yoursinink

word vomit queen • 2005

[yoursinink]

When He Met You - P.SH

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sunghoon x reader

word count: 19k

summary: after your first meeting with Sunghoon, you decide you don't like him, after your second, you still dont. but then one day it clicks and you become close friends... up until you accidentally sleep together and don't know if your friendship will be able to recover (yes this is totally a play on when harry met sally)

MDNI

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It was only a 20 minute drive from Namyangju to Seoul, so why did it feel like an hour? 

When your friend had asked you to drive her boyfriend to Seoul, you agreed as a way to pay her back from a debt you felt you owed her. You had never met him, never even seen him in a picture, only heard about him when she wanted to complain about or praise something he did. 

“He got me flowers just because he thought they were pretty!”

“He didn’t even remember our 1-month anniversary.”

“He’s such a good kisser, Y/N, let me tell you--”

“Can you believe he said that to me?? Is that not so rude?”

Pulling up to her apartment and seeing him for the first time was almost an out of body experience. You knew everything about him, just based on stories she had told you, and yet he didn’t even know who you were. As they walked over to your car hand in hand, you noted that the jacket he wore was the one she had asked your opinion on before buying for his birthday. You wondered if he knew that. 

“Y/N!” Mina let go of his hand and ran over to hug you. You had barely closed the car door when you tackled you. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for helping drive him! I would myself but you know how my last driver’s test went…”

You shook your head with a smile. “It’s okay, really. I’m happy to help.”

Your gaze shifted over to him and Mina’s eyes darted between the two of you. “Oh right!” she said. “Sunghoon, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Sunghoon.”

He offered you a smile, which you mirrored as he said ‘nice to meet you.’ Before you could offer to open the trunk for him, he was shoving his suitcase and bag into your backseat. 

“Y/N is a great driver,” Mina said, letting her arm slide across his back and he turned to face her. “Make sure you text me when you get there…”

It felt awkward to continue standing by your door and eavesdropping, so you situated yourself back in the car. You adjusted the mirror, pretending to fuss with it longer than necessary and moving a pack of gum from one cupholder to another. Outside, you caught a glimpse of Sunghoon’s hands on Mina’s hips, their bodies a little too close. When you realized they were kissing, you quickly looked away, face already reddening. A second later, the passenger door opened. 

Sunghoon slid into the seat beside you and Mina leaned into the doorway to smile at you. “I told him to behave so I think you’ll survive,” she teased, bending in to kiss his cheek before closing the car door. “Drive safe!”

You waited until she was inside before pulling away from the curb. For a few seconds, there was only the hum of the engine and the low murmur of the radio. You focused on the road, aware -- annoyingly -- of the quiet weight of another person in the car. 

“Thanks again,” Sunghoon said, leaning back into the seat to get more comfortable. His voice was polite and easy. The kind of tone that sounded practiced like Mina had told him what to say earlier. 

“It’s no problem,” you replied, glancing in the review mirror to avoid looking at him. “It’s nice to finally meet you, you guys have been dating for -- what? Three months now?”

“Well if you ask her, she would say three and a half,” he corrected lightly. “She’s very particular about the half.”

You smiled despite yourself, leaving the neighborhood and turning onto the main road. “That sounds like her.”

More small talk filled the car. You hated small talk, but you didn’t know how else to talk to him. 

“She’s talked about you a lot,” he added randomly and you quirked an eyebrow. 

“All good things I hope?”

“Mostly just about how you need to get a boyfriend.”

You glanced at him. He looked relaxed, legs stretched slightly forward, hands resting loosely in his lap. The comment felt oddly personal for him to be this nonchalant about it. 

“Oh. What exactly does she say?”

He shrugged. “Something about you being too picky and the last guy you dated was a catch but he had a terrible job and horrible internal drive so you ditched him.”

You stared hard at the road. “Those are perfectly valid reasons to break up with someone. That’s not me being picky.”

“She also said you said the sex was amazing.”

Your jaw almost dropped. “Excuse me?” You met this man five minutes ago. Why was he talking to you about this?

“Yeah, she said you told her the sex was good but he was lazy so you dumped him.”

“Why was she even telling you this?”

He shrugged again, running a hand through his hair and turning his gaze from the window to you. “I dunno. She likes to rant when she’s annoyed.”

“At me?”

“No, in general.”

Right, so she gets annoyed and talks about how you had good sex with your ex-boyfriend. You merged into traffic, fully aware of his stare on you. It made your shoulders tense in a way you didn’t like. 

“We agreed it was a bad reason to break up.”

You didn’t even try to hide the sigh you let out. “Oh, you did, did you? Anything else I should know about your opinion on my past relationships?”

“I’m just saying, if you still wanted to break up, the sex couldn’t have been that good.”

“The sex could be the most amazing thing ever and I would still break up with him if he was lacking in other areas.”

He hummed thoughtfully, looking back out the window. “Maybe you just haven’t had real good sex.”

Literally who was this man. You were tempted to turn around and drop him right back off in front of Mina’s apartment and beg her to find a new man, but you were already over halfway through the drive. Perseverance would end the suffering quicker. 

“I have had good sex,” you defended yourself, not even sure why you were entertaining this conversation. 

“Maybe you just haven’t had much at all so you had nothing to compare him to.” He saw your expression of building annoyance in the reflection and added, “I’m just saying.” 

“Are you seriously talking to me about my sex life right now?”

“Well what else do you want to talk about? This is better than talking about our favorite ice cream flavors.”

As much as you disliked ice breakers, you weren’t sure you wanted to verbally agree with him at the moment. So you didn’t “I would vastly prefer talking about ice cream.”

He grinned. “What’s your favorite? Vanilla?”

Your cheeks turned pink at the underlying message. 

“It wouldn’t be hard for you to get more experience,” he continued. “What are their names? Jay? Ni-ki? Ask one of them.”

Your head whipped towards him. Mina must have been spilling your entire life story for him to be bringing up the names of old friends. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sure they’d say yes if you asked them to stay over.”

“Oh my go-- Eeww. One, you might actually be crazy. And two, how would you even know that?”

He folded his arms. “You’re hot and they obviously like you if they’re hanging around you all the time.”

For peace of mind, you chose to skip over his comment on your looks, especially since he was dating your friend. 

“Just because we hang out doesn’t mean they’re trying to get in my pants. Men and women can be friends.”

He let out a short laugh, like he was genuinely entertained. “That’s what you think.”

“That’s what I know,” you shot back. “I’ve known them for years and nothing has happened.”

“And you really believe neither of them has ever thought about it?” he asked, tone maddeningly cocky. 

“Yes.”

“Not once?”

“No.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “I’m not sure if that’s impressive or delusional.”

You scoffed, weaving in and out of traffic, suddenly irritated at the speed of the cars around you and wishing they would drive faster. “Or maybe you’re just projecting.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “Because apparently you can’t imagine hanging out with a girl and not acting on it.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what you’re implying.” Irritation simmered beneath your skin as the traffic slowed to bumper-to-bumper.  “What? You think every friendship is just a failed hookup waiting to happen?”

“Also not what I said.”

“Then what?”

“I just don’t think it works.” 

The way he spoke was so matter-of-factly. In some ways, the way he carried himself throughout the conversation was so strange you genuinely wanted to understand what he was trying to say. “At all?”

“Not really,” he said. “Someone always wants more eventually. And usually it’s the guy.”

Your eye roll was completely involuntary. “That’s a very bleak view of humanity. And incredibly cynical.”

“I’d prefer the term ‘realistic.’”

“Realistic for you maybe,” you shot back. “But that doesn’t make it universal.”

He smiled again, this time more lazy and amused than polite. “You’re saying you’ve never had a male friend who wanted to sleep with you?”

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel. “I’m saying attraction doesn’t automatically disqualify friendship.”

His eyes raked over you a moment longer. “Sure,” he said slowly. “In theory.”

You glanced at him unimpressed. “In practice too. I think people can choose. You can acknowledge attraction and still decide not to act on it. It’s called self control.”

He only nodded, unconvinced. “That sounds nice.”

“You don’t believe in self-control?”

“I believe in honesty,” he continued. His tone dug at you so you dug back. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t say arrogance.”

His face remained unbothered. “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

A couple seconds passed. The car rolled forward, traffic easing just enough for you to shift lanes. The argument didn’t feel heated necessarily, it just felt like some sort of miscommunication that wasn’t sorting itself out. 

“So what,” you asked finally, hoping for more clarity on his way of thinking. Nothing he was saying had any weight to it, right? Why would it? “You think everyone’s just lying to themselves about not wanting to sleep with each other?”

He exhaled, gaze finding yours in the rear view mirror. “I think people say things work until they don’t. Then they act surprised.”

You shook your head. “I think that says more about you than about friendship.”

His smile switched to a sharp grin. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

“Maybe by the end of this ride I will.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “We’re not going to be friends.”

“That’s fine.” You didn’t miss a beat. “ I wasn’t planning on it.”

5 years later, you’re at the Incheon airport, hand in hand with Jake. He had offered to drive you to the airport but had somehow managed to slip in and follow you all the way to your gate as well. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” you laughed as he squeezed your hand tighter. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he replied, shooting you a smile and leaning over to kiss your forehead. “Besides, I won’t see you for who-knows how long. I need to take advantage of the time right now.”

He was such a sap. It was one of the things you loved about him. Always catering to you and peppering you with affection. 

“Okay,” you gave in, not like you were wanting to put up much of a fight anyway. “I’m only gonna be gone for a couple weeks. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He only shook his head, jumping in front of you so you were face to face once you reached the gate. “A couple weeks is way too long.”

His arms wrapped around you and you settled into them, breathing in the cologne on his shirt. “Don’t say that. You’ll make me want to miss the flight.”

“Maybe I should keep saying it then,” he teased and looked down at you with a smile. 

He was so cute, you couldn’t help but smile back and lean in on your tippy toes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. You moved to pull away but he chased you, keeping your mouths together. Maybe it was a mistake. Kissing him and tasting him really made you not want to leave anymore. But it was the holidays and you had promised your family that you would come visit for Christmas. 

You laughed against his mouth, pulling back just enough to breathe. “Stop,” you said, though there was no real conviction to it. 

Jake’s hands slid to your waist, thumbs brushing circles against the fabric of your shirt. “You kissed me first.”

“Because you were being dramatic.”

“I’m always dramatic when you leave,” he said easily. 

“Well don’t be. It makes leaving harder.” 

A voice on the speaker rang out, announcing boarding for the first round of passengers. You glanced down at the ticket clutched in your hand and tightened your first after reading the numbers. 

“That’s me,” you sighed. You hated leaving. 

Jake sighed even more exaggeratedly, then straightened, hands still on you but gentler now. “Okay. I’ll let you go.”

You leaned in once more, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips -- slower this time. When you parted, he rested his chin briefly on the top of your head. 

“Have a good Christmas,” he murmured. “Don’t forget me.”

“I would never,” you replied. “I’ll text you when I land. And everyday. Probably annoyingly often.”

“Good. I expect updates. Food. Weather. Complaints about relatives.”

“Especially complaints about relatives,” you seconded the notion. “I expect the same thing.”

“Of course.” 

He kissed you once more before you took your carry-on and stepped into line, turning back once to wave. Jake stayed there, hands in pockets, watching, all the way until you walked into the jet tunnel. It would have been nice to spend Christmas together but that just wasn’t how the plans worked out, and that was okay. 

Your seat was 34B, the center seat. You hated center seat, especially when you didn’t know the people on either side of you, but it was cheaper just to buy a random ticket than pick a seat yourself. The line shuffled forward and you moved with it. The familiar recycled air smell of plane hit you immediately upon boarding, along with the low hum of overhead bins slamming shut. You followed the wave of people down the aisle, counting rows under your breath. When you reached your seat, you stopped short. 

Someone was already there -- settled in by the window, legs stretched slightly forward, hoodie pulled over his head. He looked up when he noticed your shadow frozen over him. 

Sunghoon. 

It took an embarrassing amount of effort not to stare. He looked… different. Not drastically -- just older, maybe. His frame seemed more filled out and his hair was a little longer. You quickly averted your gaze to shove your carry-on in the bin above you and awkwardly took the seat next to him. 

“Hey,” he said, polite surprise flickering across his face. 

“Hey,” you echoed automatically. “Looks like we’re seatmates.”

“Looks like it,” he replied, shifting slightly to give you more room.

It was impossible not to be hyperaware of the narrow armrest separating you. An awkward moment of silence fell that you felt the urge to break. You glanced at him. “Flying somewhere for the holidays?”

“Visiting family. You?”

“Same.”

There was another pause, he broke it this time. 

“You seem like you’re doing well.”

You smiled, small but genuine. “Yeah, I am.”

His gaze lingered on you for half a second longer than necessary, then dipped. “Was that your boyfriend at the gate?”

You nodded, realizing he had noticed you before even getting on the plane. “Jake. We’ve been together a while now.”

“A couple years? Months? Weeks?” he started throwing dates out and you made a face. 

“2 years,” you said and he gave a small nod but said nothing else. You spoke again. “I’m sorry about you and Mina.”

He only shrugged. “Yeah well, it is what it is. I’m engaged now.”

“Oh, wow,” you hoped the genuine shock wasn’t apparent on your face. “Congradulations.”

“Thank you.”

The plane was nearly full, the space shrinking as passengers squeezed past. The mundane noise of travel wrapped around the conversation, giving you both an excuse to stop talking without making it awkward. Sunghoon reached for his headphones, you pulled out your phone. When the flight attendant came by to confirm seatbelts, your shoulders brushed lightly. Both of you apologized at the same time. 

The plane started to taxi, the city lights outside blurring together. You sent one last text to Jake before turning your phone off and closing your eyes. 

The seatbelt sign chimed off and the cabin came alive again. You waited until there was space in the aisle before standing up and reaching for your carry-on in the overhead cabin. Sunghoon followed behind you. 

“Long flight,” he said dryly once you entered the jet tunnel back to the main gate. He moved up to walk next to you, side-by-side.

“Not really.” 

He side-eyed you. “Are you gonna keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Answer like I’m wrong.”

He was referring to the only other conversation the two of you had had together. In which case, he was wrong. So you shrugged, “You usually are.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “And you’re charming as ever.”

You glanced at him. “What exactly does that mean?”

“You haven’t changed,” he said lightly. “I was hoping five years might’ve mellowed you out. Lower some of those expectations. Compromise more.”

“And you?” you asked. “Did you?”

He paused, then said, “I got engaged.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is to me.”

The end of the jet tunnel came into view, bright and loud, the terminal opening up ahead. You let out a huff of a laugh. “Is your engagement supposed to explain everything?”

“I’m not explaining anything. I’m just stating a fact.”

“Right,” you said. “You do like facts. They make things seem final.” It was one of the many observations you were able to make about him from the road trip, other than arrogance and zero social awareness. 

“And you don’t?” he asked. 

“I like room for nuance.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“Only if you’re afraid of changing your mind.”

That earned you another look -- longer this time. Less amused. You entered the terminal, the crowd from the tunnel spilling out into the open space. 

“Well,” he said, voice neutral again, “good thing we don’t have to agree.”

You hummed in agreement. Without another word, you veered to the left while he took the escalator down towards baggage claim, not bothering to look back. And yet, irritatingly, you could feel his presence linger. 

Another 5 years pass. You’re at a bookstore with Nabi, browsing through the different murder mysteries and dark romances together. You insisted that you would much rather prefer a lighthearted romcom to some kind of psychological stockholm-syndrome trope, but she said that everyone should read a fear-mongering novel at some point in their lives and love the villain. So here you were. 

“Oooo, I like the sound of this one,” she perked up excitedly, shoving a book in your hands and continuing to browse the shelves. “Read the back.”

You read the synopsis, scanning over the plot before trying to give it back. “I really think I would rather just read something cute and girly.” 

“But where’s the flavor?” she asked exasperated, taking the book back from you hand and rereading the summary. “There is some good stuff in here.”

“For you maybe.”

Nabi rolled her eyes dramatically. “You say that now, but give it fifty pages and you’ll be annotating the morally gray love interest.”

“I absolutely will not,” you said, following her a step deeper into the aisle. “I like my romance with communication and emotional growth.”

“Boring,” she declared fondly. “Give me obsession, give me danger.”

“Give you therapy,” you muttered.

She laughed, exchanging the book for a different one on the shelf. “Okay, compromise. You pick something cute, I pick something unhinged, and we swap halfway through.”

“How is that a compromise? That’s you tricking me.”

She grinned. “Exactly.”

You reached for a pastel-covered paperback a few shelves down, relieved by the illustration alone. “See? This is what I’m talking about. Low stakes. Bakery setting. Probably a misunderstanding that gets resolved by chapter twelve.”

“Low stakes are for people who don’t want to feel anything,” Nabi said, then paused. “Do you… know that guy?”

You glanced at her. “What?”

She nodded her head behind you but stopped you before you could turn around. “Wait-- look but don’t make it too obvious.”

As soon as you caught a glimpse, you whipped your head back around. 

“You know him?” She seemed surprised. 

“Yeah-- I mean, no. I mean, kinda?” You snuck one more look over your shoulder. 

Sunghoon stood at the end of the aisle next to you, one hand on the spine of a book, the other ticked casually into his coat pocket. Older again, in the subtle way time does hen it knows what it’s doing. 

“He’s hot. Can you introduce us?” You gave her a look and she stopped talking, clearly amused. “How do you know him?”

“I gave him a ride back to Seoul 10 years ago as a favor to a friend. And he’s not on the market. Last time I saw him he was getting married.”

“Bummer. He definitely recognized you. He keeps looking over here.”

Your heart dropped. You weren’t sure, whether it was because you were nervous or if you didn’t want to talk, or both. Maybe because you didn’t want to have another sex conversation. Out of curiosity, you let yourself look at him again, finding his eyes already on you. A flicker of recognition passed through them, then his mouth curved into something surprised. Before you could decide whether to look away or hold his gaze, he was already walking over. 

“Well, isn’t this a coincidence,” he said, voice carrying just enough to reach you down the aisle. “I don’t think I’ve run into anyone as many times as I’ve managed to somehow run into you.”

“God forbid, am I right,” you threw a lighthearted joke at him, suddenly self-conscious about the very pink book in your hands. He noticed the movement. 

“I should’ve guessed you read romcoms.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you defended yourself. 

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t say there was.”

“With that tone? It was definitely implied.”

He smiled, easy and familiar in a way that irritated you more than it should have. You tried to gear conversation in a different direction, wanting to introduce Nabi into the mix and give someone else for Sunghoon to dog on, but when you looked to your side, Nabi was long gone, already perusing through different aisles. Escape plan foiled. 

“She ditched me, didn’t she,” you asked rhetorically, already planning revenge.

He glanced to your friend and nodded, gaze lingering in the direction Nabi had just disappeared, then returning back to you. “Smart friend.”

“What would you know, huh? We’ve only ever had two conversations.”

“I’d say this would make that three.”

“Lucky me.”

He grinned like he found that funny. “How are you?”

You were caught off guard by his sudden question. Was he initiating small talk? Why?

“Fine.”

“And how’s that boyfriend of yours? Jake, was it?”

Ouch.

“Fine. I hear he’s fine.”

His facial expression morphed. “You’re not with Jake anymore?”

You gave him a tight smile. “We just broke up.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

You needed to divert the conversation again, desperately. “What about you? How have you been?”

“I’m doing alright,” he said with a nod, letting your distraction work. 

“Yeah? How’s married life?”

His expression changed once more and you watched him poke his tongue into his cheek. “Not so good, I’m getting a divorce.”

Now you regretted asking. Divorce was worse than a breakup. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

He waved it off a little too quickly. “It’s fine. It was… a mutual decision.”

“Still,” you said gently. 

An uncomfortable beat settled between you, heavier than before. Too much honesty and slipped in too fast. 

“Well,” you said, clearing your throat, “this has officially become the most emotionally loaded aisle in the store.”

That earned a short laugh from him. “A bookstore isn’t the typical place for therapy, is it?”

And that’s how you ended up in the coffee shop across the street, sitting across from each other, sipping on warm mugs of caffeine.

“When Jake and I started seeing each other, we wanted exactly the same thing,” you explained, playing with the straw of your drink. “We wanted to live together but we didn’t want to be married because every time anyone we knew got married, it ruined their relationship.”

Sunghoon listened carefully, stirring his coffee with a spoon.

“I would sit around with my friends that have kids and they would complain about how they never have time with their husbands anymore. They didn’t even complain about it, they just said it matter-of-factly. They were up all night, they were exhausted, the kids just took every sexual impulse they had out of them. Jake and I used to talk like we were so grateful to have the kind of relationship where you could have sex on the kitchen floor and the kids wouldn’t walk in or we could just fly off to Rome if we wanted. ”

You supposed you could find it a little weird you were talking about sex again with the same guy you’d only had maybe a combined 3 hours of conversation with, but that line had already been crossed the first time you met. 

“And then one day, I was helping a friend and taking her daughter to preschool and we were playing eye-spy. You know? Like eye-spy a lamppost and eye-spy a dog? Anyway, she said eye-spy a family and it was this family with two kids and the father had his daughter on his shoulders and the mother was holding her son’s hand… and I just thought, I really wanted that. So I went back home and I said to Jake, ‘The thing is, we never do fly off to Rome on a moment’s notice.”

“And the kitchen floor?” Sunghoon asked.

You shook your head. “Not once. It’s this really hard, cold tile anyway…”

He hummed in agreement, sipping from his cup.

“All that to say, we talked about it for a long time and I said, ‘This is what I want,’ and he said, ‘Well I don’t,’ and I said, ‘Well I guess it’s over,’ and he left.” You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding once the words were finally out. “It wasn’t dramatic,” you added quietly. “I wasn’t angry. I just… knew. And he knew. There wasn’t anything left to negotiate.”

Sunghoon nodded slowly, gaze fixated on you. “Those are usually the hardest endings,” he said. “The ones without villains.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Trust me, I tried to make him one. It didn’t stick.”

“That tracks,” he replied. “You like clean conclusions.”

You glanced at him. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You don’t linger when the answer’s clear. You just… leave.”

What an uncomfortably perceptive observation from someone you barely knew. You chose not to comment on it.

“And you?” you asked instead. “What happened with you and--” You stopped yourself. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine.” Then after a moment, “We wanted the same things, just not for the same reasons.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“She wanted certainty,” he continued. “I wanted control. We didn’t realize those were different things until they mattered.”

He looked at you in a way that said he was holding back. You nodded to urge him to continue if he wanted and he sighed. 

“She… fell in love with someone else,” he said, his voice tight. “Not an affair. Just… realized she wanted a different life. With someone else in it.”

You felt your chest tighten. Your stories were similar, yet, his hurt worse. “I’m really sorry.”

He gave a small, one-shouldered shrug, but it didn’t hide that he was still obviously hurt. “It sounds worse when I say it out loud.”

“Well I can’t imagine it sounds much better in your head either.”

His lips twitched. “No, I guess not.”

Silence settled between you. Not awkward or heavy. Just full. People moved in the seats around you, orders were called out, someone laughed a little too loudly at a corner table, the hiss of the espresso machine punctuated the space to your left. You broke first. 

“I didn’t expect to tell you all that.”

“Me neither,” he said. Another pause. “You know, the first time we met, I really didn’t like you that much.”

“I didn’t like you,” you added with absolutely no shame and rolled your eyes, though there was no heat in it. You stirred your drink even though it didn’t need it, watching the ice clink against the plastic. 

“It’s a little funny,” he started, looking up at you with a somewhat smug expression. “We’ve run into each other three times across 10 years. Statistically, that’s either nothing… or I’ve got a stalker.”

You snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He laughed under his breath. “Worth a shot.”

“Barely,” you replied, but you were smiling now despite yourself. 

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms loosely. “So… what happens now?”

You glanced at him over the rim of your cup, swallowing. “Now?”

“I mean,” he hummed and tilted his head, “We’ve already overshared deeply emotional life stories--”

You clicked your tongue at his sarcastic attempt at hiding the fact he really had needed to talk about his divorce. 

“--Feels inefficient to pretend this never happened.”

“You’re suggesting what?” you asked, wary. “Closure? A support group? Therapy?”

“Dinner.”

You studied him for a second, placing your cup back on the table. Your eyes searched his for something. Expectation? Tension? An angle? You found none. Just openness. 

“Dinner?” you repeated. 

“Only if you would want to,” he nodded.

“Are we becoming friends now?” You tried to hide your amusement but utterly failed. 

He lifted a brow. “I don’t know. Are we?”

“That feels like a dangerous question coming from you.”

“Everything feels dangerous when you overthink it,” he said mildly. “I’m proposing food. Low commitment. Public space. You can leave whenever you want.”

You laughed. “You’re making this sound like a hostage negotiation.”

“I’m very respectful of consent,” he deadpanned. 

You shook your head, eyes dropping to the table for a moment before you looked back up at him. “Okay, but just to be clear -- this is not a date.”

“Of course not,” he said immediately. “I’m still a married man afterall.” He winced the second the words left his mouth. “Technically,” he corrected quickly. 

“Friends-who-get-dinner?” you proposed, slightly cutting him off to save him the emotional trouble he was obviously battling in his head.

“Yes.”

“And friends-who-talk?”

“Unfortunately,” he said. “That seems unavoidable.”

“And friends-who-argue?”

He grinned. “Absolutely.”

You mirrored his expression. “Okay then. Dinner.”

The two of you did eat dinner together a couple days later. In fact, it was only the first of many shared meals. You started running into each other everywhere. The same cafe after work, the same bookstore again, the same late night convenience store when neither of you could sleep. Eventually, the two of you built a routine around everything. Dinner stopped being an event and more of a bi-nightly expectation. Sunday walks, grocery store runs… the list went on. You learned the rhythm of his days without asking and he learned yours the same way. The texts between the two of you flowed easily.  

“Did you eat?’

“Let’s get lunch.”

“Did you get home safe?”

“I’m bored. Let’s do something.”

“This ugly dog reminded me of you.”

You scoffed at the last one, sending back a middle finger and silencing your phone. What a bitch. 

The two of you could talk about anything. Work stress, bad bosses, past relationships, family annoyances. He would listen to you talk and then give you solutions without you asking in that blunt manner of his. You learned to stop taking offense to his straightforwardness, even though he could still be a hardass. And when he would rant about one of his problems, you were there to remind him to stop being so hard-headed and take a moment to breathe. You showed up for each other in the small, quiet ways that didn’t demand explanation -- sitting beside him when the divorce papers finally went through, him coming to walk around the park at night with you when you just needed company. It didn’t take long for you to admit you had misjudged him the first time you met. 

New Years was his idea. 

“Come out with me,” he said. “One of my friends is hosting and no one should be alone on New Years.”

You pretended to think about it, shoveling ice cream straight from the carton on the counter into your mouth. “Are you inviting me out of concern or obligation?”

“Purely concern,” he replied easily. “You look like you haven’t breathed outside air in 2 weeks.”

You scoffed, swallowing the bite and pointing your spoon accusatorily at him. “One, that was rude, and two, I went outside yesterday.”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that familiar look of judgment. “For what? Two seconds?”

You huffed, digging the spoon back in and taking one more bite before getting up to put the ice cream back in the freezer. He sauntered after you. 

“Come on, just for a few hours? We can leave right after midnight if you want.”

You paused with the freezer door still open, cold air spilling around your legs. “Everyone says that. No one ever actually leaves after midnight.”

“I will,” he says. “But only if you agree to go with me in the next ten seconds.” He held up his hands and immediately started putting fingers down. 

You closed the freezer and slapped his shoulder, pushing past him. “Okay, okay. Twist my arm.”

He grinned. “Knew it.”

“You did not,” you shot back. “You bribed me with a countdown and peer pressure.”

“Classic tactics,” he said. “Highly effective. We can leave when you’re ready.”

You looked him up and down. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

He crossed his arms again. “What? Did you want me to wear a tux?”

“You look like you’re about to visit your grandma.”

“And you’re wearing slippers.”

Your eyes snapped down. Shit he was right. “They’re shoes adjacent.”

“They have snowmen on them.”

“They’re festive.”

He shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Unbelievable.”

“Obviously I’m not going to wear my house slippers outside.” You took one of your foot and threw it at him before quickly moving behind the wall to use it as a shield. “Grow up.”

“Did you just throw a shoe at me??”

“You can’t throw it back,” you shouted, running into your room. “You can’t hit a girl.”

“You hardly count.”

You heard him getting closer to your closed door. “I’m changing! Give me five minutes.”

“Oh, ew.” He was already retreating. 

The house was already swarmed when you stepped inside. Music thumped through the walls, bass heavy enough to vibrate in your chest. Coats were piled indiscriminately on the bed in the nearest room. Someone you didn’t recognize shouted a greeting in Sunghoon’s direction and handed him a drink before you’d even fully crossed the threshold. It was a big party. 

The living room was packed. People clustered in loose circles, laughing too loudly, already a little unsteady. The kitchen had turned into a bar and the dining room table had become one large charcuterie board. Once you had a little bit of alcohol in your system, the party wasn’t so bad. 

Sunghoon stayed close. Not hovering, just present. He knew several people at the party. People kept coming up to him, beckoning him over but he said he would come over a second, always choosing to stay with you. You got sick of it. 

“Seriously, it’s okay,” you said, pushing him in the direction of a group of his old college classmates. “I’ll go find some food.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, leaning down to meet you at eye level. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you nodded. He listened after a couple more pushes of persuasion. 

You found yourself in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and conversing with one of the hired “bartenders,” a guy who looked like he’d been pulled out of a finance internship and handed a shaker as a character-building exercise. 

“So what’s your poison?” he asked, taking your old cup and exchanging it for a new glass.

“Sweet but strong,” you said, watching him pour you a pink concoction. 

Someone squeezed past you to grab a bottle, someone else spilled their drink from across the room, another person laughed loudly next to you. Who on earth knew this many people well enough to have them over for New Years anyway?

You turned around, taking a sip, eyes lighting up at the flavor hitting your tongue and immediately turning back to the bartender and asking for more. While he refilled your glass, you caught sight of Sunghoon again. He was mid-conversation with a group of friends, gesturing animatedly as he talked, a cocky smile across his face. He glanced over, eyes finding you easily like he knew exactly where you were. When he saw you watching, he lifted his brows in silent question. You gave him a small thumbs-up. Satisfied, he turned back to his friends. 

“So, how do you know the host?” the bartender asked, nodding toward the living room where the host was entertaining a large crowd with a story. 

“Friend of a friend,” you said vaguely. 

“Are they here now?” he asked curiously and you nodded. He followed your gaze to Sunghoon across the room, just in time to see him laughing at something one of his friends had said. 

“Yeah.” You took another sip. 

The bartender looked back to you. “Boyfriend?”

You nearly choked. “No. God, no.”

He raised his hands in surrender, amused. “Got it. So… ex?”

You shot him a look. 

“Well, my boyfriend suggestion had a strong reaction, I just figured…”

“He’s just a friend,” you corrected quickly and he hummed unconvinced. 

“Are you aware that your friend keeps looking over here every five seconds?”

You glanced over your shoulder instinctively and cursed yourself for it. Sunghoon’s eyes were already on you, his head cocking to the side by a single degree when he caught you looking at him. You immediately turned around to face the bartender. 

“He’s just attentive.”

“Dangerous quality,” he said smugly before moving to another part of the room to pour someone else a drink. 

You stayed in the kitchen a while longer, talking about random things to random people and joining random conversations. The alcohol made it easy. You found some new friends by the home-made charcuterie board and shared New Years resolutions while trying every single kind of cracker on display. At some point, music from the living room shifted into something familiar and slow and a cheer went up from the crowd. The people you were talking to slowly split off to dance and you found yourself wandering after them alone. 

The edge of the living room became your home for a minute as you hovered there, simply observing those around you. The lights were dimmer, colored bulbs strung the walls and cast the entire room in a rainbow glow. People swayed together as the song progressed, slow dancing together. You took another sip and set your drink down and one of the coffee tables next to you.

“I wondered where you went.”

You turned to Sunghoon, who had silently slipped behind you. “I got distracted. There was an alarming number of crackers.”

He glanced toward the table you’d abandoned. “Did you try all of them?”

“Obviously.”

“Any favorites?”

“Whichever one was on the blue plate. They all started looking the same,” you admitted and he smiled down at you.

“You looked like you were having fun earlier,” he said, stepping closer to you so you could hear him better over the music. 

“I was,” you replied. “You’re not allowed to tell me you told me so.”

“I won’t,” he said. “I’ll be quietly vindicated.”

You rolled your eyes. “Everyone’s dancing now.”

He snuck a glance at you, before following your gaze to the crowd. “Do you want to dance?”

“I don’t know…”

“I think you do,” he concluded for you, already grabbing your hand and pulling you out.

At first, you kept space between you, swaying more than actually dancing. But the room tightened around you and the music began pulling you into its slow rhythm. Someone stepped a little too close behind you, causing you to stumble forward. His hand came up automatically, resting lightly at your waist. 

“Sorry,” you apologized quickly. 

“Not your fault,” he brushed your words away but his hand stayed on your hip. 

The music changed into an even slower song. The crowd pressed in further, bodies swayed together. Whatever space you had previously tried to preserve between the two of you dissolved without either of you making the decision to. You tried to save some of the sudden awkwardness. 

“Thanks for dragging me out tonight. It’s actually not too bad.”

His lips slowly spread with a smile. “I won’t say I told you so.”

“Good,” you said. “Because then you would force me to take it back.”

You shifted to a more comfortable dancing position, settling one hand against his shoulder while the other held his. The other dancing duos around you held the same position, all swaying to the same beat while the countdown on the TV reached three minutes. 

“For what it’s worth,” he said after a moment, voice low enough that you had to lean in to hear him. “I’m glad you came.”

You glanced up at him. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “And -- just putting it out there -- if next year rolls around and neither of us have plans with someone else…”

You tilted your head, already following his trail of thought. 

“...You’ve got a date.”

You giggled. “Are you planning ahead a year in advance?”

“Something like that.”

“Deal,” you smiled, soft and genuine, squeezing his hand once before the crowd shifted again and pushed the two of you closer. With the way his head was tilted down to hear you speak, your cheek brushed his, the contact brief at first -- then not so brief. The music hummed forward, stretching the moment until it felt like the room itself was holding its breath. 

You were aware of him in a way that felt new and familiar all at once. The warmth at your waist, the palm on his shoulder, his cheek on yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way he’d tilted his head just enough to accommodate yours. You wondered, vaguely, when dancing had started to feel like something else. 

Then someone shouted, “Thirty seconds!”

The room erupted and Sunghoon leaned in, lips brushing your ear. For some reason, your breath caught. “Do you want to get some air?”

You nodded immediately. 

He pulled away, keeping one hand in yours and leading you through the crowd, weaving past couples preparing for the final seconds of the ball drop. He continued pulling you until you were through the back door and on the patio, the cold air chilling your skin immediately. 

“Ten!”

“Nine!”

The voice bled together behind you, the couples on either side of you already embracing. You and Sunghoon stumbled to a stop on the patio, hands still linked, breaths fogging in the cold. 

“Eight!”

“Seven!”

“Six!”

You unhooked your hand from his, suddenly aware of the way your fingers were linked together. 

“Five!”

“Four!”

“Three!”

You both turned to the glass windows leading into the living room where the TV screen could be seen. The countdown persisted. 

“Two!”

“One!”

Cheers erupted inside the house, fireworks cracking somewhere above the rooftops in another area of downtown. You watched as couple kissed, friends embraced, groups of people cheered their glasses together before swallowing its contents. You turned towards Sunghoon at the same time he turned to face you. 

“Happy New Year,” you said, fighting sudden awkwardness. 

“Happy New Year,” he replied with the same tone. 

You went in for a hug at the same time as him, both of you leaning in the same direction, before hesitating and withdrawing slightly. Your eyes widened seeing his face so close to yours. For a split second, neither of you moved. He was close enough that you could see the faint crease between his brows, the way his breath fogged in the cold air just like yours. Your stomach churned in a way that you decided to blame on the shots you had taken earlier. 

You laughed, soft and a little too quick. He smiled, also trying to break the tension that had settled so suddenly. But when you leaned back in for the hug again, slower this time, something shifted. You both hesitated. Just a beat. And then tilted your heads. 

Your lips brushed for only a couple seconds, a small, tentative kiss. 

You pulled back immediately, eyes wide, heart racing. “Sorry,” you said instinctually. “You know…New Years.”

“Right,” he agreed. “It’s part of the tradition afterall.”

You let out a breathy laugh. There was a beat where neither of you moved, hands hovering uselessly at your sides, both very aware of the cold and the space that suddenly felt much louder than the party inside. 

“We should, uh, probably go back in before all your friends start looking for you,” you glanced toward the door, more upbeat music thumping through the glass. 

He nodded and followed you inside. 

“I can smell the burnt food from here,” Sunghoon’s voice came through your phone, your screen lighting up briefly to reveal that you had been on call for the past 38 minutes. 

“Shut up,” you retorted, adding more oil to your stir fry in hopes of saving the food from sticking to the pan. 

“I’m serious,” he said. “You’ve been silent while the pan has been aggressively sizzling for the last five minutes. That’s never a good sign.”

“I’m concentrating,” you insisted, nudging a piece of onion that had gone a little too dark to the side of the pan so you could pick it out. “Dinner won’t cook itself.”

“You set something on fire last time you said that.”

“That was only one time. And a half.”

“It was three,” he corrected. “And once involved pasta.”

“Pasta burns if you’re brave enough,” you muttered, hurriedly scooping the steaming contents onto a plate of rice. Over the line, you heard a car horn and traffic rush past. You frowned and turned the burner off, picking your phone up. “Where are you?”

“On a walk.”

“Why?”

He ignored you. “How many windows are open?”

You paused. “What?”

“How many windows,” he repeated patiently. “And do you have the fan on?”

You glanced toward the kitchen window, still closed. “...why?”

“Just answer the question.”

Quickly, you walked over to the window and opened it, letting cool air fall in. “One. And no.”

He sighed, long and dramatic. “Did you just open it.”

“No.”

“Liar. Give me one minute.”

“One minute?? For what?” 

“To prevent more kitchen crimes.”

You stared suspiciously at your phone. “Sunghoon.”

“Yeah?”

“If you say you’re on your way here, I’m hanging up.”

“Okay, then I won’t say it.”

A distinct ding reverberated through the phone and you closed your eyes. “Was that the elevator?”

“Was it?” He was teasing you on purpose. 

You shoved the dirty pan and utensils into the sink, turning on the water and letting hot water fill the sink. There was a knock at your door. You froze, sponge mid-air. 

“I told you one minute.”

“No,” you said flatly to the phone. 

The knock came again. 

You glanced at the dirty dishes in the basin, then the door, then back to your phone. “You are unbelievable,” you said, turning off the faucet and flicking water from your hands with more force than necessary. 

“And you are about to be saved,” he said. “Open up.”

You stared at the door like it might go away if you refuse to acknowledge it. “I am not letting you in,” you said into the phone, even as your feet betrayed you and carried you across the kitchen. 

“Yeah, yeah, hurry up.”

You ended the call and threw your phone on the couch, marching up to the door and yanking it open. Sunghoon stood there holding two paper bags. His cheeks were pink from the cold, his hair a little windblown, and his expression adorned with a smug grin.

 “For the record, it smells worse than I imagined."

You crossed your arms as he pushed past you, forcing you to move aside begrudgingly. “What’s in the bags?”

“Takeout,” he replied simply, already slipping his shoes off and hanging his coat up. “From the place you like. Extra cilantro, no peppers.”

Of course he remembered. 

“You said you were on a walk,” you accused, shutting and locking the door behind him. 

He hummed, trekking to the kitchen and waving a hand in front of his face dramatically. “I was. From the restaurant to your apartment.”

You followed him into the kitchen, watching as he emptied the contents of the paper bags onto the counter, displaying each carry-out container in a row. You were already salivating. He grabbed one of your bar stools, sitting down and already raising a fork to dig in before turning back and looking at you expectantly. 

“Sit,” he said, patting the stool next to him. 

With a huff, you moved past him, grabbing your stir fry and holding your ground. “I already made dinner.”

He gave you a look. “Y/N, let’s be honest. That does not count as food.”

You scoffed, grabbing chopsticks and poking at your sad plate, then looking at the takeout he was shoveling into his mouth. “It absolutely counts. It has chicken, veggies, rice, and effort.”

He leaned back on the stool unimpressed, grabbing a napkin from the paper bag to wipe his hands. “That onion is black.”

“It’s caramelized.”

He laughed. “That piece?” He pointed to it with his fork. “That one’s a fossil.”

You lifted the plate defensively. “I’m eating it.”

“You’re lying to both of us,” he said mildly. “Sit down.”

“I don’t take orders,” you turned your nose up at him but all you received back was amusement. 

“You do when you’re hungry.”

You wanted to argue, really. But your stomach betrayed you with a soft, unmistakable sound, causing his smile to widen. 

“There it is.”

You froze. “That was not--”

“Sit,” he repeated, already unwrapping a fork from the bag for you. 

You hesitated, then sighed and set your plate down on the counter with a clink of surrender. “Okay… but I’m keeping this for lunch tomorrow.”

In no way did you invite him to stay longer after dinner, he just kind of did. You sat cross legged on the floor, staring at the puzzle laid out on your coffee table, while Sunghoon was sprawled on your couch, scrolling through his phone. 

“Was that actually rude or am I being too sensitive?” you asked, clicking a piece into place. 

“Too sensitive,” he responded, glancing over at you before continuing his doom scrolling. “Though, I wouldn’t say he was the nicest guy either.”

You made a face, considering his words as you nudged another piece into place. “That’s not helpful.”

“You didn’t ask for helpful,” he said. “You asked for honest.”

You twisted a look at him, wondering why you felt the need to talk to him about this in the first place. Afterall, it had only been a single comment made to you by a rude waiter. “Do you really think I overreacted?”

“I think,” he said slowly, finally locking his phone and setting it on his chest, “that you’re allowed to be bothered by things even if other people wouldn’t be.”

“That feels like a non-answer,” you said, trying another piece but discarding it to the side when it didn’t fit. 

“It’s not. It’s just not the one you wanted.” He slid down to the floor across from you, joining you in your search for puzzle matches. 

You shook your head with a laugh. “So what you’re saying is, I’m right emotionally but wrong logically.”

He picked up a puzzle piece and turned it between his fingers. “I’m saying you’re dramatic.”

“You know what is dramatic?” you countered, causing him to look at you and raise his eyebrows. “You leaving the restaurant when your blind date mentioned she went to Michigan State.”

“Alright, low blow,” he said, glaring up at you between his bangs. “It’s not my fault it made me think of her.”

“Sunghoon, your ex-wife didn’t even go to Michigan State. She went to Northwestern.”

“Which is also a top 10 school,” he explained like it made perfectly logical sense. “They are academically adjacent.”

You stared at him. “They are completely different schools. You can’t ghost people based on academic geography.”

“Agree to disagree,” he waved you off, nearly flicking a puzzle piece off the table, earning a slap on his hand from you. You worked together in silence for a couple minutes before he broke it. “I still miss her.”

Your eyes flicked to his face but when you saw he wasn’t looking at you you looked back down to the puzzle. 

“I couldn’t fall asleep last night thinking about all the boxes I still haven’t unpacked after moving out.”

“I think that’s normal,” you said. “You were married for 5 years.”

“Well what about you?” he asked suddenly, leaning back against the couch. “Do you sleep fine?”

You thought to yourself for a moment before nodding. “I mean, yeah, I think I slept at 8pm last night. I haven’t done that since middle school”

“Breakups can do that to you.”

You sucked your tongue against your teeth and shot him a look. “I didn’t sleep early because of Jake. I’m already over him.” He didn’t need to talk, his face said what he was thinking. “I mean it! I’m over him.”

He held your gaze for a second longer than necessary, clearly unconvinced, before laughing softly. “Okay.”

“I don’t know about this,” Ni-ki sighed in Sunghoon’s direction but continued to follow him down the sidewalk. 

“It’s just a dinner,” Sunghoon said, shaking his head and pressing the crosswalk button, waiting for the light. 

“I’ve gotten to a good place in my life where I’m comfortable with the fact that it’s just me and my work,” Ni-ki continued, following Sunghoon into the street. “If she’s so great, why aren’t you taking her out?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? We’re just friends.”

“So you’re saying she’s not that attractive.”

“No, I told you she is attractive.”

“Yeah but you also said she has a good personality.”

“She has a good personality,” Sunghoon countered and Ni-ki stopped walking, lifting his hands in surrender. Sunghoon turned towards him. “What?”

“When someone’s not that attractive, they’re always described as having a good personality,” Ni-ki explained. 

“Look,” Sunghoon nudged Ni-ki’s shoulder with his own, forcing him to keep walking, “if you were to ask me what she looked like, and I said she has a good personality, that means she’s not attractive. But just because I mentioned she has a good personality, she could be either.”

“So which one is she?” Ni-ki pressed. 

“Attractive.”

You sat at a circular table, each of the four seats filled with you, Nabi, Sunghoon, and Ni-ki. It was more of a spur of the moment thing, an unplanned double date. Nabi had already seen Sunghoon once and deemed him attractive and Sunghoon in return had said he had a friend he thought would be an interesting match for you. 

“So what do you do now?” you asked Ni-ki, taking a sip of your water to pass time. 

“I’m a choreographer. Do you know the movie Dark Blood?”

You shook your head. “No, but I’ve definitely heard of it.”

“I helped choreograph all of the dancing scenes.”

He delved into a complex explanation about all of the behind the scenes of filming and practice and creative directing while you tried your best to nod along. That kind of scene was definitely not your forte but you were trying to be engaging. 

“Do you know Choi Yeonjun? He’s a famous choreographer that worked on Starkissed.”

You shook your head again. “I don’t.”

“Oh…”

Your conversation slowly died out and you looked across the table to see Sunghoon half-engaged in his convo with Nabi. Their talk didn’t last long and Nabi leaned over to you to whisper in your ear. 

“I think he hates me.”

“He just met you.”

“Yeah but I can feel it,” she said and you glanced between the two of them. 

You set your drink down. “Sunghoon?”

He looked at you.

“Both you and Nabi are from Namyangju.” It was an effort to save awkwardness. They turned to each other again. 

“Really?” Nabi asked. “What part?”

“The west side,” he answered. “You?”

“North.”

Silence settled again. 

“So, what are we gonna order?” Your last attempt to overcome silence. “I think I’m gonna go with the pesto.”

“I think I’ll start with takoyaki,” Nabi said, scanning the menu. “I haven’t had a chance to look at the entrees yet…”

“I was thinking takoyaki too,” Ni-ki’s eyes lit up. 

“Really?” Nabi asked, surprised. “No one else ever eats it when I order it.”

“That’s because they’re wrong,” Ni-ki said.

You slowly made eye contact with Sunghoon across the table and he matched your expression. 

“Do you like it extra crispy or still soft on the outside?”

“I think an in between is the best.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

The waiter came by, pad in hand. Nabi and Ni-ki immediately spoke over each other, excited, negotiating the order like they’d done this before. 

“We’ll do the takoyaki--”

“--two orders, actually--”

“And maybe the karaage--”

“Oh, yes, definitely--”

The waiter carefully wrote everything down before turning to you. 

“I’ll just have the pesto,” you said. 

The waiter turned to Sunghoon. 

“Whatever she said.”

Safe to say that your attempts at playing cupid for one another was unsuccessful. At the end of the date night, Nabi and Ni-ki went their separate ways together, leaving you and Sunghoon at the curb to watch their figures slowly disappear down the street. 

 “Well at least we tried,” you sighed, stuffing your hands into your pockets and watched them turn the corner. 

“We can add failed matchmaking to our resumes,” Sunghoon let out a short laugh. 

You stood there for a moment, the night quieter now that th energy of the group had disappeared with them. Streetlights hummed overhead. A car passed, splashing light across the sidewalk. 

“So,” you said finally, rocking back on your heels. “You want to grab dessert?”

He considered it for a half a second, then nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

A couple months later, there you were, standing in the middle of the home goods store, staring blankly at an aisle dedicated entirely to candles. It was safe to say Nabi and Ni-ki got a long a little too well and had already decided to get engaged. Although they hadn’t officially sealed the deal yet, they jumped at the opportunity to move in together. 

You picked up a candle, sniffed it, and grimaced. “Ugh. Who decided that was a good scent.”

Sunghoon, who had somehow invited himself on your shopping spree, leaned over your shoulder. “But I like cinnamon rolls.”

You pushed the candle up to his nose and he immediately pulled back. 

“That is not a cinnamon roll.”

“Maybe we should try looking for something else,” you said, sliding the candle back to its place on the shelf. 

He nodded with no opinion, following you out the aisle. “What are you thinking? Coffee mugs? Blanket? Plants?”

You hummed thoughtfully. “A plant could be good. I don’t know about Ni-ki, but I have faith Nabi won’t kill it.”

“But a plant is a commitment.”

“So is moving in together.”

He glanced down at you, amused, taking the lead into the section of the store littered with gardening pots and plants. Neither of you had any clue what kind of vegetation to look for, so you opted for the prettiest one you could find, leaning in to smell the flower before pulling back, disappointed. 

“It’s fake,” you frowned, reaching out to feel one of the leaves. 

“But it’s pretty,” Sunghoon commented behind you, leaning over to reach the label underneath it. “Hyacinth. Should we go with a pink or blue one?”

“Sunghoon,” you said, turning to him. “It’s fake. Shouldn’t we try to find a real one?”

He gave you no attention, picking up a potted blue flower. “Let’s go with this one.”

You crossed your arms, ignoring him in return and going back to searching the aisle. 

“Aw don’t be like that,” he grabbed your wrist to prevent you from walking away too far. “They’d probably kill a real one anyway. And a fake flower will look good all year round.”

You stopped short at the sudden contact and looked down to where his fingers were wrapped loosely around your wrist. “Did you just grab me?”

“I’m just saying that you liked this one anyway so--”

“Unhand me.”

“The more low maintenance the better--”

“You listen here, I’ll agree to get the plant as soon as you unwrap your slimy…”

To your surprise, he let you. And rather quickly at that. You retracted your hand back to your side, pausing to give him serious side-eye and realized that he wasn’t even looking at you. His gaze was fixated at the end of the aisle. Slowly, you looked over your shoulder, finding a man and woman standing a couple feet away, staring in your direction. 

You turned back to Sunghoon confused. “What..?”

His posture had gone rigid, shoulders drawn back, jaw tight. Your eyebrows furrowed and turned back in the couple direction just in time to see the woman raise her hand in a wave and smile. 

“Hey,” she said. Her voice was light, pretty even. “Long time no see?”

You heard Sunghoon swallow. 

“Hey,” he replied, the words coming out like he was trying to seem more relaxed than he was. “Yeah. It’s… been a while.”

The man beside her shifted and you noticed that the woman had her arm wrapped around his, her hand laying in a way that exposed a ring on her finger. Your breath sharpened at the realization. Oh shit. 

Her husband nodded in your direction. “Nice to meet you.”

You saved Sunghoon the courtesy of greeting his ex-wife’s new man, replying for the both of you. “Nice to meet you too. What a small world, right?”

“I didn’t know you still lived around here,” the woman glanced at you before finding Sunghoon again. There was no malice in her words, just curiosity. You think. 

“I don’t,” Sunghoon answered.

She paused like she expected him to say more but he didn’t elaborate. Her eyes trailed down to the plant in his hands, then to you again, then back to him. “Oh. Shopping then?”

“Housewarming gift,” you said easily, filling the silence before it could turn sharp. “You’re shopping too?”

“Dinner party.” Her words were simple. Another pause followed -- short but dense. Then her new husband spoke up. 

“We should probably get going.” He spoke in a more polite manner, seemingly oblivious to the tension vibrating in the aisle. His arm pulled her closer. “We’re running late.”

“Right,” she said, then spared one last glance at Sunghoon. “It was good to see you again. I hope you’re… well.”

The word ‘hope’ landed awkwardly between them. 

Sunghoon’s jaw flexed once. “Yeah. You too.”

They walked away together, already leaning toward each other, heads close, conversation resuming like it had never been interrupted. You waited until they disappeared around the end of the aisle before turning back to Sunghoon. He had already started walking in the other direction, forcing you to jog to catch up. 

“Hey! Wait-- are you okay?” You grabbed his sleeve to force him to slow down. 

He stopped, but only because you made him. For a second, he didn’t turn around, his shoulders stayed tight beneath your grip, lips pursed.. 

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly. 

You stepped around him so you were in his line of sight. “You don’t have to be.”

That made him look at you. Up close, you could see it now -- how much it bothered him. His forehead was creased and his lips twitched with the force he was using to keep them closed. His eyes looked slightly red as he blinked heavily. He huffed a short laugh. “God, that was not on my bingo card for today.”

“I figured. You just power-walked away.”

He let out a sharp exhale that sounded like something between a chuckle and a scoff. “I didn’t want to just stand there.” He took a moment before continuing. “I swear I’m over her too. I don’t even care that she’s married. It’s just… that’s who she left me for. And I don’t-- I don’t want to see them together.”

You nodded slowly. “I don’t think that’s weird. You don’t have to still want her to not want to see that.”

He looked away again. “I hate that it still gets to me.”

You didn’t respond this time, letting the silence sink in and giving him the option of silence if he wanted it. Unfortunately, he took you up on the offer a little too heavily and you were forced to break it yourself a minute later. “Do you… want to stay here a little longer or do you want to leave?”

“Let’s go.”

You learned to find pride in your gift. A couple months later, the bright blue flower still showed just as vibrant as it had the day you first bought it. You could see it clearly from you position on their couch, practically glowing in the window. 

“Uhhhhh…. Elephant? Giraffe?”

Nabi shook her head exasperated, acting out the motion again, waving her arms in a large motion. 

Ni-ki dragged a hand down his face. “Um. Dinosaur? Mammoth? Baby, what is that?”

“Thank bigger,” Nabi hissed, still flapping her arms with dramatic commitment. 

“I am thinking big,” Ni-ki shot back. “I’m naming extinct animals. What else is there?”

Heeseung slid around around your waist, pulling you closer to him so he could whisper in your ear. “Who’s gonna tell him it’s not an animal?”

You let yourself lean into him. “Not it…”

The timer ran out and Nabi through her hands up in defeat. “Ni-ki, are you serious?? Does anyone else know?”

Sunghoon laughed from another couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Airplane.”

“That was not an airplane,” Ni-ki combated, turning to Nabi to tell Sunghoon he was wrong but she only face palmed. 

“We’ve been living together for how long now and you couldn’t tell I was acting out an airplane?”

Ni-ki grumbled in response. “Whatever. Next team -- Sunghoon and Lira, you’re up.”

Lira turned to him, placing a hand on his knee. “Do you want to act it out or should I?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She urged him up from the couch, pushing him to the center of the room. He rolled his shoulder dramatically like he was about to perform. After reading the slip of paper he picked from a hat, started miming wildly. Over the top gestures. You knew the answer almost instantly, looking in Lira’s direction expectantly, only to find a confused expression. You mouthed the answer at her silently, eyebrows lifting in encouragement. 

She squinted at you, then back at Sunghoon, then back at you again. “I-- um.. I don’t know. Pass!”

Sunghoon picked up a new piece of paper, putting on a new act. 

“What was it?” Heeseung asked you.

You answered under your breath. “Titanic.”

When a minute was up, Lyra had correctly guessed 3 of Sunghoon’s prompts, bringing their team to a total of 7 points. 

“Okay, baby, you got this,” Heeseung sent you encouragements as you made your way to the center of the room, fishing your own prompt out of the hat. 

Parallel parking. How the fuck were you gonna do that?

Your eyes found Heeseungs and you gave a curt nod. “Lock in.”

He grinned in response, leaning forward instinctually as you began to set the scene. You stared at the slip for half a second longer, hoping the words might rearrange themselves into something more forgiving. They didn’t. You crumpled it slightly in your fist, then straightened. The room quieted expectantly. 

You mimed gripping a steering wheel. 

“Car,” Heeseung said immediately, earning him a nod from you. 

Good start. 

You exaggerated looking over your shoulder, twisting your torso, one hand still “on the wheel.”

“Driving…?” he continued, and you shook your head, pointing emphatically behind you. 

You made a sharp jerking motion with your arms like you were turning the wheel way too much. Then you leaned forward, squinted, grimaced, tried you best to act out a complete three-point parking hob. 

“Accident?”

You waved your hands frantically. No, no, no. You restarted the scene. Driving, braking, backing up, and twisting yourself int between two obstacles. 

“Oh,” Sunghoon said suddenly, turning to Ni-ki. “Two words.”

“Hey!” Nabi protested. “Don’t help the other team!”

Heeseung raked a hand through his hair. “Driving… Parking…? Backing up…? Parallel parking!”

“Yes!” you nearly shouted, discarding the old paper behind you and lunging to get a new one. Your shoulder drooped momentarily. Another car one? This would be easy though.

You mimed getting back behind the wheel, staring right at Heeseung. Then you widened your eyes, pretending to twist the wheel back in forth in dramatic motions, jaw falling open in a silent scream. And then… you flung yourself to the floor. 

“Car crash?” Heeseung guessed while laughing, just as your time ran out. 

You smiled, falling down on the cushions next to him. “Yup! That’s 2 more points for Team KitKat.”

Heeseung’s arm found your shoulder once you sat next to him, tugging your towards him and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “How about I drive on the way back home tonight, hm?”

You rolled your eyes but let him pull you close anyway, letting the noise of the room settle back behind you. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent driver.”

Ni-ki took the liberty of starting the next round, already moving through a prompt. Laughter bounced off the walls as Nabi shrieked for him to be more expressive. You let your eyes wander from the spectacle in front of you to the other couch. 

Sunghoon had leaned back beside Lira, her legs tucked neatly against his. She said something quietly, smiling, and he leaned down without hesitation, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. Your chest tightened before you could stop it, confusion flooding your thoughts. You looked away immediately. 

Sunghoon stood when the game was over, heading to the kitchen for water with Lira trailing behind him. 

“This is fun!” she chirped. “I like your friends.”

He hummed, filling a cup and offering her a sip. “They’re alright.”

She hit his shoulder playfully, taking the cup from him. “Can you remind me of everyone’s names again? I remember Ni-ki but I forgot the others.”

He led her back to the living room, nodding in one direction. “That’s Nabi.”

Lira nodded along. “Right, her and Ni-ki are engaged.”

Sunghoon hummed, and followed Lira’s gaze to the other end of the room, finding you. 

“I don’t know his name,” he admitted, referring to your boyfriend. Even though you had talked to him about your boyfriend all the time, he had somehow never caught his name. “But that’s Y/N.”

“Ohhh, ok,” she smiled, linking an arm through his. “She’s the one you were talking about yesterday right?”

He had forgotten about that. You had called him last night to ask for help on how to clean a burnt pan, which he thought was an impressive feat. Although you had asked him for advice, you were adamant you could do it yourself and weren’t listening to any of his suggestions. So after the call ended, he promptly turned around to Lira to dog on you. 

“What an idiot. Who even manages to burn the pan and not the food? Why would she call but not want advice? She’s gonna die one day.”

A smile crept up on his face while remembering but he wiped it away with a sip of water. “Yeah, that was her.”

Lira laughed softly. “She got you pretty worked up.”

Sunghoon scoffed, shifting his weight. “Because she makes no sense. If you’re going to ignore everything I say, don’t ask me in the first place.”

“Wow,” she said lightly. “You talk about her like that and still look fond.”

He blinked. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” she laughed, squeezing his arm. “It’s cute.”

He didn’t respond, eyes drifting back to where you and your boyfriend stood. You were laughing at something he had said, shoulders relaxed and one of his hands holding your waist comfortably. Sunghoon watched as your boyfriend’s grip tightened, pulling you into him and pressing a kiss to your lips. Something in his chest dipped -- quick and unwelcome. He looked away almost immediately, taking another sip of water he didn’t need. 

Lira glanced up at him. “You okay?”

He nodded quickly. “Just tired.”

She accepted his answer without question, looping her arm back through his and resting her head lightly against his shoulder. 

You had rushed home, overwhelmed with emotion and anxious with the attempt to hold back tears in public. After kicking your shoes off at the doorway, you promptly ran to your bed and flung yourself onto it, fumbling for your phone and calling the first person that came to mind.

“What do you want?” Sunghoon’s voice came out bored through the speaker, the same tone he usually gave you when picking up the phone. 

You took a deep breath before answering, trying your best to keep your voice from quivering. “C-can you come over…?”

He paused, clearly hearing the fragility in your voice you had tried but failed to hide. “Are you okay? Do you want me to come right now?”

The lump in your throat was making its way up, preventing you from doing anything but nod in response, forgetting he couldn’t see you. He seemed to take your sniffles as a yes. 

“Okay, I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

You barely had time to set your phone down before the tears finally broke free. They came fast and ungracefully, soaking into your pillow and sheets as you pressed your face into them to muffle the noise. Your shoulder shook and your stomach began to hurt. You hated crying. 

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there like that. Long enough for the ache in your chest to dull into something heavy and sore, long enough for the sound of the city outside to blur into background noise. 

Eventually, there was a knock on the door. 

You startled, heart jumping, then scrambling up, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your shirt as you padded toward the door. You looked a mess, you knew it, but it was pointless to try and save any face now. You knew the tears were sure to come again. 

Sunghoon stood in the doorway, breath slightly uneven like he’d rushed. His hair was messier than usual, jacket half-zipped, concern written plainly on his face the second he saw you. 

“Oh,” he said softly. “You look terrible.”

You shut the door in his face, not in the mood for his teasing, and ran back to your bed. Seeing as you hadn’t locked it, he followed you in, tracking the sound of your quiet cries to your room. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have led with that.”

You didn’t reply, pulling a pillow over your head to hide your messy hair. 

The mattress dipped slightly as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked gently. 

Your breath hitched and you sat up abruptly, throwing the pillow down where you had once laid. This was stupid to be crying about. You hated that you were crying. “I just-- I can’t b-belive-- You remember Jake, right?”

Sunghoon nodded slowly, watching you pace in front of him. 

“Well, I saw him again today and guess what?”

He shrugged his shoulders, clearly unable to answer the question since he had never even met the man before. 

“He’s engaged!” You spat the word out and threw your hands in the air. “Engaged. Jake. Engaged.” You stomped around the room some more before pointing an accusatory finger at Sunghoon. “And I know what you’re going to say-- No! I don’t care about him anymore, I’m over him… It’s just…”

Sunghoon held out the tissue box on your nightstand, signaling with his eyes that you needed it. With one fluid motion, you ripped the box from his hand and started pulling out sheets of tissue, only to clutch them in a fist and continue marching in circles. 

“I wanted a family. After dating for years, we broke up because he didn’t want to get married or have a family and now-- Now he’s gone and gotten engaged to some girl he met 2 months ago???” You threw the wad of tissue at the wall. 

Sunghoon stayed where he was, elbows resting on his knees, watching you spiral without interrupting. He didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t jump in with logic or reassurance. He just let you talk. 

You stopped pacing, chest heaving. “It’s not fair,” your voice cracked, anger slipping out. “We spent years talking about it. Years. He kept saying ‘maybe someday’ like that meant something. And now suddenly, someday is… now? With someone else? I bet he didn’t even tell her ‘maybe someday.’” You laughed, reaching for more tissues to abuse. “What was wrong with me?”

Sunghoon straightened immediately. “Hey. No.”

You shook your head violently. “This whole time, I thought he didn’t want marriage, but it turns out he just didn’t want to get married to me.”

He reached a hand out, wrapping it around your wrist and pulling you down to sit next to him. “Listen to me,” he said, firm but steady. “People don’t change their entire life plans because the right person magically fixes them. They change because they change. Or because they’re scared. Or because they want something easy.”

You scoffed through tears. “What are you even talking about?”

“I’m saying there’s nothing wrong with you. Maybe he didn’t want it then but realized he wants it now. That’s not your fault.”

You felt more tears run down your cheeks. “But-- I mean--God, I don’t even have anyone right now,” you said, resisting the urge to pace again. “I’m single, he’s engaged, it’s exactly the opposite of what we said we wanted. The universe is playing a cruel trick on me. I must be being punished for something.”

Sunghoon let out a quiet breath through his noise, not quite a laugh. “If you could take him back right now, would you?”

“No.”

“So then why are you--”

“But why didn’t he want to marry me? What’s the matter with me?”

“Nothing,” he cuts you off, pulling you into him with a hug.

You went willingly, too quickly, fingers clutching the front of his shirt like it was the only thing grounding you. His arms wrapped around you firmly, solid and warm. You pressed your face into his shoulder, breathing him in, and unable to hold back the stream of sobs cascading from your mouth. 

 “You hear me?” he murmured above you. His voice was lower now, closer. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

You pushed further into him, unable to form a response, and he stayed like that, letting you cling to him. He didn’t shift or loosen his grip, even when your sobs turned messy and loud. His hand pressed firmly between your shoulder blades, anchoring, while the other rested at your side. 

“It’s not you,” he said again, quieter now, like the repetition might finally make it stick. “It was never you.”

You shook your head against him, words muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “It feels like me.”

“I know,” his chin dipped slightly and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, the brush of it against your hair sending a shiver through you. “That doesn’t make it true.”

You sniffed one last time, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt and sighing, trying to regain air in your lungs. Then you pulled back just enough to look at him. Your faces were closer than you realized -- close enough that you could see the faint crease between his brows, the way his jaw had gone tense. He was right there. Eyes dark and steady, searching yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist, checking to make sure you were okay. His hands were still on you, the heat of his skin somehow seeping into you. For a moment, neither of you moved. A feeling entered your chest that surprised you. 

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, not sure what you were trying to say. 

He swallowed. You saw it. His throat working. His jaw tightening like he was holding himself in check. Did he feel it too? “Yeah.”

Your eyes dropped to his mouth before you could stop yourself. He noticed. The air shifted, the kind of silence that felt like standing on the edge of something you couldn’t undo. His thumb moved, just barely, brushing against your side. Then it stilled, like he’s caught himself mid-thought. 

“This is--” he started, then stopped. He exhaled slowly. “You’re upset.”

He said it like a reminder. Like a boundary. You didn’t answer. Why did you not like that boundary?

“I’ll get you some water--” he started, shifting to stand up but you held him back

“I don’t miss him.” You wanted to believe you were saying it for yourself, but you knew you were telling him. Your eyes shifted back to his. Your hand was still curled in his shirt, fingers loosened now but not letting go. “I don’t want him.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond right away. He hesitated. He scanned your face for something -- Regret? Confusion? -- but he didn’t find it. What he found instead made him gulp. 

“Then what do you want?” he asked. 

The question wasn’t teasing. Or rhetorical. 

You wanted him. Suddenly, unexpectedly, in this moment, you wanted him. He was looking down at you and for some reason all you could think about was how badly you wanted him. Slowly, you leaned forward, hoping he would meet you halfway. And he did. 

It was nothing more than the press of his lips against yours -- only lasting for maybe five seconds. You’re not sure why you held your breath or why you felt your heart jump in your chest at the contact. Your eyes fluttered open when he pulled away, finding his already on you. He hadn’t moved far, barely an inch separated you now, his breath still warm on your lips like the moment hadn’t decided if it wanted to be over yet. For a moment, neither of you spoke. It felt like he was giving you time to decide if you wanted to pull away, but you didn’t. Slowly, one of his hands moved up to cup your cheek, fingers curling into your hair. And then he pulled you back into him. 

It was careful and deliberate, like he was finally giving into something he’s been holding back for far too long. His lips pressed to yours with a quiet intensity that stole the air from your lungs and you melted instantly. His hand curved at your waist, pulling you closer, his thumb pressing into your ribs. The hand still gripping his shirt joined your other on his neck, using the leverage to tilt your head and deepen the kiss. 

He breathed in a sharp inhale, opening his mouth slightly and letting you lean into him. You weren’t sure why you were so hungry at that moment. Something about him was making you desperate. He tasted good, he felt good, he even sounded good. His tongue on yours, the smell of his skin, his hands exploring your body, the grumbling noises escaping his mouth. You couldn’t help but sit up straighter and swung a leg over his waist, straddling him. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, breaking away and gazing up at you. He was asking for consent but his fingers were already sliding beneath your shirt, planting you down into his lap and refusing to let you leave. 

You slid a hand up the back of his neck, letting it find refuge in the hair above his nape, tugging it back. He sat there, cemented beneath you, forced to maintain eye contact -- not that he was complaining. You kissed him again, letting the action answer his question. 

His hands immediately groped your waist, feeling the flesh of your back, tugging at the fabric of your shirt. You arched into him, wanting to feel his body as close to yours as possible. The feeling of him encasing you, his touch being everywhere, was intoxicating. You wanted more. 

You tugged at the hem of his shirt, urging him to lift his arms and to let you take it off of him. He complied, moving away from you only long enough for you to pull the shirt over his head before grabbing your neck and swallowing you again. You felt hot, you felt overwhelmed, you felt ridiculous for never taking advantage of this opportunity before. You should have listened when Mina said he was a good kisser. You should have kissed him before. You should have touched him before. And you shouldn’t have waited 5 years to do it. 

Of course, the two of you had shared many hugs over that time, but this was different. Back then you couldn’t feel the heat of his bare chest through your thin sleeping shirt, or his strong arms absorbing your figure entirely. You couldn’t run your hands through his hair, or let his mouth swallow each of your moans. 

“Take it off,” he muttered, pulling at the collar of your shirt with so much urgency, you were concerned if you didn’t comply he would simply rip it off of you. But you were willing to risk that for a moment to tease him. 

“Why? Surely you’re not trying to see me naked, Park Sunghoon.”

That elicited a response you weren’t expecting.

He grabbed your hips and forced you down, rolling his hips up towards yours. Your mouth fell open instantly. Fuck. 

“And what if I did?” He rolled once more and your hands flew to his shoulders. He dove into your neck, breathing in your skin and peppering kisses across anywhere he had access. “What if I did, Y/N? Hmm? Are you going to let me?”

Your mind was reeling. Of course you would let him. 

He sucked feverishly under your jaw, nipping and licking and pulling sound after sound from your lips. You tilted your head back and closed your eyes, letting yourself become lost with each sensation. The pleasure from his hips and his mouth and his hands groping everywhere was suffocating. His hands went to your shirt one more time but you stopped him quickly, placing your hands over his. 

“What--” he started but you cut him off. 

“Say please.”

“Please? What? You want me to beg?” he rolled his eyes, placing his hands behind him on the bed and leaning back to look at you. “I don’t beg.”

You smiled. “But you will.”

He scoffed and gave you a look. You didn’t return it, instead raking your eyes across his bare chest, taking in the sight of his collarbone and shoulders and arms and stomach. God, he was breathtaking. Every inhale he took made his core flex, tightening his abs and making your stomach twist. When your eyes wandered back to his, he was already staring at you, an unreadable expression laced in them. Without breaking eye contact, you brought a finger to his jaw, letting your fingertips ghost his skin. He responded with the cock of his head, allowing you to drift downwards and trace a line from his jaw, down his neck, the curve of his collarbone. It took everything in you to hold back a knowing grin as you saw him actively getting more and more worked up. As your fingers ghosted the skin of his chest, you felt him hold his breath, and as your fingers fell even lower, you felt him jump beneath you. 

You leaned forward as your hand cupped him through his pants, taking his lips in yours the same time they let out a low groan. He was growing feverish at the wait but nonetheless relishing in the taste of you and the touch of your hand. Your hand continued to palm him, sometimes stroking, sometimes rubbing circles, sometimes squeezing. After one particular motion of your wrist, he broke the kiss to throw his head back, mouth open in a silent moan. 

As worked up as he was, it was impossible to deny your own antsyness. The heat between your legs was pooling and you couldn’t help but want to hurry the pace up. But something was holding you back -- or rather, he was holding you back. His eyes shut tightly, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, his fists clenched in self-restriction while you palmed him through his jeans. You had always thought he was attractive, but not like this. To say he was hot would be an understatement. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling his head up to tuck his chin to his chest, eyes flicking between your face and your hand. 

Your palm continued to grind against him, one of his thighs began to bounce, you knew he was nearing his breaking point. 

“Y/N, fuck--”

You planted kisses along his collarbone, taking the skin into your mouth slowly, leaving a trail of bruises. His response only encouraged you more. His breathing became heavier, his soft moans taking on more of a whine. You knew what he wanted, you knew you were teasing him. But you asked him to do one thing, and you were gonna wait for it. 

Sunghoon groaned, lifting a hand to the hair on the back of your head and holding it in a fist. He used the grip to pull you into a kiss, this one being much more demanding and rushed. You swallowed a sound of surprise as he forced your mouth open. 

“Y/N,” he started, but you stopped him. 

“Say. Please.”

“God-- please,” he breathed, “please, please.”

You took your shirt off instantly, rolling onto your back once it was thrown to the other side of the room, and letting him climb on top of you. His hands found your breasts immediately, mouth latching onto one while kneading the other. Pleasure filled your body and you closed your eyes, allowing him to fondle you to his will. His body was nestled between your legs, abdomen pressing against your core. The pressure only increased your excitement. His tongue flicked across your nipple, making your body jerk, and you felt him smile against your skin. 

“Take off your pants,” you said, and his smirk deepened.

“Say please.”

“Fuck you.” 

You locked your legs around his waist, pulling him upwards so your hands could find the button of his jeans. He laughed and let you, clearly finding your tenacity entertaining. When you finished unzipping them for him, you pushed him back, giving him space to wriggle out of them while you pulled your own pants down. The minute the fabric was gone, he locked in on you instantly. 

“Shit,” Sunghoon muttered, sinking back onto the bed in front of you, hands reaching out to grip your hips. His eyes did not leave your body once. 

He bent down, peppering kisses along your stomach, moving slowly down your curves. His hands gripped your flesh, holding you in place. He was getting closer… and closer… and closer… and then-- 

You whined in frustration. He was teasing you on purpose, you knew that, blatantly ignoring your core and instead sucking on your inner thighs. “You’re doing that on purpose,” you complained, gripping the sheets after a particularly hard bite against your skin. 

You felt his breath fan between your thighs and fought the urge to close them. You didn’t know whether to appreciate or hate the fact that he knew what he was doing to you. 

“Sunghoon…” You started to push up onto your elbows, ready to send him a glare and demand him to touch you, but his mouth against your cunt paused your motions. As soon as his tongue entered you, you collapsed back onto the sheets, a moan escaping. 

He wrapped both hands around your thighs, holding them apart while he devoured you from the inside. At first it was just his mouth -- licking, sucking, kissing -- and then it became his fingers, his breath, his own groans sending vibrations through your body. You wanted desperately to close your legs but every time you twitched with intention, he fought back, pulling your legs further apart. One of your hands buried itself in his hair while the other grabbed his hand on your thigh. He was working magic on you and you were eating up every bit of it. 

It was impossible to hide the pleasure in your voice, moans and whines and muttered swear words refused to be silent. His tongue was flat, licking strips against your clit and overstimulating you quickly before he switched to kissing, coaxing your body down from its tense state. Then he was back at it, overloading your body with pleasure and making your breath leave your lungs, making your legs clench to the point you were sure they would cramp. You were getting close. You were almost there, back beginning to arch off the mattress, head tilting back as your body began to tremble… and then his mouth was gone. 

You tried your best to muster a scowl in his direction but the feeling of annoyance quickly dissolved when you saw him stripping his boxers away. For the briefest of seconds, it dawned on you what you were about to do. This was your best friend. This was a bad idea. You couldn’t jeopardize your friendship for one night of whatever this was. But you also couldn’t stop the way your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist the second he leaned over you, or the way you felt butterflies at the moan he made into your mouth upon kissing you. 

His hips pressed into yours, his hardened length putting pressure against your swollen clit, effectively making you shudder. Your breath hitched as he continued the teasing motion, rubbing against your folds but holding back just enough to not slide in. The kiss this time was not slow, he was hungry, pressing against you so much that you were sinking into the bed. You couldn’t move from his embrace, head locked in a position that allowed him to have as much access to you as he wanted. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, voice low. Another pass of his hips against yours, this time the head of his cock caught against you and his voice hitched, eyes widening slightly as his head dipped forward. “Fuck. Tell me and I’ll stop.” Despite his words, he continued to grind against your cunt, moans only growing in height. “Y/N, tell me--”

You tilted your pelvis just enough that at the next pass of his hips, he slipped in. As the first inch of his dick disappeared inside of you, he gasped, one the arms holding him up almost buckling. 

“S-shit,” he breathed out, the words fanning against the slope of your neck, tickling you in a way that made your stomach flip. “Oh my god..”

You were wet enough that no lube or additional prep was necessary. He pulled out before pushing back in again easily, this time a little further, taking his time to stretch you out. You gripped his shoulders when he fully bottomed out. You had not been full like this in a while, so much so that you had forgotten what it felt like. 

“Sunghoon…” you stuttered out, closing your eyes when you felt him grind impossibly closer against your cervix. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked, leaning back just enough to catch your eye. 

Your stomach tightened, not from the feeling of him inside of you -- but because of him. His eyes, blown out, gazing down at you. His eye brows furrowed with concern and concentration. The way he slightly bit his lip as if a whine were about to escape at any moment. The perfect curve of his nose. The moles dotting his nose and cheek. You wanted to kiss them. 

“No,” you finally answered, remembering he had asked you a question. 

His gaze softened and he kissed your cheek before dropping to his elbows, pinning you down completely. Almost tentatively, he thrust up into you, eliciting a gasp from you immediately. It seemed like he was going to stop so you quickly tightened your legs around him. 

“Fuck-- no-- don’t stop,” you spouted, nuzzling into his neck. “Please don’t stop.”

Another snap of his hips and your jaw dropped. If he had planned on starting slow, he was not doing a good job. After the first couple thrusts, he had already set a quick and unrelenting pace. Your noises were endless and only seemed to egg him on. 

“Oh fuck-- yes, moan for me,” he nipped your ear after another deep thrust, moving down to pepper your jaw and neck with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. 

The contrast of the hot of his mouth and the cold air of the room gave you goosebumps. Your eyes fluttered as you took in every sense around you. The smell of his skin was intoxicating. Had he always smelled like this? How had you only noticed now? You wanted more, you wanted him closer -- was that even possible? You wanted to feel every inch of him against you. 

He sucked a hickey into your collarbone, leaving behind a stinging mark. 

“M-more,” you barely managed to get the word out. “I want more.”

He grinned, his fangs teasing you like they knew you wanted nothing more than to have them buried in your skin. 

“Mmmmm like this?” He licked a strip from the tip of your shoulder all the way to the back of your ear and you shivered, cursing under your breath. If you weren’t incredibly horny, you would be embarrassed by how easily he was playing with you. 

“Sunghoon,” you whined. “I--”

His lips latched on your neck at the same time he picked up the pace. The thoughts in your head instantly disappeared as your body lost focus of everything but him. The intensity of his motions only made him suck your neck harder. It hurt but you wanted more. You wanted your entire neck covered with green, yellow, and purple splotches if it meant he had given them to you. After a minute, he pulled away. 

“Get on your elbows.”

You obeyed immediately, dismayed only briefly at the lack of physical contact and emptiness you felt in your core. He guided your legs to your chest before climbing back on top of you, settling between your bent knees and lining himself back up with your entrance. His eyes found yours again as if asking for consent and you gave him a small nod. He pushed in one more time, groaning at the feeling of your cunt engulfing him completely. 

“Fuck how do you feel that good?” he moaned into your ear and you swore you could have cum right then and there. 

His hips found a rhythm and you almost collapsed instantly. The new tilt of your hips allowed him to hit a nerve in your body over and over and over again and felt like it was knocking the wind out of you

“Oh my god wait--” you started, panicking at the abrupt feeling of pleasure, but he kissed you, shutting you up and moving faster. 

The sounds you were making could only be described as squeals. Your throat was tight with the shock of ecstasy. The curve of his dick rubbed against your walls perfectly, building sensations in you that you had either never felt before or hadn’t felt in so long you had forgotten. 

“If I’m too heavy, tell me.”

Heavy? What did that mean?

It was as if he could tell you were reaching your breaking point. He dropped his chest to yours, wrapping his arms under yours and clinging to your shoulders in a hug and using the position to hold you in place while he picked up his pace. You hadn’t thought it was possible for him to go faster but there he was. Your mouth fell from his, stuck open with your jaw dropped, unable to close it from complete and utter lack of body control in that moment. Every thrust of his was accompanied with a grunt, the two of you breathing the same air, hearing nothing but the sound of the other’s pleasure. 

“I can’t I can’t I can’t,” you half-sobbed out, both wanting the intense feeling to take over everything and stop at the same time. Your toes curled and uncurled, as if it would give you a sense of relief, your legs stayed tucked on either side of Sunghoon’s torso, and your arms were imprinted into the mattress. 

“Yes, you can,” he groaned against your cheek, giving it a kiss. His breath was heavy like it was trying to run away from him, sweat was forming on his hair line, making his skin glisten. “Just a little longer…”

“I can’t,” you repeated, body now beginning to shake. “Oh my god oh my god--” Your voice began to climb in pitch before you lost it all together. 

“Bite me,” he said, gripping your shoulders even tighter. “Fuck, bite me, Y/N.”

The energy it took to lift your head was unbearable, your body was heavy, your limbs losing feeling by the second. Your lips found his shoulder quickly, teeth sinking into the skin to prevent your head from falling back again. The pain of your bite caused an immediate reaction in Sunghoon, hips snapping impossibly fast now, his loudest moans yet getting lost in the crook of your neck. The sudden increase of motion only made you bite harder, which only made him go faster. 

“Shit shit shit I’m close,” his voice bounced around in your ear but you could barely register it. There was too much pressure in your head, too much tension in your body, your ears were popping from the strain. “Tell me you’re close,” he whimpered. “Tell me I’m going to make you cum.”

You cried out into his shoulder, fighting to keep your elbows from dropping. His body was fully flushed against yours, heat and sweat and all sorts of unnamable emotions trapped between you. God, he felt amazing. Your head lolled back and you squeezed your eyes tightly. 

“Say my name,” he said, attaching himself to your neck. “Say my name when you cum.”

It hit you quickly, everything going silent except for your voice calling his name. Waves of pleasure washed over you and you could’ve sworn you saw stars. “Sunghoon, Sunghoon, Sunghoon… Oh my god.”

He continued to pump into you, letting you chase your high, before his hips began to stutter. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he said, unwrapping himself from you and pulling out. He jerked himself off, brows furrowed and lips tucked between his teeth in a steady concentration before moaning loudly and spilling across your stomach. 

“I… think it was a mistake,” you said, glad that you were the one that could say it first. You played with the napkin in your lap, struggling to keep eye contact. 

“I agree,” Sunghoon said quickly, setting his glass of water down. “I’m not not saying last night wasn’t… good--”

“It was,” you agreed, wanting to bury yourself from the awkwardness in the restaurant suffocating you. 

“Yeah, it was.”

“We just never should have done it,” you finished. The conversation quickly died and you switched your attention to the food in front of you. 

He had asked if the two of you could meet over dinner and you had agreed, knowing that last night’s activities needed to be addressed, but now that you were here, you wished you could have just never brought it up again and moved on. What were you even thinking? Making a move like that? It wasn’t like you were even interested in him -- were you? No. No, you weren’t. So why did it bother you so much that he was so quick to agree it was a mistake?

The small talk throughout the meal was a level of uncomfortable you had never experienced before and you almost wanted to stand up and leave. When the night was over, you didn’t give each other a hug like you normally would after hanging out, and you weren’t sure whether you were grateful for the space or bothered by it. As a matter of face, that was a feeling you were getting used to. 

At first it was subtle. You started texting less frequently -- it was hard to tell whether it was you that stopped texting first or him. Responses between the two of you were slower. He wouldn’t send ‘??’ if you took too long to respond or double text. You stopped sending the small, pointless things. No more: “I bet you $100 I can recreate this tiramisu” or “I’m bored, recommend me a show to binge” or even “Did you eat?” Your late night calls together disappeared entirely although sometimes you would catch yourself staring at his contact when you couldn’t sleep, thumb hovering over the call button. But you always locked your phone instead. 

You heard about him through Nabi one afternoon. “Sunghoon’s been busy lately,” she said casually. “I think he’s out a lot.”

You kept your face neutral. She was telling you this because you had called her right after the last dinner you had with him and spilled everything. “Oh.”

Out a lot. You filled in the blanks yourself. The thought of him seeing someone shouldn’t have invoked a reaction. You were the first to say it was better this way. You were the one who said it was a mistake. So why did your stomach tighten?

Nabi peeked at you from over her phone screen. “He’s not dating. I know what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking it,” you retorted, doing a terrible cover up job. 

“Sure.”

You ran a hand through your hair and scrolled mindlessly through your phone. The relief that flooded you the second she clarified made you feel ridiculous. Hypocritical, even. Since that night, you had been on dates. Nice men, stable jobs, clear intentions… The kind of men anyone would be interested in. It would only be fair that he would be dating as well. But it was the same part of you that sat across from those men and felt nothing -- the same part that noticed how rehearsed their jokes were, how much effort the conversations took -- was the part that secretly hoped he wouldn’t date at all. 

It was a rough morning, the kind that demanded caffeine and sugar, and you were happy to oblige. The line wasn’t too long -- thank God -- and you were able to place your usual order within 5 minutes. Because your plans later that evening had been cancelled, you found a small, empty table near one of the windows and claimed your spot, waiting patiently for your order to be called. You were halfway through answering an email when--

“Y/N?”

You looked up automatically, already rising from your seat. The barista slid your drink onto the pick-up counter and you walked over to it, grabbing it easily and making your way back to your table. What you weren’t aware of was a pair of eyes on you. 

“Is this seat taken?”

You froze mid sip. 

He stood there, coffee in hand, expression way too casual for someone you hadn’t seen in over two weeks. 

“No,” you said, because technically it wasn’t.

Sunghoon nodded once and pulled the chair out, your simple answer being all the confirmation he needed. It was strange how such a simple act felt familiar. 

“Bad day?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Are you saying I look bad?”

He smiled. “You only get coffee when you’re having a bad day. Did you get the extra cold foam too?”

You rolled your eyes. “How do you know that?”

He offered a shrug. “You complain when they don’t do it right.”

Your mouth twitched despite yourself. “I don’t complain.”

“Uh yeah. You absolutely do.”

You didn’t respond, taking a sip of your drink to find a reason to stay silent. 

“How have you been?” he asked. 

“Fine.”

A beat passed. 

“Are you seeing anybody?”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know, it seems like the right thing to ask to catch up. We haven’t talked in a minute.”

“No, we haven’t.” And who’s fault was that. Not completely yours. 

“So…?”

“Sunghoon, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not--”

“I just don’t want to.”

He sighed, placing his cup down on the table and leaning forward. Your eyes drifted to those damn moles on his face again. Your face threatened to turn red at the memories that came flooding back. He lowered his voice, “Are we just going to carry this around forever?”

“Forever?” you asked with a hint of sarcasm, mood immediately soured by his question. “It just happened.”

“It happened three weeks ago.” 

Exactly. 

“You know how one year is supposed to be seven years to a dog?”

“Yes?”

Sunghoon only shrugged, as if that was a valid response. You looked at him in a mix of confusion and disbelief. “Is one of us supposed to be the dog in this scenario? You wanna act like what happened didn’t mean anything? Sunghoon-- we slept together.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, like it was the easiest thing ever. It bothered you. He was someone you cared for, and not necessarily in a romantic way -- you think. He had been your best friend for over a year and yet here he was dismissing one of the most intimate things the two of you could have possibly done together. It meant something, it wasn’t just something that you could pretend didn’t happen and go back to how you were before. “I’m not saying it didn’t mean anything,” he continued. “I’m just saying, why does it have to mean everything?”

“Because it does,” you shot back. “And you should know that better than anybody.”

“We both agreed it was a mistake.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back slightly to pull away from him. “Worst mistake I ever made.”

“Y/N, what do you want from me? An apology? That wasn’t just a one-sided thing, you know.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Fine, fine, but let’s just get one thing straight. I didn’t go over there that night to sleep with you, that is not why I went there. But you were-- you were sad and the way you looked at me was--”

“What are you saying? You took pity on me?”

“No, I was--”

“Fuck you.” 

And you stood up, and you left. 

From that day forward, he started to randomly call you and text you more often. You weren’t sure if it was guilt or even more pity that made him suddenly want to talk to you again -- but whatever it was, you were getting sick of it. Sometimes you would see his name pop up on your screen and immediately decline, sometimes you would watch it ring, sometimes you would throw your phone across the bed. If he texted, you would respond hours later, hoping maybe he’d get the hint and leave you alone, but he never did. 

It was Christmas day and you were on your way out the door, a small suitcase in hand, prepared to spend the next three days visiting family, when your phone began to vibrate. You’re not sure what made you pick up this time. Boredom? Curiosity? Your own guilt from the way your last conversation ended? Whatever the reason, he seemed surprised that you picked up.

“Hello?”

There was a brief pause. “Y/N? Hey.”

You didn’t have much to say to him so you remained silent. 

“What are you doing?”

You glanced down at the bags and the front door that you had already opened. “I was just on my way out.”

“Where are you going?”

You held back a sigh. “What do you want, Sunghoon?”

“Nothing, nothing, I just called to… to say I’m sorry.”

His response was unexpected. “Okay…” You didn’t know if you forgave him, or if this whole thing was something he even needed to apologise for. “I gotta go.”

“Wait a second, wait a second. What are you doing for New Years? Are you going out with Ni-ki and Nabi? Because I don’t have a date. And we always said that if neither one of us had a date, we could be together for New Years.

You gripped the handle of the suitcase tighter. “I’m busy.” You weren’t. “Good-bye.”

You hung up quickly, silencing your phone immediately afterwards and stuffing it into your backpack where you wouldn’t hear it if it decided to ring. 

Turns out you were in fact busy on New Years, but not by choice. Nabi had dragged you out, saying one of her close friends was hosting a big party and you needed to go. You were reluctant but decided going out was ultimately better than rotting in your apartment by yourself. Except, the party was not better than a night alone in your room. Someone had asked you to dance, swinging you around the dance floor with little care for who you may bump into. Someone else had accidentally spilled their drink down your leg. And now there was this tipsy man trying to hit on you while you were backed against a wall.

“So the guy says, ‘Read the card!’” the stranger finishes his punchline, bursting into laughter and looking at you expectantly. 

It dawned on you that that had been your cue to laugh, so you faked a moment of realization and offered a small chuckle. “Oh! That’s so clever!”

Nabi, who was right next to you, snorted into her glass of champagne. 

“I’m going home,” you mumbled to her under your breath while the man’s back was turned. 

“You’ll never get an uber,” she joked, though you knew she wasn’t lying. You were trapped. 

Accepting your fate, you turned back to the man in front of you, who was already prepared with another joke for you. 

It was torture. You looked hopelessly at the large countdown on the screen, weighing your options for a mere second before giving him. 

“I think I’m gonna go,” you found Nabi in a corner with a tray of hors d’oeuvres, happily picking and choosing between her options. 

“What? But it’s not even midnight yet.”

“I really think I should go. I’ve said hi to the people I know already.”

“You don’t want to stay for just two more minutes?”

“No, really, it’s okay. Would you want to get brunch tomorrow?”

She looked at you with sympathetic expression. “Of course, you can pick the time and place. Although, I draw the line at that one chicken and waffle spot. They gave me food poisoning last time, remember?”

Once you had the greenlight, you fought your way through the crowd, trying to get your way out of the large party area and into the quiet hallway leading outside. You had tried to be social, you really did, and you applauded yourself for getting out of the house tonight. But now that you had done it, you thought it was acceptable to go back home. People had seen you and knew you had made an appearance. Now it was time for a nice shower, warm bed, and an old movie. 

The hallway was blessedly quieter, the bass from the speakers muffled behind the closed doors. Of course there were some stragglers out here as well, but nowhere remotely close to the swarm of couples and desperate singles inside. You slipped on your coat as you walked, already anticipating the cold night air just waiting to wrap around you. 

Suddenly, a loud sound erupted in front of you, a door banging open maybe? Or was it a shout? You flinched instinctively, glancing up at the noise, breath catching. His eyes locked onto you immediately. The lights flickered slightly overhead, everything felt strangely suspended. 

His chest rose up and down quickly, his mouth slightly open like he needed the extra air to breath. His cheeks were pink and his hair was messily blown back. You felt the sudden urge to reach out and fix it. He wasn’t dressed for a party. He wasn’t dressed like he’d expected to be anywhere but home tonight at all. 

“What are you…?” You trailed off confused, looking his tired frame up and down. 

“I-- I knew you’d be here,” he said, taking a step towards you. 

“How did you--? Did you run here?”

“Nabi, and yes. But that’s not important. I needed to see you.”

Your eyes followed his advancements toward you. He only stopped when he was about an arm-length away. “Why?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and the thing is,” he looked down at his hands before shoving them down and focusing on you, “I love you.”

“What??” 

“I love you.”

Baffled doesn’t even begin to describe the emotion you were feeling at the moment. You stood there, dumbfounded, staring blankly at him while he shifted nervously in front of you. It felt like he was speaking a different language, like there was a joke and you weren’t in on it. He wanted to bust the door down, crash a party, and love bomb you? What was this? “How do you expect me to respond to this?”

“How about you love me too?”

You scoffed. “How about, I’m leaving.”

“Doesn’t what I said mean anything to you?”

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon. I know it’s New Years Eve,” as if on cue, the crowd inside of the room began to count down from 10, “I know you’re feeling lonely, but you can’t just show up here, tell me you love me, and expect that to make everything all right.” You felt your eyes begin to sting and cursed the thought of you actually crying in front of him. “It just doesn’t work that way.”

You turned to walk past him, not wanting to be here when the clock finally struck midnight but knowing your attempts were in vain. He caught your wrist and spun you back towards him. 

“Well how does it work?” 

5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 

The fireworks outside were immediate and you sucked in a deep breath. This was not how you wanted your New Years to go. “I don’t know, but not this way.”

“Well how about this?” His hand was still wrapped around your wrist, refusing to let go. “I’m really, really sorry about how I acted after what happened between us. I was scared of ruining what we had, of wanting more and you not wanting it back.”

The crackle of fireworks shook the windows. Cheers spilled into the hallway. Those still left in the hallway began trailing back into the main room to join the bigger party, but neither of you moved. 

He continued. “I didn’t go over that night because I pitied you. I went because you called me. And because every time you call me, I come. I went because it’s always been me when you needed somebody and I didn’t want that to stop being true.” His words were tumbling faster now, like if he didn’t say them at all, he’d lose his nerve. “I love that you rely on me. I love that you get cold when it’s 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich exactly the way you like it. I love that you get that little crinkle right here--” his free hand lifted hesitantly, brushing the area between your eyebrows softly, “--when you’re looking at me like I’m insane.”

You realized you were doing it right then. 

“I love that after I spend the day with you, I go home and still smell your perfume on my clothes,” he went on. “I love that you’re the last person I want to talk to before I fall asleep.”

He loosened his grip on you, but his hand didn’t fall away completely. It slid down, fingers brushing yours. His voice dropped as well, steadier now. Your pulse was through the roof. 

“And it’s not because I’m lonely. And it’s not because it’s New Year’s Eve. I-- I ran here because I finally understood something. I ran here because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

You stared at him, searching for anything other than the resolution and vulnerability written across his face. There wasn’t anything. You wanted to believe him -- that he loved you. But this… this man in front of you, who was breathless and shaking and saying things like the rest of my life didn’t match the person you had been friends with for the past year. This wasn’t the person who deflected with jokes when things got too serious and this wasn’t the person who said he wasn’t planning on remarrying. This wasn’t the person you had grown a relationship with -- feelings for -- over the past couple years. 

But… maybe it was? Maybe this wasn’t new. Memories flooded your head. 

The night your sink flooded at midnight and you called him in panic mode. He had shown up in sweatpants and a hoodie, hair sticking up, no complaints, just a wrench in hand and a quiet, “Move.” He’d stayed for an hour, sitting cross-legged on your kitchen floor, making sure the water actually stopped before he left. 

When the bus you would take to work was out of commission and you were already late, he didn’t even ask questions. “I’ll pick you up,” was all he said. He made an excuse to leave work for half an hour and drove to your apartment, making dumb commentary about how this wouldn’t have happened if you actually woke up on time and didn’t snooze every single one of your alarms. 

You thought about how he’d memorized your coffee order without ever needing to write it down, how he automatically walked on the outside of the sidewalk, how he handed you his jacket before you even admitted you were cold, how he never let you carry heavy grocery bags even though you always protested. You thought about how every time you texted “Are you busy?” he answered “For you? Never.” He’d always been there. He’d always chosen you in small, consistent ways, over and over again. 

You looked at him again, standing there, breathless and nervous. This wasn’t the man who joked his way out of vulnerability. This was the man who ran across town in the cold because he wanted to see you. Your chest tightened. Maybe this wasn’t sudden. 

A shaky breath escaped you and your eyes fell to your hand in his. “You’re an idiot,” you said softly. 

His shoulders tensed. “That’s not the reaction I was hoping for.”

You saw the way his posture fell when you let go of his hand before you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his waist in a hug. His arms came around you instantly, not crushing, but tight. He let out a breath against your hair that sounded suspiciously like relief. 

“It’s impossible to hate you,” you mumble into his chest. 

“I’d consider that a good thing.”

You huffed a weak laugh against his chest, but you didn’t pull away. For weeks, you had rehearsed anger, practiced indifference, told yourself you were fine and it didn’t matter. But standing here now, it all felt ridiculous. 

“I’ve never heard you make a speech like that before,” you noted, recalling everything he had just confessed to you. “You like my perfume on your clothes?”

“Hey now, don’t spread this stuff around,” he replied. “I have a reputation.”

“Right, can’t ruin the mysterious, emotionally unavailable image.”

“Exactly,” he said gravely. “Very hard-earned.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. Being this close reminded you that you had missed him over the past three weeks. “Are you still emotionally unavailable?”

He blinked. “Y/N, I just told you I love you.”

“But you said you weren’t planning on remarrying.”

He looked at you like the answer was obvious. “And now I’m planning on you.”

The slow grin on your face was inevitable. You felt like you were in high school again, kicking your feet in your bed when your crush texted you. 

“Happy New Year,” you said, squeezing your arms around him. 

“Happy New Year,” he said back, smiling down at you softly before cupping your face in his hands and kissing you. 

[yoursinink]

Blue Skin - L.HS

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

chapter 2

read chapter 1 here

student!heeseung x student!reader

word count: 24k

summary: in a world where you had learned to hide your blue veins, you were afraid to get close to anybody. that was until you met him, a boy with a magnetic pull. you wanted him but you knew he shouldn't. he would never understand your blue, right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ One year was barely long enough to convince yourself you were over him. Yet it only took seeing him for a split second to realize you weren’t. You were required to take an upper-level writing class to fulfill your degree, but to your dismay, there weren’t many interesting options when you had signed up for classes. It didn’t take much convincing to pick the class on apocalyptic ethics over some sort of history course. Boring. 

During the first week or two of classes, you made a point to always be on time, sometimes even early to class. It was around the third week in when you started prioritizing sleep over attendance. Today was not that day. You slipped into the classroom early, a little nervous to meet new people, but excited to listen to the professor. He had good reviews on one of the student-run websites, which was part of why you chose the class. There were only about twenty desks in the room, arranged in a loose semi-circle. It was a nice class size, good for discussions. 

You slid into a seat close to the door, liking the ability to sneak out whenever you wanted without causing much of a scene. Your bag sat on the floor between your legs and you unzipped it to pull your notebook out, trying to quiet the soft hum of nerves in your chest. While your head was still down, the door opened again. 

A familiar voice murmured “Good morning” to the professor and your heart didn’t just sink -- it plummeted. 

Heeseung. Of all fucking places. 

Your breath caught so sharp it almost hurt. For a second, you thought you could have been imagining him. Were you just extremely sleep deprived? Or going through love-interest withdrawal? Was this just a cruel trick? 

But no. There he was. Real and solid and impossibly here. It was hard not to stare. He looked older. Sharper jaw, a little broader in the shoulders. His hair had taken the shape of a soft mullet and he wore a sweater you had seen on him the year before, instantly igniting memories you had tried to erase. The sleeves were tugged over his hands the way he always did. His eyes drifted across the semi-circle -- slow, curious, unaware of your presence… for now. You looked away before he saw you. 

Of all the classes on campus. Of all the schedules. Of all the rooms, hours, seats-- He had to walk into yours. After he had made it so clear he had no interest, he somehow managed to follow you here. Just your luck. Truly. 

More students trickled in, chatter filled the space, pens clicked, jackets rustled. You hated that you were hyperaware of him sitting across the room, like a gravitational pull you couldn’t shut off. Was it too late to drop the class? Or change majors? Or even change schools?

The professor began class, voice warm and animated, you could tell you were gonna like him already. After his own self-introduction, each student had to go around the room and introduce themselves as well. You hated ice breakers like these. 

Students went one by one. You tried to listen but you were more focused on what you should say. You still hadn’t decided when the wave of introductions reached you, but you gulped and looked up anyway. As you said your name, year, major, and why you picked this class, you made a point not to look in his direction. He was just a classmate, a stranger, not someone worth your attention. 

Heeseung was one of the last people to go. You braced yourself before looking up at him. 

“My name is Heeseung. I’m a senior, um… philosophy minor. I picked this class because my advisor said it would be good for my critical thinking skills but,” he let out that same soft laugh you used to like, “I think she just ran out of ways to say I’m bad at choosing electives.”

Some people laughed. You didn’t. For the first time in almost a year, you made eye contact. Your gaze lifted at about the same moment his swept across the room. His smile faltered. Yours never formed. It was less than a second before you flicked your eyes away again, putting your chin in your palm and facing the professor’s direction. 

Your heartbeat was traitorous to the disregard you were trying to show him. Absent-mindedly, you furled and unfurled your fingers around the hem of your long sleeve shirt, toying with the fabric. 

You had moved on. Really. You had. You had moved on from him so much that even when you used to think about him, your blue would barely glow. And yet… here you were, a couple yards apart from each other, and felt your skin come alive again. 

The initial panic that had settled in after seeing him in your class eventually subsided, but only by a little. You were still unnerved at the sudden proximity, but grateful there hadn’t been an instance yet where you needed to interact with one another. At the beginning of the first class every week, the professor would assign small groups to discuss the required reading. By pure luck, you had yet to have  the pleasure of being partnered with Heeseung. As stressful as it was to wait for your assigned partners every week, and to pray endlessly it wouldn’t be him, it had been a good opportunity to meet the other people in your class. 

The power point at the front of the class flashed and you searched it, finding the group you were meant to work with. Group 3: Y/N, Sunghoon, Marina. You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding and looked over to where Sunghoon was sitting. He grinned back in your direction. It was only the 4th week of school but you had been partnered twice already. 

Gathering your notes, you walked toward the corner where your group had gathered. Marina gave a small wave and Sunghoon scooted his chair over to make room for you. 

“Did you like the reading?” Marina asked as you sat down. 

“It was interesting,” you said, simultaneously leaning forward to be part of the conversation while also closing your body off and wrapping your sweater around yourself. “It was kinda bleak, but… interesting.”

Sunghoon nodded. “Moral boundaries collapsing under pressure. I liked the part where the author included present examples to show how collapse can happen under all sorts of different circumstances--”

You heard Heeseung’s voice behind you. Too close behind you. “It reminded me of that case study last week--”

Your spine went rigid before your brain even processed his words. That familiar tone -- soft, low, thoughtful -- cut clean through the noise of the classroom and lodged itself under your skin like a splinter. It was impossible not to notice the way your blue buzzed at the sound of his voice. You hated that he still had that effect

Sunghoon kept talking. “--different circumstances, so it’s not just context-dependent, it’s also--”

You nodded along, trying to pretend you weren’t hyperaware of every inhale Heeseung took between sentences. Every pause between words, every small laugh shared in his group behind your back. It was when you realized your group had gone silent, expecting your input, that you tried to talk.

“I think…” you began slowly, “that sometimes people avoid the hard conversations because they’re afraid of what they’ll lose if they confront the truth.”

Sunghoon nodded thoughtfully. Marina hummed. You kept your eyes firmly on your notebook. 

“Yeah,” Sunghoon said, tapping his pen. “Avoidance as self-preservation.”

You forced a smile, small and polite, but now your mind wasn’t on the reading. It was behind you -- exactly where you refused to look. Heeseung responded to something someone said in his group, making a girl next to him laugh. You felt it like a pinprick to the ribs. 

Marina gestured at your notebook. “Did you annotate that part? I liked the way you phrased it.”

You blinked back to reality. “Oh, um, yeah. Just tried to summarize the main point. The author’s kind of a yapper…”

And then, because the universe seemed to have a cruel sense of humor, you heard Heeseung say softly: “Yeah… avoiding something doesn’t make it go away.”

The professor called the class back together, rescuing you from having to speak again. Chairs scrapped, notebooks closed, and everyone started shifting back to their seats. Without meaning to, without wanting to, you glanced over your shoulder. 

Heeseung was already looking at you. 

You ripped your eyes away before the blue could flare. 

The weather was warm, it was one of the only times the whole school year when students could study outside without getting frostbite. Jiyoon had brought a big picnic blanket to study on and Nayeon had brought a bag of grapes. You did your part and supplied the strawberries.

 The courtyard was buzzing with life. Clusters of students sprawled on the grass with textbooks, others tossed volleyballs or played music off half-broken speakers. There was just enough breeze to make your thin long sleeved shirt bearable. 

“This is perfect,” Jiyoon sighed, laying on her back with a book over her head to shield her eyes from the sun. “Vitamin D is healing my academic trauma.”

Nayeon giggled, crunching on grapes. “What kind of academic trauma can you have as a sociology major?”

“Try being in my shoes for a day,” Jiyoon retorted and you laughed. 

Nayeon, the pre-med student, rolled her eyes and collapsed on the blanket between the two of you, instantly flinging her arms around both of you. “Do you think we can just sleep here until the semester’s over?”

“Do you want me to honestly answer that?” you asked, turning your head to look at her. 

“No,” Nayeon admitted. “Lie to me.”

“I bet the squirrels would bring you food,” Jiyoon promised, feeding into the delusion. “And the chipmunks.”

“What about the geese?”

“They’ll probably eat you.”

Nayeon groaned into your shoulder. “I hate this school.”

Whatever studying the three of you thought was going to get done was instantly put on the backburner. The sun soaked into your skin like warmth you hadn’t realized you were starved for. The grass smelled clean, almost sweet. And your blue, which had been restless for days, finally quieted into something soft -- a low hum rather than a pulse.

After a minute, you rolled onto your stomach and cracked open your notebook, ready to review lecture notes. Nayeon followed suit. Jiyoon appeared to be sleeping. 

“I brought highlighters,” Nayeon said, riffling through an extremely bulbous pencil pouch and pulling out a handful of pastel colors. “Color-coding is the only thing keeping me from flunking out.”

“It’s the only way to keep anyone from flunking,” you agreed, taking up her offer and stealing a pretty green color. Your friend gasped dramatically. 

“Bold of you to take my favorite color.”

“You have three other highlighters in the exact shade.”

“Yeah, because it’s my favorite,” she said the answer like it was obvious. You just shook your head and uncapped the marker. 

As you scribbled in your notebook, a familiar burst of noise carried across the courtyard. Shouts, laughter, the thud of something heavy making contact with hands. You didn’t think much of it at first. Lots of people were out today. Lots of groups, lots of noise. But then--

“Heeseung, go long!”

The name sliced through the air. Your hand unintentionally clenched around the highlighter. Nayeon froze mid-chew, and Jiyoon, who had absolutely not been asleep, slid the book on her face down just enough to crack an eye open. 

You kept your eyes firmly on your notes and forced a breath through your nose. Then another. You were fine. He was just existing somewhere in the general area, that was bound to happen when you go to school together. Existing was allowed. That didn’t mean he was anywhere near you-- A sharp thud interrupted your denial. 

All three of you looked down. A bright blue frisbee, slightly dirty and scuffed, and sitting innocently on top of one of Jiyoon’s notebooks. Your stomach dropped. 

“Oh, absolutely not,” Jiyoon muttered, picking up the toy with two fingers like it was contaminated. “Yah!”

Jay looked over from his playing position across the sidewalk and broke into a grin. “Oh hey!” 

Jiyoon narrowed her eyes at him like he had personally orchestrated a plot against your trio. “Control your flying objects!”

“It wasn’t me!” Jay yelled back, already laughing. “That was Heeseung’s fault! He should have caught it.”

Of course it was Heeseung’s fault. Of course. 

You heard footsteps running over and refused to look up. 

“Sorry--” his voice was breathless, once again, closer than you wanted him to be. “That one got… uh… really off track.”

You stared down at your notebook and started highlighting a sentence that didn’t even need to be highlighted. You just needed to seem busy. To seem unbothered. Like his presence didn’t burn you. 

Jiyoon held the frisbee out. “Here. Take your UFO and go.”

Heeseung let out a huff of a laugh and reached for the frisbee, clearing his throat. “Sorry. Jay needs to work on his aim.”

“YOU need to work on your catching!” Jay hollered back, entirely unhelpful. How he managed to hear Heeseung from all the way over there was a mystery to you. 

Heeseung shot his friend a glare from over his shoulder and turned back. You kept your head down. Held your breath. Highlighted the same sentence twice. It didn’t matter. The slight shift of his shadow across your notebook captured your attention. His attention had slid from Jiyoon to you like an eclipse moving across the sun. You looked up. 

There he stood in the sunlight, hair messy, cheeks flushed from running, brow damp from sweat, chest still rising and falling. He froze when your eyes met, parting his lips in surprise like he didn’t expect you to look up at all. The frisbee hung loosely in his hand. Heat bloomed across your skin, blue threatening to spark under your sleeves. You swallowed it down. Hard. It was nothing more than a reminder of something disgusting to him. Something laughable. 

“I think I’m on Jay’s side,” Nayeon spoke up, catching Heeseung off guard. His attention turned from you to her. “You were way off.”

He blinked, brows lifting for a fraction of a second. “Everyone has their moments.”

“Yeah, well this one was tragic.”

Jiyoon made a noise of agreement. “Next time give us a warning when you’re playing. We’ll be sure to bring helmets.” 

He laughed. It made your blue spark. “Will do.”

And that was it. He left without saying a word to you, didn’t even look back in your direction once as he kept playing. 

Nayeon patted your back gently. “You want a grape?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I want a grape.”

You shouldn’t have been hurt to see him with another girl. Afterall, the two of you were never anything special, never anything more than friends. And even if you had been, a year had passed. It was stupid to think there could’ve been more anyway. And seeing him with someone else made that even more painfully obvious. 

She was cute, had short hair that didn’t hide her defined collarbones, wore a polka-dotted baby tee. She was everything you couldn’t be. And she was making him laugh. You weren’t close enough to hear their conversation, nor did you want to be… nor did you need to be. You could tell by the way his hands were tucked loosely in his front pockets, the way his shoulders were relaxed, his easy smile -- he was comfortable. Comfortable in a way he hadn’t been around you in a long time. 

Your stomach tugged sharply. It made no sense. Logically, you shouldn’t care. It didn’t affect your life at all. It was for the best anyway. Normal people should date normal people. But your blue disagreed. It simmered under your skin like boiling water, restless and pulsing in a way it hadn’t since the day he held you under the bus canopy -- in a way it hadn’t since you could count the rain droplets in his eyelashes. 

You tugged your sleeves down as far as they would go, pressing your wrists against your body to steady the trembling glow. His voice carried through the air, undiscernible but so clearly his. More laughter. You needed to leave. Now. Before he could see you flickering… again. 

You took a step back, then another, turning on your heel and marching away. Your pace was brisk, purposeful, like you were late for something even though you had nowhere to be. He was allowed to be happy, especially with someone he deserved, someone like him. Someone normal. 

The next week, it finally happened. When you walked into class, the professor was already queuing up the slides. He announced: “Alright everyone, get into your group discussions first. Today’s topic is the intrinsic vs instrumental value of people during a time of scarce resources. Your groups are on the screen.”

You lifted your eyes to the projector only long enough to find your name. Group 2: Y/N, Heeseung, Beomgyu. 

No. No, no, no, no. You blinked hard like the names might rearrange themselves if you stared with enough desperation. But of course they didn’t. 

Beomgyu waved at you from a couple seats over with a friendly half-smile. You had been partnered up before, he was super nice and easy to talk to. He admitted to never actually reading the assigned excerpts but still managed to have valuable input to discussions. He was a good person to be stuck with. 

As you stood to move over to a desk by Beomgyu, you spared a look in Heeseung’s direction, realizing he hadn’t moved. He was still staring at the screen. Staring at the names. Your name. You swore his fingers tightened around his pen. You turned your head, jaw clenching. He didn’t want to be in your group. Probably didn’t want to be next to you knowing you were blue. 

“Crazy reading this week, huh?” Beomgyu joked when you sat in the desk next to him. “I made ChatGPT summarize it.”

“How’d that work for you?” you ask, engaging in convo to distract yourself from the man walking over to join. 

“I guess we’ll find out,” he grinned, whipping out his notebook. “Should we take turns answering the same question on the screen or alternate between questions?”

“I think talking them out as a group is probably good,” you tried to play nonchalant, knowing if the two boys in front of you could see your blue glowing it would give you away instantly. 

Heeseung hadn’t looked at you, even after sitting down, but the tension radiating off him was unmistakable. Beomgyu carried on oblivious. 

“So… intrinsic value vs instrumental value. Are people valuable for who they are or for what they can do for others in crisis?” He looked up between the two of you. “Do one of you want to start?”

You took it upon yourself after a second of awkward silence. “Well, the author took a utilitarian stance. Instrumental value is more important during a crisis than intrinsic value.”

Beomgyu nodded thoughtfully. “Right. But like… the author’s example of why it’s more important to save a young doctor than your own mother was crazy.”

You offered him a laugh, still avoiding the desk to your right. “Yeah, the examples they use in this class are always extreme to the point of being kind of… inhuman.”

Beomgyu moved onto the next bulleted question. “Do you agree with the author’s prioritization system? Why or why not?”

You shifted in your seat. “I mean, I get what the author’s saying. Like, hypothetically I would agree but…” you voice caught. “But I don’t think someone loses worth just because they’re… harder to choose.”

Beomgyu sent a pointed look at Heeseung, hinting at him to contribute to the conversation. “Do you agree with the author?”

You looked towards Heeseung, keeping a steady face, genuinely curious in his answer. 

“No,” he said. 

Beomgyu pressed further. “Why not?”

“I don’t think a person’s value changes,” he continued, briefly meeting your eyes before looking back to Beomgyu. “Not in a way that should matter. Even if… they can’t offer anything useful, like medical help or defense.”

Beomgyu nodded along. “Uh huh, okay. People matter because they matter.” He shuffled his papers again. “Final question: how might fear distort the way people evaluate worth in emergencies?”

Heeseung spoke before you could breathe. “Fear makes you think hurting someone is safer than letting them hurt you.”

Your throat tightened.

Beomgyu clicked his tongue. “Damn. Facts, bro.”

You replayed his words over and over again. Your blue sparked but it just made you mad, his words just made you mad. Fear, huh? Is that what he had felt? When he saw you? When he saw it? He was so afraid of your skin he thought it would hurt him? Your glow had been so threatening, so disgusting, that avoiding you felt like self-preservation? Like hurting you was safer for him? Your fingers picked at the hem of your sleeve furiously, your eyes burning into the grainy desk. You forced your expression to remain flat and controlled but your thoughts were sharp like barbed wire. 

Beomgyu drummed his fingers against his notes. “Cool, I think we’ve covered everything. Should we--”

“Yeah,” you said too fast, closing your notebook. “We’re good.”

He gathered his papers with zero awareness of the storm next to him. “Sick. I’m gonna go ask the professor about the rubric for the essay.” And then he left. 

Afraid of you. Of your skin. Of your blue. Of whatever he thought you were. 

Fine. If fear made him push you away, then staying away was doing him a favor. 

You stood up immediately, picking up your belongings with one hand and leaving back to your desk without saying a word. 

After class, Sunghoon caught up to you. “Hey! I almost expected to be in your group again after the last couple of weeks.”

You jumped, slightly surprised he was walking you out. “Oh-- Hi. Yeah, I know, right? Maybe the professor thinks we just have good discussions together.” Which is not something you would say about the discussion you had with Heeseung today. 

Sunghoon matched your pace, following you out the door. “I think this week’s reading was my favorite so far. I’ve never really thought about that issue before, you know?”

You nodded, tucking your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. “It’s like the professor is obsessed with moral distress.”

“Could not have put it better,” he smiled. “Where are you headed?”

“Umm, I’m kind of hungry,” you thought for a second. “I might grab some food. Do you have another class?”

He sighed, kicking a rock. “Yeah. Some weird biology class about elephants. My mom thought it would look cool on my transcript. I hate it.”

You shot him a funny look. “What? Like you’re learning elephant anatomy or something?”

“It’s torture,” he insisted. “Did you know elephants have like 150 more bones than humans do? I learned that last week.”

You weren’t originally planning on walking him to class but the building it was in was close to a chain of restaurants anyway. You figured what's the harm?

“Oh!” Sunghoon pointed to one of the campus notice boards dramatically. “Have you seen this?” 

You followed his finger to a poster of a lantern festival. The paper was black with brightly colored lanterns drifting upward, tiny gold flecks outlined the event title. “Lantern Festival & Night Market,” you read out loud. “Next Friday.”

“Are you going?” he asked, looking down at you inquisitively. 

You adjusted your hoodie to hide more of your neck, suddenly self-conscious. “Um, I don’t know. I’d have to check my schedule.”

“Check it,” he urged, nodding towards your pocket where he assumed your phone would be. “I’m planning on going with my friends too. Last year, it was a pretty big deal, did you go then?”

You were only half listening to what he was saying, panic setting in when you reached into your pocket and found it empty. Shit. Where was your phone?

“Wait, Sunghoon--” you reeled around, scanning the ground. “I lost my phone.”

Sunghoon blinked, caught mid-sentence. “Huh? Like, right now?”

“Yes, right now,” you muttered, already retracing your steps in your head. You patted all your pockets again -- hoodie, jeans, jacket -- nothing. 

“I have 10 minutes before my next class, let’s go look for it,” Sunghoon reassured you, already guiding you by your shoulders down the sidewalk the two of you had just come from. “Do you remember the last time you used it?”

“I don’t know, I think I had it when we left class. I took it out to check the time, didn’t I?”

“Yes! You did, so it’s either in the hallways or on the sidewalk? Maybe someone picked it up?”

You could have a thief on your hands. This is so not what you needed today after that discussion in class. The two of you checked a couple of benches off to the side, in the flower beds, and asked some people passing by if they had seen a phone, but to no avail. 

“Maybe we should just go back to the classroom? Or check the campus lost-and-found? Or we--”

“Is this yours?” a voice said behind you.

Your breath stopped. 

Heeseung stood a few feet away, holding something out in his hand. “I recognized it,” he continued. 

You didn’t move. 

Sunghoon brightened. “Oh! Dude-- you found it?”

Heeseung nodded once, eyes flicking between the two of you just briefly, so briefly you almost missed it. “It fell by the door after class. You were already gone when I saw it.”

You swallowed. “Thank you.” Your fingers grazed his wrist as you took your phone back and for a terrifying second, you felt your blue pull like a tide -- sharp, bright, warning -- and you shoved your sleeve down to smother it. 

Heeseung’s eyes flicked to where you had pulled your sleeve down and you felt a twinge of annoyance. He was probably imagining the blue, wasn’t he? 

Sunghoon thanked Heeseung again before turning back to you and resuming your previous conversation. “Crisis averted! Anyways, just let me know about the festival. Maybe we could run into each other.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll text you,” you said, stuffing the phone deep into your pocket this time. 

Turns out Jiyoon had already made festival plans for you. When you mentioned the poster, she practically jumped you, hyping it up the same way Sunghoon had, convincing you that maybe it wouldn’t be the most horrible thing to go to. 

“Oh my God, YES, we’re going,” she declared, shoving her laptop aside like the assignment she was working on no longer existed. “That festival is gorgeous. Lanterns, food stalls, live music -- last year it looked like a Studio Ghibli movie.”

Nayeon chimed in from across the room, “And they have a churro stand. Churros, Y/N. This is morally required to attend.”

You sighed, defeated at the thought of a loud venue but a little excited thinking about the fun they were describing. “Okay, fine, I’ll go.”

Jiyoon whooped. “It’s a date!”

The campus quad had been transformed into something almost unreal. Strings of lanterns glowed above the walkways, ranging in every single color under the rainbow -- pastels, neons, vibrant and bold -- all floating like stars just out of reach. Booths crowding the grass sold tacos, skewers, steamed buns, street food of all kinds. Music thrummed through the cool air, weaving through laughter and chatter. People, both students and non-students, were everywhere. The event was huge. 

Sunghoon had texted you earlier to ask if you were planning on attending and said he could introduce you to some of his friends if he saw you. 

“Churros!!” Nayeon squealed, pulling you by the arm and off the sidewalk, speedlining to a vendor's booth.  

“Nayeon! Calm down, the churros aren’t going anywhere,” you stuttered out, trying not to trip and keep up with her pace. 

“No,” she deadpanned. “Look at how long the line already is.”

“Are you seriously gonna make us wait in that?” Jiyoon asked, gaging the wait time of the current line. 

“It’ll go by fast, I promise.”

The smell of fresh dough and caramelizing sugar hit you like a warm blanket. Your mouth instantly started salivating and you began to understand Nayeon’s insistence. She ordered a ridiculous number of churros for three people, justifying her order with the fact that students got a 30% discount on all food for the event. 

“Okay, pass them around,” she said, already claiming one for herself. “Sharing is caring but if you take the last one without asking, you will die.”

Your sweet treats were warm enough to fog the air in front of you, and for a few minutes everything felt pleasantly simple. The three of you wove through the crowd, sampling whatever food Nayeon pointed at, drifting from booth to booth with no real destination. Any thoughts of upcoming due dates or assignments flew out the window. 

The lanterns swung overhead in slow, lazy arcs, painting the tops of people’s heads in shifting colors. A purple glow. Then green. Then warm amber. Every time you walked beneath a cluster of lanterns, your skin prickled in awareness -- like your blue wanted to answer back, wanted to pulse in response. You kept your sleeves tight, keeping your distance from the brightest pools of light. 

Jiyoon dragged you toward a table selling tiny ceramic animals, Nayeon found a clown making balloon animals, you found a polaroid booth that you made everyone take a picture in. A group of students danced messily near the DJ booth, someone was trying to juggle bowling pins, and a student worker was trying to rescue two lanterns that had gotten stuck in a tree. Everything was… nice. 

Then a loud voice boomed over the speakers: “Lantern release begins in five minutes!” A memory tugged at you. 

“Let’s try to find each other by the fountain. I think the lantern release looks best from there.” That’s what Sunghoon had said earlier that week. 

“Hey, guys? I’m gonna, um… go say hi to one of my classmates really quick,” you said and gestured vaguely toward the center of the courtyard. “He said he'd be by the fountain.”

Jiyoon wiggled her eyebrows. “Oooooooh. Look at you, social butterfly.”

Nayeon elbowed her. “We’ll text you every time we move so you can find us later. Have fun!”

You slipped into the crowd before you could endure more teasing, fighting your way through the people and toward the fountain. The closer you got to your destination, the louder everything grew. The music, the voices, the hum of excitement -- everything was threefold at the center. Hundreds of students were gathered around the water, paper lanterns cradled carefully in their hands. And above them, multiple massive lanterns hovered on a mechanical pulley system. 

As you got closer, you felt your skin buzz, the lights around you igniting something inside. And then your breath faltered. There, by the railing, stood Sunghoon. And under the light of the lanterns, his entire silhouette looked tinted azure. It was something you recognized all too familiarly. Your heart lurched in your throat. 

Blue. Could he--? No. No, that was impossible. You had known him for weeks. Surely you would have seen it. But the thought was a lightning bolt through your ribs. For the first time in years, you felt something like hope slice through your chest. Someone like me. Someone who understands. 

You inched closer. But then, a breeze picked up. The massive lantern overhead swayed slightly on its rigging. And the moment its angle shifted, the blue slid off him like water. Gone. His skin tone returned instantly, warm and human and painfully ordinary. The flicker of hope inside you sputtered and extinguished so violently you almost swayed. 

Sunghoon noticed you and waved. “Hey! You found me.”

You swallowed back the ache and plastered on a smile. “Hi.”

He stepped closer, holding a delicate paper lantern in both his hands. “Perfect timing. They’re about to do the countdown.”

You nodded. He kept talking. Something about the food booths and how he wanted to introduce you to his roommate. His words dissolved into the noise of the crowd. Your chest felt hollow. Of all the things you should have known better than to hope for. 

The countdown ended and you stared up at the rainbow sky with mixed emotions. It was beautiful. Your skin hummed in agreement but you numbed it.  

“Pretty cool, right?” Sunghoon said beside you. 

“Yeah.” It was cool. 

He smiled, holding his lantern steady before releasing it. It floated upward immediately, joining the hundreds above. “You can make a wish,” he added lightly. “I think they’re supposed to bring good fortune.”

You almost laughed. You and good fortune didn’t seem to be in cahoots. “Did you make one already?”

“Yup,” his eyes were trained on the sky, and for a fractured instant, you imagined seeing blue sparkle again. But it was only the lanterns. Always only the lanterns. 

You stepped back to avoid the press of the crowd, but the movement brought your gaze across the fountain. Across the clusters of silhouettes glowing in shifting hues, you saw him. Standing alone in the midst of hundreds, leaning forward on the railing in staring up at the sky. Heeseung. 

Lantern light washed over him in waves. Pink, yellow, violet. Each shifting color continued to grab your attention, refusing to let your eyes leave his figure. And then… blue. A deep, brilliant sapphire that drenched him from head to toe. His hair caught the glow first, shining like midnight turned royal. Then his cheekbones, his jaw, his hands curled over the railing. You felt your blue surge in a response-like manner, making you hold your breath. His glow was electric, intoxicating. 

And then across the water, across the crowd, across the hundreds of drifting lights, he looked at you. His gaze landed on yours as cleanly as if the two of you stood alone in an empty room. His posture stiffened but just barely. The blue light painted his eyes in a way that made them look almost luminous themselves. Your heart lurched, your glow already rising and crawling up your wrists like a warning flare. You weren’t sure why, but a part of you wished it was real. His blue. But you didn’t dwell too long on that thought. It would be cruel to be fooled twice.

He didn’t look away. For a couple, impossible seconds, you just looked at each other. The light of the lanterns draping both of your silhouettes, highlighting you. Heeseung’s eyes seemed to flicker with an unreadable emotion. You couldn’t place it. Confusion? Hope?

A couple bustled in front of you, breaking your focus and causing you to step back. Your gaze dipped, just for a breath, but when you looked back up, Heeseung’s face had changed. 

The blue lantern glow still washed over him, brilliant and cold, but something in his expression had shuttered. His eyes weren’t wide with surprise anymore. They weren’t soft, or luminous, or anything bordering on hop. They were guarded. Careful. Like a wall had slid back into place. Like he’d remembered something. 

You felt your blue flicker, hesitation fighting through your veins. 

He shifted first, just a small step back from the railing, but it felt like a door closing. The lantern light moved with him, sliding off his feature as he turned slightly away, gaze dropping to the water instead of returning to you. 

Somewhere to your right, Sunghoon was calling you over to another food booth. You forced your feet to move, your expression to be neutral, your blue to dim. But an uncomfortable feeling had settled over you.

He had seen you. And he had turned away first. Again. 

A couple weeks pass. Your annoyance with Heeseung didn’t just grow, it calcified. His words played over and over in your head. Fear made people hurt others before they could be hurt. It was like a confession, right to your face. An accusation -- calling you a freak, something to be feared. And before you had felt guilty, ashamed. But you were done feeling sorry about it. If he wanted to stay away, let him stay away.  So when you were placed in the same discussion group two more times, you made a point to play devil’s advocate against any word he said. Was it petty? Absolutely. But it fueled you. 

If he claimed the author’s argument was flawed, you argued it was airtight. If he said the example was unethical, you pointed out how it could be justified. If he said “I think what the author meant was--” you were already preparing to cut him off with a “Did you even finish the reading?” You saw the way his jaw tightened when you disagreed just to disagree. You saw the flicker of frustration in his eyes -- frustration that, somehow, never turned to anger. 

Beomgyu, unfortunately trapped in the crossfire for another one of these discussions, watched you two volley arguments back and forth like a philosophical tennis match. At one point, he leaned back in his chair and whispered, “...do you two, like… hate each other?”

You ignored him, Heeseung cleared his throat, and the debate continued. It only ended when the professor called time. You snapped your notebook shut and shoved it into your bag, waiting impatiently to move seats and get away. Heeseung didn’t say anything and you didn’t look at him long enough to see his expression, but you felt him in that irritating way he caused your nerves to become static in his presence. 

Beomgyu stood up beside you, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “You two should be lawyers or something. Those were some good points.”

You feigned a laugh. “God forbid.”

You stepped into the hallway together, entering the swarm of chaos. Students were everywhere, either leaving or entering classrooms at every corner of the hall. The second you were out the door, your blue flickered so hard your wrist tingled. You yanked your sleeve over it immediately, pulse hammering. When had you even gotten so worked up?

It wasn’t like he mattered. Right? 

You willed the glow to go away. 

“See you Thursday?” Beomgyu asked, preparing to head down one end of the hall. 

“Yeah, see you.”

You were already stretched thin. The end of the semester was creeping up, and with it came the last round of midterms before finals. You had three exams to prepare for in the following week and had barely enough sleep as is. How did the professors expect you to spend time studying when they also assigned multiple new assignments? Caffeine had become your new best friend. 

Malevolent timing or divine punishment, today’s lecture topic was another moral philosophical landmine. The professor had decided to switch up the layout of chairs for a new activity, splitting the room in half. You arrived to class late, sliding into the nearest open seat and trying to clear your head. This was your last class of the day, you were almost done, just one more hour and then you could sleep. 

When you set your bag down by your feet, your gaze flicked to the desk over, recognizing the shoes of the boy to your right. You’re got to be kidding me. 

You dragged your attention to the professor, who was enthusiastically handing out case study packets. “Class will look a little different today but I think the activity will be fun! You’ll have ten minutes to both read and prepare a defense of the case study I’m handing to you and your partner. I tried to position the desks accordingly, so your partner will be the person closest to you.”

Fantastic. Debating morality while tired, anxious, and partnered with the human embodiment of unresolved emotional trauma. Kind of ironic considering the class you were in. 

Your eyes dropped to the paper dropped on your desk, skimming the hypothetical: a wild virus has spread across the country, causing many to fall deathly ill. A cure has just been discovered but production is slow. A supply of 8 vaccines has been delivered to a local hospital and they must now decide which among their sickly should get priority to the cure. 

Below the prompt was a list of 10 different people of all different ages, occupations, medical conditions, etc. A teacher with three children, a retired nurse, a nineteen-year-old athlete with cancer, a homeless man with no next of kin, an elderly surgeon, a pregnant woman, and so on. 

Instead of picking who you and your partner believed who should get priority, your paper picked for you. Next to each name was a number ranking them from highest to lowest priority. Two people were left out of the rank. Your job was to defend the list given to you against the lists assigned to the other groups.

You glanced sideways to see Heeseung scanning the paper as well and went back to staring at the printed rankings. Surgeon first. Undergraduate STEM major second. Pregnant woman third. At the bottom sat the athlete with cancer. And the homeless man didn’t receive a rank at all. You swallowed. Harsh, cold, predictable. 

“I think we could defend our rank pretty easily. It’s all prioritized by instrumental usefulness,” Heeseung said finally, voice low.  

“Yeah,” you said lightly, fighting the urge to say anything further. You didn’t want to, but you were supposed to be working together. Picking a fight wouldn’t be helpful at all. 

“For the surgeon, we can just say--”

“Medical support, saving this life ends up saving more later,” you finished, keeping your eyes on the page. 

He paused. “And the STEM major, we could probably--”

“Future contribution.” You cut him off again. 

Another silence. You wished you had caffeine with you. 

“O…kay,” he said slowly. “Then for the pregnant woman, continuation of the population?”

You hummed, taking a long blink. “And the athlete with terminal cancer has low life expectancy anyway. That’s why they didn’t rank.”

Heeseung’s head turned toward you, just slightly. “That’s… kind of harsh, isn’t it?”

“I’m not saying I agree with it,” you shot back. “This entire list is dehumanizing. We’re defending the rank, not rewriting it.”

The two of you went through the rest of the list, Heeseung writing down a couple bullet points of defense for each rank. You tried to focus, you tried not to be argumentative, but you were tired. You just wanted to go home. You were glad when Heeseung didn’t attempt conversation after you finished preparing for the debate. 

Dry thunder shook the building and you left the class quickly after the discussion ended. Your bed was waiting for you and you had no intention of making it wait any longer. You didn’t look at the boy next to you, you didn’t want to see the expression he wore after an hour of forced cooperation. Your blue had been simmering the whole time, threatening to flare every time he looked at you a little too hard. You couldn’t handle it. 

You moved through the crowded hallway, dodging people and blinking against tiredness pressing against your vision. Everything felt too loud. You made it out the double doors and into the open air just as the sky cracked with another low growl of thunder. Dark clouds were rolling in, rain sprinkled the pavement. Only a little at first, then heavier, then faster. You hissed under your breath. The longer you waited, the more intense the storm got. 

You broke into a jog, heading for the nearest bus stop. It was tucked around the back of the building so you didn’t need to run far until you were under its overhang. The sky opened in downpour as you sat on the bench and closed your eyes. 

Everything was damp from where the rain caught you. Your hair turned stringy and your clothes clung to your frame. Just get me home. 

Footsteps splashed around the corner and you stiffened your posture, opening your eyes like you weren’t about to sleep in a bus stop. Heeseung skidded into view, soaked to the bone, rain dripped from his hair as he ducked under the overhang. He stopped when he saw you, eyes widening like he hadn’t expected to see anyone in the shelter at all. 

“Oh, sorry--” he openly hesitated and glanced behind him. “I can find a different bus stop.”

You let your head fall back against the glass of the bus stop and closed your eyes again. “It’s fine. You’ll just get more wet.” 

He hovered there, half-in and half-out of the rain, torn between leaving and staying. The downpour hammered the pavement so hard it bounced back up in misty sprays, soaking the cuffs of his jeans even under the awning. “Okay,” he murmured, stepping inside fully. 

There was just enough space on the bench for him to sit down with two feet of distance between you. The bus stop you were once grateful for for being completely empty, now felt impossibly tight.  Even though you had just been sitting next to him in class, it felt different to be alone next to him. You blue picked up on that too. You didn’t look at him and kept your head tilted upwards, listening to the small splash his leg made against the water on the concrete as he bounced his knee. Neither of you spoke for a moment, and then--

“Y/N…”

Your name left his mouth with a certain softness only he could manage to produce. You didn’t move, didn’t open your eyes. “What.”

He exhaled and hesitated, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Can we… not do this?”

Your jaw ticked and you peeked over at him. “Do what.”

“I don't know, this?” His hand lifted and gestured vaguely to the space between you. “Whatever this is.”

You blinked slowly, unamused. “If you don’t want to sit at a bus stop with me, you can leave.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Good,” you said, looking forward to watch the sheets of rain blow by. “Because that would’ve been a stupid question.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, opening his mouth like he was trying to form a sentence but closing it repeatedly. “Okay, look. I don’t want-- I don’t want to keep fighting with you.”

You ignored him, impressed that he had the gull to come up to you and make it seem like distance was your fault. Was he dense?

“You won’t even look at me,” he continued quietly. “You don’t talk to me, you retract every time I get close, and when we’re forced to work together, you won’t even let me finish a sentence.”

“You managed to finish that one.”

His brow twitched. “See? That. Why are you doing that?”

“Heeseung,” you said too quickly, snapping your head in his direction. “Can you just drop it? I don’t want to talk about--”

“No,” he said, sitting forward now, elbows on his knees, rainwater dripping off the ends of his hair. “I’m… I’m sorry for last year, okay? I-- I pushed you away. I know that. I pushed you away and I hurt you and I didn’t know how to fix it--”

You let his words hit you, watching his face contort with emotions you weren’t able to sort out. “You don’t have to say that.”

“Yes, I do.” His fingers curled into fists against his knees. “I’ve needed to say this for months, but it’s impossible. You shut down, or you walk away, or you don’t look at me, or you get angry. I can’t wait because there’s never going to be a better time.” His jaw clenched. “Y/N… please.”

You hated the way your blue began to light up under your skin like the roots of a tree on fire. You hated the way part of you actually wanted to hear him out, like it had forgotten the revulsion he showed when finding out your secret.

“Stop, just stop,” you ran a hand through your hair, pushing past the knots caused by rain. “I don’t understand what you want from me right now. You made it pretty clear how you felt about me a year ago and I don’t see how anything’s changed even now. What? You want a chance to pretend last year didn’t happen? Pretend you didn’t look at me like--” You stopped. The words jammed in your throat. 

Heeseung tilted his head. “Like what?”

Your chest tightened. “Forget it.”

“No,” he said firmer. “Tell me.”

Thunder cracked so loudly it rattled the metal frame of the bus stop. You hugged your elbows in, sleeves bunched around your hands. “It doesn’t matter. I already know what you think.”

His brows drew together in confusion. “What does that mean?”

You were getting sick of his feigned ignorance. Lightning flashed and you felt your chest vibrate, your blue responding to nature. “Blue.”

The world felt too loud. Your heartbeat, the rain pounding, thunder shaking the roof, all of it deafened your ears. His confusion only seemed to grow.  “What are you talking about?”

“Blue, Heeseung,” you said it like it was obvious, but the look on his face didn’t shift into understanding. It twisted into something closer to… panic?

“What?” His voice was barely audible over the storm. “Y/N, I-- I don’t -- what do you mean blue?”

You let out a laugh, maybe out of self pity. “Skin, Heeseung. Me. My skin. Are you serious? Do you really need me to spell it out?”

He only stared. 

“C’mon. You saw it. Last year. After studying. It was windy. My hoodie slipped. And you looked like you’d seen a ghost. You didn’t even talk to me afterwards. And you basically gave me the cold shoulder after that and everyone noticed. How was I not supposed to be hurt by that when everyone else could tell you were different? You acted like being in the same room was some kind of punishment and literally turned away anytime I was nearby.” Your throat burned but the words kept coming. “And you never tried to explain or tell me what was wrong or if you were uncomfortable. You just disappeared and looked at me like I had something wrong with me. I had to sit through study groups and lectures and group outings like you weren’t over my shoulder glaring at me.” Rain hammered the roof, drowning nothing. “And now you wanna show up acting like I’m the problem here and we’re as distant as we are now because I won’t stick around long enough to hear you apologize? Heeseung-- You. Left. Me.”

Lightning struck again, weaving electricity through the sky and lighting up the bus stop like a camera had flashed. Your blue roared in response, surging up your back and through your arms, your skin trembled with light. Heeseung went still, pupils blown wide and jaw falling loose. He looked caught on words, eyes trailing up your arms, looking at the faint glow trying to rip through the fabric of your hoodie. 

Your face dropped, instinctive and wounded before you could stop yourself. He was still scared. Heeseung’s expression faltered, but it was too late. You inhaled sharply through your noise and ripped your gaze away, chest tightening. “Great. Good talk.”

“Y/N-- wait, that’s not--”

But you were already pushing off the bench, standing too fast. The rain blew inward, speckling your clothes, plastering your hair across your cheeks. You held your sleeves down tight, trying to hide again. “I’m going home,” you said, voice thin. Rain be damned.

His hand shot out, immediately grounding you and halting your steps. “Please stop.”

“Let go,” you whispered, too tired to fight the tremble in your voice. 

“No, stop,” he stood next to you now, refusing to let go of your wrist. “I didn’t pull away because of your blue,” he tugged your arm back gently, coaxing you to turn and face him. His eyes were darkened by the rain, staring into yours like they dared you to look away. “I swear I didn’t, I--” He paused like he needed extra time to rehearse his next words. “I pulled away because of mine.”

The storm seemed to soften for a moment, like even the sky was holding its breath. You blinked. “What the hell are you--”

His breath shook before reaching down to tug back the sleeve of his jacket. Just an inch. But just enough. Something caught the light of the dim yellow bus stop sign, a dim shine intertwined with his flesh. Your heart slammed against your ribs. A faint, fractured line of blue shimmered beneath his skin, like a glow was trying to break through. You couldn’t do anything other than stare down at it. 

He quickly pulled his sleeve back down, the fraction of exposure having been too much for him and he took a step backwards, unable to meet your eyes. “I thought if you found out it would ruin everything, I didn’t want to scare you or…” he trailed off but you weren’t listening. 

“You never saw mine?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I swear I didn’t. I didn’t know until right now.”

The world seemed to tilt sideways. You didn’t understand. “But… you acted like I’d done something wrong.”

He looked at you, eyes wild. “No. No-- God, no. There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s still nothing wrong with you.” He put extra emphasis on his last sentence and you felt your breath catch. 

Your eyes fell back to his hand that had dropped loosely to his side and reached out, taking it in your own. He inhaled sharply. With your other hand, you pulled the sleeve back up, just enough to see blue again. It glowed faintly, alive with a pulse. He ducked his head and looked away while you stared, trying to reel your thoughts in. This whole year, every sideways glance, every cold silence, every step backward -- and he’d been hiding this. You raised a finger to trace over a single vein, seeing it brighten under your touch. It was the same color as yours. He was blue.

You dropped it. “I don’t… really know what to do.”

His eyes searched yours. “What do you mean?”

“Because--” you let out a sigh and pulled at the hair on your scalp, mind spinning. “--what am I supposed to do now? I get it, okay? I really do. You didn’t want me to see your skin, I didn’t want you to see mine either. But… I didn’t try to push you away or embarrass you or make you feel like something was wrong with you.”

Heeseung’s face fell. “I know I hurt you and I’m really really sorry.”

“I thought you hated me.”

“I didn’t,” he said, miserable and unguarded. “I never hated you, I was scared.”

“Of me?” you asked, bitterness curling around each word. 

“No,” he said immediately. “I’ve never told anyone about my skin. I didn’t know how. And then I met you and you were just… You made everything louder. Even from that day in the cafe, or that day you got a new book, my blue was worse around you. You made it so hard to hide. And that scared me. Not you. The way my body reacted to you.” He swallowed, fingers twisting together like he was trying to wring the words out of himself. “I kept telling myself it was just the proximity, or stress, or because you were pretty. But it wasn’t. I liked you, a lot. And I know it might not seem like it but I still do.” He finally looked up. Not confidently or proudly. 

You watched him talk and fidget.

“God, this is really not how I thought I’d be saying this.” He looked like he wanted to reach for you but held back. “I liked you back then and I still do. But I pulled away because I didn’t trust I could stay next to you like that and not ruin it. I thought my blue would ruin it.”

It wasn’t like you didn’t recognize or empathize with what he was saying. It would be hypocritical to deny having thought about doing the same thing yourself. A year ago, his words would’ve undone you, stitched over the confusion, given shape to everything that hadn’t made sense. 

“I…” you started softly. After seeing him again the first day of class, it was pretty clear to you your feelings for him hadn’t disappeared the way you had hoped they would. As confused and frustrated as you were with him, he still made you nervous, he still made your blue pulse, and he still made you want to forgive him. “I was scared too, when I thought you weren’t like me.”

His eyes flickered, attention sharpening when you took your turn to speak.

“I thought you saw me and decided I was something you couldn’t stomach,” you continued. “That being near me made you uncomfortable. And I spent so long trying to get out of your way thinking I was at fault for it.” Your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers curling into the nearly dry fabric of your sleeve. “I want to say finding out you’re blue too fixes things… but I-- I think I need a minute.”

You both stood in silence, marinating in the heaviness of your words, both of you trying to figure out what to say. Nothing seemed right. At one point, a bus pulled up to the stop opening its doors for you. For a second, you debated boarding to avoid this whole conversation but found yourself hesitating. When you glanced up at Heeseung, he stared back at you, almost seeming nervous you would leave. His lips parted like he would say something before closing to let you make your own decision. For some reason, that look was enough to make you stay. 

When the driver understood neither of you had any intention of getting on, she drove away. It was then that Heeseung spoke. 

“I don’t want to pressure you, or make you uncomfortable,” he hesitated but kept talking, “but do you think we could, maybe, try again?”

His question hung between you, fragile as the rain-slicked air. You didn’t answer right away, instead choosing to watch the taillights of the bus fade down the street. When you did look at him, his shoulders were tight like he was bracing for impact. 

“I don’t know how to just… pick up where we left off,” you said finally. “Too much happened, or I guess, didn’t happen.” 

He nodded, ready to give it up already. 

“But I don’t want to pretend I don’t know you either.” Your words surprised yourself. “I don’t think trying again can mean rewinding, I think we need to start somewhere new.”

Hope flicked across his face -- careful and restrained. “Really?”

You didn’t want to tell him you wanted to try again because part of you still liked him. Even though you knew now why he hurt you, he still had. Knowing why didn’t erase it, it just made it… understandable. But you were hopeful too. This was the first time you had met someone else just like you. And he happened to like you. It almost seemed more outrageous to give up than to try again. 

You nodded. “But it has to be slow.”

His breath left him in a quiet rush, like he’d been holding it since last year. “Yeah. Slow. We can do slow.”

“I’m serious,” you said, meeting his eyes. 

“I know,” he said immediately. “I want to do whatever you want to do. I just want the chance to not screw it up this time.”

The rain softened around you, no longer hammering. 

“No disappearing either.”

“I won’t,” he nodded. “I promise.”

You hesitated before correcting him. “Don’t promise, I need you to show me.”

His smile faded into something more earnest. “Okay. I will.”

The next bus arrived in the distance, headlights cutting through the rain. A look was shared between the two of you before simultaneously moving to the curb. 

After class the following week, you took a little longer than usual to pack your bag. While studying for midterms, you had started stuffing any loose paper into your backpack, saying you would sort it later but forgetting. Now you were reaping the consequences. 

Once you finished playing tetris with your papers and books, you stood up and left the classroom, already bringing your headphones out to accompany you on the journey back to your apartment. 

“Hey.” You looked over your shoulder to see Heeseung had waited for you just outside the door. He matched your pace, walking beside you. “Is it okay if we walk together?”

Slow. This was slow.

“Sure.”

It was a little awkward. This was the last class of the day for both of you and since your apartments weren’t far from each other, you were able to catch the same bus as well. You hesitated with small talk, wondering if it would be better to just walk to the bus stop in silence, but he broke the ice for you. 

“It’s kind of crazy there’s only two more weeks left in the semester.”

Your gaze flickered to him for a second. “Yeah, it went by pretty fast.”

…

“How do you think you did on the last exam?”

“Could have been worse. You?”

“Same.”

You boarded the bus and he followed you, finding a seat next to you in the very back. 

“Did you get another book?” he asked, pulling his backpack into his lap to make sitting down easier. 

“Of course I did.” You had awarded yourself with a murder mystery this time -- a topic that you rarely indulged in but enjoyed nonetheless. 

“I started buying books too,” he said quietly. When you looked over to him, he was gazing out the window, eyes fixed on the passing lamp poles and pedestrians. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. Since last semester. I think I’ve read 10 now.”

You blinked, genuinely surprised. “Wow. Do you have a favorite genre?”

“Honestly?” he turned to look at you, almost looking caught off guard to see you already looking at him. “Fantasy. Which feels embarrassing to admit.”

You laughed quietly, the sound surprising both of you. “Why? Fantasy’s great.”

He looked sheepish now. “I dunno, I used to think it was kinda pointless, it wasn’t real. But, now I think that’s kind of the point.”

You pursed your lips thoughtfully. “I could lend you one sometime,” you offered, moving your gaze from him to the window. “If you want. I have options.”

He smiled. 

Heeseung was trying to be intentional with the time the two of you spent together, and you appreciated it. He would always wait for you after your class together, he would talk about books that the both of you had read and could fan over, and sometimes he would offer you a snack he had in his backpack when he started bringing extra. One of the first days after your talk in the rain, he had asked if you wanted to go to a coffee shop together, maybe get some studying done. But you had turned him down. You hadn’t wanted to tell him ‘no’ but something was holding you back. Perhaps the fear of it being too awkward? Whatever your reason was, he had simply nodded and let it go. 

Except now you were regretting it. He would still wait for you after class but he seemed to stop initiating other things together. After turning him down, it was unfair for you to be upset -- he was just respecting your boundaries after all. But it made you realize, if you wanted to continue trying to fix whatever this was, you had to put more effort in too. 

“Are you doing anything now?” you asked him, holding your breath after asking the question. You were walking to the bus stop together again. 

“Now? As in later? In for the next hour?” he clarified and you nodded. “I don’t think so.”

Here goes nothing. “Do you wanna go to Dayglow Cafe? They released a seasonal menu that I wanted to check out…”

The look on his face was careful at first, like he was trying to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding your proposal. “Oh.” His voice was softer than you expected and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Really?”

He laughed. “Really. Do you know how to get there?”

You already knew the way there by heart and he knew that but had asked anyway. “Yup. It’s not far.”

You fell in to step beside him as you rerouted from the bus stop, headed towards the cluster of shops and restaurants on the edge of campus. It wasn’t a long walk, but it felt important -- like crossing some invisible line you’d both been circling. 

“What’s on the seasonal menu?” He asked, glancing at you with his hands in his pockets. 

You rambled a bit about the returning drinks from last year and one specific cinnamon chai cookie you looked forward to every time the menu came back. Heeseung let you, listening in that quiet, attentive way of his. The sidewalk narrowed and he slowed just a little so you wouldn’t have to step off the curb, his shoulder brushing yours as you passed a couple coming the other way. You felt the point of contact begin to hum with blue and wondered if his skin had reacted the same way. 

Heeseung opened the door for you, gesturing with his hand for you to lead the way. He trailed behind you to the counter, listening to you order and asking you to recommend something you thought he would like. 

“Can I have a caramel brulee latte, please?” he asked the cashier, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. You looked at him confused. 

“Are these orders together?” the employee behind the counter asked, but as you opened your mouth to say no, Heeseung had already said yes, inserting his card into the chip reader. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, suddenly feeling the urge to avoid eye contact. “I asked you to come with me.”

“The guy is always supposed to pay.” He said it so matter-of-factly. 

You blinked. “Thats… not a rule?”

He glanced over, sliding his wallet with the receipt back into his pocket and leading you to find a table. “Okay,” he corrected, softer. “Not supposed to. I just wanted to.”

You sat down at the table first and Heeseung followed, pulling out a chair across from you. Something in your chest shifted. The change caught you off guard. Last year, whenever the two of you had gone out to eat together, you sat next to each other. Not across from each other. Seeing him putting that distance there felt… You didn’t really know, but you weren’t sure you liked it. 

Your drinks arrived quickly and another employee carefully brought them out to you. Your cookie had been nicely toasted, radiating steam and pumping up your nerves. 

“Woah! You should at least blow on it first,” Heeseung laughed, seeing you instantly grab the treat from the tray and bring it to your mouth. You, however, heeded zero warning, and proceeded to sink your teeth into the dough. He shook his head with a smile. “You have zero self-preservation when it comes to sweets.”

“That’s not true,” you protested, body already relaxing from the cinnamony goodness entering your body. 

He only smiled further and watched your reaction. “Well?”

You closed your eyes for a half second. “So worth the burn. You should try it.”

You held the cookie out to him and he tentatively grabbed it, encased your hand with his and brought the dessert to his mouth, eating from your hand. A blush instantly fought its way to your cheeks. He bit into it carefully, and for a second, neither of you moved. His thumb rested warm against the side of your palm with the faintest pressure. 

“Hmm,” he hummed, chewing, eyes flicking back up to yours. “Okay. I get it now.”

You laughed a little breath, gently tugging your hand back once he’d finished the bite. “Unfortunately, if you want more you need to get your own. Try your drink too.”

Over the course of the next week, Heeseung ordered the caramel brulee latte three more times, and each time, he would send a picture to you like he was asking for approval. It was moments like that when you realized you had missed him over the past year. 

Instead of just hanging out after class, sometimes he would text you to run an errand with him or get food together and you would find him already waiting outside of your apartment building. 

One night, you were trying to study in your room, desperately trying not to lose focus when your phone buzzed. Heeseung had texted you a picture of his open textbook and asked a question about the material, saying Jay was of no help. You answered and he replied with a ‘thanks :).’ You watched the three dots pop up before disappearing a couple times before he sent another text. 

‘Do you want to study together for the final?’

 You stared at the text longer than necessary. He sent another. 

‘I just figured it would be easier for you to help me in person.’

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, the mental debate in your head making them tremble just slightly. Should you invite him?

‘We’re doing a group study thing tomorrow night if you wanna come,’ you typed out and sent. He simply ‘thumbs-up-ed’ the message. 

The study group was taking place in Sua and Nayeon’s apartment. With the finals approaching quickly, it was nearly impossible to find anywhere on campus to study, especially with a large group of people. After remembering the epic fail that was last year’s attempt at a finals study party in the library, your friends had decided to host instead. 

Initially, you had been hesitant to ask if Heeseung could crash the group. It wasn’ t the fact you were inviting him to their apartment that bothered you -- you knew they always liked having a bunch of people over -- it was more so the questions you knew would bound to come from it. And come they did. 

“Heeseung??”

“Didn’t you guys fight last year?”

“I thought we decided we didn’t like him?”

“Since when were you two talking again?”

“Is he bringing Jay?”

“Are you together now?”

You tried your best to calm everyone’s fire. Nayeon had come out of the kitchen where she was preparing snacks to sit beside you on the couch, leaning in with curiosity.  Sua had stopped her conversation with her new boyfriend, Ni-ki, to join in on the interrogation, filling Ni-ki in on “previous lore.”

“I don’t know, we just had a misunderstanding last year but we’re talking through it.”

Jiyoon cocked her head to the side to share a look with Jake and crossed her arms. “That was a big misunderstanding.” 

You didn’t have a response. She wasn’t wrong and everyone in the room knew it. The silence stretched just long enough to be uncomfortable before Nayeon nudged your knee with hers. 

“Okay,” she said, taking on a gentle tone. “But you’re talking again. That’s good, right? I was sad when you guys stopped talking.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“And you invited him here,” Sua added, eyes bright, already halfway to a conclusion. 

“For studying,” you emphasized. 

Jake hummed. “You didn’t invite anyone else specifically for studying.”

“That’s because everyone else just shows up,” you muttered. 

More prying questions asked but before much more teasing could ensue, there was a knock at the door. Every head snapped toward it. 

“I’ll get it,” Sua said far to quickly, shooting up to her feet and beelining towards the door. “Everybody act natural.” The way she said it felt geared towards you and the way she glanced over her shoulder in your direction did nothing to settle the sudden nerves rising in your throat. Her hand twisted the doorknob and you instinctively tugged your sleeves down. 

Heeseung stood there with Jay beside him, both holding a case of drinks like peace offerings. Heeseung looked… nervous. Not painfully so, but enough that you noticed. Sua invited them in happily, encouraging them to leave the drinks on the kitchen counter and settle in. Heeseung stepped inside, eyes flicking over Sua’s shoulder and finding you almost instantly. The look on his face softened when he did, like he had been bracing himself for something but finally relaxed. You gave him a small smile. And just like that, the week you’d been circling -- texts, coffee outings, walks, even shoulder-bumping -- collapsed into this moment. All of a sudden, everything felt very real, very public. 

Jay broke the tension first, of course. 

“Wow,” he said, eyes sweeping the living room already littered with notebooks and half-eaten snacks. “You guys started without us.”

“Well you can’t expect us to just sit patiently and wait when you get here 30 minutes after we said we were starting,” Jiyoon rolled her eyes, settling criss-cross-applesauce on the floor in front of the coffee table where her textbook lay open. 

“Pardon me for wanting to bring the celebratory post-study-group drinks,” he fired back, kicking his shoes off and entering the chaos. 

“Come find somewhere to sit,” Nayeon called out, gesturing to the open spots scattered throughout the room. Your friends had conveniently chosen to take the spots next to you, almost in a cautious manner, like they wanted to understand the situation better before throwing you to the wolves. 

Jay flopped down beside Jake on one of the beanbags Nayeon had thrifted last year, pulling his book out to study but immediately getting sidetracked in conversation. Heeseung found a spot by Jiyoon on the floor and she quickly pulled him into the discussion she was having with Ni-ki about some kind of sociology concept. You were grateful to see no one was making it awkward. 

The room slowly settled into the familiar rhythm of group studying. Pages flipped, pens tapped the table, someone groaned every few minutes to complain about their finals. You leaned over your notes, trying to memorize the different apocalyptic societal structures, but every so often your eyes would drift up on their own. 

Heeseung listened to the others more than he spoke, playing along as Jiyoon made him help her study her flashcards. For some strange reason, you blue warmed at seeing him interacting with your friends again. 

Nayeon slide closer to you, lowering her voice. “You good?” she asked casually, like she wasn’t watching everything. 

“Yeah,” you said immediately. “Why?”

She raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching. “No reason. Just checking.”

When the time read 11:45, Jay stood and stretched. “I don’t know about you guys, but I feel like that was enough studying for tonight, right? 5 hours?”

A chorus of agreements followed along with books and laptops snapping shut. 

“Thank goodness,” Jake sighed. “I didn’t want to be the first one to say it.”

Jay was already moving towards the kitchen. “And…” he announced, bringing out the bottles of soju he and Heeseung had brought over earlier, “it’s time for the reward portion of the evening.”

Bottles and shot glasses were passed around easily, People picked different flavors, some earning judgement for the choices while others shared their drinks. Nayeon poured Sua a glass, Ni-ki drank straight out of one of the bottles and earned a look for it, and Jake was already two shots in. 

When Jay extended a bottle in your direction, he paused. “Do you want-- oh. Right.”

You shook your head with a small smile. “I’m good.”

He nodded, recalling your drinking habits -- or rather lack there of -- from last year and moved on. A second later, you noticed Heeseung hadn’t taken anything either. He sat where he was, back against the wall, hands fiddling with the wrapped of a snack in his lap. 

“You’re not drinking?” Jiyoon asked, squinting at Heeseung over the rim of her glass. 

He shook his head. No explanation. No joke. Just a simple no. 

You felt it then. The quiet awareness that settled between you, sharing the same unspoken reason. A soft reminder that you were the same. 

Laughter swelled as the room tipped into that loose, end-of-the-night energy. People talking over each other, bodies slouching, someone turning on a throwback playlist. And as cliche as it was, everyone settled in to a game of truth or dare after someone found an old deck of cards under the coffee table. 

“We’ll draw,” Jake decides. “Red is truth, black is dare.”

The game starts loose, almost lazy. Sua scrolls through a list on her phone of different prompts and reads them out like he’s curating. 

Jiyoon drew a card first, flipping over a red and answered the question of ‘who is the most toxic person you know?’ She answered without hesitation, earning a couple laughs. 

Ni-ki was next, also drawing truth. “No, I don’t believe in love at first sight but I do believe in bad decisions at first sight.”

“I know that’s right,” Nayeon, raised her shot glass in the air to Jiyoon and tilted her head forward before both of them downed a shot in agreement. 

Sua was the first to draw a black card and let Jay read out the corresponding dare on her phone. 

“Change one piece of clothing with someone in this room.”

You tried not to visibly freeze, glancing down at the clothes you were wearing. Nothing you had on could be taken off without flashing blue, even your socks. 

Sua scanned the room jokingly. “I choose…”

Please not me, please not me, please not me.

“...Ni-ki!”

“Oh gross, get a room,” Nayeon droned, dramatically looking away as they exchanged hoodies. Ni-ki pulled Sua’s on without hesitation, grinning like he’d won something. The room laughed, observing the stark difference in the way Ni-ki’s hoodie swallowed Sua and how Sua’s hoodie nearly preventing Ni-ki from raising his arms. 

The deck slid across the table and Jay drew red. “Truth,” he announced proudly like it was a challenge. 

“What was your last dream about?”

“I was Ethan Hunt on a cruise ship and I was stopping monsters from being trafficked.”

“Bro what?” Jake voiced the confusion everyone else in the room was feeling. 

“Don’t ask me, man. I have no idea.”

You were next, picking up the next card and flipping it over. Black. Sua read off your dare. “Send a flirty text to the last person you messaged.” A ripple of ooooohs moved through the room immediately and Jiyoon sang a small “Uh oh.”

The phone in your pocket began to feel impossibly heavy as you reached for it. You didn’t need to check your messages to know who the person was. Across the room, Heeseung didn’t look at you but you noticed the way his shoulders shifted anyway. 

“I can pass, right?” you asked, hoping someone would tell you no.

“You can,” Jay said. “But you don’t have to show us what you send either.”

There were a few nods of agreement. You hesitated but unlocked your phone anyway. The blue stirred faintly under your skin. Not flaring, just alert, like it was paying attention to you. You typed slowly. 

‘Technically, we didn’t study together today. Maybe we should try again?’

It wasn’t overt, but it wasn’t nothing other. Your fingers hovered over the send button, debating sending it at all. No one would even know if you lied and said you sent the text when you didn’t. You could send it to someone else instead? Sure, it was truth or dare, but you didn’t actually have to be truthful, right?

You let your eyes flicker up to Heeseung. He had been looking at you, waiting patiently with everybody else for you to send the message, but as soon as you looked at him he had looked away. Your stomach flipped. If you didn’t send the message to him, he would assume you sent it to somebody else, even if you hadn’t sent one at all. And the two of you weren’t dating, you were just talking? If that’s even what you would call whatever this was. Were you exclusive? Were you--

You swallowed the thoughts down and sent the message, turning your phone off and flipping it over in your lap to hide the screen. “Done.”

A few people booed playfully, disappointed there was no grand reveal but that didn’t matter. In no world were you going to broadcast who you had just subtly flirted with. Across the table, you watched Heeseung pause in his movements and then snap his attention to you. You knew he just felt his phone vibrate. He didn’t check the message right away, instead focusing his eyes somewhere on the floor and listening to the next person draw their card, almost like he was willing the notification to be yours. 

You didn’t watch him finally read it. You couldn’t. You drew your attention to the hum of voices, the playlist cycling to another familiar song, and the way your blue stayed nervous beneath your skin. A few seconds passed, then a few more. The game kept moving. 

“Do an impression of another player.”

“Show the last picture in your camera roll.”

The deck slid to Heeseung this time and he flipped over a red. 

Sua scrolled, then read aloud, voice careful but not gentle. “Have you ever wanted to kiss someone but didn’t?”

The room reacted immediately, stirring with the sudden fiery subject. He dropped his gaze to the card in his hand. “Yeah.”

Your heart involuntarily sank. You didn’t want to hear that.

Jay leaned forward. “Care to elaborate?”

“Nope,” Heeseung replied, quicker this time, but not defensive. Just firm. “That’s all you get.”

“That’s such a cop-out,” Jake complained. “Everyone would say ‘yes’ to that question, the fun part is knowing who.”

“Let him live,” Nayeon said, though her eyes flickered briefly between the two of you like she was connected dots. 

“Make him do another one,” Jiyoon said, pushing the deck back towards him. 

Heeseung let out a short breath through his nose, but he took the cards anyway. “This is evil. That’s not how the game works.”

“It is now,” Sua said. “House rules.”

He hesitated, then flipped the top card.

Black. 

He went still as soon as Sua finished reading the prompt.

“Say one thing that another player did once that you found hot.”

“Oh that is criminal,” Ni-ki muttered under his breath to her but she only wriggled her eyebrows.

“You can pass,” Jake offered in mercy as Heeseung swallowed and carefully set the card down. 

“Um… Okay--” he stopped himself, as the room quieted and you watched intently. Was it selfish to hope it would be about you? “When someone,” he began before correcting himself, “--when you corrected me.”

A few people blinked. 

“In front of other people,” he added. “You didn’t hesitate but you weren’t mean about it either. You just looked at me and said I was wrong. And that,” his eyes lifted to yours for a fraction of a second, “was… hot.”

The room exploded a second later but it barely reached you. Because that wasn’t a memory anyone else had. It was yours. And it wasn’t even something you understood. Was what he meant to tell you that all those times in class where you constantly shut him down out of annoyance, he actually enjoyed? Those moments when your irritation had been sharper than politeness. The way you’d assumed he’d taken it badly. The way you quietly worried afterward that you’d been too blunt, too much. Surely not. 

Heeseung’s ears were burned red. “Okay, someone else go now.”

A couple more rounds carried on and in the midst of them, you felt your phone buzz. You hesitated before checking it. 

‘Are you busy tomorrow?’

You glanced up without meaning to. Heeseung was still engaged in the game, laughing at something Jay said, but there was a tension in his posture now -- like he was braced for something, even while pretending he wasn’t. You typed back slowly. 

‘I’m free if you’re free.’

This time, when his phone buzzed, he didn’t wait. He checked it immediately. Instead of texting back, he looked at you and nodded with a small smile. 

The game kept going, someone shouted, someone spilled a drink. People stood to grab refills from the fridge or snacks left on the kitchen counter. Ni-ki abandoned the floor for a beanbad, Nayeon moved from her spot on the couch to attach herself next to Jiyoon on the floor. Jake moved towards the wall to get closer to the charger. Heeseung had left momentarily for the bathroom and stood awkwardly at the edge of the group after seeing his spot had been filled by Nayeon. His hands were tucked into his pockets like he wasn’t sure where to go and you glanced at the open seat next to you before looking back up to him. He met your eyes and you tilted your heads towards the spot beside you, silently calling him over. He caught your cue immediately. 

His shoulders eased as he crossed the room, sitting down next to you. You blue settled, warm and steady, as if it approved of the choice. 

“Jiyoon, is there someone here you’d say yes to if they asked you out?” Sua read out the next truth, giggling. 

Jiyoon thought for a minute, staring at the ground, the alcohol in her system making her sway. “Yes.”

A couple gasps chorused around the circle as she quickly covered her mouth. She was gonna regret that when she sobered up. 

“Who??” Nayeon demanded, suddenly sitting up straighter. 

“I’m drunk but I’m not that drunk,” she only laughed. 

You leaned forward, pushing a plastic water bottle towards her and urging her to drink it. “Hydrate yourself before you incriminate yourself further,” you said, resting your elbows on your knees and making sure she took the proper amount of sips. She mumbled something about you being a saint before pushing the deck towards you now. 

“Black,” Sua noted the color of the card you flipped over. 

“I wanna pick one,” he grumbled, already picking through the list with the single-minded determination of someone who should not be trusted. 

“Jake--” Sua started. 

“Nope. My turn,” he said, then stopped scrolling. A grin spread across his face. “I dare you to put a blindfold on and touch someone’s face and try to figure out who it is.”

“What kind of dare is that?” Jay retorted. “Give Sua the phone back.”

“I kinda like it,” your friend said, already getting up to find something in the apartment that would successfully block your vision. She settled on a bandana and called you over to tie it over your eyes. 

“We should do three people instead, make it more fun,” Nayeon drawled. “I volunteer!”

“You can’t volunteer,” Jiyoon shushed her. “Then she’s gonna know one of them is you.”

A pair of hands directed you to stand next to where you assumed the TV was and to hold out your hands. The group bickered in hushed voices to choose who the volunteers should be before lining them up in front of you. 

“Okay,” you heard Sua clap her hands once. “No peeking, hands out.”

You did as instructed, extending your arms into the empty space in front of you . The bandana blocked everything -- light, color, context -- leaving hyper aware of sound and proximity. The blue stirred beneath your skin, alert but not panicked. 

Someone stepped forward and you reached out. Your fingertips brushed skin, cheekbone first, then jaw. Everything was soft and warm. You traced the bridge of their nose before smiling. 

“Jiyoon,” you said confidently.

‘How did you get it that fast?” she complained, stepping back for the next person. “Maybe this is too easy.”

“I’ve known you for years, of course I know your face.”

Another presence replaced the first. Taller, you thought. You lifted your hands again, more tentative this time, fingers meeting a different face. This one had sharper angles, rougher skin. You pressed gently at their cheek and moved down to their jaw, finding a prominent edge. That alone gave them away. 

“Jay,” you said, pulling your hands back. 

“Damn, she’s good,” Sua muttered. “Okay, okay, last one.”

You felt this person step in before you even touched them. Your blue hummed in heightened awareness. Your lips parted slightly, already prepared with your answer but you hesitated, lifting your hands anyway. 

Your fingertips met his skin and you traced the curve of his cheek slowly, then the bridge of his nose. Even though you had never touched his face before, everything felt familiar.  Your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth without you meaning to, a soft, accidental graze that sent a quiet jolt through you. He inhaled sharply, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that you felt it under your fingertips. 

“Heeseung.”

Your hands lifted to the knot of the bandana and tugged it loose. Light rushed back in, colors snapped back into place, the living room reappeared in a blur. Heeseung stood in front of you, close, cheeks pink, jaw set. He didn’t look away when your focus finally landed on him. For a second, neither of you moved. 

The room was loud again, laughter cresting and people shuffling back to their places around the room. You stiffly followed Heeseung back to the couch, sitting next to him once more. The space between you felt different now -- more charged maybe. 

“Can we just have a sleepover?” Jiyoon asked Sua, pushing Ni-ki to the side and hugging her waist. “I’m sleepy.”

“You were trying to get in her pants even before you drank,” Ni-ki laughed, half-heartedly trying to pry her off. 

“I’m serious,” Jiyoon insisted. “No one should be driving anywhere like this.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room but you stood up, saying you needed to be home tonight. Sleepovers were not really your thing, especially since you had no control over the way your clothes moved when you slept. Heeseung seemed to follow you out, coming up with an excuse of his own, no doubt for the same reason as you. Most people seemed distracted by the sudden waves of drowsiness overtaking them so there was little protest to your departure. 

After you slipped on your shoes and slung your backpack over your shoulder, Heeseung offered to walk you home. The way he said it made it seem like the decision had already been made before you even responded. It was a quick walk, your own apartment was in the same building, just a couple units down. When you reached the front door, you slowed, reluctant in a way that surprised you. 

“Maybe we should get a drink together sometime too,” Heeseung asked carefully, rocking slightly on his heels. “Just the two of us.”

You watched him fidget, the idea of drinking together intriguing you. You hadn’t had a drink with someone in years, not after you learned the alcohol only made your blue brighter. Anytime you needed a drink, you had to do it alone. But Heeseung-- he was the first person you could share that with. 

“I think I’d like that. Maybe tomorrow?” you suggested, fingers tightening around the strap of your backpack. 

His head lifted, warmth spreading across his features. “Do you wanna come over to my place? Tomorrow.”

You nodded and echoed him. “Tomorrow.”

He leaned in just a fraction, close enough that you felt his breath warm your cheek. Your heart thudded, the blue stirred -- brighter but controlled -- like it was holding its breath with you. For a split second, you thought he might kiss you. You thought you might let him. His hand started to raise, ready to reach for you, but he dropped it a beat later. 

“Thanks for letting me study with you guys. It was nice to see everyone again.”

“I’m glad you came.”

There was a pause after that, something lingering in the air. Then he shifted back a step, giving you space without quite retreating. His hands slid into his pockets, shoulder relaxing. 

“I’ll text you,” he said. “About tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting,” you replied, surprising yourself with how easily it came out.

That earned you a smile. A small one, but a pretty one. “Goodnight,” he said.

“Goodnight, Heeseung.”

Tomorrow night came quickly. Even when the two of you had been close last year you had never seen his apartment. Going over now seemed like a really big step in starting over -- going further than having gone before. You stood at the entrance of the building, your fingers hovering over his contact in your phone before you pushed the call button. He answered after the second ring.

“Y/N?”

You blue glowed at him saying your name. “I’m outside.”

“Okay, I’ll buzz you through the door. Apartment 301, remember?”

You heard the main door click unlocked and entered, walking through the lobby and trying to find the elevator. He stayed on the phone with you while you made your way up, guiding you through the halls to the front of his door. As soon as you stepped in front of the door viewer, it swung open. 

Heeseung’s face appeared in the doorway, his phone to his ear and a smile on his face. “Hi.”

You heard his voice both in front of you and through your phone speaker. “Hi,” you offered back, lowering the phone and hanging up. 

“Come in,” he beckoned you inside, stepping back to let you pass.

You walked in, the door clicking shut behind you. His apartment was quiet in an intentional way, lights warm but not bright. It smelled faintly of coffee and laundry detergent. It smelled like him. That connection alone made your blue hum. 

“Sorry,” he said, coming up behind you. “It’s kind of boring.”

You smiled. “It’s nice.”

It was only when he moved to stand in front of you that you realized he was wearing a t-shirt. Your eyes immediately fell to his exposed arms, breath catching at the blue tracing lightning under the skin. His back was to you so he didn’t notice the way your eyes raked across his forearms, shoulders, and back. The fabric itself was thin enough you could make out the faint glow of blue streaking across his body. 

You suddenly felt very hot. This was the first time you were seeing anyone like you. And it was him. Every line of blue managed to make his features sharper, they were drawing you in like a moth to a flame. Something about seeing even just the skin of his forearms for the first time made you take a pause. You needed to look away. 

“Do you, uh,” your eyes searched the apartment, “do you live alone?”

He turned to look at you and met your eyes, noticing the way your gaze flicked back down to his arms. He tugged lightly at the hem of the sleeves around his biceps, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh, yeah, I do. Sorry, I wasn’t even thinking about it. I don’t like wearing hoodies when I’m at home.”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine. I don’t either,” you said a little too fast. You didn’t want him to cover up. You liked the way you could see his blue, and the way his muscles shifted when he moved, and the faint veins at his wrists. It almost felt scandalous having never seen them until now. “I brought my books?”

His attention shifted to your backpack and he nodded. “Right. Studying. Do you want to sit?” he asked, gesturing toward the couch. “Or-- kitchen? Wherever you want to go.”

“Kitchen is good,” you said, following him over to the bar stools under the small kitchen island. You slid into one of the stools, setting your backpack down by your feet. 

The kitchen was quiet, the low hum of the fridge was the only thing filling the air other than small tension. Heeseung took the stool next to you. 

“We can study for a bit and then take a break maybe?” he suggested, laying his own notebook on the table. “Or we could study for a long time? Or not at all?”

You couldn’t help but laugh and teased him. “You don’t seem like you want to study.”

“Well who ever really wants to study?” he said, leaning his forearms against the island. His sleeves rode up just a bit more and you looked away. 

“Wants are drowned out by needs,” you replied simply, pulling out the readings from class you had printed out and stapled together. “We need to study.”

He hummed. “Okay.”

Together, you went through the study guide, taking turns trying to explain the point of each author the exam would cover. This person believes in this theory, this philosopher objects to this theory, this guy created this social structure, etc. 

“So,” Heeseung said, peering down at one of the pages, “walk me through this part again? I swear it made sense to me yesterday but now…”

You nodded and tried your best to explain, pointing to a line of text with your pen. Halfway through, you realized he wasn’t interrupting. Not even pretending to follow along while waiting for his turn to talk. He was watching you -- your hands, your face, your mouth moving to explain things. 

“...and that’s why Dworkin draws that line,” you finished, glancing up. “At least, I think.”

“I think you’re right,” he said quietly, looking back to the book. 

The two of you continued working through the study guide until you frowned at a section and tapped the margin of the page with your pen. “Okay wait, this is where I get stuck.”

Heeseung looked up immediately. “Where?”

“This part,” you said, sliding the paper closer to him. “I get why this philosopher makes the distinction, but I don’t get how it actually avoids the objection. It feels like he’s just… renaming the problem.”

He leaned in, closer than before. You caught yourself watching the way the blue shifted along his skin as he moved, then forced your eyes to the text. 

“You’re not wrong,” he said slowly. “It does sound like that at first.” He traced the paragraph with his finger. “But I think what he’s trying to get at is it’s not about suffering versus not suffering. It’s about narrative.”

You only looked at him confused. He paused when he saw your expression and then let out a quiet laugh, shifting on the stool to angle his body toward you more fully. 

“Think of it like this. He’s saying the harm isn’t just in how something ends, it’s in whether the person ever had the chance to shape their life in the first place.”

You frowned, thinking. “So… it’s not about the outcome being bad, it’s about something being taken away before it could even matter?”

“Exactly,” he said, eyes lighting up a little. “If someone never had access to the thing that gives their life meaning -- choice, agency, whatever -- then that’s the loss. Even if the end result looks the same from the outside.”

“Ooooookay,” you drew out the word, searching the text he was pointing at. “So the objection misses the point because it’s arguing about pain, and he’s arguing about structure.”

He smiled. “That’s a much better way to put it.”

You returned to the paper, taking notes and highlighting things that you knew you would need more help remembering. The two of you continued helping each other learn topics the other was struggling on and if you were both lost, you would turn to your notes, racing to see who could come up with an answer first. 

At some point, the studying slowed. Your pen stopped moving. His posture was against the papers in front of you. Quiet conversation had taken over notes review. Then he asked, “You still okay with… a drink?”

Your blue stirred, excited at the prospect of drinking with someone other than yourself. “Yes please.”

He got a couple bottles out of the fridge and cracked one open. He poured a cup for himself first, then for you, stopping well short of full. The liquid caught the light as he set the glass in front of you, fingers brushing yours briefly as you took it. You stood there for a second, glasses in hand. 

“To,” he started, then stopped himself. “Uh. Studying?”

You smiled. “To studying.”

He laughed and clinked his glass gently against yours. You took a small sip, letting the alcohol burn your mouth before choking it down. It felt like fire moving down your throat before resting like a bowling ball in your stomach. 

“Do you wanna move to the couch maybe? It’s more comfortable than the stools,” Heeseung suggested, head nodding in the direction of the small living room area. 

You complied, taking your glass and a bottle with you. Heeseung did the same, following you to the cushions and collapsing next to you, still a distance apart. You shifted to settle in, tucking one let under yourself, glass balanced carefully in your hand. The air felt quieter now that you weren’t hovering over papers. 

Heeseung leaned back, one arm draped along the back of the couch, the other holding his drink. The blue along his forearm pulsed faintly as he moved, entrancing you like a spell. “I forgot how quiet my place gets,” he said. “I don’t really notice it until somebody else is here.”

“It’s nice,” you replied. “The quiet.”

You took another couple sips. The warmth spread again, slower this time, less shocking. Then you leaned back into the couch, head tipping against the cushion. 

“You know,” you added, “you are the first person I’ve had a drink with in years.”

A slow smile split his face. “I’m honored.” There was a pause. “You are the first person I’ve been able to wear a t-shirt with.”

You couldn’t help but grin back and looked down to the drink in your hands. “I, uh… I also wore a t-shirt. Under this, I mean,” you motioned to the hoodie you were wearing.

His eyebrows lifted. “You did?”

You nodded, still looking at your glass while a self-conscious laugh slipped out. “I kept thinking I should change or add a layer or something. It’s weird to think that it doesn’t matter what I wear when I see you now”

A smirk made its way across his face. “So you’re saying you were thinking about me before you even got here.”

You scoffed but the heat in your cheeks gave you away. Your blue simmered in slight embarrassment. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He leaned closer, grin widening. “Too late.”

You took another sip, definitely bigger than planned and immediately regretted how fast the warmth spread. The blue responded, its resting state brighter than usual. “That was bold. Is this what you’re like when you drink?”

He laughed. “We’re not even one drink in yet. Why don’t you stick around and find out?”

Another glass was poured, then one more. The air buzzed between you, warm, playful, charged and yet not heavy. 

“We’re really bad at studying,” you joked, tilting your head back to the kitchen island where your books lay abandoned. 

“I never claimed to be good at it,” Heeseung defended himself, sipping straight out of the bottle this time. “I only suggested studying to hang out.”

You stared at him, resting your chin in your palm. “Clever boy.”

He shrugged, completely apologetic. “It worked.”

“You could’ve just asked to see me”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning forward, putting more weight onto the arm that still lay across the back of the couch. “But then you might’ve said no.”

“I would’ve said yes,” you protested lightly. 

He tilted his head. “You sure?”

You hummed and finished off the glass, setting it on the table. The air felt 10x hotter than before and you yanked the hoodie over your head, tossing it lazily across the armrest behind you. When you settled back against the couch, your shoulder rested against Heeseung’s arm. You could feel the steady thrum of his blue through the fabric of your sleeve. Mindlessly, you lifted a finger to trace his forearm, smiling when his blue glowed under your touch. 

“I like that you glow,” you mumbled. “It looks pretty.”

He sucked in a breath and let out a laugh through an exhale like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the compliment. His eyes followed your finger, which continued to draw over the lines in his arm. The blue followed your touch obediently, brightening everywhere you went. “Yeah?”

You nodded. 

His head dipped down to rest against his own arm, face now dangerously close to your hand. “Yours is too.” His free hand lifted to grab yours, pulling it away from his arm, just to hold it. “I like that you’re not hiding it.”

Your fingers curled into his almost without thinking, the blue in your wrist trying to push its way to his hand, like it wanted to tie the two of you together. You watched the way your body reacted to him. “Do you… wanna get one more drink?” you asked softly, looking up at him. 

He gazed back. “You’re just getting started, huh?”

You cocked your head and grinned. “The night is young.”

The two of you stood, making your way back to the kitchen. As soon as you stretched your legs, your mind swirled, the alcohol in your system becoming dangerously apparent. On the first step you tried to take, you stumbled, hand shooting out to grip his arm to balance yourself. His reaction was instinctive, one hand flying to your waist while the other gently closed over your wrist where you were gripping his arm. 

“Whoa,” he chuckled softly, more fond than alarmed. “You good?”

“Just… gravity’s being weird,” you made up an excuse and waved him off, finding your balance. 

He smiled and guided you the rest of the way to the kitchen at a deliberately slower pace. He didn’t move his hand from your waist. “Here, lean against the this,” he said, leading you to the kitchen counter while he stepped back to grab another bottle from the fridge. “I think you should drink some water too.”

Heeseung slid a glass of water to you, urging you to finish it before he poured you more alcohol. His intentionality made you grin lazily. 

“You like taking care of me.”

He approached you, halting when he stood directly in front of you and leaned down slightly. Your mind was too muddled to panic at the way he wiped the water that had missed your mouth away from the corner of your lips. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I do. Finish it.”

You raised the glass to your lips, meeting his eyes briefly as you tilted your head back. The cool water acted like a shot to your system, grounding you but only slightly. When all of the water was gone, you slid the cup back onto the counter and looked up at him, lips quirking, “Happy?”

He seemed closer now. His hands gripped the counter you were pressed against on either side, trapping you in front of him as he leaned in. He wasn’t touching, but he was close enough that you could feel the heat of him -- the blue. 

“You’re blocking my escape route,” you pointed out, trying for lightness when he didn’t seem like he heard your previous question. 

“Are you trying to escape?” he asked. 

“I didn’t say that.”

His gaze dropped, just briefly, to your lips, then flicked back up like he hadn’t meant to let it happen. “You’re drunk,” he said more to himself than to you. 

“So are you,” you countered. 

“Yeah,” he admitted. “That’s the problem.”

One of his hands shifted on the counter, fingers flexing, knuckles whitening for a second like he was restraining himself from doing something he thought he would regret later. You noticed and the alcohol in your system stripped away the instinct to pretend  you hadn’t. 

“Are you okay?” you asked, barely holding back from reaching out. Seeing his face so close to yours was making you giddy. Or maybe it was the alcohol doing that? Or both?

He straightened just a fraction, creating the smallest sliver of space between you, like he needed air. One hand lifted from the counter and hovered near your arm before dropping back down as if he’d burned himself. “I’m fine, let’s  just… go back to the couch.”

You agreed, waiting for him to step back far enough for you to move. When you pushed off the counter, you felt the shadow of his hand, the faintest touch of his fingers, hover over your waist again, like he was scared you would stumble once more on the walk to the living room. You smiled quietly to yourself but said nothing. 

The two of you sat noticeably closer to each other this time on the couch. Your knees were touching and his arm was once again over the back of the cushion. You liked to imagine it was over your shoulders instead but tried not to get too carried away in your thoughts. Your glasses had been refilled and he was already over halfway through his. 

 The alcohol in your system was making you ramble, jumping from subject to subject in a drunken daze. Heeseung nodded along lazily, always listening. It was when he put his 6th glass down that you poked fun at him. 

“You’re definitely more drunk than me,” you said, poking his arm and laughing. “You’re all quiet now.”

“What if I just like listening to you talk?” he asked, cocking his head. 

“Well, I would say I’m flattered but…” you tilted your own head to his arm behind you, “you’re blue is giving you away.”

Heeseung furrowed his eyebrows only slightly, grabbing your wrist and comparing his forearm to yours. “I think you’re more drunk,” he protested. “Look.”

The blue under your skin was admittedly brighter than his, but how were you supposed to tell him he was at fault for that and not the alcohol? His bangs sweeping over his forehead, his pink cheeks, seeing the blue spiking through his collarbone for the first time, the veins in his arms-- In some ways, the excuse of alcohol was saving you from the embarrassment of trying to explain why he was setting you on fire. 

You laughed softly, trying to pull your wrist back, but his grip tightened. You willed your body not to visibly pulse at the contact he was giving you. “That’s not fair. It’s always like that.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, brushing his thumb over your wrist now, watching the color twinkle at his touch. 

You sucked in a breath, looking away but not pulling away. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Am I?” he asked quietly, eyes still fixed on where his thumb traced your skin. “I’m just observing.”

“Very hands-on observation,” you muttered. 

He smiled at that, but didn’t let go. His grip seemed to soften but he continued holding your hand, tracing absentmindedly. “I like that you glow too. You’re pretty.”

You leaned in slightly, peering at the way he had your arms tangled together. The movement brought you closer, close enough that his knee was pressed fully into yours. The drinks you had had made your vision lag, swimming slightly. With slow blinks, you tried your best to focus on the way he played with your hands. The world felt a little unsteady, like it was tilting toward him no matter how hard you were trying to anchor yourself on the other side of the couch. You watched his thumb move, slow and deliberate across your skin, sending sparks up your arm. Involuntarily, whether due to him or due to the alcohol was unknown to you, you felt yourself swaying forward. 

Heeseung’s gaze was locked on your hands like he was hypnotized by the way your arms glowed side-by-side. His thumb slowed, then stilled completely, as if he’d felt the shift in the air. Your sway brought you closer another inch. 

When he finally looked up, you couldn’t find it in yourself to back away. The intensity in his eyes made your breath hitch, the way they moved from your hands to your face, the blue glowing around you reflecting in them. His gaze lingered on yours, like he was trying to decide something and failing spectacularly. You were close enough now that you could see the way his lashes cast faint shadows under his eyes. 

For a moment, he didn’t move at all. His breath was slow and deliberate, like he was measuring it. “Y/N…” His thumb hovered where it had stilled, then shifted just enough to press lightly into your skin again. “You’re not sober right now.”

“Neither are you,” you replied, just as quietly.  

His eyes dropped to your mouth and stayed there for too long. When they finally lifted again, they were darker, conflicted, full of something he clearly didn’t want to name out loud. He exhaled through his nose like he was counting backward, like he was trying to sober up. 

“I’m trying to be a good friend right now,” he whispered, voice gruff. His grip on you tightened. “I said I would take it slow.”

“Do you still like me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then kiss me.”

You don’t know what made you say that. In that moment, none of your actions felt like they had any consequences. He was so close to you, mere inches away. His hands held yours and your legs were pressed together. A distance of 5 inches was the only thing keeping you away from him and you suddenly wanted it gone. You know you had said that if you wanted to try again, everything had to be slow -- but you were done with slow. You wanted him. 

His eyes widened and he subconsciously leaned in, still holding back. “Y/N,” he breathed, your name heavy on his tongue. His eyes searched yours slow and careful, like he was looking for hesitation, regret -- anything that would give him an excuse to pull away. He didn’t seem to find it. “I promised myself I wouldn’t rush this. I don’t want to mess it up.”

His forehead hovered just short of yours, breath warm and uneven, like he was fighting himself more than the situation. His uncertainty made you falter. Slowly, you backed up, embarrassment blooming across your face. A weird feeling of nausea shot through your body. He didn’t want this. 

“Hey,” he murmured, softer now. He waited until you looked at him again to continue. “I want to. Believe me, I do. But… not like this.” His hand tightened over yours, like a promise he was deliberately not cashing in yet. “Not when we’re like this.”

Your chest tightened. “So you don’t--”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he cut in gently, immediately. “I like you. But I don’t want our first kiss to be something we have to question in the morning.” He leaned back, shoulders hunching over in an apology. “I want you sober. I want me sober. I want to know we chose it.”

You knew he was right. Of course he was. So you swallowed, nodding once as the feeling settled heavy in your chest. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “You’re right.”

The embarrassment lingered, sharp and warm. You shifted back against the couch, wanting to put space between you. He noticed. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, still hunched slightly, still holding your hand. “If I pushed too far, or if I made it weird.”

You shook your head, not wanting him to feel bad when you had been the one to try and push him. “You didn’t. You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”

Your hand slipped from his as you moved to stand up, reaching backwards to pick up your forgotten hoodie from the armrest. The movement had been too quick, the room tilting just enough to remind you how late -- and how drunk -- it was. 

“I should probably go,” you said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “I can pay you back for the drinks when I get home.”

“Woah, wait, slow down,” he stood as well, following you from behind as you moved to the kitchen counter. When you got close enough to reach it, you gripped onto the marble like it would prevent you from falling over. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, bending down to pick your bag up off the floor where you’d left it. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

He bit his lip, hesitated, like the words were lined up in his mouth but refused to come out. “You don’t… have to leave. I mean--” He ran a hand through his hair, clearly recalibrating. “You can, obviously, I just…”

You looked up at him. 

“If you want,” he continued, gentler now, “you could stay over instead.”

The air shifted and you blinked. “Stay over?” After he had just said he didn’t want to kiss you?

“Yeah,” he said quickly, before you could overthink it. “Nothing weird, I’ll take the couch and you can have the bed.” He met your eyes earnestly. “I just don’t love the idea of you heading out like this.”

You studied his face. The concern. The restraint. The way he was clearly trying to give you an option without pressure. Your eyes glanced at the door behind him before finding him again. You wanted to say no. He had rejected you. But you couldn’t. 

“Okay.”

Relief crossed his face so quickly it made you smile. “Yeah?”

You nodded, placing your bag back to the floor. “Do you mind if I borrow some clothes?”

You woke up fairly early, something you always did after a night of drinking, and your throat was parched. Blindly, you reached around for the nightstand, vaguely remembering the cup of water Heeseung had left for you a couple hours earlier, sitting up to chug it down. You finished the last drop, lowering the cup and glancing to the bedroom door. You needed more water. 

Carefully, quietly, you opened the door. Before entering the kitchen, you stopped in the bathroom, worried about your appearance and what Heeseung would see in case he was already awake. 

You flicked the light on, squinting immediately at the blinding lights and trying to refocus on your reflection. You were wearing a pair of shorts and a shirt you didn’t recognize, faintly recalling Heeseung handing them over to you the night before. The memory alone triggered a smile. You were wearing his clothes. 

Before leaving, you splashed water on your face and combed through your hair with your fingers. It didn’t do much but it made you feel slightly better. You shut the bathroom light off again, letting the softer glow of the hallway guide you as you stepped out. The apartment had a different vibe to it in the morning. Early light filtered in through the windows, pale and cool, stretching across the floor. 

You padded towards the kitchen, trying to tip toe to the best of your ability. As your cup was filling up in the sink, you heard a soft shuffle behind you. 

“Hey.”

You startled just a little, then turned. Heeseung stood a few steps away, hair mussed, shirt hanging loose on his frame like he’d just pulled it on half-asleep. He looked… gentler somehow. Less guarded. 

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” you shook your head. “I was just-- water.” You turned the tap off and raised the glass to your lips again. 

“Are you hungover?”

“Not really, I just feel a little gross.”

He smiled, getting another glass and filling it up beside you. “Yeah. Me too. Did you sleep okay?”

You hummed, mid-sip. “I like your bed. Very comfy.”

“Yeah?” he laughed. “I’m glad to know it passed your test.”

You smiled into your water, pretending very hard not to notice the faint pink creeping into his cheeks. A comfortable silence fell over you, sipping your cups side by side. Sober silence felt different. Less electric but steadier. 

After a moment, he glanced up at the shirt you were wearing, then quickly back up to your face. “That looks… good on you.”

The compliment caught you off guard. No alcohol and he was still giving compliments? “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I am,” he admitted. “I mean-- no. I just--” He stopped himself, huffing a small laugh. “I’m bad at mornings.”

“That makes two of us,” you agreed. “Especially when the hour is in single digits.”

Simultaneously, you both turned to look at the clock on the stove. 

“Yikes,” Heeseung said. “Why are we awake?”

The time read 9:52, which could be considered a late wake up for some people, but not for either of you. It was about 2 hours too early. 

“I was gonna make coffee,” he added, gesturing vaguely toward his Keurig. “But that feels like admitting defeat.”

“Do it,” you said immediately. “We’ve already lost.”

And that’s the start of how the both of you ended up back on the couch, legs under a blanket, sipping on coffee and watching a movie. Heeseung had suggested it as a way to wake up… except it seemed to have the opposite. You tried to focus on the movie, you really did, but your eyelids began drooping. So much so that you decided it would be best to leave your coffee mug on the ground in case you slipped into sleep. 

The movie played on, slowly becoming low background noise you barely registered. The warmth from the mug lingered in your hands even after you set it on the floor. You shifted once, trying to sit up straight, but the couch seemed to pull you back in. 

You woke up for the second time that morning, blinking as the light cascading in from the windows blinded you.  The TV was still playing a movie but different from the one before. It took a second longer than it should have to orient yourself. Your drowsiness had made everything stop making sense. When you tried to sit up, you noticed the weight and froze.

Heeseung had fallen asleep too. His arm -- somehow -- was around you now, loose and instinctive, like it had found its way there without either of you being aware. Your shoulder was pressed into his chest, your cheek resting just below his collarbone. His head had tilted over, resting on top of yours. Every exhale he made, tickled the hair on your head. His chest rose and fell beneath you, slow and even. His warmth radiated through his shirt, meeting your back and arms and cheek. Your heart gave a traitorous flutter. 

You shifted the tiniest bit, testing whether he’d stir. He didn’t. For at least another half hour he stayed fast asleep. Sometimes he would move, tightening or loosening his arm around you, but never taking it away. And sometimes you would lean into it, taking advantage of the fact you could be this close to him and not have it be weird. He felt good. 

Then his breathing shifted. It wasn’t dramatic, just a deeper inhale. His chest rose beneath you a little more deliberately now, like his body was waking up before his mind caught up. His arm flexed around you. Just slightly. Above you, his head shifted. His chin brushed your hair and you felt him swallow, and then freeze. You felt it when it clicked -- the realization of where the two of you were. 

“...Are you awake?” he asked softly, voice rough with sleep. 

You closed your eyes and took a breath before tilting your head up just enough to see his face, pulling away from his chest. His eyes were open, still seemingly hazy but unmistakably aware. “Goodmorning. Again.”

He gave a small laugh. “I don’t remember falling asleep again.”

“Me neither.”

Slowly, he loosened his hold on you. His arm remained where it was behind you but he had given you the ability to move if you wanted it. You didn’t take it. You sat there for a moment, the two of you still collecting your senses. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “A good host should make their guest food.”

You smiled. “You made me coffee.”

“That’s not food,” he shook his head and gave you a look. “What should we eat? Eggs, maybe. Or toast. Or I could burn both?”

“That’s a compelling pitch. You’re really selling me here.”

He laughed softly, standing and stretching, then held a hand out to help you up. You took it without hesitation, letting him haul you to your feet and walked to the kitchen together. 

The way he had offered to make you breakfast was enough for you to decide to take the lead as head chef. While he cracked the eggs into the pan, you watched them sizzle, spatula at the ready. The air was filled with the sound and smell of frying eggs and the faint smell of more coffee. You gave him the spatula for a second while you cut an avocado, immediately returning to the stove when you smelled the eggs a little too strongly. 

“Did you flip them?” you asked, coming up behind him. 

“You’re hovering?” he said lightly. 

“I’m supervising,” you corrected. “Important difference. You should flip them.”

“But what if I break them?”

He held the spatula out to you instead, taking a step to the side as you took over. It didn’t take long to flip four eggs and when you looked up, he was already looking at you. 

“What?” you asked. 

“Nothing,” he said quickly. 

You squinted your eyes at him in a teasing manner before moving again to plate the food. He sat next to you on the bar stools again, wasting no time in digging into the food after he made sure you took the first bite. It was a quick meal, both of you finishing in a couple minutes, spending more time talking than eating. When your plates cleared, you stood to go to the sink, preparing to wash dishes but Heeseung stopped you. 

“No, it’s okay. I’ll do them after you leave. You made the food so I’ll clean it.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind,” you glanced at the dishes piled in the sink but he blocked your view with a smile. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said softly. 

You hesitated but he pushed you back in the direction of his bedroom to get dressed. He offered to let you borrow different clothes from the ones you wore over last night but you insisted you would be okay. On your way out, he helped you slip your backpack on after you tied your shoes, following you all the way to the door. 

“Text me when you get home,” he said. 

“I will.” You lingered, hand on the handle, neither of you quite ready to end it. He shifted his weight, then smiled again. 

“Thanks for staying,” he said. “I had fun.”

You smiled back. “Thanks for letting me.”

“Anytime.”

For a beat, it felt like one of you might say something else. Just as your hand twitched on the doorknob, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. The contact was brief, he pulled back almost immediately, but his warmth lingered. Your blue spiked embarrassingly high and you prayed he didn’t feel it through your cheek. 

When he pulled back, he wore a shy expression. “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you?”

You nodded, fighting down a blush. “It’s not that far.”

“Okay, text me then.”

“I will,” you promised for the second time. 

Your finals took place over the span of three days, with your last one being philosophy. You arrived early just as another exam was finishing up in the room so you waited with the rest of your classmates, making nervous small talk with them. Beomgyu talked about how the concepts actually started to make sense after doing the reading, Marina shuffled through handmade flashcards, and Sunghoon was distracting both you and him with a game on his phone. Every now and then you would look down the hall to see if Heeseung had arrived, but he remained absent. You told yourself you weren’t waiting for him. You were just aware of his missing presence. 

“Stop pacing,” Beomgyu said, nudging you with his elbow. “You’re making me anxious by association.”

“I’m not pacing,” you protested, leaning back against the wall to prove a point like you hadn’t just been walking in circles. You played with the hem of your sweater, rolling the fabric over your fingers. “I’m just thinking.”

“About Kant?” Marina asked, peering over her flashcards. 

“Sure.” Your words came out a little too quick.

Sunghoon looked up from his phone, eyes flicking between you and the hallway with something like suspicion. “You’re terrible at lying, you know that?”

Before you could respond, the door to the classroom opened and the remaining students inside spilled out, drained and loud, clutching their pencils and relishing their freedom. Your professor called for quiet, ushering you in and reminding you to all have your IDs ready when you sat down. 

You lingered, letting everyone else shuffle in before you, pretending like you were digging through your backpack looking for your ID when you knew it was already in your pocket. Impatience ticked under your skin as the hallway thinned out. You were the last to file in. Just as you were sinking into your seat, someone else slipped through the door. 

Heeseung apologized quietly to the professor with a bow, taking one of the open seats from across the room and quickly settling down. You watched him searching through his bag for his wallet and ID and trying his best to quietly find a pencil. This was the first time you were seeing him since the night you slept over. Everything had been so busy, you barely had time to leave the apartment between exams, studying, and much needed introvert time. Based on texts the two of you had exchanged earlier, you knew he had just finished another exam and had to run across campus to make it to this one on time. You were glad he made it. 

The professor began passing out the exam sheets and the room settled into that familiar, studious, quiet. You forced your attention down to the paper in front of you, pencil poised, mind still trying to reach the boy across from you. 

Focus, Y/N. 

Halfway through the page, you spared yourself a glance in his direction, like a treat for answering a couple questions. Heeseung’s eyes flicked to yours almost instantly like he could feel you looking at him. Your gazes met briefly and he offered the smallest smile before looking back down at his test. 

Heeseung had finished before you, leaving with 20 minutes to spare. You took another 10 before feeling confident enough to turn your paper in. After leaving the classroom, you turned your phone back on, searching through the missed texts and notifications that appeared on your screen, looking for one specific person. 

‘I’m waiting for you at the bus stop.’

You read over his text, already walking out the door before you finished reading. He had mentioned wanting to do something to celebrate the end of the semester and you had been worried you would need to turn him down after already making plans with your other friends. It had been his idea to hang out before the bigger get-together so you could walk there together instead -- a plan you had no problem agreeing to. 

Heeseung stood a little off to the side on the bus stop, leaning against the sheltered area and watching the road with his hands in his pockets. He looked relaxed with his shoulders loose and head tipped back as he watched the buses roll in and out. When he noticed you, his face brightened. 

“You finished early,” you called out, taking a spot beside him. 

“I tried not to freak myself out by rereading everything,” he shrugged. “It didn’t work but I left anyway.”

You laughed. “I stopped double-checking my answers a long time ago.”

A bus pulled up to the stop, a couple students getting out and even more getting on. Heeseung looked at you. 

“Are you okay with hanging out at my apartment?” he asked. “I got something I think you’ll like.”

Your mind wandered as you blinked in surprise. “You don’t need to get me anything.”

He shrugged. “But I wanted to.”

You studied his face. There was no pressure for you to say yes, just a glimmer of hope. How could you say no. “I mean, if you have a surprise waiting for me, I guess I have to follow you, don’t I?”

His grin widened as the bus doors hissed shut and pulled away. “It’s not far,” he said. “We can walk.”

The two of you disposed of your backpacks on the floor by the couch immediately after entering his residence. Heeseung took advantage of the privacy and took his hoodie off within seconds of closing the door. You had no complaints as it meant you got to see his arms again. After a momentary second thought, you followed suit, relishing in the pure ability to wear a t-shirt around him. 

“Okay, we have to go to the kitchen for the surprise,” he said, placing his hands on your shoulders and guiding you to the counter, making you sit in one of the bar stools. “Close your eyes.”

You scoffed with a laugh. “You’re being very serious about this.”

“Just do it,” he urged softly, taking your hands and making you cover your own eyes. 

You obeyed, even looking down to prove you really couldn’t see anything. 

“No peeking,” he warned, already moving in front of you. You heard the fridge open, the clinking of silverware, and the unmistakable sound of something being set on the counter. 

“Can I get a hint?” you asked. 

“No.”

“Please?”

“Nope. Open your mouth.”

You paused. “What?”

“Come on, Y/N. Just open your mouth.”

Tentatively, you let your jaw fall open and he stuck a spoon in your mouth. The flavor exploded immediately and you opened your eyes. In front of you sat a small box of tiramisu. You chewed slowly as the taste settled. Coffee-soaked, rich, chocolate. 

“I’m pretty sure you mentioned tiramisu being one of your favorites last year,” he said, leaning on the counter in across from you with his forearms, watching you take another spoonful with a smile. 

“How did you remember that?” you inquired, savoring the taste and resisting the urge to down half the dessert in that second. 

“Because I liked you.” He picked his own spoon up, dipping it into the treat and taking a bite. “Still do.”

The kitchen suddenly felt very small. You set the spoon down carefully and swallowed. He gave a small, almost nervous laugh, scraping his spoon lightly against the edge of the box. 

“I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“You didn’t,” you said quickly. What should you say? You paused a second before, “Thank you -- for the tiramisu. That was really sweet.”

He watched you for a beat and nodded. “End of finals felt like a good excuse to get you something.”

You picked your spoon back up, eating more. “What’s your favorite dessert? I should return the favor.”

“Strawberry cheesecake.”

You quirked an eyebrow, sliding off the stool and circling the counter to get a glass of water. He turned, following you with his body. “Are you only saying that because I said that was also one of my favorites.”

He beamed like he’d been caught. “We’re both allowed to like strawberry cheesecake.” 

You hummed, taking a couple sips before offering him the glass. He took it from you, fingers brushing yours as he did, and drank slowly like he wasn’t in a rush to hand it back. You watched the way his throat moved when he swallowed and looked away before he could catch you staring. Instead of returning back to the barstool, you cozied yourself in the corner of the counter next to him. 

“You know,” he said, setting the glass down, “I was kind of nervous about today.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, fiddling with the sleeves of your sweater. 

“Last time I saw you was…” he trailed off, searching for words. 

You understood what he was referring to without him even needing to finish the sentence. “It’s fine, Heeseung.” You were deflecting. You didn’t want to have to remember the way you had told him to kiss him and the way he had turned you away. 

He let the silence sit for a second, then nodded like he’d expected that answer, even if he didn’t fully expect it. “I know you say that,” he said gently. You opened your mouth to cut him off but he didn’t let you. “But I need you to know that I didn’t turn you down because I didn’t want you.” He stepped just a fraction closer. Your eyes widened in realization of what he was doing. 

“Heeseung, it’s okay, I know why--”

It felt too warm. The air was hot. Your body was hot. You were painfully aware of the counter pressing into your back and the way his body angled toward yours like it belonged there. His eyes flicked to your mouth. 

“Do you remember what you said about needs and wants?”

His question caught you off guard. “...what?”

“Wants are drowned out by needs,” he answered for you. “I’ve been thinking about it, About you telling me to kiss you. And how hard it was to walk away. I didn’t want to, but I needed to because- because if I hadn’t, I don’t think I would have stopped.”

Your throat went dry. He lifted a hand, slow enough that you could’ve stopped him, almost like it was a question. When you didn’t pull away, his fingers brushed your wrist, then slid up your forearm, warm and grounding. The air between you felt charged, tight like a pulled wire. Your breath stuttered at the contact and you saw his jaw tighten in response. 

“I don’t need to walk away this time. And I don’t want to.”

Your blue pulsed involuntarily, glowing even brighter where his fingers held onto your arm and you know he saw. Something in his expression shifted. Relief? Want? Resolve? All of it was folding into each other. He stepped closer, pace slow enough you could track every inch until the space between you was nearly gone. The counter pressed firm into your back, his warmth pressed in front of you. 

“Tell me to stop,” he said, careful. One last offering of control. His hand trailed from your arm up to your cheek, cradling it while the other found your waist. 

You swallowed, breath shallow, eyes locked on his. “Don’t.”

That was all it took. 

He took the last step towards you, pushing you further into the counter while simultaneously pulling you towards him by your hip. His lips found yours with a certainty that made your knees threaten to give out. The tension you’d been carrying for days, weeks -- months? -- finally snapped, dissolving into heat and closeness in the quiet certainty of being wanted. 

You wanted this.  You needed this too. 

Your hands snaked up his chest, wrapping around the back of his neck. One of them curled into his hair while the other held his shoulder for support. The contact of your fingers made him open his mouth and you took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pulling him even closer. He made a low sound into your mouth, more breath than voice. His grip at your hip traveled, fingers dancing at the hem of your shirt before slipping underneath.

Blue exploded. You felt him everywhere -- under your skin, in your chest, pooling low and hot. The hand under your shirt and splayed across your back, the other hand continued to hold your face like you were fragile. He was touching you in places no one else had touched before, in places no one else had even seen before. You felt his blue pulse too, both of your reactions only heightening with the effect of the other’s. 

His hand flattened against the small of your back and he leaned into you. The kiss was unhurried but full, his mouth moved against yours with a hungry steadiness. The hand on your cheek slid into your hair, fist closing around the locks to anchor you. You felt him breathe you in between kisses, felt the way he continued pushing into you. 

Time stretched. The world narrowed to warmth and closeness and then quiet sounds you made into each other’s mouths. When he finally broke the kiss, it wasn’t really an ending -- just a pause. His lips hovered close, brushing yours again once, then twice, softer each time, like he couldn’t quite let go yet. 

His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing a little heavier than before. “God,” he breathed a quiet, wrecked sound. Your name followed it, barely audible. 

Your blue was blazing now, lighting up the space between you, and his answered, mimicking the same radiant glow. He pulled back just enough to look at you, really look at you. His pupils were blown wide, jaw tight. You couldn’t find the words to speak. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he said softly, looking down at you fondly. The words settled gently between you, warm and unguarded. 

You swallowed, playing with the hair sweeping over the back of his neck. “Me too.”

His smiled, both hands now holding your face as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “I’m sorry it took so long for us to get here.”

You shook your head gently, letting your own hands fall to his waist to grip his shirt. “I think if it happened earlier, it wouldn’t have felt like this.”

All the misunderstandings, hurt, confusion, relief, anticipation-- it all built up to this moment. He wrapped his arms around you then, pulling you into his chest, and you let yourself sink into the warmth of him. Every inhale was filled with the smell of him. You fit against him so easily. 

You stayed like that for a while, neither of you saying anything, neither of you needing to. You weren’t thinking about exams, or the forgotten tiramisu, or the need to hide your skin. You were just breathing him in. For once, nothing felt unfinished. Nothing felt rushed. You were exactly where you were meant to be, and you stayed. 

[yoursinink]

Blue Skin - L.HS

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

chapter 1

student!heeseung x student!reader

word count: 11.5k

summary: in a world where you had learned to hide your blue veins, you were afraid to get close to anybody. that was until you met him, a boy with a magnetic pull. you wanted him but you knew he shouldn't. he would never understand your blue, right?

(duo povs)

*TW for slight self harm scene, no blood at all but the post got flagged without a label so…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was that time of the semester again, the time when the classes you had originally been excited to take were losing their magic. Sure, the subjects were still interesting, but not worth the amount of analyses and readings you had to complete. You had never been able to study in your apartment, despite your most valiant efforts, and always got distracted. Which is why you repeatedly forced yourself outside to lock in, and why you were currently stationed in the back corner of a cafe. 

Even though this time of year began to burn you out, you were thankful for one thing: the weather. You could wear long sleeves without an excuse, scarves didn’t look weird, hoodies were always in season. And best of all -- you knew your skin would be hidden. 

It was a rare condition, one that had unmatched stigma attached to it. Blue veins, like a lightning scar, stretched across your arms, stomach, and back. Tendrils of blue curled around your collarbones, threatening to escape the cover of clothing you religiously used to hide. They were unnaturally vibrant, their hue growing in magnitude whenever you dared get too emotional. 

You didn’t date much because of that. All the feelings that came with it made you glow and scared people off. After enough rejection, you concluded even telling your friends was unsafe. So you didn’t. 

“Y/N!”

You pushed up from the booth with a sigh of relief, thankful for an excuse to look away from the dozens and readings and hundreds of pages of notes that were making your vision blur. You slipped between tables, tugging the sleeve of your sweater down absentmindedly and feeling the comfort of fabric against your wrist. At the counter, the coffee you ordered was waiting. You reached out for it but then--

A hand brushed against yours and your pulse quickened, watching the way his fingers pushed your sleeve back. Your arm flinched back, immediately pulling the sleeve down again, praying the stranger hadn’t noticed something they shouldn’t have. 

“Sorry,” you said quietly, grabbing the cup with your other hand, the arm further away from the danger of exposure. 

“No, sorry, that was my bad,” he copied your tone, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes and fidgeting with his fingers. He offered a small smile and nod before leaving back for his table. 

You stood rooted for a moment, heart pounding a little too fast for a simple brush of fingers. He was cute. It made you nervous. And you could feel the blue surge under your skin, threatening to glow. 

Back at your booth, you sipped on your drink, the warm liquid soothing nerves instantly. Out of your peripheral, you saw him bent over a table of his own, trying not to lose focus on his own studying material. Yep. He was definitely cute. The blue recognized it too. 

After every exam, you reward yourself by buying a new book. In addition to studying, you had been surveying book recommendations online, trying to determine what your next prize would be. And now the time had come. After submitting your exam paper, you caught a bus over to the local bookstore on campus, giddy with excitement. 

You had picked a dystopian fantasy, a world with dragons and magic -- and of course -- a love story. After walking through the aisles a bit, you found the section you were looking for. Faded paperbacks, thick hardcovers, glittering collector’s editions… The anticipation was building. 

Before coming, you had checked that the book would be here. It wasn’t the kind of bookstore where they had multiple copies of each book, or had the newest books on the market. There was no guarantee they would have anything you were looking for. But that was part of the fun. And luckily for you, they had exactly what you wanted. The only problem? It was on the top shelf. 

You rocked on your toes, stretching your arm up, fingers brushing the edge of the shelf but not even close to touching the spine of the book. You tried again, standing on the top of your toes but still falling short. 

“Hey,” a voice behind you said, causing you to stiffen.. 

It was him again. Except now he was surrounded by rows and rows of books instead of tables and mugs. And somehow that made him look even better. His eyes flicked from your face to where your arm stood, still outstretched like by some miracle you could reach the book. 

“Do you want help?” he offered and you immediately retracted your hand, nodding and stepping back for him to have access to the shelf. 

“It’s that one,” you clarified when he looked at you again for confirmation. “The one with the red spine.”

Holding his gaze made you nervous so you looked away, noticing that the neckline of your hoodie had slipped down. Oversized hoodies were good for hiding your wrists and arms but terrible for collarbones. Your heart stopped beating momentarily and you hurriedly fixed it, hoping he hadn’t noticed. 

You glanced back up at him, grabbing your book and blissfully unaware of the blue veins coursing beneath your fabric. He offered the book to you with a smile, which you returned with a gentle “thanks.” Once the book was in your hands, you pulled it to your chest, hoping it would further prevent any hoodie-slips. You glanced down briefly to make sure the cover was shielding your collarbones before looking back up at him. 

“You’re welcome,” he said. 

You offered a smile again, grateful for his help. He didn’t move and you hesitated, squeezing the book like it was a lifeline before admitting, “I’ve been saving up for this one. It’s kind of my ritual… After each exam.”

His eyes flicked to yours, questions twinkling. “Ritual?”

You nodded. “I like buying a new book after my exams. Like a reward.” You weren’t sure why you were even talking to him. 

He laughed quietly. “I like that idea.”

A bit of awkward silence before he continued. 

“Did you… do well on the exam?”

“I think so,” you said. “At least, I hope so.”

“That’s good.”

You decided to cut the convo before it could get more awkward, to walk away before your skin started glowing uncontrollably from the way he looked at you. “It was nice running into you again, thank you for getting the book for me.”

Your friend had insisted. 

“It’ll be fun,” Jiyoon had said. “You already know Sua, Jake, and Nayeon. It’ll be fun to rent out one of those big study rooms together.”

Study groups were never really your thing, it seemed like people were always more interested in talking and catching up than actually getting work done. There was also the factor of increased risk. More people meant more eyes, more moments where your jacket might slip, more questions like “aren’t you hot?” But after avoiding study groups for over half of your college career thus far, Jiyoon had had enough. So you found yourself following her across one of the campus libraries to a study lounge, slightly pouting but determined to go so she would leave you alone afterwards. 

When Jiyoon pushed the door open, you looked up and froze. He sat on the edge of one of the couches, hood half-up, fingers tapping idly against his laptop while he talked to someone you recognized only vaguely -- a friend of a friend. You unconsciously held your breath and forced yourself to look away, gaging who else was in the room. The only people you hadn’t directly met yet were him and the boy next to him. 

You felt his gaze find you and tried to keep your cheeks from brightening, finding a spot next to Nayeon at the table and setting your stuff down. 

“The party has arrived!” Jiyoon announced, claiming a beanbag by the table and flinging herself into it. 

You busied yourself with unzipping your backpack, pulling out your laptop and notebooks, doing anything to avoid letting your eyes drift back toward the couch where he sat. Sua and Nayeon immediately roped you into their conversation and Jake scooted his chair over to give you more room. The environment felt familiar, safe, normal. You clung to that. 

But then Jake called toward the couch, “Heeseung, Jay -- these are the people I was telling you about.”

You locked eyes again when both men on the couch collected their belongings to join the rest of the group around the table. The name Jay clicked in your head and you recognized him as the boy on the left. That meant he was Heeseung. 

“Who are they?” you leaned towards Nayeon slightly and whispered. 

“Jake’s friends,” she murmured back. “They’re cool.”

Cool. Right. Definitely not someone who had been haunting your thoughts since you left the bookstore last week. 

Jake motioned toward you with the casual ease of someone who hadn’t just connected two separate corners of your world. “This is Y/N.” His hand moved to your friend. “And Jiyoon.”

Heeseung looked at you and smiled. “We’ve met.”

Several eyes looked in your direction and you tried not to visibly shrink. “At the bookstore,” you clarified quickly. 

“And a cafe,” he added. 

“What a fun coincidence,” Sua noted, raising her eyebrows briefly and side-eying you, silently questioning if there was gossip to be spilled later. You ignored her. 

Heeseung pulled out the chair across from you and sat down. “Nice to meet you properly this time.”

The study session began in fits and starts -- half productivity, half harmless chatter. And in the small pockets of conversation that found their way between problems and explanations, you caught glimpses of him. You were involuntarily learning more about him. Like the way he dipped his head slightly when laughing, the way he fiddled with the sleeves of his hoodie, the way his lips would twitch whenever he got too deep in concentration. 

Each time you noticed something new about him, you told yourself to stop. Focus on your notes, your assignments, your friends, literally anything other than the boy sitting directly across from you. But he had a way of pulling your attention without even trying. 

“Did you finish the stats homework yet?” He was talking to Jay but a moment later he turned to you. “You’re in stats too, right? I feel like Jake mentioned that.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, gulping down the panic. 

“I haven’t even started the assignment yet. Was the homework awful? Be honest.”

You huffed a tiny laugh. “Let’s just say you should give yourself a lot of time to finish it.”

“So you're saying I’m doomed.”

“Only if you procrastinate,” your head tilted in a slight challenge and the small smirk he gave in response made your stomach twist. 

Jiyoon leaned over to you about a minute later, pretending to highlight something in your notes but whispering, “He’s kinda cute.”

You elbowed her under the table. “Stop.”

“You should get his number.”

She was relentless. “Jiyoon, I swear to God--”

Your friend raised her hands innocently. “I’m just saying, we’re in a study group. Not a monastery.”

You glanced across the table to see Heeseung chewing thoughtfully on the end of his pen. His eyes burned into the paper in front of him as he copied down a formula, one of his hands playing with the strings of his hoodie. 

“Y/N,” Nayeon called softly, “your pen?”

You blinked and looked down. You’d been tapping it on the table without realizing, leaving a constellation of dots in the margins of your notes. “Oh. Sorry.” You set it down quickly. “Just… thinking.”

Sua giggled. “Thinking hard.”

Heat crawled to the back of your neck, you felt the blue begin to glow and had to tramp down nerves. 

Heeseung looked up then, pen cap between his teeth, and your breath hitched. You weren’t sure what his expression meant. Curiosity? Amusement? Confusion? You couldn’t stare back long enough to find out. Suddenly, the paragraph in your textbook you’d already read twice seemed really interesting and you started reading it again. To no surprise, you still didn’t understand what was going on. 

Conversation picked up around you. Jay complained about the dining hall food, Jake started telling embarrassing tales of everyone in the group, Sua saying they should get food, Jiyoon huffing and almost ready to throw her homework through the window. You started to grow more comfortable, realizing that when there was a bigger group, less people looked at you. They talked to each other while you listened and chimed in when you felt like it. They didn’t notice every time you fiddled with your sleeves or the collar of your sweater. 

The only thing not normal was him. His smile was too perfect, his laugh almost musical. Every time he asked a question it was like everyone was silenced to listen to him. Once when you stole a glance at him, he was already looking at you. He blinked, ducking his head to adjust the volume on his laptop. Your pulse wouldn’t slow down. 

“Did you get question three?” Jake asked you, and proceeded to have you explain the entire problem to him. 

As you slid your notebook across the table, Heeseung leaned closer to see as well -- just slightly, just enough for your elbow to brush against his sleeve. Instinctually, your eyes flew to your wrist, praying your secret hadn’t just been exposed. But you were fine. 

Heeseung proceeded to ask you a couple follow up questions, sometimes the questions weren’t even related to the class. Had you started the book you bought yet? Did you have any book recommendations? How often did you go to study groups? Did you have a favorite study snack? You realized you really liked talking to him. And your blue skin could tell.

Stats was bearable for you, even has a math hater. Graphs weren’t impossible to read and most of the material was intuitive. Sitting next to Heeseung in lecture was also intuitive. The first time it happened was an accident. You had burst into class late, finding the closest empty seat you could and flipping your laptop open, completely oblivious to your surroundings. Until the professor told the class to pair up. Your head shot up and there he was. 

Heeseung had stared at you with the same startled expression you wore, and then his lips tugged upward in recognition. 

“Oh,” he spoke quietly. “Hi again.”

You couldn’t decide which was worse -- how embarrassed you felt at the fact you looked like an out-of-breath mess, or how happy you felt seeing him. 

“Hi,” you said, dragging your sleeve subtly down your wrist. 

After that, sitting beside him just… happened. A quiet, shared routine. He’d get there early, you’d sneak into the seat he had started to save for you. Listening to the lectures became less of a burden when he would mutter small comments under his breath in response to the lesson, or when he would doodle little drawings in the corner of his notes and nudge them your way to see. 

Outside of class, the routine spread naturally to the rest of your schedule. Over the next two weeks, studying together became normal, lunches or snacks together in between classes became normal, walking out of the lecture hall side by side became normal, sitting a bit too close -- but never close enough -- became normal. 

People noticed. They whispered, joked, and asked questions with knowing smiles. How could they not when you had adamantly claimed to swear off dating? Self preservation. 

Every time someone would poke the bear, you just shook your head and said the same thing. “We’re just friends.” Even though the word just felt flimsy and fragile in your mouth. Even though your heart didn’t agree with the sentence. Even though your blue veins pulsed beneath your sleeves every time he laughed. Every time he leaned closer. Every time he said your name like it belonged on his tongue. 

You liked the way your stomach fluttered when he muttered inside jokes between the two of you, and you liked the way he would tilt his notebook toward you without being asked when you missed a note on the slides. You liked having someone to walk with, eat with, study with. You liked him. 

He felt safe. And you needed safe. It had been so long since you had had safe. But with him, it also felt like something else. Like something fragile. Something hot. Something you needed to ignore with all your strength. Because falling for someone who didn’t know your secret was dangerous, and letting someone close enough see your blue scars was even more dangerous. He didn’t know what you were, and he could never understand what it was like. You knew that. No one else had stayed after finding out your secret. 

So you sat beside him, laughed beside him, shared space with him, but repeated that phrase over and over again. “We’re just friends.”

After one lecture, the sky had decided to rain. It wasn’t in the forecast, but even if it was, you wouldn’t have known. You never check the weather before leaving your apartment. You barely remembered to grab your keys. 

Students streamed out of the building in waves, tightening jackets, squealing at the cold, sprinting across the courtyard. You hovered by the exit, watching sheet after sheet of rain hit the pavement and mentally preparing to make a mad dash to the nearest bus stop. With a final breath of encouragement, you bent your knees slightly, pushing off the ground with your back foot, but a hand held you back. 

Your eyes snapped downward to your wrist, seeing a ring-clad hand encasing it. Panic surged momentarily but subsided when you confirmed your veins were still hidden.

“Do you wanna walk with me?”

Heeseung. Your blue pulsed at the physical contact. You wondered if he could feel it, like electricity. 

“I have an umbrella.”

He didn’t drop your wrist immediately, like he was waiting for an answer before he let you go. 

“Are you sure?” you managed.

He nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

Finally, he let go of your wrist. The absence of his touch somehow felt louder than the rain outside. You curled your fingers into your palm to steady yourself. He stepped closer, lifting the umbrella above your heads and angled it so there’d be room for both of you underneath. 

“Which way are you headed?” he asked, looking down at you. 

“North campus,” you said, fighting the flight instinct creeping up on you and meeting his eyes. He had pretty eyes 

Heeseung’s face brightened a little. “I’m going that way too.”

Your shoulders constantly bumped while walking, your steps syncing together. The sound of the rain was deafening, like the world had been swallowed whole by static. Water hammered down on the umbrella in thick drumbeats, echoing in the small space the two of you shared. 

“Thank you,” you had to shout your words for him to hear them. Even still, he had to lean closer to make out exactly what you were saying. 

“It’s nothing,” he said lightly. When you glanced up, his gaze was already on you -- soft, careful, warm. You quickly looked away. 

The path became narrow and he shifted closer, letting the umbrella tilt toward your side whenever the wind tried to steal it. 

“Can you believe you were about to spring straight into this monsoon,” he teased, nodding towards the chaos of runners around you.

You huffed a laugh. “I was desperate.”

The two of you found shelter under the bus stop canopy, along with probably half the campus. It seemed like even students who didn’t need the bus had decided to wait the rain out here with the rest of you. So many people had gathered that the crowd was spilling out beyond the canopy, some were still at the full mercy of the sky. 

“Grab my wrist,” Heeseung leaned down and shouted just loud enough for you to hear him. 

You offered an inquisitive look but obeyed, latching onto the hand he held out to you. As soon as you were connected, he began to push through the crowd, venturing deeper into the swarm of people, trying to get the two of you away from the open sky. People shifted for him, parted around him, followed his lead without knowing they were following anything. It felt like being pulled through a current. You were bumping into people constantly, but you kept your eyes on the back of his hoodie, trying not to lose him. When you reached a pocket of space, you let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. 

He turned toward you. “You okay?” he asked loudly, breath warm from how close he was leaning. 

You nodded and looked down to your hand holding his, almost throwing up when you saw blue. The sleeve to your jacket had been pushed up, completely exposing your wrist and part of your forearm. You dropped his hand immediately and yanked your sleeve down so fast the fabric burned against your skin. 

Heeseung’s eyes flicked down, surprise flashing across his face before masking it with a smile. 

He saw. He saw. He saw. 

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to, uh, drag you.”

He saw. He saw. He-- didn’t see…? Did he not see anything?

You shook your head quickly, trying to recover. “No. Thank you. I would've gotten run over five times if you weren’t helping me.”

He laughed, the sound soft and warm, completely contrasting the storm around you. You smiled despite yourself. For a heartbeat, the two of you just stood there, rain roaring against the canopy, the crowd buzzing around you. 

He shifted slightly, leaning in so his voice didn’t have to compete with the storm. “You wanna wait it out?” he asked. “I don’t mind.”

“I can wait,” you said softly. 

His smile widened just a bit, softening his expression and making something in your chest ache. 

You stared up at the canopy, watching the rain hit the glass sporadically. The sky looked angry. You folded your arms tightly, gripping your sleeves against your skin. That was way too close. 

“So…” he said, clearing his throat after a moment. “Crazy weather, right?”

You laughed, ducking your head. Not because the joke was funny, but because the awkwardness was too heavy not to crack. “Absolutely insane,” you agreed. 

You kept your eyes on the rain. 

When you finally spared a glance at him, he was just staring forward, jaw clenched slightly, rainwater still dripping from the tips of his hair. He looked calm. 

“Did you need to be somewhere?” you asked suddenly, and his eyes flicked down to yours. “I don’t wanna make you late if you need to go.”

“The only thing left on my schedule is waiting out the storm with you,” he joked, and you grinned. Clever man. 

You were about to reply -- something light, something deflective, just friends -- when the crowd behind you groaned as another wave of students pushed under the canopy. Someone shouted about the wind, someone else cursed loudly as water spilled from their collapsing umbrella, and all at once-- The crowd shifted. 

Bodies surged like a tide. You felt the force before you processed it. A shoulder knocked into you, a backpack clipped your hip, shoving you backwards. Your foot slipped. Your arms were still folded against your body, preventing you from being able to reach out and stable yourself. You gasped as the world blurred in a smear of motion and rain and noise, but you didn’t hit the ground. 

A hand shot out, firm and warm, snaking around your waist. Another caught your elbow. You were steadied before you could fall into the tangle of people. 

“Are you okay?” Heeseung said, breath catching with yours. 

You were pressed against him, hands trapped between your torsos, closer than you’d ever been, closer than you would’ve dared if the universe hadn’t forced your hand. You felt his grip on you loosen but you were unable to back up, the canopy was packed tight. You were stuck. 

“Sorry,” you sighed, too shaken to say anything else. 

Hesitantly, you tilted your head up to him, heat immediately slamming against your ribs when you saw him staring down at you. Your faces were mere inches away. Your blue pulsed in waves, harsh and bright between you. He smelled like rain and laundry detergent and something else you couldn’t put a name to. Heat bloomed beneath your skin like a flare. 

He was perfect. Everything about him. Even with his hair wet and stuck to his forehead, even with the faint eyebags beneath his eyes. You hoped you weren’t staring. You knew you were. 

“I-- I can’t move my arms,” he apologized, but you didn’t care. You liked that he was holding you like this. He dipped his head slightly, trying to make space for you even though there wasn’t any. His cheek hovered just beside yours. Your pulse roared in your ears. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, voice low enough that you weren’t sure if he meant to say your name or if it just slipped out. 

You froze. “Yeah?”

He didn’t answer at first. Not because he didn’t hear you, but because he was too close. Because you were too close. Your breath trembled, brushing his jaw. You felt him inhale sharply and pull back. 

“Sorry, I’m not doing a very good job at giving you space,” his voice was small.

“There is no space,” you offered a steady, unconvincing laugh. 

His eyes flicked to your mouth -- just for a fraction of a second -- before snapping back up. He was fighting something too. Something maybe just as dangerous as what you were feeling. Another shift in the crowd rocketed into you and without hesitation, his hand spread against the small of your back to keep you steady. Your blue throbbed for him. 

Almost by some miracle, the bus pulled up. The screech of breaks tore through the air, louder than your pulse, louder than the unspoken thing trembling between you. Heads turned and the crowd surged again, this time toward the curb. You were repeatedly hit, knocking into Heeseung’s chest over and over again. 

“I’m really sorry,” you squeaked, almost laughing at how absurd this whole situation was. 

“Let’s try to catch the bus,” he said and you nodded, grabbing his wrist once he gave you enough space to move. 

The canopy emptied and refilled all at once, bodies shuffling both into and out of the bus doors. Heeseung moved toward the vehicle with determination, like he was going to make sure the two of you were on that bus no matter what. When you made it to the vehicle, he beckoned you forward. 

“You should go first.”

You thanked him and stepped up. He stepped after you, close enough to guide you but far enough away to pretend he wasn’t. When you had fully squeezed inside, you looked back at him to make sure he would fit. Rain clung to his hair, his chest rose unevenly, and his gaze softened below yours when your eyes met. 

He followed you in but neither of you spoke another word. Both of you still catching your breath, minds reeling. 

The study room lights had flickered off one by one as the night dragged on, leaving the library wrapped in that strange, echoing silence that only lasted after 1 a.m. Jiyoon, Sua, and Jake had decided to pull an all-nighter, encouraging you to join them, but you weren’t sure how much longer you could pretend to get work done. You were starting to see double. The second round of midterms was coming up and you needed to catch up on a couple of lectures, but after the 4th hour of videos, you couldn’t absorb anymore information. 

You packed up slowly, blinking through exhaustion as you stacked up your handwritten notes and zipped them into your bag. Heeseung had coincidentally decided he was also done for the night, offering to walk you out. Something warm curled in your stomach when he followed you out the door, waving goodnight to the rest of the study group. 

Outside, the air had turned sharp. Wind scraped along the pavement, licking at your clothes and hair. You tucked your chin deeper into your jacket, clinging to body heat. Campus was empty, leaving a quiet residue. 

“I should have worn a bigger jacket,” Heeseung said, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down further and wrapping his arms around himself. 

“I was gonna say the same thing,” you smiled, looking at him. “Next time, I will not be staying up past 11 p.m. to study. It’s too cold to walk back.”

“You looked tired towards the end,” he noted softly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. 

“So did you,” you countered. 

“I’m always tired,” he shrugged. 

“Then why did you stay so long? You could’ve left hours ago.”

“Could say the same to you.”

“I was trying to be productive.”

“Did it work?”

“Not really,” your gaze flicked to the ground and you stepped on a leaf, disappointed when it didn’t crunch beneath your feet. 

A comfortable silence settled over the next few steps. You could hear the wind more clearly than you could hear your own breathing. Heeseung peeked over at you again. “You ever notice how campus feels like a different world at night?” he said suddenly. “Like everything’s louder and quieter at the same time.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, honing in on the sound of leaves rustling and crickets in the grass -- sounds that were drowned out during the day. “It feels… softer?”

Heeseung hummed. “I like it better like this.”

“You like the cold?” you teased. 

He shook his head and smiled at you. “I like the quiet.”

A sudden gust of wind tore through the walkway, kicking up dried leaves and ripping through your jacket. Your hair flew backward in a messy sweep, you felt your neck erupt in goosebumps from exposure to the air. The wind pried deeper, tugging the fabric down just enough… just enough for the faint glow to flash in the dark. You immediately grabbed the collar of your sweater, yanking it back into place, swallowing panic so sharp it burned. 

You didn’t realize it at first, you were too busy fixing your hair, pulling at your clothes. But then you looked up. Heeseung’s smile had faltered along with his steps. He was staring. Not casually. Not accidentally. His gaze was fixed -- direct, searching. Your stomach plummeted. 

“Do I--” you forced out a laugh, feigning lightness you didn’t feel, “--have something on my shirt?”

He blinked startled and shook his head, immediately tearing his eyes away, looking anywhere that wasn’t you. “No. No, nothing.”

It was too fast. Too dismissive. Too… guilty. 

Your heart dropped straight into your shoes. 

He’d seen. You knew he had. Maybe a flicker of blue behind your ear, a glow on along your collarbone, something the wind had exposed without your permission. He didn’t want to admit to it, didn’t want to embarrass you. But disgust didn’t need words. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, his eyes now fixed firmly ahead, refusing to risk another glance. 

It could have been your imagination, but it felt like he had begun to walk faster. The space between you grew a half-step larger than before. You tugged your jacket tighter, fingers digging into the skin beneath the fabric, daring it to slip one more time. Not that it would even matter. The damage had been done. He wasn’t looking at you. 

He saw. He’s grossed out. He thinks you're unnatural. 

Small talk felt like an awkward courtesy. You gave up trying to make the silence comfortable. He slowed to a stop when you reached a split in the path, your apartment to the left, the bus he had to take to the right. Only then did he face you. 

“Get home safe, okay?” His eyes flicked between you and the pavement, voice soft but strained. It was the gentlest dismissal you’d ever heard. 

You nodded, even though he wasn’t looking. “Yeah, you too.”

*TW*

That night, you stood in front of your bathroom mirror in nothing but a tanktop, pale and shaken. Blue was pulsing all around you, the glow heightened by your desperation. Your eyes stung, your breath hitched. You scrubbed. Hard. The cloth burned as you dragged it over your skin again and again, wanting nothing more than to dull the glow, to chase it away, to make your arm look normal. Look Human. 

Your skin reddened and you realized the blue only stood out more starkly against your burning flesh. You threw the cloth into the sink and gripped the edge of the porcelain, trembling. You should have known better. Safe was temporary. People didn’t stay once they saw what you really were. And Heeseung -- he was no different. 

**

The plan was simple: meet at the theater, buy cheap tickets, argue over snacks, and pretend midterms didn’t exist for two hours. You’d almost convinced yourself you could relax. Almost. That was until Heeseung was there. 

The group clustered near the entrance, illuminated by the flickering glow of neon signs and highlighted movie posters. The candy tier list had already begun, each person arguing over which candy was best to spend the collective budget on. Gummy worms vs sour straws, how much butter did popcorn actually need, does anyone actually like chocolate-covered raisins? Jiyoon shoved Jake for suggesting black licorice wasn’t “that bad” while Sua pretending to gag dramatically, and Jay announced he would be purchasing nachos “for the group” despite everyone knowing it was for him. 

Somehow, in all that chaos, you and Heeseung drifted toward each other again. Not touching. Not talking. Just… orbiting. It wasn’t intentional, but everytime someone shifted, everytime the group split to examine a movie poster or debate snack prices, you and Heeseung ended up side by side. You told yourself not to read into it. 

 Was that night just a fluke? Maybe he had just been tired? Maybe he hadn’t seen? You shoved the thoughts down, burying them under Nayeon insisting everyone take a group photo and Sua complaining she was not picture-ready. 

“$13??” Jay screeched horrified. “Yo, who is paying $13 for six pretzel bites??”

“You’re willing to pay $20 for that nacho bowl,” Jake noted, rolling his eyes. 

Just as Jay launched into his rant about the criminal overpricing of pretzel bites, Heeseung leaned closer, just enough that you could hear him over the noise. “I swear this theatre is scamming us.”

A laugh bubbled out before you could stop it -- a drastic mistake. Jay’s head whipped around instantly, eyes narrowing. 

“Oh my GOD,” he groaned dramatically, pointing between the two of you with a finger. “If you wanna gossip like a couple then just tie the knot already.”

Your breath died in your throat and your smile dropped. “I-- we’re not-- I mean--” you stammered, heart jackhammering. But Heeseung reacted faster. 

He laughed. “Absolutely not.”

The words sliced through the air like a blade and you froze -- not just because of his tone, but because this was the first time he had openly denied it. Every other time someone had made a comment, you had been the one to shut it down first, Heeseung backing you up. But now… He had reacted too quickly. Too certain. 

Jake let out a whistle. “Dude. Immediate rejection? Harsh.”

Shut up, Jake.

“No-- no, I just meant--” Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze like it burned. “It’s not like that. We’re not… I’m not… It’s just not.”

Not. Not. Not. Each repetition landed like a sucker punch. Nauseating. You tugged your sleeves down, nails digging into your palms. No way he hadn’t seen something. That night under the streetlights -- your collar slipped, wind exposing the faint glow you thought you hid… He must have seen. And now the idea of dating you wasn’t just wrong to him. It was laughable. 

You forced your lips into something like a smile, trying to save face. “Definetely not. That’d be weird.”

Your voice came out steady but it felt bile began to rise in your throat. It would be weird, wrong, impossible. You repeated the words like a reminder to yourself to drop it, to leave him alone. He had made it perfectly clear how he felt on the issue. 

The laughter resumed around you, Jay shrugging it off, Nayeon asking a bystander to take a picture of everyone, Jiyoon turning to you and asking you if her hair looked okay. You stood in the middle of all of it, smile glued in place, heart bruising quietly beneath your sleeves, your blue dying. You told yourself you were fine. When everyone posed for the picture and you felt Heeseung behind you, you told yourself it was fine. You kept your eyes trained on the camera. 

“Three, two, one -- everyone say ‘movie!’” the stranger holding Nayeon’s phone called out. 

“Movie!” everyone shouted on cue. 

You didn’t even move your mouth

The flash went off. 

Everyone dissolved into chatter again, crowding around Nayeon to see the photos. You didn’t join, slipping out of the circle with an excuse about wanting to get water. Instead of getting bottled water from the lobby, you found a water fountain off to the side. You weren’t thirsty but you pressed the button anyway, letting the thin stream run while you stared at the floor. Your face felt hot. Embarrassed. 

It was stupid to think he would have liked you. The umbrella, the rain, his eyes on you… but all that was before he saw. It was stupid to let your blue hope for something it could never touch. You adjusted your sleeves again, knuckles whitening as your fingers clenched. 

“Y/N?”

You stiffened. 

Jiyoon stood a few feet away, arms crossed loosely, gaze softer than usual. She approached slowly. “You left the group pretty fast.”

You tried to smile. “Just needed water.”

She didn’t look convinced and glanced toward the concessions stand where the group now stood waiting in line. “Jay’s an idiot. Jake too.”

You only nodded. 

“Heeseung too,” she shrugged. “He’s terrible with words.”

You hummed numbly and stared at your hands. 

“What he said…” Jiyoon hesitated, choosing her words. “It didn’t sound personal.”

You gave her a side-eye, trying to ease some of the tension. “Didn’t it?”

She sighed and threw her hands up. “Do you want me to go back and punch him? Put me in Coach, I can fight.”

A weak laugh escaped you. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

You shook your head and hooked an arm through hers. “It’s not that big of a deal… Really. Let’s just watch the movie.”

Jiyoon watched you for another second, like she wanted to ask more. But she didn’t. She just nodded and walked with you back towards the group. You were grateful for her understanding. 

Heeseung glanced up when you approached but you refused to look at him. Instead of letting him pull you back in like he had his own gravity, you stayed by Jiyoon, building a wall of bodies between the two of you. Your eyes were locked on the concession menu like it held the secrets of the universe. It felt like his eyes burned the back of your head, waiting for you to look back. You didn’t. 

When the group shuffled forward to order snacks, you stepped subtly behind Sua, letting her block you from his view. When everyone moved toward the theatre doors, you shifted toward the opposite end of the group. And when the ticket-taker tore your ticket, you pretended to struggle putting it back into your pocket so you could fall behind the others. Anything to avoid standing next to him. 

He knows. He saw. He doesn’t want you. Weird. Wrong. Laughable. Absolutely not. 

Inside the dark auditorium, everyone began filing into their seats, finding their seat row and seat number. Someone dropped candy on the floor and swore loudly, Sua yelled at Jake to stop eating popcorn before the movie even started. You hung back. 

Heeseung found his seat and you realized horrified that your seat was the one next to him. Jiyoon nudged your arm gently, as if to ask if you were going to take it. You forced your legs to move, but when you reached the chair, you passed it and took the one next to it instead. Jiyoon took your original seat without question, offering you sour straws and a warm smile. You knew Heeseung looked at the seat number and then looked at you, confusion etched on his face, but you pretended to be occupied by your phone. 

The lights dimmed, the movie began, and you tried your hardest to keep your eyes locked on the screen. 

After that night, something in you snapped back to reality. It was foolish to think he would be different. People were all the same. Always. No matter how kind they seemed, no matter how gentle their voice sounded when they said your name, no matter how warm their smile looked under an umbrella. So you did what you had learned to do. You pulled away. 

You started to arrive late to study group so didn’t have to see him as long, exchanging previous greetings for a mere small acknowledgment in his direction and then eventually nothing at all. Anytime you swore you could feel his gaze on you, you pulled your hoodie tighter over your head, tugged your sleeves down further, and wrapped your arms around yourself as protection -- a pathetic attempt to hide the blue. He had already seen. It was pointless. 

You wanted to say his opinion didn’t matter. If he had already seen it, why not just flaunt it? You felt the strange urge to make him more uncomfortable. This is who I am, look at me. But the truth was simple and cruel. His opinion did matter to you. And the idea of seeing disgust on his face while looking at you, who you were, something you couldn’t change-- You couldn’t do that. 

You avoided him so completely that even hearing his voice made something in you flinch. When he laughed -- God, that laugh -- you shoved your earbuds in. When he shifted in his seat, you shifted the other way. When he lingered in the doorway after study group, you would go out the other exit. The blue in your veins that once pulsed around him in excitement now vibrated in fear. You had been wrong, stupid. He didn’t want you-- not like that. Not even as a friend anymore. 

An unspoken habit of mutual avoidance settled in between the two of you. Your friends didn’t understand. Jiyoon kept shooting you confused glances, Nayeon asked if something happened, Sua asked if the two of you fought. But you couldn’t explain. 

Walking into the lecture hall felt like walking into a minefield. Heeseung always arrived first-- that hadn’t changed. He sat in his usual row, an empty seat next to him. Your eyes met before either of you could stop it. And for one fragile second, you let your thoughts wonder. 

Should you approach him? Say hi? Nod?

But Heeseung looked away. Too quickly. Too sharply. Like looking at you was unbearable. Your stomach hollowed. Of course not. What were you thinking?

So you walked. Down the stairs. Across the rows. Farther and farther away. You didn’t stop until you had reached the very opposite end of the lecture hall, completely diagonal from where he was seated, so far you could barely see his silhouette anymore. You sat there, heart sinking but steady, because this was better. This was safer. He wouldn’t see your skin from all the way over here. He wouldn’t see anything at all. 

The next lecture was the same. And the one after that, and the one after that -- a pattern, rhythm, a quiet choreography of retreat. You walked in the door and he would stare straight ahead, never turning. He always left before you, like he had never been there. Sometimes your eyes drifted across the distance and you caught him doing the same, but both of you snapped your gazes away like touching a hot stove. 

Eventually, it stopped being awkward. Stopped being painful. Stopped being… anything. Like he was a stranger. Good, you told yourself. This is safer. This is how it should be. Now I won’t ruin anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~HEESEUNG POV~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jay always wanted coffee when he was stressed. The two of them went hand in hand. And Heeseung went hand in hand with Jay. Which is why they were sitting across from each other in a cafe, Heeseung watching Jay sip on his third cup of coffee, and Jay pretending like he wasn’t reading the same paragraph in his book over and over again. 

After Jay’s second cup of coffee, Heeseung had decided he needed one himself, finally concluding that his own homework wasn’t gonna get done without a hit of caffeine. When his name was called from the front counter, he smoothed the hair on the back of his neck down by habit. It wasn’t a nervous habit, or a tick he did when he was stressed. It was to make sure the collar of his sweatshirt hadn’t shifted, to make sure his hair covered the skin -- to make sure nothing blue was showing. 

He stood, rolling the cuffs of his sleeves to the perfect height and weaving between tables towards the counter. His drink sat there waiting for him, but when he reached for it, his hand ran into something else. Someone else. Heeseung’s eyes flew to his sleeve -- that damn sleeve he had just rolled up -- and retracted his hand instantly, untucking the cuff and letting it cover his wrist to prevent exposure. 

“Sorry,” the girl next to him offered a sheepish apology and grabbed her drink. 

Heeseung looked at her, wondering briefly if she had seen anything on his wrist before determining her expression guessed she hadn’t. “No, sorry, that was my bad.” He offered a smile before grabbing his cup and quickly turned back to his table. 

Jay glanced up at him when he sat back down. “What’d you get?”

“Caramel macchiato,” Heeseung answered plainly, eyes trailing behind Jay’s shoulder to the girl who had now moved to her own solitary booth, warming her hands with the hot drink, her sleeves pulled over her hands to prevent the cup from burning her skin. 

That was a close call.

He recognized her almost instantly, her figure strained against gravity, trying to reach a book on the highest shelf in the store. For a moment he just watched, waiting to see if she would be successful in her attempts. But after she tried jumping and still was unable to reach her goal, he decided to step in. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, hoping the softness in his tone would cancel out the way he had unintentionally snuck up behind the girl. Despite his efforts, she stiffened. “Do you want help?”

She retracted her hand from the air before glancing between him and the shelf. “It’s that one. The one with the red spine.”

He scanned the shelf, finding the book easily and reached up to grab it. To his horror, gravity was not on his side either.

The second he raised his arm, he felt the fabric of his sleeve slide slowly, traitorously down toward his elbow. Shit, shit, shit. He tried to angle his arm differently, tried to force the hoodie to stay in place, to not expose him further. But nothing he did could hide the expanse of glowing veins announcing themselves beneath his skin. 

He couldn’t bring himself to look at the girl behind him, he couldn’t even bring himself to breathe. 

His fingers curled around the spine of the book, tugging it free as quickly as he could manage. He lowered his arm immediately -- jerking it, really -- using the movement as an excuse to yank his sleeve back into place. Only then did he risk a glance at her. 

But her attention was fixed entirely on the collar of her hoodie. She fiddled with the drawstrings, completely oblivious to the way Heeseung almost passed out in relief. What was it with this girl and close calls?

He held out the book wordlessly, unable to form a sentence yet, and she thanked him. He managed a nod and small smile. She hadn’t seen, she hadn’t seen. The mantra looped in his head like a desperate prayer. 

She met his eyes and offered a small, shy smile, similar to the one she had given him in the cafe. For some reason, it made something warm bloom in his chest. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, the words felt clumsy in his mouth. Too tight, too controlled. 

She broke away from his eyes to look down at the book she was now clutching against her chest. “I’ve been saving up for this one. It’s kind of my ritual… After each exam.”

He blinked inquisitively, almost surprised she was keeping up conversation. “Ritual?”

“I like buying a new book after my exams. Like a reward.”

He couldn’t help it -- he laughed. She was cute. “I like that idea.” A little bit of awkward silence before he continued. “Honestly, you’ve got a better system than I do.”

“Which is?”

“Crying into my notes.”

She laughed, head tipping forward and eyes shrinking into moons. He almost forgot to breathe again, but not because of blue skin this time. 

“You should try the book thing.” Her tone was teasing. “Might be better for your mental health.”

He grinned. He liked her. “Did you… do well on the exam?”

“I think so. At least, I hope so.”

Heeseung thought so too. She looked very focused that day in the cafe. “That’s good.”

She paused briefly before giving him one last smile. “It was nice running into you again. Thank you for getting the book for me.”

They said their goodbyes and Heeseung turned around, not wanting to watch her leave. He moved behind a bookshelf, blocking your view of him and took the time to roll up his sleeves one last time, staring at the blue streaking like lightning through his body. He tried to clear his thoughts, willing the veins to dull, to fade the glow. But when he heard you say thank you to the cashier, the image of you thanking him for the book flashed through his head, instantly making the blue illuminate. He exhaled sharply, pulling the sleeves back down and tucking his hands into his pockets. 

And in that moment, unbeknownst to the both of you, you glowed in unison. Perfectly matched. Perfectly hidden. Perfectly unaware of the other.

Heeseung didn’t even want to go. Jay had dragged him out of the apartment with promises of productivity and human interaction. Heeseung thought he could do without the latter. He’d been mid conversation with Jay, tapping at his laptop in that lazy way he did when he wasn’t ready to commit to doing actual work, when the door opened. He didn’t pay attention at first. And then he looked up. 

She stood in the doorway, slightly pouty, slightly annoyed, cute--

He knew that face. He froze, watching her like his brain hadn’t caught up yet. What were the odds of the two of you randomly meeting this many times? And in a study group of all things? He felt her gaze flick toward him for the briefest second before she quickly looked away. His stomach tightened. Did she recognize him too?

Jay nudged his shoulder. “Dude. Earth to Heeseung?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m listening.”

He wasn’t. He was watching her set your things down next to Nayeon. Her friend flopped dramatically onto a beanbag, announcing their arrival as if the room hadn’t just shifted the moment they had walked in. Heeseung tried to focus on Jay’s words, but his eyes kept drifting back to her -- like there was a magnet inside his head and she was the only thing in the room capable of pulling at it. 

“Heeseung, Jay -- these are the people I was telling you about,” Jake called them over and Heeseung understood his cue immediately. 

He tried to play it cool, but he packed way too fast to pretend he didn’t want to see her again. Suddenly, a study group didn’t seem so bad. He slung his bag over his shoulder and as he and Jay crossed the room, his eyes met hers again. 

Nayeon whispered something to her and she leaned in. Heeseung didn’t want to notice the way her expression softened, the way she bit her lip when she was listening. But he did. He wondered what they were saying. 

“This is Y/N,” Jake said, motioning to her. 

You. 

Your name. 

It settled in his mind too easily. 

Heeseung smiled. “We’ve met.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, but after seeing the tiny flicker of surprise, the faint color rising to your cheeks -- he didn’t regret it. You did remember.

“At the bookstore,” you said, acknowledging him. 

“And a cafe,” he added. “Nice to meet you properly this time.”

The actual study session was exactly what he expected: half studying, half chaos. People chatting and joking and complaining about everything. Except he couldn’t focus on any of it. Not when you were sitting directly across from him (he did that on purpose). He was learning more about you. Like how you twisted the ring on your finger when you were thinking, how you chewed the inside of your cheek when confused, how your voice softened when you asked questions… 

He leaned over to Jay to ask about the stats homework when a thought crossed his mind. You were in the class too. He used that as leverage to start a conversation, relishing in the banter you offered him in return. 

You were soft spoken, every answer to one of his questions was thoughtful and he listened intently, glad that you were indulging in his interrogation. It almost became a reflex to glance up at you between homework problems, wanting to see you one more time. The blue under his crewneck began to glow. You were pretty… but you were also the most dangerous thing in the room. 

Heeseung didn’t like stats too much, numbers made his head spin. But math always had a single answer, a right answer, and he appreciated that. What he appreciated more was the day you slipped into class late, breathless, hair windblow, eyes wide with embarrassment as you dove into the nearest open seat. Right next to him.

If you had come any later, you would have missed the professor’s cue to find a partner, but luckily for Heeseung, you were there. He stared. You stared. Both of you looked like you’d been caught doing something wrong. That single day created a ripple effect between the two of you. Sitting next to each other became normal -- not planned or discussed. He would get there early and you would slip into the seat next to him. By week three, he was saving your seat without meaning to. 

Outside of class, everything expanded effortlessly. He liked getting to hang out and get to know you, just you, not the version of you that was presented during study groups. 

Of course his friends had noticed his draw to you, teasing and poking fun at whatever chemistry they thought they saw between you. He always kept his reactions light, not wanting to deny the feeling he had, but also needing to draw that line. You always answered for both of them: “We’re just friends.” And he agreed. He didn’t want to, but he did. You were such a breath of fresh air, he had missed the feeling of butterflies in his chest, the nerves of excitement when knowing he would see you on his way to class. But despite that, he needed to agree. You were just friends. You deserved someone simple. Someone normal. Someone who didn’t glow. And he needed to respect that. 

Even if there wasn’t rain on the forecast, Heeseung kept an umbrella in his backpack. It came in handy for days like these. Unprecedented hurricanes. When he saw you brace to sprint into the storm that would’ve knocked you flat, holding you back was almost an instinct. You couldn’t be serious, right?

You froze when he touched you. He froze when he realized he was holding your hand. 

“Do you wanna walk with me?” He hoped his voice was stable. “I have an umbrella.”

He was glad he saved you from an almost guaranteed potential fever. Under the umbrella together, walking beside you felt easy. Natural. You shouted thank you over the rain and when he leaned close to hear you better, your eyes met. Too close. Too warm. He had to look away first. 

By the time you reached the security of the bus canopy, his entire left shoulder was soaked. He didn’t mind being half outside of the umbrella as long as you were dry. Upon seeing the massive crowd of people trying to find shelter under the canopy, he knew if the two of you wanted to stay dry, he was gonna need to fight his way in. 

“Grab my wrist,” he shouted, holding his hand out to you. 

You seemed confused but reached for his hand, which he gladly took in his own. He weaved a path through the hoard, not stopping until he knew you were safe from the rain. 

He should’ve predicted it. With a crowd like this there was bound to be pushing, but he had been so focused on keeping the both of you dry he hadn’t even considered it. Someone slammed into you and he watched you stumble, your eyes widening in panic. Without thinking, he wrapped an arm around your waist to catch you and suddenly-- 

You were against him. Breath to breath. Heartbeat to heartbeat. He didn’t know if he couldn’t breathe because of you or if the rest of the crowd had used up all the oxygen. 

“Sorry,” you whispered, small and shaken. 

Heeseung dipped his head, trying to make space despite having none. He shouldn’t have done that. It made your breath brush his cheek. It made him inhale sharply without meaning to. It made his blue glow. 

“Y/N,” he murmured before he could stop himself. He had hoped he said it quietly enough that you didn’t hear it. But you had. 

“Yeah?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He didn’t even know what he had wanted to say, what had made him talk. He needed to pull back before he did something stupid, before he could lean closer, before he could smell more of your shampoo -- before he could lose the last bit of restraint he had. 

But there was another shove from the crowd. Any distance he had tried to put between you immediately collapsed and you slammed into his chest again. He didn’t hesitate to hold the small of your back in his hand to steady you. 

He couldn’t stop himself. He looked down at you -- really looked -- at your damp hair stuck to your cheek, your long eyelashes clumped together because of the rain, your lips parted just slightly as you tried to steady your breathing. 

He felt a violent pull. Because now he knew two things with terrifying clarity. 

You weren’t just a friend to him. 

And he wasn’t afraid of falling for you. He was afraid he already had.

The library had been too quiet for hours -- that thick, late night silence that made every page turn sound like a gunshot. Heeseung was trying his best not to nod off, taking longer and longer blinks every second. When you finally began packing up, he did too. It wasn’t subtle, he didn’t even try to pretend otherwise. He wanted to walk with you. 

“I should have worn a bigger jacket,” he muttered, rubbing his arms to protect them from the windchill. 

You smiled at him, breath fogging in the air. “Next time I will not be staying up past 11 p.m. to study. It’s too cold to walk back.”

Heeseung glanced sideways. You looked tired. Soft around the edges, eyes a little glossy with sleep. Beautiful, in the way exhaustion sometimes made people look more real. “You looked tired towards the end,” he murmured, almost regretting his choice of words immediately. He didn’t want you to make you self conscious. 

“So did you.”

Nevermind.

“I’m always tired,” he tried to joke, but his voice came out too honest. 

You gave him a funny look. “Then why did you stay so long? You could’ve left hours ago.”

He swallowed hard. He couldn’t tell you the truth. Because you were there. Because leaving meant not walking with you. 

“I could say the same to you,” he deflected. 

Your head lowered. “I was trying to be productive.” 

“Did it work?”

“Not really.” You huffed a disappointed sigh that almost made him laugh. God, he liked you too much. 

Silence settled as the two of you walked. It wasn’t awkward, but Heeseung still felt the need to fill it, wanting to talk to you. “Ever notice how campus feels like a different world at night? Like everything’s louder and quieter at the same time?” What was he even talking about? 

“Yeah,” you responded quietly. “It feels… softer.”

He smiled to himself. You were indulging in his antics. “I like it better like this.”

“You like the cold?”

He finally met your eyes and his breath caught. “No. I like the quiet.”

He didn’t say: “I like the quiet because it makes it easier to hear your footsteps next to mine” or “because it feels like the rest of the world disappears and it’s just us” or “because I’m not afraid someone will notice how I look at you.”

Before he could think of anything braver to say, wind exploded down the walkway. A brutal gust of air flung your hair back and the streetlights caught your frame perfectly. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright from the sting of the wind. You looked… he didn’t have a word for it. His smile faltered. Beautiful. Too beautiful.

Your gaze lifted, colliding with his beneath the yellow wash of the streetlamps. He panicked, stomach dropping. He tore his eyes away and stared at the concrete like it was fascinating. 

You looked really pretty. Every nerve in his body wanted to tell you. The feeling of you hit him all at once, sharp, overwhelming, terrifying. He liked you. Too much. And liking you meant hurting you. Hurting him. That’s all that ever came out of anything when his secret glow was finally revealed. He didn’t want to ruin whatever he had with you. He needed to stop it before he even started. So he clenched his jaw and kept walking. Silent. 

You asked, half joking. “Do I have something on my shirt?”

“No.” No, you were perfect. 

You looked down like you believed something was wrong. His stomach twisted. He was messing this up. But this was complicated. He was complicated. 

“Let’s… just get you home.” He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, eyes fixed ahead, voice small. Because he -- Icarus with blue scars -- had flown too close already. 

He hadn’t meant to say it like that. You were laughing at something he said, the two of you drawn together again. Going to the movies was a nice way to get everyone’s minds off of exams, and it was an excuse to see you again. He had been careful to spend less time one-on-one with you, and he knew you had noticed his absence but been too polite to say anything about it. He would never admit it out loud, or even to himself, but he missed you. 

Jay’s voice cut through his thoughts. “If you wanna gossip like a couple then just tie the knot already.”

Heeseung panicked. Completely, stupidly panicked. Because he wanted that. It hurt how much he wanted it. But he couldn’t want it. He couldn’t want you. Because you wouldn’t want him. Not if you knew. 

“Absolutely not.”

The second the words left his mouth, he regretted them. And then he saw your face and his stomach plummeted. Your smile was gone, your eyebrows crunched in hurt. He tried to correct himself but couldn’t find the words to explain something unexplainable. How was he supposed to say you deserved someone better? Every word he stuttered out was worse than the last. And you nodded like nothing was wrong, even agreed with him. It gutted him.  

The rest of the night, there was undeniable distance. You simply drifted away, seemingly finding ways to shield yourself from him. Heeseung felt something cold bloom under her ribs. He had done that. He had put that distance there. Not just once now. Twice. 

There was one last chance to repair some of the damage. He knew your seats were next to each other. It wasn’t intentional, but it wasn’t something he was going to complain about. He had seen your seat number when the ticket-taker had granted you entrance, subtly looking at his own with hope. It was like the universe had heard his plea. 

Inside the theatre, he sat down first, waiting for you to find your spot next to him. Maybe this would ease some tension. A chance to sit together without any pressure? But you didn’t. You swapped seats with Jiyoon and he knew it was on purpose. The seat between you felt like a punishment he knew he deserved. 

He knew he shouldn’t but he wanted to fix it, he wanted to tell you he didn’t mean it. But what good would that do? You deserved someone better. Distance was safer. You seemed to understand that more than he did. So he didn’t say anything. Just stayed where he was, eyes fixed ahead, fingers tugging his sleeves down to hide insecurity. 

After that night, everything was just different. The two of you didn’t sit next to each other in the study room anymore, it was like you were doing it on purpose. He hated it. He hated that he had pushed you away. And he hated even more that you had listened. He could never catch your eye between homework problems anymore, and anytime he said something funny hoping you had heard, you had your earbuds in. And when he lingered at the door, just in case you might walk out with him like you used to, you slipped out the side exit wordlessly. 

Heeseung had never felt the absence of someone so sharply. You were right there, but at the same time, you were gone. You were avoiding him, and because he didn’t know how to fix it -- because he knew it would be wrong to fix it -- he followed your lead. 

His friends noticed. Your friends noticed. Of course they did. But Heeseung pretended not to hear any of the whispering they did amongst themselves or the looks of confusion they would make between him and you. 

Any magic stats gained with your presence disappeared with your absence. He showed up early, not even intentionally saving the seat, but knowing that he had nonetheless. It taunted him, like a silly little shrine to the routine he ruined. But a pathetic, hopeful piece of him continued to save the seat anyway. Just in case. 

One morning, you walked in. His heart leaped on instinct before he snapped back to reality and crushed it down. Your eyes met. His breath caught. 

He should say something. He really, really, really should say something. Your lips parted, a word forming-- 

His nerves spiked, his blue glowed with anticipation. Too bright. Too revealing. He needed to look away. 

He could no longer see you, but he heard footsteps coming his direction. Part of him hoped they were yours, but he knew they weren’t. Yours didn’t sound like that. When he looked up, he saw you walking across the hall, down the stairs, all the way to the other end of the lecture room. He sat still, every muscle tight, knowing he had no right to feel hurt. 

The next lecture was the same. And the next. And the next. You avoided him like he was something poisonous. Maybe he was?

Eventually, all of it -- the silence, the distance -- became normal. It never got easier, it just became familiar. 

This is good, he told himself. This is safer for you. This is how it should be. Now I won’t ruin anything. 

You deserved someone better. Someone normal. Someone who didn’t glow blue under their skin when they felt too much. 

He lowered his gaze to his hands, imagining the faint, betraying light of blue lightning beneath his sleeves. He tucked them into the hood of his hoodie to hide the way they trembled. You were across the room now -- untouchable, unreachable, safer. He just wished safer didn't hurt this much. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Masks" ~ Shel Silverstein

She had blue skin, and so did he

He kept it hid, and so did she

They searched for blue their whole life through

Then passed right by -- and never knew

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

read chapter 2 here!

[yoursinink]

Dance with Me - N.Riki

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

niki x reader

word count: 18k (got carried away)

summary: a boy in swing class catches your attention and your interest piques when you wonder if your favorite dance partner has a special spot for you too

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Swing dancing was going to be your new thing. Why? Couldn’t really say, let’s just blame it on a feeling. You had signed up for a beginners swing series with a couple friends, thinking it would be a fun way to spend Wednesday nights and do something other than homework. Other than the couple spin and arm maneuvers you learned on a previous vacation, you knew nothing about swing -- nothing about dance in general. As a matter of fact, before the class started, you were under the impression that there was only one kind of swing. You were proven wrong very quickly. 

“What are their feet doing?” you turned to whisper to Karina, who seemed just as confused as you. 

“This is not what we learned before,” she whispered back. Clearly the two of you were on the same page. 

“Let’s just jump right into it, okay!” The instructor clapped her hands a couple times after the demonstration to get the group’s attention. “Just based on what we’ve demonstrated,” she referred to her dance partner, “if my role resonated with you more, I want you to stand on this side of the room. You will be the follows. And if my partner’s role resonated with you more, you can step off to the other side of the room. You will be the leads.”

The air was filled with the shuffling of feet as people moved to their prospective positions. You and Karina moved to the ‘follows’ side, which happened to be where most of the women ended up. You scanned the “lead” side of the room and waved to Jungwon and Jake, who were almost directly across from you. 

“Great! Now that we’re pretty evenly split, go ahead and find a partner from the other group! If you can’t find one, no worries, everyone will get a chance to dance with somebody during our exercises!”

You made eye contact with Jungwon, pointing at him and wiggling your eyebrows. He smiled and pointed back, already walking towards you. 

“What’dya say partner?” you ask, holding up your hand for a high five, which he gladly hit. 

“I say if you kill my toes, I will kill you.”

“Sounds reasonable,” you nod to yourself, standing side by side next to Karina and Jake, who had also paired up. 

There were a couple more leads than there were follows but the instructor again assured that everyone would get a chance to dance with someone. 

“Now, everybody, move towards the walls so we can form a giant circle! Make sure that you are able to see me standing in the center!”

Everyone did as they were told and then the lesson officially began. You and Jungwon faced each other, one hand held his shoulder while the other held his hand. His free hand sat across the small of your back. 

“This is called ‘close embrace’ everybody!” the instructor announced. “While in this position, I want everybody to try and do a simple two step together.”

The circle of learners again followed instruction. 

“My rhythm sucks ass,” you mutter, watching Jungwon’s feet to stay on beat. 

“Hey, you said it, not me,” he joked, giving you a side-eye to sell the point. 

“If I step on your feet, just know it wasn’t an accident.”

Just as you thought you were getting the hang of it, the music was halted and the follows were told to rotate one person to the right. You waved with faux sadness to Jungwon before grinning in Jake’s direction. Karina had already moved on to the next and was introducing herself. 

“You ready?” he asked, turning towards you completely and putting his hand on your back when the music started. 

“No,” you answered honestly. 

He laughed, already guiding you into the two-step. “At least you’re self-aware. Jungwon warned me about you in advance.”

“Traitor. I haven’t even stepped on his toes yet.”

“Key word: yet.”

You spare a glance in Jungwon’s direction to see him awkwardly dancing with another girl. She looked like she knew what she was doing a little bit too much, like she was trying to be the lead instead. 

Before you could point it out to Jake, the instructor called, “Leads, remember -- you’re responsible for communicating direction! You decide where to go! If your follow looks confused, that’s your fault!”

Jake chuckled. “That seemed targeted, huh?”

“She’s saving my dignity too,” you admitted, making eye contact with him and smiling. 

The music cut and everyone rotated. This time, the leads were told to throw in a couple triple-steps to spice it up. After a quick introduction and awkward hand placement, your new partner began to move and you had no choice but to follow suite. 

The rotations continued, each rotation the leads were told to follow a different pattern or tempo and the follows had to try and follow them. You were getting better but you wouldn’t say you were great yet. You had almost made it all the way around the circle, counting the number of rotations left until you reached Jungwon and Jake again. 3. 

You gave a small thumbs up to the man you had just danced with and stepped to your next partner. He was at least 6 inches taller than you with a stern expression etched across his face. He didn’t smile when you introduced yourself. He barely blinked. 

“Hi!” you chirped anyway, because someone had to supply the social energy around here. 

“...Hey,” he nodded, rigid as a board. 

You tried not to squint your eyes at his response, wishing he would give you a little more to go off of. Swing didn’t require talking in general since your bodies were the point of communication, but a little bit of small talk goes a long way. Clearly not with this guy though. 

Even though his demeanor was stiff, his dancing wasn’t. His hand barely touched your waist, yet you could easily pick up the directional cues he was giving you. And compared to some of the other people you had trouble following, his steps were confident -- deliberate -- and gave you plenty of time to register where he was taking you. 

You stole a look at his face. It was still as stoic as before. “So… you’ve done this before?” The question was asked carefully, trying to coax a response out of him. 

His expression didn’t change. “A bit.”

You nodded, waiting for him to elaborate. He did not. Okay then. 

“I hope you can’t tell I have no idea what I’m doing…” Maybe a joke would work?

You watched his eyes flick down to your feet. Non-judgmental, just assessing. “You’re doing fine.”

You blinked. That was… not exactly what you expected but still nicer than what he could've said. 

“Really?” You pressed, because you doubted encouragement from Mister Statue would happen again. You needed to savour this fleeting moment. 

He gave the smallest possible shrug, a movement so minimal you almost missed it right as the hand on your back gave the slightest pull forwards. You chased him. 

“You follow the cues,” he said after you had correctly assessed his hand movement and followed him through a three-step. “That’s all that matters.”

The smile on your face was instantaneous. Hell yeah. “Thank you. I’m hanging on by sheer willpower and caffeine.”

Something in his expression shifted. Could have been amusement but it could have also been a muscle spasm. Hard to say. 

You moved to the next partner, mentally counting again. Two more rotations. Almost back to familiar territory, thank goodness. 

When it was time, you were almost flinging yourself at Jungwon, desperate for a change in partners. 

“Dude, I’ve never felt so manhandled in my life,” you whisper yelled to him, trying not to be too loud over the music. 

“Karina said the same thing,” he laughed. “He seems… exotic?”

You spared a look at the man you had last danced with, immediately averting your eyes. “I just don’t think that much gusto is necessary,” you mumbled. “Please don’t over-gusto-fy this too.”

“That might be kind of hard,” Jungwon drawled and in the same breath did a dramatic step to throw you off. “It’s in my nature.”

The swing classes occurred every Monday and Wednesday night. On Fridays there were dance socials, a two-hour time block where anyone and everyone with a form of swing dancing experience was welcome to dance with each other. A bit of time had passed since your first lesson and the four of you were now 3 weeks into the beginner lesson series, but you yet to go to any social events. Not that you were complaining. Sometimes your toes were too sore from being stepped on by the end of the week to want to do anything anyway. 

You were especially excited about today’s lesson because you were beginning to talk about how to maneuver spinning. Finally, something flashy and not just stepping patterns and rhythms. 

“That’s right everyone,” the instructor clapped her hands to calm down the class. “Today we begin to experiment with a couple different turning techniques. Follows, this is your moment to shine!”

Gathering in a circle was second nature at this point, before even being instructed you had partnered up with Jake. You watched together as both instructors performed a demo in the middle of the circle. It was beautiful -- clean, smooth, and effortless. One instructor raised their hand, guiding their partner forward, and then she spun without a single stutter in her step. 

You sighed wistfully. “Imagine.”

“Gotta be AI,” Jake said from behind you. 

“Has to be,” Jungwon agreed. 

“I bet she’s never even tripped on her own socks,” Karina added. 

After a quick walk through with counts, you were left with nothing but your partner, a backtrack, and a mission to complete: perform an inside turn. 

“Okay leads! Try giving your partner a gentle spin. And follows, remember, you’re moving forward before your turn, not spinning in place. We’ll walk through it slowly.”

Slowly sounded great. Slowly was safe. Slowly was-

“Rotate!” she called after the very first attempt. 

You groaned. “She lies. She lies every class.”

The next couple partners were gentle enough, offering hesitating hands and half-hearted spins that did nothing to instill confidence in you. It felt less like dancing and more like being questionably directed. You almost fell once but caught yourself by grabbing your partner’s shoulder like you were boarding a bus, which you know both Jake and Jungwon saw because you heard them snickering over your shoulder. 

A few more rotations and you were face-to-face with Mister Statue again. He still looked exactly the same as the first class. Tall, intense, dressed in loose black clothes, a couple rings adorning his fingers. 

“You good with spins?” you quip. 

“A bit.”

Leading up to a spin, you and your partner had to move from closed embrace to open embrace, and then the lead would raise the hand holding the follow’s in the air to indicate the start of a spin. If the hands were simply raised up, you would spin clockwise. But if the hands were raised up and in between the two of you, you would spin counter-clockwise. It was a lot of new information to try and remember. 

Unsurprisingly, this guy knew what he was doing. His steps were precise and when he raised his arm, you didn’t even think twice about which direction to turn. You came out of the turn perfectly balanced. 

You snapped your head up at him, shocked. “Wait-- that actually worked? I spun?? And I didn’t trip??”

A beat passed. Then, “Yes.”

You beamed. “Alright, partner. Spin me again.”

If he had been anyone else, you might’ve gotten a grin or a playful laugh in return. But with this guy, you got a slow blink… and then the faintest tilt of his head, like he was surprised by your tremendous enthusiasm. 

He repositioned his arms around you carefully. The hand on your back was light and confident as always, making you excited. His other hand held yours and you felt your excitement pick up. Spinning was so much funner when you were doing it with someone who could actually lead you. 

He didn’t ask you if you were ready, he probably felt the adrenaline rushing through your fingertips. Step by step, he guided you into open embrace, fingers firm around yours but not tight. When he raised your joined hands, you felt the cue instantly and stepped forward and turned and--

Perfect again. 

Damn this guy was good. 

Instead of stopping after the spin, he pulled you back in by your joined hands into a closed embrace, continuing to two-step. 

“Okay, seriously, are you some kind of undercover swing-dancing pro?” you ask, genuinely curious at this point. How was every move of his so crafted and clean?

For a split second -- just a split -- his lips twitched. “No,” he replied. 

“You sure?” you teased, receiving the cue to go into open embrace. “I’m starting to think you were trained ahead of time to specifically make the rest of us look bad.”

“You’re better than you think,” he said. 

You did not expect him to say that. Praise? From him? You were so stunned that you stuttered on the next triple step he initiated. You dipped forward a fraction of an inch, losing the familiar support of his hand on your back until he caught the shift immediately and corrected it, guiding the rhythm between you back into place. 

“You’re okay, just keep the momentum.”

You nodded quickly, trying not to combust from embarrassment. “Sorry. Your compliment overwhelmed me. You know, you being a pro dancer and all…”

Your eyes refused to leave his shoulder and completely missed the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. 

“Not a pro,” he said softly. 

“You can keep denying it but I’m not buying it,” you muttered, daring to look back up. “I haven’t stepped on your feet once, and that’s because of you, not me.”

There was definitely a small smile on his face now. He was really pushing the limits of his facial movements tonight. 

“Just experience,” he said simply. 

“Experience doing what?” you pressed.

He guided you into another turn before answering and when you settled back into closed embrace, his hand slid naturally to its place at the small of your back. “Dancing.”

You huffed. “No shit, Sherlock. But like… what kind of dancing? For how long? Did you take lessons? Were you born with jazz shoes on?”

“The latter.”

“I’d believe it.”

You could feel his chest rise with slow controlled breaths, like he was deciding whether to indulge in your interrogation or stay silent in his black-clad, mysterious glory. Just as it seemed he was opening his mouth to say something, the instructor stopped the music. 

“You guys are looking good out there! Let’s try a simple spin out now!” Her words were followed by a demonstration and you excitedly turned towards Mister Statue. 

“This one looks fun,” you smiled, prepared to let him spin you into oblivion with full faith he wouldn’t let you hit the wall. 

He was reaching for your waist when the instructor asked, “Have you already danced with this partner?”

You couldn’t help the disappointment that settled in your stomach when a rotation was called and looked at him with visible dismay. “Rats. Don’t you worry, I’m gonna circle back here eventually.”

Slowly, the rotations led you back to Jake. “Save me,” you begged immediately, hands clasped in a fake prayer. 

“Oh boy,” he murmured. “Who thrashed you this time?”

“You know the guy who looks like he drinks protein shakes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?”

Both of your heads slowly turned to look behind you. “Ah. I see.”

“Big enthusiasm, lot’s of arm power there.”

Jake nodded knowingly. “Karina said she almost dislocated her arm with him.”

“For his sake, I hope he doesn’t.” You held a fist up between the two of you. “Hands would be thrown.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t doubt it for a second,” he joked dismissively, just trying to stay on beat to the music. “Can you focus and stop stepping on my feet?”

“It’s not my fault I’m stepping on your feet. You should be a better lead.”

Jake stopped mid triple-step and gave you the most offended look he could muster. “Pardon?? I’m literally doing the exact same thing the instructor is doing.”

“Then why am I doing the exact opposite of what you’re doing?” you shot back, lifting your eyebrows pointedly and cocking your head. 

“Because you’re a terrible dancer,” he hissed under his breath, trying not to laugh. “Now please, for the love of everything, step back on the second beat, not forward.”

“You’re killing the vibe, Jake.”

“You’re killing my metatarsals.”

You snorted so hard you lost the rhythm entirely, but he corrected it quickly and helped get the both of you back into something resembling a beat. Rotation was called again and he exhaled dramatically. 

“Thank God.” He wiped imaginary sweat with the back of his hand. “I’m sending prayers to Jungwon.”

The first thing Jungwon said when you reached him was, “Karina said we should go out and get food after this.”

No hello was necessary. He knew exactly what you wanted to hear.

“Ooooo yes please. Did she say where?”

“Tacos,” he said immediately. “I think it’s that one place with discounted birria on Mondays.”

“That tracks,” you remarked with a laugh. “She sent me at least three TikToks about birria tacos last night.”

“So you’re already well indoctrinated,” Jungwon grinned. “Jake’s an easy yes too, just tell him there’s bottomless guac.”

You agreed. “He would sell his soul for endless guacamole.”

Jungwon led you through the new spin you were taught, catching you through a small stumble and resuming the previous tempo. 

“This one is hard,” you mutter, staring at your feet to not fall off beat. 

“Should I pull you in slower?” he asked, adjusting his hand to try an easier spinning method. It worked, but only slightly better. 

“I think if we just do this 50 more times, I’ll get the hang of it.”

“I think you’ll throw up from motion sickness before even reaching the 25 mark.”

“Ye of little faith.”

“That reminds me,” Jungwon added. “What are your thoughts on going to one of the socials soon? The next one is in four days.”

Your stomach flipped. It seemed a little more scary to dance outside of the practice room, like there would be pressure and judgement coming from the the wallpaper and ceiling tiles. “Maybe.”

“Jake’s already on board, but we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“No, I think it could be fun,” you reassured. And terrifying but who’s keeping track. “Besides, it’s good practice.”

Your next few partners in the rotation were manageable -- nothing disastrous, but nothing exceptional. Just a blur of polite smiles, clumsy steps, and the occasional “Sorry, sorry, sorry” from someone who was definitely more nervous than you. One guy counted the beats out loud like he was defusing a bomb. Another kept accidentally turning himself instead of you. And another wasn’t even stepping, just swaying to the beat. 

But each rotation, your eyes flicked back to where Mister Statue was dancing. Every time you caught sight of him, he was guiding someone through a clean spin, or leading his partner through smooth transitions of single, double, and triple steps. Loose black clothing, rings glinting every time he raised his hand to signal a turn, clean movements when he didn’t even look like he was trying. You wanted to dance with him again and actually feel like you were dancing. 

The next partner switch brought you closer, just one rotation away. From here, you could see that his expression didn’t change as he danced, but his posture softened for partners who clearly needed guidance. He never looked impatient. Never looked bored. Just focused. You watched as he spun Karina out, excited that you would be able to finally try to spin like that with someone who knew what they were doing. 

Rotate, rotate, rotate you chanted in your heart, building up the anticipation. And then you found yourself stepping into place in front of him again. 

“You’re back.”

Was that a joke? And did he just talk to you first? 

“Can’t get rid of me that easily. Sorry,” you (hopefully) joked back. 

The music picked up and you were in his arms again, being led through the now-familiar steps. His lead was instantly recognizable, letting you relax a little. And then the hand on your lower back disappeared. This was it. You were gonna spin out--

His fingers loosened on the hand holding yours, raising your hand slightly and guiding you through a crisp twirl away from him before gently pulling you back and slipping his other hand back to your waist. He caught you before you even realized you’d finished the turn. 

“Oh my gosh that was so fun,” you gasped. “Can we do that again?”

“You like spins,” he observed quietly. 

You huffed out a laugh. “Only when you’re the one doing them.”

His fingers tightened just slightly -- barely noticeable, unless you were paying attention. You were absolutely paying attention. Aaaaand face palming at how awkward you realized you probably sounded and began to stutter, trying to save face. 

“I feel like I’m just getting flung around with some of these people.” There. That was good, right?

He just nodded once, as if your correction made perfect sense. “Momentum matters,” he said simply, pulling you through a smooth step that settled your balance before initiating a series of triple steps. “Control matters more.”

God. He talked like someone who lived inside a metronome. 

“Yeah, well, some of these guys have… a lot of momentum,” you grumbled. “Like, runaway train energy.”

His head dipped the slightest fraction, almost like a laugh. “Runaway trains don’t lead well.”

“You don’t say.”

“You follow better when you trust the lead.”

He said it neutrally, a casual statement. So casual you didn’t even think before responding with, “I trust you.”

There was a moment of silence. And then, “Good.”

Oh, God, please spin me away so it’s not awkward anymore. You both wanted rotation and didn’t at the same time. 

A quick glance at his face made you realize that he didn’t look uncomfortable at all though. Not even a little. He held your gaze for a couple seconds and then initiated another spin, effectively breaking the eye contact. 

“Okay, okay,” Jake swallowed a bite of his taco, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Best and worst dancer, go.”

That question didn’t take much thought. “Worst dancer is that one brunette guy, the one that I swear tried to launch me into the wall.”

Karina clapped her hands in agreement. “Yes! Oh my gosh! I swear he might’ve given me an ingrown toenail from stepping on my feet so much.”

“Jake, you’re a close second,” you chirped, taking out a huge chunk of your own taco as Jake scowled at you. 

“You’re one to talk,” he quipped. You denied any allegations thrown your way. 

Jungwon thought for a moment. “I think I would say the girl with short hair. The one that always has like 5 necklaces on.”

“It’s between her and the one with dyed red hair, for sure,” Jake seconded his opinion. “I feel like I’m the follow sometimes.”

You and Karina laughed as they shared stories, completely lining up with one another’s narratives. 

“Who would you say the best dancer is?” Karina asked you curiously. 

“Don’t lie,” Jake said. 

“Yeah, don’t pretend it wasn’t the guy with platinum hair.”

You choked on the taco, swallowing harshly and coughing. 

Karina hummed. “Ni-ki? Yeah, he might be my favorite too.”

Ni-ki. 

You wondered how she knew his name and you didn’t. When you had introduced yourself the first time, he hadn’t given you his name, but after the first couple times you danced together, you didn’t bother asking. It seemed past the time window for that kind of introduction. But still, she had known his name. 

“He’s kind of scary though,” she added between bites of food. “Like I’m scared to mess up in front of him.”

Scary? That wasn’t the word you’d use. Intense, maybe. Focused, sure. Scary wasn’t quite right. 

“He’s not scary.”

Three heads turned towards you simultaneously and you became acutely aware of how hot it was in the restaurant. You cleared your throat and lowered your taco. “I mean-- he’s quiet. And really tall. And he doesn’t talk much but he’s not… scary.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Glowing review.”

“I’m just saying,” you insisted, gesturing with your tortilla. “He’s actually really patient. Like, shockingly patient.”

“You would know, huh?” Jake deadpanned. 

“He’s not much of a conversationalist,” you tried to change the subject. “I’ve only gotten a few sentences out of him.”

Karina leaned forward like you’d just confessed something big. “Dude, he never talks. If he’s talking to you in even 2 word sentences, that’s like… huge.”

You blinked. “But it’s only about dancing and trying to follow his lead.”

“He’s coaching you through it?? That’s basically a verbal love letter,” Jungwon exaggerates. 

You kicked him under the table. “Shut up.”

“He told me his name when we partnered today. I think it’s the only thing he’s ever said to me, and only because I asked. Just ‘Ni-ki.’ Very monotone. But like… dancer hot, you know?”

Oh you knew alright. 

“Dancer hot??” Jungwon repeated with a laugh. 

“You know what I mean,” she insisted. “He looks like he’s really good at things. Like, on purpose or something.”

Your stomach tightened for reasons you were absolutely not prepared to unpack over tacos. 

“Did you know his name?” Jake asked, squinting at you over his glass of water. 

“No..” your words were barely over a mumble. 

“Bruh. No game, Y/N,” Jungwon shook his head disapprovingly. 

“I- I thought it was too late!” you defended. “We passed the name window! There’s a name window!”

“No there’s not,” Karina said.

“There absolutely is. If you don’t ask within the first 2 meetings, you really can’t ask at all.”

“You just made that up,” Jake retorted. “Sounds chicken to me.”

You jabbed your straw into your drink and twirled it. “It’s literally social etiquette. Like the same way you can’t ask a stranger if they want to split a mortgage.”

Jungwon looked at you alienatingly. “That is not even remotely equivalent.”

“Can we please talk about something else, goodnight.”

“I’m enjoying the current convo,” Karina shrugged, swirling a chip in the shared salsa bowl. “I think you guys have already talked together more than he ever will with me.”

“Face it,” Jake pointed at you with a chip of his own. “You’re his favorite.”

“Blasphemy,” you sputtered. “It’s not like that.”

Jake shrugged. “Sure it is. Everyone has a favorite.”

“I think he likes dancing with you too,” Jungwon agreed and your stomach did a triple-step of its own. “The guy definitely dances differently when you’re with him.”

“Does not,” you said, too quickly. 

Karina gave you a knowing stare. “Girl. We see things.”

“Dare I say he smiled today?” Jungwon drawled and you squinted suspiciously. Had he?

“I wouldn’t call any expression he’s given me a smile,” you defended. “His mouth twitched.”

“That’s a Ni-ki smile,” Karina said. “You have to adjust your measurement scale for people like him.”

“Could have been a muscle cramp,” you threw out there, knowing there was more truth in their statements than in your own. “Who was your favorite dancer?” you asked Karina, hoping they would all catch the hint.

There was a wave of reluctance among the group but they eventually let you off the hook. 

Ni-ki. He looked like a Ni-ki. They way he stood silently against the wall, watching the opening demonstration. Something about the way his hair sat, or the way his hands were shoved in his pockets, or the jacket hanging on his broad shoulders. Definitely a Niki vibe. 

You looked away before anybody could catch you staring, especially after that taco discussion. It wasn’t difficult to notice he was attractive, you had picked up on that the first time you had danced together. It didn’t feel like you were attracted to him, at least not before. That discussion had planted some dangerous seeds in your head. He was dancer hot. He didn’t even need to be a dancer to be hot. Was it actually out of character for him to respond to your questions? Had he really danced differently with you? And why weren’t you totally against that idea? 

“Don’t be weird,” Karina whispered, nudging your elbow. 

“I’m not being weird,” you hissed back, painfully aware of how empty your words sounded. Your thoughts were preoccupied in a spiral. 

“You’re day dreaming, babe. In his direction.”

“It’s called dissociating.” Nothing but the truth. 

Jungwon appeared on your other side. “Okay,” he said far too loudly, “so are we talking to him today or what?”

You choked on pure oxygen. “Jungwon, I swear to God-”

But the instructor clapped her hands loudly. “Alright everyone! Partner up, we’re gonna practice moving around the room today!”

Saved by the bell. Or the clap. Whatever. 

You found Jungwon and Karina found Jake, standing next to each other in circle formation. As risky as it was, you glanced across the room. Ni-ki was looking down at the floor, adjusting the cuff on his sleeve. Calm. Focused. Completely unaware of your eyes penetrating him. 

“You’re thinking outloud,” Jungwon said, in a whisper this time. 

“I’m not thinking at all.”

“You’re thinking ‘dancer hot’ or whatever it was,” he followed your eyes to the opposite side of the circle. 

“Shut up,” you shot back, facing him for the warm up and assuming the starting position. 

For the first three rotations, the class did warm-up exercises, reviewing the previously learned techniques, steps, and spins. There was a lot to remember. 

Partner one was nice. Polite. Made small talk about the upcoming exam season. Partner two apologized for stepping on your feet twice. Gave you a nice thumbs-up after your turn ended. Partner three was the out loud counter. It would have been more helpful if he didn’t rush the beat every time he initiated a spin. You began to tune him out, mind solely focused on where your next rotation dropped you. 

“Rotate!”

You quickly said thank you to your partner and wiped your palms on your jeans, knowing who was next. Your steps were tentative, for some reason more worried than before. 

Ni-ki. 

He was already turning towards you. And for the second time in 4 weeks, he spoke first. 

“Hi.”

Your brain crashed. It felt like seeds had been planted in your head after the previous discussion after practice. Did he act differently with you? Why? Were you looking too deeply into it?

“Howdy, partner.” Holy shit, Y/N. Cringe. 

You couldn't tell if his eyes flickered, maybe it could be classified as another “Ni-ki smile,” you didn’t know the scale Karina was measuring on. He held his hand out for you and you took it, stepping into his frame. His other hand found your back with the same steady, perfect placement he always had. 

There was a pause, like he was waiting for something. Was he waiting for you to say something? To yap like you always do? Maybe ask an overly personal and embarrassing question? God was testing you. You swallowed. 

“Hi. Again.”

His lips tilted upwards. A Ni-ki smile. For real. 

“Hi again,” he murmured back. 

Close embrace felt closer than usual for some reason. You were sure it was in your head, every one of his movements was perfect, the exact same every class. You weren’t any closer than you had been to him in any other rotation. 

The dance felt different and you knew it was your fault. He spun you out twice, each time letting you twirl once or twice before pulling you back in. He signaled a third spin and you followed, suddenly consciously aware that your friends could be watching the two of you dancing right now. They had pointed out things yesterday that they only would have seen if they had been watching you. 

Your feet faltered and you miscalculated how many steps you needed to get back from your spun out position. His outstretched arm gently pulled you back when you were lost in thought and you stumbled, tripping into his chest. 

“Relax,” he breathed, helping you correct your footing and find the beat again. 

“I am relaxed,” you lied through your teeth.

“You’re not.”

You stiffened. “...Okay, rude.”

Not a laugh -- not exactly -- but his chest moved like he was holding one back. 

“You’re tensing your shoulders,” he explained softly. “It makes the steps harder.”

“Shoulders matter?”

He nodded once. “Everything matters.”

Oh great. Now you had to be aware of everything you were doing, in addition to everything he was doing. Although paying that much attention to him wasn’t exactly required, it was just because you wanted to.  

You tried dropping your shoulders. They involuntarily raised themselves again after the next spin and he noticed immediately. His hand on your back shifted, just a light pressure downward, the gentlest nudge to cue your muscles to settle. 

“Sorry,” you were internally crying, but at the same time wanted to keep messing up so he would correct you. 

His fingers pressed just a little more firmly, like reassurance rather than critique. He guided you through a couple more slow triples, slowly building up the pace. You followed. Of course you followed. It was impossible not to. 

He spun you again. This time it was perfect. 

He caught you in a closed position without a stumble, without a wobble, without even a moment where you had to think about what your feet were doing. His frame was steady and his lead was precise. You started to smile, glad you were finally starting to loosen up and looked up, grin faltering when you realized he was already looking at you.

Not intimidating or scary. But not blank either, not unreadable. Focused, maybe? He wasn’t studying your movements or the best way to lead you, it was like he was studying you. 

Your breath caught just a little. It felt like the room went fuzzy. All you could register was his eyes on yours, steady and unhurried. His hand burned against the small of your back. 

“That was good,” he said. 

You blinked, locking in. “Thank goodness you said it first,” you breathed dramatically. “I was this close,” you pinched your fingers together as a demonstration, “to congratulating myself out loud. And that would’ve been embarrassing for both of us.”

“Maybe a little.”

You feigned a gasp, trying to break any of the leftover awkwardness. “Brutal.”

He shook his head once, features softer than usual. “I didn’t say you’re embarrassing, I said you would have been.”

“Important distinction,” you agreed and continued to follow his movements. 

“Don’t tense,” he gave a gentle reminder about your shoulders before giving you a twirl. “Good job.”

Spin me again just so I can hear you say that one more time.

You puffed out a breath. “See, with all the compliments I’m gonna get cocky. This is dangerous territory.”

There was more banter and you found it almost impossible to believe Karina when she said he reciprocated absolutely zero of her small talk. After getting over the initial awkwardness, Ni-ki had no problem engaging in conversation. 

You rotated a couple more times, being forced to dance with protein-shake-machine and the I’m-gonna-cough-every-5-seconds person. You didn’t like him much. 

“Remind me to wash my hands ten times when this is over,” you said to Jungwon, rubbing your hands again on your pants. 

“Don’t spread those germs to me,” he protested, retracting his hands from your reach. 

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever just got passed to me was passed to Karina first.” Karina had already moved on to Jake, spreading the germs further. 

“Nasty.”

At this point in the lesson, some of the new material had been introduced. You were instructed to practice moving backwards and forwards in a line instead of back to back, occasionally throwing in a spin to change the direction. This was one of the many moments you were thankful you were a follow and not a lead. 

“Dude, how am I supposed to turn us?” Jungwon expressed with exasperation. 

“Hey man, that’s your job, not mine. When you figure it out, let me know.”

“Great support system, thank you.”

“Any day.”

Class ended with everyone and their partner dancing in a circular path around the room. Those who wanted to travel quicker were further out in the circle and those that were taking it a little slower gravitated towards the middle. You and Jungwon were somewhere in the medium zone, just existing and trying not to collide with the herd of overenthusiastic beginners orbiting around you. 

Once he had figured out how to spin and switch directions, Jungwon was unstoppable. Even though you weren’t moving with impressive speed, he had mastered the art of weaving in and out of the other groups. 

“Watch out,” he said, voice slightly shaky as he steered you around a girl who had fully started drifting into another dimension. You narrowly avoided clipping her elbow. 

“That checks out,” you noted passively after seeing that her partner was none other than the protein man. 

By the time the final song faded, you were dizzy, sweaty, and completely ready to sit in a chair forever. 

“Alright everyone!” the instructor called out cheerfully. “Great work today! We’ll continue to build on these transitions next class.”

A chorus of gratitude and goodbyes echoed in the dance room. You released your grip on Jungwon and gravitated towards where Karina and Jake had ended their dance. Karina was talking about potential restaurants in the area to explore and Jake was listening absentmindedly, nodding to whatever idea she proposed next. 

“Tacos again? Burgers? Maybe something more snacky?” she began firing ideas in your directionl. 

You listened half-assed and found your eyes drifting across the room. 

Ni-ki stood near the mirrors, slipping his jacket on. He was alone, kind of in his own corner. He fit his headphones on over his ears, and glanced up through the glass. 

Your stomach flipped when his eyes landed on you instantly. You looked away just as fast. 

“You should ask if he’s going to the social on Friday,” Karina suggested, picking up on your sudden flustered state. 

“What?? No. Why would I do that?”

“Does that mean you’re agreeing to go?” Jake chimed in excited. “I think it could be a lot fo fun.”

“I’m in,” Jungwon said. 

“Y/N is definitely in if hot dancer man over there is in,” Karina added. 

“Fuck you.”

“Just saying… the Friday social is the perfect chance to have unlimited practice with your favorite lead.”

“I don’t have a favori-”

You cut yourself off when your gaze accidentally flicked back up. 

Ni-ki was still looking. 

Not necessarily glued to you, not staring intensely. Just watching with that calm, unreadable focus he always seemed to have while pulling the zipper to his jacket up. 

And when your eyes met his again, even for a second, his head dipped. The tiniest nod. Acknowledgment. Recognition. 

“Yeah, I wanna go to the social…” you said, somewhat resolutely. 

“Called it,” Jungwon whispered to the others. 

“...but not this week,” you finished, causing everyone to pause in their giggling. 

Karina pouted confused. “Why not this week?”

“I just… I don’t know. You guys can go, I think I just wanna practice a little bit more before jumping into a room full of advanced dancers.”

“I don’t wanna go without you,” Karina hooked an arm with yours. “I wanna go to the social but I don’t mind waiting a week with you. They have them weekly all year, there’s plenty of other opportunities.”

“I think you should suck it up,” Jungwon said, crossing his arms and Karina hit him. 

“If neither of you are going, I won’t go yet either,” Jake said. “I wouldn’t have anyone to dance with.”

The conversation continued as you packed your bags but you ignored all of them. Karina’s arm was still wrapped around yours and you could feel her words bouncing in your eardrums, but you were focused on the closing practice room door -- the door Ni-ki had just slipped out of. 

A week passed and you weren’t too much more confident than you had been the week before. Every day had been a cycle of self affirmation and mental practice. You were a good dancer and you were not going to embarrass yourself at the social. Absolutely not. A couple more twirling techniques and armwork had been taught in class, but nothing so difficult that you were unable to pick it up. The one thing you couldn’t figure out was Ni-ki. To be more clear, you and Ni-ki. 

You completely blamed your friends for the way your brain began to overthink every interaction. The shift in his hands on your waist whenever he was sending you out into a turn, the way he had said “good job” after completing a new spin for the first time… These were not abnormal or flirty interactions per se, but maybe you wished they were? Did you want him to be interested in you? Would it be such a bad thing if he was only being  friendly? And of course there was Karina, Jungwon, and Jake in the background playing into it, saying he was looking at you during break, or calling him your favorite dancer, calling him dancer hot, reminding you every day that even the way he drank from his water bottle was attractive. 

“Holy shit,” Jake said, peering through the doors. The social was in a different building and in a much bigger room than the one all of your practices had taken place in.  “There’s gotta be at least 80 people in there.”

“Wait, this is so cool,” Karina followed his eyes into the room. The social wasn’t just for students, there were people of all ages inside, practicing all kinds of different swing methods. Jitterbug, Charleston, Lindy, Westcoast… Some people were wearing dress shoes, some were wearing sneakers, one guy was fully in suspenders and wingtip oxfords like he was auditioning for Singin’ in the Rain. It felt more like you were walking into a bar with a dance floor than some random rented-out room. 

You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but your eyes were already scanning the crowd for a certain somebody. 

“I feel underqualified,” you muttered. 

Jungwon gave a breathy laugh. “Underqualified? I feel fetal.”

Jake nudged the door open just slightly more, already slipping inside. “Well we’re already here. Let’s commit.”

The four of you moved along the sidelines of the dancefloor in awe, there was no hiding the infatuation showing across your face. Even just watching the action was exhilarating.

“We can bunker down here,” Jake exhaled. “Let’s call this the ‘bad dancers’ corner.”

“Oh hush,” Karina smacked his arm. “We can’t just sit awkwardly in a corner, that’s so weird.”

“Go on then,” Jake gestured. “Get out there.”

“I need a lead. Come with me.”

“I think I like my corner…”

Karina looked to Jungwon for support and he offered his hand out. “Come on guys, no one’s looking. This is just extra practice.”

Extra practice. Right. And as far as you knew, Ni-ki wasn’t here yet. He wasn’t here to witness any potential embarrassing disasters. You made up your mind and grabbed Jake’s hand. 

“It’s just you and me, buddy,” you said, dragging him away from the wall. “I think we’ll look less awkward dancing than just standing around, regardless of how juvenile our skills are.”

Soon enough, you lost track of time, having fun rotating between Jake and Jungwon, occasionally dancing with Karina and taking turns trying to lead the other. You were a terrible lead. 

“Should we try to travel?” Jungwon proposed, already mapping a potential path through the crowd. 

You scanned the room. “Sure. We’re blending in. Don’t make us look like amateurs okay?”

“No promises,” he said, stepping on your foot immediately. 

“Bro-”

“That one doesn’t count.” he said quickly. “I was calibrating.”

“Calibrating what, the floor??”

“The universe,” he said solemnly and leaving you no time to process his words before striding forward and forcing you to follow. 

You laughed, nerves loosening and the music becoming more familiar. You fell into rhythm together, a little wobbly but you were proud of the two of you. You were dancing at a real social. You were keeping up. You were not utterly humiliated at your performance. Jungwon led you through two laps around the room, arriving back in the “bad dancers” corner and joining Jake and Karina. 

“You should have followed us!” you exclaimed, urging Jake to get a little out of his comfort zone.

“We did!” he argued. 

“Well, we went to that side of the room and came back,” Karina corrected. 

“Movement,” he said. 

“You migrated three feet,” Jungwon snorted. 

“Listen, the guy near the speakers was doing fucking aerials or some shit and I fear for my life.”

Karina backed him up. “Moving too much was a dangerous endeavor.”

The music began to pick up. The new song was slightly faster, with a sharper rhythm, a song you recognized from class. Your group exchanged glances, you all remembered this one. 

Jake was about to offer his hand out but Karina quickly slapped his arm, sucking in a breath. “Wait, don’t turn around, don’t make it obvious.”

Immediately he made it obvious. “What, what’s happening?”

“Stop staring!” she hissed at him, continuing to swat any part of his body she could reach. 

Jungwon subtly glanced at the door and then looked at you, a motion you picked up on almost instantly. 

“Is it…?” you didn’t need to finish before he nodded. 

“Why am I excited?” Jake asked confused, turning away so as to not stare longer than he already had. 

“Don’t look,” Karina ordered you, which, obviously, meant you needed to look. 

And there across the room, slipping through the doors with quiet confidence was Ni-ki. His platinum hair almost glowed in the lights, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his expression as unreadable as always. 

You watched him scan the room once --

-- and his eyes landed on you. Almost directly landed on you. Like he expected you to be there. 

Your breath hitched.

“She’s done for,” Jake snickered but you didn’t hear. 

Ni-ki’s head dipped in that barely-there nod that you learned to be his version of hello. 

“You good?” Karina whispered to you. 

You were not good. 

You were spinning but you hadn’t even moved. 

And Ni-ki was already striding through the crowd, scanning the dance floor, finding your eyes again. 

“I can’t dance with him,” you panicked. “One of you needs to get me out of here.”

Jungwon almost looked offended. “What? Why? We literally came here so you can secure a date.”

“Yeah… and I might have told him we were coming tonight..” Karina visibly shrunk into her shoulders, looking up at you through her lashes. 

“You did WHAT?” Your voice was louder than you had intended and you clamped a hand over your mouth to quiet down. “Karina, why would you do that??”

“Well-- I mean-- It’s less awkward dancing if you make small talk so I asked if he’d been to a social before,” she stuttered out, “and he said yes and asked if I’d been to one and I said no but we were all planning on coming tonight…”

And he had found you instantly.

Karina grabbed your shoulders after you didn’t respond, trying to bring you back to the present. “Deep breaths, girl.”

“No breathing. If I breathe, he’ll think I’m available to dance.”

Jake blinked, confused. “But you are available to dance.”

“That’s not the POINT, Jake.”

You spared another glance in the direction of the door. Ni-ki was getting closer, cutting effortlessly through the crowd like the sea was parting for him. It kind of was. People kept stepping aside when they saw him walking. 

“He walks like he’s in a drama,” Karina commented, looking over your shoulder. 

“Stop looking at him,” you couldn’t stress it enough. 

“He’s literally almost here.”

“Nope,” you immediately pivoted behind Jake. “Hide me. I’m fragile.”

“Get your ass out the-”

“Do you want to dance?”

Your eyes snapped up, noticing an elderly gentleman standing in front of you and holding his hand out in offering. 

Oh. 

OH.

Not Ni-ki.

Disappointment?

Relief?

This was someone’s grandpa. Someone’s very polite, very sincere grandpa. 

“Oh!” you exclaimed, voice cracking embarrassingly high. Your eyes darted to where Ni-ki had been but he was gone. “Hi! Yes! I’ll follow?”

You were painfully aware of Jake wheezing behind you. Karina had covered her mouth and looked away and Jungwon was watching everything unfold, entertained. 

The older man smiled warmly. “I’d be happy to lead you for a song.”

You returned his expression, taking his hand and letting him guide you gently to the floor. You could do this. 

He started slow, letting you get accustomed to his signals and cues before ramping up the tempo to match the song. The style he led in was different from what you had been taught in class but you knew enough basic maneuvers to follow along. Any disclaimer about your skill level you offered him was shot down with compliments and praise, assuring you that you were following great. You were led through twirls and lines and steps you had never seen before, eventually giving into the awkwardness and laughing. 

“You dance very well,” he chuckled, pulling you in from a twirl and changing directions in half a beat. 

You laughed to yourself. If only he knew the amount of toes you had almost broken to get here. “Thank you,” you said instead, wincing as you narrowly avoided colliding with a couple whizzing past. “Sorry-- I swear I’m usually better at, uh, spatial awareness.”

“That makes two of us,” he replied lightheartedly, steering you to a more open area in the dance floor. “This crowd can get a little wild.”

No kidding. Someone near the middle was literally being tossed in the air. 

You made small talk with him, asking how long he’d been dancing, if he came to socials often, etc. A couple times you expressed your surprise at some of the moves he had successfully led you through, to which he proudly said you were a great dancer. As the song swelled to an end, he guided you through a final, gentle turn, catching your hand with practiced ease before releasing it slowly. 

“Thank you for dancing with me,” he said warmly. 

“No, thank you, seriously. That was amazing!” It was a completely different experience to dance with someone who had years of practice under their belt. 

He gave you an almost paternal pat on the hand before saying, “Enjoy the rest of your night,” and disappearing into the crowd.

Your dance had ended almost in the middle of the dance floor, and you spun around, trying to orient yourself once more and find the corner with your friends. It was pretty easy to spot them, they weren’t that far away, but oddly enough they were already staring at you. 

Jake’s jaw was on the floor, Karina’s eyes were the size of dinner plates, Jungwon was mid sip of water like he had forgotten how swallowing worked. You squinted at them, beginning to walk in their direction before you felt a hand on your shoulder. 

Your blood ran cold. Slowly -- terrified, curious? -- you turned around. And there he was.

He dropped his hand from you when you noticed him. “Hi.”

Don’t stutter. “Hi.” You would rate that response a 4/10, could’ve been worse.

Ni-ki’s gaze flicked briefly toward where the older man had disappeared, then back to you.

“Were you, um, looking for someone?” you asked, trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly.

He didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

“Oh.” Your pulse spiked. “Did you find them?”

His head tilted slightly, eyes steady. “Yes.”

You forgot how to breathe entirely. He lifted his hand, palm open. 

“Dance with me?”

Shit. Your brain started screaming. 

“Oh..” Beautiful response. Stunning. Truly poetry. “Gladly.”

You slid your hand into his before the nerves could talk you out of it. His hand was cooler than the older gentleman’s had been, but familiar. He pulled you a little closer, moving his other hand to your lower back in the exact same spot he always placed it. 

“You seem nervous,” he noted quietly. 

“I’m not.” Add that to the list of worst lies you’ve ever told. 

His brows lifted the faintest amount. “You are. You didn’t seem nervous earlier.”

Shit. “That was-- that was different.”

“How?” he asked. 

How could you tell him dancing with an old man wasn’t as scary as dancing with him when he’s an extremely attractive, ‘dancer hot’ man? You simply couldn’t. 

“That was like dancing with my grandpa, he just let me wobble around and pretend I knew what I was doing.”

Ni-ki’s head tilted, leading you through a familiar twirl. “You didn’t wobble.”

“Pretty sure I did.”

“No,” he said simply. “You followed everything he led.”

Your pulse spiked in realization. “Were you watching?”

He held eye contact, like he was playing chicken and said, “You were dancing,” like that was a reasonable enough explanation. 

Your stomach launched itself into orbit and you said nothing. What could you say in response to that??

“Shoulders,” he said plainly but you understood within milliseconds, dropping them instantly. “Good.”

Dear God.

“Let’s try something new,” he suggested, waiting to see your response before shifting from close embrace to open. “Take my other hand.”

You listened and grabbed the hand on your waist with the hand that had previously rested on his shoulder. 

“Okay, we’re gonna lean back just a little…” you followed his instructions, “now keep your arms loose.”

Think noodle, Y/N. You are a noodle. 

A couple beats later, Ni-ki had twisted your arms, initiated a spinning motion, one that you wouldn't be able to replicate even if you tried. At one point you were back to back, and then next second he was spinning, and then you were spinning, and then your hands were over your head, and then you were face to face again, completely awestruck. 

“What did you just do??” you asked, bewildered. 

“Did you like it?”

“That was crazy! Can we do it again?”

He led you through the motions once more, adjusting your hands, resetting the position with a gentle touch. This time, you tried to anticipate the timing -- bad idea. He sensed it instantly and gave you a tiny shake of the head. 

“Don’t think,” he corrected. “Just follow.”

You would follow him into oncoming traffic. 

The movement was fast, smooth, and addicting. The pull, the rotation, the shift of weight, the push of his palm, the reeling back in. 

You landed in front of him again, breathless and grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “That is insane. How did you even learn that?”

“Practice,” he shrugged.

“That’s not practice, that’s sorcery. Does it have a name?” you asked. “That whole.. tornado arm move thing?”

He blinked slowly, thinking. “You don’t need the name yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t need to think about it,” he answered simply. “You’re just dancing.” There was a brief pause, a beat or two, before he asked, “Do you want to try something harder?”

You almost laughed. Completing that last move was a major accomplishment for you and he wanted to do more? “Are you trying to end me?”

“No,” he said softly, stepping closer, hand sliding to your back again. “I’m trying to show you what you can do.”

A dip. That is what he suggested the two of you do. Less of a suggestion and more of a “follow the leader” type of thing. One minute you were spun out, held at arms length and connected only by the tips of your fingers, and the next you were pulled inwards -- spinning once, twice, three times. Just when you thought it was over, he let your hand go. A small feeling of panic rose as you continued spinning, not able to tell where he went. And then a hand slid back around your waist, halting your twirl and guiding you downwards. The sudden feeling of gravity taking over caused your hands to fly out, gripping his shoulders for a sense of security. 

His arm tightened around you,  supporting all of your weight like it was nothing. The dip wasn’t deep -- he was too careful with you for that -- but it was enough to steal every coherent thought from your skull. His face hovered above yours and you stared at the light from the dance floor reflecting in his eyes. 

“Breathe.” He lifted you back to your feet and you finally found the space to inhale. “Are you okay?”

“Define okay,” you sucked in a breath, mind swirling from the motions and the memory of the lights twirling around you. That was incredible.

He huffed a tiny laugh through his nose. “You followed it.”

“Followed? I almost died, Ni-ki.”

An actual smile spread across his face. “If you were falling I would’ve caught you.”

“Uh huh.” You needed a minute to recover mentally. You really really really wanted to ask him to do it one more time, maybe even 5 more times. 

The song ended and you looked up at him, an unspoken question lingering in the air. He caught it instantly -- of course he did -- but remained silent. His eyes flicked down to your hands that had dropped back to your side, then back to your face, like he was waiting for you to say it. Or maybe daring you to. 

You opened your mouth but nothing came out. Perfect. Fantastic. Exactly the level of eloquence you were aiming for. “Do you…” you tried again, face getting embarrassingly warm, “maybe wanna dance again?” 

Something subtle softened around his eyes. “Yes.”

Your pulse exploded. “Yes?”

And he nodded, taking your hand in his again. The song that began playing had a fast tempo and the crowd instantly responded. The people around the two of you began to jump, their heels clicking against the wooden floor, their arms and legs flying in a new combination of maneuvers. 

Ni-ki noticed your hesitation. “You said you trust me, right?” You nodded, perhaps too quickly. “Then follow.”

The beat was quick, borderline chaotic, the kind of tempo that made you want to second guess every step. Everyone around you was launching into kicks and jumps and footwork you had never seen before. He felt your nerves boil up. 

“Are you ready?”

“Am I gonna die?”

“You won’t.”

He swayed momentarily to show you which beat he would start on and then took off, your body following instinctually before your brain could even catch up. He didn’t throw you into any crazy footwork. He didn’t expect kicks or jumps. He stuck to the simple basic stepping patterns, throwing in a simple spin or twist to keep you on your toes. The energy in the room pulsed around you but his lead carved a path that felt safe. The floor blurred, the lights blurred, but his hand on your waist did not. 

After a string of turns, he pulled you back into close embrace. Your hand landed on his chest instead of his shoulders and you tried your best to nonchalantly correct it. 

“You’re doing good.”

Ridiculous. This whole shabackle was ridiculous.

“Do you want me to make it a little harder?”

You hesitated but only briefly. If a little harder meant more complex dips and spins, you were 100% down. “Yes, please.”

You regretted the phrasing almost immediately. The please seemed to hang in the air like a neon sign. His eyes flashed and you gulped, not sure what he had in mind. 

“Stay close.”

Absolutely. 

“We’re going to travel,” he said, moving the two of you into open position, fingers staying at the edge of your hip bone. “Just follow the pressure.”

He carved a path through the crowd like he was following an invisible map. His hand stayed glued to your side, not pushing, but suggesting each turn, and you found yourself moving in perfect sync without having any idea how you were doing it. He spun you out once, then reeled you back in. Then out again but in the other direction. Then he caught your hand and switched sides, sending you under his arm with a move you had never seen before. 

“Wait-- what-- how did you--”

“Don’t think,” he reminded, voice calm despite the speed he was taking you.

You stepped backward, then sideways, then crossed your feet without tripping, letting him guide every shift of your weight. A new kind of momentum built between you -- faster, sharper, more connected. He pulled you through another turn, then another. You were carried through a deeper, swooping turn that left you breathless and laughing. 

“Ni-ki,” you said between breaths, “what are we doing?”

“Harder,” he said. “Like you asked.”

Move after move he pulled you. Closer and then farther and then closer once more. Your bodies close, his eyes flicking down to make sure you landed safely. You did. You landed right where he wanted you. And he looked… pleased. 

Walking into the practice room on Monday was more nerve-wrecking than dancing at the social had been, because now, everything that had happened had had time to settle in your head. Your hand remembered the shape of his, your spine remembered the support of his arm and the dip, your brain remembered every compliment or encouraging word he uttered to you. 

Karina rolled her eyes. “Relax,” she said. “He’s not even here yet.”

You reciprocated zero conversation. You were gonna play it cool. Cool was your middle name. Cool was your entire brand. 

She watched you for a couple seconds before saying. “You look like you’re about to be drafted.”

“I’m composed,” you said through clenched teeth. 

Jake and Jungwon joined the two of you after signing in at the front. 

“Can I get a turn and dance with Ni-ki next?” Jake asked. The question sounded open ended but was definitely targeted at you. “I want him to spin and dip me like that.”

“Literally, girl you were moving, “ Karina joined in, twirling on her toes as a demonstration. “Like a little Beyblade. Full velocity.”

“Please stop,” you hissed. “Both of you immediately.”

Jungwon took a long, thoughtful sip from his water bottle. “Honestly? I would also like to be dipped. Equal opportunity dipping.”

“Do you think he’ll say hi to you today? Or will he pretend Friday was a fever dream?”

“It was just a dance, guys,” you said, mostly to yourself. “I’ve danced with everybody in this room. Just because we danced doesn’t actually mean anything.” 

“But who else in here danced with you for four songs in a row and dipped you three times?”

“Yeah, no way he’s forgetting anythin,” Jake said. “Even when you weren’t together he was looking at you.”

“He did not-”

“Yes he did,” Karina cut you off. “He was watching you dance with people who weren’t him like he was witnessing a crime.”

The door opened. You didn’t even have to look. You felt it. The same way you felt the room shift when he found you at the social. Your friends stiffened, immediately halting their conversation and awkwardly changing the subject to Jungon’s upcoming soccer game. You still didn’t turn to the door. But you didn’t need to. You could hear him. 

Soft footsteps, a quiet greeting to the instructor, the shuffle of him putting down his bag. 

“He’s by the mirrors,” Karina whispered to you but she didn’t need to say anything. You knew. 

“He definitely already saw you,” Jake whispered into your other ear. 

“And he definitely has thoughts,” Karina nodded.

Jungwon smirked. “I think you should ask him to be partners first.”

Your stomach dropped to your knees at the thought. 

The instructor clapped her hands with a cheerful announcement, “Alright guys, let’s jump right into it! We’re gonna practice a couple simple dips today. Go ahead and find a partner and get into a circle.”

You didn’t need to see him to feel his attention slide across the room, landing on you. Not approaching you. Not speaking to you. Not making a scene. Just quietly noticing you. Maybe he was also remembering the dips the two of you had done together just a couple days before.

“I guess you’re getting your wish, Jungwon,” you commented. “What’dya say, partner?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, grabbing Karina instead. “Go ask Ni-ki.”

“Jake?” your eyes were pleading. 

“No can do, sorry.”

“Well I don’t see you with another partner?”

He immediately turned to one of the girls next to him and asked if she needed a starting partner. The nerve. 

You felt your heart pick up speed. Your friends had abandoned you. This was betrayal of another level. The room was shifting around you, leads and follows peeling off, partners forming and the circle widening. Jungwon gave you a pat on the back that vaguely felt like a eulogy and then took Karina by the hand and back away. 

Suddenly you were standing alone. The space next to you was empty and the realization dawned on you: you had to pick someone. You swallowed hard. Quick scan. Okay… There were still plenty of leads without partners, two guys chatting to your left, another guy across from you tying his shoe, one more to the right… And then like the universe was hitting you with a gentle shove, Ni-ki stepped forward from where he’d been leaning against the wall. Not toward anyone, not toward you… just forward. Like he was waiting to see what you would do. 

Your nerves were doing high knees. 

Fuck. 

Someone approached you and you recognized him as the more awkward lead. Small talk was a bit of a chore with him but a sweet guy none the less, “Do you need a partner?” he asked. 

Panic. Panic everywhere. 

“Uh--” you floundered, racking for a response. Literally any response. 

He took a step in your direction and somewhere across the room, you felt Ni-ki go still. Your breath caught. You were aware -- painfully aware -- that if you said yes, Ni-ki would simply find someone else. He wouldn’t fight it. He wouldn’t interrupt. He’d just… let it happen. And you didn’t like that.

Your heart climbed in your throat and before you could even swallow your pulse back down, your mouth betrayed you. “I actually already have someone. Thank you though, for asking.”

Lie. Massive lie. Tremendous lie. 

The guy smiled politely, moving on to the next person and you crossed your fingers that Ni-ki hadn’t already begun the search for someone else. Slowly -- very slowly -- you turned your head. He was already watching you. He didn’t look confused, or surprised, just quietly waiting. Not approaching, but not choosing anyone else either. Not yet. Like he was giving you space to decide. 

Your hands went clammy and your knees threatened mutiny. Move, dammit, and you took single, tiny steps in his direction. 

The lift at the corner of his mouth was barely there. But it was still there. And it felt like the whole room exhaled with you. 

He watched you come to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. When you stopped in front of his feet, you realized you had no idea what you were going to say. You just assumed he would agree to be partners with you. This would be really embarrassing if he said no. 

You raised your hand up and racked your brain with something to say but your thoughts were spinning like a broken loading wheel. You could feel your cheeks igniting in fire and thought about ice cubes, trying to make the inflammation go down. 

He stared at you for a couple seconds before sliding his fingers into your own, not even waiting for you to verbally ask. Walking over and offering your hand was enough of a question for him. Falling into position was natural at this point. His hand on your waist, yours on his shoulder, cheek nearly against his chest if you weren’t careful. 

“You won’t drop me, right?” you clarified, clearing your throat just enough to get a single question out after the instructor’s demonstration. 

“Come on, Y/N, I thought we were past this.”

Was he scolding you?

You leaned back, making full eye contact with him. “Are you reprimanding me right now??”

A single, almost amused blink. “No. Just reminding you.”

“Of what? My mortality?”

“No, that you trust me.”

Oh. Well. That shut you up pretty quickly. 

You swallowed, trying to save face. “Okay well, sometimes trust evaporates under duress…”

“I won’t drop you,” he repeated, tone steady, using the hand around your waist to pull you back into him. “You know that.”

“Alright, leads! Try the dip slowly first -- don’t let your partner drop too far back, and remember to support their weight!”

“Drop your shoulders,” he said, and you did. Almost immediately he swept you into the dip, your back arching over his arm. It was a quick motion and within a couple seconds, he brought you upright again. 

The room erupted in laughter around you as pairs were tipping sideways, unprepared for the shift in weight or underestimating the strength needed to support their partners. 

You glanced around the chaos. “I feel like we should be failing. Everyone else is failing. Should we fail for solidarity?”

“No.”

You laughed. “Wow. Cold.”

“Let’s do it again.”

You opened your mouth to say something -- you weren’t quite sure what yet -- but he had already started lowering you again. This time it was slower. You felt each degree of descent and couldn’t help your hands from grasping his shoulders. 

“Shit, Ni-ki.” You hoped your words didn’t sound as panicked as they did in your head

He stared back at you, lips growing into a smile. “Pretty sure your hands aren’t supposed to be there.”

“Where else do I put them,” you half squeaked, refusing to give up the grip on his shoulders. “I’m almost completely horizontal right now.”

“You’re supposed to be. It’s a dip.” The arm under you tightened and his free hand grabbed one of yours to shift it toward the upper part of his arm. “You can put your hand here,” then he moved it to his chest, “or here.” You felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing. 

You froze. He didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by the placement but you were quite possibly hyperventilating. You couldn’t tell him putting your hand on his chest was even worse than holding his shoulders. Luckily for you, you didn’t have to. 

“Rotate!”

You jolted upright so fast you nearly head-butted him. He caught your elbow without thinking -- because of course he did -- and then released you to the next lead. You were told to practice dipping for a few more rotations without music, just getting used to the feeling of trusting more than just one partner. Trusting was a very generous word. 

The next guy almost dropped you on the first try. The one after that dipped you so fast, you felt like you were being shoved into the floor. By the time you reached the third lead, you were hovering somewhere between motion sickness and righteous betrayal. He kept apologizing and you kept saying it was okay and pretending you weren’t shitting your pants. 

It didn’t surprise you to find that none of the other leads seemed as stable in their dips as Ni-ki had been. You already knew his dancing was impressive -- but this just made it extra apparent. 

You hesitated when realizing Jungwon was your next partner, but his face lit up after seeing you. 

“Oh no. Nuh uh you’ll actually drop me, just for fun.” 

He feigned hurt. “I would never. I’m a gentleman. Haven’t dropped a single person yet.”

“Yet?”

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Whatever. I’ve literally watched Ni-ki do this thirty times. I’m a certified dipper.”

“That’s… not reassuring.”

Before you could protest, he began the dip. It started okay. Fine. Manageable. And then…

“Oh my-- JUNGWON--”

He panicked and overcorrected, jerking you up way too fast, launching you forward. Your arms windmilled in pure terror and he grabbed your shoulders to steady you. “See? Nailed it.”

“That was a hate crime,” you hissed. 

“Art is a better term…:”

Another rotation was called and threw a punch at his arm before walking away. “I’m watching you.”

Jake was a significantly better partner, in the sense that he barely even dipped you 45 degrees, which you honestly preferred to some of the other over confident leads. 

“Just so you know,” he had said, already sounding apologetic. “I’m not dipping you, I’m lowering you. Very safely. Very respectfully.”

“Perfect,” you sighed. “I want ‘grandma in a recliner’ vibes from you.”

He nodded and tilted you backwards for all of 3 seconds before uprighting you again. Calling it a dip would be generous. 

“I could have done that myself,” you tsked. 

“That’s why I’m the best,” he said proudly. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that nothing had happened and that that wasn’t a good thing. 

A couple more rotations and you were almost back to Ni-ki. Was it a little embarrassing that you wanted to be partnered with him that badly? Surely not, especially considered the whiplash you had been experiencing from almost every other partner in this circle. Excluding Jake of course, but not for good reason. 

But then class was over. Your heart sank involuntarily and you looked in Ni-ki’s direction, catching his eye. He wasn’t staring but his attention was very much on you. His head dipped, subtle as always, his version of hello. Or maybe goodbye this time?

“Y/N,” Jungwon called to you and tore your eyes away from the platinum haired boy. 

You walked back over to join your group, grabbing your bag from Karina who had already packed it for you, and turned back towards the mirrors. But he was already gone.

It was Wednesday now and you had spent the day hoping and praying for an excuse to talk to him. Technically, you could talk to him whenever you wanted, but that was simply an outrageous thought. You didn’t know how to start a conversation with him without at least trying to meticulously calculate it in advance. 

Jungwon and Jake were signing all of you in at the front again, leaving you and Karina to gossip without them 

“So…” she started. “Are we gonna talk about the elephant in the room?” 

You groaned immediately. “I would really really rather not.”

“But I really rather would. I think we need to,” she leaned in dramatically. “I think we absolutely do. Because the universe is messy and chaotic and apparently decided to resurrect your story’s villain.”

“He’s not my villain,” you muttered, though he could be pretty close. 

She arched a brow. “He ghosted you for four months, blocked you on basically everything, and then popped back into town asking people for your new number, which I didn’t give him by the way.”

“He didn’t ghost me…”

She stared at you in disbelief. “Y/N, your last message to that man was literally ‘did you get home safe?’ and he never responded.”

You groaned louder. “I don’t care anymore.”

“Lies.”

“I don’t!”

“You do.”

You hid your face in your palms. “I’m trying to be mature about this.”

“You ARE being mature,” she said, patting your shoulder sympathetically. “I’ll be petty for both of us. What a dick. He didn’t text you again, did he?”

“No.”

“Good, if he does, block him immediately, do you hear me??”

“Yes, yes, I hear you.” You took a moment to glance at the door to make sure the boys were still out of ear shot before continuing. “I don’t want to run into him again.”

“You won’t,” she said confidently. Then after a beat, “...except for the fact that you 100% will. This city has like three total hangout spots.”

You stopped responding, staring at the entrance.

Karina’s eyebrows shot up. “Why’d you freeze like that?”

You didn’t answer, because over her shoulder, you saw him. He wasn’t walking to his usual spot by the mirror where he usually leaned. He was walking. Directly towards you. 

“Don’t turn around,” you commanded and she gave you an inquisitive look. “And do not bring up Jay.”

“He’s right behind me, isn't he?”

“Don’t fucking say that.”

“Oh my God, he is.”

You gripped her arm, preventing her from turning around. “Don’t make it obvious, I swear to God.”

You could hear his shoes echo on the floor and made eye contact with him, trying to figure out why he would be approaching the two of you right now. He was about a yard away when you spoke first. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Ni-ki echoed and looked at you, and then at Karina. “Hi.”

“Did you get water…?” you asked, trying to fill the silence and he nodded. It looked like he was going to ask you the same question but reformulated his thoughts when he saw the water bottle already in your hand. 

“Today’s lesson is supposed to be harder.”

“Oh good,” you said. “Love that.”

“Don’t partner with someone else.”

Your brain blue-screened and you cocked your head in confusion. That’s not what you thought he was going to say. You had no problem agreeing, despite not knowing the terms and conditions, but it seemed sudden for him to randomly ask something like that. 

“It’s lift support,” he clarified, sensing your lingering uncertainty. 

You gulped and glanced at Karina. “Lift? As in, like off the ground?”

“It’s not a full lift. We’re supposed to start with weight transfers first.”

“Okay.” You still didn’t understand his point exactly but if he was asking you to partner up, you weren’t going to turn him down. “I’ll find you after break then?”

“I’ll come to you.”

He walked away after that, back to his station by the mirror and picked up his water bottle again, getting a couple more sips in before break was over. Karina wasted no time once he was out of earshot and stared at you, jaw on the floor. 

“Girl?? He literally just reserved you like a library book! Hello???”

“Reserve?? What are you talking about?”

“He walked up,” she held up one finger, “told you not to dance with anyone else,” second finger, “told you it was for a lift,” third finger, “looked you in the eyes like a six-foot-two romance novel,” fourth finger, “and then said ‘I’ll come to you’--” fifth finger, “which is basically mating call behavior.”

You choked on your water. “Karina PLEASE.”

She shook you by the shoulders. “No, because I know what I saw. And what I saw was manly intention.”

You slapped her hands away but said nothing. “We speak not a word of this to Jake or Jungwon.”

“Does that even matter? They’re gonna see him find you to partner up anyway. The stake on claim is pretty obvious.”

You pointed at her accusingly. “This is not National Geographic. There is no claiming, no one is claiming anything.”

“Ignorance is bliss I guess,” she shook her head in disappointment. 

She would have bickered with you forever, more nonsense about library books and how you were falling for the male mating call, but you were saved by the instructor. 

“Alright everyone!! Let’s wrap up and move back into circle formation! This section is going to be a little more complicated and we won’t rotate as much, so I advise you to find a partner that you trust!”

And across the room, by the mirror, Ni-ki pushed off the wall. Karina squealed beside you and whispered “Here comes your pickup” before hurrying off to find Jake. 

Jumping. You were basically just going to be jumping. You would be elevated with the assistance of your partner at the chosen height, sustained momentarily, and then the lead would lower the follow in a clean, controlled descent. Easy enough, right? Your pulse stuttered while watching the demonstration, suddenly ten times more grateful that Ni-ki had “reserved” you. If one of the other leads had tried to yeet you into the air with the same enthusiasm as their dips? You would be hospitalized. 

“I know that this can be a little intimidating!” the instructor prefaced to the circle of dancers. “So I only want you guys to jump about a foot into the air, okay?”

“Are you ready?” Ni-ki asked from behind you, voice calm in the way that somehow made your nerves worse. 

You nodded. You didn’t mean to, it just happened. 

“Okay,” he said, stepping closer. “Then come here.”

You turned around to face him and both of his hands slid to your waist, moving down a little bit to rest on your hip bones. Instead of just one, both of your hands rested on his shoulders, preparing to use them as support. 

“Can you walk me through it one more time?” you asked, looking up at him.

When he gazed down at you, you felt your stomach knot. 

“We’re both going to bend our knees a little and I’m going to tighten my hands on your hips,” he pulsed his hands slightly to show you what he meant and the knot clenched further. “When you’re ready, push off the ground and I’ll take your weight.”

“Right,” you said, replaying the demonstration over and over in your head. It should be easy. “It’s just simple physics. I love physics.”

He blinked. “This isn’t physics.”

“Uh, yeah, it is. Gravity, momentum--”

“Y/N.”

You froze. He so rarely said your name it caught you off guard. Say it again. 

“Ni-ki.”

“I’m not going to drop you,” he deadpanned. “So you don’t need physics.”

Well shit, who were you to argue with an explanation like that?

You braced, bent your knees, and looked at him again, almost waiting for a confirmation that you were doing it right. 

“Whenever you want,” he said, hands warm, steady, expectant. 

You gave a small nod and squeezed his shoulders. The jump wasn’t high or impressive, but it was enough. The support of his hands propelled you higher and then held you in suspension for a brief moment before slowly lowering you to the floor. You landed softer than you expected and his hands lingered on you for a moment, making sure you were balanced before dropping them to his side. 

“How was it?” he asked, already smiling when seeing your face. 

“Dude. I am so glad you’re my partner right now. That was so much fun.”

His smile stretched wider. “I think we should do it again.”

And you did, at least three more times. You were starting to feel like a projectile but you were loving it. The height he lifted you to got progressively higher and higher and by the fourth jump you actually laughed midair. 

“Ni-ki, I swear if you launch me into the lighting fixtures--”

“I won’t,” he said immediately after safely lowering you back down, eyes flicking up to the ceiling. “You’re not that tall.”

“Oh wow,” you side-eyed him. “Insult me and catch me at once. Incredible multitasking.”

The look that crossed his face almost looked like a smirk. It was gone in an instant but it was a tiny window to let you see how much fun he was having. 

A couple more techniques were practiced. Instead facing each other, the follow turned their back to the lead, placing their hands overtop the lead’s hands on their hips. This method gave you more height, something you learned you liked a little bit too much. 

The day’s practice session seemed to fly by significantly faster than any of the previous days, and you were not attributing it to the fact you practiced with Ni-ki the entire time. Before parting ways, he left you with the words “see you Friday.” In that moment you immediately decided you had no other choice but to go to the social again.

You walked over to your friends with a smile on your face, debating whether or not to tell them you were forcing them to go to another social before noticing the looks on their faces. 

“Where’s Jungwon?” you asked, looking around the room but he wasn’t there.

“We may or may not have a problem,” Jake said.

“A Jay sized problem,” Karina added. “And he may or may not have found you.”

Your eyes darted between the two of them. What did that mean? Where did Jungwon go? How did Jay find you?

“Jungwon’s outside the room right now distracting him so we can slip out,” Jake said, shoving your bag into your hands. “But we should probably go now.”

“Are you serious?” You really had no idea what was going on. 

They gave you the kind of look that said to stop asking questions and herded you to the door. Jake peeked his head out first before grabbing you by the arm and making a break through the hallway. Karina followed behind, glancing down other hallways in the building to make sure you weren’t spotted. But right before you could make it through the exit doors, Jake halted to a stop. If Karina hadn’t been paying attention, she would have run right into you. 

Around the corner you could hear footsteps and Jungwon’s voice. 

“Nope, not here either… wow, I didn’t think it would be this hard to find it.”

Jay’s voice followed. “Jungwon, why are you checking behind a fire extinguisher?”

“Shit,” Jake hissed, immediately reversing and backtracking through a different hallway. “Plan B, Plan B…” he chanted and you looked between the two of them. 

“Plan B??? What the fuck is Plan B??”

“There,” Karina pointed dramatically to the glowing red sign above another door. 

“We cannot run out of the emergency door!” you whisper-yelled. “We’re gonna set off the alarm. 

“Exactly, so we’re gonna use the stairs next to it and exit through the basement.”

“I can’t fucking breathe,” you gasped, still getting dragged through the halls.

The moment the three of you made it out of the building, Karina forced you to continue speed walking away until you were about a block south. 

“How did you know he was here?” you asked, glancing back concerned. 

“Jungwon went to use the bathroom and Jay was there, walking around the halls confused and asking if you were here. Apparently he heard you were taking a dance class.”

You tripped over your own feet. “How the hell did he hear that?”

Karina shrugged aggressively. “Girl, nobody knows how that man works.”

“He asked Jungwon if he could see you but Jungwon said you already left and he stayed behind because he lost his chapstick.”

“Chapstick?”

“He panicked,” Karina explained. “It was the first word that came out. He’s committed to the bit.”

“Why does Jay even want to see me?” you groaned. “I thought he made it pretty clear he wasn’t interested.”

“Because he has audacity poisoning," Karina offered after sharing a look with Jake. “I think his is a terminal case.”

“Stage four. No cure,” Jake added his own medical diagnosis. 

“I really don’t want to see him,” you said, tightening the grip on your bag. 

“And you won’t,” Jake said confidently. “Jungwon is currently sacrificing his life pretending to look for imaginary chapstick. Trust the system.”

Unfortunately, you weren’t sure you could trust the system. Why? Because it was Friday, a day you had been looking forward to so you could dance with a certain platinum blonde beauty. Except fate had a sick sense of humor and he wasn’t the only man in the social looking for you. 

Jake slowed beside you, his cheerful commentary dissolving mid-sentence. Karina stopped walking completely and Jungwon shifted forward subtly, like he was trying to block something from your view. But you had already seen him. 

Your stomach fell straight through the door. Showing up to practice was one thing but going out of his way to corner you at a dance was another. Jay -- your ex, your unfinished business, your recently resurrected villain -- was leaning against the wall like he owned it, button down shirt tucked into a pair of dress slacks. He scanned the room with the focus of someone hunting for a specific person. A person named you. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Your voice rose with panic, unsure what the next move was. “Why is he even here??”

Karina grabbed your arm. “We should run.”

Jake grabbed your other arm. “We should hide.”

Jungwon didn’t hesitate to fully block you from Jay’s view with his body, acting as a human shield. “Are you okay?”

“I think I might throw up.” And then your mouth went dry and your knees forgot to function. “He saw me,” you whispered. 

“Which one?” Jake whispered back.

“Which-- What do you mean which one??” you hissed. 

Karina pointed slowly in Jay’s direction in one hand before slowly raising another finger in the other. 

Platinum hair, dark hoodie, calm, unreadable face. All it took was a single glance around the room for his eyes to find you immediately. Your stomach was now in the basement. 

Jay had pushed off the wall toward you, taking slow steps, like he was rehearsing how to emotionally manipulate you again after a year. And Ni-ki was walking fast, cutting through the crowd with that same quiet, effortless confidence you knew too well, like the room belonged to him. Two men, both headed straight towards you. 

Karina began to panic. “Abort mission. ABORT MISSION.”

“You’re screwed,” Jake nodded, giving up on finding a solution to this impossible situation. 

“We should have stayed home,” Jungwon added, his role as human shield failing miserably. 

It was clear neither man had noticed the other yet. They were closing in on you from opposite sides of the room and you were actively running out of escape options. 

‘Okay, okay, think,” you said in a hushed voice. “There has got to be a loophole here.”

“Do we fake a medical emergency?” Jake asked? “Like, I can collapse. I can absolutely collapse. Right now.”

“Too late for that, they’re in striking distance,” Jungwon muttered and you glanced up to confirm. 

Jay was speed-walking now, desperation written across his face. Like he had something to say. Like you owed him the privilege of listening. 

“Okay uhhhh, I can create a different diversion,” Jake was rambling now. “I can yell ‘fire’ or accidentally trip into the crowd and knock 5 people over or--”

“Y/N.” 

The sound of your name nearly made you jump out of your skin. Jay’s voice was closer than it should be, which was about 2 yards away. But before you could turn or even process the spike of anxiety, another voice overlapped with his. 

“Hi.”

Lower, calmer, right in front of you. Your entire spine locked. Ni-ki had reached you first. 

“Hi,” you mustered up a single word, refusing to look back in Jay’s direction out of pure fear. You could feel Jay’s presence behind you, hovering too close, like if he breathed too hard you would feel the wind between your shoulder blades. 

Ni-ki’s attention didn’t waver from you and his eyes searched your face. “You alright?” He could tell something was wrong. 

“I’m fine,” you lied. 

His brow dipped in response. Not judging, just quietly unconvinced. 

“Y/N.” Jay’s voice rang again. More urgent, more demanding. 

You winced. 

Something in Ni-ki shifted, a cooling around his eyes, another step in your direction. He showed no other signs of noticing the other man calling your name. 

“Want to dance?” he asked, holding his hand out to you. His tone was soft, almost casual -- but the timing wasn’t. You knew it. Jay knew it. And Ni-ki definitely knew it. 

Out of your peripheral, you saw Jay falter in his advancement. Ni-ki’s hand was offering you a choice -- an invitation, not a command. You looked down at it, warm and waiting, and then back up at his face. There was no pressure behind his expression, no expectation. 

You reached for it. 

Your first steps were shaky, but not because of the dance. You could feel Jay’s stare burning into your back like a heater. His judgement was apparent, it was impossible not to notice. Ni-ki pulled you into close embrace, close enough to block the view of the man behind you, close enough to block anyone’s view. 

“You’re really tense,” he noted and spun you before you could respond. A tiny, involuntary sound escaped you in surprise. 

You missed a beat and stumbled back into place. “...that wasn’t graceful,” you muttered, trying to restore the dance. 

“I thought it was cute.”

You tripped, mortified. 

Ni-ki caught you instantly, one hand firm at your ribs, the other sliding lower to steady your hip. The correction was smooth, like he had known exactly where you were going to fall before you even stumbled. “Relax.”

“Not possible,” you whispered back. 

His face lowered briefly before searching your eyes again, something unreadable passed over his expression. Not annoyance or confusion, something more like calculation. As if he was trying to figure out what had you so rattled. But he didn’t ask. He had a feeling. 

He pressed his hand gently to your side, guiding your weight in the direction he wanted you to go. You were guided to a spin -- slower this time -- and when you landed back in his arms, your face nearly hit his chest. His gaze flicked past your shoulder, just for a split second. His jaw flexed once. 

“Stay close,” he said quietly. 

“I am close.”

“Closer,” he corrected, pulling you fully into his chest. Your hand flattened against him, having nowhere else to go. 

“Is this… normal dancing distance?”

His lips twitched in a smile. “For right now.”

He started traveling, a couple smooth steps back, one to the side, leading you in a clean path through the crowd. He wasn’t rushing, but he wasn’t lingering long in any one location. 

“We’re moving fast,” you said, unable to even look up at him from the way he was holding you. 

“We’re dancing.” He guided you through another turn. “Should I lift you?”

“Lift??” 

He nodded simply, both hands going to your hips and beginning to push you away, preparing you to jump. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”

You didn’t want to argue. You trusted him. 

You followed his command and bent your knees, preparing to launch yourself into the air. He told you not to think about it, to just do it, so you did. Your feet left the ground and you felt his hands flex, propelling you higher and suspending you in the air. Instead of immediately lowering you, he took advantage of the position and used it to rotate the two of you, making you gasp in surprise. As he held you in the air, he spun, making the wind of momentum blow your hair back briefly before placing you back on your feet. 

“We’ve never done that before,” your eyes danced. 

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you responded like it was obvious. 

He offered to do it again, guiding you into another step, into familiar twists and turns that the two of you had done a hundred times. But then your gaze flicked over his shoulder and you saw him. Jay. Still watching. Still hovering at the edge of the room, eyes dark and locked on you like an accusation. 

Ni-ki must’ve felt the way your breath faltered. “Don’t look.”

You swallowed, throat tight. “He’s still staring.”

“I know,” he said, voice steady. “Don’t let him pull you out of rhythm.”

“Easy for you to say. Your ex isn’t--” You caught yourself, eyes widening. You really didn’t want to talk about this with Ni-ki of all people. 

He didn’t dig, his hand slid higher on your back with enough pressure to pull you out of your spiral. “Focus on my lead.”

The music climbed, the beat sharper. It felt like a scene from a movie, a heist, an escape. The two of you bounced from one end of the room to another, a mess of twirls and lifts and footwork. Ni-ki kept you from the edge of the dance floor, a thoughtful move on his end. Every move of his was intentional to keep you focused on him, to keep you from freezing. 

When the song ended, you were out of breath, still trying to catch up from the sprint of choreography he had led you through. Your hair stuck to your cheek, your hand still gripping his shoulder from momentum that hadn’t quite left your body yet. 

Ni-ki didn’t let go right away. He held you in place like he wasn’t convinced you were fully back on solid ground. 

“I like dancing with you,” you said, searching his eyes for a reaction. 

He didn’t respond for a moment. Not because he hadn’t heard you, but because he was processing. Then he exhaled, almost like a laugh. “I like dancing with you too.”

His eyes scanned over your shoulder, noticing something -- or someone -- without calling attention to it. Then he focused on you. “You want another dance?” His offer seemed strangely intimate in the chaos of the social. 

“Yeah. I do.” 

His fingers brushed yours again, ready to guide you back to the floor, but you froze. 

“Y/N.”

That wasn’t Ni-ki’s voice. 

His hand stopped mid-reach, suspended in the space between you. His shoulders didn’t tense, but something in his frame adjusted as he turned his head just enough to see who was behind you. But you didn’t have to turn, you already knew. He stood too close, close enough that you had to lift your chin up to meet his eyes. 

“I need to talk to you,” he said. Not a question. Not a request.

A demand. 

“Jay, I--”

Ni-ki moved before you could finish. It wasn’t aggressive or confrontational. Just a quiet, deliberate claim of space beside you rather than behind you. Jay’s jaw tightened. 

“Can you give us a minute?” Disdain?

Ni-ki didn’t react. He looked to you instead, a silent question lingering between the two of you. Did you want him to stay? Did you want to talk? Should he whisk you away?

Your pulse was painful. 

“I…” you began. 

Jay stepped closer. “Please, just a minute.”

Ni-ki’s hand brushed your elbow. He wasn’t going to leave you. 

“I don’t…” your voice wavered. “I don’t think this is a good time.”

Jay stiffened. “Y/N, I came all the way here to see you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” you stated, firmer than you expected. 

The crowd around you kept dancing, completely unaware of the emotional nuclear standoff happening in the middle of the room. 

Jay’s eyes flicked briefly to Ni-ki. “I didn’t know you were--” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, like he didn’t want to name what he thought he saw. “--busy.”

You opened your mouth, no idea what was about to come out. But Ni-ki spoke first. 

“She is.”

Jay stared at him, stunned that this stranger had the “gull” to talk to him like that. 

“Seriously?” Jay stepped forward again, more frantic now. “Come on, Y/N. I just-- I drove across town because I thought we could--”

“You should stop,” Ni-ki said quietly. His words weren’t harsh or loud, just resolute. 

Jay blinked, blindsided by the interruption. “Excuse me?”

“She said no. Respect it.”

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“It does if you don’t leave her alone.”

It was too much for you. You glanced between the two of them, unsure what the right move was, if there even was one. You didn’t want Ni-ki to get involved on your part and put him in an uncomfortable position. You lifted your hands slightly, like you could physically push the tension down. “Ni-ki, it’s okay--”

“It’s not,” he said, eyes still on Jay. “He’s not listening.”

Jay opened his mouth again, but whatever he saw in Ni-ki’s eyes made him swallow his words and step back. There was a moment of silence. Before he turned away and you watched him leave the dancefloor. It was clear when he glared at Ni-ki from the sidelines that he had no intention of leaving yet, he would just wait it out. 

Ni-ki didn’t let go of your hand, even after Jay backed off. His grip wasn’t tight -- just present, like he was leaving room for you to decide if you needed it. 

“Do you want to sit?” he asked, already preparing to walk with you to one of the chairs on the sidelines. 

“No.” You shook your head. “If I sit, I’m going to think about it. I don’t want to think about it.”

“We can stand for a second.”

We can stand. He wasn’t leaving. You almost smiled at that, but then your eyes drifted towards the wall unintentionally. Ni-ki gently redirected your face back to him with the edge of his fingers. 

“Don’t look,” he said softly. 

“Why not?”

“Because he’s waiting for you to look. Don’t show him you’re thinking about it.”

“How do I do that?”

“Dance with me instead.”

He guided you into the first step, slowly like he was deliberately keeping the pace low enough for your mind to catch up. Your hand found his shoulder easier this time. His hand stayed firm on your back. He made no comment about how stiff you were even though you knew he felt it in your shoulders. 

“Where did your friends go?” he asked like he was giving you a distraction. 

“I lost them half an hour ago,” you replied, not even bothering to look around the room for them in fear you would find someone else instead. “They left me to the wolves.”

His hand flexed on your back, bringing you through a turn. “Are you calling me a wolf?”

You offered an apologetic smile. “Well not you exactly, just the situation in general.”

He hummed, the low sound almost covered by the music. “Good. I don’t bite.”

“I don’t know…” you drawled sarcastically. “That didn’t sound convincing.”

“I thought you trusted me?”

“I do,” you said, a little faster than you would have liked but he seemed pleased with your response. 

The music shifted into something warmer. The bass line rolled under your feet through the floors, making the glass in the windows shake, and the rhythm coaxed the crowd into a sway. Ni-ki’s hands slid from your back to your ribs, guiding you into a closer hold without asking. He nudged your hand higher on his shoulder, adjusting your positioning like you were something delicate he already knew how to handle. 

“This tempo is slower. Loosen your knees.”

You tried, you really did, but your body was still buzzing with nerves. He saw you struggling and shifted his grip on your body. 

“Match me,” he said quietly. 

He stepped back and you followed. He stepped left and you followed. He lifted his arm signaling a spin and you followed, turned beneath his arm before returning to his embrace. 

“You’re doing good,” he spoke and you offered a smile. 

His thumb brushed once -- absentmindedly, maybe -- against your hip as he guided you into a sway. The motion brought you closer than the dance technically required, chest brushing chest for a split second. For the first time ever, you heard his breath hitch. 

“Sorry,” you said automatically.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I-- I didn’t mean to step too close.”

“You didn’t,” he countered, guiding you through another subtle shift. “You were following.”

Following. Like he had led you there?

The thought made your cheeks heat up and your eyes darted away from him, unable to look into his eyes. But that was a bad idea. 

“He’s still watching,” you whispered. “I don’t know what he wants.”

Ni-ki’s hand slid up your back, resting between your shoulder blades. 

“You.” 

His answer was plain, making your heart both flutter and drop at the same time. 

“Doesn’t matter though.”

You looked at him confused. “What?”

He blinked back. “Because you’re dancing with me.”

You couldn’t dwell on the way that sentence made you feel for too long because your racing mind wouldn’t let you. “What if he comes over again?

Instead of replying, he dipped you. Slow, steady, and safe. Your back arched into his arm and your fingers curled into his shoulder like instinct. He held you there for a breath longer than usual, making you focus on nothing but him for a couple seconds. When he brought you upright again, your faces were only inches apart. His breath brushed your cheek. Your lips parted without meaning to. 

Ni-ki didn’t move away. He just looked at you -- really looked -- like he was rehearsing a line he didn’t know how to say out loud. The room began to feel impossibly loud, like someone had turned the volume up to the entire social. Laughter, stomping, clapping, music. You weren’t breathing or thinking, you could barely feel the floor beneath your feet. 

Your chest stopped expanding, your lungs felt like they were collapsing. You didn’t want to pull away from him, afraid even blinking would shatter the fragile tension that had settled between the two of you. The soft curve of his eyelid and straight eyelashes, the way his eyes flicked down to your lips for the smallest fraction of a second. 

A tiny inhale pulsed through him, so slight you wouldn’t have noticed if your bodies weren’t so close, if your hand wasn’t pressed to his chest, if your own pulse wasn’t perfectly synced with his. You were so close it was like you could hear every word he wasn’t saying. 

The moment stretched, suspended, balanced on the knife’s edge of almost. Almost too close. Almost too intimate. Almost too much. 

He swallowed once, throat tight. “Don’t move.”

You didn’t know if it was a warning or a plea. You only knew that your body obeyed instantly. Every muscle went still. 

His eyes didn’t leave yours. Slanted, dark, unreadable yet full of something. You could feel his body heat radiating through your fingertips, any place where your bodies were connected were suddenly on fire. Every breath sent goosebumps down your spine. The way his fingers were spread along your back, as if he was anchoring himself to you. 

But then you realized. A shift behind you. The air changed like it was cracked with a whip. You didn’t turn, you didn’t have to. The moment Ni-ki’s eyes flashed behind you for even a millisecond was enough confirmation. Part of you wanted to turn around, but you couldn’t. Not when every single cell of the man in front of you was pulling you in like a magnet. 

Before you could talk yourself out of it, before logic could even form, your hand slid up Ni-ki’s chest, curling into the fabric of his collar. You felt his breathing falter before shallowing. 

“Y/N…” he murmured, uncertain. 

But you didn’t stop. 

You rose onto your toes, clinging to his shirt like a support system, and kissed him.

His hands tightened on your waist in pure surprise. He stood frozen, not pulling you in, not pushing you away, just holding you. When your mind began to reel with the consequences of your actions, you hurriedly pulled away, fumbling to formulate an apology. 

“I-- I didn’t -- I wasn’t thinking -- I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

Ni-ki stared down at you as you rambled, his eyes stunned, but not upset, more like he was calibrating. 

You quickly dropped your hands from his collar after realizing they were still there and held them at your sides so they wouldn’t cause anymore trouble. “Wow, I actually can’t believe I did that. I swear I’m not usually like that, I’m just really flustered right now and I think I kind of really like you…”

The second the words left your mouth you froze. But Ni-ki didn’t. His hand on your back shifted, just enough for his thumb to move in a slow, steady path along your spine. He just watched you. Jaw tense, eyes sharp, and… uneven breaths?

You couldn’t. You looked down, opening your mouth to apologize again, to say sorry for putting him in this situation and that maybe he should dance with somebody else. But his hand was faster than your words.

Warm fingers caught your jaw, guiding your face back up to his. “I think…” he said, the hand on your back pulling you into him, your hips connecting, “we should…” his hand moved up your spine before finding your other cheek, now framing your face fully, “do it…” your noses almost touched, “again.”

You were hyperventilating. Your hands rose, shaking, and gripped the sides of his hoodie. “Do you want to?” 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I want to.”

And then slowly, giving you every second to stop him, he closed the distance again. 

[yoursinink]

Trigger a Memory - L.HS

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

idol!heeseung x reader

word count: 3.3k

summary: heeseung shows up unexpectedly, exhausted and conflicted, eventually confessing that he's been overwhelmed with thoughts of you. What starts as concern and teasing turns into something much more charged and intimate

MDNI (smut warning, handjob, masturbation, sub Heeseung)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Heeseung had shown up on your doorstep randomly, you weren’t entirely sure what to expect. He looked exhausted and the minute you had opened the door, he had begun to lean on the frame.

“Did you run here?” you asked in astonishment. That was no small feat considering their practice room was around five miles away. 

“No,” He shook his head and wiped the sweat from his brow, “I just ran up the stairs.”

“Oh..” Liar. 

You weren’t quite sure what to say to him. You weren’t able to read any of his facial expressions to tell what he was thinking and he wasn’t giving away any information with his words either. 

“I’m assuming you wanted to come in,” you half questioned, moving to the side to let him through. “Go sit on the couch and I can get you some water.”

“I don’t need it,” Heeseung argued but you guided him to sit anyway. 

“Okay, then don’t drink it. I’m still getting it,” you said and left to go to the kitchen. 

The older boy was silent. He didn’t say anything from the other room, which was fine because you probably wouldn’t hear him anyway. 

The glass chimed against the sink when you bumped it on accident, almost making you miss the sound of your phone going off. You placed the cup in the sink and let the water fall into it on its lowest setting so you would have time to read the text.

Sunghoon: 

Is Heeseung-hyung with you? He left practice early and I haven’t seen him since. 

You: 

He just got here, why’d he leave?

Sunghoon:

 idk

You: 

Did you wanna come over and get him?

Sunghoon: 

I’ll be over when practice is done. 

You: 

You know the passcode.

You slid your phone back into your pocket and turned off the tap. “Heeseung-ah!” you shouted. “Sunghoon just asked about you.”

Heeseung was still sitting on the couch when you got back and stared at you blankly. He had been hugging one of your pillows and staring at one of the walls. You placed the cup of water on the coffee table and sat down next to him. 

“Hey, you okay?” You asked and tilted forward so you could look him in the eye. “You seem off.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a little tired.”

“Right,” you agreed, somewhat sarcastically. “So why are you here?”

His eyes moved from the wall to meet yours for a moment before looking away again. “I- uh, I wanted to see you.”

“Mhmm, so you left practice early and ditched all your bandmates to see me. I feel pretty special.”

Heeseung made a small smile but it looked forced. You still didn’t know what to do with him. 

“Uh, well, I still have a little bit of work to do but I guess you can watch me. Just don’t read over my shoulder, that shit’s creepy, got it?” You stood up to leave but you felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you back down. You looked at the boy next to you only to see that he had gotten significantly closer. “Is that a no?” you ask a bit more quietly. Did he not want to be alone?

“I just had this thought..” Heeseung mumbled, making eye contact with you, but the minute you held it for more than 3 seconds, he looked away. “ I had this thought during practice and I- it was about you, and, and me..”

He fell silent, either struggling for words or too embarrassed to say them, or both. 

“So you had this thought about us and you had to leave practice because of it. What exactly were you thinking about?”

He looked back up at you. “It was….” he started but took a long pause. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here,” he attempted to leave but this time you were the one grabbing his wrist. His eyes widened and he stared at you but made no further attempt to run away.

“You can’t leave yet, you aren’t done with your story. And you still haven’t had your water.”

He said nothing, his arm still in your grasp and his head to the floor. You scooted closer. 

“Finish what you were saying. What was that thought you had?”

“You and me, we, uh,” he fidgeted. Jeez this man was nervous. “Well, I mean, y-you kissed me, or I kissed you, I don’t remember and then-” he snuck a glance at you and played with the rings on his hand. You hummed softly, trying to get him to say the rest. 

The two of you weren’t officially dating. There was mutual attraction for sure, no doubt about it, but neither of you had clearly expressed your feelings or decided to put a label on it. 

“A-and then, it ended with you below m..” he stopped talking but you didn’t push it. It didn’t take a genius to know that he wasn’t gonna finish that sentence. 

“You said I kissed you?” 

He hesitated before nodding.

“Where did I kiss you?” you asked innocently and turned his face to look at you, one hand swaddling his cheek. “Was it.. Here?” you pressed two fingers to his forehead but he shook his head no. “...here?” this time tapping his cheek. Again, he motioned no. This time, you leaned in, watching his eyes flutter closed, but right before your lips made contact you stopped. “What about here?” you asked and pinched his nose. He opened his eyes with a slight blush on his cheeks and gulped, shaking his head one last time. “Then…?” the hand cradling his face shifted to his chin, lifting it up as you closed the distance. It was only a small peck but it got the point across. 

As soon as you pulled away, Heeseung blinked rapidly and took a deep breath in. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Something like that?” you repeated, teasing him. “Well mister smartypants, why don’t you show me how it’s done. I wasn’t the one who pictured us making out.” 

“I said I don’t remember..”

“Alright, then let me know when I ‘trigger a memory’,” you moved back in and captured his lips in yours. 

He reacted slowly, kissing you back, a hand sliding onto your thigh. You didn’t want to rush it. He didn’t seem quite in his right mind, but it had been a while since the two of you had been this close and you didn’t want to slow down. 

You picked up speed, your tongue making an appearance and dragging across his lower lip. In response, he let you in. Your hands made their way to the back of his head, pulling him closer with fingers knotted in his locks. He made a small grunt to the force.

You couldn’t remember the last time you two had had the time to have a makeout session. He was always busy and you were always busy, but as he reciprocated your energy, you realized how much you had missed it. 

His lips moved against yours, pushing himself further into you. His hands rubbed your thigh up and down before settling on your waist and pulling his body closer. 

“Can I..” he trailed off, his wide eyes staring into yours. “It’s okay if you don’t want me to but-”

“What do you want?” you hummed, urging him forward and playing with his hair. 

Heesung gulped but said nothing, instead moving back in to kiss you. You hesitated but followed along. Then he started shifting closer, it almost seemed as though he was trying to face you until he stopped. Every now and then he would make a small movement but nothing enough to change your position. When his leg grazed yours again, you finally grabbed beneath his thigh and pulled him on top of you. 

“Is this what you wanted?” you asked. The boy made a small squeak as you hulled him onto your lap to straddle you. His hands immediately went to your shoulders and your head nuzzled into his neck, breath fanning across his collarbone. “You could have just asked.”

The sound he made was almost like a whimper, one of his hands coming up behind your head and holding you close to him. Your arms went around his waist, wrapping him in your embrace as you moved deeper into the crook of his neck. You mouthed at the skin, nipping and licking light enough that it wouldn’t make a bruise. It had the slight taste of salt to it from when he was at practice but you didn’t mind. 

You went lower and lower, his breathing caught in your ear. Every hitch in his throat egging you forward. You reached a point below his shoulder blade and sucked harder, knowing it wouldn’t be seen by others, resulting in the prettiest sound you had ever heard in your life. It was hardly a moan, but the minute it left his mouth, you felt Heesung stiffen up. 

Before you could say anything, he started pulling away. You just barely moved quick enough to tighten your arms around him and refuse to let him leave. 

“Where are you going?”

He refused to look at you, his outstretched hands trying to put distance between your bodies. “I didn’t mean to do that. I dunno how I made that sound, or-or why I came and I didn’t try to.. to…”

“Heesung, stop it.”

“You said you had work to do, you should go do that.”

“Do you really think I’d rather do work than make out with you right now?”

Red spread across his cheeks and he bit his lip. He opened his mouth to talk again but you spoke up first. 

“And I wanna know what exactly you thought about during practice. We’re still on track, aren’t we?”

His blush deepened but he nodded. 

“Do you still want to leave?” you asked, pecking his jawline once he started relaxing again, one of your hands creeping under his shirt. 

His head fell forward, burying itself in your neck and slowly kissing the curve of your veins and the sharpness of your shoulder. “No…”

“Good,” you breathed out, feeling the warmth of his tongue cross your skin over and over again. “I don’t want you to leave either.”

Your hand traced his back, the heat from his body connecting with your cold fingers and leaving goosebumps along his skin. You slid up, landing on one of his nipples and grazing it with the pad of your finger. He tensed and sucked in a deep breath, but kept up his assault against your neck. It was only when you began pinching and twisted the bud that he let your neck go and gasped. 

He had moved now so that you could see each other eye to eye. You squeezed again and felt the slightest roll of his hips against yours. His hardness pressed against your stomach, and by no means went unnoticed. At this point, Heeseung felt no shame at all. He knew you felt it and did it again, this time grinding harder and making you gasp at the feeling. He groaned and gripped the edge of the couch behind you, staring at you dead in the eye making his pelvic bone meet yours over and over again. His movement sent sparks into your stomach as he rubbed against you, his eyes burned fire into yours and yet you refused to be the first to look away.

“This is what made you leave practice, huh?” you asked quietly, arms drawing back and resting on his waist, aiding him in his motion. “You couldn’t focus with the thought of dry humping me-” he whimpered “-in the middle of my living room-”

“Y/n…-”

“Was the thought of you riding my thighs so distracting you couldn’t even dance? Showing up unannounced because you can’t get me out of your head?”

 Heeseung’s eyes narrowed and he lunged forward, kissing you again. 

It wasn’t slow this time and he wasn’t holding himself back. You closed your eyes and opened your mouth, letting him lead. His hands wound around your head, curling into your hair. His hips began a rhythmic rocking motion in your lap with his legs squeezing around your thighs and his torso pressed against yours. 

Your hands traveled to his back, nails scratching into the skin. There was no space between you now. He let out a soft moan and curled his head into his arms around you. 

“What did you see us do next?” you whispered, one of your hands going astray and settling on his ass. “We can’t end here, can we?”

“Mmmhm- I want you to t-touch me,” he said just as softly. 

“I can’t hear you,” you said, tilting your head and making him sit up from his hugging position. 

He fidgeted, arms on either side of your head. You looked into his hooded eyes and waited for an answer. “I, I want you to touch- Please, touch me.”

One of his hands went down to the hem of his sweatpants. You didn’t follow them with your eyes, maintaining eye contact with the boy on top of you, but it was tempting. 

“Please, you’re all I’ve been thinking about for the last couple days and it’s driving me crazy trying to ignore it,” he bent down to murmur in your ear, grinding down again slightly. His hands had disappeared beneath the pants fabric and you tried your hardest not to look down when you felt his length press against you, separated by sheer fabric. “I couldn’t focus because every time I tried, you were right there. Please, I just need it just this once. I’ll leave you alone after this, I swear, just please help me. I look in the mirror and all see is you and me, everytime I see a girl come into the room I hope it’s you, anytime I hear your name all I can think about is you around me- and I can’t keep thinking like this, it’s wrong to think of you like this, I’m sorry-”

You gave in and followed his hand beneath his pants, slipping under the band of his boxers. Your fingers brushed his before gripping his length and rubbing it slightly, already leaving the boy shivering.

“Why didn’t you just come over?” you asked, stroking him slowly. 

His head lolled to the side and his mouth quivered as it opened, every single word coming out as a breath. “I-I-I tried, I did, but I didn’t think you- I didn’t think you wanted me like I wanted you..”

You guided his dick out of his pants to get better handling before moving your hand faster. As his face exploded with red, you realized this was the farthest you two had ever gone. 

“We can stop if you’re uncomfor-”

“No! No, god no, don’t stop, it feels good,” he looked at you with the faintest hint of a smile across his lustful features. 

You stared blankly. “Lee Heeseung, you are absolutely gorgeous, you know that?”

He couldn’t stop the grin that crept onto his face and kissed you again, less aggressive but filled with another emotion, one that you couldn’t place. 

You tightened your hand, stroking him faster and he moaned into your mouth. 

“Oh my god, Y/n- ahh~” you felt his thighs tighten around you. His body pressed closer and his head fell to the side, unable to hold himself up.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to see you either, but you’re an idol.” He hummed, partially listening. “I don’t want to be a distraction to you, though clearly it wasn’t working.”

“I’m s-sorry,” heavy breath cascaded down his lips, focused on your hand. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t apologize. It’s my fault for entertaining you, I kissed you first,” you said, recalling the first time the two of you had ever crossed the line between idol and employee. “I should have ended it there, but I didn’t want to, I wanted to kiss you again, and again.”

“So do it.”

“Baby, I plan on it.”

He groaned, rolling his body against yours, trying to get all the friction he could get. “I want you, Y/n, please, I want you so bad.”

“Fuck my hand, Heeseung,” you said, having him add to his own pleasure. 

His head tilted back and his grip both loosened and tightened at the same time, his hips thrusting up to meet your palm.

“O-ohhh,” he gasped.

“There you go, fuck my hand, Heeseung. Your bandmates don’t know you’re here, do they? You didn’t tell them where you went or what you’ve been thinking about?”

He shook his head, a shudder going through his body. 

“I bet they couldn’t even imagine what you’re doing right now, sitting in my lap pleasuring yourself.”

You tightened your grip and his steady thrusts faltered. 

 “What would they think if they knew that their hyung was whining and needy for attention from an employee? If they knew you’re skipping practice to be in my lap right here, right now?”

“-Oh my god,” he moaned and kissed you, both thrusting through your hand and rolling against your stomach. You could feel your shirt getting soiled from pre-cum and knew that it would be absolutely  ruined by the time you were done. 

“They don’t know that I’m the reason you’re so distracted-”

His kiss was desperate and drunk, his hands were entwined in your hair, pulling your head back. At this point, you were letting him mold you as he pleased for his pleasure. One of your hands massaged his lower back, gripping at his ass and skin, while the other flexed around his length, pulling groans from his lips.

“Please,” he whined, “oh- ‘m so close..”

Now it was your turn to tug against his hair. There was no resistance and he willingly let you devour the skin on his neck, mouth agape and silent gasping falling from it. Then he jolted, chest connecting with yours before pulling back again. He twitched and you felt something warm cover your hand. Whimpers trailed through the air and he found refuge in the curve of your neck. 

“Heeseung-ah,” you cooed, stroking his hair and back with your clean hand. “You were amazing, that was the hottest thing I think I have ever seen.”

He chuckled and tightened his arms around you. “I’m sorry for distracting you.”

“You are most certainly not a distraction. If you’re gonna do that again, you can come over any time you want. Even if you don’t want to do this again, you can still come over.”

“And I ruined your shirt.”

“I’ll wash it. It’s fine.”

There was a silence that fell before you asked a question.

“Was that everything you were imagining?”

You felt him nuzzle your neck with his nose and give your skin a soft peck. “I’m glad I skipped practice. But... we didn’t finish.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” he hummed and sat up, staring into your eyes. You could tell that he was no longer nervous to be here with you. “We’re only halfway there.”

There was no way to miss the small smirk that crossed his face before he leaned into your jawline, peppering it with more kisses. 

“What does the other half look like?” you asked, skipping a beat when you felt one of his hands go down and start to trail up your waist. 

“Do you want me to show you?”

“Yes.”

[yoursinink]

I Like My Coffee with You - Y.JW

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

idol!jungwon x barista!reader

word count: 12k

summary: popular idol jungwon becomes a regular at your cafe and begins to leave you notes of napkins filled with lyrics... about you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The smell of ground coffee and cinnamon was comforting to you, it made you feel warm inside. And everyday you stepped into Dayglow Cafe to put your apron on, the smell alone made the alarm clocks in the morning completely worth it. The place was kind of a hole in the wall, tucked away from the inner city’s chaos, but still managed to have a decent flow of customers throughout the day. There were big arched windows to let the sunlight in, and soft lighting from rustic light fixtures that only turned on when the sun was low enough to be blocked by the buildings around you. Books lined the shelves and you prided yourself on having actually read each one -- sometimes you would add to the collection. The playlist of music in the background was a concoction of your favorite songs and some of your other friends. You each had a different style but somehow they blended together perfectly. Regulars came for the calm environment. And so does he. 

You noticed him the first time he walked in. Not because he was flashy or was wearing cool clothes -- but because he wasn’t. He wore a baseball cap and a mask, a black hoodie pulled low and baggy jeans. You grew accustomed to his order: vanilla latte with two shots of espresso and cinnamon. Then he’d tuck himself into the back corner booth. Always the same seat facing away from the door, head down, earbuds in, notebook or laptop open. No one ever recognized him. But you knew who he was. 

You had actually been a fan of his for years. And now, he was just here. Human, quiet, and alone. It was almost odd to see him in such a normal setting. In your setting. 

Your hands worked quickly, making his drink while your friend stood behind the bar, taking the orders of the next in line. To finish up his order, you added in one pump of cinnamon sweetener and sprinkled cinnamon on the top, snapping the lid on the cup. He was in his assigned seat, typing away at something on his laptop screen, and you took a deep breath, nodding to yourself silently before stepping out behind the counter and walking in his direction. 

You weren’t sure if he knew that you knew who he was. You never mentioned it and he never asked. The closest he ever got to addressing it was on his second visit. 

“Will that be all for you?” you asked, tapping the screen in front of you and glancing up at him, trying with the will of 100 men to keep your cheeks from going up in flames from just talking to him. 

“Yeah, but, uh,” he looked up at you, hesitant. “Would you mind not calling it out loud when it’s finished?”

You smiled to hide the confusion you were feeling upon his request. “Sure, would you rather have me bring it up to your table?”

“Is that possible?”

“Of course!” Anything for you. “I can have it out for you in about 5 minutes.”

Looking back, the request was a completely reasonable one. ‘Jungwon’ was not the most common name in Korean, so repeatedly calling it out everyday would start to gather attention. 

So here you were, walking carefully over to his little corner, drink in hand and a smile to match. 

“Here you go, Jungwon,” you said, and placed the cup on the table in front of him along with a plastic straw still in its wrapper. 

He gave you a small smile in return. “Thank you.”

For the first few weeks of his routinely visits, you played it cool. No lingering stares, no small talk. Just the drink and a grin and customer service. But, like, come on. It would be impossible to not watch him at least sometimes. 

You learned that he liked to face the window when it rained, and that he liked to tap his fingers along to the music mindlessly, and that he liked to drink his drink as fast as possible so that the ice didn’t melt and water it down. You learned that he was polite, which is something you kind of already knew but it was different when you were experiencing it first hand. He always said please and thank you, always threw away the straw wrapper and empty coffee cup, always wiped away any condensation left on the table. 

Around the third week of his frequent attendance, he forgot to put a mask on before coming to the counter and both of you just… paused. He’d blinked like a deer caught in headlights when he realized his mistake and you saw him mentally start formulating an escape plan. 

But then you said, “Vanilla latter with two shots of espresso and cinnamon?” before he even started to order, like nothing was different. He smiled -- genuinely -- and you both let it go. 

It stayed like that, quiet, easy. Until one Tuesday evening when Dayglow was nearly empty and a golden light spilled through the windows like honey. He approached the counter. You looked up from wiping down the espresso machine and found him standing there. His backpack was over his shoulders and it seemed like he was on his way out. His hands were stuffed in the front pocket of his hoodie, rocking on the balls of his feet like he was debating turning back around. 

“Everything okay?” you asked, and he peered up at you from under the mask. 

“Yeah, I just wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?” you asked, curious.

“For not making it weird. Most people either freak out or ask for pictures.” You could tell there was a hint of a smile hiding behind his mask, just from his eyes. “You don’t do that either.”

You shrugged, trying to seem casual and just told him the truth. “I figured you wouldn’t come back if I did.”

He laughed. “That’s true.” There was a gentle pause before he added, “The cinnamon thing… You add more than most places. I like that.”

He was just too cute. “Well, cinnamon is the best part, isn’t it? I wanna keep the customers happy.”

That made him nod. “It’s nice.”

“It’s nice to know you like it enough to come back for three weeks straight,” you joked a little, glancing down at the rag in your hand and setting it aside. When you looked up, his eyes were on the floor, shifting his weight. 

“I guess I just like the quiet here,” he said. Then after a second, “It’s been a long month.”

You didn’t ask for more. Didn’t need to. You couldn’t even imagine the amount of tired he must feel from both the physical and mental fatigue of being in the spotlight all the time. 

“Some people come here to talk,” you started, “and some come here not to.”

He glanced up at you again. You could tell he knew that you understood him. 

“You’ve got a seat here whenever you need one. And as much cinnamon as you want.”

His eyes crinkled and he bowed his head. “I should go.”

“Have a good night,” you offered softly. 

He paused before turning. “You too.”

And then he left. 

For a month, his usual presence left Dayglow empty. You were a little concerned at first but it only took a couple minutes on any social media / entertainment platform to find out he was preparing for a comeback. 

Promotions, rehearsals, dance practice, studio time, interviews, travel. 

You saw clips of him everywhere.

Sharper clothes, brighter colors, louder crowds. You had forgotten his usual scene. Outside of the walls of this small coffee shop, he was an entertainer after all. And a good one at that. He looked so different on screen. Not unfamiliar, just… on. Like a performance. Like a switch. You had gotten used to seeing him tucked into that corner booth, hoodie up, sipping cinnamon-dusted coffee. 

You watched a couple clips of their comeback before turning your phone off and turning to look at his empty seat. Maybe you were just a crazy fan. He didn’t owe you anything, but it didn’t feel right to not see him there. 

Exactly 3 weeks later, he came back. 

You came in for your closing shift around noon, a couple minutes late, and rushed behind the counter to put your apron on. The cafe was quiet as usual -- not empty, just mellow -- and the steady hiss of steaming milk blended into the music humming through the overhead speakers. You were halfway through tying the strings behind your back when your friend, already behind the bar, leaned in and said, low, but amused, “Guess who’s back.”

Your heart gave a little jolt.

You didn’t have to guess, glancing over your shoulder so fast it probably gave you whiplash. Sure enough, there he was. Same corner, same quiet presence. No flashy clothes. He had his laptop open in front of him and a hand resting on his chin like nothing had happened. 

“He’s been here for a minute but hasn’t ordered anything,” your friend added, taking the strings from your hands and finishing tying the apron for you. 

You heard her but your mind was locked on him. He looked tired. But not the kind of tired that sleep could fix. Now that Enhypen’s comeback promotion season was over, he was able to rest. Though it looked like he needed a lot more than just rest. 

“I know his order,” you said, moving quickly to the espresso machine and making his drink with muscle memory. No one else in the cafe knew who he was, including your friends. You hadn’t noticed it at first, but Jungwon only ordered when you were at the register. It was nearly impossible not to look into it, especially when it would be an absolute dream to have your idol be interested in you. But you would just tell yourself it was just because you already knew who he was so he thought it was safer. That was the most logical reason. 

With almost giddy steps, you walked over to his booth, drink in one hand, plastic straw in the other. He didn’t notice you approaching. His head was tilted slightly towards the window, brows drawn together like he was somewhere far away despite being right in front of you. The light coming from outside hit just enough of his face for you to see the dark circles beneath his eyes, not hidden by makeup. 

“Jungwon,” you called to him quietly, making sure your voice wasn’t heard by anyone but him. 

His posture stiffened and his eyes flicked towards you immediately, like the sound of his name had tugged him back towards the present. He blinked once, slow, as if he needed a second to recalibrate, and then his gaze softened when it landed on you. 

You set the drink and straw down on the table. “Sorry, I didn’t want to bother you while you were…wherever you were just now.” Your tone was light. 

“I didn’t order yet,” he said, voice quiet and slightly hoarse, tired from all the performing. 

“Didn’t need to. I have it memorized.”

He moved the mask on his face beneath his chin to take a sip of the coffee. “Thank you.”

With his face uncovered, you could fully see the small smile he was giving you and mirrored it. It made you happy he was comfortable enough to do that around you.

“You look tired,” you said, the words leaving your mouth before you had the chance to reel them back in.

He gave you a breathy laugh. “I am.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and hesitated before saying, “I watched your comeback. And all your stage performances.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours again, something unreadable swimming behind them. 

“You looked good,” you complimented him to make up for your previous tired comment, and then quickly added, “Everyone thought so too.”

“Thank you,” his words were quiet and you took it as a sign to leave, bowing slightly and turning on your heels. “Do you mind…” he stopped you, “if I ask your name?”

You held your breath. Yang Jungwon wanted to know your name? Trying not to appear too excited, you looked back at him. “Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Y/N.”

He said your name like he was trying it out, seeing how it felt to say it out loud. There was a pause after, like neither of you knew what was supposed to come next. Mentally, you were dying at the sound of your name coming from his mouth, but you had no idea what he was thinking. To avoid making anything more awkward than it might already be, you went into customer-service mode. 

“Let me know if you need anything else, okay?” 

The next day, he came back again, absolutely rocking a pair of grey sweats. You saw him outside before he even rang the bell opening the door and smiled, taking over the register so he could order. 

“Hi, Y/N.”

It felt like you got sucker punched. You couldn’t stop your eyes from widening and just stared at him. “G-good morning.” God, you idiot. The stutter is too much, really. 

His smile reached his eyes immediately. “Can I have an iced vanilla latte with-”

“Two shots of espresso cinnamon, yes, of course,” you finished for him hurriedly and tapped the screen of the register, trying to act like your hands weren’t shaking. 

This time he laughed. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you couldn’t even talk, mind still reeling about him greeting you with your name. He remembered your name. And he used it. Mind you, this is the same guy that just performed in front of thousands of people chanting his name. 

He paid and before he could say anything you spoke first. 

“I’ll bring it to your table,” you managed to spit out, stepping away from the counter before he could say anything else that might make your brain short-circuit again. Actually, you bet he could say absolutely anything right now and it would make you melt. 

As you worked, you could feel his presence emanating from the booth. Not in a heavy, distracting way. More like static. Like he was just a frequency away from being in reality. He wasn’t doing anything abnormal, just sitting there and looking at notes and waiting for his coffee, but your heart wouldn’t stop hammering in your chest. You gave yourself a second to breathe while pouring the espresso, and then another second while dusting the top with cinnamon. 

You walked carefully over to his table and he looked up before you even got there. 

“I like the song that’s playing right now,” he said. “Did you pick it?”

You tuned in to the music in the background, recognizing the acoustic melody immediately. It was one of the songs he had posted about liking years ago and being the avid fangirl you were (and still are), you listened to it. 

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” you placed the drink down, reaching for a straw from your apron pocked to lay on the table as well.

“Mine too,” he agreed, fingers accidentally brushing yours when he went to unwrap the straw. Should you tell him you knew that already?

You bowed, thinking you should make your way back behind the counter when he stopped you. 

“Do you have a pen I could borrow?

“Of course,” you dipped your hand into another apron pocket, brandishing your favorite pen. Giving up your favorite pen to the Yang Jungwon would be a worthy cause in anyone’s book. 

“Thanks, Y/N.”

Contain yourself. 

“Any day, Jungwon.”

You returned to the safety that was the cafe storage pantry, fanning yourself with your hands and taking deep breaths, your thoughts focused on one thing and one thing only. 

Yang Jungwon, Yang Jungwon, Yang Jungwon. 

What a man, what a man, what a man. 

No one else in the cafe knew they were drinking coffee next to a worldwide icon. 

Slowly, you peeked your head around the corner, eyes falling on him and the pen in his hand, scribbling into his notebook. He could keep the pen for all you cared, but if he gave it back, you were going to find a way to frame it. 

It was nearing closing and you pretended to clean the counter. Again. For the fourth time. You were the only employee left and every closing duty had already been finished, you just needed to lock up. So you kept yourself occupied with busy-work, walking in circles in the pantry, tapping nonsense into the register before deleting it, looking at Jungwon, disinfecting tables, staring at Jungwon… Since he was the only customer that didn’t come up to the register when he needed something, you had gone to check on him two more times after giving him his first drink. Both times, he’d just look up with a small smile, say he was all good, and go right back to his notebook. He was content, focused, maybe even at peace. 

You didn’t go over again, concerned that you were disturbing him or looked too much like a fangirl. However much you wished you could be sitting across from him, staring at him work unblinking in case you’d miss something, you could not, under any circumstances, let him see you that way. 

Around 8:40, he started packing up. You did your best to keep your eyes away from him, pretending to be busy stacking plastic cups and lids, when you heard footsteps approaching. There he was again, standing at the counter with your pen in hand, mask under his chin. The last two customers in the store had just left so he wasn’t concerned about hiding. You liked that he could take it off around you.

“Hey,” he said softly, placing the pen down. “Thanks again.” 

You reached for it, noticing something else underneath it. A folded napkin.

He didn’t say anything about it. Your eyes met and he held your gaze for maybe a half second too long and smiled. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

Maybe you were crazy, but he said it like he meant it. 

You nodded, afraid your voice might betray you. “Goodnight, Jungwon.”

The bell over the door chimed as he stepped out. The breeze from outside filtered in for just a moment, cool and grounding. You waited until he was out of sight and ran over to the door, hurriedly flipping the open sign to say “we’re closed” and then ran back to the counter, grabbing at the napkin. 

It looked ordinary enough, folded in half twice, just like someone might do out of habit. You picked it up gently like it would crumble in your hands if you were too rough. Your fingers trembled as you unfolded it. 

His handwriting was small and neat -- the kind you’d expect from someone who wrote lyrics for a living. 

This is my favorite verse from that song, I thought you might like it too

“You are the quiet I look for in the noise”

~J

You fell to your knees in the middle of the cafe, just holding it, reading the words over and over again. You weren’t sure how long you sat there dumbfounded. The lyric echoed in your head. His favorite verse. That he gave to you. A gift? Maybe? You weren’t sure what it was -- not exactly. But you knew what it wasn’t. It wasn’t just a barista-customer thing. It couldn’t be. 

You rose to your feet slowly, folding the napkin up and tucking it into your back pocket. No longer did you need to frame your pen, this was the main attraction. You turned off the lights, locked the door behind you, and walked home with a smile that wouldn’t fade. 

When you gave him his drink the next time he sat down, you slipped your own napkin underneath it. There was no way you were going to be able to stand next to him when he read it so you left almost instantly, missing the way he watched you walk back to your position. From behind the pastry display, you glanced up at him cautiously as he unfolded your own note, his eyes scanning your penmanship. 

I like that verse too, this is my favorite-

“Even in a crowded room, I would only look at you”

~Y/N

Your heart pounded in your throat, waiting for his reaction. 

He read it twice. You knew he did, because he paused -- hands still, no sip of his coffee, no glance out the window like he usually did -- just his eyes on the napkin. His eyes flicked back to it after the first pass like he wasn’t sure he read it right the first time. 

You tried to look like you weren’t watching him, pretending to straighten the different flavored sweeteners on the shelves like your life depended on it. Your peripheral vision was working overtime. 

He didn’t smile right away, which made you more nervous than the actual act of giving him the note. Instead, he leaned back, arms crossed loosely, napkin still held between his fingers. And then he looked at you. 

Your breath caught, trying with all your might to persuade your muscles to keep moving. 

He folded the napkin once, then again, and carefully tucked it into the pocket of his hoodie. You could see a soft, hidden smile reach his eyes before he stood up and started walking towards the counter.

Internal panic rushed through your veins, almost causing you to drop a jar of honey. When he reached you, he didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned his forearms gently against the wood. Then, “That’s not from the same song.”

His voice was low. Amused. Knowing.

You froze, halfway through opening a drawer for no reason at all. “No, it’s not.”

“I know the song though.”

You turned to him fully, hands hiding behind your back so your fingers could fidget without him seeing. “I figured you might. I think we have similar music tastes.”

“I think we might.” There was a beat, one of those seconds where time seemed to suspend itself. “You picked a good line.”

You shrugged like it was nothing even though your heart was doing backflips. “You started it.”

He laughed a little, you would recognize the sound anywhere. “I did, didn’t I?” His eyes flickered down for the briefest second, like he was remembering what he had written in his note to you. “I didn’t think you would respond.”

“I didn’t know if I was supposed to,” you admitted. “But… it’s kind of fun.”

This time you could easily see the smile under his mask. “Good, I like it too.” He paused, like a hesitation, before asking, “Do you do that a lot?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Leave notes for people.”

You couldn't help but chuckle. Only for you. “Only for my favorite customers.”

He nodded, playing along. “So… I’m one of the favorites?”

“Do you want to be?”

He ducked his head, almost in a boyish manner, looking at you through twinkling eyes. “Can I be?”

“Of course,” you obliged. He earned that title the first time he walked through those doors. 

His head tilted with appreciation and he pushed off his elbows to stand up fully. “Oh, one more thing, can I borrow a pen again?”

Did you wait and hope and pray all shift to see if he would leave you another note? Yes, any sane person would do the same thing. You were torn between wanting him to leave so you could see if he wrote you something, but also wanting him to stay so you could just stare at him for as long as possible. When did you get so lucky?

He’d left the cafe like he always did -- a soft “Goodnight, Y/N,” as casual as a sigh -- and slid your pen back to you. And once again, there was a napkin folded beneath it. 

You waited a full five minutes after he left before allowing yourself to read it, emotionally preparing for what he had left inside for you to find. 

Another one of my favorites-

“Looked into your eyes and found my favorite eye color”

~J

Again and again, you read the note. A sound escaped you -- part laugh, part sigh, part overwhelmed squeal -- and you clutched the napkin to your chest like it was made of gold. Because wasn’t it? Another gift for you?

You struggled to find a way to respond. This didn’t seem like just friendly lyric exchanges, right? It wasn’t just you looking too hard into it, right? Your next words needed to match his energy, but what exactly was he giving you?

He read it twice, maybe three times? You couldn’t tell.

“But for you, I would”

~Y/N

Perhaps you had been a little too direct? Your pulse was visible in your wrist as you had a meltdown watching him. You really, really, really tried not to stare, but it was impossible. Even with a hoodie and mask covering his face, it was him. You watched him fold your napkin, just as carefully as the last, and put it inside of his pocket. 

He didn’t come to the counter that night for an exchange of good-byes. Just gave you a wave on his way out. 

You came in for your shift after taking the weekend off and was happy to be back, welcomed in by the aroma of vanilla and cinnamon. Almost by habit, your eyes wandered to his booth, but he wasn’t there. 

“Looking for your friend?” Your coworker asked and you hit her arm. 

“No, of course not.”

“He already left.”

Aaaaand your heart sank. He had come before your shift started and left before you even had the chance to see him. The thought of him sitting in his seat, not ordering and waiting for you to make his drink and never getting it, was ruining your day. 

“Are you serious??”

Your friend only shrugged. “He wasn’t here for that long.”

“But he was here.” You dragged your hands across your face. Shift ruined. 

With begrudging movements, you fulfilled your role as barista, mind stuck on him. You took the weekend off because of family matters, but that also meant that you hadn’t seen him for two whole days. Today made it three. You should be thankful it was only three days. You recognized you had been spoiled. 

The mop in your hands glided across the floor, leaving shiny tile behind you. Slowly, you inched towards the back of the shop, covering the floor next to his booth in suds last when something caught your eye. A napkin. Folded neatly and tucked into the curve of the booth’s cushions. The way you dropped everything and lunged for it was honestly shameful. 

“My memory asks about you all the time”

~J

You stood there, reading the line repeatedly. This was the first lyric you didn’t recognize. A warmth spread through your body at the thought of him writing you a note even when you weren’t there, leaving it somewhere intentional for you to find it.  You wondered if he meant what he wrote. 

The following day, he comes in in the evening, sitting quietly in his usual booth, not ordering right away. Your mind goes haywire when you see him, excited to know you're in the same room again for the first time in days. You bring his drink over and he thanks you softly. 

“Do you want to sit for a minute?” he asked, almost carefully.

Your breath caught in your throat. “With you?”

He nodded, a little, shy smile spreading on his face underneath the mask. “Yeah, I mean, if you don’t mind.”

You glanced at the old-fashioned clock on the wall and frowned in disappointment. “I don’t have a break for another 20 minutes. Will you stay that long?”

“I’ll wait.”

You felt your cheeks flush and turned away quickly to hide them. The next 20 minutes were the longest 20 minutes of your life. You kept shooting glances in his direction longingly, wanting nothing more than to sit down with him. He continued working, staying in his own world, blissfully unaware of the pining you were doing behind the scenes. 

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the rapid beat of your heart as the timer on the register beeped softly, signaling your break had begun. Your hands were still slightly shaky as you wiped them on your apron, trying to seem casual. When you glanced up, you caught him already looking your way -- like he knew you were coming over any minute now. 

He didn’t look away either, that was the part that got you. Most people would have averted their gaze, pretended they weren’t watching. But not him. Jungwon kept his eyes locked on you. 

You swallowed the nerves and untied your apron, hanging it on the small hook just out of sight of the customers and walked over to his booth. He sat up straighter when you reached the edge of the table, closing his notebook. 

“Hey,” he said. 

You smiled back. “Mind if I sit?”

He shook his head immediately, sliding his drink slightly to the side as if to make more room for you, even though there was already plenty. “Not at all.”

You slid into the seat across from him, pulse thudding like it didn’t get the memo of acting cool. For a moment, neither of you said anything. It wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, it was almost natural? Then he slipped his mask down. 

Your eyes widened and you instinctually looked around. He caught your movement and laughed. 

“It’s okay, I can’t drink coffee with a mask on.”

You felt a little stupid and shook your head smiling. “Right, of course.”

He tilted his head, watching you. “You look different without the apron.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “I’m a changed woman, what can I say?”

He smiled, this time you could see it fully. “Less barista, more mystery girl who leaves me lyrics?”

You returned the grin. “You started that.”

“And you kept it up,” he countered. There was a quiet challenge in his voice. 

“I had to. You can’t just quote a lyric from one of my favorite songs and expect me not to respond.”

“I did good then?” He leaned forward a little, elbows on the table, looking at you. Without the mask on, you didn’t know how you were supposed to have an intelligent conversation. 

You nodded. “You got lucky.”

“Or maybe,” he said, fiddling with his straw, “I just pay attention.”

Your grin faltered for a moment, trying to process whether it meant what it sounded like and raised an eyebrow. “You pay attention to your baristas that closely?”

“Only the ones who fight back with lyrics,” he said with a shrug, like he wasn’t teasing you right now. He was teasing right? Flirting even?

You tried to look unimpressed. It didn’t work. “Do you do this at every coffee shop you go to?” 

Your question was laced with ulterior motives. 

He shook his head slowly, eyes unwavering, still on you. “No, this is the only one I go to.”

“O-oh.”

His answer landed heavier than you expected it to. You tried to hold his gaze but it felt like standing too close to a flame. 

“Did you find the note I left? It wasn’t here when I got here earlier. I was hoping you were the one that grabbed it.”

There was no way to tell him you had added his note to the rest of your sacred napkin collection without sounding weird so you just said, “I did.”

His lips curved, not a full smile, but enough that it felt like a secret you’d been invited into. “Good.”

You traced your fingertip along the edge of the table, staring down at the faint grain of the wood because looking at him too was too difficult. He was too pretty. 

“I didn’t recognize the lyric,” you admitted, almost afraid he would be disappointed and think you didn’t have similar music tastes afterall.

“I know,” he said gently. “It wasn’t one.”

Your head snapped up at that, eyes widening. “It wasn’t?”

He shook his head once, slow and deliberate, still holding your gaze. “That one was mine.”

The weight of his words began to settle in. He had gone from trading lyrics with you, to giving you one of his own. A flirtatious one at that. 

“Wow,” you fumbled, searching for words to appease the awkwardness you were suddenly feeling. “You should become a song writer, maybe even an entertainer.” Your words were teasing, joking with him about something only the two of you shared in this cafe -- his identity. 

His eyes crinkled in amusement, like you’d caught him but he didn’t mind. “Yeah?” He played along. “Think I’d be any good at it?”

“The best.”

You saw a flash of something cross his face, an emotion you couldn’t place. 

“You really think so?” he asked, and even though it was a playful question, there was something earnest tucked beneath it, like he actually wanted to hear your answer. Like he actually cared.

You looked at him with an expression that let him know you meant it. “Yeah, I really do.”

He blinked once, then looked down at his drink as if he needed a second to recover. “Careful,” he murmured, tapping the edge of the plastic cup. “Or you’re gonna end up in one of my songs.”

Your heart practically slammed into your ribs. How could you respond to that without sounding over the moon? “Is that a threat?” 

His smile curved. “Depends,” he said. “Are you scared of being written about?”

You tried to play it cool, leaning forward to meet him in the middle of the table. “Not if the lyrics are good.”

He raised an eyebrow, gaze flickering toward you with something bordering on mischief. “They’d be good.”

Any coherent thought left your head and you looked away, not able to hold eye contact anymore. It wouldn’t be delusional to say he was flirting right? You glanced down, pretending to smooth a wrinkle on your sleeve, anything to hide the flush you could feel creeping up your neck and burning your ears. “Well, then I guess I’ll take my chances.”

Jungwon let out a soft chuckle, and then, for a moment, he was quiet. His thumb idly traced the condensation ring his cup had left on the table. You watched the way his smile lingered even after the laugh faded. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever done this before,” his words were quiet. 

You stared. “Do what?”

“Keep going back somewhere for coffee, or talk this much with someone that’s not in the industry, or ask someone to sit with me.”

His words were sincere and it made you hesitate to answer, not sure how. You could’ve brushed it off with a “lucky me” or some self-deprecating quip about how you didn’t know why he was talking to you either -- but you didn’t want to. 

“I’m glad you did,” you said, just as quietly, meeting his eyes. “Seriously, it’s nice to know that you like coming here to hide. The door is always open for you.”

His gaze stayed steady on you, and then, a light nod. “Thank you.”

The conversation turned lighter, you asked about what he was working on every time he came in, what it was like performing, if he had a favorite food, why he liked dancing -- and he answered every question. He would ask you questions about working at Dayglow and what you did when you weren’t on shift, he was curious about whether you were in school and what you were studying when it wasn’t the summer season. The shift was nice, it was like talking to a friend. 

He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Your break’s almost up.”

You let out a breath, half a laugh. “Were you keeping track?”

“No,” he denied, then with a smile, “I was counting down.”

You made a face, and gave him a playful side-eye. “Careful, I might just have to write a song about you first.”

His laugh followed you all the way back behind the counter. 

The cafe was busier than usual towards closing. There was an event at one of the venues nearby and once it was over, people started gravitating to Dayglow. You frowned a little and threw a glance at Jungwon, catching his eye as people continuously flowed in. There was an exchange of smiles and you mouthed an apology at the fact your once quiet refuge was bustling with activity. He shook his head but smiled. 

You were stuck behind the counter, taking order after order and occasionally rotating with your coworkers to make the drink instead. Muscle memory was handy when you had to make each drink quickly, calling out names and smiling as they came up to take their order from your hand. 

“Have a nice night!” you called after them as they left, blowing out a deep sigh and tiredly looking back to his booth. He wasn’t there. Disappointment plastered across your face. With the crowd, you hadn’t seen him leave. 

Hurriedly, you looked at the clock. There was still 15 minutes left of your shift. 

“Hey,” you slide up behind one of your coworkers. “Did you see the guy in that booth over there leave?”

“Hmm?” she turned and looked to where you were pointing. “Oh, him? Yeah, like 30 seconds ago.”

“What??” You whipped towards the door, now even more sad that you had just missed each other. 

“What’s with you two anyway?” she persisted, nudging your arm. “You spent your break over there instead of in the back.”

“We’re just friends,” you said, brushing her off. 

“Is he cute at least?”

You nodded, no words were necessary. If only she knew. 

The last couple minutes of your shift were a bore. You were tired and there was no eye candy for you to look forward to. It wasn’t until you were headed towards the back to grab your bag that you saw it. A napkin. Folded neatly and tucked just barely beneath the napkin holder at his usual booth -- so subtly it could have gone unnoticed all night. Your heart did an embarrassing somersault as you walked over and picked it up.

Didn’t want to say good-bye in front of your coworkers. Maybe this can make up for it?

~J

Tucked inside was a code. Upon further inspection, you realized it was an entry ID for Enhypen’s upcoming fansigning event. Your eyes widened and you clutched the napkin, eyes frantically searching the store like he would still be nearby, watching. But he wasn’t. It was just you, the napkin, a gift, and a seat still holding the ghost of his presence. 

You slid the note carefully into your bag, being extra careful as this one contained a ticket to the fansign. It didn’t even matter if you were scheduled to work that day, you were calling off. 

The two of you had fallen into a new routine. You would always sit with him on your breaks, you would tell him your schedule for the next couple of days so he knew what time to come in -- and he always did. 

He sat in his booth, sometimes scribbling lyrics, messing around with a studio file on his laptop, sometimes sketching little figures in the margins of his notes, sometimes just waiting, half distracted until he heard the quiet timer announce your break and would look up to find you. It became the best part of your day easily. He started branching out to try other items on the menu that you recommended, just to get you to taste-test them first. He would look at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention -- eyes soft, curious, like he was trying to memorize you. 

And you were memorizing him too. Not the idol persona you already knew -- the quiet, hidden one. His habits, his laugh, the way he covered his mouth when smiling or when he was shy, how he would blow his hair out of his eyes when he was focusing. Your connection was building. You were trying not to look too much into it. But it was hard not to. 

Not when his eyes lingered on you after you walked back to the counter. Not when he’s says “See you tomorrow?” with that almost-smile, like he was asking a question and making a promise, all at once. And not when every time he left, he would leave a folded napkin behind for you. 

One day, you had the opening shift instead of closing, running around the cafe getting it ready to open right at 10am when your phone buzzed. Curiously, you looked down seeing a link to a thread on Weverse. The title caught your attention and you dropped the cleaning rag in your hands to open it. 

Anyone know who this is? Saw him at Dayglow Cafe and he looks like an idol ^^

Your heart sank when you saw the picture attached, recognizing Jungwon instantly. You scroll through the comments. They were full of speculation, enthusiasm, curiosity, people were tagging other fan accounts or guessing names. But it was unmistakably him, sitting in his regular booth, working on his laptop, sipping a vanilla and cinnamon latte. 

You felt hurt for him. That quiet, hidden world you had been lucky to provide for him was suddenly shattered and laid bare for everyone. 

Naturally, it was busier today. Everyone wanted the chance to see him, to sit in his booth. You hated how the booth wasn’t his anymore, filled with fans taking selfies where he once sat. 

The pattern continued for weeks, even after his company had taken down any post relevant to his attendance at Dayglow. Sure, it was good for business, but that wasn’t important to you. You missed him and the way he would smile when you slid him his drink or when you sat down next to him. 

On your breaks, you would make yourself his drink to enjoy by yourself, like the smell would draw him in. You didn’t want to admit that every time the door would jingle, you hoped it was him. Maybe today was the day he would come back? Was that selfish of you?

You didn’t get another napkin during that period. You didn’t get a life update from him during breaks. The only way to stay connected with his well-being was by tuning in to his livestreams or entertainment shows. But those didn’t really help. The version you had memorized wasn’t the Jungwon the world talked about online. And now that the world had found that version too… he was gone. 

You couldn’t blame him.

But it didn’t stop the ache every time someone asked, “Is this the booth he sat in?” or took a photo of the chair he used like it was some kind of landmark. 

The first time you heard it, it didn’t register. It was only the background music afterall. 

“What a romantic,” your coworker sighed, steaming milk next to you and nodding along to the song playing. 

“What?”

“Jungwon.”

The name made you pause. “What?”

“His new single,” she laughed at your reaction. “Come on, Y/N. And you call yourself a fan.”

After tuning out the background chatter of customers, you were surprised you didn’t recognize his voice in the speakers sooner. 

You said vanilla felt like home

Our conversations brewed slow

Sugar on your fingers, song in your sigh

Leaving lyrics like breadcrumbs and I memorized every line

Warmth in your silence, cinnamon in your grin

Finding peace where the noise should have been

A folded napkin said more than I could ever say in a booth

I like my coffee with you

I crave it more than caffeine

Now that I know you exist, how do I not want you

You couldn’t keep listening. You had to hide. You needed to collapse or go to the ER or literally anything that would give you space. Something about checking inventory in the back left your mouth as you excused yourself, slipping into the stockroom and shutting the door gently behind you, pressing your back to it and sinking to the floor. 

Your fingers trembled as you searched the song up on your phone. I like My Coffee with You. Knees pulled to your chest, phone glowing in your hand. 

He remembered everything. Every drink, every break, every lyric on a napkin. He had written a song about you. Like, he actually did it. 

You weren’t sure what you were feeling. Confusion? Over-the-moon enthusiasm?

Then your eyes lit up and you quickly typed something else into the search bar -- Enhypen fansign event -- and scanned the screen for the date. 

3 days. 

Going was the obvious move. It was a chance to see him. He had personally invited you. Nerves be damned. 

So here you were. Dressed up in an outfit that totally didn’t take you 2 hours to pick and hair done in something other than the ponytail you wore to work everyday. It was something new for him. 

You had never been to one of these before, only seen clips online of lucky fans interacting with idols they looked up to. Nothing could have prepared you for how surreal it felt, standing in a line of fans, wristband snug on your arm, holding a copy of the comeback album you had bought on the way here in hands that wouldn’t stop sweating. 

The minute he walked onto the stage, you were helpless, eyes glued to him like you were in withdrawal and craved his attention. His lyrics replayed in your head over and over like some kind of emotional self harm. 

Now that I know you exist, how do I not want you?

Was he going to act normal? Pretend you were just another fan? Maybe that’s what you were. Maybe you were crossing lines and it wasn’t actually about you. Maybe it was just good song material, nothing actually serious. The thought made you stutter in your steps. Was showing up a mistake? If he wanted to see you, he knew where to find you, but he hadn’t shown up. Maybe he didn’t want to see you. 

No, Y/N. Grow a pair. 

Your heart thudded harder as the line moved forward. 

Heeseung was first and you shared a smile with him. 

“Hi!” he greeted you happily and you slid your album towards him. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you replied, refusing to look over in Jungwon’s direction. It was too late to run now. 

“Pretty name,” he commented and you laughed. He pushed the album back towards you. “Do you have a favorite member?”

“Jungwon,” your words were instant. 

“Ouch, what about me?”

“I like you too,” you teased. But you were here for Jungwon. 

The conversation was funny because Heeseung knew nothing about you but you knew everything about him. Outside of the persona he presented as an idol, you got to know him from Jungwon as well. During breaks, he would share tales and pictures of each member, revealing stories and making you laugh. 

Next was Sunghoon, then Jake… then Jungwon. 

You took a deep breath, heart pounding like a drum in your chest, and moved forward. When you raised your eyes to look at him, he was already looking at you. He had been watching you from the moment he heard you introduce yourself to Jake, listening to your conversation and just praying time would move faster and talk to you again. 

“Y/N,” he said, voice low but clear, like he’d been waiting for this. 

You felt the world narrow down to just the two of you, everything else falling away. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he added, fingers playing with the sharpie in his hand, not looking away from you. 

You smiled, trying to steady your voice. “I wanted to see you again.”

“Did you…” he hesitated, but then shyly asked, “Did you hear the song?”

Your breath caught and you revealed the albums in your hands. Not just their comeback album, but his single as well. 

“I did.”

He took each album carefully, signing the comeback album first. “What did you think?”

His question hung in the air between you, quieter than everything else in the room and yet somehow heavier. You could tell he wasn’t just asking if you liked it. He was asking if you understood it. If you had heard yourself in it. 

“It was pretty,” you said and nodded, trying to meet his gaze but failing. “Really. One of my new favorites.”

His eyes softened, though you didn’t see, and his hands found yours. At first, you panicked, looking at him with a questioning stare before remembering this was normal at fansigning events. This felt different though. There was something else in his touch. Unspoken. 

“It was about you,” it was so quiet you knew you were the only one who could have heard his words. 

It’s not like you didn’t know, but hearing him say it outloud made it real. 

“I’m sorry about the picture,” you spoke. “If I saw who took it, they would be banned from Dayglow for life.”

He smiled, just barely. His thumbs brushed over the backs of your hands. It was a sweet feeling. 

“I’m sorry for disappearing. I just didn’t want to risk anything or make it worse.”

You shook your head. “Stop it, I didn’t say that because I wanted you to apologize. I just… missed you.”

He looked down, unreadable expression on his face. Then he let go of your hands to pick up your copy of his solo album, uncapping the sharpie again. He paused, thinking, then started writing, too long for it to just be his signature. 

When he handed it back, your eyes fell to his words immediately. 

For the girl who makes coffee taste like home

Wait for me after this?

~Jungwon

Your breath was sucked from your lungs. The noise around you -- fans chatting, camera shutters clicking, the low hum of staff voice -- faded to static. All you saw was his handwriting. It was the first time he left you a note and signed it with his name. His full name. Like he was no longer hiding. And then his question? Wait for me after this?

You looked up slowly. His eyes watched you, nervous and hopefully, quietly bracing for your reaction like it mattered more than any crowd, any chart, any stage. Your lips parted but before you could speak, the staff was gently urging you to move alone. Jungwon looked like he wanted to say more, like he would stand up and follow you, but all he could do was grab your hand once more -- tight -- and whispered, “Please wait.”

And you nodded because you would. Of course you would. 

His shoulders eased at that, tension slipping away with the barest exhale. Then his lips quirked up -- not the practiced, camera-ready smile you’d seen a thousand times before, but the one you remembered from the booth in the back of Dayglow. The one that only ever seemed to be for you. 

You clutched the albums to your chest, moving along but not wanting to. Even when you sat in front of Jay, even when he had to turn his attention to the next fan, you felt the weight of that look still resting on you.  

You weren’t sure where to go or how long to wait. 

The staff had ushered you out with the rest of the fans once the event wrapped up. You had caught Jungwon’s eye before he left the stage and exchanged looks, a reminder that you would see each other again soon. So here you were, standing awkwardly near the venue’s side exit, fingers fidgeting with the corner of your jacket. 

You were trying to think about his lyrics again, or the way he whispered your name again for the first time in weeks, or how his hands had felt wrapped around yours for those few suspended seconds. 

A few fans lingered nearby, hoping for a glimpse, but security kept them moving. You got pushed along with them, not sure how you were supposed to fight back without sounding crazy. “No! I’m supposed to meet Jungwon here! He told me to wait for him!” No one’s gonna believe that. 

You ended up around the block, trying to make it obvious where you were if he was to exit from the building and stared at your shoes, debating whether to stay longer or just chalk it up to wishful thinking. But the signed album in your bag kept you rooted where you were. He asked you to wait. So you would. It was the least you could do for somebody that wrote you a song, right?

10 minutes. Then-

“Y/N?”

You turned. 

He was already moving towards you from the shadow of the building. He wore new clothes, a dark sweater and baggy jeans combo paired with a bucket hat and mask. He was trying to be inconspicuous but you recognized him immediately. 

It took a minute to register that he was actually there, not a daydream stitched together from lingering eyes and napkin notes. 

“I thought you left,” he said, eyes searching yours, relief bleeding into his words. 

“I got kicked out,” you tried to say lightly. 

 You both stood there, two people who had been dancing around something for so long, and now it was here. No cafe counter, no corner booth, no fansign table between you. 

He huffed a small laugh, the kind that sounded more like an exhale of tension than anything else. “I should’ve seen that coming.” He scanned your face and stepped closer. “I was going to sneak out sooner but the managers were hovering.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “I waited. Are you sure you don’t have anywhere else you need to be?”

“I want to be here,” he said resolutely. 

Sincerity covered every word. It wasn’t the carefully measured tone he used in interviews or the guarded charm of the idol he had to display. This was just him. Just Jungwon. 

Your lips tugged up in a smile involuntarily. “Okay,” you said, finger furling and unfurling the hem of your sleeve, nervous energy buzzing under your skin. 

For a minute, he didn’t do anything. Just looked down at you, like he was drinking you in. Like he was memorizing you all over again. His eyes dipped down to your bag again, to the place where the corner of his single album still stuck out, and he shook his head with a small smile. 

“You really came,” he murmured almost to himself. Then to you, “You look different.”

You glanced down at yourself, at the clothes you stressed over. “It’s not my work uniform. I figured I should dress up for the occasion.”

“For me?” he clarified with his eyebrows raised and you punched his arm playfully. He laughed, rubbing the spot where you’d made contact though it clearly didn’t hurt. “I’m just saying, you never looked like this behind the counter.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t realise there was a dress code I was supposed to follow.”

“There isn’t. I like the apron and coffee stained shirt.”

You groaned. “Oh my goodness stop.”

“It’s poetic,” he teased and stepped closer. Once he was close enough to reach out, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his fingers around your wrist, like he had to make sure you wouldn't disappear. “Let’s go somewhere else, so I can take the mask off.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but he didn’t need one. In no universe would you ever say no. You let him pull you by your wrist, following willingly, down the quiet side street where the venue lights faded into soft shadows. 

“Have you eaten?”

You shook your head and he grinned. 

“Me neither. Can I take you out to eat?”

“Is this a date?” you asked inquisitively, praying he’d say yes. 

“If I said it was, would you come with me?”

“That’s a ridiculous question. Of course.”

He slowed a little, just enough to fall into step beside you instead of leading you. His fingers loosen on your wrist until they slide down to lace with yours instead. Your heart jumped so hard you almost tripped over your own feet. 

“Then yeah,” he said simply. “It’s a date.”

For a few steps, neither of you spoke. He guided you out of the narrow street to where the city opened up ahead. Neon signs flickered over late-night restaurants, quiet enough that nobody paid the two of you any attention. 

“Anywhere you want,” he said, squeezing your hand once. “Pick a place.”

You hesitate, looking to him for help. “Where can we go where you’ll be okay? You should be able to eat comfortably.”

You saw his eyes squint in a smile. Cute. He looked like he was weighing a couple options and then nodded slightly toward the end of the street.

“There’s a spot a couple blocks from here that our manager took us to last year. It’s super lowkey. Kind of ugly from the outside though.”

“Perfect,” you said, already smiling. “I love ugly restaurants.”

He laughed softly. “I know. You told me once. You said the sketchier the outside, the better the food.”

Your steps faltered just a little, surprised he remembered something so random. But you shouldn’t be. Jungwon had always listened to you like that and it was something you always appreciated. 

“That was like, week two of knowing you,” you said, still shocked. “I barely remember saying it.”

“I do. I remember a lot of things.”

You didn’t respond. How could you? Something about the way he said it made your throat feel tight. He tugged you forward gently, keeping your fingers woven with his until the neon lights thinned out, replaced by the soft yellow glow of a little diner squished between a laundromat and a shuttered bookstore. 

It did look ugly from the outside. Paint chipped on the sign, a crooked “OPEN” light buzzed in the window. 

“I’m sold,” you said. 

“I knew you would be.”

He pulled the door open for you and ducked inside after you, keeping his head low until you both slid into a booth in the far back. He sat facing the wall with his back to the restaurant and pulled off his mask. You watched him take a full breath without the restriction of the fabric. On the exhale, he locked eyes with you and laughed. 

“What?” you asked, your voice soft with curiosity. 

“It’s just…weird. You’re sitting with me, on a date.”

On a date. 

“I think it’s weirder for me than for you.” 

“Why’s that?”

Do you tell him about the poster of his face you hung up in your room 5 years ago? Or that you used to keep his photocards in your phone case? There’s no way. 

So you shrugged. “Because you’re Yang Jungwon, kind of a kpop icon.”

“But you’re Y/N.”

Exactly. But he didn’t mean it the same way you did. He said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world -- like your name carried the same weight to him that his did to you. 

“What does that mean?” you asked, trying to sound teasing but it came out shaky. 

“It means,” he said, leaning on his elbows towards you and tilting his head. “That you’re not just some girl. You’re… you.” His eyes flicked down to your hands on the table, where they were picking at your nailbeds nervously. “The one that knows how to make my favorite coffee, and writes me lyrics on napkins and waits for me when I ask her to.”

You swallowed hard, pulse fluttering in your throat. Just when you opened your mouth, the waitress came over. 

She acknowledged Jungwon with a smile but nothing more. He was right about it being lowkey. 

“Do you want to split something?” Jungwon asked you, opening the menu for you.

Dream after dream was just coming true for you today, wasn’t it?

“S-sure.” Damn stutter. 

You got an order of sundubu-jjigae, a soft tofu stew with beef and kimchi, one of your favorites. 

The food arrived quickly, the steam rising to blur the atmosphere between you. Jungwon picks up a spoon first and gently stirs the pot, careful not to splash. His brow furrows just slightly -- a look you recognize from the cafe when he was deep in thought over something he wasn’t quite ready to say. 

You take a spoonful of rice and dip it into the soup, letting it soak. “Can I ask you something?” His knee brushed yours under the table and you tried to ignore it. 

He hummed, taking a spoonful of his own and blowing on it to cool it down. 

“Did you… mean it?” you paused before clarifying. “You know, the song you wrote.”

The spoon stops halfway to his lips. He doesn’t move for a second, like your question pinned him there. The steam between you curls and swirls, softening the edges of his face but not the hardness of his gaze. 

He set the spoon down slowly while your fingers tightened on your own. “I don’t write things I don’t mean,” he said slowly, bucket hat casting a shadow over his eyes. “Every line in that song came from somewhere real.”

Your pulse knocked once, hard. “But-”

“I didn’t know how else to say it.” He offers a nervous laugh. “It’s easier to put it in music than to just… tell you.

“So when you sang ‘I like my coffee with you’...”

His lips twitch in a small smile. “I meant you. I like you”

You exhale shakily. Something in your chest is fluttering uncontrollably and you wonder if he can hear it over the soft clatter of utensils in the restaurant around you. You didn’t know how to respond, so you just looked at him. His eyes were waiting. Watching. Not demanding anything, but hoping. 

“I wasn’t sure,” you said. “I didn’t know if I was just… projecting. Like maybe I wanted it to be about me so I convinced myself that it was?”

“Y/N, do you remember one of the first days I came into the cafe I ordered the same drink like 5 times? You got so annoyed but I was just trying to find reasons to keep talking to you.” 

You looked at him horrified. “I can assure you I’ve never once been annoyed with you.”

Jungwon smiled in a teasing manner. “You looked annoyed. You’d push the cup toward me without looking up, like you were trying not to roll your eyes.”

“I was nervous,” you admitted before you could stop yourself. “Like I didn’t know how I was supposed to act around you.”

“If I wanted someone to treat me like an idol then I wouldn’t have been hiding in the corner. I just wanted you to treat me like… a person.” His gaze catches yours again. “Like you always did.”

You were melting.

“I meant the song,” he repeated. “All of it. Every single word. I like you. The person that writes beautiful lyrics on napkins, remembers my coffee order, smells like vanilla and cinnamon, the person that waits for me…”

His words hit your chest, your ribs, your breath.

“I like you too.” 

It felt a little silly to say something like that in front of him when you were sure you had made it obvious. But to Jungwon, he showed relief, like he too wasn’t sure if his feelings were reciprocated. Then he grinned, sheepishly. 

“Thank goodness,” he said and ducked his head slightly. He looked shy in a way you hadn’t seen before. It crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him bite his lip. “I was trying to play it cool,” he laughed. “But I think I rehearsed this moment, like, twenty different ways.”

You giggled, over the moon that he not only liked you back, but that he practiced this moment. “And this was the version you went with?”

“Surely you know nothing ever goes the way you think it will, right? I had Jay pretend to be you but he was absolutely terrible.”

“Jay?? You told them about me?”

“Well… yeah. Should I not have?”

“No, I just…” you contemplated. “Did they know who I was earlier today?”

“I don’t think so? They don’t know what you look like, I don’t have a picture of you.”

The sentence made your mind spin. He said it like he wanted to have a picture, like he wanted to have you in his phone. 

“Oh, well I guess it would probably be a little weird to just have a random barista showing up in your camera roll, right?”

His brows knot tightly and he shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

You made eye contact and he cleared his throat. You changed the subject. “So… what did you tell Jay then? How did that even come up?”

He grinned, like he was grateful for the shift, but also like he was excited to talk about it. “I told him there was a really pretty girl at the cafe I liked who wrote better lyrics than me and makes the best coffee.”

Your face exploded in red. 

“And he made fun of me for like an hour before helping me rehearse. He was absolutely awful at it.”

You laughed, picking up your spoon again to take a bite. “I kind of want to see his version now.”

“No you don’t,” he said with mock seriousness. “He told me I should pretend to spill coffee over myself and say something dramatic like, ‘I’ll never recover from your espresso eyes.”

You nearly choked on the spoonful of soup you had just put in our mouth. “Oh wow, what a flirt.”

“He also said I should drop dramatically to my knees and cry out, ‘Where have you bean?”

“Well I’m glad you didn’t go with that version,” you said, the two of you now giggling together over the food. 

“Did you like this one better?” he asked, and you nodded. “Good. I don’t think I could have handled espresso puns and rejection in the same night.”

“You wouldn’t have been rejected,” you corrected him, almost looking at him like he was crazy. 

“Really?” he looked at you, seriously wanting the answer to the question. 

“Yeah. Jungwon, half the streams on your single are probably me.”

“Ehhh,” he said, denying your claim, even as a smile took over his expression. “Half??”

“Don’t make me regret telling you,” you said, a little defensive. 

He held his hands up in surrender, still grinning like an idiot. “Okay, okay, I’m honored. Truly. My most loyal fan.”

You hid your face with your hands in embarrassment until he leaned forward and pried them away, holding them in his. 

“I guess I owe Jay-hyung a dinner. He bet you’d say yes.”

You laughed, tightening your hold on his hands to let him know you wanted to be there. “You can thank him for me. But not for the espresso puns.”

“Oh definitely not.”

You enjoyed the rest of the food, diverging the conversation into other subject, not pertaining to the two of you. It was nice to catch up on everything that had happened in the month he had to hide from the cafe. It was a familiar rhythm to fall back to. It was getting late, the soup had gone lukewarm, the rest of the restaurant was emptying, but neither of you cared. You stayed there until he got a text from one of his members, telling him he needed to start heading back soon. So he said he would drop you off at your apartment first. With the streets almost empty, he kept his mask off, tucked under his chin.  

“Not to bring up the elephant in the room,” Jungwon said cautiously, peering at you from under his hat, “but we should probably talk about where we’re going to go from here.”

His fingers were intertwined with yours, a feeling you didn’t think you were ever going to get used to. He backtracked slightly.

“I’m not saying that to freak you out, I just don’t want you to feel like I’m leading you into something messy without talking about it.”

“Messy?” you tilted your head up at him. 

He exhaled, looking forward as you walked down the street. “Schedules, fans, the way my life works… There’s always someone watching. I mean, you were there for the cafe drama. But if we’re… this” -- he motioned vaguely between your joined hands -- “I want to be fair to you. I want to do what you want to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, if we were to officially start dating,” the way he made eye contact with you when he said it was exciting, “then we should decide whether to make it private or public. Us, I mean.”

You nodded, understanding what he was implying, steps slowing without meaning to until he stopped the two of you completely. 

“I don’t want to assume anything,” he added softly, turning to face you. “This isn’t just about me anymore.”

You looked at him, really taking him in. His hair falling over his eyes from under the hat, the faint pink dusting his cheeks. “What would you want?”

He hesitated, looking down at your hands. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to keep it ours. Something private and safe. But the other part of me wants to stop pretending I’m just some creepy customer at your cafe.”

You laughed but he looked at you like he was serious. “Well, neither of those options are easy, are they?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I’d rather decide together than have it decided for us.”

You smiled softly at him. He was being so sincere, it was endearing. “You’ve been thinking a lot about this, haven’t you?”

He let out a sheepish laugh, glancing away. “I’m giving myself away…”

“I think…” you pondered for a second, and observed his reaction, “I’d like to keep it private for now. At least until we know what we’re doing. I want to be with you without all the noise in the background.”

Jungwon’s shoulders softened at your words, relief flickering in his eyes. “Private, then,” he echoed. “As long as it means I still get to hold your hand like this, I’m okay with it.”

You moved without thinking, stepping forward until you could wrap him in a hug. “Thank you for asking me, that was really sweet.”

His arms snaked around your waist and your back, tucking his head beside yours. “I want to get this right,” he said softly. 

Your heart fluttered and you pulled back, just enough to look at him. “Well I think you’re doing a great job.” His eyes were full of warmth and anticipation you’re sure you were mirroring. Almost instinctually, you reached up to cup your hands around his face and stand on your tippytoes, gently pressing your lips to his forehead. “Does this mean we’re officially together?” you asked. 

Jungwon smiled, his breath a little shaky and leaned down, catching your lips in a soft, tentative kiss. Your brain short circuited upon contact, leaving you like a dumb, smiling idiot when he pulled away. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice low. “You are officially my girlfriend.”

[yoursinink]

This isn't a Mistake - P.SH

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

student!sunghoon x student!reader

word count: 19k (terribly sorry)

summary: you and sunghoon have been academic rivals for years, relentlessly trying to best each other, until one day when you both take it too far and say things you don't mean

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wouldn’t consider yourself the smartest person in school, you averaged B’s in all your classes but you were satisfied with that. Well, you had been satisfied with that. But after your parents divorced, you realized that you needed to step your game up. 

“This test is gonna tank my GPA,” you groaned after getting yet another problem in your flashcards wrong. 

Sunoo only rolled his eyes. “May I remind you that honors calc was a completely optional class?”

“She’s a masochist, clearly,” Jake joked, taking the flashcards from Sunoo’s hand and shuffling through them himself. “Who even figured out how to do this?” “If you’re not gonna help me study then you are excused. Go find Yoona or something,” you clicked your pen a couple times in annoyance, trying to mentally calculate the lowest score you could get on the exam without dropping a letter grade in the class. You landed on the 73% but tried to trick yourself into thinking it was higher. 

“Can I come see your mom later?” Jake asked. “You’re working after classes, right?”

“Oooo me too!” Sunoo chimed in and you nodded. 

Today marked the anniversary of your parent’s divorce. They had been fighting for years, so the split didn’t come as a shock, but the resulting fallout did. Your dad left your lives completely, packed his bags and moved out before the divorce papers had even been signed. Your mom began to work heavier hours at the library she worked at to continue supporting you and your younger brother. Of course your dad sent a monthly check, but it was the minimum amount possible required after the divorce hearing. You picked up hours in the library when you could to try and help out but you know it wasn’t much. 

“I don’t really wanna look at these anymore, can we do something else?” You plucked your flashcards back from Jake and secured them inside of your bookbag. 

“Oh thank God,” Jake jumped down from the desk he had been sitting on. “At this point, I think I could pass the test for you.”

“We still have 10 minutes left of lunch, do you wanna go sweet talk the lunch ladies for an extra cookie?” Sunoo suggested, hooking his arms through both yours and Jake’s. 

You never say no to a cookie. 

Your shifts at the library were usually uneventful. There were a couple carts scattered around the building where people would return the books they finished reading. Your job was to find their proper place among the shelves and put them back. After you clocked in, you headed straight to where you knew a couple full carts would be waiting for you and plugged your earbuds in. Yes, you were working, but you could also take advantage of the silence to study. The phone in your pocket would play an audiobook for the literature class you're taking, a repeated audio list of terms and definitions, or history accounts. Currently, you were absorbing as much as you could about King Sejong of the Joseon Dynasty, kinda a cool guy. 

You surveyed the remaining books in the cart, trying to figure out the most effective route to get done more quickly. The non-fiction shelves were the closest so you began picking out any biographies, cookbooks, history, and self-help books and sectioning them all together on the very top shelf of your cart. 

As you maneuvered your way to your destination, you observed the study tables around you, eyes landing on the one right in front of the aisle you needed to be in. Shit. 

Sitting slouched in one of the chairs was Park Sunghoon, easily recognizable from his side profile, his notorious hoodie you’ve grown to hate, and the spread of textbooks in front of him. Why did he have to be at that table of all places? It wasn’t unusual for him to study here, it was close to the school and a common place for high schoolers to hang out, but you still didn’t like that he would come. 

“Don’t even look at him, Y/N,” you shook your head to yourself. You were here to work, not to glare at him. 

You continued to push the cart, internally grateful this was not the one with squeaky wheels. You hated that thing. But not more than you hated him. 

As you put the books back in their spot, you continued to listen to King Sejong’s memorable acts, trying to encrypt them in your brain. History was the hardest subject for you to like. Sunoo likes it because he says it’s like reading a story, but you hate all the names and dates. When your video finally ends, you let out a sigh of relief. If you had to listen to anymore Sejong-this and Joseon-that, you would’ve had to start pulling your hair out. Fully expecting the next video to be another random recommended academic video, you were pleasantly surprised when music started playing. You recognized the tune immediately as the most recent comeback of one of the more popular boy groups, Hyphen. Humming quietly to yourself, you leaned against the bookshelf and pulled your phone out of your pocket to watch the music video. 

The song hadn’t even finished the chorus when someone stepped in front of you and paused your screen. You looked up, not being able to hide the annoyance written all over your face. 

“What’s wrong with you?” You snapped, immediately removing your phone out of Sunghoon’s reach and stepping back so he wasn’t as close.

“You’re being loud. Do you think anyone in this library can study when you’re over here singing?”

“I wasn’t singing,” you grumbled. “What’s it to you anyway? Maybe if you were more invested in those books you got over there you wouldn’t have been so easily distracted.”

You saw him scoff and roll his eyes, crossing his arms. “Easily distracted?? Maybe if you just shut up and stopped slacking off on the job I could focus.”

“What I do should have no effect on your studying. That’s a you-problem.” You took your earbuds out and pushed past him to get back to your cart. “And don’t touch my phone again, I don’t wanna have to keep sanitizing it.”

You left him there with a permanent scowl on his face. Were you a little harsh? One could say that, but it was well deserved. After your parent’s divorce, you realized that you needed to get better grades if you wanted to be able to afford college. Without your dad’s salary, you needed scholarships before you were even able to think about attending. Halfway through your freshman year of high school you locked in, actually prioritizing your assignments and turning them in before the deadline, taking notes in every class, studying outside of school, adding more honors and AP classes to improve your GPA and transcript. And for some reason, Park Sunghoon took personal offense to your new habits. 

“Yah,” he hollered at you after the class ranking came out. You were ecstatic to see your name tied for number one, imagining the scholarships getting ready to line up. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You tilted your head, truly confused. “What?”

He held the paper with the ranking up and shoved it in your face. “This. Are you trying to start something?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve never cared about your grades, and now suddenly you’re trying to take my spot?”

I never cared about my grades?? Is this guy crazy…? “You don’t even know me! And I don’t even care about the ranking, I just want an A in the class. Is that a problem?”

He looked at you in disbelief. “You don’t even care about the ranking, huh? Then do worse.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can get an A without being #1.”

He must’ve genuinely lost his mind. You were speechless but tried your best to formulate a response. “Well if you think I should care about the ranking, then I will!” Good, that was a good response. But you kept talking. “Tying for #1 wasn’t so hard, maybe I’ll actually demote you next time.” 

You instantly regretted your words but refused to stand down now that he decided to pick a fight. He stalked towards you and you held your breath, keeping your ground. 

“As if you could demote me, I wasn’t even trying. But I guess now I should..” He looked you up and down, taking one more step. You tilt your head up to even meet his eyes, only to see him glaring down at you. “Stay in your place.”

From that day forward, getting good grades was no longer just about the scholarships, it was about beating him. Every exam score became a comparison. When the next text results came out, you thought you had him beat with a 98%, only to find out he got a perfect 100%. The haughtiness wafting off of him was practically toxic. On the next test you had to change strategy. You asked the teacher about extra credit, and was able to score 103% from showing your work in the margins while he got 100% again. Was it cheating to ask the teacher for a favor? Maybe, but the look on his face after you flashed your test score was worth every minute it took to thoroughly write your thought process down for each problem. Even now in senior year, the two of you are constantly fighting for the #1 spot. He came out on top in the last ranking but you are confident that in the next release you’ll be on top. 

You’re not one to gloat, truly and honestly. However, Park Sunghoon has a way of bringing things out of you that you didn’t even know was there. 

“Hey, you! You wouldn’t mind helping a poor classmate out, would ya?” You skip over to Sunghoon’s desk and take the seat in front of it, swiveling around to face him and slide the ranking sheet towards him. “I can’t seem to find my name on here… Can you point it out for me?”

There was a stone cold expression on his face. You could tell he was not amused in the slightest. 

“Hmmmmmm,” you cock your head to the side and use your finger to scan all of the sames from the bottom of the sheet, all the way to the #1 spot and gasp. “Oh my goodness! I’m- I’m at the very top! Wow, I didn’t realize this was going to be such an easy win for me.” Your smile drips venom. Take that.

Suddenly, he sprung up out of his chair and slammed his hands on the desk, towering over you. His knuckles began to turn white from gripping the sides of the desk. He did not like that last sentence very much. Did you gulp? Yes. Did he see it? You sure hope not. 

“You really love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

Your laugh comes out weaker than you’d like. “I mean, can you blame me? I am #1.”

“You always celebrate early, Y/N,” he drawls and leans in even closer. 

You stare up at him, wondering why he felt the need to invade your personal bubble but not wanting to be the first one to move. 

“It’s cute,” he says sarcastically with a hint of a smirk.. “Naive, but cute.” He pushes off the desk and starts walking away. When he turns back around, all signs of a smile are gone. “Get that shit off my desk before I come back.”

Honors philosophy was probably your favorite class so far. The only factor holding it back from being a 10/10 was the fact that Sunghoon was in this class too. In fact, he was in basically all of your classes because both of you were taking all the APs and honors offered. The current topic being discussed was “what gives something its function.” On the surface level, this is a stupid question, but after going through most of the unit, you don’t even know how to answer it.

“Alright class!” The teacher claps her hands a couple times to get the attention of all of the students. 

Sunghoon and Jay were sitting in a corner together snickering about something and you shot them a look to shut up. 

“We’ve reviewed 8 attempted answers to the question ‘what determines a function’ and in order to ensure these theories and ingrained in your brains, we’re going to begin our group projects for this unit!”

You internally perished. You heavily disliked group projects. 

“If you remember, there was a survey yesterday that required you to pick which function theory you most agreed with. I have created your groups based off of those who gave the same answer as you so you can all work together to defend your argument.”

Okay, surely this can’t be too bad. You and your group will already be starting off on the same page, this will be easy. 

The class was instructed to take all of their supplies and bags with them and stand against the walls of the class room. Then she began to call out the members in group one, directing them to sit in the desks closest to one another in the front right corner of the class. The teacher proceeded to go through the list of stances, assigning groups and the new seating chart. You watched carefully as the options for your future teammates began to dwindle. 

You’ve got to be kidding me. You made eye contact with Sunghoon, who stood on the opposite end of the room as you. The odds of him being in your group were what, 30% now? There was still enough unassigned people that you could be safe. 

“Park Sunghoon,” his name was called but he refused to break eye contact with you. 

You started to breathe a sigh of relief, thinking that you had managed to escape him when more names were called, but you were wrong. 

“...and Y/N.”

Your eye twitched and you stared straight ahead, almost like a challenge to the student in front of you. 

“You all will be seated in the back left corner, please fill the remaining seats.” 

And as if being in the same group wasn’t enough, the only seats left when you and Sunghoon sit down, were shoulder to shoulder. 

“These will be your seats for the next month or so, please turn to your group members and introduce yourselves! Then we will review the rubric for the group project and I will allow you guys to discuss your plans amongst yourselves.”

Sunghoon hated you. He had always been the top of the class because it had been easy, but your sudden interest in academics caught him off guard. When his father asked to see his updated ranking, Sunghoon faltered for the first time in his life, fearing the reaction he would receive. Because of you. And then for you to say that you didn’t even care that you were #1??

He vowed that same day to write notes until he got arthritis, to read books until his eyes fell out, and to stay up studying until his eye bags reached his chin. You would not best him again. And he would not disappoint his dad again. 

He hated watching you study, knowing that each word you read meant you were closer to getting a higher grade, and he hated watching you eat because that meant you were getting more energy to retain information. Sometimes he would steal pencils off your desk to prevent you from taking notes, or purposely move your textbooks across the room to hinder your studying. He would rush to finish answers faster than you, always aiming to be the best. But now he’s sitting here, staring at you, and trying to come to terms with the fact that if he wanted a good grade on this project, you needed to get it too. 

Your group consisted of you, Sunghoon, and two other girls. You learned their names to be Lia and Yeji. 

“We should start with a couple examples of why we believe the statement ‘X has the function Y when X doing Y would satisfy a desire’, and then probably address the counterarguments,” you suggested, beginning an outline in your notebook. 

“We should address a counterargument after each example,” Sunghoon spoke up. “It doesn’t make any sense to wait to talk about them at the end.”

Both Lia and Yeji nodded their heads and you took a deep breath in. 

“I know that, that’s why I wrote it down like this…” You flipped the notebook around to face him, showing you had written the order as Example 1, Objection 1, Example 2, Objection 2. 

“Then maybe you should say it like you mean it.”

“You do it then,” you held the notebook out dramatically. “Surely you know how to use a pen, right?”

Sunghoon didn’t take the bait and stared at you, leaning against his desk with one hand under his chin. Tentatively, Yeji reached out and took the pages from you saying quietly, “I’ll do it.”

The next couple minutes was a flurry of you and Sunghoon spitting ideas out (mostly at each other) and Yeji scribbling furiously to try and get everything down. Sunghoon would suggest something but you would tell her to cross it out because it was a stupid idea and then you would tell her to add something to a point but he would tell her to erase it because it would only muddle the idea your group was trying to convey. At the end of class, your outline was a map of nonsense. 

You smiled sweetly at Yeji and took the notebook and pencil back from her. “Thank you for being our stenographer, I’ll clean it up and send you guys a more clear format.”

“Should we exchange contacts?” Lia asked, and you saw her give a quick glance to Sunghoon while pulling her phone out. “You know, just to be able to talk about the project outside of class.”

“That’s a good idea,” Yeji already had her phone out and presented it to Sunghoon first. “I can create a group chat for everybody.”

Not only had Sunghoon just invaded your group project, he was now invading your phone. There was no time to object to the idea as Yeji had already begun adding everybody and sending messages. 

“Did you get it, Oppa?”

He nodded and stood up, barely even glancing at his screen. “Can one of you find out the due date and send it in the chat?”

Both of the girls nodded and stood up with him, watching him leave the classroom first after the bell rang. Of course he would make someone else do the dirty work. 

You must’ve hit rock bottom. The world must be against you. Why on earth was Sunghoon sitting at your lab table?

“Move,” you said, dropping your chemistry books in front of him. “This is my seat.”

“The teacher told me to sit here, go somewhere else,” he said without even looking at you. You briefly glanced down at the table number to check you were at the right place and stood your ground. His eyes shifted your way. “Leave before you dirty my beakers with your presence.”

Wow, this guy was really starting to get on your nerves. 

“Excuse me, sir,” you raised your hand and caught the teacher’s attention. “Can you please remind Sunghoon where his seat is?”

“Ah, Y/N, you weren’t here when I shuffled the seating chart around. You and Sunghoon will share table 6 until we cover chapters 4-10 in your textbooks,” he smiled and returned to the chalkboard to write out a formula.

4-10?? That’s like, the rest of the semester!

Slowly, you turned your head back to the boy who had yet again invaded your personal bubble. You scowled and plopped onto the lab stool next to him. He returned your expression with an extremely sarcastic smile. 

“Don’t fuck up, Ms. Lab Partner,” he feigned a cheerful greeting, hiding a threat underneath it. 

“Don’t push your limits, Park.”

The experiment was fairly straightforward: by mixing several chemicals together under particular conditions, you were to create a sample of aspirin. There are two people at each lab table. They will do the experiment separately but compare their results between each step and turn the compared results in for their lab grade. 

You and Sunghoon each placed a large beaker with water on the heating pad and while waiting for it to boil, you mixed your salicylic acid and acetic anhydride in a separate flask.  

“Are you sure you didn’t put in too much?” Sunghoon asked with a fake tone of concern. “Your hand looked like it was shaking.” “Mind your business,” you retorted, swirling the glass to dissolve all the solids before adding in the tosic acid. 

Both of you took small samples of your own liquid and spotted it on the same TLC plate. You had purposely labeled your sample as #1 and his as #2. He gave no reaction to you and instead dropped the plate into a jar of ethyl acetate to develop.

“Your sample was too big,” you noted, still trying to get a rise out of him. You placed the flask with your solution in it into the boiling water you had prepared earlier and Sunghoon did the same. 

“My sample will give me a more accurate visual, you barely put anything on yours.”

You tsked and shook your head, pretending like he didn’t know anything and scribbled measurements into your notes. 

After boiling your solutions for 5 minutes, you each took another sample and placed it on a new TLC plate with the labels A and B. You were of course A because it was the first letter in the alphabet and he yet again, gave no reaction and placed it in the developing jar. At the 15 minute boiling minute mark, the last sample was taken and this time you labeled the samples as X and O. He made a face. 

“Are you trying to confuse me on purpose? What kind of labels are these?”

“X.O. for tic-tac-toe,” you said like it was obvious. “The first player always draws X so that one is me.”

He muttered something under his breath and you managed to pick out the words “crazy” and "deranged."

“Say that again,” you challenged him but he was yet again, unphased. This whole nonchalant thing was starting to get annoying. 

“Stop focusing on me and take your mixture out already, it’s supposed to cool to room temperature,” he nodded his head in the direction of the beakers on the table and you noted that he had already taken his flask out of the boiling water when you weren’t looking. 

“I-I was about to do that,” you said, slightly flustered. “I was writing on the TLC plates, otherwise I would’ve done it already.”

“Why are you telling me that like I care?” “Why don’t you stop talking and take the first sample out of the developing jar?” you reprimanded him. “You’re gonna ruin our results if you leave it in there much longer.”

He shot you a death glare but listened nonetheless, placing the sampling plate on a paper towel to dry before you took it over to the UV lighting machine. 

TLC plates glow neon green under a UV light, but the sample that you placed at the bottom of the plate will appear as a dark spot. As the plate sits in the developing jar and soaks up the ethyl acetate, the sample will begin to move upwards. Each chemical will move a separate distance and appear at different heights on the plate. The more pure the chemical, the more clear the final position will be on the fully developed plate. 

While observing your results under the light, you slowly traced the darker marks and marched proudly back to your lab table, pushing the plate towards your lab partner. 

“I told you your sample size was too big,” you said, allowing him to see how clean your results were and how blown out his was. “I mean, look at the shape of mine. Wow, I’m talented.”

“I swear if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were showing off for me,” Sunghoon raised his eyebrows, pushing the plate back in your direction. “Wipe that smirk off your face, it’s unnerving.”

“It’s okay to be second place in sample taking, you know,” you gave him two swift pats on the back. “Just watch me carefully next time, I’ll show you how you can improve.” 

“Shut up and do the lab,” he shot at you, having already moved his room temperature flask with the solution into its own ice bath. 

You followed suit, both of you also adding a small amount of ice water into the actual solution. Once that step was done, he pulled the second fully developed TLC plate out of the jar and left to observe it under the UV. While he was gone you took a swift look at his notes. 

How were they so clean? You did a double take, scanning the instructions for the experiment he had written down and the exact measurement of materials he had recorded. You glanced back at your own notes and started drawing lines on the page to section off each step and appear more organized, just in case he happened to look over and try to judge you.

“Of course he’s got perfect notes, he just has to make it match his perfect handwriting..”

The experiment continued. Once the crystal formations began to develop in your solution, it was filtered and all of the solids were dried with nitrogen air. The new solid was then purified through dissolving in  a minimal amount of boiling methanol and then once again set to cool to room temperature before being thrown into yet another ice bath. 

“Oh my god,” you drawled. “When is this over?”

“Your insistent whining is making it take longer,” Sunghoon spat, carefully tracing a copy of all three developed TLC plates into his notebook. 

“Rude,” you muttered, stealing one of the TLC plates so you could also copy it down. “Yah, what did you write down for the Rf values?”

“I didn’t do them yet.”

“Shouldn’t they match?”

“Aren’t they from the same sample?” He looked at you like you were stupid. “Yes, they should match.”

You paid him no mind. “Does this sample look like it’s moved 4.5cm from the starting line or 4.8cm?” you asked, looking closely at the plate and squinting your eyes as if it would help. 

He leaned forward and put his face right next to yours to see the spots you were looking at. “4.7cm,” he said with a small nod and you rolled your eyes, tilting your head to the side so he could see your dead-panned expression. 

“If you thought the answer was closer to 4.8cm then why didn’t you just go with my answer?”

“Because it’s not 4.8cm, it’s 4.7cm,” he turned his head just enough to look you in the eyes. “If 4.8cm is wrong, why would I agree with it?” he cocked an eyebrow and mouthed a taunting “What?” when your face twitched. 

“I can’t work with this man,” you exclaimed, exasperated and pulled back dramatically, throwing your hands in the air. “I would rather accept a B+ than put up with more of your comments.”

“And I would rather accept a B.”

You gave a low laugh. Oh, of course he just had to go lower. “B-.”

“C+.”

“C!” you raised your voice and it caught the teacher's attention. 

“Table 6!” he called out. “I hope your conversation is about your lab work and productive to the class?”

“Yes, sir,” both you and Sunghoon replied, immediately turning and glaring at each other after the phrase. 

“I actually don’t think I can do it anymore,” your head rested in Yoona’s lab as you lay across the bench of a lunch table. She played with your hair. “He’s so snarky and know-it-all-y.”

“And handsome,” she added, nodding along to your list of his attributes. 

Handsome? You thought about it. Sure, you guess he was handsome. Though you hadn’t ever really looked at him without a small amount of rage clouding your vision. 

“Handsome is a strong word,” you said, crossing your fingers against your stomach. “He’s just alright.”

“How is your philosophy project going?” Sunoo asked, biting into an apple and scrolling on his phone. 

It had been about a week since the project started and it was a nightmare. The project itself was fine, but Sunghoon’s constant snide remarks made you want to drive a car into a wall. 

“I might commit arson if he dismisses one of my ideas again,” you scoff, feeling a buzz in your pocket and pulling your phone out. It was the group chat

Yeji

I found a template we could use for our PowerPoint slides ^^

*attachment*

Lia

Nice!

You opened the attachment and dropped your phone, causing it to land on your face. “Owww,” you moaned and rubbed your nose.

“Omg, Y/N, are you okay?” Yoona looked down at you concerned and peeked through your fingers to look at the damage. Sunoo only laughed. 

“I’m ok, I’m ok,” you brushed it off and sat up, snatching your phone up from where it had rolled off of you and onto the ground. No, no, no. 

The link took you to a PowerPoint that was admittedly nicely formatted and Yeji had already taken the time to start replacing some of the template’s words with your own project. However, it was pink. And there were little stickers of dogs in the corners of the slides. And the font was so swirly and difficult to read it made your head spin. You racked your brain with a nice way to fix this.

You

Oh wow! Thanks for already finding something

Did you have any other templates you liked? 

Maybe we should create multiple versions to see which one we like better?

Sunghoon

Why 

I’m sure she already picked a good one

You blinked. He’s sure??? He must not have looked at it. There’s no way he would defend that if he had seen what template she picked. Why would he shoot you down without seeing your future already burning. No, you needed to fix this. By all means necessary. 

You clicked his contact in your phone to message him separately, only slightly hesitating when your finger hovered over the blue send button. You were breaking your own personal boundary of not letting him invade your phone by texting him like this. But you reassured yourself. Texting him separately for the sake of your project was an exception

You

Agree with me in the group chat

Sunghoon

Why are you texting me

I’m going to block you as soon as this project is over

You

Did you even open the link?

Sunghoon

I don’t need to

You

Yes tf you do

Text me after you see it

You wait, not realizing that both Yoona and Sunoo have moved positions and are now reading over your shoulder to see the drama. 

Sunghoon

Oh hell no

His next text was in the group chat.

Sunghoon

Actually, I like Y/N’s idea

We should test a couple templates out before deciding on one

For some reason, you smiled proudly at his text. Of course he liked your idea, neither of you are betting your grade on a pink puppy PowerPoint. Both Yeji and Lia liked his messages.  

Sunghoon stared down at the floor, face scrunched up and anticipating the verbal assault from his father. 

“Does this even make sense to you?” Mr. Park lounged back in his office chair and pinched the bridge of his noise. Sunghoon shifted awkwardly in front of him. “Why am I paying for your tutoring when you won’t put any effort in??”

Sunghoon knew that every single grade on the reports in front of them showcased nothing lower than a 95%, but that didn’t matter if he wasn’t #1. 

“What? You don’t have anything to say?”

What could he possibly say. “I’m sorry, I’ll do better.”

“Yes, you will. Your mom would be disappointed to see you losing your rank.”

Sunghoon closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. How dare his father claim he would have known what his mom would think? He rarely showed interest in her when she was here and he didn’t even seem to care when she passed away. 

He fiddled with his fingers behind his back, not wanting to look up. He said nothing until his father excused him. 

He didn’t cry. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to or not, but he did know he didn’t want to be here right now. 

“Hyung,” he said once Heeseung picked up the phone. “Can I crash for a couple days?” 

“Sure, is it your dad again?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to have a sleepover?”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help letting out a laugh. “Are we gonna share a bed?”

“Of course, I’ll go wash the sheets right now.” 

After the call ended, he stared at the blank phone screen, not sure if he had too many thoughts in head or none at all. But there was one thing he did know. He was tired of continuously trying to appease his father. 

The following week, you were back in the chemistry lab to complete the second half of the aspirin experiment. Last session, you had successfully managed to crystallize what you hoped to be the drug and submitted that for your grade of the day, but today, you had to analyze the IR spectrum your teacher had taken of your sample and compare it to that of a pure sample of aspirin.

Sunghoon sat beside you, still and straight as you were hunched over your notebook and doodling in the margins. While the teacher began passing back the spectrums he gathered, you turned and squinted your eyes at the boy next to you. 

“Why do you keep coming to my library?”

For the past couple of days, you started seeing him more and more at one of the studying tables or bean bags when you were working. It seemed as though any time he wasn’t at school, he would be there. It wasn’t even midterm season. 

He showed no reaction that he had heard you other than the quick flick of his eyes meeting yours. They looked away instantly. “Do you own that library?”

“Well.. no-”

“Then you asked a stupid question.”

“You know what I meant, you jerk. Why don’t you go somewhere else.”

“I like to read.”

“Well then like to read somewhere else.”

“You really like to act like you own that place, don’t you.”

“I do nothing of the sorts,” you ended the conversation by turning your whole body away from him and beginning to analyze the paper that the teacher handed you. 

On the paper was a graph with very distinct peaks and valleys, almost like an exaggerated heart beat. For your assignment, you needed to circle or highlight important places where the graph was peaking, marking a certain bond of atoms that was found in the final sample you submitted last lab. Then, you needed to find the correlating peak on the sample IR spectrum of pure aspirin to compare how similar your final sample was to the true drug. 

There were a couple places on your spectrum where the magnitude of the peaks didn’t match that of true aspirin and you made a face. 

“Why is it like this..” you muttered, leaning in to get a closer look at the small numbers on the x axis. “I followed the directions exactly.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

You looked skeptically over your shoulder at Sunghoon. “What.”

“Can you help me?”

Your expression turned confused. “Huh?”

“Yeah, I just can’t seem to be able to tell which graph is my sample and which one is actually aspirin.”

You shook your head and sighed. “Tsk tsk, lemme see.”

He slide the papers over to you and you gazed down at them, now even more confused. 

“Are these not just the same thing? Maybe he gave you a wrong copy?” You were about to suggest asking the teacher if there was a mix up when you saw the subtitle ‘Table 6 - Park Sunghoon’ printed out on one of the papers. Motherfucker. 

He noticed you pause and had to stop himself from smirking. “What?” He kept his act up. “He just gave me two of the same things, right?”

Your face involuntarily started smiling in pain. This shit head. 

“Ahhhhh,” he said like it had just dawned on him. “This one is mine-” he tapped his finger on one sheet twice, “and this one is the real one,” he repeated the tap on the other paper. “Wow, they're so similar I thought I was seeing double. How did yours turn out?”

“None of your business,” you pushed his papers away from you. 

“Hmm, I don’t think mine had a peak at 914ppm…”

You whipped your head down and realized he could see your chart, hurrying to push them away. “Bro why are you looking over there, my eyes are up here!”

“It’s okay,” he said and sucked his tongue against his teeth for show. “I’d say you’re almost there, but you know… almost doesn’t count.”

You blinked in shock. This was so petty. This was his way of getting back at you for bullying his TLC samples, wasn’t it? “I’m surprised you know how to count,” you retorted and mentally high-fived yourself for the quick comeback. 

He looked away from you and began circling certain peaks on his spectrum, letting you think you had won the argument. The nice silence lasted all of 30 seconds until he started verbally counting out loud, just to be petty again. “One…. two… three… four… oh, there’s another one… five…”

You slammed a hand on the desk. “Shut up. You’re so distracting.”

“Ew. Never tell me that again.”

“Ew. Never think I’m insinuating anything of the sorts.”

There was 5 minutes left of class and you began to quickly start assigning the peaks and valleys to different atomic bonds. You were second guessing some of them but figured the teacher wouldn’t look that hard at all of the submissions anyway. 

“I think you’re doing that wrong,” Sunghoon said after already finishing the assignment and putting his pencils into his backpack. 

You didn’t even spare him a look of annoyance. “And I think I’m going to smash your face in.”

“Do you even know how to label the peaks?” he asked, unbothered.

You labeled one final point on the paper and started packing up, repeating in a mocking tone, “Do you even know how to label the peaks?”

“Oh. Nice. Real mature of you.”

“I never claimed to be mature.”

“You probably should, you're a senior.”

“I’m going to request a different lab partner,” you stated, abruptly standing and throwing your bookbag across your shoulder. 

“Great, I wanted to request the same thing,” Sunghoon left for the teachers desk before you did and you had to walk quickly to try and pass him. He was not going to steal your idea. 

“Excuse me, sir!” you called, bowing and smiling at him when he turned to look at you. He smiled back with a greeting and looked pleasantly surprised that Sunghoon was with you.

“Ah, did you guys come up here together?”

“No-”

“Not together,” you cut Sunghoon off. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure! Although since you’re both right here, this is a good time for me to bring up that one thing..” he put a pause on your request while he shuffled through some files on his desk. “Give me one moment… Yes, here it is.”

You and Sunghoon peered over at the sheet your teacher had dug up inquisitively. “What is it?”

“A list of all the glassware in this lab. I want you guys to stay after school sometime this week and clean them for me.”

“Is it graded?” Sunghoon asked and you couldn’t help but nod with him. He was asking the important question after all. 

“It’s part of your participation grade. I like to rotate between which table cleans each week, and now it’s your turn.”

You slowly nod your head with understanding. “I see.”

“You guys can decide what day, just make sure to be at my door no more than 10 minutes after the last bell rings so I know you guys are cleaning that day.”

“When do you want to do it?” Sunghoon asked you and you pulled your phone out to look at your work schedule at the library. 

You usually worked every other day, leaving Tuesdays and Thursdays open. Even though you don’t have a shift, most of the time you head over there after school anyway because you liked the environment and was able to help your mom out. 

“I can do tomorrow or Thursday,” you said. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“I don’t wanna pick. You figure it out.”

You glance up from your phone, eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”

A group of students for the next class period began entering and your teacher started ushering you towards the door, urging you to figure it out in a friendly manner but to do so outside of the classroom. Sunghoon stood next to you, leaning his shoulder against the lockers and waiting for you to give him an answer. You both stood there awkwardly for a minute staring each other down until you caved. You didn’t want to be late to your next class anyway. 

“Fine. Show up​ Thursday after school. Don’t be late.” 

You were already turning away when Sunghoon flatly said “wouldn’t dream of it” and left in the opposite direction. 

Thursday came faster than you wanted and even as you sat outside the lab door waiting for Sunghoon to show up, you wished it was already over. The teacher had already let you into the room, saying he would be in the teacher’s lounge grading papers but would check in on the two of you in about an hour. Your phone lit up on the table and you glanced down at it to see Sunghoon’s response to your previous message. 

You

You were supposed to be here 5 minutes ago

Sunghoon

I’ll get there when I get there

Your eye roll was a completely involuntary response. If you had to stay here longer than necessary because he had the nerve to be late, you were going to ring him out and let the vultures get him. Part of you wanted to be petty and not start until he got here, this was supposed to be a group activity and you would not be pulling more weight than your own. Especially if it was his. But you also just wanted to go home. 

With a final sigh, you started going around to each table and placing its glassware at the edge to see just how much you really had to do. Each table had roughly 20 different instruments you would need to clean, some bigger than others. You estimated it would take about an hour to wash and dry everything yourself, maybe 45 minutes if you had help. 

You tossed a glance towards the door and gave up on waiting, starting to transfer all the glassware from Table 1 to the sink. Your plan was to go in order so you didn’t lose track, washing all the glass and then setting everything back upside down at their proper table so they could air dry. When Sunghoon gets here -- if he gets here -- he can dry everything with a towel. 

Singing to yourself made the washing process go by quicker and dancing a little between each utensil made it more fun. You almost forgot Sunghoon was supposed to join you until you heard the door open and stopped singing immediately. 

“Would you look who it is,” you said, barely sparing him a look. 

Sunghoon did not want to deal with any snide remarks from you. Not after today. “Whatever, I showed up, didn’t I?”

“Allbeit 20 minutes late,” you noted, looking at the clock on the wall. “Thought you were gonna stand me up.”

“Wish I did,” he said and watched your hands rinsing the glass in the sink. There was already a pile of clean glass drying on the counter next to you. 

“Are you not gonna help?” you asked, finishing a 150mL beaker and grabbing the next item which happened to be a 25mL flask. 

“Tell me what to do first.”

“Dry them. I already got a towel for you.”

He didn’t move initially, just stood with his arms crossed and staring at you work. 

“You’re capable of drying a beaker, aren’t you?” you muttered when he made no attempt to join you.

Sunghoon let out a deep exhale and walked towards the sink with harsh steps, intentionally making them louder than necessary. He grabbed the towel you had laid out and picked up one of the beakers. He said nothing more to you and wiped the cloth against the glass in rough distracted movements. 

His dad had just called, demanding to know why he hadn’t been staying at home and saying they needed to talk. Sunghoon appreciated Heeseung for letting him stay over for the past couple days but he knew he was starting to wear his stay thin. Just the thought of walking back through the front doors of his father’s house filled him with anxiety and anger. He didn’t want to talk about his grades or about getting another tutor or about why he needed to listen to his father because obviously he should know his father knows best. 

“You’re drying it like it insulted your family,” you say under your breath. It was quiet but he caught it.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, say it,” he said, setting the beaker down with a loud clink that made you wince but he didn’t care. You wanted to joke about family with him? Right now?? Trying to act like you know something about him?

You turned towards him, eyes narrowed. “If it breaks, that’s coming out of your grade, not mine.”

He scoffed. “Right, because your precious grade is the only thing you care about.” 

You dropped the sponge you were using into the sink and shut off the water, turning to him fully. “What is your problem?”

“My problem is being stuck here cleaning glassware with you like it’s some kind of punishment,” he shot back, fists now clenched around the towel. He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but he wasn’t thinking about it. It wasn’t really about you -- his problem was he was stuck here doing such trivial tasks when he had a boatload of trouble waiting for him the minute he stepped into his father’s office. But it wasn’t you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you rather be stuck in here with someone who worships the ground you walk on? I’m sure that fan club of yours would be absolutely thrilled to spend an hour doing your work.” 

He humored you with an empty laugh. “At least they wouldn’t make everything a competition.”

You gave him a haughty laugh back. “Right, because God forbid someone actually keep up with you.”

He raised an eyebrow, something sharp flickering in his eyes. He could definitely make this about you though. “So you are competing with me.”

You crossed your arms, chin raised. “No. I’m just not interested in playing dumb to protect your ego.”

“That’s not what it looks like.”

Something changed in your expression and you stalked closer to him. By no means were you taller than him but the sudden intensity radiating off of you gave you all the height you needed to match him. He could've been intimidated, but part of him found it… entertaining?

“You think everything’s a competition because deep down you need to win. Otherwise, what? You’re just average like the rest of us?”

His jaw tightened. Not so much fun anymore. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Then stop acting like you know everything about me,” you snapped. “You think I care about grades because I want a medal? You think I care about grades because I’m competing with you?? Of course it’s all about you isn’t it?” You stepped even closer to him but he refused to move back. “I care about my grades because they are the only way I’m going to college. Do you think everyone has the luxury of having their daddy pay for it?”

For a second, he didn’t move. 

Your words hit harder than they should have -- “Do you think everyone has the luxury of having their daddy pay for it?” -- and suddenly, the lab felt too quiet. Too cold. The towel in his hand might as well have turned to ice. 

His throat tightened with bitterness and he glowered down at you. “Don’t talk about my dad.”

You blinked, not expecting the shift in his tone. “I wasn’t-”

“You don’t get to say anything about him,” he cut you off, voice flat. Controlled. “Not when you have no clue what the hell you’re talking about.”

His pulse was loud in his ears. You were just trying to get under his skin, that’s what he told himself. That’s all it was. You had no idea what it felt like to have the one place you were supposed to call home feel like a cage. No idea what it meant to wake up and feel sick at the thought of seeing your dad when you went downstairs. 

But there was something else too. “And now you want to tell me you weren’t even competing with me?” His voice cracked a little at the end. Why the hell did it do that. He was fine. 

You stared at him, brows furrowed like you were still trying to figure out what he was saying -- like this wasn’t the game you two had always played. 

But it wasn’t a game. Not to him. It was real. No longer was it the desire to earn his father’s approval -- that had turned to anger and resentment and anxiety. No. Now it was studying and staying up late and walking into a room to stare at you and hope he would beat you on the next test. It was finding satisfaction from knowing that he did better than you. That was real. 

Sunghoon let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair and stepping backwards, trying to figure out what was going on. 

“Seriously?” he said, eyes flicking back to yours. “You weren’t competing? Not once?”

The look on your face made it clear. You hadn’t been. Not in the way he thought. Not in the way he had been. 

His stomach twisted.

Because for years, he’d been chasing this… thing between the two of you. You provided  a desire to win that was outside of his father. He’d tell himself it was just about being better. Smarter. First. But every time you looked at him like you wanted to tear him apart, something in his chest thrived on it. 

But now he just felt stupid. 

The silence between you crackled like static. You didn’t say anything and somehow, that stung more than if you’d laughed in his face. Sunghoon’s grip on the cloth tightened until he could feel his nails digging into his palms through the fabric. He didn’t even know what he was hanging onto anymore -- the towel? His pride? The now-fragile belief that this thing between you had been mutual. 

“You weren’t even trying?” he said suddenly, voice rising louder than it should’ve in the empty lab. He hated that he wasn’t letting this go. “You really mean to tell me that all this time, you didn’t care?”

He moved back forward, regaining the steps he had previously moved back. He was reckless now. 

“I-”

“Then what the hell was it, huh? The snide remarks? You roll your eyes at me like I’m the plague everytime I speak in class. You expect me to believe that none of that mattered to you?”

He was breathing harder now. He hated how desperate it sounded. 

“Sunghoon, it wasn’t that serious.”

Even if you had thought those words would calm him down, it did nothing more than feel like you just slapped him. You said it like this whole thing -- the rivalry, the tension, the late nights, the way you always seemed to glare first, talk second -- was just some passing annoyance to you. Not that serious? His eyes dimmed and whatever heat that had been there fizzled out. His shoulders straightened and his expression turned unreadable. 

“Right,” he said plainly, his voice stripped of emotion. “Got it.”

He looked away from you, not to roll his eyes or glare, just to avoid you. He didn’t want to keep talking anymore. He didn’t know what he was even talking about. Why did he even care about this?

He grabbed another beaker without saying anything and dried it in silence. He focused on the towel in his hands, staring at his own movements but not really looking at them. Your eyes bore into him and he could feel them, probably waiting for them to bite back. But he didn’t. He wanted to leave, even if that meant going to his father. But he didn’t. Couldn’t?

“Sunghoon-” you said his name quieter this time.

“It’s fine,” he cut in, eyes still aimlessly fixed on the glass he was drying. 

He hated how tightly his throat was closing up. How his hands trembled slightly as he set the flask down and reached for another. What on earth was going on?

“I didn’t mean-”

“Forget it, just keep washing.”

“Sunghoon-”

“I said wash the damn glass.”

You didn’t say anything after that. You turned slowly back to the sink, picked the sponge back up, and turned the faucet back on. The sound of the faucet was the only thing cutting through the air other than the squeak of the sponge in your hand. Sunghoon swallowed hard, forcing his attention back on the beaker in front of him. 

You weren’t even competing. 

The thought echoed in his head like a taunt. He had constructed this entire war in his head with you as his enemy in battle after battle, only to realize you weren’t even on the battlefield. You’d been surviving, planning your future. Not sparring with him. Not really.

So what had he been doing?

Trying to impress you?

Trying to prove something to himself?

To his father?

None of it made sense anymore.

Another glass, another towel swipe, another reason to stay quiet. 

He just wanted the hour to end. 

Never in your life have you been so dumbfounded. A couple days had passed since he blew up at you in the lab but you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Genuinely what the fuck was that? And now he just refuses to acknowledge you?

You’re sitting in philosophy, trying to work as a group and decide who should present what slides, but instead of fighting or arguing with you, he sat there silently, letting you lead the project. If you told him to do something, he would do it with no complaints. At one point you even intentionally put a bad idea out there just to see if he would pick it up, but he didn’t. 

You’re working the night shift at the library and it’s 15 minutes to close so you start walking around to remind people to check their books out before the desk closes. It’s 5 minutes to close so you begin telling people to start making their way out so you can do one final cleaning. At first, he would stay till you kicked him out, but now he left an hour before closing, everyday. 

You’re in lab and he completely ignores you until he needs something from you for the assignment. It’s like you’re at a table by yourself. None of the remarks or jokes you make get a reaction and it almost seems like it bothers him that you won’t shut up. So eventually you do. It’s like every argument and bickering fight you’ve had prior never happened, from the outside it looks like you don’t even know each other. But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered you. 

You had lied. And you didn’t really know why. Of course you were competing with him, that much you thought was obvious. It wasn’t your original intention but it was a fun game to play on the side. You enjoyed the banter and accomplishment you felt when you beat him and you liked going to class and pretending you were gonna hate the next hour because you had to sit next to him. It’s not like you didn’t like him at least a little bit. But there was something about the way he acted in the lab that had pissed you off. On top of being late, he acted like you should just get over it, and kept picking fights. Maybe he was just behaving as usual but your patience had been wearing thin. He was haughty, he knew he had a fan club and he knew he was attractive and he was taunting you on purpose. You really only wanted to knock him down a couple pegs, the way you usually do, but it seemed like both of you got carried away. If you knew he would've reacted so strongly, you would’ve admitted to it. 

“What should I do?” you asked Sunoo, who seemed to be the only one invested in the conversation. Jake and Yoona squatting in the grass looking for a four leafed clover and whispering amongst themselves while you and Sunoo sat next to their search under the schoolyard tree. “He’s still studying and beating me on assignments, but he doesn’t even acknowledge it anymore.”

“I think you broke his heart,” Sunoo said, giving you a serious nod. “And in the chem lab of all places. Iconic, honestly.”

You hit his shoulder. “You’re so weird,” and he smiled. “But actually. He got so pissed. Like, for real, pissed.”

“I guess you’re both kinda freaked out,” he said and the two of you looked up into the branches of the tree you were under. “I mean, he kinda trauma dumped on you.”

“Trauma dumped??”

“Well yea. I don’t know what kinda competition stuff he was talking about, that was weird, but you said he flipped out when you brought his dad up.”

You hadn’t really thought about that. Sunghoon had gotten really defensive when you made your first joke about the beaker and his family, but he totally lost his shit when you mentioned his dad. 

A loud sigh escaped your throat and you dropped your head into your hands. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was mean.”

“He’s mean too.”

“But like, I was being insensitive.”

“But you also didn’t know.”

This is why you liked Sunoo. 

“Should I talk to him?” you asked. “He’s not gonna want to though.”

“So what? He’s being a baby and giving you the cold shoulder. If he wants to call you immature then he should stop sulking like a soap opera villain.”

You completely forgot you told him about that comment. “Fair point. What do I even say though? ‘We need to talk’ sounds scary.”

“You could text him?”

“No.”

“Okay then.”

There was a moment of silence. “Oh come on, that cannot be your only idea, Sunoo. That was terrible.”

He rolled his eyes and flopped backwards into the grass, letting out a dramatic groan. “You’re so picky for someone who’s spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling.”

“You’re spiraling, you’ve crashed out over this about 3 different times this week.”

You scowled, leaning back again to look at the leaves fluttering overhead. The late afternoon sun was slanting through them, just enough to make everything look overly sentimental. 

“...maybe I’m spiraling a little,” you muttered in admittance. 

Sunoo gave a noncommittal hum, sitting up on his elbows. “Finally a confession.”

“I feel like I crossed a line, a really big line. Ugh, and I don’t even know why I care so much.”

“Are you really going to make me fix this for you?” Sunoo looked at you with a faux fed up expression on his face before fully sitting up again. “You want a plan or a script?”

“I don’t want a script, I’m not gonna remember anything.”

“I’m making a script,” he says, ignoring you. “You can bump into him after class, super casual. And you can be like--” He cleared his throat, raising his voice half an octave to mimic you. “Hey super attractive mean man sir, can we talk? I think we kinda escalated things and I just wanted to say sorry for what I said.”

You blinked. “Besides that one incredibly uncomfortable thing you said in the beginning, that was not bad.”

“Thank you,” he said bowing his head slightly. “Drama club, 3rd year.”

Jake let out a triumphant “Aha!” from the sidelines and held up what looked like a four-leafed clover until you realized he had stuck two clovers together. Yoona only shook her head, unimpressed. The minutes left in your lunch break were ticking down and the weight on your chest felt like it was getting heavier. Chem lab was next but you didn’t think you wanted to see him today. 

“I don’t know if sorry’s enough though,” you said, hugging your knees close to you. “He looked hurt. Not mad-I-made-a-joke hurt, like actually hurt.”

Sunoo’s tone softened. “You care more about him a lot more than you pretend you do.”

“Do not,” you argued. Even the thought of that was gross. “I just feel terrible.” He let you sit in silence while you thought about things, not even sure what you were thinking about until you said, “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll go talk to him.”

Sunoo smiled. “Good.”

“But not right now.”

“When?”

“Eventually.”

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Eventually as in… today?”

“Eventually as in.. soon?”

“Oh my goooood. I knew you were gonna delay it.”

“I need a buffer! An emotional pregame! Time to rehearse.”

“You are the reason people think communication is dead,” he said, but he was smiling again. 

Yoona looked over, finally giving up on the clover hunt. “Are we done with the therapy session?”

“Yes,” you and Sunoo said at the same time, though with very different levels of enthusiasm. You fell into a rare pocket of silence, the three of you all watching Jake continue looking in the grass and giving the occasional dramatic gasp as he discovered yet another extremely normal clover. 

Then your phone buzzed in your pocket. 

You didn’t check in right away. You were mid-thought, still mulling over Sunoo’s words -- not denying that you were insensitive and saying Sunghoon had potentially trauma dumped on you -- and thinking how you were definitely, probably, maybe going to say something to Sunghoon. You needed to, right? Eventually. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week. Or at graduation when you had had plenty of time to think about it. 

When your phone buzzed again, you lazily fished it out of your pocket to silence notifications, but then your screen lit up. 

Sunghoon:

Hey

Can we talk

You sat up a little straighter, heart skipping a beat and pulse jumping, all while your stomach began to simultaneously sink. Sunoo noticed the shift. 

“Who is it?”

You couldn’t say anything and just turned the phone towards him. 

“Oh. Oh. Look at that. I guess eventually meant today afterall.”

Sunoo was grinning and all you could do was stare at the screen, almost afraid to blink like that would cause it to disappear. But even then, it stayed there. Simple, blunt, and terrifying. Your throat was suddenly dry. 

“What do I say? Should I even respond now or do I wait?”

“Respond now, dumbass. He just texted you first, he might delete it if you wait more than 2 minutes.”

You nodded and started typing, hesitating over each word like you were about to hit a landmine. 

You:

Yeah, what’s up?

You hovered your thumb over the send button and froze. And then deleted it. 

You:

Sure, when?

Sent.

Your heart was doing some Olympic-level gymnastics as you waited, every second it felt like a boa constructor was squeezing you tighter and tighter. 

Sunghoon:

I’m outside

If you’re not busy

You turned to Sunoo wide-eyed, about to relay the message but he was already nosely looking over your shoulder. 

“Like outside outside?” He asked. 

“I guess?” you felt out of breath. 

“Of this school?”

“I think so?? Sunoo, you’re looking at the same text I am!”

“And to think you were gonna wait till graduation,” he laughed. 

You scrambled to your feet, brushing dirt off your uniform with frantic, useless sweeps. “Okay, okay, how do I look? Is this tragic? I feel like I look tragic.

“You look fine.”

“Fine or like ‘I’ve been pulling my hair out under a tree’ fine?”

Sunoo stood up with you, giving you a once-over and fixing your collar. “Fine as in ‘a Victorian child getting over their illness’ fine.”

“At least I’m getting over it.”

“You only have like, 10 minutes before the next bell. Go find him,” Sunoo urges and you start trudging off. Yoona waves from the ground like she’s sending you off to war and reminds you to be sorry, not sassy. 

Jake pops up again, holding yet another regular-ass clover. “You got this! And I found a leaf for luck!” You don’t even try to correct him.

Your laugh got lost in your nerves as you walked back in the direction of the school building, not sure where exactly to find him. ‘Outside’ could mean absolutely anything. 

Your pace was brisk as you rounded the corner near the main entrance. There were only a couple places students usually hung out during lunch if they were not in the cafeteria. You scanned the outdoor tables, the parking lot, the steps to the main door -- and then almost too easily, you saw him. 

Sunghoon couldn’t even attempt to act normal with you after that. He didn’t know how. Everything he thought was normal was apparently all in his head. He beat you on the next language arts exam but it didn’t even feel the same knowing you didn’t actually care. What was the point of bragging or rubbing it in your face if competition was never your motive? It all felt so useless now. 

After the way your last conversation ended, he knew he needed to apologize. The thought itself repulsed him. He never apologized. But he completely blew up at you for something that wasn’t even your fault. Why should he be mad that you didn’t care?

Although he wanted to, he couldn’t. Before, your conversations had been full of bickering and arguments -- what he had thought to be part of a game. And now with the game not even being real, there was no conversation to be had. He hadn’t talked to you in days. You had made attempts to lighten the mood but it felt fake, like you were just trying to make him feel better. Now that neither of you were talking, it felt like his opportunity to apologize was gone. 

Whenever he would talk to Heeseung about it, Heeseung would just say that he needed to suck it up and talk to you, that it wasn’t that big of a deal and asking to talk wouldn’t be as weird as he thinks. But Sunghoon couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

On the slightly brighter side, his dad seemed to let up a little now that Sunghoon had been staying back at home. Some of the past regard he had felt towards his father was gone since he had stopped caring what his father thought, but he still respected him enough to go to tutoring, eat dinner together in awkward silence, let him reprimand him over “bad” grades. Even if he had stopped caring, he still at least needed to pretend. After a while, he felt like he had adjusted to this new “way of life.” That was until you were absent in calc.  

It was the first period of the day and he had it with you. Your desk was slightly in front of his and to the right. Except today you weren’t there. He told himself that it didn’t matter, and yet the entire class period he felt his eyes drifting to your empty seat constantly. Any time he would start to daydream, he would wake up and find himself staring at where you should be. Even in the next class, his mind would keep going back to you. This was stupid. He needed to apologize and get rid of whatever guilt he was feeling so he could stop thinking about you. 

On his way to third period, he recognized a familiar laugh and turned around, more quickly than he would have liked. He spotted you almost instantly, hanging out by Jake’s locker with Sunoo and Yoona. The confusion he felt was replaced with guilt almost instantaneously. Had you skipped calc so you didn’t have to be in the same class with him? 

Almost as fast as he had stopped to look at you, he started walking away again. It wasn’t like you to skip class. And if it was because of him, he needed to fix it. 

You approached him slowly. He leaned against the bike rack. This area was a little bit hidden from the rest of the school yard and you figured he had probably picked this spot intentionally. His notorious hoodie pulled over his uniform and halfway over his head even though it wasn’t cold. He was kicking at the ground with the toe of his shoe and his hands were shoved in the pouch of his hoodie. He looked very much unbothered, like he wasn’t single handedly responsible for the very confusing emotional roller coaster he had put you on for the last week. 

He looked up when he heard you. 

“Hey,” he said.

You stopped a few steps away, hugging your arms around you for emotional support. “Hey.”

“Didn’t think you’d actually show,” he said after a moment of silence. 

You swayed a little on your feet. “You asked me to.”

He nodded a little at the space beside him. “You don’t have to stand like I’m about to attack you.”

“Well you never know…” you said it quietly enough that you don’t think he heard it. You stepped closer anyway, leaning next to him. 

There was another pause. 

Then he said, “I wasn’t going to text you.” 

You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you. You didn’t say anything. 

“But then you weren’t in class this morning.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, your pulse felt like it was about to burst through your skin. “I had a dentist appointment.”

“Oh,” he said too. “Didn’t miss much. It was boring.”

It was a little weird to be doing this small-talk thing with him. It was completely new territory for the both of you. 

“That’s what happens when I’m not there to make class better.” Maybe a joke would make this less tense.

“I wouldn’t say better,” he spoke carefully. “Derail, maybe.”

Your heart did an involuntary flip. Just a little. 

He was teasing you back. A thread in the knot the two of you tied was tugging loose. 

“So is this the part where we start insulting each other again, or…”

He took his hands from out of his pocket and gripped the bar of the bike rack behind you guys, exhaling hard through his nose. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

You didn’t hide the fact that you were looking at him. You weren’t satisfied with that as an answer. 

“I just-” he started, then shut his mouth up again. He shook his head, half laughing at himself and looked up at the sky. “God, this is so stupid.”

“It’s not,” you said, feeling like now would probably be a good time for you to apologize. You started mentally preparing. 

Your words pulled his eyes back to yours. You couldn’t read whatever expression dressed his face, and he looked away again before you could even try. 

“I’m not gonna cry or whatever, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

What is this guy even talking about? “I wasn’t…?”

“You looked like you were expecting something.”

“I wasn’t.”

He made it weird again. 

“Look,” you said, taking matters into your own hands and redirecting the conversation. “I need to say sorry. I didn’t mean what I said, okay? In the lab.”

“I know,” he said quickly. A little too quickly. “I’m… not mad. About what you said.”

“You were.”

“Yeah, I was,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. About how I reacted. I wasn’t even really mad at you. I think. I mean, I was, but not in the way I usually am? I don’t know. I just- I got weird about it.”

You let him stumble through it. It felt wrong to interrupt. This version of Sunghoon -- unsure, flushed, trying -- was a lot different from the boy who’d spent years rolling his eyes every time you raised your hand in class.

“I think it just hit a nerve,” he finally said. “The thing you said. And I know you didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I just—reacted.”

“I didn’t know it would get to you like that. I’m sorry.”

His jaw was tight and his shoulders were tense, like he was holding back words he didn’t know how to say. 

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“I know,” he said, almost begrudgingly. “I just didn’t like that you got to me.”

Your eyes met again and this time you saw it. Vulnerability. 

You didn’t mean to say the next thing, but it sort of slipped out. “Were you mad because I hit a nerve, or because it was me who hit it?”

Holy shit, Y/N. Who did you think you were?

He blinked. That caught him off guard. His head snapped up a little too quickly, and his mouth opened. Then shut. Then opened again. 

“I don’t-” he started. Then stopped. “I don’t know. Both..?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s not very clear.”

“I’m not very clear,” he muttered. 

Another silence fell over the two of you. But this one felt different. Like the moment was heavier than either of you knew how to hold. You were starting not to like the silence. 

“So.. what now?”

He looked back down at the ground. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“What do you want me to say?” he snapped, his tone was sharp, but the edge wasn’t quite real. It sounded like a shield. “That we’re friends now? Should we team up and make friendship bracelets?”

You turned towards him, no longer leaning against the bar so he could see your annoyance bubbling up. You recognized he only snapped like that because he was getting nervous, but you also didn’t care. He invited you to talk about ignoring you for almost a week but now that you’re here trying to fix things, he still wants to be snappy.  “I want you to stop acting like you don’t care when you obviously do.”

“Yeah?” He pushed off the railing to stand fully in front of you. “Well maybe I don’t know how to do that.”

The words were bitter and you saw how he was regretting everything the second they left his mouth. His expression cracked -- just for a second -- in a wince. You knew that he was being defensive, but you also didn’t know what to do with that. 

You just nodded. “Okay.”

He hesitated. “...Okay?”

Then the bell rang in the distance, jolting you both back. 

He shoved his hands back into his pockets and stepped back in withdrawal. “You’re gonna be late.”

“You too.”

You met his eyes with equal hesitation. It felt like there was so much left unsaid it didn’t seem right to leave. 

“Can we maybe talk later?” you asked quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. “After school?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

You nodded and turned away. As you walked back inside, you realized with an almost sinking despair that your heart wasn’t hammering out of panic or annoyance anymore. It was hammering because of him. 

You were mad at him. Not because he got pissed at you in the lab or because he was rude even when he was trying to apologize, but because he wasn’t leaving your head. Throughout the rest of the day, your mind was preoccupied with him. In the quiet moments between classes, while pretending to take notes, in the hallway when someone walked passed you wearing a similar hoodie as him -- all you could think about with Sunghoon

You kept replaying that look on his face when he said it. “Maybe I don’t know how to do that.” And the way his voice cracked just slightly. The way he looked like he wanted to take it back as soon as it left his mouth. 

It looped. Over and over. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about how stupidly complicated things had gotten. It used to be simple: two people who didn’t like each other, academically annoying each other into oblivion. That was the unspoken deal. It made sense. 

This didn’t.You were not supposed to be anxious to talk to him again or excited to hear his voice and know that he was talking to you. Snap out of it. 

It was simultaneously agreed upon that you would meet up at the library. You were there before him, not wanting to admit that it was because you were looking forward to seeing him again. One on one. Having a conversation that was full of something other than insults. 

It was a Thursday, which meant that it was exactly one week after the lab showdown. But it also meant that you weren’t working today, leaving plenty of time for what you hoped to be a fruitful conversation between the two of you. 

There was a nook with beanbags and one of the corners of the library that you tended to gravitate towards whenever you weren’t on the job. It was usually where you would set up base with a pile of textbooks, going through notes for hours. You liked that no one else went to that corner, it was hidden behind some of the most uninteresting rows of books in the library after all, but now you were willingly bringing someone into that space. And not just any someone. Park Sunghoon. 

“You found me,” you said with a light manner when Sunghoon’s head peaked around one of the shelves.

“Took a minute,” he replied, looking down at you already sitting in one of the bean bags. “I don’t think I’ve ever been over here.”

“I think I’m the only reason it doesn’t collect dust,” you said honestly, gesturing to the open bean bag next to you. “Can you sit? You’re freakishly tall when I’m staring up at you like this.”

He obliged, lowering himself with a stiff awkwardness. “This is… weird,” he muttered finally, eyes flickering around at the dusty shelves. “Like we’re hiding or something.”

You smiled softly. “I guess we kind of are, huh?”

He didn’t smile back. “You’re the only person who would drag me to the least exciting part of the library.”

“I didn’t drag you anywhere. You willingly showed up, did you not?”

“Yeah, well. Guess I’m a bit of a masochist.”

You tilted your head at him. “For beanbags?”

“For y-” he paused himself, shoulders tensing immediately and he looked away, pretending to scan the spines of books across the aisle. 

“What?” you asked, not hearing him. 

“Nothing,” he grumbled and cleared his throat. 

You watched him for a second, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “So why did you come?”

He looked at you then, jaw tight, and it startled you how serious his eyes were. “Because you asked.”

The answer was so simple but it stopped your breath for a second. 

His words were followed by silence until you could come up with a response of your own. 

“Regretting it already?” you asked lightly, but your voice held a quiet thread of something else -- cautious hope, maybe. 

His fingers picked at the stitching of the bean bag and he wouldn’t quite look at you. “No. I just… I don’t really know what you want from me.”

You frowned. “I didn’t ask you to come here because I want something from you.”

“You asked if we could talk.”

“Yeah, so we could clear the air. Not so I could interrogate you or something.”

He looked properly annoyed for a second and you thought he might shoot back with something sharp. But instead, he slouched down even further into the beanbag and shook his head at himself. “I don’t know. I’m just-” he exhaled hard, words spilling out clumsily. “I’m not good at this.”

“Good at what?” you were genuinely confused. 

“Talk. Normally. Being…” he made a vague gesture between the two of you. “This.”

He didn’t seem to notice how much he’d just said, or if he did, he regretted it instantly because he pulled his hoodie further over his head and added, in a mumble, “God, this is stupid.”

You leaned your head back against the wall, entertained by his awkwardness. It was such a stark contrast to the snarky teenage boy you’d spent every day with. “You say that every time we talk when we’re not yelling.”

“Because it is stupid,” he said quietly, “that you’re putting up with this whole dick thing I’ve been doing.”

“I’m putting up with it because I care,” you said before you could stop yourself. You didn’t really even know what you meant by that.

His eyes darted to yours and he froze. You sat there staring at each other, not really sure what to say to each other until he looked back down at the ground again. 

“Well,” he whispered, “that’s inconvenient.”

You couldn’t help but laugh because somehow, that was the most Sunghoon response possible. His eyes widened, startled by the sound. 

“Sorry,” you said. “It’s just, you really don’t know how to take someone caring about you, do you?”

He shifted slightly. “It’s not exactly a skill I’ve had to use a lot.”

That shut you up for a second. It wasn’t said with self-pity, but the honesty made your chest tighten. 

“Well,” you said gently, “it’s not a hard skill to learn. You just.. let them.”

He looked over at you again. Longer this time. 

“You were a dick.”

He winced but you continued. 

“But so was I. And I guess… I don’t know. I don’t want us to stay stuck there, it’s uncomfortable. Do you?”

He didn’t answer right away. But he didn’t look away either. 

“No,” he said finally, voice low. “I don’t.”

The wall between you -- the sharp sarcasm, the forced indifference, the academic warfare -- wasn’t crumbling all at once. But there was a crack in it now and you both seemed to know it. 

“I didn’t like not talking to you,” his voice was soft. 

You stared, not sure you’d heard right. “What?”

His eyes darted anywhere but you. “I said…” he sighed, frustrated with himself. “I didn’t like not talking to you.”

You felt your heartbeat thrum in your ears. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Oh.”

“I didn’t either,” you admitted. 

His eyes flicked up with that, quick and searching, like he didn’t trust he’d heard you correctly. “Yeah?”

You shrugged, trying for nonchalance even though your palms were clammy. “You’re annoying but… I got used to you being there.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re really bad at compliments.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, but your voice had no ferocity in it at all.

For a long moment, you just sat there, side by side in the quiet nook. Not yelling, not competing. Just sitting. 

Finally he shifted, his knee bumping against yours, not on purpose, but he didn’t pull away either. “So… what are we even doing?” he asked, voice hesitant, almost shy. 

You blinked. “Right now?”

“Yeah,” his eyes flicked up to yours for the briefest second before darting away again. “This. Talking. Not fighting. Whatever it is.”

You swallowed. “I don’t know,” you admitted. 

There was more tentative conversation. Both of you got looser as time went on and you learned that you really did enjoy his company. 

“I need to move before I sink all the way into the beanbag,” Sunghoon cleared his throat and stood up. 

You followed him, stretching out your legs. “It’s a known hazard. I’ve lost two classmates that way.”

The ghost of a smirk echoed on his face. “Tragic.”

The two of you walked towards the end of the aisle, falling into step with each other. There was something strange about walking next to him and not trading jabs -- something quietly thrilling. 

“Where are we going?” you asked, mostly just to fill the air.

He shrugged. “Dunno. This is your library, not mine.”

“Shall I remind you that you were the one who wanted to walk around?”

You guys loitered around for a minute before rounding a corner and finding another deserted section covered in a thin layer of dust. 

He asked casually, “So do you always lure people into the back of the library with beanbags and emotional conversations? This seems to keep happening.”

You arched a brow, scanned the books in front of you. “Only the ones I want to emotionally traumatize.”

One book caught your attention and you plucked it from the shelf, blowing the dust off the cover and spine. 

“Ah,” he nodded, pretending to be thoughtful and coming up next to you to watch you examine the book. “The Art of Binding: From Spines to Covers.”

You laugh and he continues. 

“Of course. Romance, library edition.”

You flipped it open, skimming the diagrams with exaggerated concentration. “Apparently, it’s all about the tension you keep between the pages. 

He made a face. “That sounds a little… erotic for a tutorial on glue.”

You look up at him and deadpan. “Everything sounds erotic if you try hard enough.”

Sunghoon gazed down at you, surprised by the closeness of your face that you somehow didn’t seem to notice. He quickly withdrew, cheeks coloring before he could stop it. “Right. That’s not what I meant.”

You tilted your head, a grin tugging at your lips. “You sure? You’re the one blushing.”

“Am not,” he said instantly, but his hand shot up to the side of his face like he was checking for heat.

You leaned back against the shelf, still holding the book. “You’re totally blushing.”

“I’m not,” he insisted fervently, voice sharper. “It’s dusty in here.”

“Mm, yeah. Must be the… glue fumes,” you replied, holding up The Art of Binging like it was Exhibit A.

He rolled his eyes. “Remind me why I came here again?”

“Because I asked,” you replied, echoing his words from earlier, and suddenly the atmosphere dropped into something softer. You hadn’t meant to do that, but it did. 

His smile faltered, but not in a bad way. More like he was letting himself look at you for real now, no snark or sarcasm attached. “Yeah. You did.”

Your eyes dropped to the back of the book’s cover, mostly to give yourself something to do, but a certain line caught your eye. “Sunghoon, do you like tension?”

A series of emotions passed through his face as he was caught off guard and you giggled slightly. 

“It’s a question. On the back of the book.”

“T-that’s a weird question to put on a book,” he said, visibly trying to collect himself. 

You turned it so he could see for himself. Do you like tension? Discover how it feels to hold everything together.

“They really went for the drama,” you commented

He shrugged. “I mean, scientifically, they’re not wrong.” 

You looked at him again, suddenly intrigued to know the answer to his question. “So… do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Like tension?”

 The silence stretched on for just a beat too long as he stared back at you. You don’t know what you were waiting for or why you would even ask him the question again. The dust in the air felt like static, you weren’t sure if it was the heavy air or the boy in front of you that was making it suddenly hard to breathe. 

His voice came quiet. “I think I’m figuring that out.”

You didn’t respond, not a first. There was a pulse to the space between you now, not loud or obnoxious, but undeniably, painfully there. 

“I think…” he started, eyes scanning your face for a reaction you were trying not to give, “I don’t hate it.”

The air was too still, too quiet. You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly you were closer. Close enough that your breath caught and your eyes darted to his mouth before you could stop yourself. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him, the faint scent of his hoodie mingling with the musty library air. 

He hesitated.

You did too.

His eyes dropped again, to your lips, then back to your eyes, and lingered. Uncertain but wanting? You heart was beating in your ears, your fingers tightening around the spine of the book still clutched loosely in your hands. 

“Do you...” he started, but the words evaporated as soon as they hit the air.

You swallowed. The moment was there, trembling at the edge of becoming something, something neither of you were sure of. 

And then-

The sound of a book dropping somewhere nearby shattered the spell like glass. You both flinched. 

Sunghoon retreated immediately, hands going up to his hair to tousle it like it would help the electricity in the air. 

“What an informative book,” you said, voice higher than usual.

“Educational,” he agreed, clearing his throat. “So. Uh. So we… go back?”

You let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh, and nodded, closing the book and sliding it back into the shelf with shaky hands. 

And just like that, the moment passed. You turned down the aisle together, shoulders no longer brusher, conversation stalled. But even though nothing happened, everything suddenly felt different. 

And the worst part?

You knew he felt it too.

There was a pull in every interaction that you weren’t quite sure what to do with. You were no longer ignoring each other, but there was something different underlying everything. 

You wouldn’t ignore each other in the hallway, he would give a subtle nod of acknowledgement, which you returned. Sometimes -- no, always -- you would catch his eye walking into class, and sometimes you’d feel them linger a little too long on you even when you looked away. He would still brag about beating you, but there wasn’t underlying malice in his tone. It was lighter now, laced with something teasing. But instead of spitting a response, you could only come up with friendly fire. And sometimes, in quieter moments, when you were bent over a worksheet or pretending not to notice how close he was sitting during your philosophy project, he’s say something just a little too sincere. 

“You’re actually kind of smart,” he said once, after you completed a long conversion equation in chemistry. 

You glanced over, unimpressed at the surprise tone in his voice. “Is that your version of a compliment?”

He shrugged. “Well did you like it?”

“I guess there’s worse things to say.”

“Then yes, it was a compliment. You’re just a little bit smart.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. 

Things like that kept happening. 

You were in the school library, reaching for a book that you needed for your history project when a hand wrapped around its spine the same time yours did. 

“Excuse you?” you said to him. “I was here first.”

Sunghoon made a face but didn’t let go. “I need it for an assignment.”

“But I need it for a project. My need trumps yours.”

He did not let go. You narrowed your eyes as a warning before giving a swift kick to the back of his knee and making him collapse to the floor. 

“I suggest you stay out of my way next time,” you said, towering over him and holding the book up like it was a trophy. 

He just raised an eyebrow. “But you’d miss me if I did.”

You paused like you had something smart to say, but nothing came. “Uh huh, whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

Sunoo would relentlessly tell you to make a move, saying something along the lines of “The ball is in your court girl, shoot the fucking basket.” But you refused. Sunghoon was… well, you’re not really sure he was. He was more than an acquaintance, but you weren’t sure you could call him a friend either. 

“You talk about him a lot, you know.”

You froze, the fork you were holding was halfway to your mouth. “Who?”

He didn’t even dignify that with a response. Just gave you the look. The one that was telling you not to play dumb with him. 

You hummed and looked away, putting your food in your mouth. You had chosen to eat in the cafeteria today for a change of scenery. “I don’t talk about him that much.””

“Let’s review: in the last fifteen minutes, you’ve mentioned Sunghoon three times: once to complain about his perfect handwriting, one to quote something he said in chem like he was confucius, and once again to bring up that ridiculous ‘I’m not good at talking’ line that you can’t get over.”

Your cheeks betrayed you. “Okay, this is the one time I am thinking about him more than I should, sure. But it’s not like that.”

“Be so for real, you’re not fooling anyone. Least of all me.”

You swallowed hard and poked at your food. “You think I like him?”

“Um, yeah,” he said like it was obvious. 

That just wouldn’t make any sense. You hated him for years, and the only reason the two of you even started having less hostile interactions was because of a fight. And now that he wasn’t as bad as you thought, you were starting to enjoy his company more. Whatever happened in the library was just a spur of the moment thing that caught you both off guard but didn’t really mean anything. It was just another awkward conversation and interaction the two of you shared. 

“I think you’re overthinking it,” he added, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. 

“You’re being ridiculous. This whole thing is ridiculous frankly-”

“He’s behind you.”

Your eyes widened and your breathing stuttered, involuntarily turning around way too fast to look normal. And there he was, sat at one of the tables a couple feet away with Jay and Heeseung, laughing about something Jay was saying. His head tilted back slightly when he laughed and he ran his fingers through his hair every time he came back down to hear more. You watched his expressions change and your stomach tightened with a sinking feeling. Maybe Sunoo wasn’t completely wrong? 

You had to tear your eyes away, stabbing at your lunch tray like it had done something to you and Sunoo smirked without even looking up. “Thought so.”

The day had finally come where you were to present your philosophy presentation and you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. It was a mutual decision among the group to sign up as the second presenters of the class, but as the first group’s PowerPoint came to an end, you were regretting the decision. 

“We got this guys!” Yeji turned around in her seat to offer encouragement to you and Sunghoon. Lia, beside her, gave you guys a quick smile and thumbs up. 

You took a deep breath to steady your nerves when the teacher called your names. Sunghoon gave you a quick glance whispered, “Don’t fuck up.” Yeah, that was totally not helping. 

You stood up with the rest of the group and made your way to the front of the classroom, taking the PowerPoint remote from the teacher and taking center stage like you guys had planned. 

“Alright” you started, voice steady. “Our group represents the stance that the function of X is Y when X doing Y would help satisfy a desire.”

Sunghoon stepped up beside you, continuing without missing a beat. “We’re arguing that desire, not duty or logic, is what gives something its purpose. We’re backing this with a combination of Hume’s philosophy and modern case study involving consumer behavior.”

You clicked the next slide and Yeji chimed in to lead the discussion into the first example and objection to this theory. As the group fell into rhythm, you couldn’t help but smile. The discussion points flowed easily, everybody was doing a good job at articulating the slides, and the class seemed engaged. 

Out of habit, you kicked your feet around as you waited for the time to present to the next argument of discussion, failing to realize that one of the computer’s cords was trailing the floor behind you. Your heel hit it on the way down and you tilted backwards, barely even stumbling and preparing to correct yourself when you felt a hand on your lower back and looked up. 

And there he was, face not even that close to yours but close enough that he was all you could see. His hand stayed firmly, instinctively on your back to steady you. His eyes flicked to yours, wide at first like he hadn’t meant to grab you, but then narrowed slightly when he saw you looking back at him. You felt caught, like you shouldn’t be staring at him, but the air had gone from your lungs and you weren’t sure what else to do. It was the same feeling you had felt in the library, the feeling of panic,, but something charged?

“You good?” he asked, voice low enough that only you could hear. 

You nodded, heart thudding a little harder than it should have been. “Yeah. Just- cord.”

He let out a short breath of amusement, but didn’t say anything else. There was one more suspended second of your eyes unwavering from each others before he dropped his hand and stepped back beside you like nothing had happened. The whole interaction only lasted about 5 seconds, but that was more than enough time for your pulse to quicken to the point of breaking through your wrist. 

You clicked to the next slide, not missing the cue and presented the next point. Continuing as if uninterrupted. 

Then came the discussion portion, a Q&A from the class. Someone asked a question that was argumentative, and before you could respond, Sunghoon stepped in. 

“She’s not saying desire justifies any behavior,” he clarified, glancing your way for a half-second. “Only that desire defines function -- value. It’s about perception, not morality.”

You blinked. Not because he was wrong, but because he had jumped in to clarify your previously made point. For once, not competing, not correcting, just… backing you up. 

Your gaze found his silhouette again but he was already facing forward like it was nothing. Your body felt weird. Warm, even. 

Maybe it was nothing. 

Or maybe, Sunoo could’ve been just a little right. God, he was going to be insufferable. 

It was a Tuesday afternoon after school, and naturally you found yourself in your favorite nook, your hidden beanbag lair. It truly was one of the most abandoned places of the library, but that only added to its charm. You had skipped out on your study books today and instead decided to watch a movie, but not just any movie -- 10 Things I Hate about You. Absolute cinema. You were lounged sideways on the beanbag with your computer in front of you on the floor. Even though there wasn’t anyone around, you still wore your earbuds in case the movie ended up getting loud. You were only 15 minutes in when he showed up. 

He didn’t say anything at first, just plopped down in the beanbag next to you and pulled out a book. Confused, you paused the movie and sat up to look at him. 

“What are you doing?”

He glanced at you from over the pages. “I was at one of those study tables when you walked in and passed me and I thought I knew where you were going.”

That didn’t really answer your question. 

“I figured you didn’t see me,” he added, once again, not answering the question. 

“So you just… followed me?” 

He shrugged, not looking up from the book again. “You make it sound creepy.”

“That’s because it is,” you said, voice lacking any bite. 

Another shrug. “I’ve been here before.”

“Once. With me.”

“Still counts.”

You stared at him a second longer before flopping back down into the beanbag. “Whatever. Don’t distract me.”

“I’m literally not talking,” he said, but you saw the corners of his mouth twitch from the reflection of your laptop screen. 

You hit play, but now you were hyper-aware of the boy sitting next to you. Focusing on the movie proved to be difficult when you could feel his presence next to you like a current. A couple more minutes passed, you lay there watching the screen, occasionally glancing at him in the reflection, and he sat there next to you, engrossed in the book in his lap. Until he leaned a little to the side to peak at your screen. 

“Is this that one movie?” he asked, mid-scene, uninvited. 

You paused the movie again. “Seriously? You’re ruining the vibe.” You liked that he was talking to you. 

“He sings on the bleachers right?”

“You’ve seen it?”

He nodded and put his book on the ground. “My sister made me watch it once. It wasn’t bad.”

You looked at him inquisitively. “So you liked it.”

“I didn’t hate it.”

“In guy language, that means you cried.”

He laughed, “Bold assumption.”

Your eyes flickered to the book he had put down before finding him again. “Did you want to watch it with me?”

“You don’t mind?”

‘No.”

He copied your position, curling up on his side to see the screen. You had taken an earbud out to share with him. It felt oddly comfortable to be with him like this. You each had your own beanbag, but you were watching a movie together, sharing headphones, and the top of your heads practically touching. You pressed play for the third time, but now it was absolutely impossible to pay attention to the plot -- not when you could see his face now perfectly in the screen of your laptop. You tried not to stare every five minutes, but failed. 

Everytime he shifted positions, your heads would touch and the movement sent a shiver down your spine. And every time a character did something he didn’t like, his voice was right there, low and close with muttered commentary. You thought it was cute.

When you scene shifted to the bleachers, you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at him again in the screen. He caught you this time, eyes flicking sideways. 

“Hi,” he said quietly. 

“Hi,” you responded with the same gentle tone. 

You thought that would be the end of the interaction but he sat up and looked at you, not through the screen this time, and waited for you to do the same. Again, you paused the movie and rose to meet him. 

“Y/N,” his voice was soft and you hummed. “Can I ask you something?”

You were both still lounged in the bean bags, bodies facing other, not fully laying down but both of you propped up on your elbows just looking at each other. You mentally estimated 10 inches between your faces. 

You could have sworn you saw his eyes flick down for the briefest moment before returning to yours. He looked nervous. 

“What?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He hesitated. “Do you…” it was almost like his voice died out and he needed to try again. “Do you ever feel like we’re not just… arguing anymore?”

You felt your heart stutter at the way he phrased it. “What do you mean?”

His mouth opened like he was searching for words, silent until he was able to find them. “I mean… I used to not be able to stand you. And now I’m here. Watching a movie and sharing headphones.” His fingers mindlessly toyed with the earbud cord like it was giving him comfort. “And it doesn’t feel… like… nothing?”

You stared at him, frozen, heart genuinely thumping so hard you thought it might break a rib. “No, it doesn’t feel like nothing.”

His breath left him in a shaky exhale, his eyes running circles around your face like he didn’t want to look at you but didn’t want to look away either. “So it’s not just me then?”

“It’s not just you.”

 For a second neither of you moved, both of you running mental laps trying to figure out what was going on. The air between you was electric -- not loud, not dramatic, just there. Present. 

“Sunghoon,” you said, and found his eyes. He was already watching you. “What.. What are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. He shifted a little closer. 8 inches. His arm brushed yours. “I’ve been trying to figure this out. What this is. Why I keep looking for you.”

“I don’t think I hate you anymore,” you whispered. 

He was really bad at trying to hide a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hoped he didn’t hear you swallow.

“I don’t think I hate you either,” he said, almost out of breath. “But, I think that’s… kind of the problem.”

“Problem?”

He nodded slowly. It felt like he moved closer. Maybe 7 inches? “Yeah, because if I don’t hate you…” he trailed off and this time you know you saw his eyes flick down to your mouth. “Then I have to admit that there’s something else I feel when I’m around you.”

“Something else?”

He bit his lip like he was trying to choose his words carefully, and you know he saw you watch it happen. “Yeah, it’s confusing. Because it’s not like I can just switch it off.”

You nodded in understanding, you related a little bit too much to what he was saying. You’re not sure when, but his fingertips found yours. The contact was faint, almost like he wasn’t there. You watched him run his fingers down the length of your own and reciprocated by lightly playing with his rings. 

“Hey, Sunghoon?” You needed to build up courage. 

He looked at you but you knew if you wanted to actually be able to get your next words out you wouldn’t be able to look at him. 

“I think,” your voice cracked a little but you forced yourself to keep going, “I like you.”

The silence that followed felt endless. His fingers halted to a stop against yours. You risked a glance at him and found his eyes wide, lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe. 

“I don’t really know when or why it happened, but… but I think I do.”

“You..” he started, then shook his head, a quiet, incredulous laugh escaping him. “You can’t just say that.”

“I’m being serious,” you said, hating that you thought you might have to repeat yourself. 

You couldn’t read his gaze at all, and it scared you. It felt like minutes, hours ticked by with you just sitting vulnerable and waiting for him to tell you to fuck off or something. You think you’d rather have him say that than the weird emptiness that was filling the void right now. 

“I think I… I think I like you,” he finally said. His voice was way steadier than yours had been. When you didn’t say anything, he repeated himself. “Y/N, I think I like you, a lot.”

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you and you lay there dumbfounded. Your organs were hammering inside of you so hard that it hurt. “You’re not joking either?”

He shook his head immediately. “No, what? I wouldn’t-” his voice faltered and his eyes locked onto yours. “I wouldn’t do that -- not about this.”

Time felt frozen, even the dust particles were at a standstill. You stared at him, searching for any sign that this wasn’t real, but all you found was the same nervous, hopeful look that mirrored your own. He gave the smallest tug on your hand, barely anything at all, but enough to make you lean closer. 5 inches. 

“God, this is-” he started but you cut him off. 

“Stupid?”

“Crazy,” he murmured, almost to himself. 

He was even closer, you were dying, suffocating, being waterboarded with nothing but static and nerves. You could feel his breath ghosting your cheek, uneven and warm, and his fingers start to curl around your own, locking your hand in his. 

“Crazy,” he said again, quieter, if that was even possible, like he was trying to convince himself. He couldn’t look at you, eyes completely focused on your lips. 

His forehead brushed yours, you weren’t even sure if you were breathing anymore. 

“Y/N..” he breathed your name like it was both a warning and a question. Your eyes fluttered shut for a second. 

Your heart felt like it was clawing its way up your throat, every beat louder than the last. His forehead on yours was making you dizzy. His voice, his hands, his breath was creating goosebumps everywhere. Everywhere. 

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, unable to look at him, unsure what you should even say. 

He inhaled sharply, like he was trying to swallow a thousand words at once, and his voice came out rougher than you’d ever heard it. “I want you.”

His words ignited something in you like it was gasoline. Your head hammered and you leaned in before you could second guess yourself, surrendering to the madness that was him. 0 inches.

The moment your lips touched, it was like a fuse finally catching flame, slow then all-consuming. He groaned immediately, the hand not holding yours sliding to your jaw and pulling you closer. The kiss was by no means perfect -- it was rushed like it was everything the two of you had been holding back and still didn’t know what to say. 

He made another noise softly into your mouth, low and involuntary, and it made your stomach twist. His hand moved from your jaw to the back of your neck, somehow pulling you even closer. The sheer gravity of him holding you like that made your body weak. 

He pulled away just barely, just enough to breathe, but his forehead stayed pressed on yours, his hand still holding your face. 

“Tell me this isn’t a mistake,” he whispered, not pleading, but terrified.

“If it is,” you breathed, “then I don’t care.”

“I think I really, really like you…” your eyes met. “ What am I supposed to do with that?” 

“You can start with asking me out.” 

“Ask you out?” he repeated, his voice breaking somewhere between disbelief and a nervous laugh. His thumb mindlessly stroked your cheek, slow and uncertain.

You nodded, still close enough to feel his breath ghost against your lips. “That’s usually how this works, Sunghoon.”

Something shifted in his expression -- the panic and confusion that had been there previously melted into something almost boyish, shy. He exhaled a shaky laugh, dropping his gaze to your mouth for a second before looking back into your eyes. 

“And you’d actually say yes?”

You nodded and caught a glimpse of bashfulness flash in his eyes. 

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Then let me do it properly. 

He backed away slightly, just enough that he could see your whole face, flushed cheeks and all, and moved his hands to intertwine with both of yours. 

“Y/N,” he began, voice a little unsteady like he couldn’t believe what he was doing. “Will you go out with me?”

It wasn’t dramatic or rehearsed but it made your head spin. You smiled -- wide. 

“Yes,” you said, not even pretending to hesitate. 

He kissed you again, softer this time. Slower. Like he finally knew it was okay to want you and secure in knowing you weren’t going anywhere.

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