enemies to lovers | college au | agedup!sungchan | fluff
When you first met Professor Jung he was just Sungchan, ‘the professor’s aide’. Dangerously competent and charming. The new graduate had grabbed the attention of many of the girls in class, including yours. However, whereas the others fawned over his tall stature and handsome features, you fixated on his unreasonable and inexplicable vendetta against you.
Maybe it was payback for getting higher scores than him on the exams freshman year or for quickly becoming one of the faculty’s favorite star students. Whatever the reason was, the act grew old fast. Every test had mild comments of disappointment written in the margins. Every opinion of yours stated in class was given a solid counter argument. Every achievement was marked by hesitant yet genuine praise. Incidents that continued even — especially — while he was your professor.
Nothing improved. If anything, it got worse. On top of the controlled tensions during class, Professor Jung also constantly asked you to stay late after class. Usually under the guise of ‘checking in’ on how you were doing. Nonsense he made up just to psyche you out. Apparently his fragile male ego couldn’t handle a woman getting the same attention and respect he had been given when he was a student.
You were lucky that you had always been at the top of your class, otherwise your classmates would’ve thought something salacious was going on during those extra minutes of class with the well coveted professor. When the truth was you didn’t want anything to do with him.
That’s why you were shocked when Sungchan selected you to be his aide for your final semester of post-grad. Was tormenting you for six years not enough? He needed some bonus credits to finally push you over the edge? If it weren’t for the glowing recommendation and cv filler, you would’ve rejected the offer. But the opportunity of starting off your career with solid experience was too good to pass up. Even if that experience came with someone as infuriating as Professor Jung.
“Dammit!” You hissed, removing the metal staple lodged into the skin of your finger. How you managed to do that you weren’t certain. Though you suspected it had something to do with the relentless criticism from a certain professor, this time about the efficiency of your work. Stapling documents didn’t seem complicated enough to deserve that kind of critique.
“What happened?” You could hear his resounding voice question from his desk, causing your stomach to drop. He was looking up at you, pen hovering over the midterm paper he was correcting. Eyebrows furrowed in slight concern. “Did you staple yourself?” A knowing glint in his eye. You immediately attempted to brush the incident off, but he wasn’t having any of it. “Come here. Let me see,” Sungchan insisted.
After a brief frustrating exchange, you reluctantly made your way over to him. Holding out your now bleeding finger while you sat down in a chair next to him. He spun the desk chair around to face you. Gently reached for your hand, turning it side to side to observe the damage. He tsked in disapproval. “This is why I told you to staple the documents while organizing them. You were rushing, and look what happened.” The man pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, carefully dabbing at the blood.
You let out a sharp breath, refraining from strangling him or yourself. God, why did he pretend to be a gentleman only to act like such a pompous fool? In his stupid navy blue sweater and crisp white button-up underneath. His sleeves rolled up, revealing the prominent veins on his forearms and hands. Fingers adorned with a couple rings. None being on the finger that mattered which drove all the girls in his class crazy.
Crazy. That’s what they were. Who cares that he had a head covered in soft dark brown locks or kind eyes that could pierce through your soul or a pretty smile and a dignified nose? Who cares that he took the time to learn more about his students, to create strong bonds with them and other faculty members? Who cares about the delicate way he held your hand in his and smiled to himself when he caught you staring? You sure as hell didn’t.
“I wasn’t rushing, I was just distracted by all your ridiculous criticisms,” you spat out halfheartedly. Even you didn’t buy the usual bite in your tone. Truthfully speaking, you’d never been this close to him before. Your brain seemed to melt as it shared breathing air with the three audacious brain cells beneath his skull.
“Is that so?” He hummed, tilting his head. Eyes soft and knowing. “Well, I apologize for trying to help my mentee improve her work ethic.” His easy tone unnerved you. So casual the way it mocked your entire existence.
“Please,” you scoffed, jerking your hand out of his grip. The small punctures on your skin were still bleeding. Now stinging from the sudden movement. You grimaced while speaking. “As if you haven’t been ‘trying to help me’ since the day we met. All I’ve gotten from you is criticism and unwanted attention, and I don’t understand why. I’ve never done a single thing to you.”
A low chuckle left his lips, eyes lowering from your face to your injured finger. Carefully, he reached for it again. Gently pressing the fabric to the open wound. “I always knew you were brilliant,” you raised a questioning brow at his comment, now listening intently, “with so much untapped potential that this program wouldn’t know what to do with.” He couldn’t contain the smile that appeared on his face. “But you were stubborn and a bit clueless. You still are.”
You grumbled something about not being that stubborn and his lips pulled into a breathtaking grin. His hold on your hand getting lighter. Almost… affectionate. Something dark and unfortunate settled in your stomach. It made you feel both grounded and like you were floating in air. “See, stubborn. Whether you care to admit it or not, you are who you are today because people like me saw that potential in you and pushed you to try harder.”
A frown formed on your face. Eyes not leaving the dark wood of his desk. “Wow,” your tone sarcastic to its core, “how selfless of you to critique every action I make. To make me feel inadequate and less than based on your stupid fucking expectations. I’m sorry I’m not the absolute image of perfection you were hoping for—“
“Whoa, whoa, Y/N,” he shook his head as you trembled under his touch, reaching for your other hand. You were too caught up in your emotions to notice. Your frustration was evident. “I didn’t mean…” Sungchan cleared his throat. It was the first time you’d ever seen the professional lose his calm demeanor. His concerned eyes searched your face. “It wasn’t my intention to make you feel that way. I just wanted you to stop holding yourself back, to realize you didn’t need anyone’s approval but your own.”
You went to yank your hands away but he stopped you. He wanted you to only worry about your own opinion by over sharing his? This was utter bullshit. “Why do you care so much about what happens to me? I’m not even your student anymore. So why? Cut the bs and just tell me the truth. Why?” You stared up at him with wide frantic eyes. It was time to squash whatever this problem was that you had. You were practically peers now. He didn’t need to keep this up.
Sungchan let out a quiet sigh. A half smile pulling at his lips. “I told you you were clueless,” he spoke softly. Before you had a chance to retaliate he let the handkerchief drop to the floor as he allowed his larger hands to envelop yours. Fingers gently caressing the back of your hand. Breath stuttering, you glanced up from your joined hands to the almost bashful expression on his face. Your mouth hung open in disbelief, you had to look away just to catch your breath. Suddenly everything made sense, yet you had too many questions in your head to know where to begin.
“You… but… what? How?” all you could manage was an incoherent stammer.
“I didn’t know what to make of it when I first realized either,” Sungchan admitted, kind eyes taking in your reaction. “It didn’t seem like a big deal to me at the time, a few years difference didn’t seem like much, but then I took over your class from Professor Kang. It got too complicated. I thought I would get over it — over you — but I didn’t.” He sat up straight, perhaps realizing all at once just how close he’d gotten to you. He created some distance. Hands slowly releasing your own. Subtly licking his lips, he held a more serious expression while he continued talking. “I don’t… expect anything from you. I knew from the day I met you that it was just a fantasy, nothing more. We can continue on like nothing happened.”
Had he really waited six years for you? Your heart churned at the thought of his quiet pining with no way to express his feelings other than grabbing your attention when he could. All those after class chats were real; excuses to talk to you, but real. It was almost pathetic how much you apparently occupied his mind, drove him mad because he couldn’t be at your side. Maybe he had also occupied too much of your own mind. After all, he did look handsome in that navy blue sweater, a white button-up underneath, with the sleeves rolled up.
You didn’t need to say anything. Tentatively interlocking your hands with his again and settling them on your lap was enough. A soft smile on your face, cheeks warm. It was clear you both were nervous. “Or we could talk about this over coffee later?” He questioned with a raised brow, pretty smile showing brightly.
An uncharacteristic giggle escaped you. “I’d like that,” you stated with a nod. Professor Jung; dangerously charming indeed.
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