ok wait i’m trying to remember the name of this seunghan smau someone pls help
it was like him and y/n were friends before and then she confessed and he never responded or smth and now he has a gf who just happens to be y/n’s roommate.
By Sunday afternoon, Jake's hangover has dulled into something manageable, a faint pressure behind his eyes, and a dryness in his throat, but at least the throbbing headache was gone. What hasn’t dissipated, however, is the awareness of what he agreed to.
The video sits in his camera roll now. In it, he looks careless. Confident, even. Slightly slurring his words but coherent enough to sound convincing.
I, Jake Sim, will make Y/N L/N fall in love with me before the end of the semester.
The worst part isn’t how stupid he looks, it’s how sure he sounds. Like he genuinely believed he could break down those mile high walls she seemed to keep up at all times.
He leans back in his desk chair, staring at the faint crack running along his ceiling. There is still time to back out. He knows that. A thousand dollars is a lot, but it isn’t impossible. He could ask his parents for help, swallow his pride, frame it as an emergency. He could pick up more shifts. He could just… lose.
But losing would mean admitting he couldn’t do it.
It would mean that when she looked at him in a crowded living room, flushed and smiling and used to attention and saw nothing worth entertaining, she was right.
He exhales slowly and pulls his laptop closer.
This isn’t like flirting with someone at a party. It isn’t a string of late-night texts or lingering eye contact from across a dimly lit room. She doesn’t exist in those spaces. She doesn’t linger where it’s easy.
They don’t share a single class. They had different majors, different buildings, different schedules. He’d scrolled through her social longer than he’d like to admit, hoping for even one hint. There wasn’t one.
They don’t share a friend group either. His friends know of her. Hers know of him. But the circles don’t touch.
Which means if he wants this to work, it can’t be accidental.
It has to be deliberate.
The realization sits heavy in his chest, less poignant than the dread he'd been feeling since he woke up, but more persistent. Because now he knew he had to plan it, to consciously choose to move forward, unable to place the blame on alcohol this time.
He tells himself it isn’t malicious.
He isn’t planning to humiliate her. He isn’t planning to expose anything private or cruel. It’s just a bet. Just conversation. Just getting her to lower her guard a little, to go on a few dates with him.
People fall for each other all the time. That part isn’t inherently evil.
Still, something about the way she softened around her friends lingers in his mind. She isn’t careless with herself. She doesn’t give people access easily.
Which is exactly why they picked her.
His phone buzzes against the desk, another notification from the group chat. He doesn’t open it. Instead, he opens his search engine. He scrolls longer than necessary, skimming through articles written by her.
He comes across the directory of some local newspaper, her name is listed in bold print as a senior intern. Investigative journalism, is listed beneath a photo of her holding a campus press badge.
He stares at that line for a moment.
Of course she wants to investigate people for a living.
He closes the tab and sits there, fingers hovering over his keyboard.
If she doesn’t share his classes, and she doesn’t frequent his spaces, then he needs a reason to enter hers. He needs a reason she can’t dismiss, a fool-proof plan.
He opens google and searches her name again, scrolling past the articles and blog posts, finding a link leading to the student success center's website.
Y/N L/N, Student Success Center, Writing Coach
He reads the title twice.
The blue hyperlink beneath her name glares at him, "Schedule Appointment," written in bold letters.
He leans back slowly.
That would give him time, and a believable reason to actually speak to her.
It would also mean lying.
Not a dramatic lie, nothing world-changing, but still intentional. He would have to fabricate something. Create some fake paper or something of the sort.
He stares at the screen longer than he should.
He could still choose not to do this.
The thought surfaces again, quieter this time but steadier.
He imagines canceling the bet, handing over the thousand dollars, letting the whole thing die before it even starts. He imagines her never knowing, never seeing the look on her face when she realizes she was right to look down on someone like him.
Then he imagines watching her walk past him for the rest of the semester, unaffected. Unimpressed. Untouched.
Something tightens in his jaw.
He tells himself it’s about the money, and nothing else, not his damaged ego or his desire to prove he's worth speaking to, just the thousand dollars he definitely couldn't afford to lose.
sorry to ask but are you planning on continuing the keeho smau where they're bsf and keeho forgot their birthday. no pressure though, i just wanna know
i’m gonna post the second part this weekend hopefully tn or tmrw 🫶
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