IMPERFECT LOVE – Jeonghan
* Genre: Enemies to lovers, fluff, a bit of angst, smut in the end.
* Warnings: Academic pressure, suggestive.
Disclaimer: This was a request from a month ago, I’m sorry it took too long 🥺 hope you liked it anon!
ꕤ˖⸝⸝₊˚ ꕤ˖⸝⸝₊˚ ꕤ˖⸝⸝₊˚ ꕤ˖⸝⸝₊˚ ꕤ˖⸝⸝₊˚ ꕤ˖⸝⸝₊˚
It always started the same way.
The professor would pose a question, you’d start speaking, and before you even finished your sentence Jeonghan would chime in with his own take, smooth, confident, sometimes directly contradicting you just because he could.
And the worst part was that he was good. Too good.
You caught him watching you during debates, the way his lips tugged into the smallest grin when your brow furrowed in concentration. It wasn’t the big dramatic “enemies” energy you’d seen in movies, no slammed books, no shouting across rooms. It was subtler than that. Quieter. Like an invisible rope pulling the two of you tighter every time you tried to pull away.
You were sitting in your usual seat, notebook open, when he slid into the chair beside you like he owned it. His cologne drifted in first, warm and clean, and then his voice followed, low and annoyingly casual.
“Color-coding your notes again?” His eyes skimmed the neat highlighter stripes across your page. “What is this, a rainbow for every paragraph?”
You didn’t look at him, flipping a page. “It’s called organization. You should try it sometime.”
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out. “Why would I? I still manage to beat your scores half the time without it.”
You turned just enough to catch the smug curve of his lips. There it was, that spark that always lit under your skin when he pushed. Not pure irritation. Not pure thrill. Somewhere in between, maddening and addictive.
“Half the time,” you echoed, smiling just a little. “The other half, you lose.”
He chuckled under his breath, eyes still locked on yours. And for a moment, you swore his smirk softened into something else. Something more curious, almost fond. But then the professor entered the room and the spell broke.
The rest of the class played out the usual way, you both raising your hands, countering each other’s points with precision, the professor letting the two of you spar because it raised the energy in the room. By the end, your pulse was racing faster than it should’ve been for something as mundane as a classroom discussion.
As you packed your bag, Jeonghan leaned close again. Too close. “You know…” he said lightly, “if you ever get tired of fighting me, you could always just admit I’m smarter.”
You rolled your eyes, but heat curled low in your stomach despite yourself. “In your dreams, Yoon.”
And as you walked away, you didn’t see his grin fade, nor the way his gaze lingered on you like he was memorizing the exact sound of your voice.
It was supposed to be just another debate.
The assignment had split the class into two sides, and of course you and Jeonghan had landed on opposite teams. It always seemed to happen that way, like the universe enjoyed watching you clash.
From the moment the discussion began, it was sharp. He cut across your points with that smooth voice of his, and you countered with calm precision, neither of you backing down. The professor was eating it up, letting the two of you go back and forth until the rest of the class didn’t even try to intervene.
But somewhere along the way, something in his tone shifted.
When you finished a particularly careful point, Jeonghan tilted his head and smirked. “You’re… not as good as you think you are.”
The words weren’t meant to be cruel, not loudly, but they landed like a punch. They weren’t a playful jab. They weren’t subtle teasing. They pierced right through your focus, the kind of thing that made your chest tighten and your hands grip your notebook a little too hard.
You laughed it off in the moment, plastered on a smile, but the sting stayed. Heat crawled up your neck and spread through your chest, a mixture of frustration and… something you weren’t ready to name.
By the time the debate wrapped up, you felt brittle, like glass about to crack.
You shoved your notes into your bag faster than usual, desperate to get out before anyone noticed the wobble in your breath. The sound of chairs scraping filled the room, chatter rising, and you slipped into the hallway, the air cooler but not enough to calm the knot in your chest.
“Hey,” a voice called behind you. His voice. “Wait up.”
You kept walking, hugging your books to your chest.
You stopped. Against your better judgment, you turned, facing him with tight shoulders. “What?”
Jeonghan slowed, brows furrowing when he saw your face. He was used to your sharp replies, your matching fire, but not this. Not the way your eyes shimmered with frustration instead of spark.
“Want to gloat some more?” you asked, voice thinner than you’d meant.
His mouth opened, then closed. For once, he didn’t have a quick comeback. “I didn’t mean—”
“You never mean it,” you cut in, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “You just… poke and prod and act like it’s nothing, like it’s all just fun for you, but sometimes it actually… hurts, Jeonghan.”
The hallway was empty now, everyone else having scattered. Your words echoed in the quiet, heavier than you intended.
He froze, eyes widening just slightly, as if he’d never considered that possibility. That maybe the rivalry wasn’t as harmless as he’d always treated it.
Your throat tightened. “Forget it,” you muttered, turning away. “I’m just tired.”
But you didn’t miss the look on his face before you left, a rare flicker of something raw, like guilt carved into his usually smug expression
You didn’t see him the rest of the day.
Usually, Jeonghan was impossible to avoid. You’d spot him at the library, in the student café, leaning against a wall with that same half-smile like he’d been expecting you to walk by. But that day, he was nowhere.
By evening, your apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of traffic outside. You’d tried to study, but every few lines your mind drifted back to that moment in class, to his words, to the way his expression had faltered afterward.
You told yourself it didn’t matter. That he could think whatever he wanted. But it sat heavy in your chest anyway.
When the knock came, you almost didn’t answer.
But then you heard his voice, muffled through the door. “Y/N? It’s me.”
You froze. The last person you wanted to face was standing outside your apartment, voice softer than you’d ever heard it. Against every instinct, you opened the door.
He looked different. Not composed, not smug. Just… unsure. His hair was slightly messy, and he was wearing a sweatshirt instead of the usual crisp button-up. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, and his eyes met yours carefully.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
You hesitated, then stepped aside. “Yeah. For a minute.”
He walked in quietly, gaze darting around your apartment before landing on you again. The air between you was strange, thick but not hostile. You crossed your arms, waiting.
He took a deep breath. “About earlier. I said something I shouldn’t have.”
You gave a small laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You think?”
He winced a little, then nodded. “I do. I went too far. I was trying to get under your skin, but not like that.”
“Then why do it at all?” you asked, voice softer now, but still edged. “Why keep pushing?”
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Because I didn’t know what else to do. I like watching you work, seeing you so serious, so focused. You make me want to try harder. But it’s always been easier to tease you than to admit that.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
He met your gaze, eyes steady this time. “I like you. I think I’ve liked you since the first time you argued with me in class. I just didn’t know how to handle it. So I made it a competition instead.”
Your heart skipped. “Jeonghan…”
“I know it’s stupid,” he said quickly, his voice almost nervous. “But every time you looked at me, it felt like something was happening. And I didn’t want to lose that. Even if it meant being the guy who annoyed you all the time.”
Silence settled between you, deep and humming.
You could see it now, all the things you’d missed in hindsight, the way his smirk always broke when you weren’t looking, the small hesitations before he teased you, the moments when he’d chosen to sit next to you even when there were other seats.
“I didn’t think you…” you started, then trailed off, unsure what to say.
He smiled faintly, eyes soft. “Yeah. Me neither, honestly.”
The tension that had once felt sharp began to dissolve, replaced by something slower, warmer. He stepped closer, hesitating just enough to let you stop him if you wanted. You didn’t.
When his fingers brushed yours, it wasn’t electric or dramatic. It was careful, like testing new ground.
“I really am sorry,” he said quietly. “For the way I’ve treated you. You didn’t deserve that.”
You exhaled, the breath shaky but lighter. “Just… don’t do it again.”
He nodded, eyes flicking down to your joined hands. “Promise.”
It would have been easy to end it there, to let him leave with that small, fragile peace. But when he turned to go, you stopped him. “Jeonghan.”
He looked back, and you smiled, just a little. “I like you too.”
His grin this time was slow, blooming across his face until it reached his eyes. “You do?”
You nodded, and he let out a soft laugh, almost disbelieving. “You have no idea how much I wanted to hear that.”
The quiet stretched again, full of new air, new possibility.
You didn’t expect him to actually ask you out so soon.
A week after his confession, you were sitting in the library pretending to read when Jeonghan appeared beside you, that same uncertain but hopeful look in his eyes. His voice was quiet when he said your name, and when you looked up, he was holding two cups of iced coffee.
“You told me you liked me,” he said, setting one in front of you. “I want to take you out. Properly this time.”
You blinked, fighting a small smile. “A date?”
That’s how you ended up walking through the city together that evening. The air was cool, the sky fading into shades of gold and violet. Jeonghan had traded his usual button-up for a cream sweater, soft and casual, his hair falling gently into his face. He looked almost boyish like that, but his gaze was steady whenever he looked at you.
Dinner was simple, but it felt like something out of another life. He made you laugh until your stomach hurt, told you stories about the first day he noticed you in class, and shyly admitted that he’d almost asked you out months ago.
“I kept thinking I’d ruin everything,” he said quietly, his hand brushing yours on the table. “Guess I almost did anyway.”
You squeezed his fingers lightly, smiling. “Guess you fixed it too.”
After dinner, neither of you wanted the night to end. So you walked for a while, your arms brushing occasionally, until the silence between you felt too full to ignore.
“Do you want to come over for a bit?” you asked softly.
He hesitated only a moment before nodding.
Your apartment felt warmer that night. You lit a small lamp, casting a soft glow across the room, and the two of you sat close on the couch, talking in low voices that grew slower with every minute.
When he leaned in, it wasn’t sudden. It was like gravity, inevitable, quiet, and gentle. His lips brushed yours once, testing, before deepening the kiss with a sigh that you felt more than heard.
It wasn’t the desperate kind of kiss that came from tension or rivalry. It was careful, reverent, like he’d been waiting for permission to feel this way. His fingers cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the corner of your mouth before his lips found yours again, slower this time.
You shifted closer until your knees touched. He smiled against your lips, then kissed you harder, pulling you softly into his lap.
“Is this okay?” he murmured between kisses.
You nodded, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the faint tremor of his breath. He kissed the corner of your jaw, then your neck, his voice low and a little unsteady. “You’re so beautiful.”
Every touch was unhurried. His hands found your waist, tracing up your back under your shirt, fingertips leaving a trail of warmth. You tugged gently at his sweater, and he helped you pull it off, his hair falling messily over his forehead as he leaned back to look at you.
He smiled, that familiar mix of mischief and softness returning. “Can I?” he asked, voice a whisper.
You nodded again, heart racing.
His lips followed the curve of your shoulder, then lower, the pace still tender but more deliberate now. Every kiss, every sigh felt like a quiet promise that this wasn’t just a moment, it was something real.
When you finally reached for him, helping him out of the rest of his clothes, his breath hitched, and he looked at you like he’d never seen anyone so perfect.
“Y/N,” he whispered, almost reverent. “I don’t want to rush anything.”
You smiled softly. “You’re not.”
The first time you made love was slow, almost shy. He moved like he was memorizing you, like every breath mattered. He whispered things you’d never heard him say before: how long he’d wanted this, how good you felt, how he never thought something could feel this right.
His hand stayed in yours the whole time, squeezing gently every time your breath caught. He kissed your forehead between soft moans, his voice breaking when you said his name.
When it was over, he didn’t move away. He just stayed there, breathless, holding you close, his thumb tracing circles against your skin.
You could still hear his heartbeat when he whispered against your hair. “You know, I think I fell for you a long time ago. I just didn’t know what it was yet.”
You smiled sleepily, eyes half-closed. “And now?”
He laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Now I know. And I’m never letting you go.”
The city lights filtered softly through your window as you both drifted into silence, tangled together in the warmth of something that no longer felt like rivalry at all, only love.
