Second Lead Syndrome | kmg
Genre: College Au! Football Au!
Type: angst, fluff
Word Count: 17k
Summary: Spiraling relationship brought you two—the second lead of the story—trying to overcome the heartbreak.
Have you ever heard the story of two perfect people? A perfect man with perfect hair, a perfect body, and a perfect way of carrying himself—calm, composed, and effortlessly cool. This man, of course, is dating a perfect woman with a perfect face, a perfect attitude, and just the perfect dose of kindness that made everyone say, "Ah, no wonder they’re together."
The kind of couple that made people sigh and mumble, "They’re meant to be," or, "It’s written in the stars."
That was exactly how people described Wonwoo and Jooyeon.
Wonwoo—everyone’s favorite honor student, top of the class, the quiet genius, and the admired captain of the campus soccer team—had finally confessed to Jooyeon, the girl with the dazzling smile and the kind of gentle charm that turned even the cafeteria line into a fairytale backdrop. She was perfect: admired by professors, adored by classmates, and untouchable—until suddenly, she wasn’t.
They were perfect, together. Almost annoyingly so.
When rumors started flying about the two of them dating, it felt like a minor campus apocalypse. Hearts cracked open all over—some dramatically, some in secret. The arts students wrote poetry about doomed love. The engineers, who claimed they didn’t care, were caught staring blankly at unfinished problem sets. It was the kind of heartbreak usually reserved for the day your favorite idol announces their wedding—except this was worse. Because Wonwoo and Jooyeon were real, tangible. They sat two rows ahead in lectures, they borrowed pens, they existed in the same airspace.
That’s how powerful they were. Campus royalty without ever needing crowns. Living proof that fate could be painfully unfair.
And the best part?
They didn’t care. Not even a little bit.
While students wiped tears off midterm notes and ranted in anonymous group chats, Wonwoo and Jooyeon strolled hand in hand through the chaos, oblivious. Unbothered. Untouched by the collective heartbreak they’d caused. Like everyone else was just background noise—necessary, but not worth noticing.
Now that was real power.
"You liked him first, didn’t you?"
Mingyu—vice captain, star striker, and the only person bold enough to say it out loud—stood beside you, his eyes locked on the pair of perfection across the field. Wonwoo and Jooyeon sat on the bench, leaning close, laughing quietly over a shared sandwich like they were the only two people in the universe. It was sweet. Or nauseating. Or maybe both.
You turned to Mingyu, a tight frown tugging at your lips.
“How do you know that?" you asked, suddenly wary. That little secret had been buried so deep between dusty team rosters and forgotten water bottles, you’d nearly convinced yourself it never happened.
Mingyu—whose reputation for guarding secrets was about as sturdy as wet tissue—didn’t even flinch.
"Jooyeon told me," he mumbled, eyes still locked on the golden couple across the field, like he was watching a live drama he’d never auditioned for but somehow had a supporting role in anyway.
Your brows knitted together. "Jooyeon told you? You two talk?"
It wasn’t jealousy that tugged at your chest; it was the sour taste of confusion. Since when did your best friend chat up soccer boys? Especially ones like Mingyu—loud, impossible to ignore, and definitely not her usual type of confidant. Actually, scratch that. Since when did Jooyeon do anything exactly how you imagined anymore?
She was dating Wonwoo now. Your Wonwoo—well, the Wonwoo you had once quietly, hopefully, almost had. And the worst part was the quiet question now scratching at the back of your mind: Did you ever really know her?
A flicker of doubt you didn’t want to feel whispered louder than your own thoughts: Should this friendship even continue?
Mingyu finally turned to look at you. His eyes weren’t teasing for once—just tired. Almost too honest.
"She talked about you. Got your man. And you still can’t bring yourself to hate her, can you?"
You exhaled, a shaky sigh that almost covered the small, dry laugh that caught in Mingyu’s throat. He knew. He was right, and that was the worst part.
You liked Wonwoo first. You liked him so carefully—piece by piece, a shy laugh here, a passing brush of shoulders there. But Jooyeon had reached out faster. And despite everything—despite the ache that sometimes flared up when you saw them share a scarf in winter or sneak a drink from the same bottle—you still couldn’t bring yourself to hate her. She was Jooyeon. Sweet. Gentle. Thoughtful in ways that made it hard to hold grudges.
"That’s what that guy is to me too," Mingyu said suddenly, voice lower, words heavier.
You blinked, thrown off. “Wait... you mean you—”
He nodded, tapping two fingers together like connecting puzzle pieces, then pointing them at the couple.
"We were close. Really close. I think... maybe I got them close too. Funny, huh?"
Not funny at all.
More like cruel. A twisted cosmic joke, played on both of you without a warning or a punchline.
"Welcome to the adult world, I guess?" you said, mustering a hand gesture that looked bold enough to pass for confidence, even though your voice cracked just enough to betray you.
Mingyu snorted, his laugh a quiet, almost disbelieving sound. "You’re funny, Y/n. Didn’t know you were funny."
You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t fight the small smile that tugged at your lips. He was an idiot, but maybe in this moment, he was your idiot.
Your eyes flicked to your watch—five minutes of break left. Sighing, you pushed yourself up from the bench and turned to stand in front of Kim Mingyu—star striker, vice captain, and the only guy on this field who could make a heartbreak conversation sound like a sitcom script.
"Well, Mingyu..." you began, voice teasing, theatrically dramatic, hoping it would cover up the dull sting you still felt somewhere behind your ribs.
But when your eyes met his, there was no secret spark. No skipped heartbeat. No accidental daydream about what if.
Just Kim Mingyu. The messy striker. The man-child who forgot his cleats and blamed the team manager—aka you—every time he lost his water bottle.
"Being funny doesn’t get you a man," you said with a wry, lopsided grin, turning back toward the field where the rest of the team was half-heartedly kicking balls around.
Then, loud enough for every sulking player to hear: "Five minutes left, guys! Let’s not waste it complaining about your love lives, yeah?"
And with that, you left Mingyu laughing behind you—your heartbreak still tucked safely where no one could see it, except maybe him, Kim Mingyu, the boy whose heartbreak matched yours.
*
Mingyu was seething. The kind of anger that sat hot in his chest and prickled down his spine like static under his skin. He’d caught the whispers earlier that day—someone had roughed up Hansol. Choi Hansol: the youngest on the team, the quiet one who bowed lower than everyone else, ran harder than everyone else, and never once complained.
Hansol had shown up late to practice, eyes downcast, a fresh bruise blooming across his left cheekbone like an ugly signature left behind by a coward. The moment he stepped onto the field, the air shifted. Conversations sputtered and died. Laughter dissolved mid-breath. His hyungs just watched—some with guilt, some with fear, none brave enough to speak first.
Mingyu clenched his jaw so tight his teeth ached. Everyone knew. Everyone saw. Including Wonwoo, who caught Mingyu’s glare from across the pitch. Mingyu jerked his chin—wait.
Wonwoo held his gaze for a heartbeat, then gave a stiff nod, stepping forward to blow the whistle and herd the team into warm-ups.
But Mingyu wasn’t warming up. He was burning.
He’d heard the so-called reason behind the bruise. Hansol had aced the tryouts—first-year rookie, playing with the calm confidence of someone born for the national stage. But a few seniors in his department didn’t like that. They spat rumors—called him a teacher’s pet, claimed he must’ve bribed someone, that he’d stolen a spot they didn’t have the guts to fight for themselves.
It didn’t matter that none of it was true.
Jealousy never needed proof. Just a soft target.
Mingyu’s fists curled at his sides, nails biting his palm as he took a step forward—ready to tear through anyone stupid enough to lay a finger on Hansol again—when your voice slipped through the tense quiet like a drop of cool water on hot iron.
"What happened to your face?"
Mingyu froze mid-step, catching his breath—not from the run, but from the way your tone sliced clean through the heavy silence. Not angry. Not scolding. Just... raw concern. So gentle it stung.
Hansol startled at your question, but you didn’t give him a chance to hide. You dropped the bottle you’d been carrying, letting it roll forgotten into the grass as you stepped closer to him. Carefully, like he might break if you moved too fast, you lifted a hand—small, delicate compared to the ugly bruise marring his cheek. Your thumb brushed feather-light near the swelling, your brows knitting together.
"Did you get into a fight? Who did this?" you asked, voice low but steady, shielding him from the curious stares gathering behind you.
Hansol didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. His gaze flickered to the ground. Shoulders slightly hunched. Silence clung to him like sweat.
You glanced back at Mingyu, confused, worried, and still unaware—still innocent in all this.
And Mingyu? He was no longer boiling. He was ready.
After practice ended, the sun dipped low over the field, painting the sky in streaks of gold and bruised lilac. The rest of the team was already trickling off toward the showers, their laughter echoing faintly, cleats scraping against pavement.
Hansol lingered, sitting alone on the edge of the field with his knees pulled up, arms resting over them, eyes fixed somewhere distant. The bruise on his cheek had darkened under the fading sunlight, a quiet reminder of the things unsaid.
Mingyu tossed a towel over his shoulder and walked up to him with a casual nod.
"Wanna get a drink?"
Hansol blinked, as if surprised someone was still there. He nodded after a beat, not saying much, just rising with that same quiet energy, brushing dirt from his joggers.
They didn’t talk on the walk to the vending machines behind the gym building. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was patient. Mingyu slid a can of cold peach soda across the metal bench toward Hansol, then popped open his own bottle.
He didn’t press. Mingyu wasn’t the type to pry. Not when someone was already carrying something heavy. He just sat beside the younger, sipping quietly, watching the way Hansol rolled the can between his palms like it was something fragile.
After a few minutes, Hansol finally spoke.
"It was just some seniors from my major."
His voice was calm, but Mingyu heard the exhaustion buried beneath it.
"They said I made the team too easily. That I must’ve known someone, or that Coach just wanted a rookie for the headlines." Hansol paused, eyes low. "One of them was someone I used to look up to."
Mingyu’s grip on his bottle tightened. He turned his body slightly toward Hansol, face serious.
"Is this the first time?"
Hansol shook his head slowly. "Second. The first time was just pushing. This time… they made it count, I guess."
Mingyu exhaled sharply, the kind of breath people let out when they’re trying not to explode. His voice dropped, firm and low.
"You should’ve told someone. Told me."
Hansol gave a faint, apologetic shrug. "I didn’t want to cause trouble. Or seem weak."
"You’re not weak," Mingyu said immediately, not letting that sit. "You’re one of the best rookies we’ve had in years. That’s why they’re coming after you. They’re threatened. That’s not your fault."
Hansol didn’t reply, but the corner of his mouth twitched—half gratitude, half relief.
Mingyu leaned back on his palms, eyes scanning the horizon.
"I don’t care how quiet you are, Hansol. You’re part of this team. Anyone who messes with you, messes with me."
Hansol glanced at him, and for the first time all day, his shoulders eased just a little.
"You’re kind of intense, hyung."
Mingyu laughed under his breath. "Yeah, well. Get used to it."
They sat there a bit longer in the dimming light, the silence between them no longer heavy, but healing.
The next practice session started like any other—humid, loud, and laced with the smell of grass and sweat. But the usual routine screeched to a halt when everyone’s attention turned to the sideline.
There they were. Three students—three fully grown college boys—on their knees, hands raised to the sky like they were repenting for their sins in a K-drama courtroom. It was a sight so surreal that even the most focused players stopped mid-warm-up.
Mingyu had just jogged onto the field after changing into his jersey, towel slung around his neck, when he froze mid-step. His brows furrowed, mouth parting slightly in disbelief.
“What the hell—” he mumbled, blinking hard as if that might change the scene.
Because right in front of the three kneeling boys was you. Standing with your arms firmly planted on your hips, your expression somewhere between disappointed mother and vengeful war general. You weren’t yelling, you weren’t even raising your voice, but the sheer authority in your posture could’ve summoned lightning. It was terrifyingly impressive.
It also reminded Mingyu of that one time he shattered his mother’s favorite vase and she made him kneel in front of her altar for three hours with soy sauce packets on his shoulders.
“What's going on?” Mingyu asked Jun, who was stretching nearby but clearly more interested in the live drama.
“Oh, turns out those guys were the ones who bullied Hansol,” Jun said, trying not to sound too gleeful. “And get this—they’re her juniors from Dojang.”
Mingyu blinked. “Dojang?”
“Y’know. Her martial arts elective thing?” Seokmin waved a hand. “Apparently, she’s some kind of assistant there. Has like, real authority. Scary, right?”
Mingyu’s mouth fell open a little wider. “So she’s… punishing them? Right here? On our field?”
“Yup. Campus-wide humiliation. Full exposure. Public repentance. She didn’t even ask Coach.”
As if on cue, Coach walked by, gave the scene a short glance, and muttered, “About time someone taught those brats a lesson,” before continuing on.
Mingyu watched as you spoke to the kneeling trio, voice calm but your words sharp enough to cut through steel. One of them visibly flinched. Another looked like he was trying not to cry.
You turned slightly, caught Mingyu watching, and raised an eyebrow as if to say, What? This is the bare minimum.
Mingyu chuckled under his breath, utterly impressed. “She’s terrifying,” he murmured.
“Hot, though,” Jun added thoughtfully.
“Very,” Mingyu agreed.
Behind them, Hansol jogged onto the field, bruise healing, eyes wide in disbelief as he spotted the trio groveling on the grass.
“Uh… what happened?” he asked.
“You got a guardian angel, kid,” Mingyu said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “And she does martial arts.”
*
"You don't have to do that. It could affect the team’s reputation. I hope you won’t do something like that again."
Wonwoo’s voice was calm but firm, carrying a weight that made it echo sharper than intended. Mingyu paused mid-step, hand resting on the locker room door, when he caught the conversation happening just around the corner—behind one of the pillars. Quietly, he leaned back, staying out of sight.
You were standing there, posture straight, eyes locked with Wonwoo’s. You didn’t look guilty. You didn’t even look surprised. Just… unreadable.
Mingyu frowned. He knew exactly what this was about—your dramatic punishment of Hansol’s bullies on the field yesterday. Most people had secretly loved it. But of course, Captain Jeon Perfect had something to say.
It took Mingyu back to six months ago.
That was when Soonyoung, the team’s original manager and chaotic soul of the locker room, suddenly decided to enlist early. The team was left scrambling. Wonwoo, ever the composed captain, immediately started looking for a replacement. It didn’t take long for a name to surface—Ji Y/n. A management major who had impressed nearly everyone during last year’s basketball league with her sharp organization skills and no-nonsense attitude.
Mingyu remembered the day you walked onto the field for the first time. Confident but not cocky. Observant. Calm. The kind of calm that didn’t need to shout to be heard. You’d greeted the team with a small smile and a clipboard. Within the first week, you knew everyone’s stats, schedules, and even preferred energy drink flavors.
You weren’t just efficient—you were unshakable.
Mingyu stayed hidden behind the pillar, fingers tightening around the edge of the locker room doorway. His jaw clenched. He wasn't supposed to be eavesdropping—but this felt personal.
Something about the way Wonwoo said it—calm, calculated, like you were an overstepping student causing problems instead of someone protecting one of their own—made something twist inside Mingyu’s chest.
You didn’t deserve that. Not after everything you’d done for the team.
He took a half-step forward, ready to interrupt. To say something. To defend you, even if it meant clashing with his own captain.
But then you spoke. And what you said stopped him cold.
“So that’s it?” you said, arms still folded, voice sharp and low like the calm before a storm. “You don’t have to do that, huh?”
Wonwoo blinked, caught slightly off-guard.
You took a step closer—not threatening, but deliberate. “It’s funny. I actually thought it was your job to protect your team. To set the tone. To make sure people who wear that jersey feel safe wearing it.”
Wonwoo didn’t say anything. He just stood there, still and stoic, like he always did. Like silence was his shield.
You shook your head slowly, a humorless smile tugging the corner of your mouth. “I learned that from you. Back when I thought you were someone who stood up for people. But I guess people change.”
It landed with a weight that echoed louder than any shouting ever could.
Behind the pillar, Mingyu blinked.
He’d expected you to look guilty. To apologize. To fold under Wonwoo’s quiet pressure like most did. But instead, you pushed back—with facts, with clarity, and with something that sounded a lot like disappointment.
And Mingyu felt it too. The disappointment. Not just in Wonwoo—but in how things were shifting. How the captain he once admired was starting to feel... distant. Less human.
He looked down, then back toward you. You weren’t unshakable after all. You were just brave. Braver than most. And somehow, that made Mingyu’s chest feel even tighter.
*
Seungkwan clenched his teeth, arms trembling under his weight as the push-up count passed a number he couldn’t even register anymore. One hundred something-something—who even knew? All he could focus on was the sound of your voice echoing in his head like a curse.
“They bullied someone, Dad. Can you believe that?”
Your tone had been casual, almost chipper, as if you were reporting someone for stealing your lunch instead of setting off a full-blown punishment session. Unfortunately, the “Dad” in question was none other than Coach Ji—your father, Dojang’s notorious Taekwondo instructor and a man who believed character was built with sweat, tears, and shoulder pain.
Seokmin wheezed through a trembling breath, his voice cracking as he panted, “Please… spare us…”
“One hundred seventy-six!” your father shouted with military precision, making all three boys groan. Even Seokmin’s puppy eyes weren’t enough to melt that man’s spine of steel.
Regret painted itself clearly on their sweat-soaked faces, and for a moment—just a moment—your father paused.
“If I ever hear you used the Taekwondo I taught you here for nonsense like bullying,” he said, voice cold and low, “I’ll do worse than this. I’ll drag you to hell and back with my own hands.”
You folded your arms and gave a proud nod toward your juniors—Seungkwan, Seokmin, and poor misunderstood Chan. Justice had been served.
Chan, breathless and on the verge of a cramp, muttered between reps, “This is so unfair… it was just a misunderstanding—”
Your glare snapped to him like a laser beam. Sharp. Icy. Devastating.
Chan shrank like a kicked puppy, immediately silencing his protests. If looks could kill, yours would’ve buried him six feet under the gym mat. And he knew it.
Seungkwan, still stuck in a push-up, whispered under his breath, “Remind me never to get on her bad side again…”
After the chaos had settled and the boys were sprawled like starfish across the training mats, groaning and swearing they’d never bully a soul again, you walked over to your father, grabbing your bag slung by the door.
“Staying for dinner?” he asked, wiping sweat from his brow with the edge of his towel. His tone was casual, but you could hear the hope tucked in between the syllables. “Or… maybe even the night?”
You paused at the threshold, fingers tightening slightly around the strap. For a second, the thought tempted you—home-cooked food, your old bed, the quiet comfort of familiarity—but then you shook your head gently.
“I’ll sleep in the dorm tonight,” you said with a soft smile. “Got early practice tomorrow.”
Your father nodded, his expression unreadable for a beat. Then he gave you a small, approving pat on the shoulder. “You did good today.”
You gave him a teasing grin. “I learned from the best, remember?”
“Damn right you did,” he muttered, already turning back toward the whining trio on the mats. “And tell Wonwoo he still owes me for breaking that punching bag last semester.”
Your steps faltered—just slightly.
You didn’t respond. Just gave him a soft, practiced smile over your shoulder. “Goodnight, Dad.”
As you stepped out into the night air, your chest felt just a little heavier than before—but your stride didn’t slow.
You could almost hear Wonwoo in your memory, sitting cross-legged at Gojo matches, calling your name with that calm voice that still made your pulse skip.
“I enjoyed the match. You were amazing.”
But now he sat beside someone else.
And you had training in the morning.
*
You didn’t know when the rumor began—whether it slipped from one careless mouth or was born from silent stares—but by morning, it had grown teeth. You felt it the moment you stepped out of your dorm. The atmosphere changed. Eyes lingered longer. Conversations halted mid-sentence whenever you passed by, only to pick up again with an extra edge of hushed curiosity.
They weren’t just whispering your name.
They were branding it.
“She's her roommate. Can you imagine that? Her own roommate.”
“Exactly. Who does that to a friend?”
“No wonder Jooyeon’s been staying in a single room. She probably can’t bear the sight of her anymore.”
Their voices floated behind your back like shadows. And you—staring at the sidewalk as if it could swallow you whole—just kept walking.
You didn’t even understand what they thought you had done. You and Jooyeon had been friends since your first year. Laughed over late-night ramen, shared beds during thunderstorms, cried over grades, boys, and homesickness. You lived under the same roof. You trusted her.
But now, Jooyeon had Wonwoo. And you… had whispers. And maybe a group of soccer boys with the emotional maturity of overgrown toddlers.
When you finally reached the field, the sounds of morning practice were a strange kind of comfort. Cleats against turf, goalposts rattling, laughter too loud to be real. Your body moved on autopilot—crossing the track, clipboard in hand, pretending nothing was wrong.
Then came Jeonghan.
“Celebrity, aren’t you?” he called out from the grass, his tone half-amused, half-insincere. He was warming up with slow, deliberate stretches, whistling through his teeth with that infuriating smirk he always wore when he knew he’d struck a nerve.
You looked at him, deadpan. The sun was just rising above the field, casting long shadows across the green, but your patience was already running on fumes.
Without breaking stride, you turned to the bench where the rest of the team huddled like guilty children.
“If any of you start acting like him,” you said, pointing to Jeonghan, “you’ll be getting your own drinks starting from today.”
That did the trick.
Heads snapped up. A chorus of obedient nods followed. Someone even stood up straighter, as if fearing the wrath of your clipboard more than their own coach.
You exhaled slowly, turning away.
The team was moving. The world hadn’t ended. But something had shifted. You just didn’t know yet what it would cost.
“What’s wrong with you and Jooyeon? Finally broke the friendship?”
Mingyu’s voice landed behind you in a low, casual whisper that still managed to startle you.
You pressed a hand to your chest, instinctively clutching at the pounding beneath your ribs.
“Knock before you speak!” you shot back, your words laced with annoyance—but your voice didn’t hide the jolt he gave you.
Mingyu chuckled, completely unbothered. “There’s no door here.”
You turned to look at him, eyebrows scrunched, arms crossing without a second thought. There was something different in his tone today—too nosy, too curious. He was just Mingyu, the striker, the vice captain, the guy who always forgot where his water bottle was and laughed too loudly during warm-ups. You didn’t remember ever talking about personal life with him. Not deeply, anyway. Not like this.
“What’s your deal?” you asked, staring at him as if he were a puzzle you hadn’t realized was missing a few pieces. “Since when do you care about me and Jooyeon?”
He tilted his head, lips tugging into that crooked half-smile he wore when he didn’t want to answer directly. “I don’t,” he said easily. “But the two of you used to move like one person. Even Jihoon noticed. That’s saying something.”
You rolled your eyes, sighing. The last thing you needed was to explain yourself to someone who wasn't even supposed to care.
“If it’s about Jooyeon moving out, she chose to,” you said, voice steady but laced with something unspoken. “She likes to sleep in the cold, and I need to be wrapped like a human dumpling. She felt bad for turning the room into a freezer, so she offered to move. That’s all.”
You expected silence, or maybe a nod. But instead, Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head as if amused by something only he understood.
“So kind and beautiful. Unfair, right?”
His words poked something inside you—a little too familiar, a little too careless.
You scoffed, looking away from his eyes that seemed a bit too observant today.
“Not to me,” you muttered under your breath, letting the words fall out before you could dress them up.
And just like that, the coach’s whistle pierced the moment, snapping the tension like a rubber band.
Practice was starting.
But the air hadn’t cleared.
Not yet.
*
Mingyu sat on the park bench, the late noon sun filtering through the trees as he munched half-heartedly on a piece of bread he brought along. Jooyeon had texted him earlier, asking if they could talk. He didn’t want to meet at a café where eyes and ears multiplied, or the cafeteria that buzzed with idle gossip. Too many people already had too many things to say about her and Wonwoo. So he replied, “Let’s meet in the park near the field. Make sure Wonwoo knows too.”
Jooyeon arrived on time, tucking her hair behind her ear as she sat across from him, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. Her presence was quieter than usual, almost careful.
“I heard you moved out of your room,” Mingyu said, biting into the crust of his bread like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He didn’t want to just sit and listen. Multitasking helped him stay unreadable.
Jooyeon gave a small nod. “Yeah... How did you know?”
“Y/n told me,” he answered casually, watching her for a reaction. “Actually... Everyone's been talking about it.”
Jooyeon let out a long sigh and leaned back. “I don’t get why people always jump to conclusions. I feel bad for Y/n... she doesn’t deserve to be talked about like that.”
Mingyu smirked. He had something to say, something bitter and sharp, but he swallowed it like dry bread.
“I wanted to apologize,” Jooyeon said, her voice softening. She shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable. “I know we’ve been getting closer these past few months. I really enjoyed our time together. But... me and Wonwoo... it just happened. We clicked. And—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Mingyu cut her off, shaking his head. “I get it. He’s a better man, right?”
The question hit harder than he meant it to. Jooyeon blinked, stunned, her lips parting—ready to answer, but no words came. So she just sat there, silent, and that said enough.
Mingyu stood up, brushing crumbs off his hands like he was dusting the whole conversation away. He’d heard what he needed to hear. And apparently, so had she.
But before he could walk away completely, his steps paused.
He glanced back over his shoulder, voice light but laced with something deeper. “Have you talked to your friend, Y/n? I’m not the only one who feels cheated here.”
He chuckled as if it was a joke, but the weight of his words lingered in the air. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked off, sighing under his breath.
What am I even doing?
Mingyu was on his way home when a familiar silhouette caught his eye—someone sitting at a corner table by the café window, bathed in the warm glow of yellow light. A small smile crept onto his face before he even realized it. Without much thought, his feet turned, almost on instinct, and led him inside the cozy café.
He ordered an Americano and a slice of dessert, something sweet to reward himself after his workout. Once his drink was ready, he walked over to your table, plopping down into the seat across from you with casual confidence.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, grinning.
You looked up from your laptop, your brows immediately furrowing. “Why are you here?”
Mingyu shrugged and motioned to the cup in his hand. “Drinking coffee?”
But your frown only deepened. “You’ve got a physical test tomorrow morning. You’re supposed to be resting, not wandering around cafés.”
He chuckled, clearly amused by your concern. “I just got back from the gym. Can’t I breathe a little? I’ve earned this moment.”
Your attention shifted back to your laptop, though your tone softened slightly. “Still. You need all the energy you can get.”
Mingyu leaned forward slightly, trying to sneak a glance at your screen. He squinted but couldn’t make out what you were working on. “Study or work?”
“Work,” you replied. “My father’s planning to open new membership slots for his Taekwondo dojang.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Right—yes! I heard you used to be an athlete. Were those three boys actually your juniors?”
You nodded, a hint of guilt flashing across your face. “Yeah. And they got punished by my father because of me. I feel bad... Should I bring them coffee and drop by? They’re probably still practicing until nine.”
Mingyu raised his brows, impressed. “The dojang?”
“Yep. I’ll order something for them now,” you said as you stood and made your way toward the counter.
Mingyu watched you from his seat, his eyes following the way you talked to the café staff, polite and purposeful. Then he glanced at his own watch, mentally calculating. If he left by nine, he’d be home by nine-thirty. In bed by ten. Still doable.
The moment you returned to the table with a small tray of drinks, he looked up. “Can I come with you?”
You shot him a look. “No.”
His face fell. “Why not?”
“You have a test tomorrow,” you reminded him flatly.
“I’ll head straight home after,” he said, pouting now like a boy trying to convince his mom. “C’mon, lemme tag along.”
You exhaled slowly, weighing the options in your head.
*
By the time you arrived at the dojang, the evening chill had settled into your sleeves. The familiar scent of padded floors and sweat greeted you as you stepped in, a small paper bag of drinks crinkling in your hand. Mingyu followed closely behind, and the moment he saw Seungkwan and Chan sparring in the center, he plopped down onto the wooden bench like a big dog being told to sit and stay—back straight, eyes wide, tail invisible but clearly wagging in spirit.
Your father, standing near the entrance to the office, turned when he heard footsteps. His gaze immediately found Mingyu. You could already sense the silent judgment forming.
“Golden retriever?” he asked with a raised brow, folding his arms across his chest.
You rolled your eyes, not even pretending to hide your sigh. “He’s a team member. He wanted to come.”
“Wonwoo?”
“No, not Wonwoo,” you said, voice flat, your eyes flicking to Mingyu who was now bobbing his head to the rhythm of sparring footsteps, completely immersed. “Just him.”
Your father hummed, skeptical but not unkind. “He looks like the type who'd forget to tie his belt before a match.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“He’s that tall.”
You chuckled under your breath. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Your father looked at you, then at Mingyu again, watching as he reached out to fist-bump Chan after a clean takedown. “He’s loud.”
You handed him the drinks with a shake of your head. “You’re impossible.”
“He likes you?”
You froze mid-step. “What?”
“He looks at you like you’re the last bowl of rice in the house.”
You whipped your head toward Mingyu. He had just looked up, catching your stare, and waved enthusiastically, mouthing, “They’re so cool!”
You muttered, “He’s just friendly.”
Your father said nothing, only grunted as he took a sip of coffee.
You weren’t sure who you were trying to convince more—your father or yourself.
Mingyu, still sitting on the bench like an obedient retriever, finally seemed to notice that the man by your side—who looked a little too stern and a little too observant—hadn’t taken his eyes off him. So, with the reflex of someone raised well and maybe scared well too, Mingyu stood up and gave a small bow.
“Hello, sir. I’m Kim Mingyu. I’m—uh, on the same team as Y/n. Vice captain.” His voice was lower than usual, respectful but slightly nervous.
Your father raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by titles. “Kim Mingyu? I’ve heard your name. You’re the tall one who talks too much.”
Mingyu blinked, a little stunned but smiled anyway, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess that’s me, sir.”
Your father didn’t smile back. He just nodded slowly, eyes scanning Mingyu like he was inspecting a weapon. “You come here often?”
“No, sir. First time. I just wanted to see the place Y/n grew up in,” Mingyu said honestly.
That made your father pause. His gaze shifted to you, then back to Mingyu. “You close?”
You coughed before Mingyu could answer. “He’s just curious.”
But Mingyu, being Mingyu, smiled wide and said, “I’m trying to be.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. Your father stared at him for a long, long second, then walked off muttering, “Tall. Talks too much. No belts allowed next time.”
Mingyu turned to you, whispering, “That went well, right?”
“No.”
He grinned, teeth and all. “I think he likes me.”
You rolled your eyes. “You think everyone likes you.”
“I mean—look at me.”
“Exactly. That’s the problem.”
Mingyu laughed as he sat back down. Across the room, your father watched again, this time sipping his coffee slower, the judgment in his eyes replaced with something more unreadable.
Like curiosity.
The morning sun was already glaring above the field by the time the physical test ended. Your shirt clung to your back from sweat and the heat, but you stayed a little longer to speak with the coach about the upcoming league schedule. Your mind was still replaying details from that meeting as you slung your bag over your shoulder, ready to head out.
Then, a shadow approached from the side.
“I saw you and Mingyu last night…” Wonwoo’s voice came low, casual, but there was something loaded behind it.
You turned, your steps slowing. “Oh, really? Where?”
He shrugged, towel in hand as he dried his damp hair. “Near the bus station. Were you two visiting the dojang?”
You nodded, eyebrows pinching slightly. “Yeah. Why?”
“I didn’t know you two were close,” he said, voice trailing like it was bait.
You gave a slight, deliberate shrug. “I’m close with everyone.”
That should’ve ended the conversation. But Wonwoo bit his lip and leaned in just a little closer, lowering his voice into a whisper only you could hear. “Can we talk for a moment? Like… sitting-down kind of talk?”
“Is this about the team?”
He exhaled, voice heavier now. “No. It’s about us.”
You blinked. “What about us?”
“Okay… Listen.” He glanced down, then up at you again, the words clearly dragging themselves out. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a jerk. I know. But… it happened, and I don’t regret it. Still—I think I owe you an apology.”
“About what?”
Wonwoo fidgeted under your stare, his fingers gripping the edge of his towel like it could save him. “I flirted with you. And then I dated your friend instead.”
Your mouth parted slightly, more out of disbelief than surprise. Before you could form a reply—
“YA! JEON WONWOO! Where do you put my kneecaps?!” Mingyu’s voice boomed across the field, his towering frame jogging over with dramatic exasperation.
You let out a breath and rolled your eyes, the moment snapped clean in half. Wonwoo turned, yelling back something about the bench.
You turned your heel, footsteps heavy with impatience. “I’m going. There’s no need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re not completely ignorant,” you said coolly, and left without waiting for his response.
Meanwhile, Mingyu caught up with Wonwoo, smiling just a bit too smugly as he waved the kneecaps in the air. “Oh, these? Yeah. They’ve been here the whole time,” he said, his tone far too pleased.
Wonwoo snatched them back with a grumble, eyes narrowed in slight annoyance, but Mingyu’s grin only widened—like he’d won something.
Sitting nearby, Hansol watched the entire scene unfold with a confused blink. “What is wrong with them?” he muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to the universe.
*
Where are you? Mingyu wondered, eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face. The physical test results were out, and the lineup for the upcoming league had just been announced. As expected, his name was there—along with Wonwoo, Jun, Hansol, and a few other standout players. Cheers erupted, shoulders were patted, and someone had already ordered meat for a spontaneous barbecue.
But you were nowhere to be seen.
As the team gathered around to celebrate, Mingyu leaned toward the coach who was sitting across from him, sipping on soda.
“Coach, where’s Y/n?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual, though his brows were furrowed.
The coach blinked as if the question jogged a memory. He clapped his hands once. “Ah! Right—she said to say hi. She won’t be joining us. Told me she’s got a fever.”
A flicker of concern crossed Mingyu’s face. He pulled out his phone and quickly shot you a text.
Mingyu: “Hey, coach said you're sick. You okay?”
No reply.
He waited. Ten minutes passed. Still nothing. Mingyu excused himself from the barbecue and stepped outside, the night air hitting his skin like a splash of cold water. He dialed your number.
It rang. And rang. No answer.
Well, to be fair, you never picked up his calls. But this time felt different. This wasn’t one of those playful prank calls he liked to make to mess with you.
So he tried another number.
“Hello, Jooyeon? Are you in the dorm?”
There was a pause. Then Jooyeon’s voice came through, slightly muffled.
“I heard Y/n’s sick. Can you check on her? I’ve been trying to reach her but she’s not responding.”
“Thanks, Jooyeon. Really.”
Mingyu hung up and stared at the screen, chewing on his bottom lip. He stood outside the restaurant, arms crossed tightly over his chest as the noise of laughter and sizzling meat floated from behind him.
Not even an hour later, Wonwoo returned from a call, his expression dimmed.
“Jooyeon just called me,” he said, raising his phone. “They had to take Y/n to the hospital. Her fever got worse.”
And just like that, the air around Mingyu turned heavy. He didn’t wait to hear the rest—his body was already moving toward the exit.
*
The sterile white light pressed against your eyelids before you even opened them. You didn’t know what time it was. Or what day.
All you knew was the weight.
Your limbs felt too heavy, your body sunk into the bed like you were anchored down. You blinked, the ceiling above you blurry through tears you didn’t remember crying. Somewhere, a monitor beeped steadily. Too steadily.
And then the pain came.
A dull throb first—then sharp, slicing through the haze in your leg. You tried to move. A mistake. Your breath hitched, jaw clenched as the ache flared up your thigh and into your hip like your bones had been rearranged by fire. Your hands gripped the sheets as if clinging to something real would somehow steady the world.
“She's awake—Y/n, can you hear me?”
A nurse hovered over you, voice gentle, rehearsed.
You didn’t answer. Your throat burned. Even your voice hurt.
The door creaked open and your father’s voice followed. He didn’t cry—he never did. But his eyes, red and swollen, told you enough.
“The car hit the side of her bike—she was thrown into the curb.”
“She had surgery already—femoral fracture. Pins in place. Long recovery.”
“Rehabilitation for at least six months. Maybe longer.”
“She won’t be competing again.”
You heard everything. Every word slashed through your heart in perfect clarity. You were eighteen. You were the undefeated team ace. You were a name people whispered with admiration.
You were.
Now, you hated hospitals.
“Y/n? You’re awake. Are you okay, princess?”
Your father’s voice was the first thing you heard, muffled and warm, like it had been waiting at your bedside. You opened your eyes slowly, your vision swimming as the fluorescent lights above stung your retinas. Your body felt like it had just run a marathon in your sleep—head pounding, skin clammy with sweat, breath shallow.
“Dorm called,” he said, brushing a damp strand of hair off your forehead. “They said they brought you to the hospital. Your fever was dangerously high. Why didn’t you call me?”
You groaned, trying to roll your head away from his voice. “My head hurts.” The pain was real—sharp and throbbing—but at least it bought you a pause in the scolding.
Your father exhaled slowly, somewhere between relief and frustration. “Your friends are outside. Want me to let them in?”
You turned your face to him, eyes half-lidded. “Can you just let me go instead? I hate it here.”
He chuckled, the sound short and familiar. “I know, princess. But your condition has to be better first.”
Not long after, the door creaked open and Jooyeon stepped in, followed closely by Wonwoo and Mingyu. Their eyes immediately darted to you—pale, bundled in blankets, lips dry, but awake.
“You brought me here, huh?” you murmured, locking eyes with Jooyeon.
She huffed, dropping her bag onto the chair beside your bed. “I had to. You were hallucinating from a 40-degree fever and started seeing me as a bribed referee.”
Mingyu snorted from the back of the room, covering his mouth with his hand. Wonwoo just blinked, stunned for a moment before a quiet laugh escaped him.
“You should’ve at least let us know you were sick,” Wonwoo said, already slipping into lecture mode.
“I told your coach,” you grumbled.
“He needs you to count our pushups, he's that forgetful,” he replied with a raised brow.
Jooyeon stepped closer, placing a bottle of warm water by your side. “He’s right. Let us know next time. You’re living by yourself now, remember? You can’t keep doing this.”
You looked at both of them—frustrated, concerned, but still gentle. It made something in your chest ache a little. They were too kind to hate, even if all you wanted was to crawl back under the sheets and disappear from the beeping machines and antiseptic air.
Mingyu stayed near the back, quiet, but his eyes never left you. There was a tension in his shoulders—like he’d run here. Like he’d been afraid.
You met his gaze briefly, and for a second, it was enough to calm your pounding heart.
But to your surprise, Mingyu visited again the next afternoon, alone. He walked in quietly, a familiar cake box in hand—your favorite one from the café you always used to order from.
“You didn’t have to,” you said, blinking at him as he placed it down on the table next to your bed.
“I know,” he said, his tone easy. “But I wanted to.”
He checked your temperature with the back of his hand against your forehead. Then his eyes flicked to the medicine cups on your tray. “Did you take it?”
You groaned, leaning back against the pillow. “Yes, mom.”
Mingyu raised an eyebrow, not convinced, but he let it slide. Instead, he glanced at the nurse’s station outside. “Wanna go for a walk?”
Before you could respond, he was already speaking to the nurse, asking for permission and a wheelchair. You didn’t argue. Somehow, you knew he would’ve found another way to drag you out of bed if you did.
“I heard from Jooyeon you hate hospitals,” Mingyu said once the two of you were out in the hospital park, wheels softly rolling over the stone path, the air light and clean after last night’s rain.
“She felt bad, huh?” you mumbled, arms crossed over your hospital gown.
Mingyu hummed, eyes ahead. “Yeah. You tried to kick her out and called her a bribed referee.”
You clicked your tongue, already imagining how ridiculous that must’ve looked. “I was hallucinating.”
“You accused your heater of being a snitch.”
You side-eyed him and Mingyu bit back a laugh.
Then his voice dropped a little. “I didn’t know… about the injury. That you were competing before. That you had to stop.”
You fell silent for a few steps, wind brushing softly through the trees.
“I can’t imagine myself in that position,” Mingyu added.
You huffed, amused. “Then don’t you dare get injured, Kim Mingyu. I won’t feel sorry for you.”
He smiled at the threat. “Hey, I was sympathizing…”
You waved it off lazily. “It wasn’t a big deal. I’ve accepted it, mostly. I just… still hate hospitals. Not just because of what happened—but because of what they felt like. The lights. The smell. Being stuck. It makes you feel like time’s moving without you.”
Mingyu glanced at you. “It’s not just the memory, huh?”
You shrugged, eyes unfocused. “It’s never just the memory.”
There was a brief pause before he said, “Well… I sympathized with every aspect.”
You turned to him slowly, raising a brow.
“You don’t even know all the aspects,” you said.
“I don’t have to,” he replied. “I know you didn’t want to be here, and I know it wasn’t fair.”
You laughed, just a small breath through your nose. “Alright.”
He grinned. “That’s all I get? Just ‘alright’?”
You smiled, tilting your head. “You want a thank you speech?”
“No,” he said. “Just maybe… a bite of that cake later?”
You laughed again, softer this time. “Fine. But only if you’re the one cutting it. I still feel like I ran a marathon in my sleep.”
“I’ll take it,” he said. And for a moment, the hospital didn’t feel so bad.
*
The day after you were discharged, you made a quiet visit to the field before heading home. You hadn’t planned on staying long—just enough to feel the grass under your shoes, to see the familiar outline of the training posts and the scuffed-up sidelines. But the moment you stepped in, something felt… off.
It was too quiet.
The usual buzz—the chaotic shouting, laughter, and footfalls—was missing. The air hung thick, like a storm had passed and nobody knew what to do with the silence it left behind.
Then you saw him—Jeonghan, sitting alone on the bench outside the field. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped tightly, head slightly bowed like someone stuck in thought too deep to climb out of. Even his usually neat hair was tousled by the wind.
You walked over, your steps light but steady. “What’s wrong?”
He glanced up at you, eyes dimmed and tired, the corners of his mouth weighed down with something more than stress. “I don’t know… everyone’s been talking about changing the team captain.” His voice was low, reluctant. “They asked me.”
You paused, blinking at him. “Wait—what?”
Jeonghan let out a humorless chuckle, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t want it. Not like this. I don’t want to cause problems with Wonwoo.”
You sat beside him slowly, the bench creaking under your weight. “Why so suddenly?”
He exhaled, shoulders rising and falling as if the weight of the team sat there now. “It’s not sudden. We’ve been feeling it for weeks, just no one wanted to say it out loud. Wonwoo’s been distracted. He misses drills, doesn’t show up early anymore. His mind’s always somewhere else—usually with his girlfriend.”
You tilted your head, unsure whether to feel defensive or understanding. “So they’re blaming his relationship?”
Jeonghan shook his head, jaw tensing. “It’s not that simple. It’s not just about dating. It’s about how… different he’s been. Detached. Like the rest of us are still fighting for something and he’s just going through the motions. And yesterday... it just snapped.”
He picked at a thread on his sleeve, eyes narrowed in memory. “He blew up during practice. Minghao made a comment about timing, and Wonwoo just—snapped. Said things he shouldn’t have. He stormed off halfway through the set. Everyone went quiet after that.”
The wind picked up, carrying with it the distant sound of someone’s whistle. The field felt strange—like it was holding its breath, waiting for someone to take the lead and exhale first.
“Did you talk to him?” you asked quietly.
Jeonghan shook his head. “I didn’t want to add fuel to whatever’s already burning. He looked… wrecked. Like he’s fighting something and losing.”
You nodded slowly, your eyes scanning the field that had once felt like your second home. Now, it feels foreign. Uneasy.
The cracks were showing. And they were deeper than you thought.
You sat with the weight of his words for a moment, letting silence settle before gently nudging, “Have you talked to Mingyu about it? He’s the vice captain, after all.”
Jeonghan let out a sigh that sounded more like surrender than relief. His fingers curled tightly around the hem of his jersey as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“You didn’t want to hear this,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, “but Wonwoo fought with Mingyu too… two days ago.”
Your eyes widened. “Fought?”
He nodded slowly. “Not physically. But loud enough for the entire locker room to hear. They thought the room was empty, but Jihoon was still inside grabbing his stuff. He told me later... said it was bad.”
Your stomach twisted at the thought. Wonwoo and Mingyu never fought. Not even during the worst match losses or strategy disagreements. They always balanced each other—one with quiet observation, the other with bold direction. Together, they had kept the team together when everything else wobbled.
Was it about Jooyeon?
Everyone had noticed how close Mingyu was with her—how they always sat side by side after practice, how she used to bring him vitamin drinks and tease him about stretching more. It was unspoken, but understood: Jooyeon and Mingyu were something, even if neither of them ever put a label on it.
Until the day she showed up to the field—not for Mingyu, but for Wonwoo.
And just like that, the air shifted. Mingyu didn’t say anything, not out loud. But you saw it. In the way he stopped joking as much. In the way he watched from a distance instead of walking over to Jooyeon like he used to. You saw it in how he looked at Wonwoo, quiet and unreadable.
You, who weren't even close to Wonwoo anymore, had been just as stunned. It was Jooyeon and Wonwoo. Your best friend. And the guy who, not long ago, had been—what? Flirting with you? Calling late at night? Lingering after walks just a bit too long?
Now they were together. Officially, maybe not. But the way she looked at him, the way he started saving a spot next to him on the bench—it said enough.
So yes, you understood Mingyu’s resentment. You really did.
But fighting? Letting it bleed into practice, into leadership, into everything the team had built together?
Was it worth it?
You knew things wouldn’t fix themselves. So before you left that day, you pulled aside Coach Kim—stern, silver-haired, respected by everyone because he’d once been exactly where they were now: young, proud, and convinced the world owed him a clean pass and a winning shot.
You explained in quiet words—how the tension was gutting the locker room, how the younger boys looked up to Mingyu and Wonwoo like gods and now didn’t know which side to stand on. You hated dragging the dirty laundry to authority, but something had to give before the whole team tore at the seams.
Coach Kim listened, only nodding once. “I’ll handle it,” he said, tone flat but final.
So the next day, instead of warm-ups, he made everyone sit in a sloppy half-circle on the grass. Even the goalposts seemed to listen. Hansol sat cross-legged beside Minghao, plucking at blades of grass. Wonwoo sat three people away from Mingyu, eyes locked on the dirt by his feet. You stood by the equipment bench, arms folded, pulse tapping out a nervous beat.
Coach Kim stood in the center like a general before battle.
“Look at you,” he started, voice cutting the early morning hush. “A bunch of talented kids ready to break records—and each other’s necks. You think you’re special? You think pride wins trophies?”
No one dared breathe too loudly. Even Jeonghan, usually quick with a sly grin, kept his gaze pinned to the ground.
Coach’s voice dropped, quieter, but sharper than any whistle. “I’ve seen teams like you. They break apart the moment they forget they bleed the same. You don’t have to like each other every day. You don’t have to hug it out. But on this grass, you run for each other. Or you don’t run at all. Clear?”
A quiet chorus of “Yes, Coach” rose up—weak, but there.
Coach Kim’s eyes flicked to Mingyu, then Wonwoo. “You two want to kill each other, do it off my field. Here, you’re brothers. Figure it out. Or quit now and save us all the embarrassment.”
With that, he barked for stretches and drills to start—no warm-up jog, no easy laps. Just punishment sprints and grueling sets until someone puked. He wanted exhaustion to humble them back into one unit.
It almost worked.
By the end, half the boys lay sprawled on the grass, gasping and chugging lukewarm water. Sweat pooled under jerseys, cleats dug into the dirt like roots anchoring them to the only thing still holding them together: the game itself.
But exhaustion does funny things to simmering grudges.
As the rest dragged themselves toward the showers, Mingyu and Wonwoo stayed back—pretending to pick up stray cones and water bottles.
You knew better. You lingered by the bench, stomach tight.
Their voices started low.
Then sharper.
Then venomous.
Mingyu’s hand shot out, pushing Wonwoo’s shoulder hard enough to stagger him back a step.
“Stop acting like you’re the only one who lost something!” Mingyu spat.
Wonwoo shoved him back, eyes wild. “And what did you lose, huh? Tell me, Mingyu. What did she promise you? What did you think we were?”
You stepped forward, voice caught in your throat.
Too late.
Mingyu lunged—fist first. Wonwoo caught him at the collar, dragging him down with a sickening thud onto the grass. Fists found ribs. A knee dug into someone’s side. The quiet afternoon erupted with the sound of fists, grunts, curses biting through the air.
By the time Hansol and Jeonghan sprinted back to pull them apart, a thin line of blood trickled from Mingyu’s split lip. Wonwoo’s cheek was already bruising, dark and angry under the sun.
Coach Kim, standing by the fence, didn’t shout. He just stared at them—like he was watching his prized team dissolve under the weight of secrets they refused to say out loud.
And you—fists clenched at your sides, heart hammering in your chest—couldn’t help but wonder if anyone here truly deserved to be the villain.
You didn’t think—you just moved.
Your feet hit the grass before your mind caught up. Jeonghan’s grip slipped from Mingyu’s arm. Hansol’s hold around Wonwoo’s waist loosened just enough for the fight to twist dangerously out of control again. And you—small, breathless, desperate—wedged yourself right between them, palms pressing against Mingyu’s chest.
“Stop—! Both of you—!”
Your voice didn’t even sound like yours. Too thin, too raw to cut through fists and curses. They didn’t hear you. Or they didn’t care.
Wonwoo’s elbow swung back in a blind shove—too rough, too thoughtless. It caught you square in the shoulder. The world tilted. Grass smeared green and sky spun white as your knees buckled.
You hit the ground with a thud that startled everyone more than the punches had.
Mingyu froze first, his chest heaving under your palm one second, his knuckles half-curled the next. His eyes snapped to you, wide and breathless—like he’d just come up for air after drowning in rage. Wonwoo’s hand hovered midair, trembling, too late to catch you.
Hansol was the first to move, dropping to his knees beside you. “Y/n—hey, you okay? Easy—easy…” His hands were gentle under your elbows as he guided you up, his eyes flicking to the two men who suddenly looked like boys caught fighting behind the school gym.
Around you, the field went deathly quiet—broken only by the ragged sound of Mingyu’s breathing, the stuttered apology half-formed on Wonwoo’s lips.
You didn’t wait for either of them to speak. Your voice cut cleaner than the coach’s whistle had all morning.
“You two. Disappointing.”
Just that. Nothing more.
It landed heavier than any shove or punch they’d thrown.
Before anyone could reach for you—Jeonghan’s hand half-extended, Hansol’s worried whisper at your side—you shrugged them off. You walked stiffly to the bench, ignoring the ache blooming in your shoulder and the throb at your knee.
You grabbed your bag.
Didn’t look at anyone.
Didn’t remind them about the final huddle. Didn’t tell them tomorrow’s warm-up drills. Didn’t care.
The team—your team—watched as you stepped off the grass, your shoes sinking into the muddy edge by the gate. One step after another, you left behind the soundless apologies, the too-late regrets, and the two boys who thought their pain was bigger than everyone else’s.
You didn’t even turn around when you heard Mingyu’s broken, breathless voice behind you—
“Y/n—wait—”
But you didn’t wait.
Not this time.
*
Mingyu walked toward the station after practice, each step heavy with exhaustion and a bitterness that clung to his skin like sweat. The fight. The shouting. The shame. He couldn’t even look the coach in the eyes when he mumbled his apology before leaving—if that could even be called an apology.
Hansol had offered to walk with him, a quiet shadow by his side to make the weight a little lighter. But Mingyu waved him off. He needed the silence. He needed the night air to cool the rage still simmering beneath his skin and the regret burning deeper than any bruise.
He hadn’t even realized where his feet were taking him until he spotted you.
There you were—sitting on the curb in front of a convenience store across the street, your bag beside you and a small bottle of disinfectant in your hand. Under the harsh white light of the store sign, you looked so small yet impossibly stubborn, hissing under your breath as you dabbed clumsily at the raw scrape on your knee.
His chest tightened. He hadn’t even thought about you getting hurt. God, how hadn’t he seen it?
Mingyu crossed the street slowly, as if afraid you’d vanish if he moved too fast. He crouched down beside you without a word, eyes fixed on the angry red wound you were trying—and failing—to clean properly.
“Let me do it,” he said quietly, his voice rough but careful, as if any sudden sound might crack the fragile calm between you.
You didn’t even look at him. “No. I’m still angry at you.”
But Mingyu didn’t care. Or maybe he cared too much to stop. He gently pulled the swab from your trembling fingers and poured fresh antiseptic over it, ignoring the way your eyes narrowed in protest.
“Hold still,” he murmured.
His fingers brushed your skin, large and warm, steady in a way that only made the sting sharper—because it reminded you of what he was supposed to be. Reliable. Your vice captain. Your friend.
You winced as the cold bite of alcohol kissed the cut. Mingyu paused, murmuring an apology so soft it almost got lost in the hum of passing cars.
“You didn’t even think, did you?” you whispered, your voice cracking as frustration bled through. “Fighting in front of everyone… hurting each other like that… and for what, Mingyu?”
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on your knee, brows furrowed in guilt, in shame, in something deeper he couldn’t name if he tried.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, the words slipping out like a confession he’d been too proud to say out loud until now. “I didn’t think. I just… I just lost it.”
When he pressed the clean bandage over your scraped skin, his fingertips trembled—like he was afraid you’d push him away for good this time.
You didn’t. But you didn’t forgive him either. Not yet.
“You should be sorry,” you said softly, anger giving way to quiet disappointment that somehow cut deeper than any shout ever could. “You’re supposed to protect them. Not tear them apart.”
Mingyu closed his eyes, breathing in your words like punishment—like the only thing that could keep him grounded tonight.
When he opened them again, you were looking at him too—wounded and tired and still, somehow, here.
He wanted to say more. But for once, Kim Mingyu had no words left.
So he just knelt there on the pavement under the flickering store sign, his hands stained with antiseptic and regret, wishing he could clean this mess as easily as your scraped knee.
“What were you even fighting for? The team? Your reputation?”
Mingyu sat back on his heels, the used swab discarded by your bag. He shook his head, refusing to meet your eyes.
“A girl?” you pressed, your tone sharper than you meant it to be.
At that, he stilled. His shoulders stiffened under his sweat-damp jersey. He didn’t say it outright—but the way he nodded, barely there, was answer enough.
You let out a shaky sigh, exhaustion dragging at your voice. “You two are hopeless. If this is about Jooyeon—why? She’s Wonwoo’s girlfriend. Why are you making a mess over something that’s already decided?”
“I didn’t make a mess,” Mingyu shot back, his tone flaring just a little. “He… he offended me.”
You scoffed, half incredulous, half resigned. “You’re grown men. Friends, even. What, so he says something harsh and you swing at him like a teenager? Seriously, Mingyu—”
“He said I don’t deserve you.”
Your words cut off. The hum of the streetlight, the distant laughter from inside the store—everything seemed to drop away for a heartbeat.
“What?” you whispered.
Mingyu swallowed hard, his jaw working as if the confession tasted bitter on his tongue. He finally looked at you, really looked—eyes raw in a way you hadn’t seen since your first year managing the team.
“He said… he said I’d ruin you. That you waste too much time cleaning up after me. That you’d be better off if I wasn’t around.” His voice cracked. “And maybe he’s right. But he doesn’t get to say that. Not about me. Not about you.”
You stared at him, the sting on your knee forgotten. They fought over Jooyeon—yes. But they fought over you, too? Over what you deserved, who you cared for, how much you’d given them both without ever asking for anything back?
“Mingyu…” you breathed, your anger leaking out of you like air from a punctured tire.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhausted and so painfully honest now that the fight had stripped him bare. “I messed up. I know. But don’t… don’t think I didn’t care what it did to you. I swear I didn’t think—”
You shook your head slowly, cutting him off with a quiet, heavy voice. “You both didn’t think. And now look at you—bruised, reckless, fighting each other instead of fighting for each other.”
You watched him—your striker, your headache, your friend—and it hurt more than the scrape on your knee ever could.
“You’re so stupid, Kim Mingyu,” you said softly, your eyes stinging with frustrated tears you refused to let fall. “So stupid for letting it come to this.”
He nodded, the smallest, saddest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I know.”
Mingyu and you walked side by side to the station. Neither of you spoke—a silence stretched so thin it almost hurt more than words would have.
The neon lights of the convenience store faded behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the bus stop. You both sat on the cold bench, a polite gap between your shoulders. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the pavement like it might offer him forgiveness.
You sat upright, your bag clutched to your chest, stealing glances at him every few seconds. But when your bus finally rattled up to the curb, you stood without a word, giving him a silent nod—a farewell that felt heavier than a thousand arguments.
Just as you stepped toward the door, his hand wrapped gently around your wrist. Warm, calloused, trembling just a little.
“You know I like you, right?”
His voice was quiet—too raw to be casual, too steady to be taken lightly.
You froze, your free hand tightening around the strap of your bag. It was the one thing you’d spent countless nights trying not to name. The thing that lingered in the way he always waited for you after practice, the way he listened to your rants, the way he made you laugh even when you swore you wouldn’t.
You didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to confirm it, or deny it, or give it any more room to take root in your chest. Not now.
But Mingyu wasn’t done. He let out a soft, humorless huff—a breath that might’ve been a laugh if he weren’t so painfully sincere.
“And you’re the only one who gets to decide if I ruin you or not,” he said, eyes lifting to catch yours in the dim glow of the bus headlights. “Not Wonwoo. Not anyone.”
For a moment, you hated him for saying it. For making you feel it. For being so honest when all you wanted was a clean escape from tonight.
You pulled your wrist free—gently, not angrily—and stepped back.
“I know,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. Then you turned and boarded the bus, never looking back, but feeling every heartbeat that stayed with him on that empty bench.
*
You didn’t talk about that night. Not once. But everything shifted in small, undeniable ways—like tiny cracks in glass, catching the light at certain angles.
After Mingyu’s quiet confession at the bus station, you started treating him… differently. Not that anyone else would notice—at least not at first. But Mingyu noticed. Oh, he noticed every time.
It started two days later, when you walked past the bench before practice and casually dropped a wrapped sandwich on the seat beside him. He blinked at it, then at you—half-expecting you to bark at him for not eating properly again. But instead, you just muttered, “Eat it. You look like you’re living off instant noodles again.”
He unwrapped it so fast he almost forgot to thank you, his grin wide and boyish, crumbs sticking to the corner of his mouth.
Then it was the way you didn’t scold him when he half-assed his warm-ups—a thing you used to yell at him about in front of everyone. You’d just raise a brow, arms crossed, and when he’d catch your eye, you’d sigh and look away. He’d quietly finish the stretches anyway, grinning to himself because he knew you were still watching.
And maybe the biggest thing—your water bottles. Before, you’d hand them out carelessly, sometimes tossing him one that was lukewarm if he was late. But now, somehow, every practice, Mingyu found the coolest bottle waiting at his feet, condensation dripping down the sides, like you’d kept it tucked away just for him.
He tested this once—sneaking a peek into the cooler when he thought you weren’t looking. Sure enough, at the very bottom, buried in ice, was a bottle labeled “Gyu.” He almost laughed out loud, but he didn’t want to ruin it—this quiet language you both spoke without words.
And sometimes, when you thought no one was paying attention, you’d catch him looking at you. Not with the teasing glint he used to have, but with something softer—something grateful, almost gentle.
It made you wonder how long you could keep pretending it meant nothing. How long before these small kindnesses, these silent exchanges, forced both of you to admit you didn’t want it to stop.
And even though you never said it out loud, Mingyu knew exactly what these tiny mercies meant. They meant: I heard you that night. I didn’t run away.
And for now, that was enough.
You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t asked yourself—over and over—if this was right. If you deserved this.
Because once upon a time, when you liked Wonwoo—your quiet, steady, male-lead-type Wonwoo—you learned the hard way what it meant to lose to Jooyeon. How quick the world was to remind you, She’s prettier. She’s softer. She’s everyone’s sweetheart. And how quick you were to believe it: Maybe I’m just the side character. The plot twist no one remembers by the last chapter.
You tried so hard to drown out those whispers, to pretend they didn’t sting when people compared you—when they asked, half-jokingly, “Why can’t you be more like Jooyeon?”
You swallowed it all. Smiled. Kept showing up to practice, kept cheering for a team that didn’t know your heart was cracking from your last heartbreak. Wonwoo moved on; so did everyone else. You told yourself you did, too.
And then there was Mingyu. Ridiculously tall. Ridiculously charming. Too bright, too easy—someone you used to call an alien behind his back, just to convince yourself you’d never fall for a boy who could ruin you with a grin.
But then that night at the bus station happened. And suddenly, the world tilted a little. Mingyu—who could have anyone—said he wanted you. Said you got to decide if he was worth the mess.
It was reckless, probably. But it gave you something you hadn’t had in a long time: confidence. A little voice that said, You’re still you. You’re not Jooyeon. You don’t have to be. You get to be the main character in your own damn story.
So you started letting yourself hope again. Hope every time Mingyu winked at you during practice instead of calling you manager-nim like the others. Hope when he matched your steps to the bus station, laughing about nothing. Hope when he dropped by the dojang—sitting cross-legged at the edge of the mat, cheering when you landed a clean kick on Seungkwan—like you were worth watching.
Sometimes the old insecurities crept back in. They always would. But each time Mingyu caught your eye across the field, something in you dared to believe it: You weren’t a footnote. Not this time. You were your own plot twist. And maybe—just maybe—he was, too.
You hadn’t meant to hang out with Jooyeon that day. It just happened—she spotted you near the campus café, waved you over with that blinding smile, and before you knew it, you were sitting across from her, stirring the melting ice in your drink while she caught you up on things you didn’t really ask about.
It felt harmless, at first. She talked about her part-time job, the new café she liked, a cute puppy video Wonwoo sent her last night. You laughed at the right parts. You nodded when she asked for your opinion on which hair color she should try next.
And then she said it. So casually, like she was commenting on the weather.
"I heard about Wonwoo and Mingyu fighting. I felt bad, you know? Because it’s kinda my fault too, I think. I mean, I still talk with Mingyu. I already told Wonwoo I can’t just cut ties with him—he’s like, a good friend? And I broke his heart. So it’s clear Mingyu might still be hoping for me."
She sipped her iced Americano, oblivious to how her words cracked something open inside your chest.
Still hoping for me. You nearly choked on your own breath.
This wasn’t what Mingyu told you. This wasn’t what his quiet confession under the bus stop lights had felt like. This wasn’t how it felt when he touched your scraped knee with trembling hands, or when he laughed so easily beside you, or when he watched you spar like you were something rare and worth waiting for.
You were so still that Jooyeon barely noticed you’d gone silent. She kept talking, her voice a distant hum while your mind replayed Mingyu’s words—“You know I like you, right?”—and wondered if you’d been stupid to believe them.
You clenched your hands around your cup, fighting the heat rising to your eyes. It shouldn’t hurt. Not when you knew better than anyone that Mingyu could have anyone he wanted, even Jooyeon, always Jooyeon.
But it did. It hurt so badly you couldn’t breathe.
You forced yourself to swallow down the bitterness, to curve your lips into a polite smile when she asked if you wanted to order cake. You told her no. You lied and said you were on a diet.
But the truth was:
You couldn’t taste anything over the ache in your chest. And for the first time since Mingyu’s confession, you wondered— Maybe you really were just the second lead in someone else’s love story.
*
Mingyu had asked you out for your first real date—a simple plan, nothing fancy: a movie neither of you paid full attention to because you kept whispering jokes in the dark, then a trip to the game arcade tucked behind the cinema.
You tried—God, you really tried—to be present. And for the most part, you were. Because you were naturally fun. Because Mingyu made everything feel easy, like life itself slowed down to match his grin and his loud laughter that turned heads, unapologetically.
But there was an aftertaste.
A bitterness clinging behind your smile.
Jooyeon’s careless words wouldn’t stop echoing: Mingyu might still be hoping for me.
Every time you caught Mingyu watching you—like he did just now, sweat dampening the fringe on his forehead, pride radiating off him as the basketball machine’s score beeped victory—you wondered if she was right.
If you were just… convenient.
"You seemed distracted. You don't like the game?" he asked, jogging back to you, voice half-teasing, half-concerned. He tossed the last basketball back into the rack with a dull thud, then flicked your forehead so lightly you barely felt it.
You swallowed, trying to steady your voice.
"I’m sorry... I—I just..."
Words tangled in your throat.
He didn’t even let you finish, that annoyingly soft-hearted fool.
"You’re cold? I told you to wear my hoodie! Really, Y/n..."
He chuckled as if your heart wasn’t a chaotic mess. Before you could protest, he tugged his jacket off and draped it around your shoulders, fussing with the zipper until you were half-trapped in the scent of him—fresh soap, fabric softener, and a hint of sweat from all the running around.
You should’ve felt safe. You should’ve leaned in.
Instead, your heart clenched tighter.
Geez. He was too kind. Too gentle. Too everything you secretly wanted—
And that made this so much harder. Because what if it wasn’t real?
What if you were just the side character stepping in until the story circled back to Jooyeon?
What if your heart, for once, was the only thing uninvited in his perfect warmth?
"You wanna play the claw machine next?" Mingyu asked, bright-eyed, oblivious to the storm brewing behind your forced smile. He nudged your shoulder, like a big kid, so damn easy to love.
You lied through your teeth, nodding.
"Yeah. Let’s win that giant bear."
But your laughter tasted like fear.
And Mingyu—sweet, thoughtless Mingyu—didn’t notice yet that you were starting to drift behind him, one careful step at a time.
*
After the arcade, Mingyu suggested a walk by the Han River—because that’s what you did with someone you liked, right? You shared an ice cream, fingers brushing as you passed the cone back and forth, sticky sweetness coating your lips while the city lights flickered on the rippling water.
At some point, he took your hand—no fuss, no big gesture, just slipped his warm palm into yours like it was the easiest thing in the world. He licked his ice cream, swung your joined hands a little, humming a melody you couldn’t name.
You should have felt lucky. You should have felt special.
Instead, your chest felt tight, like your ribs were trying to trap your own heart before it betrayed you again.
When you reached a quiet stretch of the riverbank, he stopped, turned so his fringe danced in the breeze, and asked, so simply—
"Are you happy?"
The question hit harder than any truth you’d been avoiding all day.
Your throat closed up. Your eyes stung.
And before you could stop yourself, warm tears slipped down your cheeks—silent at first, then all at once, too many, too fast.
"Y/n—hey, hey, what’s wrong?"
His ice cream nearly dropped from his other hand as he scrambled, alarmed. He tugged you toward a nearby bench, made you sit down. He crouched in front of you, elbows propped on his knees, hands firm on yours to keep you grounded as you hunched over your sobs.
"Look at me, princess. Look at me—what’s wrong? Did I mess up? You didn’t like what we did today?"
His voice cracked around the edges, fear slipping through the cracks of his usual playful tone.
You shook your head, choked on another sob, and forced the words out—broken, muffled by your sleeve.
"It’s not you— it’s me. I don’t know what I am to you. I don’t know if I’m enough. Jooyeon said—"
You cut yourself off, wiping your face angrily, frustrated that you even brought her up.
Mingyu’s expression darkened just a shade. He squeezed your knee, voice low but unwavering.
"Hey. No. Forget Jooyeon for a second—look at me. Look at me, Y/n."
You sniffed, eyes red and bleary, meeting his steady gaze.
"You’re crying because you think I’m playing with you? That you’re just... a filler until I get bored?"
He almost laughed, but it wasn’t funny—he sounded hurt.
"Do you think I’d do this with just anyone? Do you think I’d hold your hand like this? Watch movies with you, chase stuffed toys for you, walk here for hours just to hear your voice? Y/n—"
He cupped your face, thumbs catching fresh tears, his breath warm on your forehead.
"I told you that night, didn’t I? You’re the only one who gets to decide if I ruin you or not. Because I won’t. Not unless you keep pushing me away when I’m right here—"
He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing, exhaling like he’d been holding it all in, too.
"I like you. It’s not complicated for me. So don’t make it complicated for yourself, okay?"
You hiccuped through a fragile laugh, voice still watery.
"I’m sorry... I just— I’m so scared."
He pulled back, gave you that boyish grin that always destroyed your walls, and wiped your tears with his sleeve.
"It’s okay. I’ll wait until you’re not scared anymore. But don’t cry on our first date, Y/n—my heart can’t take it."
And then, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, he kissed your forehead, held your hands tighter, and stayed with you until your tears dried in the night air, proof that maybe—just maybe—you were the main character this time.
*
You both stood under the soft glow of the dorm building’s front lights, hands still loosely twined together as if neither of you wanted to be the first to let go. Mingyu shifted his weight, exhaled a long, shaky breath, then gently tugged you closer so you faced him fully.
He opened his mouth—probably ready to charm you with some dramatic line— but you beat him to it, tilting your head, a sly smile tugging at your lips.
"Why’d you call me princess earlier?"
Mingyu froze. His eyes went wide for a heartbeat before he pressed his lips together, fighting the grin that inevitably slipped out anyway.
"You noticed, huh?" he mumbled, a hint of a boyish laugh rumbling in his chest. He dropped his head a little, embarrassed but too proud to hide it fully.
"Because… your father calls you that. I heard him once, when you were half-asleep and he was nagging you to drink your medicine. You looked so annoyed but so soft at the same time—"
His hand lifted, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
"I liked it. It makes you feel like… mine to protect."
The word mine did something to your heartbeat you chose to ignore for now. Instead, you stared at him—this giant man-child with bruised knuckles and a gentle smile—wondering if maybe you’d spent too long running from what was right in front of you.
The quiet settled like a warm blanket until Mingyu cleared his throat, shoving the moment forward before your overthinking mind could ruin it.
*"So…" he said, tone suddenly lighter, teasing, but the nervous flicker in his eyes betrayed him, "are we official now?"
You arched a brow, lips quirking.
"Do I get to decide that?"
He scoffed, dramatic as ever, throwing his free hand over his chest like a sworn knight.
"Who am I to decide, princess? I’m just a mere servant to your royal highness’s whims."
The laugh burst from your throat before you could stop it, genuine and bright, and Mingyu’s shoulders dropped like he’d been holding his breath all night just to hear it.
On impulse—heart hammering but certain—you rose on your tiptoes and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek. He stilled completely, even stopped breathing for a second, and when you pulled back you caught the flush climbing from his neck to his ears.
"See you tomorrow, Kim Mingyu."
You slipped your hand from his—feeling his fingers cling for just a second longer than necessary—and turned toward the door, the grin refusing to leave your face.
Behind you, Mingyu’s dazed laugh floated through the night air, half-murmured to himself.
"Ah, she kissed me first… I’m so done for.”
The next day, practice was quieter than usual. The kind of quiet that felt intentional—like everyone was waiting for something to happen. The team moved slower, drills dragged longer, and even the sound of sneakers brushing against turf seemed oddly cautious.
Mingyu tried to act normal. He joked with Jun, helped Minghao set up cones, and pretended not to notice the faint sting on his knuckles when he gripped the ball. But every few minutes, his mind drifted—to last night, to your laugh, to the way your fingers had fit between his like they belonged there.
He was tying his shoelaces when a shadow loomed over him.
“Hey,” Hansol’s voice broke through the still air, low and steady. Mingyu looked up, squinting against the sunlight. Hansol had that face—half blank, half dead serious—the kind that didn’t give much away but made you instinctively straighten your back.
“Yeah?” Mingyu asked, tugging the lace tighter.
Hansol tilted his head slightly, his tone unreadable. “I just wanna make sure I saw it right last night.”
Mingyu frowned, pretending to think. “Saw what?”
Hansol exhaled, eyes narrowing just a bit. “You and Y/n… holding hands.”
The words hung there between them, heavier than they should’ve been. A few of the guys nearby pretended not to listen, but everyone’s posture gave them away—shoulders angled, heads tilted slightly, ears definitely tuned in.
Mingyu leaned back on his hands, smirk tugging at his lips like armor. “You saw that, huh?”
Hansol didn’t blink. “So it’s true.”
“Why?” Mingyu asked, voice calm but eyes sharp. “You keeping tabs on me now?”
Hansol’s brows drew together, not out of anger but confusion. “No. Just… surprised. You fought with Wonwoo about her, remember?”
The air between them shifted. Mingyu’s smile faltered for half a second, just long enough for Hansol to notice.
“I remember,” Mingyu said finally, his voice quieter now. “Doesn’t mean I regret it.”
Hansol studied him. “You sure this isn’t because of Jooyeon? Or Wonwoo?”
Mingyu’s jaw tightened, his usual easygoing tone turning edged. “You think I’d use her like that?”
“I think you’re still figuring it out,” Hansol said evenly.
That stung more than Mingyu expected. Because maybe there was truth in it. Maybe he was still figuring it out—how to separate the mess of his feelings, how to stop seeing ghosts of the past every time he looked at you.
But then, his mind replayed your laugh from last night, the way you said his name, the warmth of your hand in his. And he knew—it wasn’t confusion. It wasn’t guilt. It was real.
He stood up, brushing grass off his knees, towering over Hansol but not in a threatening way. “I know what I’m doing,” he said, steady now. “And if I don’t… I’ll take the blame when I find out.”
Hansol looked at him for a long moment before finally nodding once. “Just don’t hurt her.”
Mingyu let out a quiet laugh, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He kicked lightly at the grass before turning back to Hansol, teasing glint back in his voice.
“Why do you care that much, huh?” he said, crossing his arms. “You like Y/n or something?”
Hansol blinked, caught off guard for a second. Then he scoffed. “Don’t be stupid.”
Mingyu grinned wider, leaning in just enough to annoy him. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Hansol rolled his eyes, grabbing the nearest ball and tossing it at Mingyu’s chest. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Hey, just saying—” Mingyu caught the ball easily, spinning it on his finger with that same smug ease he used on the field. “You sound a little protective for someone who’s ‘just a teammate.’”
Hansol’s gaze hardened, but his voice stayed calm. “I am protective. She’s part of the team, and she doesn’t deserve to get caught in whatever emotional hurricane you’re brewing right now.”
Mingyu tilted his head, his grin faltering for a heartbeat. “You think I’m gonna hurt her.”
“I think you don’t know what you’re doing yet,” Hansol said simply. “And she’s been through enough.”
That hit harder than Mingyu wanted to admit. The teasing fell from his tone completely. For a long moment, neither of them spoke—just the sound of whistles and running footsteps in the background.
Then Mingyu let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to worry about that, Hansol.”
Hansol studied him, skeptical. “Yeah? Then prove it.”
Mingyu’s mouth curved into a small, lopsided smile again—one that didn’t quite mask the guilt sitting behind it. “I will.”
Hansol nodded once, sharp and short, before turning away to join the rest of the team for drills.
As Mingyu watched him go, the teasing energy drained completely, leaving behind only the weight of his own thoughts. Maybe Hansol wasn’t wrong. Maybe he was still figuring it out. But when his eyes found you across the field, handing out water bottles and smiling at Seungkwan’s joke, he couldn’t help the way his chest tightened. Until his eyes met Wonwoo.
“You. Broke. Her.”
The locker room door slammed shut, echoing off the tiled walls that day. The rest of the team had already left, but Mingyu stayed behind—hands clenched, jaw tight, chest still burning from everything that had been said during practice.
Wonwoo was by the lockers, tossing his gloves into his bag, acting like nothing happened. That calmness only made it worse.
“So that’s it?” Mingyu’s voice came sharp. “You’re just gonna walk out like you didn’t blow up at everyone again?”
Wonwoo didn’t look up. “You think yelling’s gonna fix anything?”
“You think ignoring it will?”
Wonwoo’s hand froze on the zipper of his bag, his knuckles white. “You don’t get to lecture me, Mingyu. Not you.”
“You broke her.”
The words hung there like a strike of thunder after lightning — loud, burning, impossible to take back.
Wonwoo’s jaw locked, but his throat bobbed as if he was swallowing something sharp. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know enough,” Mingyu snapped. “I saw her cry once. I saw how small she looked every time your name came up. And you—” he jabbed a finger toward Wonwoo’s chest, “—you just walked around like nothing happened.”
Wonwoo finally moved, shoving Mingyu’s hand away. “You think it was easy for me? You think I didn’t care?”
“Did you?” Mingyu’s voice cracked. “Because from where I stood, it looked like you cared more about saving face than saving her.”
Wonwoo’s breath hitched, the tension in his body trembling to break. “You have no idea what I had to choose between.”
“Then maybe you should’ve chosen her!” Mingyu’s voice broke the air, raw and desperate. “Because she would’ve done the same for you.”
That stopped Wonwoo cold. His lips parted, but no words came out. The silence stretched between them—one heavy with years of friendship, guilt, and something they both refused to name.
When Wonwoo finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “And now you think you’re her savior? You think being there for her a few nights means you understand her?”
Mingyu’s expression softened, just slightly. “No,” he said. “But at least I’m trying.”
That quiet answer was worse than shouting. Wonwoo’s eyes flickered, a storm hidden behind restraint. He wanted to say something cruel, something to make Mingyu back down—but all he managed was, “You don’t love her.”
“I do.” Mingyu’s voice was firm. “And I’m not scared to say it.”
"Hey, princess. I'll walk you to the bus station."
Mingyu’s voice came from behind just as you were scribbling the last few notes on the whiteboard, the field long emptied except for the hum of the night insects and the faint smell of damp grass.
You didn’t turn around. “I think I’ll take longer tonight. I haven’t finished the report for last trimester.”
Mingyu tilted his head, hands tucked into his pockets, his hair still slightly damp from practice. “Want to finish it in a café nearby? I’ll keep you company.”
The café you picked was quiet, tucked into a narrow corner near campus — the kind of place that smelled like roasted beans and soft jazz. You sat beside him by the window, laptop open, your nose nearly touching the screen as your fingers flew across the keyboard.
Mingyu watched lines of data fill the spreadsheet. His eyes widened in mock disbelief. “Team analysis, individual progress, finances, upcoming projects—” he gasped dramatically, earning a few looks from nearby tables. “They pay you well for this?”
You bit back a laugh, eyes still on the screen. “Very,” you said dryly.
He let out a short, breathy laugh. “Good. Because this is insane. You’ve got everyone’s data here. Jeonghan doesn’t even count his goals properly, but you do!”
Then Mingyu leaned closer, eyes wide as if he’d just uncovered a secret file. “You even listed attitude progress? What is this, the army?”
You laughed softly, rubbing your temple. “Someone has to keep the chaos in check. You guys play like you’re in an action movie, not a soccer match.”
He grinned, resting his chin on his hand, watching you type. “And you—what are you? The director? The editor? Or the hero who makes sure the movie actually makes sense?”
You rolled your eyes but your lips twitched, fighting a smile. “Just someone who likes things done properly.”
Mingyu hummed in agreement, leaning back on his chair. The café light caught his skin, making him look effortlessly warm, and it was almost unfair how he made sitting still look like a performance.
“Still,” he said, voice softer now, “you do too much. I don’t think anyone really knows how much effort you put in behind all this.”
His words caught you off guard. You turned to look at him, his expression earnest—no teasing this time. “You see everything, huh?”
“I try to,” he said, meeting your gaze. “Especially when it’s you.”
You blinked, heart tugging at the edges. “Mingyu…”
“Don’t worry,” he interrupted with a boyish grin, trying to lighten the weight in the air. “I won’t tell Jeonghan you’re the secret behind his stats. Let him think he’s naturally that good.”
You chuckled, shaking your head, “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he said, his voice dipping just slightly, “you still let me stay.”
The café was starting to quiet down. The air grew heavier as the late hour seeped in, the hum of conversation replaced by the occasional clink of mugs and the low rhythm of jazz that played near closing time. You were typing your last few lines when Mingyu spoke again—so suddenly, it startled you.
“Do you still like him?”
You froze. The cursor blinked on the screen, waiting, but your fingers didn’t move.
Mingyu leaned back in his chair, the wooden legs creaking under his weight. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Wonwoo.”
You swallowed hard. “Why are you asking that?”
He shrugged, but the movement was stiff—forced. “Just wondering. You get this… look sometimes. Like you’re somewhere else when we talk about him.”
“Mingyu—”
He cut you off with a soft laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “I mean, I’d get it if you did. He’s—” he paused, searching for words, then scoffed under his breath, “—he’s the kind of guy who makes everyone feel like they’re the only one that matters when he looks at them.”
You could hear the edge in his tone, the cracks he tried to hide behind humor. “But then he leaves,” he continued quietly, eyes fixed on the untouched cup of coffee between you. “And you’re the one left wondering if you just imagined it all.”
“Mingyu…”
He finally looked at you. “So tell me. If he asked you back—if Wonwoo showed up tomorrow and said he made a mistake—would you go back to him?”
The question sliced the air clean. It wasn’t jealousy—it was fear, raw and unguarded.
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
Mingyu let out a quiet breath, leaning forward this time, elbows resting on his knees. “I’m not asking because I want to compete. I just…” His voice cracked a little, honest in a way that made your chest ache. “I need to know if I’m trying to build something real—or if I’m just trying to fill the space he left.”
The words hit harder than you expected.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in every movement. “Because, Y/n, I can’t keep doing this if I’m just—if I’m just someone you let stand close enough to make you forget.”
Silence pressed between you. The café light flickered once, and you realized how late it had gotten.
You looked at him, at the boy who always laughed too loud, who smiled through everything—and tonight, his eyes looked tired. Vulnerable.
“Mingyu,” you said softly. “I’m not trying to replace anyone.”
He held your gaze for a second longer, then smiled faintly, though it trembled at the corners. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “But sometimes I think I’m the only one trying not to.”
The night air was cool as you both stepped out of the café, the door chiming softly behind you. The streets were mostly empty now, only a few cars passing by and the faint sound of cicadas echoing between buildings. You walked side by side in silence—close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed, but far enough that the space between you felt like something delicate, breakable.
Mingyu’s hands were in his pockets, his steps slower than usual. You could still feel the heaviness from earlier—the question he had asked, the silence that followed, the ache that neither of you could quite name.
“Hey,” you said softly, breaking the quiet. “You know… I don’t think love is about replacing anyone.”
He glanced at you, eyes tired but still searching.
You kept walking, watching your own shadow stretch under the streetlights. “It’s not about who came first or who hurt who. It’s about choosing someone even when you’re scared. Even when you don’t know how it’ll end.” You looked at him then, really looked at him—the boy who had stayed, who had tried. “You’re choosing, Mingyu. That’s not nothing.”
He stopped walking for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “Yeah, but sometimes I feel like I’m just fighting a story that’s already written,” he murmured. “Like… no matter what I do, I’m still the guy who came second.”
You stepped closer, your hand brushing against his until your fingers found his. “Then maybe we rewrite it,” you said quietly. “Maybe we make a new story. Where you’re not second. Where I’m not forgotten.”
Mingyu looked down at your hands, then back up at you, eyes glimmering faintly under the orange glow of the streetlight. “You really think we can do that?”
You smiled—small, trembling, but sure. “I think we both deserve to try.”
Something in his chest loosened then, like he’d been holding his breath for too long. He exhaled, slow and shaky, and squeezed your hand.
“Then let’s try,” he said, voice low, steady. “Let’s stop thinking we’re just side characters in someone else’s story.”
You nodded, a warmth spreading in your chest. “Because we’re not.”
The wind changed first—soft, cool, the kind that teased at your hair and made the air smell faintly of rain. The streetlights shimmered on the wet pavement, and for a moment, it felt like the city belonged only to the two of you.
Then came the first drop.
Then another.
You both looked up at the same time, the dark clouds rolling in fast.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Mingyu groaned, tightening his grip on your hand as the drizzle turned into a sudden downpour. You shrieked, half laughing, half gasping as he tugged you forward. “Come on! Run!”
The two of you sprinted down the empty street, shoes splashing against puddles, laughter cutting through the sound of the rain. Your hair was already soaked by the time you found a small awning to duck under—an old bookstore with a faded sign and its lights off. The metal shutter was pulled down halfway, and the scent of wet paper and dust lingered faintly in the air.
You leaned against the wall, breathless, drops of rain rolling down your face. Mingyu stood across from you, chest rising and falling, his hair plastered to his forehead. For a moment, neither of you said a word.
Then he smiled. That boyish, lopsided smile that always seemed to disarm you.
“You look like a drenched cat,” he said softly, eyes glinting.
You huffed a laugh, brushing water off your cheeks. “And you look like a wet dog.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and took a slow step closer. The rain kept falling, steady and rhythmic against the awning. The city felt far away—muted, hazy, almost unreal.
“Hey, princess,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, softer. “Remember what you said? That we could rewrite our story?”
You nodded, your heart already racing faster than the rain.
“Well…” he said, tilting his head, a teasing glimmer behind the tenderness in his eyes, “can I start now?”
You didn’t answer—not with words.
Instead, you rose on your toes, hands finding the edge of his soaked jacket, and pulled him closer. His breath hitched just before your lips met—slow, hesitant at first, like a question. Then deeper, more certain, like an answer you both had been searching for too long.
The rain fell harder, drumming against the pavement. The world blurred, leaving only the warmth between you—the soft press of his mouth, the faint taste of rain, the sound of his quiet laugh when you pulled away, flushed and smiling.
And under the flickering streetlight, in front of a closed bookstore on a rainy night, two people who once thought they were side characters finally found the courage to believe they were the main ones all along.
