sorry to be a broken record every month but christ menstruation is a stupid concept. oooooh excuse me for not getting pregnant, why the fuck is there goo falling out of me about it? grow the fuck up and reabsorb that shit for nutrients.
You wake up the next morning with your lips still tingling. Your phone is face-down on your pillow. You don’t reach for it right away. You lie there instead, staring at the sliver of sunlight cutting across your whiteboard, the red ink of your final project deadline mocking you. Due in three weeks. You should already be outlining. You should be color-coding. You should be panicking, at minimum.
Instead you’re thinking about the way Seungmin’s thumb brushed your knuckle like it was something fragile and important.
Your phone buzzes. You flip it over too fast.
Seungmin: morning glassgirl
still in one piece or did i break you
You bite your lip so hard it hurts.
You: I’m alive
Barely
Your extra thank-you was very… extra
The typing bubble pops up, disappears, pops up again. You can practically see him smirking at his screen in that messy apartment, hair probably sticking up, hoodie half-zipped.
Seungmin: good
wanted it to be memorable
also u left ur blue pen here
the one i gave u
come get it before i use it to doodle on my walls like a delinquent
You laugh under your breath, the sound startling in the quiet of your dorm room. He’s giving you an excuse. A small, stupid, perfect excuse to see him again without either of you having to say I want to see you.
You: i have class until 2
Library after? Or your place?
Seungmin: my place
library feels too public for what i want to do to you
Your face goes hot. You drop the phone on your chest and cover it with both hands like that’ll hide the blush from the universe.
You: Seungmin
Seungmin: what
I said “thank you”
Not “let me ravish you in the stacks”
relax boss
You’re still smiling when you finally drag yourself out of bed.
The walk to his apartment feels different this time. Last time you were here it was midterms and panic and the smell of weed and the terrifying realization that you liked him. Now it’s daylight, your backpack lighter because you don’t have his essay to fix, and your stomach is doing cartwheels for an entirely new reason.
He opens the door before you even knock, like he’s been waiting by it. Same black hoodie from last night, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from a shower. He looks… soft. Like the version of him that only comes out when he’s not performing apathy for the rest of the world.
“Hey,” he says, voice low.
“Hey,” you echo, stepping inside.
The door clicks shut behind you. For half a second you both just stand there in the tiny entryway, awkward and aware. Then he reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist the same way they did last night, and tugs you gently forward.
You go.
His kiss is slower this time. Less I can’t believe this is happening and more I’ve been thinking about this since I left your room. His hand slides to the small of your back, warm through your shirt. You fist the front of his hoodie again because apparently that’s your move now.
When you pull back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed.
“Still not glass,” he murmurs.
“Still not emotionally stunted,” you whisper back.
He huffs a laugh, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Liar. I’m working on it.”
You spend the next hour on his sagging couch pretending to study.
You have your laptop open to final project notes. He has his own notebook balanced on one knee, pretending to brainstorm ideas for the next assignment even though the semester is basically coasting now. Every few minutes one of you glances over and the pretending falls apart.
He doodles a tiny cartoon version of you in the margin of his notes, stern eyebrows, little speech bubble that says fix your thesis. You retaliate by stealing his pen and writing don’t be late in perfect blue ink across the top of his page.
He retaliates by pulling you into his lap.
You yelp, laptop nearly sliding to the floor. He catches it one-handed and sets it on the coffee table without looking away from you.
“Hi,” he says, hands settling on your hips like they belong there.
“Hi,” you answer, a little breathless. Your knees bracket his thighs. This is new territory. Dangerous, wonderful territory.
He leans up and kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the spot just under your ear that makes your breath hitch. “You smell like highlighter ink and anxiety,” he mumbles against your skin. “It’s weirdly hot.”
You smack his shoulder. “Rude.”
“Honest,” he corrects, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are clearer today. No red edges, no lazy glaze. Just him. “You okay with this? Us? Whatever this is?”
You trace the collar of his hoodie with one finger. “I’m okay with it. Terrified, but okay.”
“Good,” he says. “Me too.”
A beat of silence. Then, because you’re still you, you ask, “Do you… want to talk about the dealing thing?”
His shoulders tense under your hands.
You feel it immediately and backtrack. “You don’t have to. I just, I don’t want to pretend it’s not part of your life if we’re doing this.”
He exhales through his nose, head tipping back against the couch. “It’s not glamorous. It’s just… easy money. My parents cut me off last year after I dropped a bunch of classes. Rent’s due. Food’s due. Weed helps me not think about how much I suck at being a functional adult.”
You nod, slow. “I’m not asking you to quit for me. I’m just… asking you to be careful. And maybe tell me when it gets bad instead of smoking until you forget.”
His eyes find yours again. Something raw flickers there.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I can try that.”
You lean down and kiss him because you don’t know what else to say. He kisses you back like a promise.
Later, you’re both on the floor eating cheap ramen straight from the pot because his one clean bowl is currently holding a dying succulent. He’s cross-legged, hoodie half-zipped, stealing noodles from your chopsticks every time you look away.
“You know,” he says around a mouthful, “you’re gonna have to meet my friends eventually.”
You freeze mid-bite. “Friends?”
“The guys I sell to. Also the guys I actually like. They’re loud. Chaotic. One of them, Chan, will probably try to adopt you immediately.”
You set your chopsticks down. “Do they know about… us?”
“Not yet.” He shrugs. “I don’t usually do the whole ‘introduce the girl I’m dating’ thing. Mostly because there hasn’t been a girl I’m dating.”
Your heart does the stupid flip again.
“Dating,” you repeat softly.
He glances at you, suddenly shy. “If that’s… what you want to call it.”
You smile, small and real. “Yeah. I want to call it that.”
He ducks his head, ears pink, and steals another noodle like it’s revenge for making him admit it.
That night you don’t stay over.
You have an 8 a.m. lecture and a group project meeting and the crushing weight of your own expectations. But when he walks you back to your dorm, hood up, hands in his pockets, shoulders brushing yours every few steps, you feel lighter than you have in months.
At your door he kisses you again, quick and sweet, like he’s still testing the waters.
“Text me when you’re in bed,” he says. “So I know you didn’t turn to glass on the way home.”
You roll your eyes but you’re grinning. “Yes, boss.”
He laughs, low and warm, and waits until you’re inside before he turns to leave.
You close the door, lean against it, and let yourself feel everything.
Seungmin: in bed yet or still color-coding your dreams
You smile at your phone in the dark.
You: In bed
Thinking about you
Seungmin: same
Night star student
You fall asleep with your phone on your chest and his last text glowing on the screen, heart full in a way that feels dangerously close to enough.
The first week after the kiss you both move carefully. Campus is small. Gossip travels faster than Professor Kim’s red pen. You’re still the front-row star student with the color-coded planner. He’s still the guy who shows up to class only when he feels like it and smells faintly of whatever he’s selling behind the music building. So you keep it quiet.
You text instead of call. You meet at his apartment instead of the library. You steal kisses in the narrow hallway outside your dorm when no one’s around, quick and breathless like teenagers who know they’re breaking curfew. He walks you home most nights anyway, hood up, shoulders brushing yours, and you pretend the thrill in your stomach is just the night air.
But secrets have a way of feeling heavier the longer you carry them. You’re in your usual spot in the lecture hall, front row, notebook open, highlighter cap between your teeth, when Seungmin slips in late. He doesn’t sit in the back like always. He slides into the empty seat two rows behind you, close enough that when you glance over your shoulder he’s already looking.
His mouth curves, small and private. You turn back around fast, cheeks warm, and spend the rest of the hour hyper-aware of his presence. Every time Professor Kim praises an example you gave last week, you feel his eyes on the back of your neck like a touch.
When class ends you pack up slowly, pretending to organize your pens. He waits by the door, leaning against the frame like he belongs there.
“Star student,” he murmurs when you reach him. “Nice participation today.”
“Shut up,” you whisper, bumping his arm. “People are looking.”
“Let them.” But his voice is soft. He falls into step beside you anyway, hands in his hoodie pockets, keeping just enough distance that it doesn’t scream couple.
You make it halfway across the quad before someone calls your name.
“Hey! Tutor girl!”
You freeze. It’s Jisoo, one of the girls from your study group. She’s waving, bright smile, backpack swinging. Behind her are two more people from your circle: Minho and a guy you don’t know well.
Seungmin’s shoulder brushes yours once, deliberate, then he steps half a pace away.
You paste on your practiced smile. “Hey, what’s up?”
Jisoo’s eyes flick to Seungmin, then back to you. “We’re grabbing coffee before the group project meeting. You coming? We need your brain for the thesis section.”
You feel Seungmin tense beside you. Not obviously. Just the slightest shift in his posture.
“I, uh..” You glance at him. He’s already looking away, jaw tight, the easy warmth from two minutes ago gone.
Minho notices too. His eyebrows lift. “Wait… is that..?”
“Yeah,” Seungmin says before you can answer. His voice is the lazy drawl he uses with everyone else. “I’m the guy she’s tutoring. Or was. Whatever.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’ll catch you later.”
He doesn’t wait for you to respond. Just turns and starts walking toward the path that leads off campus, hood going up like armor. Your stomach drops.
Jisoo’s still talking, something about deadlines, but you’re already moving.
“Rain check,” you say quickly. “I forgot I have… something.”
You don’t wait for their confused looks. You jog after him, heart hammering. “Seungmin.”
He doesn’t slow down. You catch his sleeve at the edge of the quad, pulling him behind the big oak tree that everyone uses for dramatic conversations.
He stops. Turns. His face is carefully blank.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you say.
“Do what?” He leans against the tree, arms crossed. “Play the part? I’m good at it. Everyone already thinks I’m the burnout you’re stuck babysitting.”
“That’s not..”
“It is.” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge. “Your friends are the type who’d lose their minds if they knew you were letting the campus dealer put his hands on you.”
You flinch.
He sees it and immediately looks away, jaw working. “Sorry. That was shitty.”
You step closer anyway. “I don’t care what they think.”
“Yeah?” He laughs once, hollow. “You care about everything else. Your GPA. Your scholarship. Professor Kim’s opinion. The way your parents look at you like you’re their only shot at bragging rights.” His eyes meet yours again, softer now but still guarded. “I just… I don’t want to be the thing that fucks any of that up.”
You reach up and tug his hood down so you can see his face properly. His hair is messy from the wind. He looks tired in the way that has nothing to do with sleep.
“You’re not fucking anything up,” you tell him. “You’re the only thing that feels right right now.”
He stares at you for a long beat. Then he exhales, shoulders dropping, and pulls you in by the waist. Right there behind the tree, in broad daylight, where anyone could walk by.
His kiss is urgent this time. Not careful. Like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you before the world remembers you’re supposed to be opposites. When he pulls back he rests his forehead against yours. “I’m trying not to run,” he murmurs. “But it’s hard when I keep remembering how different our lives are.”
“I know,” you whisper. “But I’m not glass, remember? And you’re not emotionally stunted anymore. We’re both figuring it out.”
He kisses you again, slower, like a promise.
That night he texts you at 11:47 p.m.
Seungmin: u still up or did u fall asleep color-coding ur feelings
You: Still up
Thinking about you being an idiot earlier
Seungmin: rude
but fair
Seungmin: my place tomorrow?
No studying
Just… us
I’ll even clean the couch
You smile at your phone in the dark of your dorm room.
You: I’ll bring takeout
Seungmin: night star student
Dream of me being less of a dumbass
You fall asleep with your hand curled around your phone like it’s his fingers.
The next afternoon you show up at his door with two bags of Chinese takeout and a knot of nerves in your stomach.
He opens it wearing the gray hoodie you like, the one that smells like him and laundry detergent. No weed scent. His eyes are clear and a little nervous too.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
You step inside. The place is… better. Not spotless, but the coffee table is cleared except for two plates and a couple of candles he definitely stole from somewhere. There’s a blanket folded over the back of the couch.
You set the food down and turn to him.
He’s already watching you.
“I talked to my friends,” you say before you can chicken out. “Not everything. Just… that I’m seeing someone. And that he’s important.”
His eyebrows lift. “You did?”
“Yeah.” You step closer. “They’ll meet you eventually. When you’re ready. No pressure.”
He swallows. Then he reaches out and pulls you against him, arms wrapping around your waist like he needs the anchor.
“Thank you,” he says into your hair. “For not hiding me.”
You hug him back tighter. “Never.”
He kisses the top of your head, then your temple, then tilts your chin up so he can kiss your mouth properly. The takeout goes cold on the table. Neither of you cares.
Later, you’re tangled on the couch under the blanket, his head in your lap while you play with his hair. He’s half-asleep, one hand resting on your thigh like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“Seungmin?” you ask softly.
“Hmm?”
“You know you don’t have to be perfect for me, right? I like the messy parts too.”
He opens his eyes. Looks up at you with that raw honesty he only lets out when it’s just the two of you.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m starting to believe you.”
You lean down and kiss him upside down, awkward and perfect.
You’re halfway through your third energy drink when your phone lights up on the library table.
It’s not Seungmin this time. It’s your mom.
Mom: honey just got the midterm grade report from your advisor
A- in modern fiction?? what happened??
You stare at the message until the words blur. An A-minus. One tiny hyphen that shouldn’t feel like a guillotine, but it does. Your scholarship review is in two weeks. The email from financial aid is still open on your laptop: Satisfactory Academic Progress required, any drop below 3.7 GPA will result in probation.
You type back with shaking thumbs.
You: Just one assignment. I’ll fix it. Love you.
Then you shove your phone in your bag, stack your highlighters like tiny soldiers, and try to breathe. You fail.
By the time you make it to his apartment it’s dark out, your eyes are stinging, and you’re wearing the same hoodie you stole from him last week because it still smells like him and safety.
He opens the door before you knock, again, and the second he sees your face his smirk drops.
“Star student,” he says softly. No teasing. Just worry. “Come here.”
You step inside and let him pull you straight into his chest. No questions. No jokes about glass. Just his arms wrapping around you tight, one hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. You bury your face in his hoodie and let yourself shake for exactly ten seconds.
He doesn’t say anything until you pull back.
“Talk or distract?” he asks, thumbs brushing your cheeks.
“Both,” you whisper. “But mostly talk.”
He nods once, leads you to the couch, and tugs you down so you’re half in his lap, legs tangled. The coffee table has actual plates this time, ramen again, but with an egg cracked in each bowl and green onions he clearly chopped himself. There’s even a little bottle of your favorite hot sauce.
You stare at it.
“You cleaned,” you say, voice cracking.
“Don’t sound so surprised.” He picks up a fork and hands it to you. “Eat first. Then we’ll spiral.”
You eat. He watches you like you might disappear if he blinks. When the bowls are empty he sets them aside and pulls you fully into his lap, arms looped around your waist.
“Scholarship?” he guesses quietly.
You nod against his shoulder. “A-minus. My mom already knows. Financial aid is watching me like a hawk. If I slip even a little, ”
“Hey.” He tilts your chin up so you have to look at him. “You’re not slipping. You’re human. One hyphen doesn’t erase three years of perfect.”
You laugh, wet and bitter. “Tell that to the people who think I’m supposed to be perfect.”
“I don’t think you’re perfect,” he says. His thumb traces your bottom lip. “I think you’re the girl who got high for the first time in my disaster apartment and still managed to fix my entire life. I think you’re the girl who chooses me even when it’s messy. That’s better than perfect.”
Your eyes burn again, but this time it’s different.
“I’m scared,” you admit. “What if I mess everything up? What if I drag you down with me?”
He huffs a soft laugh. “Baby, I’ve been dragging myself down for years. You’re the only thing pulling me up.” He pauses, then adds quieter, “And I’m not letting you fall. Not alone.”
You kiss him then, slow, grateful, a little desperate. He kisses back like he’s trying to pour every unsaid thing into it. When you break apart you’re both breathing harder, foreheads pressed together.
“I told Jisoo and Minho about us yesterday,” you say against his mouth. “Properly. Not just ‘seeing someone.’ I said your name.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “And?”
“They were… surprised. But not mad. Jisoo said she always thought you were hot in a ‘mysterious and probably trouble’ way.” You roll your eyes. “Minho just asked if you were going to corrupt me.”
Seungmin smirks, but there’s real relief in it. “I’m working on the corruption part slowly. One stolen blue pen at a time.”
You laugh for the first time all day.
He shifts you gently so you’re straddling his lap properly, hands sliding under the hem of your hoodie to rest warm against your lower back.
“Stay tonight?” he asks. Not pushy. Just hopeful. “No expectations. Just… sleep here. Let me be the one who takes care of you for once.”
You hesitate half a second, your 8 a.m. lecture, your planner, the color-coded panic waiting in your dorm, then nod.
“Okay.”
He smiles, small and real and so proud of you it makes your chest ache.
Later, after you’ve brushed your teeth with the spare toothbrush he bought “just in case,” you’re curled under his blankets in one of his t-shirts. The apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the sound of his heartbeat under your ear.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm.
“You know,” he murmurs into the dark, “I used to think the only way I’d ever graduate is if someone dragged me kicking and screaming. Never thought it’d be a girl with color-coded notes and a savior complex.”
You poke his side. “I do not have a savior complex.”
“You absolutely do.” He catches your hand and kisses your knuckles. “But I like it. I like that you saw me and decided I was worth saving anyway.”
You tilt your head up to look at him. Moonlight from the crooked blinds stripes across his face.
“I didn’t save you,” you whisper. “We saved each other.”
He swallows hard. Then he kisses you, deep and slow and sure, like he’s sealing a promise.
When you finally fall asleep, his arm is locked around your waist, your leg thrown over his, and for the first time in weeks the knot in your chest feels looser.
Your phone stays on silent on the nightstand.
Seungmin (sent at 2:14 a.m. while you were already asleep): still not glass
still not running
love you for both of those things
night star student ❤️
You see it in the morning, sunlight spilling across his sheets, his arm still around you like he never let go.
fucked that you can’t fix other people especially when you really care about them. Oh so im just supposed to be there for you while you suffer. like a useless cunt gargoyle
