Stay a little longer
Word count: 600 Pairing: Ahn Suho x You (Y/N) Genre: Fluff, school setting, quiet confession POV: Third person, “Y/N” as your name
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Class had ended an hour ago. The sun was already beginning to dip outside the windows, casting warm streaks of gold across the scratched desks and smudged whiteboard.
Y/N sighed, broom in hand, staring at the same corner of the classroom she'd been sweeping for the past ten minutes.
Because Ahn Suho was still asleep in the back. Face down on his desk, arms folded into a pillow, hair messy, lips slightly parted.
And, as always, looking stupidly beautiful doing absolutely nothing.
It wasn’t unusual — Suho was known for passing out the moment classes ended, always in that exact spot. What was unusual was how you, of all people, had been left to do cleaning duty alone.
You glanced at him again. Still not moving.
“Of course,” you muttered. “Just me. And Sleeping Beauty.”
You swept a little more aggressively than necessary, but your eyes kept drifting back to him. Because the truth was... you didn’t mind.
You liked staying behind with him. You liked the quiet. You liked him.
You hadn’t meant to fall for him — but here you were, heart aching a little every time he yawned, or bumped your shoulder when passing you in the hallway, or offered his earphones during breaks without a word.
You leaned on the broom, staring at him. Then sighed. Loudly.
“Suho,” you said, not expecting him to respond. “If you’re awake right now, just know... I like you.”
Silence.
You blinked at your own words, blood draining from your face. “I was kidding,” you said quickly, even though you clearly weren’t. “Forget it. I was just—”
“I know,” came a sleepy mumble.
Your breath caught.
Suho shifted, still not lifting his head. “You sweep really loud when you’re nervous.”
You froze, the broom halfway to the dustpan. “Wait… you were awake?”
He slowly sat up, blinking lazily, his hair sticking up at odd angles. His voice was rough with sleep, but there was a small smile playing on his lips. “Since like... ten minutes ago.”
“Kill me,” you muttered, covering your face with your hands.
“You like me,” he teased, drawing out the words like it was his favorite sentence. “Y/N likes me.”
You groaned, trying to duck behind the whiteboard. “I swear if you tell anyone—”
“I won’t,” he said. And then, quieter, “I don’t want to share it.”
You turned to look at him, heart thudding. He stood up, stretching, walking over to you — his steps slow, like he still hadn’t fully woken up.
“Say it again,” Suho said softly, stopping right in front of you.
You swallowed. “What?”
He leaned in just a bit. “Say you like me.”
You stared up at him, cheeks burning. “...I like you.”
There was a pause. Then a gentle smile.
“Good,” Suho murmured, “because I like you too.”
And then, in the golden quiet of the almost-empty classroom, he kissed you.
It wasn’t rushed. It was shy, and warm, and tasted faintly of afternoon naps and pencil shavings and every tiny, unspoken feeling you’d been holding onto for months.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours.
“I fall asleep a lot,” he said. “But I swear I’m awake now.”
You laughed — light, breathless. “Better stay awake. You’ve got chalk dust in your hair.”
He smirked. “Guess you’ll have to help me clean it out, then.”
And just like that, the broom was forgotten, and so was the dustpan. Because for once, cleaning duty had turned into something a little more magical.