𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ─── a sweet highschool romance between you and eom seonghyeon. You started highschool with your best friend when you fell in love at first sight with a boy in Class 1, the same guy you first saw at the corner store. Now you find yourself flying towards him, even if he was oblivious or quiet, you don’t care because he’s eom seonghyeon.
𝜗ৎ pairing. eom seonghyeon x fem!reader
status ── ongoing
˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 coco speaking here! SO SO SO WHO IS EXCITED FOR THIS?? I AM !! lowkey gonna make keonho as gu ran, not sure who for jiang jia… (any moot can hit me up…) and martin as guan fang since the two literally has the same energy wtf? IM GONNA TRY TO UPDATE THIS REGULARLY BUT IM SUPER EXCITED TO WRITE HEHEHEHE
𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒
✶ 01 ── PILOT
↳ word count: 5.7k
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
comment to be added in the series taglist or perm taglist here
𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐍 ㅤ─── what turns into a silly crush, became something more when he chooses you first
★ james × fem!reader
fluff .ᐟ friends to lovers .ᐟ slice of life
word count ── 2.8k
˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 coco speaking here! HI HI HI IM BACK WITH ANOTHER JAMES FIC AND WOW ITS BEEN A WHILE 🥹🙏 WAS HOPING TO MAKE THIS LONGER BUT AS YOU CAN SEE I CANNOT WRITE LONG FICS FOR THE TIME BEING BUT I WILL TRY TO WRITE ENOUGH SO YOU GUYS ARE FED!! 𖧧 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
You’d known Seonghyeon since before the mirrors in the practice rooms felt judgmental.
Back when your knees bruised easily from endless floor work and your confidence wavered more than your footing, you were sixteen, already exhausted, already dreaming too big. You remembered the way the studio lights felt too bright late at night, the echo of counts still ringing in your ears even after practice ended.
Seonghyeon was thirteen then. All sharp grins and restless energy, ambition practically buzzing under his skin. He followed you everywhere, into practice rooms, down hallways, to the vending machines at two in the morning, like a shadow that talked way too much.
“Did you see that move I added?”
“No, hyung yelled at me again.”
“I’m gonna debut first, just watch.”
Somewhere between late-night convenience store runs, shared ramen cups balanced on tired knees, and whispered complaints about vocal coaches who demanded perfection from kids still growing into themselves, you stopped seeing him as just another trainee.
He became your little brother.
Which was exactly why, three years later, when he wouldn’t shut up about this other trainee named James who was part of the same debut line-up as him, you got curious.
It started casually.
“James said my timing was clean today,” Seonghyeon mentioned one night, tying his shoes.
You hummed, barely looking up. “That’s nice.”
Then it kept happening.
“James helped me with harmonies.”
“James stays late too.”
“James says debut’s gonna be crazy.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You say his name a lot.”
Seonghyeon froze for half a second. “Do I?”
“Yes,” you replied flatly. “Like… a lot.”
He shrugged, suddenly very interested in his phone. “He’s cool.”
That was when curiosity fully set in.
“Introduce me to him,” you said one night, sprawled dramatically across the dorm couch while Seonghyeon paced the room, muttering lyrics under his breath.
“No.”
The answer came way too fast.
You lifted your head. “No?”
He stopped pacing. “No.”
You sat up. “Why not?”
“He’ll think it’s weird.”
You blinked. “Why would it be weird?”
“Because you’re annoying,” he shot back, lips twitching like he was barely holding in a laugh.
You gasped. “I raised you.”
“You’re three years older than me.”
“Exactly,” you said. “I raised you.”
He rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to meet him.”
“You’re being weird.”
“How am I being weird?”
“Then why won’t you let me?”
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Because you’ll embarrass me.”
You scoffed. “Name one time.”
“You tried to rap in front of the trainers.”
“That was one time.”
“You cried because your vocal crack ‘had feelings.’”
“It did.”
He snorted despite himself.
You leaned closer. “Okay, fine. Then at least show me what he looks like.”
He stiffened.
“…Why?”
“Because,” you said sweetly, “I want to see if he’s worth all this glaze.”
“No.”
“Seonghyeon.”
“No.”
“I’ll buy you snacks for a week.”
He hesitated.
“Two weeks,” you added quickly.
He sighed deeply, like a man carrying the weight of the world. “Fine.”
You squealed before straightening yourself up from the ground.
Seonghyeon grumbled under his breath. He unlocked his phone and scrolled.
“Don’t scream,” he warned.
“I don’t scream.”
He turned the screen toward you.
And—
Oh.
You froze.
James stared back at you from the photo, sweat-damp hair pushed back from his forehead, jawline sharp but soft at the same time. His arms were ridiculous, muscles flexed naturally as he leaned against a practice mirror, black sleeveless shirt clinging to his broad shoulders like it knew its job.
You stared.
Blinking once.
Twice.
“…Oh,” you said quietly.
Seonghyeon immediately tried to pull the phone back. “Don’t.”
“Wait—no, hold on,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “Go back.”
He groaned. “I knew this was a mistake.”
“Is that a bicep vein?” you whispered, eyes wide.
“Stop analyzing him!”
“He looks like he could lift me easily.”
“Please shut up.”
You leaned back against the couch, still staring at the screen. “You did not tell me he was fine fine.”
“He’s just a normal-looking guy,” Seonghyeon muttered.
You slowly looked at him. “You’re lying.”
He yanked his phone away. “You’re not meeting him.”
You grinned, already victorious. “Oh, I’m absolutely meeting him.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“How?”
You shrugged. “We train under the same company, how hard could it possibly be.”
He stared at you. “We all train in the same building for many years, but once you haven’t acknowledged him.”
You flopped back onto the couch, hands behind your head.
“Shit,” you said lightly. “You’re right… But that’s because I didn’t know what he looked like.”
“I already regret showing you a picture of James,” he said solemnly.
You leaned back, hands behind your head again, staring at the ceiling.
“Well,” you said thoughtfully, “tell him to holler at yo girl.”
Seonghyeon sat bolt upright. “Absolutely not.”
You laughed, completely unaware that somewhere down the hallway, James was stretching after practice, completely unaware that he was about to become very aware of you.
The corner store near the practice building was quiet in that late-night way, too bright, too still, like the world outside had decided to pause. Fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead, their buzz blending with the faint whirr of the refrigerators. The air smelled faintly of instant ramen and something sugary.
You stood in front of the drink cooler, arms crossed, staring at two bottles as if they’d personally offended you.
An energy drink or water, you thought. Hydration or survival.
You leaned closer to the glass, squinting at the labels.
That was when you felt it.
That strange awareness, like the air shifted. Like someone had stepped into your space without making a sound.
Your shoulders stiffened.
You glanced up and froze.
He was tall, taller than you’d expected. Broad-shouldered in a way that didn’t feel forced or showy, just… natural. Like his body had been shaped by years of repetition and discipline rather than intention to impress.
He wore a simple black T-shirt, but it clung to his arms as if gravity favored him specifically. His biceps flexed slightly as he reached into the cooler, muscles moving smoothly beneath warm skin, veins faint but visible.
You swallowed without meaning to.
Oh. So the picture didn’t lie.
“Uh– sorry,” he said suddenly, stepping back as soon as he noticed you. His eyes widened, genuine concern flashing across his face. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”
His voice was gentle. Soft around the edges. Surprisingly warm for someone who looked like he could snap a mic stand in half without trying.
You blinked, snapping out of it. “No–no, it’s fine. I was just… indecisive.”
You gestured vaguely at the drinks, embarrassed.
That earned you a small smile.
“I get that,” he said, nodding seriously. “It's hard to choose between your favorite drinks.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself, the sound slipping out easily.
He seemed relieved, like he’d been hoping for that reaction.
“Exactly,” you said. “It’s stressful.”
He chuckled, shifting his weight. When he did, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, biceps pressing together in a way that felt wildly unfair given the setting.
Then his expression changed.
His brows lifted slightly, eyes narrowing with recognition, like a puzzle piece clicking into place.
“Wait,” he said slowly. “You’re—”
Your heart skipped. Oh no.
Before you could ask how he knew—
“Seonghyeon’s friend,” he finished. “The one he never shuts up about.”
Your face heated instantly. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
He blinked. “For what?”
“For… whatever he’s said,” you said quickly. “He exaggerates. A lot.”
James laughed, the sound echoing softly off the tiled floor. It settled comfortably in your chest, like it belonged there.
“Don’t be,” he said. “It’s actually kind of nice.” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, ears faintly pink. “He says you’re the same age as me. That you’ve been training forever. That you look out for him.”
You softened at that.
“He talks about you like you’re—” James paused, clearly choosing his words carefully. “—kind of amazing.”
You stared at him.
The silence stretched just long enough to make him nervous.
“I—I mean,” he rushed, “that’s just what he says. I didn’t mean—”
“No,” you said quickly. “It’s just… he never says that to my face.”
James smiled at that, something gentle and fond in his expression.
“I’m James,” he added, holding out his hand like this was the most normal thing in the world.
“I’m y/n,” your fingers brushing his briefly when you shook. His hand was warm.
You became suddenly hyper-aware of everything. Your posture, your voice, the faint soreness in your muscles from practice, the way his gaze never felt intrusive. Just attentive.
“So,” James said after a moment, eyes meeting yours again. There was something earnest there. Curious. “I was already interested before, but… seeing you in person?”
He smiled then, soft, a little shy, like he surprised himself by saying it out loud.
“You’re unbelievably beautiful.”
Your brain short-circuited.
You blinked. Once. Twice.
“Oh,” you managed, eloquent as ever.
He laughed again, quieter this time, embarrassment creeping into his smile. “Sorry. That was forward. I just—” He exhaled, shoulders relaxing. “—wanted to be honest.”
You studied his face. The way he wasn’t watching for your reaction like it was a test. The way his tone wasn’t practiced.
And somehow… it didn’t feel like a line.
It felt real.
“Well,” you said slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips, “for the record… I feel the same.”
His eyes brightened.
“That’s great,” he said.
From that night on, James became a quiet constant.
It started small, so small you almost didn’t notice it happening. A message sent a little too late at night.
Those messages turned into routines. Complaints about sore muscles. Voice notes of half-finished melodies. Links to songs he thought you’d like, followed by “tell me if it’s bad.”
You started waiting for his name to pop up on your screen.
Then came the practice rooms.
You’d find him there late, stretching quietly, sweat dampening his shirt, hair pushed back messily. He never made a big deal when you joined him, just scooted his bag closer so you had somewhere to sit.
“Long day?” he’d asked.
“When are they not?” you’d replied, sinking down beside him.
Sometimes you practiced together. Sometimes you just… existed. Sitting in comfortable silence while the city hummed outside the windows. When you shivered from the air conditioning, he’d wordlessly shrug off his jacket and drape it over your shoulders.
“You’ll catch a cold,” he’d say simply.
“And you won’t?”
He’d smile. “I’m already hot from working out.”
He never hovered. Never demanded your attention. Never crossed lines you didn’t invite him to. He just stayed. steady and warm and present in a way that made the exhaustion feel lighter.
Somewhere along the way, friendship rooted itself deep.
You learned the way he scrunched his nose when concentrating. The way he tapped his fingers when nervous. The way he always offered you the last sip of his drink without thinking.
Sometimes, when he stretched after practice, you caught yourself watching.
The way his arms lifted over his head. The way his biceps flexed naturally, strength and control blending effortlessly. Every movement purposeful, smooth, practiced over years.
“Eyes up here,” he’d say suddenly, catching you, lips tugging into a grin.
You’d roll your eyes, heat creeping into your cheeks. “Your fault for having arms like that.”
He’d laugh, pretending to flex exaggeratedly. “I train hard for this.”
“You only trained hard to flex.”
“I mean it’s working right?”
Yes it is.
Seonghyeon noticed before either of you admitted anything.
It started with him walking into a practice room and immediately stopping short.
“…Why are you sitting so close?”
You and James looked at each other, then down at the barely-there space between you.
“There’s plenty of room,” you said.
James nodded seriously. “This part of the room is the coldest.”
Seonghyeon narrowed his eyes.
Then it escalated.
You shared snacks. Walked back from practice together. Showed up places at the same time without planning it.
One night, Seonghyeon walked into the dorm kitchen to find James leaning against the counter while you stirred ramen, yapping about something.
“You laugh like that with me too, right?” Seonghyeon asked flatly.
You didn’t even look up. “What?”
“Nothing,” he muttered. “Just… observing.”
James hid his smile behind his hand.
Later, Seonghyeon cornered you in the hallway.
“Are you two dating?”
You blinked. “What? No.”
“Then why does he know your coffee order?”
“…I talk.”
“He waited outside practice for you today.”
“You were literally with us.”
Seonghyeon groaned. “I regret everything.”
Despite his complaints, he never actually told you to stop. Maybe because he saw how relaxed you were around James. How lighter your laugh sounded. How you didn’t look so tired anymore.
James noticed too.
One night, after practice ran especially late, you sat side by side on the floor, backs against the mirror. Your shoulders brushed, neither of you moving away.
“You okay?” James asked.
“Yeah.” you sighed quietly.
Outside the door, Seonghyeon sighed dramatically.
“I’m surrounded by couples,” he muttered. “And I didn’t sign up for this.”
James laughed. You leaned into his side, just slightly.
And even if neither of you said it out loud yet, everyone, including Seonghyeon, knew.
This was already something special.
As Cortis debuted and exploded into global fame, nothing about James changed with you.
The schedules became relentless, early call times, late rehearsals, cameras everywhere, but when he looked at you, it was still the same James from the corner store. The one who remembered how you took your coffee. The one who texted did you eat? before worrying about himself. Fame didn’t harden him. Didn’t sharpen his edges or make him distant.
If anything, he held on tighter.
He found you in the quiet moments others overlooked. Between rehearsals. After interviews. In practice rooms long after the lights should’ve been turned off. When the world demanded more from him than felt fair, he gravitated toward you like muscle memory.
One evening, after a day that felt never-ending, the practice room was empty except for the two of you. The mirrors reflected exhaustion back at you, messy hair, tired eyes, bodies aching from repetition.
You slid down the wall until you were sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, back pressed against the cool glass. James followed a second later, dropping down beside you with a soft exhale.
“Today was brutal,” you muttered.
He hummed in agreement, leaning back against the mirror, arms braced behind him. The position pulled his chest open, biceps stretching as he relaxed, muscles finally allowed to rest. You noticed without meaning to, how strong he looked even when tired, how real that strength felt when you knew how hard he worked for it.
“The crowd was insanely loud last night.,” he said quietly. “It was so unreal.”
You glanced at him. “Did it scare you?”
He thought about it. Really thought.
“A little,” he admitted. “But then I remember why I kept going.”
“And why’s that?”
His gaze shifted to you, steady and sincere.
“You.”
The word landed softly but heavily.
“You know,” he continued softly, “I noticed you long before Seonghyeon ever mentioned your name. I’d see you in the practice room, day after day, staying long after everyone else left. The way you pushed yourself, how you never quit even when it looked exhausting.”
A small pause. Something almost fond in his expression.
“I think… I admired you from afar before I even realized what it meant.”
Your chest ached, in the best way. Like something warm expanding inside you, something fragile and precious.
Without overthinking it, you leaned into his side. Your head rested against his arm, fitting there like it always had. His skin was warm, grounding, solid. You could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing beneath you.
He stiffened for half a second, surprised, but then he relaxed completely. His head tilted gently until it rested against yours, the contact careful, reverent, like he understood the weight of the moment.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
The room was quiet except for the hum of the lights and the distant sounds of the building settling around you. It felt like the world had narrowed down to this, two tired hearts choosing stillness together.
“Stay with me,” he murmured finally. Not a demand. Just a hope, fragile and honest.
Your eyes closed as a smile curved your lips.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
His arm came around you then, slow, deliberate, as if asking permission even now. He pulled you closer, hand resting at your side, secure but gentle, like he was holding something precious. Something he never wanted to drop.
You exhaled, melting into him.
In that quiet moment, between the past that shaped you and the future waiting just beyond the door, you knew.
This wasn’t just comfort.
It wasn’t just familiarity.
It was trust. It was choosing each other again and again, even when the world demanded everything else.
And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid of what came next, because you knew you wouldn’t face it alone.
𝐙𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 ─── when your smart boyfriend tries tutoring you but you have a habit of zoning out 24/7
★ bf ! keonho × fem!reader
word count ── 1.2k
˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 coco speaking here! MORE NERDY KEONHO HEHEEHE I LOVE HIM SM! but guys you don't understand how bad i zone out when a teacher is explaining the topic that i have to teach myself most of the time... 𖧧 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
Keonho realized you had stopped listening about three minutes in.
Not because you said anything. Not because you moved. But because your eyes, usually so expressive when you were actually paying attention, had gone glassy, drifting just past his shoulder like you were watching a movie only you could see.
“Y/n,” he said gently, tapping the pen against the notebook between you.
Nothing.
He squinted, leaning a little closer. “Y/n.”
Still nothing.
A grin tugged at his lips.
You were sitting cross-legged on the floor of your room, back resting against the couch, your textbook open in front of you, but clearly abandoned. Keonho sat opposite you, knees brushing yours, the sleeves of his hoodie pushed up because he insisted it helped him think better. Color-coded notes were scattered everywhere, entirely his doing, and a half-finished cup of juice sat on your desk, condensation slowly pooling beneath it.
He watched you for a moment longer, fondness blooming quietly in his chest. You looked so peaceful like this, even when you were completely checked out.
Then—
“HEY.”
You flinched. “What—?”
Keonho laughed immediately, bright and unrestrained, leaning forward until his forehead bumped lightly against yours. “You okay? You were zoning out again.”
“I was listening,” you lied.
“Mhm.” He hummed, unconvinced, eyes sparkling. “Tell me what I just said then.”
You opened your mouth.
Paused.
Closed it again.
“…You were explaining something?”
He paused before chuckling, shaking his head. He wasn’t surprised at all. He was used to his girlfriend zoning out twenty-four seven, and honestly, it was one of the things he loved most about you.
“Oh my god, Y/n,” he said with a laugh. “That’s the most important formula in the entire chapter.”
You groaned and let your head fall back against the couch. “I’m gonna fail.”
“No, you won’t,” he said instantly, scooting closer until your knees were fully tangled together. “Not on my watch.”
You peeked at him through half-lidded eyes. “You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true every time.” He beamed, then softened when he saw the way your shoulders slumped. “Hey. Don’t stress, baby. We’ve got time.”
The pet name made your stomach flip despite yourself.
Without thinking, Keonho reached out, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles as he flipped the page. He was always touching you somehow, holding onto your sleeve, leaning his shoulder into yours, resting his head against you like a cat that had decided you were permanent furniture now.
“Okay,” he said, pointing at the page. “This part. Look at me.”
You tried. You really did.
But instead, you noticed the way his brows knitted together when he concentrated. The subtle bounce of his knee, even when he was sitting still. The faint dimple that appeared when he smiled, as it did now, when he caught you staring at him instead of the notes.
“…You’re not looking at the page,” he said.
You blinked. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
Keonho didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in a little more, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret meant only for you.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he said softly. “Just… try again, yeah?”
You nodded, forcing your eyes down to the page. He waited before starting again, like he’d learned your rhythm by heart.
“So,” he said, tapping the margin, “this formula looks scary, but it’s basically just—”
Your focus lasted maybe ten seconds this time. A personal record.
Then your brain drifted again, not even on purpose. His voice stayed calm and steady, wrapping around you like a blanket. The room felt warm and safe and very, very Keonho-shaped. You rested your chin on your knee, listening more to him than the words.
“…and that’s why you divide by—”
“Keonho?” you interrupted.
He stopped immediately. “Yeah?”
“Can we take a break?”
He studied you for half a second, then smiled, small, gentle, understanding. “Burnt out?”
“Extremely.”
He let out a soft laugh and set the pen down right away, like studying had never been more important than you to begin with.
“Yeah,” he said gently, scooting closer until your knees bumped again. “I can tell, baby. Your brain checked out a while ago.”
You groaned and hid your face in your hands. “I swear I want to understand it. My head just… stops working.”
Keonho hummed sympathetically and reached out, prying your hands away with ease. His fingers were warm and familiar, grounding in the best way.
“Hey,” he murmured, thumbs brushing slowly over your knuckles. “That’s okay. You don’t have to be productive all the time.”
He shifted so he was sitting right beside you now, shoulder pressed firmly to yours, his arm slipping naturally around your waist. You melted into him without thinking, resting your head against his chest. His hoodie smelled like clean laundry and something unmistakably him, and it made everything feel quieter, calmer.
“There we go,” he said softly, his chin resting on the top of your head. “Much better.”
You sighed. “You’re too comfortable.”
“That’s literally my job as your boyfriend,” he replied, amused. “To comfort you.”
You tilted your head just enough to look up at him. “Is that what you put on your résumé?”
“Absolutely,” he said seriously. “That and ‘emotional support’ and ‘your wallet.’”
You laughed, the sound muffled against his chest, and his smile softened like that had been his goal all along. His fingers began tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your arm, up and down, over your sleeve, soothing and unhurried.
“Still overwhelmed?” he asked quietly.
“A little,” you admitted. “But less now.”
“Good.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your hair. Then another. Then one more, lingering just a second longer. “You don’t have to push yourself so hard, sweetheart.”
The pet name made warmth bloom in your chest. You nudged his side lightly. “You’re being really soft right now.”
“Yeah,” he said easily. “Because you need it.”
You lifted your head, heart fluttering a little, and before you could overthink it, you leaned in and kissed him. It was slow and soft, the kind of kiss that felt like coming home.
Keonho made a quiet sound of surprise before melting into it, his hand sliding up to cradle your cheek as it belonged there, his thumb brushing gently beneath your eye as if you were something precious he needed to be careful with. He kissed you back with a tenderness that made your chest ache, like he truly had nowhere else to be.
When you finally pulled away, neither of you moved very far. He rested his forehead against yours, noses brushing, eyes half-lidded and smiling. His thumb lingered on your cheek, tracing the tiniest circle.
“We can take a break,” he whispered. “As long as you stay right here.”
You curled closer, tucking your legs under his and practically climbing into his lap. He laughed under his breath but tightened his arms around you anyway, holding you like it was pure instinct.
“Five minutes,” he added teasingly. “Then we try again.”
You hummed contentedly, eyes already drifting shut. “And if I zone out?”
He kissed the tip of your nose, eyes crinkling with affection.
“Then I’ll just keep doing this,” he said quietly. “Until you’re ready. Or until you fall asleep. Whichever comes first.”
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ─── a sweet highschool romance between you and eom seonghyeon. You started highschool with your best friend when you fell in love at first sight with a boy in Class 1, the same guy you first saw at the corner store. Now you find yourself flying towards him, even if he was oblivious or quiet, you don’t care because he’s eom seonghyeon.
𝜗ৎ pairing. eom seonghyeon x fem!reader
status ── ongoing
˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 coco speaking here! FIRST CHAPTER IS FINALLY OUT AND I FIGURED OUT MY JIANG JIA!! CHAERIN IS MY OC FROM WATTPAD LMAO THIS WAS A GREAT TIMING 🥹🥹 HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE
next ➜
It was the summer before high school started, the kind of summer that felt like it was holding its breath.
The days were too long, stretching lazily into one another, and the nights carried a faint sense of something ending, something beginning.
You could feel it in the air, in the way the cicadas sang louder than usual, in how the sky always seemed too wide. Childhood was slipping quietly out of reach, and you didn’t quite know what was meant to replace it yet.
That afternoon, the rain came without warning.
One moment, the streets were warm and dry, the pavement still holding onto the heat of the sun. The next, the sky darkened, clouds rolling in thick and heavy, and the first raindrops splattered against the concrete like tiny, impatient knocks. You groaned aloud, hugging your thin jacket closer to yourself as the rain quickly turned steady.
You hadn’t meant to be out long. Just a quick walk to the corner store. Just a drink to cool off, something sweet and cold to distract you from the restlessness that had been following you around all summer.
By the time you reached the store, your shoes were damp and your hair clung lightly to your cheeks. The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside, the familiar scent of plastic shelves, cold air, and sugary drinks wrapping around you like a small comfort.
You took your time choosing, even though you already knew what you wanted. There was no rush. There rarely was anymore.
When you finally paid and stepped back outside, drink in hand, the rain had only grown heavier. The world looked softer through it, blurred edges, muted colors, everything washed clean and slow. You hovered near the entrance, just beneath the narrow awning, watching the rain streak down the glass windows.
That was when you saw him.
A boy, around your age, maybe a year older, walking down the sidewalk toward the store.
No umbrella. No hood. Just him, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders slightly hunched as rain soaked through his dark hair.
He didn’t rush, didn’t break into a run like anyone sensible would. He simply walked, steady and unbothered, as if the rain were nothing more than a passing inconvenience.
You frowned without meaning to.
Why is he only walking when it’s raining? you thought. Idiot.
The word surfaced easily, harmless and fleeting, something you’d never say out loud. You took a sip of your drink, the cold biting pleasantly at your tongue, eyes still following him as he got closer.
Then he reached the entrance.
He passed you, brushing just close enough that you felt the shift of air, the presence of someone suddenly too near. And that was when you really saw his face.
Your breath caught.
He was… pretty.
Not in an obvious, overwhelming way. Not the kind of pretty that demanded attention or turned heads loudly. It was softer than that. Quieter.
His features were gentle, eyes framed by long lashes, nose straight, lips relaxed like he wasn’t thinking about them at all. His hair clung to his forehead from the rain, droplets sliding down his temple, catching the light.
For a second, maybe longer, you forgot to look away.
He didn’t notice you at first. He pushed the door open, the bell chiming again, and disappeared inside. You remained where you were, oddly frozen, your drink growing slick with condensation in your hand.
You told yourself to stop staring.
You didn’t.
When he came back out, holding two drinks, one in each hand, he stopped beneath the awning too, standing beside you. Close enough that you could see the faint rise and fall of his chest, hear his quiet breath, smell the clean, rain-washed scent clinging to him.
Your heart beat a little faster, confused by the sudden awareness of him.
You stared.
You knew you were staring. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice scolded you for it, told you it was rude, embarrassing.
But your body didn’t listen. You watched the way water dripped from the ends of his hair, the way his fingers curled loosely around the bottles, the way he tilted his head slightly upward to look at the sky.
He didn’t look at you.
Not at first.
And then, he did.
His gaze met yours without warning, eyes dark and curious, just as caught as you were. For half a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The rain filled the silence, loud and relentless.
Heat rushed to your face.
You snapped your eyes away, suddenly very interested in the pavement, in the pattern the rain made as it pooled near the curb. Your grip tightened around your drink, fingers cold and damp.
You could feel his presence beside you still. Feel the weight of that glance lingering, like it had brushed against something fragile inside your chest.
You wondered if he was still looking.
You didn’t dare check.
Seconds passed. Maybe more. Time felt strange then, stretching and folding in on itself, the moment suspended between before and after.
Then he shifted.
You heard the soft sound of a bottle being adjusted in his grip, the faint scuff of his shoe against the ground. When you looked up again, he was stepping away from the awning, already moving back into the rain.
You watched him go.
The rain soaked him instantly, darkening his jacket further, his figure blurring as he walked down the street the same way he had come. Still unhurried. Still steady.
You stood there long after he was gone.
The corner store lights hummed quietly behind you. Cars passed occasionally, tires hissing against wet asphalt. The rain continued, indifferent to the way your chest felt strangely tight, like you’d just missed something without knowing what it was.
You told yourself it was nothing.
Just a boy. Just a glance. Just a moment that didn’t mean anything at all.
You took another sip of your drink, though it didn’t taste as sweet anymore.
It was the first time you had seen him.
And probably the last.
At least, that’s what you thought then.
You couldn’t have known that some moments, no matter how small, how brief, settle quietly into you. That they stay, waiting. That years later, you might still remember the rain, the corner store, the way a stranger’s eyes met yours and made the world feel a little different.
The summer stretched on after that, warm and restless, but something had shifted.
And you didn’t yet know why.
The first day of your junior year arrived quieter than you expected.
Morning light slipped gently through the curtains, pale and warm, settling against your walls like it had nowhere else to be. You lay there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of your neighborhood waking up, the low hum of passing cars, a dog barking somewhere down the street, the faint clatter of dishes from your kitchen.
Year 2.
The word felt heavier than the years before it. Closer to something important. Closer to adulthood, to choices you weren’t entirely ready to make yet.
You sat up slowly and padded over to your mirror.
The Korean school uniform hung neatly on your door, freshly ironed, crisp and clean. You knew you’d be wearing the same thing as everyone else, white blouse, dark skirt, tidy and structured, but that didn’t stop you from caring. You tilted your head, studied your reflection with narrowed eyes, and began the familiar ritual.
Hair brushed carefully. Not too neat, not too messy. Just enough effort to look effortless. You adjusted your hair, tried a different part, then switched back. A touch of lip balm. A necklace small enough to stay hidden beneath your collar but close enough to your skin to feel grounding.
You leaned back to inspect your work.
You can still make yourself look good, you decided. Even in uniform. Especially in uniform.
By the time you stepped outside, your backpack slung over one shoulder, the air was fresh with early morning coolness. Summer had faded quietly, leaving behind a gentler warmth that lingered just enough to remind you of what had passed.
You walked your bike down the street toward Chaerin’s house, the familiar route calming your nerves. You’d been best friends for as long as you could remember, long enough that knocking on her door felt unnecessary. Still, you waited outside, shifting your weight from foot to foot.
“Y/N!” her voice rang out from inside the house.
You smiled before you even saw her.
The door flew open, and Chaerin appeared with her hair tied back loosely, uniform already on, eyes bright with too much energy for this early in the morning. In each hand, she held a small carton of milk.s
“I brought you one,” she said proudly, thrusting it toward you like it was a priceless gift.
You laughed, taking it from her. “You’re a lifesaver.”
She grinned, locking the door behind her and jogging down the steps. “I barely slept.”
You shot her a look. “Again?”
She shrugged as you both mounted your bikes. “I couldn’t help it. I stayed up all night reading blogs about the new school.”
You raised an eyebrow, popping the straw into your milk. “Blogs? Chaerin, it’s a school.”
“I know, I know,” she said quickly, already pedaling ahead. “But people post everything online. Rankings, rumors, teacher reputations, cafeteria food reviews—”
“Cafeteria food reviews?” you repeated, incredulous.
“Important information,” she replied seriously, then laughed. “Anyway, I found something interesting.”
You matched her pace, the sound of bike tires against the pavement steady and rhythmic. “Uh-oh. That tone never means anything good.”
“No, no, it’s good,” Chaerin insisted. “Apparently, two really famous guys are transferring into our school this year.”
You blinked. “Famous… how?”
She glanced at you, eyes sparkling. “Eom Seonghyeon and Ahn Keonho.”
The names meant nothing to you.
“…Okay?” you said carefully. “Why are they famous?”
Chaerin scoffed like the answer was obvious. “They’re insanely smart. Like, top of the top. National competition winners. And—” she leaned closer, lowering her voice dramatically, “—people say they’re probably the most handsome guys in the country.”
You nearly swerved your bike.
“Chaerin,” you laughed, shaking your head. “You believe everything you read.”
“I do not,” she protested. “I cross-checked.”
“Of course you did.”
She nudged your arm lightly as you rode. “Just wait. You’ll see.”
You hummed noncommittally, Chaerin’s voice blending into the steady rhythm of your bike wheels against the pavement.
The school building was still a few blocks away, but the streets were already alive. Students walked in clusters, uniforms neat and pressed, laughter spilling freely into the air. Cars passed slowly. A city bus hissed to a stop ahead at the corner.
Chaerin rode slightly ahead of you, balancing her milk carton between one hand and her handlebars like she had done this a hundred times before.
“Y/N!” she called over her shoulder. “If we’re late on the first day, I’m blaming you!”
“You’re the one who wouldn’t stop talking about blog rumors!” you shot back, pedaling faster.
The bus stop came into view, a small glass shelter with a faded bench beneath it. A handful of students stood waiting, checking their phones, adjusting their ties.
The bus doors began to close.
And just as it pulled away with a low mechanical sigh, a boy jogged up to the curb, one second too late.
He stopped.
The bus disappeared down the road without apology.
He didn’t curse. Didn’t chase after it. Just stood there for a moment, hands on his hips, catching his breath. Then he exhaled slowly, almost amused, like he had expected this.
That was when you passed him.
You didn’t look at him, not yet. You were focused on keeping balance while taking one last sip of your milk, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.
The strap of your wallet, old and slightly worn at the edges, had been peeking out of your backpack pocket since you left Chaerin’s house.
You didn’t notice when it slipped free.
It happened quietly.
A soft drop against the pavement.
Lost beneath the sound of bike tires and morning chatter.
You kept riding.
“Y/N!” Chaerin called again, laughing as she pedaled ahead. “We’re actually going to be late!”
“I know, I know!” you replied, pushing harder on the pedals.
Behind you, near the bus stop bench, something small and brown lay abandoned on the ground.
The boy who had just missed his bus noticed it almost immediately.
He frowned slightly.
He hadn’t seen who dropped it at first, just the blur of two girls on bikes, laughter trailing behind them like ribbons.
He bent down.
His fingers closed around the worn leather wallet, still warm from having been in your bag.
He turned it over once in his hand.
There was something strangely intimate about holding something that belonged to a stranger. Something personal. Something careless.
He opened it, only enough to find identification.
Your student ID stared back at him.
Except—
The name printed there wasn’t yours.
His brows furrowed.
“Kim Ji-won?” he murmured under his breath.
He looked up instinctively, scanning the street.
You were already halfway down the block, pedaling fast, hair lifting slightly in the wind. Chaerin was beside you, both of you unaware, both of you laughing.
He watched you ride away.
There was something oddly familiar about the feeling that settled in his chest.
Rain wasn’t falling this time.
But the air shifted all the same.
He didn’t know why his gaze lingered. Didn’t know why he memorized the way your skirt moved with the wind, or how you leaned forward slightly when you pedaled faster.
He just stood there.
Holding your wallet.
The bus was gone.
You were gone.
And yet he didn’t feel rushed anymore.
After a moment, he slipped the wallet carefully into his bag.
He adjusted the strap over his shoulder and began walking toward school instead.
Unaware that he was following the same path you had just taken.
Unaware that this wasn’t the first time he had seen you.
Because months ago, in the rain, under a narrow awning outside a corner store, he had looked at you the exact same way.
And you had looked at him.
He didn’t know your real name yet.
Didn’t know your class.
Didn’t know that in less than an hour, he would hear it announced over the broadcast speakers.
But as he walked, one quiet thought lingered in his mind:
I’ve seen her before.
And somewhere ahead —
You laughed again, completely unaware that fate had just bent itself slightly in your direction.
Being late on the first day of school felt like a crime you hadn’t meant to commit.
You and Chaerin slowed as soon as you spotted them, the seniors standing just past the main gate, clipboards and notebooks in hand, their presence unmistakable. Year 3s. The kind who already knew where they belonged, who wore their uniforms like second skin. They were tasked with signing in new and returning students, checking names and classes with bored efficiency.
Chaerin groaned softly beside you. “We’re so dead.”
“We’re not dead,” you whispered back, though your heart picked up speed anyway. “We’re just… a little late.”
She shot you a look. “On the first day?”
You didn’t have an answer for that.
The two of you approached slowly, bikes already locked away, shoes scuffing the pavement. The Year 3 girl looked up first. She had sharp eyes and neatly tied hair, her expression neutral in a way that made you straighten instinctively.
“Names and classes,” she said, pen already poised above the page.
You swallowed and stepped forward before Chaerin could say something unnecessary.
“L/n Y/n,” you said clearly. “Year 2, Class 9.”
The words sounded strange out loud. Year 2. Class 9. A new label settling over your shoulders.
The girl nodded and began writing, her pen moving quickly across the paper.
Chaerin leaned forward next. “Yun Chaerin,” she said brightly. “Same class.”
“Class 9,” the girl repeated, jotting it down without looking up.
For a split second, you relaxed. That wasn’t so bad. Maybe being late wouldn’t matter after all.
Then—
“Hey.”
The voice came from behind you.
It was calm but firm, enough to draw everyone’s attention. The Year 3 boy, who had been leaning lazily against the gate, straightened and squinted past you.
“Excuse me,” he called out, pointing slightly. “You there. What do you think you’re doing?”
You turned instinctively, confusion flickering through you.
A boy was walking toward the entrance, steps quick but careful, like he was trying not to be noticed. He carried a small stack of books tucked under one arm, his backpack slung neatly over his shoulder. There was something about him, about the way he moved, that made him stand out even before he stopped.
He froze when he realized he’d been spotted.
“…Me?” he asked, blinking.
“Yes, you,” the Year 3 boy said, already pushing himself off the gate. “Sneaking in on the first day?”
The boy sighed softly, the kind of sigh that carried tired amusement rather than guilt. He walked over and offered a polite bow to both seniors.
“Good morning,” he said. “I wasn’t sneaking. I just—”
“We don’t really care,” the Year 3 girl cut in, finally looking up from her clipboard. Her gaze flicked over him briefly. “Name and class.”
The boy paused.
Just for a moment.
His brows knit together, lips parting slightly as if he hadn’t expected the question. There was something almost offended in the way his posture stiffened, not dramatically, just enough to notice.
“…You don’t know?” he asked carefully.
The Year 3 boy snorted. “Should we?”
Chaerin stiffened beside you.
The boy opened his mouth, clearly ready to say something, to explain, maybe, or correct them, but the Year 3 girl moved faster. She reached forward without warning and plucked one of the books from his arm.
“Hey—” he started.
She flipped it open, eyes scanning the inside cover.
“Eom Seonghyeon,” she read aloud.
The name hung in the air.
The boy’s expression shifted instantly. Confusion crossed his face, followed by something like disbelief. He inhaled, about to speak—
“That’s him,” the Year 3 boy said suddenly, eyes widening a fraction. “Right?”
Seonghyeon blinked. “Actually, my name is—”
“You’re the new transfer,” the Year 3 boy continued, nodding like he’d solved a puzzle. “Yeah, I heard about you.”
Seonghyeon stopped mid-sentence.
“…You did?” he asked slowly.
Chaerin leaned closer to you, barely containing herself. “Y/n,” she whispered urgently, eyes locked on him. “That’s one of the famous guys.”
You frowned slightly. “What?”
“Eom Seonghyeon,” she repeated under her breath. “The smart one. The really handsome one.”
You looked at him properly then.
Really looked.
He was taller than you’d expected, posture straight but not stiff. His uniform fit him neatly, sleeves pressed, collar perfect. His hair was dark and slightly tousled, like he’d run his hand through it once too many times. His face, soft but defined, carried a loud kind of handsomeness, the type that didn’t need effort.
The Year 3 girl, oblivious to the silent realization blooming around her, tapped her pen against the page. “Class?”
Seonghyeon hesitated. “I’m in Year 2,” he said. “Class-.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Class 9, right?” she said, glancing briefly at you and Chaerin. “You’re with them?”
You stiffened.
Chaerin opened her mouth. “Uh—”
“No,” Seonghyeon said quickly, turning toward the seniors. “I’m not-.”
The Year 3 girl was already writing.
“Class 9,” she repeated, pen scratching decisively. “There. Done.”
Seonghyeon stared at the page.
“…Wait,” he said, a bit more firmly this time. “That’s wrong.”
The Year 3 boy shrugged. “Schedules can be changed later. First day’s chaotic anyway.”
“It’s really not—”
“You can take it up with the office,” the girl interrupted, closing her clipboard. “Next.”
The silence that followed was… awkward.
Seonghyeon stood there, lips pressed together, clearly weighing whether it was worth pushing further. His eyes flicked briefly toward you and Chaerin, then back to the seniors.
“…Alright,” he said finally, voice even. “Thank you.”
The words were polite, but there was something resigned in them.
The Year 3 girl gestured toward the building. “You’re free to go. All of you. Classes are about to start.”
You and Chaerin moved instinctively, stepping away from the gate and quickly running to the school.
The two of you slipped into Class 9 like you were trying not to disturb the air itself.
The classroom already felt lived in, desks scraped slightly out of alignment, sunlight spilling through wide windows, the low hum of voices overlapping in excited murmurs. It smelled faintly of fresh paper and floor cleaner, of a place that had been empty all summer and was now being asked to wake up again.
You kept your head down as you moved toward your seats near the middle, heart still fluttering from being late, from the gate, from the way the morning already felt heavier than it should have been.
Almost made it, you thought.
You’d barely set your bag down when—
“You two.”
The voice cut cleanly through the room.
You froze.
Chaerin froze harder.
The teacher stood at the front, glasses perched low on his nose, attendance sheet in hand. He didn’t look angry, just mildly amused in the way teachers always were when they caught students trying to disappear.
“You must be the late ones,” he said. “Go on. Introduce yourselves.”
Every head turned.
You felt heat rush to your face instantly.
Chaerin straightened beside you, inhaled once like she was preparing for battle, and stood up.
“I’m Yun Chaerin,” she said brightly, voice confident despite the attention. “Year 2, Class 9. Nice to meet you.”
A few students nodded. Someone whispered her name like they were already memorizing it.
She sat back down, nudging your knee gently under the desk.
Your turn.
You stood, fingers curling around the edge of the desk for balance.
“I’m… L/n Y/n,” you said, voice softer but steady. “I’m also in Year 2, Class 9. Please take care of me.”
There was a small ripple of sound, chairs shifting, a few murmurs. You bowed slightly and sat down quickly, heart pounding in your ears.
The teacher glanced down at his papers again, then back up at you.
“L/n Y/n,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That name sounds familiar.”
Your stomach tightened.
“Yes,” he continued, flipping a page. “You’re the student who got a perfect score on the English entrance exam, correct?”
The room went very quiet.
You blinked, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Oh,” the teacher said, eyebrows lifting. “Impressive.”
A beat passed.
Then—
“Wait, seriously?”
“A hundred?”
“No way…”
Whispers erupted around you like startled birds.
You smiled awkwardly, ducking your head as you sat back fully in your seat. You could feel eyes on you now, curious, assessing, suddenly interested.
A girl in front of you turned around. “Hey, um… Y/n, right?”
“Yes?”
“Do you tutor?”
You laughed softly. “Not officially.”
A boy two seats over leaned in. “Could you help me with essays sometime?”
“Same here,” someone else chimed in.
Chaerin grinned proudly, resting her chin on her hand like she’d personally achieved the score herself.
Before you could answer anyone properly, the teacher clapped his hands once. “Alright, alright. Settle down. We’ll sort out study groups later.”
Relief washed through you.
Chaerin raised her hand suddenly.
“Yes?” the teacher asked.
“Um,” she said casually, though you knew her well enough to catch the excitement buzzing beneath it, “I was wondering, are there any new transfer students joining our class?”
The teacher frowned slightly. “New transfer students?”
“Yes,” Chaerin pressed. “Like… Eom Seonghyeon?”
Your heart skipped.
The teacher’s expression shifted to confusion. “Eom Seonghyeon? No, he’s assigned to Class 1.”
Chaerin blinked. “Oh.”
You felt something small but sharp settle in your chest. You weren’t sure what it was, disappointment, maybe, or simply the strange feeling of a thread being tugged loose.
“Must’ve been a mix-up,” the teacher continued. “He’s definitely not in this class.”
Chaerin nodded slowly, glancing at you with wide eyes.
You shrugged slightly, unsure what to say.
In Class 1, the atmosphere felt different.
Sharper. Quieter. Like everyone there was already aware they were meant to be something.
A girl stood at the front, attendance sheet in hand, calling names while the teacher sorted through paperwork behind her.
“Ahn Keonho.”
“Here,” a voice answered immediately.
Keonho lounged in his seat near the window, one arm draped casually over the back of the chair beside him. His uniform was neat, but the looseness of his posture gave him away, confident, comfortable, like he already owned the room.
“Eom Seonghyeon,” the girl called next.
No answer.
Keonho glanced toward the door.
“…Eom Seonghyeon,” she repeated.
Still nothing.
The door slid open quietly.
Seonghyeon stepped in, slightly breathless but composed, hair still perfectly in place despite everything that had already gone wrong that morning.
“Sorry,” he said politely. “Here.”
Keonho’s face lit up instantly. “There you are.”
He stood, pulling out the chair next to him. “Saved you a seat.”
Seonghyeon offered him a small smile and sat down, setting his books neatly on the desk.
“What took you so long?” Keonho whispered.
“I was late,” Seonghyeon replied just as quietly. “Got stopped by the students on duty at the gate.”
Keonho stiffened.
“…The ones signing people in?”
“Yes.”
Keonho’s eyes widened. “Did they ask your name?”
“Yes,” Seonghyeon said slowly, turning to look at him. “Why?”
Keonho swallowed. “And… what did they write down?”
Seonghyeon frowned. “Class 9.”
Keonho choked on a laugh, quickly covering his mouth. “No way.”
Seonghyeon tilted his head. “What?”
Keonho waved his hand dismissively, forcing a grin. “Nothing. Just, déjà vu.”
Seonghyeon studied him for a moment, suspicious. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m not,” Keonho said quickly. “Just… glad you made it.”
Seonghyeon wasn’t convinced, but he let it go. There were more important things on his mind.
Like you.
As the class settled into a low murmur, Seonghyeon’s gaze drifted toward the window, thoughts replaying the morning over and over again. The gate. The clipboard. Your name written neatly under Class 9.
And the wallet.
He stood suddenly.
Keonho blinked. “Where are you going?”
“I need to check something,” Seonghyeon said, already gathering his things. “I’ll be back.”
“During attendance?” Keonho hissed.
“I won’t be long.”
And before Keonho could protest further, Seonghyeon slipped out of the classroom.
Your free period arrived like a small breath of air between everything else.
The bell rang, sharp and echoing, and the classroom slowly loosened, students standing, chairs scraping back, conversations blooming in clusters.
You and Chaerin lingered in your seats, neither of you in any rush to move. Sunlight poured through the windows at a slant now, warming the desks, making dust motes visible as they drifted lazily through the air.
Chaerin leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in deep thought.
“I don’t buy it,” she said suddenly.
You glanced up from your notebook. “Buy what?”
“Eom Seonghyeon,” she replied. “There’s no way he just forgot his class.”
You blinked. “Why not?”
She scooted her chair closer to yours, lowering her voice like she was about to reveal a secret conspiracy. “Think about it. He’s supposed to be insanely smart. Like… genius-level smart. People like that don’t just misremember their class number.”
You shrugged, twirling your pen between your fingers. “Maybe he was nervous. First day, new school. It happens.”
Chaerin gave you a look. “Y/n. You literally got a hundred on your entrance exam and you’d never forget what class you’re in.”
“That’s different,” you said quickly. “I triple-check everything.”
“Exactly.”
You sighed. “Then what do you think happened?”
Chaerin’s eyes lit up. “I heard a rumor.”
You groaned softly. “Of course you did.”
“Apparently,” she continued undeterred, “points get deducted from a class if someone’s late. Like, it affects their overall ranking or something.”
You paused. “Seriously?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “So what if he did it on purpose? Lied about his class so the points wouldn’t be deducted from Class 1.”
You frowned slightly. “That feels… extreme.”
“Or he’s cheating,” she countered.
You laughed under your breath. “We don’t even know him like that.”
Chaerin grinned. “Am I wrong?”
Before you could respond, someone cleared their throat beside your desk.
You looked up to see a girl you vaguely recognized from your class, one of the student reps, judging by the clipboard tucked under her arm.
“L/n Y/n?” she asked.
“Yes?”
She smiled apologetically. “You’re the only one who hasn’t paid for your uniform yet.”
Your heart skipped.
“Oh—! I’m sorry,” you said quickly. “I thought I did.”
“No worries,” she replied. “You can just bring it by the office during lunch.”
“Of course,” you said, already reaching into your bag. “I’ll pay now, actually—”
Your fingers brushed fabric.
You rummaged deeper.
Nothing.
Your smile faltered.
You checked the front pocket. Then the side pocket. Then emptied half your bag onto the desk, books, pens, loose papers spilling out in a quiet panic.
Your wallet wasn’t there.
“…That’s weird,” you muttered.
Chaerin leaned over. “What?”
“My wallet,” you said, heart starting to race. “It’s not here.”
She blinked. “Didn’t you put it in your bag earlier?”
“Yes,” you said, certain. “I swear I did.”
The student rep frowned gently. “You can pay later if you need to—”
“No, it’s fine,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “I’ll figure it out.”
She nodded and moved on.
Chaerin’s expression shifted from teasing to concerned. “Okay. Think. When was the last time you had it?”
“This morning,” you said. “I swore I put it in my bag when I was about to leave my house.”
Her eyes widened. “Wait. You had your ID in there, right?”
“Yes.”
“And… your name?”
Your stomach dropped.
“…No.”
Chaerin stared at you. “Y/n.”
“I know,” you whispered. “I know.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Please tell me you didn’t—”
“I put a famous Korean actress’s name on it,” you admitted quietly.
Chaerin froze.
“…You did what?”
“I thought it’d be funny,” you said weakly. “It was a joke! I didn’t think anyone would ever actually look at it.”
She opened her mouth to scold you—
—and then the classroom speakers crackled to life.
“May I have everyone’s attention.”
Your blood ran cold.
“This is an announcement from the broadcast studio. A student ID and wallet were found earlier today.”
Chaerin slowly turned to you.
Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure everyone could hear it.
“If the owner of the wallet belonging to—” the announcer paused, papers rustling. “—Kim Ji-won, please report to the broadcast studio immediately.”
The room erupted.
Laughter. Gasps. Confused murmurs.
Chaerin slapped a hand over her mouth.
You stood up so fast your chair screeched loudly against the floor.
“I—um,” you stammered. “I need to use the bathroom.”
The teacher waved you off without much thought.
You bolted.
The hallway felt longer than it had ever been, your shoes echoing too loudly against the polished floor. Your face burned with embarrassment, dread curling tightly in your stomach.
Chaerin caught up easily.
“You’re Kim Ji-won now?” she hissed.
“It was supposed to be temporary!” you whispered back.
“So the actress is you,” she said, half incredulous, half impressed.
“This is not the time.”
The broadcast studio door was open, warm light spilling out into the hallway. Inside, a handful of students milled about, one girl seated at the mic, another sorting through papers.
As soon as you stepped in, a boy near the desk looked up—and then did a double take.
“…This?” he asked, holding up your student ID, squinting between it and your face. “This is yours?”
You winced. “Yes.”
He looked at the card again. Then at you. “But this says—”
“I know,” you said quickly. “It’s a joke. A bad one. I’m sorry.”
Chaerin leaned casually against the wall, biting her lip to keep from laughing.
The boy blinked a few times, then burst out laughing anyway. “I knew it didn’t make sense.”
He handed the ID and wallet back to you. “Here. Try not to cause an identity scandal next time.”
You bowed quickly. “Thank you. Really.”
As you tucked your wallet safely into your bag, zipping it all the way this time, Chaerin cleared her throat.
“Hey,” she said. “Who found it?”
The boy looked up. “Oh. Two boys.”
Your heart skipped.
“They dropped it off and left,” he continued. “Seemed like they were in a hurry.”
Chaerin’s eyes lit up instantly. “See? I knew it.”
“Knew what?” you asked, though you already felt the answer forming.
“It was probably Eom Seonghyeon,” she said confidently. “Come on.”
Before you could protest, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the studio.
“Chaerin—!”
“Trust me.”
She dragged you up the stairs toward the upper floor, where the hallway overlooked the main entrance. From there, you could see almost everything below, the gate, the courtyard, students moving like pieces in a slow, careful dance.
You leaned over the railing, heart pounding.
And then—
You saw them.
Two boys walking side by side.
One taller, posture relaxed, laughing at something the other had said. The other quieter, steps measured, gaze focused forward.
The world narrowed.
The taller boy turned his head slightly, and your breath caught.
There he was.
The boy from the convenience store.
The look that had stayed with you all this time.
Your fingers tightened around the railing.
Before Chaerin could get a better look, you yanked her backward, ducking behind the ledge.
“What are you doing?” she whispered urgently.
You swallowed.
“…Ahn Keonho.”
She frowned. “What?”
“That’s his name,” you said, voice barely above a breath. “Ahn Keonho.”
Chaerin stared at you. “How do you know that?”
You hesitated. Then answered honestly.
“I saw him once,” you said softly. “At a corner store. It was raining.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“You met him?”
“No,” you corrected. “I just… saw him.”
You both slowly rose again, just in time to see the two boys disappear through the doors, gone as quickly as they’d appeared.
Chaerin exhaled dramatically. “Y/n.”
You didn’t answer.
Because deep down, you didn’t know yet.
That the boy you thought was Keonho
was actually Eom Seonghyeon.
And that the misunderstanding had already begun weaving itself quietly into your life—
thread by thread,
moment by moment,
like something inevitable.
And somewhere below,
two boys walked on,
unaware that fate had already tangled all of you together.
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ─── keonho recently found out you love matcha! so his biggest plan was not only to like matcha because you do… it was to start making his own matcha at home hoping to get your attention! he does every recipe possible, gave him a week to master making matcha at home, and hope this plan becomes successful <3
𝜗ৎ pairing. ahn keonho x fem!reader
status ── ongoing
˖᯽ ݁˖ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 coco speaking here! IM SO LATE FOR KEONHO’S BIRTHDAY BUT I HAVE DECIDED TO MAKE SMAU SERIES FIRST BECAUSE I LOVE THE IDEA OF MENTIONING MATCHA TO MOST OF MY FICS BECAUSE LKKE I LOVEEEE MATCHA SO BAD 🥹🫰 SO WHY NOT MAKE A SMAU SERIES OF KEONHO AND YEAH 🫶🫶
𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒
✶ 01 ── ARE WE COOKING?
✶ 02 ── BEANIE
✶ 03 ── HE CAN PULL
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
comment to be added in the series taglist or perm taglist here
MORE PHOTOS??? KEONHO DUDDEEEE YOURE NO JOKES OH MY GOD 😭😭😭😭😭
HIS FACE CARD LIKE I WISH I KNEW MY ANGLES CAUSE I LOOK AHHH WHEN PEOPLE TAKE MY PICS ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ IM SO FREAKING JEALOUS SIGJS
BUT I LOVE HIM HES SO BEAUTIFUL DUDE #keonhoholic #sonily #iloverambling #HEISSOCUTEEEEE
AND THEY HAVE A VLOG THATS 52 MINUTES LONG??? WHAT BRO 😭😭😭 THATS A WHOLE MOVIE IM CRYINGGG 😭 I NEED TO LOCK IN CAUSE I SAW MIU MIU GLASES AND HEADBAND KEONHO??? WOAHHHHHHH 😨😨😨😨😨😨 HOLY SHIT
GUYS GUYS GUYS I JUST WOKE UP AND MENTION ME RELEASED??? CORTIS PERFORMED A NEW SONG?? YOUNGKEUKEU AYYYYY WTFFF STOP IT SOUNDS SO GOOD OH MY GOD 😹✌️✌️✌️✌️
MENTION ME IS SO TUFF BRO JUHOON??? BRO HE ATE SO BAD AND SEONGHYEON??? GUYS THIS IS IS PEAK LITERATURE RIGHT HERE OMG
ITS ON REPEAT 24/7 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥
I CANT WAIT TO HEAR THIS IN THE MOVIE SOON EHEHEHHEEHHEHE
