you were angry, but because you had nothing to say to that. What version of “this” did he miss? The girl who used to chase him? Or the one who no longer needed to?
He’d picked at the grass between his fingers.
“My mom was wrong. About the eggs. About your family. I… should’ve said something.”
You had looked at him then, steady.
“You didn’t.”
“I know.”
Silence had filled the space again, thick and quiet.
“I was stupid,” he’d said, voice lower now. “I thought it didn’t matter. But it did. I think about it a lot.”
You had nodded once. Just once.
“Thinking about it doesn’t fix it.”
He had flinched — not visibly, but inwardly. You could feel it.
“I know that too,” he murmured.
There had been another pause before he looked up.
“You and Heeseung…”
Your expression had stayed neutral.
“What about us?”
“Are you guys…?”
You hadn’t smiled. You hadn’t fumbled. You had simply met his gaze and asked,
“Would it matter if we were?”
And in that moment, you had seen it: the fear he’d never worn before. The realization that his chance — the one he hadn’t valued — might have passed entirely.
He had looked down again, the weight of it all too much for his eyes to hold.
“You were always there,” he said. “And I never saw it until…”
“Until I stopped being,” you finished, softly.
He’d swallowed hard. Nodded.
You had stood then, brushing leaves from your jeans. Picking up your camera.
Looking down at him in the same way you once waited for him to look at you.
And then you’d said the quiet truth:
“You liked me most when I stopped liking you.”
And with that, you’d walked away.
Not angry.
Not broken.
Just whole.
Heeseung never asked for more than what you were willing to give.
That had been the most surprising thing about him. How easy it was to exist beside him. How he never demanded answers, never waited for performances. He just showed up — consistent, kind, and calm.
It had started with late afternoons at the library. Conversations that drifted from assignments to favorite books. From there, came coffee runs before meetings, notes exchanged in quiet understanding, laughter that made you forget how tightly you’d once held yourself around others.
Heeseung was steady in ways you hadn’t known to want before.
He didn’t try to impress. He didn’t hover. He just… listened. Not with pity. Not with agenda. Just presence.
One evening, he had walked you home after a club event, his hands tucked in his coat pockets, the wind pulling at the ends of your scarf. You had talked about futures — not in that dramatic, overreaching high school way — just gently, curiously.
As if dreaming was allowed.
He had paused at your gate and said, “You’re not like most people.”
You had smiled, not flustered.
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good,” he’d said, without hesitation. “But not because you’re trying to be. You just are.”
And that had been it. No confession. No lingering stares. Just a quiet truth handed over and accepted.
And maybe that’s why you stayed close.
Not for romance.
Not for distraction.
But for peace.
A kind of friendship that didn’t have to be named to be real.
But from the outside — from across the hallway, from behind cafeteria tables, from driveways where a boy stood pretending not to watch — it looked like something else.
To Sunghoon, it looked like he was too late.
Because he didn’t see the stillness of it. The comfort. The way your hand had never reached for Heeseung’s the way it once did for his.
He only saw your smile.
He only saw you leaning in.
And what he didn’t understand was that you weren’t his to understand anymore.
One morning, he had approached you in the hallway, heart pounding beneath a carefully neutral face.
“Hey, I was wondering…” He’d rubbed the back of his neck, glanced toward Heeseung across the room. “Is something going on between you and him?”
You had blinked once. Not surprised. Just… tired.
“Why do you want to know?”
He hadn’t answered right away. Just shrugged.
“I guess I was just curious.”
You had looked him in the eye. Not cold. Just clear.
“You didn’t ask when it mattered.”
And before he could find the words, Heeseung had walked up behind you with a quiet smile and a book you’d left behind.
“You forgot this.”
You had taken it gently. “Thanks.”
And then, with a glance toward Sunghoon — who was standing frozen in a thousand realizations — you had turned and walked down the hall beside someone who saw you, even if it wasn’t the way Sunghoon feared.
Because not all bonds were built on desire.
Some were built on dignity.
On being seen — not as someone to chase, but as someone to respect.
And in the end, that was the part Sunghoon had never understood.
Not yet.
It happened at the end of the year, just before graduation.
The air had started to smell like summer again — grass freshly cut, sun warming the sidewalks. You had been packing away your camera gear after your final photography showcase. He had waited until the room emptied, until the noise faded. Until it was just the two of you.
Sunghoon.
Still handsome in that quiet, reserved way. Still uncertain when it came to you.
He had stood across the room like someone deciding whether to cross a bridge already burned.
“I don’t want to leave things like this,” he’d said.
You had glanced up. Blinked once. “Like what?”
“With you. Us.”
There had never really been an “us,” but you didn’t say that.
He walked forward slowly, hands in his jacket pockets. Like maybe if he moved gently enough, the truth wouldn’t sting.
“I was scared,” he said. “Back then. Of what people thought. Of what it meant to like someone who didn’t fit into the version of life my parents drew for me.”
You’d stayed quiet. Letting him speak.
“I kept thinking I’d have more time to figure it out. That one day, when I was ready, you’d still be there.”
You had looked at him — not with anger. Just with the kind of sadness that only comes from clarity.
“But I wasn’t,” you said.
“I know.”
A silence settled.
“I think about it a lot,” he added. “How I saw you every day and never really saw you until you stopped waiting.”
You smiled then, just a little. Not unkind.
“Sometimes we don’t see the right things until they stop needing to be noticed.”
He flinched — not from the words, but from the truth in them.
“I used to think it would be us,” he admitted. “That eventually, we’d… circle back.”
You paused, thoughtful. Careful.
“So did I.”
He looked up at that. His breath caught.
“But I let go of that version of us a long time ago,” you said, softly. “Not out of bitterness. Just… peace.”
He swallowed hard. Nodded.
“And Heeseung?”
You shook your head once. “He’s important to me. But not in the way you think.”
A beat passed.
Sunghoon exhaled. Long. Slow. Like something inside him had finally broken loose.
“Do you think we ever had a real chance?”
You considered it.
“Maybe,” you said. “But a real chance needs real courage. And back then… you weren’t brave enough.”
He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.
You stepped past him then, camera bag over your shoulder, fingers curled lightly around the strap.
Before you left, you paused.
“Take care of yourself, Sunghoon.”
And that was it.
No kiss. No dramatic goodbye. Just a truth, delivered gently, to the boy who had waited too long to look again.
He watched you go, standing in the soft light of the hallway, where shadows stretched long and quiet.
And maybe for the first time, he understood what it meant to love something only when it’s no longer yours to hold.
Club : noun, 1. an association dedicated to a particular interest or activity.
That’s the definition when it’s not secret. But secrets are meant to be kept or sometimes found. I mean what could happen when you learn that someone is in a fightclub ?
TAGLIST OPEN-> SEND AN ASK OR COMMENT TO BE ADDED
J A Y - KISS, KISS, KISS LOVE ME NOW
Genre : neighbor!jay, nurse!reader, jay is in a fightclub, strangers to lovers
Summary: when your new neighbor with strange behavior and a cold attitude is lying all bloody on the staircase, you have no other choice but to help him. And fortunately for him, you know how to do stitches…
“Every day I lose my beautiful days… and I die in this war.” 😭💔
I'm not okay.
I don't sleep, I don't eat, I don't breathe like other people do.
I just count what's left of me... and wait.
Will I die today? 😭
Will a missile fall on me and end this pain once and for all?
Will I lose my son, still swimming in my belly, searching for a beating heart, a small dream, a chance to survive?
But I have nothing for him… no milk, no roof, no safety… only my fear. 💔
Yesterday, I saw in my dream a child reaching out his hand to me, saying, "Mom, save me."
I woke up screaming...
But no one heard me.💔
There's no room in my body for bullets, but war resides in my eyes, in my womb, in my silence, in every heartbeat I hear from inside my belly. Even hope no longer visits me, even prayer has become faint. 💔
Please...
Help me before I become another silence on this weary earth.
Help me before this child loses his mother... just as I lost everything.
I am Michelle from Greece, and I am running a campaign for Asmaa. Please consider donating if you can to help them.
Also, my husband is between life and death and I am helpless 💔
I am the wife of a man who was never just a husband… He was my support, my hope, and my everything in this cruel world. And today, as I write these words, my heart breaks for him as he battles his illness without medicine, without a hospital bed, and without even the reassurance of peace.
My husband has severe pneumonia, and hepatitis is eating away at his body day after day. His ability to breathe is no longer what it used to be, and his chest pain wakes him up terrified. As for me, all I can do is wipe away his sweat and hide my tears.😭
I watch my loved one wither away in front of me, and I don't have the money, the support, or even a safe place to rest my head. We count his breaths in prayer, hoping he'll hold on for another day... that someone will come... that someone will hear us. 💔😭
I appeal to those with compassionate hearts, those who have the ability to help, do not delay. A human life is in your hands, and my husband does not need much, just hope... just medicine... just a chance to live.
Genre : neighbor!jay, nurse!reader, jay is in a fightclub, strangers to lovers
Warnings : blood, angst, suggestive
Summary : when your new neighbor with strange behavior and a cold attitude is lying all bloody on the staircase, you have no other choice but to help him. And fortunately for him, you know how to do stitches…
wc : 7k
——
Night shifts were far from your favorite, but there was no avoiding them—they came with the territory. Tonight had been particularly grueling, and as you made your way to your locker to gather your belongings, all you could think about was the hot bubble bath waiting for you at home. The thought of sinking into warm, soothing water, letting it ease the tension from your muscles, was the only thing keeping you upright. You could already imagine the soft embrace of your fluffy pajamas and the cool, crisp sheets of your bed cocooning you in much-needed rest. The late hour no longer mattered; all you wanted was to unwind.
Most nights at the hospital followed the usual rhythm—routine patient checks, occasional emergencies, and long, quiet hours of paperwork. But tonight had been different. Chaos had erupted when a massive street fight sent a wave of injured people flooding into the emergency room. Blood, shouting, the frantic pace of doctors and nurses scrambling to stabilize patients—it had been relentless. The hours dragged, exhaustion gnawed at your bones, and by the time your shift ended, you felt like a shadow of yourself.
Your city was usually quiet, only punctuated by brief moments of excitement. But lately, something had changed. A darker undercurrent ran beneath the surface, seeping into everyday life. Just last week, in the hospital’s changing room, you overheard whispers among your colleagues. Rumors of a secret fight club were spreading—an underground ring where people brawled for money, pride, or simply the thrill of it. These fights, they said, had been escalating, leaving competitors battered and broken, some requiring serious medical attention.
You weren’t one for gossip, though. Whether the fight club was real or just an exaggerated rumor, it wasn’t your concern. People made their choices, and you had enough on your plate without worrying about reckless strangers throwing punches for sport.
The drive home was quiet, the deserted streets bathed in the amber glow of streetlights. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft melody of your car radio provided a comforting contrast to the night’s earlier chaos. Slowly, the tension in your shoulders began to ease. By the time you pulled into your usual parking spot, the hospital felt like a distant memory.
Stepping into the lobby of your apartment building, you sighed as the old neon light above flickered erratically. The buzzing was almost rhythmic, a constant reminder that the building had seen better days. Your gaze drifted to the staircase—three flights between you and your apartment. Normally, the lack of an elevator was just a minor inconvenience, but tonight, with exhaustion weighing on you like lead, it felt like a cruel joke.
Halfway up the first flight, you heard it—a faint sound that made you stop mid-step. A muffled groan, low and pained. Your pulse quickened as you turned your head, searching for the source.
Then you saw him.
A man lay slumped against the wall on the landing, his jet-black hair tousled and damp with sweat. He was breathing heavily, his body tense as if every movement caused him pain. In the dim glow of the stairwell, you recognized him instantly—your neighbor.
You’d never spoken to him before. He was a mystery, always distant, his presence more like a shadow that drifted through the building without a word. On the rare occasions your paths crossed, he never acknowledged you beyond a curt nod—if even that.
But now, all that cold detachment was gone. Now, he was vulnerable.
For a brief moment, you hesitated. He wasn’t your responsibility. He had never shown the slightest interest in your existence, and yet, something about seeing him like this stirred unease in your chest.
Was he drunk? The thought crossed your mind as you took another step closer, subtly sniffing the air for any trace of alcohol. But before you could form a conclusion, his voice cut through the silence.
"I'm not drunk," he muttered, his tone low but sharp enough to catch you off guard.
You froze, startled, as though you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. His dark eyes met yours under the flickering white neon, and for a brief second, you felt oddly flustered.
"Uh… well, are you okay?" you stammered, regaining your composure. "You don’t look like you’re in great shape."
He shifted slightly, trying to straighten himself against the wall, and that’s when you saw it—the deep crimson stain blooming across the fabric of his light-colored shirt.
Your breath hitched.
"Oh my God, you’re bleeding!" The words rushed out before you could stop them.
Instinct took over, and before he could protest, you were on your knees beside him, eyes scanning for the source of the wound. The sight of so much blood made your heart race.
His abdomen—that’s where the stain was darkest. The sheer amount of blood loss made you hiss in concern. You reached out, fingers hovering just above the fabric. In the hospital, you wouldn’t hesitate. You’d lift his shirt, assess the damage, and get to work. But here, in the dim stairwell of your apartment building, with a man you barely knew, you faltered.
“Can I move this?” you asked, voice softer now. “I need to see how bad it is.”
He let out a humorless chuckle, though it quickly turned into a grimace.
“Why do you even care?” he murmured, his voice laced with something unreadable. "Are you a doctor or something? You don’t even know me. Why would you help me?"
His words stung, though you weren’t sure why. Maybe because, despite his attempt at indifference, there was something raw beneath them—something that hinted at a man who wasn’t used to kindness.
You met his gaze, steady and unwavering.
"Because you need it," you said simply. "Now, let me help you."
He stared at you for a long moment, and then, with a tired sigh, he let his head rest back against the wall.
"Fine," he muttered. "Do whatever you want."
And with that, you carefully lifted the fabric, bracing yourself for what you might find beneath.
Beneath the fabric, you saw a horizontal wound—deep, but not deep enough to cause internal damage. Judging by the clean slice, it looked like a knife wound. Experience told you that this would need stitches. The amount of blood loss was severe; it was a wonder he was still conscious. Adrenaline, you realized, must be keeping him awake.
The weather wasn’t too cold, so you hadn’t worn a jacket, but you had a silk scarf in your bag—just in case. After a brief moment of hesitation, you pulled it out and pressed it firmly against the wound to slow the bleeding.
“You’re going to need stitches,” you murmured. “It’s not safe to do this here. These stairs are filthy—I don’t even want to think about when they were last cleaned. I have supplies in my apartment. Can you move?”
He let out a slow breath, his face contorting in pain as he tried to shift. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t make it, but then he gritted his teeth and nodded.
“I’ll manage,” he muttered, voice hoarse.
You slipped an arm under his to help him up, his weight pressing heavily against you. It was going to be a long night.
As you struggled to maintain his weight, you couldn't help but notice the firm muscles beneath your fingers. His toned arm rested against you, and despite the situation, you briefly wondered if he spent time at the gym. He had always seemed distant and unapproachable, but now, pressed against you like this, he felt undeniably human. Vulnerable, even.
You suddenly realized you didn’t even know his first name.
“What’s your name, by the way?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual despite the tension in the air.
A beat of silence followed, his breathing slightly labored as he adjusted his stance. Then, with a weak but unmistakably sarcastic tone, he responded.
“I didn’t know we were doing a chit-chat session… If only I knew, I would’ve brought some tea and cookies.”
Despite yourself, you huffed out a short, amused breath. Even injured, he had the energy to be difficult.
You preferred to ignore his remark, exhaling a short sigh as you fumbled with your keys. Still, from the corner of your eye, you caught the faintest hint of satisfaction on his face, as if he was pleased with himself for the snarky comment. Rolling your eyes, you finally unlocked the door and guided him inside, steering him toward the sofa.
Helping him down, you underestimated his weight. He was heavier than he looked, and as he leaned into you, you lost your balance for a split second. Your body tilted forward, nearly collapsing onto him. At the last moment, you managed to steady yourself, gripping the back of the couch for support.
He didn’t miss the opportunity to tease you.
“Wow,” he rasped, amusement lacing his tired voice. “First, you drag me into your place, and now you’re trying to top me? You’re burning through a lot of steps here… and you still don’t even know my name.”
Your face heated instantly, and you straightened up, scoffing. “You’re delirious,” you muttered, ignoring the way your pulse quickened at his words. Turning on your heel, you hurried toward the bathroom, determined to collect your medical supplies before he could make another comment.
Just as you rummaged through the cabinet, his voice—softer this time—drifted through the apartment.
“It’s Jay,” he murmured. “My name is Jay, by the way.”
The sarcasm was gone now, replaced by something quieter, something almost... sincere.
As you stitched him up in the dim glow of your living room, Jay barely flinched. His eyes remained trained on you, unreadable, though his breathing had evened out somewhat. The tension in the air was thick, weighted by unspoken words.
"You're good at this," he finally said, breaking the silence.
"I should be," you murmured. "It's my job."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Nurse, huh?"
You nodded, securing the last stitch. "And you? Let me guess... underground fighter?"
His smirk deepened, though there was something almost resigned in it. "Something like that."
Your hands lingered on his skin for a moment before you finally sat back, exhaling slowly. "You should rest. You'll need it."
Jay watched you carefully, his expression unreadable. "And what if I don’t?"
You met his gaze, unwavering. "Then I guess you'll just end up back here again."
A quiet chuckle escaped him. "Guess I could do worse."
You tried to ignore his remark and walked to your open kitchen.
“Do you want anything to eat? Or drink? You should get some sleep too. You can sleep on the sofa; it's comfortable enough, I swear. I don't want the stitches to split, you know…”
“Fine, I'll sleep here then. I'm fine with food, but I'll gladly accept a glass of water, please.”
You could hear the tiredness in his voice. He must have been through a lot, even if you still didn't know what happened to him. You didn’t want to be too nosy for your own good. And you were kind of surprised to see him agree so easily, so you nodded and prepared a glass of water for him.
“Here you are.”
As you handed him the water, you realized that he was still shirtless because of the stitches and the bloody shirt he had been wearing before.
“Would you like a shirt to wear for the night? I have some oversized ones if you want. I can wash the one you were wearing before.”
“Oh, you don't need to wash it. It's okay. I’d feel indebted, and I hate that. You already did enough for me,” he muttered. “Besides, I'm used to sleeping shirtless anyway, so it's fine.”
You hesitated for a moment, watching him as he took a sip of water. The way he held the glass—like it was taking every ounce of his strength just to keep it steady—made your stomach twist with unease. He was clearly exhausted, his body pushed to its limits, and yet he still tried to maintain a sense of control, a sense of dignity.
"Suit yourself," you murmured, watching as he leaned back against the couch, his eyes half-lidded with fatigue. The faint glow of the city lights outside painted his face in soft shadows, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline, the subtle tension in his brow. He looked like someone who had seen too much, someone carrying a weight too heavy for one person alone.
After a moment of silence, Jay spoke, his voice quieter than before. "What's your name?"
You blinked, slightly caught off guard. "Y/N."
He nodded slowly, as if committing it to memory. "Thanks for… everything, Y/N."
He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, then closed his eyes for a moment. You thought he might be drifting off, but then he spoke again, his voice quieter this time.
"You should be careful."
You frowned. "What do you mean?"
Jay's eyes flickered open just enough to meet yours, his gaze unreadable. "You're better off not knowing, Y/N. Some things are safer in the dark."
A chill ran down your spine. The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and unsettling. You had noticed the shift in the city—the strange unease that lingered in the air like an oncoming storm. The hospital had seen more violent cases lately, unexplained injuries, people unwilling to talk. And now, Jay—bleeding, cryptic, sitting in your apartment like some unfinished story.
"What are you involved in?" you asked quietly.
Jay exhaled, a tired, humorless sound. "I told you—you're better off not knowing. Just… be careful."
His voice was softer this time, almost reluctant. You could tell he was holding something back, something that could change everything. But instead of pressing him, you just watched as his eyes slipped shut again, exhaustion finally pulling him under.
You could tell he was holding back details, but you didn't press. Instead, you sat down across from him, studying his face. There was something about him—something that made you want to understand, to help, even though logic screamed at you to stay out of it.
"You should sleep," you said finally.
He gave a slow nod, his body already surrendering to exhaustion. As you stood and made your way to your bedroom, you couldn't shake the feeling that this night had changed something. That Jay had pulled you into something much bigger than either of you realized.
The next morning, the sound of silence greeted you. You stretched, groggy from sleep, and padded out of your bedroom, expecting to see Jay still asleep on the couch.
But he was gone.
The blankets you had given him were neatly folded on the armrest, the glass of water empty and placed carefully on the kitchen counter. It was as if he had never been there at all.
You stood still for a moment, staring at the quiet remnants of his presence. A faint trace of something lingered in the air—his scent, a mix of soap and something vaguely metallic, like the echo of last night's blood. You exhaled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, trying to ignore the strange emptiness settling in your chest.
You should have known he wouldn't stay. A man like Jay never stayed in one place for too long. He was a shadow, slipping between the cracks, existing only on the periphery. And yet, part of you had expected—or maybe hoped—that he'd still be here when you woke up.
Your gaze drifted to the small piece of paper on the kitchen counter. A napkin, folded over, with something scrawled in dark ink.
"Stay out of trouble."
You ran your fingers over the words, as if they might reveal more than what was written. No name, no explanation. Just a warning. A part of you wanted to crumple the napkin and throw it away. Another part wanted to hold onto it.
With a quiet sigh, you placed it back on the counter. You told yourself you wouldn't get involved. That last night was a fluke, a coincidence. But deep down, you had the sinking feeling that this wasn't over.
And somehow, you knew Jay would be back.
Days passed, then weeks, and Jay remained a ghost in your life. You told yourself you weren’t waiting for him, that his absence didn’t gnaw at the back of your mind late at night. But sometimes, when exhaustion from long hospital shifts blurred the edges of your thoughts, you found yourself wondering where he was, if he was alright. If he had gotten himself into more trouble.
Work kept you busy enough to push those thoughts aside. One of your colleagues had taken leave, and you were drowning in extra shifts, barely having time to breathe. The days blurred together—long nights at the hospital, short-lived sleep, and an endless cycle of patients, beeping monitors, and hurried footsteps.
Then, one afternoon, as you were slipping on your shoes, ready to head out and finally catch a breath of fresh air with a friend, a knock echoed through your apartment. It was sharp, deliberate.
Frowning, you glanced at the door. You weren’t expecting anyone.
When you opened it, your breath hitched slightly.
Jay stood there.
It had been weeks, but he looked nearly the same—just as unreadable, just as distant. But there was something else, something in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his gaze flickered over you as if making sure you were still in one piece.
"It's been a while," you said, unable to hide the hint of surprise in your voice.
Jay’s lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something—but then he hesitated. Instead, he exhaled slowly and met your eyes. "Can I come in?"
You were supposed to leave, but you just couldn't say no to him, and you didn't know why. There was something about Jay—something in the way he stood there, his presence filling the space like a quiet storm. His hair had grown a little longer since the last time you'd seen him, and the way his fringe fell against his eyelashes made him look almost boyish, despite the sharp edge of his demeanor. You forced yourself to focus on anything else, anything but his face—or worse, his body.
"Uhm, yeah. Sure, come in." You stepped aside, giving him enough space to enter as you closed the door behind him, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment settle around you.
He moved with a casual ease, making his way to the bar of your open kitchen. It was only then that you noticed what he was holding—your silk scarf. The same one that had been stained with his blood. You had completely forgotten about it, about the mess of that night, but he hadn’t.
"I washed it for you," he said, holding it out. "It was all stained. I tried to stop by a few times, but you were never home… so I couldn't give it back to you."
You took the scarf, running your fingers over the smooth fabric, now spotless, as if that night had never happened.
"Oh… thank you. You could've just left it at my door, you know."
"No," Jay said, shaking his head slightly. "I didn’t want to. I wanted to thank you.
And…" He hesitated for just a moment before adding, "I wanted to see you."
You were caught completely off guard by his words. Your mouth opened slightly, as if to respond, but no words came out. Instead, you shut it quickly, your mind scrambling to process what he had just said. He wanted to see you? That was unexpected—unsettling, even.
Trying to regain some sense of normalcy, you turned away and made your way to the kitchen. You busied yourself with pouring him a glass of water, just like the last time. It was something to focus on, something simple. But the entire time, you were hyper-aware of his presence, of the way he seemed so at ease in your space. He leaned against the counter with a kind of lazy confidence, as if he belonged here, as if he had always been part of your life.
But that wasn’t the case.
The first time you met him, he was bleeding out in the stairwell. That was the reality. Not this strange sense of familiarity that had somehow settled between you two. Not this bizarre comfort in his presence. You barely knew him. And yet, here he was, lingering in your kitchen like a ghost that refused to be forgotten.
And that’s what made you uneasy.
Because the more you thought about it, the more you realized—you didn’t really know who Jay was at all. You didn’t know where he went when he disappeared for days, or why he had been covered in blood the night you found him. You didn’t know if he was bad news or worse—dangerous.
And the worst part?
You should have been thinking about that before letting him have a damn sleepover in your living room.
Lost in thought, you didn’t notice what he was doing at first. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught the slow movement of his fingers playing with something—a small, crumpled piece of paper. Or rather, a paper towel.
It took you a second to realize what it was.
The note.
The one he left for you that morning.
“Oh? You kept my note?” His voice was laced with amusement, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “How cute.”
That smirk—it was becoming a habit. Maybe it was his signature look, that teasing half-smile that made it impossible to tell whether he was being serious or just messing with you.
Your stomach twisted slightly as you realized you had, in fact, kept it. Not intentionally. You had been so busy with work, drowning in shifts and exhaustion, that you completely forgot to throw it away. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered, reaching out and snatching the paper towel from his hands before he could say anything else. “I just forgot it was there.”
“Mm-hmm.” He didn’t look convinced.
His eyes flickered over you, studying your reaction with that unreadable expression of his. And for a brief moment, you had the strangest feeling—that he could see right through you. That he knew you weren’t being entirely honest.
That maybe, just maybe, you had kept the note on purpose.
But before you could dwell on it any longer, Jay leaned back against the counter, stretching his arms over his head like he had all the time in the world.
“So,” he said, voice casual, “how long are you gonna keep pretending you’re not curious about me?”
Your heart skipped a beat.
Because the truth was—you were curious. You had been from the very beginning.
And Jay knew it.
You tried to look disinterested by his words, forcing yourself to maintain a neutral expression.
"I'm not. Do you think you're a psychic or something?"
He frowned slightly, caught off guard by your sudden change in attitude. His gaze lingered on you, studying your face like he was trying to decipher a puzzle.
"What's with the change of mood right now? Last time I saw you, you were so nosy about me."
You crossed your arms, not breaking eye contact. "It's called being worried. And last time I checked, it's been days since then. So why do you care to tell me now, huh?"
The atmosphere shifted, heavy with unspoken words. The silence between you stretched, thick and unbearable. Jay exhaled slowly, placing the towel back on the counter. He opened his mouth, as if about to respond, but before he could, the sudden shrill ring of your phone cut through the tension.
"Oh my God—Giselle!" you muttered, your stomach twisting as you glanced at the caller ID. You had completely forgotten about her. Swiping to answer, you turned slightly away from Jay. "Hey, I’m so sorry. Something came up, and that’s why I’m running late. I’ll explain later."
After ending the call, you hesitated before turning back to Jay. His expression was unreadable, his posture tense, like he was weighing whether to say something or let it go. The way he stood there, quiet and brooding, sent a strange ripple through your chest.
"I won't take much more of your time," he said finally, his voice quieter than before. "You have somewhere to be."
Something about the way he said it—flat, detached—made your stomach tighten. You opened your mouth, wanting to say something, but the words stuck in your throat. He gave you one last unreadable glance before stepping back, his presence already slipping away like a shadow.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
Reunited with your friend, you were barely enjoying your evening. You had gone out to clear your mind after all the stress from work, but no matter how much you tried to distract yourself, your thoughts kept circling back to Jay.
Giselle was animatedly recounting how she met her new crush, her excitement evident in the way her hands gestured wildly as she spoke. But you weren’t even listening. Her words faded into the background, blending with the ambient noise of the café, drowned out by the thoughts racing in your head.
You felt guilty—guilty for zoning out on your friend, but even more so for how you had treated Jay earlier. The way you had brushed him off, the sharpness in your tone—it all replayed in your mind, making your stomach twist uncomfortably. He had come to see you for a reason, and instead of hearing him out, you had shut him down.
Giselle suddenly paused mid-sentence, narrowing her eyes at you. "Okay, what’s going on with you? You’ve been weirdly quiet all night."
You blinked, realizing you had been staring into your drink for who knows how long.
"Huh?" you said, attempting to feign innocence.
She gave you a knowing look, crossing her arms. "Don’t ‘huh’ me. Spill."
You hesitated, debating whether to brush it off or tell her the truth. But the weight in your chest was growing heavier by the second. With a sigh, you finally admitted, "It’s... Jay."
Giselle arched an eyebrow. "The mysterious neighbor? What about him?"
You hesitated again, running a hand through your hair. "I don’t know. He showed up earlier, and I just— I don’t think I handled it well."
She leaned forward, intrigued. "Wait, wait. Start from the beginning. What happened?"
You took a deep breath, trying to piece together your jumbled emotions. "He just seemed... off. Like, there was something he wanted to say, but I kind of pushed him away before he could. And now I can’t stop thinking about it."
Giselle smirked, sipping her drink. "Sounds like you care about him more than you’re willing to admit."
You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. And that realization unsettled you
more than anything else.
You hadn’t planned on seeing Jay again.
Not tonight. Not this soon. And definitely not like this.
It was just past midnight when you stepped into the quiet of your apartment, shoes in hand, coat barely hanging off your shoulders. Giselle had insisted on walking you halfway home before giving you a final, pointed look that said: Figure it out. And you had nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.
You didn’t know what you were hoping for when you turned your key in the lock. Certainly not Jay, waiting for you in the hallway, seated on the floor with his back against the wall, head tilted up like he’d been dozing off.
Your breath caught.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice hushed in disbelief.
Jay looked up slowly, his eyes finding yours in the dim light. “You left your door unlocked.”
“That… doesn’t answer my question.”
He stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “I figured I’d wait. In case you wanted to talk.”
You blinked. “You could’ve texted.”
“You could’ve answered.”
Touché.
You swallowed thickly, the air around you shifting—dense, electric. There was a beat of silence between you, longer than it should’ve been, until you stepped past him into the apartment. You didn’t invite him in this time. You didn’t need to.
He followed you anyway.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the sound was deafening in the stillness of the space.
“I was out with a friend,” you said, dropping your coat over the back of a chair, your tone deliberately neutral.
“I figured,” he replied, watching you closely.
You turned toward him, arms folded tightly across your chest. “What are we doing, Jay?”
His expression shifted, something unreadable passing through his gaze. “You tell me.”
“You show up bleeding one night, sleep on my couch, vanish without a word, and then come back acting like this is normal. Like we’re normal. We’re not.”
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “Doesn’t feel normal to you?”
Your back hit the kitchen counter before you realized you’d even moved. Jay was in front of you now, close enough that you could see the faint scar near his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders as he leaned down—just enough to be in your space, without touching you.
“No,” you whispered. “It doesn’t.”
His hand lifted slowly, giving you a chance to stop him. You didn’t.
Fingers brushed your jaw, warm and steady, as he tilted your face up to meet his.
“You’ve been in my head,” he murmured, his voice low, roughened at the edges. “Since that night. And I don’t know what this is either, but I’m not going to pretend I don’t want it.”
You could barely breathe.
Your hands found his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric—not pulling him closer, not pushing him away. Just holding. Like that alone might steady you.
“What if this is a bad idea?” you managed.
He leaned in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. Not kissing. Not yet. Just close enough to tempt.
“Then let’s make it the kind of bad we don’t regret.”
That was all it took.
Your mouth met his in a rush, like you’d been holding back for too long. The kiss was messy, heated—his hands finding your waist, your hips, anchoring you against the counter as if he couldn’t stand the space between you. Your fingers slid under his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and he let it fall without a second thought.
It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft.
Jay kissed like he meant it—like he had something to prove. His tongue slid against yours, his hand slipping under your shirt, splaying wide across your lower back, drawing you closer until there was no room left between your bodies. You could feel the tension in him, the way he was holding back, barely.
“Bedroom?” he asked between kisses, voice thick with restraint.
You nodded, breathless.
He didn’t wait. He scooped you up with startling ease, and your arms looped around his neck instinctively. You were in your room within seconds, the door kicked shut behind him.
Clothes came off in pieces—your shirt over your head, his hands tugging at your waistband, his own shirt discarded on the floor. You barely noticed the mess. You were too focused on the way he looked in the faint light of your bedside lamp: sculpted, lean, every movement controlled like he knew exactly what he was doing—and exactly what he wanted.
His mouth trailed along your collarbone, down your chest, until you gasped his name, fingers threading through his hair.
And when he finally sank into you, it wasn’t rushed anymore. It was slow. Purposeful. His mouth found yours again, softer this time, as if to make sure you felt every second of it. Every inch.
“You’re dangerous,” you whispered against his skin, dazed and breathless.
Jay only smiled, low and wicked, as his pace deepened.
“You let me in anyway.”
You lay there in silence for a while, his body warm beside yours, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your arm. The calm was deceptive—too still, too quiet—like the eye of a storm.
But you couldn’t let it go. You had to know.
“Jay,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the hush. “That night. When I found you. Why were you bleeding?”
He stiffened slightly, the motion subtle but noticeable. His hand stopped moving, and for a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to answer.
Then, he sat up, running a hand through his hair.
“You really want to know?” he asked, not looking at you.
“Yes,” you said, sitting up as well, wrapping the sheet around you. “I do.”
Jay exhaled hard, like the truth cost him something just to say out loud. “I’m part of a fight club.”
You blinked. “A what?”
“A fight club,” he repeated, slower this time. “Underground. No rules. No names. Just blood and money.”
You stared at him, heart sinking. “God, Jay.”
“It’s not what you think,” he muttered quickly, sensing your reaction. “I don’t do it for fun. It’s not about the violence. I needed the cash—at first. And then it became something else. Something I couldn’t walk away from.”
“You make it sound like an addiction,” you said, trying to keep your voice level.
He looked at you finally, his gaze unreadable. “Maybe it is.”
The weight of his confession settled over you like a cold fog. You swallowed hard.
“Jay, you can’t keep living like this. It’s dangerous. You could get seriously hurt—worse.”
He pulled away slightly, a flash of something dark crossing his face. “You don’t get it.”
“Then help me understand.”
He stood abruptly, pacing the room. “You don’t know what it’s like. The kind of pressure I’m under. The things I’ve had to do just to stay afloat. This—” he gestured between you two, “—this isn’t part of that world. And maybe it shouldn’t be.”
You flinched, feeling the sting behind his words. “So what are you saying? That this was a mistake?”
He hesitated. Just long enough.
And you filled the silence yourself.
“Maybe it was,” you said, wrapping the sheet tighter around your chest. “Maybe it shouldn’t have happened.”
Jay’s eyes darkened. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this meant nothing to you.”
“Then stop pushing me away!” you snapped. “I let you in, Jay. I gave a damn when no one else did. And you can’t even let me care without treating it like a threat.”
Silence fell again, heavy and final. Jay looked at you like he wanted to say something more—needed to—but the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, he turned, grabbing his clothes off the floor.
You watched, arms folded tightly, your throat burning.
He dressed without speaking, and when he reached the door, he paused.
“Thanks for the scarf,” he said quietly, almost bitterly. “And for the couch. I’ll let myself out.”
You didn’t move.
Didn’t stop him.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence he left in his wake was deafening.
Three days.
That’s how long it had been since Jay walked out of your apartment—out of your bed, out of your life—with nothing more than a quiet goodbye.
And despite everything, despite what you’d told him (and told yourself), your thoughts kept drifting back to that night. His hands, his mouth, his eyes when he looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to reality. It wasn’t supposed to happen. But it did. And now you couldn’t un-feel it.
You told yourself you were done. You told Giselle you were over it.
But when your phone rang, a number you didn’t recognize lighting up the screen, your gut twisted.
You hesitated before answering. “Hello?”
“Hi—uh, is this Y/N?”
Your brows furrowed. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry to call you like this. I’m a friend of Jay’s. My name’s Jake. He… he’s at the hospital.”
Your blood ran cold.
“What? What happened?”
“There was a fight. One of the guys went too far. Jay tried to stop it, but he got dragged into it. He’s okay now, but… he asked for you.”
Your heart pounded in your chest. “What hospital?”
The fluorescent lights of the emergency wing buzzed softly overhead as you hurried through the halls, pulse racing. The moment you reached the room number Jake had given you, you saw him—Jay, sitting on the hospital bed, stitches along his eyebrow, a bruise darkening his jaw, IV hooked to his arm.
He looked up when you entered, eyes widening slightly.
“I told you not to come,” he muttered.
You ignored that. “You look like hell.”
A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You always know what to say.”
You approached slowly, not sure if you were angry or relieved or both. “Why did you ask for me?”
He looked away, his jaw clenched. “Because… I didn’t know who else to call.”
That hit harder than you expected.
You sat down in the chair beside his bed, letting the silence stretch between you before you finally asked, “Are you done?”
He frowned. “With what?”
“With all this. The fighting. The club. Putting yourself in danger like it’s a game.”
“It’s not that simple—”
“It is,” you cut in, voice shaking. “You’re going to die if you keep doing this. Maybe not today, maybe not next week, but it’s going to happen. And what then? Another anonymous body in a back alley? Another name scratched off a list?”
Jay’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t argue.
“Do you even care what that would do to the people who care about you?” you added.
He flinched. “People like you?”
You stared at him. “Yeah. People like me.”
There it was again—that look. The one that made your stomach flip and your heart ache. Like he was seeing you for the first time and didn’t know what to do with the weight of it.
“I don’t want to lose you, Jay,” you whispered.
He looked at you then, fully. “I don’t want to lose myself.”
You didn’t speak again for a long moment. Instead, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand.
“Then let me help you,” you said. “But only if you want out.”
He looked down at your hand—small, steady, warm over his—and something in his expression shifted. Slowly, cautiously, he nodded.
“Okay.”
Five days later.
Jay had been discharged that morning. You knew because Jake had texted you—short and to the point. He’s home. Still looks like shit, but he’s fine. You hadn’t answered.
You’d told Jay you wanted to help him. That much was true. But part of you was scared. Scared of what helping him might mean. Of what being close to him again would do to your heart, to your sanity. Still, when you found yourself walking down the familiar hallway to his apartment later that evening, you didn’t stop yourself.
You knocked once. The door opened a few seconds later.
Jay stood there in a plain black hoodie and joggers, his hair tousled, dark eyes shadowed but alert. The bruises were fading, but the stitches still held a stark contrast against his skin. He didn’t say anything—just stepped aside to let you in.
“You should lock your door,” you muttered, brushing past him.
“I was expecting you.”
You glanced back at him. “That so?”
He shrugged one shoulder, then leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “I didn’t think you’d stay away forever.”
You turned to face him fully. “You scared me, Jay.”
His gaze dropped for a beat. “I know.”
“I thought I was going to lose you.”
Something about the way you said it made him still. Slowly, he moved toward you—tentative, like approaching something fragile.
“But you didn’t,” he said, voice low. “You didn’t lose me.”
“Yet.”
You hated how small your voice sounded. Vulnerable. But Jay didn’t flinch. Instead, he took one more step, closing the space between you. His hand lifted, hesitating for a breath before it came to rest lightly on your waist.
“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I want out. For real this time. No more clubs. No more fights. No more running.”
You searched his face, looking for cracks in the promise, but what you saw was something steadier. Something honest.
“You’re serious?”
He nodded once. “Yeah. But I’m gonna need you to believe in me. Because I don’t really know how to do this… the right way.”
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you stepped closer, until his chest was nearly brushing yours, your hands sliding slowly up the front of his hoodie.
“Then maybe we start over,” you whispered.
Jay tilted his head, his lips ghosting over yours. “How?”
Your fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt. “Ask me out, properly. Not just showing up in my apartment bleeding, or waiting for me in the hallway.”
That earned a soft, crooked smile from him.
“Okay,” he said. “Y/N… would you go out with me? On a real date. Just us. No blood, no drama. Just… you and me.”
You smiled, warmth blooming slowly in your chest. “I thought you’d never ask.”
And then he kissed you—not like the other night, not wild and rushed and desperate. This kiss was different. Slower. Deeper. Like a beginning instead of a breaking point.
He pulled you closer, his hands moving with reverent ease, like he was memorizing the shape of your back, the curve of your spine. His mouth moved against yours, soft but sure, his lips parting just enough to invite yours to follow. You melted into him, sighing quietly as your body pressed flush against his.
When he finally pulled back, breath slightly uneven, his voice was rough.
“You stayin’ tonight?”
You looked up at him, heart thudding.
“Only if we actually get to sleep this time,” you teased.
He chuckled, eyes gleaming with something dangerous and sweet.
Genre : neighbor!jay, nurse!reader, jay is in a fightclub, strangers to lovers
Warnings : blood, angst, suggestive
Summary : when your new neighbor with strange behavior and a cold attitude is lying all bloody on the staircase, you have no other choice but to help him. And fortunately for him, you know how to do stitches…
wc : 7k
——
Night shifts were far from your favorite, but there was no avoiding them—they came with the territory. Tonight had been particularly grueling, and as you made your way to your locker to gather your belongings, all you could think about was the hot bubble bath waiting for you at home. The thought of sinking into warm, soothing water, letting it ease the tension from your muscles, was the only thing keeping you upright. You could already imagine the soft embrace of your fluffy pajamas and the cool, crisp sheets of your bed cocooning you in much-needed rest. The late hour no longer mattered; all you wanted was to unwind.
Most nights at the hospital followed the usual rhythm—routine patient checks, occasional emergencies, and long, quiet hours of paperwork. But tonight had been different. Chaos had erupted when a massive street fight sent a wave of injured people flooding into the emergency room. Blood, shouting, the frantic pace of doctors and nurses scrambling to stabilize patients—it had been relentless. The hours dragged, exhaustion gnawed at your bones, and by the time your shift ended, you felt like a shadow of yourself.
Your city was usually quiet, only punctuated by brief moments of excitement. But lately, something had changed. A darker undercurrent ran beneath the surface, seeping into everyday life. Just last week, in the hospital’s changing room, you overheard whispers among your colleagues. Rumors of a secret fight club were spreading—an underground ring where people brawled for money, pride, or simply the thrill of it. These fights, they said, had been escalating, leaving competitors battered and broken, some requiring serious medical attention.
You weren’t one for gossip, though. Whether the fight club was real or just an exaggerated rumor, it wasn’t your concern. People made their choices, and you had enough on your plate without worrying about reckless strangers throwing punches for sport.
The drive home was quiet, the deserted streets bathed in the amber glow of streetlights. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft melody of your car radio provided a comforting contrast to the night’s earlier chaos. Slowly, the tension in your shoulders began to ease. By the time you pulled into your usual parking spot, the hospital felt like a distant memory.
Stepping into the lobby of your apartment building, you sighed as the old neon light above flickered erratically. The buzzing was almost rhythmic, a constant reminder that the building had seen better days. Your gaze drifted to the staircase—three flights between you and your apartment. Normally, the lack of an elevator was just a minor inconvenience, but tonight, with exhaustion weighing on you like lead, it felt like a cruel joke.
Halfway up the first flight, you heard it—a faint sound that made you stop mid-step. A muffled groan, low and pained. Your pulse quickened as you turned your head, searching for the source.
Then you saw him.
A man lay slumped against the wall on the landing, his jet-black hair tousled and damp with sweat. He was breathing heavily, his body tense as if every movement caused him pain. In the dim glow of the stairwell, you recognized him instantly—your neighbor.
You’d never spoken to him before. He was a mystery, always distant, his presence more like a shadow that drifted through the building without a word. On the rare occasions your paths crossed, he never acknowledged you beyond a curt nod—if even that.
But now, all that cold detachment was gone. Now, he was vulnerable.
For a brief moment, you hesitated. He wasn’t your responsibility. He had never shown the slightest interest in your existence, and yet, something about seeing him like this stirred unease in your chest.
Was he drunk? The thought crossed your mind as you took another step closer, subtly sniffing the air for any trace of alcohol. But before you could form a conclusion, his voice cut through the silence.
"I'm not drunk," he muttered, his tone low but sharp enough to catch you off guard.
You froze, startled, as though you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t. His dark eyes met yours under the flickering white neon, and for a brief second, you felt oddly flustered.
"Uh… well, are you okay?" you stammered, regaining your composure. "You don’t look like you’re in great shape."
He shifted slightly, trying to straighten himself against the wall, and that’s when you saw it—the deep crimson stain blooming across the fabric of his light-colored shirt.
Your breath hitched.
"Oh my God, you’re bleeding!" The words rushed out before you could stop them.
Instinct took over, and before he could protest, you were on your knees beside him, eyes scanning for the source of the wound. The sight of so much blood made your heart race.
His abdomen—that’s where the stain was darkest. The sheer amount of blood loss made you hiss in concern. You reached out, fingers hovering just above the fabric. In the hospital, you wouldn’t hesitate. You’d lift his shirt, assess the damage, and get to work. But here, in the dim stairwell of your apartment building, with a man you barely knew, you faltered.
“Can I move this?” you asked, voice softer now. “I need to see how bad it is.”
He let out a humorless chuckle, though it quickly turned into a grimace.
“Why do you even care?” he murmured, his voice laced with something unreadable. "Are you a doctor or something? You don’t even know me. Why would you help me?"
His words stung, though you weren’t sure why. Maybe because, despite his attempt at indifference, there was something raw beneath them—something that hinted at a man who wasn’t used to kindness.
You met his gaze, steady and unwavering.
"Because you need it," you said simply. "Now, let me help you."
He stared at you for a long moment, and then, with a tired sigh, he let his head rest back against the wall.
"Fine," he muttered. "Do whatever you want."
And with that, you carefully lifted the fabric, bracing yourself for what you might find beneath.
Beneath the fabric, you saw a horizontal wound—deep, but not deep enough to cause internal damage. Judging by the clean slice, it looked like a knife wound. Experience told you that this would need stitches. The amount of blood loss was severe; it was a wonder he was still conscious. Adrenaline, you realized, must be keeping him awake.
The weather wasn’t too cold, so you hadn’t worn a jacket, but you had a silk scarf in your bag—just in case. After a brief moment of hesitation, you pulled it out and pressed it firmly against the wound to slow the bleeding.
“You’re going to need stitches,” you murmured. “It’s not safe to do this here. These stairs are filthy—I don’t even want to think about when they were last cleaned. I have supplies in my apartment. Can you move?”
He let out a slow breath, his face contorting in pain as he tried to shift. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t make it, but then he gritted his teeth and nodded.
“I’ll manage,” he muttered, voice hoarse.
You slipped an arm under his to help him up, his weight pressing heavily against you. It was going to be a long night.
As you struggled to maintain his weight, you couldn't help but notice the firm muscles beneath your fingers. His toned arm rested against you, and despite the situation, you briefly wondered if he spent time at the gym. He had always seemed distant and unapproachable, but now, pressed against you like this, he felt undeniably human. Vulnerable, even.
You suddenly realized you didn’t even know his first name.
“What’s your name, by the way?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual despite the tension in the air.
A beat of silence followed, his breathing slightly labored as he adjusted his stance. Then, with a weak but unmistakably sarcastic tone, he responded.
“I didn’t know we were doing a chit-chat session… If only I knew, I would’ve brought some tea and cookies.”
Despite yourself, you huffed out a short, amused breath. Even injured, he had the energy to be difficult.
You preferred to ignore his remark, exhaling a short sigh as you fumbled with your keys. Still, from the corner of your eye, you caught the faintest hint of satisfaction on his face, as if he was pleased with himself for the snarky comment. Rolling your eyes, you finally unlocked the door and guided him inside, steering him toward the sofa.
Helping him down, you underestimated his weight. He was heavier than he looked, and as he leaned into you, you lost your balance for a split second. Your body tilted forward, nearly collapsing onto him. At the last moment, you managed to steady yourself, gripping the back of the couch for support.
He didn’t miss the opportunity to tease you.
“Wow,” he rasped, amusement lacing his tired voice. “First, you drag me into your place, and now you’re trying to top me? You’re burning through a lot of steps here… and you still don’t even know my name.”
Your face heated instantly, and you straightened up, scoffing. “You’re delirious,” you muttered, ignoring the way your pulse quickened at his words. Turning on your heel, you hurried toward the bathroom, determined to collect your medical supplies before he could make another comment.
Just as you rummaged through the cabinet, his voice—softer this time—drifted through the apartment.
“It’s Jay,” he murmured. “My name is Jay, by the way.”
The sarcasm was gone now, replaced by something quieter, something almost... sincere.
As you stitched him up in the dim glow of your living room, Jay barely flinched. His eyes remained trained on you, unreadable, though his breathing had evened out somewhat. The tension in the air was thick, weighted by unspoken words.
"You're good at this," he finally said, breaking the silence.
"I should be," you murmured. "It's my job."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Nurse, huh?"
You nodded, securing the last stitch. "And you? Let me guess... underground fighter?"
His smirk deepened, though there was something almost resigned in it. "Something like that."
Your hands lingered on his skin for a moment before you finally sat back, exhaling slowly. "You should rest. You'll need it."
Jay watched you carefully, his expression unreadable. "And what if I don’t?"
You met his gaze, unwavering. "Then I guess you'll just end up back here again."
A quiet chuckle escaped him. "Guess I could do worse."
You tried to ignore his remark and walked to your open kitchen.
“Do you want anything to eat? Or drink? You should get some sleep too. You can sleep on the sofa; it's comfortable enough, I swear. I don't want the stitches to split, you know…”
“Fine, I'll sleep here then. I'm fine with food, but I'll gladly accept a glass of water, please.”
You could hear the tiredness in his voice. He must have been through a lot, even if you still didn't know what happened to him. You didn’t want to be too nosy for your own good. And you were kind of surprised to see him agree so easily, so you nodded and prepared a glass of water for him.
“Here you are.”
As you handed him the water, you realized that he was still shirtless because of the stitches and the bloody shirt he had been wearing before.
“Would you like a shirt to wear for the night? I have some oversized ones if you want. I can wash the one you were wearing before.”
“Oh, you don't need to wash it. It's okay. I’d feel indebted, and I hate that. You already did enough for me,” he muttered. “Besides, I'm used to sleeping shirtless anyway, so it's fine.”
You hesitated for a moment, watching him as he took a sip of water. The way he held the glass—like it was taking every ounce of his strength just to keep it steady—made your stomach twist with unease. He was clearly exhausted, his body pushed to its limits, and yet he still tried to maintain a sense of control, a sense of dignity.
"Suit yourself," you murmured, watching as he leaned back against the couch, his eyes half-lidded with fatigue. The faint glow of the city lights outside painted his face in soft shadows, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline, the subtle tension in his brow. He looked like someone who had seen too much, someone carrying a weight too heavy for one person alone.
After a moment of silence, Jay spoke, his voice quieter than before. "What's your name?"
You blinked, slightly caught off guard. "Y/N."
He nodded slowly, as if committing it to memory. "Thanks for… everything, Y/N."
He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, then closed his eyes for a moment. You thought he might be drifting off, but then he spoke again, his voice quieter this time.
"You should be careful."
You frowned. "What do you mean?"
Jay's eyes flickered open just enough to meet yours, his gaze unreadable. "You're better off not knowing, Y/N. Some things are safer in the dark."
A chill ran down your spine. The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and unsettling. You had noticed the shift in the city—the strange unease that lingered in the air like an oncoming storm. The hospital had seen more violent cases lately, unexplained injuries, people unwilling to talk. And now, Jay—bleeding, cryptic, sitting in your apartment like some unfinished story.
"What are you involved in?" you asked quietly.
Jay exhaled, a tired, humorless sound. "I told you—you're better off not knowing. Just… be careful."
His voice was softer this time, almost reluctant. You could tell he was holding something back, something that could change everything. But instead of pressing him, you just watched as his eyes slipped shut again, exhaustion finally pulling him under.
You could tell he was holding back details, but you didn't press. Instead, you sat down across from him, studying his face. There was something about him—something that made you want to understand, to help, even though logic screamed at you to stay out of it.
"You should sleep," you said finally.
He gave a slow nod, his body already surrendering to exhaustion. As you stood and made your way to your bedroom, you couldn't shake the feeling that this night had changed something. That Jay had pulled you into something much bigger than either of you realized.
The next morning, the sound of silence greeted you. You stretched, groggy from sleep, and padded out of your bedroom, expecting to see Jay still asleep on the couch.
But he was gone.
The blankets you had given him were neatly folded on the armrest, the glass of water empty and placed carefully on the kitchen counter. It was as if he had never been there at all.
You stood still for a moment, staring at the quiet remnants of his presence. A faint trace of something lingered in the air—his scent, a mix of soap and something vaguely metallic, like the echo of last night's blood. You exhaled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, trying to ignore the strange emptiness settling in your chest.
You should have known he wouldn't stay. A man like Jay never stayed in one place for too long. He was a shadow, slipping between the cracks, existing only on the periphery. And yet, part of you had expected—or maybe hoped—that he'd still be here when you woke up.
Your gaze drifted to the small piece of paper on the kitchen counter. A napkin, folded over, with something scrawled in dark ink.
"Stay out of trouble."
You ran your fingers over the words, as if they might reveal more than what was written. No name, no explanation. Just a warning. A part of you wanted to crumple the napkin and throw it away. Another part wanted to hold onto it.
With a quiet sigh, you placed it back on the counter. You told yourself you wouldn't get involved. That last night was a fluke, a coincidence. But deep down, you had the sinking feeling that this wasn't over.
And somehow, you knew Jay would be back.
Days passed, then weeks, and Jay remained a ghost in your life. You told yourself you weren’t waiting for him, that his absence didn’t gnaw at the back of your mind late at night. But sometimes, when exhaustion from long hospital shifts blurred the edges of your thoughts, you found yourself wondering where he was, if he was alright. If he had gotten himself into more trouble.
Work kept you busy enough to push those thoughts aside. One of your colleagues had taken leave, and you were drowning in extra shifts, barely having time to breathe. The days blurred together—long nights at the hospital, short-lived sleep, and an endless cycle of patients, beeping monitors, and hurried footsteps.
Then, one afternoon, as you were slipping on your shoes, ready to head out and finally catch a breath of fresh air with a friend, a knock echoed through your apartment. It was sharp, deliberate.
Frowning, you glanced at the door. You weren’t expecting anyone.
When you opened it, your breath hitched slightly.
Jay stood there.
It had been weeks, but he looked nearly the same—just as unreadable, just as distant. But there was something else, something in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his gaze flickered over you as if making sure you were still in one piece.
"It's been a while," you said, unable to hide the hint of surprise in your voice.
Jay’s lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something—but then he hesitated. Instead, he exhaled slowly and met your eyes. "Can I come in?"
You were supposed to leave, but you just couldn't say no to him, and you didn't know why. There was something about Jay—something in the way he stood there, his presence filling the space like a quiet storm. His hair had grown a little longer since the last time you'd seen him, and the way his fringe fell against his eyelashes made him look almost boyish, despite the sharp edge of his demeanor. You forced yourself to focus on anything else, anything but his face—or worse, his body.
"Uhm, yeah. Sure, come in." You stepped aside, giving him enough space to enter as you closed the door behind him, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment settle around you.
He moved with a casual ease, making his way to the bar of your open kitchen. It was only then that you noticed what he was holding—your silk scarf. The same one that had been stained with his blood. You had completely forgotten about it, about the mess of that night, but he hadn’t.
"I washed it for you," he said, holding it out. "It was all stained. I tried to stop by a few times, but you were never home… so I couldn't give it back to you."
You took the scarf, running your fingers over the smooth fabric, now spotless, as if that night had never happened.
"Oh… thank you. You could've just left it at my door, you know."
"No," Jay said, shaking his head slightly. "I didn’t want to. I wanted to thank you.
And…" He hesitated for just a moment before adding, "I wanted to see you."
You were caught completely off guard by his words. Your mouth opened slightly, as if to respond, but no words came out. Instead, you shut it quickly, your mind scrambling to process what he had just said. He wanted to see you? That was unexpected—unsettling, even.
Trying to regain some sense of normalcy, you turned away and made your way to the kitchen. You busied yourself with pouring him a glass of water, just like the last time. It was something to focus on, something simple. But the entire time, you were hyper-aware of his presence, of the way he seemed so at ease in your space. He leaned against the counter with a kind of lazy confidence, as if he belonged here, as if he had always been part of your life.
But that wasn’t the case.
The first time you met him, he was bleeding out in the stairwell. That was the reality. Not this strange sense of familiarity that had somehow settled between you two. Not this bizarre comfort in his presence. You barely knew him. And yet, here he was, lingering in your kitchen like a ghost that refused to be forgotten.
And that’s what made you uneasy.
Because the more you thought about it, the more you realized—you didn’t really know who Jay was at all. You didn’t know where he went when he disappeared for days, or why he had been covered in blood the night you found him. You didn’t know if he was bad news or worse—dangerous.
And the worst part?
You should have been thinking about that before letting him have a damn sleepover in your living room.
Lost in thought, you didn’t notice what he was doing at first. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught the slow movement of his fingers playing with something—a small, crumpled piece of paper. Or rather, a paper towel.
It took you a second to realize what it was.
The note.
The one he left for you that morning.
“Oh? You kept my note?” His voice was laced with amusement, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “How cute.”
That smirk—it was becoming a habit. Maybe it was his signature look, that teasing half-smile that made it impossible to tell whether he was being serious or just messing with you.
Your stomach twisted slightly as you realized you had, in fact, kept it. Not intentionally. You had been so busy with work, drowning in shifts and exhaustion, that you completely forgot to throw it away. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered, reaching out and snatching the paper towel from his hands before he could say anything else. “I just forgot it was there.”
“Mm-hmm.” He didn’t look convinced.
His eyes flickered over you, studying your reaction with that unreadable expression of his. And for a brief moment, you had the strangest feeling—that he could see right through you. That he knew you weren’t being entirely honest.
That maybe, just maybe, you had kept the note on purpose.
But before you could dwell on it any longer, Jay leaned back against the counter, stretching his arms over his head like he had all the time in the world.
“So,” he said, voice casual, “how long are you gonna keep pretending you’re not curious about me?”
Your heart skipped a beat.
Because the truth was—you were curious. You had been from the very beginning.
And Jay knew it.
You tried to look disinterested by his words, forcing yourself to maintain a neutral expression.
"I'm not. Do you think you're a psychic or something?"
He frowned slightly, caught off guard by your sudden change in attitude. His gaze lingered on you, studying your face like he was trying to decipher a puzzle.
"What's with the change of mood right now? Last time I saw you, you were so nosy about me."
You crossed your arms, not breaking eye contact. "It's called being worried. And last time I checked, it's been days since then. So why do you care to tell me now, huh?"
The atmosphere shifted, heavy with unspoken words. The silence between you stretched, thick and unbearable. Jay exhaled slowly, placing the towel back on the counter. He opened his mouth, as if about to respond, but before he could, the sudden shrill ring of your phone cut through the tension.
"Oh my God—Giselle!" you muttered, your stomach twisting as you glanced at the caller ID. You had completely forgotten about her. Swiping to answer, you turned slightly away from Jay. "Hey, I’m so sorry. Something came up, and that’s why I’m running late. I’ll explain later."
After ending the call, you hesitated before turning back to Jay. His expression was unreadable, his posture tense, like he was weighing whether to say something or let it go. The way he stood there, quiet and brooding, sent a strange ripple through your chest.
"I won't take much more of your time," he said finally, his voice quieter than before. "You have somewhere to be."
Something about the way he said it—flat, detached—made your stomach tighten. You opened your mouth, wanting to say something, but the words stuck in your throat. He gave you one last unreadable glance before stepping back, his presence already slipping away like a shadow.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
Reunited with your friend, you were barely enjoying your evening. You had gone out to clear your mind after all the stress from work, but no matter how much you tried to distract yourself, your thoughts kept circling back to Jay.
Giselle was animatedly recounting how she met her new crush, her excitement evident in the way her hands gestured wildly as she spoke. But you weren’t even listening. Her words faded into the background, blending with the ambient noise of the café, drowned out by the thoughts racing in your head.
You felt guilty—guilty for zoning out on your friend, but even more so for how you had treated Jay earlier. The way you had brushed him off, the sharpness in your tone—it all replayed in your mind, making your stomach twist uncomfortably. He had come to see you for a reason, and instead of hearing him out, you had shut him down.
Giselle suddenly paused mid-sentence, narrowing her eyes at you. "Okay, what’s going on with you? You’ve been weirdly quiet all night."
You blinked, realizing you had been staring into your drink for who knows how long.
"Huh?" you said, attempting to feign innocence.
She gave you a knowing look, crossing her arms. "Don’t ‘huh’ me. Spill."
You hesitated, debating whether to brush it off or tell her the truth. But the weight in your chest was growing heavier by the second. With a sigh, you finally admitted, "It’s... Jay."
Giselle arched an eyebrow. "The mysterious neighbor? What about him?"
You hesitated again, running a hand through your hair. "I don’t know. He showed up earlier, and I just— I don’t think I handled it well."
She leaned forward, intrigued. "Wait, wait. Start from the beginning. What happened?"
You took a deep breath, trying to piece together your jumbled emotions. "He just seemed... off. Like, there was something he wanted to say, but I kind of pushed him away before he could. And now I can’t stop thinking about it."
Giselle smirked, sipping her drink. "Sounds like you care about him more than you’re willing to admit."
You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. And that realization unsettled you
more than anything else.
You hadn’t planned on seeing Jay again.
Not tonight. Not this soon. And definitely not like this.
It was just past midnight when you stepped into the quiet of your apartment, shoes in hand, coat barely hanging off your shoulders. Giselle had insisted on walking you halfway home before giving you a final, pointed look that said: Figure it out. And you had nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.
You didn’t know what you were hoping for when you turned your key in the lock. Certainly not Jay, waiting for you in the hallway, seated on the floor with his back against the wall, head tilted up like he’d been dozing off.
Your breath caught.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice hushed in disbelief.
Jay looked up slowly, his eyes finding yours in the dim light. “You left your door unlocked.”
“That… doesn’t answer my question.”
He stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “I figured I’d wait. In case you wanted to talk.”
You blinked. “You could’ve texted.”
“You could’ve answered.”
Touché.
You swallowed thickly, the air around you shifting—dense, electric. There was a beat of silence between you, longer than it should’ve been, until you stepped past him into the apartment. You didn’t invite him in this time. You didn’t need to.
He followed you anyway.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the sound was deafening in the stillness of the space.
“I was out with a friend,” you said, dropping your coat over the back of a chair, your tone deliberately neutral.
“I figured,” he replied, watching you closely.
You turned toward him, arms folded tightly across your chest. “What are we doing, Jay?”
His expression shifted, something unreadable passing through his gaze. “You tell me.”
“You show up bleeding one night, sleep on my couch, vanish without a word, and then come back acting like this is normal. Like we’re normal. We’re not.”
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “Doesn’t feel normal to you?”
Your back hit the kitchen counter before you realized you’d even moved. Jay was in front of you now, close enough that you could see the faint scar near his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders as he leaned down—just enough to be in your space, without touching you.
“No,” you whispered. “It doesn’t.”
His hand lifted slowly, giving you a chance to stop him. You didn’t.
Fingers brushed your jaw, warm and steady, as he tilted your face up to meet his.
“You’ve been in my head,” he murmured, his voice low, roughened at the edges. “Since that night. And I don’t know what this is either, but I’m not going to pretend I don’t want it.”
You could barely breathe.
Your hands found his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric—not pulling him closer, not pushing him away. Just holding. Like that alone might steady you.
“What if this is a bad idea?” you managed.
He leaned in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. Not kissing. Not yet. Just close enough to tempt.
“Then let’s make it the kind of bad we don’t regret.”
That was all it took.
Your mouth met his in a rush, like you’d been holding back for too long. The kiss was messy, heated—his hands finding your waist, your hips, anchoring you against the counter as if he couldn’t stand the space between you. Your fingers slid under his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and he let it fall without a second thought.
It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft.
Jay kissed like he meant it—like he had something to prove. His tongue slid against yours, his hand slipping under your shirt, splaying wide across your lower back, drawing you closer until there was no room left between your bodies. You could feel the tension in him, the way he was holding back, barely.
“Bedroom?” he asked between kisses, voice thick with restraint.
You nodded, breathless.
He didn’t wait. He scooped you up with startling ease, and your arms looped around his neck instinctively. You were in your room within seconds, the door kicked shut behind him.
Clothes came off in pieces—your shirt over your head, his hands tugging at your waistband, his own shirt discarded on the floor. You barely noticed the mess. You were too focused on the way he looked in the faint light of your bedside lamp: sculpted, lean, every movement controlled like he knew exactly what he was doing—and exactly what he wanted.
His mouth trailed along your collarbone, down your chest, until you gasped his name, fingers threading through his hair.
And when he finally sank into you, it wasn’t rushed anymore. It was slow. Purposeful. His mouth found yours again, softer this time, as if to make sure you felt every second of it. Every inch.
“You’re dangerous,” you whispered against his skin, dazed and breathless.
Jay only smiled, low and wicked, as his pace deepened.
“You let me in anyway.”
You lay there in silence for a while, his body warm beside yours, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your arm. The calm was deceptive—too still, too quiet—like the eye of a storm.
But you couldn’t let it go. You had to know.
“Jay,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the hush. “That night. When I found you. Why were you bleeding?”
He stiffened slightly, the motion subtle but noticeable. His hand stopped moving, and for a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to answer.
Then, he sat up, running a hand through his hair.
“You really want to know?” he asked, not looking at you.
“Yes,” you said, sitting up as well, wrapping the sheet around you. “I do.”
Jay exhaled hard, like the truth cost him something just to say out loud. “I’m part of a fight club.”
You blinked. “A what?”
“A fight club,” he repeated, slower this time. “Underground. No rules. No names. Just blood and money.”
You stared at him, heart sinking. “God, Jay.”
“It’s not what you think,” he muttered quickly, sensing your reaction. “I don’t do it for fun. It’s not about the violence. I needed the cash—at first. And then it became something else. Something I couldn’t walk away from.”
“You make it sound like an addiction,” you said, trying to keep your voice level.
He looked at you finally, his gaze unreadable. “Maybe it is.”
The weight of his confession settled over you like a cold fog. You swallowed hard.
“Jay, you can’t keep living like this. It’s dangerous. You could get seriously hurt—worse.”
He pulled away slightly, a flash of something dark crossing his face. “You don’t get it.”
“Then help me understand.”
He stood abruptly, pacing the room. “You don’t know what it’s like. The kind of pressure I’m under. The things I’ve had to do just to stay afloat. This—” he gestured between you two, “—this isn’t part of that world. And maybe it shouldn’t be.”
You flinched, feeling the sting behind his words. “So what are you saying? That this was a mistake?”
He hesitated. Just long enough.
And you filled the silence yourself.
“Maybe it was,” you said, wrapping the sheet tighter around your chest. “Maybe it shouldn’t have happened.”
Jay’s eyes darkened. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like this meant nothing to you.”
“Then stop pushing me away!” you snapped. “I let you in, Jay. I gave a damn when no one else did. And you can’t even let me care without treating it like a threat.”
Silence fell again, heavy and final. Jay looked at you like he wanted to say something more—needed to—but the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, he turned, grabbing his clothes off the floor.
You watched, arms folded tightly, your throat burning.
He dressed without speaking, and when he reached the door, he paused.
“Thanks for the scarf,” he said quietly, almost bitterly. “And for the couch. I’ll let myself out.”
You didn’t move.
Didn’t stop him.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence he left in his wake was deafening.
Three days.
That’s how long it had been since Jay walked out of your apartment—out of your bed, out of your life—with nothing more than a quiet goodbye.
And despite everything, despite what you’d told him (and told yourself), your thoughts kept drifting back to that night. His hands, his mouth, his eyes when he looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to reality. It wasn’t supposed to happen. But it did. And now you couldn’t un-feel it.
You told yourself you were done. You told Giselle you were over it.
But when your phone rang, a number you didn’t recognize lighting up the screen, your gut twisted.
You hesitated before answering. “Hello?”
“Hi—uh, is this Y/N?”
Your brows furrowed. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry to call you like this. I’m a friend of Jay’s. My name’s Jake. He… he’s at the hospital.”
Your blood ran cold.
“What? What happened?”
“There was a fight. One of the guys went too far. Jay tried to stop it, but he got dragged into it. He’s okay now, but… he asked for you.”
Your heart pounded in your chest. “What hospital?”
The fluorescent lights of the emergency wing buzzed softly overhead as you hurried through the halls, pulse racing. The moment you reached the room number Jake had given you, you saw him—Jay, sitting on the hospital bed, stitches along his eyebrow, a bruise darkening his jaw, IV hooked to his arm.
He looked up when you entered, eyes widening slightly.
“I told you not to come,” he muttered.
You ignored that. “You look like hell.”
A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You always know what to say.”
You approached slowly, not sure if you were angry or relieved or both. “Why did you ask for me?”
He looked away, his jaw clenched. “Because… I didn’t know who else to call.”
That hit harder than you expected.
You sat down in the chair beside his bed, letting the silence stretch between you before you finally asked, “Are you done?”
He frowned. “With what?”
“With all this. The fighting. The club. Putting yourself in danger like it’s a game.”
“It’s not that simple—”
“It is,” you cut in, voice shaking. “You’re going to die if you keep doing this. Maybe not today, maybe not next week, but it’s going to happen. And what then? Another anonymous body in a back alley? Another name scratched off a list?”
Jay’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t argue.
“Do you even care what that would do to the people who care about you?” you added.
He flinched. “People like you?”
You stared at him. “Yeah. People like me.”
There it was again—that look. The one that made your stomach flip and your heart ache. Like he was seeing you for the first time and didn’t know what to do with the weight of it.
“I don’t want to lose you, Jay,” you whispered.
He looked at you then, fully. “I don’t want to lose myself.”
You didn’t speak again for a long moment. Instead, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand.
“Then let me help you,” you said. “But only if you want out.”
He looked down at your hand—small, steady, warm over his—and something in his expression shifted. Slowly, cautiously, he nodded.
“Okay.”
Five days later.
Jay had been discharged that morning. You knew because Jake had texted you—short and to the point. He’s home. Still looks like shit, but he’s fine. You hadn’t answered.
You’d told Jay you wanted to help him. That much was true. But part of you was scared. Scared of what helping him might mean. Of what being close to him again would do to your heart, to your sanity. Still, when you found yourself walking down the familiar hallway to his apartment later that evening, you didn’t stop yourself.
You knocked once. The door opened a few seconds later.
Jay stood there in a plain black hoodie and joggers, his hair tousled, dark eyes shadowed but alert. The bruises were fading, but the stitches still held a stark contrast against his skin. He didn’t say anything—just stepped aside to let you in.
“You should lock your door,” you muttered, brushing past him.
“I was expecting you.”
You glanced back at him. “That so?”
He shrugged one shoulder, then leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “I didn’t think you’d stay away forever.”
You turned to face him fully. “You scared me, Jay.”
His gaze dropped for a beat. “I know.”
“I thought I was going to lose you.”
Something about the way you said it made him still. Slowly, he moved toward you—tentative, like approaching something fragile.
“But you didn’t,” he said, voice low. “You didn’t lose me.”
“Yet.”
You hated how small your voice sounded. Vulnerable. But Jay didn’t flinch. Instead, he took one more step, closing the space between you. His hand lifted, hesitating for a breath before it came to rest lightly on your waist.
“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I want out. For real this time. No more clubs. No more fights. No more running.”
You searched his face, looking for cracks in the promise, but what you saw was something steadier. Something honest.
“You’re serious?”
He nodded once. “Yeah. But I’m gonna need you to believe in me. Because I don’t really know how to do this… the right way.”
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you stepped closer, until his chest was nearly brushing yours, your hands sliding slowly up the front of his hoodie.
“Then maybe we start over,” you whispered.
Jay tilted his head, his lips ghosting over yours. “How?”
Your fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt. “Ask me out, properly. Not just showing up in my apartment bleeding, or waiting for me in the hallway.”
That earned a soft, crooked smile from him.
“Okay,” he said. “Y/N… would you go out with me? On a real date. Just us. No blood, no drama. Just… you and me.”
You smiled, warmth blooming slowly in your chest. “I thought you’d never ask.”
And then he kissed you—not like the other night, not wild and rushed and desperate. This kiss was different. Slower. Deeper. Like a beginning instead of a breaking point.
He pulled you closer, his hands moving with reverent ease, like he was memorizing the shape of your back, the curve of your spine. His mouth moved against yours, soft but sure, his lips parting just enough to invite yours to follow. You melted into him, sighing quietly as your body pressed flush against his.
When he finally pulled back, breath slightly uneven, his voice was rough.
“You stayin’ tonight?”
You looked up at him, heart thudding.
“Only if we actually get to sleep this time,” you teased.
He chuckled, eyes gleaming with something dangerous and sweet.
