u talk, i listen
summary: you’re loud, dramatic, and one emotional spiral away from a breakdown. he’s quiet, calm, and allergic to unnecessary words. at first, you drive him insane but maybe that’s part of your charm. you make the chaos, and he makes sure you don’t burn the whole world down with it.
genre: fluff | hyper gf x calm bf
characters: sunghoon x f!reader
words: 13k
warnings: none i think!
The first time you met Park Sunghoon, you’re pretty sure he hates you.
To be fair, it was your first day, and Ni-ki—who you knew for exactly ten minutes—told you pressing the green button on the espresso machine would help "wake it up."
It did not.
Instead, it made the machine scream, shoot steam into your face, and sent you stumbling backward with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dying goose. A tray of croissants nearly went down with you.
“OH MY GOD—Ni-ki!” a voice shrieked from somewhere near the pastry display.
You coughed, flailed, and possibly cried, when someone silently reached past you and switched the machine off with a flick of his wrist. No words. Just calm, collected competence. The kind that makes you feel even more like a human disaster.
You looked up—and saw him. Park Sunghoon.
He’s quiet. Like, unnervingly quiet. Dressed in black from head to toe with his sleeves rolled just enough to show his veins (rude), and eyes that flick to you once before looking away again. Not a single word. Just a blank expression like you’re a fly he’s choosing not to swat.
“Don’t mind him,” Sunoo said, swooping in with a comforting hand on your shoulder. “That’s Sunghoon. He doesn’t talk much, but he’s not mean. I promise.”
“I didn’t say he was mean,” you muttered, still trying to rearrange the croissants you nearly obliterated.
“You thought it, though,” Sunoo grinned, like he’s already read your soul.
Meanwhile, Ni-ki was cackling in the corner, filming your breakdown for "training purposes."
Sunghoon, still wordless, wiped the steam wand clean, glanced once at the mess you’ve made, then—finally—muttered, “You shouldn’t listen to Ni-ki.”
His voice was soft, low. Dangerous. Like he only spoke when absolutely necessary.
You blinked. “Thanks for the early intel.”
He looked at you again. Longer this time.
And then, he walked away.
No other words. Just disappeared behind the back counter like you were the one who interrupted his day.
“…So anyway!” Sunoo chirped, practically dragging you away, “Let’s get you trained before you break anything else, hmm?”
You glanced back once, just in time to see Sunghoon glance over his shoulder at you.
He looked away first.
And for some reason… that annoyed you.
—
You’d worked four shifts now. Sunoo was basically your fairy godmother, Ni-ki was your unpaid therapist-slash-chaos agent, and Sunghoon?
Sunghoon was still a cardboard box with perfect skin.
He didn’t talk to you unless he had to. Didn’t smile unless he was laughing at something Sunoo said. Didn’t even look at you unless you were actively on fire, and even then, you weren’t sure he’d do more than mildly raise an eyebrow.
Which was extra annoying because somehow he was also weirdly funny. When he talked to Ni-ki or Sunoo, he’d drop the driest one-liners out of nowhere, and suddenly everyone was on the floor laughing. You tried to talk to him? Nothing. Crickets. Maybe a blink, if you were lucky.
You were cleaning the counter one evening when you caught him saying something to Ni-ki, low and casual, and Ni-ki absolutely lost it.
“Okay, that was actually good,” Sunoo wheezed. “Where was that energy earlier when she knocked over the milk?”
“She was already dying,” Sunghoon replied. “Didn’t need to bury her.”
Your head snapped up. “Excuse me?!”
He looked at you, slow and lazy, like he was surprised you heard. “It’s a compliment.”
“How is that a compliment?”
He shrugged. “You’re resilient.”
You stared. “I—what—resilient?! I tripped over my own shoelace!”
“I noticed.”
Sunoo clapped a hand over his mouth like he was about to implode.
You blinked at Sunghoon. He blinked back.
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re so—”
He lifted a brow. “You’re loud.”
You opened your mouth, but Sunoo threw an arm around your shoulders like he was trying to defuse a bomb.
“Okayyy! Let’s all take a breath,” he sang. “Some of us process friendship through gentle banter and others process it by… doing whatever it is Sunghoon does... verbal sparring?”
“I’m not sparring,” Sunghoon said, already walking away.
You glared at his back. “You never spar. You just vanish.”
“Exactly,” he called over his shoulder.
You looked at Sunoo. “I don’t get him.”
Sunoo just smiled. “You will.”
You really thought you wouldn’t—until God bestowed upon you a tragic prophecy, disguised as the café schedule for the following week.
Mon–Fri Closing Shift (5PM–11PM): YOU + SUNGHOON
You stared and blinked, rubbed your eyes, tried processing.
Sunghoon saw it at the same time you did.
“…No,” he said flatly.
You crossed your arms. “Wow. Good to see you too.”
“Sunoo,” he called toward the kitchen. “Switch me. Please.”
“Nope!” Sunoo’s voice floated back. “You’ll thank me later!”
You both stared at the schedule like it had personally offended you. Then—slowly—at each other.
This was going to be a long week.
—
Monday was… quiet.
You tried to make conversation—about the playlist, the new coffee beans, even the weather—but Sunghoon gave you absolutely nothing. Just a few nods and hums, like you were a podcast playing in the background.
You swore he spent more time restocking stirrers than actually speaking to you.
You huffed under your breath, finding him impossible to work with. The shift felt ten hours longer than it actually was, and you were convinced the silence was slowly killing your soul.
As the evening dragged on, you caught him sitting at the back counter, pulling out a laptop in between cleaning duties. You tried not to be nosy—but it was hard not to peek.
Tabs upon tabs of schoolwork were open on his screen—assignments, lecture slides, even a color-coded spreadsheet. You blinked. Huh. Sunghoon was more hardworking than you’d expected. You thought he was just the type to show up, do his job, and disappear back into the void—but here he was, typing away like the shift never even ended.
You munched on your dinner, a sad slice of pizza you grabbed from down the street during your break. The cheese had hardened and the crust was borderline cardboard, but it was food. You leaned against the counter, chewing quietly, when you realized—
Sunghoon hadn’t eaten anything. Not since the two of you started at five.
You watched him from the corner of your eye, fingers tapping against his keyboard, face unreadable in the glow of his screen.
You opened your mouth. “Hey, do you—” But you stopped yourself. Closed it again.
He’d probably just get annoyed. Or say no in that flat, disinterested way of his. And then you’d feel stupid. Still, you kept glancing over at him, stealing quick looks in between bites. At one point, you noticed his hands pressing lightly against his stomach, like he was trying to ignore it. His expression didn’t change, but the movement said enough.
He was probably hungry. You looked down at the last bite of pizza in your hand and sighed.
Tuesday, you decided, would be different.
Tuesday, you showed up with an extra sandwich from the convenience store.
You didn’t say anything. Just slid it across the counter around 7PM, because the night before, he hadn’t eaten dinner and you weren’t about to let him pass out mid-espresso pull.
He stared at the sandwich. Then at you.
You raised a brow. “You didn’t eat yesterday.”
He blinked. “…Okay.”
“You’re welcome.”
You didn’t hear a thank you. But he didn’t give it back either.
Progress.
Wednesday, there was a cup of noodles in your locker.
Just sitting there. No note. No explanation. Just… sitting.
You marched up to Sunghoon, holding it in your hands like evidence. “Did you put this in my locker?”
He looked at the cup noodle. Then at you. Then blinked, deadpan. “…No.”
“Really.”
He shrugged.
You squinted at him.
He walked away.
You were this close to launching the noodle at the back of his head. Instead, you ate it. And maybe smiled. A little.
Thursday, you both brought each other dinner. At the same time.
You froze at the counter, holding out your plastic bag just as he set his down.
“…I got you something,” you said.
He stared at your bag. Then gestured to his. “So did I.”
You glanced at each other, at the food, and then away.
“Thanks,” you muttered.
He nodded. “Mm.”
You caught the tiniest tug at the corner of his mouth as he turned around.
You smiled too. But only when he wasn’t looking.
Friday, you didn’t expect anything. You were restocking the fridge when you heard it:
“Hey.”
You turned around, startled. “What?”
Sunghoon was standing there, one hand on the fridge door, the other in his pocket. His voice was quiet, like he was testing it out on you for the first time.
“I—uh,” he started, eyes flicking to yours, then away. “You always wear that hair clip. The pink one. With the sparkles.”
You blinked. “Yeah?”
He nodded slowly. “I thought it was dumb at first.”
“Okay…?”
“But now it’s kinda…” He paused, scratched the back of his neck. “I dunno. Cute, I guess.”
You stared at him.
“Forget it,” he muttered, moving past you.
“No wait,” you said, stepping into his path, a slow grin spreading across your face. “Did you just say I’m cute?”
He didn’t look at you. “I said the clip is cute.”
“That I’m wearing.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Sunghoon thinks I’m cute~” you sang, spinning in a circle while he groaned and walked away.
But you caught it—right before he turned around completely.
The smile. The real one.
And for the first time all week, you were pretty sure… he might have liked you back.
The silence didn’t feel heavy anymore. It wasn’t awkward. Just quiet. Comfortable. Like a pause instead of a wall.
You were sweeping. He was mopping. The usual end-of-shift rhythm. You hummed a song under your breath—something from the café playlist that had been looping for hours. He didn’t comment on it this time. Just kept mopping in sync with you.
The air smelled like cleaning solution and vanilla syrup. The lights were dimmed to their soft closing hour glow. Outside, the city buzzed quietly under the street lamps.
Then you heard it—his voice. Low. Careful.
“I hear you’re starting college soon.”
You blinked, glancing up from your broom. He wasn’t looking at you, just focusing on a coffee stain near the back corner of the café.
“Yeah,” you said. “Orientation’s next week.”
He nodded once. “Same.”
You stopped sweeping. “Wait—seriously?”
He nodded again, this time glancing at you. “Business major?”
“Yeah. Are you—”
“Same.”
You stared. “You’re kidding.”
He shook his head, mouth twitching like he couldn’t believe it either. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”
You couldn’t help it—you grinned. “Wow. And I thought this week was the end of my suffering.”
He smirked, just a little. “Mutual, believe me.”
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks felt warm. “This is gonna be weird.”
“Probably.”
You leaned against your broom, tilting your head. “What if we get put in the same class?”
“I’ll transfer out.”
You laughed. Actually laughed. And the look on his face softened in that tiny, quiet way he did sometimes—like a blink-and-you-miss-it moment of fondness.
“So,” you said, brushing past him on your way to put the broom away, “does this mean we’re friends now?”
He paused. Looked at you.
Then—“You’re loud.”
You turned around, walking backward. “Not a no~”
He rolled his eyes. But he didn’t say no.
—
Your first day of college started in a lecture theatre that looked like it belonged in a movie.
Wide rows of tiered seats. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A massive screen at the front welcoming new students with a generic but oddly comforting "Welcome, Future Leaders!" banner.
You slid into a seat at the back row, instinctively avoiding the eager clusters forming near the front. It was still early, and the place buzzed with chatter, nerves, and the rustle of free tote bags and pamphlets.
You opened one of the pamphlets a student ambassador had handed you earlier and scanned it while sipping on the last of your bottled tea. Campus map. Co-curricular activities. After-school programmes. There was even a flowchart on how to balance academic and personal development. It was cheesy, but a part of you—the part that studied like hell to get here—felt… proud. You belonged here. You were surrounded by people who cared just as much as you did.
You let out a small sigh, the kind that came from contentment, then finally looked up—
And blinked.
Sunghoon was walking toward you.
Brown coat sweeping behind him. A scarf looped casually around his neck. Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, framing his face in a way that made him look straight out of a campus brochure. He carried two cups of coffee in one hand, the sleeves of his coat pushed just enough to reveal the band of his watch.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just placed one of the cups in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You stared at it. Then at him.
“…You stalking me now?”
Sunghoon raised a brow. “You’re sitting in the back row. That’s the least stalkable seat.”
“Mm,” you hummed, smirking as you took the coffee anyway. “So you do want to be friends.”
He slid into the seat beside you. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” You raised the cup. “Acts of service. Love language. I’m flattered.”
He gave you a look. “It’s just coffee.”
“And glasses,” you added, gesturing to his face. “You’re really committing to the college-boy aesthetic, huh? Next you’re gonna pull out a book of poetry.”
He rolled his eyes, but you didn’t miss the way his lip twitched like he was holding back a smile. “You’re annoying.”
You took a sip. It was warm. Slightly sweet. Exactly how you liked it.
“And yet,” you said, nudging his arm with your elbow, “here you are.”
He didn’t answer. Just looked ahead at the empty podium, his fingers wrapped around his own cup. But his shoulder stayed against yours—light, steady, unbothered.
And you… didn’t move away.
Then, the two of you were a part of a routine.
Ever since you both found out you were classmates, Sunghoon would wait in the apartment lobby every morning with a drink in hand—tea or coffee, depending on how late you texted him the night before.
Before 12AM? Chamomile. After 12? Iced latte, extra pumps of vanilla. No questions asked.
It had been a whole month of college, and while you were still adjusting, you were glad you had Sunghoon. (More like—Sunghoon was glad he had you.)
You were outgoing. People liked you, drawn in by your energy. Sure, you could be shy at first, but once you warmed up, you were easily the heart of any group. Loud. Expressive. A little dramatic. And though Sunghoon called you irritating more times than you could count, he couldn’t deny it was part of your charm.
Part of why he noticed you in the first place.
Now here you were—walking side by side, warm drink in hand, on your way to your first class of the day. You were mid-story about something ridiculous your professor said in a group chat. Sunghoon just walked quietly beside you, listening.
And somehow, that felt like the best part of your morning.
You were walking across the quad with Sunghoon, your cup in one hand, rambling about something dumb from class when a football came flying almost knocking you out.
A second later, a tall guy sprinted into your path, trying to catch it—and collided right into you.
You gasped, stumbling back, but before you could even register what happened, Sunghoon had already pulled you aside, his hand wrapping firmly around your arm, shielding you behind him.
“Shit—sorry!” the guy said, breathless, catching the ball. His cap was turned backwards, and strands of his hair stuck to his forehead from running. He looked at you, eyes wide. “You okay?”
You nodded, eyes locking with his.
He smiled.
And for a moment, your heart stuttered.
He was cute. Really cute. Sharp jaw, dimpled grin, that kind of effortless charm that made you forget what you were saying.
“I—uh, yeah. All good,” you mumbled.
Sunghoon’s hand slowly dropped from your arm. You didn’t notice. You were still looking at Yeonjun.
He looked at you too. “I’m Yeonjun, by the way.”
You smiled, just a little. “Nice to meet you.”
Sunghoon stood still beside you, silent as ever.
But he saw it.
The look. The smile. The way you laughed, a little softer than usual. The way Yeonjun’s eyes lingered when he handed you back the drink you almost dropped.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything.
He just looked away.
—
Yeonjun showed up at the café on a Friday afternoon, all sunshine and charm, and you were too busy juggling orders to notice him at first—until he waved from the counter with that same boyish smile.
Your eyes lit up. “Oh my god—hey!”
He leaned over casually, glancing at the menu. “Didn’t know you worked here. I guess I’ll have to stop by more often.”
Meanwhile, across the room, Sunghoon sat at a corner table with a textbook open in front of him and an untouched iced americano beside it. According to him, he was there to study. According to Sunoo, he was there to “keep an eye out for Selenur.” (Sunoo’s thoughtful codename for you, since he was very sure Sunghoon had a “thing” for you)
Sunghoon told him to shut up.
Now, he watched silently as you and Yeonjun exchanged numbers, your head tilted toward the screen, smile wide. He saw Yeonjun grin, say something that made you laugh, and hand you his phone.
Sunghoon’s jaw tightened.
Not my problem, he told himself, eyes flicking back to his textbook. Not. My. Problem.
You walked over seconds later, practically skipping, still holding your phone like it was made of gold. “Can you believe it? He asked me out!”
Sunghoon didn’t look up.
You slid into the seat across from him anyway, hitting his arm repeatedly with giddy little slaps. “Sunghoon. He asked. Me. Out!”
He sighed, finally meeting your eyes. “Stop hitting me.”
“Sorry,” you giggled, not sorry at all. “I’m just excited!”
He watched you bounce in your seat, hair bouncing with you, eyes sparkling like you just won the lottery. He hated to admit how adorable you looked when you were like this. But he had a reputation. And emotions. And he was firmly committed to ignoring both.
Still. Something didn’t sit right.
Sunghoon had done a little digging after the football incident. Nothing crazy. Just… a casual scroll through Instagram. And maybe a few archived posts. Some comments. A look at mutuals. Purely for research.
Yeonjun was a third-year business major. A senior. Popular. Handsome. And according to a few posts Sunghoon definitely did not save—someone who changed girlfriends like he changed outfits.
He didn’t like it.
He didn’t like him.
Not for you.
But what did he know?
He looked down, turning a page in his textbook. Not my problem, he chanted in his head.
Definitely not.
—
Sunghoon stood in the apartment lobby, one hand tucked in his coat pocket, the other holding your usual coffee order. He checked his phone for the time, glanced toward the elevator—then froze.
You stepped out, smile already bright, your phone in one hand and the hem of your dress held lightly in the other. It was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen you wear—soft fabric that fell just above your knees, cinched slightly at the waist, the color making your skin glow. Your hair was styled, subtle makeup dusted across your cheeks, and your lips were curved in that effortless way that made it suddenly very hard to breathe.
You looked… gorgeous.
His heart did something stupid in his chest, but he quickly cleared his throat and looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the vending machine.
“How do I look?” you asked, voice playful.
He didn’t meet your eyes. “The same,” he muttered.
“Oh,” you said quietly. “Do I?”
You sighed, and he heard the disappointment in it—saw the way your shoulders dropped just slightly.
Guilt hit him instantly.
“In a good way,” he added quickly, almost too quickly.
You blinked. “Huh?”
He finally looked at you, then down at the coffee he was still holding. “You look… pretty today.”
He cleared his throat and shoved the cup toward you before you could say anything else. Then he turned and started walking first, trying to escape the inevitable teasing.
But it didn’t come.
Instead, you smiled behind your cup and jogged up to walk beside him.
“Why are you dressed like that?” he asked after a few beats of silence.
“My date with Yeonjun’s today,” you said with a grin.
His step faltered for a split second. “You like him that much?”
You shrugged. “I don’t know about like, but… it’s just—I’ve never been asked out before.”
You tilted your head as you said it, your voice soft. Honest.
Sunghoon frowned. “I’m surprised.”
“What’s so surprising?” you laughed. “You’ve met me. Everyone’s either calling me loud or annoying.”
“Isn’t that what’s so charming about you?”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
You turned to him, eyes wide, mouth parting. “Did you just—compliment me?”
“No,” he said immediately, gaze fixed ahead like it never happened.
You didn’t press it.
You just smiled again, even softer this time, and walked beside him like nothing had changed.
But for Sunghoon… everything had.
—-
The date started off… nice. Not mind-blowing. Not movie-level magical. But nice.
Yeonjun took you to a rooftop café near campus—fairy lights strung across the ceiling, soft music humming under the chatter. He pulled your chair out like a gentleman, complimented your dress, and told you you looked beautiful in the golden hour light. You laughed, cheeks warm, nerves fluttering. You weren’t used to this. To being seen.
“You know,” he said between sips of his coffee, “I heard you got into the business faculty because of some competition?”
You nodded, a little surprised. “Yeah. The Young Entrepreneurs’ thing in my final year.”
“That’s so impressive,” he said, leaning forward with a glint in his eye. “You must have had a really solid proposal. What was it about?”
You blinked. “Um… a sustainable student-run café model. With profit-sharing incentives and local sourcing.”
Yeonjun’s smile widened. “That’s genius. Seriously. Are you using it for any of your current modules?”
You hesitated. “Well… sort of. I’m reworking the model for this semester’s proposal project.”
He nodded slowly. “Wow. You must be at the top of your class already.”
There was a pause. You tried to smile, but something twisted in your gut. He kept asking—about the proposal, your outline, your ideas. Details most people would only bring up if they were in your group, or at least interested in the topic.
You excused yourself to go to the bathroom. The second the door closed behind you, you leaned against the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror. Something about this didn’t feel right. You couldn’t place it, but the way he kept circling back to your work felt… off.
When you returned, Yeonjun was all smiles again. Charming. Sweet. As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just gently interrogated you for thirty minutes under the glow of fairy lights.
You tried to shake it off.
The next day, your phone stayed quiet. And the day after that. And the one after that, too.
No texts. No calls. No explanation.
Yeonjun ghosted you. Completely. Like the date never happened. Like you never happened.
You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t like you were in love with him. That it was just one date. One boy.
But it still stung.
It wasn’t about Yeonjun, not really. It was about what it made you wonder.
Maybe you were hard to like. Maybe you were too loud. Or too awkward. Maybe you talked too much, or didn’t say the right things. Maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Or cool enough. Or quiet enough.
He smiled at you. Told you you were smart. Sweet. Pretty. And still—he left. Without a word.
And it made you wonder if all the things people always said about you were true. If deep down, you were too much of everything… and not enough of anything.
You didn’t even like Yeonjun like that, not really. But being left behind like you didn’t matter—that part hurt more than you'd ever admit out loud.
Especially when all you did was try to be yourself.
Then came the worst part.
You were working on a different assignment, digging through your laptop for a reference doc when you realized… your final business proposal was gone.
Completely gone.
You stared at the empty folder for a long, frozen second. Then searched again. And again. You turned the whole desktop inside out, but the file wasn’t there.
Panic bloomed in your chest. You didn’t delete it. You never would.
Desperate, you made your way to the engineering block where your friend Heeseung was camped out, headphones around his neck and an energy drink half-empty beside him.
You dropped beside him and wordlessly shoved your laptop in front of him.
“I think my file’s gone,” you muttered. “Like—gone gone.”
Heeseung frowned, pulling the laptop toward him. Fingers flying across the keyboard. You sat still, breath caught in your throat.
After a few minutes, he leaned back in his chair.
“It says here your laptop’s last file access was through a thumbdrive. Someone plugged one in, moved your business proposal, then took it out.”
You stared at him.
“What?” you said. Your voice barely above a whisper.
He clicked again, tilting the screen. “Time stamp says it happened the day before yesterday. Around 8:42 PM.”
Your mind flicked back.
Yeonjun. That was the night of your date.
No. No way. He wouldn’t— He couldn’t—
But the timing fit. The questions. The ghosting.
No. No fucking way.
—
You were pissed.
You wiped the counters with a little too much force, angrily scrubbing at invisible stains like they personally betrayed you. The blender hadn’t even been used today, but you cleaned it twice. You huffed. You sighed. You muttered curses under your breath while flinging dishrags and slamming cabinet doors just a bit harder than necessary.
Sunghoon stood at the sink, quietly washing mugs like you were a rabid animal he didn’t want to startle.
“I—” he started.
You grunted.
“You—”
You sighed.
He blinked. You hadn’t let him get out a full sentence all shift. At this point, you were acting like him, and he was the one trying to initiate conversation.
It was terrifying.
Thirty minutes of silence passed before you finally spoke.
“You know what I hate about men?”
Sunghoon froze mid-dry. He glanced down at his own very male hands. Great. He was framed by default.
“You people,” you said, voice rising, “and your terrible innate sense of justice.”
You slammed the rag down onto the counter. “Stealing a person’s work? Pfft. How stupid do you have to fucking be?!”
Sunghoon stayed quiet, lips pressed into a thin line. He had no idea what you were going on about—only that your date with Yeonjun clearly didn’t go well.
He opened his mouth to say something, but you waved a wet dishcloth in his face like a white flag of fury.
“And you know what else?” you went on, eyes blazing. “You people are just little gremlins who take. And take. And take.”
You let out another heavy sigh, leaning against the counter like you were carrying the weight of all modern betrayal.
“And for what?!”
Your voice hit a pitch so sharp that Sunghoon actually flinched. He snapped upright like you’d physically struck him.
“I’m guessing the date didn’t go so well?” he offered carefully.
“He stole my business proposal.”
Sunghoon paused. “…What do you mean?”
You exhaled through your nose like a dragon mid-breakdown, pacing the space behind the counter as you told him everything. The date. The weird questions. The missing file. The thumb drive. Heeseung’s diagnosis. The awful, dawning realization.
By the time you were finished, Sunghoon just stood there—speechless. Stunned.
“He’s an… asshole,” he said finally, slow and deliberate, like he needed to taste each word before letting it out.
“Yuhuh,” you mumbled, flopping into the stool behind the register and dragging your hands down your face. “What am I gonna do? The deadline’s on Friday. I spent two weeks on that thing. I’m screwed.”
Sunghoon reached for the industrial bag of coffee beans under the counter, tearing it open like this was a normal Tuesday. “Well, it’s not like you can sneak into his house and steal his laptop back.”
You froze.
“…Come again?”
Sunghoon paused, one hand still buried in the bag. “No. That was just a comment. Not an idea.”
“But a good one.” You turned toward him slowly, a little too bright. A little too smiley.
He narrowed his eyes. “No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“You have to help me.”
“Why me?!”
“Because you gave me the idea!”
Sunghoon sighed. Loudly. Dramatically. Like he already knew he was going to give in but had to fight for the sake of his pride.
“You’re lucky I don’t believe in karma,” he muttered.
You grinned, victory written all over your face. “So that’s a yes?”
—
It was 3:07AM when Sunghoon found himself walking through a quiet residential street, questioning every decision that had brought him to this point.
The address you’d sent him earlier lit up on his screen. He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, exhaling into the chilly night, when—
“Psst!”
He turned his head toward a cluster of trees—and nearly jumped out of his skin.
You were crouched behind a bush, donned in an all-black ensemble: black beanie, oversized black hoodie, black jeans, and…
“Slippers?” he blinked.
You grinned, proud. “I see you noticed the vibe. I’m dressed up as a burglar.”
Sunghoon stared. “…Isn’t that a little on the nose?”
“Isn’t it cute?” you whispered, excited. “I got it all on sale just now.”
“At what? A Target for burglars?”
You swatted his chest with the back of your hand, ignoring the way he flinched with a low sigh.
“There,” you said, pointing toward the modest two-story house across the street. “That’s his house.”
“Okay, and what’s your—” You swat him again.
“Our plan?” he corrected, exasperated.
You beamed. “Glad you asked. See that room on the second floor? With the string lights and the cracked window?”
He squinted. “Yeah?”
“My intel says that’s his room.”
“…Your intel. You mean, Sunoo?”
“Yes.” You wiggled your brows mysteriously before turning serious. “So. We put up the ladder. I climb. I sneak in. I get the laptop. We disappear.”
“You’re actually insane for this,” he muttered under his breath.
You ignored him, eyes locked on the prize. “The windows are open, and I made sure he’s distracted tonight.”
Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “How exactly?”
“I texted him from a fake number pretending to be a girl he ghosted last semester. He’s currently having a breakdown about his ‘reputation.’ I give us twenty minutes.”
He stared at you like you’d grown a second head.
And then he sighed. Deep. Long. Existential.
Is this worth it? He thought to himself.
He glanced down at you again—eyes full of unhinged determination, your hoodie sleeves bunched at your wrists, that tiny pout on your lips as you tried to judge the ladder distance.
God. You looked ridiculous. And cute.
So yeah. It was worth it.
“…Let’s do this,” he said.
You grinned like the gremlin you were. “I knew you liked me.”
He rolled his eyes, cheeks just a little too warm. “Regretting this already.”
But he followed you anyway.
—
You set the ladder against the side of the house like you’d done this before. Sunghoon, meanwhile, stood beside it with the stiff posture of someone definitely not okay with committing a crime at 3:15AM.
You looked back at him. “Hold it steady, okay?”
“Just… for the record,” he muttered, “this is breaking and entering.”
“I prefer the term justice retrieval.”
He sighed so hard you thought his soul left his body. “Just don’t fall and die. Please.”
You winked. “Aw, you care.”
“No, I just don’t want to explain to the police why you’re dressed like a criminal and wearing slippers.”
You began to climb.
The first few steps were fine—until one of your slippers nearly slipped right off.
“Oh, fuck—” you hissed, gripping the ladder.
“Do you need to wear those?” Sunghoon whisper-yelled from below, clutching the base of the ladder like his life depended on it.
“They’re comfy!”
“They’re a hazard.”
You ignored him, determined, as you reached the second-floor window. The breeze fluttered through the half-open pane, moonlight pooling gently across Yeonjun’s empty room. His laptop sat on the desk, closed. Glowing faintly.
Target acquired.
You carefully pushed the window open wider and swung one leg through.
Sunghoon watched from below, jaw tight, muttering to himself like a man saying his last prayers. “This is how I go down. Helping a girl in bunny slippers commit theft.”
You managed to slide inside without knocking anything over. Heart pounding. Hands slightly shaking.
You tiptoed across the carpet, grabbed the laptop, and slipped it into your drawstring bag like the world's most underqualified spy.
You were halfway back out the window when—
“HEY! WHO’S THERE?!”
A voice rang out from somewhere downstairs.
Your eyes widened. You turned to look down at Sunghoon, who was still grabbing the bottom of the ladder.
“Go, go, go—!” you whispered harshly.
You clambered down the ladder as fast as you could, nearly taking Sunghoon out as you reached the bottom. He caught your wrist before you could stumble, pulling you into a sprint without a word.
Your feet pounded against the pavement—slippers slapping, bag bouncing, hearts racing. Behind you, a door slammed open.
“HEY!” Yeonjun’s voice echoed into the street.
Sunghoon didn’t slow down. “Left!” he hissed.
You turned sharply, ducking into a narrow alley between two quiet apartment buildings. The shadows swallowed you both instantly.
“Over here—quick,” he muttered, yanking you behind a large trash bin and squeezing into the tight space beside you. It was small. Barely enough for one person, let alone two.
You pressed your back to the wall, chest heaving, adrenaline thrumming in your ears.
Sunghoon’s face was too close. Way too close.
You turned to whisper something, only to notice the way his profile was still partially visible, his cheek nearly poking out past the safety of the shadow. Panic surged through you as Yeonjun’s footsteps grew louder.
Without thinking, you reached out and grabbed Sunghoon’s face—gentle but urgent—and pulled him toward you, forcing him deeper into the corner.
He blinked, startled, his hands landing on either side of you to steady himself.
And suddenly—everything stopped.
His breath hit yours. Warm. Shaky. His nose nearly brushing yours. Your fingertips still on his cheek. You could feel the heat rising between your bodies, your heart hammering against your ribcage.
You were so focused on listening for footsteps that you didn’t notice the way he was looking at you.
His eyes were locked on yours, soft and unblinking. Like you were something precious. Something fragile. Something he wasn’t supposed to want but couldn’t help reaching for.
But then—he cleared his throat.
You blinked, still slightly dazed, and smiled—completely unaware of how close you were until you finally pulled away.
He stepped back the moment you did.
You laughed, breathless, heart still sprinting inside your chest. “I can’t believe we just did that.”
“I can’t believe you dragged me into it,” he said, grinning despite himself.
Your laughter echoed down the alley, light and free and bubbling with triumph.
And even as the moment passed, and the footsteps faded, and you both stumbled back out into the quiet night—
Sunghoon couldn’t stop thinking about how your hands had felt on his skin.
—
Sunghoon unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment as if nothing about the situation was even remotely unusual. You followed close behind, hoodie pulled low over your head, black beanie snug, sleeves covering your hands, and—most incriminating of all—a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers completing the look. If anyone had seen you on the way over, they might’ve called the cops.
Inside, the living room was dimly lit, the glow of the TV casting flickering light across Jake and his girlfriend, who were curled up under a blanket, halfway through a rom-com rerun and clearly deep into their peaceful little couple night. That peace shattered the moment Jake looked up and saw you.
He froze with a chip halfway to his mouth. His girlfriend stiffened beside him. Their gazes locked on your all-black ensemble, eyes trailing from your hoodie to your slippers, as if unsure whether to scream, laugh, or call for help.
“Sunghoon,” Jake said slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Why is there a burglar in our house?”
You smiled brightly, completely unfazed. “Hi!”
Jake blinked, turning to Sunghoon for confirmation. Sunghoon simply sighed, kicked his shoes off, and muttered under his breath, “Not how I wanted you to meet her.”
“You brought her to the house,” Jake said, still staring. “At 3 a.m. Dressed like that.”
You shrugged, strolling toward the desk and pulling Yeonjun’s laptop from your drawstring bag. “We’re breaking into a computer, not the house. Totally different vibe.”
Jake’s girlfriend leaned forward. “Are those bunny slippers?”
You nodded proudly. “They’re for stealth.”
“Right,” she said, blinking. “Very… quiet.”
Sunghoon dropped his keys on the table with a sigh, already preparing himself for the chaos about to unfold.
“She’s trying to hack into a guy’s laptop,” he said, walking to the kitchen like he needed caffeine and therapy at once. “Don’t ask.”
“Why are you helping her?!” Jake asked, scandalized.
Sunghoon opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “I’m not.”
“You literally held the ladder for me twenty minutes ago,” you called over your shoulder.
Jake choked. “Ladder? What ladder?!”
You turned around, laptop booted up, the login screen glowing faintly. “The one I used to climb through a second-story window.”
Jake gaped. His girlfriend quietly set the chip bag down, her expression somewhere between horrified and fascinated.
“I love her,” she whispered to Jake.
“I fear her,” Jake whispered back.
Sunghoon leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. He looked at you—messy hair peeking out from under your beanie, eyes focused, face lit by the laptop screen. Completely unbothered by the scene you’d walked into.
And for some reason, despite all the madness, he still thought you looked kind of cute.
“God help us all,” Sunghoon muttered.
By the time you cracked into the laptop, Jake and his girlfriend had already retreated into their bedroom. Sunghoon had closed the door behind them with a roll of his eyes and a muttered, “That’s just code for they’re about to smash, so we should probably play some music or something.”
You’d snorted at the time, but now the silence in the room felt heavy.
The soft hum of the laptop was the only sound between you, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor next to Sunghoon’s desk. He sat beside you, legs stretched out, arms loosely folded, eyes flicking over the screen with quiet interest—until he glanced at your expression and realized you’d stopped scrolling.
“What is it?” he asked.
You didn’t answer.
Your eyes were fixed on the folder open in front of you. Document after document lined the screen, all titled neatly with class names and—oddly—names. Different ones.
Mina. Elly. Jisoo. Grace.
And then… your name.
You clicked on it. Your proposal opened, just slightly reworded, your diagrams rearranged—but it was yours. Every piece of it.
You stared at the screen and crossed your arms tightly, a cold knot settling in your chest. The adrenaline was gone now. In its place was something much heavier. You felt small. Humiliated.
“I was just another one,” you muttered.
Sunghoon looked over, brows drawing together.
“Just another girl he got close to for an assignment,” you said, voice flat. “Was I that boring? That forgettable? Was I really so—unlikable—that the only time a guy showed me attention, it was because he needed my fucking work?”
You laughed bitterly, shaking your head as the words tumbled out, unfiltered. “God. What is wrong with me? What did I think was gonna happen? That someone like him actually liked someone like me?”
You let your arms drop and folded your hands over your face, pressing your palms into your eyes.
“I’m so stupid,” you whispered.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything at first. He just sat beside you, close but not touching, eyes fixed on the floor like he was trying to figure out the right thing to say and coming up completely empty.
You wiped at your face with the back of your sleeve, but it was no use—your mascara had already betrayed you, running in streaks down your cheeks. You were crying harder than you realized, tears silent but relentless.
You turned to him, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “So you’re just gonna stay quiet?”
He looked up, startled. His gaze met yours, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. You looked—God, you looked like a mess. Eyes red, lashes damp, your hoodie sleeves pushed up unevenly, and cheeks stained with tears.
And somehow, he thought you’d never looked prettier.
You weren’t pretending. Weren’t smiling for the sake of others or hiding behind jokes. You were just… you. Raw and hurting and real.
He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “What do you want me to say? I’m not good at comforting people.”
“I don’t know,” you sniffled. “Say he’s an asshole or something.”
Sunghoon shrugged a little. “Well, he is.”
You looked at him, still waiting, unsure if that was all he had in him. He looked like he was about to say more, and then—he did.
“He is an asshole,” Sunghoon repeated, louder this time. “I don’t know why you even agreed to go out with him.”
You opened your mouth, confused. “I—”
“You’re loud,” he said suddenly. “You’re pretentious. You’re annoying—”
Your eyes widened, and you flinched.
“What—”
“You interrupt people all the time,” he continued, voice rising with something that wasn’t quite anger—something messier. “You talk too much. You never stop moving. You’re chaotic and stubborn and you don’t think things through—”
Tears were streaming down your face again, this time faster. You looked away, chest tightening.
But then his voice softened.
“...And you’re also caring. Kind. God, you’re the only person I know who goes to the store at four in the morning to feed stray cats in an alley every two days.”
You blinked. Slowly turned back to him.
Sunghoon exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
“You’re funny. You’re thoughtful. You remember the little things people say even when they forget they said them. Anyone would be lucky to be your friend… let alone always be with you.”
He looked at you then, eyes steady and full of something warm. Something aching.
“I’m lucky,” he said, quieter now. “I’m the luckiest bastard alive, as long as I get to stand next to you and call you my friend.”
You stared at him, heart pounding, lips parted, breath caught somewhere in your chest.
Because for the first time… it felt like he wasn’t just calling you a friend.
—
Maybe it was the crying. Maybe it was the emotional whiplash of the night—the heist, the heartbreak, the sudden unraveling of every thought you’d kept tucked neatly away. Maybe it was the way Sunghoon had looked at you when he said he was lucky.
But either way, you couldn’t keep your eyes open.
One moment you were sitting beside him, the warmth of his words still lingering in your chest like a quiet heartbeat. The next, the world had blurred softly at the edges, and your body gave out beneath the weight of it all.
So now, you were on his back.
He’d barely hesitated before lifting you, tucking your arms around his shoulders and hooking his arms under your knees. You didn’t even protest—you were too tired to argue, too comforted by the way he held you like he’d done it before.
Your cheek rested against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest as he walked, the rhythmic sway of his steps, the subtle hum of a tune you didn’t recognize—but it was sweet, and low, and made your heartbeat slow down.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He just walked.
Past the quiet streets. Past flickering streetlamps. Past your favorite corner store and the alley you fed cats in and the bus stop where he first bought you coffee.
He didn’t complain about your weight. Didn’t tease. Didn’t say a word about the mascara smudged against the fabric of his coat.
You didn’t know if he knew you were still half-awake, but when he gently adjusted your leg, you heard him murmur so softly you almost missed it:
“You’re not stupid.”
Your heart ached.
And then you let sleep take you.
Because if there was ever a place to rest— It was here. On his back.
—
You woke up warm.
Too warm, actually. Wrapped in layers you didn’t remember putting on. The hoodie you had on last night clung loosely to your body, sleeves pushed halfway up your arms, and your slippers were neatly placed by the side of your bed—something you definitely hadn’t done.
You sat up slowly, blinking at the sunlight streaming through your curtains. Your room was quiet. Peaceful. And completely unfamiliar in the sense that… you had no idea how you got there.
You rubbed your eyes, your body aching in the most confusing way—like you’d run a marathon, cried through an entire movie, and fought off an emotional breakdown all at once. Oh. Right.
The heist. The yelling. The crying.
Sunghoon.
You swung your legs off the bed, still a little dazed, and padded out of your room.
That’s when you smelled it—eggs. Butter. Something slightly burnt, but in a way that made your chest tighten.
You turned the corner and froze.
Sunghoon was in your kitchen.
His hair was messier than usual, falling into his eyes as he stood in front of the stove, flipping something that might have once been a pancake. He was wearing the same hoodie from the night before, sleeves pushed up, a spatula in one hand, your mismatched cat-print apron tied haphazardly around his waist.
You blinked, brain short-circuiting. “What the hell…?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re awake.”
“I…” You looked down at yourself. “How did I get home?”
“You passed out,” he said simply, turning back to the stove. “I carried you.”
You stared at him. “You carried me?”
“Like a princess,” he deadpanned. “Except you drooled on my shoulder.”
You gasped. “I did not.”
“You did.”
You groaned and dropped your head into your hands. “This is so embarrassing.”
He flipped another pancake—slightly more edible this time—and shrugged. “You needed the sleep.”
You looked up at him again, softer this time. “Why are you making breakfast?”
He didn’t look at you. “Felt like you could use something warm.”
You felt your throat tighten. You wanted to say something, but the words sat too heavy on your tongue. So instead, you just stood there in the doorway, watching him quietly.
And for the first time in what felt like weeks—you felt safe.
Breakfast passed in silence.
Not awkward, not heavy—just... silent. The kind of silence that settled like sunlight through the window, warm and gentle and unspoken.
You sat across from him at your little dining table, your knees brushing every so often beneath the wood, your plate mostly untouched. He ate like nothing was different, like he hadn’t carried you home last night, like he didn’t make pancakes in your kitchen while wearing your cat-print apron.
And yet, something had shifted.
You kept stealing glances at him in between tiny sips of orange juice. The way his lashes dipped as he focused on his food. The subtle curve of his mouth as he chewed. The way his hair curled just slightly at the ends when he didn’t style it.
Your heart fluttered.
Your stomach twisted—but not in the way it did when you were nervous or sad. This was... different. Lighter. Warmer.
What is this? you thought. This weird, floaty feeling in your chest. This little ache every time you looked at him.
Sunghoon glanced up, catching your gaze.
You quickly looked down at your plate.
He didn’t say anything for a moment—just reached for his cup, took a sip, then set it down with a quiet clink.
“Go take a shower and get dressed,” he said casually.
You blinked. “Huh?”
He leaned back in his chair. “You heard me.”
“But it’s Saturday. I don’t have any—”
“I’m taking you out.”
You stared at him. “Out? Like… out out?”
“Let’s go,” he said again, nonchalantly, like it was no big deal. Like he hadn’t just casually turned your whole world upside down with three words.
You opened your mouth, then closed it. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks.
“Oh,” you said. Quiet. Surprised.
Sunghoon stood and collected your plate like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I’m not giving you the plan. Just go shower.”
And then he walked off toward the sink, sleeves rolled, calm as ever.
You sat there for another ten seconds, frozen, heart racing.
What is this feeling?
And why did you suddenly never want it to stop?
You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of your yellow chiffon babydoll dress for the third time. It swayed lightly around your thighs, soft and airy, the color bright against your skin. You’d tied your hair into two loose pigtails, hoping it came off cute and not childish—just… soft. Sweet. Something that might look good next to him.
Sunghoon, with his wardrobe of tailored coats and muted sweaters. All clean lines and high-end simplicity. He never had to try, and he always looked perfect.
You hoped—just a little—that standing beside him, you wouldn’t look too out of place.
You took one last look in the mirror, then stepped out of your room.
He was sitting on your couch, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling casually through his phone like he hadn’t just changed your entire Saturday morning. He looked up when he heard your footsteps.
His eyes flicked up to meet yours.
Then back down to his phone.
No double-take. No compliment. Not even a blink.
“Let’s go,” he said, standing up with a stretch.
You stared at him, jaw tight. “Stupid idiot,” you muttered under your breath.
“What was that?” he asked, turning toward you, brows raised.
You plastered on a fake smile so quickly it nearly hurt. “Nothing.”
He watched you for a beat, unreadable as always, then looked away.
“You look pretty,” he said softly—so quiet it was almost drowned out by the rustle of his coat sleeve as he reached for his keys.
You blinked.
But before you could respond, he was already walking toward the door, acting like he hadn’t said anything at all.
Typical Sunghoon.
Your heart fluttered anyway.
—
“Are we there yet?” you sighed for what had to be the fifteenth time.
Sunghoon didn’t look at you—just kept walking ahead with that maddeningly steady pace. “Almost,” he said.
“You said that two hours ago.”
“Mm.”
Just a hum. No explanation. No sympathy.
You followed anyway, flats sinking further into the mud with every step. You’d taken two buses, a ten-minute train ride, and now you were walking deep into a part of the park you didn’t recognize at all. Far from your neighborhood. Far from everything.
You glanced down at your shoes, now spotted with dirt and regret. This dress, the hair, the whole effort—you were starting to think it had all been a mistake.
Then Sunghoon’s pace suddenly picked up. His eyes lit up, focused on something just beyond the next turn.
“There,” he said softly.
And before you could ask what he meant, he reached for your hand—sudden, unthinking—and pulled you with him.
Your breath caught in your throat.
His hand was warm, firm around yours, fingers interlaced like it had always been that way.
You didn’t say a word. Just followed.
He led you past a line of trees, through tall grass, and down a narrow slope. Then finally—you saw it.
A small, glimmering pond hidden in a clearing. The water was still, mirror-like, catching the soft gold of the late afternoon sun. Willow trees bent low over the banks, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Wildflowers bloomed in quiet clusters along the edge—lilac, yellow, soft blue—and dragonflies skimmed the water’s surface, their wings catching the light like tiny stained-glass windows. It was quiet. Peaceful. Untouched.
Like something out of a fairytale.
You stared, mouth slightly parted. “How’d you even—how’d you find this place?”
Sunghoon didn’t answer right away. He just stood beside you, still holding your hand loosely.
“When I was younger,” he said after a moment, voice softer than usual, “my family came here for a vacation. My sister and I snuck out one morning and found this by accident.”
You glanced over at him. He wasn’t looking at you—just at the water, like it still held something sacred.
“I used to take her here when she cried,” he continued, “whenever she got scolded by our mum. I don’t know... it always calmed her down.”
You smiled, quietly listening.
“Why’d you bring me here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
He laughed under his breath, the sound light, almost shy.
“It’s silly,” he said, eyes still on the pond. “But last night, when you were crying…”
You looked at him then—really looked at him.
His expression was unreadable, caught between memory and now. He glanced at you finally, voice quieter.
“You reminded me of my childhood. Of her. You looked so… innocent.” He gave a faint, crooked smile. “And maybe I thought this place would cheer you up.”
Your chest ached in the most unexpected way.
Not from sadness. Not even from joy.
Just from the quiet knowing that someone had thought of you that deeply.
You looked down again at your joined hands.
Still holding. Still warm.
The two of you made your way closer to the water, weaving past the low-hanging branches until you found a flat patch of grass near the edge. You sat down carefully, smoothing the fabric of your dress beneath you, your feet dangling just above the still surface of the pond.
Sunghoon dropped beside you, resting his arms lazily on his knees, legs slightly apart, sneakers almost brushing the water. The breeze was cooler here, brushing your cheeks with the scent of wildflowers and grass. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of cicadas, and the quiet ripples of the pond.
He didn’t speak.
Of course he didn’t.
You’d grown used to his silences. They weren’t cold, or distant—not really. They were just… Sunghoon. Thoughtful. Still. The kind of quiet that made you want to fill the space, not because it was empty, but because he made you feel safe enough to.
So you talked.
About everything. About nothing.
You told him about the weird dreams you’d been having lately, about the girl in your class who kept trying to copy your notes, about how you once tried to bake cookies for your primary school crush and forgot the sugar. You pointed out shapes in the clouds. Gave names to the dragonflies. Talked about the playlist you made for a fictional road trip you hadn’t taken yet.
And Sunghoon?
He just listened.
Not distracted. Not fake-listening like some people did, nodding along while their mind was elsewhere.
He listened with his whole body. Slight tilts of his head. The way he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking. The quiet little hums when something made him laugh. The barely-there smile when you said something completely ridiculous.
You kicked your feet gently above the water.
“Sorry,” you said at some point, half-laughing. “I talk too much when you’re quiet.”
He shook his head slowly, still looking out over the pond. “I like it.”
You blinked. “You do?”
“You talk like you’re alive,” he said softly.
You turned to look at him.
His expression was unreadable, gaze fixed somewhere across the water. But his voice—his voice sounded like truth.
Your heart beat a little faster. You looked down at your hands in your lap, trying to will the blush away.
The two of you had been sitting there for a while now, feet dangling over the edge of the pond, sunlight dancing on the surface of the water. You’d done most of the talking—naturally—and Sunghoon had just sat beside you, quietly listening like always, eyes half-lidded from the warmth, arms resting lazily over his knees.
You were halfway through a very dramatic retelling of the vending machine incident from earlier in the week when something soft landed on your head.
You paused, blinking. “Did something just…?”
Before you could reach up to check, Sunghoon leaned in.
His hand came up slowly, fingertips brushing through your hair with careful precision. You stilled completely. He was close—closer than usual—and the moment stretched, your voice caught somewhere in your throat.
His face hovered just inches from yours, eyes focused as he plucked a single pink petal from your hair. The breeze tugged at your dress, your heart did a weird little somersault, and your brain short-circuited trying to process the proximity.
You barely dared to breathe. His breath brushed your cheek, warm and soft. He didn’t move away.
And somehow, your mind made the leap.
Oh my god. He’s going to kiss me.
Your heart leapt. You shut your eyes without thinking, every nerve in your body suddenly very, very aware of the shape of his mouth and the way your knees were touching.
But instead of a kiss, you got—
A throat clear.
You opened your eyes to find Sunghoon leaning back like nothing happened, examining the flower petal with the clinical interest of someone assessing a grocery receipt. Like he hadn’t just completely hijacked your central nervous system.
You blinked at him, heat flooding your face.
He glanced up, clearly fighting back a smirk. “Did you just—”
“No.” Your answer was immediate. Loud. Defensive.
“I didn’t even finish my senten—”
“Shut up.” You whirled on him, hands flying dramatically as the full force of your embarrassment took over. “You scooted so close to me, and you leaned in and, and I—I didn’t know what to expect, okay?!”
Sunghoon’s eyes sparkled, lips twitching. “I was taking a petal out of your hair.”
“You took your sweet time, that’s what you did,” you huffed, arms flailing now. “God, you and your–cold–cold boy exterior. I can’t read your face! You could be about to kiss me or about to tell me my card got declined, and I wouldn’t know the difference.”
He let out a soft laugh, the kind that made your chest ache a little. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Excuse me for assuming I was about to have a romantic moment by a magical pond with a boy who—”
He reached forward suddenly, both hands cupping your cheeks, and you froze mid-rant.
The world slowed.
His palms were warm. Gentle. Holding your face like you were made of something delicate. You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.
Then his voice came, low and steady.
“Do you want me to?”
Your words died in your throat. Your heart thundered somewhere behind your ribs.
You stared at him, wide-eyed, unsure what to say.
He didn’t press. Just looked at you with that infuriating, calm expression—the kind that made it impossible to tell if he was teasing you or being completely serious.
And somehow, that only made you fall harder.
You opened your mouth, then closed it again.
“I—” you tried.
Sunghoon waited.
You panicked. “You took way too long with the petal.”
He laughed. This time, fully. And God, if your heart hadn’t already betrayed you, that laugh would've done it.
“Okay,” he said eventually, letting go of your cheeks like he hadn’t just gently cradled your entire soul.
You immediately buried your face in your hands.
You hated him. You adored him. You had no idea what this was.
But you kind of never wanted it to end.
—
The walk back was quiet.
Not the comfortable kind that usually settled between you and Sunghoon. This one was thick. Tense. A silence so loud it felt like it echoed.
You hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the pond.
He’d glanced at you a few times as you walked side by side, but you kept your gaze stubbornly forward, arms crossed, cheeks still warm from earlier. You couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your head—his hands on your face, that question, your silence, the way your heart had practically stopped beating altogether.
And now, here you were. Standing outside your apartment. Streetlights glowing gold above you. Crickets chirping. The air cool and still.
He hadn’t said anything either.
Not until now.
Sunghoon cleared his throat softly. “You’ve been quiet since the park.”
You let out a small, unbothered-sounding tch, keeping your eyes fixed on the sidewalk.
What a stupid question. He knew why.
You were embarrassed. Flustered. Emotionally compromised and desperately trying to hold it together. And he just stood there, calm and collected, as if he hadn’t casually almost kissed you and then walked away like it was nothing.
You turned toward him, fire rising again. “You—!”
You raised your hands, ready to start waving them mid-rant like you always did. But before a single word left your mouth, Sunghoon stepped forward and grabbed both your wrists gently, stopping them midair.
You blinked.
“What are you—?”
And then he leaned in.
Soft. Quick. Certain.
He pressed a kiss to your lips—just a brief, featherlight touch that made your breath catch and your thoughts scatter in all directions.
It was simple. Barely a second long. But it knocked the wind out of you.
“There,” he said, voice low and calm, as he pulled back.
You stared at him, completely frozen. Mouth slightly parted. Eyes wide.
“Y-You—” you stammered, hands still in his.
Sunghoon didn’t flinch. “You were being loud in your head. I could hear it.”
“I—That’s not—You don’t just—!”
He raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “Feel better now?”
Your heart was a mess. Your brain was fuzz. But still… you nodded.
He let go of your hands slowly, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.
“Goodnight,” he said, and turned to walk away.
You stood there, stunned, watching him go. And somewhere between your heart trying to reboot and your hand brushing against your lips…
—-
The library was quiet, save for the occasional turning of pages and the distant hum of the printer.
You were trying to focus. Really, you were. But it was hard.
Not because of your thesis—which was enough of a monster on its own—but because of him. Sitting right next to you.
Sunghoon.
The boy who kissed you once. Who sent you home after and said nothing. The boy who still picked you up for class, still shared his earbuds, still split convenience store snacks with you like nothing had changed. And maybe it hadn’t. Not really.
You weren’t kissing everyday. You weren’t dating. There were no labels. Just… this strange, sweet in-between. And it was driving you insane.
You’d been hanging out every day, and yet neither of you had brought up the kiss. Not the one by the pond. Not the one on your doorstep.
You were somewhere between friends and more, and he seemed perfectly content to sit in that quiet space—while you were losing your mind wondering what it meant.
You were currently scanning the shelves, trying—and failing—to find a book for your thesis. You swore it was here. The catalogue said it was. But after combing through the aisle three times, you were ready to throw yourself into the return bin.
“Ugh,” you muttered, turning to scan the shelf one more time.
And then, like some book-finding angel, Sunghoon stepped beside you. He reached forward casually, plucked the exact book from the shelf above your head, and handed it to you without a word.
Your jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me?”
You snatched it from his hand, dramatic as ever, and turned to him with wild eyes.
“I’ve been here for twenty minutes! And you—!”
Your hands flew up instinctively, ready to gesticulate in full rant mode when—
He caught them.
Both of them.
Warm fingers wrapping around your wrists, stopping you mid-rant with that infuriatingly calm expression on his face.
And then he leaned in.
And kissed you.
Just like that.
Soft. Steady. No hesitation.
Your breath caught completely. Your brain shut off. The library, the thesis, the confusion—all of it disappeared under the pressure of his lips against yours.
It was over in seconds.
He pulled back like nothing happened, still holding your hands.
“Loud,” he said, voice low and amused.
And then—he let go and walked away.
You stood frozen in the aisle, mouth still parted in disbelief, the book clutched to your chest like it had personally witnessed a crime.
Your heart was pounding. Your face was burning. You were sure your soul had just left your body.
And once again… He didn’t look back.
Typical Sunghoon.
You were unwell.
Absolutely, fully, catastrophically unwell.
Because Sunghoon kissed you again.
In a library.
After handing you a book like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And when you raised your hands—to explain, to demand answers, to yell in three different emotional languages—he just… kissed you. Again. Calmly. Casually. And walked away like it hadn’t just restructured your entire brain.
You tried not to think about it. You really did.
But the moment you sat back down at the table, book open in front of you, and he slid a highlighter across the desk toward you like he hadn’t just emotionally detonated you—
You exploded.
“Okay,” you said, too loudly for a library. “What are we?”
He looked up from his notes, blinking once.
You leaned forward. “Because you kissed me. Twice. And you keep holding my face like I’m a traumatized woodland creature and then walking away before I can process anything.”
He tilted his head, resting his chin on his palm. “So you have been thinking about it.”
You sputtered. “Of course I’ve been thinking about it!”
Sunghoon nodded slowly, flipping to the next page of his notes.
You blinked at him. “Are you ignoring me?”
“I’m studying.”
“I’m spiraling.”
“Noted.”
Your hands flailed.
And just as you raised them again, fully prepared to unleash wave two of your emotional breakdown—
He stood up from his seat, leaned across the table, and kissed you. Right there. Again.
Quick. Soft. On the corner of your mouth this time.
You froze.
“I—” you squeaked.
“You were getting loud again,” he said, sitting back down like he hadn’t just completely ended your speech mid-sentence.
You gawked at him, face on fire. “You can’t just kiss me every time I get dramatic.”
“That’s what you think.”
You opened your mouth. He raised an eyebrow.
You closed it again.
He handed you your highlighter. “Let me know when you’re done with denial.”
You stared at him, heart pounding so hard you could hear it echoing in your skull. He was calm. Unbothered. Absolutely smug.
You hated him.
You wanted to kiss him again.
You highlighted the same sentence seven times just to avoid looking at his stupid perfect face.
—
You were walking home from the library with Sunghoon again. Just like always. Quiet sidewalk, golden streetlights, late-night hum of the city in the background.
Except nothing about it felt normal anymore.
Not after the kisses.
Not after the looks he kept giving you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Not after your brain had chewed itself into pieces trying to decode what you were to him.
And tonight—you were done pretending you were fine with it.
“I just think,” you said for what felt like the fifth time, voice rising as your steps quickened, “that if you’re gonna keep kissing me, then maybe—and this is wild—I deserve to know what it means!”
Sunghoon didn’t answer. He kept walking beside you, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. Infuriatingly calm.
“And if it doesn’t mean anything, that’s fine,” you added, already lying to yourself. “But then stop doing it! You can’t just weaponize your mouth to shut me up like some human mute button—”
He stopped walking.
You blinked, still mid-rant, too fired up to notice that he’d turned until his fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged you back—swiftly, gently, deliberately—until your back hit the cold brick wall of the nearest building.
The shock of it knocked the words straight out of your mouth.
“Wha—”
And then he kissed you.
Hard.
No hesitation. No teasing.
His lips found yours in one clean, fluid motion, like he’d been waiting, burning, counting every second leading up to this moment. His hand pressed firmly against the wall beside your head, his body angled toward yours—not pushing, just close. Too close. Close enough that you felt the heat radiating off of him, the weight of everything he hadn’t said.
You didn’t even get the chance to breathe before his other hand slipped to your jaw, tilting your face up slightly—and then his mouth opened against yours, and his tongue slid in. Slow. Confident. Sure.
You gasped softly into him, your fingers gripping the front of his sweater like it was the only thing keeping you from collapsing. And God—he tasted like mint and quiet danger, like late nights and secrets he hadn’t told you yet.
He kissed you like he was trying to memorize your mouth.
Like he wanted you breathless and boneless and ruined in the best way.
And you let him.
You kissed him back like it had been building inside you too, like you’d been waiting for him to break first—waiting for this exact kind of dizzying, spine-melting surrender.
By the time he pulled back, you weren’t sure where you were anymore.
Your chest heaved. Your lips tingled. Your back was still pressed to the wall, legs weak, thoughts tangled.
Sunghoon didn’t move far—just enough to speak, his thumb still brushing softly along your cheek.
“You’re loud,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual. “But not when you’re kissing me back.”
You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even glare. Your eyes were still wide and unfocused. Your body felt like it had been struck by lightning wrapped in velvet.
And him?
He just took your hand again like nothing happened.
“Let’s go,” he said, like he hadn’t just absolutely wrecked you against a wall.
You followed.
Stunned. Silent.
And for the first time in your life— You understood exactly why he did that.
Because nothing had ever shut you up like that before.
—
The next morning, Sunghoon was already waiting outside your apartment by the time you stepped out, bleary-eyed and still emotionally unstable from the night before. He stood there with his usual sleepy calmness, one hand in his pocket, the other holding your usual coffee order.
Of course he knew you hadn’t slept.
He hadn’t either.
Because while you were lying awake replaying that kiss over and over again, so was he. He’d tried to read, tried to distract himself—but every time he closed his eyes, all he could feel was you against the wall. Your fingers in his sweater. The way your lips opened under his, soft and wanting. The sound you made when he bit down gently on your lip before pulling away.
He was in trouble.
You walked toward him slowly, eyes puffy, your hoodie a little crooked from sleep. You didn’t say anything—just snatched the coffee from his hand and took three aggressive gulps like it personally wronged you.
“Hmph,” you huffed, before storming three steps ahead of him like an angry little duck.
Sunghoon blinked.
Then he laughed.
God, he was so gone for you.
“Why are you mad?” he asked, catching up easily.
You didn’t look at him. “Because—because you won’t tell me what we are. You keep kissing me every time I get dramatic, and you don’t say anything after, and you won’t tell me if you even like me, and—”
“Don’t you like it when I kiss you, though?” he asked casually, like he wasn’t setting your entire nervous system on fire.
You stumbled. “I—! I—”
He looked far too smug. You hated how good he was at this.
“You can’t just say smug shit like that and make me not want to choke you—”
You didn’t finish. Because just like last time, he moved without warning.
In one sharp, fluid motion, he backed you into the nearest tree, the rough bark grazing your spine as your back hit it with a quiet thud. His hand slid around to the small of your back, pressing you against him, while the other gripped your waist and dragged slowly down to your hip, fingers curving around it possessively.
His mouth was on yours before you could speak. No hesitation this time.
His lips crashed into yours—hot, hungry, open. He tilted his head, deepening it fast, his hand tightening at your waist as he pulled you harder against him. Your gasp disappeared into his mouth.
His tongue slipped past your lips, slow and deliberate. He kissed like he knew exactly what he was doing—like he knew how to pull sound from your throat without a word. His body pinned yours to the tree, firm and steady, his hips brushing into yours just enough to make you lose your balance and grab his sweater for support.
He groaned lowly when you kissed him back, your fingers bunching at his chest, his thumb digging into your side as his mouth moved harder, needier, lips parting, tongue sliding deeper.
And then—he bit down on your bottom lip, just enough pressure to make your breath catch.
“You didn’t stop me,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin.
Your mouth opened. “Because—”
“Because you like it,” he said again, low and certain.
You glared at him. “And what if I do?! At least I’m being honest with my feelings.”
Sunghoon raised a brow. “Are you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Because you haven’t really told me anything about your feelings,” he said simply.
You threw your hands up. “Is it not clear?!”
You folded your arms, frustration bubbling up.
“Is it not clear that I clearly like you?!”
And just like that—he was silent.
Sunghoon had always been calm, collected, a little unreadable—but something in his expression faltered then. His cool cracked just a little, the tiniest stutter of surprise flickering across his face.
His heart was doing things he would never admit out loud.
Because no matter how smooth he could be, no matter how many times he kissed you like he knew exactly what he was doing—you were the only one who could completely unravel him.
He looked at you, smiling softly.
“Look under your cup.”
You frowned. “What?”
“The cup,” he said. “Turn it over.”
You squinted at him suspiciously, lifting the cup over your head like it owed you answers. And there—scrawled in slightly smudged black marker under the base—was one word, just barely legible in his messy handwriting:
GIRLFRIEND?
Your breath hitched.
Your arms dropped.
You stared at it, then at him.
He stood there with his usual hands-in-pockets posture, pretending to be all calm and collected—but you saw it. The way his ears were just a little too red. The faint twitch of his mouth like he was holding his breath.
You blinked. “You wrote it… on the bottom of a coffee cup?”
“I thought it was romantic,” he said, completely deadpan.
You raised a brow. “You know people usually use, like, their mouths to say these things, right?”
“I figured this way, you’d actually read it instead of yelling over it.”
You paused.
Touche.
“You truly are a man of few words.”
He shrugged. “You use enough for both of us.”
You rolled your eyes—but your grin gave you away.
And then, quietly, you held the cup closer to your chest.
“…Yes,” you muttered.
His lips twitched. “You’re supposed to say it louder.”
You glared. “Don’t push your luck, loverboy.”
He smiled, wide this time. “Too late.”
Before you could react, his hands wrapped around your waist—confident, steady—and he pulled you in all at once. You let out a small yelp, half laugh, arms instinctively catching onto his shoulders as he swept you closer like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And then he kissed you.
His lips pressed into yours like he already knew you’d say yes, like your quiet little “yes” had unlocked something in him. There was no teasing this time, no smirk hiding behind it—just him, kissing you like he meant it.
His grip tightened around your waist, grounding you against him, your body flush to his as his other hand came up to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb brushing just below your ear. You melted into him without a thought, your fingers curling around the back of his sweater, trying to pull him even closer.
You could feel his heartbeat, fast but steady, pressed right against yours.
When he finally pulled back, just barely, his lips hovered over yours—still close enough to steal another breath.
“I’ve been waiting to do that properly,” he whispered, voice low and warm.
