pooka!

❛ 𝓦𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒+𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. ❜ angst ⠀·⠀⠀swimmer!keonho x volleyball player!reader ⠀·⠀⠀non-idol!au ⠀·⠀⠀ right person, never the right time

❛ 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄. ❜ a short old wip to commemorate blue lips mv release today 🥹 ⠀·⠀⠀sorry in advance guys i cried while proofreading this (it probably still has mistakes, idgaf i just want yall to cry with me) 😓 ⠀·⠀⠀also this is slightly different from my writing style but i’m tryna figure out what kind i like better :<⠀·⠀⠀and special mention to this bitch too @ramenoil fuck u

❛ 𝓦𝐂. ❜ 2.8k

the cruel thing wasn’t that you and keonho never dated. the cruel thing was that everyone around you assumed you would.

you were sixteen when it started—not officially, and definitely not dramatically. it just happened in the gymnasium after school—the heavy, echoing sound of a volleyball bouncing rhythmically against polished wood while a swimmer sat on the bleachers pretending to do his homework. his textbooks were always open to some random page he never actually turned, a mechanical pencil balanced between his fingers. he was just watching practice, and you were a girl who kept pretending not to notice how his eyes followed you across the court lines.

at first, he came because his practice ended earlier and his house was empty. then, he came because he liked the noise, or so he claimed when a teammate teased him. really, though? he came because you were there, but neither of you ever acknowledged the fact.

you’d look up after a particularly brutal drill, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist, and there he’d be—dark hoodie that was too big for him, a huge swimming bag dropped carelessly by his feet, hair still damp and curling slightly from the pool, with one earbud in. he was watching—always watching—not creepily or obviously, but just enough, like he wanted to memorize the exact way you played before the world got too loud.

one day, your coach went completely ballistic, screaming at everyone to run suicides and laps and dives and whatnot until the gym floor felt like it was spinning. you collapsed beside the bleachers afterwards, your face completely red, legs burning, and entirely convinced you were actually dying right there on the hardwood.

suddenly, a freezing cold bottle of sports drink appeared in front of your face, condensation dripping onto your kneepads.

you looked up, blinking through the sweat. keonho, the boy whose presence you’d grown accustomed to, stood in front of you.

“you looked like you were about to pass out,” he said, his mouth twitching slightly into that stupid, affectionate smile.

“i wasn’t,” you defended, your voice sounding breathless and pathetic.

“you were.”

“i wasn’t.”

“you literally couldn’t stand two seconds ago.”

“that’s unrelated,” you rolled your eyes, snatching the bottle from his hand.

he laughed properly this time, head tipping back slightly, a low, genuine sound that usually got lost in the rafters of the noisy gym. you hated that laugh—you hated it because every time you heard it, something inside your chest shifted, and it made you feel completely defenseless.

after that, it became routine. it was just an unwritten rule between you—he’d bring blue sports drinks, you’d dig through his bag to steal his chocolate snacks. he’d carry your knee caps when you forgot them under the bench, and you’d send frantic spam texts reminding him to actually eat a real meal after his morning swim meets.

small things. tiny things. things that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and yet meant absolutely everything to you.

nobody confessed, and nobody asked anyone out. you were young, you had practice tomorrow, and you had games next week. there was always time… or so you thought.

by seventeen, people knew. not officially, because there was nothing to put a label on, but everyone in your year knew.

“are you two dating?” your teammate asked during break, leaning so far over your desk she was practically sitting on your notebook.

“no,” you said, without looking up from your sketches.

“then why is he waiting outside class right now?”

“he isn’t.”

“he literally is. he’s leaning against the lockers. he looks ugly, by the way.”

your chest tightened. you glanced outside through the small glass pane of the classroom door, and keonho would immediately look away, rubbing the back of his neck, caught red-handed.

“no idea,” you muttered, turning a page to hide the flush creeping up your neck. your teammates never believed you, and honestly, neither did his.

at competitions, the gravity of it got worse because somehow, out of all the chaotic sports complexes in the city, you always found each other. different venues, completely different schedules, entirely different sports, yet somehow—always.

you’d lose a devastating match, and your phone would buzz against the bottom of your gym bag before you even finished crying in the locker room.

ahn 🩵: you played well

no greeting, no explanation. just that small message that made you feel just a little better.

after he finished a grueling freestyle race, you’d instantly send him a text.

you: you looked nervous before the start.

ahn 🩵: thanks?

you: it was cute.

you’d watch the screen. three dots. disappear. reappear. disappear again, as he probably choked on his water bottle on the other side of the city.

ahn 🩵: shut up.

you laughed into your palm for ten minutes straight in the back of the team bus.

it should’ve been simple—teenagers fall in love every day in cramped hallways and dusty gyms, the world keeps turning, and nobody notices. except by eighteen, the world had started noticing keonho.

it happened in a flash: national rankings, local television interviews, articles online, athletic sponsors, followers multiplying by the thousands overnight—people started calling him the future of the sport, the next big thing, a prodigy, a star. and the higher he rose into that suffocating atmosphere, the smaller his actual world became. every single hour of his day was scheduled by adults, every public appearance managed, every single word monitored by a PR team.

you noticed the cracks before anyone else did, because you noticed everything about him. you noticed the way he started looking entirely exhausted under the fluorescent school lights, the way his real smile appeared three seconds later and disappeared much faster, the way he checked his phone constantly like he was waiting for the leash to tighten, and the way he stopped laughing as loudly in the corridors.

one evening, you found him sitting completely alone on the concrete steps outside the swimming centre, still in his damp training clothes, staring blankly at nothing in particular.

“bad day?” you asked quietly, stepping into his line of sight and sitting beside him.

he jumped slightly, then smiled. the automatic kind. the fake kind. the polite, professional kind that never reached his eyes and was meant for reporters. “just tired.”

neither of you spoke after that. students passed in a blur of motion, streetlights flickered on one by one, and the city grew darker and colder around you. after a while, he leaned his head back against the cold brick wall and closed his eyes, his breathing heavy.

and for the first time in months, he looked his age. not a future olympic star, not an athlete, not a headline—just keonho, eighteen, exhausted, and human.

your chest hurt immediately—a sharp, ridiculous ache. it was unfair how much you loved him. you wanted to reach out, take his hand, and tell him he didn’t have to be extraordinary when he was with you, but you didn’t.

he wanted to ask you to stay right there beside him forever, to stop the clock from moving, but he didn’t.

that was the ultimate problem—you both kept choosing later, assuming the world would wait for you. it wasn’t going to.

you figured that out the hard way, because three months before graduation, the articles finally flooded the internet like a tidal wave: ahn keonho signs with major management company. olympic prospects. young swimming sensation rumored to be preparing overseas training.

you stared at your phone screen in the quiet of your bedroom, your heart sinking straight into your stomach, because he hadn’t told you a single word about it. not yet.

you convinced yourself he was just waiting for the right moment, that he would tell you after practice, but he didn’t—not because he wanted to hide it from you, but because the reality of it made every conversation feel impossible.

how do you tell the girl who knows your real laugh that you’re moving across an ocean?

suddenly, the calendar bled out. there were only two weeks left, then one, then three short days, and the silence between you was growing heavier than the pool water.

the night before graduation, you found him in the school gym. it was empty, dark, and completely silent—the same place everything had started. he was sitting in your usual spot on the bleachers.

you sat cross-legged beside him. for a long time, neither of you spoke.

“you’re leaving.” it wasn’t a question.

he nodded. “yeah.”

you stared ahead at the court. “okay.”

it was a pathetic, devastating word, because what you actually wanted to say was ’don’t go’, and what he wanted to say was ’come with me’, but neither happened.

“i watched your first practice here,” he said quietly into the dark.

you laughed softly. “that sounds creepy.”

“it probably was.”

“definitely was.”

he smiled, looking out at the court. “you were terrible.”

your jaw dropped. “i was not!”

“you missed, like, seven serves.”

“it was one serve.”

“it was seven.”

“it was one!”

the argument felt familiar, comfortable, and warm—the kind of conversation you only have with someone who matters, someone you’ve loved for years, and someone you’re about to lose.

the realization hit both of you at the same time. the laughter faded, and the heavy silence returned while rain began tapping against the windows outside.

keonho swallowed. you noticed, because you always noticed. his hand was resting on the bleacher between you, and your hand was only inches away—just inches. your skin practically buzzed from the proximity, the heat of him right there, but it was a distance neither of you crossed.

“you’ll do well,” his voice was incredibly quiet, almost swallowed by the sound of the storm outside.

“so will you.”

another pause.

“i’m going to miss watching your games,” he admitted.

you looked down at your knees, blinking rapidly because if you looked at him now, you might cry. “i’m going to miss your stupid texts.”

a laugh escaped him, small and broken. “those were good texts.”

“they were terrible.”

“they were excellent, because they made you laugh.”

the rain grew louder, but neither of you moved. neither of you left, and neither of you confessed, because somehow a confession felt too small for what existed between you.

love wasn’t the problem; you were already there. the problem was timing, distance, fame, and the entire world standing between two teenagers.

eventually, he stood up. his joints popped slightly in the quiet gym, a harsh, grounding sound that meant time was up. you stood too, and the gym suddenly felt enormous—too much space, too much air, too much ending.

he looked at you—really looked at you, his pretty eyes hidden slightly under his bangs, as though trying to memorize every detail. and you realized, helplessly, that was exactly what he was doing—memorising the shape of your smile, the curve of your eyes, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous. everything.

he reached out, his hand hovering for a fraction of a second like he might actually touch your cheek, trace the line of your jaw, do something. your breath hitched. but his fingers just twitched, dropping back to his side as he clenched his fist into his pocket.

“good luck,” your voice cracked, small and pathetic.

he nodded once, his throat bobbing as he swallowed down whatever else he wanted to say. “you too.”

then he turned and left.

he didn’t look back. you watched his back—the broad slope of his shoulders under his dark hoodie, the heavy swing of his swimming bag—as he walked toward the double doors. the click of the latch echoed like a gunshot in the empty space. and then he was gone.

just like that. no confession, no kiss, no dramatic movie ending. just a boy walking out of a gym, and a girl left standing there, looking at the empty doorway like he was still something extraordinary.

you hated it—you hated him. you loved him so much.

years passed, and the world outside that gym caught fire. your volleyball career exploded, but his swimming career became an absolute monolith.

by nineteen, keonho wasn’t just a boy who smelled like chlorine anymore; he was a brand. he was a national asset.

the change was dizzying to watch from a distance. suddenly, you couldn’t walk into a convenience store without seeing his face plastered over billboard advertisements for luxury watches, sports drinks, and skincare lines. he had stylists who tamed his messy hair that you loved, managers who curated his public captions, and media trainers who taught him exactly how to smile for the flashing cameras without actually revealing anything at all. you realised you hadn’t seen him actually smile for years now.

his world became hyper-curated, clinical, and completely suffocating. every interview was a rehearsed script. “i’m just focusing on the upcoming trials,” he’d say into a cluster of microphones, his eyes blank and polite. “i owe everything to my coaches and the fans.”

you hated those interviews. you hated them because his smile appeared too late and disappeared the moment the camera panned away. you knew the exact cadence of his real laugh—the raw, head-tipping-back kind that made you laugh too—and you never heard it on television. not once. never after high school ended.

sometimes journalists asked him about high school memories, trying to find a human angle for their articles. he’d mention volleyball—only volleyball, every single time. “there was a great energy in the school sports department,” he’d tell a reporter, keeping his voice perfectly level. “the volleyball team trained right next to us. it kept me motivated.” the internet went wild trying to decode it. rumors flew quickly across forums—was he dating a volleyball player? did he have a secret first love? but he never dropped a name, never gave them a single crumb to follow. people never understood why he was so fiercely protective of that one specific, mundane detail of his youth.

neither of you explained.

at twenty-three, you sat cross-legged on a hotel bed halfway across the world, your laptop screen illuminating the dark room. your own team had a major match the next day, but you were wide awake, watching him stand on an international podium.

the arena was deafening, and you could hear it thrugh the screen itself. thousands of people were screaming his name, waving banners with his face on them, camera flashes exploding like miniature stars in the arena.

he had a gold medal heavy around his neck, flowers in his arms, and the entire world looking at him with absolute adoration. and all you could think, your chest aching immediately with a ridiculous, familiar pain, was that he was still biting the inside of his cheek. right there on global television, surrounded by endless applause, his jaw was tight, his teeth catching the inner lining of his mouth.

he was terrified and exhausted. and some habits never changed.

that same night, oceans away, keonho sat in the back of a sleek black car, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows. his phone buzzed in his palm; not with a text, but with a google alert—an article about your team winning a major championship.

there was a photo attached: your hair was messy from practice, your face flushed, a heavy trophy raised high above your head as you laughed with your teammates. you looked pretty when you were tired… which was completely unfair.

he stared at the screen for a long time as the driver silently navigated midnight traffic.

his thumb hovered over the keyboard, ’congratulations’: fifteen simple letters. he typed it out. his thumb shook slightly above the send button. but then his screen flashed with a notification from his head manager, reminding him of a 6:00 AM press conference and a commercial shoot. the corporate machine waiting to swallow him whole the second the sun came up.

he looked back at your photo. you looked so bright, so grounded, so entirely untouched by the artificial gold cage he lived in.

he deleted the text.

he never sent it, not because he didn’t want to, but because he wasn’t sure if reopening that door would save him—or completely destroy the one pure, quiet thing he had left.years later, people would say ahn keonho had everything—fame, success, medals, recognition. and maybe they were right. but sometimes, late at night, after the endless applause died down and the managers left him alone in an empty luxury apartment, he’d remember a nearly empty school gym. a girl laughing beside him, pen ink smudged against her hand, and a distance of just a few inches that he had been too afraid to cross.

he’d wonder, for the rest of his life, whether the greatest thing he ever lost was never actually his to lose. while somewhere else in the world, sitting in the quiet of your own room, you’d wonder the exact same thing.

⌣ ﹒ ୨ৎ ﹕an. hey so 😂😂😂😂😂 i cried. like a fucking baby. ⠀·⠀⠀also this reminded me 2521 sb i want to cry all over again 😁

⌣ ﹒ ୨ৎ ﹕tl. @jjuhyeons @miisoluvsdeer @its-vante @angelyseo @sailuvsu @sevvycoer @chbq2 @miseulsoup @bananabread785 @sstrawbxrry @pbananalover @griinspire @lcvehyeon @stxrrymarsz @ilovegojosatoru13 @lunaryoongie @aphantassia @teacuplps @marsgirltyshi @qngelical @thesvxntyb @mxddi3-the-mnm-lover @nic-andhisfics @yatta-exe @sw4gprinc3ss @casszzzii @mareliio @whitefang1919 @hollyoongs @haezki @enhaha94 @lurvno @mercilessasylumoracle @mershyjershy @eunjjx @one-chance-pls @r0ckst4rjk @letterstohyeon @yaksokhay @rixieisfreaky @simpqueen2025 @hiitzstar @sese-blurbs

The irony was that your families could barely tolerate one another.

They played polite well enough during pureblood gatherings, all sharp smiles and expensive robes and poisoned compliments hidden beneath crystal glasses. But beneath the carefully maintained civility lay years of rivalry neither side ever bothered to truly conceal.

Still, neither family could exactly complain.

After years of relentless pestering about finding a “suitable” partner, the two of you had solved the problem yourselves.

No unbearable introductions arranged by your parents. No carefully selected heirs from respectable houses being paraded in front of you at dinners. And, most importantly, no risk of either of you ending up with what your mother so delicately referred to as ‘one of those horrid half-bloods polluting wizarding society’.

The arrangement had happened late one evening in the library.

You still remembered the way Juhoon had slid into the seat across from you without invitation, expression unreadable as always. The Slytherin prefect pin gleamed faintly against the dim candlelight.

“You’ve been avoiding your mother’s letters,” he had said plainly.

You glanced up from your book. “And you know this because?”

“She complained to mine.”

Of course she had.

You let out a quiet sigh, shutting your book with more force than necessary. “If this is another conversation about suitable suitors, I might actually throw myself into the Black Lake.”

To your surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Then, after a brief pause, he said, “Date me.”

You could only stare at him, the gears shifting as your brain tried to process his words. “What?”

“Pretend to,” Juhoon corrected smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “People already think we’re together. It would solve the problem.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately, suspicious. “And what exactly do you gain from this?”

“My parents stop introducing me to insufferable pureblood daughters every holiday.”

“That bad?”

“One of them cried because I didn’t compliment her dress.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself.

Juhoon continued, calm and composed as though he were discussing homework rather than proposing an entirely fabricated relationship. “We keep appearances up around our families. Attend events together. Act convincing enough that they stop interfering in our lives.” His gaze flickered toward you then, steady and sharp. “In return, they leave us alone.”

It was practical and honestly far less miserable than enduring another year of your parents’ endless matchmaking.

So you agreed, and perhaps that had been your first mistake because the lie came far too easily.

The news spread through Hogwarts within days. Apparently, you were officially off-limits now—though neither of you had exactly struggled with unwanted attention before, both considered far too intimidating for most students to approach in the first place. Still, people looked at the two of you differently afterward, as though the confirmation merely solidified something everyone had believed from the start.

Because in everyone else’s eyes, you and Juhoon fit together effortlessly enough that some couldn’t tell if your relationship was truly for the mere essence of maintaining pureblood expectations or something far more genuine.

Most assumed the latter because how could they not?

You and Juhoon moved around one another with a familiarity too natural to appear rehearsed, too instinctive to feel manufactured. None of how you interacted looked forced enough to be an arrangement crafted purely for convenience.

To many students, it looked painfully obvious: love disguised poorly beneath Slytherin composure and aristocratic restraint.

Even among the more cynical pureblood circles, whispers followed the two of you with something almost resembling admiration. A perfect match between two influential families, yes, but also something strangely sincere beneath all the politics and reputation.

Others found it romantic in an insufferable sort of way. The terrifyingly composed Slytherin heir who looked at no one the way he looked at you and the equally intimidating pureblood witch somehow capable of softening the sharpest edges of Juhoon’s cold demeanor simply by standing beside him.

Though there remained a smaller, far more rational group of students who viewed the situation differently.

They observed the timing too carefully. The convenience of the sudden announcement arriving perfectly alongside increasing pressure from both your families.

To them, it looked less like a love story and more like an agreement between two ambitious pureblood heirs intelligent enough to understand exactly what was expected of them.

And truthfully, they would have been correct, it was a strategic alliance meant for nothing more than for you both to finally get some peace in your life.

Still, no one dared voice such theories aloud.

Not when Juhoon’s gaze alone could silence most people where they stood. And certainly not when the two of you looked altogether too convincing beside one another for anyone to comfortably question it for long.

The two of you had established a set of simple, but necessary rules that night in the library as well.

No real feelings.

Public affection only when required.

Family events would be attended together, appearances maintained carefully enough to keep suspicion away. If either of you wished to end the arrangement, it ended immediately—no questions asked.

It was practical and controlled. Exactly the sort of agreement expected between two pureblood heirs raised on reputation before emotion.

At least, that was what you had told yourself.

The problem was that Juhoon had always been unfairly easy to exist beside even before the arrangement had been established

You had spent years at his side during endless pureblood functions and insufferable dinners, years exchanging sharp remarks across Slytherin tables and quiet conversations in hidden corners of the library. Being around him had never required effort and silence with him had never felt uncomfortable.

Pretending, it turned out, felt alarmingly natural, to the point where almost none of it felt staged anymore.

Not when he would pull a chair out for you before you even reached the table, or when his eyes would find yours across the Great Hall with quiet, terrifying ease. Nor when he looked at you like you were something worth protecting, and certainly not when you began forgetting there had ever been rules to begin with.

The reaction from Hogwarts had been almost insulting.

You had expected surprise, perhaps even outrage considering the nature of your families. At the very least, some degree of shock.

Instead, the majority of the school responded with an almost unbearable sense of satisfaction as though they had all collectively won a bet neither you nor Juhoon had known existed.

“Finally,” Jaehyun had drawled the morning after the rumors spread, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he slid into the seat across from the two of you at breakfast.

Mina looked equally smug. “You were honestly fooling no one.”

You nearly choked on your tea. Beside you, Juhoon remained perfectly composed, lazily stirring his coffee as though the attention surrounding your table did not exist. Which somehow only made the rumors worse.

The professors were no better. Slughorn, in particular, looked positively delighted by the arrangement.

In his eyes, the two of you were practically the embodiment of everything he adored: prestigious pureblood heirs, academically gifted Slytherins, socially influential students with families woven so deeply into wizarding society it existed beyond the ancient historical texts.

You suspected he had been waiting for this development longer than the rest of Hogwarts combined.

“Well, well,” Slughorn beamed during Potions one afternoon, eyes flickering between the two of you knowingly. “Young love among noble houses. How very classic.”

The silence that followed was immediate.

You stared at him in horror. To your right, Juhoon looked mildly appalled for perhaps half a second before his usual composure settled back into place.

Unfortunately, several students had witnessed it and that resulted in the teasing afterward being relentless. Not that either of you reacted strongly enough to discourage it.

That was the problem.

At first, maintaining the act required actual effort, though you had expected that much. The first few days were painfully awkward in ways neither of you anticipated. Every movement felt overly deliberate, every touch carefully calculated beneath the watchful eyes of Hogwarts.

Juhoon offering you his arm before entering the Great Hall, your hand resting lightly against his sleeve during pureblood gatherings, sitting together during meals, quiet conversations close enough to appear intimate.

It felt staged at first, like two people attempting to imitate a relationship they did not fully understand.

And then, somehow, it stopped feeling unnatural altogether. The shift happened so gradually neither of you noticed it immediately.

One day Juhoon was offering you his arm because people were watching and the next, he was doing it automatically without glancing around first.

You stopped choosing the seat beside him consciously. Your body simply carried you there out of habit now, settling comfortably into his presence before your mind caught up.

He began fixing your collar absentmindedly whenever it sat crooked, his fingers just grazing your throat as you maintained a straight face, though the goosebumps littering your skin almost gave you away.

You started stealing pieces of fruit from his plate during breakfast without asking.

Shared notes became shared textbooks, whispered conversations stretching late into the night within the Slytherin common room while green candlelight flickered against the dungeon walls.

And then there was the touching. Subtle enough to escape notice if one wasn’t looking carefully, yet somehow constant all the same.

Juhoon’s hand began to rest against the small of your back in crowded hallways and your knee started brushing his beneath library tables. 

None of it should have felt significant yet each touch lingered far longer in your mind than it ought to have. Perhaps because Juhoon was not naturally affectionate, especially with everyone else.

He tolerated very few people willingly, less so physical contact. Most students avoided standing too close to him altogether, intimidated by the sharp calmness he carried so effortlessly.

But with you, the distance between your bodies seemed to disappear more and more each day.

And the truly dangerous part was that neither of you seemed to notice anymore when you were pretending and when you were simply… being yourselves.

The realisation came slowly.

So slowly, in fact, that you hardly noticed it at all.

It settled quietly into the spaces between lingering glances and absentminded touches, weaving itself into your routine before either of you had the chance to stop it. Somewhere along the way, Juhoon had ceased to feel like a performance and instead become something constant, expected even.

You found him beside you in every corner of Hogwarts without needing to ask.

In the mornings at the Slytherin table, already pouring tea into your cup before you had even sat down, the steam curling softly between the two of you as though he had done it his entire life. During lessons, where his chair always seemed to end up angled subtly toward yours no matter where the professors placed you. Across from you in the library during late-night study sessions, silver rings tapping idly against the wooden table while he skimmed over your essays with quiet criticism.

“Your conclusion is weak,” he remarked one evening without looking up.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’ve said that for the past three of my essays.”

“Because it continues to be true.”

And then, not five minutes later, he slid a fresh piece of parchment toward you with several rewritten sentences already scrawled neatly across it.

Even outside of lessons, Juhoon simply… appeared.

Waiting outside classrooms between periods, one hand tucked into the pocket of his robes while groups of students parted around him instinctively. Falling into step beside you through the corridors without greeting, as though your company had long since become assumed. Occupying the seat beside yours in the common room before anyone else could take it.

There was no discussion or hesitation, only certainty.

And perhaps the most dangerous part was that he noticed things no one else ever bothered paying attention to.

He knew when you were irritated before you spoke, recognising the slight tightening in your expression long before anyone else caught on. Knew exactly which desserts you avoided in the Great Hall and quietly traded them off your plate whenever they appeared. Knew the difference between your genuine smile and the polite, practiced one reserved for pureblood gatherings.

Sometimes it felt as though Juhoon observed you too carefully. As though he had spent years memorising every version of you long before either of you called this a relationship.

It seemed almost instinctive, the sort built through diving to see more than what appeared at the surface.

You began noticing it everywhere once you allowed yourself to look.

He’d automatically shifted closer whenever conversations in the common room became too loud, subtle enough that no one else would recognise the gesture for what it was. His eyes searched for you first whenever he entered a room, immediately locating you within seconds as though it were unconscious now.

And Merlin, the staring.

You did not know when that had begun.

Perhaps he had always looked at you that way and you had simply never paid enough attention before.

Juhoon’s gaze had always been intense by nature—sharp, assessing, difficult for most people to hold comfortably. He looked at people as though dissecting them quietly in his mind, cool and unreadable in a way that made even older students nervous.

But with you, it was different. Softer, somehow. Not openly affectionate. Juhoon was not the sort for obvious displays of emotion.

Still, there were moments when you caught him looking at you from across the Great Hall or over the top of a book in the library, expression unreadable yet strangely focused, as though he had momentarily forgotten anyone else existed.

And every single time, your stomach betrayed you because Juhoon was composed by nature. Controlled down to the very way he spoke. Nothing about him was careless.

And yet, around you, cracks had begun appearing in that perfect restraint. Small, nearly invisible ones.

The subtle tightening of his jaw whenever another student lingered too close to you. The way his gaze darkened almost imperceptibly whenever someone flirted too openly. The instinctive way he would place a hand against your waist while guiding you through corridors that were not even vastly populated, fingers lingering just a second too long against the fabric of your robes.

Protective.

Possessive, perhaps.

Though you weren’t entirely sure you minded, and that alone should have terrified you. Instead, it settled warm beneath your ribs like a secret you were too afraid to name. And it only became worse after Potions.

Slughorn’s classroom smelled overwhelmingly sweet that morning, thick curls of shimmering steam spiraling upward from the cauldron positioned at the center of the room. Students leaned forward curiously as the potion glimmered beneath the candlelight, its surface shifting in pearlescent swirls.

“Amortentia,” Slughorn announced proudly, gesturing dramatically toward the cauldron. “The most powerful love potion in the world. Quite distinctive, of course. It smells different to each person according to what attracts them most.”

A chorus of amused reactions spread throughout the room almost immediately. Several students laughed whilst others leaned forward eagerly, excited to reveal their own.

You had barely paid attention until the scent reached you.

Rain against stone.

Cedarwood.

Mint.

Old parchment.

Your stomach dropped instantly because it smelled exactly like Juhoon.

Not vaguely similar or close enough to dismiss. It smelled undeniably, unmistakably like him—like the lingering scent left behind whenever he shrugged his robes over your shoulders after Quidditch practice, and sitting beside him in the library beneath flickering candlelight while rain battered softly against the dungeon windows.

Heat crawled painfully up your neck but you forced your expression to remain neutral, staring firmly ahead while panic curled violently in your chest.

Surely no one else noticed.

Slowly, carefully, you shifted your gaze downward toward your notes, pretending sudden fascination with your parchment.

Then silence settled beside you, the atmosphere surrounding the two of you growing far too heavy for you to ignore. Against your better judgment, you glanced sideways to find him already looking at you. And for the first time in as long as you had known him, Juhoon looked unsettled.

Only slightly.

A nearly invisible tension lingered in his expression before disappearing just as quickly, gone so fast you might have imagined it entirely had you not spent months learning the smallest shifts in his composure.

But you knew him too well now to miss it.

He had smelled something too.

Someone.

And judging by the way his gaze lingered on you afterward: thoughtful, quiet, almost unbearably intent, you had a terrible feeling you already knew who.

Neither of you spoke about it afterward, both far too emotionally inept to even consider attempting such a conversation. Instead, the two of you did what Slytherins did best: you avoided it completely. Painfully so.

The moment class ended, you gathered your things far too quickly before standing abruptly from your seat, your robe nearly getting caught on the table. Around the classroom, students continued laughing and teasing one another over the potion while Slughorn rambled enthusiastically about the “fascinating nature of adolescent attraction.”

You wanted to disappear into the Black Lake and never emerge again.

Juhoon, unfortunately, followed you out of the classroom almost immediately because that’s what he always did.

You could hear his footsteps behind you as you moved through the dungeon corridors, measured and unhurried in a way that somehow made your nervousness worse. He said nothing at first, merely falling into step beside you as naturally as breathing.

Usually, the silence between you was comfortable. Now it felt suffocating.

“You’re walking unusually fast,” Juhoon observed after several moments.

You kept your eyes fixed ahead. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

A pause passed between you. Then, quieter: “You’ve been avoiding looking at me since class ended.”

Heat crept instantly back into your face. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Hm.” The sound alone told you he didn’t believe a word of it.

You risked a glance toward him then, only to regret it immediately. Juhoon was already watching you, and it wasn’t casual, either. It was intent, like he was trying to solve something. It made your stomach twist painfully.

“You’re staring,” you muttered.

“And you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

Another pause.

“Hm.”

You hated when he did that.

The worst part was that Juhoon himself did not appear entirely unaffected either, no matter how composed he attempted to remain. His shoulders seemed slightly tenser than usual beneath his robes, jaw tightening faintly every few seconds like he was restraining thoughts he had no intention of voicing aloud.

Which, somehow, only confirmed your suspicions further.

Merlin. Juhoon had smelled you in the Amortentia potion.

You nearly walked directly into another student before a hand closed instantly around your wrist, pulling you smoothly out of the way before impact.

“Careful,” Juhoon murmured.

The touch burned far hotter than it should have. His fingers remained around your wrist for one second too long before releasing you, though whether he noticed that fact himself, you couldn’t tell.

Neither of you moved immediately afterward.

The corridor around you buzzed with distant conversation and footsteps, students brushing past without a second glance, yet the space between you suddenly felt strangely still.

Dangerously still.

Juhoon’s gaze dropped briefly toward your face, lingering there with unsettling focus, and for one reckless moment, you thought he might actually say something. Maybe ask or even acknowledge it.

Instead, he simply adjusted your cloak where it had slipped from your shoulder during your near collision, movements careful and composed despite the tension crackling quietly between the two of you.

Then he stepped back.

“There’s a Slytherin meeting tonight,” he said smoothly, as though neither of you were internally unraveling. “Don’t be late.”

And just like that, the moment vanished like any other time you had come close to branching further than just an arrangement.

Days passed as such, and you continued your… whatever it was you and Juhoon had become.

Not quite fake. Not entirely real. Something dangerously in between.

The awkwardness following the Amortentia incident never truly disappeared, though neither of you acknowledged it aloud. Instead, it settled quietly beneath your interactions, lingering within prolonged glances and near touches that suddenly felt far too intentional.

If Juhoon noticed the shift between you, he gave no indication of it. But afterward, he seemed even more attentive than before.

His hand found the small of your back far more often in the corridors, not that you had been keeping track though. His gaze lingered longer whenever you spoke. Sometimes, during late evenings in the common room, you would glance up from your book only to find him already watching you with that same unreadable expression that made your stomach twist painfully every single time.

It was unbearable.

Worse still, it was becoming impossible to tell where the act ended anymore.

Perhaps that was why the letter from your mother unsettled you as much as it did.

The envelope arrived during breakfast one icy December morning, bearing your family crest stamped neatly into dark green wax. You already knew it would be unpleasant before even opening it.

Across from you, Juhoon glanced up briefly from his tea as you broke the seal.

Your mother’s elegant handwriting greeted you immediately.

You and Juhoon are expected to attend the Rosier Winter Solstice Ball during holiday recess. Considering recent developments, your appearance together will be beneficial for both families.

Do try not to embarrass us.

You stared at the letter for several long moments before sighing deeply and handing it across the table.

Juhoon scanned the contents silently. “The Rosier ball,” he murmured.

You groaned softly. “I was hoping to avoid that this year.”

“So was I.”

That alone was enough to tell you exactly how insufferable the event would be.

The Rosier Winter Solstice Ball was infamous amongst pureblood society—less celebration and more political performance disguised beneath expensive robes and orchestral music. Old families gathered beneath enchanted chandeliers to exchange alliances, gossip, and carefully concealed threats while pretending it was all perfectly civilized.

Children of noble houses were displayed like prized assets.

And now, apparently, the two of you would be attending together officially.

Wonderful.

“You realise everyone’s going to stare at us the entire night,” you muttered.

Juhoon folded the letter neatly before setting it back down beside your plate. “They already do.”

Annoyingly enough, he wasn’t wrong.

The Rosier estate looked almost unreal beneath winter snowfall.

Ancient stone walls towered against the dark sky, every window glowing with warm golden light while enchanted snow drifted elegantly through the air without ever touching the ground. Inside, the manor glittered beneath towering crystal chandeliers, their reflections dancing across polished marble floors and gold-trimmed walls lined with moving portraits older than Hogwarts itself.

The ballroom itself was already crowded upon arrival.

Pureblood heirs draped in expensive fabrics moved gracefully through clusters of conversation while orchestral music echoed softly throughout the hall. Jewel-toned gowns shimmered beneath candlelight, dark tailored suits embroidered subtly with family crests and ancient runes.

Politics disguised as elegance.

Exactly as exhausting as you remembered.

The moment you entered beside Juhoon, attention shifted immediately.

Not openly, of course, pureblood society was far too practiced for something so crude. But you felt it all the same: eyes following the two of you across the ballroom, whispers murmured quietly behind crystal glasses as your arrival spread through the crowd.

Because this was the first time many of them had seen you together publicly since the announcement.

And Juhoon played the role far too well.

His hand settled against your waist almost instantly upon entering the ballroom, warm and steady through the fabric of your dress as he guided you smoothly through the crowd. The gesture appeared effortless, natural enough that no one would question it for a second, yet the touch lingered in your mind far longer than it should have.

You became painfully aware of him throughout the evening.

The way he pulled your chair out before you could sit during dinner, and he leaned down slightly whenever speaking near your ear, his voice low enough that no one else could overhear. Even how his fingers brushed absentmindedly against your own while passing you a drink.

Every action was perfectly measured. Perfectly convincing.

That should have reassured you.

Instead, it unsettled you more with every passing hour because Juhoon was terrifyingly good at acting like he adored you.

At one point during the evening, an older witch smiled knowingly as the two of you crossed the ballroom together. “You make a beautiful couple,” she remarked warmly and your polite smile nearly faltered.

Juhoon’s hand tightened subtly at your waist.

“Thank you,” he replied smoothly before you could answer. As though he meant it.

That haunted you for the remainder of the night.

Especially once the dancing began.

His hand rested against your waist while the other held yours carefully, guiding you effortlessly across the ballroom floor beneath glittering chandeliers and floating candlelight. Every movement felt controlled, elegant, practiced from years of aristocratic upbringing.

And all the while, people watched the two of you.

You could feel their attention constantly. Admiration, curiosity, approval for the perfect pureblood pair. Exactly what your families wanted.

The thought should have disgusted you, but your attention remained fixed on Juhoon.

His gaze never truly left your face while you danced and he instinctively guided you away whenever couples drifted too close. There was an almost protective way he carried himself beside you throughout the evening, calm and watchful like he was aware of everything happening around you at all times.

None of it felt forced or fake, and somewhere between his hand against your waist and the quiet sound of his voice near your ear, a dangerous thought began settling heavily into your chest.

How much of this was actually pretending anymore?

The thought lingered uncomfortably for the rest of the evening.

You tried to dismiss it. Tried to blame the atmosphere instead—the golden candlelight, the orchestral music swelling softly throughout the ballroom, the overwhelming intensity of old pureblood traditions wrapped so elegantly around the two of you.

But every time you convinced yourself you were overthinking things, Juhoon would do something small and devastating.

A witch from the Parkinson family attempted to pull you into conversation near the refreshments table, speaking animatedly about Ministry affairs while several older purebloods listened nearby. You barely managed a polite response before feeling Juhoon’s presence settle beside you once more.

He didn’t interrupt, he was never rude enough for that. But somehow the conversation ended less than a minute later regardless and his hand brushed lightly against your lower back as he guided you away through the crowd.

“You looked miserable,” he murmured.

You glanced sideways at him. “And you decided to rescue me?”

“You say that like it’s unusual.”

The response came so naturally that your steps faltered slightly before you recollected yourself.

At some point during the evening, your mother approached the two of you with a satisfied expression that immediately made you wary.

“You look lovely together,” she commented, gaze flickering approvingly between you and Juhoon. “People have been speaking very highly of your relationship tonight.”

You resisted the urge to grimace. Beside you, Juhoon remained flawlessly composed. “That was the intention,” he replied smoothly.

Your mother seemed pleased by the answer, though her attention lingered suspiciously on the hand resting against your waist before she eventually disappeared back into the crowd.

The moment she left, you exhaled quietly. “I think she’s planning our wedding already.”

Juhoon took a slow sip from his drink. “She wouldn’t be the only one.”

You nearly choked. He glanced at you then, one eyebrow lifting faintly as though amused by your reaction.

“You’re joking.”

“Mostly.”

That was not reassuring whatsoever.

The longer the evening continued, the more impossible Juhoon became to ignore. You noticed the way people reacted to him around you.

How conversations shifted whenever he stepped closer and other pureblood heirs kept a respectful distance without needing to be told. His eyes would follow you instinctively anytime someone else attempted to monopolize your attention for too long.

Protective. Always protective.

Though there was something sharper threaded beneath it tonight.

You first noticed it properly when Eunwoo Carrow approached you near the ballroom balcony.

Eunwoo was charming in the polished, aristocratic sort of way most pureblood sons were taught to be: handsome enough, socially graceful enough, and entirely too aware of both facts.

“Enjoying the evening?” He asked pleasantly, offering you a glass of champagne from a passing tray.

“Trying to,” you replied lightly.

Eunwoo smiled. “I must admit, your relationship came as quite the surprise.”

You hummed softly. “Did it?”

“To everyone else? Perhaps not.” His gaze flickered briefly across the ballroom before returning to you. “To Juhoon’s admirers, however, it was devastating news.”

You almost laughed. The idea of Juhoon inspiring admiration rather than fear within Hogwarts remained endlessly amusing.

Still, before you could respond, Eunwoo stepped slightly closer. Not enough to be improper, just enough to be noticed.

“You know,” he continued smoothly, “if things between you and Juhoon ever become… less serious, I’d be very interested in—”

A hand settled suddenly against the small of your back. Warm, steady and wholly possessive.

Juhoon.

You had not even seen him approach.

“Carrow,” Juhoon greeted calmly beside you and Eunwoo’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.

“Juhoon.”

There was no hostility in his tone, and that somehow made the tension worse.

Juhoon’s hand remained firmly against your waist as his gaze settled on Eunwoo with quiet composure. “I believe she was just about to join me for the next dance.”

You blinked. You had not been aware there was another dance but Eunwoo clearly recognised the dismissal for what it was. Still smiling faintly, he inclined his head. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep your partner.”

Then he left.

The moment he disappeared into the crowd, silence settled briefly between the two of you.

Juhoon’s hand had not moved. In fact, if anything, his fingers seemed to tighten slightly against your waist before relaxing again.

“You disappeared,” you said eventually, mostly because the tension had become unbearable otherwise.

“I was speaking with my father.”

“You looked thrilled.”

“I considered poisoning my drink halfway through the conversation.”

You laughed softly before you could stop yourself and the sound seemed to catch his attention immediately. Juhoon’s gaze shifted toward you then—fully toward you—and for one strange, suspended moment, the noise of the ballroom faded entirely into the background.

Your breath caught painfully in your throat.

Then his eyes flickered briefly toward the crowd behind you, expression cooling almost instantly. “Eunwoo was standing too close to you.”

The words startled you. Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it. Flat. Controlled

Jealous.

You stared at him.

Juhoon, meanwhile, seemed to realise only afterward what he had admitted aloud.

A strange flicker crossed his expression before his composure slid immediately back into place.

“He has a reputation,” he added smoothly as though that explained anything. As though your pulse had not just quickened violently at the implication hidden beneath his words.

Before you could respond, the orchestra began another slow waltz somewhere across the ballroom. Juhoon held your gaze for one lingering second before finally speaking once more. “Dance with me.”

It was not phrased like a question.

Juhoon was already extending his hand toward you, expression calm and unreadable beneath the golden glow of the chandeliers overhead. Around the two of you, couples began drifting back toward the center of the ballroom as the orchestra swelled into another slow waltz.

For a moment, you simply stared at him.

Then, against every sensible thought currently screaming through your mind, you placed your hand in his.

The ballroom blurred softly around you as Juhoon guided you back onto the dance floor, one hand settling once more against your waist while the other held yours with practiced ease. The movement between you felt almost instinctive now, frighteningly natural as he led you effortlessly through the crowd.

You hated how easily your body responded to him and how naturally you fit beside him.

The music echoed softly throughout the hall while candlelight flickered against polished marble floors, shadows dancing across expensive fabrics and glittering jewelry. Pureblood heirs moved elegantly around you beneath floating chandeliers, every step carefully perfected through years of aristocratic upbringing.

Yet somehow, despite the sheer number of people surrounding you, your attention remained painfully fixed on Juhoon alone and how his gaze lingered on your face with unnerving intensity every time you looked up.

“You’re staring again,” you murmured softly.

“Am I?”

“You know you are.”

A faint flicker of amusement crossed his expression. “And yet you continue letting me.”

Your heartbeat stumbled embarrassingly and you looked away immediately, but that only seemed to amuse him further.

You weren’t embarrassed merely because Juhoon was flirting, but because he did it so rarely that every small remark carried far too much weight.

Especially when directed at you.

For several moments, neither of you spoke again, you simply danced. The orchestra played softly around you while the rest of the ballroom faded into meaningless noise, your attention narrowing dangerously to the person standing impossibly close before you.

You became painfully aware of every tiny detail: the faint scent of cedarwood lingering against his clothes, the smooth fabric beneath your fingertips, the warmth of his hand through the layers of your clothing.

And perhaps worst of all was the look in his eyes, because Juhoon looked at you like someone trying very hard not to say something.

Your chest tightened painfully.

“You’re quiet,” he observed eventually.

“So are you.”

“I usually am.”

“That’s true.”

There was a brief lull between you as you attempted to avoid his eyes, it becoming far too overwhelming.

“You’ve been avoiding me since Potions.”

Your stomach dropped instantly. Of course he would notice that, Juhoon notices everything. “I have not.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly. “You walked into a suit of armor yesterday because you were too busy pretending not to look at me.”

Heat rushed immediately to your face. “That happened once.”

“You apologised to it.”

You wanted the floor to swallow you whole.

To your horror, the corner of Juhoon’s mouth twitched faintly upward.Not quite a smile, but worse. Fond amusement.

Juhoon was enjoying your embarrassment far too much for your liking.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“So I’ve been told.”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly and the sound seemed to affect him instantly. Something in his expression softened almost imperceptibly, the usual sharpness in his gaze easing for half a second before his composure returned.

But you saw it, and suddenly the air between you felt far too warm.

The dance slowed gradually as the music neared its end though neither of you moved apart immediately afterward. Juhoon’s hand remained against your waist, your own still resting lightly against his shoulder while the final notes echoed softly throughout the ballroom.

People continued moving around you yet the moment felt strangely isolated all the same. Dangerously intimate.

Then someone called Juhoon’s name from across the ballroom and the spell shattered instantly.

His expression cooled back into practiced neutrality as he glanced toward the source of the interruption: his father standing near a cluster of Ministry officials, already looking impatient.

You felt the shift immediately. The reminder of where you were. Who you were. What this arrangement was supposed to be.

Juhoon exhaled quietly through his nose before lowering his gaze back toward you. “I need to speak with him.”

“Go,” you replied, perhaps a little too quickly.

Something unreadable flickered across his expression. Then, slowly, his hand slipped from your waist and the absence of it felt far more noticeable than it should have.

“I’ll find you afterward,” he said, and before you could properly process the implication hidden within those words, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

You remained standing there for several moments after he left, pulse still uneven beneath your ribs.

Across the ballroom, people continued watching you. Whispering quietly behind jeweled glasses and polite smiles. A perfect pair, a future alliance, apureblood success story.

If only they knew.

Though, standing there beneath glittering chandeliers with the ghost of Juhoon’s touch still lingering against your waist, you were no longer entirely certain what the truth actually was anymore.

The ball ended late into the night.

Snow drifted softly outside the manor as guests gradually disappeared through the Floo network one by one, the grand ballroom slowly emptying of music and conversation. By the time you finally stepped outside onto the manor steps, exhaustion had settled heavily into your bones.

Cold winter air bit instantly against your skin.

Beside you, Juhoon adjusted his gloves silently before glancing toward you.

“You’re cold.”

“I’ll survive.”

“Hm.”

Before you could question the sound, he removed the heavy dark cloak draped over his shoulders and settled it carefully around yours.

Your breath caught slightly. “Juhoon—”

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re terrible at lying.”

The familiar scent of cedarwood and mint wrapped around you immediately beneath the warmth of the cloak, making your chest tighten painfully all over again.

Neither of you spoke for several moments afterward. Snow fell quietly around the two of you while golden light spilled from the manor windows behind you, soft orchestral music still faintly audible through the walls.

“You handled tonight well,” Juhoon finally spoke, cutting through the silence.

You blinked softly. “That sounds almost like a compliment.”

“It is.”

You looked at him then, seeing the slight exhaustion beneath his composed expression and the careful way he stood beside you despite clearly wanting to leave the event hours ago. Even the way his gaze softened almost imperceptibly whenever it rested on you for too long.

And suddenly, horrifyingly, one realisation settled heavily in your chest above all others.

You liked this version of him far too much.

The thought terrified you, because this was never supposed to become real.

The return to Hogwarts following that night was as regular as it could have been.

You maintained what had already been present between the two of you: quiet touches, shared glances, the familiar ease that had long since settled into your routines. If anything, the aftermath of the Rosier ball only seemed to deepen the strange intimacy growing steadily between you and Juhoon.

Though neither of you acknowledged it, why would you? That would have required emotional honesty, something both of you had been raised to avoid almost professionally.

Instead, life simply… continued.

Mornings at the Slytherin table, late nights in the library, walking side-by-side through crowded corridors while students instinctively moved aside to let the two of you pass.

He still looked at you in that quiet, dangerous way that made your pulse stumble embarrassingly every single time, and it was becoming a problem. A rather significant one.

Especially because Juhoon himself appeared entirely unaffected, at least outwardly.

Though there were smal moments where his composure slipped just enough to make your chest tighten painfully.

Like after Quidditch matches.

Juhoon rarely lingered after practice or games. Once finished, he usually disappeared quickly with the rest of the Slytherin team, expression unreadable beneath windswept dark hair while students crowded noisily around the pitch.

And yet, recently, you had developed the unfortunate habit of waiting for him afterward.

You weren’t entirely sure when that started.

Maybe after one particularly brutal practice where he had shown up in the common room with blood running down his jaw from a stray Bludger hit and still calmly asked if you had finished your Potions essay. Or maybe after realising he always searched the stands for you before matches began.

Either way, it became routine.

So when the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match ended beneath a cold grey February sky, you found yourself lingering near the edge of the pitch while students poured noisily from the stands around you.

Slytherin had won by the skin of their teeth.

The atmosphere buzzed loudly with excitement and irritation alike as students argued over fouls and close calls while snow crunched beneath moving crowds.

You spotted Juhoon almost immediately.

He stood near the locker room entrance speaking briefly with another teammate, broom tucked beneath one arm while his Quidditch robes clung slightly to his frame from exertion. Even from a distance, he carried himself with the same composed sharpness he always did, though a faint flush lingered across his cheeks from the cold.

And, as though sensing your attention instantly, his gaze lifted, finding you immediately. Something subtle softened in his expression before he nodded once toward you, small enough that no one else would notice.

Your stomach betrayed you instantly.

Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.

“You know,” a voice drawled beside you suddenly, “he’s terrifyingly possessive for someone pretending to date you.”

You turned to find a Gryffindor boy leaning casually against the wooden railing nearby, red-and-gold scarf hanging loosely around his neck.

Cormac McLaggen.

Wonderful.

You had spoken to him perhaps twice in your entire life, both interactions equally unpleasant.

“You Gryffindors spend an odd amount of time thinking about Slytherin relationships,” you replied flatly.

Cormac grinned, entirely unbothered. “Hard not to when your boyfriend looks ready to kill anyone who breathes too close to you.”

Your eyes flickered instinctively toward Juhoon.

Unfortunately, Cormac was not entirely wrong. Even across the crowded pitch, Juhoon’s attention remained fixed on the two of you now, expression unreadable from this distance.

You sighed internally. “He’s not going to murder you, McLaggen.”

“Shame,” he mused. “Would’ve made this conversation more entertaining.”

Before you could respond, he stepped slightly closer.

“You know,” he continued lightly, “I still think it’s strange.”

“What is?”

“You and Juhoon.” His mouth tilted faintly. “He doesn’t exactly seem like the romantic type.”

You folded your arms. “And you’re an expert on romance?”

“Not particularly. But I am excellent at recognising when someone looks one inconvenience away from homicide.”

Despite yourself, you nearly laughed, and unfortunately that only encouraged him.

“You could do better, you know.”

The comment immediately soured your expression. “And there it is.”

Cormac shrugged. “I’m serious. Half the school’s terrified of him.”

“That sounds like their problem.”

“Hm.” His eyes flickered briefly toward Juhoon again. “You know, I think he’s glaring at me.”

“He glares at everyone.”

“Not usually like that.”

Before you could respond, Cormac’s hand landed suddenly against your waist. Lightly, casually and entirely intentionally.

The reaction was immediate.

A hand closed sharply around Cormac’s wrist.

“Remove your hand.”

The temperature around you seemed to drop instantly.

Juhoon stood beside you now, expression perfectly calm despite the dangerous stillness settled beneath his voice. Snow drifted softly around the three of you while nearby conversations gradually began faltering one by one.

Because everyone had noticed.

Cormac looked almost entertained. “Well,” he drawled slowly, “you almost sound jealous.”

Juhoon did not answer immediately which somehow only made the silence infinitely worse. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped closer, his expression unreadable and his eyes cold.

“Don’t touch what’s mine.”

The entire pitch seemed to fall silent. You felt the shift ripple outward through the surrounding students almost instantly. Shock. Interest. Tension.

Because pureblood men did not say things like that lightly.

Not publicly. Not unless they meant them.

And Merlin—

Juhoon had sounded terrifyingly serious.

Cormac’s amusement finally faltered slightly beneath the weight of Juhoon’s stare. After one long moment, he raised his hands in mock surrender and stepped backward.

“Relax,” he muttered. “Didn’t realise the act had become so convincing.”

Act.

Right.

Your stomach twisted painfully.

Juhoon said nothing as Cormac disappeared back into the crowd.

He simply remained beside you, jaw tight beneath his calm expression while snow drifted silently between the two of you. Then, after several long seconds: “Are you alright?”

The question startled you because despite everything that had just happened, genuine concern still threaded quietly beneath his voice.

You stared at him, seeing the cold fury lingering carefully restrained behind his eyes, feeling the hand still hovering faintly near your waist as though resisting the urge to touch you again.

And suddenly one horrifying thought repeated loudly through your mind over and over again.

That didn’t sound fake at all

Students were still staring, but were pretending not to, of course.

But you could feel it all the same: the curious glances, the whispered conversations beginning almost immediately now that Cormac had retreated somewhere into the crowd looking considerably less smug than before.

Beside you, Juhoon appeared entirely unaffected by the attention.

Though you knew him well enough now to recognise the tension lingering beneath his composure. His jaw remained slightly tight with his shoulders rigid beneath dark Quidditch robes.

He was still angry.

Juhoon finally looked down at you properly, expression cooling slightly once he confirmed you were unharmed. “You should head back inside,” he said calmly. “It’s freezing.”

The normalcy of the statement almost made you laugh. As though he had not just publicly implied ownership over you in front of half the school. “You threatened him.”

“I told him to remove his hand.”

“You called me yours.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them and for the first time since arriving at the pitch, Juhoon went still. Not visibly enough, most people would not have noticed it.

But you did. Always.

A strange pause settled between the two of you while snow drifted quietly around your shoulders. Then, in that carefully neutral tone you recognised all too well as him attempting to keep composure: “Would you have preferred I let him continue touching you?”

That was not an answer. You knew it and he knew it. Still, the quiet sharpness beneath his voice made your pulse stumble embarrassingly. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

His gaze lingered on your face for one long moment. Then he looked away first.

“I dislike people treating you disrespectfully,” he said finally, tone measured. “McLaggen was aware of what he was doing.”

Again, not an answer.

And somehow, that only made things worse because Juhoon was many things, but careless with words was not one of them.

If he truly had not meant what he said, he could have—would have—corrected himself easily.

Instead, he had sidestepped the issue entirely.

Coward.

The realisation should have annoyed you more than it did. Unfortunately, all it really accomplished was making your heartbeat increasingly difficult to ignore.

The walk back toward the castle passed in unusual silence.

Students parted around the two of you instinctively as you crossed the grounds, several Slytherins glancing toward Juhoon with poorly concealed amusement while others looked faintly alarmed.

The story was already spreading.

Mina nearly looked delighted when the two of you entered the common room later that evening.

“Oh, this is brilliant,” she announced immediately from her spot near the fireplace. “People are saying Juhoon nearly hexed McLaggen’s hand off.”

“I did not,” Juhoon replied flatly.

Jaehyun looked up from the armchair beside her, expression unbearably smug. “Pity. That would’ve been romantic.”

You dropped into the sofa opposite them with a tired groan. “It was not romantic.”

Jaehyun snorted softly. “Right. Because publicly claiming someone in front of half the school is completely casual behavior.”

Beside you, Juhoon removed his gloves with slow precision, appearing utterly unbothered by the conversation despite the faint narrowing of his eyes. “He touched her intentionally,” he said simply.

Mina’s grin widened immediately. “And you cared enough to threaten him over it.”

“I told him not to touch what belongs to me.”

Your stomach flipped violently. Apparently hearing the sentence repeated aloud was somehow even worse.

Jaehyun looked genuinely entertained now. “Merlin, you’re serious.”

Only then did Juhoon finally seem to realise how his words sounded to literally everyone else in the room. A strange flicker crossed his expression, brief and unreadable.

Then his composure returned almost immediately. “You’re all being dramatic.”

“No,” Mina replied cheerfully, “you’re just painfully repressed.”

You made a choking sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough while Jaehyun outright lost composure beside her.

Juhoon, meanwhile, looked moments away from leaving the room entirely, which was perhaps the clearest sign yet that they had struck a nerve. Unfortunately for him, Mina was nowhere near finished.

“You do realise,” she continued, still entirely too pleased with herself, “that half the school thinks the two of you are practically engaged now?”

“Half the school already thought that,” you muttered.

“Yes, but now they think Juhoon is one mild inconvenience away from committing murder over you.” She paused thoughtfully. “Honestly, it’s very romantic in a concerning sort of way.”

Juhoon exhaled slowly through his nose. “You’re insufferable.”

“But I’m still correct.”

The room dissolved into amused conversation afterward, though you barely registered most of it. Your mind only consumed one thing.

Don’t touch what’s mine.

The words repeated themselves relentlessly, lodged somewhere deep beneath your ribs in a way that made concentrating nearly impossible. Every time you replayed the scene in your head, your stomach twisted all over again.

None of it had sounded fake. And perhaps worse still was the fact that a part of you desperately wished it wasn’t.

Across the common room, conversation carried on around you almost normally now, though several students still occasionally glanced toward the two of you with poorly concealed curiosity.

Juhoon, meanwhile, appeared entirely unaffected. At least outwardly.

He sat beside you with one arm draped lazily over the back of the sofa, expression calm as Jaehyun continued provoking Mina into increasingly dramatic arguments near the fireplace.

Yet every so often, you caught him briefly looking at you like he was thinking too hard about something, and it made your pulse unbearably uneven.

Eventually, sometime past midnight, Juhoon stood abruptly from the sofa. “I have something to deal with,” he said simply.

Jaehyun frowned faintly. “At this hour?”

“It won’t take long.”

Something about the answer unsettled you immediately, though before you could ask anything further, his gaze shifted briefly toward you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then he left and the common room suddenly felt colder afterward.

That night, you lay awake far longer than usual.

Moonlight filtered dimly through the Slytherin dormitory windows while the Black Lake cast shifting shadows against the stone walls, the distant sound of water echoing faintly throughout the silence.

Sleep refused to come. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind dragged you back toward the Quidditch pitch. Toward Juhoon’s voice. Toward the possessiveness threaded through it so naturally it frightened you.

You rolled over with an irritated sigh, you were being pathetic honestly.

Somewhere in the distance, the castle clock chimed quietly.

Then came the knock. Barely audible.

Your brow furrowed immediately. Slowly pushing yourself upright, you crossed the dormitory carefully so as not to wake the others before opening the door slightly—

And froze.

Juhoon stood in the corridor.

For one horrifying second, your mind struggled to process what you were seeing.

His dark robes were disheveled, damp with melting snow near the hems, and a thin line of blood traced down from beneath his sleeve onto his hand. A bruise had already begun darkening along the sharp line of his jaw.

Your stomach dropped instantly. “Juhoon—”

“I’m fine,” he said automatically.

The lie would have been more convincing if blood wasn’t actively dripping onto the dungeon floor.

You grabbed his wrist immediately and pulled him inside before anyone else could see. “What happened?”

“Nothing serious.”

“That is objectively untrue.”

He said nothing as you shut the door behind him.

Only once the room fell quiet again did you realise how exhausted he looked.His usual composure remained intact, but thinner somehow, stretched carefully over something heavier beneath the surface.

And suddenly you remembered Jaehyun’s question earlier.

‘At this hour?’

Pureblood business. You hated the phrase because it always meant something unpleasant.

“Sit down,” you ordered softly.

To your surprise, Juhoon obeyed without argument, and that alone worried you more than the injuries.

You retrieved your wand quickly, murmuring a healing spell beneath your breath as you knelt carefully in front of him. The cut along his hand sealed slowly beneath the glow of magic, though bruising still lingered stubbornly across his knuckles.

Your fingers brushed lightly against his wrist while adjusting his sleeve. He went very still.

“What did your father send you to do?” You asked quietly.

A long silence followed until he eventually answered. “It doesn’t matter.”

Which meant it mattered very much.

You looked up at him properly then, and Juhoon avoided your gaze, which was another first.

Anger flared suddenly beneath your concern, though not at him. At the fact that someone had hurt him badly enough for him to show up at your door in the middle of the night pretending he was fine.

“You should’ve gone to Madam Pomfrey,” you murmured while examining the bruise near his jaw carefully.

“I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

The question hung quietly between the two of you. Juhoon finally looked at you then and suddenly the exhaustion in his expression became painfully visible beneath the careful restraint he wore so constantly around everyone else.

For several seconds, neither of you spoke.

“I trust you more.” He spoke quietly, and the words hit harder than anything else possibly could have.

Your breath caught instantly, the air suddenly feeling far too thin inside the quiet dormitory.

Because Juhoon did not trust people.

Ever.

Not professors. Not classmates. Not even most of his own family.

Trust, to someone like him, was not given lightly. It was not something carelessly handed out through affection or familiarity. You had spent years watching him keep everyone at arm’s length with that cold, perfect composure of his, allowing people only carefully measured versions of himself and nothing more.

He trusted strategy, logic and control.

People were another matter entirely.

And yet somehow, somewhere along the way, he had begun seeking you out first. Standing beside you instinctively. Looking for you in crowds. Coming to you tonight instead of anyone else despite the blood staining his sleeve and exhaustion carved quietly beneath his expression.

Trust from Juhoon was not soft.

It was dangerous. Intimate. Rare.

And he had handed it to you so simply it nearly shattered something inside your chest.

The silence afterward felt unbearably fragile.

Your hand still rested lightly against his wrist, fingers curled faintly against the fabric of his sleeve while moonlight spilled silver-blue across the room around you. Outside the dungeon windows, the Black Lake shifted restlessly against the glass, shadows dancing faintly along the stone walls.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you looked away.

Juhoon’s gaze held yours steadily, dark eyes quieter than you had ever seen them before. Not guarded or unreadable.

Just tired, maybe even honest. Somehow that vulnerability unsettled you more than all his sharpness ever had.

Because Juhoon was terrifying when controlled. But this version of him: exhausted enough to lower his walls around you, felt infinitely more dangerous to your heart.

Slowly, almost cautiously, he lifted his free hand toward your face. The movement was uncharacteristically hesitant, as though he was unsure whether he was allowed to touch you like this and this mattered enough to make even him nervous.

That realisation alone made your pulse stutter painfully.

He gave you every possible opportunity to pull away, but you didn’t.

His fingers brushed gently against your jaw, warm against your skin despite the cold lingering from outside. The touch was careful, almost reverent in a way that made something tight unravel slowly inside your chest.

You had never seen Juhoon uncertain before. Never. Yet now, looking at you, there was the faintest trace of hesitation beneath his composure. Like this frightened him too.

“Juhoon…” you whispered softly.

His name left your lips almost unintentionally, barely louder than the shifting water outside.

But the effect it had on him was immediate. Something in his expression changed instantly, subtle but unmistakable.

The final crack in his restraint.

His eyes lowered briefly toward your mouth before returning to your gaze again, as though searching for any sign you wanted him to stop.

You didn’t.

He was still watching you.

Even now—even with his face inches from yours and his breath warm against your lips—Juhoon's gaze searched yours one final time. Looking for hesitation. Looking for the smallest sign that you wanted to pull away, that this was too much, that the months of careful restraint had been there for a reason.

You held his stare and didn't blink.

And something in him broke.

Not dramatically. Juhoon was not built for dramatics. But you felt it in the way his exhale shuddered almost imperceptibly against your mouth, in the barely-there tremble of his fingers where they pressed against your jaw.

Then his eyes, those sharp, assessing eyes that saw everything, that had been watching you for years, closed and he kissed you.

The first brush of his lips was impossibly soft, almost reverent, he seemed afraid you might dissolve beneath his touch if he pressed too hard. His mouth moved against yours with devastating care, slow and searching, as though he was memorising the shape of you one breath at a time.

You felt everything.

The slight roughness of his lower lip. The warmth of him, spreading through you like something slow and honey-thick. The way his thumb traced a gentle arc along your cheekbone as he tilted his head, changing the angle, finding the place where you fit together best.

A small sound escaped you that was barely a whisper, barely anything at all, and Juhoon swallowed it like it was something sacred.

His free hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading carefully into your hair. Just holding and grounding himself in the reality of you.

The kiss deepened by millimeters.

Still slow. Still careful. But surer now: his lips parting slightly against yours, the barest brush of warmth that made your breath catch and your fingers tighten in the fabric of his sleeve.

He smelled like cedarwood and mint and something underneath that was simply him, the scent you had been catching across library tables and common room sofas for months, that had haunted you after the Amortentia until you couldn't smell it without thinking of him.

Now it surrounded you completely.

Your hand slid from his sleeve to his chest without conscious thought, palm flat against the steady beat of his heart beneath his robes. It was racing. Juhoon's heart was racing.

The realisation struck you like a stunning spell, that beneath all that careful composure, beneath the exhaustion and the blood still drying on his sleeve and the bruised knuckles he hadn't explained, he was just as affected as you were. Just as undone.

The tension bled from his shoulders slowly, minute by minute, as the kiss continued. What had started almost tentatively softened into something more certain, more trusting. Like he had finally stopped waiting for you to push him away.

When his lips gentled against yours, soft and lingering, you felt the question in it.

Is this alright?

You answered by leaning into him, by letting your fingers curl against his chest, by kissing him back with everything you had been too afraid to name for months.

His breath caught.

And then, finally and impossibly, he smiled against your mouth.

Just a small thing, barely there. But you felt it in the curve of his lips beneath yours, and something warm and devastating bloomed behind your ribs.

When he pulled back, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breathing was uneven in a way you had never heard before.

Neither of you spoke. The dormitory was silent around you, just the distant ripple of the Black Lake against the windows and the soft, shared warmth of two people who had stopped pretending.

His thumb traced once more along your jaw. For the first time in as long as you could remember, Juhoon looked entirely at peace. His eyes lingered on yours for several long seconds before he exhaled softly, almost like he was still processing what had just happened himself.

“So,” you whispered weakly, still slightly breathless, “this is becoming a problem.”

To your surprise, the faintest hint of amusement flickered across his face. “A significant one.”

You laughed quietly despite yourself, the sound soft in the silence between you.

And suddenly, with his forehead still resting against yours and warmth lingering against your skin, one devastating realisation settled fully into your chest at last.

This had stopped being fake a very long time ago.

The days following that night changed something between you.

Not visibly. To everyone else, very little seemed different.

You and Juhoon still moved through Hogwarts exactly as before: side by side through crowded corridors, seated together at the Slytherin table, existing within each other’s orbit with the same quiet inevitability that had long since become normal.

But now there was an awareness neither of you could ignore anymore. Every touch lingered longer than before, every glance felt heavier.

Kissing Juhoon had turned out to be a catastrophic mistake for someone attempting to remain emotionally detached because now you knew how careful he could be. How gentle and devastatingly soft he became only with you. It ruined you completely.

The worst part was that neither of you discussed what happened afterward.

The kiss had not magically transformed the two of you into people capable of openly discussing emotions. If anything, it only made the tension between you sharper, quieter, more intimate in ways that felt almost unbearable.

Still, there were moments.

Late evenings in the common room where his fingers absentmindedly traced against yours beneath the table. Lingering touches in empty corridors. The way his gaze softened almost imperceptibly whenever you laughed now, as though he no longer bothered hiding it properly.

And Merlin, the staring had somehow become worse.

You noticed it constantly, it was as if he was still trying to understand how this had happened. As though he found himself just as dangerous to you as you did to him.

Perhaps that was why the realisation settled so heavily inside your chest one quiet evening near the end of term.

The two of you sat alone in the Astronomy Tower long after curfew, the castle silent beneath you while cold night air drifted softly through the open arches. The sky above stretched endlessly dark and glittering, moonlight spilling silver across the stone floor where you sat beside one another.

Juhoon rested against the wall beside you, one knee drawn slightly upward while absentmindedly turning one of his silver rings between his fingers.

Comfortable silence settled naturally between you as it always had.

You glanced toward him eventually. “You know,” you murmured quietly, “this arrangement has become complicated.”

The words were light, attempting humor, but your chest tightened anyway because suddenly the weight of it all felt painfully obvious. The fact that somewhere along the way, Juhoon had become the first person you searched for in every room.

He went still beside you, then his gaze shifted toward yours slowly, moonlight catching faintly against the sharp line of his jaw.

“It was complicated the moment I asked you.”

Your breath caught instantly. The world seemed to narrow painfully around those words. You stared at him and suddenly every moment replayed itself differently in your mind.

The way he had looked at you before the arrangement ever started, how quickly he proposed it, how natural everything between you had always felt from the very beginning.

“You already liked me.” Your voice came out quieter than intended. 

Juhoon’s gaze held yours steadily for several long seconds.

Then, finally, he spoke: “Yes.”

The simple honesty of it nearly unraveled you and your heartbeat turned uneven instantly.

“How long?” You asked softly.

A faint crease appeared between his brows, as though considering the question carefully. “I don’t know.”

Which meant a long time.

Merlin.

You looked away briefly, overwhelmed by the realisation settling slowly into place inside your chest. All this time, you had thought Juhoon adapted too naturally to pretending, but he had never really been pretending at all. Not entirely.

“I thought you hated most people,” you whispered weakly.

The corner of his mouth lifted faintly. “I do.”

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped you and the sound softened his expression immediately. There it was again.

That look he only ever seemed to have around you now: quieter than his usual sharp composure, stripped of all the careful distance he maintained with everyone else.

Then, after a long pause, Juhoon quietly spoke again. “You were the only person I wanted beside me.”

The words settled heavily between you, devastatingly sincere, somehow making them infinitely worse.

Because Juhoon did not ever say things he didn’t mean.

Your chest ached painfully beneath the weight of it. He had chosen you long before any arrangement existed, before you had even considered Juhoon to be your own. Through all his restraint and careful control, it had always been you standing at the center of his attention.

You swallowed hard. “Juhoon…”

His eyes remained fixed on yours steadily, patient in a way that felt almost unbearably intimate now.

There were no masks or pretending, it was just him. And maybe that was the moment you finally understood the true danger of loving someone like Juhoon, because once he gave someone his trust, his loyalty, his care—

He gave it completely.

Below the Astronomy Tower, Hogwarts slept quietly beneath moonlight and drifting clouds, distant torchlight glowing warmly through castle windows while cold night air curled softly around the stone arches.

Neither of you moved away from each other.

Juhoon still sat close enough that your shoulders brushed occasionally whenever either of you shifted slightly, his presence warm and steady beside you in the chill of the tower.

And suddenly, absurdly, you didn’t know what to say.

Because what response even existed for something like that?

You were the only person I wanted beside me.

The words continued echoing somewhere deep inside your chest, dangerously gentle in a way that made your throat tighten painfully.

Juhoon, meanwhile, appeared entirely calm again. Though by now you recognised the signs well enough to know better: the slight tension in his fingers where they rested against his knee, and the way his gaze avoided yours for perhaps half a second longer than usual afterward.

He was waiting for your response.

For all his composure, Juhoon was still giving you something fragile here. Trusting you with pieces of himself he clearly offered to almost no one. And that mattered more than any dramatic declaration ever could have.

“You know,” you said quietly after a long moment, “you’re terrible at communicating.”

A faint huff of laughter escaped him unexpectedly. “You’re not particularly good at it either.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I’m choosing denial intentionally.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “If that is what you want to believe.”

Your chest tightened embarrassingly at the sight.

Merlin. You had become far too attached to the rare moments when Juhoon looked openly amused around you.

You found yourself smiling faintly back at him without thinking and his expression softened almost immediately at the sight.

Dangerous. Everything about this was dangerous now.

Another quiet pause settled between you before you finally spoke again. “So,” you murmured carefully, “when exactly were you planning on telling me?”

“I wasn’t.”

You blinked. “What?”

Juhoon looked entirely unbothered by your confusion. “The arrangement was useful,” he replied calmly. “You were comfortable. I had no intention of complicating things further.”

“You mean more than fake dating me for months while secretly being in love with me?”

There was a brief pause.

“Yes.” He answered.

You stared at him in disbelief while he remained perfectly serious. “That is deeply concerning behavior.”

“I’m aware.”

“And you still continued?”

His gaze shifted toward you again then, quieter now. “You were happy.”

The simple sincerity behind the answer stole every sarcastic response directly from your mouth.

Because that was the problem with Juhoon. Beneath all the sharpness and composure and carefully restrained emotion, he cared with terrifying intensity once someone mattered to him, and that felt infinitely more intimate than grand gestures ever could have.

Your voice softened before you could stop it. “You really were just going to keep pretending forever.”

“If necessary.”

“Merlin.”

A faint trace of amusement flickered across his face again at your horrified expression. Then his eyes lowered briefly toward your hand resting against the stone floor between the two of you.

You barely noticed the movement before his fingers brushed lightly against yours tentatively, as if he was still uncertain whether he was allowed to do that now despite everything.

The thought alone nearly ruined you.

Without thinking, you turned your hand slightly beneath his, allowing your fingers to slide carefully between his.

Juhoon went still beside you, though not because he disliked it. It was, in fact, quite the opposite. You felt the subtle way his hand tightened around yours almost immediately afterward and your pulse stumbled softly.

“You know,” you murmured after several seconds, unable to stop yourself, “you’re significantly softer than people think you are.”

Juhoon looked unimpressed. “Don’t spread that around.”

You laughed quietly, the sound echoing softly through the tower, swallowed quickly by the night around you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke again. You simply sat there together in comfortable silence, fingers intertwined while moonlight spilled silver across the stone floor. It felt strangely peaceful. 

At some point, his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your knuckles. The tiny gesture nearly stopped your heart entirely.

“How unfortunate,” you murmured weakly.

His brows lifted faintly. “What is?”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The words slipped out before you could reconsider them, and silence followed immediately afterward. You stared straight ahead at the night sky, suddenly unable to look directly at him.

“Well,” you continued awkwardly, “that sounded less humiliating in my head.”

For one terrifying second, Juhoon said absolutely nothing. Then you felt his hand tighten around yours.

When you finally forced yourself to glance sideways, his expression had gone strangely soft again—that same rare look he reserved only for you, stripped entirely of sharp edges.

And very quietly, like something precious, he replied: “I know.”

Your breath caught. “You know?”

“You look at me the same way I look at you.” The devastating thing was that he sounded so certain about it, like he had noticed long before you had because of course he had. Juhoon noticed everything about you.

“You’re frighteningly observant.”

“Hm.”

His gaze lingered on your face for another long second before he leaned forward slightly, pressing another slow kiss against your mouth.

This one felt different from the first. It was certain now. Neither of you needed to question what this was anymore.

And beneath the silver glow of the moon high above Hogwarts, with Juhoon’s hand warm around yours and years of restrained affection finally unraveling quietly between you, you realised something almost laughably simple.

You had been his long before the fake dating arrangement ever began.

And somehow, impossibly—

Ahn Keonho—top swimmer in the school, or a prodigy as people liked to call him. Everyone knew him. The guy who walked into class after second lecture trailing the scent of chlorine behind him. The guy who slept through half the day because training exhausted him. The guy who was almost always beside you.

 But to you, he was just Keonho. The same dude you’d known your entire life because your parents were best friends. And somehow, by law, that meant you and Keonho had to become best friends too. Which you did.

Time passes quickly. Somehow, throughout your entire school life, you and Keonho always ended up in the same class. Now it’s your third year of high school, and you’ve known him longer than you’ve not known him. At this point, you can’t even remember a version of your life where he didn’t exist. Keonho has been swimming for as long as you’ve known him. But now, for the first time, it actually matters. Nationals, scouts, his future—everything suddenly feels bigger this year. He’s been training like crazy. 

And you’ve been right there beside him through all of it.

“Yn?…Yn? Hello?” Moka’s hand waves in front of your face, closer this time—annoyingly persistent.

You blink, snapping back. “Huh?—yeah, yeah, I’m listening. What?”

Moka didn’t answer immediately. She just looked at you—slow, assessing, from head to toe. “You didn’t sleep again, did you?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “There’s too much work, I can’t just not stay up, Moka.”

“Mm.” She hummed, unconvinced. Then, tilting her head slightly—“Or… you were busy overthinking what to pack your best friend for lunch?”

You didn’t look up. “I told you to stop calling him that.”

“So what’d you make him?” she pressed anyway, leaning in.

“…Just fries.”

“Just fries,” she repeated, like she didn’t believe you for a second.

Then, quieter—right next to your ear— “Aw. Was his wifey too tired to do more?”

You rolled your eyes, elbowing her lightly. “Shut up.”

But you didn’t deny it. And that was enough. You were used to it by now. Sometimes it came from your own friends. Sometimes from Keonho’s. And more often than not—from Seonghyeon. He and Keonho had always been close. The kind of close that didn’t need explaining. And wherever Seonghyeon was, Martin and Juhoon weren’t far behind—even after graduating.

They still showed up like they belonged here—usually around the after hours when athletes stayed back to practice. They always cheered Keonho on and the teachers never stopped them, there was something endearing about their bond. Somehow, along the way, they’d even dragged James into their orbit. The math teacher’s son. He dropped by every now and then, filling in as a substitute when his mother couldn’t make it.

It felt like you and Keonho were always being watched. Like there was no space that was just yours. You’re in class? Well, great. You’ve got Minju, Yunah and then Moka who sits beside you—which, honestly, no complaints. You love them. But right in front of you—Keonho and Seonghyeon. Always. And if you’re at his practice, cheering him on? You’re not the only one. Seonghyeon’s there, obviously. Martin and Juhoon too, whenever they drop by. Even James, leaning against the railings like he’s got nowhere else to be. Moka, right next to you, way too amused by all of it. It’s never just you and him, never that simple. 

You and Keonho are only ever alone when it’s planned. When he’s at your place. Or when you’re at his. Sometimes it just… happens. Like when one of you ends up home alone for the night, and the other shows up without really asking. No one questions it anymore.

At your house, it’s quiet, too quiet, sometimes. You sit on the floor of your room, backs against your bed, laptops open—supposedly studying. Keonho reads things out loud under his breath, half-focused, half-distracted. You don’t really talk much, you don’t need to. Every now and then, he nudges your foot with his. Just to check you’re still there.

At his place, it’s different. His room is colder, neater and heavily decorated with multiple medals.  You usually end up on his bed while he sits at his desk, towel slung around his shoulders, hair still damp from practice.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he says without turning around.

You hum, already halfway there. Five minutes later, he glances back—and you’ve passed out, cuddled up in his sheets. He sighs, soft, almost amused. Pulls the blanket over you anyway.

Sometimes, you stay over, not often but just when it makes sense. When one of you doesn’t want to be alone. You end up lying side by side, staring at the ceiling, talking about nothing…or everything. It’s easy, with him it’s always been easy.

But if you had to pick—your favorite version of Keonho isn’t any of that. It’s him in the water.

Keonho, as a person, is… quiet, a little shy. Kind in a way that doesn’t look performative. Playful, sometimes—when he forgets himself. Witty, in small, unexpected ways. He fits into spaces easily without realising it. He’s like a shot of espresso, he energizes every room he walks into without really realising it. And by the time he's gone? The feeling still stays. He leaves that kind of impression. 

But in the water? He’s different, like completely different. There’s nothing hesitant about him there. No second-guessing. No pauses. Every movement is sharp with certainty and control. Like he knows exactly where he’s supposed to be. Like the water is the only place he doesn’t have to think.

And you think—maybe that’s why you like watching him so much. Because that version of him is just so…so new, so unfamiliar to you. But at the same time, you know him.

The bell rings, sharp enough to cut through your thoughts. A few people groan, chairs scrape, and chatter gets louder now. The next teacher will come to you. You sit up a little straighter, blinking the image of him in the water out of your head.

The door slides open. You don’t look up immediately, you don’t really have to. There’s that faint scent of chlorine slipping into the room before he does. Keonho walks in, hair still damp, uniform slightly off like he threw it on in a hurry. His tie’s loose, sleeves uneven, a few droplets still clinging to the ends of his hair. He pauses just inside the room for a second, scanning—then his eyes land on you.

Of course they do. He walks over like it’s automatic, like there was never another option. The chair beside you scrapes softly as he pulls it out and drops into it with a low exhale, he leans back for a second, then folds his arms on the desk and drops his head onto them.

“Morning,” he mutters, voice rough.

You glance at him properly now. Up close, it’s worse—the damp hair, the faint flush on his skin, the way he looks like he hasn’t had a second to breathe since practice ended. “You look like shit,” you say.

He lets out a small huff, almost a laugh. “Feel like it.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward. Just… familiar. Then his gaze flicks to your bag, still open. You notice it the same second he does. You hesitate—just for a moment. Then you reach in. “…Here,” you mumble, sliding the container toward him without looking straight at him.

He looks at it, then at you, a little confused. “What’s this?”

“Just take it.”

He opens it. Fries. Still warm. Something in his expression softens—just a little, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it.

“You made this?” he asks.

“It’s literally fries, Keonho.”

“Yeah, but still.”

You don’t answer that. He takes one, eats it without thinking, like he’s actually starving. Which—he probably is. You watch him for half a second too long. Then look away. “Did you even eat?” you ask, grabbing a pen to write something in your notebook—anything to seem distracted.

He shakes his head slightly, already reaching for another. “Didn’t have time.”

Of course he didn’t. You press your lips together, leaning back in your seat like it doesn’t bother you. It does, a lot more than it should. “Eat properly,” you mutter. He glances at you again, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Okay sergeant,” he says. Then, his attention completely shifts to the fries. 

The teacher walks in a few minutes later. Math. At nine in the morning. The lecture goes exactly how you’d expect—numbers filling the board, monotone explanations, half the class barely conscious. You try to keep up, you really do. But beside you, Keonho doesn’t even try. Athlete privilege. His head’s already down, arms folded under it, breathing slow and even like he’s been waiting for this all day. You press your lips together, scribbling something—anything—into your notebook, wishing, for the first time, that Moka hadn’t moved ahead to sit with Seonghyeon.

At least she would’ve pretended to understand this. Somewhere in the middle of it, you feel it. A stare. You turn slightly, of course—Keonho. He’s not fully asleep anymore—just watching you, eyes half-lidded, lazy.

“…What?” you whisper, a small snicker slipping out.

“It’s not comfortable,” he murmurs, voice low, still rough with sleep.

You glance at him. “What do you want me to do about that?”

A pause.

“Give me your jacket… please?”

You stare at him for a second. “…Are you serious?”

He doesn’t answer, just looks up at you. Waiting.

You sigh quietly, already slipping your jacket off. “Unbelievable.”

You pass it over without looking at him properly. He takes it without a word, bunches it slightly under his head, adjusting it. “…Thanks,” he mumbles, eyes already closing again. 

For a second, it’s quiet again. Just the scratch of pens, the teacher talking and the low hum of the class. Then, barely above a whisper—“…Smells like you.”

You freeze, your pen pauses mid-word. “…What?” you ask, a little too quickly, not looking up.

He shifts slightly, voice still thick with sleep. “The jacket,” he murmurs. “It smells like you.”

You stare at your notebook, suddenly very focused on absolutely nothing, heat creeps up your neck. “…Okay?” you manage.

Then, softer—“…It’s nice…comforting kinda”

That does it, your grip tightens around your pen, words on the page blurring slightly. You don’t look at him. You cannot look at him. “…Go to sleep, Keonho,” you mutter. But your voice comes out quieter than you meant it to.

As the lecture dragged on, Keonho shifted closer little by little. Not intentionally—at least, you didn’t think so. Just small movements. His chair nudging nearer. His shoulder brushing yours for a second longer each time he moved. Until eventually—he was close enough to feel the warmth of your arm beside him.

And then, suddenly, his hand wraps loosely around your forearm. Like instinct more than anything else. It was gentle, intentional.  Before you can even process it, he shifts again, resting his head against your arm with a quiet exhale.

Your entire body went still. You should’ve moved his head, should’ve told him to move away. But, you didn't. Maybe it was because you’d known him forever. Maybe it was because this wasn’t exactly unusual for the two of you. Or maybe—maybe you just liked having him close.

More than you should.

The rest of the lecture passes in a blur after that. You don’t hear half of what the teacher says. Every time Keonho shifts slightly against your arm, your thoughts short-circuit all over again. By the time the final bell rings, the sun is shining brightly outside the classroom windows, painting everything in a bright gold.

Keonho stretches beside you with a quiet groan, rubbing at his eyes. “You coming?” he asks automatically, already packing his things.

You nod before even thinking about it. “Yeah.”

Practice starts an hour later, you could’ve gone home. Probably should’ve. You had assignments piling up, sleep to catch up on, literally anything more productive to do. But instead—you’re here. Sitting in the bleachers with Moka beside you, legs tucked underneath you as the sharp scent of chlorine settles into the air.

The pool is loud today. Loads of whistles, accompanied with the sounds of water crashing and teammates cheering for each other. In the middle of all of it—Keonho.

You spot him immediately, you always do. He stands near the edge of the pool, swim cap hanging loosely from one hand while Seonghyeon says something beside him. Whatever it is earns a small laugh from Keonho—brief, sleepy, gone almost instantly.

Then his eyes flick up, straight to you. Your breath hitches so stupidly fast it almost annoys you. He lifts a hand slightly. Not a full wave— something closer to a “Earth to Yn” kind of motion. “God,” Moka mutters beside you. “You two are actually sickening.”

You elbow her without looking away from him. “Shut up.”

But your lips twitch anyway. The coach blows the whistle and immediately, everyone dives in. Keonho dives in too and suddenly he’s not the same person who fell asleep on your arm an hour ago. The tenderness disappears. Every motion of his cuts clean through the water, fast and precise, like his body already knows what to do before he even thinks about it.

And around you, people notice too, of course they do. You hear his name constantly at these practices. Mainly cheers from his coach, other students, his friends, and Louis. Especially Louis. He’s always the loudest for some reason. Louis leans against the far railing somewhere on top, arms crossed tightly over his chest while Keonho finishes another lap ahead of everyone else.

You don’t miss the way his jaw clenches. Or the way Woojin mutters something beside him that makes them both look toward Keonho again.

Moka notices too. “…They’re staring again,” she murmurs quietly.

You look away from the pool for the first time. And, when Keonho wins? Louis looks irritated and Woojin looks worse.

But Keonho either doesn’t notice—or pretends not to. He just pulls himself out of the water, pushing wet hair back from his forehead as Coach calls out times.

First again. Of course.

The cheers around the pool blur together after that. Because all you can really focus on—is the way Keonho looks exhausted. Even while smiling. He walks over to you, Moka and Seonghyeon. Dropping down onto the bleachers as he soaks everything around him. He turns to look at you. He notices the way your eyes linger on Louis. “What’s so interesting about him?” You don't respond. A hand swipes in front of your face suddenly—”Hello? Earth to Yn?” 

“Huh–yes. Earth to me” You say, your tone airy. 

He grabbed his water bottle, “I asked, what's so interesting about him?” He muttered, not looking at you—but at Louis instead. 

“What? Nothing interesting about him.” 

His gaze finally landed on you, “You’re staring at him, got a crush?” 

You looked at his face for a second, then scoffed. “Me? And him? Seriously?” He puts both his arms up in a surrender position, "I'm just saying like, you were very much zoned out looking at him—or, admiring him maybe?” That earns him an elbow straight to the stomach, “Shut up Keonho.” 

Beside you, Seonghyeon and Moka exchange looks—can they be any stupider?

After school and after Keonho’s swim practice, you find yourself sprawled out on his bedroom floor, arms stretched above your head as you breathe heavily.  “Keonho turn the AC on, fuck, it’s so hot nowadays.” Keonho simply grabs the remote and hands it over to you, his arm hovering just above your head as he waits for you to take it. But, you don't grab it—instead you tug on his sleeve, signaling him to lay down beside you. 

Keonho’s gaze lingers on you for a second before he lowers himself beside you. “What’s wrong?” He says, quietly bringing his head closer to yours as the two of you stare up at the ceiling. 

You hesitate for a moment but speak anyway “Don’t you ever think that Louis—” you say, turning your head to face him mid-sentence. Bad idea, he’s already looking at you. He’s close. So close that you can see the faint rosiness on his cheeks from walking home in the humidity and the thin layer of sweat lingering on his forehead. You pause, “Never—nevermind.”

He slides closer to you, “What’s wrong?” His eyebrows furrow, “You can tell me anything, right?” He rolls onto his side, head resting against his palm now, his attention fully on you.

“It’s just that–” you were interrupted by the sudden touch of his cold fingers grazing your cheek—he tucks the loose strands of hair behind your ear, “Just what?” But, you couldn't speak. The words jammed up in your throat. His touch was soft, almost comforting. His touch was brief, but it drove you insane. 

“I think he looks at you weird.” You blurt out finally. 

Keonho glances at you, one eyebrow raised up “You think he’s into me or something?” 

That earns him another elbow to the stomach, “Dude, I'm serious. He looks at you really weird.”

He gets up completely, “Well, I don’t care.” Now settling down on the bed as you follow right behind him. You sit beside him, legs swinging. “No, it’s just…something about his stare is so weird. I mean he’s always had a thing for you—not in a romantic way….but, more in a ‘I hate you’ kind of way.”

“You’re paranoid.” Keonho laughs. “If he hated me that much, he would have done something already.”

“Don’t say stuff like that, you know he’s basically an opp.” His gaze lingers on you before he mutters, “Can’t be that deep, Yn.” 

“Don’t come to me crying when he pulls some bullshit.” You say, absentmindedly playing with your bracelets.

Keonho lets out a big sigh, leaning back to lie down “I’m too tired to care Yn,” “Can I ask you something Keon?” You murmur, looking down at the floor.

“What’s up?”

“Do you ever wish you could stop swimming?” Your voice drops lower. “Do I wish I could stop swimming? The sport I’ve been doing since I was a kid?” He scoffs, “Come on, and I thought my best friend would know me better.” he says dramatically, raising a hand to his chest. The dramatic grin on his face falters, “Sometimes I think I’m just good at swimming.” A pause, “I like competing. I like the feeling of water just wrapping around me—it covers me head to toe when I dive in…I like that.”

You lie down beside him. Heads close, arms touching. You don’t respond—you don't feel the need to. And somehow, your silence was enough of a response. Keonho speaks up, “Can we go to that canal again?” 

And that is how you both ended up leaning against the railings of a bridge, looking down at waters that glimmer under the moonlight. That's the problem with canals—they look almost harmless from up here, like taking a dip wouldn't necessarily cause much harm. That’s the deception. Every few seconds, the current crashes violently against the concrete walls beneath it. You look at the waters, and then at Keonho. Then back down. 

“What’s on your mind Keon?” 

He lets out a heavy sigh. “Nothing really,” 

You let out a little laugh as you turn your back to the railing, now leaning your head back, “I’ve known you for 16 years, I'm not dumb. What’s on your mind?”

Beside you, Keonho shifts slightly, sneaking a look at you—“Nationals and stuff. And, now that you mention it…Louis and Woojin are both tough competition.” 

“You don't need to worry about Woojin, Louis, well…understandable”

He snickers, “You think he’s better huh?” 

You let out a giggle, “Better than you? What if I do?” “You think he’s better than me?” He shoots back, now turning his back to the railing too.

“No. He’s not.”

He turns his head, glancing at you from the side. “Promise?” “Promise.” 

You and Keonho were, for one. Very fucking close. And for two—everyone thought you guys were dating. It was a normal thing. People said it every other day and you never felt otherwise about it. Why should you? The problem now is that telling people—“Oh no, we’re not dating.” makes your chest tighten.

“Earth to Yn? Why do you zone out so much?” Keonho asks, settling down beside you. 

“Sorry, morning math lectures just aren't for me.” He lets out a little laugh, “Yeah, can tell.” Seonghyeon joined in the conversation, wrapping an arm around Keonho’s shoulder, “How’s prep for nationals going dude?”

“You look drained” Moka joins in, sipping her apple juice. “I kind of am, it doesn't matter anyway. I work with the water.” He pauses for a second before taking a deep breath in, resting his head against the desk, “Can’t sleep in the water now, can I?”

“Is this about Louis?” James chimes in. “Oh, I always had a bad feeling about the guy,” Martin joins in with a scoff. “Why does someone from another school keep showing up to our practices anyway? Don’t they have their own pool?” Juhoon nods in agreement.

You look around the room while adjusting your chair to face everyone, “I saw him quite literally shooting daggers from his eyes watching Keon swim yesterday.” “I told you I wasn't imagining things” Martin mutters, whining. “I never said you were.” Juhoon replied. 

“Guys, he’s from another school. Obviously he won’t look at me right,” He gets up, leaning back on his chair. “We’re competing for a spot in the nationals, of course he doesn’t like me.” “When are the selections for nationals anyway?” Seonghyeon adds, finally moving his arm away from Keonho

“Uh, in two weeks? We have the swim meet today and sometime next week, I don’t know”

Keonho knows exactly down to the minute when he has to dive in. He just doesn’t want to think about it. Not the pressure, not the scouts watching from the sidelines, and definitely not Louis. But now, standing on the starting block with nothing except the sound of water echoing around him, avoiding it is no longer an option. His arms shake slightly as he adjusts his goggles, the chlorine stinging the back of his throat with every breath he takes. ‘Can’t sleep in the water’ he had joked earlier.

Funny. Because lately, swimming is the only thing keeping him awake. Go to school. Go to practice. Come home exhausted. Stretch until his muscles stop aching long enough to sleep. Then wake up and do it all over again. Somewhere along the way, swimming stopped feeling light of sorts. Sometimes, usually late at night when his body hurts too much to move, Keonho thinks about what would happen if swimming suddenly disappeared from his life. He barely studies anymore. Everything he is, everything people know him for, begins and ends with the pool.

It terrifies him more than he wants to admit. Because he does love swimming. He loves the competition. Loves the feeling of diving in and letting the water wrap around him completely, quieting everything else for just a moment.

But as he dives into the pool, deeper and deeper, all he sees is blue. He’s chasing a dream even though he's tired. He reaches the end of the pool only to turn around and do it all over again. Keonho’s zoned out, surrounded by his own thoughts. The sharp sound of the starter pistol echoes in the room. Keonho doesn't dive in and by the time he realizes it, the others are already in the water. His coach comes up from behind him, “Ahn Keonho what’s wrong with you? Why didn't you dive in?” The coach's voice rings in his ears, “I-I was zoned out, sorry.” His coach starts rambling, voice loud “Keonho, nationals are coming up, you–” He’s interrupted by Keonho walking away. “Hey–” He walks behind Keonho, “You—You come back here now.” “I said I'm sorry,” His voice was laced with annoyance. Seeing Keonho's dazed state, the coach walked away. He settles down on the bleachers, his goggles thrown onto the floor as he runs his fingers through his hair. Someone drops beside him—legs stretched out, wet hair covering his forehead, a towel hanging loosely around his neck. He scoffs, “tough luck huh?”

Keonho turns his head to the familiar figure—It’s Louis. Of course he’s here to torment him. He furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Louis erupts in sarcastic laughter, “Do you know me? You’re gonna know me very well once I take your spot at the nationals.” He pauses, now leaning closer to Keonho. “Funny how the prodigy can’t even hear the starter pistol anymore. They don't tolerate mistakes there Keonho. You won’t get treated like someone special there.”

Keonho gets up, “I don't even know you man.”  He walks away before Louis can say anything else. His team is already gathered around the coach for some stupid pep talk before dismissal.  He checks his phone—6:20 p.m. “She’ll be here soon,” he whispers to himself. 

“Ahn Keonho, speed up! We don't have all day.” The coach yells.  As Keonho reaches the circle of swimmers, one of his friends wraps his soaking arm around Keonho, “Our prodigy’s ears have gone numb in love, when’s Yn coming to get you huh?” The team immediately starts teasing him. Keonho responds, unamused, “In 5 minutes actually.” 

A few minutes later, the team finally gets dismissed.

The humid air clings to Keonho even after he steps outside. Cool evening air brushes against his skin as he adjusts the strap of his bag, scanning the nearly empty parking lot. Then he spots you. He barely makes it a few steps before Louis stops him in his tracks. “Ahn Keonho, I wasn't done talking.” He looks at him with his eyes narrowed. “But I was.” Louis grips Keonho’s wrist. “Who said you get to walk away that fast?” “I did.” “You’re quite egotistical for someone who can’t hear a starter pistol.” Keonho tries not to snap. He harshly shakes Louis’ hand from his wrist, “Bye.” Keonho starts walking away. Louis grips the back of his bag, making him stumble backwards before finding his balance, “I’m not done talking to you.” Keonho grabs Louis’ collar, wrinkling the fabric “Dude, what is it with you? I’m not in the mood to deal with some random dude.”

Louis grabs Keonho’s collar right back, yanking him closer until there’s barely any space left between them. “Someone random?” He lets out a sharp laugh. “I won’t be some random guy once I take your spot at nationals.” 

Keonho snaps back. “What is it with you?” Louis raises his fist, his knuckles going white. As he’s about to swing a blow on Keonho,  a cold and fizzy liquid is poured all over him. “Dude, what the fuck?” Both guys finally let each other go. Louis bends his head down, the sticky liquid dripping down from his hair. When he finally looks up, he throws you a glare. You wheeze, grabbing Keonho’s wrist, pulling him closer to you “Dude, why are you making faces at me? Gosh you look stupid.”  

A towel is thrown on Louis’ head by his friend Woojin. He scoffs at Keonho. “You need your girlfriend to fight your battles?” You don’t give Keonho the opportunity to respond, “You salty you don't have one?” You scoff, dragging Keonho away from the scene. Louis watches both of you walk away. His voice rings out behind you—”You’re going to regret this.” His words linger behind you. You don’t even realize it at first, but your hand slides down from his wrist until your fingers interlock with his

Once you both are far away from the school, you finally stop walking. Your hands still interlinked with his. Keonho hasn’t looked at you the entire time, nor has he said a word. His gaze lingers on his shoes—he’s avoiding your eyes. You look up at him confused, lowering your head trying to meet his gaze. He still avoids you. “Keon, what's wrong?” He says nothing. “If you don’t want to talk…that's alright I guess.” You continue walking. Keonho takes a few steps ahead with you before stopping. “Yn.” You look back, “Yeah?” “Thanks.” He murmurs. You give him a warm smile, pulling him closer so that he can match your steps. “You know I got you.” You both walk with no destination in mind, but somehow end up back at the bridge. The sun has set completely, the moonlight glimmering on the water yet again. Keonho clears his throat, finally pulling his hand away. “It’s crazy how this area hasn’t changed at all. I mean we used to come here as like five year olds.” You let out a little giggle, “Still looks pretty even after all these years.” “Remember how you almost fell into the canal by trying to sit on the railing once?” You nudge his elbow, “Thought we promised to forget that? I was 8 years old.” He exhales loudly, “Still funny.” He pauses, “Even if you fell, I would've saved you.” He turns to look at you, “Only because the current wasn’t as harsh that day.” You take a small step closer to him, tilting your head up at him. “Are you sure it’s not because you love me?” Keonho freezes, heat crawling up his neck. His ears, now a visible shade of crimson. “W-What?” “Why are you stuttering?” He clears his throat, “What? Uh–no reason.” 

You tilt your head, trying to catch his gaze again. Which he immediately avoids. “Why are you so stunned?” You get on your tippy toes, now leaning even closer. Your cold fingers lightly brush against his warm ears. “Why are your ears so red?” 

Keonho takes a deep breath before grabbing your wrist and moving it away from his ear. “It’s hot over here.” You tilt your head at him again—a sign you know something's up. Just bodily cues which Keonho has picked up over the years. “Your hands are cold.” Keonho huffs out a laugh, “I completely forgot about our physi—” You interrupt him, “Keonho, your hands are cold. You're lying. It’s not warm here.” 

His gaze settles on your face for a second too long. Your lips—plump and glossy, probably glazed with your favourite lip oil. Your hair neatly tucked behind your ear, and your eyes. Your eyes…they’re shining. At least that's how Keonho sees them. To him—your eyes glimmer more than the water beneath the bridge ever could. And the way you look at him—like he’s the only thing worth looking at? Fuck, it’s so hard to stay focused.

“Earth to Keon?” You wave your hand in front of his face, breaking him out of his trance. “Y-Yeah, I heard you…Uh…so, what were you saying?” He leans against the railing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I just asked you why you’re lying to me.” Right, you wouldn't let that go. “I don't know, my ears are just naturally flushed or something.” “Flushed huh?” You say innocently. “Aw, do I make you blush?”

Keonho goes visibly red, biting back a smile. He's a tomato at this point. “What’s…what’s wrong with you?” He starts walking away.

You provoke him further, “Aw, are you shy?” You walk behind him as he speeds up. “Hey!” He starts running. “Hey! Stop running!” You yell, chasing him all the way down the bridge.

He drops you home as always. Before you walk to your door, you tug on his shirt, gaining his attention. “Yeah?” You glance at him for a second. “I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable or anything when I didn’t deny me being your girlfriend...” Keonho looks at you, a big smile spreading across his face as he lets out a laugh. “Oh God, you’re worried about that?” He laughs a little louder now, “You’re not worried about how I could’ve gotten punched?”

You finally look up at him. “No, i’m sure you could fight back, it’s just–nevermind. I’ll go inside now. Goodnight Keonho.” You blabber out, turning away.

Keonho clutches your wrist, bending down bringing his face closer to yours. The distance between your faces is minimal. “You’re worried you made me uncomfortable?”

You nod shyly.

“Don’t worry, if it’s you…I don’t mind.” He says with that boyish smile of his. He lets go of your wrist. Now, grabbing your shoulders as he slightly pushes you ahead. “Goodnight, Ynie”

By the time you reach your room, your face still feels unbearably warm. And somehow, every thought in your head leads back to Keonho. Your phone buzzes in your hands.

The next day, you don't wake up to your moms usual shouts. You wake up to Keonho’s voice. “It must be a dream,” you think to yourself before pulling the covers over your head. But to your surprise, this dream feels…real? Why is Keonho in front of you? “Good morning, sleepy” He says sweetly, pulling the covers off of your head. Nope. Nope. Not a dream—he’s right there. You get up abruptly, dazed and groggy. “What are you doing here? Where’s my mom?” “My mom’s downstairs with her, nothing I can do there, so I thought I’d wake you up.” He murmurs, looking around your room. You groan, “What’s the time?” “Uh, 7:30.” “Keonho.” You stare at him blankly. “Yes…?” he says cautiously, already backing toward your bedroom door. “I was supposed to be up 30 minutes ago. I don't have time to get ready.” “Sorry,” he mumbles, trying to hide a smile. “You looked too cute sleeping for me to wake you up.” He gets no response. You immediately get up and rush to get dressed—mainly because you’re trying to hide how warm your face suddenly feels.

 The walk to school feels weird now. Your shoulders brush every few steps, hands occasionally bumping before quickly pulling away again like neither of you knows what you’re allowed to do yet. 

“You’re being awkward,” you mumble eventually.

“I’m not.”

“You literally keep looking at me and then looking away.”

“That’s because you keep staring first.”

You scoff, nudging his arm lightly. He grins this time—small and shy and stupidly pretty. 

The school day was horrid. You drop him off at the swimming pool only to be met with Louis and Woojin’s glares the second you walk in.

“Why’re they even here this early?” you murmur to Keonho.

“Their school must hate them,” Keonho says, dropping his bag onto the bleachers.

The second you stepped into class, you were swept away by Moka. Who was now bombarding you with questions. “So, did you guys kiss?” 

“Moka, what the fuck?”

You later got to know that Moka had already told Yunah and Minju about your conversation yesterday, so they were quick to chime in. 

“That’s not a no,” Yunah points out.

“Oh my God,” you groan, dropping your head onto the desk.

The rest of the day goes exactly how you expected it to—Moka interrogating you while you avoid every single question thrown your way. By the end of the day, your head hurts and you haven’t seen Keonho once after you dropped him off. Nationals selections meant he’d be stuck at the pool for basically the entire school day. Thank God it was Friday. The only thing you were looking forward to now was going home and dissociating for the next two days.

The bell rang loudly, the sounds of chatter erupted, muffled sounds of bags being stuffed filled the room. School was over. And, Keonho? Not back in class yet. But, Seonghyeon wasn't in class either. Yunah turned, “Do you think Seonghyeon used Keonho as an excuse to bunk the last two classes?” You nodded your head half heartidly, too tired to formulate a proper response.

On the bleachers, Seonghyeon’s sitting beside Keonho, listening to his friend absolutely lose his mind over you. “And, we were so different yesterday? She’s still the same, but now I can’t stop thinking about her.”  He said running his fingers through his wet hair, “I don't know man, I–” Seonghyeon cuts him off, “Man, do you like the girl?”

Keonho sharply turns his head, “What? No.” He pauses, “No—I mean not no no, just…fuck, I don’t know.…” He stops, trying to figure out what to say. Seonghyeon stands up and grabs Keonho's shoulders, “So, if I go ask her out right now, would it be fine?” Keonho’s eyebrows furrow, “The fuck? Fuck no.” Seonghyeon laughs under his breath, “Alright so you like her. Go ask her out. Today.” Keonho’s gaze lowers to the floor, “I don’t want to fuck the friendship up man.” Seonghyeon grabs his bag from beside Keonho, “If you don’t do it soon, someone else will.” He pauses, “Who knows, maybe she likes you too?” a giggle, “Imagine someone else asks her out and she goes out with them because you're too scared to ask her out–” Keonho looks away so fast it’s almost defensive. “Stop blabbering, man. Jeez.” He gets up. Both of them walk to the class together. But all he can think about is someone else asking you out before he does. “Sean.” “Yeah?” He says, looking up from his phone. Keonho stops walking. “I’m asking her out. Today.”

Seonghyeon just stares at Keonho blankly, then nods a little. 

As both of them approach the class, Moka, Yunah and Minju are already all over you. You should be annoyed by all the teasing but, honestly? You don't mind. They both enter the class and conversation between everyone erupts naturally. Yunah chimes, “You bunked, again?” as seonghyeon just grins. 

Meanwhile, both you and Keonho struggle to say anything at all. Moka looks at you, then at Keonho, and then back at you. Before Moka can physically shove you toward him, Keonho walks over first. “Wanna leave?” You just look up at him before nodding slightly. He helps you pack your stuff, and before you can grab your bag—he does it. “Keonho, I can do that myself, you don’t have to carry it.” Keonho simply says, “I want to.” And walks away. You glance back at your friends. All four of them are smiling way too cheekily. You roll your eyes before muttering a quiet, “Bye,” and hurrying after Keonho.

The walk outside felt suffocating. It didn't slip into the comfortable silence you and Keonho were used to. It was so awkward you almost couldn’t take it anymore.

“Okay, what is wrong with you?” ou said, irritation slipping into your voice “Nothing?” “You’ve been so weird since you entered the class with Hyeon,” Keonho looks away immediately, adjusting the strap of your bag on his shoulder. “Wanna go to the dog park? My sister’s already there with Cookie.”

You blink at him. “In this heat?”

“Give me company?” A pause, “Please?” Now how can you say no to that? You both walk to the dog park and spot Keonho’s sister with Cookie. Cookie comes running to Keonho, jumping into his arms licking his face in excitement. A second later, Cookie was jumping on you too. You pull Cookie away and whine, “No Cookie, my makeup.”

Both Keonho and his sister laugh at you before his sister heads off. You and Keonho walk Cookie for a while in silence, before settling down on the park benches. The sun’s going down and the chatter in the dog park gets loud as more people come in. Cookie now rests against your feet, huffing from exhaustion. 

Neither you nor Keonho say a word. The silence between you is only broken every so often by Cookie’s barking somewhere near your feet. The tension is bad. Very bad.

Keonho clears his throat, breaking the silence. “Yn?” You don't look at him, “Yeah?” You see Keonho lean forward, his hands gripping the bench. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah”

He laughs nervously, “Promise you won’t make it weird?” You look at him now, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?” Keonho lets out a quiet laugh, but it sounds more nervous than amused. He runs a hand through his hair before finally looking at you. “When people say we’re dating…” He pauses, “You don’t hate it, right?”

You turn your gaze back to the pavement. You stay silent. Keonho finally looks away from you,  gaze lingering on the ground too. “Sorry–I made it weird,” You look back at Keonho frantically, “What? No–No never.” He looks back at you, his eyes wide with anticipation. You pause again—looking around the park. Looking everywhere but at him. You inhale loudly, “It’s just that…I don’t know how to say it,” “I like you.” Keonho blurts out. But this time, you don't look back at him, eyes still wandering around the park. You heard him, loud and clear. “What if we mess the friendship up? What if we fuck around and end up finding out?”

He finally looks at you, his pinky finger now interlocking with yours. “I’ve been spiraling. I’ll be honest, the only reason Seonghyeon skipped the last classes today was because I begged him to listen to me. I like you, I’m sure I do. If someone else confessed to you before I did—I’d be so mad.” He starts fiddling with Cookie’s leash, “I’d been trying to ignore my feelings for so long, I tried to pretend people calling you my girlfriend didn’t bother me—but fuck it did. Especially since yesterday. Yesterday it just—it felt so real.” He looks away from you now, “I just couldn’t lie to you anymore.” 

A smile appears on your face, “Lie to me about what?” Keonho groans, “Don’t make me say it again.” You scoot closer to him, “I’m actually confused.” Heat rises to his cheeks, they’re now visible red. “I couldn’t lie about the fact that I like you..” You let out a giggle, visibly blushing too. “Well, for the record—I like you too. I can’t even lie, I’ve been spiraling for a while too.” “Keonho’s face lights up, “You like me too!” He picks Cookie up in his arms, “She likes me back!” You start laughing, “Keonho, put Cookie down!” “No, you don't understand the significance of this, I was ranting to him last night.” Your eyebrows furrow, “You were ranting to your dog?” He puts Cookie down, He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean, it did work…right? You’re my girlfriend now…right?”

You roll your eyes, “No stupid, take me out.” “Right, right. I’ll take you out.” You look at him, expression plain. “I mean, can I take you out?” You squeeze your eyes shut, “Oh you're bad at this, but yes. You can.”

He smiles at you, grabbing your hand and pulling you up. He leans down, making sure Cookie’s attached to the leash safely—his hand never leaving yours. “Let’s go home, it’s late.” He says all smiley. 

The whole walk home, his hand never leaves your. Instead, he seems to pull you closer every time he feels your hand slipping away. You don’t stop by the bridge today—it’s too late. Once you’re at the front door of your house, you try to pull your hand away. Keonho’s grip tightens again, “Do you have to go this early?” 

You roll your eyes at him, “Yes, it's a weekend tomorrow and I would really like to sleep.”

He whines, letting your hand go. “Fine, whatever.” 

You giggle softly, grabbing his hand again. Standing on your tippy toes, you cup his cheek with one hand before pressing a quick kiss against it. When you pull away, Keonho’s completely frozen. Then your eyes land on the faint glossy print left on his cheek. “…Aw,” you mumble, trying not to laugh. “Keon look! My lip gloss literally stamped your face.”

His eyes widen immediately. “What?”

You burst into laughter, pointing at the mark on his cheek. “That’s so cute.”

Keonho’s face goes completely red. He rubs at his cheek once before stopping halfway—like he suddenly doesn’t want to wipe it off anymore. You roll your eyes at the stupid smile spreading across his face. “Goodnight, Keon.”

He lets out a soft laugh, still looking a little dazed. “Goodnight, Ynie.”

By the time you step out of the shower, your cheeks still hurt from smiling. Your phone buzzes against your bed sheets.

The next day, Keonho updates you every hour. You get pictures with messages like—‘just reached the school, idw practice’

At around 4:59 p.m, you hear a knock at your door. It’s Keonho. He’s standing there with flowers in his hands and his hair slightly messed up and damp from the pool waters. As for you, when Keonho sees you—he almost forgets how to breathe. You had sat in front of your vanity for about an hour trying to make sure your makeup and outfit looked good today. You had a white dress on with a floral print, the sunlight caught in your hair, your lips tinted softly pink and your cheeks were flushed—and honestly, you weren’t sure if it was the blush or Keonho anymore.

Keonho awkwardly holds the flowers out. “You look…beautiful.” 

You let out a shy smile, taking the flowers from his hand and placing them carefully by the doorway. “Thank you, Keon.”

Keonho’s ears are red. His hand lingers between you, waiting for yours. You both walk to the café hand in hand. The café is small and cozy, filled with pink and brown decor and way too many desserts. You both settle down near the window, placing your orders. After the waiter leaves Keonho clears his throat, “So, what's up?” You laugh slightly, “You’re so bad at this Keon,” Keonho buries his face in his palms, “I’m trying, it’s hard to be normal when you’re nervous.”

“Why are you nervous now? You’ve known me since we were kids.” “Yeah, but now you’re pretty and it's scary.”

You blink at him. “Now?”

Keonho freezes. “That’s not what I meant.”

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. He groans dramatically while you shake your head at him. Somehow, the awkwardness fades after that. The waiter arrives with your drinks first, then your desserts not long after. Keonho keeps stealing strawberries off your cake despite insisting that he “doesn’t even like sweets that much.”

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, watching him eat another strawberry.

“I’m hungry.”

“You had practice for like eight hours, of course you’re hungry.”

Keonho shrugs before leaning back on his chair, sunlight spilling across his face from the window beside him. Outside, the evening streets are glimmering in the sunlight filtered from the leaves. 

Keonho stirs his drink absentmindedly. “I think this is the first time I’ve relaxed all week.”

You look up at him. His shoulders don’t look as tense now. His expression is softer too.

“Nationals?” you ask quietly.

He nods a little. “Coach keeps increasing practice hours.” He lets out a quiet laugh. “I think everyone expects me to qualify already.”

“You will.”

His gaze flicks toward you immediately. “You sound very sure.”

“I am.”

A small smile appears on his face at that. “You always say things so confidently,” he murmurs.

“Someone has to.”

Keonho looks down at his drink again, smiling faintly to himself. The conversation drifts after that. You both talk about the stupidest things—how Moka interrogated you last night about Keonho and how Seonghyeon reacted when he heard that Keonho’s actually taking you out.

By the time you both leave the café, the sky has already darkened into shades of pink and purple. The warm evening air brushes against your skin the second you step outside. Keonho reaches for your hand instinctively now, fingers slipping between yours naturally like he’s done it forever.

Your heart still reacts embarrassingly fast.

“You’re smiling to yourself,” he points out while walking beside you.

“No I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

You look away immediately. “Shut up.”

Keonho grins, squeezing your hand once before swinging both your arms slightly between you. At some point, Keonho suddenly stops walking.

You blink at him. “What?”

Without saying anything, he pulls his phone out. “…Why are you recording me?”

“You look pretty.”

“Keonho.”

“Stand there.”

You stare at him in disbelief while he laughs quietly, phone pointed toward you anyway. “Stop it.”

“Just one photo.”

“No.”

“Please?”

You narrow your eyes at him before reluctantly standing still for half a second with a forced smile. The second he clicks the picture, you walk toward him. “Delete it.”

“No.”

“Keonho.”

“It’s cute.”

You try grabbing his phone, but he lifts it higher above your head easily. “You’re evil.”

“And you’re too short to grab my phone.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Okay wow.”

He giggles loudly when you nudge his shoulder. Eventually, the two of you end up near his house without even realising it. Keonho glances toward his house before looking back at you. “You wanna come over now?”

You hesitate dramatically. “I don’t know…”

“Yn.”

“Are you sure? What if your parents thing im weird or something”

 “You’re like their second daughter, plus they’re leaving soon.” He pulls you to the door. “Just come in,” he mutters, grabbing your wrist and dragging you toward his house anyway.

The second you both enter his room, Cookie comes running again, barking excitedly at your feet. You crouch down immediately, rubbing behind his ears while Keonho tosses his phone onto the floor. You settle onto his bed while he disappears for a second before returning with two cold juice boxes from the fridge downstairs.

“You still drink these?” you ask.

“They’re good.”

“They’re made for children.”

“Whatever,” You and Keonho spent a good 3 hours just sprawled across the bed. You scroll on your phone, petting Cookie every now and then while Keonho’s busy playing some stupid game on his desk. You turn to your side, groaning. “Keonnn, it’s late. I think I'll head back.”

Keonho takes his headset off dramatically, “What? No. You can’t leave.” He stands up and walks over to you. He sits down on the bed, his hands cupping your face. “You’re sleeping over.” You giggle, “Keon I need to change my clothes, remove my makeup and take a shower.” “You can wear my clothes—or my sisters, use her makeup remover and shower here.” He leans down to place a kiss on your cheek, “Your parents won’t mind.” “Ugh, fine.” 

By the time you’re out of the shower, dressed in one of his sisters sweatpants and his t-shirt. Keonho’s already asleep on his bed, probably tired from the 8 hour practice. You smile at his sleeping figure as you turn the lights off before crawling into bed beside him. His arm instinctively wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His chin resting atop of your head. You try to move but Keonho only tightens his grip around you. “Keonho let me move.” “No,” he says groggily, placing a sleepy kiss on the top of your head.

The sunlight filters through Keonho's curtains. Keonho tries slipping out of bed quietly, but the second he moves, your arm tightens around his torso. “No,” you mumble into his shirt, eyes still shut. “Five more minutes.”

Keonho lets out a laugh, glancing down at you. “Five?”

You pull him back down beside you immediately, burying your face against his chest. “No. Two more hours.”

“It’s literally noon.”

“It’s a Sunday," you groan dramatically. “Let me be.”

He laughs softly again. His fingers slide lazily through your hair while you slowly start falling back asleep against him. Keonho speaks again, voice lower now. “…I’m sorry in advance.”

You open your eyes slightly. “For what?”

He holds you tighter. “This week’s gonna suck.” He says, drawing patterns on your back absentmindedly. “Selections are next week. Coach already said he’s extending practice again.” A pause. “And the swim meet’s Friday."

You hum against him sleepily. “It’s okay Keon, I get it.”

“No, but like…really busy.” He exhales loudly. “I might barely text.”

You tilt your head up slightly to look at him. His hair’s messy, eyes still swollen with sleep, expression weirdly guilty over something that isn’t even his fault. “It’s fine,” you mumble again. “You act like you’re leaving me forever.”

His lips twitch slightly, but the smile doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “Still,” he says quietly.

You snuggle closer again before he can spiral any further. “You’re being too dramatic about this.”

“I am not.”

“You really are.”

Keonho rolls his eyes before wrapping both arms around you again, pulling you impossibly closer. “But,” he murmurs after a second, “you have to meet me saturday.”

You blink slowly. “Why Saturday?”

“Because.” He pauses. “I wanna see you before the main thing.”

You frown sleepily. “Keon, you know all of us are gonna be there.”

“Yeah, but…” He hesitates for a second. “I wanna meet just you first. Once.”

You giggle into his chest, ‘Alright. As you say, pretty boy.” Keonho freezes for a second, “Pretty what?” 

You finally pull away from Keonho’s chest, looking up at him with a smile. “Pretty boy.” You giggle, cupping his face as you place a peck on his lips. “H-Hey!” he says, completely flushed now. “You can’t just do that.” “Too bad.” You say as you bury your head in the crook of his neck. He sighs, “So I’m not even your boyfriend but you stole my first kiss?” “Okay. You can be my boyfriend, or whatever” Keonho just smiles at your answer, “Already knew that.” He thinks to himself as he pulls you away from the crook of his neck before peppering kisses all over your face while you try to shove him away laughing. 

The rest of the week goes by in a blur. You and Keonho don’t get to talk as much, his swim practices taking up most of his time. One night, he even tried arguing that he could stay up late just to talk to you, but of course, what kind of girlfriend would want her boyfriend showing up tired the next day? Even though his absence lingered through most of the week, the rare moments everyone saw him during lunch were full of teasing from the whole group—especially James, Martin, and Juhoon. They were the last ones to find out about the two of you. Martin was sulking. James immediately started whining,, “Okay, so you guys don’t care about us anymore.” Juhoon wasn’t bothered much, but he didn't hesitate to throw in a few teases here and there.

You and Keonho hung out like twice, mostly just him crashing at your house after practice. Your parents were gone for the week—so him sleeping over wasn’t a problem. One thing you couldn’t help noticing was how often Keonho talked about Louis and Woojin now. Their school had been practicing with yours, so of course—Keonho saw them more often than he wanted to. Every time you talked, at least an hour of it turned into Keonho ranting about how annoying both of them had gotten. Especially after they started outright threatening him over nationals.

One time, he explained how Louis had walked over to him sitting at the bleachers, “Gettin’ better huh?” Keonho looked up briefly, then went back to drinking water from his bottle. Louis didn’t like that. He didn’t like how Keonho didn’t react. Louis immediately slapped Keonho’s bottle out of his hand before grabbing the towel around his neck, roughly pulling him closer. “What’s your problem?” 

Keonho didn’t hold back. He shoved Louis away. “My problem? Do you want me to tell everyone about how you’ve been threatening me this whole week?” He scoffed, glaring at Louis. “You think your petty threats are gonna stop me from getting selected?”

“Louis landed a punch on Keonho, but Keonho hit him back three times and harder. That’s when Keonho finally admitted how bad things had gotten.  The coach and a few teammates had to physically pull them apart. 

After Keonho finishes talking, you grab his face, tugging him closer as you examine the faint bruise blooming across his cheekbone. “Keonho, what is wrong with you? Look.” You turn your phone camera on, angling it toward him. “You’re hurt.”

He chuckles. “It’s such a light bruise. You should’ve seen Louis.”

You smack his arm lightly. “That does not matter, you still got hurt.” You frown, leaning closer to his face as you kiss his bruise lightly. ‘Don’t get into fights for no reason.” Keonho pulls back, looking at you like he needs to defend himself immediately. ” “He hit me first.” You groan, “Ahn Keonho.”

 That made him sit straight. “Government name?” “I’m serious.” Keonho hugs you from the side, “Come on, anyway. You’re coming tomorrow right?” You tilt your head slightly, “The bridge?”

Keonho nods, “Yeah, around 7?” You hum, snuggling closer to him. 

And so, here you were. At the bridge at 7 p.m. sharp, with no Keonho in sight. “Great, he’s late,” you murmur to yourself. The chilly night air grazes your skin, sending a shiver up your spine. Moonlight glimmers against the surface of the water beneath the bridge, the same way it always does. You lean against the railing, taking a slow breath. Your peace is interrupted by a familiar voice.

“What are you doing here?”

You turn around—only to see Louis and Woojin standing side by side. You roll your eyes. “What do you both want?”

Woojin chuckles. “Your boyfriend to not make it to nationals.”

You eye him up and down. “Are you stupid? How am I related to his swimming skills? What the fuck?”

Louis steps closer, tilting his head slightly, invading your space. “Delay him, make him late to the selections. As simple as that.”

You scoff. “Yeah right. I’m going to sabotage my own boyfriend because you two pussies are too scared to actually compete with him. You’re real funny.”

Louis’ tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. “Either you listen to me now, or I’ll make you.”

You stare at him, confused. “Make me?”

That’s all it takes. Louis’ hand snaps up and grabs your shoulders, yanking you closer. “Are you fucking stupid?” he snaps, voice suddenly loud. “Are my words not clear?”

You try to grab his arms, ‘What’s–” You pause trying to fight back, “What’s wrong with you?” You yell. You grip the low railing behind you, trying to stabilise yourself. Your words and pleas to be let go off are cut of by Louis shouting at you repeatedly, “Gosh, You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Louis, let me go.” to make matters worse, Woojin on the side starts recording, he leans in closer trying to take more zoomed in shots. 

Your yelling is cut off by something dropping hard onto the ground. The next second, Louis is yanked backward so suddenly he stumbles away from you. You barely process it before your eyes snap up.

Keonho.

He’s here.

His gaze lands on you — and everything in his face changes. Before anyone can react, he shoves Louis back again, then turns sharply toward Woojin. Woojin barely has time to step back before Keonho’s already on him, forcing him away from the situation entirely.

The space between you all explodes into chaos. Woojin hesitates for half a second—then he’s gone. He backs away fast, like something in him finally clicks that this isn’t a safe space anymore. His running footsteps fade into the distance, leaving only the three of you on the bridge and the sound of your breathing turning sharp and uneven.

Keonho doesn’t even look at him leave. But, Louis does and that little second of distraction is all it takes for Keonho to move. “Don’t you ever touch her again,” Keonho snaps, landing another punch on Louis’ already red cheek. 

Louis laughs under his breath, wiping his mouth like he’s annoyed more than he is hurt. “Or what?”

You try to step forward, to get between them, but you can’t. Even if you did—Keonho would push you away. “Keonho, stop—” you start, but your voice gets swallowed by the rising tension.

Louis tilts his head. “You’re really showing up now? This late?”

Keonho takes a step closer instead of answering. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

Louis scoffs, tightening his grip on Kenoho's collar. “I don’t get to? You think you’re in a position to tell me anything? Can’t even show up to meet your girlfriend on time”

The words agitate Keonho more. You see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands curl like he’s barely holding himself back.

“Say what you want about me,” Keonho says, voice sharper now, “but don’t involve her.”

Louis’ smile drops slightly as he punches Keonho. “That’s funny. Because she’s exactly the point.” 

You move forward again, panic rising. “Both of you stop—Keonho, please—”

But neither of them is listening anymore. Everything happens too fast after that—raised voices, movement, the space between them filling up with yells and punches. Your words can’t calm  it anymore. 

“Fuck, why are you here now?” Louis spits.

Keonho doesn’t hesitate. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

Louis’ expression sharpens. “I’m going to make sure you don’t make it to nationals.”

Keonho chuckles. “Try.”

Your hands shake as you fumble for your phone, vision blurred by panic. Your grip tightens on the phone too hard as you hit James’ contact before you even fully think. Your voice comes out broken with deep breaths. “James—at the bridge. Now. Louis and Keonho—just come, please—”

There’s a pause on the other end. “What? Fuck—wait, I’m two minutes away. I’m coming.”

You barely hear it properly before the call drops. When you look up again, Louis is standing closer to you now. He moves suddenly, grabbing you and pulling you behind him like a shield, positioning you so Keonho can see everything clearly.

“Let go of her,” Keonho says immediately, voice breaking into something darker now. “Don’t bring her into this.”

Louis’ grip tightens. “Or what?” he mutters, almost taunting. “You’ll step down from nationals?”.

Keonho doesn’t even hesitate, “As long as you leave her.”

Silence falls in for a second, even Louis was taken aback.  Then his grip shifts, dragging you closer to the railing, your breath catching as panic spikes through your chest.

“You really trust him?” Louis murmurs near your ear. “Because I don’t.”

Keonho steps forward immediately. “Don’t.”

Louis exhales, almost amused now. “You know what I think?”

His hand tightens slightly. “I think one push and this all becomes a lot simpler.”

Your stomach drops.

“Let her go,” Keonho says, voice shaking now. “Right now.”

Louis looks at him over your shoulder. Then he smiles. “Why should I?” Just as Louis tries to scare Keonho further, he sees James running towards the scene in the background. 

“Keonho—!” James’ voice cuts through the bridge like a warning.

Louis hesitates, that’s all it takes. Something in his conscience tells him it’s a good idea.

James reaches them in seconds, jumping straight into the situation, as he starts yelling at both of the guys. Louis is completely distracted by James’ rant. Keonho takes the chance, he rushes closer to you. But, just because Louis is focused on James, doesn't mean his grip on you has weakened. 

The second Louis spots Keonho trying to grab onto you, he doesn't hesitate. He pushes you harshly. Your breath catches as the grip around you shifts—then releases—and suddenly the world tilts.

The railing is gone, you hit the waters harshly—shouting as you fall. 

Silence follows like the world itself doesn’t understand what just happened. James grabs Louis and everything collapses at once. James hits Louis Uncontrollably. Keonho is already moving before the sound fully registers. hitting him continuously as Keonho doesn't hesitate to jump into the harsh currents himself.

The next moments blur. Keonho doesn’t think—he reacts. He’s in the water before the thought fully lands, eyes scanning the surface, searching for you in the harsh currents. He takes a deep breath and dives in. Every time he comes up, he’s breathing harshly.

“Yn? Where are you?” He yells helplessly. He’s panicking, he’s fighting himself internally.

Why was I late?If I was there sooner—

Such thoughts flood his brain. To him, it’s his fault. That’s all he thinks about. But he has no time to calm himself now. Not when you’re nowhere to be seen. 

His world pauses again, he takes a deep breath and dives in again. As he tries to navigate through the cold and dark waters. A hand touches him. He grabs onto it tight as he swims back to the surface. And then, he sees your face. You’re unconscious. 

He drags you out of the water with urgency, refusing to accept what his mind is trying to tell him. Every step feels heavy, until finally he gets you onto the grass nearby. 

You’re not moving. Not an inch. Your chest doesn't rise and fall—you’re not breathing.

Keonho drops beside you instantly. “No, no, no, stay with me.” His hands are shaking so badly he can barely hold still. His voice breaks completely as he pleads with you, over and over, like his words alone could change reality. “Yn, please. Please look at me.”

No answers. He leans down to you, placing his mouth on yours as he tries to pump air into your lungs. Nothing changes, there's no expression on your face, not a single muscle moves. He pulls you closer like he’s afraid to let you go. His face is close to yours, his forehead touching yours.  “I’m sorry… I’m sorry—please…” He starts crying. James’ voice cuts through Keonho’s sobs—“They’re here.”

James had called people beforehand, just in case something escalated. Which it did. When the paramedics try to pull you away from Keonho, his grip just tightens on you. “No–no.” James pulls Keonho back as he whispers to him, “She’s okay, she’ll be okay. Let them help her.” Keonho can’t help but sob uncontrollably. He knows you’re not okay. There's no pulse. Your lips were blue.

Keonho now stands in front of a stone. A stone that holds your name.

Yn, 2009–2026.

He gets on his knees next to it, placing the same flowers down that he got you on your first date. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He lets out a broken sob. “I’m so sorry. Only if I arrived earlier, only if I—” He can’t speak anymore. Tears run down his face, and he can taste the salt on his lips. His breath is shaky, eyes now red.

“I know I come by here every other week and just cry,” he lets out a hiccup. “I know, if you were here you’d tell me to shut up and say—‘you’re so annoying.’” He touches your grave lightly. “I can’t help but think it’s all my fault. I’m sorry, Yn. I’m sorry. I barely got to spend time with you as your boyfriend—I barely got to treat you right.”

He finally wipes his face, taking a deep breath. He tries to speak again but is interrupted by a camera flash. He looks toward the direction of it quickly before getting up and hiding his face. Five paparazzi start walking behind him, throwing questions like—

How do you feel about winning the Olympic awards for 2032? How does it feel knowing you achieved so much at just 23? How does it feel having two Olympic medals just a few years into your career?

Keonho doesn’t answer any of them. He just turns his phone on to check the time—his wallpaper a picture of both of you cuddled up in his room. Tears flood his face again as he rushes to his car.

The driver pulls off while all Keonho can do is sob into his palms, knowing you’re not there to comfort him anymore, knowing you’re not there to support him anymore, knowing you don’t know the two-time Olympic gold medalist Keonho has become.

Ahn Keonho—top swimmer in the school, or a prodigy as people liked to call him. Everyone knew him. The guy who walked into class after second lecture trailing the scent of chlorine behind him. The guy who slept through half the day because training exhausted him. The guy who was almost always beside you.

 But to you, he was just Keonho. The same dude you’d known your entire life because your parents were best friends. And somehow, by law, that meant you and Keonho had to become best friends too. Which you did.

Time passes quickly. Somehow, throughout your entire school life, you and Keonho always ended up in the same class. Now it’s your third year of high school, and you’ve known him longer than you’ve not known him. At this point, you can’t even remember a version of your life where he didn’t exist. Keonho has been swimming for as long as you’ve known him. But now, for the first time, it actually matters. Nationals, scouts, his future—everything suddenly feels bigger this year. He’s been training like crazy. 

And you’ve been right there beside him through all of it.

“Yn?…Yn? Hello?” Moka’s hand waves in front of your face, closer this time—annoyingly persistent.

You blink, snapping back. “Huh?—yeah, yeah, I’m listening. What?”

Moka didn’t answer immediately. She just looked at you—slow, assessing, from head to toe. “You didn’t sleep again, did you?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “There’s too much work, I can’t just not stay up, Moka.”

“Mm.” She hummed, unconvinced. Then, tilting her head slightly—“Or… you were busy overthinking what to pack your best friend for lunch?”

You didn’t look up. “I told you to stop calling him that.”

“So what’d you make him?” she pressed anyway, leaning in.

“…Just fries.”

“Just fries,” she repeated, like she didn’t believe you for a second.

Then, quieter—right next to your ear— “Aw. Was his wifey too tired to do more?”

You rolled your eyes, elbowing her lightly. “Shut up.”

But you didn’t deny it. And that was enough. You were used to it by now. Sometimes it came from your own friends. Sometimes from Keonho’s. And more often than not—from Seonghyeon. He and Keonho had always been close. The kind of close that didn’t need explaining. And wherever Seonghyeon was, Martin and Juhoon weren’t far behind—even after graduating.

They still showed up like they belonged here—usually around the after hours when athletes stayed back to practice. They always cheered Keonho on and the teachers never stopped them, there was something endearing about their bond. Somehow, along the way, they’d even dragged James into their orbit. The math teacher’s son. He dropped by every now and then, filling in as a substitute when his mother couldn’t make it.

It felt like you and Keonho were always being watched. Like there was no space that was just yours. You’re in class? Well, great. You’ve got Minju, Yunah and then Moka who sits beside you—which, honestly, no complaints. You love them. But right in front of you—Keonho and Seonghyeon. Always. And if you’re at his practice, cheering him on? You’re not the only one. Seonghyeon’s there, obviously. Martin and Juhoon too, whenever they drop by. Even James, leaning against the railings like he’s got nowhere else to be. Moka, right next to you, way too amused by all of it. It’s never just you and him, never that simple. 

You and Keonho are only ever alone when it’s planned. When he’s at your place. Or when you’re at his. Sometimes it just… happens. Like when one of you ends up home alone for the night, and the other shows up without really asking. No one questions it anymore.

At your house, it’s quiet, too quiet, sometimes. You sit on the floor of your room, backs against your bed, laptops open—supposedly studying. Keonho reads things out loud under his breath, half-focused, half-distracted. You don’t really talk much, you don’t need to. Every now and then, he nudges your foot with his. Just to check you’re still there.

At his place, it’s different. His room is colder, neater and heavily decorated with multiple medals.  You usually end up on his bed while he sits at his desk, towel slung around his shoulders, hair still damp from practice.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he says without turning around.

You hum, already halfway there. Five minutes later, he glances back—and you’ve passed out, cuddled up in his sheets. He sighs, soft, almost amused. Pulls the blanket over you anyway.

Sometimes, you stay over, not often but just when it makes sense. When one of you doesn’t want to be alone. You end up lying side by side, staring at the ceiling, talking about nothing…or everything. It’s easy, with him it’s always been easy.

But if you had to pick—your favorite version of Keonho isn’t any of that. It’s him in the water.

Keonho, as a person, is… quiet, a little shy. Kind in a way that doesn’t look performative. Playful, sometimes—when he forgets himself. Witty, in small, unexpected ways. He fits into spaces easily without realising it. He’s like a shot of espresso, he energizes every room he walks into without really realising it. And by the time he's gone? The feeling still stays. He leaves that kind of impression. 

But in the water? He’s different, like completely different. There’s nothing hesitant about him there. No second-guessing. No pauses. Every movement is sharp with certainty and control. Like he knows exactly where he’s supposed to be. Like the water is the only place he doesn’t have to think.

And you think—maybe that’s why you like watching him so much. Because that version of him is just so…so new, so unfamiliar to you. But at the same time, you know him.

The bell rings, sharp enough to cut through your thoughts. A few people groan, chairs scrape, and chatter gets louder now. The next teacher will come to you. You sit up a little straighter, blinking the image of him in the water out of your head.

The door slides open. You don’t look up immediately, you don’t really have to. There’s that faint scent of chlorine slipping into the room before he does. Keonho walks in, hair still damp, uniform slightly off like he threw it on in a hurry. His tie’s loose, sleeves uneven, a few droplets still clinging to the ends of his hair. He pauses just inside the room for a second, scanning—then his eyes land on you.

Of course they do. He walks over like it’s automatic, like there was never another option. The chair beside you scrapes softly as he pulls it out and drops into it with a low exhale, he leans back for a second, then folds his arms on the desk and drops his head onto them.

“Morning,” he mutters, voice rough.

You glance at him properly now. Up close, it’s worse—the damp hair, the faint flush on his skin, the way he looks like he hasn’t had a second to breathe since practice ended. “You look like shit,” you say.

He lets out a small huff, almost a laugh. “Feel like it.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward. Just… familiar. Then his gaze flicks to your bag, still open. You notice it the same second he does. You hesitate—just for a moment. Then you reach in. “…Here,” you mumble, sliding the container toward him without looking straight at him.

He looks at it, then at you, a little confused. “What’s this?”

“Just take it.”

He opens it. Fries. Still warm. Something in his expression softens—just a little, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it.

“You made this?” he asks.

“It’s literally fries, Keonho.”

“Yeah, but still.”

You don’t answer that. He takes one, eats it without thinking, like he’s actually starving. Which—he probably is. You watch him for half a second too long. Then look away. “Did you even eat?” you ask, grabbing a pen to write something in your notebook—anything to seem distracted.

He shakes his head slightly, already reaching for another. “Didn’t have time.”

Of course he didn’t. You press your lips together, leaning back in your seat like it doesn’t bother you. It does, a lot more than it should. “Eat properly,” you mutter. He glances at you again, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Okay sergeant,” he says. Then, his attention completely shifts to the fries. 

The teacher walks in a few minutes later. Math. At nine in the morning. The lecture goes exactly how you’d expect—numbers filling the board, monotone explanations, half the class barely conscious. You try to keep up, you really do. But beside you, Keonho doesn’t even try. Athlete privilege. His head’s already down, arms folded under it, breathing slow and even like he’s been waiting for this all day. You press your lips together, scribbling something—anything—into your notebook, wishing, for the first time, that Moka hadn’t moved ahead to sit with Seonghyeon.

At least she would’ve pretended to understand this. Somewhere in the middle of it, you feel it. A stare. You turn slightly, of course—Keonho. He’s not fully asleep anymore—just watching you, eyes half-lidded, lazy.

“…What?” you whisper, a small snicker slipping out.

“It’s not comfortable,” he murmurs, voice low, still rough with sleep.

You glance at him. “What do you want me to do about that?”

A pause.

“Give me your jacket… please?”

You stare at him for a second. “…Are you serious?”

He doesn’t answer, just looks up at you. Waiting.

You sigh quietly, already slipping your jacket off. “Unbelievable.”

You pass it over without looking at him properly. He takes it without a word, bunches it slightly under his head, adjusting it. “…Thanks,” he mumbles, eyes already closing again. 

For a second, it’s quiet again. Just the scratch of pens, the teacher talking and the low hum of the class. Then, barely above a whisper—“…Smells like you.”

You freeze, your pen pauses mid-word. “…What?” you ask, a little too quickly, not looking up.

He shifts slightly, voice still thick with sleep. “The jacket,” he murmurs. “It smells like you.”

You stare at your notebook, suddenly very focused on absolutely nothing, heat creeps up your neck. “…Okay?” you manage.

Then, softer—“…It’s nice…comforting kinda”

That does it, your grip tightens around your pen, words on the page blurring slightly. You don’t look at him. You cannot look at him. “…Go to sleep, Keonho,” you mutter. But your voice comes out quieter than you meant it to.

As the lecture dragged on, Keonho shifted closer little by little. Not intentionally—at least, you didn’t think so. Just small movements. His chair nudging nearer. His shoulder brushing yours for a second longer each time he moved. Until eventually—he was close enough to feel the warmth of your arm beside him.

And then, suddenly, his hand wraps loosely around your forearm. Like instinct more than anything else. It was gentle, intentional.  Before you can even process it, he shifts again, resting his head against your arm with a quiet exhale.

Your entire body went still. You should’ve moved his head, should’ve told him to move away. But, you didn't. Maybe it was because you’d known him forever. Maybe it was because this wasn’t exactly unusual for the two of you. Or maybe—maybe you just liked having him close.

More than you should.

The rest of the lecture passes in a blur after that. You don’t hear half of what the teacher says. Every time Keonho shifts slightly against your arm, your thoughts short-circuit all over again. By the time the final bell rings, the sun is shining brightly outside the classroom windows, painting everything in a bright gold.

Keonho stretches beside you with a quiet groan, rubbing at his eyes. “You coming?” he asks automatically, already packing his things.

You nod before even thinking about it. “Yeah.”

Practice starts an hour later, you could’ve gone home. Probably should’ve. You had assignments piling up, sleep to catch up on, literally anything more productive to do. But instead—you’re here. Sitting in the bleachers with Moka beside you, legs tucked underneath you as the sharp scent of chlorine settles into the air.

The pool is loud today. Loads of whistles, accompanied with the sounds of water crashing and teammates cheering for each other. In the middle of all of it—Keonho.

You spot him immediately, you always do. He stands near the edge of the pool, swim cap hanging loosely from one hand while Seonghyeon says something beside him. Whatever it is earns a small laugh from Keonho—brief, sleepy, gone almost instantly.

Then his eyes flick up, straight to you. Your breath hitches so stupidly fast it almost annoys you. He lifts a hand slightly. Not a full wave— something closer to a “Earth to Yn” kind of motion. “God,” Moka mutters beside you. “You two are actually sickening.”

You elbow her without looking away from him. “Shut up.”

But your lips twitch anyway. The coach blows the whistle and immediately, everyone dives in. Keonho dives in too and suddenly he’s not the same person who fell asleep on your arm an hour ago. The tenderness disappears. Every motion of his cuts clean through the water, fast and precise, like his body already knows what to do before he even thinks about it.

And around you, people notice too, of course they do. You hear his name constantly at these practices. Mainly cheers from his coach, other students, his friends, and Louis. Especially Louis. He’s always the loudest for some reason. Louis leans against the far railing somewhere on top, arms crossed tightly over his chest while Keonho finishes another lap ahead of everyone else.

You don’t miss the way his jaw clenches. Or the way Woojin mutters something beside him that makes them both look toward Keonho again.

Moka notices too. “…They’re staring again,” she murmurs quietly.

You look away from the pool for the first time. And, when Keonho wins? Louis looks irritated and Woojin looks worse.

But Keonho either doesn’t notice—or pretends not to. He just pulls himself out of the water, pushing wet hair back from his forehead as Coach calls out times.

First again. Of course.

The cheers around the pool blur together after that. Because all you can really focus on—is the way Keonho looks exhausted. Even while smiling. He walks over to you, Moka and Seonghyeon. Dropping down onto the bleachers as he soaks everything around him. He turns to look at you. He notices the way your eyes linger on Louis. “What’s so interesting about him?” You don't respond. A hand swipes in front of your face suddenly—”Hello? Earth to Yn?” 

“Huh–yes. Earth to me” You say, your tone airy. 

He grabbed his water bottle, “I asked, what's so interesting about him?” He muttered, not looking at you—but at Louis instead. 

“What? Nothing interesting about him.” 

His gaze finally landed on you, “You’re staring at him, got a crush?” 

You looked at his face for a second, then scoffed. “Me? And him? Seriously?” He puts both his arms up in a surrender position, "I'm just saying like, you were very much zoned out looking at him—or, admiring him maybe?” That earns him an elbow straight to the stomach, “Shut up Keonho.” 

Beside you, Seonghyeon and Moka exchange looks—can they be any stupider?

After school and after Keonho’s swim practice, you find yourself sprawled out on his bedroom floor, arms stretched above your head as you breathe heavily.  “Keonho turn the AC on, fuck, it’s so hot nowadays.” Keonho simply grabs the remote and hands it over to you, his arm hovering just above your head as he waits for you to take it. But, you don't grab it—instead you tug on his sleeve, signaling him to lay down beside you. 

Keonho’s gaze lingers on you for a second before he lowers himself beside you. “What’s wrong?” He says, quietly bringing his head closer to yours as the two of you stare up at the ceiling. 

You hesitate for a moment but speak anyway “Don’t you ever think that Louis—” you say, turning your head to face him mid-sentence. Bad idea, he’s already looking at you. He’s close. So close that you can see the faint rosiness on his cheeks from walking home in the humidity and the thin layer of sweat lingering on his forehead. You pause, “Never—nevermind.”

He slides closer to you, “What’s wrong?” His eyebrows furrow, “You can tell me anything, right?” He rolls onto his side, head resting against his palm now, his attention fully on you.

“It’s just that–” you were interrupted by the sudden touch of his cold fingers grazing your cheek—he tucks the loose strands of hair behind your ear, “Just what?” But, you couldn't speak. The words jammed up in your throat. His touch was soft, almost comforting. His touch was brief, but it drove you insane. 

“I think he looks at you weird.” You blurt out finally. 

Keonho glances at you, one eyebrow raised up “You think he’s into me or something?” 

That earns him another elbow to the stomach, “Dude, I'm serious. He looks at you really weird.”

He gets up completely, “Well, I don’t care.” Now settling down on the bed as you follow right behind him. You sit beside him, legs swinging. “No, it’s just…something about his stare is so weird. I mean he’s always had a thing for you—not in a romantic way….but, more in a ‘I hate you’ kind of way.”

“You’re paranoid.” Keonho laughs. “If he hated me that much, he would have done something already.”

“Don’t say stuff like that, you know he’s basically an opp.” His gaze lingers on you before he mutters, “Can’t be that deep, Yn.” 

“Don’t come to me crying when he pulls some bullshit.” You say, absentmindedly playing with your bracelets.

Keonho lets out a big sigh, leaning back to lie down “I’m too tired to care Yn,” “Can I ask you something Keon?” You murmur, looking down at the floor.

“What’s up?”

“Do you ever wish you could stop swimming?” Your voice drops lower. “Do I wish I could stop swimming? The sport I’ve been doing since I was a kid?” He scoffs, “Come on, and I thought my best friend would know me better.” he says dramatically, raising a hand to his chest. The dramatic grin on his face falters, “Sometimes I think I’m just good at swimming.” A pause, “I like competing. I like the feeling of water just wrapping around me—it covers me head to toe when I dive in…I like that.”

You lie down beside him. Heads close, arms touching. You don’t respond—you don't feel the need to. And somehow, your silence was enough of a response. Keonho speaks up, “Can we go to that canal again?” 

And that is how you both ended up leaning against the railings of a bridge, looking down at waters that glimmer under the moonlight. That's the problem with canals—they look almost harmless from up here, like taking a dip wouldn't necessarily cause much harm. That’s the deception. Every few seconds, the current crashes violently against the concrete walls beneath it. You look at the waters, and then at Keonho. Then back down. 

“What’s on your mind Keon?” 

He lets out a heavy sigh. “Nothing really,” 

You let out a little laugh as you turn your back to the railing, now leaning your head back, “I’ve known you for 16 years, I'm not dumb. What’s on your mind?”

Beside you, Keonho shifts slightly, sneaking a look at you—“Nationals and stuff. And, now that you mention it…Louis and Woojin are both tough competition.” 

“You don't need to worry about Woojin, Louis, well…understandable”

He snickers, “You think he’s better huh?” 

You let out a giggle, “Better than you? What if I do?” “You think he’s better than me?” He shoots back, now turning his back to the railing too.

“No. He’s not.”

He turns his head, glancing at you from the side. “Promise?” “Promise.” 

You and Keonho were, for one. Very fucking close. And for two—everyone thought you guys were dating. It was a normal thing. People said it every other day and you never felt otherwise about it. Why should you? The problem now is that telling people—“Oh no, we’re not dating.” makes your chest tighten.

“Earth to Yn? Why do you zone out so much?” Keonho asks, settling down beside you. 

“Sorry, morning math lectures just aren't for me.” He lets out a little laugh, “Yeah, can tell.” Seonghyeon joined in the conversation, wrapping an arm around Keonho’s shoulder, “How’s prep for nationals going dude?”

“You look drained” Moka joins in, sipping her apple juice. “I kind of am, it doesn't matter anyway. I work with the water.” He pauses for a second before taking a deep breath in, resting his head against the desk, “Can’t sleep in the water now, can I?”

“Is this about Louis?” James chimes in. “Oh, I always had a bad feeling about the guy,” Martin joins in with a scoff. “Why does someone from another school keep showing up to our practices anyway? Don’t they have their own pool?” Juhoon nods in agreement.

You look around the room while adjusting your chair to face everyone, “I saw him quite literally shooting daggers from his eyes watching Keon swim yesterday.” “I told you I wasn't imagining things” Martin mutters, whining. “I never said you were.” Juhoon replied. 

“Guys, he’s from another school. Obviously he won’t look at me right,” He gets up, leaning back on his chair. “We’re competing for a spot in the nationals, of course he doesn’t like me.” “When are the selections for nationals anyway?” Seonghyeon adds, finally moving his arm away from Keonho

“Uh, in two weeks? We have the swim meet today and sometime next week, I don’t know”

Keonho knows exactly down to the minute when he has to dive in. He just doesn’t want to think about it. Not the pressure, not the scouts watching from the sidelines, and definitely not Louis. But now, standing on the starting block with nothing except the sound of water echoing around him, avoiding it is no longer an option. His arms shake slightly as he adjusts his goggles, the chlorine stinging the back of his throat with every breath he takes. ‘Can’t sleep in the water’ he had joked earlier.

Funny. Because lately, swimming is the only thing keeping him awake. Go to school. Go to practice. Come home exhausted. Stretch until his muscles stop aching long enough to sleep. Then wake up and do it all over again. Somewhere along the way, swimming stopped feeling light of sorts. Sometimes, usually late at night when his body hurts too much to move, Keonho thinks about what would happen if swimming suddenly disappeared from his life. He barely studies anymore. Everything he is, everything people know him for, begins and ends with the pool.

It terrifies him more than he wants to admit. Because he does love swimming. He loves the competition. Loves the feeling of diving in and letting the water wrap around him completely, quieting everything else for just a moment.

But as he dives into the pool, deeper and deeper, all he sees is blue. He’s chasing a dream even though he's tired. He reaches the end of the pool only to turn around and do it all over again. Keonho’s zoned out, surrounded by his own thoughts. The sharp sound of the starter pistol echoes in the room. Keonho doesn't dive in and by the time he realizes it, the others are already in the water. His coach comes up from behind him, “Ahn Keonho what’s wrong with you? Why didn't you dive in?” The coach's voice rings in his ears, “I-I was zoned out, sorry.” His coach starts rambling, voice loud “Keonho, nationals are coming up, you–” He’s interrupted by Keonho walking away. “Hey–” He walks behind Keonho, “You—You come back here now.” “I said I'm sorry,” His voice was laced with annoyance. Seeing Keonho's dazed state, the coach walked away. He settles down on the bleachers, his goggles thrown onto the floor as he runs his fingers through his hair. Someone drops beside him—legs stretched out, wet hair covering his forehead, a towel hanging loosely around his neck. He scoffs, “tough luck huh?”

Keonho turns his head to the familiar figure—It’s Louis. Of course he’s here to torment him. He furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Louis erupts in sarcastic laughter, “Do you know me? You’re gonna know me very well once I take your spot at the nationals.” He pauses, now leaning closer to Keonho. “Funny how the prodigy can’t even hear the starter pistol anymore. They don't tolerate mistakes there Keonho. You won’t get treated like someone special there.”

Keonho gets up, “I don't even know you man.”  He walks away before Louis can say anything else. His team is already gathered around the coach for some stupid pep talk before dismissal.  He checks his phone—6:20 p.m. “She’ll be here soon,” he whispers to himself. 

“Ahn Keonho, speed up! We don't have all day.” The coach yells.  As Keonho reaches the circle of swimmers, one of his friends wraps his soaking arm around Keonho, “Our prodigy’s ears have gone numb in love, when’s Yn coming to get you huh?” The team immediately starts teasing him. Keonho responds, unamused, “In 5 minutes actually.” 

A few minutes later, the team finally gets dismissed.

The humid air clings to Keonho even after he steps outside. Cool evening air brushes against his skin as he adjusts the strap of his bag, scanning the nearly empty parking lot. Then he spots you. He barely makes it a few steps before Louis stops him in his tracks. “Ahn Keonho, I wasn't done talking.” He looks at him with his eyes narrowed. “But I was.” Louis grips Keonho’s wrist. “Who said you get to walk away that fast?” “I did.” “You’re quite egotistical for someone who can’t hear a starter pistol.” Keonho tries not to snap. He harshly shakes Louis’ hand from his wrist, “Bye.” Keonho starts walking away. Louis grips the back of his bag, making him stumble backwards before finding his balance, “I’m not done talking to you.” Keonho grabs Louis’ collar, wrinkling the fabric “Dude, what is it with you? I’m not in the mood to deal with some random dude.”

Louis grabs Keonho’s collar right back, yanking him closer until there’s barely any space left between them. “Someone random?” He lets out a sharp laugh. “I won’t be some random guy once I take your spot at nationals.” 

Keonho snaps back. “What is it with you?” Louis raises his fist, his knuckles going white. As he’s about to swing a blow on Keonho,  a cold and fizzy liquid is poured all over him. “Dude, what the fuck?” Both guys finally let each other go. Louis bends his head down, the sticky liquid dripping down from his hair. When he finally looks up, he throws you a glare. You wheeze, grabbing Keonho’s wrist, pulling him closer to you “Dude, why are you making faces at me? Gosh you look stupid.”  

A towel is thrown on Louis’ head by his friend Woojin. He scoffs at Keonho. “You need your girlfriend to fight your battles?” You don’t give Keonho the opportunity to respond, “You salty you don't have one?” You scoff, dragging Keonho away from the scene. Louis watches both of you walk away. His voice rings out behind you—”You’re going to regret this.” His words linger behind you. You don’t even realize it at first, but your hand slides down from his wrist until your fingers interlock with his

Once you both are far away from the school, you finally stop walking. Your hands still interlinked with his. Keonho hasn’t looked at you the entire time, nor has he said a word. His gaze lingers on his shoes—he’s avoiding your eyes. You look up at him confused, lowering your head trying to meet his gaze. He still avoids you. “Keon, what's wrong?” He says nothing. “If you don’t want to talk…that's alright I guess.” You continue walking. Keonho takes a few steps ahead with you before stopping. “Yn.” You look back, “Yeah?” “Thanks.” He murmurs. You give him a warm smile, pulling him closer so that he can match your steps. “You know I got you.” You both walk with no destination in mind, but somehow end up back at the bridge. The sun has set completely, the moonlight glimmering on the water yet again. Keonho clears his throat, finally pulling his hand away. “It’s crazy how this area hasn’t changed at all. I mean we used to come here as like five year olds.” You let out a little giggle, “Still looks pretty even after all these years.” “Remember how you almost fell into the canal by trying to sit on the railing once?” You nudge his elbow, “Thought we promised to forget that? I was 8 years old.” He exhales loudly, “Still funny.” He pauses, “Even if you fell, I would've saved you.” He turns to look at you, “Only because the current wasn’t as harsh that day.” You take a small step closer to him, tilting your head up at him. “Are you sure it’s not because you love me?” Keonho freezes, heat crawling up his neck. His ears, now a visible shade of crimson. “W-What?” “Why are you stuttering?” He clears his throat, “What? Uh–no reason.” 

You tilt your head, trying to catch his gaze again. Which he immediately avoids. “Why are you so stunned?” You get on your tippy toes, now leaning even closer. Your cold fingers lightly brush against his warm ears. “Why are your ears so red?” 

Keonho takes a deep breath before grabbing your wrist and moving it away from his ear. “It’s hot over here.” You tilt your head at him again—a sign you know something's up. Just bodily cues which Keonho has picked up over the years. “Your hands are cold.” Keonho huffs out a laugh, “I completely forgot about our physi—” You interrupt him, “Keonho, your hands are cold. You're lying. It’s not warm here.” 

His gaze settles on your face for a second too long. Your lips—plump and glossy, probably glazed with your favourite lip oil. Your hair neatly tucked behind your ear, and your eyes. Your eyes…they’re shining. At least that's how Keonho sees them. To him—your eyes glimmer more than the water beneath the bridge ever could. And the way you look at him—like he’s the only thing worth looking at? Fuck, it’s so hard to stay focused.

“Earth to Keon?” You wave your hand in front of his face, breaking him out of his trance. “Y-Yeah, I heard you…Uh…so, what were you saying?” He leans against the railing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I just asked you why you’re lying to me.” Right, you wouldn't let that go. “I don't know, my ears are just naturally flushed or something.” “Flushed huh?” You say innocently. “Aw, do I make you blush?”

Keonho goes visibly red, biting back a smile. He's a tomato at this point. “What’s…what’s wrong with you?” He starts walking away.

You provoke him further, “Aw, are you shy?” You walk behind him as he speeds up. “Hey!” He starts running. “Hey! Stop running!” You yell, chasing him all the way down the bridge.

He drops you home as always. Before you walk to your door, you tug on his shirt, gaining his attention. “Yeah?” You glance at him for a second. “I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable or anything when I didn’t deny me being your girlfriend...” Keonho looks at you, a big smile spreading across his face as he lets out a laugh. “Oh God, you’re worried about that?” He laughs a little louder now, “You’re not worried about how I could’ve gotten punched?”

You finally look up at him. “No, i’m sure you could fight back, it’s just–nevermind. I’ll go inside now. Goodnight Keonho.” You blabber out, turning away.

Keonho clutches your wrist, bending down bringing his face closer to yours. The distance between your faces is minimal. “You’re worried you made me uncomfortable?”

You nod shyly.

“Don’t worry, if it’s you…I don’t mind.” He says with that boyish smile of his. He lets go of your wrist. Now, grabbing your shoulders as he slightly pushes you ahead. “Goodnight, Ynie”

By the time you reach your room, your face still feels unbearably warm. And somehow, every thought in your head leads back to Keonho. Your phone buzzes in your hands.

The next day, you don't wake up to your moms usual shouts. You wake up to Keonho’s voice. “It must be a dream,” you think to yourself before pulling the covers over your head. But to your surprise, this dream feels…real? Why is Keonho in front of you? “Good morning, sleepy” He says sweetly, pulling the covers off of your head. Nope. Nope. Not a dream—he’s right there. You get up abruptly, dazed and groggy. “What are you doing here? Where’s my mom?” “My mom’s downstairs with her, nothing I can do there, so I thought I’d wake you up.” He murmurs, looking around your room. You groan, “What’s the time?” “Uh, 7:30.” “Keonho.” You stare at him blankly. “Yes…?” he says cautiously, already backing toward your bedroom door. “I was supposed to be up 30 minutes ago. I don't have time to get ready.” “Sorry,” he mumbles, trying to hide a smile. “You looked too cute sleeping for me to wake you up.” He gets no response. You immediately get up and rush to get dressed—mainly because you’re trying to hide how warm your face suddenly feels.

 The walk to school feels weird now. Your shoulders brush every few steps, hands occasionally bumping before quickly pulling away again like neither of you knows what you’re allowed to do yet. 

“You’re being awkward,” you mumble eventually.

“I’m not.”

“You literally keep looking at me and then looking away.”

“That’s because you keep staring first.”

You scoff, nudging his arm lightly. He grins this time—small and shy and stupidly pretty. 

The school day was horrid. You drop him off at the swimming pool only to be met with Louis and Woojin’s glares the second you walk in.

“Why’re they even here this early?” you murmur to Keonho.

“Their school must hate them,” Keonho says, dropping his bag onto the bleachers.

The second you stepped into class, you were swept away by Moka. Who was now bombarding you with questions. “So, did you guys kiss?” 

“Moka, what the fuck?”

You later got to know that Moka had already told Yunah and Minju about your conversation yesterday, so they were quick to chime in. 

“That’s not a no,” Yunah points out.

“Oh my God,” you groan, dropping your head onto the desk.

The rest of the day goes exactly how you expected it to—Moka interrogating you while you avoid every single question thrown your way. By the end of the day, your head hurts and you haven’t seen Keonho once after you dropped him off. Nationals selections meant he’d be stuck at the pool for basically the entire school day. Thank God it was Friday. The only thing you were looking forward to now was going home and dissociating for the next two days.

The bell rang loudly, the sounds of chatter erupted, muffled sounds of bags being stuffed filled the room. School was over. And, Keonho? Not back in class yet. But, Seonghyeon wasn't in class either. Yunah turned, “Do you think Seonghyeon used Keonho as an excuse to bunk the last two classes?” You nodded your head half heartidly, too tired to formulate a proper response.

On the bleachers, Seonghyeon’s sitting beside Keonho, listening to his friend absolutely lose his mind over you. “And, we were so different yesterday? She’s still the same, but now I can’t stop thinking about her.”  He said running his fingers through his wet hair, “I don't know man, I–” Seonghyeon cuts him off, “Man, do you like the girl?”

Keonho sharply turns his head, “What? No.” He pauses, “No—I mean not no no, just…fuck, I don’t know.…” He stops, trying to figure out what to say. Seonghyeon stands up and grabs Keonho's shoulders, “So, if I go ask her out right now, would it be fine?” Keonho’s eyebrows furrow, “The fuck? Fuck no.” Seonghyeon laughs under his breath, “Alright so you like her. Go ask her out. Today.” Keonho’s gaze lowers to the floor, “I don’t want to fuck the friendship up man.” Seonghyeon grabs his bag from beside Keonho, “If you don’t do it soon, someone else will.” He pauses, “Who knows, maybe she likes you too?” a giggle, “Imagine someone else asks her out and she goes out with them because you're too scared to ask her out–” Keonho looks away so fast it’s almost defensive. “Stop blabbering, man. Jeez.” He gets up. Both of them walk to the class together. But all he can think about is someone else asking you out before he does. “Sean.” “Yeah?” He says, looking up from his phone. Keonho stops walking. “I’m asking her out. Today.”

Seonghyeon just stares at Keonho blankly, then nods a little. 

As both of them approach the class, Moka, Yunah and Minju are already all over you. You should be annoyed by all the teasing but, honestly? You don't mind. They both enter the class and conversation between everyone erupts naturally. Yunah chimes, “You bunked, again?” as seonghyeon just grins. 

Meanwhile, both you and Keonho struggle to say anything at all. Moka looks at you, then at Keonho, and then back at you. Before Moka can physically shove you toward him, Keonho walks over first. “Wanna leave?” You just look up at him before nodding slightly. He helps you pack your stuff, and before you can grab your bag—he does it. “Keonho, I can do that myself, you don’t have to carry it.” Keonho simply says, “I want to.” And walks away. You glance back at your friends. All four of them are smiling way too cheekily. You roll your eyes before muttering a quiet, “Bye,” and hurrying after Keonho.

The walk outside felt suffocating. It didn't slip into the comfortable silence you and Keonho were used to. It was so awkward you almost couldn’t take it anymore.

“Okay, what is wrong with you?” ou said, irritation slipping into your voice “Nothing?” “You’ve been so weird since you entered the class with Hyeon,” Keonho looks away immediately, adjusting the strap of your bag on his shoulder. “Wanna go to the dog park? My sister’s already there with Cookie.”

You blink at him. “In this heat?”

“Give me company?” A pause, “Please?” Now how can you say no to that? You both walk to the dog park and spot Keonho’s sister with Cookie. Cookie comes running to Keonho, jumping into his arms licking his face in excitement. A second later, Cookie was jumping on you too. You pull Cookie away and whine, “No Cookie, my makeup.”

Both Keonho and his sister laugh at you before his sister heads off. You and Keonho walk Cookie for a while in silence, before settling down on the park benches. The sun’s going down and the chatter in the dog park gets loud as more people come in. Cookie now rests against your feet, huffing from exhaustion. 

Neither you nor Keonho say a word. The silence between you is only broken every so often by Cookie’s barking somewhere near your feet. The tension is bad. Very bad.

Keonho clears his throat, breaking the silence. “Yn?” You don't look at him, “Yeah?” You see Keonho lean forward, his hands gripping the bench. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah”

He laughs nervously, “Promise you won’t make it weird?” You look at him now, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?” Keonho lets out a quiet laugh, but it sounds more nervous than amused. He runs a hand through his hair before finally looking at you. “When people say we’re dating…” He pauses, “You don’t hate it, right?”

You turn your gaze back to the pavement. You stay silent. Keonho finally looks away from you,  gaze lingering on the ground too. “Sorry–I made it weird,” You look back at Keonho frantically, “What? No–No never.” He looks back at you, his eyes wide with anticipation. You pause again—looking around the park. Looking everywhere but at him. You inhale loudly, “It’s just that…I don’t know how to say it,” “I like you.” Keonho blurts out. But this time, you don't look back at him, eyes still wandering around the park. You heard him, loud and clear. “What if we mess the friendship up? What if we fuck around and end up finding out?”

He finally looks at you, his pinky finger now interlocking with yours. “I’ve been spiraling. I’ll be honest, the only reason Seonghyeon skipped the last classes today was because I begged him to listen to me. I like you, I’m sure I do. If someone else confessed to you before I did—I’d be so mad.” He starts fiddling with Cookie’s leash, “I’d been trying to ignore my feelings for so long, I tried to pretend people calling you my girlfriend didn’t bother me—but fuck it did. Especially since yesterday. Yesterday it just—it felt so real.” He looks away from you now, “I just couldn’t lie to you anymore.” 

A smile appears on your face, “Lie to me about what?” Keonho groans, “Don’t make me say it again.” You scoot closer to him, “I’m actually confused.” Heat rises to his cheeks, they’re now visible red. “I couldn’t lie about the fact that I like you..” You let out a giggle, visibly blushing too. “Well, for the record—I like you too. I can’t even lie, I’ve been spiraling for a while too.” “Keonho’s face lights up, “You like me too!” He picks Cookie up in his arms, “She likes me back!” You start laughing, “Keonho, put Cookie down!” “No, you don't understand the significance of this, I was ranting to him last night.” Your eyebrows furrow, “You were ranting to your dog?” He puts Cookie down, He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean, it did work…right? You’re my girlfriend now…right?”

You roll your eyes, “No stupid, take me out.” “Right, right. I’ll take you out.” You look at him, expression plain. “I mean, can I take you out?” You squeeze your eyes shut, “Oh you're bad at this, but yes. You can.”

He smiles at you, grabbing your hand and pulling you up. He leans down, making sure Cookie’s attached to the leash safely—his hand never leaving yours. “Let’s go home, it’s late.” He says all smiley. 

The whole walk home, his hand never leaves your. Instead, he seems to pull you closer every time he feels your hand slipping away. You don’t stop by the bridge today—it’s too late. Once you’re at the front door of your house, you try to pull your hand away. Keonho’s grip tightens again, “Do you have to go this early?” 

You roll your eyes at him, “Yes, it's a weekend tomorrow and I would really like to sleep.”

He whines, letting your hand go. “Fine, whatever.” 

You giggle softly, grabbing his hand again. Standing on your tippy toes, you cup his cheek with one hand before pressing a quick kiss against it. When you pull away, Keonho’s completely frozen. Then your eyes land on the faint glossy print left on his cheek. “…Aw,” you mumble, trying not to laugh. “Keon look! My lip gloss literally stamped your face.”

His eyes widen immediately. “What?”

You burst into laughter, pointing at the mark on his cheek. “That’s so cute.”

Keonho’s face goes completely red. He rubs at his cheek once before stopping halfway—like he suddenly doesn’t want to wipe it off anymore. You roll your eyes at the stupid smile spreading across his face. “Goodnight, Keon.”

He lets out a soft laugh, still looking a little dazed. “Goodnight, Ynie.”

By the time you step out of the shower, your cheeks still hurt from smiling. Your phone buzzes against your bed sheets.

The next day, Keonho updates you every hour. You get pictures with messages like—‘just reached the school, idw practice’

At around 4:59 p.m, you hear a knock at your door. It’s Keonho. He’s standing there with flowers in his hands and his hair slightly messed up and damp from the pool waters. As for you, when Keonho sees you—he almost forgets how to breathe. You had sat in front of your vanity for about an hour trying to make sure your makeup and outfit looked good today. You had a white dress on with a floral print, the sunlight caught in your hair, your lips tinted softly pink and your cheeks were flushed—and honestly, you weren’t sure if it was the blush or Keonho anymore.

Keonho awkwardly holds the flowers out. “You look…beautiful.” 

You let out a shy smile, taking the flowers from his hand and placing them carefully by the doorway. “Thank you, Keon.”

Keonho’s ears are red. His hand lingers between you, waiting for yours. You both walk to the café hand in hand. The café is small and cozy, filled with pink and brown decor and way too many desserts. You both settle down near the window, placing your orders. After the waiter leaves Keonho clears his throat, “So, what's up?” You laugh slightly, “You’re so bad at this Keon,” Keonho buries his face in his palms, “I’m trying, it’s hard to be normal when you’re nervous.”

“Why are you nervous now? You’ve known me since we were kids.” “Yeah, but now you’re pretty and it's scary.”

You blink at him. “Now?”

Keonho freezes. “That’s not what I meant.”

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. He groans dramatically while you shake your head at him. Somehow, the awkwardness fades after that. The waiter arrives with your drinks first, then your desserts not long after. Keonho keeps stealing strawberries off your cake despite insisting that he “doesn’t even like sweets that much.”

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, watching him eat another strawberry.

“I’m hungry.”

“You had practice for like eight hours, of course you’re hungry.”

Keonho shrugs before leaning back on his chair, sunlight spilling across his face from the window beside him. Outside, the evening streets are glimmering in the sunlight filtered from the leaves. 

Keonho stirs his drink absentmindedly. “I think this is the first time I’ve relaxed all week.”

You look up at him. His shoulders don’t look as tense now. His expression is softer too.

“Nationals?” you ask quietly.

He nods a little. “Coach keeps increasing practice hours.” He lets out a quiet laugh. “I think everyone expects me to qualify already.”

“You will.”

His gaze flicks toward you immediately. “You sound very sure.”

“I am.”

A small smile appears on his face at that. “You always say things so confidently,” he murmurs.

“Someone has to.”

Keonho looks down at his drink again, smiling faintly to himself. The conversation drifts after that. You both talk about the stupidest things—how Moka interrogated you last night about Keonho and how Seonghyeon reacted when he heard that Keonho’s actually taking you out.

By the time you both leave the café, the sky has already darkened into shades of pink and purple. The warm evening air brushes against your skin the second you step outside. Keonho reaches for your hand instinctively now, fingers slipping between yours naturally like he’s done it forever.

Your heart still reacts embarrassingly fast.

“You’re smiling to yourself,” he points out while walking beside you.

“No I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

You look away immediately. “Shut up.”

Keonho grins, squeezing your hand once before swinging both your arms slightly between you. At some point, Keonho suddenly stops walking.

You blink at him. “What?”

Without saying anything, he pulls his phone out. “…Why are you recording me?”

“You look pretty.”

“Keonho.”

“Stand there.”

You stare at him in disbelief while he laughs quietly, phone pointed toward you anyway. “Stop it.”

“Just one photo.”

“No.”

“Please?”

You narrow your eyes at him before reluctantly standing still for half a second with a forced smile. The second he clicks the picture, you walk toward him. “Delete it.”

“No.”

“Keonho.”

“It’s cute.”

You try grabbing his phone, but he lifts it higher above your head easily. “You’re evil.”

“And you’re too short to grab my phone.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Okay wow.”

He giggles loudly when you nudge his shoulder. Eventually, the two of you end up near his house without even realising it. Keonho glances toward his house before looking back at you. “You wanna come over now?”

You hesitate dramatically. “I don’t know…”

“Yn.”

“Are you sure? What if your parents thing im weird or something”

 “You’re like their second daughter, plus they’re leaving soon.” He pulls you to the door. “Just come in,” he mutters, grabbing your wrist and dragging you toward his house anyway.

The second you both enter his room, Cookie comes running again, barking excitedly at your feet. You crouch down immediately, rubbing behind his ears while Keonho tosses his phone onto the floor. You settle onto his bed while he disappears for a second before returning with two cold juice boxes from the fridge downstairs.

“You still drink these?” you ask.

“They’re good.”

“They’re made for children.”

“Whatever,” You and Keonho spent a good 3 hours just sprawled across the bed. You scroll on your phone, petting Cookie every now and then while Keonho’s busy playing some stupid game on his desk. You turn to your side, groaning. “Keonnn, it’s late. I think I'll head back.”

Keonho takes his headset off dramatically, “What? No. You can’t leave.” He stands up and walks over to you. He sits down on the bed, his hands cupping your face. “You’re sleeping over.” You giggle, “Keon I need to change my clothes, remove my makeup and take a shower.” “You can wear my clothes—or my sisters, use her makeup remover and shower here.” He leans down to place a kiss on your cheek, “Your parents won’t mind.” “Ugh, fine.” 

By the time you’re out of the shower, dressed in one of his sisters sweatpants and his t-shirt. Keonho’s already asleep on his bed, probably tired from the 8 hour practice. You smile at his sleeping figure as you turn the lights off before crawling into bed beside him. His arm instinctively wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His chin resting atop of your head. You try to move but Keonho only tightens his grip around you. “Keonho let me move.” “No,” he says groggily, placing a sleepy kiss on the top of your head.

The sunlight filters through Keonho's curtains. Keonho tries slipping out of bed quietly, but the second he moves, your arm tightens around his torso. “No,” you mumble into his shirt, eyes still shut. “Five more minutes.”

Keonho lets out a laugh, glancing down at you. “Five?”

You pull him back down beside you immediately, burying your face against his chest. “No. Two more hours.”

“It’s literally noon.”

“It’s a Sunday," you groan dramatically. “Let me be.”

He laughs softly again. His fingers slide lazily through your hair while you slowly start falling back asleep against him. Keonho speaks again, voice lower now. “…I’m sorry in advance.”

You open your eyes slightly. “For what?”

He holds you tighter. “This week’s gonna suck.” He says, drawing patterns on your back absentmindedly. “Selections are next week. Coach already said he’s extending practice again.” A pause. “And the swim meet’s Friday."

You hum against him sleepily. “It’s okay Keon, I get it.”

“No, but like…really busy.” He exhales loudly. “I might barely text.”

You tilt your head up slightly to look at him. His hair’s messy, eyes still swollen with sleep, expression weirdly guilty over something that isn’t even his fault. “It’s fine,” you mumble again. “You act like you’re leaving me forever.”

His lips twitch slightly, but the smile doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “Still,” he says quietly.

You snuggle closer again before he can spiral any further. “You’re being too dramatic about this.”

“I am not.”

“You really are.”

Keonho rolls his eyes before wrapping both arms around you again, pulling you impossibly closer. “But,” he murmurs after a second, “you have to meet me saturday.”

You blink slowly. “Why Saturday?”

“Because.” He pauses. “I wanna see you before the main thing.”

You frown sleepily. “Keon, you know all of us are gonna be there.”

“Yeah, but…” He hesitates for a second. “I wanna meet just you first. Once.”

You giggle into his chest, ‘Alright. As you say, pretty boy.” Keonho freezes for a second, “Pretty what?” 

You finally pull away from Keonho’s chest, looking up at him with a smile. “Pretty boy.” You giggle, cupping his face as you place a peck on his lips. “H-Hey!” he says, completely flushed now. “You can’t just do that.” “Too bad.” You say as you bury your head in the crook of his neck. He sighs, “So I’m not even your boyfriend but you stole my first kiss?” “Okay. You can be my boyfriend, or whatever” Keonho just smiles at your answer, “Already knew that.” He thinks to himself as he pulls you away from the crook of his neck before peppering kisses all over your face while you try to shove him away laughing. 

The rest of the week goes by in a blur. You and Keonho don’t get to talk as much, his swim practices taking up most of his time. One night, he even tried arguing that he could stay up late just to talk to you, but of course, what kind of girlfriend would want her boyfriend showing up tired the next day? Even though his absence lingered through most of the week, the rare moments everyone saw him during lunch were full of teasing from the whole group—especially James, Martin, and Juhoon. They were the last ones to find out about the two of you. Martin was sulking. James immediately started whining,, “Okay, so you guys don’t care about us anymore.” Juhoon wasn’t bothered much, but he didn't hesitate to throw in a few teases here and there.

You and Keonho hung out like twice, mostly just him crashing at your house after practice. Your parents were gone for the week—so him sleeping over wasn’t a problem. One thing you couldn’t help noticing was how often Keonho talked about Louis and Woojin now. Their school had been practicing with yours, so of course—Keonho saw them more often than he wanted to. Every time you talked, at least an hour of it turned into Keonho ranting about how annoying both of them had gotten. Especially after they started outright threatening him over nationals.

One time, he explained how Louis had walked over to him sitting at the bleachers, “Gettin’ better huh?” Keonho looked up briefly, then went back to drinking water from his bottle. Louis didn’t like that. He didn’t like how Keonho didn’t react. Louis immediately slapped Keonho’s bottle out of his hand before grabbing the towel around his neck, roughly pulling him closer. “What’s your problem?” 

Keonho didn’t hold back. He shoved Louis away. “My problem? Do you want me to tell everyone about how you’ve been threatening me this whole week?” He scoffed, glaring at Louis. “You think your petty threats are gonna stop me from getting selected?”

“Louis landed a punch on Keonho, but Keonho hit him back three times and harder. That’s when Keonho finally admitted how bad things had gotten.  The coach and a few teammates had to physically pull them apart. 

After Keonho finishes talking, you grab his face, tugging him closer as you examine the faint bruise blooming across his cheekbone. “Keonho, what is wrong with you? Look.” You turn your phone camera on, angling it toward him. “You’re hurt.”

He chuckles. “It’s such a light bruise. You should’ve seen Louis.”

You smack his arm lightly. “That does not matter, you still got hurt.” You frown, leaning closer to his face as you kiss his bruise lightly. ‘Don’t get into fights for no reason.” Keonho pulls back, looking at you like he needs to defend himself immediately. ” “He hit me first.” You groan, “Ahn Keonho.”

 That made him sit straight. “Government name?” “I’m serious.” Keonho hugs you from the side, “Come on, anyway. You’re coming tomorrow right?” You tilt your head slightly, “The bridge?”

Keonho nods, “Yeah, around 7?” You hum, snuggling closer to him. 

And so, here you were. At the bridge at 7 p.m. sharp, with no Keonho in sight. “Great, he’s late,” you murmur to yourself. The chilly night air grazes your skin, sending a shiver up your spine. Moonlight glimmers against the surface of the water beneath the bridge, the same way it always does. You lean against the railing, taking a slow breath. Your peace is interrupted by a familiar voice.

“What are you doing here?”

You turn around—only to see Louis and Woojin standing side by side. You roll your eyes. “What do you both want?”

Woojin chuckles. “Your boyfriend to not make it to nationals.”

You eye him up and down. “Are you stupid? How am I related to his swimming skills? What the fuck?”

Louis steps closer, tilting his head slightly, invading your space. “Delay him, make him late to the selections. As simple as that.”

You scoff. “Yeah right. I’m going to sabotage my own boyfriend because you two pussies are too scared to actually compete with him. You’re real funny.”

Louis’ tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. “Either you listen to me now, or I’ll make you.”

You stare at him, confused. “Make me?”

That’s all it takes. Louis’ hand snaps up and grabs your shoulders, yanking you closer. “Are you fucking stupid?” he snaps, voice suddenly loud. “Are my words not clear?”

You try to grab his arms, ‘What’s–” You pause trying to fight back, “What’s wrong with you?” You yell. You grip the low railing behind you, trying to stabilise yourself. Your words and pleas to be let go off are cut of by Louis shouting at you repeatedly, “Gosh, You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Louis, let me go.” to make matters worse, Woojin on the side starts recording, he leans in closer trying to take more zoomed in shots. 

Your yelling is cut off by something dropping hard onto the ground. The next second, Louis is yanked backward so suddenly he stumbles away from you. You barely process it before your eyes snap up.

Keonho.

He’s here.

His gaze lands on you — and everything in his face changes. Before anyone can react, he shoves Louis back again, then turns sharply toward Woojin. Woojin barely has time to step back before Keonho’s already on him, forcing him away from the situation entirely.

The space between you all explodes into chaos. Woojin hesitates for half a second—then he’s gone. He backs away fast, like something in him finally clicks that this isn’t a safe space anymore. His running footsteps fade into the distance, leaving only the three of you on the bridge and the sound of your breathing turning sharp and uneven.

Keonho doesn’t even look at him leave. But, Louis does and that little second of distraction is all it takes for Keonho to move. “Don’t you ever touch her again,” Keonho snaps, landing another punch on Louis’ already red cheek. 

Louis laughs under his breath, wiping his mouth like he’s annoyed more than he is hurt. “Or what?”

You try to step forward, to get between them, but you can’t. Even if you did—Keonho would push you away. “Keonho, stop—” you start, but your voice gets swallowed by the rising tension.

Louis tilts his head. “You’re really showing up now? This late?”

Keonho takes a step closer instead of answering. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

Louis scoffs, tightening his grip on Kenoho's collar. “I don’t get to? You think you’re in a position to tell me anything? Can’t even show up to meet your girlfriend on time”

The words agitate Keonho more. You see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands curl like he’s barely holding himself back.

“Say what you want about me,” Keonho says, voice sharper now, “but don’t involve her.”

Louis’ smile drops slightly as he punches Keonho. “That’s funny. Because she’s exactly the point.” 

You move forward again, panic rising. “Both of you stop—Keonho, please—”

But neither of them is listening anymore. Everything happens too fast after that—raised voices, movement, the space between them filling up with yells and punches. Your words can’t calm  it anymore. 

“Fuck, why are you here now?” Louis spits.

Keonho doesn’t hesitate. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

Louis’ expression sharpens. “I’m going to make sure you don’t make it to nationals.”

Keonho chuckles. “Try.”

Your hands shake as you fumble for your phone, vision blurred by panic. Your grip tightens on the phone too hard as you hit James’ contact before you even fully think. Your voice comes out broken with deep breaths. “James—at the bridge. Now. Louis and Keonho—just come, please—”

There’s a pause on the other end. “What? Fuck—wait, I’m two minutes away. I’m coming.”

You barely hear it properly before the call drops. When you look up again, Louis is standing closer to you now. He moves suddenly, grabbing you and pulling you behind him like a shield, positioning you so Keonho can see everything clearly.

“Let go of her,” Keonho says immediately, voice breaking into something darker now. “Don’t bring her into this.”

Louis’ grip tightens. “Or what?” he mutters, almost taunting. “You’ll step down from nationals?”.

Keonho doesn’t even hesitate, “As long as you leave her.”

Silence falls in for a second, even Louis was taken aback.  Then his grip shifts, dragging you closer to the railing, your breath catching as panic spikes through your chest.

“You really trust him?” Louis murmurs near your ear. “Because I don’t.”

Keonho steps forward immediately. “Don’t.”

Louis exhales, almost amused now. “You know what I think?”

His hand tightens slightly. “I think one push and this all becomes a lot simpler.”

Your stomach drops.

“Let her go,” Keonho says, voice shaking now. “Right now.”

Louis looks at him over your shoulder. Then he smiles. “Why should I?” Just as Louis tries to scare Keonho further, he sees James running towards the scene in the background. 

“Keonho—!” James’ voice cuts through the bridge like a warning.

Louis hesitates, that’s all it takes. Something in his conscience tells him it’s a good idea.

James reaches them in seconds, jumping straight into the situation, as he starts yelling at both of the guys. Louis is completely distracted by James’ rant. Keonho takes the chance, he rushes closer to you. But, just because Louis is focused on James, doesn't mean his grip on you has weakened. 

The second Louis spots Keonho trying to grab onto you, he doesn't hesitate. He pushes you harshly. Your breath catches as the grip around you shifts—then releases—and suddenly the world tilts.

The railing is gone, you hit the waters harshly—shouting as you fall. 

Silence follows like the world itself doesn’t understand what just happened. James grabs Louis and everything collapses at once. James hits Louis Uncontrollably. Keonho is already moving before the sound fully registers. hitting him continuously as Keonho doesn't hesitate to jump into the harsh currents himself.

The next moments blur. Keonho doesn’t think—he reacts. He’s in the water before the thought fully lands, eyes scanning the surface, searching for you in the harsh currents. He takes a deep breath and dives in. Every time he comes up, he’s breathing harshly.

“Yn? Where are you?” He yells helplessly. He’s panicking, he’s fighting himself internally.

Why was I late?If I was there sooner—

Such thoughts flood his brain. To him, it’s his fault. That’s all he thinks about. But he has no time to calm himself now. Not when you’re nowhere to be seen. 

His world pauses again, he takes a deep breath and dives in again. As he tries to navigate through the cold and dark waters. A hand touches him. He grabs onto it tight as he swims back to the surface. And then, he sees your face. You’re unconscious. 

He drags you out of the water with urgency, refusing to accept what his mind is trying to tell him. Every step feels heavy, until finally he gets you onto the grass nearby. 

You’re not moving. Not an inch. Your chest doesn't rise and fall—you’re not breathing.

Keonho drops beside you instantly. “No, no, no, stay with me.” His hands are shaking so badly he can barely hold still. His voice breaks completely as he pleads with you, over and over, like his words alone could change reality. “Yn, please. Please look at me.”

No answers. He leans down to you, placing his mouth on yours as he tries to pump air into your lungs. Nothing changes, there's no expression on your face, not a single muscle moves. He pulls you closer like he’s afraid to let you go. His face is close to yours, his forehead touching yours.  “I’m sorry… I’m sorry—please…” He starts crying. James’ voice cuts through Keonho’s sobs—“They’re here.”

James had called people beforehand, just in case something escalated. Which it did. When the paramedics try to pull you away from Keonho, his grip just tightens on you. “No–no.” James pulls Keonho back as he whispers to him, “She’s okay, she’ll be okay. Let them help her.” Keonho can’t help but sob uncontrollably. He knows you’re not okay. There's no pulse. Your lips were blue.

Keonho now stands in front of a stone. A stone that holds your name.

Yn, 2009–2026.

He gets on his knees next to it, placing the same flowers down that he got you on your first date. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He lets out a broken sob. “I’m so sorry. Only if I arrived earlier, only if I—” He can’t speak anymore. Tears run down his face, and he can taste the salt on his lips. His breath is shaky, eyes now red.

“I know I come by here every other week and just cry,” he lets out a hiccup. “I know, if you were here you’d tell me to shut up and say—‘you’re so annoying.’” He touches your grave lightly. “I can’t help but think it’s all my fault. I’m sorry, Yn. I’m sorry. I barely got to spend time with you as your boyfriend—I barely got to treat you right.”

He finally wipes his face, taking a deep breath. He tries to speak again but is interrupted by a camera flash. He looks toward the direction of it quickly before getting up and hiding his face. Five paparazzi start walking behind him, throwing questions like—

How do you feel about winning the Olympic awards for 2032? How does it feel knowing you achieved so much at just 23? How does it feel having two Olympic medals just a few years into your career?

Keonho doesn’t answer any of them. He just turns his phone on to check the time—his wallpaper a picture of both of you cuddled up in his room. Tears flood his face again as he rushes to his car.

The driver pulls off while all Keonho can do is sob into his palms, knowing you’re not there to comfort him anymore, knowing you’re not there to support him anymore, knowing you don’t know the two-time Olympic gold medalist Keonho has become.

Y’know, I think about you a lot. Actually, do you remember that night I answered three phone calls during dinner because the producer kept changing the arrangement? Little old me being teased by little old you for apologizing to everyone except myself. But the truth is I was happy. Exhausted down to the marrow and still I was so happy. I think that should’ve told you everything. 

There’s just that look you’d give me, you feel? Could be anywhere, my bed, my old junky studio, on my lap where you’d tell me to get my mind off it, all of it. Everywhere I talked about my plans, or muttered some lyrics under my breath instead of, I don’t know, sleeping. You’d look at me like I was something tragic. But I was alive. I felt that I was. You’d tell me once a day, “you’d work yourself to death if someone let you.” And maybe the scary thing about that is I understood exactly what you meant, and still, I would think of what I could make before then. 

There is just so much hunger in me, Y/n, and I always want to obey it. I have begun to wonder whether this was a flaw or some form of faith. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, only that it’s mine. This relentlessness. It’s kinda funny isn’t it, that of all the things I could’ve spent my life worshipping, it was always the future. I was obsessed with it. You had called me wild with determination once, but have you thought that through enough? I’ve never believed a wild creature was meant to bow its head in regret for wanting too much. 

Would you have given up your own ambitions to cross a thousand miles and be with me? Tire with me? Alright. I’ll say it now, and perhaps you might understand where I’m coming from. 

Leave behind that student organization, the Saturday classes and that shitty after-school tutor I know you still go to, all that hard work in the past, and feel this with me again. 

Would you have done it if I told you? I wouldn’t.

Often, I think this makes me selfish. Other times, I think I’m just as honest as can be. Is it greater a love to cross oceans for someone and measure how thoroughly I can abandon myself for that, or admitting there are some distances I’d rather not run in the name of it? I don’t love lightly, you know that. But God do I not dream lightly either. And when something in me reaches for the horizon, I can’t always be easily persuaded to turn around. Not even you, or those asking eyes I would call home,  have ever fully convinced me to go back. I’d choose you, yes, but I’d choose me too. And right now, those may be two truths but they are strangers to each other. 

I want to be one of the remarkables one day. Maybe I am selfish, Y/n. Is that so bad? 

Think of all the people out there who much prefer peace more than a little purpose. I don’t envy them a bit, as comforting as a peaceful life may sound. Imagine loving a life that doesn’t consume you whole. Imagine not needing to become more tomorrow than you were today. 

I don’t wanna toot my own horn, but I think I might be different from everyone else. People like to speak of dreams as though they’re luxuries and optional things. A lot of people around me and this business like to say that, actually. Fuck, I think it’s stupid. A dream may as well be the spine of a life. It holds you so upright that to wake up is to collapse. I am my dreams or I am nothing at all. 

Can’t help it that I miss you, though. Of course I miss you. I miss you terribly, and I’m sorry it took me months of waiting to tell you. I miss the feeling of having you close, of doing all your homework when you fell asleep on your desk or on the floor. I miss the sight of you tangled up in my own smelly sheets, and remembering how you used to call me pretty, touch my hair, tell me you loved me and that it was enough. 

And as contradictory as this sounds, I miss how greedy you were with me. When you’d stop me at the door and kiss me onto the couch, and I’d miss a whole day of practice altogether. Or whenever you’d purposefully SOS my phone during production hours, and I’d run back panicking only for you to tell me the emergency was that you missed me. The crazier thing is that you did this so many times, and I had done the same thing in each one. I was so pathetic then. 

And did you know? I still love you, haha (did I say that too much?). For even just once in my life, I’m glad that I'm able to say that I’ve experienced the most terrifying phenomenon in every person’s existence that is falling in love. It’s a feeling that lives so close to the bone, and the body will keep what mine cannot afford to forget. Thank you for this. For you. I’ll have to write a song about it before I can make peace with that feeling. I hope you won’t mind. 

But right now, I have a stage for tomorrow, a recording set for later, and every hour there is a song in production just waiting to be finished. I have a team to lead as much as they are friends to grow with, and sometimes they’ll ask more of me than what I think I can give. You can say I’m being worn thin by the things I love most, but what I used to call exhaustion I now realize is just my devotion, except I often push it to its edge, so it may look a little different at times. These pieces of myself that I give are being spent on this thing I love enough to keep feeding, and I don’t think its hunger is something I ever want to sate. 

I don’t think my thoughts come from a lack of love. I’ll always love you, especially now that my head's a little clearer and I’ve finally found my way toward things. But I would’ve resented you for the life I never got to live, even if giving it up would’ve been my choice and mine alone. 

So, from all the things I’ve said now, I don’t want to apologize for any of it. Wanting you was never the problem but abandoning myself would’ve been. And to be honest, I don’t think I could’ve made myself betray every chance at a future I got just to prove that. Maybe that sounds cold, or maybe it’s only the truth: that a dream, once you’ve fully imagined it, becomes another kind of body inside you. And asking someone to give it up isn’t always love, you know.

Wherever you are in the world, and wherever you’ll end up in a month or a year, I hope you’ll do the same for yourself, even if it means doing it far away from me. Now you can curse me out or diss me online or ring up my parents and tell them what a bad ex-boyfriend I am for this, but I love you now, I love you tomorrow, and I’ll love you in the next week or two. I’m young so I still don’t know how to move people along the line, and I don’t think I have to worry about that for a long while. But I would’ve still kept walking. I really would’ve.

See you around,

tin

(p.s. if you ever end up in my city, i hope it's for something good)

Martin walked straight into campus the same way he did when it was his first day of high school, which was strange considering he was just in fact freshly released from it. It’s not confidence exactly, but more like momentum. Consistency. Head high, pants low, headphones on, self awareness completely off (he’s bumped into 6 people already). But Martin is just that kind of guy you know. He’s always been this way. He’s a romantic. So he swears the way the air feels in this moment has to mean something.

not even a few paragraphs in and i already love this

“Unless they got an emo loser band I can join, I think I’d thrive in a club that does absolutely nothing.”

“Thought we were the emo loser band.”

CORTIS EMO LOSER BAND MENTIONED!!!!

Martin tries not to overthink it because he rarely does. His brain just offers him one undeniable thought: I’m going to marry that woman.

now hold your horses there young man!! i mean i’m saying yes no hesitation but like! an introduction or something first!

His foot catches on nothing. Or everything. He’s not sure anymore. But he’s sure the pavement tilts at some point. Traitor. He only has just enough awareness to think oh no, not like this before he falls forward and smacks his jaw on an outdoor glass pane he swears was not there before, and spectacularly, in front of God and everyone and most importantly her. And he is guaranteed no graceful recovery. No heroic recoil. Nothing.

love how this is his first impression. like yes martin would eat shit in front of a pretty popular girl he likes. how did you know author nim?

“Sorry, he does this,” he offers helpfully, “Uhm, walks into things—bye.”

😭😭😭😭😭 son i’m crine

And Martin thinks James can go straight to hell. It’s not the girls. He can handle girls. He could be standing in the middle of a hundred girls in the tiniest shorts skipping under a merciless sun and feel nothing at all. It’s whatever. He’s not a pervert. He’s fairly certain puberty happened to him on schedule. This isn’t about them. He wants to tell James so badly that it isn't about them. He can’t even see them right now.

HES SO PATHETIC I NEED HIM SO BAD THIS IS BIBLICALLY ACCURATE MARTIN SEND TWEET OR WHATEVER THEY SAY OVER THERE

There are a million things he wants to say at this moment, actually. Clever things. Earnest things. Really dumb things. Things that might explain why his chest feels like it's being split open from inside. He wonders (not for the first time) if she can hear how hard his heart is trying to escape from his ribs.

the prose for this fic is on a whole nother level actually…

So it becomes devastatingly clear in Martin’s mind that he is never confessing his feelings. Not today. Maybe not ever.

He’s going to have to die on this pavement first.

lord how i love insanely introspective statements with angsty subject matter offset with humour. it will always, always hit just as hard as the first time it was ever done in film or writing

“Wait so if we’re a band,” Seonghyeon cuts in, pointing at James accusingly, “aren't you supposed to be in it too?”

James raises both hands, already backing away. “Guys guys guys. I know. I would be. But I’ve got work back here.”

james is such a vibe in this whole fic like

Martin has no idea. It could mean nothing, really. She’s probably being polite and he’s just projecting his terminal condition (his gross crush) onto a completely normal human interaction. Either way, his heart does something stupid in his chest and he almost drops his pick.

God, he prays. He’s got an electric guitar strapped to his body. His hair is doing the slick back thing. He’s dressed to the nines tonight. He’s swagged out. So why am I acting so not swag at all?

He swallows down and manages the smallest nod he can get away with. He spots James off to her side who clocks him immediately and looks seconds away from ascending from pure satisfaction. She mouths something at him: break a leg, or something. Martin nods again. He’s pretty sure if he doesn’t get it together in the next minute, he’s going to actually break his own leg.

INTROSPECTIVE MONOLOGUES OFFSET WITH HUMOUR BECAUSE THATS HOW TEENAGERS ARE!!!!!

and the scenes with mama park oh my heart 🥺 your honour he’s just a mama’s boy

“Okay–no. That came out wrong. I'm not trying to say I didn’t have a lot of faith in you.” She pauses, waving a hand to try and dismiss it.

yn u awkward loser i love u

Wow. Nevermind.

NO WDYM NEVERMIND!!! KEEP TALKING WHITE BOY WE WERE JUST GETTING TO THE GOOD PART

Not tonight, he thinks.

Maybe never.

But god, not tonight.

see u always say never but i get the feeling that that’s not the truth, like. at all

James signs, long and theatrical. “Are you suggesting this girl you’re in love with should just walk? Damn, Martin.” He’s already pulling out his phone and his thumb hovers like an executioner. “It’s fine. I’ll just tell her you’re not up for it–”

WINGMAN JAMES IS HERE TO SAVE THE DAY I CALLED IT FOLKS!!

It’s not that he doesn’t have an answer. It’s just that every answer feels premature. He doesn’t know. He’s young so he probably doesn’t know anything. What, like you’re supposed to wake up one morning and know? He barely knows how to fold a fitted sheet. He forgets to eat until his hands start to shake. He calls his mom when he’s sick because he doesn’t know which medicine to take. So it would be irresponsible to call this love because he doesn’t know anything at all.

but isn’t that what love is, in essence? not knowing how to do anything, not understanding anything, not even understanding how you love but still doing it anyway because it’s the most human instinct. to love. even before any of us know how to speak we know how to love, so being young and clueless really is the best and most typical time to be so in love.

not me getting deep for a moment there anyway-

Maybe love is bigger, or feels heavier than this. Maybe he’d be certain if he lived a little more years. That’s what the old folks say. Or maybe they just say that to make feelings like this feel less terrifying than it is when you actually want to act on them. Maybe this is already the biggest it can get but deep in the marrow of Martin’s cynicism, it wants him to hold back for a little more.

i swear to god if i have to take another second of him yearning without doing anything about it i’m gonna go crazy

Martin nods along as she talks. Geez. He didn’t think they were going to act domestic so soon. Next think you know they're filing their taxes together.

in another life i would’ve really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you

also not me nearly screaming at my screen when she tried to set him up with one of her sorority sisters like DONT EVEN JOKE LAD “we need to get u a girl” U ITS U THE GIRL IS U ITS US WERE THE GIRL OH MY DAYS

the whole party scene is just such perfection to me like i wouldn’t even be able to take excerpts and give my little commentary because id just take the whole damn section

god this fic is so peak so wonderful mari if u weren’t a stranger on the internet i’d kiss u on tha lips

She smiles again, softer this time, and Martin has given in yet again. Lets a knot give up yet again. A collapse yet again. Having these kinds of feelings for this girl honestly feels less like a decision and more of a diagnosis. Maybe if she were more bitchy, if she smiled less, or at least smiled less at him will it go away. Maybe whatever this is would finally be starved of oxygen. But she’s not, and she doesn’t, and so the feeling survives.

also can i just kind of break the trance here and agree with martin (kind of) for a second and say how much i genuinely love the fact that reader is a kind girl? like idk the regina and rodrick thing was fun and all but this is just on another level. like she’s a sorority girl but she’s not your typical mean popular girl she actually does nice things for people and cares? is it just me who appreciates this? ok then

THE CAR SCENE 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 crying screaming throwing up losing my crap this is awful this is the best we’re so back we’re so cooked WHAT DO U MEAN GERMANYYYYYYYY NOOOOOOOO WE CANNOT LOSE THIS QUEEN TO THE LAND OF SAURKRAUT OR HOWEVER U SAY IT 😭😭😭😭😭☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

Martin’s known this the first time he’s really looked at her that she always felt like someone meant for elsewhere. Bigger rooms, bluer skies, people who don’t flinch at how bright she is. He’s always known that in the same way you know the ending to, like, Titanic for instance. You already know it's a sad ending but you still watch it and hope this time the ship won't sink.

you don’t even know i got misty eyed reading this. everyone leave me the fuck alone

Then, quieter, as if she’s bracing herself too. “And–I don’t know, maybe… maybe you just need to talk.”

COME ON MARTIN EVEN READER KNOWSSSSSUUUHHHHHHH GOD JUST CONFESS ALREADY MY HEART CANT TAKE ANY LESS

“But Y/n I’m–I don’t know anything, okay? I don't. I'm seventeen living like some rodent in my dorm and I know you keep pestering me about my tardiness and my poor mother is always worried sick about me–I sound insane, don’t I? Oh—I sound insane. God, you knock me loose Y/n.”

oh this whole confession scene… it’s exactly the kind of closure i needed but it’s ripping my heart at the seams. the way you write is so human and it’s just like i don’t have words to properly convey how i even feel about it. you knock me loose.

He snatches the towel from her hands and flings it somewhere into the house, not looking where it lands. Right now his heart is going at Mach speed, trying to launch itself out of his body and get to her first. But he bends down too quickly and does the thing he’s been wanting to do since that first day. Her arms come up around his neck and their mouths crash together in a kiss That’s more clumsy than cool, more desperate than smooth.

yyyyyyYYYYEEEEESSSSSSSSSS THIS IS WHAT WEVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!!!1!1!1!1! THE RAIN CONFESSION SCENE AND KISS COMBO!!!!! THIS IS WHAT LIFE IS ALL ABOUT!!!!KISSING IN THE RAIN!!!!!!!

But right now, she turns back just once to look at him, and that makes his world go round once more. Martin thinks that if his life is going to find a way to shit at him, he wouldn't mind her watching. He doesn’t mind wanting something that might leave because for the first time, wanting her feels less like losing and more like finally knowing what this thing alive in his chest was built for.

bro someone get the tissues this loser (me) is crying again

this letter… the letter… 🥺💌💔

Sometimes I think if I stare at the ceiling long enough I’ll see the same sky you’re under, just folded differently. I texted you today and waited for your reply then I remembered texting Germany feels like throwing a bottle into the ocean. Seriously, time zones are a bitch to keep up with. Hyeon says I look ‘haunted’. I think he just means I miss you. So if you ever get lonely over there, I hope you remember there’s some loser guy on the other side of the world who can’t stop thinking about you. You, and you, and you.

You quiet eclipse, midday dandelion, my impossible color, one strawberry moon pulled straight from the chest, feverish and alive,

I’ll see you soon.

- tin.

Sent from my iPhone.

Seat 1B was already occupied when you boarded, Seonghyeon was sitting there looking annoyingly good. He looked put together–a lot more put together than you…I mean it was an all nighter, of course you looked like a rodent.  You dropped into 1A beside him, shoved your bag under the seat, and immediately reached for your phone.

He looked over once, then his eyes narrowed. “Why do your eyes look like that?”

You blinked slowly. “Like what?”

“Like a panda.”

“You calling me cute?.”

“Dude you look unwell.”

“Thank you.”

Seonghyeon leaned closer, studying the dark circles under your eyes like they were giving him answers. “What happened?”

You tapped through the menu screen casually. “I told you, needed Wi-Fi.”

He paused. “For what?”

“Stuff.”

He looked at you for a second too long and then a smile creeped upon his face. “I know you’re lying.”

You kept tapping the screen. “Shut up.”

“All your music apps work offline.”

“Why do you know that?”

“Because I make music?”

You finally looked at him. “It’s not your business.”

He held his hands up. “Okay.”

The silence lasted maybe thirty seconds? Then you pulled your laptop out and opened up your new track. Seonghyeon’s eyes immediately dropped to it. You opened your project file, airpods now in your ears, as you started working on it, and guess what? no Wi-Fi needed.

He said nothing, but you could feel the smugness radiating off him. You ignored it and played the rough instrumental quietly through your airpods.

Seonghyeon leaned in finally. “Let me hear too.”

You shoved his forehead back with two fingers. “Get away, plagiariser.”

He gasped dramatically. “Yo I’m trying to help, I’m pitying you right now.”

“You steal glasses, food, shoulder space. Why not songs next?”

“I have limits, don’t worry.”

“Debatable.”

He reached for one of your airpods. “Move.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

You rolled your eyes. “Get your Airpods out.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Your AirPods…out. I’ll pair them with mine, too lazy to share.” You said looking at his face, then his pockets—where his Airpods were.

Immediately, he sat up straighter and pulled them from his pocket. You paired them to your laptop.

Seonghyeon glanced at you with a smug smile on his face. “Wait… this is kinda like a romcom scene.”

“It’s Bluetooth.”

“It means something.”

“It means be quiet.”

You hit play again. Both of you listened, heads slightly tilted in concentration. The cabin noise faded under the synths and bassline—you both were so focused on the track that you didn’t even notice the flight taking off. 

Seonghyeon tapped his fingers against the armrest, thinking. “This is catchy,” he said finally. “But why don’t you add a beat here?” He pointed at the transition. “Like right before the drop.”

You frowned. “Mm.” Then moved the cursor back. “Wait.” You dragged in a sample, adjusted the timing and replayed it. The beat kicked in cleaner than before. You both looked at each other, immediately nodding. This was good. 

“Yes.”

Seonghyeon slapped the armrest. “I told you.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Dang, I’m gonna have to credit you huh?.”

“Hell yeah.”

The next hour passed with both of you bent over the laptop. Samples got dragged in, loud, toned down, pitched up, pitched down. Seonghyeon kept tapping random rhythms on the armrest, while you kept pretending not to listen to half of his ideas before quietly using them anyway.

By the time you finally closed the laptop, your neck hurt and your eyes felt dry. You had around four hours left until LA. “Okay,” you muttered, pulling your AirPods out. “If I hear one more beat today, I’m going to scream.”

Seonghyeon stretched in his seat beside you. “Weak as shit.”

“You’ve contributed one beat, calm down.”

“One beat that will change lives.”

You snorted and reached for the water bottle in front of you. The cabin had gone quiet again, most people asleep, window shades down, the low hum of the plane filling the space between you. For once, neither of you were arguing.

“So,” you said,  “What’s your plan in LA?”

He shrugged. “Greengreen stuff, meetings, promo and the basic shit.”

“Wow how interesting.”

“I know.” He glanced at you. “You?”

“Album things.”

He nodded. “Like?”

You said it casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Trying to lock in a feature with Zara Larsson.”

Seonghyeon turned so fast you almost laughed. “The Zara Larsson?”

You stared at him. “No, the other Zara Larsson.”

“There’s another one?”

“No.”

He blinked. “That’s crazy.”

“Yeah.”

He shook his head like he was genuinely impressed. “You’re kind of insane, you know that?”

“You’re just realizing?”

A pause settled before he spoke again. “You know what our fans are on about?”

You looked at him. “You think I don’t know?”

“Well,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I thought you were chronically offline.”

You laughed softly. “Please. I see everything.”

“And?”

“And I don’t really care.” You took another sip of water, then glanced at him. “But you should be careful though.”

He looked back at you immediately, both of you knew exactly what you meant. The cameras,  the rumors, the overanalysed clips and the way things spread faster than truth ever could

Seonghyeon’s expression softened a little. He nodded once. “Yeah.”

It went quiet after that. Not awkward. Just… quieter.

You both sighed almost at the same time, which made you laugh under your breath. Then he looked at the closed laptop on your tray table. “What’s the song about?” he asked.

You turned to him slowly, stared at him for a second too long as a smile crept onto your face. “Someone.”

His brows lifted. “Someone special?”

“Fucker it’s you” how you wish you could’ve said that. You shrugged. “Maybe…or maybe not?”

“Maybe not.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Do I know him?”

You bit back a smile. “Nah. I don’t think so.”

Before he could reply, you reached for your iPad and grabbed your AirPods again. He was already pulling his phone out when you caught his wrist lightly to stop him. Then you pulled one AirPod out and held it toward him.

“Watch with me.”

Seonghyeon looked at the AirPod, then at you, a slow grin spread across his face. “This is way more romantic than Bluetooth.” 

You took a deep breath in as you turned your head towards him, “Are you trying to hit on me?” The grin never left his face.

“Is it working?”

You were just about to say something back—something clever, something flirty, something that definitely would’ve made this whole situation worse, when a voice cut in beside you. “Hi, sorry…”

Both of you looked up. The flight attendant stood there holding two meal trays, eyes darting between the two of you with the kind of expression that said she absolutely knew who you both were and was trying very hard to remain professional.

Her smile twitched. “Uh… chicken or pasta?”

You answered immediately. “Pasta.”

Seonghyeon pointed at your tray. “Whatever she’s having.”

You turned to him. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Feels romantic.”

The flight attendant nearly laughed.

“It feels annoying,” you said.

“Same thing sometimes.”

She handed over the trays, still visibly holding back a smile, then quickly moved on before she started asking for selfies mid-air.

You looked at him once she left. “You are so embarrassing.”

“And yet you were about to flirt back.”

“I was about to humble you.”

“Sure.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved one AirPod into his hand again. “Movie. Now.”

He placed it in his ear. “What are we watching?”

You scrolled through the options for a second, then pressed one. His face changed immediately when the title card appeared. “Incantation?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t do horror.”

You turned to him slowly. “You don’t do horror?”

“I respect my image bro.”

“You were talking crazy five seconds ago.”

“Okay but it worked, right?.”

“That is deeply pathetic.”

He sighed dramatically as the movie started. “If I die because of you, tell my members I was brave.”

“You won’t die.”

“You don’t know that.”

Ten minutes in, he was sitting unusually straight. Twenty minutes in, he kept glancing around the cabin like the ghost might somehow board the plane. Thirty minutes in, a loud scene hit and he grabbed your wrist on instinct.

You looked down at his hand, then up at him, he froze slowly let go.

“That didn’t happen.”

“It absolutely did.”

“You moved into me.”

“I was trying to steal your food.”

You grinned and hit play again. “Quiet now.”

Another jump scare hit. This time, he flinched so hard his shoulder slammed into yours.

You started laughing immediately. “Oh my god,” you wheezed. “Sunshine boys member is scared of ghosts.”

“I’m not scared.”

“You just flew out of your seat.”

“I was surprised.”

“Mhm.”

He narrowed his eyes, then without warning reached over and pulled the sleeve of your jacket .

“What are you doing?”

“If I’m suffering,” he muttered, eyes still on the screen, “you’re suffering too.”

You looked at your wrist, then at him trying to act unfazed. The movie kept going. Another eerie scene built up slowly, the kind that was obviously setting up something awful. You felt him shift beside you, at first it was subtle, just his shoulder pressing more firmly into yours. Then his arm brushed against yours. Then somehow, inch by inch, he kept leaning closer like gravity was only affecting him.

You didn’t look at him, didn’t say anything either. Another sound blasted through the AirPod and Seonghyeon inhaled sharply, immediately moving again until his head ended up tucked into the crook of your neck.

You froze for half a second.

His hair brushed your jaw. His forehead rested against your shoulder like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“Seonghyeon,” you said flatly.

No response.

“Are you serious?”

Still nothing.

He only shifted a little closer, hand lightly gripping the sleeve of your jacket again during the next tense scene. “You’re insane.”

“I’m focused,” he mumbled against your shoulder.

“On what?”

“Not being a pussy.”

You tried to sound annoyed, but your voice came out quieter than intended, almost like a whisper. “You have your own seat.”

“This feels safer.”

“Just use your own clothes to cover your eyes?.”

“Nah, this is better. He paused, “Oh look, the scary part’s coming.”

You stared ahead at the screen, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was basically curled into you over a horror movie. Him telling you to look at the screen was such an obvious excuse to cuddle into you but…you didn’t mind. Absolutely ridiculous behavior right? but yet…you didn’t move him.

Another jump scare hit. He flinched again, this time accidentally burying his face further into your neck.

You bit back a smile. “You are never beating the pussy allegations after this.”

He groaned. “Please shut up.”

Somewhere during the second half of the movie, neither of you were watching it anymore.

The screen kept playing quietly in front of you, but Seonghyeon had gone still against your shoulder, breathing slow and even, one hand loosely holding the sleeve of your jacket like he forgot to let go.

You looked down once, he was asleep. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. You should’ve moved him, you should’ve woken him up but instead, after an all nighter, a five hour flight, and way too much time spent pretending he wasn’t affecting you, your own eyes started burning. So you adjusted yourself and well, knocked out too.

The next time you opened your eyes, it was to muffled voices and movement around you. You blinked slowly, still stuck between sleep and consciousness. Everything felt warm and heavy...everything was too loud.

Then you realized why.

Your head was resting on Seonghyeon’s head now, while he was still tucked into the side of your neck. Somehow, in your sleep, the positions had only gotten worse.

Your eyes widened.

Standing in the aisle around your row were 6 very awake people. 4 of the Cortis members, their manager and your manager. All of them staring down at the two of you like this was the most entertaining thing they’d seen all month. 

No one said anything…which was technically worse. Because behind them, a few passengers clearly recognized exactly who was in row 1A and 1B, phones already angled subtly from further back.

You shot upright so fast your seatbelt nearly snapped. The sudden movement jolted Seonghyeon awake too. He lifted his head, blinking slowly, hair a mess, then looked around at the group gathered in front of him.

A second passed.“…Why are you all here?” One of his members immediately started laughing.

Naz crossed her arms. “Oh, now he’s awake.”

You covered your face with both hands. “Kill me.”

Seonghyeon turned to you, then seemed to register how close the two of you had been sleeping. Then he leaned back in his seat like none of this concerned him. “Did we land?”

“Ten minutes ago,” Cortis’ manager said flatly.

You whipped your head toward him. “TEN?”

Naz looked delighted. “Dead asleep. Didn’t move once.”

Another member had his phone out, clearly filming already. “Put that down,” Seonghyeon said immediately. He did not put it down.

You groaned into your hands. “This is so bad.”

From further back in the cabin, more phones had definitely appeared now that people noticed the scene. The cabin crew clocked it too and moved fast. Two attendants stepped directly in front of your row, blocking the view from the aisle with practiced efficiency.

“Please continue deboarding,” one of them said firmly. Which, thankfully, made the crowd start moving again.

Naz bent down beside you. “Need a minute, sleeping beauty?”

You glared at her. “Did you just stand there and watch?”

“For a while, yeah.”

“I hate you.”

Beside you, Seonghyeon stretched like all this would impact him the most. Then he glanced over and smirked. “You smell really good by the way.”

You furrowed your brows, “Is that really your top priority right now? Telling me I smell good?”

He does have his awkward moments, though. And it's not necessarily from a lack of social skills—James is quite good in that area of expertise. It's from the need of wanting to impress you. He grew up always wanting to live up to the standards of his dad, and he adopts that same ideology with you.

One time, he got you an ice cream, holding it daintily with one hand so as to not melt it with his warm skin. It fell right onto the sand next to you as soon as he offered it. Another time, when you two were younger, the palace guards caught you both stealing food from the fire lord's war room. In these instances, however, James has always been well-intentioned.

KIM JUHOON as aang

Like Aang, Juhoon frequently tries to be nonchalant but fails. He's humble and kind, despite being one of the most powerful benders on earth. And he's equally down bad.

When everyone else is asleep, Juhoon sneaks out with you at night to go out into the forest and practice bending. He's the avatar, after all. He needs the practice, and you just so happen to be the perfect teacher.

He's a kid at heart, and will wordlessly drag you into his fun—showing you all his different airbending tricks. He occasionally blows a gust of wind in your direction, just so he can brush your hair back and kiss you on the cheek innocently.

Juhoon basks in the quiet of your presence. He's got the weight of the world on his mind, and you being there makes all the difference.

MARTIN EDWARDS as bolin

Hopeless romantic earthbender boy. Need I say more?

He initially comes off as threatening, purely from a first glance. It's the natural reaction that anyone would have towards a tall earthbender.

But Martin is a sweet guy before anything else. He's kind and genuine to you and everyone around you, because that's just the type of person he is.

Martin surprises you with flowers before he takes you around Republic City. He checks off all the gentleman boxes and goes out of his way to make you happy and comfortable.

He also compliments you like anything. He'll tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, whispering about how beautiful you look. He earthbends tiny structures to gift you every time you meet up, saying you deserve the whole world and the earth beneath it.

EOM SEONGHYEON as mako

A ladies man. He's very indifferent to you at first. He's not used to being the chaser. People are always cheering for him and wooing him during pro-bending matches, not the other way around.

Seonghyeon, like mako, is very sassy. He has this attitude he gives to everyone that comes from a place of distance, not hate. He's slightly confused when you don't pull away, and why you keep talking to him or spending time with him.

But he's gentle, in a way that you've never seen from a firebender. When Seonghyeon finally lets down his walls and finds a way to let you into his heart, he shows a vulnerable side you've only ever seen him show to his brother. His fiery eyes soften when he's around you. He immediately gets protective whenever you're in danger—no matter where you are.

Seonghyeon loves just as fiercely as he firebends. He confesses to you with his whole heart, he kisses you like it's the last time he'll ever see you, he yells at you whenever you put yourself in danger—because he can't bear the thought of losing you.

AHN KEONHO as sokka

Keonho is pretty shameless in that Sokka type way. He's the flirty type, and has the slightest savior complex when it comes to you—in a good way, of course.

Growing up in the southern water tribe, he's always had to be the man of the village. The rest were off fighting in the war, so he's always had to carry more responsibility than is healthy for a boy his age.

You see it in the way he always makes sure you're drinking enough water, or when he offers to carry your things while traveling, or how he protects you against firebenders knowing full well that you're completely capable by yourself.

Keonho makes you laugh, too. It's one of his most charming qualities. His nonsensical dad jokes and his poorly timed humor when you're both in a high stakes situation.

And yet despite his easygoing nature and his humorous personality, he takes you more seriously than anything else. He knows what loss feels like, which only makes him cherish you more.

📞 idol!seonghyeon x popstar!reader, written+smau, profanity, angst, rumors, fluff, kys jokes, mental stress, burn out, ib by stateside, crack, corny jokes, sorta slowburn, yns artist profile is pinkpantheress

When you accidentally leave something backstage and when Seonghyeon picks it up, he doesn’t just keep it—he shows it off on live, calling it his ‘new & hot find.’ So what happens when fans finally figure out who it actually belongs to?

🎶 stateside by pinkpantheress and zara larsson

Status -> ongoing

🎤 series taglist open!! ask here to be added

iro's notes: based off of stateside becus YES IM STILL OBSSESED WITH THAT SONG

© ramenoil 2026

🎸 tracklist

# track 0

# track 1

# track 2

# track 3

# track 4

ptl: @amb4rluvs / @beatbymarzz / @sailuvsu / @lcvehyeon / @frizzyyo / @09zpzkeonns / @hyuneskkami

But James is one of the best racers on the grid, and one of the most promising in the future. Headlines say that he’s already superior beyond his age, that he’s on track to become the best in the world. A record-breaker. A winner.

The rush of fear and excitement doesn’t quell as the cars speed down the race track, passing the ninety-minute mark. James can feel his vision blurring slightly. His breathing and heart rate are getting faster and faster.

Time is ticking.

His senses are overwhelmed with the tons of force acting on his body. His mind is beginning to drift, he’s almost there. Almost there.

Almost there—

“James—”

“Don’t talk to me.”

The room is dead silent. You’re all—you, his coach, his whole management team, his trainer— standing in different spaces of the hotel room. James sits with his head hung low, elbows on his knees as he sits on the bed.

“You were close. It was a split second of hesitation, really—”

“Don’t talk, goddamit!”

James’ words cut past his coach’s. The car honks and air conditioning fill the otherwise charged silence.

The thing is, James doesn’t take losses well. He’s already taken a hit from his loss in Australia, and he’s not even ranking at the top three anymore. The pressure’s getting to him, the media’s getting to him, the rush of the race and everything that comes with it is getting to him.

You glance at the coach, who gives you a look saying, are you gonna do something or should I?

He’s always known that you and James were close. He knows that you and James spend time together, that you talk to each other, that you stay up until three am playing roblox on GP practice days with each other. It’s expected for a manager to have a good bond with their racer.

What his coach doesn’t know, and what nobody else knows really, is that James asked you to be his girlfriend eight months ago. What he doesn’t know is that James kissed you after his first place run in Belgium. Or that the multitude of expensive dinner receipts charged to the company card have actually been from dinners James has taken you out to. Or that James has your initials written on his helmet, and your favorite cd in the glovebox of his sports car outside of racing.

But James’ coach doesn’t need to know that.

You give him a small nod and focus your attention back to James—sad, solemn James who’s rubbing his hands up and down his face. A mannerism he’s had since forever.

“James,” you say softly, a contrast between his sharp words before. “It’s—this is hard, I know. But you’re just going through a slump. It happens. It happens to everyone—”

“God, just be quiet! You don’t need to coddle me, for fuck’s sake!”

His piercing eyes lock onto yours.

You can tell he immediately regrets it. Whatever anger was fuming inside of him diminishes when he realizes what he’s said, the way he’s said it.

He rarely ever yells at you. The last time was in Bahrain, and even then it was softer.

It’s seconds of silence, but the wordless exchange of insight that you both share just by looking at each other is endless. Secrets only you two know, days and nights and weekends and workdays that only you two have shared.

You exhale. “You need some space.”

“I—” He purses his lips.

Everyone else files out of his hotel room, getting ready to sleep without having to worry about a race tomorrow.

You’re the last to leave, lingering by the door and squeezing the handle slightly. And then you leave too.

The knock comes about an hour later.

It’s a tepid, tiny rap at the door. One that you know is his, even though it’s completely contradictory to the person everyone knows him as.

You lift the blanket up from the bed and walk on the carpeted floor towards the door. Usually, when traveling for races, James would always sneak into your room and spend the night. You both would watch movies and cult classics and laugh at Regina saying, ‘they think you're a less hot version of me’, or Marcus posing as a white woman, laughing, ‘what a beautiful chocolate man!’

But you know tonight's not going to be one of those nights where you can laugh at high school fiends or beautiful chocolate men, because you know James needs time and space.

Which is why you can't help but feel a little hurt at the things he said earlier.

And why you're hesitant to open the door for him.

But you find your hand clasping around the cold, metal handle anyway, unlocking the door.

James doesn't meet your eyes immediately. His gaze travels from the floor to your fuzzy socks, to the neckline of your shirt to, finally, you. His eyes look tired, like he's been rubbing at them, and his brown hair is slightly messy.

“Hey,” He says in a gruff voice that's almost comical coming from him.

“Hi,” you respond.

You shift between your feet while holding the door open, unsure of what to do.

“I thought you might still be awake,” James says. “I don't know, watching a movie or something.”

“I was going over the schedule for Texas in two weeks.”

“Ah,” James steps closer. “Can I…can I come in?”

You regard his eyes with curiosity, and then open the door a little wider. He takes that as a yes, as a lifeline you've given him, and steps fully inside the hotel room.

You barely have time to react after closing the door. James engulfs you in his arms as soon as you turn around, tightly holding your waist.

One arm comes up to stroke your hair, delicately and softly.

“Angel, I'm sorry,” He mutters, slightly muffled by your hair. “Fuck, I'm such an idiot, my god, I—I didn't mean to snap at you like that. You know I could never get angry at you like that.”

Your hands curl tighter around the fabric of his jacket. It's a cotton hoodie he got from Red Bull two years ago, with his initials embroidered on the sleeve.

“James—”

“I don't know what I was even thinking,” He continues. “You were just trying to help, and—”

“James,” you cut him off, releasing your hands from his hoodie and pulling away. “It's okay. You're going through it right now, I understand.”

James’ hands still linger at the dips of your waist.

“No, but,” He sighs. “I don't want you to have to understand, angel. I hate that. I hate that you've become so used to…this, and…”

His voice hitches the slightest bit. It's reminiscent of when you had met each other for the first time—when he insisted that he didn't need your help and didn't want it either. He snapped at you back then too, and then apologized immediately after.

“This is not everyday life, James,” you tell him as a gentle reminder. “And we're not working everyday jobs.”

His hand strays from your waist and comes up to your cheek. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and lets his fingertips graze the cartilage.

You can see in real time how much his eyes soften. How much his gaze changes.

“I don't deserve you,” He says in a low whisper.

The nighttime of summer is magical. Sweet aromas of honeysuckle and jasmine waft through the humid air. You rest your hands on your stomach as James lies down next to you, smelling of expensive cologne and carrying the scent of a new car. His choppy locks tickle the side of your face and your ear.

You were skeptical when you heard about the Austin Grand Prix being held at a track in, quite literally, the middle of nowhere. James’ agent had marketed it as an ‘exclusive destination’. You knew that was corporate language for isolated.

But when you found out there was an open meadow that seemed to stretch on endlessly, only five minutes from the hotel, you were quick to take James along. He had been nervous for the Grand Prix in the Americas, and there was little to do near the race track anyway.

And god, this had to be heaven in reality. The pearly white dots scattered across the dark purple oasis of a sky and the soft strands of grass tickled your legs and the soft breath of James lying right next to you.

“You know,” you say, instinctively lowering your voice in the quiet of the evening. “I don’t get to see the stars like this very often.”

“Hm,” James replies. His deep timbre reverberates through your skin.

“There’s just so much…light, where I live.”

“Really?”

You make a humming sound. “Yeah.”

James rolls over on his side, propping himself up on his elbow and resting his head on his palm. His free hand reaches over to your clasped ones and gives them a light squeeze. His eyes catch the rays of moonlight that stream across your figure—highlighting the profile of your face and every single thing he’s fallen in love with.

You turn your head to see James looking at you. You laugh at his softened eyes and his light smile. During the daytime, he’s almost always sullen and serious. He always has something program-related to get done during the day. If it isn’t the ice baths, it’s the car maintenance, or fuel loads, or working in the simulators. He gets even more quiet when it’s an actual practice day.

So seeing him like this—softened by the moonlight, surrounded by the soft meadow with his hand holding onto yours—is a fleeting moment of peace, stillness, in a world where he’s always in a race.

James leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. His lips still when they reach your skin, pause, and then press a second to your hairline.

“We should go,” you whisper, breath warm against his neck. Tomorrow’s Sunday, race day. You’re his manager. The person who, under normal circumstances, should be regulating all these things—his sleep schedule, his press interviews, all of it.

“We should,” He agrees. He makes no effort to move or shift or anything that accurately reflects his words. You can tell that he wants to stay just as much as you do.

James reaches the finish line first in Texas.

His coach doesn't know that he stayed the night in your hotel room, or that you both accidentally fell asleep while watching Judge Judy reruns.

So when the press asks James what changed in morale for him, James simply responds with,

“My love did.”

Twitter goes wild. His hashtag is already trending. Tons and tons of posts pop up speculating about what a vague statement like that could possibly imply.

As soon as he's away from the spotlights, away from the track, helmet and gloves off, he wastes no time looking for you. He spots you in the waiting area for the Red Bull team room, sitting with one knee bouncing and smiling at your phone.

“Angel,” James says, prompting you to look up.

You spring up from the chair and close the distance in no time. Your arms wrap around his nomex suit while you dig your face into his neck. The action elicits a small chuckle from his end.

“You did it, James,” you say into the crook of his neck, muffled by skin.

His helmet drops to the floor with a clatter, followed by his gloves and a pen that one of the media interviewers gave him to sign with.

“We did it, angel.”

─── .

Scandal in the Streets! New Photos Show National Pride Zhao Yufan Seen on a Dinner Date With…his Manager?!

The lack of sleep recently must be making you hear things, and you set a mental reminder to ask for an increase in your melatonin dosage when you get back home from this town. From Forks. Washington’s Olympic Peninsula; a place you’d never voluntarily step foot in if it weren’t for the paper desperately needing something fresh to publish. 

You press your lips into a thin line and shake your head, willing yourself to wake up and focus.

When you turn back, a figure is standing before you.

You can’t help but let out the gasp that escapes you this time, taking a step back, trying to calm yourself. 

“Sorry.” He says, raising his eyebrows in an almost taunting-like way. “Did I scare you?”

“Maybe.” You offer a small chuckle, easing tension, and clear your throat. “I didn’t see you come up.”

He’s taller than you, though his rugged cap planted over his messy hair might have something to do with it. You do a quick intake; sharp bone structure, onyx dark eyes, and hollow, pale cheeks. So, so pale, he looks almost deathly. 

“Not much sun around here.” He says, as if offering an answer for your thoughts.

Your breath hitches. “What?”

“It messes with the light. Why you didn’t see me.” His eyes are burning into yours, willing you to accept his explanation.

“Oh,” you force out, nodding. “Right.” 

He simply watches as you swallow and force yourself to steady your thrumming pulse. A task that’s not as easy when he’s looking at you like he has intentions if you move even a muscle. 

Your intuition–one that’s never been wrong before–is yelling at you to back away even more; to run until you see someone else; to flee this scene because you know all too well about strangers and solitude.

“Like I said, you shouldn’t be here.” He echoes.

Finally, something on script. Something you can work with. 

Your investigative days have led you on strange pathways before; places you legally shouldn’t have been, but over the years of experience, you’ve learnt how to sweet-talk your way out of trouble. You straighten your back–Forks will not make you another statistic. 

“Right! I’m so sorry. Is this private property? I had no idea…” Feigning innocence, eyebrows furrowing in distress. “I tried following the main river.”

The boy–if you can even call him that–is quiet for a moment. Something is gleaming in his eyes, as if he has you exactly where he wants. 

“You’re alright. No, it’s not private property, but the woods aren’t safe for a girl like you.”

You let a humourless scoff. He’s playing into your act a bit too much. 

Using the opportunity to eye him down properly, your gaze doesn’t miss a single detail. You’ve seen him before. You realise. Though you can’t recall where, or when, you know his face. You wouldn’t forget one like his. 

The vague familiarity calms you down. You’re really grasping onto straws here, but it’s a slight relief knowing he’s a little less harmless. 

The edge of his lips twitch.

“The woods wouldn’t be safe for a guy like you, either.” You finally respond. “You can’t be that much older than me.”

A slow, deliberate, smile spreads across his face. His features were almost too perfect, that the expression makes him look more real. 

“I’ve been twenty.” 

The way people talk here is so strange. 

You wait for anything further, and he offers none. 

“Not much older than me,” You confirm. 

He only hums. 

He turns his attention to a long, fallen log covered in fern, wildflowers sticking out messily. Bending down gracefully to pluck one out of the bunch, the boy gently dangles it in front of your fisted hand at the side of your hip. 

If this was his way of pleading trust, you hate how it works. 

Opening your palm, you let him drop the light pink wildflower into it, fingers curling around it to flex your body into moving again. You hadn’t realised how still you’ve been since he appeared. 

The boy begins to walk in the opposite direction you were heading. 

Without meaning to, you walk with him. 

“I haven’t seen you before.” His voice is softer now. Curious. Itching to get you to keep talking.

You recognise the path he’s taking you down–you’re retracing your steps. 

You didn’t want to leave the forest too early, given this morning was practically spent settling into your motel room, but the endless branches of hanging canopy weren’t giving you much to work with either. 

“I only just arrived.” Your answer is plain. You’ve got to start asking questions too, the boy could be of use, after all.

“The tourists usually skip this part of Washington.”

“Not a tourist.”

“Then what are you here for, Miss…?”

You state your name, followed by “SBS,” with a fiddle of your lanyard. Your bright photo identification plastered across it. 

“A reporter!” The boy marvels, “We don’t get many of those. I’m surprised our police haven’t reassured you away.” 

“Oh, they tried.” Memories of Martin–the scrawny, blonde intern at the station–flash in your mind. He had to have been freshly graduated from high school with the way he stuttered in attempts of refusing an interview. “But my boss–she says there’s something sinister going on over here. So, I’m not leaving until I have a story.”

“Do you believe her?” But his tone is off, as if there’s a right or wrong answer to this question, and not one of opinion.

He faces you, and you feel the spotlight burning your cheeks. “Two seventeen-year-old boys missing in the span of a month? I’d say that’s pretty sinister.”

He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but then closes it again. After a pause; 

“The logic is there.” 

“You…” The sentence can’t come out. He turns to look at you again, tilting his head to implore you to go on. “You don’t seem to agree?” 

A clench of his jaw. “Live long enough, you tend to get used to how small towns work.” 

He looks away now, taking in the vastness of green surrounding the two of you.

“You’re a Forks local, then?”

His head rocks side to side, as if weighing the answer. “Something like that.” 

“Local enough for a statement, at least?” 

“I’ll give you one, if you let me see you again before you leave town.”

For the second time since meeting this boy, you’re taken aback. The shock even makes you stop walking. “That is an extremely unprofessional deal.” 

“You’re writing about a retired case.” He chuckles, commanding you with his hand to keep moving forwards. “I hate to break it to you, but the Ahns and Eoms don’t want to cry to the media about their boys anymore. I think I’m the best chance you’ve got.”

You simply shake your head, and in a trance-like state, you continue to follow him. “Families of victims are always looking to get the word out there. If I don’t get something from them, I’m sure there are others who will talk.” 

“None as good-looking as me, though.” He grins, teeth flashing your way. His face snaps back frontwards though, hiding it as quickly as it came. 

Though you feel the urge to scoff again, you technically can’t disagree. 

He’s unbelievably gorgeous; an alluring way about him that you’ve never found in the city boys you’ve dated in the past. His cologne even, the way it’s breathing off his heavy coat, is enough to make you dizzy.

A satisfied expression forms on his face at your silence. 

Before you know it, you’ve nearly stepped out of the alienating forest of Forks. 

You can tell, because at the very first sight of a building, ‘HAVE YOU SEEN AHN KEONHO?’ posters are plastered across the walls.

The reminder of the disappearances settles down any attempts of flirtation and humour that were about to surface. The boy watches as you stare, and lets the weight of it all sink onto a moment of silence between the two of you. 

“Off the record?”

You turn this time, ears piqued in interest, but he’s not next to you anymore. You’ve realised you’ve kept walking ahead a few steps, as if getting closer to the pictures of the lost boy will give you a clue on where he’s gone–where they’ve all gone. 

“Yes?” You pry, especially as you watch him slightly chew on the inside of his cheeks. 

“You were right to go into the woods to investigate. There’s a reason no one has published anything about Forks.” He says this in a rush, a slight octave above a whisper–like he shouldn’t reveal this to you. Like he shouldn’t be talking to you at all. “But if you’re smart, you really won’t come back here. You won’t stay for long, either.” 

You slowly read between his lines, half comprehending what’s trying to say. Your chest steadily rises in increasing bursts at his warning. 

You try to remind yourself that you’re safe now–you can hear the bustle of the streets much up ahead, indicating there are more people around on the other side, if need be. Such safety produces bravery, you’ve come to find out. 

“You know something, don’t you?” The plant in your palm, almost crushed. 

You seem to catch a dip in his head, but you’re not certain. 

“What is it?” Your eyes frantically searching his now, “An animal? Some sort of voodoo ritual?”

You trace back to all you’ve read about the history of Forks. 

It’d be impossible not to do research for the case of this town; generations of boys slipping from existence every few decades, no questions asked, no pleas answered. 

You remember how many speculated beasts that roam in the night, or how other sources simply passed down folktales; history coming into fruition. Though you didn’t believe them entirely, the isolating experience of the forest makes you rewire your beliefs on what could rationally be happening in a town that’s left off the maps. 

His eyes are narrowing down to look at you through them. He’s about to respond, until a branch nearby snaps. A noise–a warning–made by someone who knows how to stay quiet. 

Then the crunching of leaves as heavy boots make their way closer.

“James, you’re frightening the poor girl.” A different voice says, and you whip your head to another boy stepping out from behind the trunks covered in moss. “I can hear her heartbeat from here.”

He’s slightly taller. His voice is slightly deeper too. A multitude of differences between him and the first boy, James, with the exception of his complexion also being ghost-like. 

“Hello,” He dips his head low, like a bow. “I apologise on his behalf. James doesn’t know what he’s saying, really. He likes to play with his fo-”

“Friends!” James finishes. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” 

His eyes haven’t separated from yours this whole time, and they brighten when you nod. 

Pleased, he turns to the boy standing next to him now. “Juhoon,” James sighs. “You’re interrupting my time with my new friend.” 

Juhoon’s face is stonecold. “Carlisle sent me. He could tell you were up to no good again.” 

James rolls his eyes. “Not a single moment of peace or privacy with you around,” He mumbles to himself. 

You can’t help but revel in this dynamic; you don’t even care where this Juhoon came from, you’re relieved to see James acting like a real person. For a second, he almost didn’t seem like one. 

James blinks in your direction. 

He keeps doing this, you note to yourself. As if you’re saying all of this out loud, and he’s reacting like second-nature. It’s odd to find yourself in proximity with someone as perceptive as you consider yourself to be. 

“Hello, Juhoon.” You greet, finally taking your gaze off of James. 

The seemingly younger boy doesn’t take your late attention to heart. “You’ll have to excuse us, friend of James, our father wants us home.” 

You can’t help but smile at his childish antics, and send another nod his way, outlining understanding. 

Then, to James, “I want my statement.” 

It’s unspoken you’ve consented to what comes with it. 

Juhoon watches at how James’ smirk is forced to the ground; as if he’s guilty, as if he’s caught. 

He can only sigh at his older brother.

“Carlisle’s right. You are up to no good again.” Juhoon disrupts the moment, glancing between the two of you.

Your eyebrows rise at this. “You walk girls out of the woods often, James?” 

Hearing him say your name isn’t helping him wipe the smug expression off of his face, even though he knows he has to. “Only the pretty-”

A slight breeze picks up from your direction, and you can feel your hair lift off your shoulders. You grumble at this cursed weather, even if the wind only lasts for just a moment.

It’s enough for Juhoon. 

It’s enough for James. 

It’s enough for something to shift.

In the split-second you took to pat down your hair-do, your instincts have spiked up, something suddenly stirring inside of you to run. 

Looking back at James, his eyes have gone impossibly darker. His nose slightly flares from impulse, his dry lips part from want, his nails dig beds into his flesh from restraint. 

You almost feel like prey, and when James hears this thought–because you can feel him react to it with the quirk of his mouth, you’re not sure if you want to agree to his deal anymore. 

“Hey!” Another voice calls from behind. The three of you, disrupted from the bubbling tension, look across the field to see a lanky boy, six foot three, waving both arms in the air with glee. 

Do the boys in this town just not know how to approach social situations properly?

With the biggest grin on his face, Martin-from-the-station is huffing and puffing when he finally reaches you. “There you are!” 

The shift in the air is gone–you feel like you can breathe again.

“Hi?” You grimace, but he puts up a finger, indicating he needs another minute to catch his breath. 

“I was meant to tell you earlier, you’re not supposed to go into the woods.” He manages, through shortness of gasps. When he can stand up right, his eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Bad place.”

“I got the message,” You’re about to point at James and Juhoon, but when you look behind you, they’ve been replaced with the silence of Fork’s lush again. 

Even their absence startles you, they were just there.

Were they ever with you at all?

Martin, ignorant to your internal turmoil, takes your arm and drags you closer to the town. His warm hand grounding you, as you make it back to the centre of the graveyard of a city.

You hate admitting James was right. 

The Ahn girl had slammed the door in your face, and the parents of the second boy who disappeared, Eom Seonghyeon, only stared blankly in disbelief. The people around town had completely avoided you too; picking up their things when you sat at a table near them, crossing the street when you began to walk their way. 

Small towns keep their secrets like no other.

Hours later after leaving, you’re drawn to take a wander in the forest again, to see if you could find something this time. Or to see if James would come find you again. The more you pondered on your interaction, the more you knew both options were really an individual one. 

You never got his statement, and so you’re back to square one. 

Martin, the young boy who had been eager to get you back into town according to the wishes of Chief Swan, was at least useful by directing you to the town’s (one, and only) library. You guessed a historical report was better than going home tomorrow empty-handed. 

Which is how you got into this position: crouched on the floor in between bookshelves, one table-lamp dragged to your corner, it being your only source of light, as you flip through the volumes of social and political notes of Washington State. 

Forks: A History, is keeping you company tonight.