you and ohyul had known each other for months— or is it almost a year now? or more? anyways, have you ever thought? even childhood friends that we have known for years could betray and leave us... so why you even placing your hope with ohyul?
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ohyul had never become like this—uncontactable.
it all started out of nowhere. the last time he came by was a month ago, when he came injured from his late night practice.
you couldn't help but wait every friday for ohyul to suddenly appear with that stupid grin or injured body or complain about his problematic teammates or drunk or bleeding— fuck. you just want him to come again, no matter what condition he is in... you feel empty and every friday night feels longer without him.
from 17 april, 24 april, 1 may, 8 may, 15 may—
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and finally, 22 may;
at that point, you told yourself that you have given up from hoping. despite that, your heart still beat fast with mix of nervousness, excitement and expectation of him.
and he did came, out of nowhere (but it is still friday, so it is not that surprising). he did not text you to let you know his arrival. just echoed sounds of his motorbike alert you that he will come to your room in a minute.
as soon as he stepped in, you could not help but to looked up and slapped him across his face. the sting of your palm against his cheek echoed loudly in the quiet room.
ohyul did not move. his head stayed tilted to the side from the force of the blow, a dark strand of hair falling over his eyes. the engine of his motorbike was probably still cooling down outside, and here he was, catching your fury right at the threshold.
for a second, you thought he might get annoyed, might turn around and leave just as abruptly as he had a month ago. but when he slowly turned his face back to look at you, his expression was not angry. it was just tired. just... completely, utterly exhausted.
"i deserved it." he muttered, his voice rougher than usual, the syllables scraping against his throat.
"where were you?" your voice shook, and you hated how small it sounded in the space between you two. you wanted to sound furious, but the sheer relief of seeing him breathing, seeing him here, was betraying you.
"kwon ohyul. it's been a whole month. a month, ohyul. you don't text, you don't show up. i thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere after practice."
he took a slow step forward, but stopped himself when he saw you instinctively tense up. he swallowed hard, his jaw tight. "i'm sorry... i had to stay away."
"why?"
"because look at what i do to you," he said, and for the first time since you had known him, his stoic mask completely cracked. there was an ache in his eyes so raw it made your chest tighten.
"i come here bleeding. i come here drunk. i ruin your quiet space, i drag you into my mess, and then i leave. i thought... if i just stopped coming, you'd be better off. i'm a liability, y/n. i'm scared of ruining you more than i already have."
you let out a breath that felt like a sob, shaking your head. "so you decided that for me? you just disappear and leave me waiting every single friday?"
"i couldn't stay away anymore," he whispered, stepping closer this time, his hands hovering near your waist as if he wanted to hold you but did not have the right to. "i tried. god, i tried for four weeks. but i want you. i want this. even if i'm bad for you."
you looked up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. you wanted to lean into his chest, to smell that familiar scent of leather and night air, but a cold weight settled deep in your stomach. you wanted him—you always had
—but the ghost of the past month hung heavily in the air. if he could just vanish once because he was scared, what was stopping him from doing it again? how long could he actually handle staying by your side before his own demons chased him away?
"kwon ohyul... you can't just drop in and out of my life when your conscience allows it," you said softly, stepping back, letting your hands fall to your sides. "i don't know how long you'll even stay this time."
he looked at you, the silence stretching between you like an open wound, filled with all the things neither of you had the courage to voice.
"i'm so sorry—" "ohyul, stop. quit it already." you sigh, with your palm out, naturally stopping him from saying anything and walking closer.
"ready or not, i'm putting myself first this time," you said bitterly, your hand still raised like a barrier between you two.
ohyul closed his mouth, the apology dying on his tongue as he looked down at your open palm. he did not try to push past it. he just stood there, looking so incredibly fragile for someone with such a broad frame, his shoulders slightly slumped under the weight of his own guilt.
the silence that settled over the room was not the hazy, comfortable quiet of your usual fridays—it was heavy, suffocating, and sharp.
"just... sit down wherever," you muttered, dropping your hand to your side as you walked over to your desk chair, needing some physical distance before your heart betrayed you completely. "you're making my head hurt."
he complied without a single word, taking a slow step toward the edge of your bed and sitting down. he kept his elbows on his knees, his hands loosely clasped together as he stared at the floor between his boots. without the cigarette or the nonchalant smirk to hide behind, he looked stripped bare.
"i didn't mean to make you think i was dead," he said softly, breaking the quiet. his voice was still rough, a low rumble that vibrated through the small space.
"i just... i saw how much you had going for you. the grades, the clean room, the perfect life. and then i would show up covered in dirt or smelling like a dive bar, bleeding on your sheets. i... i felt like a parasite, y/n."
you huffed at his words, "so you thought ghosting me for four weeks was the heroic thing to do?" your laugh sounded hollow, even to your own ears. you leaned back against your desk, crossing your arms tightly.
"you're an idiot, kwon ohyul. we had rules. no feelings, remember? if you wanted to stop, you could have just said so. you didn't have to leave me staring at my phone every friday night wondering if your bike finally slid out from under you on the highway. can't you just say it earlier?"
he flinched slightly at that, his jaw tightening. "it wasn't about the rules. it stopped being about the rules a long time ago and you know it." he lifted his head then, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made you want to look away, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze.
"if it was just a casual thing, i wouldn't have stayed away. i stayed away because it mattered too much." he said, with his head tilt up, looking at back of your head.
the admission hung in the air, thick and sweet and terrifying. it was everything you had secretly wanted to hear during those long, lonely weeks, but hearing it now only made the cold weight in your stomach feel heavier.
a month ago, this would have broken you completely.
a month ago, you would have dropped to your knees, wrapped your arms around his neck, and told him you did not care if he ruined you.
but a month is a long time for a perfect student with a strict timeline. "you're too late, ohyul," you whispered, the words tasting like ash.
he blinked, a sudden look of panic replacing the exhaustion in his eyes. he started to stand up, his hands instinctively reaching out toward you. "y/n, please. i'm here now. i'm not running away again. i'll stay. whatever you want, however you want me—"
"no, you don't get it," you interrupted, your voice dropping to a calm, deadpan tone that seemed to freeze him in his tracks. but actually, you are trying hard to hold your frustration tears.
you let your arms fall to your sides, gesturing vaguely to the neatly organized room around you, to the textbooks, to the clean life he was so afraid of tarnishing. "just leave. stop contacting me. delete my number, go and block me. you can talk shit about all you want... please disappear away from me."
ohyul did not say another word. he just backed away, his heavy footsteps sounding hollow against the floorboards as he turned and walked out of your room, leaving the door closed this time.
seconds later, the familiar roar of his motorbike engine cut through the quiet night, fading further and further down the street until it was completely swallowed by the silence of the neighborhood.
you finally let the breath go, a single, hot tear spilling over your cheek as you sank into your desk chair, staring blankly at the neat stacks of textbooks.
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a week later;
the sky outside your window was a dull, heavy gray, matching the sluggish weight that had settled over you all week.
true to your word, you had plunged yourself back into the only thing you knew how to control: your schedule. the perfect student did not miss classes, did not lag behind on assignments, and certainly did not cry over a boy who spent months treating you like a secret.
your phone buzzed on the desk, the sharp vibration cutting through the quiet hum of your desk lamp.
your heart did a small, involuntary flip before your brain caught up and reminded you of reality. you had blocked him. his number was gone. it was not him. it could not be him.
you picked up the screen to see a message from a neatly saved contact: minjun.
"hey, i'm downstairs in the driveway." —minjun, 1:21p.m.
"take your time, no rush." —minjun, 1:21p.m.
you stared at the text for a beat, your thumb hovering over the screen before typing a quick, polite response.
"coming down now." —you, 1:22p.m.
slipping your phone into your bag, you took a quick glance in the mirror, smoothing down the edges of the structured, expensive dress your mother had practically picked out for you. it was a far cry from the hoodie, oversized t-shirts and loose shorts you used to wear when curled up on your bed with a certain rugby player. you looked respectable. you looked perfect.
when you walked out the front door, the sleek black sedan was already waiting by the curb, its headlights cutting through the early evening gloom. minjun stepped out of the driver's seat the moment he saw you, a practiced, easy smile on his face as he walked around to open the passenger door for you. he smelled of expensive, clean cologne—nothing like the raw scent of leather, rain, and cigarette smoke that used to linger in your bedroom.
"you look beautiful, y/n," minjun said smoothly, waiting for you to slide into the leather seat before closing the door with a quiet, solid thud.
as he walked back around to the driver's side, you leaned your head against the cool glass of the passenger window, looking out at the empty street. your parents were thrilled, your future was perfectly mapped out, and you had a boyfriend who actually showed up on time and did not bleed on your sheets.
you had everything you were supposed to want, but as the car pulled away from the curb, your chest felt completely hollow. love can not be forced.
triggered warnings : s3x related mentioned, smoking
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you and ohyul have quite a 'bond' together. it started as a random make-out from a party and ended with a routine, which was that he would come to your place weekly and fuck with you.
even months after, he keeps coming back to you to taste you in bed, making love together.
despite that, in public, you both still treat each other as if nothing happened between you two behind closed doors—a total stranger. and neither of you complained either; it's become a rule that all the 'love' made only stays on the bed.
the rules are: no feelings attached & strangers in public. surely, it sounds easy, right? but does it?
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one night—
both of you just finished the usual 'weekly' make-out. you noticed how he slipped over his boxer, then reached his hand over the cigarette box by the nightstand at his side. he took one cigarette stick from the box along with a lighter, lighting it up.
he leaned his back against the headboard of the bed, and his back and shoulders rested on the headboard. he was still shirtless, the cigarette between his fingers as he took a long drag. he slowly exhaled the smoke, his eyes fixated on you for a few seconds.
there was a moment of silence, as usual. it was always quiet in the room after the make-out tension. ohyul is not one for small talk, and neither were you. the smoke from the cigarette slowly filled the room, creating a hazy atmosphere.
you sit properly and also lean your back against the headboard before your head turns to look at his side profile. "you... busy, right? rugby and stuff."
he did not respond immediately. he took another drag from the cigarette, exhaling the smoke away from you before he finally spoke, his voice nonchalant as usual. "yeah, got a game coming up next week. training's been intense." he said, looking straight ahead (blankly at your study table) instead of meeting your gaze.
his voice was calm and nonchalant, as if he were talking about the weather instead of a match. he took the cigarette from his lips and flicked away the ash on it before speaking again. "why? need something?"
you shook your head. "nothing. just asking."
he gave a slight nod, taking another hit from the cigarette before he exhaled the smoke. he was still looking ahead, not really facing you. your question seemed to be out of pure curiosity rather than having a purpose.
there was a short moment of silence. then, ohyul glanced over at you from the corner of his eye. "you? anything going on with you?" he asked. he took another drag from the cigarette before breathing the smoke out.
you took a few seconds to process his question as your gaze traveled to the blank wall before it shifted back to his side profile. "not really. only studying and curriculum activities."
he nodded again, understanding your response. it is true. you had a straight academic background, after all. "mhm, that's typical. of course, the perfect student is studying all the time." he said. he knew that you were the type who never missed a class and always topped in everything you do.
he brought the cigarette to his lips, taking another drag before exhaling the smoke slowly.
the quietness was eating the air again, the only sound coming from the occasional puff of smoke leaving his lips. he seemed to be deep in thought, his gaze on the wall in front of him.
there was an air of nonchalance about him as usual. his expression was as stoic and unreadable as ever. be took another long drag from the cigarette, then spoke again, his voice steady and even.
"your parents don't know about us, right?" he asked, his eyes flicked over to you for a moment.
you simply shrugged. "i've never brought people over. they never seem to care about it."
ohyul nodded again, understanding that your parents were probably too fixated on their own things to pay attention to your relationships.
he took another puff from the cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a slow, steady stream. "lucky you," he commented. "they really don't care who you hang out with or who you date?"
"mhm, they don't care."
he nodded at your answer, taking it as a confirmation. "must be nice to have parents who don't give a damn." his tone was clear. he was not judging you in any way, it was more of a statement.
you did not say anything for a while before you tugged the duvet over your body. "when you leave, make sure the front door is lock."
he flicked the ash into the empty glass on the nightstand, eyes lowering briefly in acknowledgment. "always do."
one last drag. the ember glowed faintly in the dim room before he crushed it against the rim of the glass. without another word, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for his jeans.
his movements as he gets dress is casual and unhurried. the sound of rustling clothes and the occasional clink of a metal belt buckle filled the room.
after a few moments, he zipped up his pants and pulled on his shirt—a black shirt that hugged his well-built frame nicely.
ohyul glanced over at you, still facing your back, before he spoke. "y/n, i'm leaving, then." "mhm, night."
he nodded, even if you could not see it. he ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly before he grabbed his jacket off the chair.
ohyul was walking towards the bedroom door when he spoke again, stopping just before he opened it. "text me if you need anything, yeah?" he said, and there was just a hint of softness in his usual stoic tone.
you hummed at his words. then, he opened the door slowly, not bothering to turn on the light, the hallway was still dark.
"night, then." he said, before he quietly left and closed the door behind him. which a minute later, you can hear the motorbike's engine sound fading away, which a clear sign that he has left.
seconds later, you lift your head slightly and glance at the nightstand where his side is by at an earlier time, and as usual, he always left his perfume.
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skip to a week later,
you just showered. you glanced at the wall clock, the time was just past eight and a half. You have got nothing better to do so you study.
you were over your study table, two textbooks and one notebook wide open on the table as you were locked in studying-focus-mode.
suddenly, your phone buzzed on the table, the sound breaking the silence and pulling you away from your intense study session. you glanced at the notification, seeing a text from a saved contact name as, 'ohyul' appeared on the screen.
you turned your phone screen facing down, filtering out any sort of distraction. you ignored the second 'ping!' sound that came from your phone. since if there is the third notification, you knew it meant that he probably informing he is arriving...?
the odds that he is coming in the middle of the weekday instead of friday night as usual just do not sit right with you but you easily ignore the unnecessary detail.
after a few more minutes later, you heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching. the roar of the engine getting louder as it got closer and closer.
the motorbike's engine cut off downstairs. a few moments later, the soft knock on your bedroom door came—two quiet raps, a silent signal only he ever used.
you did not look up from your notes. you already knew who it was, followed by the sudden familiar cologne scent. the door open by itself, it was left unlocked, as always.
"you usually came after ten." you said without looking up. he did not respond to your comment at first, just observing you from behind silently for a moment.
then he spoke, his voice still indifferent. "got bored."
after receiving zero response from you, he walked further into the room, eyes taking in the surroundings with a casual, almost bored expression.
he walked over to the desk, his gaze flicking over the open textbooks and the notebooks strewn across the table, the signs of hours of diligent studying. but he did not comment on it, just watching you in silence.
"you know that today is wednesday, not friday?"
he remained silent for a beat, unfazed by the observation. His gaze stayed level, unreadable as ever. "rules don't say i can only come fridays."
he took a slow step closer, pulling off his jacket and draping it over backrest of the chair you are sitting on. the scent of night air and leather clung to him.
"anything is wrong with it?" he said.
"no. but you usually came right after a week. and after ten. now it's only nine."
he leaned a hip against the edge of the desk, arms folded casually over his chest. he looked down at you, his expression still nonchalant. there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. "you keeping a tally?" he asked, tone almost amused.
you looked up to him, meeting his gaze. "ohyul... has something happened?"
he did not answer right away, just held your gaze with his usual calm, unreadable stare. the quiet between them stretched, thick with something unspoken.
after a beat, he pushed off the desk and closed the distance in one slow step. his hand reached out, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face—gentle, for him. "nothing happened," he said lowly. "just wanted to see you."
you weirdly glanced at his hand since he was never being this 'touchy' and talking this much. and that is when you just noticed a smell. "are you drunk? you said you don't drink."
he paused after your words lingered in the air for a while. his is slowly hand dropped back to his side.
for a moment, his expression remained neutral, then the tiniest shrug of his shoulders. "had a few with the guys after practice." he admitted simply. there was no point denying it, you already knew.
"not drunk." he added. it was true, he was not drunk. his tolerance was too high for that.
"go shower. you know that i hate the smell."
he did not argue. he never did when you gave an order like that. with a quiet nod, he turned toward your bathroom, with light steps.
the water started up moments later, warm steam curling under the door after it closed. he did not take long. around five minutes, maybe six—before the sound cut off and he stepped out in just his black boxers, towel slung over one shoulder.
he hung the damp towel on one of the hangers. then he moved to sit on the edge of your bed, waiting with that same calm stillness in his eyes.
you stand up, closing the books before turning your body around. your eyes caught him immediately. "ohyul. why did you drink?"
ohyul's gaze remained on you, dark eyes unreadable in the dim lighting. he leaned back against the headboard. "no special reason." he said, tone matter-of-fact. he had a few drinks after practice, that was all. nothing much to say about it.
there was another moment of silence before he spoke again, his tone still nonchalant yet there was a thread of curiosity there. "you're questioning a lot tonight." "cause you acted odd."
"i'm always odd." he said. his tone is still unreadable but his eyes held something quieter now, almost guarded.
he turned slightly toward you on the bed, one arm resting behind him for support. the damp strands of hair clung to his forehead gave him a softer look than usual. "well, you never minded before."
he is right. and you knew it. which may be what has got you speechless for a few seconds.
"dry your hair properly before lay on my bed." you said.
a silent beat, then ohyul huffed a laugh. A rarity, coming from him. he rolled off the bed and grabbed the towel from the hanger, running it briskly through his still-damp hair. it didn't take long for all the dampness to soak up, though not fully.
he tossed the slightly damp towel into the laundry hamper and then flopped back down on the bed, the mattress softly creaking under his weight. his gaze never left you when you were taking steps, approaching him.
he looked at you, eyes glinting with a hint of challenge. "done." "no, it still hasn't dried properly." you said.
you said as you held out your hand and felt a few strands of his hair between your fingers. he watched as you ran your fingers through his hair, the damp strands slightly cool under your touch. the gesture was unexpected. he was used to your touch, but usually it was more... heated, more rushed.
ohyul remained quiet, his gaze on you, a mixture of intrigue and, strangely enough, curiosity.
"it'll dry soon." he suddenly said, voice low and measured.
he let out a soft sigh, "i can't hold it anymore..." he mumbled before he suddenly stands and leaned tall over you as his lips pressed against yours.
thank you for reading it :3
(lngshot's masterlist) // there is part 2 if this is loved !!
summary : from coincidence until it became destiny
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it started with coincidence. then the coincidence started showing up too often.
the next few weeks turned into a pattern.
you would arrive at the café with your books.
ohyul would appear five minutes later like some suspiciously consistent coincidence.
until one afternoon;
"you're stalking me." you said without looking up from your notebook.
he placed two drinks on the table where he already knew you would sit. "if i were stalking you, i would be much sneakier. aaaand you literally sit in the same chair every day."
"well, it's not my fault that it's a comfortable chair."
"it squeaks." "but still comfy." you responded, stubbornly sliding your bag onto the seat like you were defending territory.
ohyul pulled the chair across from you and sat down, immediately pressing his weight into it.
the chair answered with a dramatic squeak.
you looked up slowly. he raised a finger. "see? that sound alone would expose any stalking attempt."
"well, it has personality." you said flatly.
"and it sounds like it is begging for retirement."
you pushed one of the drinks toward him. "then, don't sit here." you said.
he shook his head. "too late. i'm committed now."
you shook your head and finally took a sip of your drink. and of course you noticed that he remembered your order.
he smiled like reads your mind. "your strawberry matcha. less ice and 70% sweetness as usual." he grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
you tried to focus back on your notebook, but you could feel his gaze again. that same quiet observing.
"quit it. you're staring again." you muttered.
"i'm just thinking. i'm trying to figure something out."
you sighed and looked up, meeting his gaze. "of what?"
he tapped the edge of your notebook. "you've been on the same page for ten minutes.”
"i'm brainstorming." you said, gaze fell back down to the words on the open book in front of you.
"you wrote one sentence from earlier."
"oh," you said dryly, finally looking up at him, "so you've been monitoring my productivity now?"
he leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, studying the notebook like a disappointed professor. "i wouldn't say monitoring," he said. "it's more like… witnessing a historical lack of progress."
you closed the notebook halfway just to block his view. "it's called thinking. great ideas take time."
he nodded thoughtfully. "mhmm... so name one."
you opened your mouth. then closed it again.
"oh no," he said, delighted. "the brainstorming has produced zero storms." "tsk. shut up."
"i'm just saying, if thinking burned calories you'd be exhausted by now." he said, while holding his smile, clearly enjoying this light banter.
you grabbed the straw from your drink and pointed it at him like a weapon. "you bought me this. don't make me regret it."
"i could never regret buying strawberry matcha," he said calmly. "you deserve sweet things. like me."
you raised your eyebrow. "wait. did you just call yourself sweet?"
he shrugged. "objectively." He did not hesitate.
"that's the most suspicious statement i have heard all week." you shook your head in amusement.
he leaned back in the squeaky chair like he had just delivered a masterpiece line. "you don't agree?"
you took a slow sip of your drink, studying him over the rim of the cup. "hmm..."
ohyul waited. not rushing you. just leaning back slightly, arms loosely crossed like he had all the patience in the world.
"what's that 'hmm' supposed to mean?" he asked after a moment of silence.
you lowered the cup slowly, still studying him. "nothing... i'm just thinking."
he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, clearly entertained. "go on then. i'm curious what conclusion you've reached."
"i think you're just overselling yourself."
he thought about that for a few seconds. "So you don't believe me?" He squints his eyes over you as his mind is thinking of something.
"and now, i have to prove it."
before you could even ask what that meant, his hand moved. The tip of his finger tapped lightly against the back of your hand resting on the table.
a small touch. barely there.
but it was enough to make you pause mid-sip.
you looked down at your hand, then slowly up at him.
ohyul did not pull away immediately. his finger lingered there for a second longer than necessary, like he was testing something. like he was waiting to see if you would move.
but when you did not. that is when he gets bolder.
his fingers slipped under your hand, gently turning it over so your palm faced up. then he slowly slides his whole palm against yours.
both of your gaze still locked together, making the air feel tense, opposite to the action he is doing.
ohyul caressed your palm lightly, it feels almost ticklish yet warm and comfortable.
"you're so beautiful..." he said breathily, as if he was holding the word for so long (he did). your cheek blushed immediately at the sudden compliment.
he feels like he is crazy when he realized about his feelings. because for someone who claimed she was "easy to forget," you had somehow become the only thing he kept noticing.
every day. every minute. every second. and for him, every book he touches every day reminded him of you.
and apparently he was done pretending it meant nothing. so instead of explaining it, he reached forward again.
this time his fingers gently tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. with his gentle smile.
then his hand reached out and picked up one of your highlights. your eyes never left his face so you barely realized what he was doing. you noticed that the highlight moves three times to three spots in your book. he looks so excited too.
"there," he said quietly. his smile widen, satisfied smile. "evidence."
when you looked down at your textbook, you saw three words highlighted. from three sentences;
"... whenever I looked outside, it just feels..."
"... very much the same as others. Like, I don't..."
"... same as me, so you can do it too. Hence..."
oh... you just realized it.
i... like... you...?
you looked up to met his face, and he is still smiling, full of confident that you have mutual feelings.
(and of course he gonna ignore the slight expectation of rejection deep down his thoughts).
"why? do you want me to say it out loud?" he asked softly and gentlemanly tone.
you were about to say something when he cuts your words off before you could even start. "i like you, y/n."
confident, yes. because he had decided to show you his heart anyway. meanwhile, your fingers tightened slightly around your pen.
"…you're very direct today." you said softly, eyes only met him for a few seconds before looking away. for few times already.
"i practiced." he replied.
you blinked. "hm? you practiced confessing?" "yep."
he tilted his head, eyes locked on your pretty face, and he tried to read your emotions now. "i wanted to say it properly."
you looked down at your textbook again.
the three highlighted words sat there quietly.
your thumb brushed lightly over the edge of the page. "but… what if i don't like you back?" you asked quietly.
he did not answer immediately. but you noticed it.
the subtle tightening in his eyes of expectation.
"then i'll still buy you strawberry matcha," he said. "and sit in this squeaky chair across you. wuietly watch you studies."
that surprised you. "…that's it?"
he shrugged slightly, his smile slowly lessening. but he tried his best to make it as if he were fine.
"i don't think liking someone should make them feel trapped..." another pause. then, softer: "but i do hope you like me too."
"…you're very eager." you said, making his smiled subtly widen. "mhm, i am." he said with a 'that-is-nothing' shrug.
"why?" "because i like you." he said boldly.
you smiled at his words. he is not ashamed of it.
"you're ridiculous." you said, scanning his expression.
"i like you too." you said shyly, and you swear to god, his smile... that was more than the wide smile you ever imagined he would have.
"thank you..." he muttered. he has a list of words he wanted to say now but he noticed slight hints of overwhelm you got, so he bit back the words.
he lifted your hand slightly instead.
and pressed the lightest, most hesitant kiss to the back of your hand, like he was testing whether this was allowed now.
mid-post high school. that strange in between stage where everyone pretends they know what they are doing. while actually they do not know. they just buy iced americano and talk about 'future plans'.
ohyul was the only son in his family.
the dependable one. the strong one. the one who drove his parents to appointments and fixed broken shelves and swallowed his own exhaustion because someone else always needed him more.
he carried expectations like a second spine.
his friends joked that he never said no. he did not know how to. responsibility clung to him so tightly that he forgot what it felt like to put it down.
love? well, that was a luxury. and he had no space for luxuries. or so he thought.
meanwhile y/n was the third child. the youngest. the one who learned early that if you did not speak up, the world would simply… move on without you.
you packed your own lunch when your parents were busy with your older siblings's competitions. you figured out bus routes alone. you celebrated your own small wins quietly. being independent was not empowering at first. it was survival.
sometimes, late at night, scrolling through everyone else's loud, glittering lives, you would think, "oh. i'm easy to forget." you hated that thought. but it lingered.
────────────────────────────
simply say, you and ohyul met on an ordinary tuesday.
the kind of tuesday that does not promise anything special. really...
it is at a small bookstore café in your neighborhood. you were crouched down, trying to gather the books you had accidentally knocked over, whispering apologies to no one in particular (cliché? yes).
as you were mumbling some curse to yourself, a hand appeared in your peripheral vision. long fingers. careful movements. a crouched figure.
"i think this one is yours." the voice said softly.
and when you looked up. (even he forgot how to breathe).
it was not dramatic. no background music swelling out of nowhere. no slow motion wind machine flipping your hair like you were auditioning for a main role.
but it is not and yet. it felt suspiciously cinematic.
you were still sitting on the floor, legs folded awkwardly to the side, one hand still hovering over a fallen stack of books. your hair had slipped out of whatever effort you had made to tie it back. a few strands brushed your cheeks. your lips were slightly parted in embarrassment.
"uh—" you blinked at him, clearly not expecting a (good looking) stranger to be crouched in front of you. "that one— yeah. that is mine."
your voice was soft but not weak. careful. like you were used to keeping it at a certain volume so you did not interrupt anyone else's noise.
he handed you the book. his fingers brushed yours for half a second. and that half second did something irreversible to him.
"sorry," you said quickly, tucking the book to your chest. "i didn't mean to make a mess. i thought the stack was stable."
"it's fine, really." he did not stand up right away.
he should have. a normal person would have handed you the book and walked away. instead, he stayed crouched there like he had all the time in the world.
"you come here often?" he asked, then internally winced. that sounded criminally basic.
you tilted your head slightly, studying him. not suspicious. just… observant. "uh... sometimes. cuz it is quiet."
he hummed followed by a nod. "so, you like quiet?"
you shrugged, brushing imaginary dust off the book's cover. "hmm... depends. quiet is nice. people are loud."
"that's… deeply relatable," he said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "i think i've lost hearing in one ear from group projects alone."
a soft huff escaped you. not quite a laugh. and he noticed it.
"you don't seem loud," you said, glancing at him again. "for someone who just used the most overused line in existence."
he blinked. "i knew it. the second it left my mouth, i regretted my life choices."
"'you come here often?'" you repeated lightly with a light chuckle. "very vintage."
both of you let out a light chuckle before the silence filled the air. he clears his throat and attempts to change the topic.
"so, what do you usually read?" he asked, a little more careful this time.
you glanced down at the book in your hand. "hmm... just self-confidence stuff."
"self-confidence." he repeated, like he was testing the weight of it. his gaze fell on the cover of the book that you are holding.
you nodded once, casual. "it's cheaper than therapy."
a corner of his mouth lifted. "yeah, debatable. some of those books cost a fortune."
"true," you admitted. "but at least they don't look at you like you're the problem."
he tilted his head slightly. "hm?", his gaze fell on your face. "uh... do you think you're the problem?"
you immediately shrugged it off. "i would say, everyone assumes they are. it's efficient."
that was not heavy. you did not say it like a confession. more like an observation about the weather.
he nod, glanced at the title. "so this one is about…?"
"not shrinking yourself," you said. "which is ironic because now i literally am crouching on the floor." He chuckled from that.
"you don't seem like someone who needs a book to be confident." he said, tone light with honesty.
you raised a brow. "you've known me for approximately four minutes." his gaze shifted back to you. he did not push further. did not ask why you needed those books.
as soon as he saw you are standing, he immediately held out his hand for help. you paused for a few seconds at first before accepting his help.
he just met your eyes. and you held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than a stranger normally would.
then you looked away first. "uh... see you around, stranger." you said with a smile, like it was nothing.
he nods. and he knew he would be back here tomorrow.
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ever since then, both of them were at the bookstore café every tuesday afternoon. he sat at the table across from yours. not intrusive. just… there.
every now and then, you would glance up and catch him already looking. just observing. like you were something worth paying attention to.
you were not used to that.
there are certain time when he feels a bit brave, he will buy some sweet drinks from the menu for you and delivered it to your table just to talk to you. like today;
"so," he said eventually, leaning slightly forward, "how are you feeling today?"
you blinked at him, caught off guard. not because the question was unusual, but because it felt… deliberate. thoughtful.
"uh… i'm okay," you said cautiously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "why?"
he shrugged lightly, pretending it was casual. "Just curious. you are frowning while reading the books."
you blinked again, a little flustered. "i… wasn't frowning. just… uh, concentrating."
he raised an eyebrow, grin threatening the edges of his lips. "concentrating or brooding dramatically?"
you snorted, hiding a small smile behind your hand. "maybe both. but it's none of your business."
"hmm," he hummed, leaning closer just a fraction, enough that you could feel a warm brush of air. "i'm making it my business now." his hand reached over the cover of the book you're holding. tip of his finger playing with the edged of the hard cover.
your heart skipped by the sudden closeness of his skin with yours, which was ridiculous because he was basically a stranger. you tried to hide it by taking a sip of the strawberry matcha. sweet. too sweet. your fingers brushed his as you lifted the cup.
he caught the gesture, did not pull away. Instead, he let his hand linger. "not that i mind." he murmured.
you looked up, and for a moment, the words you had been rehearsing all week, words about being strong, about standing alone—felt useless. he was smiling, soft, easy, and for some reason, completely unignorable.
"are you always this… distracting?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"i could ask you the same thing." he replied, leaning just a little closer. his hand finally brushed yours fully this time.
and suddenly, the quiet café, the books, the strawberry matcha—they all faded, leaving only this sudden, awkward, electric closeness.
you blinked. he blinked. and then, without thinking, your fingers twined with his. "i'm y/n." you said softly with subtle shyness.
he smiled, like he had been waiting to hear it. "ohyul. it feels nice to finally know your name."
and just like that, a quiet little beginning of something unshakable had started.
his mother died when he was ten, and after that he learned something quietly dangerous: nothing stays. so he flirted, smiled, leaned close, made girls laugh, let them think they were special. then he left before they could leave him.
────────────────────────────
one day there was warmth.
the next day there was a hospital hallway that smelled like antiseptic and finality.
after that, he stopped asking for things, stopped needing things. or at least, he pretended to.
he watched his father become smaller, quieter, buried in work and silence. the house turned into a place where footsteps echoed too loudly.
where dinner was eaten only cup instant noodle in front of the television. where "i'm fine" replaced real conversations.
so ryul adjusted. he became charming. he became easy.
he learned how to smile in a way that made girls feel chosen. how to tilt his head just slightly when listening. how to remember small details about someone just long enough to make them believe he cared.
he did care. just not in the way they wanted.
he liked the beginning. the flutter. the attention. the soft look in someone's eyes when they thought they were the exception.
he never let it reach the part where it could hurt.
he left first. always.
for him, it was easier that way.
────────────────────────────
and y/n was not any better.
y/n is daughter of a divorce that felt more like a battlefield than a separation. you grew up watching love rot in real time. your parents did not scream at first. they whispered. they closed doors gently. they said "not in front of her" as if you were not already listening from the staircase.
watched shared laughter turn into forced politeness. watched two people who once held hands across tables start sitting on opposite ends of the couch.
you moved in with your mom. smaller house. quieter nights. a new routine built from the pieces of something that failed.
so you made a decision without realizing it.
if love ends, then do not take it seriously.
you learned how to hold eye contact a second too long. how to let your fingers brush someone's wrist like it was an accident. how to laugh in a way that made people lean closer.
boys. girls. anyone who looked at you like you were worth choosing.
you liked the chase. the thrill of knowing someone wanted you. the power of being the one who could walk away untouched.
because you are the one who leaves first, and you do not have to feel the silence afterward.
that is it. neither of them believed in forever.
────────────────────────────
then your and his parents got married. just like that.
no dramatic build-up. no slow adjustment period. just a small ceremony, polite smiles, and adults saying things like "we deserve happiness too" as if that sentence solved everything.
two broken adults deciding to try again. and...
two teenagers forced into a house that suddenly felt too small.
"oh, so you're my new sister." ryul had said the first night, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen with that lazy half-smile that made half the school fall over himself.
you stood at the counter, pretending to scroll through your phone, even though your screen had been dark for the last minute. "and you're my problem now." you replied sweetly yet glaringly at him, which gave your words a very different tone.
he huffed a small laugh, ran his fingers through his hair. "problem? i just got here."
"and i've been here longer," you shot back to him, clearly uninterested.
his eyebrows lifted slightly. sharp. not intimidated.
he pushed off the doorway and walked further into the kitchen, stopping a little too close. close enough that you could smell the faint mix of cologne and mint gum.
"you don't have to act tough," he said lightly with an amused huff. "i'm not interested."
you tilted your head with a small huff. "good. i don't date boys who collect girls like trophies."
his jaw flexed. "and i don't date girls who flirt with the entire room just to feel important." he replied, voice still calm.
that hit. you smiled anyway. "then we understand each other."
silence settled for a second. not awkward. just charged. in the living room, your parents were laughing over something trivial. the sound felt distant.
he stepped back first. "don't touch my stuff." he said casually, as if that was the only rule that mattered.
"don't talk to me at school." you answered.
he huffed with a grin as if he already planning to completely ignore you in public. "trust me, i won't."
from that night on, the house turned into neutral territory.
two bedrooms at opposite ends of the hallway.
two toothbrushes by the sink.
two sets of footsteps avoiding each other in the morning.
you two did not like each other.
you two did not want to like each other.
────────────────────────────
high school was bad enough on its own.
now it came with commentary. it was annoying.
he went to the same high school as you. same halls. same lockers that slammed too loud. same fluorescent lights that made everyone look slightly more exhausted than they actually were.
"that playboy is step siblings with that playgirl."
"scandal magnet." "home-wrecker."
the words were not even creative. just recycled gossip dressed up as morality.
you kept walking. you always kept walking.
ryul, on the other hand, smirked through it. he would sling an arm over whoever he was currently entertaining and laugh like it was all amusing background noise. like the rumors fed him instead of followed him.
you hated that about him.
and he hated that you did the same thing.
different crowd, but same strategy.
you would lean closer to someone in the hallway, fingers brushing their sleeve, smiling just enough to make it look effortless. someone would whisper your name. someone would glare. and someone would fall for it.
performance art, both of you.
but there were moments. Small ones.
like when a sophomore muttered 'cheap' a little too loud behind you while ryul is coincidentally steps away, his head turned before yours did. his jaw tightened just slightly before he forced himself to look away.
or when one of his exes cornered him near the stairs, accusing dramatically, almost crying, and you felt an unexpected spark of irritation watching her grab his sleeve like she had the right.
but the comments always circled back.
"they live together now, right?"
"that's so weird."
"i bet their parents don't know what they're like in reality."
────────────────────────────
you and him are the same. literally dated different people every week just to prove you two did not care.
both come home late with different names on their lips. slam doors. avoid eye contact at breakfast.
but both... noticed things.
ryul noticed you never brought the same person home twice.
you noticed that he never stayed out past midnight on weekdays.
but both still pretend like they did not care about it.
────────────────────────────
one night;
the club was loud that night.
ryul had a girl pressed close to him, music shaking through his ribs. he was laughing, drinking, sharing cigarettes with strangers around him and pretending.
then he saw you, y/n, his step sister.
across the dance floor. in someone else's arms.
for a second, something sharp twisted in his chest. but he ignored it. but he could not deny that he heard your laugh even though you are in opposite of the room.
hell, he even noticed that the guy you came with looked irritated, drunk in a messy way after you said something with a smile, clearly unaware of the guy's emotion. and then it happened.
the guy shoved her away slightly with his voice rising over the music. "i don't even like you like that."
the guy's voice was loud, it echoes right before a beat drop of the background music. of course, people can heard it clearly. people turned.
"you did the same thing to my friend. you think i didn't know?" he snapped. "you just play with everyone."
exposing every rumor. every half-truth twisted into something uglier. making it sound calculated. cruel. the guy makes you sounded like you woke up every morning planning who to ruin next. with things he added that never happened.
assumptions dressed up as facts. guesses delivered with confidence. stories built from jealousy and ego, but told like evidence.
it sounded real. too real. because people like believing the worst version of someone.
the crowd shifted. phones lowered slightly. whispers multiplied. someone laughed faintly in the background. not even loudly. just enough.
ryul did not move. he watched.
he hated that he only watched.
part of him told himself it was not his business since this was the kind of mess you both created and survived alone
your face did not crumble immediately. you stood there like you had been trained for this. like you had practiced being unbreakable in front of a mirror.
you bent down calmly, picked up your handbag from the booth where it had slipped. smoothed your skirt. chin up. eyes blank. there was something terrifying about how composed you looked.
you turned and walked through the crowd. each step steady. controlled. you did not even turn around.
the guy and his friends scoffed like he had won something, still talking, and some, still laughing.
ryul? he turned back to his date. smiled. drank. danced.
pretended.
────────────────────────────
but he went home that night. earlier than he usually did.
and you were not there. nor anywhere in the house. nor in your bedroom. your room was dark, filled with the subtle scent of cheap perfume.
every phone calls went straight to nothing.
messages undelivered.
something unfamiliar crawled under his skin. annoyance.
but he reassured himself. it is not a worry.
he checked the club again. restaurants. streets. the sidewalk near the convenience store that you go frequently (he noticed the plastic bag you came home with every night).
two hours passed.
thank god. he found you at the park near the club.
sitting on a bench under a dying streetlight.
alone. you were not crying quietly. you were breaking.
with shoulders shaking, breath uneven, hands clutching your own jacket like you were trying to hold yourself together.
ryul stood steps behind for a second.
he had no idea how to approach someone who had just been publicly destroyed. he had never comforted anyone before but stepped closer anyway.
you heard footsteps and looked up, vision blurred with alcohol and tears. You did not recognize him.
you just saw a figure. of someone.
and you stood up unsteadily and wrapped your arms around his torso. "i'm so tired." you sobbed into his chest. "i'm so tired of pretending i don't care."
and ryul? he froze. you clutched his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright.
"they always leave." you whispered. "o-or I leave first... i don't even know why I do it. i just… i don't want to be the one who gets hurt."
your words landed somewhere deep.
he did not say, 'it's me'. he did not push her away. instead, his hands hovered for a second before settling awkwardly on your back.
"i-i didn't mean to hurt anyone," you mumbled, voice breaking. "i just... didn't want to feel alone."
he swallowed. because he understood that. too well.
and you kept talking, spilling every insecurity you had buried under eyeliner and confidence. about your parents. about your biological father. about watching your parents's love fall apart. about being scared that if someone saw the real you, they would think you were not enough.
slowly, your voice faint before he realized, you already fell asleep against him. in his arms.
just like that. trusting a stranger. trusting him.
────────────────────────────
ryul carried you home.
the walk felt longer than usual. the night air had gone quiet, like even the world knew better than to interrupt.
your head rested against his shoulder, breath warm against his neck. one of your hands fisted into his shirt unconsciously, like you were afraid he would disappear if you loosened your grip.
you looked small. nothing like the girl who owned every room she walked into. nothing like the sharp-tongued, unbothered version of you that people thought they knew.
your lashes were still clumped slightly from dried tears. your makeup smudged just enough to show you hadn't been as untouchable as you pretended.
he adjusted his hold on you carefully, almost protective.
────────────────────────────
the house was dark when he stepped inside.
your parents's bedroom door was closed. the hallway light left on dim, like always.
he carried you down the hall slower than necessary.
into your room.
he laid you on your bed gently, brushing your hair away from your face without thinking. the motion was soft. Instinctive.
he pulled the blanket over you.
for a second, he just stood there. looking at you. at how quiet and peaceful you looked now.
when he turned to leave, your hand shot out and grabbed his. even asleep, your fingers tightened around his wrist. "please... don't go." you murmured.
and something inside him cracked.
he stayed there longer than he should have.
watching you. realizing, slowly and painfully, that... the one person who understood him was the one person he was not allowed to love.
────────────────────────────
the next morning, you did not remember hugging him. nothing. clean. zero memory.
just a headache, smudged mascara on your pillow, and a strange heaviness in your chest that you blamed on alcohol.
ryul watched you from across the breakfast table.
you were complaining about the noise in your head. avoiding his eyes. acting normal.
and ryul? he did not tell her.
both went back to arguing. back to pretending.
but things clearly shifted.
────────────────────────────
one evening, you came home later than usual.
not with someone. just alone.
the house was dim except for the living room lamp. your heels clicked against the floor before you slipped them off near the door, sighing like the night had drained more out of you than you expected.
when you stepped inside, found him in the living room. ge was stretched across the couch, one arm behind his head, phone in his hand. the tv was on but on the lowest volume. he looked relaxed.
he immediately recognized your perfume. "your date cancel?" he asked, not looking up from his phone.
"i canceled." you replied, moving toward the kitchen.
his thumb stopped scrolling. "oh." a small beat. "that's new."
you opened the fridge just to have something to do. "he was boring." keeping your words short.
"well... that's never stopped you before."
you shot him a look over your shoulder. "jealous?"
he scoffed. "of a guy named daniel with too much cologne? i'll survive."
you grabbed a bottle of water, leaning against the counter instead of going to your room like you usually would.
silence stretched. he could feel it. the difference.
he quickly thinks of anything to say before you disappear to the stairs. "you didn't even try?" he asked, voice more neutral now.
you stopped before you even step on the first stairs. "i did," you said quietly." he kept talking about himself. i got tired."
"tired?" he repeated, turned his head over his shoulder, looking over you properly now.
"of pretending to be impressed." you admitted before you could stop yourself. that made him sit up slightly.
you realized what you had just said and shrugged it off. "ugh, whatever. it wasn't worth the uber money."
and... the scene faded like that.
────────────────────────────
Another night, it was quieter.
you were doing homework at the dining table, headphones around your neck instead of on your ears. he walked out from his room, phone in hand.
he placed it on the table as his hands were occupied with a can of soda he just grabbed from the fridge.
soon, his phone buzzed. a name lit up the screen.
'soojin'. you did not mean to look. you did anyway.
you did not even know her personally, but you knew the type. sweet smile. soft voice. the kind of girl who would probably fall hard for ryul...
you looked away instantly, pretending you had not seen it. you quickly write anything on your exercise books, as if you even got the answer to the question written on it.
his eyes flicked to you. he locked his phone without replying. set it face down on the table.
"you're not going out?" you asked, too casual. eyes still on your notebook.
he leaned against the table, one arm bracing him, the other opening a soda. the hiss from it echoed in the quiet room. "why? you scheduling my calendar now?"
"i just assumed," you muttered. "you usually disappear around this time."
he watched you for a second. "i'm not in the mood."
you let out a small breath through your nose. "didn't know you had moods."
he tilted his head. "didn't know you paid attention."
you stiffened slightly. "i don't." you said quickly.
he walked closer, stopping on the other side of you. close enough that the distance felt intentional.
"she wants to meet," he said, tapping his phone lightly. "been asking all week."
"and?" you forced your tone to stay flat. not curious.
"and i don’t feel like it." "why?" he said, making you looked up.
he held your gaze. "because i'm tired," he said quietly. the same word you had used.
your fingers tightened around your pen.
"of what?" you asked before you could stop yourself.
he looked away first this time, "of people thinking they know me."
you swallowed. "you let them think that."
"yeah," he admitted. "so do you."
that should not have sounded intimate. but it did.
your headphones slipped from your neck onto the table with a soft thud. then you cleared your throat. "do what you want. it's not my business."
"it kind of is." he said before thinking.
you frowned slightly from his words. "how?"
he hesitated. because from saying 'cause you live here' was not the real answer. he picked up his phone instead. "forget it." he walked back to his room.
you sat there staring at your unfinished work.
neither of you acknowledged the way that moment lingered.
────────────────────────────
ryul started noticing details he should not care about.
the way your voice softened when you talked about your mom. the way you tied your hair up when you were stressed. the way you laughed differently when it was real.
you started noticing his too.
the way he went quiet whenever his mother was mentioned. the way he checked the front door is locked twice before bed. the way he always made sure the hallway light was on if you are asleep.
────────────────────────────
a saturday night;
the house was quiet for once, no parents, no noise from the street. the kind of quiet that made even the smallest sounds feel deafening.
you were in the kitchen, trying to find a snack because, somehow, the world was heavier than usual. ryul came in shortly after, carrying a bag of groceries. you both froze in the doorway at the same time, like neither expected the other to be there.
"can you…?" he started, holding out a carton of juice towards you. you laughed softly, taking it. "thanks." you said, voice barely above a whisper.
he leaned against the counter opposite you, just close enough that the warmth radiating from him brushed against your arm. you felt it. and you hated that you felt it.
neither of you spoke for a long moment.
then, almost simultaneously, something shifted. a loud crash from the pantry when you knocked over a can. you both bent to pick it up at the same time, hands brushing.
your heart slammed. you pulled back slightly.
he did not. Instead, he kept his hand on yours. just there. not moving, not letting go.
"you… you okay?" you asked, voice trembling.
"i'm fine." he said, but his gaze did not leave yours.
and then the words slipped. not carefully. not a warning. it just… real.
"i can't stop thinking about you." he said quietly, almost as if saying it louder would break something fragile in the air.
you froze. your chest tightened. you felt every beat. every pulse in your fingers where they still touched his. "i… me too." you whispered, barely audible.
and there it was. the undeniable weight pressing between you. not a game. not attention-seeking. not a fight.
you were scared of it. of him. of what it meant. of everything.
"i shouldn't." you said immediately, pushing back, trying to convince yourself it was wrong. "we… we can't."
"i know." he said, voice rough, almost painful of the reality. "i... i know. but i feel it anyway."
the silence that followed was heavy. your fingers still brushed. neither moved.
and for the first time, you saw it clearly in his eyes. that same wild, impossible, devastating thing you felt yourself.
love.
it was not sudden. it was not even safe. but it was real.
and in that moment, you both knew, no doubt that whatever rules, whatever consequences, whatever "step-sibling" nonsense, they could not stop themselves from feeling it.
he looked at you like he wanted to say more. like he wanted to take it all back to the edge of danger, but could not speak it aloud. instead, his other hand came up to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.
it was intimate. too intimate. and you both knew it. neither moved for a long moment, just holding on. just staring. just feeling.
his hand slipped behind your head, slowly pulling you closer, giving you a chance to back off which you did not.
it was close. your lips brushed against his lightly. a fleeting kiss. he pulled you in, into a proper kiss. Into a kiss that shouldn't have existed.
that kiss only lasted for seconds before you pulled away immediately, stepping back from him, eyes looking anywhere but him. "this is wrong..."
he swallowed, trying to steady himself. His hands dropped slowly to your shoulders, as if letting go would make him disappear entirely. "yeah," he admitted, voice low, almost rough.
"i know it is… but…" his lips twitched, like he wanted to finish the sentence, to confess that he did not care, that he could not care, that he needed this.
you stepped back another pace, your back pressing lightly against the counter. your fingers tightened into fists at your sides, waited for him to continue.
he took a breath, leaned in, and brushed his forehead against yours. "but i want you," he said, every word heavy, deliberate. "i've wanted you since… since we first met. and since that night at the park…"
you froze. you shook your head quickly. "we... no, we can't… we… step-siblings…"
he let out a frustrated breath and stepped even closer, close enough that the space between you vanished. his hand hovered near your face, almost brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "y/n... i don't care about any of that," he said, voice low, controlled—but every syllable trembled with need. "i... i don't care about what's right or wrong. i just…"
you stepped back again, the counter now firmly behind you. "i really can't..." your voice cracked slightly. "ryul… i want you too, but i can't—"
you cursed under your breath before stepping away. you walked straight to the stairs without turning around, controlling yourself from going back to him. him... ryul, aka your stepbrother.
────────────────────────────
ever since that night, everything changed.
you moved through the house like a careful actor, every step measured. every glance calculated. your laughter softer, less bold. your smiles fewer, sharper. you still wanted him, ryul—but it was like a wound you had to keep pressed down, invisible to everyone else. especially him.
and he noticed. of course.
he noticed the way you lingered a second too long by the fridge when he passed. the way your eyes flicked to him when you thought he was not looking.
and he hated that he noticed.
ryul had gone cold. not cruel. not openly hostile. just… distant. nonchalant. like a familiar fire that no longer warmed him, just glowed in silent restraint.
he did not ignore you completely, he still walked the same hallways, sat at the same table but the sharp, teasing, the small smile, the small actions that show he cares, the almost intimate energy that used to define your interactions was gone.
he was not mean. he just… withdrew.
and you felt it immediately.
────────────────────────────
every night became like this.
you controlled yourself. tried to act as if his presence did not ignite something you were not allowed to have.
he controlled himself. tried to act as if your presence did not mean everything he did not admit.
the house felt heavier. quieter. taut with unspoken tension. small things, once innocent now carried weight. a glance too long across the kitchen. fingers brushing on the staircase. a laugh that sounded just a little too soft.
and neither of you moved.
neither of you could. not yet.
because the desire was there. always. lurking. dangerous. waiting for a moment when both of you would falter.
and the cold, nonchalant version of ryul? it was a shield.
for him, for you. for the world that would never understand that the person he loved most was also the one he could never touch.
every encounter, every word, every glance now held two truths: what you were forced to hide, and what you both already knew.
tonight was such a quiet night in your neighborhood. and as usual, ohyul came by your place to stay the night with you. he came hours ago, sweaty after just hitting the gym. he showered first then joined your family for dinner.
ohyul was only wearing his athletic shorts (?) and was topless, with the excuse that tonight is hot, well it is partly true since your bedroom's ac broke a few days ago. now, you two were cuddling on your bed, with your back against his chest, and his head resting on top of yours. time and time again, he would snuggle his face against your hair.
your fingers were fiddling between his as a podcast about 'red flag relationship' was playing in the background, it was such a regular night for you two to listen to the podcast every week, just to hear gossip and life of people experiencing a red flag partner. synchronizing gaps from both of you would fill the room with every shocking story from the podcast that was shared.
the podcast host's dramatic gasp followed by their guest's voice echoed through the room. "then i found out he had four secret instagram accounts—"
you gasped softly, twisting your head just enough to look up at ohyul. "see? that's what i mean. red flag."
ohyul hummed lazily behind you, his chest vibrating against your back. his arms tightened slightly around your waist, not possessive, just instinctive. "i don't even use my main account properly," he muttered. "four sounds exhausting."
you snorted. "well, that's exactly what someone with four accounts would say."
he shifted, nudging his nose against your temple before pressing a slow kiss there, warm and unhurried. "if i had secrets," he murmured, voice lower now, softer, "you'd know. i can't hide anything from you."
you tried to keep your composure. failed miserably.
the room felt warmer than it should have been, not just because the ac was broken. his skin against yours was distracting in the worst, best way. your fingers laced more tightly with his, thumb brushing absent patterns over his knuckles.
the podcast continued with another horror story about emotional manipulation, but neither of you were really listening anymore.
"ohyul," you said quietly. "hm?"
"if i ever become a red flag… you'll tell me, right?"
he went still for a second. then he lifted his head slightly so he could see your face. his expression was not teasing now. It was thoughtful. soft.
"you?" he let out a small breath, almost a laugh. "you overthink for three days before deciding what cereal to buy. the only dangerous thing about you is how much you care."
that did something to your chest. it tightened but in the nicest way as possible.
you rolled onto your side to face him, which forced him to adjust, one arm sliding under your pillow so he could prop himself up slightly. in the dim light, his hair was still slightly damp at the ends. he looked unfairly comfortable here. like he is where he belonged.
"hey, ohyul... i'm being serious," you insisted, poking his chest lightly. "promise?"
he caught your hand before you could pull it away. not dramatic. not intense. just gentle.
"i promise." he said simply.
there was no dramatic music cue. no cinematic wind. just the quiet hum of the podcast and the distant sound of a car passing outside.
he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours. "and if I ever become one," he added, quieter now, "don't wait for a podcast episode to tell me."
you smiled, eyes softening. "deal." You said, even though you know he would never becoming a red flag. easy to say, you could not even imagine it.
ohyul watched your expression shift, like he could read the thought you did not say out loud. his fingers moved from your wrist to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "hm? what?" he asked quietly.
"nothing." "no. that face isn't nothing."
you rolled your eyes. "gosh, you're so dramatic."
he gasped softly, mock offended. "me? dramatic? you made me watch a two-hour breakdown about emotional unavailability last week."
"it was educational." "it was a powerpoint, y/n."
you tried to hold back your smile. you failed again. he leaned closer, narrowing his eyes playfully.
"i see that... you're smiling."
you shook your head. "no, i'm not." "yes, you are."
before you could deny it again, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. not even centered. just enough to make you freeze.
"that was unfair." you muttered.
ohyul shrugged, clearly proud and pleased with himself. "well, baby, you were being cute. i reacted."
"you reacted like that on purpose." "and?"
you stared at him for a second, then reached up and squished his cheeks together with both hands. "oh~? gym boy thinks he's smooth."
he tried to speak but his words came out muffled. "ma'am, for fact, i am smooth."
"you're literally sweaty and sticky three hours ago."
"eh? i showered!" "meh. but still."
he grabbed your wrists gently and pulled your hands away, but instead of letting go, he laced your fingers with his and brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a slower kiss there this time. not teasing. not quick.
your heartbeat did that annoying skip thing again.
"you roast me," hr said softly, brushing his thumb over your hand, "but you were the one clinging to me five minutes ago because the podcast host raised his voice."
you gasped at his accusation. "that was unexpected! and you'd react like that too!"
"nope, darling. i saw you jumped." "no, i did not." "you did."
you tried to kick him lightly under the blanket, but he caught your leg with his and pulled you closer instead. now you were basically tangled, your knee hooked over his hip, his arm resting around your waist.
the room had gone quieter. the podcast had long since moved to background noise, forgotten mid-story. he looked at you differently now. less playful. more… steady.
"can I stay over tomorrow too?" he asked casually but came out as not a question at the first place.
you rolled your eyes from his words. "excuse me mr. gym, you're already staying as if you lived here."
"i know, i know, baby. i mean… after tomorrow too..?"
you softened immediately with a small smile. "love, you're asking like i'm about to disappear."
he shrugged one shoulder, looking almost shy. "i just like waking up next to you."
well that did it. your chest felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the broken ac. "mr. gym, you're such a loser." you whispered gently.
"mhm, i'm your loser." he said immediately.
You leaned forward and kissed him properly this time. Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just slow and warm and lingering enough that he sighed softly against your lips.
when you pulled away, he did not let you go far. ohyul's hand slid up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye. "you taste like the strawberry candy— wait, did you stole it?" he murmured with 'judging' eyes.
"hmm... it wasn't stealing. it was sharing without consent."
"oh? that's not how sharing works, babe."
"you didn't complain when i gave you one."
he grinned faintly. "because you fed it to me, girlfie."
your face heated up instantly. "tsk, shut up."
he laughed quietly, the sound low and warm in the small room, and leaned forward to press his forehead against yours again.
outside, the neighborhood was still. but inside, it felt like your own little world.
────────────────────────────
the podcast eventually ended on its own. neither of you bothered to tap 'continue' for the next episode. the room stayed warm, the sheets tangled, your legs intertwined.
somewhere between soft teasing and half-whispered jokes about who would survive a toxic relationship story, your words grew slower. your movements lazier.
right before you drifted off, you felt him press one last sleepy kiss to the top of your head. "goodnight, my love." ohyul murmured.
and even though it was just a regular thursday, it felt like something you would remember for a long time.
the sky dipped into that lazy shade between gold and blue, where the sun had not fully given up but the streetlights were starting to think about it. the air smelled like grass and something sweet from the nearby convenience store.
ohyul liked that time. cause it meant fewer people. fewer chances to be perceived.
he sat on the far end of a wooden bench, earbuds in, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands even though it was not cold. he was not really listening to music. just pretending to. well, it helped keep conversations away.
he told himself he came here to run. but he ended up sitting more than running. the hot weather does not hell with his
footsteps approached fast. light. rhythmic. confident. he did not look up at first.
then someone dropped onto the bench beside him with a dramatic exhale. "okay," the person beside him huffed, wiping sweat off. "hell, i swear i was athletic in middle school."
he blinked and looked up naturally from the sound. and there you are, smiling. already looking. at him.
he slowly pulled one earbud out. "…what?"
you laughed, bright and completely unbothered. "nah. i said i used to be athletic. i think my stamina filed a complaint."
oh. you were not embarrassed nor shy.
he nodded once, awkward. "running is… hard."
you turned toward him fully, like he had just said something groundbreaking. "right? finally, someone understands me."
his fingers tightened around the edge of the bench.
you stuck out your hand. "i'm y/n. you?"
he stared at your hand for a second too long before shaking it, gentle, like you might break. "ohyul. kim ohyul."
your eyes widened slightly. "ohyul? wow, that is such a cool name." you said with a genuine smile.
his brain short-circuited. no one had ever called his name cool before, nor even bother to.
"so, ohyul. do you come here often?" you asked, swinging your legs slightly like the world belonged to you.
he nodded. "after school."
"oh same!" you said instantly. "i just transferred schools recently, so i don't really know the good spots around yet."
'transferred.' he tried to imagine what school you might go to. probably somewhere loud. somewhere bright. somewhere full of people who laughed like you did.
"uh... that school with the green uniforms?" you continued, gesturing vaguely down the road. "what is it called again…?"
his stomach dropped, "…haneul high?" he answered hesitantly.
you snapped your fingers. "yes! haneul high. i just transferred there few days ago." you said.
he blinked slowly. "i-i go there."
then your face lit up like you had just won something. "no. way!" you smiled.
he nodded, trying not to look as startled as he felt.
you leaned closer, way too close for his comfort. "wait, wait. what grade?" "second year."
your mouth fell open, gasped loudly. "oh my god! me too!"
ohyul stared at you like the park had just shifted dimensions. same grade. same school. different planets, apparently.
"wait," you leaned closer, squinting at him like you were solving a puzzle. "then, what class?"
"…2-3." ohyul said. you gasped. "I'm 2-7!"
he exhaled quietly. not the same classroom. is it relief? disappointment? he was not sure which one was heavier.
"well," you grinned, bumping his shoulder again like you had known him for years, "that just means we have to survive school separately and meet here after."
he nodded, pretending that idea did not make his chest feel strangely light. and his day going on quietly as usual after you left to continue your walk.
────────────────────────────
the next morning, haneul high was its usual chaos of footsteps and locker doors. ohyul kept his head down like always.
until he heard— "ohyul!"
he physically flinched. no one ever called his name that loudly. as he turned around, you were jogging toward him in the hallway, waving like you were flagging down a taxi.
half the corridor turned to look.
you skidded to a stop in front of him, hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. "hey! didn't expect to see you here." you said, eyes sparkling with mischief.
he blinked, fumbling with his backpack strap. "uh... i-i… didn't expect—"
"you're always so serious, huh?" you teased, straightening up and brushing imaginary dust off your sleeves. "relax a little. it's just school."
he wanted to tell you he was not good at 'relaxing', but the words got stuck somewhere between his brain and his throat.
"so," you continued, hopping from one foot to the other like it was completely normal to be this hyper in the middle of the hallway, "we don't share homeroom, but guess what? p.e. today. together."
he froze again. "together?"
"yes!" you exclaimed, clapping your hands, excited. "i checked the schedule. destiny brought us here. or at least the p.e. teacher did."
he let out a tiny, almost inaudible sigh, realizing the park encounter had followed him straight into the chaos of high school.
"guess i'll see you in the gym then," you said, giving him a quick wink before bounding off toward your classroom, leaving him staring after you, caught somewhere between dread and anticipation.
────────────────────────────
wednesday arrived too fast.
the gym buzzed with noise, sneakers squeaking against polished floors. ohyul stood near the back, hands in his pockets, already regretting existing.
then you spotted him. your face lit up like you had found your favorite person in a crowd. and you walked straight toward him.
you bounced on your toes, energy practically radiating off of you. "there you are! i was starting to think you'd ghost me!"
he barely lifted his head, cheeks heating. "I… didn't."
"of course you didn't," You said, grinning. "I just like dramatic entrances, okay?" You nudged him lightly with your elbow, and he almost stumbled back. Almost.
The teacher blew the whistle. "Pair up, everyone!"
You looked at him with wide, sparkling eyes. "Guess what? We're partners."
He blinked, confused at your words. "We… are?"
"Yes!" You said, grabbing his wrist before he could step back. "No excuses. You're stuck with me."
His heart started hammering. "Stuck?"
"Yep. Stuck. Forever. Or at least until P.E. ends." You added with a dramatic sigh, clearly enjoying the fact that he was flustered.
────────────────────────
Well, it shifts pretty quickly.
A few days—maybe even a week—slipped by. You got busy with your new friends, laughing in the hallways, sharing snacks, gossiping about teachers, and navigating the chaos of high school life. The glow of the gym and your P.E. antics had faded into the background of your routine.
Ohyul just went with his usual life. Walking to the cafeteria alone. Walking back to his home alone. Playing P.E. alone. He can only watch you with your new friends from afar. He didn't think he deserved to even stand beside you.
────────────────────────
Then one afternoon, you just finished helping with a school event with others school involved. You were honestly so exhausted and even your extroversion battery has lowered.
So now, you were walking through the quieter side of the schoolyard, trying to avoid the after-school crowd. That's when you saw him.
Ohyul. Alone.
Sitting on the edge of the bleachers, hoodie pulled low over his eyes, fingers moving almost magically over a Rubik's Cube. He twisted and turned it with precision smooth, practiced motions and within seconds, it clicked into place. Then another scramble. Another solve.
You stopped, hidden behind a tree, watching him silently. The world seemed to shrink around him: no laughing friends, no yelling classmates, no P.E. chaos. Just Ohyul and his cube. Focused. Calm. Untouched by the noise of high school.
You couldn't help the small smile that spread across your face. You remembered the awkward, quiet boy at the park, the stiff kid in the hallways, and now… this. He had layers you hadn't seen before, hidden like a secret puzzle only the observant could notice.
"Wow…" You whispered under your breath, tilting your head. "He's… really good at that."
Something about seeing him here, so absorbed in something that wasn’t you, made your chest tighten. You weren’t sure if it was admiration… or the fact that you missed seeing him like before.
And then he looked up. Not at you specifically, just over the edge of the cube, but somehow, you knew he sensed someone's watching.
You didn't duck. Didn't even think about it. For some reason, you let yourself stay, letting him see you leaning against the tree, watching.
Ohyul's fingers paused mid-twist. His turned his head, eyes meeting yours through the shadow of his hoodie. For a long second, neither of you moved. The cube sat still in his hands, forgotten.
"You're… watching me." said finally, voice quiet but not unkind.
You blinked, a little caught off guard, but shrugged casually. "Yeah. You're… really good at that."
A small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "It's just a cube."
"Just a cube?" You repeated, tilting your head. "You make it look… magic."
He looked down at the cube, fidgeting with it in his hands, before glancing back at you. "Want me to... show you?"
You grinned excitedly. "Yeah. Definitely."
He shifted to make room beside him on the bleachers, and you sat down carefully, eyes wide as he explained his method. His fingers moved smoothly, almost hypnotically, and you leaned closer than necessary, fascinated.
"You are really good." You observed softly as the sounds of the cube twisted and turned.
"I… used to do this a lot. It's helps to increased my focus level." admitted, cheeks tinged pink.
"You make it look simple," You teased gently. "I would never be able to do this."
"Maybe I could teach you." He offered, voice low. Not quite shy, but hesitant. And you smiled, elbow brushing his as you reached for the cube. "I would like that."
He shifted slightly, angling the cube toward you, and you noticed how careful he was—like even a small movement might break some fragile rhythm.
"Here… start with this side." He said, guiding your fingers over the pieces. His hand barely touched yours, but enough to send a small spark through your arm. You felt yourself lean closer without realizing it.
"You make it look… easy." You murmured, watching him concentrate. His brow furrowed slightly, lips pressed in that way that made you want to laugh softly and kiss him on impulse—but you didn't. Obviously. You just watched.
"you just… focus, pay attention." he said quietly, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a split second before returning to the cube. "and… practice."
You mimicked his movements, fumbling a little. "Ugh... I'm hopeless." You admitted, laughing nervously as the cube twisted the wrong way.
"no." he corrected softly, lifting your hand and guiding it again. "You're… careful. That's different."
your elbow bumped his again, this time on purpose, and he glanced at you, eyebrows slightly raised. "careful… you're going to mess it up." he murmured, voice calm, measured.
you grinned, but it faded slightly as you leaned closer, whispering, "i can't help it… you're… kind of distracting." the words felt heavier coming out than you expected, and for a moment your usual energy dimmed, replaced by that quiet softness only he seemed to draw out.
he blinked, pause stretching longer than usual, before letting out a low, amused laugh. "not many people would admit that." he said softly, watching you with those careful, curious eyes, try to look at you without blushing.
you shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. "guess i'm not included in 'many people'." you said carefully as your gaze looked at him. your voice almost drowned out by the faint echoes of the empty bleachers around you.
he shook his head slightly, a rare, small smile playing on his lips, and returned his focus to the cube but you could feel the warmth of his presence, steady and grounding, wrapping around the space between your hands.
then he guided your hands once more, showing you a new trick, and you leaned a little closer again, laughing together when it did not go right.
for a while, you just sat there, him showing you moves, you watching and trying, laughing when you messed up, and the rest of the school faded away.
The last thing Woojin ever said to you was, "Wait."
Not goodbye.
Not I love you.
Just that stupid, unfinished word.
And somehow that made it worse.
You stood there in the rain like a side character in a low-budget drama, watching his back disappear into the blur of headlights. Your hands were shaking, but you refused to cry. Not in public. Not where anyone could see you break.
You told yourself he would turn around.
But he didn't.
────────────────────────
Your phone gallery became your worst habit.
1:31am.
There you were again. Zooming in on his smile. The one that tilted slightly higher on the right side. The one that used to press against your temple when he hugged you from behind.
"I'll never forget us." You whispered to the dark.
Because you couldn't.
You remembered everything.
The first time he held your hand under the table like it was some forbidden secret.
The way he would murmur, "You're mine." half-joking, half-serious.
The way your days felt… complete. Like something clicked into place whenever he was around.
Now everything felt slightly off. Like a song playing in the wrong key. And refused to accept it.
This couldn't be the end of your love story. It wasn’t perfect. You fought. You were stubborn. He was worse. But you were together.
That had to mean something.
Right?
────────────────────────
"Where did you go?" You muttered one night, pressing your forehead against your bedroom window.
"I have so much to say… you can't just leave like that."
You said to yourself. Youreflection looked tired. Smaller. And still waiting for him to come back.
And then, because the universe apparently enjoys emotional whiplash, he texted you.
"Are you home?" –Woojin, 2:58a.m.
Your heart stopped. Then restarted at double speed.
You didn't answer immediately. Pride. Dignity. All those fragile human concepts. You lasted exactly eleven seconds.
"Yes." –You, sent at 2:58a.m.
Five minutes later, your doorbell rang.
You opened it slowly, rehearsing anger in your head. You were going to be strong. Cold. Unbothered.
The moment you saw him standing there, slightly breathless, hair damp, eyes soft and terrified at the same time—
All that strength evaporated.
"You lost weight." He said quietly. That's what he went with. Not hello. Not sorry.
"You look worse." You shot back, because if you didn't tease him, you might break down or even collapse to the ground.
A faint smile curved on his lips. That smile. The one you missed so much it physically hurt.
Silence stretched between you. Heavy. Loaded.
"I... I couldn't stay away." He admitted, voice low, he looked down to his feet. "I tried."
You swallowed. "You left."
"I thought it was better for you."
"You don't get to decide that for me."
He stepped closer. Not touching. Just close enough that you could feel his warmth. "Sorry. I was scared," Hs whispered. "If I stayed, I'd ruin you. I don't know how to love you without wanting to keep you all to myself."
Your breath hitched. There it was. That possessive tone. The one that used to make your heart race instead of ache. You're trying your best to hold your tears. "I just need you..." You said, softer now.
Something in his expression cracked.
He reached for you slowly, like you might disappear. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing under your eyes.
"I missed your face." He murmured. "Your stupid, pretty smile.”
You laughed through tears. "You're the worst."
"And you're mine." He said.
It wasn't controlling this time. It wasn't sharp. It was desperate. Fragile.
You leaned into him, burying your face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you like he was afraid the world might steal you again.
For a moment, everything felt right.
Complete.
Like your days had color again.
"I love you more than anyone ever could." He whispered into your hair.
You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. "You're so dramatic." "But I'm right."
And you believed him.
He kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then finally your lips, soft and careful, like he was relearning you.
The world quieted.
────────────────────────
But when he held you tighter, you felt it.
Something else.
His arms weren't wrapping around you to stay.
They were memorizing you.
The way your body fit against his. The way your fingers curled into his shirt. The way your breathing synced with his like it always had.
People don't memorize things they're keeping.
They memorize things they're about to lose.
Your chest tightened. "Woojin..." You whispered.
His grip trembled. "I have to tell you something." He said, voice low and wrong. Not the soft teasing tone. Not the possessive warmth. It sounded… final.
You pulled back slightly, trying to read his face.
He wouldn’t look at you. "Say it." You breathed.
He inhaled slowly. Like he was preparing to jump.
"I'm leaving in two weeks." The words landed heavy.
"For a schedule?" You asked. He nods his head once.
"For how long?" You asked, already hating the answer. But it's silence.
Not the comfortable kind. Not the romantic kind.
The kind that stretches so long your stomach drops before the words even come. "I don't know."
Your heart stuttered. "I signed it already," He continued quietly. "Overseas contract. Long term. It's… what I've been working for."
You stared at him.
This was the dream. The one he talked about early morning when he was half asleep and honest. The one you said you'd support no matter what.
You didn't think it would mean this.
"So when were you going to tell me?" Your voice didn't sound like yours anymore. It sounded small.
"I wasn't." That hurt more than the leaving.
Your hands slowly fell from his chest.
"You were just going to disappear? Again?"
He finally looked at you then, and his eyes were red.
"I thought if I made you hate me, it would be easier."
"Easier for who?" You whispered.
He swallowed. "For you."
You laughed. It came out broken.
"You don't get to decide that for me." You said again, but this time it didn't sound strong. It sounded exhausted.
"I can't ask you to wait," He said. "I don't know when I'm coming back. I don't even know if I will."
Your surrounding feels too quiet. Eerily quiet.
"So what is this?" You gestured weakly between you. "A goodbye rehearsal?"
His jaw tightened. "I needed to see you. One more time."
That 'One more time.' got you huffed, amused.
The phrase echoed in your head like something spoken at a funeral. "You just said no one could ever love me more than you," You said, voice trembling now. "Do you even mean it? Is that supposed to comfort me while you're going away?"
His expression cracked completely. "I meant it."
"Then why does it feel like you're already gone?"
He didn't answer. Because he was.
Even standing right in front of you, even holding you, even breathing the same air– He was already leaving.
Tears slipped down before you could stop them.
"I waited," You whispered. "I kept looking at your photos like an idiot. I told myself you'd come back."
"I did come back." "But not to stay."
That was the truth neither of you could fix.
He reached out to wipe your tears, but you backed off this time. Not because you didn't want him to touch you. But because you hate to fully break down like a loser in front of him.
"Don't make this harder." He murmured.
You huffed. "Harder?" You repeated, disbelief sharp in your chest. "You think this is survivable?"
His voice broke. "If I stay, I'll never leave. And if I never leave, I'll resent you for it."
That was the final blow. Not that he was leaving.
But that loving you might one day feel like a cage.
You stepped back slowly. "So go." You said, even though every part of you was screaming not to.
His eyes searched your face like he was trying to memorize it again. "Y/N... I'll always—"
"Don't." You cut his words off. "Don't promise things you won't be here to prove." The silence between you was unbearable now.
He leaned forward, hesitated, then pressed one last kiss to your forehead.
Not your lips. But your forehead.
The kind of kiss people give when they are trying to be gentle with something already broken.
"I'm sorry." He whispered. And then he stepped back.
This time, when he walked toward the door—
You didn't tell him to wait. You just stood there.
Listening to the sound of it closing.
And somewhere inside your chest, something quietly accepted the truth your mind still refused.
Some love stories don't end because they stop loving each other. But... they end because love isn't always enough.
summary : "if i'm not the problem? then why do i feel like one?"
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you think you are doing a good job pretending. you thought.
you laugh at lunch. you answer questions in class.
you even start staying late in the library so you do not have to pass by the basketball court after school.
you tell yourself this is mature.
that you are not avoiding him, but "moving on".
except your grades start slipping.
except you forget your homework twice in one week.
except you zone out during presentations and your teacher has to call your name twice before you blink back to life.
sure it sounds embarrassing but hell and pathetic.
you stop bringing strawberry milk in the mornings.
you stop carrying two earphones.
you keep tell yourself, "It's fine. It's just high school..."
and "... people drift."
────────────────────────────
once, during math when it finally hits him.
you are usually the one who nudges him awake when he dozes off. but now, you did not which equals to, no one. he glances sideways towards your direction who sit across the classroom, all alone (rather than beside him).
your pen is not moving. your eyes are open, but you are not looking at the board. you are staring at nothing, your jaw slightly clenched, as if you are trying not to feel something.
he frowns from that sight.
────────────────────────────
and at lunch, you do not sit at your usual table. you are outside, under the stairs near the gym, knees pulled to your chest, headphones on, head leaned back against the wall.
he once saw you while passing by the stairs. He stands there for a second. you did not see him. and you are not even playing music.
well, he can tell because the screen of your phone is dark. and he clearly can tell something is wrong.
something tightens in his chest at the thoughts.
────────────────────────────
after school, he catches up to you near the gates.
"y/n!" you hear that voice from behind you with hurry steps approaching, but you keep walking.
he speeds up, steps even louder now. "y/n."
you stopped walking and turned around to face him. "what." the way you say it is not sharp. it is tired.
and that... scares him? hurts him? or both?
"i didn't see you earlier. you skipped dance practice today...?" he says.
you shrug. "didn't feel like it."
"but... why? you love practice."
"not everything stays the same, ohyul."
that hits harder than you intended.
you sigh, turning around and was about to leave.
he steps in front of you, forcing you to stop, "y/n, look at me."
you did not. you did not want to. you hate to.
"i am now. what do you want?" you said, even clearly your gaze is everywhere but on him.
"y/n... look at me." he said, his voice soften, pleading in it.
silence. the wind is cold. your hair keeps falling into your face and you did not bother fixing it.
"you think i don't notice?" he asks quietly. you did not say anything. you just let him continue.
"you didn't talk in class anymore. you didn't even sit next to me. you stopped arguing with me about stupid things. you stopped texting me. you look like... you haven't slept."
you snickered weakly, sounding more like an amused huff. "you're overanalyzing again."
"y/n. i am being serious." "so am i."
there is a pause, few seconds. then he says your name softer this time. "y/n... are you not okay?"
and that is the problem.
because if he had asked that two weeks ago, you might have broken down, so pathetic in need of him who seems to be living his best life now.
but now? now you are exhausted. you did not feel like it worth to plead him to stay just because he used to be your friend.
you ran your fingers through your hair and let out a deep exhausted sigh. "ohyul. why do you care?" you ask.
his expression falters, like the question sounding so ridiculous to him. "why wouldn't i?"
"you have other things that is more important than me. you have your friends." you said, repeating his own words back to him.
you see it land, the way he is silenced. you hate that you are doing this. you hate that you can not stop.
"that's not what i meant back then." "it doesn't matter."
"it does to me." he said sharply.
you shake your head. "ohyul. you don't get to check in on me like this."
his brows pull together. "like what?"
the audacity? you let a huff out of amusement. "like you didn't push me away first."
he exhales sharply. "i did not push you away."
"you did. you made me feel like i was a problem."
his voice lowers. "no, y/n. you weren't."
"then why do i feel like one?"
that silences him. and the worst part? you did not want to win this argument. but you just want him to understand.
────────────────────────────
The next week is worse.
You bomb a quiz.
You leave school early one day because your head won't stop pounding. It hurts so bad.
Ohyul hears about it from someone else.
"Y/N went home. She looked pale."
He doesn't even grab his bag properly. Just shoves things inside and leaves practice early.
He texts you:
"Y/N?" –Ohyul, sent at 1:28p.m.
"Are you sick?" –Ohyul, sent at 1:28p.m.
"What happened?" –Ohyul, sent at 1:29p.m.
"Hey, I'm here." –Ohyul, sent at 1:32p.m.
"I'm calling you." –Ohyul, sent at 1:32p.m.
No reply.
And he tried to calls. Nothing.
He stands outside your apartment building longer than he should. Staring up at your window like it'll give him answers.
He doesn't go up. He tells himself that would be crossing a line.
But he doesn't leave for a long time either.
────────────────────────────
Two days later, you're back at school.
You look smaller somehow.
He waits until the hallway empties after class.
This time he doesn't block you. Instead, he just stands there. Next to you.
"Y/N... You didn't answer me."
You keep your eyes on your locker. "About what."
"About whether you're okay." "I'm fine."
"You're not." He said. Your hands freeze.
He steps closer, but careful. Not confrontational. Not angry. Worried. "Hey... You look like you're carrying something heavy." He says quietly. "And you won't let anyone help."
You swallow. "It's not your responsibility."
"I know." "Then stop acting like it is."
"I can't." He said immediately. That makes you finally look at him. His eyes aren't defensive this time.
Those eyes. They're scared. But you looked away.
"You think I don't see it?" He says. "You used to talk to me about everything. Even dumb things. Especially dumb things."
A small, painful smile touches his mouth. "You would text me at 2 a.m. about existential crises over math homework."
You looked up from the ground. He continued, eyes still on you. "You would steal my hoodie when you were cold and pretend it was accidental."
Your throat tightens.
"You would tell me when something was wrong."
His voice lowers. "Now you won't even look at me."
The hallway feels too quiet.
You want to say you were protecting yourself.
You want to say you didn't know how to stand next to him without wanting more.
But instead, you say the worst possible thing.
"Maybe I realized I depended on you too much."
His face falls. "That's not a bad thing."
"It is if it's one-sided." "It wasn't."
You huffed. "You can easily say that now."
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Then why? Why won't you let me in?"
"Because you don't stay."
The words slip out before you can stop them. And he freezes as soon as he heard it.
You don't explain.
You don't clarify.
You don't have to.
You just close your locker and walk past him.
And once more, he doesn't stop you.
Not because he doesn't want to.
But because he finally understands something is breaking inside you.
And he doesn't know how to fix it yet.
────────────────────────────
The day it finally happens isn't dramatic.
There's no rain, no crowd, no cinematic lighting.
It's just a regular Tuesday that feels heavier than usual, the kind of day where the air presses down on your shoulders and everything irritates you for no clear reason.
You're in the library after school, surrounded by open textbooks you haven't actually read. Your eyes are skimming the same paragraph for the fifth time, but nothing is sticking. The words blur together until they look like a foreign language you never signed up to learn— Your phone buzzes.
You ignore it. It buzzes again.
You flip it over, annoyed, only to see his name lighting up your screen.
Ohyul.
You stare at it longer than you should. The vibration stops. A second later, another message comes through.
"I'm outside." –Ohyul, sent at 5:41p.m.
Your stomach drops. 'Outside' what?
Before you can spiral, another text arrives.
"Don't overthink." –Ohyul, sent at 5:41p.m.
"Only for five minutes." –Ohyul, sent at 5:42p.m.
You almost don't go. You tell yourself you won't. You tell yourself you're done letting him rearrange your emotions like furniture.
But your feet move anyway.
────────────────────────────
He's sitting on the low stone wall near the front gate, elbows on his knees, staring down at something in his hands. He looks… tired. The tired that is quietly worn out.
When he sees you, he stands up too quickly, like he was scared you would disappear if he didn't react fast enough. "You look pale." He says immediately.
You cross your arms. "That's not a greeting."
"Hi," He corrects, softer now. "You look pale."
You roll your eyes, but there's no energy behind it. "Why are you here?"
He hesitates for a second, then holds up what he's been gripping. It's a small carton of strawberry milk.
Your chest tightens at the sight.
"You stopped bringing it," He says, almost awkwardly. "So I thought… maybe you just forgot."
"I didn't forget." "Yeah... I know."
There iss a pause between you, thick but not sharp. The kind of silence that feels careful instead of hostile.
He walks closer, but slowly, like he's approaching something fragile. He doesn't shove the drink into your hands. He just holds it out and waits.
"You don't have to pretend you're fine with me," He says quietly. "You can be mad. You can be confused. You can ignore me. But... don't disappear like that."
You didn't say anything for a second. You looked up at him, properly meeting his gaze. "I didn't disappear."
"You did," He insists, voice gentler now. "You stopped letting me see you."
The words hit differently this time.
Not defensive. Not accusing. Just honest.
────────────────────────────
You take the strawberry milk from his hand, your fingers brushing his for half a second. It’s barely contact, but it feels like someone turned the volume up on your heartbeat.
"You're acting like I'm fragile." You mutter as you try to look away, pretending like it's nothing.
"You are." He replies instantly.
Your head snaps up with a frown. "Excuse me?"
"I don't mean weak," He says quickly, flustered. "I-I mean… you feel everything too much. And when you shut down, you shut down hard. You shut everyone away from you too..."
You stare at him, stunned by how accurately he just described you.
"You've been trying to carry everything by yourself," He continues, voice steadier now. "And I don't like watching you struggle from a distance."
You swallow. "You think I like it?"
"No," He says. "That's the problem."
There's something about the way he says it that makes your defenses wobble.
He shifts his weight, suddenly looking nervous in a way you haven't seen before. His fingers fidget with the hem of his sleeve like he's trying to work up courage for something.
"I kept replaying that day," He admits. "When you said I made you feel like a problem."
You look away. Eye contact gonna be a big burden.
"I didn't sleep much that night," He continues. "I kept thinking about the music room. About sports day. About all the times you trusted me."
Your throat tightens.
"I was scared," He says. "Of ruining what we had because I didn't know how to handle wanting more."
The world goes quiet again.
You stare at him, trying to process the way his voice softened on those last two words.
"You... wanted more?" You ask, barely audible.
He lets out a breath that sounds like he has been holding it for weeks. "Yeah... I still do."
It's not dramatic.
It's not loud.
It's just there. Simple and terrifying and real.
────────────────────────────
you did not realize you have stepped closer until there is barely any space left between you and him. your hands are still clutching the strawberry milk like it is an anchor.
"you're really bad at timing..." you whisper.
"i know."
"you hurt me."
"i know, and i'm sorry."
"you made me feel stupid."
"i'm sorry." he said. there is no defensiveness nor excuses. just sincerity sitting in his eyes.
"and you," he says gently, "don't get to decide alone that i won't stay."
that lands somewhere deep.
because that is what this was, right? and indeed, you left first before he could.
you let out a shaky breath. "i thought if i stopped depending on you, it would hurt less."
"hey..." he said softly. He tries to look into your eyes. he brings your chin up. "did it?"
you shake your head slowly, your gaze meeting his. there is scared hidden behind your eyes. "no."
something in his expression softens so much it almost hurts to look at. and then it happens.
not planned. not calculated.
he reaches out and tugs you forward by the sleeve of your clothing, not forceful, just enough to close the last inch of space between you. you stumble slightly, your forehead bumping lightly against his chest.
he freezes for half a second, as if giving you a chance to pull away. but you did not.
his arms come around you carefully, slowly, like he was asking permission with every movement. when you do not protest, he pulls you in fully, chin resting lightly on the top of your head.
you did not realize how much you missed this.
how much you missed him.
the warmth. the familiarity. the way his hand fits perfectly between your shoulder blades.
"y/n... i was so worried," he murmurs into your hair. "when you left early that day, i stood outside your building like an idiot."
you pull back slightly to look at him, "you what?"
"i didn't go up," he admits. "i didn't know if you would slam the door in my face."
you stare at him, stunned, then something fragile and fond blooms in your chest. you let out a soft huff. "you're so dramatic."
he grinned. a subtle one. "and you love that about me, right?"
you almost deny it. instead, your hand grips the front of his hoodie softly. "tsk... maybe."
his laugh is sincere, quiet, relieved, like someone who just survived something.
────────────────────────────
ohyul leans back slightly, just enough to look at you properly. his fingers brush a stray strand of hair away from your face, a small gesture that feels bigger than it should.
"next time, when you're not okay," he says, voice warm now, "don't shut me out."
"but... you said you had your other friends."
"mhm. i do," nods. "but to me, you're not just a friend."
your heartbeat spikes again. "then what am i?"
he smiles, softer than you have ever seen. "you're my person."
the words hit harder this time.
not like a memory, but a promise.
────────────────────────────
and suddenly, after weeks of tension, miscommunication, and quiet suffering, the air no longer feels heavy.
it feels light. unfairly light.
high school is still messy. people will still talk. you will probably argue again about something stupid.
but right now, ohyul will be standing outside the school gates with a half-crushed strawberry milk carton in hand and his arms still loosely around you, it feels simple.
you met him on the second day of sophomore year when you walked into homeroom late, hair still damp from rushing, tie crooked, heart already exhausted. the only empty seat was beside the boy asleep with his face half-buried in his arm.
the teacher cleared her throat.
he did not move so you lightly poked him.
he look up and opened one eye. "what..."
"is this seat taken?" you whispered.
he blinked at you like you were the one interrupting his tragic backstory. "yeah." he said.
you froze. he shifted his bag off the chair. "by you."
that was it. that was the beginning. no k-drama. no slowmo. no destiny soundtrack. just a boy with messy black hair and a mouth that tilted slightly when he tried not to smile.
those little things that built you and him together.
────────────────────────────
he started walking you to the bus stop. why? because he said, "we live in the same direction."
which, three weeks later he had been taking a longer route home without saying anything.
you shared earphones during lunch. one bud in his ear, one in yours. your shoulders touching. you pretended not to notice how he adjusted the volume lower when your favorite songs played so you could talk over them.
he hated mornings. you would bring him strawberry milk from the vending machine. he would complain every time.
"you're going to make me dependent." he would say.
"you already are." he would roll his eyes, but drink it anyway.
────────────────────────────
there was that rainy afternoon when practice got cancelled and you both ran to the convenience store across the street. you split a cup of instant ramen and argued about which idol group had the better choreography.
"you have no taste." he said with full mouth, pointing his chopsticks at you.
"tsk, dude. you literally stan visuals." you shot back, pushing his hand away from your sight.
he gasped like you had committed a crime, frowning towards you. "ya! you wound me there!"
you laughed so hard you almost choked (you did). he patted your back too gently for someone who claimed he was annoyed with you.
────────────────────────────
for you and ohyul, everyone else can see it.
everyone can tell how close you two are.
your classmates would tease you too. "ohyul, your girlfriend is calling for you."
you would both yell, "she's not—" "i'm not—" at the same time.
then stare at each other. then look away.
it became a thing now. the synchronized denial. the pink ears. the way his hand would hover near your elbow in crowded hallways like he was ready to pull you back if you tripped.
he remembered things. things about you.
your math test anxiety.
your habit of biting your pen cap when stressed.
the exact way you liked your hair tucked behind your ear before presentations.
────────────────────────────
even one time, before your midterms, you had a breakdown in the empty music room. you told him you felt stupid. that everyone else was moving forward while you were stuck.
he did not laugh. he did not tease. he just sat beside you on the dusty floor, knees touching. "you're not allowed to talk about my best friend like that." he said quietly, trying to make you laugh.
you sniffed. "your best friend sounds dramatic."
"she is. but she's also terrifyingly smart."
you looked at him. he looked at the window.
you never forgot that.
────────────────────────────
there is one memory that hurt later.
sports festival day.
you hated running vs he hated losing. so, how it happened;
he dragged you into the three-legged race anyway.
"you're going to ruin my athletic reputation." he muttered while tying your ankles together.
"tsk. wake up, mr. kwon. you don't even have one."
he chuckles before standing properly, brushing dust off his pants. "stay close beside me."
when the whistle blew, you both stumbled. you grabbed his blazer. he grabbed your waist to steady you. you ran like that. laughing. almost falling. winning second place.
he did not let go immediately. there are moments that do not feel important for some point in your life.
────────────────────────────
the shift between you two.
it did no happen overnight. but slowly. that is the cruel part.
it started when he made new friends on the basketball team.
when he started staying later.
when you stopped sharing earphones because his same excuse, "i forgot mine."
when he laughed at jokes you were not part of.
when he did not wait by your classroom anymore.
────────────────────────────
one afternoon;
you saw him at the lockers. a girl from the dance club leaning close beside him, laughing at something he said.
you told yourself it did not matter.
he was your friend. and you are his friend.
just your friend.
so why did it feel like something was being replaced?
────────────────────────────
you naturally distanced yourself from him.
and from that, crazy rumors were spread.
and those rumors, they travel fast in high school.
someone said you liked him.
someone else said he rejected you.
────────────────────────────
you had to confront him.
so you did, behind the gym, because apparently that is where all teenage emotional disasters occur.
"ohyul. did you tell them?" you asked.
he frowned. "tell them what?"
"that i like you."
he stared at you like the idea was ridiculous. then, softer, "do you?" and then a long silence.
you hated how your heart reacted.
"that's not the point." you said.
he ran a hand through his hair. "hey, i didn't say anything. why would i?"
"because you've been acting like i'm embarrassing." you said, unconsciously hand pointed towards where his friends are.
his expression changed. defensive.
"i have other friends, y/n."
you huffed, more sharp that what you intended to. "well, i know that."
"then why are you acting like i owe you something?"
that sentence. it hit harder than anything else.
"i never said you owed me." you whispered.
he exhaled sharply. "y/n. you're making this weird."
'weird'?
you wanted to scream. to remind him of strawberry milk mornings. of rainy night with ramen. of the music room.
instead, you nodded. "right. sorry. i guess i imagined it." you said, to sound more sarcastic.
he did not stop you when you walked away.
that is when friendship starts to rot. not with shouting. not with betrayal. with silence.
────────────────────────────
and now.
you pass each other in hallways.
no synchronized denials anymore.
no shared earphones.
just the memory of a boy who used to call you his best friend like it meant something permanent.
and the quiet realization that sometimes the person who knows you best becomes the one who can hurt you the easiest.
high school is funny like that.
you do not lose strangers.
you lose the person who once tied your ankle to theirs and said, "stay close beside me." with that attractive smile.
angst, fluff? // bad boy x bad girl (tw: cigarette mentioned)
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
Kim Ryul was a name you already knew.
Well, fairly.. everyone in the town did.
Daewon All Boys High's most feared delinquent. The kind of guy teachers gave up on and students avoided eye contact with. So, for Ryul, rumors followed him like cigarette smoke—fights, broken noses, blood on knuckles.
You never thought you would actually run into him.
────────────────────────
One day, it was late. The streets weren't supposed to be this crowded, not at this hour. Y/N liked it that way. Empty enough to hear your own footsteps. Loud enough to feel like the city was yours for the taking. Your jacket hung over your shoulders, tie loose, a grin tugging at your lips even though you had no one to see it. You just ditched her friends after some disagreement with them. Your friends were messy. Your life was messy.
The alley you cut through wasn't really empty as you thought. That's also where you saw him. Kim Ryul.
Ryul been standing there, leaning against a convenience store wall like he owned the block. School jacket hanging open, sleeves pushed up, knuckles bruised and red as he had just finished a fight. A cigarette burned between his fingers, untouched for a few seconds too long.
His eyes lifted the moment you approach the convenience store. His gaze was sharp. Uninterested but alert. But you didn't even walk into the convenience store, you just stand there and look at him. Waiting for him to say or do something.
You noticed it right away; he didn't look surprised to see you. Just mildly annoyed, like you had interrupted his thoughts.
"You lost?" He asked, voice low and rough, not bothering to straighten up. It wasn't concern nor kindness. It was a straight-up warning.
You tilted your head, a grin widening just slightly. A tiny huff of amusement escaped from you. "Lost? Not even close."
Something in his eyes flickered—not surprise, not irritation, but curiosity. Dangerous curiosity, the kind that made your stomach do that stupid twisty thing you pretended not to feel.
Y/N stepped closer, careless, loud. "I like quiet streets." You said, voice bouncing against the alley walls. "But loud people are fun too. You seem fun."
He snorted, a puff of smoke curling into the air. "I don't do fun."
"Yeah? I've got news for you." You leaned your shoulder against the wall opposite him, tie swinging. "Rules aren't my thing."
Ryul' smirk twitched, more intrigued than annoyed. And tiny hints of amused. "Bold. Reckless."
"Well, boy. Take your pick." You said, stepping a little closer, voice low and teasing. "I'm both."
For a second, the world went quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your chest beat too fast, the kind that makes alleyway walls shrink closer. Ryul pushed off the wall, cigarette forgotten, and closed the space between them in a few long strides.
He tilted his head, studying her like she was some puzzle he didn't feel like solving… yet. "And what, exactly, brings you to my side of town at this hour?"
"I'm not lost." You said, letting your eyes roam over his face, faint of almost-healed bruising on his jaw. "Curious. And maybe a little bored."
Ryul let out a sharp laugh, the kind that rumbles in your chest. "Bored, huh? That's dangerous."
"Danger's my specialty." You shot back, grin wide. "You should know that by now. Everyone does."
He pulled you closer by your loose tie, just enough that you could feel the heat of him. His eyes hard, voice low and serious. "Nobody just walks into my area. Not like this. Not without consequences."
"Area?" You echoed, raising an eyebrow while holding an amuse smile. "This alley? Is yours? Please. It's just streets and walls. Or what? You gonna do anything to me for breaking the rules?"
His eyes narrowed, and for the first time, the amusement vanished completely. His jaw clenched, shoulders rigid. "Watch your mouth." His voice was low, dangerous, and sharp enough to cut through the night air. "You don't question me."
You tilted your head, smirk still in place, but something in your chest skipped. Is it interest? Or maybe attracted? "Oh? And what if I do?"
He stepped forward, every movement deliberate, controlled. "Then you're asking for trouble." There was no teasing in his tone now. No playful spark. Only cold, serious warning. "And I don't deal with people who think they can challenge me."
For a moment, the alley felt smaller. The air heavier. You realized he wasn't bluffing. This wasn't some flirtation game. This was Ryul' world, and you had just stomped right in.
But did you care? Nah.
You grin, already thinking about how to push his buttons even further—but reality bites: you've got to get home before your parents start texting.
Still, leaving without leaving something behind? Not your style. "Don't get too comfortable." You call over your shoulder, walking backward as if daring him to stop you.
"I surely will be back, boy." You said, letting your grin stretch wider, just enough to get under his skin.
His eyes flare, the streetlight catching the sharpness in them. He doesn't move. He doesn't answer. But that tense line in his jaw? Yeah, you notice it. Mission accomplished.
You toss your jacket over your shoulder and start down the street, leaving the alley behind. And somewhere in the shadows, Ryul watches, silent, irritation and something else. Curiosity, maybe coiling tighter than ever.
────────────────────────
Weeks later—
The park was quiet, almost too quiet for a weekday evening. Y/N ducked under the low-hanging branches, backpack slung over one shoulder, thinking that you could get a few minutes away from your chaotic life. The benches were empty, the swings swaying slightly in the breeze. Perfect.
Almost perfect.
Ryul was already there, leaning against the far side of the fountain, arms crossed, jacket open. He didn't even glance at her at first, just the posture, the way he owned the empty space, screamed don't mess with me.
And of course, you had to mess with him.
"Fancy seeing you here." You said, stepping closer. "Thought this park was out of bounds for someone like you."
Ryul' eyes flicked up, sharp, dark. "Tch. And someone like me?"
"Yeah. Dangerous, territorial, broody…" You listed with mock seriousness and more sarcasm. "Hmm... basically, a walking warning sign."
He didn't move, but his voice dropped low, heavy with a weight that made your grin falter for a split second. "You think calling me names makes you untouchable?"
"Oh, please. You think your scowls scare me?" You shot back, stepping closer to him, clearly try to get on his nerves. "I've faced bigger idiots than you."
Something in his eyes flickered: amusement? irritation? but his jaw tightened. "Keep talking," He said quietly. "See how far that attitude carries you."
Y/N blinked. That was… new. But you couldn't let him see your hesitation. You tilted your chin, voice teasing and full with sarcasm. "Oh please. That is sooooo scaryyyyy."
That earned a chuckle from him, not a positive one, but dark and quiet one. "Just leave. You don't get to lecture me."
"Lecture?" You said, stepping right into his space, daring him. "Oh, Ryul, don't act all serious. You love this, don't you? Someone poking, teasing, pushing your buttons. Admit it."
He froze for a heartbeat, like your words landed too close to something he usually buried. Then he said it.
"I don't love it," He said, voice quiet but cutting, enough the deepened the tension in the air. "I hate it. And people like you..."
You let out a short laugh, sharp and unimpressed. "People like me? Go on. Finish that sentence."
His jaw flexed. He should've stopped there. He didn't.
"Girls who think acting reckless makes them interesting." He said flatly. "Who poke at things they don't understand just to feel something."
That smile on your face didn't disappear. It sharpened. "You think I'm trying to impress you?"
"I think you're bored." He shot back. "And boredom makes you stupid."
You stepped closer, right into his space again, invading it on purpose now. "Tch. You're the one who said I get under your skin."
He didn't move away. His eyes dropped to where you'd grabbed a fistful of his jacket, testing him. Testing his boundary.
"You don't get to grab me." He said, low, controlled.
"And you don't get to label me." You snapped back. "You don't know me."
"I know enough." He replied, and this time there was heat behind it. "Rich school uniform, polished attitude, acting wild because you think it's cute. You'll go back to your safe little world when this gets real."
That did it.
Your grip tightened before you shoved him back a step. "You don't know a damn thing about my world."
His expression shifted, just slightly, like he realized too late he'd hit something solid. But he was too proud to step back now. "Then prove it," He said. "Because right now? You look like someone playing dress-up in a place that'll chew you up."
You laughed, but it wasn't playful anymore. "And you look like someone who thinks being miserable makes you deep." You said sharply. The park felt smaller, quieter. The wind moved through the trees but neither of you broke eye contact.
"Stop trying to win." He muttered sharply.
"Stop trying to control everything." You fired back.
Silence. Heavy. Breathing uneven.
Then he said it. Quiet. Careless.
"Maybe if you weren't so desperate for attention—"
The words hung there.
Your expression changed instantly. Not angry. Not playful. Something colder. "'Desperate'?" You repeated softly, jaw clenched.
He realized it the second it left his mouth. That line wasn't part of the game.
You stepped back on your own this time. Not because he pushed you. Because you chose to. "You. Don't project your issues onto me." You said, voice steady now. Too steady. "You think just because you don't let people into your life, everyone else is begging to be seen by you?"
A long pause, silence between you two. "Pathetic." You said, before walking away.
────────────────────────
From days to weeks passed—
Not the dramatic kind. Not the kind where it rains every day and someone stares out a window like they're in a music video. Just normal weeks. Classes. Noise. Rumors.
But something shifted.
You stopped cutting through his side of town. Stopped lingering near that park. Stopped giving him the satisfaction of your presence.
And Ryul noticed.
He told himself he didn't care. That the quiet was better. Cleaner.
Still, every time someone walked down the path near the fountain, his eyes lifted before he could stop them. Every time a laugh carried across the street that sounded even remotely like yours, his jaw tightened.
It irritated him. The word stuck.
'Pathetic.'
He replayed that night more than he should have. The way your face changed. The way your voice lost its playfulness. He hadn't meant to hit that nerve. He didn't even know what nerve it was.
That bothered him more.
Meanwhile, you acted like he didn't exist.
At school, when someone mentioned Daewon All Boy High's infamous delinquent, you just shrugged. At the convenience store near your neighborhood, if you thought you saw someone leaning against the wall in the distance, you didn't look twice.
You refused to.
It became a silent war.
────────────────────────
Then one evening, fate decided it was bored.
There was a small street festival set up halfway between both your territories. Cheap lights strung overhead. Music too loud. Students from different schools mixing because free food apparently cures rivalry.
You were there with friends, siting under one of the umbrella with four seats. You and your friends were laughing, pretending everything was light.
And across the crowd, he saw you.
You saw him at the exact same time.
Neither of you looked away first.
Your friend nudged you. "Isn't that the Daewon guy? The scary one?"
You took a slow sip of your drink, eyes still locked on his. "'Scary'?" You huffed. "He wishes."
Across the street, one of his friends muttered something similar about you. But Ryul didn't respond. He was watching the way you carried yourself now. Different. Colder.
You turned away first, with eyes roll. On purpose.
That annoyed him more than anything you had said weeks— Or months ago? Or only he that feels it had been so long since he saw you?
He quietly watches you from afar, waiting for the seconds you're alone to approach you.
Minutes later, you just threw away food packaging in the trash and crouched on the ground to pet a stray cat that approaches you first.
He stopped a few feet behind you. Not touching. Not speaking. Just there. And you? You can feel a warm presence behind you (and a big shadow came from behind you) but you didn't turn around.
"What?" You said flatly, staring straight ahead.
He took a second before answering, as if building the correct sentence in his head without messing up like he did last time. "You're avoiding my park."
You let out a small laugh, not really a sincere one. "Didn't realize it was registered under your name."
A pause. Longer than usual.
"That wasn't what I meant." He said.
You stand up and finally turned to face him. The noise of the festival faded into background static. "Then say what you mean. Say it properly."
His jaw tightened. He wasn't good at this part.
Instead of saying what he meant to, he blurted out. "New hairstyle."
Your hand automatically went to your hair. You had cut it slight shorter last week. Subtle layers. Nothing dramatic. You told yourself it was just because you were bored. Not because you wanted change. Not because you wanted to feel different. "And?" You asked flatly.
He shifted slightly, like he regretted opening his mouth but couldn't undo it now. "It's… different."
"That's usually how haircuts work. Duh."
His lips pressed into a thin line. Somewhere behind you, fireworks cracked in the sky, colors spilling across his face. He looked irritated. Not at you. At himself. "I noticed." He muttered, like that explained anything.
"You're unbelievable." You said quietly. "You corner me at a festival, act like you've got something serious to say, and that's what you come up with?"
His eyes flickered. "You told me to say what I meant."
"That's not what you meant." You said, before the air between you two once again fell into silence.
He exhaled sharply. "You look…" He stopped again, jaw tightening.
You waited. And he forced it out. "You look fine."
You stared at him. "Fine?"
"I didn't mean it like that."
"You never mean it like that." That landed.
His brows pulled together, he stepped closer without he even realize it. "You think I came over here to start another fight?"
"You don't exactly have a good track record."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through. "You called me pathetic." "You called me desperate."
The air shifted again. Not loud. Not explosive. Just heavy with the things neither of you handled well.
"I didn't mean that..." He said, more controlled this time.
You laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You don't get to decide which words stick and which don't."
His gaze dropped for half a second. That was new. Ryul didn't look down. "Uh... I noticed the haircut." He said again, quieter.
Your breath hitched before you could stop it. He met your eyes. No smirk. No edge. Just honesty he clearly wasn't comfortable carrying.
"You think I don't?" He continued. His voice is lower. "You think I don't notice earlier when you play with your hair while waiting for your friend to notice your new haircut? You think I don't notice when you stop coming around? When you avoid certain streets?"
You swallowed. The festival lights flickered between you like they were exposing something neither of you planned to show. "I don't revolve around you." You said, but it lacked its usual bite.
"I know." He replied. "That's the problem." Hell. Your heart did something stupid again.
You covered it quickly. "You're still terrible at this."
"At what?" "Being human. A normal one."
That almost made him smile. Almost. "Yeah." He muttered, admitted. He's much relax and glad now that you don't seem mad anymore. "I'm... uh... Working on it."
For a moment, neither of you moved. The crowd surged around you, loud and careless.
Then… you did something completely unexpected.
Before your brain could talk you out of it, before your pride could yell 'DON'T', you tiptoed and leaned up just enough and pressed a quick, deliberate peck to his cheek. Not the lips. Not even close. Just a flash of skin, warm, bold, defiant.
He froze. Literally froze.
The world didn't stop. The festival still roared around you. But for him, it felt like time cracked. His eyes widened, jaw slackened just enough to show he wasn't ready for this, and his hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to react, but didn't. Couldn't.
You stepped back, grin sharp, teasing, but your heartbeat betrayed you. "Consider that… a warning." You said, voice low. "Or a reminder."
You then handed a tissue with a few numbers written on it. "Next time, just straight-up ask for my number, not at my ex, got it?"
Ryul blinked, slow, processing. His jaw clenched, a storm brewing behind those dark eyes. "You… knew?" His voice was low, incredulous.
"Didn't think I wouldn't." You said, stepping closer just enough that he could feel your presence again. "Well, he texted me, a thug wants my number while trying to be subtle? That wasn't you... I hope?"
Ryul' eyes darkened, the storm in them tightening. "I… wasn't subtle." His voice was rough, low, almost a growl.
You raised an eyebrow, grin sharp, teasing, but there was a flicker of caution in your chest. "Oh? Then why didn't you just ask me yourself?"
He stepped closer, just enough that the space between you felt electric. "Because… I wanted to see if you'd notice me."
You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty buried under his usual edge. "'Notice you'?" You echoed, voice flat but a little sharper than usual. "Ryul, don't get dramatic. I notice everything… you included."
His jaw tightened. "Not like that." "Then?"
He shifted, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The confidence, the usual cold edge, was cracking—just slightly. His eyes darted, caught between daring and hesitation. "I…" He stopped, exhaled sharply, like the words were hard to drag out. "…I don't usually do this."
"Do what?" You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue talking.
He swallowed, the tip of his tongue wetting dry lips he didn't usually notice. "…I… I notice you. More than I should. And I think about you a lot. I... I always wonder where you have gone when you didn't come to my area... I wonder... if you already met good and kind guy and ran away with him or something—" He immediately stopped his ranting.
He shifted again, gaze flicking to the side, then back. "…So…" His voice dropped, low, uneven, and suddenly sharper, almost challenging. "…can I… be, uh... be your boyfriend?"
You froze. Not because you didn't expect it. Not because you didn't feel something. But because that, that simple, blunt, half-terrified, half-daring question was him admitting what he couldn't say any other way. And he looks nervous pro max.
Your grin, teasing before, faltered. "Boyfriend?" You echoed softly, letting the word linger between you.
He nodded, eyes locked on yours, a storm of nerves barely contained behind that familiar sharp gaze. "Yeah. Or… if you don't… that's fine too. I just…" He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "…wanted to ask. Directly."
"So… you're sure you can handle me?" You asked finally, tone sharp but curious.
His lips twitched into the tiniest, almost imperceptible or shy smile. "Yeah. I can handle you."
Not saying he liked you outright. Not admitting it. But that gaze, that nerve, that half-nervous question, it said it all. He is sincere. He is honest.
"And if I say yes?" You purposely asked, voice low, testing, dangerous.
He shrugged, pretending nonchalance, but the slight stiffening of his shoulders betrayed him. "Then… I'll do my best. I promise."
Finally, you exhaled, shoulders relaxing. You stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face, letting the faintest smile curl on your lips. "Alright, Ryul." You said, voice low, calm, but decisive. "I'll accept that. I'll… give you a shot."
His eyes widened for the briefest second, disbelief and something else flickering there relief, maybe, or the tiniest hint of a smile threatening to break free. "Really?" He asked cautiously, still unsure if he could trust his own ears.
You nodded, keeping your gaze steady. "I do. But don't get cocky. This doesn't mean you're off the hook for being… well, you."
He exhaled, a short, humorless laugh escaping. "Trust me, I'm not changing that anytime soon."
Your grin returned, sharper, teasing, but there was warmth beneath it now. "Good. Then I guess we're… officially a thing—" Before you could finish, he leaned in. Fast. Unexpected. And his lips were on yours.
Then he pulled back slightly, just enough for you to catch your breath, but his forehead stayed close to yours, eyes dark, smoldering, and unreadable.
"You said we're a thing." He murmured, voice low, teasing in that impossible way he always did, but there was sincerity threading through it now. His gaze never left yours, as if he's taking his time to remember how your eyes look like this close.
You blinked, still caught off guard, words lost somewhere in the surge of your heartbeat. "Ryul…" You breathed, trying to tease, trying to mask how that kiss had… hit you. "Tsk." You turned around to hide how shy you got from his sudden kiss.
You then walk away with arms crossed and he followed quickly behind you, his arm placed over your shoulder, pulling you close (well, no one could expect 'this' delinquent to be acting like this).
"You're… really something." He muttered, lips brushing the top of your hair in a fleeting, impossible gesture of care. "You make it hard not to… notice everything about you."
You blinked up at him, trying to keep your usual smirk in place. "Stop it, Ryul. Can you try to act normal at least? We're in public."
"Normal's boring." He muttered, leaning down just enough to press a quick, soft peck to your temple. "With you… I don't want to be normal."
You swear you can feel his small smile against your temple as his lips still pressed against your skin.
You leaned back slightly, back away from him and still trying hard to act nonchalant about it. "Tsk... You're impossible."
"And you… love it." He replied, voice barely audible, teasing but sincere, the way he always sounded when he couldn't quite admit what he really felt.
The two of you walked on, shoulder to shoulder, the lights of the festival reflecting in his dark eyes, the noise of the crowd fading behind you as the night settled around this fragile, unspoken moment.
The scene faded with that quiet closeness, affection small, words fewer than usual, but somehow more powerful than anything either of you had dared before.
fluff // smitten over his friends's friend (Louis mentioned!)
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Woojin knew his situation was… complicated.
This wasn't some silly little 'crush' that would fade after a week or two—No, he has been nursing these weird feelings for his friend, Louis' friend, aka you, ever since they first crossed paths last semester.
At the time, Woojin had chalked it up to nothing more than an artistic appreciation for her features.
But soon enough, that clinical detachment had melted into something warmer, something that made his stomach do little flips whenever she walked by. It wasn't love, he told himself. Just… a deep, profound, artistic admiration. And most definitely... can't be a crush. And yes, he knows he's delusional.
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So, Woojin had started observing you whenever he could, committing every shift of expression to memory before frantically scribbling the details in his sketchbook. Sure, maybe lurking to watch some girl go about her day sounded creepy when you put it like that. And sketching of her while he's at it... But it was all for art's sake. You just had a nice face. And hair. And eyes. And style. Just... she's beautiful.
But soon the pages of his sketchbook filled with increasingly detailed renderings, each one more intimate than the last. Now, he had a secret collection, a visual record of all the angles and planes that made up your facial features.
No. It wasn't anything inappropriate. He didn't want to cross that line. It was just sketches of himself and you... holding hands, lying together on the grass, hands intertwining. Just pose practice.
And this routine never changed.
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One afternoon, he had his sketchbook laid across his bent knees, charcoal stick in hand. Stray graphite crumbs dusted the first few pages from being smudged so frequently. "I really need a new one." He exhaled, centering himself. His charcoal slid across the paper, first sketching the shape of Y/N's face, then gradually building up the details from memory. Her lips, her eyes, her cheeks and blush.
He glanced up from his paper every so often, just to get another look at you who was walking alone around the soccer field. With every glance, the longing in his heart grew. And grew. And it was at that moment that he realized that these feelings weren't going to go away.
Woojin lost himself in the process, getting lost in the curves that made up his muse. From seconds to minutes. It was just him, the paper, and a drawing of you. All background noise faded into white noise, the yell of students who were playing soccer, the sounds of the breeze through the oak's branches and even the sounds of his charcoal across his paper.
It wasn't until a shadow fell over the sketchpad, blotting out his light, that he finally glanced up with a confused blink—"GAH!"
Only to jerk back...
As you were suddenly just standing in front of him. Teleported. Summoned. What..? Woojin's heart nearly leapt out of his throat. One hand instinctively snapped the sketchbook closed to hide the embarrassing evidence of his pathetic infatuation. He swore you were across the courtyard...?
The two of them began to stare at each other awkwardly and were shocked(?). He felt his chest tighten, lips pressed into an awkward, thin half-smile. Realizing you wasn't going to talk first, and that he wasn't going away, Woojin swallowed the lump in his throat. "Hey." He croaked. Awkwardly.
You stood there, squinting at him. "Louis?— Oh."
The name hit him like a brick to the collarbone.
Woojin blinked. Once. Twice.
His brain, already fragile from adrenaline, short-circuited completely. "…What? I'm not Louis."
You tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Oh wait. You're not—" Your gaze dragged over his face properly now. The slope of his nose. The softer jaw. The soft dyed blonde hair. The fact that he was visibly fighting for oxygen. "Oh." You muttered, his hair was visibly black from what you saw steps away, or is it from the shadow of the tree...?
Oh. That tiny syllable felt worse than any insult.
Heat climbed up Woojin's neck, staining his ears pink. Of course. Of course you thought he was Louis. Same long hair. Same stupid, artsy aura. But Louis had effortless charm. Much taller.
"Yeah. Not Louis." He managed, voice a little steadier this time. "Different model."
You blinked at that. A small laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. Soft. Unplanned.
He felt it in his chest like someone lit a match there.
"Sorry." You said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "From behind you looked like him. The hair."
The hair. Right. So he was just… a silhouette. A budget version. That hurts him more than he thought.
He nodded, trying to look unfazed. Trying very hard not to think about the sketchbook clutched like a state secret against his thigh.
"You scared me." He added, because apparently honesty had decided to ruin him today.
You nod, ran your fingers through your hair naturally. "Yeah. You screamed." You corrected gently.
He exhaled through his nose, trying his best to hold a smile. "That was a controlled reaction."
You smiled at his response. You glanced down at the sketchbook. Closed. Gripped tightly. Suspicious. Clearly, he's hiding something under there. Anyone could tell that obvious sight.
"Were you drawing?" There it was. The execution question. It felt like a loaded weapon.
Woojin' fingers tightened almost imperceptibly. His heart began doing that ugly, uneven rhythm again. He considered lying. Landscapes. Architecture. A tragic self portrait. A random passerby. Anything.
But his brain betrayed him before he could filter it.
"Yeah." He said, almost a muttered under his lips. He doesn't want you to find out. He doesn't want you think he's a weirdo or pervert or stalker even.
You crouched across him, curious about the sketch in his sketchbook. The sudden closeness stopped him from breathing for a seconds.
"Can I see?" Oh shit. Oh hell. No. Absolutely not. He would rather evaporate.
His mind flashed through the pages of his sketches. You laughing. You looking over your shoulder. You sitting cross-legged on imaginary grass. Your fingers intertwined with his in poses that were clearly not just “anatomy practice,” no matter how many times he had told himself that lie.
The soft curve of your cheek he had memorized like scripture. "It's not finished." He said quickly. Lied.
"That's okay." You said it so simply. Like you had no idea that you was about to flip his entire internal world upside down.
He hesitated just long enough for it to become suspicious. Your eyes softened slightly, noticing his hesitance. "You don't have to show me if you don't want to."
That did something to him. The way you stepped back instead of pushing. The way your voice lost that teasing edge. He swallowed.
Why was she kind. That felt unfair.
"It's just… practice." He muttered, mostly to himself. His gaze fell down back to his sketchbook that he was covering with his arms.
Before he could rethink his entire life, he slowly cracked the sketchbook open. He didn't even know why his body decided for him to do that it was a good idea. But not all the way. Just enough.
Unfortunately for him, the page that faced upward was unmistakably you.
Not abstract. Not vague. You.
Charcoal shadows defining your eyes, the faint suggestion of a smile, the delicate attention to every line like you were something sacred.
Not half-hidden. Not stylized beyond recognition. Just you. The curve of your cheeks. The careful shadowing beneath your eyes. The soft suggestion of a smile he had memorized after seeing it exactly twice in real life.
The silence stretched between you. Woojin felt like he was standing on train tracks. He felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with physical space.
You leaned slightly closer, examining the details. Your gaze hasn't left the sketchbook page ever since he revealed it. That happened for few long seconds. "Oh… That's me."
Your voice wasn't accusatory. Just surprised. Quiet.
He nodded once, bracing for impact. "For anatomy practice." He added weakly, fully aware of how incriminating that sounded. As if that made it less unhinged.
Another long second of silence passed.
Then— "It's really good."
He looked up so fast he nearly gave himself neck damage. You really just said that...?
You weren't stepping away. You weren't creeped out. If anything, your expression had softened into something... shy.
"You made my eyes look nicer than they are." You said softly, almost as if you were embarrassed.
His chest tightened painfully. "They already look like that." He replied before his brain could intervene. But he knows, that was a fact for sure. He knows what he has seen. He remembers beautiful things like you.
There it was. The accidental confession energy that slipped out raw and unfiltered.
You blinked at him again. Slower this time.
The courtyard sounds began creeping back in around you both. Distant shouts from the soccer field. Wind through the oak branches. Like you were both standing in some quiet bubble carved out of chaos. The low hum of campus life continuing like nothing monumental was happening here.
But it felt monumental.
"So," You said gently, tilting your head, "you just sit here and draw random girls?”
He winced immediately, frowned slightly at the accuse. "No. Not random. I don't do that."
The correction came too fast. Too fast. The speed of it betrayed him.
Your brows lifted, not in mockery, not in disgust, but in quiet interest, as if you had just noticed a thread you hadn't seen before and were deciding whether to pull on it.
"Just you." He said, and this time his voice dropped lower, softer, the words landing between you with a kind of careful weight, like he was placing something fragile on the ground and hoping it wouldn't shatter.
The air shifted in a way that was almost imperceptible but undeniable, like the world had inhaled and forgotten to exhale.
His heart was beating so loudly he was certain you could hear it. He was fully prepared for you to take a step back. To laugh. To say something that would politely end this.
You didn't step away.
You didn't laugh.
Instead, you looked down at the drawing again, your gaze lingering this time, tracing the careful shadows and soft lines like you were trying to understand what kind of person would spend this much attention on someone else's face.
"…You could've just asked me to sit for you." You said after a moment, your tone gentle but steady, as if the idea was obvious, as if it hadn't taken him three months of silent pining to even consider the possibility.
For a second, he was sure he had misheard you.
His fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the sketchbook, the paper bending under the pressure as his brain struggled to catch up with what you were offering so casually.
"You wouldn't think it's weird?" He asked, the vulnerability in his voice slipping through no matter how much he tried to contain it, because this—THIS was the part that had always stopped him, the fear that you would look at him differently, that you would see the way he saw you and decide it was too much.
You gave a small shrug, though the faint flush creeping up your neck betrayed that this wasn't entirely effortless for you either.
"It's only weird if you make it weird." You replied, the corners of your lips lifting just slightly, exhaled a tint chuckle like you were inviting him to meet you halfway instead of leaving him stranded in his own overthinking.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, the sound uneven and almost shaky as it left him. "I already made it weird." Hs admitted under his breath, half to you and half to himself, because there was no universe in which secretly filling pages with drawings of you counted as normal behavior.
Your laugh this time was softer, warmer, and it settled into his chest in a way that felt dangerous.
Then, without making a spectacle of it, without teasing or dramatics, you lowered yourself onto the grass beside him, close enough that the warmth of your shoulder hovered just barely within reach, close enough that he could see the tiny details he had only ever reconstructed from memory.
Not across. But beside him.
Close enough that your shoulder almost brushed his.
The shift in distance felt monumental.
"Okay," You said, facing forward as you tucked your hands neatly in your lap, your posture relaxed but attentive, like you were genuinely prepared to give him your time. "Draw me properly this time."
Properly. His brain completely short-circuited again.
The word echoed in his mind as he flipped to a clean page, the sound of paper turning suddenly far too loud in his ears.
His charcoal hovered over the blank space for a moment, his fingers trembling just slightly, not from fear now but from the weight of the moment, because this wasn't stolen glances from across a courtyard anymore, this wasn't reconstructing your face from fragmented memories like some lonely archivist clinging to details.
He glanced at you. Up close.
Not stolen glances. Not from memory. Not through distance. But you're here. Next to him.
And for the first time, he wasn't just observing from the sidelines like some tragic background character.
He was in the frame.
This story wouldn't end like that.
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Weeks passed.
Not in some dramatic, cinematic montage way. No sudden confessions under rainstorms. No orchestral background music swelling at exactly the right time.
Just small, quiet shifts.
At first, it was practical. You sitting for him twice a week "for practice". You pretending not to notice how his focus sharpened whenever you tucked your hair behind your ear. Him pretending he wasn't memorizing the way you laughed when he got charcoal on his own cheek.
You started bringing him iced coffee. He started remembering exactly how much sugar you liked without asking.
The courtyard became yours unofficially. Under the shadow of an oak tree. The patch of grass that stained your knees green. The space that used to belong to his silent longing now belonged to shared silence.
He stopped hiding the sketchbook. Well, that was the first real change from him.
You would flip through the pages casually now, your shoulder brushing his as you did, and instead of flinching, his gaze stays on your wide profile, wait for your reactions with cautious anticipation. You teased him about how he always made your nose look softer. He teased you about how you could never sit still for more than ten minutes.
Somewhere between pose adjustments and unfinished portraits, something shifted again.
It wasn't loud.
It was the way you two' texts' were expanding more every day.
It was the way he didn't need an excuse to sit next to you anymore.
It was the way Louis, annoyingly perceptive, started smirking with a 'knowing' nod every time he saw the two of you together and stopped asking questions altogether.
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Weeks turned into months, and the space between your shoulders disappeared completely.
You no longer sat beside him.
You leaned into him.
Your head resting lightly against his arm while he sketched with one hand. Your fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of his sleeve. The kind of closeness that didn't ask permission anymore.
He began drawing other things again. Landscapes. Buildings. Random students.
But your face still appeared the most.
Only now, the sketches looked different.
Less longing. More familiarity.
He didn't need to exaggerate the curve of your smile anymore because he saw it daily. He didn't need to imagine what your hand would feel like in his because at some point, quietly and without announcement, your fingers had started finding his on their own.
The first time it happened, neither of you commented on it.
You were both sitting under the oak tree again, shoulder to shoulder, your conversation drifting lazily between classes and nothing important. Your hand brushed against his accidentally.
And instead of pulling away, you let it stay.
He felt the warmth first. Then the pressure of your fingers slowly curling around his. Careful. Testing.
He glanced at you.
You didn't look at him. You just kept talking, your thumb tracing small, absent patterns over his knuckles like it had always belonged there.
Later, when the air grew cooler and you both stayed longer than you needed to, he would feel your head tilt against his shoulder, your weight settling more comfortably into him.
"You're warm." You murmured once, voice soft and drowsy, your chin resting on his shoulder as he sketches the afternoon sky.
He swallowed. "You're always cold."
You made a small offended noise against his shoulder, your breath warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. "Excuse me? I am not always cold."
"You literally carry a cardigan in thirty-degree weather." He replied, trying to sound logical and not like someone who had memorized your habits in embarrassing detail.
"That's called being prepared." You shot back, lifting your head just enough to look at him. Your cheek was still close. Too close. He could see the tiny crease near your eye from squinting at the sunlight.
He hesitated, then quietly added, "Even now, your hands are freezing."
As if to prove him wrong, you tightened your fingers around his, pressing your palm more firmly against his. "They're normal."
"They're not." He said, but his voice softened despite himself. "They're like… ice."
You narrowed your eyes at him, pretending to be annoyed. "Then why are you still holding them?"
The question slipped out so casually, but it landed heavily between you. His heart did that stupid jump again.
"Because," He started, then stopped, suddenly very aware of how close your faces were. Close enough that he could see the faint pink tint on your lips. Close enough that your breath brushed against his jaw when you spoke.
"Because?" you prompted, quieter now.
He looked down at your intertwined fingers, then back at you, and for once he didn't overthink it. "Because I don't mind."
The courtyard felt smaller somehow. Quieter. And you. You didn't smile widely. You didn't tease him.
Instead, your expression softened in a way that made his chest feel tight in a completely different way.
"…You're warm." You repeated, almost shy this time. He felt his ears heat up. "That's just basic body temperature."
You huffed out a laugh. "Please. Can you not turn this into biology class?"
He let out a small breath, something between a laugh and a nervous exhale. "I'm just saying."
You shifted slightly, moving closer without making it obvious, your shoulder pressing fully against his now. Your fingers slid further between his, fitting more naturally, like they'd finally figured out where they were supposed to go.
"You know," You said, staring ahead at the field instead of at him, "if you keep holding my hand like this, people are going to think something."
He stiffened just slightly. "Like what?" He purposely play it innocent as if he didn't know what you meant.
You tilted your head toward him, eyes glinting with quiet mischief. "Like we're dating."
It sounded bigger than it should've.
He swallowed again, suddenly aware of how his thumb had started tracing small, unconscious patterns against your skin. "…Would that be so bad?" He asked, voice low and careful, like he was stepping onto thin ice.
You went very still. For a second, he wondered if he'd pushed too far, said too much. Then your grip tightened around his.
"It wouldn't." You admitted, barely above a whisper.
His breath caught. You looked down at your joined hands, your lashes casting faint shadows on your cheeks, lips pressed closed first. "I mean… we're already basically acting like it."
He blinked. He's hesitant to continue playing it fool like a coward or be more bold that probably ruin the mood too. Well, he picked the coward one. "...We are?"
You glanced up at him, incredulous. "Woojin. You draw me every week. You remember my coffee order. You give me your hoodie without me asking."
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "…That's just normal... No?" He muttered weakly.
You laughed softly. "No, idiot. It's not.
Silence settled again, but this time it wasn't awkward. It felt full. He placed aside his charcoal.
He shifted slightly, gathering just enough courage to lift his free hand and gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the motion slow and hesitant, giving you every chance to pull away. You didn't.
Your breath hitched, barely noticeable, but he felt it.
"Can I ask you something?" He murmured and received a nod as a response from you.
"When you mistook me for Louis that day…" He paused, trying to keep his tone light. "Were you disappointed?"
Your eyes widened slightly. "What? No."
He exhaled a soft sigh under his breath, more like relieved. He tried to play it off with a shrug, but the question had clearly meant more to him than he intended. "I thought you might've preferred it to be him."
You stared at him like he'd just said something ridiculous. "Woojin." You said softly, your hand squeezing his. "If I wanted it to be Louis, I wouldn't stay. I wouldn't be sitting here like this with you."
The simplicity of it knocked the air out of him.
You leaned in a little closer, your forehead nearly brushing his neck now. "I didn't choose wrong that day." You said, and that made him feel something settle inside him, something steady and warm and terrifyingly fragile.
"...Good." He murmured before smiling with his eyes. You smiled as well, small and sincere, and rested your head fully against him this time, your fingers still laced with his.
"Next time," You added quietly, "don't hide the sketchbook." You said, gaze at his side profile.
He glanced down at you, the corners of his lips lifting despite himself. "Next time, you won't have to sneak up on me."
You tilted your head slightly, your voice soft against his chest, a slight playful frown. "I wasn't sneaking."
He huffed a quiet laugh. "That day, you kind of teleported." He said, making you smile against him, and he felt it.
And for a long moment, neither of you spoke.
You just stayed there, fingers intertwined, shoulders pressed together, the world moving around you while the two of you remained still, as if you'd quietly stepped into something new without needing a dramatic announcement.
If you asked anyone in school, they would say Ryul is cool and calm person. Too calm.
The kind of guy who leans against lockers like he owns the hallway. The kind who doesn't chase. Doesn't beg. Doesn't panic. Doesn't care.
Except when it comes to you.
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Thursday, 1:48pm—
You're at your locker after class, struggling with a zipper that refuses to cooperate. Your bag is basically fighting you.
"Need help?" His voice is right behind you.
You didn't turn around, still trying to fix it by yourself. Stubborn. "I can handle it."
"Mm." He hummed. He doesn’t move away.
You can feel his presence behind you. Close enough that if you lean back even a little, you'll bump into his chest. Close enough that your heartbeat gets stupid.
You finally turn. And, he's looking at you in that way again. The gaze that hides some secrets behind it makes you feel special for a second before you shrug the feelings off.
"What?" You ask, your fingers slightly loosen at the zip, forgetting it for a moments.
Ryul tilts his head slightly. "You shouldn't miss me."
"…What?"
He doesn't smile. He just steps closer. "If you let me go, that’s on you."
You blink. Confused, yes. Flustered, slight. "Bro... I'm not letting you go anywhere...?"
"Good."
Your locker door is still open. You're very aware of the fact that people are walking past. Yes. Someone coughs dramatically. But you ignore it, not out of choice, your mind did it automatically.
Ryul lowers his voice. "The person standing next to you?"
You swallow, waiting fir him to continud
"That's me." he says quietly.
Your brain malfunctions for a second. Is he broken?
"You're being weird." "I'm being clear."
He reaches past you, casually shutting your locker. Now you're trapped between metal and him. Not aggressively. Just… close.
"Since... I'm already right next to you," He says as his gaze never left yours. "You don't need to look anywhere else. Of even someone else."
Your cheeks are absolutely betraying you. But you try to act like it doesn't affect you. "Tsk." You scoffed lightly. "You sound confident."
"I am." He leans down slightly so you're eye level.
"You think someone else is going to stand here every day? Walk you to the bus? Save you a seat in class?" He lifts one eyebrow. "No."
You try to act unfazed. "W-Well..." (ugh, don't stutter) "That doesn't mean anything."
"It does to me."
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There's no dramatic confession. No violins. Just hallway noise and fluorescent lights and him looking at you like you're something he’s already decided on.
"Ryul," You say softly and carefully. "are you asking me out or threatening me?"
He finally laughs. "Neither."
"Then what?
"I'm reminding you." His voice drops again. "Don't miss me."
You look up at him. He's not joking anymore.
"Why would I? You're already next to me." You say.
"Exactly. "A group of your friends passes by, whispering loudly. Someone says, "Finally." under their breath.
You ignore them. Mostly.
Ryul gently takes your bag from your shoulder before slung it over his shoulder. "Let's go." "To where?"
"Anywhere." He shrugs. "As long as I'm next to you."
Your heart does that annoying flip again. "Tsk... why did you keep saying that? Are you making a magazine tagline or something..." You complained under your breath that made him laughs.
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As you start walking down the hallway together, his hand brushes yours. Once. Twice.
Thrice— He holds it.
Like it was obvious the whole time. His feelings. His affection. His attention. Aimed at you.
It just… your heart refuses to cooperate.
Because what if you imagined it? What if you mistook friendliness for something heavier? What if you say something and everything shifts into that awkward, irreversible silence?
So you stay quiet.
Even now, walking beside him, your hands brushing, your thoughts are racing. But still overthink whether he did this for his 'friend' related reason again.
Ryul notices. Of course he does. "You're thinking too loud." He says. "No, I'm not." You said, too fast.
"You get that crease between your eyebrows when you overthink." He said, making you immediately smooth your forehead. He almost smiles at it.
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You both stop near the stairs where the hallway is quieter. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, warm and lazy. The after-school crowd has thinned out ever since the last bell rang.
He lets go of your hand. And somehow that feels worse. You can still feel his warm palm against yours.
"Y/N." He says, softer now, making you look at him.
Not calm anymore. Not teasing. Just serious. "You still think I'm joking, don't you?"
Your chest tightens. "About what?" "About you."
Silence.
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated in a way that feels rare for him. "I don't stand next to you every day by accident. I don't wait for you after class because I'm bored. I don't remember what snacks you like just for fun." He paused.
"I did it for a reason." He said, leaving your breath shallow now. Is it nervous? Or flustered?
"You think I look at everyone like that?" He asks quietly, his gaze lock with yours.
You can't answer.
Because no. He doesn't. He doesn't look at everyone as he did to you. And you also didn't want to get your hopes up.
Ryul steps closer again, but slower this time. Careful. Like he’s giving you space to step away if you need to. "I like you."
Simple. Clear. Direct. No performance.
Your heart actually hurts from how hard it's beating.
"I've liked you for a while," Hs continues. "And I'm not subtle about it because I don't want you guessing. I don't want you thinking it's one-sided."
You bite your lower lip out of a sudden overwhelming flood of nervousness and fluster. Your voice comes out smaller than you expect. "It feels unreal."
His expression softens, glad that it was not a sudden rejection. "Why?"
"Because I…" You hesitate. This is the part where you either protect yourself or jump.
"Because I like you too. And I didn't think you'd feel the same."
There it is. Out in the open.
The air shifts. Not dramatic. Just lighter.
Ryul exhales slowly, like he's been holding that breath for weeks. "You really thought I'd let you like me alone?" He says, attempt to brighten the mood.
You let out a shaky laugh from that, feeling lighter in your heart from this conversation.
"I'm right here." He adds gently. "I've been right here the whole time."
Your eyes sting a little. Annoying.
"You're not imagining it." He says. "It's real. I like you."
You step closer first this time. "So… we're not pretending anymore?" You ask.
He shakes his head. "No."
At his response, your fingers find his again, not brushing. Not accidental.
Intentional.
He squeezes your hand. "Good." He says quietly. "Because I'm not planning to aim my attention anywhere else."
You smile at that. Direct. Fully. No hesitation.
And for the first time, it doesn't feel unreal.
It just feels right. Like it's written on destiny book. Like someone made a lyrics from this memory.
fluff, song ins. // kiiikiii - 'strawberry cheesegame' :)
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Louis had never really lost at anything.
He walked through school like someone who had always been first place.
Not in ways that mattered.
Not in debate club where he spoke like he'd been born with a podium in his hand. Not on the basketball court where he moved like gravity had signed a contract with him. Not in class rankings. Not in stupid hallway arguments about which convenience store ramen was superior. He carried himself like someone who had never been second.
And then you transferred in.
He would probably deny it if anyone asked. He would scoff. Pretend it was nothing.
But you saw it.
The exact moment.
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The first day you walked into class late, sunlight behind you like some dramatic movie entrance. You weren't trying to be impressive. Your hair was slightly messy from rushing. Your bag strap was slipping off your shoulder. You mumbled an apology to the teacher, assuming that you messed up your first day at new school.
You slid the door open and bowed quickly, hands gripped against side of your skirts, heart still racing from the amount of run you did. "I'm sorry..." You said, feeling ashamed and guilty of your own fault (but you'd blame on your phone alarm to be so quiet lowkey).
You didn't notice him at first. Of course. Hell, you couldn't even dare look up at that moment.
Louis was sketching a burger in his notebook. His pen stopped moving. He looked up from it when he heard that unfamiliar voice. Your voice is not annoying like his classmates', which, by itself, could make him roll his eyes.
His gaze, it was subtle. Just a fraction too long. Just enough. You didn't know, but that was the first time he lost focus.
From that day on, he was… weird.
You noticed it before anyone else did.
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At first, you only thought he was annoying.
He would finish math problems faster than the teacher could explain them. He would casually correct pronunciation in English class. He would answer history questions like he had lived through the war himself. He would volunteer for group projects if you were in the group.
"Y/N," He would call, casual and smug, turning slightly in his chair so his elbow rested on the back like he owned the place with eyes straight into yours. "You got the answer for number five?"
He always said your name like it was a challenge.
And it irritated you.
You hated how aware you were of him.
Every time he entered a room, you knew.
Every time he looked at you, your heart stopped.
Because why was he good at everything?
Why did teachers adore him?
Why did underclassmen whisper about him?
Why did girls say he was "special" like he was some limited edition release?
It was honestly unfair.
You told yourself you didn't care.
You shouldn't.
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But what is 'this' feelings?
Every time he walked past your desk, you felt your brain short-circuit, your mind turned into a mess.
It was like playing a game you didn't agree to.
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The first time you realized it wasn't just rivalry was during exam week. You studied all day and night. You used all of your highlighters until it ran dry. Your notes are perfect sums of all of each chapter with the perfect keywords. You memorized all chapter. Yes. You memorized everything. You were ready.
When the results were revealed, your name was second. Second.
Right below his. With one point difference. One.
You stared at the board so long your eyes hurt.
"Woah, you look like someone stole your lunch money," A familiar voice said behind you.
You didn't turn around. "You're so annoying."
He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel his presence without seeing him. "You did well." He added, quieter.
You glanced over your shoulder, head up, look at him.
There was no teasing in his eyes.
That unsettled you more than anything.
"Don't pretend to be nice." You muttered.
"I'm not pretending." He said. You walked away first.
Your chest felt warm. And it's odd how freshly you remembered that moment.
You tried your best to get rid of it since focusing on your studies is your priority. Or maybe to beat Louis' grade.
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One afternoon after school, you stayed behind to finish decorating for the cultural festival, paint the banners. The classroom smelled like acrylic paint, vinyl and tape. Your sleeves were rolled up. Your fingers were stained pink from drawing strawberries across the poster.
It's quiet. The fan was spinning slowly, yet the wind from the window felt colder. You were alone there, sitting on the floor, crossed legs with a few banners laid open in front of you. You weren't alone when the door slid open softly. Louis, still in his school uniform, stepped inside the classroom.
"You're still here?" He asked, scanning the half-finished banners and decorations laid open on the floor.
"Someone has to make sure this doesn't look embarrassing." You replied without looking at him, more focus on your task.
He walked in slowly, hands in his pockets, surveying your work like a judge. He lets out a light snicker. "Hmm... It's not bad." He said.
"Wow. That's the best compliment you've ever given." You said with full of sarcasm.
He ignored that and crouched beside you, picked up a paintbrush. "You're doing the shading wrong."
You shot him a look. "Then fix it." Which, he did.
He was right beside you, shoulder almost brushing yours, carefully adding depth to the strawberry leaves. His movements were precise. Calm.
You tried not to stare at his hands.
"You're the only one who actually tries to compete with me." He said that suddenly.
You paused mid-stroke. "I'm not competing."
"You are." His tone wasn't mocking.
It was certain. "You look at me like you want to win."
You set the brush down from his words. "Maybe I just don’t like losing." You said, gaze locks with his.
He leaned his face a little closer. "Or maybe you don't like losing to me."
Your heart betrayed you by reacting. It thumped hard enough you were scared he could hear it.
You hated that he was right. And before you could say anything more, he already left.
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Spirit week made everything worse.
There was this one day when your class had to swap outfits with someone for a silly photo challenge. Somehow, through what you still believe was fate's cruel sense of humor.
You ended up standing in front of him, holding his varsity jacket while he awkwardly held your cardigan.
"This is ridiculous." "Scared?" He teased.
You scoffed at his word. "In your dreams."
You slipped into his jacket. It was too big. The sleeves swallowed you whole. It smelled faintly like detergent and something warmer underneath.
Your cardigan barely fit across his shoulders. He struggled slightly, trying not to stretch it.
Everyone laughed. Took pictures. Teased.
But when you caught your reflection in the window, with him standing next to you, both of you wearing pieces of each other. You feel it. Something shifted.
It looked… right. Too right.
He noticed your sudden quietness. He looks in the direction where you're looking, and somehow, he notices that strange feeling too. His gaze shifts quietly to your side profile, and strangely, his teasing expression softens just a little.
"You look good in it." He said quietly, for you to hear.
"It's just fabric." "It's still mine." He said immediately.
The way he said that made your stomach flip.
Later, walking down the hallway, he stayed beside you instead of racing ahead with his long legs like usual. "You didn't seem that annoyed." He said, eyes keep glancing at your side profile.
"I was." "Liar."
You nudged his arm. He didn't move away.
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That late evening, the classroom was nearly empty. Sunlight spilled through the windows, turning everything golden. You were sitting on top of a desk, legs swinging slightly.
He stood tall in front of you, arms crossed. "Why do you always look shocked when I talk to you?" He asked, eyes never leave yours.
"Because you're unpredictable." "Oh. So, you think I don't get nervous?" He said.
"Nervous? Who? You?" You pointed to him. Nervous and the Louis you knew never line up. It's ridiculous.
He looked away briefly, a subtle gulp followed. "You're the only person who makes me feel like I might lose."
You didn't expect that from him. "Lose what?" Your voice came out softer than intended.
He stepped closer, eyes still locked with yours. The space between you shrank until it felt intentional. Measured. His jaw tightened just slightly before he spoke, voice low and steady. "Control."
The air shifted, something unspoken settling between you. For once, he didn't look untouchable. He looked real, stripped of the distance he usually wore like armor.
You didn't say anything for a seconds. "I hate that I can't beat you." You admitted.
He stepped even closer, just enough that your knees almost brushed his legs. Not enough to trap you. Just enough to be heard without raising his voice. His gaze didn't waver, but something in it had softened. "You don't have to."
"I don't?" "No". His voice was steady, certain in a way that didn't demand anything. "You already won."
The words didn't register at first, like your brain refused to process something that dangerous, but then they settled in your chest all at once and your heart reacted so violently.
Do you guys know what it feels like?
Like strawberry cheesecake melting on your tongue.
Like a game you didn't mind losing over and over.
Because every time you "lost", it feels worth it when he looked at you like this, when he noticed you more than he usually did.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just two people suspended in the quiet chaos of after-school air, heartbeats mingling in the soft hum of the empty classroom.
Then he tilted his head, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You know," he started, voice gentle, "I think… I'm okay with losing to you. Like now." "What?" You muttered, confused.
"Usually, being around you. Trying to beat you." He shrugged like it was casual, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, warm and steady. "I don't mind losing… if it means I get to be here, with you."
Your stomach did that ridiculous fluttering thing, like a butterfly storm. You tried to hold a smile. "You're... so weird." "Yeah, well." He said softly.
He leans just a fraction closer so that your knees brushed again. "I guess you bring it out of me."
You looked up at him, heart pounding, and he noticed. Not just casually noticed like everyone else, but really noticed. The way your hair caught the light, the tiny grin tugging at your lips, the warmth in your eyes. And for the first time, you felt like both of you were finally understand and feeling each other.
Without thinking, he leaned closer. You froze, knees brushing, your hands gripping the edge of the desk like it was an anchor.
"Y/N…" He murmured, voice barely above a whisper, as if saying your name too loudly would break the magic. Slowly, carefully, his lips touched yours. It wasn't perfect or practiced—it was messy, soft, shy. The kind of first kiss that makes your stomach flip.
You hesitated, then pulled him closer with a light tug on his thumb, laughing quietly when he tensed for a second, probably as scared as you felt. "You're… really warm." You whispered against him.
"Yeah?" He breathed back. "You're… perfect actually."
Your cheeks heated, and he chuckled, a quiet, nervous sound that made you want to grin even more. "Stop saying things that make me melt." You said with a slight pout at his words.
"I can't." He said with a wide smile, the widest one you've ever seen from him, his nose brushing yours. "It's kinda my new favorite hobby."
You giggled, burying your face slightly against his shoulder. "Shut up... You're ridiculous."
He chuckled. "Mhm, totally." He agreed. "But you… make it worth being ridiculous."
He cupped your face before kissing you again, slower this time, more certain, lingering just enough for you to lean into him fully. Every brush of his lips was soft, sweet, and filled with all the new feelings neither of you had words for yet.
"Louis…" You murmured again, a little breathless from the kisses. "I think… I like losing to you."
He grinned against your lips, teasing and sincere all at once. "Good. Because I plan on stealing your heart at every chance I get."
And with another soft, lingering kiss, the two of you stayed like that for a while. The sunlight falling across your hair, fingers brushing, hearts racing.
Yeah. It's late. You know this because you've checked your phone five times in the last three minutes.
Why is it already two? You blame Woojin.
Specifically, you blame the way he looked at you today when you laughed too hard at something stupid. You blame the way he walked you to the bus stop even though his house is in the opposite direction. You blame the way he said your name like it meant something—
'bzzz' Your phone buzzes making you almost drop it. In the dark bedroom, your phone screen lights with a single text from him.
"Hey, Y/N, remember to call me when you feel okay" –Woojin, sent at 2:09a.m.
You stare at the message before typing...
"Feel okay about wha"– Delete. Type again.
"I feel fine...?" —You, sent at 2:10a.m.
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Exactly three seconds later, your phone rang and vibrated, and the contact name 'Wooooooogene' popped up on your screen.
You got panic, of course. Well, unfortunately yet gladly it wasn't a video call after all— You answer it.
Without any 'hi' or whatsoever, you whisper, like your parents are secretly FBI agents. "Why are you still awake?"
He laughs softly, amused by your whisper tone. His voice was soft yet hoarse, possibly from dehydration. "I could ask you the same thing."
"It's your fault." You said in the call that he can imagine a pout on your lips while talking, accusing him. He raised one eyebrow. "My fault?"
"Yes." You nod eagerly as if he could see you. But instead of coming with an immediately teasing tone from him as a response... Silence.
"That sounds serious." You can hear the grin behind his words. But the pause before the tease makes you weirded out by him.
You roll onto your back, staring at your ceiling. "Bro, you were weird today." "How?" He responds, with an unreadable tone which is rare for him.
"Earlier, at convenience store. You kept looking at me." "I always look at you." His responses were immediate this time. That shuts you up in seconds.
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On the other end, you could hear him shift. Probably lying in his bed too, staring at his own ceiling like this is some dramatic coming-of-age film. "Y/N," He says, softer now, "what was your mood today?"
You squint, (he's definitely weird today, 100%). "Woojin... You were literally with me all day..." You said, not hiding the suspicion you feel.
"I know. I just… wanted to hear you say it."
That. That makes you bite your lip out of hesitation. Or it is frustration?
After minutes of receiving no response from you, he then continues, voice gentler. "I'm not asking because I don't know. I just wanted to talk to you."
There's something about hearing it out loud that makes your chest feel tight. "Why?" You whisper.
"Because I like when it's just us talking."
Gosh. That got you sitting up in bed. Tense. Nervous. Overthink that he's gonna confess 'something'. Or it's not? Is he cutting ties cause he has got a crush? Or worse, a secret girlfriend— Ugh. Stop. Y/N stop.
"Woojin…" That's all you can say. He probably feels the growing tension too. The quietness is literally holding the tension right now.
He exhales. Like he's been holding something in.
"You know when I'm not around you, it feels weird?" He says. "It felt like something was missing. When you weren't there at lunch last week, it was kind of unbearable. I couldn't even enjoy my food."
You laugh softly, taking it as nothing from his og dramatic-self. "That's dramatic—" "I'm serious."
"That day, I had a dentist appointment." You said, trying to shrug off his seriousness. But he cuts it down sharply and quickly. "I know. Still."
Silence again. This time the mood itself is heavy. Then... he says it. "There's someone."
Your stomach drops. "…What?"
"There's someone I really like."
Your heart does something unpleasant and complicated. It feels like it's being crumped. Guess, your own 'overthink-thoughts' really got it correct.
"Oh." That's all you manage.
"And it's messing with me."
You swallow, trying to keep yourself down while still sounding casual over the call. "Messing how?"
"I can't... I can't think straight when she's around," He admits. "And when she's not around, it's worse. My eyes keep looking for her, hoping she'll come though I know she won't."
You blankly stare at your wall. You hate this. Your heart can't handle this. It hurts so bad.
"Then tell her," You say, trying to sound normal, forcing a smile behind the voice to sound 'excited' for him. "If you like her that much."
He's quiet.
Then, very carefully. "What if she only sees me as a friend?"
Your breath catches. The room feels too small. Talking about his crush makes you feel things. Negative feelings.
"Well... You won't know unless you ask." You whisper.
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On the other end, there's the faint sound of him shifting again. He sighs first before spoke up, "Y/N."
"Yeah?"
"If I said it was you… would you hang up?"
...
Your brain fully stops functioning. "What?"
"The girl," he says. "It's you."
...
Your heart is officially out of control. You laugh, but it comes out shaky. "Woojin, it's two in the morning."
"I know." "You can't just drop that and expect me to be normal." You said. You can hear him smile with a soft amused huff.
"I'm not expecting normal," He says softly. "I just need to know your feelings too."
You press your palm to your forehead. "You really like me?" You ask, barely audible. And actually, holding a excited smile.
"Mhm." He hummed. "I really do."
There’s no background music. No dramatic wind. Just the hum of midnight and two teenagers trying not to combust.
You chuckled, amused by him. "You idiot."
"…That's not promising."
"I stayed up until two thinking about you." You admit.
He goes completely silent. His smile faded behind the call, not out of upset, but shock instead. Then, very quietly, "You... did?" "Yes."
A pause. Then a smile in his voice. "So… from that, do I get a chance?"
You lie back down, staring at your ceiling again. This time, your heart feels lighter. Much lighter.
"You already had one." You say, with a smile as well. "You just took forever to use it."
He laughs, relieved and warm. "Well, I guess. I'm gonna snatch that chance right away."
