ale 𖹭.ᐟ

Seonghyeon thought he was exceptionally skilled at concealing things. Years of carefully manufactured nonchalance had turned secrecy into second nature.

He concealed fatigue behind indolent, crooked smiles after grueling basketball practices. Buried frustration beneath sarcastic remarks sharp enough to provoke laughter from his teammates. Even the bruises mottling his knuckles disappeared beneath oversized hoodie sleeves, hidden alongside burdens he never verbalized aloud.

No one ever looked closely enough to notice, and Seonghyeon preferred it that way.

He preferred remaining untouchable, easygoing, unserious, effortlessly admired. The kind of boy everyone thought they understood despite never truly knowing him at all.

So when he realized he liked you—truly liked you—he assumed this would remain hidden too. A transient infatuation, something fleeting.

He was so wrong, because somehow, against all logic, his attention gravitated toward you with humiliating consistency.

It began subtly enough for him to dismiss it. A passing observation during class, nothing more.

You sat near the window two rows ahead of him, perpetually arriving several minutes before the bell rang. Morning sunlight filtered through the glass behind you, spilling molten gold across your desk until it looked almost cinematic. Your earbuds were usually tucked beneath your hair, expression serene and unreadable while pages turned beneath your fingertips.

You rarely spoke voluntarily, yet when teachers called upon you, your voice emerged soft but unwavering, composed with an intelligence that never sounded rehearsed. Simply quiet in a way that felt intentional.

There was an immeasurable distinction between silence born from insecurity and silence born from self-possession.

You embodied the latter effortlessly. Seonghyeon noticed things others overlooked entirely.

The rhythmic tap of your pen against the desk whenever concentration overtook you. The slight furrow between your brows during difficult equations, as though mathematical concepts had personally offended you. The way your lips moved faintly while reading paragraphs beneath your breath.

Small details, but somehow they embedded themselves inside his memory with alarming permanence, and that was the problem. Seonghyeon kept looking, far longer than necessary. Long enough for it to become dangerous.

“Dude.” Keonho’s voice shattered his trance one sluggish afternoon.

The classroom buzzed faintly with post-lecture conversation, chairs scraping against the floor while students packed belongings into bags. Seonghyeon blinked slowly, dragged back into reality.

“What?” he muttered.

Keonho didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze followed Seonghyeon’s line of sight toward the front of the classroom—toward you.

You were laughing softly at something your friend had whispered, shoulders relaxing in a way Seonghyeon rarely witnessed during lessons. Sunlight illuminated the curve of your smile, warm and effortless enough to make his chest tighten unexpectedly.

Keonho turned back toward him with dawning realization. “Oh,” he said.

Seonghyeon’s stomach dropped unpleasantly. “Oh what?”

“That’s what’s been wrong with you lately.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Keonho looked unconvinced. “You’ve been staring at the same girl for ten minutes straight.”

“I was not.”

“You absolutely were.”

Seonghyeon scoffed, leaning back lazily in his chair despite the sudden tension coiling beneath his ribs. “You’re imagining things.”

“No,” Keonho replied slowly, amusement beginning to creep into his expression, “I’m definitely not.”

Seonghyeon reached for his notebook too quickly, shoving it into his bag with unnecessary force.

Keonho’s grin widened immediately. “Oh my god.”

“Shut up.”

“You literally smiled at her out of nowhere.”

That silenced him instantly, because apparently he had,  and judging from the sheer disbelief written across Keonho’s face, it must have looked devastatingly obvious.

Seonghyeon felt heat crawl uncomfortably up the back of his neck. Impossible. He was careful, always careful.

Keonho stared at him like he’d uncovered classified information. “Seonghyeon,” he whispered dramatically, leaning across the desk, “you like someone, a girl in our class specifically.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I really don’t.”

“You looked at her like she personally descended from the heavens.”

“Okay so that’s not even-.”

“Don’t even lie bro.”

Seonghyeon rolled his eyes instinctively, but the reaction lacked its usual sharpness. His gaze betrayed him again, flickering unconsciously toward you. Still smiling, still talking. Completely unaware of the catastrophe unfolding several rows behind you.

An unbearable fondness settled heavily inside his chest, and suddenly he understood why poets wrote insufferable things about yearning, because liking you felt strangely catastrophic.

The terrifying realization that his attention sought you instinctively in every crowded room. That his mood inexplicably improved whenever your laughter drifted through hallways. That even mundane moments became memorable solely because you occupied them.

Keonho watched his expression transform in real time. Then he groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “Dude, you’re actually gone gone oh my fucking god.”

“I hate you.”

“No this is amazing.” Keonho laughed quietly. “The great Seonghyeon finally losing his mind over a girl who probably doesn’t even know he exists.”

At that, Seonghyeon’s jaw tightened slightly, because that was the cruelest part. You probably didn’t.

To you, he was merely another familiar face in overcrowded hallways. Another student passing by between classes. Another athlete surrounded perpetually by noise and admiration and effortless attention.

Meanwhile, Seonghyeon noticed everything about you with terrifying precision. The sweaters you wore repeatedly when exhausted. The books tucked beneath your arm. The infinitesimal lift of your lips whenever someone held the door open for you.

You existed quietly, but somehow you occupied his thoughts with deafening intensity, and no matter how desperately he attempted to suppress it. Wherever you were, his eyes followed instinctively, as though drawn by something far beyond his control.

You confused him, not in the exasperating, incomprehensible way people often described attraction. No—this was far more insidious.

You bewildered him in the sort of way that cultivated curiosity so profound it bordered on obsession. The kind that compelled him to memorize trivial details without intention. The kind that made him wonder what songs played through your earbuds every morning, what thoughts occupied your mind during long silences, what kind of life existed beyond the quiet exterior you presented to everyone else.

Seonghyeon had encountered beautiful girls before. Plenty of them.

Girls who lingered after basketball games beneath fluorescent gymnasium lights, offering compliments laced with practiced flirtation. Girls who laughed too loudly at mediocre jokes and touched his arm too frequently during conversations. Girls who competed shamelessly for his attention because attention from Seonghyeon had somehow become valuable currency within the school.

But you, you never pursued him, never hovered nearby hoping to be acknowledged.

Half the time, Seonghyeon wasn’t even certain you recognized the effect you had on people around you, and perhaps that was precisely what rendered you so impossible to ignore.

Your indifference unsettled him. Not because it bruised his ego, but because it felt authentic in a world saturated with performance. You existed without demanding to be perceived.

There was something almost ethereal about that quiet self-assurance, something infinitely more captivating than loud charisma could ever hope to achieve.

Then one afternoon, he witnessed a version of you he had never seen before, and it ruined him completely.

Classes had just ended, releasing students into the golden haze of late afternoon. Warm spring air drifted lazily through the school courtyard, carrying fragments of conversation and distant traffic beyond the gates. Leaves rustled overhead in soft murmurs while clusters of students flooded the sidewalks in restless currents.

Seonghyeon stood near the entrance with Keonho, absentmindedly spinning a basketball against his palm while only half-listening to whatever story Keonho was animatedly telling beside him.

Something about practice schedules, or a teacher, or food. He couldn’t remember afterward, because then he heard it.

Your laughter.

Not the restrained, polite smile you wore during lectures. Not the soft exhale of amusement he occasionally caught when friends whispered comments beside you in class.

This was entirely different. It rang through the air unexpectedly bright—clear and effervescent enough to slice cleanly through the surrounding noise. Genuine amusement illuminated every syllable, unguarded and vibrant in a way that made his pulse falter instinctively.

Seonghyeon’s head turned before he consciously processed the movement, and there you were.

Across the street near the convenience store, surrounded by three friends beneath shifting sunlight filtering through tree branches overhead. A cold drink rested loosely against your chest while laughter bent your body forward slightly, shoulders trembling beneath the force of it.

Your eyes crinkled beautifully at the corners. Your smile lingered radiant and unrestrained. You looked alive. Not that you hadn’t before, but this was different.

In class, your quietness resembled still water: composed, elegant, difficult to read. Yet standing among people you trusted, you transformed entirely. Every movement became animated with warmth. Your expressions softened openly; your gestures carried effortless affection as you nudged one friend teasingly while another nearly doubled over laughing beside you.

It was astonishing, like watching sunlight suddenly break through heavy clouds.

Seonghyeon forgot how to breathe properly for a moment. Forgot Keonho’s voice. Forgot the basketball rotating lazily against his fingertips. Forgot the entire world surrounding him.

His attention narrowed with humiliating precision until all he could perceive was you. You, smiling so brightly it physically ached to witness. You, tilting your head back while laughter spilled freely into the open air.

You, looking lighter somehow—as though whatever burdens weighed upon you during quiet classroom hours vanished completely beside the people you loved.

Beautiful.

The word surfaced instinctively within his mind, but even that felt insufficiently devastating, because beauty implied something distant. Something merely admired.

This felt infinitely more dangerous. Something warm unfurled slowly inside his chest, spreading with frightening inevitability. Not sudden or explosive, but gradual—like sunlight creeping across frozen skin after enduring winter too long.

And Seonghyeon realized, with startling clarity, that he wanted to become someone capable of making you laugh like that.

He wanted to exist within the orbit of your happiness. Wanted to know which jokes dissolved you into helpless laughter. Wanted to learn the stories hidden behind your smiles. Wanted to witness every version of you concealed beneath the composed silence you carried through hallways each morning.

The realization struck him with terrifying force, given that this wasn’t superficial attraction anymore. This had surpassed that long ago.

“You’re staring again,” Keonho muttered knowingly beside him.

Seonghyeon barely registered the comment. His gaze remained fixed across the street as though magnetized beyond his control.

You reached forward suddenly, brushing crumbs from your friend’s sleeve while grinning at something else being said. The gesture was absentmindedly affectionate, so natural and tender that it tightened something unbearably delicate within his ribcage.

God.

You were gentle, even your happiness looked gentle.

Keonho followed his line of sight before exhaling dramatically. “This is getting embarrassing.”

Still, Seonghyeon said nothing, because how could he possibly explain this feeling?

How could he articulate the strange ache blooming beneath his sternum simply from witnessing you happy? It made no rational sense.

Yet there he stood beneath amber sunlight and rustling trees, surrounded by noise and conversation and movement. 

Completely undone by the sight of your smile lingering long after the laughter itself had faded away, and perhaps that should have frightened him more than it did.

Since Seonghyeon finally understood something dangerous then. He could spend hours watching you exist and never grow tired of it.

After that, Seonghyeon began encountering you everywhere, or perhaps encountering wasn’t the correct word.

Noticing felt more accurate, because you had likely always existed within those spaces long before he started paying attention; he had simply become incapable of overlooking you anymore.

At least, that was the excuse he repeated to himself whenever his gaze sought you instinctively in crowded corridors or across bustling streets.

It wasn’t intentional, it couldn’t be. But, somehow you materialized constantly within the edge of his existence, appearing so frequently it began to feel almost cruel.

He saw you in hallways between classes, weaving gracefully through congested crowds with textbooks pressed protectively against your chest. Students flowed chaotically around you in loud clusters and hurried conversations, yet you moved with quiet composure untouched by the surrounding disorder.

He noticed you in the library too.

Curled cross-legged on the floor beside low bookshelves because every table had already been occupied, papers spread carefully around you while soft music leaked faintly from your earbuds. Fluorescent lighting cast pale illumination across your features as you highlighted passages with meticulous concentration, occasionally pausing to rub tired eyes before continuing again.

And during rainy mornings, he spotted you at the bus stop outside campus, shoulders tucked inward against the cold while sleep still lingered visibly across your expression. Sometimes you yawned softly into your sleeve. Sometimes your head tilted back toward the grey sky as though mentally preparing yourself for the exhaustion awaiting you inside the school building.

Each sighting embedded itself inside his memory with alarming permanence, like fragments of a life he desperately wanted access to.

Then one evening, entirely by accident, he discovered where you worked. The convenience store near the gym, and suddenly Seonghyeon understood why fate was dangerous.

The realization struck him immediately upon entering. He froze so abruptly near the automatic doors that one of his teammates nearly collided into his shoulder from behind.

“What’s wrong with you?” someone muttered.

But Seonghyeon barely heard them, because there you were.

Standing behind the register beneath sterile fluorescent lighting, wearing an oversized store uniform that swallowed your frame slightly. Your nametag hung crookedly near the collar of your sweater as though you’d pinned it on hastily before your shift began. A few strands of hair had escaped whatever weak attempt you’d made to tidy it earlier, leaving them scattered messily around your face.

You looked exhausted. There were faint shadows beneath your eyes, subtle evidence of accumulated fatigue no amount of polite professionalism could entirely conceal.

But somehow you still looked devastatingly beautiful. Not in the polished, intimidating way magazines portrayed beauty. Yours felt softer than that, human. Real enough to ache over.

Seonghyeon’s chest constricted painfully. His teammates continued deeper into the store, loud voices echoing carelessly between aisles, but he remained rooted near the entrance like an idiot.

Then you looked up. Your expression shifted instantly into polite customer-service warmth. “Welcome.”

The single word obliterated him. It wasn’t special, logically, he knew that.

You probably greeted dozens of customers exactly the same way every shift, offering identical smiles and identical politeness until closing hours exhausted you completely.

But hearing your voice directed specifically toward him made something malfunction catastrophically inside his brain. His heartbeat stumbled hard enough to feel physically disorienting.

“Seonghyeon?” One teammate frowned from the snack aisle. “You planning on standing there all night?”

“Yeah,” he answered immediately, or attempted to. His voice emerged rougher than intended, startling even himself. Humiliation crawled beneath his skin.

He forced himself to move forward, trying desperately to resemble a normal human being rather than someone seconds away from cardiac arrest over a girl scanning convenience store items.

Unfortunately, proximity only worsened everything, suddenly he became acutely aware of details he should not have been noticing so intensely.

The absentminded way you tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear while operating the register. The faint sheen of lip balm catching harsh fluorescent light whenever you spoke. The exhaustion softening your features whenever no customers required your attention. The tiny crease forming between your brows while counting change.

Seonghyeon felt insane, completely and utterly insane. He purchased an energy drink first.

Then he lingered near the refrigerators pretending to contemplate additional options before returning with chips. By the time he approached the register a third time holding gum he didn’t even like, his teammates had stopped pretending not to notice.

One of them snorted loudly from nearby shelves. Another looked seconds away from tears from trying not to laugh.

You, meanwhile, stared at him with growing suspicion. “…Did you forget something?” you asked carefully.

Seonghyeon wanted the floor to split open beneath him. “I just—”

Then his mind blanked entirely, because you were looking directly at him. Patiently, quietly.

Your eyes reflecting pale convenience store lighting while waiting for his answer. Pretty, dangerously pretty. Every coherent thought abandoned him instantaneously. 

“I like gum,” he finished weakly.

Silence.

Then one teammate nearly collapsed against the counter laughing.

“Shut up,” Seonghyeon muttered through gritted teeth without looking away from you.

And then—Your lips twitched, not fully. Just the slightest upward curve threatening briefly at the corners of your mouth before disappearing again.

But Seonghyeon noticed it immediately.

Of course he did.

He noticed everything involving you. That tiny almost-smile replayed inside his mind for the rest of the evening with devastating clarity, and somehow, impossibly, his feelings only deepened afterward.

Day after day, like warmth gradually permeating cold skin until eventually you realized you no longer remembered what freezing felt like.

Liking you became interwoven with the fabric of his routine so seamlessly he stopped recognizing where ordinary observation ended and yearning began. 

Without intending to, he memorized your habits. You always purchased strawberry milk on Thursdays after your longest lecture.

Before examinations, you remained inside the library later than everyone else, surrounded by color-coded notes and exhaustion.

Whenever concentration overtook you completely, you chewed lightly against the inside of your cheek.

And every Friday evening after your shift ended, you sat alone outside the convenience store for exactly ten minutes before leaving.

Those ten minutes became sacred to him. Not because he spoke to you, usually he didn’t. He simply liked witnessing you without the careful composure you carried during school hours.

You sat beneath flickering streetlights with your bag resting beside your feet, shoulders finally relaxed after hours of work. Sometimes you stared absently at passing cars. Sometimes you closed your eyes briefly like you were savoring the silence after an exhausting day.

Seonghyeon found those moments unbearably tender. There was something intimate about being allowed to observe another person existing quietly when they believed no one was paying attention.

Then came the rain, violent and sudden.

One Friday evening, dark clouds ruptured overhead without warning, releasing sheets of rain heavy enough to drench sidewalks within seconds. Water battered against pavement mercilessly while neon reflections shimmered across puddles gathering near the curb.

Seonghyeon had been across the street with Keonho when he noticed you standing beneath the store’s narrow awning.

Your cardigan looked pitifully thin against the cold. You hugged your arms closer around yourself while staring unhappily toward the storm.

Something inside him reacted before logic intervened.

“Where are you going?” Keonho called after him.

Seonghyeon ignored him completely. Rain soaked through his hoodie almost immediately as he crossed the street quickly, shoes splashing through shallow puddles accumulating along the pavement.

You looked startled when he appeared beside you beneath the awning. “Hi,” you said softly.

And somehow that single syllable tightened his chest embarrassingly fast. “Hi.”

For several moments, neither of you spoke. Rain hammered relentlessly around the small shelter, cool air carrying the scent of wet asphalt and distant traffic lights reflecting against slick streets. Thunder murmured faintly somewhere far away.

Seonghyeon glanced upward toward the darkened sky. “You waiting for someone?”

You shook your head gently. “I forgot my umbrella.”

Without hesitation, he extended his toward you.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Take it.”

“You need it too.”

“I live close.” A complete lie, his apartment was nearly twenty minutes away.

You frowned slightly. “But you’ll get soaked.”

Seonghyeon almost laughed at the concern in your voice, because if you asked him to stand beneath freezing rain for hours just to keep you company, he probably would have done it willingly.

“It’s fine,” he murmured.

Then you looked at him—really looked at him, and suddenly the atmosphere beneath that tiny awning shifted unbearably.

You were standing far too close. Close enough for him to notice droplets of rain clinging delicately to your lashes. Close enough to smell your shampoo beneath petrichor and damp fabric. Close enough to see exhaustion lingering faintly beneath your eyes despite your gentle expression.

His heartbeat became erratic. Unsteady enough to embarrass him.

“You’re nice,” you said quietly after a long pause. The statement sounded almost astonished. As though kindness directed toward you was something unfamiliar.

Seonghyeon swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in his throat. “You make it easy.”

The words escaped before he could restrain them. Immediately, panic surged through him. Too honest—far too honest.

Your eyes widened slightly.

So did his.

For one horrible second he considered throwing himself directly into traffic, but then your expression softened. Warmth unfolded slowly across your features until it settled there so gently it physically ached to witness.

“…Thank you,” you whispered.

And Seonghyeon realized with terrifying certainty that he was already far beyond saving. He had fallen hopelessly in love with you.

After that, things between you and Seonghyeon shifted. There was no singular, cinematic moment where the atmosphere transformed overnight, no abrupt confession unraveling beneath moonlight or reckless declaration shouted across crowded hallways.

Instead, the change emerged gradually, like dawn seeping through curtains before anyone consciously realizes darkness has disappeared.

You began waving at him whenever your paths crossed between classes. Small gestures, brief moments. Yet they altered him embarrassingly fast.

At first, your waves were tentative—slight lifts of your hand accompanied by soft smiles that appeared almost instinctive whenever your eyes found him in crowded corridors. But eventually those moments became natural, woven seamlessly into the fabric of daily routine.

And every single time it happened, Seonghyeon felt something warm unfurl beneath his ribs. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic.

Keonho noticed immediately, of course. “You smile like an idiot whenever she looks at you,” he remarked one afternoon while walking toward practice.

Seonghyeon shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious. It’s disgusting.”

Yet despite the ridicule, Seonghyeon couldn’t stop himself, there was something devastating about being acknowledged by you so effortlessly.

You looked for him now. That realization alone nearly ruined him. Sometimes you paused beside his desk before class to ask harmless questions about assignments. Other times you stopped him near stairwells just to complain quietly about upcoming exams or difficult professors.

The conversations themselves were insignificant, However, Seonghyeon replayed every single one afterward with humiliating precision.

Your voice lingered in his head long after you walked away. He remembered specific inflections. Particular expressions. The exact cadence of your laughter whenever he said something unexpectedly funny.

And god, your humor. No one warned him about that. You weren’t loud about it. Your jokes arrived subtly, concealed beneath soft observations and perfectly timed comments delivered with an almost absentminded sincerity that caught him entirely off guard.

The first time you made him laugh hard enough to bend forward slightly, he stared at you afterward in disbelief. You looked startled too, then pleased. The sight nearly stopped his heart. 

He liked hearing you talk. Not because you filled silence constantly, but because you chose your words carefully. Thoughtfully. There was intention behind everything you said, as though conversations mattered to you in ways most people overlooked.

Perhaps what unsettled Seonghyeon most was the realization that you saw him differently too.

Not as the basketball captain. Not as the effortlessly popular boy everyone else seemed determined to reduce him into. You looked at him like he was simply Seonghyeon.

A boy who got tired after practice. A boy who liked stupid convenience store snacks and terrible music. A boy whose sarcasm concealed softness more often than not.

The simplicity of that recognition affected him more profoundly than applause after games or admiration from strangers ever could. With you, he never felt like he needed to perform.

One evening after practice, exhaustion clung heavily to his body as he wandered toward the library in search of quiet.

The campus had begun settling into dusk, golden sunlight stretching languidly through tall windows while shadows lengthened slowly across polished floors. The library itself remained nearly empty, hushed silence interrupted only by the occasional turning of pages somewhere deeper inside.

Then he saw you, and immediately forgot how exhausted he’d been.

You sat tucked into a secluded corner near the back shelves, surrounded by open textbooks and loose papers scattered chaotically across the table. Highlighters rested uncapped beside notebooks overflowing with meticulous handwriting.

Somewhere amidst studying, sleep had overtaken you completely. Your head rested against folded arms, pencil still loosely secured between relaxed fingers. Strands of hair spilled carelessly across your face while the setting sun enveloped everything around you in molten amber light.

Beautiful.

The word struck him with painful force, not because of polished perfection, not because of aesthetics. But, there was something unbearably tender about the sight before him.

You looked exhausted, real in a way that made his chest ache violently.

Seonghyeon stopped walking, then stayed there far longer than he should have. Simply watching, admiring. He expected nothing from you. Didn’t require your attention or affection to justify the intensity of his feelings.

Looking at you had simply become his favorite thing in the world. The realization should have terrified him more than it did.

Warm sunset light illuminated the curve of your cheekbones softly, dust particles drifting lazily through the air around you like fragments of gold suspended in time. The library’s silence wrapped around the moment delicately, intimate enough to make his heartbeat slow.

You stirred slightly in your sleep. Your brows furrowed faintly as the oversized sweater hanging from one shoulder slipped lower.

Before thinking, Seonghyeon moved closer carefully, almost reverently. His fingertips brushed the fabric gently as he adjusted it back into place, movements slow enough to avoid waking you, like touching something infinitely precious.

The contact lasted barely seconds, yet his pulse reacted catastrophically anyway.

Then your eyes opened. Sleep lingered visibly within them as your gaze lifted immediately toward his face, unfocused for half a second before recognition softened your expression entirely.

And then you smiled.

God.

That smile would destroy him someday.

“Practice ended?” you asked quietly, voice roughened by sleep and exhaustion.

The sound settled directly beneath his ribs. “Yeah,” he answered softly.

You pushed yourself upright almost immediately, embarrassment flickering across your face as you glanced at the mess of notes surrounding you. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You looked cute.”

Silence.

Seonghyeon froze, he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

Your eyes widened slightly. Heat rushed violently across your cheeks, and judging from the warmth burning beneath his own skin, he probably looked equally horrified.

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, gaze darting anywhere except your face. “I mean—not cute like—I just meant—”

You laughed quietly. Affectionate enough to unravel him instantly.

Seonghyeon looked up automatically, and there it was again. That brightness, that impossible warmth existing only for him in moments like these.

You studied him silently for several seconds, expression gentler than he’d ever seen before. Then, almost shyly, you spoke. “I like when you look at me like that.”

His breath caught immediately. “What?”

“You always look at me like I’m…” You hesitated briefly, fingers tightening slightly around your pencil. “Important.”

The confession struck him harder than any impact he’d ever endured on the court, you sounded genuinely uncertain, as though the possibility had never occurred to you before.

Seonghyeon stared at you helplessly, completely, devastatingly helpless.

You were important, more important than basketball. More important than popularity, expectations, victories, reputation. More important than anything occupying his life lately.

You had woven yourself into every corner of his thoughts without permission. Into mundane routines and fleeting moments and quiet evenings he once navigated without noticing how lonely they were beforehand.

He stepped closer before fear could stop him. The fading sunlight between you turned everything softer somehow.

“You are,” he admitted quietly.

Your expression transformed instantly. Something fragile appeared there. Tender enough to make his chest tighten painfully.

He loved the sound of your laughter drifting unexpectedly through crowded hallways.

Loved the concentrated crease forming between your brows while studying. Loved your quietness, your kindness, your subtle humor hidden beneath soft-spoken words. Loved the way every room shifted whenever you entered it, as though his entire body recognized your presence before his mind could process it.

He loved discovering you everywhere. Loved memorizing details no one else considered significant. Loved every fleeting interaction you offered him so casually, unaware of how precious he considered each one.

He loved you entirely.

Also, judging from the way you were looking at him now—with warmth unfolding slowly across your features like sunlight after endless rain 

“That’s a cute outfit.” You playfully did a princess bow, the outfit that you pulled the night before consisted of a white collared button-up shirt under your fitted, long-sleeve blue sweater, covering perfectly your exposed abdomen that your denim mini skirt showed. It was cinched in with a chunky black belt and some white socks with black shoes with a little bit of heel. 

“Thank you, Yujin. You don’t look bad, either.” He spun dramatically in place, making his backpack bounce.

“Please. My mom picked this outfit. I had to wear it, otherwise she wouldn’t let me go to our karaoke tradition.” He opened his backpack, pulling out strawberry milk.

“You’re the absolute best,” you said, stabbing the straw through the foil and taking a sip without hesitation.

“So, how was your vacation?” 

“It was good. I went to the beach for a week before going to visit colleges with my mom.” he gave a dramatic sigh.

“She is more obsessed with your future than you.” You raised your shoulders, way too used to his words. 

“Well, sadly, I have to go along with—”

“Yah, Han Yujin!” The wall made that scream bounce, creating an echo where the two of you froze. As a matter of fact, everybody there did; you saw the unforgettable figure of your friend Leeseo running to you two, and you looked to your right to see the face of pure fear on Yujin’s face. 

“What have you done?” you whispered, before he could speak. Leeseo was already trying to hit him. His hands went to your shoulder, and he started using you as a shield.

“Leeseo, stop!” you gasped, trying to wriggle out of Yujin’s grip.

“Oh, hi there, Y/N. Can you please move? I want to kick his ass.” It was comical how everything was going down, cameras shutting off as they captured the first banter of the duo. You decided to enter the class, and a spot near the desk and next to the window was your favorite.

“Leeseo—ouch! Wait!” Both of them entered as she finally left him alone after she gave a pretty hard smack on his back. Leeseo sat next to you, and Yujin took the spot behind you two.

“You idiot, why didn't you tell me that Martin is back?!” Her whisper made your ear raise at the name.

“I didn’t spend time here; I went to the countryside to visit my grandma. How do you know?”

“Because he was getting scolded by the teacher at the entrance.”

“Nothing new, then,” you spoke before you could think. You placed your pencil case and notebook on your desk. Leeseo’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide as if what you just said was the dumbest thing ever.

“Nothing new? Y/N, he was supposed to go to Canada for his senior year; he even spoke about it.”

“Now that you said that,” Yujin put his strawberry milk on his table, leaning between you two. “Yesterday, when I was leaving out to do the groceries for mom, Martin and his dad were discussing it; it looked pretty heated.” 

“Oh great, the menace is back.” You keep your eyes focused on what you were writing in your notebook, which consisted mostly of a to-do list of the day.

“Why do you act like this news is a normal Tuesday’s cafeteria menu?”

“Because that’s exactly what it is. Martin gets in trouble like he has been doing for the past couple of years, the teacher yells, and the earth spins. What else is new?”

Yujin chuckled, “Careful tho. Keep talking like that, and he might think you missed him.”

You whipped around, smacking the back of his head with enough power to bother him. “Don’t even joke.”

People kept entering the classroom, some were going straight to their friend group, others to get ready, and a few simply lay on the desk to sleep for a few minutes before the usual first day announcement. 

You grabbed your small makeup pouch so you could go to the restroom, standing in the middle sink and smiling at your polished reflection. Pulling the gloss, you painted your lips with a thin layer of gloss, the mascara was next to give volume to your eyelashes, and finally, some blush on your cheeks. 

When you were satisfied, you left the bathroom, fixing your pouch, crashing with someone, and dropping everything inside them, you could bet your blush was broken into pieces. 

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," you said, bowing as you rushed to at least some of the remains. 

"I can't believe the school role model is wearing makeup, breaking the rules already?" you sighed, still picking up your stuff, your mood completely dropping. 

"I take that back, I'm not sorry." You finally got up and looked at what was supposed to be Martin's height last year, your neck hurting slightly as you looked a little more up. Leeseo was right, he got unbelievably tall.

He was wearing a band tee with ripped jeans that looked twice his size, hanging on his hips like they were holding on for dear life. Scuffed Vans dragged slightly as he shifted his weight, the hoodie unzipped and frayed at the sleeves. His hair looked like he’d rolled out of bed on purpose, and the faint smirk tugging at his lips only made it worse.

The outfit made you know that he would be the reason for your headaches for another year.

“Martin Edwards,” you said flatly, clutching your pouch like it was armor.

“Still bowing to people in hallways. How cute,” he drawled back, his smirk spreading slowly with his hand shoved into his hoodie pocket.

“Still getting yelled at by teachers on the first day. How predictable.” You stepped sideways, but he shifted too, blocking your path with a lazy lean against the wall, watching you close your eyes, irritated.

“You know that I can’t help it if they’ve missed me.” He tilted his head. “Don’t tell me you didn’t.”

Your laugh came out louder than intended, calming down quickly. “Please. The place was finally quiet without you.”

“Quiet’s overrated.” You could see how his eyes flicked down, lingering on the glossy shine of your lips, making you look down briefly. “Besides, you look better with noise around.”

He leaned in slightly so you were the only one hearing. “Come on, Prez. Admit it. You missed me.”

“I miss the news of you moving to Canada.” You scoffed, you looked at his eyes, and you could see how that challenging look disappeared for a second.

“Damn.” He pressed a hand over his chest like you’d shot him. “Still ruthless with the comebacks. What happened to the sweet, polite, and lovely person?”

“She’s still here, she just doesn’t like you,” you shot back, already making your way out. He appeared next to you, the height difference even more noticeable. You stopped on your tracks, him copying you after. 

It was your turn to step forward, your chin high, although it didn’t make you look intimidating. “You’re going to make this year miserable, aren’t you?”

“Depends on how much attention you give me, pretty,” he said easily, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it was nothing, turning the tip of your ears slightly warm.

Before you could say something, the bell overhead rang, echoing through the hallway. The students started invading the hallways, brushing past the two of you with curious eyes.

You exhaled, finally brushing past him to go to your class to hide the pouch, coming back to see him waiting outside the class. “I’m making one thing clear. Give me some free time for our teachers scolding me because of you, I don’t want that on my record.”

You marched your way with your class, heels softly clicking. 

“Can’t promise that, Prez!” His voice followed you down the hall.

It was official, this was going to be a long senior year.

Four months passed like a blur, and just like you predicted, everything stacked up to you. Not even a week in, and the classes and teachers nominated you to be the president of the school council. You were about to give up that opportunity for the sake of a slightly peaceful year, but when your mom heard about it, she forced you to keep it, not turning back even when your dad tried to talk her through it. 

The school was quick to give you a list of activities you and the committee had to plan, and because of your last events as class president, students were quick to say the same sentence.

“We are having a prom AND a school trip? Y/N, you’re the best!”

Normally, the country itself wasn’t exactly used to having a prom the way other countries did, renting movies to watch on a Friday night was enough to plant the idea in every senior’s head, even yours, not believing that you were the one supposed to make it happen. Thankfully, the first big event on the calendar wasn’t prom—but the spring school trip.

With the help of Yujin’s mom, we secured a short trip of two nights in Gyeongju for the last week of October. 

It was 7 pm, and you were walking back home with the rented DVD of 10 Things I Hate About You, ready to drown in ramen and your blankets. The reason? You were tired of council meetings, study schedules, and Martin already racking up three warnings from teachers.

“Why are you in pajamas?” Leeseo surprised you by being in front of your house. 

“Because I’m staying at home…?” Your sentence sounded more like a question than you wanted it to, especially because Leeseo was standing at your gate with her backpack.

“Wrong answer,” she said, shoving past you. “Your mom thinks you’re staying at my house for a study-slash-sleepover. I’m telling you, she almost hugged me when I told her we are even reviewing college math problems.”

“What? Leeseo, I’m in pajamas. I bought snacks! I’m committed to my bed tonight.”

“You can change, and the snacks can wait.” She plopped the backpack on your bedroom floor before going straight to your closet, pulling out outfits that seemed fitting to fool your mom even more. “I’m not letting you waste your Friday night watching Heath Ledger for the 100th time.”

“Shut up.”

She threw your pink cardigan in your face. “Come on, your mom needs to see you leave like we are going to church."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“Call me if anything happens, okay?” You nodded at your mom before she lightly hugged you. “Thank you for doing this, darling. I know you will match my baby’s commitment to college.”

Leeseo bowed down while you tried to hide your face, your head by lowering it. “Anything to get that 100, I will bring her tomorrow!”

You two started walking out, feeling the gaze of your mom behind you. “When we turn around here, Yujin and his brother are waiting for us.”

And just like she said, Hanbin and Yujin were there, opening the car right when they saw you two. “Were you two creating a summer season collection?”

“Quiet, Yujin. Hi Hanbin,” you said. Hanbin simply smiled at you.

“Where now, to our house?” Hanbin spoke, this time looking at Leeseo.

“Yes, we need to change her clothes,” you said, looking at her, confused.

“But why? I think it’s cute.” You looked down, a pink polo shirt layered under a pastel cable-knit sweater, khaki skirt, and pearl studs.

“Don’t get me wrong, it is cute, but it looks like you will hold a mass on the dance floor.” Now you laughed, already feeling at ease when the wind touched your face. “And then to Martin’s”

Once again, the mood turned down. “Wait—Martin? As in Martin Edwards?”

“Yes. Keonho texted me, and he said his mom’s gone, and his band has their amps set up in the garage. Apparently, half of the school’s going.” Yujin said, and that’s when you looked at Leeseo, who was actively trying to avoid your face.

“Oh my god! I love this song, turn it up, Hanbin!” she screamed.

The car ride to Hanbin’s house wasn’t long. Yujin’s house was empty when you arrived. Leeseo didn’t waste a second—the soft outfit was already in her backpack, so you can wear the black cropped baby tee with a rhinestone butterfly, a pleated low-rise denim skirt, and a chunky studded belt. Your makeup is slightly altered with the use of eyeliner, but since it was a style you have secretly wanted to try for a while, you enjoyed it. 

Leeseo opened the door of Yujin’s room. The second you stepped out, both brothers gasped. You rolled your eyes with your face burning at the attention. 

“Now that outfit is the one that will take your mom to a coma,” Yujin said. Hanbin punched him softly, and you simply laughed.  

It took a few steps to arrive there since they were neighbors, and the bass from the garage was already rattling the pavement. Cars were parked crooked along the curb, kids were sitting on the front lawn with red cups, and some of them, who you recognized as graduates, were drunk.

“This looks safe,” you muttered. Leeseo slipped her arm through yours.

“Relax, it’s just a party. Besides, Martin’s band is playing. It will be good.”

You rolled your eyes. “Martin’s band will probably sound like three lawnmowers in a blender.”

“That’s kind of the point.” 

The smell of cheap soju mixed with hairspray lingered in the air; there were some Christmas lights strung along the ceiling, casting the whole space in a warm glow. You moved between people to grab something to drink from the table. 

“Noona?” 

You turned around, half-expecting another stranger with either a can of soda or a red cup. Instead, it was Keonho—well, another version that was surely not the one you used to watch on council meetings.

It was almost comical the way your eyes widened at the same time, like you were looking at two entirely different people from the ones you’d last seen in pressed uniforms.

“...Keonho?” you blinked, scanning him from head to toe. “What are you wearing?”

Baggy jeans sagging low on his hips, showing a part of his boxers, a chain clinking against his belt loop, oversized sneaker, and a graphic tee layered under a half-zipped hoodie. His gel-free hair was messy, kinda like he came out of an MTV music video. He looked good, you had to admit.

Keonho gawked back at you with the same disbelief. “Me? Noona, look at your outfit.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, suddenly becoming hyperaware of your fit.

You crossed your arms defensively. “At least I don’t look like I lost a fight with my closet… but you look good, I guess.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fair. But still… wow. Didn’t think you could look like that. It suits you.”

Before you could thank him, the garage speakers squealed as the music turned down. Keonho’s grin widened instantly. “Anyways, you have to come listen. Cortis is next.”

You arched a brow. “Cortis?”

“The band I joined!” he said, a happy smile showing his pride. “James is on drums, Juhoon’s rhythm, Seonghyeon on keys, I’m bass.”

“Oh, all of you sing?” you asked, following his steps to the garage.

“Sometimes, but the main singer—”

“What’s up, School of Performing Arts of Seoul!” Martin's voice resonated all over the place, the crowd screaming in response. 

“Keonho.”

“I know you don’t like him at all, but listen to us for a moment, we practiced a lot.” he did a small pout, you had to nod to see him smiling, and run to his bass. 

You scanned the group, eyes stopping on Martin, his guitar strap slung low and standing front and center.

“Thanks for being here. We’re Cortis, and we will do something old since classics never die.”

They surprised you by opening with a familiar riff of one of your favorite bands, blink-182. “All the small things” made the whole garage shake with the force of it, and you had to admit it—it didn’t sound half bad. They were all completely lost in their performance and interacting with people in the crowd who were busy nodding their heads and screaming their names.

The song ended, and the five boys were sweat-slicked and breathless, quickly grabbing a can of soda to quench their thirst. Martin left for a moment, arriving soon after to connect an acoustic guitar to the amps.

You audibly gasped when the familiar melody hit your eardrums. “Wonderwall”. 

You moved through the crowd to get a clearer view, spotting Leeseo and Yujin by the first rows, both singing along dramatically the wrong lyrics—you didn’t mean to reveal your love for rock music there, but after securing your spot next to your friends, your body moved first, soon the lyrics easily feel off your lips like you’d been waiting for that exact song all night, far away from your mother.

For the first time, you let yourself loose. They weren’t perfect; the performance itself was pretty raw to the point that the energy could be felt all over the place. Martin looked up mid-chorus, eyes landing on you. You could see how his eyes opened at the view of you enjoying the chaos he was creating. It felt like the noise dimmed, even just for a second, before he went back to singing his heart out.

The night stretched on with more covers, every single one better than the one before. Eventually, the closeness got too much, making you slip through the crowd and push the back door open, stepping outside after grabbing a can of soda. The cool night air hit your face like a relief, although the sound of crickets filling the silence that the muffled music left behind wasn’t exactly your cup of tea.

You exhaled, leaning against the side of the house, closing your eyes for a moment, finally feeling a little sense of peace after what was probably the longest year so far.

“You hiding, Prez?”

You startled, spinning around to see Martin also leaning against the railing, hair damp with sweat, a crooked smile painted across his face. Even outside, he carried the same reckless kind of confidence that made people look twice. 

“Not hiding,” you said flatly. “Just avoiding the noise pollution.”

“Funny that you say that, knowing how much you enjoyed back there.” His smile grew at the sight of you trying to play it cool.

You scoffed lightly, crossing your arms. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just… surprised you didn’t completely butcher the songs.”

“Ouch.” He chuckled, pushing off the railing to stand a little closer. “You’re tough to impress.”

“That’s not new information.” 

For a brief moment, he didn’t say anything — just looked at you. “Didn’t think I’d see you at one of my shows,” he said, quieter this time.

“Me neither. I didn’t think you’d still be here,” you said, the words coming out before you could even stop yourself. “Wasn’t Canada calling your name?”

You stood there waiting for a silly comment like he always does, just to see your irritating face. But there was nothing but silence, and you were smart enough to know you messed up.

He let out a soft laugh, a bitter one. “Yeah, it was.”

Your silence was a cue for him to continue, which even made you question why you suddenly wanted to hear the rest.

“My dad wanted me there, to finish high school there, the same high school he graduated from,” he said. “Said it’s ‘set me for the future.’, but while he was setting me up, he was setting someone else up too. In another country.”

You froze, for the first time, not having an answer to talk back.

“My mom knew,” he added. “She knew the whole time and just… kept living like nothing happened. So I decided to stay with the person I’m less angry at—while making him angry enough that I like music.”

"He wanted you to be something else when you graduated?"

"Electric engineer. Just like him, so I can help with his company." 

You suddenly remember the article that the principal showed one time — Edward Industries’ CEO invests in youth innovation — and the photo of Martin’s father shaking hands with people, smiling like his world was perfect.

“That’s… a lot to live up to and process,” you said quietly.

“Well, you know I’m not great at following instructions.” His lips twitched, but his usual smirk didn’t quite form this time.

You took a sip of the last part of the soda, swallowing it. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know you hate me enough to not care.”

Your breath caught at the way he said it, like it wasn't a joke, but that stung a part of you. You look at him and, for the first time in your eyes, he doesn’t look untouchable or smug. He looked tired.

“I’m so sorry, Martin,” you said softly.

“Don’t be. I’d rather be here playing and producing music with the boys and annoying you.”

You let out a small laugh. “You’re doing a great job at both.”

“Y/N! Are you here?!” 

You both turned toward the sound of Yujin’s scream echoing faintly from the other side of the yard. Flashlights from someone’s phone swung through the dark as your friends searched for you.

“Your friends are calling you,” Martin said, stating the obvious. You ran a hand through your hair and twisted it into a messy low bun. He watched the motion quietly, cheeks warming before he could stop himself.

You met his gaze again. “Good night, Martin.”

“Night, Prez.” He added, finally smiling a little bit. 

You started to walk away, then paused mid-step to look back over your shoulder.

“I don’t hate you,” you said. “I just hate that the only thing that damages my school profile is your warnings.”

He let out a chuckle, for real this time, his mouth now doing his familiar grin. “Then I guess I’m doing you a favor. Give your résumé some personality.” 

You blinked, completely caught off guard, before a laugh escaped you, making his grin widen.

“Hey! Don’t laugh!” he said, though the lack of bite in the tone betrayed him, too focused on the happiness that you radiated outside the school.

From a distance, Yujin called your name again, his voice half-drowned by the music. You turned to glance at the noise, still smiling as you stepped back.

Martin stayed where he was, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you go, putting his hand on his chest to calm it down a bit at the sudden racing of it.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · Sitting again at your desk felt like hell. The summer break had been a blur, and what you wished to do the most—relaxing, catching up on your TV shows, and simply not thinking too much about high school—was replaced by college prep books and an endless to-do list dictated by your mother. You manage to sneak out with Leeseo and Yujin only once.

Long story short, you were practically glued to your desk. So the return to school felt more like a choker pressing even tighter around your neck.

“You guys won’t believe what I just saw!” Yujin entered the room, slamming the door closed before running to your spot.

“Yujin, tone it down! Drink some.” You gave him your water, practically chugging it down to ease his thirst.

“Thank you, I came here running as fast as I could.” 

“Couldn’t tell." The sarcasm in Leeseo’s voice made him narrow his eyes at her. “Say what you saw.” 

Before he could, the door slid open again, and a collective gasp rippled through the classroom.

Martin.

But it was Martin wearing the school uniform properly. Key word: properly. White shirt tucked in, tie actually knotted, blazer neat. The only nods to his usual style were a thick, silver ring on his index finger and the slight, purposeful messiness of his hair that framed his face.

He dropped his backpack onto his usual seat in the back, then strolled casually toward the front to grab a new syllabus. On the way back, he caught Yujin’s eye.

“Morning, Han, Leeseo, Prez.” he nodded coolly, taking a seat on the empty spot.

“That’s what I saw,” he whispered, wide-eyed.

Far from being discreet, Leeseo was already studying Martin, who was playing dumb and doing random poses. “I hate this. Bring back your ‘I hate the system’ attitude right now. That’s my only entertainment in this school.”

Martin looked up, grinning. “Can’t. I’m going for the rebrand. Gotta keep the audience guessing.”

You kept your eyes fixed on your notebook, pretending to write down something important, and you were hyper-aware of the space he occupied beside you.

Then came the knock on the wood right next to your pencil case. “Do I look good, Prez?”

When you finally risked a glance at him, it was enough to have the class eyes on both of you, especially his bold yet teasing stare. 

“You look like a normal student. Congratulations.”

The bell rang, and everyone began shuffling to their seats. Martin kneeled in front of you and leaned near enough to whisper, “Thank you, princess.” 

Yujin choked with the water again, and Leeseo was just there, wide-eyed and jaw on the floor. You froze, brain stuttering to find something coherent to say after that. It was well known that you hated nicknames like that, but why are you feeling your cheeks warming up so fast? The class started whispering. 

Days passed, but something about him had shifted.

He still sat in the back (mostly because of his height), still wore that lazy smirk when teachers called his name, but between the sarcasm and the half-lidded stares out the window, you caught him writing. Even more, he divided the notebook into two, where he had both school material and lyrics alongside some guitar chords. Once, you even saw the corner of a paper titled “CORTIS - Set Ideas!!” when you were delivering lesson papers.

He wasn’t slacking off anymore. He was trying.

And since he was trying, the warnings of your bad leadership were almost nonexistent. And it was weird, mostly because you didn’t know how to feel about it.

By the second week, the girls' bathroom was starting to fill with rumors.

“Cortis is joining the Battle of the Bands next month! I’m going to support Juhoon.” “Keonho and Seonghyeon are the youngest people to be there.” “If they go and win, they will break Hamlin's streak of three years.”

You overheard it all, pretending not to listen, but it was inevitable, the emotions for everyone there, since it’s their big “gig”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

At home, though, things stop being simple. Your mother had entered one of her “planning phases,” consisting of color-coded schedules of times to study for the college entrance exam, college catalogs spread across your desk.

“Mother, I’m home,” you screamed. You heard the footsteps of your mother coming from the kitchen. She even has more college catalogs in her hands.

“Y/N, I made a decision. You're going to apply for early admission.” You stopped, looking at her in confusion.

“I thought we agreed that I would not do that.”

“You need to focus. You have the grades; now you need the commitment. No distractions,” she reminded you for the fourth time that week. 

"Mother, I have all my study schedules already, and I'm on track for the mock exams. I'm literally planning the school's social calendar while keeping my GPA up. What more commitment do you need that you found the need to make that decision without consulting me?” you said, trying to keep your tone even.

“Don’t raise your voice at me,” she snapped, the papers in her hands hitting the table with a dull thud. “I know what’s best for your future. You don’t. You think organizing dances and trips for your classmates is going to help you get into Seoul National?”

You clenched your fists. “It’s not about that! It’s about the fact that you don’t trust me to handle my own life!”

“You’re seventeen, Y/N. You don’t even know what you’ll want in five years!”

“Because you’ve never given me the chance to figure it out!” you shot back before you could stop yourself, your voice breaking slightly. 

“I’m going to college and not mess it up like you!” Your mother’s palm slapped sharply on your cheek. 

“What’s going on here?!” Your father’s voice came from the hallway. You hadn’t even realized he’d arrived. But you didn’t care.

You pushed past him, tears already blurring your vision as you ran out the door. You could hear him calling your name, but his voice faded behind you, swallowed by the night air.

You didn’t care about your mom.

You didn’t care about the neighbors staring as you rushed down the street, barefoot in house slippers.

You didn’t care about the way your chest tightened with every breath you took.

You just ran.

And when your legs finally gave out, you found yourself in a quiet park. The street lights flickered faintly, the world spinning around you.

Your knees hit the ground first. Then came the sobs. You pressed your palms to the dirt as your body trembled, the sound of your breathing broken and uneven. For once, you couldn’t hold it in.

The pressure, the expectations, the endless need to be perfect, it all cracked open at once. You barely noticed the screams of a familiar tune until a shadow moved a few meters away.

“Y/N! Are you here?!” Martin’s voice didn’t even make you look up at him. The footsteps grew closer until you felt his presence. “God, what’s wrong—”

Your arms wrapped around him, crying even harder. The bag he’d been holding slipped from his hand, hitting the grass with a muffled thud. A few things rolled out, forgotten. 

He froze for half a second before his arms carefully wrapped around you as well.

“Hey… hey,” he murmured, voice low. “You’re okay.”

You shook your head against his chest, your sobs muffled by his hoodie. “No. I’m not. I can’t—I can’t do this anymore.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just held you there as you cried, his hand moving slowly up and down your back. The only sounds were your uneven breaths and the faint rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

When you finally started to calm, he shifted slightly. Your eyes analyzed his face, the worry etched across his face—the kind you didn’t expect from him.

“Did someone hurt you?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed hard, voice breaking slightly, “My mother.”

His jaw tightened, eyes flicking briefly to the faint redness on your cheek. You saw the flash of anger there. “There’s a bench there, go sit there.”

You did what he said, and when he came to sit next to you after picking up the stuff. He pulled a strawberry milk and gave it to you, thanking him.

“I saw you running,” he said. “I was leaving the supermarket, and I just followed. It looked like you were about to disappear.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t.” His voice softened immediately. “You don’t have to apologize for crashing out.”

You drank up the milk, sighing after.

“I’m just so tired, Martin.”

“I know.” He glanced up at the night sky for a moment. “You don’t have to keep proving you can handle everything. You’re allowed to fall apart sometimes.”

You gave a small laugh. “That’s not really on my schedule.”

“Then it’s time to break it,” he said simply, his tone somewhere between teasing and kind. 

That actually pulled a real laugh from you and a faint smile from Martin. His hand brushed the dirt off his uniform pants before doing the same with your knees. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’ll just sit here.”

You nodded, eyes still wet but calmer. “Thanks for following me, I guess.”

“Anytime,” he said. “Though next time, please don’t make me drop all my groceries.”

You two stayed there for a while; neither of you said anything. You just sat there sharing peace, a feeling none of you felt in a long time, and for different situations.

The night air had cooled a little by the time you both stood up from the bench.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the road. “I’ll walk you home before your dad sends a search party.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. The street was almost empty as you walked side by side, your steps slow and the sound of cicadas blending with the quiet, distant buzz of traffic.

“Again, I’m really sorry,” you said after a couple of steps. “I must have been a burden to you today.”

Martin glanced at you, his expression unreadable in the streetlight glow. “You needed someone to find you. That’s all.”

After a few more quiet steps, you sighed, kicking at a pebble on the pavement. “It’s just not my mother. Everything’s been… too much. The prom planning, the trip, the mock exams—it’s like I can’t breathe without having something due.”

Martin chuckled softly. “Leave it to you to get stressed about fun things.”

“They’re only fun when people actually help,” you said, exasperated. “Even if the committee is completely involved in those two things, the principal is bothering me. I’ve been running back and forth with the school board about budget approvals, and I swear, if one more teacher calls me responsible like it’s a compliment, I’m going to scream.”

“Then scream. I’ll join you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You? You’d probably turn it into a song.”

“Maybe I already did.”

You looked up at him, but he just shrugged. “We’re working on something for the Battle of the Bands,” he said. “Prize money isn't bad. Thinking of donating it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Donating? Since when are you that noble?”

“Since I found out how expensive renting a DJ, using massive decorations, and the food is,” he said, giving you a sideways glance. “Keonho is stressed with that too, and we figured if we win, we’ll put some of the money toward your prom fund.”

You blinked, taken aback. “You’d do that?”

“For the school,” he confirmed, but the grin that followed made it impossible to believe him. “Well… mostly for you.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head in disbelief. “And what exactly do you get out of that deal?”

He took a moment before answering, kicking at the pavement as if he were debating whether to say it. “A date.”

You stopped walking. “A what?”

“A date,” he repeated, meeting your eyes. “With you. Just one.”

You stared at him, heart skipping in that annoying wait it always did around him lately. “You’re joking.”

“Not this time.” His voice had softened, “I’ve kinda liked you for a while, Y/N. Like, since sophomore year, a while”

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The words and the mere sight of how he rubbed the back of his neck with the faintest flush creeping into his cheeks were enough to really blow you away.

“You probably thought I was just being annoying all the time… That was me trying to get your attention without, you know, getting expelled for it.”

You blinked at him. “Two years?”

He nodded, starting to walk again. “Two very long and humbling years.”

You looked away at the back of his figure, hiding the small smile that tugged at your lips. Once you reached him, you focused on looking straight.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied. “Just… let me win first. Then decide.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but I’m a ridiculous guy with a plan,” he said, lightly swinging his hips to move your body. 

You reached your gate a few minutes later. The house lights were still on, the silhouette of your dad faintly visible through the curtains.

When you stopped, so he did, taking a look at your place for the first time. “You gonna be okay?”

You nodded. “I think so.”

He smiled. “Good. Don’t disappear like that again, okay? I can’t keep rescuing the class president from emotional breakdowns.”

You smirked faintly. “And here I thought you liked being the hero.”

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Maybe I just like you.”

You froze at the words. You saw how he shoved his hands into his pockets. 

“See you tomorrow, Prez.”

“Goodnight, Martin.”

He started walking away. You stood there for a moment, heart beating way too fast for someone who’d just survived a meltdown. Your feet started walking fast to where he was.

“Martin!” He stopped instantly, turning on his heel. The look on his face was equal parts concern and confusion, the grocery bag still dangling from one hand. 

You walked up to him, stopping close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. Your hand reached for his tie, pulling him down gently. 

On your tiptoes, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“I’m really thankful,” you murmured.

Neither of you moved. His eyes widened slightly before that boyish grin spread across his face, causing you to smile back. You stepped back quickly, cheeks burning, and darted toward the gate before he could say anything else.

Once inside, you shut it softly behind you, leaning against the cool metal to steady your racing heartbeat and touching your lips. Curiosity got the better of you, and you peeked through the small hole in the wall that your dad refused to fix.

Martin was still there, frozen in place, and soon enough, he pulled his fist to the sky while walking away, or more like dancing away, down the sidewalk. “Let’s go!” you heard the scream, and you bit your lip, stifling a laugh of your own.

October came fast, mostly because your parents decided on an uncontested divorce and your dad got the apartment downtown. Yujin jumped when he found out it’s five minutes away from his house. The place felt quieter; your mother had thrown herself into work, and you into whatever kept you from thinking too much: school, council duties, and, against all odds, CORTIS.

Somehow, Martin had managed to stop getting detention every other week. He still mouthed off at the teachers sometimes, wore his ring and the smirk, but he wasn’t the same boy who used to skip class just to nap on the rooftop.

It was truly impressive, you saw how he actually took notes during math, how he waited for everyone after band practice instead of just storming off, how he asked the teacher questions about topics, and even delivered small notes on your desk, ones that make you happy, as if it was a normal thing to do.

Leeseo had caught all that and more, dedicating his free time to watching you watching him, whispering, “You’re so done for,” grinning and doing a couple of mimics with Yujin.

But of course, you denied it every time. 

Because no one needs to know that you were actually falling for him.

Still, when the last high school exam ended, everyone started spilling out of the classrooms, screaming “freedom!” the second the bell rang for the end of the day. Everyone stood up joyfully, and from the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Martin coming your way, a bag lazily hanging on his shoulder.

“Everybody listen up!” Yujin shouted, standing on top of a chair and waving his arms dramatically. “Today, it’s the Band of Battles. Let’s all go and support our beautiful high school and CORTIS as a last act of love to this place!” 

The whole class erupted in cheers, the rest of the students clapping at his words like he said something revolutionary.

Yujin’s friend, Gunwook, jumped onto a chair too, holding up his hand to point at Martin. “Martin, as the leader, pick a color so we can dress up.” 

Martin posed theatrically, pretending to think it through before his eyes looked at you. His grin softened as soon as his fingers brushed the small red bow pinned in your hair.

“I like red today.” The whole class went wild, but his eyes simply scanned the redness that the tip of your ears caught. You tried to act unfazed, but the way he smirked at you made your stomach twist. 

His mouth went near your ear, “You can wear whatever you like, you look good in anything.”

By the time the noise died down, so did your heartbeat when he left the classroom, mouthing, “I’ll see you there”. Everyone had plans and was starting to spread the word before heading home to change and go to the event.

You, on the other hand, had to stay behind, for quite a while, actually. 

While your classmates flooded out of the building, already buzzing about the performance, you found yourself sitting across from the principal for more than an hour, finalizing the last details for the senior trip next week. Each little break, you looked up at the clock hanging on top of the wall, sighing in relief when he thanked you for your dedication, which was a nice way to say “you work too much” and finally let you go. You were already late, and you at least wanted to arrive one act before the boys.

The hallways were nearly empty now, sunlight slanting through the windows in soft orange streaks. You smiled faintly when you passed a whiteboard where someone had scrawled “CORTIS = Victory!” alongside other words of encouragement.

Your chest felt a little lighter reading it, even making you pull out your camera to snap a picture so you can show it to the band through Keonho later.

You were halfway down the front steps when you saw a woman standing outside the school gates, elegantly dressed in a cream coat and hair pinned neatly back. Without losing the beat of your quick steps, you continued until you felt a presence near you and soon, a hand on your shoulder that made you jump.

“Excuse me,” she called gently, laughing awkwardly at your reaction. “Are you Y/N?”

You hesitated before nodding, “Yes… Do I know you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Martin’s mom.”

You blinked before bowing down; you didn’t expect his mother to look that elegant yet have such an expression that felt oddly familiar.

“Nice to meet you.”

“I’m the one I should say that, darling. I’ve heard about you,” she said. “Martin speaks of you more than he probably realizes.”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face. “Thank you so much.”

“He’s changed lately,” she said. “He comes home earlier, studies, and seems steadier. And I know you might have something to do with that positive change.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. “Well, he’s been working hard in high school and for the band. You probably already know how much it means to him.”

Her smile faltered, just a tiny bit, before speaking again. “Yes, well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“About the band?” you frowned, already thinking of what she was about to say.

“Music has always been a phase for him. His father has great plans, engineering, university abroad, to be specific. I was hoping you could talk to him, convince him to take his future seriously again.”

That’s the moment you went speechless. Your mind works ten times faster to choose your words carefully. “With all respect, Mrs. Park. I don't think it's a phase, and I won’t do that. At all.”

“I’m sorry?” she said, confusion flickering on her face.

“I’ve seen him when he’s performing,” you said. “When he’s practicing with the band, when he’s writing lyrics on the back of his notebook, he’s not pretending; he looks alive doing that. It's not just a distraction for him; it’s who he actually is.”

You could see how the first crack in her composure showed, lips parted. “You sound just like him.”

“Maybe that’s because you both underestimate how much he cares about what he does,” you vented. “I get that engineering might have been his father’s and your dream. But music as a whole makes him happy. Whether it’s producing or singing, that’s how he wants to live his life.”

There was a silence for a moment, so you took that moment to inhale briefly and continue.

"Martin listens to music when he’s feeling stressed. He’s not into literature, but he writes such good lyrics that you might even think he’s becoming some kind of poet. And the way he looks when he’s playing? That’s him in his element.”

The woman lowered her head, sighing. “I just don’t want him to throw his future away. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“Maybe this is his future, it just doesn’t look like the one you two pictured.”

 “You’re a very smart girl, Y/N,” she finally said.

“I’m just honest,” you replied, offering a small smile.

“That’s even rarer,” she murmured. “I can see why he—” she stopped herself, simply smiling again, “Thank you for being good to him.”

An idea came to you, the backpack that was on your shoulder ended in the middle of you two, taking away the pamphlet Seonghyeon and James had given to promote, and extended to her. “He’s a good person, Mrs. Park. And just like how you believe in him to achieve the engineering future, believe and trust him with his.”

You bowed slightly when she took the paper, walking away to catch the bus that would take you home. Thankfully, you arrived safely.

You kicked off your shoes at the entrance, calling out, “Dad, I’m home!” before leaning down to kiss his forehead as he read through a newspaper on the couch with his work clothes still on.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said with a smile. “You look busy.”

“Always!” you shouted, darting into your room.

They were still scattered with open notebooks and the faint scent of highlighter ink, stuff you’d temporarily promised yourself to forget tonight.

After the divorce, your dad had insisted on helping you “reclaim the place.” He’d driven you to buy new clothes, helped you hang posters, and even tolerated the sparkly beaded curtain you’d begged to put on your door. For the first time in months, the room looked like yours, not your mother’s version of perfection. 

You took the quickest shower and got dressed in record time, the white camisole layered under a cropped denim jacket, a mini skirt with a rhinestone belt, and your sports shoes. A knock on your door made you look away from the mirror.

“Come in!” you called, picking some blush on your brush to put it onto your cheeks.

Your dad peeked in, smiling softly as he stepped inside. “Are you still getting ready?”

“Almost done, thanks for driving me there,” you replied, setting down the brush.

He chuckled and sat on the edge of your bed, looking around and whistling. “Wow, you’re really made this place your own.”

You smiled at his reflection in the mirror proudly. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“You also seem different lately. Happier.”

“Maybe because exams are over, both of us are in a good place, and I’m finally hanging out with my friends. Which, by the way, I’m grateful for.”

“Well, you deserve them since you’ve always worked hard,” he smiled. You felt that shift when he was done, suddenly suffocating.

He watched you for a moment, a teasing glint in his eyes. “So… what do you want to ask?” you said, already suspicious.

“Now, why do you think that?” he asked, laughing when you raised an eyebrow at him, seeing him leaning forward with a grin on his face. “What’s his name?”

The mascara wand ended halfway to your lashes. “What's whose name?”

“The boy,” he said simply. “And don’t tell me there isn’t one. I’m not blind. You’ve been smiling more, playing music in your room, and I’m pretty sure he’s the same boy who brought you home that night.”

You covered your face, groaning, feeling your cheeks getting warmer with each second. “Dad, please.”

“So I’m right,” he said, amused that his dad instincts didn’t betray him. “What’s his name?”

The small silence was broken when you sighed softly. “Martin.”

Your dad nodded slowly. “Is that the boy who’s in that band you mentioned, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, trying your best to sound casual. “He’s their leader, and he has been studying with me since middle school. Kind of stubborn. Really annoying sometimes.”

“Huh—” you could tell by how he was clearly unconvinced. “And what makes him so annoying?”

You opened your mouth—ready to list something—but nothing came. Instead, what slipped out was, “He doesn’t quit. Even when everyone expects him to.”

Your dad hummed softly. 

“And when he talks about music,” you went on, your mind planting words in a second, “he gets this look… like the rest of the world just disappears, he’s in his own happy place.”

You paused, but somehow the words kept coming. “He’s also funny,” you admitted, taking your hairclips to fix your hair with a smile tugging at your lips. “Not the kind that tries hard, it’s like, half of the time he says something and you can’t even tell if it’s a joke or he’s being serious. It makes you laugh anyway.”

You stood up to pick some rings to match the outfit, continuing to speak. “He’s kind, pretends he doesn’t care, but he remembers things. He smiles with his whole face, and when there’s something  he likes, he won’t stop until he gets it.”

“I thought you were saying something about him being annoying, right?”

Heat crept up your neck immediately. “I—That’s not—I didn’t mean—”

“Darling. It’s okay, I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Oh my God, please stop talking.” You took your essentials quickly and ran to the front door, waiting in the car immediately. 

The drive was calm, the windows cracked open, making the October air carry faint echoes of music from blocks away. The sunset was painting the sky in streaks of pink and gold.

He glanced at you as they stopped at a red light. “Sounds like you really care about him. And so does he.”

“I guess I do,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

“I would love to meet him properly sometime,” you were about to protest, but he shushed you quickly. “No ‘buts’”

“Fine.” You both arrived at the youth center quite fast. The road was already lined with parked cars, students who didn’t receive a ticket and decided to enjoy from outside, a handful of paparazzi, and a lot of security.

You heard your dad’s whistle under his breath. “Looks like the whole district showed up.”

“It really does.” You clutched your bag a little tighter.

He slowed the car near the entrance, smiling as he glanced at you. “Are you nervous?”

You shook your head quickly. “Maybe a little.”

“You’ll do fine.”

“I’m not performing,” you laughed a little, confused.

He grinned, a hand on top of your shoulder. “Didn’t say you were. But I have a feeling something might happen.”

You rolled your eyes, unbuckled your seatbelt, and checked one last time that you didn’t forget the vip ticket Martin left on your locker.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, kissing his cheek.

“Anytime, sweetheart. Tell me if you’re going somewhere else, and tell Martin I said good luck!”

“Dad!” You heard his laugh as you walked away, turning around to wave him off before stepping into the noise of the crowd after safely passing security, although you almost fell after a few of them tried to fight security.

The venue wasn’t really one, more like a repurposed parking lot with a stage at one end and strings of lights hanging overhead. Students from different schools packed the space, every single one was excited, waving balloons from side to side or a flashlight.

“Y/N!” Leeseo appeared right in front of you, hugging you, and Yujin arrived a little later. “You just missed like two acts, Hanlim was even better than last year!”

“How did your meeting go?” Yujin asked, and a smile was more than enough for them.

“The trip is completely done, there are no problems.”

“Finally!” Yujin grinned. “We deserve that trip; this year has been trash.”

“Not for Y/N, she finally has a crush,” she sang, Yujin and Leeseo start poking your sides. “You know Martin’s going to show off.”

You rolled your eyes. “He always does.”

But your pulse quickened anyway when the stage lights flickered to red and you saw the MC going to the center of the stage, gaining a scream from the crowd.

“What a performance from Hanlim!” she said. A roar of cheers from a group of students startled you. “Let’s keep this energy up for the next group, from SOPA… give it up for CORTIS!”

The boys walked to the stage, the excitement and screams from the place feeding them. James settled behind the drums, spinning a stick in one hand. Juhoon adjusted his guitar strap, Seonghyeon’s fingers danced over the keys to test it, and Keonho flashed his familiar grin from behind his bass.

Then Martin walked out.

Graphic tee with layered chains, jeans slouching low, sneakers unlaced. Stage lights caught on his chain as he leaned into the mic. “What’s up, Seoul!” 

Cheers erupted again, a few girls screaming his name and the other guys. “Tonight, it’s a special night because we’re performing our self-produced song for the world to hear!”

Leeseo elbowed when you immediately started clapping and cheering.

“Enjoy yourself, love. You deserve this!” Martin started playing some guitar chords.

“Crash, smash, rock, mash up Ooh, take what you want 돈, 멋, 명예, love, and what? Ooh, take what you want.”

You remember hearing them practice bits of it during free periods when you walked by to give them some snacks and reminding Keonho about little details to fix for the trip.

Hearing it live was very different from it; all of the instruments crashed together in perfect sync, and you finally listened to all five singing together, which was uncommon for bands. Everyone was shouting along, even if they didn’t know the words. In a moment, Martin’s eyes found you. For that split second, you could feel your heart trying to escape from your ribs. 

“Some people want this, some people want that Same here, all seventeen years of my life.”

Martin started walking around to interact with people, standing in front of you three.

“Chased after love, chased after fame. So now I want the whole world to know my name.”

He winked at you, feeling it like a spark as heat rushed to your cheeks. Yujin started laughing at your face, and Keonho smiled teasingly at you.

A couple of minutes later, the song ended with a burst of applause, Martin running a hand through his hair before grabbing the mic again.

“Alright,” he said, breathless but grinning. “We’ve got one more for you.” 

He paused the moment his gaze found you immediately. 

You smiled faintly, catching the flicker of nerves in his eyes, and mouthed, “Breathe.”

He huffed out a laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting before turning his head to the band. Juhoon leaned into his mic.

“Go for it, dude.” The five boys laughed, Martin turning back to his mic.

“This,” he started, “is one of the many songs I wrote for this girl.” His eyes never left yours. “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I’d have written any of them. 

You looked at Leeseo and Yujin on your side; they were smiling already. They knew this would happen.

He stepped back slightly, adjusting the guitar strap on his shoulder, and nodded toward the rest of the band. “It’s called ‘Iris.’”

"And I'd give up forever to touch you 'Cause I know that you feel me somehow You're the closest to Heaven that I'll ever be And I don't wanna go home right now."

The lyrics drifted through the air, and though he was looking out toward the audience, every few lines his gaze found its way back to you, long enough that it was impossible to look away.

He wasn’t performing anymore. He was confessing to you for a second time.

You felt your throat tighten, fingers twisting around the hem of your jacket, your heart beating full speed, and making you clear of one thing. You were completely in love with that person whom you thought you hated.

"And I don't want the world to see me 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand When everything's made to be broken I just want you to know who I am."

The crowd swayed with the melody, arms raised, voices echoing when they learn a little piece of the song. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until he smiled at you mid-line. The final chorus exploded, lights flashing, the crowd roaring. Martin’s voice cracked slightly on the last note—and somehow, it made it perfect. You screamed at the very end, chanting with your friends, “CORTIS!”.

The five joined Martin, bowing down in gratitude with big smiles on their faces. Juhoon was teary-eyed, and you could tell that it moved the rest of the members as they walked out. The MC came back, impressed.

“Wow! Cortis really wants the money. We will have a five-minute break so the judges can decide.”  

Leeseo grabbed your arm, eyes wide. “Y/N… I think you just got serenaded.”

“Go see him.” Yujin pointed at the small hallway you could go to. You looked at him, panicking.

“Like now?”

“Yes!” Both of them pushed you there, moving for a couple of minutes before you reach it. You waited for the security to get distracted to enter there, closing it as fast as you opened it.

At a distance, you saw Martin laughing while watching James and Keonho jumping in happiness, James even half-yelling something about “not missing the last chord for once.”

You slipped past the curtain, unsure whether to find him or run before someone teased you for looking like you belonged there.

“Noona!”

Too late. You turned just in time to see Seonghyeon spot you instantly. 

His shout was loud enough to catch the attention of all five.

“Prez!” Keonho was the first to move, practically launching himself into your arms before you could even react. “What do you think, Prez?”

You laughed, stumbling back half a step under his weight. “I think you’re all still dangerously hyper.”

“We totally killed it, what do you mean?” Juhoon cut in proudly, slinging an arm over Keonho’s shoulders. James raised his drumsticks triumphantly in agreement, and Seonghyeon grinned from behind the keyboard setup, already pretending to wipe sweat off his brow dramatically.

You shook your head fondly, brushing hair from your face. “You guys were amazing. Really.”

He was standing a few feet away, hair damp with sweat, guitar strap still hanging loose at his side. The grin he wore was boyish, tired, and radiant all at once.

“Occupational hazard,” he said with a shrug, stepping closer. “So? How’d we do?”

“You’re asking the school council president for a review?” you teased.

“I trust your judgment,” he said simply. 

“More like his crush judgment,” Seonghyeon spoke, hissing later after Juhoon pinched him.

“Can you leave us alone for a sec?” Martin looked at James.

“You all heard him! Step back, ladies,” you laughed at the funny view of them trying to listen.

The grin softened before becoming quiet again. “So?”

You exhaled, letting yourself smile despite yourself. “You were amazing, Martin. Really.”

He froze for a heartbeat, eyes lighting up. “You mean that?”

You nodded. “Every word.”

He ran a hand through his hair, pretending to play it cool, but the faint flush at the tips of his ears betrayed him. “Guess that means I can cash in on my deal.”

You frowned. “Deal?”

“The one where if we win, you owe me a date.”

You scoffed, trying not to grin. “You haven’t even won yet.”

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “We both know we’re not walking out of here without that trophy and cash.”

You were about to fire back something smart when the loudspeaker crackled to life outside.

“All bands, please gather near the stage! Results will be announced!”

He looked at you and smirked. “Come on, front row like before, Prez.”

The crowd was electric again when you came back, students pressing closer to the makeshift stage, voices rising in chaotic chants. Hanlim High’s band stood on one side, exhausted but smiling; CORTIS stood on the other. You could sense the adrenaline pulsing through their little group.

You stood with Leeseo and Yujin near the barricade, your heart weirdly hammering even though you weren’t the one competing. You three held hands.

“And the winners of this year’s Battle of the Bands…” the announcer said, drawing it out. The entire lot went silent for a breath.

“…CORTIS!”

The explosion of sound was immediate.

Students screamed, threw confetti, jumped, and cheered so loud you could barely hear the band’s name being repeated over the speakers. Keonho dropped to his knees, James banged a drum in celebration, and Juhoon lifted his guitar triumphantly in the air.

Martin just stood there for a second, blinking in disbelief as he grabbed the big cardboard check before looking toward you through the chaos.

You clapped your hands over your mouth, laughing, and he broke into the brightest smile you’d ever seen. Then, like it was instinct, he pointed right at you before turning to grab the mic.

“This one’s for SOPA High, and for the people who never stopped believing in us!” he shouted. “Especially one of them.”

Leeseo smirked beside you. “If you don’t date him soon, I will.”

You didn’t get a chance to reply because Martin had already jumped off the stage into the crowd, swallowed by a sea of cheering hands and students trying to high-five him. You decided not to bother the moment by moving near a corner to breathe properly with Leeseo next to you, who was almost suffocating.

Later, when the crowd started thinning, people made plans to celebrate at a nearby karaoke place. Banners were torn down, the lights dimmed, and laughter filled the streets as everyone drifted away in groups.

You were helping Yujin pick up some discarded signs when you noticed Martin slipping away from the commotion, walking towards you with a smile. Before he could reach you, he paused, looking right behind you.

Following his gaze, you saw her.

His mom.

Standing near both of you, clutching her bag, and if your vision wasn’t playing, you could see her eyes wet from what she’d just watched.

Martin froze when he saw her. For a second, he looked like a little boy again, before taking a slow step forward to be next to you.

“Mom,” he said quietly.

She smiled faintly, her voice soft. “You were incredible.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “You… came?”

“I had some help,” she said, glancing to your side, and your heart skipped when you realized she meant you.

Martin turned slightly. You gave a small bow before stepping back.

“I will give you two some space,” you bowed again before walking to where Leeseo and Juhoon were standing. 

When he looked back at his mom, her eyes were already glistening.

“I see what she meant,” she said.

He frowned slightly. “What did who mean?”

“Y/N,” she said. “She told me that music isn’t your rebellion, it’s more like your peace.” Her voice trembled slightly, but her smile didn’t waver. “She was right. You looked… happy. Really happy.”

Martin swallowed hard. “Mom…”

“I’ve been thinking about something for months,” she continued, clutching her purse tighter. “And after tonight, I think I've finally made up my mind.” She paused, steadying her breath. “I’m going to file for divorce.”

His eyes widened in surprise, a sudden feeling of relief occupying his whole body. “You’re serious?”

She nodded. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. And I think you, your father, and I both deserve honesty, even if it hurts.”

Martin’s throat tightened. “I’m proud of you, Mom.”

Her smile wavered, tears finally spilling over. “No, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”

He didn’t hesitate, just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. This was the first time in a while he gave and felt a hug that was that tight and overdue. 

After a while, she pulled back and brushed his hair from his forehead, her voice quiet. “You’ve grown up so much. And that girl… she’s good for you.”

Martin blinked, glancing instinctively toward where you stood, half-hidden behind the fence. You were talking to Leeseo, occasionally looking at him with your smile.

“She’s a great girl,” his mom added softly. “Don’t let her slip away.”

He smiled, that same shy, crooked smile that only ever showed up when it came to you. “I won’t.”

“Cortis and friends!” she screamed, not even willing to bat their eyelids. “Grab your stuff and get in the car, food is on me.”

As his mom turned to leave for the car, he looked back toward you again. You were laughing now as you watched James running at the word food, the streetlights glinting off your red bow as you tucked your hair behind your ear.

And for the first time in a long while, Martin didn’t feel like the boy running away from everything. He felt like someone finally heading toward something worth staying for.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The school courtyard was anything but calm. Countless rolling suitcases, half-zipped duffel bags, and sleepy students chugging canned coffee like their lives depended on it to keep awake for at least of the way there.

After a weekend of endless messages about CORTIS’ victory on Cyworld and your classmates posting grainy flip-phone photos of Martin grinning with the trophy, it felt surreal that it was finally trip day. The band made sure they cashed the prize and gave you a big amount for the prom if they got to perform again, which you obviously agreed to.

You adjusted your backpack and sighed as Leeseo ran up to you, waving a folded permission slip.

“Can you believe they’re trusting us with three whole nights away from supervision?” she grinned.

“Please,” you said, smiling faintly. “You know half the teachers are going to patrol the halls like spies.”

Yujin jogged up behind her, yawning. “I’m only here for the free breakfast buffet.”

“You’re here because you begged to be in my room,” Leeseo shot back.

“Prez!”

You turned instinctively, only for Keonho to appear out of nowhere, blocking your view with a grin too wide to be innocent. Last time he gave you that type of smile, you were in the director's office.

“Morning!” he said brightly, holding a carton of banana milk. “You want one?”

You frowned, eyeing him. “You hate banana milk.”

“Do I?” He glanced down, pretending to think. “Maybe I’ve changed.”

Before you could answer, Juhoon popped up behind him. “Y/N! Quick question: if a band wins something again, should the prize money go into savings or celebration snacks?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Snacks,” James said immediately, dragging his suitcase past.

“Definitely savings,” Seonghyeon countered.

“Hold on, I didn’t even—”

“Exactly!” Keonho interrupted, looping an arm through yours. “We are the only ones who can settle it. Come on, let’s walk and talk, far away from the buses.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you guys up to?”

“Nothing,” they chorused, which was, of course, the most suspicious answer possible.

By the time you reached the front of the boarding area, the CORTIS boys had somehow managed to keep you talking about everything from “the ethics of snack budgeting” to “who snores the loudest during overnight trips” (it was apparently James).

Every time you tried to glance toward the loading buses, one of them moved strategically into your line of sight.

“Okay,” you said finally, crossing your arms. “What’s going on? And don’t say ‘nothing’ again.”

Before you could press further, the teachers started calling everyone to board.

“Saved by the bell,” Seonghyeon muttered, pushing his suitcase forward.

You squinted suspiciously at all four of them. “You’re all terrible liars.”

Keonho only winked. “We learned from the best.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling as you followed them onto the bus.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The trip flew by in a blur of beach air, sightseeing, and several promposals that only happened when a hundred high school seniors were given freedom for three days straight and allowed their use of free will. You even helped out with Yujin’s promposal to Leeseo, to which she accepted happily.

You found yourself laughing more than you had in months, mostly because the CORTIS boys had taken it upon themselves to make every activity as dramatic as possible.

At lunch, James accidentally tripped and dropped an entire tray of kimbap, dramatically claiming it was “artistic sacrifice.” Juhoon tried to serenade a teacher with a guitar for bonus points on attendance. And the best for last was probably Keonho and Seonghyeon attempting to sneak extra dessert for everyone, only to get caught by the cafeteria lady, who then gave them more because she found them “charming.”

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somehow, their energy became the highlight of the trip.

Every so often, though, you caught Martin watching you from across the group, who you were impressed by how distracted he looked all this trip, exchanging some words with you now and then.

On the last night, during the “recreation period,” the teachers announced everyone could stay in the courtyard area to watch the sunset and enjoy the small outdoor stage. 

You and Leeseo were sitting near the front, sharing a pack of chips on a break after a small duet given by Wonbin and Liz.

“Yujin, what are you moving your head like a meerkat? You’re stressing me out.” Leeseo’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Okay, don’t freak out, but I think something is happening.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, already getting stressed out. You might have changed a little bit, but you were still a little perfectionist.

Music started playing from the speakers, and your mind instantly recognized the familiar brass riff it had.

“You’re just too good to be true…”

Your jaw dropped at the voice of Martin. “Leeseo, is this real?.”

“Oh, yes,” Leeseo whispered, eyes sparkling. You didn’t notice how she was holding a recording camera, pointing it at you.

Martin opened the curtain that worked as a background on the stage, his gaze fully on you. Martin jumped off the stage, mic in hand, grinning as he began to sing the classic with over-the-top theatrics.

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

He pointed at you on the last word, and everyone screamed.

You covered your face, but it was useless. Martin was committed. He climbed onto one of the benches, sang to the teachers (who pretended not to laugh), and even slid down on one knee in front of a startled Yujin, who dramatically clutched his heart.

The entire class was upside down as the music built. He ran up the small aisle and stopped right in front of you.

You were laughing so hard you could barely breathe. “Martin—”

He was interrupted by singing directly to you, his grin wider than ever.

“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright…”

You buried your face in your hands, but he gently pulled them away, still singing. The crowd clapped along to the beat, the boys behind him quickly moving. Martin spun around, giving a cue to Juhoon to give him a flower bouquet to go again in front of you, kneeling on one knee.

When the song finally ended, Martin was breathless, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, but his eyes never left yours.

Behind him, James and Seonghyeon were holding a banner, the phrase: “I may not be Shakespeare, but I promise prom with me will be a sonnet.”

The entire courtyard went silent. 

He held the mic higher, the faint tremor in his hand betraying the adrenaline rushing through him. Despite the wide grin on his face, you could see his chest rising and falling a little too fast.

“So…” he said, catching his breath. “I think it’s pretty obvious what my feelings about you are.” 

“You drive me insane, make me want to be better, even when I swear I don’t care about anything.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “But I do. I care too much, especially when it comes to you.”

A few students in the front row let out small gasps, someone whispering, “Oh my god, he’s serious.”

Martin looked down for a second, the mic brushing against his lip as if he needed that pause to steady himself. When he lifted his head again, there was no smirk this time.e

“Maybe you don’t see it yet despite me saying I had this crush on you that night,” he said, voice softer now, “but when I look at you, it’s like the noise stops. And that’s saying something, coming from me.” The crowd laughed gently, and even you couldn’t help the small smile that broke through your shock.

Then he tilted his head, eyes glinting. “So yeah,” he said, tone dipping back into that familiar warmth, “I had to do this your way because words weren’t cutting it anymore.”

The crowd burst into cheers again, clapping and whistling, chanting your name and his. You were still processing the words, your heart thudding painfully fast, when he looked straight at you again, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

“So, Y/N,” he said, almost shyly this time, pointing at the banner behind him that was shaken by the boys, “will you go to prom with me?”

The crowd collectively held its breath.

You blinked, stunned, then let out a shaky laugh. “You could’ve just asked, you know.”

He grinned, his breath still uneven, voice hoarse from the singing and the nerves.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

You looked at him, the boy who’d spent half a year driving you crazy and the other half trying to make you smile. Your hand brushed against his as you took the bouquet. “Martin,” you said softly, eyes meeting his, “yes. Of course I’ll go with you.”

The courtyard erupted—cheers, applause, a few whistles from the back. Juhoon and James started playing the outro riff again, and Keonho let out a triumphant, “She said yes!” into the backup mic.

Martin blinked at you like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Wait—really?”

You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest. “Really.”

For a moment, he just stared, then he exhaled, his smile breaking into something so bright it made your stomach twist. “I’m—uh—wow. Okay.”

The boys were already pushing him forward, shouting for him to say something cool, but he just chuckled helplessly, scratching the back of his head. 

“Hug each other, idiots!” Yujin screamed, and before you could react, Martin’s arms wrapped around you, lifting you clean off the ground.

Your surprised laugh got lost in the roar of the crowd. He spun you once, just enough for your shoes to leave the pavement, and when he set you down, your heart was racing far faster than it should’ve

As the music picked up again, his hand reached out instinctively, brushing a loose strand of hair from your cheek. He looked like he wanted to say more—so much more—but instead, he whispered, “See you at night, Y/N.”

Your frowned. “Wait, what?”

Before you could demand an explanation, Leeseo grabbed your wrist. “No time for questions—let’s go.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, stumbling after her.

She only grinned. “Operation ‘Date Night,’ obviously.”

“Excuse me, what?”

Yujin was waiting near the dorms, arms crossed like an overexcited manager. “Martin’s orders. You’re not allowed to show up in a school jacket in a romantic setting. Leeseo, you know what to do.”

“On it,” she said, pulling you inside.

Ten minutes later, your room looked like a battlefield of denim, perfume, and lip gloss.

Leeseo had raided your bag, holding up two outfits with the seriousness of a stylist dressing an idol.

“Okay, option one: the floral skirt and cardigan combo. It’s cute, safe, and very student council president. Option two…” She tossed a bundle at you. “Something that’ll make him forget his own lyrics.”

You gave her a look. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re welcome.”

Leeseo was taking her sweet time; everything she was doing was slow and steady, keeping you busy with prom details and suggesting matching colors and opinions for her and Yujin for the event. Which also made you think if Martin is into matching colors.

When you finally looked in the mirror, the second Leeseo screamed in joy, you barely recognized yourself. The simple denim skirt paired with a white tank layered under a cropped cardigan, your hair loose and soft around your shoulders. A thin silver necklace rested at your collarbone.

“Thank you, Leeseo.” You hugged her tightly.

“Anything to see you leaving this school with your first boyfriend and have your first kiss.” You laughed at her tease, face turning red. You left the dorm to start walking to the place, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, and you were sure that it was leaving behind streaks of rose and violet across the water.

When you reached the beach, fairy lights were strung between two wooden poles, flickering softly. A small speaker played a slow guitar riff, so it was clear he was there.

And there, sitting cross-legged on a picnic blanket with a basket on his side, was Martin.

He wasn’t dressed like the usual; he decided to wear a plain white tee layered under an open gray button-up, dark jeans cuffed at the ankles, and a simple silver chain that glinted every time he moved. His sneakers were scuffed, but clean, and his hair still messy from earlier, like he hadn’t bothered to fix it because he knew you’d recognize him anyway.

He looked up as soon as he heard your footsteps, that same lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” you said, trying not to sound as breathless as you suddenly felt. “So this was your mysterious ‘see you tonight’ plan?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. “Yeah. The guys helped. Keonho almost set the lights on fire, but we made it work.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you sat beside him. “This is… nice.”

“Yeah?” he asked, trying not to look too eager.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your gaze drifting toward the waves. “Really nice.”

He exhaled, shoulders dropping. “Good. I was worried it’d feel too much.”

“Not at all, Tin,” he laughed at the nickname.

For a while, you talked about everything and nothing while eating. The songs they were writing, the stress of exams finally being over, minus the one for college, and how Leeseo had forced you to change outfits under threat of “fashion failure.”

Martin was quieter than usual. His usual sarcasm softened into warmth, his eyes flickering between you and the sea from time to time.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” you said at one point, voice gentle.

He shook his head. “I wanted to. I just… wanted you to have a night that wasn’t about expectations or responsibilities. Just… you.”

That made you look up, startled, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

The wind tugged at your hair, and he reached forward instinctively like before, brushing it back behind your ear. His hand lingered, thumb grazing your jaw as his breath caught.

“Martin…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He didn’t move closer, but he didn’t move away either. His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if he were fighting himself.

“I shouldn’t,” he murmured, half to himself. “Not unless you—”

Your heart stuttered. “Unless I what?”

He smiled faintly. “Unless you’d actually let me.”

You opened your mouth, but before you could speak, a loud crash echoed from behind the dunes.

“REALLY YUJIN?!”  Keonho’s voice.

You both jumped apart, laughing in disbelief.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, covering your face. “They were spying?”

Martin ran a hand through his hair, chuckling. “I told them to stay in their rooms.”

Another yell followed. “Did they kiss yet?”

You looked at each other, bursting out laughing, really laughing, until your stomach hurt and the tension melted. Martin leaned back on his hands, still smiling. “Guess they saved us from doing something we’d probably overthink later.”

You nudged his shoulder. “Probably.”

He turned to you again, that same soft look from the concert flickering across his face. “Still,” he said quietly, “you make overthinking kind of worth it.”

Your breath caught, but you just smiled. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he teased.

“Yeah,” you said, glancing at him through your lashes. “Here I am.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Martin and you got closer than ever, and even though it wasn’t official yet, not even your father could deny the chemistry between you two. You spent afternoons studying together, stealing glances over textbooks, and laughing about how far you’d come. The bond grew quietly, in the little things: late-night calls, going out with all of them, and the way he always walked you home after those little evenings, even when it meant taking the long route.

By the time November came around, the entrance exam was long over. The pressure had finally lifted, replaced by a sense of pride and relief. To your fortune, you’d gotten the scholarship for the career you’d always dreamed of, and everyone couldn’t be prouder. 

Graduation day was full of bittersweet smiles. You got your physical pictures, one of you and Martin, standing close with your caps tilted while he carried you, another with your best friends, not leaving behind Keonho and Seonghyeon, who came to see you all six of you graduate. All of you are holding onto that perfect moment before life pulls you in different directions. 

“Can you please stop looking at the picture with your boyfriend and help me with my hair like you promised?” You turned your head to see Leeseo struggling to remove the hair rollers. 

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yet,” she moved her eyebrows up and down, happily seeing the look on your face.

Leeseo had barged into your room hours earlier, armed with curling irons, body glitter, and enough lip gloss to coat a car. Your bedroom floor was a battlefield of shoe boxes, safety pins, and half-zipped purses.

“Thank you, now turn so I can help you,” she ordered, tugging at the straps of your satin dress. It was simple but elegant. Soft champagne color, an a-line skirt, and a ribbon that tied at the back. Your silver necklace gleamed faintly at your collarbone, the same one you’d worn at the beach.

“Leeseo, I think my ribs can’t breathe,” you muttered.

“That’s how you know it fits,” she said, completely unfazed. “Now smile. You’re about to make a boy combust.”

“Stop,” you groaned, cheeks already heating.

By the time you finished curling your hair, the doorbell rang, making you both freeze in place.

“They’re here,” she whispered dramatically.

Leeseo grabbed her clutch, smoothing her pastel blue dress. “You ready?”

You exhaled slowly, heart fluttering. “As I’ll ever be.”

When you opened your bedroom door, your father was already downstairs, peeking through the hallway mirror before unlocking it.

The door swung open to reveal Yujin and Martin. Yujin wore a pale gray suit that was clearly too tight around his shoulders, and Martin… Martin was in a black suit jacket over a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled casually to his elbows, and his signature silver chain glinting faintly at his collarbone. His hair was swept back loosely, enough to look polished without losing that “Martin” edge.

You heard your dad talking. “Ah, so these are the young men I’ve been hearing about.”

“Sir,” Yujin said quickly, bowing with his usual charm. “We promise to bring your daughter back before midnight.”

Your dad raised an eyebrow. “You'd better. I know where the school is.”

Martin laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I will tell my mom that, sir.”

Then you appeared at the top of the stairs, and for a second—just a second—Martin forgot how to breathe.

He’d seen you in a thousand different ways: annoyed, serious, focused, laughing. But this was new, and it surely made his pulse stutter.

You hesitated halfway down the stairs. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said quietly, eyes following you until you reached the last step.

Leeseo descended right behind you, looking stunning in her powder-blue dress, immediately elbowing you when she caught Martin staring.

“Alright, everyone,” your dad said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile, “before you leave, I need a photo. This is a once-in-a-lifetime occasion, you don’t see this in Seoul.”

“Dad—” you began, but he was already grabbing the camera from the counter.

“Line up,” he ordered.

Yujin and Leeseo posed first, grinning widely. Then he waved at you and Martin. “Your turn.”

You exchanged a helpless look with Martin before stepping closer. His hand brushed yours until your dad adjusted the frame.

“Closer,” he said. “You two look like you’re taking an ID photo.”

Martin chuckled softly, sliding an arm around your waist. His hand rested lightly against your back, and you swore your heartbeat could be heard across the room.

Your dad smiled behind the camera. “There we go. Perfect.” Click.

The flash went off, and you both blinked, still standing close, when he lowered the camera.

“Beautiful,” your father said warmly. “Now go, before you make me cry.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “We’ll see you later, Dad.”

“Have fun, sweetheart,” he said, then glanced at Martin with mock seriousness. “Be safe.”

“Yes, sir,” Martin said, smiling.

“You clean up well,” you said, forcing a casual smile.

“You too. Didn’t know the Prez had a gown in her closet.”

“Didn’t know you owned a shirt with buttons.”

“Touché.”

Yujin cleared his throat loudly. “Okay, that’s enough flirting for the driveway. Mrs. Park’s waiting!”

You turned to see Martin’s mom, sitting in the front seat of her car, waving with a proud smile. “Come on, kids!”

She looked radiant, freer than she had the last time you’d seen her. When you climbed in beside Leeseo, she glanced back at you through the mirror. “You both look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you said, touched.

The car rolled up to the school gym, saying goodbye to his mom before going inside with your arm wrapped around Martin’s. The windows were glowing gold from the string lights inside that were giving out the theme “Golden Memories.” You could already hear the song mix the DJ was creating on the spot.

“I can believe the committee pulled this off,” You smiled proudly, thankful for the art club's offering to help out with the decorations art club did. 

“Not bad for a bunch of overworked seniors.”

“You guys are late!”

James started to have his arms, Keonho, Seonghyeon, and Juhoon at his sides, waving calmly near the entrance. You find it funny how James’s tie was crooked, Juhoon was trying to help him fix it, and the other two were holding a notebook that you recognized as Martin’s. 

“Nice of you to dress up, boys,” Martin called, grinning.

“Dress up?” Seonghyeon huffed, “It’s not even my graduation, and I look better than the three of you.”

“You girls look great.” Keonho smiled, walking up to hug you first before going to Martin’s.

“Our leader is all grown up. Wearing a tie, bringing a date… next thing you know, he’ll start paying taxes.”

“Don’t curse me like that,” Martin laughed it off.

You looked at Yujin and Leeseo. Despite laughing it off and teasing like usual, it was no news that it was their last big night as CORTIS before graduation. And although they were really committed to the band and set a goal to go a long way, it was their last performance in high school before life pulled them in different directions.

Seonghyeon must’ve felt it too, because when he clapped Martin’s shoulder, his voice wavered slightly. “Let’s have fun today.”

“Oh, we will have fun.” A song started playing, and Leeseo dropped Yujin’s arm.

“Come on, we’re not wasting a good song!” She immediately dragged you to the dance floor, feeling Martin’s gaze behind you.

Leeseo’s infectious energy made you join after a moment of hesitation; even the boys joined in after a few songs. Everyone lost count of how many songs they danced and went inside the circle, and by the time the slow songs rolled in, everyone started to pull their partners.

You were about to sit down, but you caught Martin’s eye once. He smiled at you while excusing himself to cross the floor toward you. The lights dimmed, and your teacher took the stage with a mic in hand.

“Okay, everyone. We are going to do this quickly. Let’s announce your prom king and queen. I need the president of the student council to come to hand the crowns.”

You left Martin to pick up the cushion that had both crowns and stay at the end of the stage.

“To remind all of you, the voting was done by taking paper and writing the name of the person you thought was suitable for the title. Let’s start by naming the king.” 

He flipped the card, sighing at the result. He paused for effect. “Martin Edwards.”

Your jaw dropped, watching your friends go wild, shoving him forward as he was in disbelief. He walked to the stage, standing in front of you. You took the crown to neatly put it on top of his head.

“Congratulations, Tin,” he smiled, walking away to stand behind the teacher.

“Now, to our prom queen…” he repeated the pause from before. “It’s my honor to say this. Y/N!”

You blinked, the spotlight turning toward you and your shocked face. Martin went to you quickly, taking your crown and putting it on top of your head. He threw the cushion away to take your hand, interwining your fingers.

“Was this planned?” you said, laughing, slightly red from embarrassment.

“I don’t know. But I guess that makes you my queen tonight, huh?” he teased.

“Don’t push your luck,” you smiled.

“Now, the king and the queen will slow dance. Students, the floor is yours.” The crowd began to sway, and Martin offered his hand, his usual cockiness melting.

“May I have this dance, Your Majesty?”

You tried not to laugh as you placed your hand in his. “Fine. But don’t step on my dress.”

“I’ll try my best,” he said, grinning.

As you both stood in the middle, his hands sat at your waist politely. Thanks to the heels, you could reach enough to wrap your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the back of his hair.

“Can’t believe I came with the queen of prom.”

“Say the king himself, I think we are both lucky,” he smiled. Neither of you spoke for a moment; the song made you replay some memories you had with your friends, and soon enough, with Martin.

“You know,” he murmured finally. “I never really liked dances, even more the ones where my mom used to force me to go for her work.”

You looked up, amused. “Why’s that?”

“Because I never had anyone worth dancing with.” Since you didn’t know what to say, you let yourself sway with him. Your head rested lightly against his chest.

You didn’t even realize that your friends and more couples joined in. You noticed when the music started to fade away. Martin cursed under his breath, looking at you.

“Is it time for your performance?”  

“Yeah, I’ll be back. I promise,” he took your hands from his neck, kissing the top of them before going to the stage. You looked to your left, seeing Yujin and Leeseo smiling at you.

“What are you thinking?” you sighed, lovestruck.

“On how I will confess to him after this.” Both of them stopped their moves, the tap of the mic being tested rebounding on the gymnasium. 

“We still have a little more than half an hour to end this night. And before we wrap up, let’s welcome CORTIS to the stage.”

The applause was quick to come, them moving on the stage, exchanging nods between them. Martin stepped forward while everyone got their instruments ready.

“Hey, everyone,” he said. “We didn’t plan to play tonight, but this is our last time together before we graduate. So… this is for all of you. For the friend who stuck around, the teacher who, although I knew I wasn’t particularly his favorite student,” the place laughed softly. “They still listened and advised us with warm hearts.”

He paused for a minute, looking at the boys whose eyes were probably as glossy as his. “This is not the end, but a little break before we go all in. Keonho. Seonghyeon, hope we can play at your graduation, and thank you for trusting the band.”

They started with two of their own songs, dancing along with everyone and screaming the songs at the top of their lungs. Energy was never missed when it came to them, even more since they played like it was the last thing they’d ever do, and maybe in a way, it was.

When the applause finally died down, Martin took a sip of water with his members, stepping back to the mic afterward.

“Thank—”

“Wait!” James stopped Martin, who was as confused as the rest of the place, minus the four boys. “There’s one more song.”

Martin walked to him with the rest behind them, covering his mic with his palm. Quickly returning after some clarification.

“This is a surprise,” he stated. “I wasn’t supposed to release this song this soon. I want to thank you guys for creating the instrumental and letting me perform this, and I want to thank my muse for inspiring me to write this song. This is called ‘Everlong’”

The keyboards started, his voice filled the room, and after a couple of verses, Seonghyeon joined.

"And I wonder When I sing along with you If everything could ever be this real forever If anything could ever be this good again The only thing I'll ever ask of you You've got to promise not to stop when I say when She sang."

You simply stood there, digesting the lyrics while people danced to the beat. You didn’t cry until the last note faded, applauding with a smile on your face. Yujin and Leeseo stood to your sides and then watched the boys on stage, officially tearing up.

You feel bad to realize how loved you were by your friends, and how much you had taken Martin’s silent warmth for granted.  He was loud and proud about his feelings for you, even if the tactic at first wasn’t that clear; he later never let you forget you mattered. In moments like this, you finally saw the depth beneath his jokes. 

You went to the refreshment table after the set, drinking some soda to calm yourself down.

“There you are,” you heard his voice. He was still a little breathless, and his jacket was on his arms, his shirt sleeves rolled higher. 

You smiled, suddenly a wave of nerves rushing through your body at his presence. It was now or never, “I want you to come with me.”

“Where—”

“I have to tell you something.” You grabbed his hand, he instinctively looked at it, and softly bit the smile that was threatening to show.

“Show me the way.” You led him to your table, grabbing your clutch and leaving your crown. You passed the chatter through the back doors that opened onto the empty football field. The night air was crisp, and the stars were faint, but somehow still visible and giving a nice glow to the night.

You stopped standing on one of the bleachers in the field so you could be slightly higher, letting go of his hand to turn toward him.

He smiled, a little confused. “Y/N, if this is about the song—”

“It’s not,” you said, heart hammering. “Okay, maybe it is.”

“Oh my God, do you feel embarrassed? I didn’t mean to—”

“I know what you meant,” you interrupted softly. “And you’re right.”

He frowned slightly. “Right about what?”

You exhale. “That everything feels real when it’s with you.”

You decided to step down the bleachers on time. “I didn’t even realize it at first because I truly believed you were just annoying me, to throw me off and my record. But then you started showing up—not just for me—to everyone. And every time you did, I found myself noticing more.”

“Like…?”

“The way you smile when something finally works for you, how you live your life with no regrets, and how your heart is so pure that you don’t even care if the other person hates you. You are there.”

You took a shaky breath, your hand clutching your purse more. “And somewhere between wanting to hate you and trying not to fall for you. I did.”

Martin’s lips parted slightly, “You mean—”

“Yes,” a small laugh broke through at his pure face of disbelief. “I fell for you, Martin Edwards.”

You could see his throat bob as he swallowed hard, his voice a little rough when he finally spoke. 

“Say it again,” he said softly.

“What?”

“My name. Like that.” His lips curved upward, shy and boyish at the same time. “It sounds so pretty when you say it.”

Your cheeks warmed instantly. “You’re unbelievable.”

He chuckled, getting closer to the bleachers, looking up at you. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that—well, not that exactly, but close.”

“I can imagine it after you told me that night.”

“Which, by the way, were those two years of you calling me a nuisance, giving me detention, pretending you didn't look for me at every assembly?”

You laughed, “I had to check if I was going to get called out because of you.”

“I noticed at a distance since you were the only person who actually saw me, even when you swore you couldn’t stand me.”

The wind picked up, making the bleachers creak and your hair sweep across your face. Your hands went to your arms, blaming yourself for being so forgetful and not picking up your sweater from the table. He stood on the deck of the bleacher, and his jacket was quickly placed over your shoulders.

And just what you thought, he reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear again, with he difference that his hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin.

“I didn’t mean to fall for you either,” he admitted, looking down.  “But I did. And I don’t regret a second of it.”

You smiled before reaching into your clutch, hand trembling, and pulled out an envelope.

“I was supposed to wait until tomorrow when we go to Yujin’s house,” you said, “but I can’t.”

He took it, puzzled, and watched what it contained. His eyes widened the second he saw the tickets, audibly gasping.

“There’s no way—”

“Two tickets to see Linkin Park in Seoul,” you smiled nervously. “Consider it a date. Come with me on Friday, and don’t say ‘maybe’.”

He reached for your hands. “You really are something else.”

“Something good?” you teased.

He looked at the sky. “You are something out of this world. God, you’re—”

Before he could finish, you leaned up on your tiptoes, your hand finding his tie to pull him down just like before, but this time, you didn’t hesitate.

Your lips brushed his, his breath caught, and then he kissed you back, gentle at first, as if afraid to break the moment. You froze for half a second, feeling your heart pounding so hard you could almost hear it over the faint music coming from the gym. 

Your nose bumped his, your fingers trembled against his chest, but Martin didn’t care. He smiled into the kiss, pulling back only enough to whisper. “Wow,”

You nodded, breathless at how his eyes were looking so fondly at you. “That was my first.”

His eyes softened. “Good. Then I’m glad it was me.”

You didn’t even realize you were smiling until he rested his forehead against yours, both of you laughing quietly for no reason other than sheer disbelief.

“OH MY GOD!”

You jumped apart. From the edge of the field, a cluster of silhouettes waved frantically like South Korea two years ago for the World Cup. You hid your face on the curve that connected his neck and shoulder, his arms engulfing you.

“Finally!” Leeseo hissed, hugging Yujin happily while he had a smile on his face.

“Pay up, Seonghyeon.” James snickered, waving a few bills. 

“It took you three years, love your perseverance!” Juhoon screamed, and you couldn’t help but laugh from your spot.

“Worth the wait!” Yujin yelled, pretending to wipe fake tears.

You covered your face, groaning. “They were watching?!”

Martin just laughed, “Of course they were. They were looking at us from the gym.”

He turned toward them, raising your joined hands like a victory gesture. The others erupted in cheers, chanting both your names like a ridiculous anthem.

“Also, did I just hear ‘Pay up’?” Martin raised his shoulder, giving away the answer. You huffed, “Can’t believe they’ve been betting on us.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “And for once, I don’t mind losing.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

He looked back at you, his eyes were full of every emotion you were both feeling. “Ridiculously in love with you.”

And before you could think twice, he leaned in again, slower this time, just enough for your lashes to brush his cheek, for you to close your eyes and let the world spin quietly around you.

You didn’t even care if your friends were still watching.

Because under the silver lights of the empty field, with his jacket around your shoulders, hands on your waist, and your heart in a state of pure bliss, everything finally made sense.

And for once—in the middle of all the noise—you didn’t feel like you had to be perfect. You just felt real.

Just like him.

Just like everlong.

“What’s the news, Kyu?” you say, rubbing at your head to try and cure your splitting headache. “Spit it out, please — or I’m just going to sit here and do some work… with my eyes closed and head on the table.”

“Sasha wants to see you in her office. She’s got some big news for you. Seems like something good — she was smiling. Which is, as you know, rare nowadays.” Her voice is a little too chipper for your liking right now, and you groan. You’re starting off the first day of work with a diabolical headache, the urge to puke and a meeting with your boss who had been in a bad mood for the last six months. Just great.

You begrudgingly get up out of your seat. “Cool… thanks for letting me know. I love today.” Kyujin gives you a thumbs up – she’s got far too much energy today for your liking. All you want to do is curl up in your bed and hibernate for the entire day. 

“Fighting!” she tells you, pumping her fist in encouragement. You can’t tell if she’s making a joke at how fucked you are or if she’s being genuine about it all. Either way, you’re too hungover to care. 

You stumble your way throughout the office, taking a deep breath before knocking on Sasha’s door. 

“Come in.” you hear her say, and you walk into her office. You immediately sit down on one of the chairs in front of her desk, clutching onto it for some stability. Sasha eyes you oddly.

“Sorry, just… off balance. New heels.” you lie. 

“It’s okay. I know most of the office is hungover after last night’s party.” she says, peering at you through her glasses. She flicks through her notebook, seemingly looking for a specific page. 

“Anyways. I was going to tell you that I was really impressed with your coverage of the ice hockey season. Without your work, I’m sure the magazine and our online coverage wouldn’t be nearly as popular as it was,” she says, and you’re stunned. Compliments from Sasha were rare nowadays — the office gossip was that she had some issues in her personal life. 

Yunah’s guess was that the Raya dates weren’t necessarily going too well. Kyujin thought it was cheating spouse, but there had never been a ring on her finger. Anton was convinced it was a breakup — specifically, a long-term, long-distance breakup. 

You didn’t really care. 

“Oh, thank you.” you say. 

“I called you in here today because I wanted to give you a promotion to lead editor,” she starts, and you think the words ‘promotion’ instantly cures the hangover. You’re now wide awake, and that violent urge to throw up everywhere is miraculously gone. 

“It’s not ice hockey, and it’s a little… short-notice and there’s not as much coverage about it, which may make things slightly difficult. But, it comes with a significant raise, and we’ll be sending you to the Olympics.”

You think you’re dreaming. You’ve been covering ice hockey for a while now, but all you really wanted was the role of lead editor. It was nice to work with Beomgyu to cover the sport, but really – it was time for a change. You don’t think this promotion could get any better.

“We want you to be our lead editor for our coverage of the remainder of the short-track speed skating season this year. Which means you’ll be heading to Dordrecht next week to cover the fourth event of the World Tour.”

Your optimism for the rest of the year immediately dissipates at the sound of ‘short-track speed skating’. Fuck. Not short-track. Anything but that.

“Sorry, what?” you stammer, eyes wide in alarm. Not short-track. And especially not this year, considering the circumstances. You did not want to see George Shim at all. 

George Shim. Your ex boyfriend. Also affectionately known by fans as the Prince of Canada. You prefer to call him the Pisstake of Canada, because to you, he was an utter joke. But to everyone else, he was gold medals and glamour, rather than cheating, annoying sleazeball. 

You think about George Shim and you immediately want to throw up. Maybe the hangover was suddenly back, you think.

The problem with George was that he was cocky, too good at skating, and he had cheated on you multiple times when you two were together. You had vowed to never touch short-track speed skating ever again after you’d found out, and you also genuinely considered throwing his very expensive skates into the Beaver Lake.

And although you told yourself that you were going to touch short-track again, you knew that George was very much in contention for the Olympic title. It was either going to be him, or Eom Seonghyeon. 

You didn’t know Seonghyeon very well, but you wanted him to absolutely destroy George. You think you’ve talked to Seonghyeon once – at Junior Worlds, where he won. You had to secretly congratulate him, because if George found out that you were talking to his archnemesis, you’d never hear the end of it. 

“Sasha, I… I couldn’t.”

She takes your words differently. 

“You could. Don’t be shocked, you deserve this,” she hums. Your jaw is still slack with shock. “And this more so isn’t an offer, but rather an assignment. Riwoo… let’s just say he wasn’t exactly cut out to be lead editor.”

“You mean I kind of don’t have a choice to say no?” you ask, and Sasha looks at you like you’re insane.

“Well, yes. But why would you want to say no? You’re going to be travelling to the Olympics, there’s a pay raise, and we’re covering your accommodation for it all. The season isn’t particularly intensive, and to my knowledge, you have some experience working in short-track. It seems like a no-brainer for you, to be honest. Were you going to say no?” Her eyes narrow in that scrutinising, judgmental way, and you suddenly feel very nervous under her gaze. 

“N-no, I mean… no. I was just more so shocked that I wasn’t given some time to contemplate it, but don’t get me wrong — I am so grateful for the promotion,” you ramble, trying to not seem like you’re unhappy. “It’s just… um…” 

“George Shim, the Canadian skater,” Even saying his name leaves a bad taste in your mouth. “He was my ex boyfriend.” 

“Was,” Sasha says, placing emphasis on the word. “Past tense. It’s fine. And to be completely honest, you’re the only one I trust to take on a lead editor role right now. Just get the articles out, and whatever’s going on in your personal life doesn’t really concern me.” 

You furrow your brows. You didn’t expect her to be so lax about it. 

“Oh,” you stammer out. “Like… so even if I was dating a skater or something right now – not that I am, but… it’d be fine?” 

“Yeah,” Sasha shrugs. “How do you think I met my husband? He was a soccer player, I was a journalist, you fill in the blanks.” 

You blink. Well, that seemed to rule out everyone’s theories of why Sasha had been grouchy for months. But more importantly, it seems that there’s no way that you’ll be getting out of covering short-track for the Olympics. 

“Oh, I see. Well… alright.” 

“Of course. Now go brush up on your knowledge,” she says, waving you off. “After you cure that hangover — go to the convenience store and get that hangover cure. I’m sure many others in the office need it too. Put it on the company card.”

You’re surprised by her generosity. “Oh, okay. Thank you, Sasha. For the hangover cure and the promotion.” She doesn’t say a word, just giving you a nod in acknowledgment before you exit her office quickly. You let out a breath that you didn’t even know that you’d been holding as you grip the doorknob like it’s a lifeline.

Kyujin’s standing outside, sipping a cup of tea. “Wow, you don’t look hungover at all anymore,” she quips, lazily leaning against the wall. “Must’ve been some important news. What’d she say?” 

“Promotion,” you somehow manage to breathe out amidst your shock. “Lead editor.”

Kyujin’s eyes widen and a beam spreads across her lips, clearly happy for you. “Lead editor! Holy crap, that’s great! You’re going to kill it – for what sport?” 

“This is not great,” you hiss under your breath. “Kyujin… it’s… short-track.”

“What?” she practically yells, and everyone in the office looks in your direction. You grimace, hissing at her to quiet down. Kyujin practically knows everything about yours and George’s relationship – after all, she was there when he asked you out. She also held you as you cried when you found out that he had a whole other girlfriend in Montreal. 

“How the hell are you going to cover short-track when that sleazeball is… he might literally win the fucking Olympics!” Kyujin whisper-yells, and you shake your head. “I’m literally praying for you. You’re going to need it.” 

“I know,” you groan. “I’m due to leave for Dordrecht next week too. I can’t believe I’m going to have to see his face.” 

You’re already absolutely dreading it. On one hand, it was good that you were able to write about a sport that you were familiar with instead of starting from scratch. On the other, you really did not want to see George Shim and his annoyingly punchable face. This may be your worst nightmare, and you’ve got no way out – as Anton always said: the only way out is through. 

A notification pops up on your phone, and it’s Sasha sending you your flight tickets for Dordrecht. It really was happening, you think, wincing at the prospect of having to face George again. 

All you can do is hope that someone is nice enough to save you from that fate. 

The cool air hits your face when you enter the rink.

The short-track and figure skating rinks are always a little different from the hockey ones. The last time you were here, you came to support George. Despite the daunting thought of having to see him today remaining in the back of your mind, you suppose that it’s time for you to also make some new memories and embrace this role… to the best of your abilities. 

It totally wasn’t like you were thinking about what you would say to him on the entire 14 hour plane ride from Seoul to Dordrecht. Needless to say, you were sat in that seat filled with dread.

Your media pass dangles around your neck – you deliberately pull it out from your gray zip-up to make it clear to the officials that you’re a journalist. Wandering around as media compared to sitting in the stands as a mere supporter felt much better. You see a bunch of familiar faces that you haven’t seen in years. 

Martin Edwards bounds up to you with the brightest grin on his lips, the red maple leaf on the Canadian flag brandished on the centre of his tracksuit. “Oh my god, is that (Name)?” he asks, and you beam immediately when you see Martin. 

You liked everyone on Team Canada, with the exception of George. They were all awfully kind to you during your relationship with him, and even after your breakup. Martin had sent you a text message saying how sorry he was and that they all knew nothing about it. He even added a few carefully-worded insults that made you giggle, despite the heartache. 

“Martin!” you say, and he gives you a hug. “It’s been so long – holy shit, you’re really tall now. How are you?” 

“Good, good!” he says, fixing his helmet. “Won the 1500m in Montreal, so I’m feeling pretty good. Regardless, how are you? It’s a surprise to see you here, considering…” his voice trails off, not wanting to mention what you’d dubbed ‘The Incident’. 

“Yeah,” you exhale, chuckling as you look around the arena. “I wasn’t really expecting to be back, but I got assigned to cover short-track for the Olympic season, so… here I am.” You look around nervously, trying to see if you can spot George. You need to know where the first exit is so you can bolt out of there, or at least try and find a hiding spot. The only door you see is the entrance to the men’s changing room, and you obviously could not go in there. 

“He’s… still a dick.” Martin pipes up, as if he can read your mind.

“I’m not surprised,” you snort. “Always was, always will be.” 

“Flattering.” 

You freeze as that awful, grating voice enters your ears. Of course, George had to show up now. You clench your jaw, taking a deep breath as you prepare to face the devil’s incarnate. George gives Martin a pat on his back (because of course, he’s not tall enough to even reach Martin’s shoulders) as a sign for him to leave you two alone. 

Martin, knowing your aversion to George, is adamant on staying until his coach calls him over. He gives you a sympathetic smile, but you can read between the lines. With one simple expression, Martin’s basically saying: ‘good luck, if you need me to beat his ass later, just send me a text.’ 

You finally look up from your shoes, and you’re greeted with the irritating smile of George Shim. Helmet securely fastened on his head. Maple leaf brandished across his chest. Skates on his feet that when clinked together, somehow still sounds better than his voice. 

“George," you say, your voice monotonous. You nearly called him that nickname that you were so used to saying in front of Kyujin. It probably wouldn’t have gone down well if you called an Olympic favourite a ‘pisstake’ right in front of his face.

“(Name),” George chuckles. “Always lovely to see you.” 

“I wish I could say the same to you,” you reply without thinking. Every ounce of professionalism you had is thrown completely out the window. You grit your teeth, reminding yourself that your job is on the line. You plaster a smile on your lips, one that is incredibly facetious, before choosing your next words carefully. “Anyways, I have somewhere to attend to.” 

“Oh?” he replies, an amused lilt in his tone. He eyes your media pass, and his lips curl up into a smile that makes you sick to your stomach. “You wouldn’t care for an interview?” 

“No, not right now,” you say with polite outrage. “Perhaps win a race, and we’ll see.” 

“Oh, don’t worry. That will be happening,” He’s always been cocky, and you hate that you didn’t see all the warning signs when you two were together. He eyes you, up and down, and his eyes soften. “You look like you’ve been well.” 

His tone changes to something laced with the slightest hint of guilt. As if to say sorry without needing to say the words. You two are way past apologies, not when he’d been dating someone else behind your back for six whole months. George could try and manipulate you as much as he wanted to, but you were not going to go back. Never. 

“Thanks,” you say, gripping your notebook a little tighter. “I know.” 

Silence falls between the two of you, and you take it as your cue to leave. You give George a curt nod, but the next few words he says stops you in your tracks. 

“By the way, I broke up with Jane.” 

You look at him, raising an eyebrow. You know George Shim, and there’s only one reason why he’d be telling you that he’d ended his relationship with the girl that he’d hid from you. His eyes shift, feigning nervousness, and your blood boils with rage – was George really going to try and plead for you back? Fat chance, you think. That look wasn’t going to work on you. Not again. 

“Okay,” you reply. “Sorry, I guess?” 

“I was just wondering…”

You don’t want George to be wondering anything, actually. You look at him, and you think about all the times he’s hurt you, all the times you’ve gone back to him despite your better judgment. You think about the weeks you spent curled up in your bed, your eyes raw and red from crying as you tried to get over the heartache and betrayal. You’re not going back to him — not this time, and you need to make that adamantly clear. You’ve learnt your lesson. Nothing good has come out of dating George Shim. 

The best option would be for you to simply shut him down, or to walk away. But uncharacteristically, you do something that you would advocate against if it was anyone else in your position. 

You lie, because obviously, that's the smartest thing to do.

“I have a boyfriend, George.”

You’re surprised at your own words too, and you glance at George, who looks like those words have struck him directly in the heart. It gives you some semblance of satisfaction knowing that he seemed devastated at the thought of you moving on. 

“Oh,” George says, trying to pretend like he wasn’t affected at all by those four simple words. He grits his teeth before he speaks again. “How… wonderful for you.” 

“Yeah. It’s been great. I’m much happier now. We spend a lot of time together, if I’m being honest,” you reply, emphasising the word. All you could do right now was pray that George didn’t pry and ask any questions, but you knew him a little too well. 

“So… who is he?” 

Shit. You didn't think this through, clearly. Now you had to come up with some random name that you knew George would search up immediately on his phone. You hear the door next to you open, and the clinking together of skate guards as one walks on the rubbery material of the bench area floors. Your eyes flick to the person that’s about to walk past you – you know he’s roughly your age, but you’re far too caught up in your panic to actually take a close look at who he is. Bad decision, you know. 

“Oh, here he is!” you announce. The boy freezes hearing your loud voice, stopping in his tracks. His eyes flick towards you, and you try to hide the barely audible gasp that escapes your lips when you realise who it is. 

George, who’s even more shocked than you are, looks at him in bewilderment. One thing’s for sure, you’re thankful that at least he isn’t looking at your expression. 

“You’re… you’re dating Eom Seonghyeon?”

Oh, this really couldn’t get any worse. It just had to be Eom Seonghyeon who walked out those changing room doors, didn’t it? You’ve only spoken to him once, and that was more than three years ago. There was no way that he was going to help you – you’re screwed.

The only good thing was that you knew that George hated the guy, mainly because Seonghyeon was his biggest competition. You brushed up on your short-track knowledge, and the rivalry between Seonghyeon and George had only gotten fiercer after you’d left the sport behind. Every time you saw Seonghyeon come out ahead, you smiled – finally, someone was able to humble George.

But now? You’ve dug yourself an even worse hole – honestly, any person in Seonghyeon’s position would probably think you’re an absolute lunatic. In mere seconds, George would find out that you’re lying, and you’ve got no way to get out of it. Seonghyeon looks at you, blinking quickly as he tries to register the situation. 

You look at Seonghyeon, hoping that he’ll go along with it just to help you out. But you honestly don’t think you have much of a shot, purely because the two of you don’t even know each other. You can’t read Eom Seonghyeon at all — which may be the worst part. You’re standing here with your fate in his hands.

Seonghyeon’s utterly confused. Who was he dating now? The thought of dating hadn’t really even crossed Seonghyeon’s mind in the last two years. He was chasing an Olympic gold medal, and that didn’t really leave much time for going on dates. Like Martin said, he was probably going to end up devastatingly single and married to the ice. 

He looks at you, and it’s like a switch flicks in his head. He recognises that you’re George’s ex-girlfriend from a few years ago. The one that had congratulated him after Junior Worlds before scurrying off to try and console George. He remembers your bright smile and how rushed your words sounded – like you clearly weren’t supposed to be interacting with the so-called enemy. 

He also remembers finding you quite pretty, but he had a podium ceremony to attend – so he pushed that thought to the back of his mind. When he tried to find you, he found out that you were in a relationship. So like any respectful person, he backed off. Martin teased him about it for a little bit, but time passed by, and Seonghyeon never saw you again. 

But then, a few words from about a year ago, said by Martin, ring loud in his ears. About how George had cheated on a girlfriend of his, and that training was being increasingly difficult because of how he was moping over quote-on-quote, ‘losing the love of his life.’ 

“He doesn’t mean a word of it,” Martin had said. “I saw his new girlfriend sitting in the stands that same day.”

Now, Seonghyeon typically wasn’t one to get into drama – in fact, he prided himself on avoiding it at all costs. But George had been speaking poorly about him to the media, and it honestly made Seonghyeon’s blood boil with rage. He had been trying to figure out a way to get back at him, and perhaps this might be it.

It wasn’t like he wanted to take advantage of this situation, but looking at the desperation in your eyes… Seonghyeon figured that this might be good for the two of you. 

He gulps, praying that he’s made the right decision before he takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. 

His touch is warm, comforting and but honestly, completely shocking. The mere action makes your cheeks burn. He looks at you with a smile on his lips that looks a little too genuine. 

“Baby,” he whispers under his breath, stealing a glance at George. You fight the urge to look at him like he’s crazy. “I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone yet.” 

Eom Seonghyeon is holding your hand. He’s calling you ‘baby’. You’re stunned that he’s actually going along with it. George looks like he’s a second away from passing out.

Seonghyeon gives you a look, as if to tell you to respond. You gulp, plastering a smile onto your lips as well. You should be grateful that Eom Seonghyeon is saving your ass. “Right, sorry – I just…” you stammer. “I don’t know. I thought it was time.” 

“Oh,” Seonghyeon replies, his smile growing wider. All you can think right now is how he’s actually ridiculously good at playing the role of ‘boyfriend’. “Perfect. I’m so glad you said that.” 

His eyes turn towards George. “Shim,” he says, giving him a polite nod. “Keen to see you out there on the rink.” 

“Eom,” George’s eyes narrow at him, before he gestures at the two of you with his hands. “This is how I’m finding out that my ex girlfriend is dating my fucking rival?” He’s seething, and god – you’re relishing in his reaction. Finally, George was going to get a taste of his own medicine.

“Well, it’s decently new,” Seonghyeon replies, the lie rolling off of his tongue ever so easily. You don’t even know why he’s helping you. “Which is why I was a little shocked that she wanted to tell people, but regardless. I’m happy about it.” 

“You…” George seethes. 

Seonghyeon shrugs, clasping his hand around yours a little tighter. “Look, Shim. It’s not my fault you cheated.” You blink, stunned that Seonghyeon knew that George had been unfaithful to you. How in the world would he know? Was that why he was helping you – because he pitied you for it? 

Those words seem like the final blow, and George’s at a loss for words. He huffs, crossing his arms before he pulls on the chin-strap of his helmet. “Right,” he gulps, before looking at Seonghyeon with rage. “I suppose... I'll see you both around.” His tone is laced with anger as he storms off, and you finally let out the breath that you’ve been holding for minutes now. 

“I…” you quickly let go of Seonghyeon’s hand, turning towards him. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment, and despite feeling the smallest victory after seeing George storm off angrily, you’re hit with the realisation that George is going to tell everybody. 

Which means everyone is going to know that you, Sports Daily reporter and George Shim’s ex, is dating South Korea’s pride and joy, Eom Seonghyeon. 

You’re fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. 

“Let’s talk,” Seonghyeon says, motioning at you to follow him. You’re completely astonished at how calm Seonghyeon seems to be. He pushes open the door to the Team Korea break room, and to both of your relief, nobody's in there. Seonghyeon motions for you to sit, but you don't notice.

“Seonghyeon – I am so sorry. Fucking hell," you start, taking a deep breath.

"George just… he irks me to no end, and I knew he was trying to just... sneak back into my life again, so I just did the first thing I could think of,” you ramble as you try to justify yourself. “What the hell, Anton and Kyujin are never going to let me hear the end of this..." 

“Anyways, thank you so much for saving my ass – I am going to find a way to deal with this, because I don’t want you to get dragged into this mess any further. " You're spiraling at this point, your eyes blown wide as what you did fully sinks in. "You’ve got a competition soon, and oh my god, my job as well, and fuck, you and George hate each other–” 

“Woah, woah, woah. Okay, (Name). Calm down,” Seonghyeon says, gently reaching out to touch your shoulder in an attempt to reassure you. “It’s alright, don’t freak out.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. “Wait. How’d you know my name?” you ask, stunned. You don’t ever remember introducing yourself to him, even when you were with George. 

“I remember things,” Seonghyeon shrugs, casually. “Also, it’s on your lanyard.” 

You look down at the plastic card attached to it, and you nod. “Right,” you say, looking back up at him. “It is. Sorry. And… um… how do you know that he cheated on me?” 

“Martin was telling me about it one time,” he replies. “He didn’t say it was you, but the timing lined up. You stopped showing up to events after, and there was this new girl soon after…” his voice trails off when he sees you wince, and he understands why. It must still be a pretty sensitive subject. 

You nod – that makes sense. You remember that Martin was quite good friends with Seonghyeon. But your main concern right now is that you’ve basically dragged Seonghyeon into a disaster.

“I just… need to figure out a way to get us both out of this mess, because – oh, this is a disaster. George’s going to talk, I’m covering short-track for the Olympic season – this is not looking good.” you say, the realisation hitting you like a ton of bricks. 

“What if we just... go along with it?” 

Your jaw goes slack at Seonghyeon’s proposal. Was Eom Seonghyeon seriously suggesting to become your fake boyfriend?

“Look, you clearly need George to leave you alone. You and I both know that guy’s relentless, and we don’t really want him to find out that it’s all fake and expose the two of us. I’ll… probably get into a bit of hot water for trying to fuck with him like that, but you? You’re probably going to get fired, or something. Unless you've got a lenient boss,” Seonghyeon says matter-of-factly. You gulp, shrugging. Sasha probably wouldn't care, as long as you didn't get Sports Daily in hot water.

“And look, there’s no way out of this now. The only way out is through, or whatever that phrase is. We can't really say, 'oh no, that isn't true!' after George saw what he did. I mean," his voice drops to a whisper. "I did call you baby."

The mention of the petname makes your cheeks heat up.

But really, it was great that Anton's words – only way out is through – followed you everywhere. You were unwillingly given the role of lead editor for short-track, and now you’re about to enter a fake relationship with one of the sport’s brightest stars. Only way out is through.

You nod, gulping. Seonghyeon did have a point, and you were starting to think that this was your best option, mainly because it was your only option. “And… what’s in it for you?” 

“Getting in George’s head, I suppose.” Seonghyeon replies breezily. “Look, he’s been bitching about me to the press, and usually I wouldn’t respond, but he’s taking it a little too far now.”

You’re not surprised that George’s acting childish again. His comments about Seonghyeon when you two were dating weren’t the nicest anyways, and you often found yourself feeling guilty for not refuting some of George’s colourfully-worded claims about him. 

“I’m not usually someone who’s bitter, but seeing the look on his face was gold, and… I don’t know – maybe it’ll knock him off his game or whatever in the races.. I bet he’s already spiraling over the fact his biggest rival is dating his ex-girlfriend who allegedly was the love of his life.” 

You scoff hearing that. “Love of his life? He cheated on me. Really nice thing to do to the love of your life,” you grumble. Hearing that though, does make you want to rile George up. 

“But… yeah. Okay. That sounds fair enough, the Olympics are coming up soon,” you nod, tapping your foot on the floor as you think of a plan. “Are you really sure, though? Like… this is okay?” 

“More than okay,” he says, a kind smile on his lips. “I don’t really want you to face George alone after what happened out there. It’s also better if we go along with it for a little bit. Then after the Olympics, we say we went our separate ways, say that I was too busy with training or whatever. Everyone will understand, and if you’re only covering for the Olympic season, that means you probably won’t see George again after it. Then he’ll be forced to move on, and you won’t need to worry about him after that.” 

You nod, registering his words. Everything Seonghyeon was saying did make perfect sense. 

Your heart is racing as you consider the ramifications if this all goes to shit – but you were determined for it not to. You were going to make this the most believable fake relationship ever, and to be honest, Eom Seonghyeon seemed like the right guy to help you make it happen. After all, ‘baby’ did roll off a little too easily from his tongue back there. 

“Okay,” you say, letting out a shaky breath. “I’m in if you are.” 

Seonghyeon cracks a small grin. “Well then,” he says, giving you a nod. “Girlfriend.” 

“Boyfriend,” you say, albeit a little awkwardly. You sigh, knowing that you haven’t exactly gotten the whole girlfriend thing pat down yet. After all, the last person you dated was George – and that went incredibly poorly. “I’ll get better at this.” 

“I sure hope so,” Seonghyeon quips, and you allow yourself to laugh a little at his joke. You didn’t know him well yet, but you felt eternally indebted to him for helping you through this shitshow. “Um… I should probably get your number, but my phone’s not on me.” 

“Oh, just put your number in mine. I’ll text you,” you say. handing him your phone so he can press the digits of his phone number into your contacts.

“There we go,” he replies, handing it back to you. “We can discuss this more after my races… unless you have any plans?”

You shouldn’t be surprised that your fake boyfriend is asking you to spend time with him, but you are. You look at him with a stunned expression on your face – you only snap out of it when Seonghyeon clears his throat. “Right!” you exclaim. “Sorry, I just… I’m not so sure how to manoeuvre around this fake dating thing yet. But yeah, sounds good.” 

You plaster a smile on your lips, and Seonghyeon nods, mirroring your expression. “Great, just… text me later. I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you soon?” 

“Yeah,” you say, gulping. “Good luck. You’ll kill it.” 

Seonghyeon gives you a bright smile and a ‘thank you’ before he pushes past the door, disappearing from your sight.

When he’s gone, you immediately clap a hand over your mouth in horror. 

What the hell did you get yourself into? 

Seonghyeon wins all his races. 

The 1500m, the 1000m, the 500m, and the relay. You watch from the media pen as Seonghyeon skates around the rink, a bright smile on his lips as he drapes the flag around him. Joy is positively spilling out of him, and you can’t help but smile too. 

And much to your delight, Seonghyeon was right about the revelation getting into George’s head. He’d had poor starts for almost all of his races and could only scrape third for most of them. Martin had come in clutch to secure Canada second in the relay, but it still wasn’t enough to make up for George’s performance. You were a little too happy as you typed those words up into your Google Docs.

You saw the way he looked at Seonghyeon – eyes dark with rage, jaw clenched in frustration and his hands balled up into fists. You stifle a giggle at the sight, because George had never looked scary when he was angry. 

Anton had accompanied you to one of George’s races a few years ago, and George was clearly unhappy with the fact that you had a male friend. Anton told you in private that he looked like one of those animated cartoon villains that tried (and failed) to intimidate.

Seonghyeon finds you after the podium ceremony and the press conference, which you manage to breeze through without anyone questioning your relationship status. There’s a bunch of medals draped around his neck, the hardware clinking together as he walks up to you. 

“Hi,” he says, giving you a smile. His eyes scan the room, and George’s looking at the two of you with the most scrutinising glare in his eyes. “Don’t freak out, but he’s looking at us.” 

“Oh,” you say, quickly putting your notebook into your bag. “Can I… um…” You reach out for his hand, and he nods before you lace your fingers with his. His hand is warm, despite the rink being awfully cold. Many of your fellow journalists and camera crew have left the room by now, all muttering about how they were excited for the food at the banquet later tonight. 

“Just act normal,” Seonghyeon says casually – yeah, easier said than done, you think. You don’t know how Seonghyeon’s acting so calmly about this, and why he agreed so readily. 

“I’m trying,” you whisper under your breath. “I don’t know how you’re so good at this.” 

“I’m really not,” Seonghyeon replies, chuckling. “I think I was on autopilot back there when you first told George – I guess I just did what felt like needed to be done to make him… freak out. Anyways – since we’re together now, it’d be odd if you didn’t show up to the banquet as my plus one. It’s at 7 tonight.” 

You gulp, nodding. You were going to go to the banquet anyways, but as press. But if you were going as Seonghyeon’s plus one, you’d be seated with Team Korea and they’d grill you to shreds over it. You and Seonghyeon needed a plan, and the two of you couldn’t just show up and wing it. 

“Okay,” you say, letting out a shaky exhale to ease your nerves. “So we have a few hours. Do you happen to have any time to swing by my hotel room so we can… talk things out?” 

“Yeah – I can actually go now,” Seonghyeon hums. “Just let me get changed, and I’ll call a car for us.” 

Not long after, the two of you find yourselves lying down on your bed in the hotel, your laptop perched on your lap. Seonghyeon’s sprawled across the foot of the bed, staring at the ceiling. The two of you have to somehow craft a story of how you two met, how you started dating, and why you’ve been hiding it from… everyone. 

You feel like you’re in To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before – you’re Lara Jean and Seonghyeon’s your Peter, trying to figure out your do’s and don’ts. Except, the two of you were trying to figure out a way to convince all your closest friends that you were madly in love. You've always wanted to know what it's like to live in a rom-com. Close enough, you think.

“Okay, so how’d we meet?” you ask Seonghyeon, who sits up straight. He shuffles over to look at your laptop, and you’ve got nothing typed up. “Yeah, I didn’t have any ideas.” you say, sheepishly. 

“Um…” Seonghyeon trails off. “We met a few years ago at Junior Worlds, right? So we can say we knew of each other. You live in Seoul and I live in Seoul, right?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, typing that into your laptop. “So… let’s just say we bumped into each other at a coffee shop and reconnected there?” Seonghyeon nods in agreement with your idea – sure, it was a boring way for one to meet their partner, but you two needed it to be believable. Sometimes the plainest of ideas were the most effective. 

“Say I asked you out,” Seonghyeon blurts out casually. You nearly choke on air when you hear him say that – you weren’t quite used to how straightforward Seonghyeon was, and for some odd reason, those words make your heart skip. You’re looking at him, lips parted in shock. “It’s more believable that way – would you really willingly ask a short-track skater out after George?” 

He did have a point. You weren’t even going to watch the sport after George had hurt you like that. Seonghyeon asking you out did seem like the most believable story. You nod, typing it into your laptop. 

“Okay, and let’s just say we’ve been together for a little less than two weeks,” you say, looking at the calendar of the World Tour events. Seonghyeon came back to Seoul for two weeks just before the third round, which was last week — making it entirely believable that everything could have transpired in the time when he was in Seoul. 

“If it’s that new… surely they wouldn’t ask that many questions – purely because there’s not much to ask about, right?” 

“Exactly,” Seonghyeon replies. He looks at the document, eyes scanning over the words before giving you a satisfied nod. “Seems like we have a story. We just can’t forget it now.” 

He grins at you, and you’re genuinely baffled that this guy isn’t fazed at all by the predicament the two of you are in. You clear your throat, closing your laptop. 

“I… thank you, by the way,” you tell Seonghyeon. “You didn’t really have to put yourself through all this mess for me. I mean, we barely knew each other until today.”

“It’s fine, (Name),” he chuckles, the sound of his laughter soft and airy. It makes your heart flutter. “And speaking of that — we should get to know each other a little better. I mean, I do have to know some basic facts about my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. Another flutter. 

You’re technically Eom Seonghyeon’s girlfriend now. Well, at least to everyone else.

You gulp, trying to ignore how that word made you feel something. “Yeah, um… what’d you want to know?”

“Everything,” Seonghyeon replies. “Sorry, I know that’s probably not really helpful. Just… give me random facts about yourself, I guess.” 

You find that the saying ‘time flies when you’re having fun’ is incredibly true. As you and Seonghyeon get to know each other, seconds turn into minutes, and minutes turn into hours. Seonghyeon is awfully easy to talk to, and you regret not doing so earlier. 

You tell him small things about yourself at first. Like your favourite colour, your favourite movie, your favourite coffee shop that’s tucked away in the quieter streets of Seoul. 

But then the conversation goes a little deeper. You tell him about your family and how your parents used to be big fans of ice hockey, which eventually got you into it. You tell him how when a hockey puck landed in your lap at an NHL game, it seemed like it was sealing your fate of being bound to this sport forever. You tell him a little bit about how you started working for Sports Daily as well – Anton said they needed an additional editor for ice hockey, and after one interview, the job was yours.

“So, what’s your favourite flower?” Seonghyeon pipes up. 

“Hydrangeas,” you answer without thinking. “Blue ones, because it’s my favourite colour. Reminds me of snow, ice, winter… you get the gist.” 

Seonghyeon asks you questions that you don’t think George has ever asked you in your two-year relationship. You don’t even think he asked you what your favourite colour, or favourite flower was. That realisation is utterly shocking. 

He tells you about his first race, which he actually ended up wiping out in. “Never again,” he sighs, acting as if the memory of it still pains him. You find out that his favourite colour is green, he eats a lot of acai, and that he always brings a book with him to practice or a competition. He enjoys the same movies as you as well – the two of you spend at least half an hour talking about Chungking Express. You find that it’s delightful to actually have someone who shares the same amount of enthusiasm as you when it comes to the film.

He also reveals that his coffee order’s an iced Americano, 4 shots with no water – you proceed to call him a freak, and he gently hits you with one of your pillows. 

“You literally like mint chocolate,” Seonghyeon says, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “My coffee order is nothing compared to that toothpaste flavoured monstrosity.” 

“I don’t know what toothpaste you’re using, but it does not taste like the mint chocolate ice cream I eat,” you say, shaking your head. “And 4 shots is crazy, Seonghyeon – how do you not get the jitters?” you chuckle. 

“The jitters keep you awake! And fast!” he exclaims, throwing his arms up to justify himself.

“Is that how you win all the time?” you ask, barely suppressing a laugh. 

“Yeah, don’t reveal my secret,” Seonghyeon replies, a cheeky grin on his lips. He brings a finger up to his mouth as if to shush you. “The others might end up taking 5 shots, or 8 shots of coffee just to beat me.” 

“8 shots would probably make them do a false start,” you chuckle. “Let’s tell George that.” 

“8 shots of coffee and a little bit of mental manipulation is going to destroy him,” Seonghyeon laughs. “Perfect strategy – that gold’s going to be mine, (Name).” 

Your shared laughter rings throughout the room, and at one point in the conversation, you’re doubling over and laughing so hard your cheeks hurt. With one conversation, the dynamic between the two of you seems to have shifted. You don’t really know exactly what to call it – chemistry, maybe? Or was that a little too intense, considering that you’ve only known each other for a day? 

Seonghyeon checks the time on his watch, and his eyes widen when he realises that you both only have roughly half an hour to get ready for the banquet. “Shit, we need some time to get ready,” he says, jumping up from your bed. “Alright – I will come back in half an hour, and we can go there together.” 

You nod, but you find yourself not really wanting him to leave. As if you wanted him to maybe skip the banquet so that the two of you could talk more. You shake your head to rid the thought from your mind, and you walk with him to your door. “I’ll see you then, Seonghyeon.” you say softly, and Seonghyeon nods, waving goodbye before he disappears down the hallway. 

After tonight, everyone was going to think that you and Seonghyeon were dating.

You just hope that you can play the part well enough. 

Oh, and to not catch actual feelings. 

Seonghyeon knocks on your door 30 minutes later, just like he’d said. 

The banquets were never a really formal event, but Seonghyeon likes to put a little bit of effort in anyways. You open the door to greet him, and he's wearing a soft cashmere sweater over a dress shirt with a pair of black jeans. He’s got a black blazer folded around one arm, and he’s fixing the sleeves of his sweater when you open the door. His eyes snap up to look at you when he hears the door open.. 

“Hi,” he says, grinning. You’re wearing a flowy black dress – it’s simple, but you’ve dressed it up slightly with a necklace and some bracelets. “You look nice.” 

The compliment is simple, and really, it shouldn’t make your heart jump as much as it does. After all, this was your ‘boyfriend’. And Seonghyeon was a nice person at the end of the day – you should’ve expected him to say something sweet. 

“Thank you,” you say, closing the door behind you. “You look really nice yourself.” You knew that Seonghyeon did have a bit of a reputation in the short-track world for always having really nice outfits if he wasn’t in the racesuit. 

The two of you make conversation when you’re on your way to the banquet hall, and you’re trying to forget about how you two are supposed to act like you’re madly in love. This was essentially going to be your first test – your entire plan hinged on making everything believable tonight. Martin was undoubtedly going to grill the two of you, considering that he was one of Seonghyeon’s best friends, and you hadn’t made any mention about dating Seonghyeon. 

In fact, you’d told Martin verbatim that you didn’t think you were ever going to come back here just today. You don’t know how you’re going to get around that at all – you just hope that Martin’s gullible enough to believe you when you say that you two wanted to just keep it quiet for a bit. 

“Okay, running through everything again,” you pipe up. You think it’s better that you blurt everything out loud before you go in. To you, this was like a test. Perhaps even more important than your finals. 

“We met at a coffee shop. You asked me out roughly two weeks ago. We wanted to keep it quiet because it was so new. Your favourite colour’s green, we bonded a lot over Chungking Express, you’d pick acai over any other food… am I right? Or am I missing anything?” 

“Well, everything you said was correct,” Seonghyeon hums. “Just… don’t stress too much. I can do more of the talking if you want – we don’t want to sound too rehearsed, right?” 

“Yeah,” you exhale, your nerves evident. “I’m… I’m just thinking about how first impressions matter, and this… this is a pretty big thing that we’ve got to get right.” 

“We’ve got this,” he tells you, his voice reassuring. “Don’t worry – if we avoid George for most of the night, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” The driver lets the two of you know that you’re here, and you thank him politely before stepping out of the car. 

The cool winter chill hits the two of you immediately, and Seonghyeon drapes his jacket around you when he sees you shivering. Wow, you think. Eom Seonghyeon was really good at being a fake boyfriend. You’re almost shocked at how gentlemanly he’s being. 

“Oh, thank you,” you stammer, and he gives you a soft smile. He holds his hand out for you to take, and you lace your fingers with his. He gives your hand a soft squeeze in reassurance before the two of you walk towards the banquet hall. “You’re not cold?” you ask. 

“Used to it,” he says, grinning when he looks at you. “I spend all my days in the rink – this is just regular temperature to me.” He pushes open the door, and the first thing you notice is that it’s incredibly busy. There are tons of tables set up in the space, and Seonghyeon’s eyes scan to see where the Team Korea placard is. 

“Ah, over there,” he points out. He leads you towards the table, and when you pass by Team Canada, Martin’s eyes bug out of his skull. 

Was that… you and Seonghyeon… holding hands? 

You quickly look away, following Seonghyeon to the table before Martin can rush up to you and bombard you with questions. “Martin saw us.” you say in a hushed whisper. 

“Oh,” Seonghyeon replies, glancing towards Martin. “We can explain later. But… just over there is my team. They’re all really nice, as I’m sure you’re aware. But Yuna may tease us a little bit. If she brings up George, I’ll shut it down.” 

You gulp, taking a deep breath. “Alright,” you say. “Let’s do this. 

The two of you walk up to the table, and everyone’s eyes are immediately on yours and Seonghyeon’s hands. 

Yuna’s jaw drops, and Soobin points at the two of you in surprise. You know Soobin – he trained with George once, and you understand why he’s so shocked. Another teammate of his, Jungwon, is completely baffled at the sight. 

“Hi guys,” Seonghyeon says. He gently takes his jacket off you, draping it over your chair. He pulls out your chair first, gesturing for you to sit down before he slides into the seat next to you. “What’s for dinner?” 

Everyone is surprised at how casual Seonghyeon’s being, as if he hasn’t just hard launched the two of you out of nowhere. They didn’t know that Seonghyeon was even talking to or dating someone, much less it being George Shim’s ex. 

“Hi,” you say, greeting Seonghyeon’s teammates politely. “Nice to see you guys again.” They all greet you back, but they’re still not over the initial shock of seeing the two of you holding hands. 

“You… and you…” Soobin splutters. “You two are dating? How come we’ve never heard about this?” 

“It’s kind of new,” Seonghyeon speaks up before you, and you’ve never been more grateful. You nod in agreement as Seonghyeon rests his hand above yours. Your heart flutters again, but it does help you ease a little bit of the nerves that you’re feeling as you’re faced with an interrogation. “It’s why I didn’t really mention it to anyone, but she’s here as media, and I figured that it’d be kind of hard to keep it much of a secret after this.” 

Jungwon’s stunned. “I… wow. Okay – we just didn’t think you even had the time to talk to anyone, much less date. You spend half your time at the rink.”

Yuna looks at you, a glint in her eye. “How did you both even meet?” 

“We met at Junior Worlds a few years ago, but we didn’t talk properly. More so greeted each other after the results were announced, and… you all know. But we bumped into each other again at a cafe two weeks ago, and we’ve just been talking since,” you say, and you’re surprised at how easily that lie rolls off your tongue. You think that you’re getting the hang of it now – perhaps it really was just nerves. “So… super recent.” 

“Yeah, no – we’re just sort of surprised,” Soobin says, trying to mask his shock. “But I’m happy if you two are happy.” 

“Very happy,” Seonghyeon affirms, grinning at you. “She’s great.” 

“He is too,” you beam. You clear your throat before attempting to change the topic – everyone’s eyes were on you two, and you didn’t particularly like the attention. “So! Enough about us – I just wanted to congratulate you all on the wins today, you all did amazing.” 

“Yeah, thank you – so how did he ask you out?” Yuna pipes up. “Sorry, this is quite literally the most interesting thing that’s happened to any of us in months. Our Hyeonie dating? Especially since you’re that douchebag’s ex?” She gestures towards George at the other table, who’s eyeing you two with hawk-like concentration. 

Seonghyeon clears his throat. “Let’s not talk about him,” he says sternly. “But if you must know, I asked her out at the coffee shop where we met. It was just a few days after we reconnected. I liked talking to her a lot, and I didn’t want to waste much time since I already just… kind of knew.” 

“Whipped,” Juhoon quips, and Seonghyeon shoots him a look. “What? Look at you two.” 

Juhoon saying that meant that the plan was going incredibly well. Or at least, Juhoon believed it. Seonghyeon was awfully good at coming up with things on the spot – and why was every word of his somehow so romantic? 

“Our Hyeon’s growing up,” Soobin jokes, fake sniffling. “First girlfriend.” 

“Look at how cute they are.” Yeji coos. Well, it seems like the two of you had sold it to perfection. You grin, glad that yours and Seonghyeon’s acting chops were good enough to make his teammates not suspicious.

Seonghyeon groans, and it’s only then when you see the pink flush on his cheeks. “Ignore them,” he mumbles. “They love teasing me.” 

“I can tell,” you muse, a smile on your lips. “It’s okay. It’s kind of cute.” Those words slip past your lips before you think, and your eyes widen ever so slightly. It’s normal for someone’s girlfriend to call them cute, you tell yourself. Seonghyeon lets out a chuckle, seemingly unfazed. 

“Aww, you think I’m cute.” You can’t tell if he’s teasing you as a friend, or saying it to keep up the act. Regardless, the table breaks out in whoops and cheers. Although you’re embarrassed, you remind yourself that this means that they truly think that you two are dating. You let out an exhale in relief – the first test was over, at least. The most daunting one tonight… was going to be Martin Edwards.

After the food’s arrived, most of the skaters walk around to talk to their competitors. The second Martin gets the chance to, he jumps up from his seat and makes a beeline for the two of you. “Explain.” Martin says, arms crossed and his eyes fixated on you and Seonghyeon’s hands laced together. 

“Um…” you start. 

“We’re dating?” Seonghyeon says, finishing your sentence. Martin’s so shocked, he nearly collapses. 

“You two… are what now?” he nearly shrieks, his eyes wide in disbelief. “When the hell did this happen – you didn’t even mention it to me this morning or when I saw you! What the hell guys, I thought we were friends!” 

“Chill,” Seonghyeon looks at Martin oddly. “We’ve been kind of quiet about it because it’s so new. It’s literally only been two weeks – I wanted to give us some time to you know… get to know each other better, get used to dating, that sort of stuff.” 

Martin eyes the two of you suspiciously, and you feel awfully nervous under his gaze. You’re almost scared that he’s going to call bullshit on the two of you. But then, his lips break out into a wide grin, and he pulls the two of you into a huge hug. You’re startled, an awkward sound escaping past your lips as you hear Martin laugh giddily. 

“Oh, I just knew this was going to happen,” he exclaims, as his arms wrap around the both of you, squeezing you two tight. You furrow your brows – what did he even mean by that? 

He sees your confusion, and Martin opens his mouth to speak and clarify what he meant, but Seonghyeon elbows him in the ribs to shut him up. He looks at the Canadian, eyes signaling: ‘not a word’. Martin obliges, albeit he is a little confused as to why you wouldn’t know that Seonghyeon had always found you pretty.  

“That guy’s not going to be happy though,” Martin says, gesturing towards George. “Don’t tell him.” 

“He already knows,” Seonghyeon says, trying – and failing – to hide the smile on his lips. He holds your hand a little tighter as he turns to look at you. “He saw us just before the 1500 meter, actually.” 

“Dang, okay!” Martin says, grinning. But then something seems to hit him, and his smile drops. “Wait, is this why he was skating like shit today? Oh, come on! He cost us the gold in the relay!” 

Seonghyeon chuckles. “It’s not like you guys were going to win anyways,” he quips, and Martin shoots him a joking glare. “Sorry! Friendly fire.” 

“Anyways,” Martin says, gaze returning back to yours and Seonghyeon’s hands. A teasing smile spreads across his lips, and heat immediately rises to your cheeks. You’re sure he’s going to taunt the two of you endlessly about this now. “You guys look cute together.”

You’re not quite sure how you’re supposed to feel about that. Those words, combined with him saying that he ‘knew that this was going to happen’ was awfully confusing. You barely knew Seonghyeon before today — why would Martin think that?

“I need you guys to tell me everything, by the way. You best believe I’m third-wheeling the two of you every chance I get.” Martin’s eyes are gleaming with mischief, and Seonghyeon groans in response.

“Usually people don’t want to be a third wheel,” you say wryly, and Martin shrugs. 

“I want to third wheel you two,” he coos at the two of you jokingly, and you raise an eyebrow at his words. “What? God forbid a guy wants to support his best friend and his girlfriend.”

“You can support us by letting us go on dates alone, like a normal person,” Seonghyeon replies, letting out a laugh. “You’ll see enough of us at competitions.”

Martin pries just a little bit more, asking Seonghyeon how he asked you out – he regurgitates the same response he said to Yuna mere minutes ago. He pulls you closer, his hand against the your waist to feign affection, looking at you like a man that was hopelessly in love. You mirror his expression, leaning into his touch. Martin’s silently gawking at the blatant display of affection as he listens to Seonghyeon talk. 

You start to think that Eom Seonghyeon really could consider a career in acting after he retired from short-track, because it was quite literally impossible for you to deny the spark that you felt just from his words. 

The rest of Martin’s teammates somehow catch wind of the conversation and they barge in – with the exception of George, who’s sulking in the corner. They bombard the two of you with questions once again, because they all know what went down between you and George. Seonghyeon manages to seamlessly dodge the questions under the pretense that ‘the two of you are tired of saying the same thing over and over’. You’re grateful enough that Martin, who is completely deceived, is more than willing to recount everything. 

The two of you finally get a moment away from the incessant questions from everyone, and Seonghyeon lets out a deep breath. “I think that went well,” he says, picking up an empty glass from the table. He fills it with coke, handing the glass over to you. “You told me you didn’t like fruit punch earlier today.” 

He remembered. You blink, taking the glass from him thankfully as he pours himself some water. “Thanks,” you murmur, and Seonghyeon nods, giving you a soft smile. “Well, I’d say that went pretty well.” Your voice drops low into a whisper before you say your next words, leaning in closer so only Seonghyeon can hear you. “Martin’s a little more gullible than I thought.” 

Seonghyeon chuckles, his laughter bubbly in your ears. “Martin’s kind of been begging me to get into a relationship for months, so he’s probably too excited over that.” 

You grin, but then your eyes flick to a figure standing behind Seonghyeon. George’s glaring daggers at the two of you, his stare unforgiving and cold. 

Anxiety flares through your entire body. The room is suddenly too loud, the banquet suddenly too busy, and George’s gaze is a little too intense. Your palms start to sweat, and your heartbeat races. 

Without thinking, you quickly move to stand beside Seonghyeon, looping your arm around his. He takes a second to register the fact that you’ve probably spotted George before he takes your hand, entwining your fingers with his. 

Your anxiety immediately dissipates just from his touch, and the room quiets down. It’s like Seonghyeon can feel your nervousness – likely from how sweaty your palms are – and he gently traces circles on the skin of your hand with his thumb. You give Seonghyeon another grateful smile. 

It’s odd, considering that you two haven’t been acquainted until today, but he just always knows the perfect thing to either do, or say. Your heart is still racing, but not out of anxiety. Something a little different, something you can’t quite put your finger on just yet.

“Seonghyeon! (Name)! They’ve got ice cream!” you hear Mark, another one of Martin’s teammates say. Seonghyeon glances at you, giving you a soft smile before tilting his head.

“Do you want some?” Seonghyeon asks. “Although I’m not so sure that they’ll have mint chocolate…” 

You chuckle, nodding. “You don’t have to tease me about it every time, you know. I can eat other flavours.”

To your delight and Seonghyeon’s disdain, there is mint chocolate. He hands you the bowl, nose wrinkling as he sees the artificially coloured green dessert. You take a spoon, scooping some of it out of your bowl before holding it out to Seonghyeon.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. He pulls away from you for the first time tonight. “Absolutely not.”

“Aw, come on!” you pout, and Seonghyeon sighs. “Just try it.”

“Fine,” he says begrudgingly, taking a bite of the ice cream. He winces as it hits his tongue, brows furrowing in disgust. He reaches over to grab a cup of vanilla ice cream for himself, shaking his head as he swallows the ice cream. “God, I don’t know how you like this.”

“Did our Seonghyeon just try mint chocolate?” Martin gasps, and Seonghyeon practically scarfs down the vanilla to try and rid the mint chocolate taste from his tongue. You nod, grinning triumphantly. 

“Only for (Name),” he grumbles, taking a bite of his own ice cream.

Your heart leaps to your throat. 

You silently eat your ice cream, with Seonghyeon’s shoulder lightly brushing yours every now and then as you let those words sink in. 

Only for you. 

You’ve never particularly liked plane rides, especially not long-haul flights. 

You’re about to spend 14 hours on a plane, sitting there in a stuffy aisle seat in economy as you try to ignore the wails of a baby nearby. You try to think of the positives – at least you weren’t paying for the flight. 

You pull your book out of your bag before shoving it under the seat in front of you, trying to tire yourself out so you can at least sleep a little on the flight. You’ve already sent your articles to Eunchae, the copy editor, so you’re practically done with all your work. 

You didn’t quite like having to type out George’s name, but fortunately, you didn’t have to praise him at all – thanks to his poor performance. One page into your book, you hear a familiar voice. “(Name)?” 

Your eyes flick up to see Yeji, and the rest of the team. Seonghyeon’s standing near the back, his headphones plugged into his ears as he scrolls through his phone. 

“Oh, hey,” you beam. “I didn’t know that we were on the same flight.” 

“I thought you’d be sitting with Hyeon,” Yeji replies, tilting her head towards him. “Since you two are you know… dating?” Shit. You blink, closing your book to give yourself a little bit more time to think of a reply. 

“Right! Right, of course,” you chuckle, trying your best to not sound awkward. “Um, my boss actually booked my flights for me and this trip was honestly quite last minute – you can ask Hyeon about it. So as much as I’d like to, our seats aren’t next to each other.” 

“Oh, I see – I’m sitting next to Hyeon on one side, so let’s swap after takeoff,” she says, beaming at you. You’re about to protest before she stops you. “We’re just two rows back, so it’s fine. Trust me!” 

The line keeps moving, and Yeji walks away. When Seonghyeon reaches you, his eyes meet yours. He immediately takes out his headphones, smiling at you. 

“Hey, I didn’t know we were on the same flight,” he says, grinning. “If you mentioned it earlier we could’ve headed to the airport together.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t know either,” you reply. “Um… Yeji told me she’s swapping seats with me after takeoff so we can sit together. Just wanted to let you know beforehand, because… you know.” You suppose that you’ll also have to play the role of boyfriend and girlfriend on this 14 hour flight as well. You just hope most of his teammates are the type of flyers who immediately fall asleep on takeoff. 

“Oh, okay,” Seonghyeon replies. The line up ahead moves, and he quickly glances at the line before looking back at you. “That sounds good. I’ll see you in a bit then?” 

You nod, and Seonghyeon walks to his seat. Waiting for takeoff feels like forever, but you keep yourself busy by reading your book. When you’re three chapters in, you feel someone tap you on your shoulder, and you know it’s Yeji. 

“Hey,” she says, holding her neck pillow and her bag in her hands. “Your boyfriend’s waiting.” There’s a teasing lilt in her tone, and you fail to stifle a small laugh. The two of you really did have everyone convinced, and you feel a small sense of pride in that.

You get up from your chair, gathering your things. “Thank you, by the way,” you say, and she waves you off. 

“Oh, anything for you two lovebirds,” she grins. “Look, Hyeon’s schedule is always packed, and the Olympics definitely isn’t going to make that any better. The two of you should spend as much time together as you can.” 

Her words ring loudly in your ears as you walk down the aisle to find Seonghyeon, who’s sitting idly in his chair. He looks up when he hears your footsteps, and you swear you see his eyes light up when he sees you. 

“Hi,” you say, sitting down next to him. Soobin and Yuna seem to notice how you’re now sitting in Yeji’s seat, and you’re a little too aware of their eyes on you. When you’ve placed your bag under the seat in front of you, you reach out for his hand. It’s just because Soobin and Yuna are here, you tell yourself. You definitely thought about it beforehand. 

Seonghyeon clasps his hand around yours, using his free hand to drape the blanket he’s got covering his knees over you as well. “So… what do you usually do on long-haul flights?” you ask him, and he chuckles. 

“Gosh, I don’t know. Try my best to sleep, and fail miserably.” he replies, eyes darting at the small television screen. He’s flown to multiple countries for competitions, but one thing that he still truly would never get used to was long flights. He dreaded them, really. Sitting there idly in a seat for hours was practically Seonghyeon’s worst nightmare. He could never sleep on planes either – he doesn’t know how Jungwon knocks out immediately the second he sits down in the chair. 

His words get a small laugh out of you. “Yeah, I’m the same. I haven’t flown long-haul in a really long time, to be honest.”

“Really?” Seonghyeon quirks a brow. “I thought the whole ice hockey thing would’ve had you flying to the States and Canada a lot more often.” 

“Oh, god no. I haven’t been back to Canada since the breakup. And the travelling – that’s Beomgyu’s job, since he’s the lead editor. I mainly stay here to cover the local leagues and provide backup from the office,” you huff. “I guess that’ll change now, though. Not that I’m mad about it, but I guess I’ll just have to get used to it.” 

“Well, it’s always fun to explore new places,” Seonghyeon hums. “I’ve never been to Milan before. The first time will be for the Olympics, which is… pretty cool. I’m just dreading the flight. Non-stop is 13 hours. That’s like… six movies.”

Even the excitement of going to the Olympics probably wouldn’t ease Seonghyeon’s boredom on the flight. He often tried to watch movies to make the time go by faster, but he’d often just find himself staring at the clock on the side of the screen, praying desperately that it would just say ‘0 minutes until landing.’ 

Your eyes light up hearing him say ‘movie’. Airplanes didn’t usually have the best selection of movies, but there was one that was always your go-to on a flight. “Hey, let’s watch Crazy Rich Asians,” you pipe up. “It’s like… the best plane movie ever.” 

“You’ve got a favourite plane movie?” he chuckles, his fingers tapping his screen to try and find the movie. 

“Of course!” you chirp. You let out a sigh of relief when you see that the airplane did actually have the movie, and Seonghyeon taps on the movie. He plugs in his earphones, handing one end of them to you. 

“Oh, wait,” Seonghyeon says. He suddenly realises that you need to move closer so you can actually watch the movie on his screen.. He lets go of your hand briefly, moving the armrest up so that it doesn’t block you from moving closer to him. “Come closer so you can see.”  

You blink. Right. You shuffle closer to him, a little hesitant because you’re far too aware of the proximity. You feel like you should – and a little voice in the back of your head says that you want to – rest your head on his shoulder. Soobin and Yuna’s eyes are still on the two of you, and you quickly glance at them. 

“Can I…?” you ask, your voice a little breathless as you tilt your head, gesturing towards his chest. Seonghyeon blinks, before nodding quickly. You rest your head against his chest, Seonghyeon shuffles slightly so he can wrap his arm around you. You swear you hear his breath hitch the second you get closer.

“This okay?” he asks, his voice soft. The movie’s already started, the loud music of the introduction blaring in your ears. You try to ignore how out of the corner of your eye, you can see Soobin and Yuna whispering and pointing in your direction. 

“Yeah,” you gulp. “More than okay.” 

The movie does keep the two of you entertained for a little bit. Seonghyeon sticks his tongue out in disgust when he sees the dead fish in Rachel’s room, and you chuckle at his expression. The two of you burst into fits of laughter at the entire montage when Peik Lin and Oliver are choosing an outfit for Rachel. You suddenly forget about how close you are to him, and how awfully in love the two of you look to everyone else on this plane. 

He also tells you that there’s going to be the World University Games next week, and some of the Canadian skaters would be competing. “I think you’ll probably have to come,” Seonghyeon whispers. “Martin was telling me that they’d all be there to compete, so… let’s get in his head?” There’s a coy smile on his lips when he says the words. 

“I feel like we’re kind of evil for this,” you say, your voice just as low as his. “It’s fine, though. He fucked with my head, this is… payback.” 

Seonghyeon laughs, nodding. “Exactly. And he deserves it anyways. Not like I can’t win on my own merit – I’d beat him regardless.” 

Sometime after dinner service, the lights dim, and you’re faced with listening to the soft buzz of the airplane. Your hand is still in Seonghyeon’s, with his music playing in your other ear. When you turn to face him to ask what movie he wants to watch next, you realise that he’s fallen asleep. 

“Shit, sorry,” you mumble. You cover him a little bit more with the blanket using your free hand, watching his chest rise and fall. Your eyes flick up to his face, and you realise that Seonghyeon is awfully pretty. 

You’d be blind if you said that Eom Seonghyeon wasn’t gorgeous. After all, this is the boy who went viral a few months ago for being one of the ‘best looking athletes’ that would be at the Winter Olympics. But looking at him now, his lashes fluttering as he sleeps, you seem to feel something that you’ve never felt. 

Instinctively, you rest your head on his chest once again, and you only freeze when you realise it seconds later. But, you don't move. You tell yourself it's because Soobin and Yuna have still got their eyes on the two of you.

The soft sounds of Seonghyeon’s breath, the low buzz of the airplane’s engine and Chet Baker’s I Fall In Love Too Easily playing in your ears is practically the perfect combination to lull you to sleep. Mere minutes later, you find yourself falling asleep as well, your head on his chest, your knees brushing his. 

Somewhere along the way, in his sleep, he wraps his arms around you. The blanket covers the two of you as you doze off, and Soobin finds that it’s the perfect opportunity to snap a photo of you two, showing it to Yuna like it’s a medal that he’s won.

And when you wake up, you realise that a plane ride has never felt… that enjoyable. 

You step into the Taereung International Skating Rink roughly a week after you land back in Seoul. 

You’d told Anton and Kyujin everything the second you’d stepped foot into that office. Kyujin had squealed and said that this was the perfect romance movie storyline, while Anton had been a little skeptical about how well you could pull this off. After all, acting was not your strong suit. You tell him to have a little bit more faith in you. 

The articles that you’ve written have all gone out, and Sasha gives you a nod of approval when she passes by your cubicle. Martin sends you the link to the interview that you did with Seonghyeon, with a message that reads: “getting to glaze your boyfriend for work is crazy.” You send him the rolling eyes emoji in response. 

Your eyes immediately search for Seonghyeon, who’s sitting in one of the spectator seats as he watches pairs’ figure skating. He’s got a puffer jacket on and an iced coffee in his hands – odd, but after spending some time with him over the past week, you’ve learnt that he refuses to have any hot drinks. 

You make your way over to him, and he beams the second he sees you. “Hi!” he says, gesturing for you to sit down. You can see that he’s wearing his tracksuit underneath – you assume that he’ll be going on to skate in a bit as well. “I got you a mocha. Hot one too – the barista was so shocked that I ordered something hot until I told her it was for someone else.” 

You're pleasantly surprised that he remembered your order. George never did.

He hands it over to you, and your fingers brush when he does. Your heart flutters again. 

“Thank you,” you say, taking a sip of the coffee. “So… what’s our strategy for today?” 

The two of you hadn’t really needed to amp up the affection for the last week, since you’d mostly spent that time getting to know one another. You found that you really enjoyed Seonghyeon’s company, and you’ve grown more comfortable around him. You’d call him a good friend too, even if the acquaintance was developed relatively recently. 

“I don’t know, honestly,” Seonghyeon chuckles. “Act sickeningly cute?” 

You laugh. The two of you had actually practiced it too – but most of the time, the two of you would just end up bursting out in laughter. You did, admittedly, feel that flutter in your chest a bit too much, despite trying to hide it by laughing. 

“Oh, George’s down there,” Seonghyeon says. He looks at you, as if to ask if he can wrap his arm around your shoulder to sell it. You nod, and he does, the fabric of his puffer jacket brushing against the cashmere of your sweater. You lean in closer to his touch, resting your cheek on his chest. You were fine with this, despite your heart seemingly telling you otherwise with how fast it was beating.

You and Seonghyeon had practically spent the whole 14 hour flight back like this – 15 minutes would be nothing. 

And it just so happens to be the perfect moment, because George’s eyes are scanning the stands, and they immediately land on the two of you. 

“He’s looking,” you whisper under your breath. “He looks really angry.” You giggle at George’s expression, eyebrows furrowed in anger as he watches you and Seonghyeon talk to one another. 

“Good.” Seonghyeon says, leaning in closer to you to feign intimacy. You lace your hand with his, and you’re surprised how his hands are somehow still warm, even if he’s been drinking iced coffee in a skating rink. George seems to clench his jaw even tighter at the sight.  

“How are you not cold?” you mumble into the fabric of his jacket.  “You’re drinking iced coffee in the rink and your hands are somehow still warmer than mine. It’s crazy.” 

“I’m used to it,” he shrugs. He gently places down his coffee on the empty chair next to him before unzipping his puffer jacket. “One sec.” He takes off the jacket before draping it over your shoulders carefully, adjusting it so you’re warm. Your hand finds his again – this time, it’s on instinct, and you lean your head on his chest once more. 

“Thanks,” you say, eyes flicking up to look at him. His lips curl up into a sweet smile. 

“Of course. If you need anything just let me know,” he says softly. At those words, somehow you feel like you’re not even cold anymore. 

The two of you are awfully good at being sickeningly sweet, you suppose. Yuna and Soobin pass by and coo at the two of you, teasing both of you until your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You bury your face in Seonghyeon’s chest at one point when Yuna tells you to just get married already. But what really sells it is when you press a kiss to Seonghyeon’s cheek – not without a bit of hesitance though – as a good luck charm, and you suppose that really sells it. 

Because when Seonghyeon’s getting ready for his race, George rushes up to him, practically seething. “Do you think you’re funny?” he asks, and Seonghyeon looks at him innocently. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies. George rolls his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“Not that, Eom. Do you think you’re funny, flaunting your relationship with my ex in front of me like I’m invisible? The nerve that you have, genuinely – you’re trying to get into my head, aren’t you?” George hisses, and Seonghyeon has to suppress an incredulous laugh.

Well, George got one thing right – Seonghyeon was trying to get into his head. 

“God forbid I want to be affectionate with my girlfriend,” Seonghyeon chuckles. “I didn’t even see you, George. It’s really not that deep.” 

“She’s my ex!” Seonghyeon isn’t sure if George is hearing himself right now, because he sounds absolutely crazy. The expression on his face is laughable too – thinly-veiled rage that makes him look rather… constipated, rather than angry. 

“Ex,” Seonghyeon replies, fixing his helmet. “Ex. She’s my girlfriend that I’m dating right now. Need I remind you that you’re the one that fucking cheated? Now – excuse me, I’m going to prep for the race. Don’t let me get into your head – it’s not worth it, is it?.” 

Oh, it was so worth it, Seonghyeon thinks. 

“I won’t, Eom.” George says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. 

Seonghyeon wins the 1500 meter, and George finishes fourth. Not even on the podium. Despite what he was saying to Seonghyeon, the thought of you and Seonghyeon dating was most definitely getting in his head. You fail to hide the joyous smile on your lips when you see George miss the podium. 

You rush down towards the boards, grinning as you see Seonghyeon high-five Juhoon. “Hyeon!” you call out, and he beams, skating towards you. 

George exits the rink just as he makes it to you, and Seonghyeon pulls you close to him in a hug. “Thanks for the good luck kiss,” he says, loud enough for George to hear. “Do you think it worked well?” 

“I think it did,” you beam. Without a second thought, you lean in to press a kiss to his helmet. “That’s a congratulations kiss.” You hear George mutter something under his breath – probably nasty, but you don’t quite care right now. The smile on Seonghyeon’s lips is absolutely infectious, and your heart skips a beat at the sight. 

When George is out of earshot, Seonghyeon tells you about the whole ordeal before the race. You scoff, shaking your head at the audacity that George has. “He’s unbelievable,” you shake your head as you walk beside Seonghyeon to grab dinner. “What a fucking joke.” 

“I know, right?” Seonghyeon chuckles. “Anyways, I think we did good today. We… really sold it.” He pauses before he says the last three words, almost as if he didn’t really like the way they sounded. You don’t think much of it. 

It’s not until you go home when you realise you’ve kissed Seonghyeon twice today. They weren’t on the lips, but they were kisses nevertheless. 

And you don’t quite know why it feels right. 

Pretending to be in a relationship with Eom Seonghyeon is awfully easy. 

You’re not quite sure if that should be a good thing or not. 

Even you had to admit that it was awfully convincing. His name in your phone was ‘baby’ with a blue heart emoji. Your lockscreen was the photo of you two sleeping on the plane, courtesy of Soobin – it was an adorable photo, in all honesty. You also saw Seonghyeon practically every single day.

When the two of you landed back in Seoul, you knew that your fake relationship would demand you to see each other more often. But seeing Seonghyeon started becoming less of an obligation to sell the fake relationship, and more so something that you genuinely wanted to do. You liked seeing Seonghyeon and spending time with him, even if part of the time was spent behind the plexiglass and watching him run laps around the rink while you worked on an article. You liked hearing his laughter as he recounted stories about training from years ago, or when you told him about something stupid that happened in the office today. 

The hesitancy you first felt whenever you had to be close to Seonghyeon is long gone. It’s instinct by now to just have his hand in yours, or for him to have his arm around your waist. The fluttery feeling in your heart just feels normal now – they’re always there. There’s small moments of intimacy between the two of you that come so naturally, like you two are genuinely a couple in love. 

Like when Seonghyeon swipes the frosting off your lips with the pads of his thumb instead of using a napkin, giggling as he does so. Or when you pull him into a tight hug even when he’s all sweaty after setting a new personal best in training, your head against his chest as you hear the loud thumps of his heartbeat. Or when he kissed your temple like he’d done so a million times before after he’d treated you to mint chocolate ice cream, despite saying that he’d never spend money on it. 

The craziest thing was that you didn’t even flinch when he did. You just beamed at him like you were used to it. It wasn’t until you got home when you realised that Seonghyeon had basically kissed you. On your temple, but it was still a kiss of sorts. Usually you were the one kissing his cheek, or his temple. Never him.

All of these things were awfully romantic, and you realise that nobody’s ever done anything quite like this for you before. Not George, and not any of the dates that you’d gone on after that. Eom Seonghyeon was quite literally the perfect boyfriend, but you weren’t really dating him.

You’re typing away in your office, waiting for your lunch break so that you can head to the rink and grab a bite with Seonghyeon at the nearby cafe. Your groove on writing the article is interrupted by Anton rushing towards your cubicle, a worried look on his face. 

“(Name)!” he hisses, his eyes wide in alarm. You look at him, concern evident on your features. He grabs your shoulders before taking a deep breath. “George is here.” 

You jump out of your seat, and your expression now mirrors his. Your heart is pounding incredibly fast in your chest, and dread washes over you like a tidal wave. You haven’t faced George alone since… that day when you’d lied about Seonghyeon being your boyfriend. “What?” you gasp. “Why?” 

“I don’t fucking know,” Anton replies, shaking his head. “He came into the office, remembered me as the guy you brought along with you to watch a comp of his and then glared at me like I killed his family. He’s still not intimidating and looks a little bit like a cartoon villain, but that’s not the point — you didn’t ask him for a feature, did you?”

“No, I would never!” you say hurriedly, and Anton looks back to see if George’s nearby. “I thought he’d stay away now that he knows I’m with Hyeon.” 

“Do you wanna… I don’t know? Call Seonghyeon? Surely, if he’s here, he needs a rink to train, and there’s only one rink – and Seonghyeon literally lives at the rink. Maybe he’d know,” Anton suggests, and you nod, grabbing your phone.

you | 11:43pm hyeon why the fuck is George STILL in seoul i thought team canada went HOME

baby 🩵 | 11:43pm something about staying to visit family before the olympics martin’s here too (thank god) but he has unfortunately been training with us today how’d you find out oh btw minho gave us early break today!! 

you | 11:43pm HE’S IN THE OFFICE im gonna hide in the bathroom I WASN’T GOING TO WRITE A FEATURE ON HIM EITHER WHY IS HE HERE

baby 🩵| 11:44pm what. okay what the fuck i was on my way anyways to take you out for lunch but give me 10 i’ll be there hang tight

“Hyeon is coming,” you say to Anton. “I’m just going to go to the bathroom, and… I’ll come back when he’s here. I really don’t want to face George alone.” 

Anton nods, gulping. You rush off to the bathroom, praying that you won’t bump into George on your way there. Anton retreats back to his desk, keeping his head low. He didn’t like George at all – he still remembers when he and Kyujin had to come to your apartment every day for two weeks after the breakup to check up on you. You were an absolute wreck, and Anton wanted to avoid the douchebag who had hurt you at all costs. He didn’t want to waste his breath on even speaking to him. 

10 minutes feels like an eternity, and when you get that text from Seonghyeon saying that he’s here, you feel a little lighter already. You leave the bathroom, your footsteps careful as you walk back to your desk. 

However, you’re not greeted with Seonghyeon. You’re unfortunately greeted with George Shim, who grins at you like he did all those years ago. This time, you don’t swoon – you look at him with hatred and pure anger in your eyes. 

Where was Seonghyeon? Fuck. You could deal with George for at least a few minutes. 

“(Name),” George says, his voice sickeningly sweet. Discomfort settles in your stomach, his voice sending awful goosebumps up your arm. Your shoulders tense up, your heart racing with anxiety. “I wanted to just talk.” 

“Unless this is about an article, which I haven’t reached out to you for, we don’t have anything to talk about,” you tell him, trying your best to remain calm. This was your workplace, after all – you didn’t want to have any uncharacteristic outbursts that would alarm Sasha. “Please leave, George.” 

“I was at my Mom’s, and I was just thinking about how poorly I treated you and how I’ve been acting. She asked me how you were, and I… I don’t know, I just really wanted to apologise,” George pleads, and you look at him like he’s insane – because truly, you think he may be. 

“You realise now how poorly you treated me?” you seethe while still trying to keep your voice low, anger and bitterness laced in your tone. “George, I wasted two years of my life on you. The only good thing you’ve done for me is made me realise my self worth, so I won’t waste my time on other people like you.” 

“Please, (Name),” George begs. “Let me make it up to you, please. Just give me one chance.” 

You think George’s officially lost it. “You’re crazy,” you breathe out. 

“For you,” George says, and those words genuinely make you want to throw up. You look at him, distaste evident on your features. The poor intern whose desk is situated next to yours also cringes, and you just know she’s going to ask you who he is tomorrow. For her sake, it’s probably best if she didn’t know. 

“No, George. No.” you say, shaking your head. “I’m in a relationship. To you, it won’t matter, because you don’t care about being faithful to your partner, but I care. I’m with Seonghyeon – there’s nothing you can do to change that.” 

“You want to be with him?” George groans, almost in disbelief. “He’s– he’s not even–!” 

“What’s going on here?”

Seonghyeon’s voice cuts through the tension, and you let out an exhale in relief. But you’ve never heard this icy tone in his voice before – he’s only ever been monotonous whenever he’s spoken to George, but this was something different. It was thinly veiled anger, and you’re quite sure that Seonghyeon could snap any instant. 

He walks towards you, and you notice that he’s holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands. Blue hydrangeas. Seonghyeon hasn’t really done any big romantic gestures like this, and your heart leaps to your throat at the sight of the bouquet. 

He remembered. You hadn’t mentioned them to him since the first day you two met.

You’re stunned at the grand romantic gesture. The fact that he’d bought them, remembered your favourites and delivered them to you himself makes your heart bloom with warmth. You almost forget that your annoying, cheating ex-boyfriend is standing right here and about to ruin the moment. 

“Hi,” he beams, pretending like George’s not here. He hands you the bouquet of flowers, which you happily take. Seonghyeon presses a kiss to your temple before his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You don’t miss how this time, it’s done with a little more possessiveness. Your shoulders immediately relax at his touch, and you let out a breath that you didn’t even know you were holding. “Saw these on my way here and had to get ‘em.” 

“Thank you,” you grin. “They’re beautiful.” 

George clears his throat, interrupting the moment. The two of you glare at him, but he still isn’t backing down. One thing about George Shim was that he had zero shame. The apologetic, nice guy facade that he had just mere moments ago is gone, and he’s gone back to who you know he truly is. A snake. 

“You know what? Fine. You don’t want my apology. But rebounding with my rival is a new fucking low, (Name).” George tells you, pointing at the two of you. 

George aims, and he shoots for the heart. You can’t believe he’s trying to make himself seem like the good guy, but you still freeze at his words, clutching onto the bouquet in your hands as if it’ll ground you. Your chest twists with discomfort – you hate that George still knows what to say to get under your skin. 

You hear Seonghyeon huff, curling one hand into a fist. His jaw clenches with anger, and his eyebrow twitches ever so slightly. Seonghyeon was practically fighting the urge to lunge towards George. His blood was practically boiling with rage, but he knew that this was your workplace and that he couldn’t cause a scene. That would reflect badly on you.

“Cheating is infinitely worse, George,” Seonghyeon retorts, barely able to conceal his anger. “Stop trying to win her back. It’s clear that it’s not what she wants. Anyways, I think we’re done here,” Seonghyeon says, glancing towards you. “Are we?” 

“We’re done,” you say, trying your best to strengthen your resolve. “Us, and the conversation. If it’s regarding work, you can email me. But please don’t show up in my office again and do whatever the hell this is.” 

The moment the two of you leave the office, the cold winter air hits the two of you, and you practically crumple into Seonghyeon’s arms. “Fuck,” you exclaim. “That was horrible – why did he have to come in and do that? Who does he think he is?” 

Seonghyeon holds you as you clutch onto him like a lifeline. “I’m sorry, I got lost – I should’ve messaged you when I was at your desk or something. I’m sorry,” he whispers against your hair, and you shake your head. 

“No, it’s not your fault,” you say, still clearly shaken up. The thing that George said about Seonghyeon being a rebound – it hit you right in the chest. Because though it wasn’t necessarily true, the truth was worse. You and Seonghyeon were faking it. “I just… I’m just shocked at the nerve that he has, actually. Thank you for coming and… defending my honour.” 

“Of course,” Seonghyeon replies. “I’m your boyfriend.” 

Those words roll off his tongue far too easily. There’s nobody else around, no one that you have to put on a show for – just the two of you, and Seonghyeon still says it like it’s the truth. You find that you don’t hate how it sounds. 

“Well, fake one, at least,” he exhales, but you hear this sort of bitterness in his tone. As if he doesn’t like how it sounds at all. “But regardless, I would’ve said something. Even if I didn’t know you.” 

Your heart warms at his words, and the fluttery feeling in your chest that’s all too familiar returns. “Thank you,” you whisper gently. Seonghyeon nods, hand resting on your waist. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple, glancing at you to make sure you’re okay. “Okay,” you exhale, trying to shake off your nerves. “Lunch?”

“Of course,” Seonghyeon beams. He laces his fingers around yours, thumb drawing circles on the skin of your hand. “We can go to that noodle place that you’ve been talking about recently?” He asks, tilting his head. 

You nod. Seonghyeon always remembers the small things – you don’t even remember when you brought up that noodle place. He notices how your hands are still shaking slightly, and he figures that he should probably distract you with something funny. 

You let Seonghyeon’s voice fill the air as he talks to you animatedly about training, telling you about how Soobin uncharacteristically slipped the second he stepped foot on the ice today. As he talks, your nerves dissipate, and you allow yourself to finally relax. Seonghyeon always knows the right things to say, the right things to do – he just knows you. 

Everything suddenly just feels easy again. 

The realisation fully hits you in Milan. 

It’s Team Korea’s first official practice at the Olympic rink, and you’ve shown up to his practice with a tray of coffees – one for each member of the team. Seonghyeon’s the only one who’s got an iced drink, because somehow, he refuses to order hot coffee. You knew that he was committed to the whole winter sports bit, but you were still surprised that he liked everything cold. 

Yuna’s the first one who spots you – she squeals when she does, skating up to you and hugging you tight before she takes a cup from the tray. “Oh, you’re the best!” she says. “Seonghyeon, she’s a keeper!” His eyes immediately snap towards your direction, and he beams, skating over to you. 

“Hi,” he grins, and you hand him his cup of coffee. 

“Iced Americano, 4 shots, no water for you,” you say, our fingers brushing his as he takes the cup from you gratefully. “Like the lunatic you are.” Your lips curl up into a teasing smile as he chuckles, taking a sip of the coffee. 

“Just the way I like it,” Seonghyeon grins. You move to place the tray down on the bench, while Seonghyeon places his coffee against the plexiglass. He grabs his skate guards, putting them on so he can step off the rink and sit down next to you. “Gonna take a bit of a break.” 

His hand reaches out, closing gently around yours. You let him as you take a sip of your own coffee. The two of you sit there silently for a brief moment, basking in each other’s presence as you hear the loud clinks of skates against ice as Soobin starts a lap. 

Your knees brush his, and it’s these quietly intimate moments between you both that that you adore so much. Seonghyeon’s company is grounding, comforting, and you feel right at home, no matter where you are. His hand in yours is a constant reminder that you’ve always got someone quietly in your corner, there for you whenever you need him most. 

The fact that this is all pretend rarely flickers in your mind when you’re lost in the moment with him – it only ever strikes when you’re back at home, and you take an hour or two to reel over the fact that the lines between what’s real and what’s fake have become a little too hazy. 

You were accustomed to the type of love that came in fiery, overwhelming bursts of affection – it was all you knew with George. The kind of love that would send sparks across your entire body before it left you reeling in confusion at the sudden coldness when he pulled away. The kind that made you fall so hard to the point where you perhaps forgot who you were. 

With Seonghyeon, there was this quiet, intimate understanding. There was affection, of course – but this time it truly made you feel loved. The soft brushes of skin, his lips pressed to your temple, the way his hand felt in yours – all of it felt right. You didn’t have to worry about this feeling of being cared for to be fleeting, because you could feel that Seonghyeon did everything with this intention of truly staying. 

But then that thought strikes you in your chest. Truly staying. You gulp as your hand remains in Seonghyeon’s, his eyes fixated on Soobin skating laps around the rink. This was all a ruse, and the two of you were able to seamlessly play your roles to perfection. It’s odd, because everything felt all too real. 

You shouldn’t truly be catching feelings for him, but you think you were. That realisation clicks, and it’s like slotting the final puzzle piece into the missing space. You don’t think you were pretending anymore. 

You start to wonder when everything changed, when you forgot you were simply playing a part – and you can’t even quite place it. The lines between illusion and reality had been blurred for far too long now, and it’s only completely hitting you now.You never pulled away when he pressed his lips to your temple – you leaned in closer. You would reach out for his hand instinctively, and he would welcome it. 

Eom Seonghyeon was far too good at being your fake boyfriend, and by playing that part to perfection, you’d fallen for the lie that you’d so carefully tried to curate and sell.

You were in love. That realisation nearly knocks you off your feet, because it’s the truth. 

You gulp, trying to act like you hadn’t just realised your own feelings right then and there. The silence doesn’t feel as comforting anymore, but it’s no fault of Seonghyeon’s – it’s because you’re trying to cope with the realisation that you’re in love with your fake boyfriend. 

When he invites you to his hotel room later that night, the two of you curl up together on his bed to watch 10 Things I Hate About You. His arm is draped over your shoulder as you rest your head on the crook of his neck, and for the first time in a long time, you care too much about the proximity. 

You’re too fixated on the thought that you love him. You think you may have loved him quite possibly at every single turn – it’s why the flutters in your chest feel like they belonged there, like it was just normal. It’s why you always leaned into his touch whenever he held you. It’s why suddenly, it got so easy to lie and play the part that you’ve given to yourself as Eom Seonghyeon’s girlfriend. 

You needed to make everyone believe that you were in love with him, and you were successful in doing so. You even made yourself believe in it. 

Near the halfway mark of the movie, you’re barely even watching anymore. You’re just looking at Seonghyeon, admiring his features. His long lashes flutter when he blinks, the corners of his lips curl up in that delightfully sweet way when one of the characters makes a joke. 

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks you, noticing your gaze on him. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you shake your head. “No, no – I just…” your voice trails off, and subconsciously, your eyes flick to his lips. But Seonghyeon notices, and his breath catches in his throat. The room suddenly fills with tension, and you’re engulfed with the overwhelming feeling of just wanting to pull him towards you and close the distance. 

The two of you gravitate towards each other like magnets, but you don’t notice that Seonghyeon’s eyes are on your lips as well. The movie is completely forgotten about, and you can hear the soft sound escape past Seonghyeon’s throat when he shifts a little closer, his fingers tingling with nerves. 

You gulp, just about to lean in and press his lips to his before that feeling of fear strikes you right in your chest. This was all fake. What the hell were you doing? You both were alone in his room – there was nobody that you had to put a show on for, nobody that you had to convince, nobody that you had to push away. The fear engulfs you like a tidal wave, and although subconsciously, you knew that Seonghyeon would never do anything to hurt you, the mere thought of it is far too much to bear. 

And you don’t quite think you can play pretend anymore, not when your feelings were overwhelmingly real. You don’t think you’ve felt this way before, and you don’t think you ever will with anyone but Seonghyeon.

You jump away from him like you’ve just touched fire, and Seonghyeon’s face immediately flashes with worry. “Are you okay?” he asks, eyebrows knitted together in alarm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“No,” you gulp, your heart hammering in your chest. You’re scared because of just how much you wanted to actually kiss him, but the fear of heartbreak is just all too much. What if Seonghyeon didn’t feel the same way – what if to him, he was still playing pretend? What if he didn’t fall for your own ruse like you did? 

You quickly scramble off his bed, gulping as you try to avoid eye contact. “Um… it’s my bad,” you hurriedly say. “I… I should go.” 

Seonghyeon calls out for you, but you run out of the room like your life depends on it. When you get back to your own hotel room, you slump against the wall, hand pressed against your mouth as you process everything that just happened. 

You wanted to kiss Eom Seonghyeon – overwhelmingly so, and you very nearly did.

But as you sit there on the floor, back pressed against the hotel room door, you can’t help but think that you’ve made a massive mistake. 

You’ve been avoiding Seonghyeon for three days. 

Everyone notices the shift in your demeanour – how your shoulders tense up when his name’s mentioned, how you quickly make up a lie about how ‘you’re not free’ when Yuna invites you to lunch with the entire team. You glance at Seonghyeon and you see the flash of disappointment and worry on his face when he hears you turn Yuna’s request down, saying that you were invited to a media lunch that you couldn’t say no to. He just swallows the lump in his throat as he watches you scurry off. 

He doesn’t know why you left that night, and all he wants to do is ask you why – but you’re always nowhere to be seen. He sees Anton sit in on his practices too, and the boy looks at him with a look that Seonghyeon could only describe as pity. He knows there’s something a little more complicated with the whole ordeal, but his coach tells him to focus – and he does, but you’re still stuck in the back of his mind. 

You know you’re not doing your job properly when you send Anton in for their practices, but you’re far too scared to face him. How could you, after you nearly kissed him that night? It wasn’t for the cameras, it wasn’t for show, it was something genuine. And that was perhaps the most terrifying part. 

Your heart, still fragile from the heartbreak of two years ago, told you that you had to run. So you did, even if you can’t help but regret it. You don’t know what you’d do if Seonghyeon didn’t end up feeling the same way as you did, but something tells you that the ache in your chest would be ten times worse than the one you felt years ago. 

Every moment you shared wasn’t meant to be taken to heart – it was all pretend. You, much like everyone else around you, had fallen for your own fake relationship. You were in love with Eom Seonghyeon, and you don’t know what the hell you’re supposed to do about it. All you knew was that you couldn’t bear playing pretend when you truly felt something real.  

You sit in the media break room, your hands wrapped around a paper cup filled with coffee. You’re watching ice hockey to try and distract yourself from the thought of Seonghyeon, but even the commentator’s loud shouts that fill your ears when James scores a goal isn’t enough. 

“I thought I might find you here.” 

The voice of Eom Seonghyeon nearly makes you jump out of your seat. Lo and behold, the guy you’ve been trying to avoid for three days is standing behind you, and of course he looks perfect. 

He’s wearing his tracksuit, holding his helmet in his hands. The 1500 meter is in a little less than an hour, and you’re due to head to the media pen too so you can actually do your job. Anton can’t cover for you this time. 

You look at Seonghyeon, your breath strangled in your throat. There's something in his eyes that tells you that he’s drained, and you feel awful that it’s because of you. “I need to talk to you,” he says. “Please.” His words are desperate, pleading – and you can’t say no. 

You nod, getting up from your seat. You lead him out of the media break room, finding a quiet corner away from everyone else. When the two of you are finally alone, Seonghyeon lets out a heavy exhale. You’ve been avoiding him for three days, and Seonghyeon finally can’t bear it anymore. 

He can’t stand Anton looking at him with pity, Yuna asking him where you are, and George looking at him with that smug look on his face when he notices how Seonghyeon’s demeanour has changed lately. 

“You left,” he chokes out, his voice cracking as he says the words. Hurt is evident in his tone, and you feel horribly guilty. It’s the fucking Olympics – the biggest event of his life, and you just had to hurt him. “Why did you leave?” 

“I…” you don’t know how to respond. Why did you leave? 

The truth that he wanted was that it got far too real – you actually felt something for your fake boyfriend. It was consuming your very being, and in complete honesty, the days you spent separated from him felt like hell. All you wanted to do was to reach out for him, to feel his hand in yours, to feel like you were home again. 

You don’t know when you weren’t faking it anymore. Maybe it was after the plane ride back to Seoul, or when he delivered blue hydrangeas to your office, or simply when the two of you had planned this whole fake relationship. Perhaps you’ve loved him even since the very beginning when he’d first slipped his hand in yours, tangling your lives together in the most beautifully messy way. 

“Please say something,” Seonghyeon pleads. “I… I don’t know what happened, I don’t know what I did, but I just don’t understand why you’ve been avoiding me for the past few days. I don’t think I can go on out there, in less than an hour, and deliver the skate of my life when this is making me go crazy, (Name).” 

“I can’t,” you stammer. “I can’t do this anymore.” 

“Do what?” 

“This!” you exclaim. “All this – the relationship, everything. I can’t do it. I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess, but… I can’t… I can’t be near you and pretend that I’m fine with this when this is all fake.” 

A beat of silence falls between you two. 

“It’s not fake. Not to me,” Seonghyeon exhales. “I… it was always something real.” 

You look at him, shock evident on your features. “What?” 

“I wasn’t faking,” Seonghyeon repeats. He steps a little closer towards you, and you notice that he’s shaking. “I… from the first time we met at Junior Worlds – when you congratulated me. You were in a rush, you sounded like you shouldn’t be speaking to me, really, but—” he looks at you, eyes shining with sincerity. “It was then when I fell for you. For the first time.”

You blink as you process your words, and Seonghyeon continues. “And then of course, I had a podium ceremony to get to, and then I found out that you were with George, so… I kept my distance,” he gulps, his voice shaking and raw with emotion. “Then a few months ago, you grabbed me by the sleeve and said that I was your boyfriend. I had to take a few seconds to really process what was going on, and then I saw that it was you.”

“I saw how much you wanted George to believe you, so… I put my hand in yours, and everything just… came back to me, and I fell for the second time. But this time it was absolutely hopeless – like… a total wipeout.” he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“And all I could think about was that I wanted to hold your hand again. Then you explained everything to me, and I figured that I could help you with whatever you needed to get George off your back, and that I could also finally get to know you better. I didn’t… really care about getting in George’s head, I know I’m good enough to beat him on merit alone. I guess it was just my excuse of making it seem like I wanted something out of it too, or whatever. Or just convincing myself that I didn't fall in love all over again instantly."

"And quite possibly the reason why I was so good at playing my part, like you say, was because… I wasn’t faking anything. Everything I did or said – I meant all of it.” 

He looks at you, searching your eyes for any sort of reaction. You’re so stunned that you don’t even know what to say or even do. 

Seonghyeon lets out a deep breath after his confession, fidgeting with the chinstrap on his helmet. “I have a race soon, but… you know what?” He takes another deep breath to try and calm his nerves. He’s laid bare all his feelings in front of you, and all he can do is hope that you feel the same.

“You don’t have to say anything, you don’t have to accept it, but I think you must know it. I love you.” 

Eom Seonghyeon loves you. The revelation makes your heart swell. You gasp hearing those words – it’s barely audible, but Seonghyeon hears it. 

“You love me.” you gasp, your voice laced with disbelief. 

“I do,” Seonghyeon replies. “I love you.” 

“Oh,” you manage to choke out, before you burst into a sob. Seonghyeon immediately drops his helmet, rushing towards you to hold you in his arms, and you’ve missed his touch. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for leaving.” 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Seonghyeon says, thumbs swiping at your cheeks to wipe away your tears. He kisses your temple gently, holding you in his arms as you sob. You feel so guilty. You thought he didn’t feel the same, but he did – all this time, you’ve been running from the boy who’s always loved you. 

“I just… after that night at your place, everything got too real,” You’re an open book now once you’ve let the dam break, and your voice is shaky with emotion. “I didn’t think that you felt the same way, so I had to leave because I didn’t want to get hurt. I got scared because we started this with remotely zero intention for something real to get involved.”

“I don’t know when it happened, but it was when I was at the rink, and I’d just gotten you coffee and we were sitting there quietly. And then I… I just knew. Everything just made sense,” you exhale, shaking your head as the words spill past your lips.

“My heart fluttered far too many times when we were supposedly faking everything – when you sent me that giant bouquet of blue hydrangeas – you remembered, of course you did. When you draped your jacket over me that first night at the banquet, hell, even when you just asked me basic questions about myself. Nobody’s ever… cared for me like you do. I think maybe I even felt something when you first held my hand, too.”

“I shouldn’t have run away that night, but… I just… I really don’t think I would know what to do with myself if you didn’t love me back.” 

Seonghyeon hears those words, and his eyes immediately widen. “You… love me too?” 

“Yes,” you chuckle, swiping away at your tears. “So much so I don’t even have the words.”

Seonghyeon lets out an exhale in relief, one hand cupping your cheek and the other around your waist. He looks at you like you’re the brightest star in all of the cosmos. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that,” he beams, eyes crinkling into crescents as he does. “Happier than winning a Worlds’ title, really.” 

“Oh, please,” you reply, giggling. Tears are still pricking at your eyes, but they flick towards Seonghyeon’s lips. “Can I?” 

You don’t even have to ask twice before Seonghyeon slots his lips against yours – finally. He kisses you gently and slowly, like he has all the time in the world. His thumb strokes your cheek as he does so, his touch delicate. 

The feeling of his lips pressed against yours allowed every single feeling that you’ve been keeping locked away for months resurface.

All the flutters that you’d deemed as normal, all the brushes of skin that you’d dwelled on for far too long, all the romantic lines that you’d taken to heart. It's overwhelming, but in the most beautiful way.

You melt against him, your body pressed flush against his as Seonghyeon’s hand gently presses against your waist to ground you.

When you pull away for air, Seonghyeon’s eyes are practically shining with love. His lips crack into the widest grin you’ve ever seen, and he kisses you again. Seonghyeon doesn’t think he ever wants to let you go, even if one of the most important races of his life was about to come up. 

“Hyeon,” you giggle against his lips. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he replies, breathless from the kiss and his expression matching yours. He presses his lips to yours again, and you let him. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” 

You grin, lacing your fingers with his like you always do. You don’t know how much you’ve missed it until now. “Well… safe to say that it’s all real now?” you quip, and Seonghyeon chuckles. 

“I just told you I wasn’t faking anything,” he says, his tone sincere. “But yes – if you’ll have me, of course.” 

You press your lips to his cheek in a kiss, and you don’t think you’ve ever been this happy. “Of course,” you tell him, beaming. You hear the footsteps of another journalist down the hallway, and it snaps you out of the moment. You check your watch, and you’re supposed to be heading down to the media pen soon. “As much as I’d love to stay, I think we have someplace to be.” 

Seonghyeon peers over your shoulder to look at your watch, and he nods – he has to go line up in five minutes. “Okay, I’ll see you soon then?” he asks. Seonghyeon doesn’t want to let go of your hand at all, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before he lets go. 

“Of course, Hyeon,” you beam. You stop him briefly before he leaves, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips for good luck. “You’re going to do amazing.” He smiles back at you, chasing your lips to sneak in another kiss before he heads off. 

Less than half an hour after you and Seonghyeon truly make things official, he wins his first Olympic gold. 

His public declaration of love for you comes not long after. 

The crowds roar Seonghyeon’s name as you watch him skate around the rink, the South Korean flag draped over him. A bright, shiny, gold Olympic medal hangs around his neck as he beams, one hand covering his mouth in disbelief. Your hands are clasped together as you watch him, your eyes shining with pride. 

Seonghyeon’s eye catches yours, and he immediately skates towards you. You rush towards the boards of the rink, leaving your notebook and microphone at the media pen. When he reaches you, without a single thought, he pulls you in by your lanyard and captures your lips in a kiss. 

The crowd somehow roars a little louder, and despite your flushed embarrassment, you press your lips to his a little more insistently. When you pull away for air, you look at him like he’s the only one in this rink, giving his helmet a little pat. “You did it,” you say, beaming brightly at him. “Olympic champ.”

“Your Olympic champ,” he quips, a lovesick smile on his lips. You giggle at his words, shaking your head as heat rushes up to your cheeks. Martin, who’s taken silver, calls for his name with a teasing smile on his lips. "I think the good luck kisses did wonders."

“Hyeon, come for a photo! You have all the time in the world to hang with your girlfriend!” His voice booms across the arena, and some of the fans sitting in the front row erupt with laughter. Laughter bubbles past Seonghyeon’s lips, far too in love with you to even be embarrassed that everyone knows. 

“I love you,” Seonghyeon says, beaming before he presses his lips to yours once more amidst the cheers of the crowd. 

“I love you too,” you tell him, before he skates off happily, gold medal around his neck. You watch him smile for the cameras with your heart so full you think it could burst at the seams. And when he skates back to you and kisses you again, you just know one thing: 

Whether it be in Milan, Seoul, or Dordrecht, all you knew was that home was wherever Eom Seonghyeon was.

© martinflms 2026.

He makes a beeline to the section that stocks vinyls of your favourite artist, and he pulls out the one that he knows that you don’t have yet. You’ve been raving about the album to him incessantly, so Seonghyeon’s put it on loop for the past three days. It’s a no-brainer to buy you the record, because he knows how much you love the songs on it. 

It’s a small gesture that once again, takes a little too much courage. Seonghyeon doesn’t even know why he’s nervous over buying you something. It’s not the fear of wondering whether you’ll like it, because he knows you will, but it’s more so the fear of wondering if you’ll think that this is a little too romantic.

To him, it is a romantic gesture. This is how Seonghyeon’s trying to tell you that he loves you, because saying those three words is much scarier. Gestures like these are subtler, sweeter, more sentimental. Seonghyeon likes it better this way, because for one, he can’t quite get the courage to say ‘I love you’ yet, but also this is just how he loves.

He remembers small, seemingly insignificant things about you. Like your coffee order — an iced vanilla latte. Your favourite colour — powder blue, because your favourite flowers, hydrangeas, are that colour. The fact you have tutoring classes from 6:30 to 7:30 on Monday nights, so Seonghyeon remembers to message you every night at 7:31 to ask you how it went and if you need any of his help. He knows you because he loves you.

He heads up to the counter to pay, fishing his wallet out of his pocket. He taps the card on the reader, and smiles politely at the boy working at the cashier when he hands him the bag with the vinyls in it. 

The windchime hanging on the door rings when he opens the door to leave the store, and he holds the bag with one hand as the other moves to text you that he’s on his way to your place. 

The walk there isn’t far, and with music playing in his ears, Seonghyeon gets there faster than he thought he would. 

He rings the doorbell, his foot tapping rhythmically on the ground as he pulls down the mask that’s been covering his face to hide his identity. You fling your door open, and when Seonghyeon sees that smile of yours, his heart instantly flutters.

“Hyeon!” you beam, moving to give him a hug. He hugs you back, his heart beating a mile a minute. “It feels like it’s been forever.”

You’ve missed Seonghyeon. Ever since he became an idol, it’s been a little more difficult to actually hang out with him. It doesn’t help that you’ve recently realised that you might just have a tiny, little crush on him. Just a tiny one. 

Distance does make the heart grow fonder, you suppose — it was when he was busy shooting music videos in LA when you realised that you missed him far more than you think a best friend should’ve. Seeing him again makes your heart skip a beat, and you tell it to calm down.

“Right?” he beams at your words. The words I miss you nearly slip past his lips, but he stops himself and settles for giving you a small smile. You notice that he’s holding a bag, and you look at it with curiosity. 

“What’s in there?” you ask. “The boys and I got our first paycheck the other day, so… figured I’d get some stuff.” he says, and your eyes widen with excitement.

You let him into your apartment first before you ask him to give you a haul, and Seonghyeon flops onto your couch as a little ‘oomph’ escapes his lips. You laugh at how he’s sprawled across the entire sofa, shaking your head as you squeeze in to sit next to him. 

“Okay, give me the haul, Hyeon.” you say.

“I just bought two vinyls,” he says, opening the bag. “This is the first one… for me.” 

You know Seonghyeon well. “Chet Baker?” you ask, and he looks at you with a pleasantly surprised look on his face, and he pulls out the vinyl that he’d bought. “Yeah,” he says, beaming. “You know me well.” 

“Of course,” you grin. “Now, what’s the next one?”

Seonghyeon then pulls out a vinyl of the album that you’ve been raving about for ages. He notices how your eyes widen in excitement when you see it. “And this one is for you. You’ve been talking about how much you liked it, and I thought I’d get you a little something since we haven’t seen each other in so long.” he says, giving you the record.

You think you could cry. There’s something so sweet about Seonghyeon buying you something after getting his first paycheck. He thinks about you in the little moments, and that’s one of the reasons why you like him so much. 

It’s small gestures like these that make you feel special. The fact that Seonghyeon knows you like the back of his hand makes you all the more enamoured with your best friend. 

“Hyeon… you’re the best.” you say, before wrapping him in a huge hug. He hugs you back, his heart beating a mile a minute. “Hah… I try.” he replies, and you shake your head. 

“No, no. You genuinely are,” you say, looking at the record before your eyes fall onto him again. He’s looking at you with that smile of his, the one that sends butterflies straight to your stomach. “You’re too sweet — I haven’t even gotten you anything!” 

“Just a little something for not being able to see you for a while. It’s nothing.” he says sheepishly — even though it very much is something. He stares at the record in your hands, hands fiddling due to nervousness. He shouldn’t be nervous in front of you, considering that you’re his best friend, but his affection for you is making his brain go haywire.

It’s almost a confession, with how many love songs there are on that album. He doesn’t know that you’ve originally recommended it to him as some sort of hint. And you don’t know that the lyrics of the songs make Seonghyeon think of you.

He looks up at you because he realises that you’ve been silent for far too long. But for some reason it’s a silence that’s comfortable, one that he finds safety in rather than awkwardness. It’s always like that when he’s with you.

He realises that you’re already looking at him, and his face flushes pink. You seem to snap out of it too, embarrassed that you’ve been caught admiring. 

“Thank you though, Hyeon.” you breathe out. “I really appreciate you.”

He grins. “I do too.”

The three little words go unsaid, but you think that this is what it’s like to be loved.

ii. los angeles.

Seonghyeon misses you even when he’s miles away.

He’s in LA again for a week, and as he explores the city with the rest of the boys, little reminders of you pop up everywhere. He supposes that’s what happens when you’re in love.

The boys tease him about it, but deep down they know that they’ve never seen an affection as pure and devoted as Seonghyeon’s when it comes to you. He scours the supermarket aisles for snacks that he can bring back that he thinks you might like. He recounts stories of your own trip to LA a couple years ago, heading to the places that you’ve told him about (and dragging the members with him). He eyes little trinkets that he sees around stores to see if there’s something that he can get you. Keonho jokes that half of Seonghyeon’s paycheck has gone to gifts for you. 

He messages you when it’s midnight and his eyes are falling shut just to ask about your day. He was going to chug a cup of coffee too, if it meant being able to stay up to talk to you. It was a shame that his manager had blatantly rejected the idea.

But one night, after a performance, Seonghyeon finally gets the time to call you. He’s tired, but the excitement of actually getting to speak to you again, even if it’s through the phone, keeps him awake. 

He knows it’s been a big day for you as well. You’ve been studying non-stop for an university entrance exam, and Seonghyeon wants to know how it went. 

The phone rings once and you pick up. Seonghyeon sticks his headphones in his ears so that Juhoon, who he’s rooming with, won’t hear at least half of the conversation. But the smile that spreads across Seonghyeon’s lips tells him exactly who he’s talking to.

“Hyeon, hi.” he sees your face and his heart flutters. But you look a little more dejected than you usually do, and Seonghyeon’s brows furrow in worry  immediately. “How’d the performance go today?” You prop your phone up against one of your pillows as you shuffle in your bed to get more comfortable. 

“It went really well,” he says.. “I don’t think we’ve performed to a crowd that big before. But are you okay? You look a little stressed.”

Seonghyeon can read you far too well. The exam earlier today was not what you expected at all, and you can’t help but feel a little bit disappointed with how you performed. The weight of overthinking every answer you gave is crushing you, and that nervousness makes your stomach twist. 

But you’d much rather talk to Seonghyeon about something happier, seeing as he’d done something so major. Seeing his face alleviates some of the anxiety that you’ve been feeling since you got out of the exam hall. His presence, even through the phone, has always been comforting. You miss him.

There’s a sense of pride that washes over you, to distract you from the exam you took. You were happy for him, even if it meant that you couldn’t see him as much as you used to. You and Seonghyeon used to hang out every single day, with him usually spending the night on Friday for movie nights. But now, you think you see him once a month.

It doesn’t help that your feelings have been simmering for far too long — because with that and the distance, you think that those three words could slip out any second now.

“I’m glad it went well,” you reply. “And it’s just the exam that I’m stressed about. I… I don’t know. I feel like I didn’t prepare enough.”

Seonghyeon furrows his brows. “What? No, (Name). You’ve been working so hard. You did prepare enough. You have to believe in yourself — that’s easier said than done, but you are so capable. You crushed that exam, I’m sure of it.”

“I know you studied like hell. It’ll pay off, believe me.” he says, smiling softly at you through the phone. “When I come back, let’s celebrate it together. You should be really proud of yourself, (Name).” 

His words make you feel more at ease, your heart warming at his kindness. “Thank you, Hyeon. That means a lot.” 

You decide to change the topic to rid your mind from thoughts of the exam, and Seonghyeon doesn’t push you about it. You ask him about what he’s done in LA, and he recounts every single detail to you as you listen to him with the slightest hint of a lovesick grin on your lips. 

He shows you these keychains that he’s gotten, and some new clothes that he’s bought. He knows you steal half of his hoodies anyways — so he makes a mental note to just give you the navy one when he sees your eyes light up at it through the screen. 

You laugh over his addiction to acai bowls when he tells you that he’s tempted to order another one this late in the night. “You’ve got to eat some other stuff too, Hyeon,” you say. “I’m starting to think every single time we hang out we’re going to be having acai.” 

“Might as well,” he shrugs with a smile on his lips. “There’s that nice place that just opened up near your house. We should go when I’m back.”

“Sounds like a…” You wanted to say date, but you stop yourself halfway. “plan,” you settle for instead. Seonghyeon doesn’t miss the way you pause slightly in the middle of your sentence, or the way your cheeks flush the slightest bit of pink. His brain freezes at the idea that you might actually like him back. 

You cough awkwardly to break the silence, and Seonghyeon snaps out of it, giving you a small smile. “Yes. I’ll message you,” he says. It comes out a little shyer that he intended, but that glimmer of hope about his feelings possibly being reciprocated is all he can think about right now. 

You two talk a little bit more, but you notice that Seonghyeon’s basically on his way to dozing off. You know it’s been a long day for him, and you can’t help but admire how cute he looks right now. His eyes flutter open and shut as he tries (and fails) to keep his eyes open — he’s far too tired to. 

You do feel bad for keeping him up so late, but whenever you bring it up, Seonghyeon shakes his head and tells you that he wants to stay up to speak to you. Your heart always warms when he says that — he cares about you a lot. It’s sweet, and it’s one of the reasons why you like him. 

“I’ll let you sleep.” you chuckle. “You’ve worked hard today.” 

He makes a small noise of acknowledgment to your words — you know that when Seonghyeon’s tired, he can barely bring himself to speak. You smile at how comfortable he looks in his bed, hood of his jumper over his head. 

“I miss you, Hyeon,” you mumble before you end the call, thinking that Seonghyeon’s fallen asleep already. “Sleep well.”

Unbeknownst to you, he does hear you. “Miss you too,” he mumbles, somewhat unintelligibly as he’s too tired. But you've ended the call, so you can’t hear him.

Seonghyeon falls asleep with a smile on his lips. 

iii. happy birthday.

It’s your birthday.

Seonghyeon is not going to miss celebrating it with you.

He doesn’t care about how tired he is, nor the ache in his back after dancing and singing all day. He taps his foot impatiently on the bus, duffel bag and gift bag in one hand and phone in the other to check the time. 

“Come on,” he says impatiently, hands running through his hair in stress. He doesn’t even remember if he told you that he’d be showing up to celebrate with you, but Seonghyeon knows that he must. Your birthday gift — new headphones, a vinyl and a hoodie — is packed neatly in purple wrapping paper and a pretty gift bag. There’s a card in there too, and Seonghyeon thinks he might have let his feelings become far too transparent with his words on the page.

When he sees the bus, he lets out a sigh of relief. He hurriedly gets on the bus, sitting down on the first seat that he can find before checking the time. It’s 10:30. Seonghyeon can only hope that you’re still awake by the time that he gets there. 

It’s 10:50 by the time he gets to your apartment. He’s sweating, he’s tired and he feels like his arm’s going to fall off after carrying so much stuff in his duffel bag. He knocks on your door, silently hoping that you haven’t gone to sleep yet.

When he hears your footsteps approach, he smiles in relief. You swing open the door, and you’re faced with a tired, but beaming Seonghyeon. He’s got a striped long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants on. There’s a purple bag that’s very clearly for you in his hands. It contrasts with just about everything on his person, and you couldn’t be more shocked to see him here at your doorstep at night.

“Hyeon, what—?” you can only sputter out.

“Happy birthday!” he beams, holding out the gift bag. “I had to come see you for your birthday — I couldn’t miss it. I’ve celebrated every single birthday of yours with you in person… and I didn’t want that to change just because I’ve debuted.” 

You don’t know what to say. Here he was, at nearly 11pm, standing at your doorstep to celebrate your birthday with you. Even after a long day of practicing, and even though he had a flight tomorrow for Japan. Eom Seonghyeon puts in the effort for you. You don’t know what you’ve done to get so lucky to meet someone like him. 

You wrap him in a hug, and it catches Seonghyeon off-guard, but he hugs you back. The smell of sage and sea salt infiltrates your senses, and it brings a certain sense of warmth and comfort. “Thank you,” you whisper. You want to say more. You want to tell him that you love him.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you say, ushering him into your apartment. “You didn’t have to come.” 

Seonghyeon shakes his head. “I wanted to.”

Those simple words make your heart skip a beat. Something is compelling you to do something to address everything that’s been unspoken between you two for far too long. You love Eom Seonghyeon. You think he loves you, and you want nothing more than to be proven right.

And those three words, the ones you’ve been dying to hear, are just on the tip of Seonghyeon’s tongue. Maybe it’s because he’s tired, or maybe it’s the way you’re looking at him expectantly, like you’re waiting to hear those words. Seonghyeon’s breath hitches at your beauty, and he knows that he has to say it. He doesn’t think he can go on any longer without saying those words — even with how scared he is. 

“Hyeon…” you say. “You’re too good to me. What did I ever do to even deserve this?” 

There’s too much going on in Seonghyeon’s mind. He’s trying to come up with an answer for your question while deciding how to tell you he loves you, and his brain just gets mixed up.

“I love you,” he blurts out. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was not the way that it was supposed to go. Seonghyeon thinks that this is the least romantic way possible his confession could’ve happened — a blunder when he was trying to figure out what to say. He wants to smack himself across the forehead. He’s too scared to even look at your reaction, and his heart is racing a million miles per minute. 

“What?” he hears you say.

“Um…” Seonghyeon hesitates. But he’s said the difficult part already — the three words that he’d been so afraid to say. “I love you.” he says again, a little more assertive than the first time.

And now that he’s said it another time, Seonghyeon lets his feelings spill past his lips. “I’ve been in love with you for a really long time, and I don’t think I can keep that to myself anymore. I love how you always take time out of your day to make sure that I’m doing okay. I love how you’ve been so understanding through all of this… madness, after my debut.” 

“And I just… I just love you, you know? Your entire being. Your smile, your laugh, your presence. And fuck, this is not the way I wanted to confess, but I guess I just can’t keep my feelings to myself anymore, even though I was really, really scared to tell you. That’s why… why I do all this, you know? All these small gestures — I was too scared to tell you that I actually loved you, so I figured… I had to show it. Or I think I’d literally go insane, and I know I’m rambling, and god, this is probably the least romantic way to confess my feelings to you and ask you to be my girlfriend, but—!” 

You pull Seonghyeon in by the collar of his shirt and connect your lips with his, and he freezes for a split second before melting into the kiss. His cheeks heat up — he knows that they’re impossibly red right now. He can taste the peach flavoured lip balm on your lips, he can smell the rose scented shampoo from your hair, and he can feel your lips on his. 

He kisses you softly, and it’s like everything clicks in this one moment. It just feels right, and it’s gentle, yet electric. Seonghyeon brings his hand to your cheek to cup it, and you can feel the way his lips curve up into a small smile as he grows more comfortable in the kiss.

When you pull away, you’re grinning at him, with eyes so bright that Seonghyeon thinks that they rival the stars. “I think you confessed in the perfect way, actually.” you giggle, and Seonghyeon can’t help but mirror your expression. His heart is pounding so fast in his chest, Seonghyeon thinks it might explode. “And for what it’s worth… I love you too.” 

Seonghyeon lets out a loud exhale in relief, as if you hadn’t just kissed him breathless and that wasn’t a sign enough that you felt the same way. He wraps you in a hug, kissing your temple. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that. I was so scared…” he mumbles into your hair. 

“Of ruining the friendship?” you reply, chuckling.

“Yeah,” he replies. “That’s why I didn’t say it for so long, even though it was literally killing me inside.”

“You’re too cute, Hyeon,” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well… this has been the best birthday gift ever, I think.” 

“You haven’t even opened the bag,” he says, and you shake your head, sitting down on your couch. He sits down beside you, and he hesitantly puts one arm around your shoulder. He looks at you as if to ask if it’s okay, but when you lean into his touch, it’s enough of an answer. 

“I don’t really need to. Nothing will top this one.” 

Seonghyeon pouts. “I also put a lot of effort into your other gift,” he says. “Open it, will you? It’s technically my first gift to you… as your… you know. Boyfriend.” 

A teasing smile spreads across your lips when you see his cheeks flush pink when he calls himself your boyfriend. 

“Boyfriend, huh?” you tease, and Seonghyeon covers his face with his hands. Did he misunderstand something? “I thought we’d established it after… you know… I asked… and you kissed me like that…” he stammers. 

“I’m joking, Hyeon,” you laugh, and Seonghyeon’s hands are still covering his face to hide the blush on his cheeks. “You don’t have to be embarrassed in front of me. I’m your girlfriend now, after all.” 

Seonghyeon’s heart is hammering in his chest, and his cheeks are even more red than before. “Gosh, don’t play those pranks on me! I’m even more flustered now,” he laughs, hands not leaving his face.

“Hey,” you say, taking Seonghyeon’s hands to stop him from covering his face. You lean in to give him a soft peck on the lips, smiling. 

“Hi.” he mumbles back at you. You can see the smile creeping up on his lips, and the nervousness dissipating after the kiss. 

“Even though you’re cute when you’re flustered, I think you should watch me open your other gift, hmm?” you say, and Seonghyeon nods. He watches as you neatly pull out the gifts, and Seonghyeon doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up at every single one of them.

“Is this hoodie yours?” you ask. It looks like the navy one that he’s shown you before, and it smells like him — sage and sea salt. Comforting, familiar, and like home. 

Seonghyeon smiles sheepishly. “Kind of… I bought it in LA for myself, but I saw how you really liked it when we called when I was there, so I wanted to give you it.”

“It smells like you,” you say, putting it on. Seonghyeon can’t help but admire you, a smile making its way to his lips as he watches you pull the hood up over your head. “How does it look?” 

“Perfect,” he says. “You’re really pretty.”

“Now I’m going to be the flustered one, Hyeon.” you reply. You get up for a split second to put the gift bag on your coffee table so you don’t accidentally squash anything. Seonghyeon smiles when you sit back down next to him.

He pulls you into his arms, the shyness from before dissipating. He’s far too tired to actually be flustered now, and you look up at his face. His eyes are closed, and he’s softly humming to the beat of the music that's playing from the speaker next to your TV. You reach up to gingerly brush the hair out of his eyes. “Do you wanna sleep in my room?” you ask him. “It’s more comfortable than the couch.” 

“Are you okay with that?” he asks, opening his eyes. “I don’t want to overstep, or anything.” 

“Nonsense,” you say, pulling him up from the couch. You quickly grab the record that he’s gotten you for your birthday from the gift bag, and lead him to your room. “Make yourself at home.”

Seonghyeon basically flops onto your bed, and you chuckle at the sight. You place the record he’s gotten you into your record player, and music softly fills the room. You climb into bed next to him, and Seonghyeon immediately wraps his arms around you. He’s clingy when he’s tired, you realise. 

“Happy birthday,” he whispers to you. He closes his eyes, humming softly to the best of the song. “You made it pretty great,” you reply. “I’m so lucky.” 

You press a soft kiss to his lips, and Seonghyeon smiles, his eyes still closed. “I think I’m pretty lucky too,” he mumbles. “I love you.”

Seonghyeon isn’t afraid to say those three words now. He’ll say it over, and over, and over again, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You smile. “I love you too.” 

It’s a little cruel to dislike your younger sister’s best friend, and Seonghyeon’s well aware of that. But there’s something just so incredibly infuriating about you, and he just can’t help it. You’re annoyingly clever — clearly, since you’ve skipped a grade. Seonghyeon’s always been top of his class every single year, but now that you’re going to be in his grade, he knows that very well may change. 

You’re far too smart, well-read and intellectual for someone your age. You read Plato and Aristotle for fun. For fun! Seonghyeon adores reading, but even he thinks that you’re insane. There’s no reason for someone’s ideal lounge-by-the-pool book to be The Republic. While he’s being sprayed with a water gun by Keonho, you’re sitting by the lounge chair learning about justice and the idea of a perfect society. 

It’s tiring for him to always be compared to you as well. Words like Seonghyeon, you’re so smart, just like Sera’s friend infuriates him to no end. He knows that it’s not your fault that other people are comparing the both of you, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. 

To say the least, you make Eom Seonghyeon feel stupid. And you don’t even intend to. 

Another thing that Seonghyeon dislikes about you is how effortlessly charming you are. Seonghyeon, for a lack of better words, could sometimes act like a complete dick to you. He gives you curt nods when he sees you at his house, tries to not roll his eyes at your tangents (which Seonghyeon sometimes agrees with, but he’d never let you know that), and silently scoffs when Sera reveals a new fact about you. 

And you? You always smile at him when you see him in the hallways. You always ask him if he’s eaten today. You even give him book recommendations sometimes when you notice what he’s been reading, and fuck, sometimes they’re really good. It’s infuriating. 

He also dislikes that you’re… pretty, or something. He sees you far too often, and there's also far too many times where he has to remind himself that you're his younger sister's annoyingly clever best friend. Especially when he sometimes catches himself staring for far too long in your direction. Seonghyeon tells himself there's just something interesting that catches his eye nearby, like the light switch or a fly. He'd never admit that it's you. 

Seonghyeon has shoved the thought of you being pretty to the back of his mind many times. He’s going to do that again right now. 

He’s completely lost in his own thoughts about you and he doesn’t even notice that his half-eaten toast has fallen onto his plate, and Sera’s calling out his name. “Hello? Earth to Seonghyeon?” 

He snaps out of it, picking up his toast again and taking a bite. “Yeah?” 

“I was asking you if you could take a bit of time to look out for (Name) this year.” Sera’s words don’t come out like a request, but rather like a command. “Obviously, she’s skipping a grade so she won’t have me there — poor girl — and she won’t know anyone. You’ve seen her so many times over the years, so… please? Just make sure she’s settling in well and everything. She was telling me that she wasn’t really sure if she should actually skip a grade, but you know. Too easy for her.” 

Seonghyeon nearly chokes on his toast for the second time today. His sister wants him to look after you. Seonghyeon would rather set himself on fire. 

He’s being dramatic. He doesn’t hate you that much. It’s just that Seonghyeon would much rather stay away from you if he had the chance to. 

“Please,” Sera said, as if she’s able to read his thoughts. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of her, but come on. She’s really nice, if you just got to know her. And she doesn’t even care about being top of the class.” Of course you don’t care, Seonghyeon thinks. It’s because you’re too humble for your own good. 

Seonghyeon sometimes wonders if he’s a bad person for disliking you when you’re basically morally perfect. 

“Oh, and make sure Keonho knows that she’s off limits. You and all of your friends are. If anything happens, just know I’m gonna get violent.” Sera says off-handedly.

“Won’t be a problem,” Seonghyeon replies, rolling his eyes.

“Is that a yes? To keep an eye out for her?” 

“Whatever.” Seonghyeon says, taking another bite out of his toast. He’s chewing angrily. 

He just has to agree, right? Does he have to actually do it? 

Five minutes later, Seonghyeon finds out that the answer is yes. 

Because you show up at his fucking doorstep, of course. 

You’re beaming brightly while Seonghyeon can barely hide the frown on his lips. You’re holding The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli — of course you are, Seonghyeon thinks — and there’s around 500 of those colourful plastic tabs that you use to mark where you’ve made a note sticking out of the book’s edge. You greet Sera, him, and his mom with such genuine politeness and warmth, and Seonghyeon hates that he can’t call this bullshit. 

Your uniform’s now the same as his, with the tartan on your tie being the same chequered pattern of green and beige. It’s an unpleasant reminder that you’re going to be in all of his classes, and that avoiding you will be far more difficult than it used to be. 

Sera greets you with a big hug, which you return. “I can’t believe you’re ditching me in Year 10.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, frowning. “You know I’ll always be around, though. And I’m never gonna bail on our after school study sessions anyways. I kind of focus better here.” 

Your eyes land on Seonghyeon, and you give him a small smile. It’s tentative, a little shy, but still has that warmth that makes him feel uneasy. “Hey! Did you like the book, by the way?” you ask. 

Seonghyeon’s puzzled for a second. “What book?” 

“The one I gave to you a couple weeks ago. Romance of the Three Kingdoms by Luo Guanzhong? I know you like history and everything, so…” you trail off. It’s like a lightbulb switches on in Seonghyeon’s brain — oh, right. That book. The book that he found so good he pulled an all-nighter to finish. Your brilliant book recommendation and the fact that you’re attentive to his interests stirs up this strange feeling in the pit of Seonghyeon’s stomach that he can’t quite explain. 

“It was… alright.” he says, feigning indifference. He shrugs before turning curtly to grab his backpack from his room. Behind him, he can hear Sera telling you to ignore him, and that he’s feeling moody today. Sera also recounts to you about how Seonghyeon choked on his toast this morning, and his face flushes pink with embarrassment. And contrary to what Sera was saying, he was not moody. He just… didn’t like you. 

When he grabs his backpack from his chair, Seonghyeon spots the copy of Romance of the Three Kingdoms that you gave to him just sitting on his desk. It’s a glaring reminder of you. 

He groans and shoves the book in his bag. 

This was going to be a long year. 

Everyone looks at you in bewilderment when they see you walk into the 11th grade math classroom. 

The stunned silence, their wide eyes and gaping mouths tell you everything. They’re all asking: why the fuck would you would be here?  They all know you as the genius from 9th grade — you left prizegiving last year with so many medals around your neck to the point where you'd nearly fallen over.

You’re a little late because you’d gone to the administrator’s office to grab your new schedule, since you’d been moved up a year. Your eyes scan the thin sheet of paper, mumbling to yourself the order of your classes and the teachers of each course, just so that you could get that information in your head. 

You look around the classroom for any familiar faces, and you don’t recognise anyone, except for Seonghyeon. He’s laughing with Keonho — you’ve seen Keonho multiple times at the Eom family’s house. You want to go up to them, simply because you don’t know anyone else. But a weird, tight feeling in your chest stops you from doing so, and you opt for a seat at the back of the classroom. Alone.

It’s next to the window, and sunlight spills through the curtains. It gives you a certain sense of warmth that you find you enjoy. You place your bag down on the floor, unzipping it to pull out your notebooks. 

They’re all organised meticulously and by colour — red for English, blue for math, purple for history, green for science, orange for Korean. You pull the blue math notebook out and set it on the left side of your desk.

Your pencil case is organised just as intentionally – blue pens to the left of the box, black pens to the right. Pens are stacked above your sticky notes. Only yellow sticky notes, never in one of the fun colours, because you found that it made your notes hard to read. You pull out one blue pen and one black pen and put it on the right side of your desk. 

You’re so engrossed in making sure that your table’s organised to your liking to the point where you don’t notice that everyone’s eyes are still on you. Seonghyeon and Keonho included. 

“I can’t believe she’s in our class,” Keonho whispers to Seonghyeon. “She must be crazy smart then.” 

Seonghyeon lets out a deep exhale. His shoulders are tense as he watches you with hawk-like concentration. “Sure. Something like that. You know how she was reading Plato at our pool party.” 

“Who the hell is Plato?”

Seonghyeon suppresses a sigh. Keonho was not exactly the studious type. As the school’s favourite student athlete, he spent more time at the pool than he did anywhere else, and won more medals for the school than anyone else. Training takes up most of his days, and it’s honestly a miracle that Keonho’s even here for first period. Seonghyeon would be surprised if Keonho even showed up to half the classes this year. 

“Ancient Greek philosopher. Don’t worry about it,” Seonghyeon replies, and Keonho nods. “But yeah. She’s smart smart.” 

“And you hate her for it?” Keonho asks. There’s a teasing smile on his lips, and Seonghyeon lets out another deep sigh to try and release the tension in his shoulders. It doesn’t work. 

Seonghyeon knows that you make him feel stupid. And he doesn’t like feeling stupid. But his feelings for you, specifically, are complicated, and Seonghyeon would rather die than focus on dissecting them, so he settles on dislike. 

He feels uneasy, on edge and there’s always that constant feeling of wanting to run away whenever you’re near. He must have some sort of aversion to you.

“Hate is a strong word,” Seonghyeon musters out. It's all he can come up with. “I don’t know. She’s just… never been someone I’ve vibed with.” 

Keonho suppresses an incredulous laugh. “You don’t hate her? You look like you want to bolt out of the room whenever she’s around, or even when she’s mentioned.” 

“I don’t know, man,” Seonghyeon replies. He doesn’t want to keep talking about this. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? We’ll have… I don’t know – the whole year to dissect whatever this is. We don’t need to get it over and done with in the first day.” 

Seonghyeon pulls out the book that he’s currently reading — No Longer Human by Ozamu Dazai — and flicks to the page where he’d left off on. He scans the words on the page, quickly engrossing himself in the novel. He doesn’t notice how Keonho’s eyeing him with a look that’s almost like he’s trying to crack open Seonghyeon’s skull to see what he thinks about you. 

As Seonghyeon’s best friend, Keonho knows of his aversion towards you. But there’s this odd feeling that’s telling Keonho that there’s more than Seonghyeon’s letting on, and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it. 

Keonho’s eyes flick from Seonghyeon, to you. Seonghyeon, to you. Seonghyeon, to you.

You’re a little freaked out. Keonho is looking at you like he’s trying to uncover your deepest secret, and for a boy you’ve only spoken to once at a pool party, you really don’t know why he’s eyeing you with the energy of Sherlock Holmes trying to solve a case. All you know about Ahn Keonho is that he’s Seonghyeon’s best friend, he’s a swimmer, and that he got a bruise after cannonballing into the Eom family pool. 

You turn away, a little too aware of Keonho’s scrutinising eyes on you. But then you’re surprised by the sight of an unfamiliar girl, who gives you a smile that you aren’t quite sure is genuine. “Hi. I’m Haeun.” she says, and you nod. 

“Hi. I’m (Name),” you say. Your voice is small — Seonghyeon, though his eyes never leave the pages of his book, notices. He realises that this is rare. He’s never heard you sound this shy, hesitant and unsure. 

“We heard you skipped a grade?” Haeun asks, and you nod. “So you must be really smart then.”

You’re not quite sure what to say. Agreeing would be cocky. Saying no would be a lie. You settle for saying ‘Yeah, I did skip a grade.’ You don’t make any reply to the last thing Haeun said to you. 

Her voice lowers, and she gives you this sickeningly sweet smile that makes you feel uneasy. “So… um… hypothetically. If I were to say – a friend of mine, that is – was unable to do her work due to some… circumstances, would you be able to maybe be so kind to… help out?” 

This is the strangest first day of school experience that you’ve ever had. What were you even supposed to say? Haeun clearly wanted you to do her homework, but you followed a strict moral code — no was obviously going to be the answer, but you didn’t really want to get ostracised by the entire class. Everyone was looking at you expectantly. First period hadn’t even started and you didn’t really want to be making enemies. 

You hear an exasperated sigh, followed by a voice that was all too familiar. 

“Haeun, stop trying to get people to do your homework.” 

Eom Seonghyeon was now standing in front of Haeun, and you think that things might’ve gotten even stranger. The last person you expected to even try and help you out was Seonghyeon – he’d always been cold and aloof to you. A stark contrast from the way you saw him act with Keonho. 

Seonghyeon had always been distant towards you — unreachable, even. You tried your best to hash out whatever issue there was between you two, but you really couldn’t even figure out what the issue was. You were Sera’s best friend, so you sort of expected to be able to get along with Seonghyeon, considering that you had much more in common with him than Sera. 

You both adored books. You both adored history (perhaps a little too much). You two even liked the same type of music, according to Sera. But Seonghyeon seemed adamant on keeping his distance. Even your book recommendations didn’t help. You thought you’d nailed it with Romance of the Three Kingdoms. You were a little disappointed when he told you that it was ‘alright’ this morning.

Haeun rolls her eyes before walking back to her seat. You’re sitting there in stunned silence. Seonghyeon’s about to walk back to his desk. Keonho’s looking at you two like he’s watching the greatest K-drama that’s ever been made. 

“Seonghyeon.” You say his name without thinking. Fuck, why’d I do that? you think.

And Seonghyeon’s thinking, fuck, why did I get up and tell Haeun off? Seonghyeon also finds something new that he dislikes about you right at this moment. He dislikes how his name rolls off your tongue so sweetly, like honey dripping off the comb. He doesn’t know why his breath catches in his throat because of it. It’s absurd. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” you tell him. 

“I kind of did. Sera told me to take care of you,” he shrugs, and you let out a small ‘oh’. The idea that it was more obligatory on Seonghyeon’s end makes you feel a little disappointed, but you’re really not surprised that Sera had asked. She was always looking out for you. “And honestly? If you do Haeun’s homework, you’re going to end up doing the entire class’ homework. Except for mine.” 

You look at him, tilting your head as you ponder on what to say. “So.. do I stay away from her?” you ask about Haeun, and Seonghyeon nods in response. He’s about to turn to leave again when you suddenly speak up. 

“Thanks for sticking up for me, Seonghyeon.” you reply, giving him a small smile. There it goes again, his name rolling off your tongue like it’s honey. Seonghyeon makes a small noise of acknowledgement that’s akin to a “don’t mention it” without actually saying the words. 

“I get it now,” Keonho says, voice teasing when Seonghyeon slides back into his own seat, picking up his book again. “You don’t hate her. You like her.” 

Keonho’s words are so insane to the point where Seonghyeon drops his book. Not even onto his desk, but onto the floor. 

“What?” Seonghyeon thinks that’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard in the world — so absurd that he thinks it makes him a little sick. Those three words land like an odd blow to his chest too. It contradicts everything that he’s told himself for the past ten years, and it’s honestly so ridiculous that it does make Seonghyeon question whether or not he likes you. 

“You like her.” Keonho repeats. 

“You’re ridiculous.” Seonghyeon retorts. 

“You’re not denying it.” 

“I don’t need to deny it when it’s that ridiculous. Your psychoanalysis of me is incredibly wrong.” 

“Whatever you say,” Keonho says, in that sing-song voice that makes Seonghyeon want to elbow him in the side. “You know it’s true. Plato would agree.” 

“You’ve never read Plato.” Seonghyeon replies, matter-of-factly. 

“Whatever. The Greeks had Plato, you have me.” Another ridiculous statement from Keonho, but Seonghyeon chooses to laugh at it a little, because of the sheer absurdity. The first thing he said was also absurd, but Seonghyeon found it to be no laughing matter. 

Seonghyeon’s going to ignore it. What does Ahn Keonho know about love anyways? 

Who cares that he was born on Valentine’s Day, right? 

So far, your first day as an 11th grader is nothing remarkable by your standards. 

You don’t really click with anyone — you chat with your deskmate Leean from history about the Cold War. Actually, you’re really the one talking, and she’s taking notes about what you’re saying. She calls you a lifesaver, because apparently Mr Jung is incompetent. You don’t think any proper friendship will come out of it. 

Seonghyeon, who’s sitting two tables in front of you, listens as you basically give an oversimplified lecture about the Cold War in the ten minutes that it takes for Mr Jung to show up to class. Seonghyeon knows that you know everything about the Cold War like the back of your hand — he does too. He makes a mental checklist in his head to make sure you’re mentioning all the things that he would’ve mentioned. You tick off every single box. 

You opt to sit with Sera and Nayeon at lunch like you always do. Seonghyeon’s table, where he sits with Keonho, Martin and Juhoon is just two tables down. Usually, Seonghyeon would avoid looking in your direction. Today, it’s the opposite. 

You’re talking with Sera, and you look a little less energetic than usual. You’re picking at your food — he’s never seen you do that before. You’re letting Sera and Nayeon talk much more, which is not too strange, but you’re not even interjecting with your own short remarks. You’re just picking at your food and listening. However, The Prince is next to your lunch box. Seonghyeon can tell you’re itching to open it and read it, because your fingers are tapping rhythmically against the fabric-bound cover of the book.

Seonghyeon doesn’t even realise he knew this much about your habits until now. 

“Thinking about something? Or… someone?” Keonho asks with that shit-eating grin on his lips. Seonghyeon rolls his eyes and stabs his salad with a little more aggressiveness, as if to tell Keonho to not provoke him. He’s got one hand holding his book, and every now and then his eyes flick towards your table. Martin notices, and he looks in your direction too. 

“Oh yeah, I heard (Name)’s in your grade now,” Martin says. Seonghyeon furrows his eyebrows – how does he know you by name? Martin never really talked to many of the younger students (he only clicked with Seonghyeon and Keonho because of the music committee). Seonghyeon also knew Martin would never join philosophy club. 

“How’d you know her?” 

Martin looks at Seonghyeon sheepishly, as if he was a little embarrassed. “She tutored me for ethics. For like… a month.” 

“She… tutored you?” Juhoon’s stifling a laugh, and Martin is not amused. “Bro, she’s like two years younger than you!” 

“Well, desperate times call for desperate measures, and she’s the only person in our entire school probably who actually reads stuff about it. Let’s be real, I’m pretty sure she knows more than Mr Hwang about stuff like… deontological ethics. Don’t quiz me on that, by the way. I purged all of that from my memory after the test.” Martin shrugs, and Seonghyeon fails to find any reason to disagree. 

Keonho nudges Seonghyeon, leaning in to ask a question. “Do we have to know deonto–” 

“You don’t need to know, bud. I don’t even think you’re enrolled in ethics.” 

Keonho flashes Seonghyeon a thumbs up and a wide grin before going back to scarf down his lunch. 

Two tables down, Sera’s asking you questions about your first day as an 11th grader. You shrug, picking at your lunch with your fork. “It’s been alright. Nothing too fancy. Maths got harder, I will say. Science… not horrible. History was fun. Did some stuff on the Cold War. I’m hoping that maybe we could venture into something like medieval history, but I don’t know if Mr Jung is really qualified to teach that. He’s not… great.” you say, and Nayeon laughs. 

“Tell me about it. He’s hopeless, honestly. We had him this morning too. You should just teach the class instead,” she quips, and you shake your head. You’ve been told that far too many times, but you fail to agree. You don’t really think you’d be the best history teacher — you find yourself going on and on and then venturing into areas of history that aren’t remotely relevant to the topic at hand. “But what about everything else? Made any new friends?” 

“Eh,” you reply. Your tone is dull, because your entire day has been underwhelming. Your first day’s been shaping up to be academically mediocre and socially lonely. At least in 10th grade it would be academically easy and socially vibrant — you’d have Sera and Nayeon to talk and joke around with. “I talked to Leean. Or well, I lectured Leean about the Cold War. And someone named Haeun tried to get me to do her homework for her before Seonghyeon stepped in.” 

Sera’s pleasantly surprised at the mention of her brother. “Seonghyeon stepped in?” 

“Yeah,” you say, taking a bite of your food. “Told her to go away. Nice of him.” 

You don’t have much to say about Seonghyeon. You never do, because he never really gives you anything to talk about, even if you see him every single day at school and after school. You’d think that after being friends with his sister for ten years, you’d be close with him already. But Seonghyeon seems to want to avoid you like the plague, and you’ve got no idea what you’ve done to cause him to have such an aversion towards you. Him interjecting into your conversation with Haeun was utterly shocking — perhaps it’s why it’s stayed in your mind all day. 

And you wouldn’t lie. Perhaps you had been harbouring a small crush on Seonghyeon ever since… forever. When you first became friends with Sera and headed over to the Eoms’ house, you’d always try and see what he was up to. You’d often find his nose in some history book, completely engrossed in it as if he was in his own little world. You’d actually started getting into history because of how interested Seonghyeon seemed in it. Perhaps he’d talk to you after you two had something in common. 

But then you realised how much you loved it too. You spent all your lunch breaks reading about historical events, figures, everything — while the other kids played in the playground, you kept your nose buried in a book just like Seonghyeon. When you started middle school, it was apparent to everyone that you’d be dux by the time 12th grade rolled around. 

Much to your disappointment, after you’d started reading more about the things that Seonghyeon liked as well, he only seemed to move further away. You tried to start conversations about historical topics that you knew he enjoyed, and he’d only give you a short response or a nod, before saying that he had homework to do and retreating into his room. 

Frankly, you’re not sure what you were expecting. Perhaps to Eom Seonghyeon, all you’d ever be was his little sister’s annoying best friend. Nothing more. 

You look at Seonghyeon, who’s sitting two tables down from you. The shitty cafeteria lighting is somehow making him look like a fucking Greek god. 

The light hits just right on certain parts of his hair to emphasise his blond highlights. He’s laughing at some random joke that Juhoon just made, and the way laughter bubbles past his lips is so beautiful, it makes your stomach flip. He comes up with some retort that makes the table erupt in laughter. Your best friend’s brother is smart, funny and beautiful. He’s perfect, but he hates you. 

Seonghyeon’s eyes wander around the cafeteria before they land on you. There’s a look in his eye. Soft, unrecognisable, nothing like you’ve ever seen before. Maybe he doesn’t hate you. 

But then his entire body stiffens, and the smile on his lips disappears. He coughs, and then looks away. You let out a dejected sigh before you tear your gaze away from him. That small glimmer of hope dissipates.

Eom Seonghyeon probably still hates you. 

It’s been a week since you started 11th grade, and you think you’re getting more used to it now. 

Leean actually makes for great company, and she ends up being the person you speak the most to in class. Through Leean, you’ve also befriended a girl named Hayoung. Keonho sometimes makes conversation with you when he’s here, but you can’t help but feel like he’s trying to psychoanalyse you or figure out your feelings for Seonghyeon. 

And as for Seonghyeon, things are just about the same. He still gives you short and clipped responses, he barely speaks to you in class, and when he sees you after school, he simply glances at you and makes a noise of acknowledgement before heading back to his room. You thought maybe being in the same grade would bring you two closer together. You were incredibly wrong. 

English is your last class of the day, and you’re more than ready to go home. You’re craving for a much-needed afternoon nap in your bed before you head to Sera’s house to do your homework. You don’t think you’ve done much schoolwork in your actual house, now that you think about it – you just seem to work better at the Eoms’ house.  

“Looks like Keonho’s not here. We’ll need to put you in a pair with someone else, Seonghyeon,” Ms Kim says as she scans the register. Seonghyeon nods – he knew Keonho had a swim meet today. Seonghyeon just prays to God that he won’t get a partner that’s not going to do any work for this class. He knows today's lesson is about poetry analysis, according to the Google Classroom. He’s not excited. 

You’re sitting alone again because Leean’s sick, and Ms Kim’s eyes land on you. You’re already highlighting a line in the poem that you found particularly intriguing, and you’re mid-grab for a sticky note when Ms Kim calls your name out. 

“(Name), could you go work with Seonghyeon for this? It’s a paired exercise.” Ms Kim says. You suddenly sit up straight, stiffening as you look at her. You then look at Seonghyeon, and he’s looking down at the poem. Anywhere but you, of course. It’s like another blow to your heart. He won’t even look at you. 

Seonghyeon’s hiding his face, because if anyone saw his expression right now – eyes blown wide in alarm, jaw slack and panic settling into his lungs – they’d think something was incredibly wrong. But firstly, Seonghyeon doesn’t really want to work with you, because he’s sure he dislikes you. You’re going to be making him feel stupid for the next 45 minutes. 

Secondly, Keonho’s words from a couple of weeks ago are still in the back of his mind, and he absolutely despises it. Seonghyeon oscillates between his own thoughts of what he assumes to be dislike towards you, and thoughts of Keonho’s claims stating that he actually likes you. 

However, he knows that he’s going to have to do it – Ms Kim is strict, and Seonghyeon thinks that 45 minutes can’t be that bad. You weren’t mean to him anyways. Seonghyeon just had to try and suppress those feelings of frustration that always bubbled up when it came to you.  

“Oh, um… it’s okay,” you say quietly, and Ms Kim raises an eyebrow at your words. 

“It’s okay as in… you’re going to go, or you’re not?” 

“Just come.” Seonghyeon says, patting the empty seat next to him. 

His eyes haven’t left the poem, and he’s highlighting with a bright yellow marker. Still not looking at you, always keeping a distance. Your heart is beating too fast. You hesitantly get up from your seat and walk towards Seonghyeon’s table, and even sitting down feels risky. 

“I don’t bite.” Seonghyeon pipes up, almost reading your mind. He’s still not looking at you. 

Well, you kind of hate me, you think. “No, I know. Um…” you trail off. You shake your head, and you think it’s best if you focus on the poem. You’re now the one that doesn’t dare to look at Seonghyeon, and you miss the way he’s looking at you somewhat expectantly, waiting for you to finish your sentence. “Never mind. Let’s just focus.” 

You and Seonghyeon work surprisingly well together. You’re bouncing ideas off of one another like you’ve done it a million times before. 

His analysis of the poem is incredibly insightful, like you expected. Seonghyeon’s always been brilliantly clever. He’s seeing these tiny, miniscule nuances and implications in the text that you don’t think you’d ever be able to notice. 

He points out a line that he finds intriguing with his finger. You’re too engrossed in the commentary you’re making about a separate line on a sticky note, and instead of waiting (why would he?) he reaches over to grab an blank sticky note so he can write down his own thoughts. 

The action brings Seonghyeon impossibly close to you. He’s never been this close before, and you can smell the lavender and birch from his cologne. Your breath catches in your throat, and you pause writing momentarily. Seonghyeon pretends not to notice. 

You clear your throat and you get back to writing. Neither of you speak about it. 

Seonghyeon twirls his pen in his hands as he watches you finish what you’ve been writing. Your handwriting is impossibly gorgeous, with letters that look too neat to the point where someone could say that it was typed. You stick your commentary next to the line that you’ve highlighted in purple. 

“Why’d you use purple instead of yellow here?” Seonghyeon asks, pointing at one line. 

“It’s the hinge of the poem,” you explain. “It’s the only line in the poem that’s short – it’s two words, after all. And then you realise that the rest of the poem is about the poet talking about the beauty of looking at their partner.” 

As you explain your interpretation of the line, Seonghyeon realises that your voice isn’t as small as it was that morning when Haeun had basically asked you to do your homework. You sound confident and assured – you always have, when speaking to him. He’s looking at the poem and nodding along to what you’re saying. He thinks you’re right – of course you would be, he’s never doubted your intellect – but for the first time Seonghyeon’s not compelled to roll his eyes at your tangents. 

“I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world,” you say, reading out the line. Seonghyeon’s eyes snap up to look at you, even though he knows that line’s in the poem. It’s also the one you’ve been talking about for the last two minutes. 

But there’s something about the way you’ve said the words, or perhaps maybe the way Seonghyeon’s interpreted the manner of your speech. You say it with a breezy cadence, not stating it with any intention or deliberation. It’s a line from the poem, after all – but for some reason, the words strike Seonghyeon's chest. It makes his heart twinge in the strangest possible way. 

“Yeah,” Seonghyeon breathes out. He shoves his thoughts to the back of his mind. “And then he mentions the Polish Rider right after. Perhaps he’s saying that painting is the only one comparable to his lover’s beauty?” 

Your eyes light up at his words. “That’s brilliant — write that down.”  

Seonghyeon doesn’t know why that weird twinge in his chest returns when he sees that look in your eyes. He nods, scribbling that thought out onto a sticky note before pressing it down next to the line that you’d highlighted for him. 

He looks at the paper — there’s annotations and highlighting on practically every page. Your effortlessly gorgeous handwriting in blue dances across the page and mixes with his slightly italicised handwriting in black. He reads every single annotation that you’ve put down on the paper, nodding along as he begins to understand your interpretation of each line. Your analysis and interpretation is brilliant, and Seonghyeon makes a mental note to actually learn a little bit from you. 

He also realises that for the first time in years, he hasn’t had to do most of the work in English. You two work together seamlessly, and Seonghyeon doesn’t think that he’s worked on a better literary analysis than this in a long time. 

“We did a good job,” he says, nodding approvingly. He puts his pen back into his pencil case before smoothing down the sticky notes on the page. “Ms Kim’s going to be really happy.” 

“You think?” you ask. You’ve never been taught by Ms Kim before, and you knew that she was notorious for being strict. English had always been one of your favourite subjects, but you knew that it got harder in 11th grade. It was a step up from anything that you’d had to do before, and you certainly didn’t expect this level of intensity early on in the year. 

“I know,” Seonghyeon says with assertiveness. “Don’t worry. You’re good at English. The class won’t be too difficult for you.” 

He’s still giving you these shorter, clipped responses, but you notice how his tone lacks that sort of iciness that you were accustomed to. It still doesn’t have that sort of melodic warmth that is evident when he speaks to his friends, however, you enjoy the slight change. It’s nice and gives you just enough hope that he doesn’t despise you as much as you think he does. 

“Thanks,” you reply. You give him a soft smile. The corner of his lips quirk up just enough that you take it as a return of your gesture. He then refocuses his attention to the poem, reading it from start to finish once again.  

The end of the poem sticks out to Seonghyeon. 

it seems they were all cheated of some marvellous experience which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I’m telling you about it 

It’s printed on the page with no capital letters, no punctuation in between, and there’s no period at the end. It reads like a tangent, breathless and a little rushed, but it’s ever so romantic. The words leave an enduring mark in Seonghyeon’s mind. He wonders if this sort of love — breathtaking, all-consuming and fervent — is even attainable. 

As these thoughts run rampant in his mind, there’s a strange, compelling urge for him to divert his eyes to you. Seonghyeon listens to that urge. 

That twinge in his heart returns. Maybe he’s just having casual heart palpitations at the young age of 16. That conclusion is completely illogical, but for the first time ever, Seonghyeon wants to believe in something that doesn’t make sense. 

His thoughts, the weird twinge, the ambivalent feelings he’s having towards you... Seonghyeon’s not going to tell you about it. 

The route to the Eoms’ place is something you know like the back of your hand. 

You’ve changed out of your uniform, opting for a hoodie and a pair of jeans. Your books, laptop and pens are in your bag, and you’ve brought a tub of acai that your mom had bought a couple days ago from the supermarket. Sera had been talking about how much she was craving it at lunch, and you figured that since you hadn’t opened the tub yet, you might as well share. You weren’t going to finish all of it anyways. 

You knock on the Eoms’ door, tapping your foot on the concrete as you wait for someone to open it. The door swings open, and it’s Seonghyeon who answers the door this time. He looks a little stunned to see you at his doorstep, but he quickly recovers. He’s no longer in his uniform too, and he’s got a striped t-shirt and dark-washed jeans on. 

The blond highlights frame his face a little too well, with a few strands falling just in front of his face. You muster up a smile at him so that you’re doing something to acknowledge his presence rather than just gawking at how perfect he looks. 

“Hey,” he replies, opening the door a little wider to let you in. “Sera’s asleep. I’ll go wake her up.” 

You kick your shoes off and place them neatly on the shoe rack while Seonghyeon closes the door. “Oh, it’s okay. I just woke up from a nap too,” you say, waving him off. “She can come study with me once she wakes up. ” 

Seonghyeon nods at your words. He hopes that you didn’t notice how he quite literally seemed to short-circuit when he saw you at the door. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised that it’s you, but he’d really never been the one to greet you first; it was always Sera. 

He’s about to head back into his room until he sees you pull a cooling bag out of your already overstuffed tote bag. He’s eyeing you with a certain sense of intrigue, and he plans to stay silent until you pull out a tub of something that looks like ice cream. 

“Did you bring ice cream? We have like, three tubs in the freezer already.” he pipes up, and you turn to look at him. 

“It’s not ice cream,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s acai. My mom bought it a couple of days ago from the supermarket, and Sera was talking about how she wanted acai at lunch, so I figured I’d bring it over. I’m not going to finish this anyways, and my parents don’t like acai, so…” 

“Oh, I see,” he says. Seonghyeon’s trying to hide his excitement over the fact that you’d brought acai. He doesn’t think you know how much he loves the stuff, but god, it’s taking everything in him right now to quite literally not devour the entire tub before Sera wakes up. “Thanks for that.” 

“Do you want some? I can just put it in the freezer later so it doesn’t turn into melted soup before Sera wakes up.” Your offer is exactly what Seonghyeon wants to hear right now, and he nods in response. 

“Yeah. I’d love some, actually. I haven’t really eaten.” he says, and you nod, opening the tub of acai. He heads towards the kitchen to grab two bowls, two spoons and an ice cream scooper, rinsing them with water before setting them on the table in front of you. 

“Do you want toppings, or anything?” he asks, opening the fridge. “We’ve got strawberries. And there’s cornflakes in the pantry if you want to put them on top of it, or something.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he hears you say. You’re busy scooping the acai out into a bowl, and you give Seonghyeon a generous amount considering that he told you he hadn’t eaten much. Seonghyeon takes out the strawberries and cornflakes for himself anyways. “Thanks for asking, though.” 

He returns to the table, sitting down on the chair next to you. You realise he’s never done that before, and you try and ignore how your stomach does a flip as you wrestle with the ice cream scoop to get more of the acai out of the tub. 

You push a bowl towards him. “Here, take this one. If you want more, just let me know.” 

“Thanks,” he replies. He opens the box of strawberries, placing them on top of the acai in a deliberate, artistic manner like he’s a staff member at the most popular shop in the city. He sprinkles just the right amount of cornflakes on top of it, and when you peer over to look at his bowl, it genuinely looks like something you would’ve bought at the store. 

“You’ve decorated it nicely,” you hum, and Seonghyeon’s eyes flick over to you. 

“Hmm?” he looks back down at his bowl. “Yeah, I suppose so. Thanks.” 

You put the lid back on the acai tub, placing it in the freezer next to the three different ice creams that they’ve got in there. There’s mint chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla – the vanilla one has a sticky note on top of the lid that’s got Seonghyeon’s name scrawled on it in big, bold capital letters along with three exclamation marks. You smile to yourself at the sight. 

You sit back down next to him, pulling out your math notebook from your bag before taking a bite of the acai. Seonghyeon sits there awkwardly, observing you as he takes another bite of his acai. 

He realises that he doesn’t exactly know how to act around you, after being cold and distant for ten years. English today made him realise that he didn’t really mind you that much. You were nice to work with as a study partner, you two got the work done in half the time it took everyone else to, and Ms Kim had said it was ‘the best analysis she’s read by 11th graders.’ 

“So…” he starts, scooping up more acai with his spoon and taking a bite. “How’s the first week been?” 

You’re surprised that Seonghyeon is making small talk with you. Eom Seonghyeon. Your best friend’s older brother who has been avoiding you for ten years like his life depends on it. You’re so stunned to the point where you momentarily forget to answer his question until you snap out of it. 

“Oh, um… it’s been chill,” you reply, shrugging. “It’s not great, not horrible.” 

Seonghyeon nods. “You’ll get used to our class. It’s just the first week,” he hums, taking another bite of the acai. You can hear the cornflakes crunch as he chews. “They’re all mostly nice people. I know you’ve been getting close to Leean and Hayoung.” 

He noticed. You thought Eom Seonghyeon wouldn’t even spare a glance at your direction. You nod, unsure of what to say. This time you’re the one giving shorter, clipped answers, and Seonghyeon’s actually talking to you more. His voice isn’t as monotonous as it used to be, it’s even a little warmer than it was in English, and you think – hope – the change in tone is signaling a change of heart. Regardless, today’s been incredibly confusing. 

There’s an awkward silence that falls between the two of you amidst bites of acai. You don’t know how to make conversation with him anymore – should you bring up history? Math? Science? You just want to talk to him. 

Seonghyeon’s almost finished, and you’ve barely gotten halfway. He clears his throat as if it’s a signal that he’ll be heading back to his room now, and you just get the sudden urge to say something so that maybe you’ll be able to talk to him for just a little longer. 

“Is the acai good?” you ask, and Seonghyeon nods. 

“Yeah, it’s really good. If you could, ask your mom where she bought it. Sera and I like the stuff a lot, so… would be good to have some at home all the time.” he says, getting up. He’s holding his now-empty bowl in one hand as he scratches the nape of his neck with the other. His eyes dart around the room, as if he’s unsure where to look. Seonghyeon thinks this might be the longest conversation he’s ever had with you, apart from in English today. 

You learn a new fact about Eom Seonghyeon today. He likes acai. You keep that fact safely tucked in the back of your mind. “Sure,” you reply. “It’s good to know that you — you guys — like it.” 

The quick correction of your words doesn’t go unnoticed by Seonghyeon, but he chooses not to say anything about it. Instead, he gives you a small smile, one that’s a little more obvious than the one he gave you in class. Your heart does a somersault. 

Seonghyeon washes his bowl in the sink before he walks back to his room, and you’re left reeling from the interaction. You don’t even know if he said goodbye – that’s how out of it you were. Your acai’s starting to melt, and you only jolt out of it when you hear Sera loudly announce her arrival and give you the tightest hug ever for bringing acai. 

And as you complete the worksheet Ms Seo had given to you today about integration, you still can’t get Seonghyeon out of your mind. 

Three weeks pass, and you and Seonghyeon fall into a strange sort of rhythm. 

He’s not as distant as he used to be, but he still keeps you at an arm’s length. He gives you a nod of acknowledgement when you pass by him in the hallways rather than ignoring you, accompanied by the faintest hint of a polite smile – even when Keonho’s blabbing his ear off about how ridiculous his swimming coach is. 

But then there’s also this strange sort of dynamic where you two are competing for the top of the class. Every now and then, you pull ahead after a quiz, but a week later Seonghyeon would snatch the top spot by just the slightest margin. You don’t pay too much attention to who’s leading – you just want to do your best, but it adds an extra awkward element to whatever you’ve got going on with Seonghyeon. 

Sometimes he’s a little colder, especially when there’s an upcoming test. You knew that Seonghyeon was competitive. You notice how his jaw tightens ever so slightly when Leean makes some off-hand comment about how Seonghyeon used to be the top of the class. Past tense. 

The math topic test is coming up next week, and you genuinely would rather gouge your eyes out than to try and solve another equation. You were a humanities student – maths and science never came easy to you, but you managed to get good grades purely out of sheer effort rather than natural intellect. 

But 11th grade math might actually kill you. You’re sitting at the Eoms’ dinner table, eyebrows knitted together in frustration as you try to figure out what went wrong in the last integration problem you’d solved. Your handwriting is neat and legible across the page, but there’s so many different answers that you’ve started and ditched to the point where it looks almost like a warzone by your standards. 

“I don’t get it,” you groan, and Sera’s so taken aback by your words to the point where she drops her pen. You? Not understanding something? That was completely unheard of. “The math in 11th grade is so difficult. Or maybe I’m just not doing it right – no, scratch that, I’m definitely not doing it right – but I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.” 

Sera peers at your paper, and her face contorts into one of confusion. “Yeah, I have no idea what that means,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you and Seonghyeon are doing this. I'm dreading next year already.” 

Seonghyeon somehow miraculously appears at the sound of his name. He bounds down the corridor holding his empty mug, smoothing down the creases in his hoodie as he heads towards the kitchen to refill his cup. 

He looks over at you and Sera as he pours more water into his mug. He spots you with your head in your hands, shaking your head. “Um…” Seonghyeon looks at Sera – he’s never seen you this distraught over academics before. He assumed that everything was a complete breeze for you, considering your intellect. 

“Maths. It’s killing her too.” Sera whispers, and Seonghyeon furrows his brows. 

It’s like his body moves before he can think. He sets his mug down on the table, sitting down on one of the empty chairs. And then without thinking, he says: “Can I see the question?” 

It’s too late, and Seonghyeon wants to slap his hand over his mouth. Why would he say that? He’s technically competing with you for the top spot in the class, and also, he thinks that he still doesn’t like you very much. The latter was slightly debatable after spending a whole month in the same class with you,  but still – Seonghyeon had no idea why he said that. 

You slide the paper towards him, hands still covering your face. You were so tired and you quite simply never wanted to see a question about integration ever again. Also, you didn’t really want Seonghyeon to see your embarrassing work. His eyes scan the paper and your working, trying to figure out what you’d done wrong. 

“Oh, I see,” he pipes up. He taps your shoulder ever so gently, and you’d be lying if you said that his touch didn’t linger. “There’s a concept here that you didn’t apply – that’s why you don’t get it. I’m pretty sure we learnt it last year, but… you skipped a grade, so you never learnt it.” 

He gestures towards the blue pen next to you. “May I?” 

You nod, handing him the pen wordlessly. Seonghyeon writes down the working and the answer on a blank piece of refill paper, and an explanation of the concept that you didn’t learn. He hands the pen, the worksheet and the explanation back to you. 

“Here,” he says. He still doesn’t know why he’s helping you. “Ask me if you have any other questions.” 

Fuck, he thinks. He’s speaking before he thinks again. He tries to hide a grimace before he gets up from the chair, ready to head back to his room to finish his book. He glances at Sera, who’s looking at him like she doesn’t recognise him. 

“When were you two chill?” she mouths at him, and Seonghyeon furrows his brows. He wants to know the answer to that question too. Were you and him chill, per se? 

He still had that uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw you, he still disliked how you always were able to seamlessly challenge him in everything, and seeing you all the time did not help out at all. That wouldn’t necessarily describe chill.

But then again, Seonghyeon sometimes works with you in English, and that tension between you two seems to dissipate. And now, he’s helping you with the very same math worksheet that he had complained about to Martin mere hours ago. So maybe… you were chill. 

You’re reading Seonghyeon’s explanation of the problem, and it all makes so much more sense now. He’s written the steps so clearly you think a child could understand it, and you’ve never been more grateful. “Oh,” you say, and Seonghyeon notices the excitement in your voice, how your eyes light up and how the corners of your lips pull upwards into a smile. “I get it now! Thanks, Seonghyeon.” 

He nods, gulping when you say his name. Your voice is smooth and mellifluous – Seonghyeon thinks he’s going insane. His thoughts about you contradict every other second. Seonghyeon thinks he dislikes you, but then you manage to captivate him in a way that he just quite can’t explain. Something inside him compels him to look out for you, care for you – why? 

“All good,” he chokes out. Sera looks at him with confusion plastered all over her face. Seonghyeon grabs his mug from the table, and turns around curtly to head back to his room. He closes the door and locks it. Then, Seonghyeon lets out a deep sigh that he didn’t know that he was holding back in the first place.

He’s so confused. He’s convinced himself that he doesn’t like you, but then his body, his words, his actions – all of it betrays his mind. He wasn’t this unsure and hesitant of his feelings when he was avoiding you like the plague, so should he start doing that again? 

But then he hears you laugh, and Seonghyeon knows that he can’t stay away. He hates himself for immediately thinking that it’s one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard. He knows you’re probably at some joke that Sera made — he just hopes it’s not at his expense — and that strange twinge in his heart that he’d dismissed as early onset heart palpitations returns. 

“Whatever,” Seonghyeon grumbles, trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care that much. He grabs the first book he sees lying on his desk before settling into bed. He checks the cover before he starts reading, and of course it’s Romance of the Three Kingdoms. It’s like the universe is either giving him a sign, or playing some sick prank that’s making Seonghyeon lose his damn mind.

There are glaring reminders of you everywhere. From you quite literally being outside, to the book that he’s holding in his hands right now. 

So, like always – Seonghyeon pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind, and tries to lose himself in the book.

Nobody likes exam week. 

Everyone’s stressed and running on four hours of sleep. The cafe line is packed, with students drinking an ungodly amount of caffeine to even be able to function. 

11th grade is taking a far bigger toll on you than you expected, or maybe it’s just because you feel like you really need to impress in the first round of exams this year. Sera tries to convince you to watch a movie with her just to take a break one Tuesday evening, but you reject her suggestion and opt to do another chemistry worksheet. You think the periodic table is going to be burned into your brain by the end of the week. 

The cafeteria is much quieter than usual, with most students deciding to study. Seonghyeon’s tapping his foot on the cafeteria floor as he tries to write a practice essay for English. He writes two or three sentences, takes a bite of his food, and then picks up his pen to start writing again. It’s a cycle that lasts for most of lunch.  

His eyes scan the cafeteria when he’s giving his hand a break from writing too much. The muscle of his hand hurts, and he winces a little as he massages it to try and ease the pain. He spots you two tables down. Sera’s talking to you, and you’re nodding at her words as you write. 

Seonghyeon notices how you’re tapping on the cover of the book that he’s seen you carry around all week –  Plato’s Symposium. The sheer presence of the book reminds him that you’re just that well-read for your age, but this time, Seonghyeon doesn’t grit his teeth in frustration when he sees it. 

Maybe his feelings towards you have changed, he thinks. The two of you talk much more now after he helped you with math, and he notices that you’re actually comfortable with him. You always have been, but you seem to be a little bit more upfront with it now – perhaps it’s because you two actually have an excuse to talk because of school, but Seonghyeon finds that he actually likes speaking to you. 

You're a great conversationalist, and you're somehow able to make even the most boring topics interesting. Seonghyeon has never enjoyed ethics class, but hearing you talk about morality in a class last week might've been one of the most interesting things he's ever heard.

Sometimes he’ll even be the one to start a conversation with you. Never in a million years would he have thought that would happen.

But Seonghyeon notices how your fingers are drumming on the cover quickly in a nervous manner, and your eyebrows are knitted together tightly. Your shoulders are tense, and he thinks you haven’t breathed in the last fifty seconds. He knows what you look like when you’re concentrating. But this was something different.

You were anxious. 

When you were concentrating, your eyes would never leave the paper. Your eyebrows would still be furrowed, but not knitted together this tightly. Your shoulders were also never this tense, and Seonghyeon doesn’t think that he’s ever seen you fidget this nervously before. 

He sees Sera say something to you before getting up, and he notices that you don’t really seem to register it – you just nod, but it’s in an absentminded manner. His eyes quickly flick back to his own paper when he sees that Sera’s walking up to him, and he would rather die than get caught staring at you by his own sister. 

“Hey, Hyeon,” Sera says, sitting down next to him. “Could you tell Mom that I’ll be home a little late today? The art committee is having a meeting today after school and Yeseo was saying that we’ve got a lot to go through.” 

“Yeah, sure,” he nods. “How late will you be? Do you need her to pick you up?” 

Sera shakes her head no. “I’ll probably be at home just before dinner. And it's fine – I’m gonna take the bus. I think (Name)’s still going to come over to study though. She says she focuses better at our place,” her eyes flick towards you, and you’re writing at an alarming pace. “Exam season’s not treating her well.” 

“Is she okay?” Seonghyeon asks. There’s a flash of surprise on Sera’s face – she didn’t expect Seonghyeon to ask. She knew that he wasn’t as distant as he used to be, but she also didn’t think that Seonghyeon would notice how stressed you were. 

“I mean, not that I care that much.” Those words make Sera look at him with an even stranger look on her face. “No, not like that. I’m just saying… tapping on that book that quickly is sure to shake a window nearby, or something,” he stammers. “And she just looks really tense. You should probably check up on her.” 

Sera eyes him suspiciously, and Seonghyeon’s eyes dart towards the first thing that isn’t her. They settle on Keonho’s lunch. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m gonna go do that. Or… you could. After school today.” 

Her voice is insinuating in that one way that Seonghyeon doesn’t particularly like. If they were at home right now, he knew that she was going to prod him for answers about how he feels about you. But with Martin, Juhoon and Keonho around, she knew better. Thank god for that. 

“Sure,” he says breezily – as if he’s not internally freaking out over the way Sera’s looking at him like she just knows his deepest secret. “Thanks for taking care of my best friend.” Seonghyeon doesn’t like the amount of emphasis she puts on the fact that you’re her best friend. He’s well aware of that. Far too aware. 

Sera walks away, and Seonghyeon lets out a small sigh of relief. Keonho notices, and he’s about to say something before Seonghyeon stops him by holding his hand out. 

“Not a word.” Seonghyeon says, and Keonho obliges, but that teasing smirk doesn’t leave his lips. 

When he’s home, it actually hits him that you’ll be coming over. He’s never had one-on-one time with you in his own house. It’s always been you, Sera and him. He jumps out of his bed, rummaging through his closet to find a better outfit to wear – he’s already felt enough embarrassment today after making it obvious to Sera that he was worried about you. 

The least he could do was look somewhat presentable and change out of his pyjamas. He opts for a band tee and changes into a clean pair of sweats. As he’s pulling his shirt on, Seonghyeon realises that he’s trying to impress you. The realisation really sinks in when he’s looking at his reflection in the mirror, tucking in his shirt in just the right way. He gives himself an approving nod when he thinks that he looks half-decent before walking out into the living room, his cheeks tinted pink already from that realisation.

He pours two cups of water, one for him, one for you, and sets it on the table. He makes sure to take out the mug that you always use whenever you come over – it’s pink, with doodles of cherry blossoms on it. He pulls his notebook and laptop out of his bag, placing it on his side of the table. Just then, he hears the doorbell ring. 

Seonghyeon heads to the door a little too quickly. 

He opens it, and there you are – Seonghyeon swears that those heart palpitations return just at the sight of you. 

You give him a bright smile, waving with your free hand. The other is holding a new book – Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil. 

“You finished Symposium?” he asks, and you’re stunned at his words. You never told Seonghyeon that you were reading it. “You’ve been carrying it around all week,” he quickly adds. “Was it good?”

“Yeah, it was,” you stammer. You didn’t know that Seonghyeon actually paid attention to you like that. “Have you read it?”

“No, not yet,” he says, gesturing for you to come on in. “Should I?”

“I think so,” you chuckle. “It’s one of my favourite books, actually. That was actually a reread. It’s a short one too, so you can get it finished quickly. Exam week’s just cut into a lot of my reading time, so I picked a shorter one.”

You put your bag down next to one of the chairs on the Eoms’ dining table, taking out your notebooks, laptop and pencil case. You notice how Seonghyeon’s seemingly filled the cup that you always use when you’re at his house with water. 

“Thanks for the water, by the way.” you beam, sliding into the chair. Seonghyeon sits down next to you, opening up his laptop.  

“Don’t worry,” he replies. “We’ve got soda in the fridge if you want some. And there’s tea. You know which cabinet it’s in.” The Eoms’ house is practically your second home, considering how often you’re there. You think you’ve spent more time at their house than your own, oddly. 

You thank him, taking a sip from the mug. The two of you make casual conversation as you both do your work – it’s remarkable how the two of you can still stay focused even while talking. 

You find that studying with Seonghyeon is comfortable. You’ve never really hung out with him alone, with the exception of working together in class. Whenever you’re at his house, Sera’s usually always there too. For someone who you thought had hated you for the longest time, getting along with Seonghyeon is unexpectedly easy, and you really enjoy his company. 

However, it really doesn’t help when it comes to the crush you have on him. The more you speak to him, the harder you fall. It’s hopeless, but you can only pray that you’re hiding it well enough from both him and Sera.

“I really hope Ms Kim’s nice enough to give us a good poem for the unfamiliar text paper,” you groan, highlighting a line in the poem that you’re analysing. “I looked at all the past papers that she gave the last year group – one of them was straight up evil.” 

“They’re all evil,” Seonghyeon sighs, shaking his head. “Honestly, the play that she gave us two days ago to analyse might’ve been worse. At least we can mention more language techniques in poems.” 

“True, but then I just feel like I’m rambling,” You’re quickly writing a note next to the line that you’ve highlighted so you remember what you want to mention in the essay. “Hopefully she won’t be so mean to give us something horribly difficult for the actual exam. We only have 45 minutes for each unfamiliar text, for god's sake.” 

“I don’t think she’s given us anything easy for weeks,” Seonghyeon sighs. “Maybe it’s good that we’re getting challenged before the exams? Like… she’s preparing us for harder content so maybe the exam will seem easier because we’ve already gone through hell.”

“Hopefully,” you chuckle. “I do remember one poem that I really liked though. The one she gave us in the first week that we had to work on together?” you hum, highlighting another line in the poem that you’re working on. “The one where he mentioned The Polish Rider.” 

“I liked that poem too,” Seonghyeon smiles. “Especially the last stanza – and the last line, actually. I thought it was really simple but also really romantic.” 

“Yeah, definitely!” you say, putting down your highlighter as you nod in agreement. “I also really liked that he mentioned The Polish Rider. I love Rembrandt’s paintings. They’re all so lifelike – we’ve got this visual arts assessment coming up, so I think I might do a commentary on a painting of his. I was thinking maybe I’d do the painting he did of Aristotle, kind of merge two of my interests into one.” 

“Sorry, I just realised I went off track from what we were originally talking about.” you chuckle.

“No, it’s okay. What do you like about the painting? Like the Aristotle one.” Seonghyeon genuinely seems interested in what you have to say – perhaps you never noticed it before, but you think this may be a first. 

As you go on about what you like about the painting, Seonghyeon takes in every single word. From the way you’re talking about the thick paint that Rembrandt always used, the colours that he’s chosen, how Rembrandt’s depicted Aristotle’s eyes — he listens to every bit you say intently, burning it into his brain. 

He also doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up in excitement, the way your hands are gesturing to describe it all, and how the corners of your lips turn upwards ever so slightly when you’re talking about something you’re so passionately interested in. It’s awfully endearing, and Seonghyeon’s heart skips a beat. 

He then realises that he hasn’t even seen the painting. He types the title into his search engine — Aristotle with a Bust of Homer — and it pops up on his screen. It’s exactly as you described it, just based on your memory. The thick paint highlighting the brushstrokes. The dark colours of the painting. How Aristotle’s eyes are concealed by deliberate shadows that you’ve interpreted as him being lost in thought. 

“Yeah, that one!” you say excitedly, pointing at the screen. “Isn’t it great? Now you get why the poet and I are so keen on Rembrandt’s work.” 

“It is great,” Seonghyeon says. He’s more so impressed by how amazingly well you’ve remembered the painting and how eloquently you’ve described and analysed it. Dare he say, it may be more impressive than the painting itself — but Seonghyeon was biased. “Have you ever seen it in person?” 

“No,” you reply, shaking your head. “I do want to, though. But it’s all the way at The Met, and I’m really not planning to go to New York any time soon.”

He clicks off the painting, typing up Rembrandt’s name instead. The first link — a paid ad, which Seonghyeon usually hates — is a link to an art gallery. 

“There’s going to be an exhibition of his work in here in a few weeks,” Seonghyeon pipes up. “You might wanna go.”

Your eyes snap towards his screen, and when you see the details of the exhibition, your eyes light up. “Oh my god. What a crazy coincidence – I have to get tickets,”

“You should come!” you blurt out. Seonghyeon looks at you, surprise evident on his features. “If you’re interested in this kind of stuff. I don’t think you take visual arts, but Rembrandt’s work is really, really nice.” you add hastily, to not make things awkward. It’s definitely not because you want to talk to him more and that you enjoy his company far too much. 

Seonghyeon lets your invitation hang in the air as he processes your words. Seonghyeon’s never been one to wander around art galleries willingly – he was far more fond of history museums, and could spend all day in them.

But Seonghyeon finds that he wants to go to this art gallery. With you.

“I’ll come,” he says, and the excited smile on your lips makes him all the more certain of his decision. “It sounds like fun.”

“It will be! I hope you don’t mind me rambling about the paintings, though. I’ll try and shut up about it.”

“No, it’s fine,” Seonghyeon says, giving you a soft smile. “I like hearing you talk.”

He wants to slap himself across the face for letting those words slip. He can see your stunned expression, and all he can do right now is hope he hasn’t freaked you out with his words. His cheeks heat up out of sheer embarrassment. 

Should he say something like ‘because you talk about really interesting things’, or ‘you’re a great storyteller’? Seonghyeon doesn’t know if he should add anything to alleviate the awkwardness and tension that his words had just inadvertently created. Gosh, think before you speak, he thinks. 

“Oh,” you stammer out before he can say anything new. Your cheeks are heating up at his words. “That’s kind of you.” You give him a soft smile as well, unsure of what to say next. 

Seonghyeon realises that he wants you to smile at him like this forever. It’s also then when he realises that he definitely doesn’t hate you at all. Nobody would feel butterflies in their stomach and a blooming warmth across the chest when they see their archnemesis smile. And after studying with you today, he doesn’t really think he even cares about being the top of the class anymore. 

Seonghyeon realises that logic needs to take precedence now. What he’s feeling is most definitely not early onset heart palpitations. He should never have believed in something so incredibly unrealistic and illogical. 

Fuck, he thinks. He might actually like you.  

Seonghyeon gets a violently sick feeling when he sees Sung Minjun walk up to your desk.

His jaw immediately tightens, eyes widening in the slightest hint of alarm. Sung Minjun is bad news, and everyone in the grade knows it. But you’re new to the year, and you haven’t been told about his reputation for messing with people’s feelings. 

“Hey, (Name).” Minjun’s voice is sickeningly sweet in a way that makes Seonghyeon want to throw up. It’s never been more obvious that this sweet guy act is just a facade of his. You’re definitely unaware of his reputation, and you simply smile at him. 

“Hi, Minjun. What’s up?” you ask. 

“I was just wondering if you were free this afternoon? I’ve got two tickets to this amusement park, and I wanted to go with someone who I find pretty cool,” he says, and Seonghyeon rolls his eyes at Minjun's feigned shyness. “Would you wanna come?”

“Oh,” your voice is hesitant. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ve already got plans.”

Minjun pouts, and Seonghyeon examines your face for any sort of reaction. He swears that he sees your eyebrow twitch in just the slightest way.

“Really?” Minjun asks, disbelief evident in his tone. “Come on, they can’t be that important. And the amusement park is fun — it’s one afternoon.”

You nod, sure of your decision. “I’m good, really. Thank you though.” Seonghyeon fails to hide the smile on his lips. 

“What’s got you so giddy?” Keonho asks, nudging Seonghyeon gently with his elbow. 

“Oh, nothing,” Seonghyeon replies breezily, eyes still fixated on your conversation with Minjun. Keonho’s eyes follow in the direction Seonghyeon’s looking at, and when his eyes land on you, he lets out a knowing ‘ah’.

“Admiring your girl?” Keonho quips, and Seonghyeon takes in a sharp breath. 

“Not my girl,” Seonghyeon mutters.

“Yeah, definitely not your girl if you don’t make a move soon. Look at Minjun.” Keonho says, and Seonghyeon groans. Minjun’s giving you that awfully fake smile, leaning in closer to perhaps make you try and feel something for him just because of proximity. Seonghyeon just hopes for your sake, Minjun didn’t spray that dreadful cologne that he uses all the time. 

“She’s not into it.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“I hate you.”

“You’re jealous of Minjun,” Keonho teases. “And it’s because you like (Name). Tell me I’m wrong all you want. You’ll never be able to convince me otherwise.”

“Minjun’s a dick anyways,” Seonghyeon says. “I’m just…”

“What?” Keonho interjects, an amused smile on his lips. “Looking out for her because your sister said so? Which excuse is it going to be today, our lovely Seonghyeon?”

Seonghyeon doesn’t reply, eyes fixed on you and Minjun. He’s still trying to get you to go to that damned amusement park with him – Seonghyeon saw the advertisement for it online and he distinctly remembers that it looked like shit. Or perhaps his distaste for Minjun spending one-on-one time with you was clouding his judgment at the moment. 

Oh. Oh. 

He really was jealous.

“What is it that you have to do then?” Minjun asks. “Could I join you?” 

Before he can even think, Seonghyeon’s already walking towards your desk. He interrupts your conversation with Minjun, and the boy looks almost offended. 

“Hey, (Name), Sera has another art committee thing that’s going to run late today. You’re still welcome to come study and stay for dinner like usual, though.”  Seonghyeon wasn’t lying, Sera had told him that this morning. But he’s shocked that he somehow came up with something so coherent and true when this was completely impromptu. 

Seonghyeon notices how you visibly relax in his presence. He smiles softly at you, and you return the gesture. “Hey, Seonghyeon. That’s okay – I’ve got plans later today, so don’t worry,” you beam. “I also don’t want to trouble your mom again.” 

“Nonsense,” Seonghyeon waves off your worries. “You know she loves having you around anyways.” 

Minjun’s watching you and Seonghyeon interact with a stunned expression on his face. His eyes darted from you, to Seonghyeon, and then back to you again. He didn’t know that you and Seonghyeon were close at all – but seeing how you smiled brightly when Seonghyeon showed up out of the blue, and how comfortable you seemed to be in conversation, Minjun knew that he stood no chance. 

“Alright, I’m gonna… go,” he announces. Seonghyeon lets him leave, not even bothering to look back. 

“He’s not got a great reputation in our year,” Seonghyeon says, when Minjun’s out of earshot. “You dodged a bullet.” 

“Well, you helped me dodge that bullet,” you reply, putting your books in your bag to pack up. “And I have heard murmurs, to be fair.” 

“Makes sense – word does spread fast around here. So… are you still coming today?” Seonghyeon asks as you put your last notebook in your bag. You shake your head as you zip it up, and he looks at you with furrowed brows, clearly confused. It was unusual for you to not be studying at his place in the afternoon. And Seonghyeon would never admit it out loud, but he really wanted to see you. 

“I’m going to a bookstore to pick up some books,” you hum, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I ordered them a while ago, and James is only opening up shop Thursday afternoon this week.” 

“Oh,” Seonghyeon didn’t know that you were on a first-name basis with the owner of the bookstore. “Is this like a small shop?” 

“Yeah, I found it a few years ago – James actually went to our school! He graduated two years ago. They’ve got a really good selection of philosophy and history books, so I go all the time. I really love it there. Once, I spent like… 6 hours just reading there. Time went by so fast,” you laugh.

“You’re more than welcome to join me, if you’re not busy. I think you’d like the place.” you add hastily. You’ve never brought anyone to James’ bookstore, but Seonghyeon seemed like the perfect person to bring. He loved reading, James’ bookstore had a fantastic history book collection, and you enjoyed his company. He was already coming to Rembrandt’s exhibition with you, but you did want to grasp at any opportunity that you may have to spend time with him. After all, you had been pining for basically 10 years now.

Seonghyeon’s somewhat stunned by your invitation. You want to spend time with him. Alone. It fills him with a sense of joy that makes him feel like he’s floating on cloud nine. Take that, Minjun, he thinks. A smile spreads across his lips before he nods. 

“Yeah, of course. I don’t have plans after school today, and I do need to look for some new books to read, actually.” he replies, and you smile at him. Seonghyeon’s heart flutters again. 

“Perfect! I’ll meet you after last period,” you beam. “It’s not far from here, so we can walk there.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” he says, and you bid him goodbye, saying that you’ve got to meet Sera now. Seonghyeon nods, waving at you before he walks back to his seat, a giddy smile on his lips.

“Look at that smile,” Keonho comments. “You’re in love.” 

For the first time, Seonghyeon doesn’t correct him.

The walk towards the bookstore that you love is quite short. 

Or perhaps time just flies when you’re having fun. 

You and Seonghyeon talk the entire way there. It first starts off with complaints about Mr Jung being an absolutely hopeless teacher, to the dreadful worksheet that Ms Seo had given for Math, and then into every other thing that somehow pops into the two of your minds. 

You find out a lot more about Seonghyeon on the walk there. He shares his favourite music with you, telling you which albums and artists that he likes. You download them, making a mental note to listen to them when you study next. He tells you that he hates mint chocolate, and that he always has to watch a movie before bed. 

“I watched Everything Everywhere All at Once last night,” he hums. Your eyes light up – it’s one of your favourite movies in the world. “Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” you reply. “I think I cried like three times. But to be fair, I am a crier when it comes to movies. I never leave the theatre without crying at least once. Unless it’s a comedy.” 

Seonghyeon’s eyes crinkle into crescents when he laughs. Your heart beats faster in your chest at the sight. “I’m going to have to see this for myself – we’re going to have to go and watch a movie together.” 

It slips out before he thinks (again), and his eyes widen slightly in alarm. He looks at you, and you simply nod happily. He lets out a sigh of relief – he was so worried that he’d embarrassed himself just then. 

Seonghyeon finds that this happens all too frequently with you. He prided himself on knowing exactly what to say at the right time and always thinking before speaking. But when it comes to you, all of that just goes straight out the window – he lets comments that he planned to leave in his head slip and he’s stammering and stumbling over his own words. Nerves, he claims. He thinks he has an inkling of an idea of where those nerves may come from. 

Meanwhile, all you can think about is how Seonghyeon wants to watch a movie with you. Now, you’re sure that he doesn’t mind your presence – rather, he seems to enjoy your company. You’ve never been happier – maybe you do have somewhat of a chance. 

“Here it is,” you say, pointing at the bookstore. It’s tucked away in the corner of a back street. You open the door, the windchimes hanging on the handle jingling as you gesture for him to enter. He does, thanking you politely as he takes everything in. 

He sees shelves and shelves of books, all organised by genre. The smell of books and bergamot infiltrates his senses, and the soft yellow light from the chandelier he sees hanging from the ceiling illuminates the entire room. There’s a record player in the corner that’s playing some music from the 80s’, and there’s a small corner with a table and a few chairs for people to read at. 

Seonghyeon knows why you love this place so much instantly. It’s so distinctly… you. 

“James!” you call out, and the boy working at the cashier turns to look at the two of you. His eyes light up, giving you a wave. Seonghyeon suddenly recognises James – they’ve never spoken, but he’s pretty sure James was the captain of the dance team. 

“(Name)! Thanks for coming today – I’ve got some of the books you’ve ordered here,” he says, gesturing to a pile in the corner. His eyes then land on Seonghyeon, and he looks at him with an intrigued smile. “You brought a friend!” 

“I did,” you beam. “Just gonna show him around the place and maybe pick out a few things before I come and pay for everything, if that’s cool.” 

James nods in response. “Take your time,” he replies. “I was just finishing up an essay for uni anyways. We’re open until 7, by the way, just in case you two wanted to stay and read a few things.”  

“Sounds good,” you reply. Your eyes land on the marigolds on the counter, perched in a porcelain vase. “Nice flower choice for the vase this week, by the way. Marigolds are my favourites.” 

You like marigolds. Seonghyeon makes sure to remember that. You then turn your attention to him, who’s looking around the store and bobbing his head to the music. 

“I’ll show you the history section, since I know you love the stuff. I’m pretty sure they just got some new books about the Cold War in.” 

“Perfect – that’s my favourite topic, by the way,” he says, eyes lighting up. 

“I know,” you laugh, and Seonghyeon’s surprised that you do. “You talk to Keonho about it all the time in history. It’s my favourite topic too, to be honest. Mr Jung does teach it horribly, though.” 

You lead him to the history section of the bookstore, and there’s three whole shelves dedicated to books about the Cold War. You look at how Seonghyeon’s eyes light up, immediately scanning the section to see what interests him. He notices a few that he’s already bought, but there’s also so many that he’s never heard of before – you were right. This place truly was a treasure trove of books, and Seonghyeon’s stunned that he’s never heard of this place. 

You watch as he pulls out books from the shelves, flicking through the pages with his brows furrowed in concentration. A soft smile makes its way to your lips before your eyes flick back to the shelves too, picking out your own books as you hum along to the music that James has picked. 

You’re mid-grab for a book about the Middle Ages when you hear Seonghyeon ask you if you’ve got any recommendations. You can see that he’s picked out three books about the Cold War, one of which you’ve read. 

“That one’s really good,” You tap your finger on the spine of the book, nodding approvingly. “I think you’ll like it. But recommendations… do you want them to be Cold War related or something else?” 

“Anything’s fine,” Seonghyeon shrugs. “You always seem to give me good recommendations anyways. Even before this year.” 

You’re somewhat shocked. You didn’t think that Seonghyeon actually liked your recommendations. You still remember when he said that Romance of the Three Kingdoms was just ‘alright’. You gulp, drumming your fingers on the edge of one of the shelves as you try and think of books that you think Seonghyeon might like. 

“Maybe The Art of War,” you hum, eyes scanning the shelves to see if you can spot it. Your eyes light up when you do, pulling it off the shelf and handing it to him. “Flick through it to see if you like it first, though.” 

“What’s the last book you really really liked?” you ask him, your eyes still fixated on the shelf in front of you. 

“Oh, um…” Seonghyeon is silent for a moment as he thinks about your question. He’s read so many good books this year – it was hard to really pick one. “ Probably No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai. I read it a while ago, though.” 

A book immediately pops into your head. It’s something you read recently as well. 

“Camus,” you mumble, trying to find the book that you’ve got in mind. Seonghyeon follows you as you wander off to the philosophy section. “Ah, this – The Myth of Sisyphus. It’s a little bit more on the philosophy side, if you don’t mind. I quite liked it though, obviously.”  

Seonghyeon stacks the book on top of the ones he’s picked out. You look at him, tilting your head at him quizzically. “You’re not gonna flick through it to see if it’s your taste?” 

He merely shrugs in response. “I trust your recommendations,” he says casually. “Plus, you’ve kind of made me develop an interest towards philosophy books.” 

The smile that graces your face is absolutely infectious. You’re overjoyed, and you immediately look for your favourite books on the shelf to recommend to him. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that, holy shit!” you say, and your excitement is evident in your tone. You’re pulling out books here and there from the shelf, and Seonghyeon can barely keep up. “Okay, Symposium is one of my absolute favourites, and it’s short. But you can just take my copy, to be honest.” 

You’re mumbling to yourself as you pick out all of your favourite books, stacking them on top of one another. When you’re done, you look at a pile of eight books – you didn’t realise that you’d picked out so many. 

“Oh. That’s way too many. We’re going to have to thin this herd,” you hum, eyeing the books you’ve selected. “Maybe The Prince. It’s quite short, like Symposium. So you can kind of get a taste of how these books usually are, and if you end up liking them, just let me know. We can always come back here.” 

Seonghyeon nods, taking the book from you and adding it to the pile that he’s holding. 

“I saw you reading The Prince on the first day,” Seonghyeon hums. “You had a lot of tabs in there.” 

“Oh, yeah,” You’re surprised he remembered, but you feel as if you shouldn't be. Seonghyeon was incredibly observant, as you've noticed throughout the year. It’s kind of why I figured that you should probably get your own copy, because I’ve written all over it. I think I had a lot of opinions on that book.” 

“We can talk about it when I’ve finished it then,” he smiles softly. “I think I’m gonna go put these on the counter and pay for them first, because my hands are starting to hurt. Do you wanna take the ones you’ve picked out and put them there as well?” 

You nod, following him to the counter where James is sitting. He’s engrossed in watching an anime, and you clear your throat. His eyes snap up, and James immediately changes his tab to his essay. 

“You saw nothing,” James hisses jokingly, and you raise an eyebrow. “I’m just procrastinating, okay? You and your friend here found some books you liked?” he asks, changing the topic. 

“He’s picked his out. I’m gonna go grab something else from the history section, and I’ll be right back.” you say, and James nods. You give Seonghyeon a smile before placing the books that you’ve chosen on the counter, and you run off. Seonghyeon’s eyes follow your figure before James clears his throat to catch his attention. 

“You like her, don’t you?” When you’re out of earshot, James looks at Seonghyeon with a teasing smile. He picks up a book from Seonghyeon’s pile, scanning the books that he’s planning to buy. Seonghyeon’s eyes widen, cheeks heating up as he’s caught off guard by James’ words. 

“What?” he stammers – if a stranger that he’d only met five minutes ago could tell, surely everyone else would know. He’s hoping that James is just excellent at reading people, because god – if anyone else knew, especially Sera, he was done for. His friends at school already knew enough, with Keonho incessantly teasing him about it whenever he’s around. 

“You like her,” James repeats. “It’s all in the eyes, man. And you’re buying all of her recommendations. I would’ve thought that you’d be buying Symposium too.” 

Seonghyeon furrows his brows – how did James manage to hear the entire conversation? He opens his mouth to speak before James stops him, seemingly reading his mind.

“Yes, I heard. This store is small enough for me to eavesdrop on everyone. And even though I was focused on the anime, I was also focused on listening to you two.” James places a sticker on one of the book that Seonghyeon’s buying before putting it into a paper bag.

“She’s giving me her copy to read,” Seonghyeon stammers. “And well, about the other thing, I wouldn’t… I’m not sure.” 

“No, deep down you’re sure.” James says, as if he’s some love expert. “I think you just don’t really want to admit it to yourself yet.” 

Damn, Seonghyeon thinks. James is really good at reading people. Too good to the point where it makes Seonghyeon a little uncomfortable. 

“She doesn’t just take anyone here, by the way. She’s been coming here for four years, and I’ve never seen her show up with anyone. Said it’s her secret spot, or something,” James adds breezily. 

Seonghyeon stiffens at his words. He may be saying this in a casual manner, but the fact that James is basically saying that Seonghyeon is special to you makes his heart stutter. “So maybe she likes you too – but she keeps going on about this one guy named S–!” 

“James!” you cut him off just as he’s about to reveal a name, and Seonghyeon winces at the missed opportunity to figure out who you’ve been raving about to James. “Did this just come in?” 

“Yeah,” James replies, taking the book out of your hands. “Dream of the Red Chamber. You’ll like this one, since you liked Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Speaking of that book – you bought two copies, right? Did the person you give it to like it as well?” 

Oh. Oh. 

You bought the book specifically for him. All along, Seonghyeon thought that it was your copy that you’d given him. He supposes that he should’ve guessed, considering how there weren’t any tabs sticking out the edges and the pristine condition of the book. He was going to give it back to you too, but he just found himself rereading it over and over and over again. 

But now he just feels guilty. You’ve been too kind to him for all these years, and it was only until a couple of months ago – weeks, even – that Seonghyeon was sure that he didn’t hate you. The feeling settles in his stomach, and he knows that he has to do something to make it up to you.

“I actually gave it to him,” you chuckle, gesturing towards Seonghyeon. You recall the words that he’d told you on the first day of school – that it was fine. “I don’t think he was a big fan.” Your voice is sheepish, and Seonghyeon shakes his head at your words. 

“No, no,” he hastily interjects. “I really liked it.”

You look at him, surprise evident on your features. “I thought you didn’t like it that much,” you say, puzzled. “You told me it was fine on the first day of school.” 

Seonghyeon scratches the nape of his neck, unsure what to say. He wasn’t going to straight up say that he had to hide how much he liked the book for the sake of his pride, but there really was no other logical explanation. 

“I… reread it,” he mumbles. “I liked it better the second time.” 

You nod, letting out a soft ‘oh’. Seonghyeon doesn’t think you’re actually convinced, but you don’t end up questioning it. James is much more obvious about how unconvinced he is, eyeing Seonghyeon suspiciously. The teasing smile on James’ lips is still there, as if he’s quite literally telling him to keep thinking about what he said earlier. 

“So… do you want this one?” James asks, holding up Dream of the Red Chamber.  

You nod without thinking, and James stacks it on the pile of books that you’re planning to buy. He looks at the large pile, and chuckles. “You’re going to be singlehandedly paying for my lunches for the next few weeks with this order. Thanks, (Name.)” 

“Glad that my allowance is going towards something good,” you say. “I think that’ll be all for today.”

Seonghyeon looks around the store quietly as James finally finishes scanning all of your books. “That’s 250,000 won with the discount,” he says. “Do you have enough?”

You count together the notes in your wallet. Shit. You’re about 5,000 won short. You hiss before shaking your head, looking through the titles of the books you’ve selected to see which one you’ll just have to get next time. It’s a difficult choice, though – all of them are books that you want to read really badly. 

“I can pay for her,” Seonghyeon pipes up. 

Your eyes snap up to look at him. “Seonghyeon, what? No – I couldn’t let you do that.” 

“It’s fine,” he fishes his wallet out of his pocket, taking out his card. “Think of it as a gift, or something I’m doing in return for the book that you gave me.” 

“Seonghyeon, that was one book!” you exclaim, holding up one finger. “There are eight books! You must let me pay you back if you’re going to pay.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he says, tapping his card on the reader before you can protest more. “I’m more than happy to pay for these – you’re going to read them anyway, and I know how much you like books.” 

James is watching the interaction between you two like it’s his favourite television show. The two of you are bickering like an old married couple as you frantically search through your wallet for 250,000 won so that you can pay Seonghyeon back. He’s trying to grab onto your wallet so he can shove it back into your bag so you don’t have to. 

Seonghyeon wins the battle, and you reach out to grab your wallet. “I’ll only give it back if you promise not to pay me back.” 

“Seonghyeon, I can’t do that! 250,000 won is an insane amount.” you say, and Seonghyeon shakes his head, holding your wallet even further away from you now. You groan as you try once again to grab it from him, but to no avail.

“I’ve been saving.” Seonghyeon shrugs. 

“Just let the man pay,” James interjects, and Seonghyeon smiles. 

“Thank you – see, (Name)?” he says, and you groan. 

“Okay, okay,” you sigh. “Thank you, Seonghyeon. That was really nice of you.” 

Seonghyeon nods, finally satisfied. He hands you back your wallet, albeit eyeing you with a certain sense of caution as if he’s worried you’ll try and shove money into his backpack. 

“You really didn’t have to do that.” you say, tucking your wallet back inside your bag, making a mental note to yourself that you have to get him something in return. 

“I wanted to.” 

Those three words carry far more weight than either of you expected.

A blush creeps up on Seonghyeon’s cheeks as he lets those words slip out without thinking. Your cheeks are hot as the gravity of those three little words sink in. James silently packs your books in a paper bag with an amused smile. 

James hands you your books, and you thank him gratefully. It’s incredibly heavy – to the point where it nearly knocks you off balance. A little ‘oomph’ escapes past your lips as you get used to the weight of the bag. You’re honestly more concerned that the bag is going to break. 

“I can carry it for you,” Seonghyeon says softly. “It looks heavy, and we’ve got to walk back home.”

“Yeah, that may be best,” you say, handing him the bag with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Seonghyeon.” 

Your heart is pounding in your chest right now. Every single interaction that you’ve had with him at the bookstore feels awfully romantic, but you don’t want to delude yourself into believing that Seonghyeon perhaps has feelings for you too. 

Maybe he’s just realised that he actually enjoys your company as a friend. Or maybe he just has an obligation to take care of you as his little sister’s best friend. The prospect of that makes your heart sink a little, because you’ve always wanted him to be something more. 

Even James knows that, considering how much you’ve talked about Seonghyeon to him. 

“Thanks for coming today, (Name) – sorry I had to get you to come after school, I know how much you value your study time. I hope it wasn’t a big hassle,” James’ voice cuts through your thoughts, and you wave his worries off. His eyes divert to Seonghyeon, and it’s then when James realises that he hasn’t asked for Seonghyeon’s name. 

“And you are…?” 

“Seonghyeon.” 

James’ eyes widen in a comically exaggerated manner. “You’re the Seonghyeon? Oh, no wonder you’re the first person she’s ever brought here. (Name)’s said so much about you–!”

“Okay, thanks James! See you next week!” you cut him off, practically pushing Seonghyeon towards the door. Your voice is panicky, and Seonghyeon barely has time to register everything until the two of you are outside the shop. 

“Please ignore him,” you say, cheeks hot from embarrassment. “He’s always pulling shit like that on me.” Seonghyeon looks at you, and he can tell that you don’t want him to pry about what you’ve been telling James. But oh, he is so curious. 

“I’m was just telling him that you’re in my class and how you’re Sera’s brother,” you lie through your teeth. You hope Seonghyeon thinks it’s an acceptable answer – James really didn’t have to air out all of your dirty laundry by basically implying that you had been going on and on and on about him. “It’s… not like he made it out to be.” 

Seonghyeon doesn’t know why he’s disappointed. 

“Oh, look, an ice cream shop!” You don’t give him time to ponder over why he’s disappointed, as you change the topic. His eyes flick over to look at where you’re pointing, and sure enough, there’s a quaint little ice cream shop across the road that’s neatly tucked away from all the hustle and bustle from the main street. “Let me treat you to ice cream – it’s really the least I can do after you paid for all of my books. And then we can head to your place to study, since we left James’ earlier than I expected.” 

Seonghyeon nods, thanking you as you lead him towards the shop. He opens the door for you, and you smile at him gratefully. It makes his heart flip. 

The two of you look at the ice cream case for what flavours the store’s got. Seonghyeon always gets vanilla – in a cup, never a cone – so he doesn’t really know why he even bothers. You hum in satisfaction when you’ve made your decision. 

“Hi,” you say, calling over to the girl who’s working the cashier. “Could I get one scoop of the chocolate?” 

He’s about to pipe up about what he wants until you say his exact order. “And a scoop of the vanilla?” you turn towards him, tilting your head questionably as if you’re asking him to confirm if you’re correct. He nods, and you turn back again to look at the girl. “Separately, please. Thank you.” 

He’s stunned. He doesn’t know how you know that he always gets vanilla. “How did you–” 

“You guys have three tubs of ice cream in your freezer, and the vanilla one has your name on it. With like three large exclamation points. I figured that it was your favourite – I’m glad I got it right.” 

Seonghyeon didn’t know how attentive you actually were to his interests. From his favourite history topics, to books, and even to ice cream. You noticed things about him too. 

You pay for the ice cream, handing Seonghyeon his cup. He takes a bite, and it’s really good. Much better than the tub that he bought from the supermarket, even if it is just plain vanilla. “Woah,” he says, taking the wooden spoon out of his mouth. “I’m surprised I’ve never been to this place.” 

You seem to be similarly shocked at how good the ice cream is. “Yeah, oh my god. I’ve been to James’ too many times to even remember and I’ve never even thought of coming here. I’m glad I did, though – we have to come back again.” 

We. It’s an invitation. You want to spend more time with him. 

“Yeah,” he beams. “I’d like that.” 

As you and Seonghyeon walk back to his house, making casual conversation as the two of you finish up your ice cream. Your shared laughter rings through the summer air, and his eyes flick over to look at you. 

There’s an undeniable feeling of being drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Warmth and all-consuming affection settles in his chest, and for the first time, he’s comfortable with letting it linger. 

Everything clicks into place.

Eom Seonghyeon is certain now. He does like you.

“Okay. I need your help.” 

Keonho, Martin and Juhoon’s ears immediately perk up. Seonghyeon asking for help? This was unprecedented. It was usually Seonghyeon running around to help the three of them.

“Well, not me,” he says, sliding into his seat next to Keonho. He opens his lunch box to buy him time on figuring out what he’s supposed to say. “I have a friend who needs help.” Seonghyeon’s voice is unconvincing, and Keonho raises an eyebrow. 

“So…” Seonghyeon starts, drumming his fingers on the table as he tries to articulate his thoughts properly. “My friend’s a little bit stuck on how they feel about someone, because they thought they hated them for the longest time. But I – sorry, my friend – thinks that they might actually like them now. Maybe a little too much and maybe as something more than friends. So… how should they go about it? Like should I – my friend – confess, or just… I don’t know. Wait it out?” Seonghyeon’s slip of the tongue makes Martin smile in amusement.

“I fucking knew it!” Keonho yells, pointing at Seonghyeon. The entire cafeteria goes quiet, and Seonghyeon’s eyes dart to you, sitting two tables down. You’re looking at Keonho with a confused look in your eye, clearly startled by his outburst. Your eyes then land on Seonghyeon, who feigns confusion too. You two share a small smile as you chuckle at Keonho’s antics, shaking your head before your eyes return to your book. Seonghyeon is absolutely mortified.

“Dude, be quiet,” Juhoon says to Keonho, before focusing his attention back onto Seonghyeon. “But yeah, we all fucking knew it. It was just a matter of time.” 

“What?” Seonghyeon sputters. “You don’t even know who this friend is.” 

Martin looks at him with a deadpan stare. “Come on, man. You clearly said ‘I’ before you changed it. It’s fine – we all thought you were gonna admit this at some point. I don’t really think you ever hated (Name).” 

“Or maybe the hatred was fueling that romantic tension,” Keonho says with a shit-eating grin. Seonghyeon regrets asking for advice now, and he buries his face in his hands to hide the blush that’s creeping up on his cheeks. Juhoon, ever so attentive, notices how the tips of Seonghyeon’s ears turn pink too. 

“You like (Name),” Keonho teases, and Seonghyeon groans, his hands never leaving his face. “I swear that weird feeling you always said you got when she was around was just you being nervous and not knowing how to act around her. And another thing – being annoyed that she was smart? Admiration. Maybe a bit of jealousy too. You’re just emotionally constipated and don’t know how to deal with your feelings.”

Fuck, Seonghyeon thinks. Why is Keonho’s psychoanalysis of him right? 

“Oh, and another thing!” Keonho pipes up. Seonghyeon just knows Keonho’s going to have 500 of these ‘another things’ to bring up. “You’ve always looked out for her this year. It’s so obvious. First, the Haeun situation. Then you’re helping her with math. And you were glaring at Minjun so hard that day I thought you were trying to make him explode.” 

“Oh my god,” Keonho’s eyes light up as if he’s had an epiphany. “You care about her. You’ve always cared too much about her. Maybe that’s why you didn’t like her. You care too much that she’s really smart, she’s really charming and she’s always around! And you also care about what she thinks of you – which is why you were so opposed to her being in our year. Because you don’t want to seem stupid in front of her.” 

Juhoon hums, pointing his finger at Keonho in agreement. “Also, don’t forget about the time where you told Sera to make sure she wasn’t feeling too anxious because you saw that she was tapping her fingers on the cover of her book too quickly. Only a lunatic or someone madly in love would notice that.”

Was he that obvious, or could his friends just read him that well? He stays silent as he digests everything that his friends are saying. But then he remembers James reading him like a book on the first time that they’d met. Fuck, maybe he was obvious, Seonghyeon thinks. Was he the only one oblivious to his own feelings? 

“Yoohoo, earth to Seonghyeon?” Martin asks, waving his hand in front of his face. “I know you’re daydreaming about (Name) again, but we were saying that you should probably do something about it.” 

“Like what, though?” Seonghyeon stammers. His voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t… you know I’ve never really liked anyone before. How am I supposed to go about this?” 

“He’s growing up,” Juhoon coos. 

“You and Martin have literally both never had a girlfriend — you can’t be saying that to me right now.” Seonghyeon says pointedly. Then he realises that none of his friends will be of help, because they’ve simply never confessed to anyone. 

“Woah!” Martin says, shocked by the sudden mention of his name. “What do I have to do with what Ju said?” 

“Nothing,” Seonghyeon replies, drumming his fingers on the table as he tries to think of what to say to you. Juhoon was awfully secretive of whoever he liked — Seonghyeon’s convinced he has a crush, he just wasn’t talking about it. Keonho, despite being the crush of far too many people in the year group, was too busy with swimming to even consider a relationship. Martin was a romantic, but he’d never found someone he actually liked enough to direct his affections to.

They’d been able to analyse him correctly because they knew him well. But they wouldn’t be able to help him devise a plan on how to confess. None of them knew you well — except maybe Martin, who you tutored. 

“I just… I don’t know if you guys will be able to help, actually. No offence — it’s just… you guys don’t know her at all.”

“I think you should just tell her how you feel,” Martin hums. “What’s the worst she could do? Reject you?” 

Seonghyeon looks at Martin like he’s crazy. “Yes? Obviously that’s the worst, and I don’t want that to happen. She’s Sera’s best friend, remember? If she rejects me, I’m still going to have to see her all the time.” 

“Well, your other option is to silently pine forever,” Keonho says, and his eyes dart over to Minjun, who’s sitting nearby your table. Seonghyeon looks in that direction, and that ugly feeling of jealousy creeps up his spine again. His jaw clenches, and Keonho doesn’t miss it. “And I know for a fact you’re not going to do that when Minjun could very well make another move.” 

Keonho’s right. Of course he is. 

Seonghyeon’s eyes land on you, and you’re laughing at something that Sera’s saying. The look of pure unadulterated joy on your face is infectious, and the corners of his lips quirk up into a smile.

You somehow catch his eye, and you beam at him, waving before returning to your conversation with Sera. Seonghyeon gently raises his hand to wave at you back.

“And you never know,” Martin hums, watching Seonghyeon’s expression with a knowing smile on his lips. “She might like you back.”

It’s another late night of studying for you and Seonghyeon. Sera complains that you’ve replaced her with her own older brother, but she’s the one who decides to sleep early while you and Seonghyeon make your way through the stack of practice papers that you’ve printed out.

But something tonight just feels a little different. The silence feels a little too loud, the scratching of your pencils is too unsettling, and the brushing of yours and Seonghyeon’s knees every now and then makes your stomach flip.

The room is dimly lit, with the only light on being the one from the kitchen. Seonghyeon’s eyes flicker towards you every now and then. He tries to talk to you a little bit, but there’s a certain sort of tension that he just can’t quite name that seems to stifle any conversation from continuing. 

His stomach grumbles, cutting through the silence. He looks at you, wondering if you heard. “Sorry,” he mumbles, getting up from his chair. “I’m gonna grab some of the acai – do you want some?” 

You stretch your arms, nodding. “Yeah, that would be nice. I’m also just going to take a little bit of a break too. I’ve been writing far too much.” You get up from your chair as well, grabbing two clean bowls from the cabinet and setting them on the counter. Seonghyeon grabs the tub of acai from the freezer and two spoons. 

“Here,” He scoops a generous portion into one bowl, and he hands it to you first, along with the spoon. “Eat first.” 

“Thank you,” you beam, taking a bite of the acai. It’s cold, and you wince as it hits your tongue. Seonghyeon chuckles gently at your expression – you know he doesn’t mean it mockingly. There’s a hint of affection that’s evident in the way he smiles afterwards. 

The tension between you two still remains, and you’re just not quite sure what to say. There’s something about the way the kitchen light illuminates his features that makes your heart flip, and you find yourself at a loss for words. You like Eom Seonghyeon far too much, but after 10 years, you’ve kind of become an expert at acting ‘normal’ around him. 

But right now, it was different. 

You don’t know how to act around him right now. 

At school, things were normal. It was only when you got to the Eoms’ house, something had seemingly changed. Perhaps it was how nice Seonghyeon looked in the gray striped shirt. Or how he’d fixed you a plate for dinner before making his own. Or how his touch had lingered when your hands had brushed while you were grabbing a sticky note. 

Either way, small little moments that you had initially deemed insignificant had snowballed into creating tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife. 

The two of you eat your acai quietly, but you can’t help but steal glances at Seonghyeon every now and then. It just so happens that he does the same too – only when you’re not looking at him. 

It’s driving him crazy. After realising his feelings for you, everything felt right. He finally had all the answers.

But having to act on them was making him go mental. Because Seonghyeon simply doesn’t think that he can bottle up all his feelings and wait – you were always there, and if you weren’t, reminders of you were everywhere. His mind, more often than not, is consumed with thoughts of you. 

You set your bowl on the counter, and you steal a glance at Seonghyeon again. This time, he’s already looking at you. Your eyes flick towards a smudge of acai on the corner of his lips. 

“You’ve got something there.” Without thinking, you reach up and swipe it away with the pads of your thumbs. Seonghyeon’s breath catches in his throat. 

You don’t know why you did that. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your face heats up. The tension between the two of you becomes even more intense – you didn’t even think that was possible – and you’re hesitant to even breathe. The two almost empty bowls of acai are left on the table, completely forgotten now. Your touch still lingers on the corner of Seonghyeon’s lip, and on instinct, he gently reaches up to touch where your thumb had been. 

Your eyes flick to Seonghyeon’s lips. You realise that you really, really want to kiss him right now. 

He notices. 

You don’t know when you and Seonghyeon’s faces inch even closer to one another – it just happens. You gravitate towards each other like two magnets, and suddenly your face is just mere inches away from his. 

It’s tonight when Eom Seonghyeon swallows his pride and finally admits it. He likes you far too much, and he has to do something about it before he drives himself mad. 

“Seonghyeon,” you whisper his name like you’re begging for him to close the distance. He can feel your breath on his lips, and exercising restraint right now is agonising torture. 

He hates you. He hates that you make his heart race, hates how you make him lose all clarity and self control, and he hates how much he wants to just press his lips to yours right now. But when your eyes flick to his lips once again, Seonghyeon just can’t hold back anymore. 

Self control be damned.

His lips find yours in a manner that you can only describe as desperate. He kisses you like he’s been wanting to do this forever – urgent, certain, determined. You kiss him back, and you don’t miss the soft, small sound that escapes past his throat when you do. It’s one that’s barely audible, like he’s surprised that you’re kissing him back with the same kind of certainty.

As your lips mold against his, you allow yourself to believe that maybe Eom Seonghyeon never hated you in the first place. Maybe he just didn’t know how to show it all along. Maybe he had always secretly longed for you, and everything just finally clicked. 

You can taste the acai that still lingers on his lips, and the smell of lavender and birch from his cologne envelopes you in a way that is maddeningly intoxicating. When Seonghyeon’s hands find your waist and pull you closer, pressing your body to his, you allow yourself to melt like putty in his hands. 

He whispers your name against your lips, and the low hum of his voice sends shivers up your spine. You press your mouth against his like you’re trying to memorise the outline of his lips, and his breath stutters. 

Seonghyeon is too aware of everything right now; from the smell of your shampoo, from the way you’re clutching onto his shirt like your life depends on it, and from the taste of your mint lip balm. 

He kisses you with more urgency, and Seonghyeon doesn’t know how he’s lived so long without having you like this. He can’t believe he had actually convinced himself that he despised you for 10 full years. Because with his lips on yours, all Seonghyeon knows is that he is maddeningly and absurdly addicted to you. The world melts away, and it’s like you and him are in your own little bubble. 

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles against your lips. You melt against him – every touch of his lingers, and you’ve waited 10 years for this moment. For Seonghyeon to finally see you as something more. 

She’s off limits. You and all your best friends are.

The bubble pops.

Fuck. Sera’s voice suddenly rings in his head, and Seonghyeon stops even if he doesn't want to. He pulls away momentarily, confusing you. You chase his lips again, but he puts the slightest bit of distance between you two.

“We can’t.” Seonghyeon mutters silently against your lips. But those words ring loudly in your ears. “You’re… you’re her best friend.” 

You’re stunned for a second. His words strike like a knife to your heart. Of course. To him, you were always his little sister’s annoying best friend. Why would it change, even after he kissed you like that?

“Right,” you gulp. Your heart is heavy. 

You slip away from his grasp, and Seonghyeon already misses having your lips on his. You hastily collect your things and put them in your bag. The air is thick with tension, and not the kind that filled the air before Seonghyeon kissed you like you actually meant something to him. You blink back tears — you feel stupid for leaving your heart right in the palm of his hands.

Eom Seonghyeon only kisses you once before he loses you. 

He watches you disappear past his front door without a word, and he realises:

He already wants you back. 

You’ve been avoiding both Seonghyeon and Sera like the plague.

You can’t get the kiss out of your mind. Seeing Seonghyeon hurts. Seeing Sera means that it’s only a matter of time before the dam breaks and you tell her everything.

Seonghyeon notices — you never show up to his house after school to study anymore. You pair up with Leean for English now. You don’t even look at him in class. Keonho catches him staring at you a little too much, but a gut feeling of his tells him not to pry. 

You know that he’s trying to come find you so you two can talk it out, but you’re somehow able to expertly dodge him for an entire week. It’s making him go insane. 

You make some lame excuse about needing to study in the library to Sera so you don’t need to sit with her at lunch. You notice the hurt that flashes across her face before she agrees, and you feel awful for lying to her. It gets worse when you tell her that you’re going to study at home for the next week or so.

It’s a Wednesday afternoon when Sera corners you in the history classroom. 

“Why are you avoiding me?” she asks you bluntly. You can’t even bear to look at her face. All you can see is that her arms are crossed over her chest, and after 10 years of friendship, you know that her eyebrows are likely tightly knit together in anger. If she was furious, you wouldn’t blame her.

“I’m not,” you lie through your teeth, shifting uncomfortably as you stare at the floor. She looks at you incredulously. “I’m just busy, Sera.”

“We’re best friends, (Name). I know when you’re lying to me. What happened?” Your stomach twists with guilt when you hear the hurt in her voice. Your eyes flick up to look at her, and you just can’t lie to her anymore.

The dam breaks. You let out a choked sob and Sera’s face immediately contorts into one of alarm. She quickly wraps her arms around you in a hug as you cry into her shoulder, your tears staining her uniform.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“It’s okay,” Sera gently pats your back in a move to comfort you, her voice soft and understanding. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You don’t say anything for a few seconds, taking deep breaths to compose yourself before you speak. The feeling of guilt, hurt and pain twists in your stomach when you think of Seonghyeon. You think of how he kissed you and how sparks flew, and then how he crushed all of that hope that you’ve been holding with just a few simple words.

“Seonghyeon and I kissed,” you confess. You can hear Sera take in a sharp breath. “A week ago.”

“You… and Seonghyeon?” 

You nod. “I thought maybe it could’ve been something. I thought maybe I… meant a little more to him. And then he said we shouldn’t.” 

Sera’s brows furrow in confusion. “What? Why?” 

“Because I’m your best friend,” you mumble. “I get it. I’ll just… always be his little sister’s annoying best friend, right?”

“Do you like him?” 

Of course you do. You like him a little too much, even. Even though he crushed your heart in his hands, you still can’t bring yourself to hate him.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do. I really, really do.”

“And I hate how much I do, actually,” your heart hurts as you pour out all the feelings that you’ve been keeping to yourself for the past week. “Fuck, Sera – I know he’s your brother and everything, but I’ve liked him ever since I can remember. I started reading these goddamn history books because I wanted to find something in common with him just so we could talk. Before this year, I didn’t even think anything would happen – he always tried to avoid me, hell – he barely could look at me even when we were in the same room. I don’t even know why I kept on yearning when it was obvious that he didn’t want me around.” 

“But then, this year,” you chuckle, thinking about how Seonghyeon’s entire demeanour had changed. “He cared. Maybe begrudgingly at first and at your request, but then I noticed that he actually cared about me. He noticed these things about me that I never even noticed about myself – like how I apparently tap on the covers of my books too quickly when I’m nervous.” 

“And then we started spending more time together, and I fell even harder. He was just so easy to talk to, so nice, and we had so much in common. Then he paid for my fucking books at the bookstore when it was ridiculously expensive. And he had no reason to!” you exclaim. “And after, I just started thinking that maybe I wasn’t crazy to have waited for so long, because it was going to pay off.”

“And then when he kissed me, I allowed myself to have that sort of hope. That something would actually come out of my years of yearning. That I meant something more than just being your best friend. That… he actually liked me.” 

“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want to hear. Your best friend is in love with your brother,” you say, shaking your head. You know how awkward it is for Sera to hear this – she hated whenever anyone came up to her and asked her if Seonghyeon was single. It must be worse hearing it from her best friend. “This is all so stupid.”

There’s a moment of silence that falls between you and Sera. It’s incredibly nerve-wracking, and your heart sinks. You’ve already messed up your relationship with one of the Eom siblings. You can’t bear to lose the other one too.

“I always told myself that if I got to pick who Hyeon ended up with, I would want it to be you,” Sera confesses. You look at her through teary eyes, your face evidently shocked. “I mean… you two are too similar and too compatible. To me, it was just a matter of time until he realised that he didn’t dislike you, he just… never got to properly know you.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yeah, I’m dead serious. And for the record, I’m not mad at you, (Name),” Sera replies. You search her eyes to see if she’s being honest, and you’re certain she is. You let out a sigh of relief – the last thing you wanted was your friendship with Sera to be ruined. “I get why you were avoiding me, as much as I didn’t like it. And that somewhat explains why Hyeon has been so… weird this week.” 

“Look. I’m going to go talk some sense into him,” you gulp hearing her words. “I will most definitely yell at him and smack him over the head. I don’t want to promise anything, but… would you be okay to speak to him if he came up to you?” 

You take a deep breath. You’re not too sure how you can face Seonghyeon right now. But some sense of closure, some explanation to that night would be better than nothing. If things didn’t end up the way you wanted them to, at least you could move on. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll have to mentally prepare myself a bit, but yeah. Might as well get that conversation over and done with. I don’t want to avoid him forever.” 

Sera gives you a comforting smile before hugging you a little tighter. “Great. I love you, okay? And if it’s my loser brother who makes you happy… then of course I’m okay with it. I just wish you’d told me at first, so I could actually be a good wingwoman.” 

Her words lighten up the atmosphere, and you wipe the tears from your eyes. “I love you, Sera. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier – I just didn’t want to make things strange between us, you know?” 

“I know,” Sera nods. “You don’t have to justify yourself. Seonghyeon on the other hand though… he’s going to have a lot to explain.” 

“Go easy on him,” you say. Sera looks at you like you’re crazy. 

“I can’t believe he broke your heart and you’re telling me to go easy on him,” Sera groans. “You’re too kind for your own good.” 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, staring down at your shoes. “I think unfortunately, I’m just in love.” 

“Eom Seonghyeon!” 

He’s woken up to Sera hitting him with a pillow. He didn’t even realise that he fell asleep – his copy of Plato’s Symposium is now somewhere near the foot of his bed, and he realises that he’ll have to flick through the entire book again to pick up from where he left off. 

But right now, the more pressing matter is how his little sister is looking at him with a glare so intense he thinks she’s trying to shoot a laser through his skull. Her eyebrows are furrowed, anger evident on her face. Seonghyeon knows that he’s fucked up. He doesn’t need Sera to remind him.

“How fucking dare you?” she hisses at him. Her voice is laced with venom, and Seonghyeon has never been scared of his little sister before, but there’s a first time for everything. “You kiss my best friend and then you tell her that ‘you can’t’? Are you serious?” 

“Sera, I—”

“I’m not finished.”

“I told you at the beginning of the year to look out for her, and this is what you do? Fuck with her feelings? She’s been avoiding me for a whole week because of you!”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” Seonghyeon stammers. “I didn’t intend for it to.”

“No shit, Seonghyeon — couldn’t you have thought it through before you made a move like that?” 

“I didn’t intend to actually end up liking her, Sera!” Seonghyeon exclaims. “You don't think I feel guilty for saying that and pushing her away? Because it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past week.” 

“I replay that kiss in my mind every second. I hate how just mere moments later I pushed her away. I hate that I made her feel like she meant nothing to me, because she doesn’t — I… I… fuck.” Seonghyeon’s voice cracks. He clutches his head in his hands as he tries to fight back the tears threatening to spill past his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t know how it happened — it wasn’t supposed to. I thought I hated her, and then somewhere along the way I guess I started liking her. I don’t think I ever hated her, actually. I just… I just didn’t realise it.” 

Sera looks at him in stunned silence. She lowers the pillow, seemingly unwilling to attack Seonghyeon again now. 

There’s guilt, regret and desperation written all over Seonghyeon’s face. As Sera looks at him a little closer, she notices the eyebags and the dark circles from tossing and turning at night, losing sleep because Seonghyeon just can’t stop thinking about you. 

She looks at the book that’s at the foot of his bed — Plato’s Symposium. Seonghyeon had never shown remotely any interest in philosophy, and Sera’s shocked that he’s actually reading a book of that genre. But then she notices that there’s multiple plastic tabs sticking out of the book, and Sera knows only one person who does that when reading. 

It’s your copy.

“You’re in love with her,” she gasps. 

“Yeah,” Seonghyeon admits quietly. He thought it was just like initially, but when his heart physically hurts at the thought of losing you, it must be something more. It must be love.

He thinks he should feel some sense of relief at that realisation, but all he feels is guilt. How could he not when all he’s replaying in his head is kissing you like that before he just had to push you away? 

He sees you in class and all he notices is that you’re awfully quiet, you barely smile, and there’s a certain dullness in your eyes that wasn’t really there before. Seonghyeon hates knowing that he’s the reason why. 

“I am. And I fucked it all up.” 

“I didn’t want to make things weird with you and her. You told me at the beginning of the year that she was off limits to me and my friends,” Seonghyeon mumbles. 

“But this is killing me, Sera. I’m rereading this goddamn book like a madman.” he says, holding up Symposium. He really thinks that he might be going crazy without seeing your face. “I keep trying to find her and try to talk to her, but she won’t even look at me and avoids me every chance she gets. I think that even if she did want to talk to me, I wouldn't even be able to gather up the courage to say anything. That's how fucked I am."

“When I said that she was off limits… it wasn’t a definite thing. You should’ve just talked to me, Seonghyeon,” Sera’s voice is a little softer now, sitting down on the edge of Seonghyeon’s bed. “I want you both to be happy, and if you’re the one making her happy, why wouldn’t I be okay with that?”

“I don’t know,” Seonghyeon confesses. “I didn’t realise I didn’t hate her until a few months ago.” 

“Yeah, you’re pretty bad with emotions,” Sera replies bluntly. “Sorry. Like I told you earlier in the year, you didn’t hate her – you just never got to know her properly.”

“Look, I’m probably not supposed to be telling you this, but… she told me today she’s liked you ever since she can remember.” Sera jabs her finger at Seonghyeon’s chest. 

Seonghyeon's breath catches in his throat. You’ve liked him for that long. You’ve waited for him. 

“I, for one, can’t believe I was so blind. But seriously, Seonghyeon – I know my best friend, and she’s not going to stop liking you anytime soon. She really likes you and I’m more than willing to bet money on the fact that she’s going to give you another shot. But you really have to apologise and tell her how you feel, because I know you feel the same way.” 

“She told me to be nice to you,” Sera pipes up. “Even when you were a dick.” 

God. Seonghyeon had hurt you that badly, and you were still asking Sera to be nice when you really had no reason to even extend the slightest amount of kindness to him. The guilt is eating him alive, and he knows that he has to do something about it. He has to find the courage to actually tell you how he feels.

“Go fix things tomorrow. You have to talk to her.” 

“I will,” Seonghyeon sighs softly. “I just… don’t really know what to say.” 

Sera scoffs. “You don’t need to say something perfect, Seonghyeon.” 

“Just say something real.” 

You’re nowhere to be seen. 

Seonghyeon is freaking out. 

He’s been running around the school like a madman, sprinting across campus just to see if you’re around. Keonho notices how restless Seonghyeon is in class, tapping his foot anxiously on the floor and barely listening to the teacher. He’s never seen Seonghyeon act this way before. 

When the bell rings, Seonghyeon’s the first one out the door. Seonghyeon’s sheer speed as he runs out the door makes Keonho question whether or not he should try and convince him to try out for athletics. 

By third period, Seonghyeon’s nearly convinced himself that you’re dead. You never miss classes, let alone three of them. You also show up when you’re sick, so whatever your situation is – it must be dire.

He can’t find Sera because they’re in different grades, so he decides to go up to the person you’re closest to in class, besides himself. 

“Leean, I need your help.” Seonghyeon’s breathless as she approaches her desk — after all, he had been running around the entire school today to see where you were. It was unusual for you to not be in class at all.

“Is this about (Name)?” She doesn’t seem surprised, but there’s a certain coldness in her tone that’s never been there before. She must know, he thinks. 

Usually Seonghyeon would be embarrassed and flustered that for some reason his classmate knew that he was looking for you, but he didn’t care anymore — he had to make things right. 

“Yeah, yes — where is she?” 

Leean looks away, clearly hesitant to tell him. “Look, I don’t know if I should tell you,” she sighs. “She’s not… really doing well. You know why.”

“Please. I messed up,” He’s desperate. He doesn’t even care that Leean probably knows everything he’s done.  “I have to make it right.” 

She, too, notices the dark circles under his eyes and the urgency in his voice. His hair is unbelievably messy, probably from running his hands through them all day in frustration. She's never seen Seonghyeon — the boy known for looking too perfect and put-together — look this distressed and disheveled. 

Then it hits her. The desperation in his eyes, the worry in his tone, even how his hands are shaking slightly – Eom Seonghyeon is in love with you. 

She remembers how you were describing that night when you confided in her about everything. You couldn’t tell Sera, but you had to tell someone – bottling up your feelings simply felt awful. The hope that you had of him maybe liking you back, and then the heartache when he’d pushed you away. Leean knows that you’re in love with him, and you wouldn’t stop loving him anytime soon. 

She knows that she really shouldn’t tell him. But she also really couldn’t get in the way of what she now realised was real love. 

“Fine,” she exhales. “She’s not here today. She’s out all day at an art gallery for a visual arts assignment. I don’t know how you’re going to be able to find her, since there’s so many in the city.” 

Art gallery. Visual arts assignment. 

Rembrandt. 

Seonghyeon knows exactly where you are. 

“Okay,” he says, nodding. Leean notices the shift in his demeanour. “I’m gonna go. Please tell Ms Seo I’m not going to be here for math.” 

Leean thinks Seonghyeon’s crazy. Missing any other class without a valid reason was fine, but missing math with Ms Seo was a death sentence. “You’re missing math? For what?” she sputters.

“I have to find (Name),” he says, running his fingers through his hair. He takes his phone out of his pocket, searching for the art gallery that he knows you’re at. It’s a 15 minute drive away — he’s just going to have to call a car to pick him up. “Yeah. I’m not gonna make it back in time for class.”

“Seonghyeon, Ms Seo is literally going to kill you. I know you’re worried about (Name), but can it wait? Maybe until lunch?” 

“I’ve stalled for too long,” he shakes his head, clicking onto the rideshare app he rarely uses. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Seonghyeon has never felt this desperate. “It’s fine. I’ll take the detention and the six different worksheets she’ll give me. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t do this.”

The conviction in his voice is enough to tell Leean that nothing she’ll say is going to stop him. She sighs, nodding. “At least just head to admin and sign out? Say that you have some health appointment — I don't think (Name) would want you to face Ms Seo's wrath either.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Seonghyeon says absentmindedly. He looks at his phone, and he sees that the cab is almost here. “Okay, I’m gonna go.” He slings his backpack over one shoulder, thanking Leean hastily before he runs out the classroom. 

He runs right past the nurse’s office and the admin office – Seonghyeon really doesn’t care about the repercussions right now. Ms Seo is definitely going to kill him. His mother’s going to scold him when she finds out. Keonho, Martin and Juhoon are going to tease him about this mercilessly. 

But love makes people do crazy things, and Eom Seonghyeon thinks that this is going to be one of the craziest things he’s ever done.  

When Seonghyeon steps into the art gallery, he’s reminded about why he doesn’t go there willingly. 

He likens them to mazes. To him, there’s no logical direction like there is in a history museum. Seonghyeon also especially hates that the map that he was given at the door doesn’t tell him where a specific painting is.

He's stopped by a ridiculously overpriced flower shop right at the front of the gallery, and he doesn’t hesitate to buy a bouquet of marigolds – your favourites. The ticket is also insanely expensive, but it doesn’t really matter. He can justify it to his mother later. 

And considering that he has to find you in this maddeningly confusing place, Seonghyeon thinks that he’s really got his work cut out for him. He runs past every single painting, eyes flicking up to check if it’s the one that you mentioned. Much to his disappointment, the first few corridors that he runs down don’t have the painting displayed on the wall. 

The other people in the museum – tourists, artists and critics – all look at him disapprovingly as his footsteps clack loudly on the wooden floor, disrupting the quietness and serenity of the space. 

Seonghyeon grimaces when he spots someone glaring at him, muttering an apology for disrupting them. But he’s too preoccupied with finding you. 

The stupid map he’s holding is of no help, and Seonghyeon practically wants to rip it apart until he wanders into a corridor that he thinks he’s never been to before. He doesn’t know where he is at this point, and he’s clutching onto the flowers for dear life as if they’ll somehow keep him sane. He’s been running around for 15 minutes, and he hasn’t found you yet. He’s starting to think that perhaps he’d gotten it wrong – maybe you weren’t here. 

Seonghyeon turns the corner. His eyes flick up to the painting quickly, prepared to already groan in disappointment before he has to slink down another hallway that looks just about the same. But this time, he gasps. 

Aristotle with a Bust of Homer. 

Most people who go to art galleries would marvel at the painting for a few minutes before looking around the space. 

Seonghyeon’s eyes immediately go to the figure sitting on the bench in front of the painting. 

It’s you.

You’re writing something down in a notebook, one earphone in your ear with your brows furrowed in concentration. To Seonghyeon, you look unbelievably beautiful – you always do. His breath hitches in his throat, and suddenly all the words that he was preparing to say in the car are lost on him. 

He can’t even bring himself to speak just yet — he just stands there for a few seconds, admiring you. Is it bad that he doesn’t care much about the painting? 

Seonghyeon takes a deep breath before he clears his throat to catch your attention. You turn to look in the direction of the noise that had disrupted the silence, and you’re stunned when you see Seonghyeon standing there, with a bouquet of marigolds in his hands.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly. “I thought I’d find you here.”

You furrow your brows, setting your pen and notebook on the bench. “How’d you find me?” you ask in disbelief, taking out your earphones. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy to see him, but the ache from that night still stings a little. 

“Rembrandt. You told me about his paintings and how you wanted to make your assignment about this exact work once when we were studying. And…I had to come find you,” he says, taking a hesitant step towards you. “I messed up that night.” 

The mention of that night makes you grimace. “Seonghyeon, it’s fine — we really don’t have to talk about it. It was like a spur of the moment thing, or something. Just go back to class before Ms Seo literally kills you.”

“It wasn't,” The certainty in his voice surprises you. “I meant it. I wanted to.” 

You don’t say anything in response, and Seonghyeon takes it as a cue to continue talking. Sera’s words ring in his head – just say something real. 

“I always thought I disliked you,” he blurts out. Wow, bad start, he thinks. It couldn’t get any worse, could it? He sees your face fall slightly. “No, no, that came out wrong – um, let me finish. I don’t hate you. I’m just… really bad at realising my own feelings.” 

“I always felt nervous around you, I never knew what to say, and I suppose I jumped to conclusions and thought that I hated you. But then this year… I realised that it was actually the opposite. My nerves really just stemmed from the fact that I… I cared about you. Cared about how well you were doing in school, cared about how you were always around, and I really cared about what you thought of me. I didn’t want you to think I was stupid or anything or that I couldn’t match your intellect, as strange as it sounds.” 

“And then this year I realised that I just knew things about you, even though I – stupidly – never made any attempt to try and get to know you better earlier on. Like how you tap the cover of your books when you’re nervous, and how you only use purple sticky tabs for pages in your books with annotations, and that you only use blue pens for essay subjects and black pens for subjects with numbers. His throat burns as he rambles. “Juhoon said that only a lunatic or someone madly in love would notice these things, and I know I’m the latter.” Seonghyeon doesn’t miss the way your breath catches in your throat when you hear him say that he’s in love with you. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not good with emotions. I’m really stupid to only have realised it now. And I’m sorry that I pushed you away that night when I felt like… this. I got scared – everything got too real, I suppose, and thinking about what Sera said about you being her best friend and everything… I didn’t want everything to become strange.” 

“But this week made me realise that I don’t think I could possibly live with myself without telling you how I feel and giving this a shot. I keep reading Symposium over and over again because it just reminded me of you, and I just… yeah. I know they're kind of mostly talking about platonic love there, but this line stuck out to me and I think it works. It was something about love being the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole, and... yeah. You just make me feel whole.

"I don't even know if that makes a lot of sense," he sighs, but Seonghyeon could not care less about looking dumb right now. "But I’m so stupidly in love with you.”

“I love how passionate you are about the things you’re interested in. I love how much you chat my ear off about Plato and Aristotle and Rembrandt’s paintings. I love how much you care about everyone – and how you care about me, such as knowing what kind of books I like, or my favourite flavour of ice cream when I’ve never even mentioned it to anyone before. It was that day at the bookstore where everything clicked for me – that I really, really liked you. And after that realisation, everything just finally felt right.” 

“And I suppose what I’m trying to say here with all my rambling, is that if you’d still have me… I’d really want to be yours.” 

He lets out a deep exhale after he pours his heart out to you. He quickly looks back down at his shoes once he’s finished speaking. He’s hesitant to even look at you and witness your reaction to his words. He’s never said anything this raw, this genuine, this honest – especially not regarding his feelings. But saying it out loud feels right. He loves you. Seonghyeon has never been more sure of anything in his life. 

There's a beat of silence that falls between the two of you. Seonghyeon’s heart drops.

“Do you really mean all that?” you pipe up. You blink rapidly, as if you’re still trying to digest everything that he just said.

“Yeah,” He’s never said anything more real. “I do. Every word.” 

“You’re… you’re insane,” you finally breathe out. Seonghyeon looks at you, and there are tears in your eyes. But you don’t seem angry or repulsed, and you’re not running away. He wants nothing more than to reach out and wipe the tears from your eyes for you, but he doesn’t know if you’re willing to let him get that close. 

“I know,” he admits. His voice is low in a whisper, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. “But I love you.” 

He hopes it’s enough. 

You step closer towards him, and Seonghyeon slowly looks up at you. “I thought I’d be the one to say all that first,” you shake your head almost in disbelief. After pining for him for so long, Seonghyeon ended up being the one who had confessed. You don’t think you ever saw that coming. 

“So are you saying – you feel the same?” Seonghyeon stammers, panic evident in his tone. He doesn’t know why he’s actually asking that, considering that both Sera and Leean had confirmed it for him. He supposes that after that night, he didn’t know if you would actually still have feelings for him. “Like, I know it’s a lot to process, and I can wait–” 

Your hands grab the lapels of his uniform, pulling him closer to you and capturing his lips in a kiss. He’s slightly taken aback at first before he kisses you back. One hand cups your cheek as the other finds your waist like he’s done this a million times before, and Seonghyeon kisses you like you’re oxygen and he’s struggling to breathe. Finally, he thinks. Everything feels right. 

It was messy and desperate, but it couldn’t have been more perfect. It was the kind of kiss that conveyed every single emotion that the two of you felt for the last week after being separated for so long.

There couldn’t possibly be a more picturesque location for a first – well, second – kiss. The world crumbles away, and it’s only you and him. Seonghyeon doesn’t care that there’s other people in this damned art gallery that are acutely aware of their presence and what they’re doing. They’re no doubt either glancing at them oddly, or understanding that this is just young love. 

When you pull away, your lips quirk up in a wide grin. “I love you too. I have, for a really long time now.” you say, whispering against his lips. 

“I know,” he replies, remembering what Sera had told him. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“Did Sera tell you everything?" You don’t seem surprised, but you are slightly embarrassed that Seonghyeon knows how long you’ve been waiting for him to like you back. He nods in response, and you try to hide the flustered expression on your face. “I figured. God, I can’t believe you know that I started reading history books just because I wanted to talk to you more.” 

Seonghyeon now looks shocked. “You did?” 

Your eyes widen – great, you’d just tattled on yourself. You groan, embarrassed as you bury your face in your hands. Seonghyeon’s airy laughter rings through the gallery, his hand gently caressing your shoulder. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. That’s… really sweet of you, actually. But I’m sorry for pushing you away all these years. And for pushing you away that night. I was a massive idiot.” 

“I’m glad you know that,” you joke, but you’re still slightly embarrassed by revealing that small fact about yourself. “I really did want to speak to you, but I was just scared of getting rejected by a guy I’ve liked for a really long time. But I suppose this grand gesture does make up for most of it, though. I can’t believe you’re skipping Ms Seo’s class just for me.” 

“This was important. And I know all the content anyways,” Seonghyeon hums. He suddenly remembers that the bouquet of marigolds is still in his hands, and his eyes widen in alarm. He checks them to see if the arrangement is ruined, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when they’re not. He nervously hands them out to you, and you accept them with a bright smile. “Sorry, I forgot to give you these earlier.” 

“Marigolds,” you grin, admiring the flowers. You press a quick peck to his cheek and watch as his cheeks tint pink. “You remembered. They’re gorgeous.” 

“I’m happy that you like them.” he beams. You think about every word that Seonghyeon said in that confession, and your heart blooms with warmth. “But I hope I’m not distracting you too much from your assignment with my confession. You wouldn’t mind if I stayed here with you, right?” 

You shake your head. You’re more than happy he’s here, but you’re genuinely worried that Ms Seo’s going to kill him when she finds out that he’s skipped her class. “I’m kind of done, I think. I made my notes and everything, and I just have to put everything together when I get home. But I was planning to stay and walk around the gallery a little bit more, since I’m signed out for the whole day. I just don’t want Ms Seo to… you know… make you suffer for the rest of the year?” 

“I’ll tell my mom to maybe lie for me,” he replies, and you can tell that it’s sinking in for him that Ms Seo is not going to be easy on him unless he’s somehow able to pull an acceptable excuse out of his ass. “Surely my mom would understand. Sera would help me convince her too. Or maybe, Ms Seo would be totally okay with me saying that I had to pull off a grand gesture to get the girl I love back.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “That would be lovely, but also… no chance.” 

“I’ll take the 15 worksheets she’ll give me. This was worth it,” he gives your hand a tight squeeze. “So… will you show me around the gallery? Just tell me everything about all of his paintings. We can start with this one?” 

“I kind of talked way too much about this during that study session, Hyeon,” you laugh. You called him Hyeon. A giddy smile creeps up on his lips. “Wouldn’t you get bored?”

“I’d never get bored of hearing you talk.” he replies. You chuckle before flicking open your notebook. You read out the commentary you’ve made on the painting, pointing up at the specific parts that you’re mentioning. Seonghyeon listens to every single word with your hand laced in his, putting in his own thoughts here and there.

The two of you wander around the entire museum, and miraculously, with you by his side, Seonghyeon doesn’t get lost at all. Suddenly, he thinks that he loves art galleries.

He sneaks in a couple of kisses here and there as you’re rambling. He smiles in amusement as you completely forget what you’ve been saying after he presses his lips to yours. 

The last painting the two of you see in the museum is The Polish Rider, and Seonghyeon finds it awfully fitting. The last painting he sees with you in this exhibit is the painting mentioned in the first poem that had in some ways, brought you two together. 

As you’re telling him about the painting, he allows his eyes to wander a little. They land on you, and instantly, a lovesick smile stretches across his lips. 

And it’s then when he just knows that the kind of love that had been described in the poem that you two had analysed together — breathtaking, all-consuming, fervent — was very much so attainable. 

Because he feels it.

Despite being surrounded by paintings revered by all, Eom Seonghyeon would much rather look at you than all the other portraits in the world.

Your stomach dropped. You were short. Not by a lot but enough. “Oh—uh,” you laughed awkwardly, already embarrassed. “Sorry, can I just—maybe take one smoothie off?”

“ofcourse, let me fix that,” the cashier said kindly, starting to adjust the order. Before she could “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

You froze.

A voice...low, calm, close behind you.

You turned. He was standing there casually, sunglasses resting on his head, hair dark and slightly messy like he’d just come from the beach. Green T-shirt, shorts, light tan skin catching the sunlight. He didn’t look rushed. Didn’t look like he was trying to impress anyone, he was too chill.

He already had his card out.

“Oh—no,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “That’s really okay, I can just—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, giving the cashier a small nod. “Go ahead.” Before you could argue again, the card reader beeped. “but,” you insisted. “I don’t even know you.”

Paid.

You stared at it like it had personally betrayed you. “I—wait,” you turned to him, panicking slightly. “I didn’t mean for you to— I can pay you back, seriously.” He shrugged, easy smile tugging at his lips. “It’s just fruit.”

“but,” you insisted. “I don’t even know you.”

“Exactly,” he said lightly. “No pressure, right?.” You sighed, frustrated but also...strangely flustered. fuck why is he like this? “Thank you,” you said finally, quieter. “Really. But I feel bad.”

“Then,” he said, taking his smoothie from the counter, “sit with me.” You blinked. “What?” he nodded toward to the shaded tables nearby, overlooking the path that led toward the beach. The ocean shimmered in the distance.

“Eat together,” he clarified. “That way you don’t feel like a stranger stole your lunch.” You hesitated. “…That’s not what this is.” He laughs softly “Sounds like it.”

damn...You hesitated for a second too long. He noticed. “I promise I’m not weird.”

“That’s exactly what weird people say.” He laughed. “Fair. But I’m on vacation, not on a crime spree.” ugh Everything about this vacation was supposed to be low-stakes. And yet here was a stranger with an soft smile and warm eyes asking you to sit down like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“…Okay,” you said slowly. “But just for a bit.”

He smiled wider. “Deal.”

4 MINUTES LATER

You sat across from each other, setting your things down.There was a beat of silence.

Then— “I’m Seonghyeon,” he said. “By the way.”

“Y/N.” He nodded. “Nice to meet you, Y/N who doesn’t carry enough cash.”

“oh screw you.”

“ouch.” You took a sip of your smoothie. “So…Are you always this bold with strangers?”

“Only when they look like they’re about to disappear from embarrassment.” You groaned. “I wasn’t that obvious.”

“You were counting your money like you never counted, i would say..the money did you dirty.”

“…Okay, maybe a little.” He smiled into his cup. “You staying around here?” he asked. “Yeah. Resort down the road.” “Same,” he said, eyebrows lifting. “How long?”

“Two weeks.”

“Nice. I’m here for most of the summer.”

“That sounds illegal.” He laughed. “bro I swear it’s allowed.”

You poked at your fruit. “So what made you come to Busan?”

“That sounds illegal.” He laughed. “bro I swear it’s allowed.” You poked at your fruit. “So what made you come to Busan?”

“lowkey because it's chill and fun, family time, the resort is fucking cool,” he said simply. “You?”

“Same. Except i call it ‘Don’t bother the queen.”

“Respectable reason.” Another pause. Not awkward. Just…soft. He glanced at your bowl. “You gonna eat that kiwi or just emotionally support it?”

“Oh—sorry,” you laughed, grabbing a piece. “I forgot I was supposed to eat.” He leaned back in his chair.

“Vacation does that. Makes time feel fake.” You nodded. “Yeah. Like this morning doesn’t even feel real.” He looked at you then. Really looked. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know what you mean.” You didn’t know why your chest felt warm. “So,” you said quickly, “do you do this often? Paying for random people?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “Just today.”

“Oh.”

“Guess I got lucky.” You smiled without meaning to. “…I’ll still pay you back,” you said. He smirked. “We’ll see.”

5 MINUTES LATER

You’re already a few steps away when “Oh—wait.” You stop and Turn around. Seonghyeon’s standing now too, one hand scratching the back of his neck like he hadn’t planned on saying anything else but couldn’t help it. “Uh,” he says, then laughs a little at himself. “There’s…apparently a bonfire tonight.”

You’re already a few steps away when “Oh—wait.” You stop and Turn around. Seonghyeon’s standing now too, one hand scratching the back of his neck like he hadn’t planned on saying anything else but couldn’t help it. “Uh,” he says, then laughs a little at himself. “There’s…apparently a bonfire tonight.”

“A bonfire?” you repeat. “Yeah,” he nods. “Down the beach. My cousin heard some people talking about it at the pool. Tourists and locals, I guess.”

“That sounds…kind of fun.”

“Right?” His smile grows. “They’re starting it after sunset. Music, food, all that.”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. My parents—”

“Mine sometimes too,” he says quickly. “But I think if I say I’m going for a walk, they won’t question it.” You laugh. “Must be nice.”

“They don’t,” he shrugs. “They trust me. For some reason.” You glance back toward the resort entrance, then at him again. The breeze picks up, warm and salty. “So,” he says carefully, “if you end up going…maybe I’ll see you there.” You smile. “You’re really committing to the ‘maybe’ thing.”

He grins. “I like leaving things open.”

“…What time?” His eyes light up just a little. “Around eight. Near the lifeguard station.” You nod. “Okay. Maybe.”

“Okay,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word. You start walking again, but this time your step feels lighter. Behind you, Seonghyeon watches until you disappear into the resort, already replaying the way you smiled when you said maybe.

And somewhere between the sun dipping low and the ocean waiting patiently — You both know you’ll be there.

4 HOURS LATER

The beach looks different at night. The sand is cooler under your feet, the sky stretched wide and dark, stars peeking through like they’re curious. The bonfire burns bright near the lifeguard station orange flames cracking and popping, smoke curling into the air. Music hums softly from a speaker somewhere, laughter drifting between waves.

You almost turn back. Your heart’s been doing that annoying thing all evening beating too fast, like it knows something you don’t. But then you see him.

Seonghyeon stands near the fire, hands tucked into the pockets of a hoodie, The flames paint his face gold and shadow, making him look older somehow. He’s talking to a group of people — some you recognize from the resort, some you don’t. then his eyes find you.

And everything else goes quiet.

He smiles, relieved, like he was half expecting you not to show. “You came,” he says when you get closer.

“So did you,” you reply, trying to sound normal. He chuckles. “I was worried I imagined the whole smoothie thing.” You sit on the sand a little away from the fire. The warmth is nice, but not enough to stop the breeze from raising goosebumps on your arms. Seonghyeon notices. “Cold?” he asks.

“Just a little.” He hesitates, then sits closer close enough that your shoulders brush. For a while, neither of you says anything. You watch the fire. He watches the fire. Your knee bumps his by accident.

Sorry, you’re about to say— He doesn’t move away. “So,” you say softly, “do you come to things like this back home?” He shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Why not?” He pokes at the sand with his shoe. “I don’t usually feel like I belong.” Your chest tightens. “Here?”

He nods. “Yeah.” You think about that. About how easy it felt earlier. About how temporary this all is. “That’s kind of sad,” you say quietly. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.” A group of kids nearby laughs loudly. Someone starts playing a slower song.

Seonghyeon glances toward the ocean. “Vacations are weird.”

“How so?”

“They make you think things can last forever,” he says. “Even when you know they won’t.” You swallow.

“Is that what you’re thinking about right now?” He looks at you then. Really looks. “Maybe.” The silence stretches, heavy this time. “I don’t like getting attached,” you admit suddenly. “Especially to people I’ll never see again.” He exhales. “Yeah.”

“That’s why I almost didn’t come.”

“Why’d you come then?” You stare at the fire. “Because I didn’t want to regret it.” He nods slowly. “Me too.” A girl from the resort approaches him, smiling too brightly.

“Hey,” she says. “We’re grabbing marshmallows. Wanna come?” Seonghyeon hesitates. You feel something twist in your chest sharp and unexpected.

“It’s okay,” you say quickly. “Go.” He looks torn, then stands.

“I’ll be back.”

“Sure.” You watch him walk away, the fire reflecting in your eyes. You tell yourself it’s stupid to feel this way. You’ve known him for barely a day. Still, it hurts. Minutes pass. The song changes to SUNSETZ. The fire burns lower. You wonder if he forgot.

Then— “Hey.” You turn. Seonghyeon’s back, holding two skewers of roasted marshmallows. “Can’t forget you Huh,” he says quietly. Your throat tightens.

“Thanks,” you say. He sits beside you again, closer than before. The marshmallow is warm when you take it, sugar melting on your tongue. “To be honest, i was scared you’d leave,” he admits. You glance at him. “I almost did.”

“Why didn’t you?” you shrug, voice barely above the crackle of the fire. “Because some things are worth the ache, right?”

He looks at you like that answer stays with him. The bonfire burns on. The night deepens.

The fire burns lower eventually. People drift away in pairs and groups, laughter fading into the night until it’s mostly just the sound of waves and the soft glow of dying embers. You stand, brushing sand off your legs. “I think I’m gonna walk a bit,” you say quietly. Seonghyeon looks up at you. “Yeah?”

“Clear my head.” He hesitates only a second. “I’ll come with you.” You walk along the shoreline, shoes in hand, feet sinking into cool sand.

The moonlight stretches across the water, silver and endless. The air is calmer here, quieter, like the world finally gave you peace. For a while, you just walk. Then Seonghyeon breaks the silence. “I’m glad you came.” You smile. “i almost didn’t.”

“I know.” He nudges your shoulder lightly. “I’m glad you did anyway.” You glance at him. His face looks softer like this, lit by moonlight instead of fire. “Can I ask you something?” he says. “Okay.”

“Are you scared this is just....temporary?” You don’t answer right away. “Yeah,” you admit. “A little.” He nods. “Me too.” A wave crashes closer than expected, soaking your feet. You gasp and laugh.

“Oh my days—” Seonghyeon laughs too. “Run!” He grabs your wrist without thinking and takes off down the beach, pulling you with him. You laugh so hard it hurts, sand kicking up as you try to keep up. “Seonghyeon—wait!”

“Nope!” You finally stop, breathless, hands on your knees. He turns back to you, hair messy, eyes bright. “Worth it,” he says. You’re still smiling when you look up at him. And suddenly, everything feels very still. He steps closer, not rushed, not sudden. Just enough that you can feel his presence, the steady way he’s breathing.

“I don’t want this to be something I pretend didn’t matter,” he says quietly. Your heart stumbles. “Me neither.”

The ocean fills the space between you. The night wraps around you like it’s protecting the moment. He leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away. You don’t.

The kiss is soft hesitant at first, like you’re both checking if this is real. His hand rests lightly at your waist, thumb brushing your hoodie. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve.

It doesn’t feel fake.

It feels…....right. When you pull back, you’re both smiling a little, breath uneven.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

You laugh softly. “Hi.”

You walk back slowly, hands brushing, fingers finally lacing together like it was always meant to happen. Tomorrow will come. The vacation will end. But tonight....tonight is yours.

The walk back is slower. Not because you’re tired, but because neither of you wants it to end. The shoreline fades behind you as you move closer to the resort lights, hands still linked, fingers warm despite the cool night air. Every few steps, Seonghyeon glances at you like he’s checking you’re still there. “You’re smiling,” you say.

“So are you.” You bite your lip. “I can’t help it.” He stops walking. You almost bump into him. “What?” you ask softly. He steps closer, hands sliding to your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.“Just—come here.” He kisses you again. Slower this time. Softer. Like he’s memorizing it. You pull back just enough to smile. “We’re gonna get caught.”

“should i go on then?” You laugh, then kiss him again anyway quick and sweet, lips brushing like a secret. As you walk, he presses another kiss to your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth when you turn to look at him. “You’re distracting,” you say. “i'm proud of that.”

The resort comes into view white lights glowing, quiet now. The night feels heavier here, like reality waiting just beyond the doors. You stop near the path that leads to your building. “This is me,” you say quietly.

He nods, softly. “Yeah.” You both stand there, not moving. “So,” you say, fidgeting with his sleeve, “does this change things?” He thinks for a moment. “I hope so.” You smile, then lean in for one last kiss longer this time. He smiles against your lips. “Goodnight, y/n” he whispers.

“Goodnight.” He waits until you’re inside before turning away. And when you finally close the door behind you, heart racing, cheeks warm —You already miss him.

NEXT DAY - MORNING

Morning comes too fast. The sunlight feels too bright. It slips through the curtains like nothing happened last night, like you didn’t fall asleep replaying the way Seonghyeon smiled against your lips, the way his hand stayed warm in yours all the way back.You lie there for a long time, staring at the ceiling. It’s vacation, you tell yourself.This is what vacations do.

But your chest still aches. At breakfast, you look for him without meaning to. You scan the tables near the windows. The juice station. The pool outside. Every time the door opens, your heart lifts..then drops.

“He’s probably sleeping in,” you think. Or with his family. Or just busy.

Still, the quiet feels heavier than it should. You poke at your food, appetite gone, thoughts spiraling. Last night felt real. Too real to pretend it didn’t matter. And suddenly, the idea of not saying anything feels unbearable.

What if this is it?

What if you leave Busan with nothing but a memory you never explained? Back in your room, you sit on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, notebook open in your lap. The paper is blank at first too blank. You hesitate.

This is fast, you think.

This is risky.

But some things don’t wait. You start writing anyway.

Seonghyeon,

I don’t know how to say this without sounding dramatic, but I’m scared that if I don’t write it now, I never will.

I know we just met. I know this is a vacation. But last night didn’t feel small to me. It felt like something I’ll carry longer than I expected. You made this place feel warmer. Quieter. Less lonely. I don’t need promises. I just need you to know that what we shared mattered to me.

— Y/N

You stop there, heart racing, fingers slightly shaky. It’s not a confession Not exactly. But it’s honest.

You fold the letter carefully, tuck it into an envelope. You plan to give it to him later or tonight, maybe near the smoothie stand, maybe by the beach. somewhere simple. Somewhere you. You spend the rest of the day waiting.

Every hour stretches. You walk past the pool twice. Sit near the beach longer than usual. Check the smoothie stand again, pretending you just want fruit. Nothing.

By late afternoon, something feels wrong.

You finally ask the front desk, trying to sound casual. “Um— do you know if the family in room 412 is still here?”

The receptionist shakes her head. “No, they left this morning. Early.” Your stomach drops.

“Left…what—”

“Checked out. They were heading to the airport.” The words don’t land right away. Airport. Early. Gone.

You walk back to your room slowly, letter still in your bag, suddenly heavy. The hallway feels longer. Quieter. Like it’s already letting go of you. You sit on the bed again, envelope in your hands.

You don’t cry right away. You just stare at it. too late, the thought whispers. You think about the way he said vacations make things feel temporary. About how you both knew this would end just not like this. that night, you go down to the beach alone.

The spot where the bonfire was is empty now. Just dark sand and waves, steady and uncaring. You sit there, hugging your knees, letting the breeze tangle your hair. You pull the letter out. Read it once.

Then again.

“I was going to give this to you,” you say softly to no one. The ocean answers with a wave. You fold the letter back up, pressing it to your chest like it might still reach him somehow. Maybe it was quick. Maybe it was fleeting. But it was real. And sometimes, that’s the part that hurts the most.

cas once said ⠀⠀♥︎.⠀ “And when you go away, I still see you With sunlight on your face in my rearview”

END. ──  ᥫ᭡

“What can I do to help you?” she asks you. This is how it always begins, and just like always, you shrug halfheartedly, tracing patterns in the dust gathering on the cedar surface of her desk. 

“I don’t know,” you say. She clears her throat, and you wait for the next line in your standard dialogue, where she will tell you that she can’t do anything for you if you won’t even tell her what you're thinking, but to your surprise she instead slides something across the table.

“He mentioned you like painting,” she says by way of an explanation. You don’t need to ask her who he is, because there’s only one person here who would know that about you, but you do raise your eyebrows when she gives you a canvas and a pot of pigment, nodding towards them. “How about you test them out?”

“What should I make?” you say, and although it’s impassively done, when you dip the brush into the pigment, you take a moment to marvel at the richness of the hue seeping into the bristles. After swiping a small, experimental stroke in the corner of the paper, you look up at her expectantly.

“Anything,” Lasthenia says. “Whatever’s on your mind.”

“Okay,” you say, and then the two of you sit in silence. She watches you as you go along, which disconcerts you slightly in the beginning, but then you grow so involved in it that you can’t bring yourself to mind very much, busying yourself with the swoops and lines and curves that are beginning to form a familiar scene, one you won’t ever forget, no matter how many years have passed since it happened.

When you are done, you present it to her shyly, biting your tongue as she inspects it. For some reason, you want her to like it, to praise you for your efforts and tell you you’ve done well. The longer she doesn’t say anything, the more the tension brewing in your stomach grows, and when she finally looks up with the slightest of smiles, you think you may throw up if another second passes.

“What is it?” she says.

“Huh?” you say. “Isn’t it…obvious?”

“Of course it is,” she says. “Your work is beautiful, after all; he wasn’t lying when he said you’re talented. I want to know the story behind it.”

“Oh,” you say, and to your surprise you find you’re actually a little eager. In all your years, only Anaxagoras has ever cared enough to ask you about your art, to touch the drying colors and beg to learn them. Yet here is Lasthenia, her face softening into something resembling a woman you knew as a child, a younger woman whose hair was pale as well, albeit not silver like Lasthenia’s, and who was so gentle that even the dromases sang for her.

A lump rises in your throat then, at the thought of her, of dear, beautiful Hellanike, and you try to swallow it back, because if you cry now then you will never stop, and you don’t want that, especially not in front of Lasthenia, who hardly knows you. Taking a deep breath, you wait until it abates, until the pressure on your chest vanishes, and then you squeeze your eyes shut with enough force that pricks of light begin to form behind your lids. 

I am in the Grove. I am in the Grove. I am in the Grove. You repeat this mantra enough times that Hellanike’s screaming abates, and only then do you open your eyes and face Lasthenia, who is blessedly back to being stern-faced and old and nothing like her.

“It’s a boy and a girl,” you begin, your index finger brushing against the rough outline of the boy’s face. You did not have time nor material to give him a proper expression, but you know he’s scowling, as he always is, not out of anger but because he is that deep in thought. You can picture so clearly how his brow was furrowed that day, his face pinched as he leaned against the headstone and stared at you and asked you what you were doing. “They’re in a graveyard.”

“A graveyard?” Lasthenia prompts. You nod.

“His parents have been dead since he was but a baby. You would think he’d be saddened by it, but he’s not, not really,” you say. “Not yet, anyways. It’ll be some years before either of them ever learn what it means to mourn.”

He’s an unfortunate and sorry sort, Anaxagoras, the kind of boy that one might pity if they have the heart for it and tease if they don’t. They whisper about him, your peers, their parents, pointing out his worn clothes and messy hair, the bruises on his cheekbones and the scrapes on his knees — they call him a mess, a boy whose dreams far outweigh his station, and then they laugh. How many questions he asks. How many stupid things he says, and yet he claims he will be the most knowledgeable man in the world someday! Anaxagoras the Idiot. Anaxagoras the Fool. He will certainly be remembered as such.

You both are in the same class when you begin school, though often, privately, you think that there’s some unfairness in that. The rest of you cannot even read, after all, and then there is Anaxagoras, who asks the teacher questions with words you cannot even pronounce, who says things that your tongue sits too thick and heavy in the cavern of your childish mouth to ever have hopes of replicating. 

The others call him names, but he is deaf to their barbs and their witticisms, which you do think you admire. You notice him first in this setting, where he is tucked away in the shade of an oak tree, hunched over something in his lap while someone or another berates him. You think of asking them to stop, but in truth you are afraid, and so you can only watch in silence as they snatch his work away from him, holding it up to the light before shouting and dropping it.

It’s a dromas heart, still beating. A girl vomits. A boy kicks him and calls him sick, which he does not respond to, only picking the heart up once more, curling in on himself and hugging it protectively to his chest, narrowing his eyes against the glares of your classmates.

Later, you find out that the heart is fake, made of steel and sap instead of flesh and blood. He made it, according to his sister, who is an animal tamer by the name of Hellanike. She rushed to the school as soon as she was summoned, a young dromas toddling after her and nudging Anaxagoras fondly when it sees him, and she is distraught when she hears that the heart has been destroyed by the school’s principal. He made that, and you took it from him! What sort of a principal are you?

The principal tries to reason with her, but then Hellanike sees the boot-shaped mark on Anaxagoras’s face and she is inconsolable. Taking her brother by the shoulder, she curses at the principal, and then they both leave, the dromas stumbling over its own feet as it tries to keep up with Hellanike's furious pace.

He comes back the next day like nothing ever happened, but now he has this reputation of being macabre as well as insufferable, so he continues to be left alone. You do not think he minds, not particularly; maybe he even prefers it, but that doesn’t stop you from your wishing and your gazing, for you are quite taken with him, and even more now that you know the heart was his all along.

Those flowers which bloom in his hands and never wilt, the glass scales he weighs dead leaves in, the brass frogs that leap in place by his feet — how convoluted they are, how fascinating! To you who are a child, he has touched life in the way only a god can, and so you regard him with the careful caution of a devotee, too frightened to go any closer but too endeared to ever go very far.

He speaks to you only once, in an activity where you are told to draw something to your tastes. You scribble out a dromas, the big, mean one that follows Hellanike around your small city and howls whenever anyone approaches her, and Anaxagoras leans over to look at it, inspecting it carefully with those discerning vermillion eyes of his.

“That’s nice,” he says brusquely, and then he takes the well of purple dye from you. You glance over, your cheeks warm from the praise, and see that he, too, has sketched a dromas, although his is far more scientific in nature, a diagram from the side, measurements marked out in neat tick marks, body parts labeled in sloping handwriting that you can’t quite read but can at least infer.

“Yours is—” you begin, but your voice dies in your throat when he looks back at you and tilts his head. He waits, but when it becomes clear you have no intentions of continuing, he shrugs and turns away, beginning to fill in the dromas’s sturdy body with violet like you never spoke in the first place.

When you are seven, your mother’s uncle passes away. He was old when you were born and you never knew him well, but it is your first intimate brush with death and so you are shaken by it entirely despite all of that. In fact, a week passes before you can bring yourself to trudge to the graveyard and place flowers atop the dark earth where he is buried, your head spinning curiously, peculiarly, at the thought that he is somewhere in the ground beneath you, still wrapped in that shroud of his, tucked away in a casket, his body rigid and grey and bloodless.

“What are you doing here?” The voice is soft, curious, but you cannot stop yourself from shrieking at it — you weren’t expecting anyone to be here, for you didn’t see a single soul when you entered the desolate place, and for a second you think it must be a ghost scolding you for some perceived misconduct. “Why are you screaming?”

He’s not a ghost, although he is waifish enough to be confused for one. Anaxagoras is slender and small for his age, after all, his little figure white and bony, his fingers too long for his hands, his eyes too large for his face. 

“I’m sorry, you just took me by surprise,” you say. “I thought — I thought you must be some kind of monster.”

“I see,” he says. 

“I’m visiting my mother’s uncle,” you say, because now that you are not seeing him in the harsh light of the schoolyard, he is a little more approachable, a little more like any other boy that you might be friends with. “And you?”

“My parents,” he says casually, tapping on the headstone for emphasis. “My sister says it’s the anniversary of their wedding today, and that I should visit them and wish them well.”

“Hellanike,”  you say.

“You know her?” he says. He looks kinder when he speaks of his sister, a smile dawning on his face, and even a blind man could tell from the unprecedented melody in his voice that he loves her in a way he loves little else.

“Who doesn’t?” you say rhetorically. Even the most difficult of beasts are turned to lapdogs by her touch, and even the most difficult of men are turned to saints by her gaze; you doubt there’s anyone in the city who hasn't heard her name.

He exhales at this, you guess in amusement. “True enough. Say, you’re in my class, aren't you?”

“Yes,” you say, though not without a moment of hesitation. Suddenly the bruise on his shoulder stands out stark against his skin, and you think of how easy he is for the others to abuse, how inviting it is to mock him, how simple it is to beat someone who cares so little they don’t even bother fighting back. “We haven’t really spoken much.”

“Right,” he says, and then he stands, brushing himself off, patting his parents’ gravestones, his expression dimming for the briefest of moments before he nods at you politely. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Wait,” you say when he turns to leave. You are sure you won’t have the boldness to do this ever again, but in the solemn gloom of the graveyard, you are suddenly spurred into action and loath to let him leave. “Wait, Anaxagoras, I — can I be your friend?”

He blinks at you once before shrugging. “Sure.”

“Sure?” you say, for you were expecting something elaborate, some profound declaration worthy of this designation you are bestowing on him. He has no friends, you are certain, and of the ones you have, you don’t like any as much as you think you may like him. So shouldn’t there be something to mark this moment? Something more grandiose?

“If that’s what you want,” he says. “Is there anything else?” 

“No,” you say, suddenly very relieved and more than a little flustered that you have been so worried all this while when it was so simple in the end. “No, that’s it.”

“Okay,” he says. “Bye.”

It’s a strange place to begin a friendship, but Anaxagoras is a strange boy, anyways. The two of you become something like a pair, and although your companionship cannot make him less ragged, cannot make his clothes finer and his hair neater, at least the whispers and the wounds are lessened now. He never thanks you for it, never pays enough mind to, but you know he must be grateful somewhere deep inside, because Hellanike tells you so, and Hellanike never lies.

It means so much to me, she murmurs in your ear, that first time you meet her, her arms winding affectionately around your torso, that you protect my little brother so well.

You tell her it’s nothing. She smiles and tells you it’s everything. 

“I think we made a lot of progress last time,” Lasthenia tells you. You furrow your brow, because you can’t quite understand what she means by that. All you did the last time you met her was paint a picture and explain what it meant; there wasn’t anything resembling a proper breakthrough like she’s implying. You feel the same, not worse but certainly not any better. Still, Lasthenia seems pleased enough, and painting is better than pretending to be deaf to her inane questions, so when she gives you a fresh canvas and a reed pen, you accept it without protest.

“Will you tell me what to do this time?” you say. She shakes her head.

“No, just do what you’d like,” she says. You hum and begin to doodle something or another, you’re not really sure what — it’s just nice to scratch the pen into the page, to gouge and gouge away at it until an image begins to form. “So, you’ve known Anaxagoras since you were a child?”

“Hm?” you say. “Oh, yes, we were very young when we met. He was my…”

“Your best friend?” she completes for you. You almost laugh at this, thinking back to that final night before he left your hometown for the Grove, the sound of his harsh breaths in your ear, the feel of his hand between your legs, but then instead of his bed you are remembering the floor beneath it and you are shaking and Hellanike is screaming and your vision is blackening, your lines growing jagged and long instead of sure and sharp.

“We knew each other,” you say shortly.

“You speak in the past tense,” she notes. “Did you two have a falling out?”

They’re killing Hellanike. They’re killing Hellanike. They’re killing Hellanike.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say. “There’s no bad blood between us. We just aren’t close anymore.”

“It’s natural. Sometimes you outgrow your friends,” she says, but she speaks like she knows that’s not what happened. You detest her for just a second, detest how self-assured she is, but you push it down. It’s not her fault. These people in the Grove, they’re all like that, and you shouldn’t resent Lasthenia any more or less than you resent the others.

“Exactly,” you say.

“That boy and girl in the graveyard from your painting,” she says. “You mentioned they wouldn’t learn grief for a long time. What do you think taught them? You seemed to have something in mind.”

“The boy’s sister,” you say immediately, without even thinking about it.

“She died?” she says. You grit your teeth.

“Eventually,” you say. “Everyone does at some point, right?”

“Of course,” she says. “But—”

“Anyways,” you say, shoving your half-finished sketch in front of you and cutting her off in one swift motion. “Here. Do you like it?”

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” she says, thankfully taking the redirection with grace. “Are the boy and girl the same as the ones from the last painting?”

“They’re older now,” you say. “And that’s a dromas they’re with. The boy is fond of dromases.”

“Why do you think he is?” she says.

“Well, really his sister is the one who loves them,” you say. “But he loves her, and so it’s the same in the end.”

“Why can’t dromases fly?” he asks you one day. You are sitting at his dining table, and Hellanike is cooking dinner for you both, although you have told her time and time again that there’s no need to waste food on you.

“Stop speaking,” you say. “I’m working on your lips.”

He is your favorite model, or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that he is the only one who is willing to do it. In exchange for being allowed to tell you his favorite theories while you work, he poses how you command him to and does not complain when you study him intently; he calls it a symbiotic relationship, which is his way of saying that you both are friends and do things for one another when you can.

“Can you hurry up?” he says, for patience is not yet one of his virtues. It’s funny to you that the ever-tolerant Hellanike’s little brother is so short-tempered when he wants to be, so you don’t mind it too much, but today you nudge his leg with yours.

“I’ll be done in a minute or so,” you say, looking up from your practice only to glare at him when he opens his mouth again. He shuts it immediately, although his brows do draw together in silent rebellion. “Thank you. As for your earlier question, well, why would they? They’re children of Georios, are they not? They have no use for the sky.”

“I knew you would say that!” he bursts out, all at once. You sigh, because when he is like this there is no stopping him, and then you turn your paper so that you can perfect the shading of his hair instead. “Who cares, though? If they’re children of Georios or Aquila or Phagousa or whoever, why does it matter? Wouldn’t they be happier if they could fly?”

“Certainly,” you say dryly.

“Then they should,” he says. “Why should we let the gods tell us who we can or cannot be?”

“If you’re not careful, you’ll be thrown out of the church for saying things like that,” you say.

“Oh, whatever,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “Those priests are useless anyways. They’re too scared to question the world around them, so they just spout nonsense from their scrolls and call it revelations. If I were a dromas, I wouldn’t let a priest or a god stop me from flying.”

“What about your lack of wings?” you ask. “That might be a problem.”

“Not so,” he says. “I can’t be limited so easily.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say when he punctuates it with a snicker and you realize he’s joking.

“On a more serious note, though,” he says. “What’s to say you can’t fashion a set of wings from wax and put them on a dromas? It could fly then, surely, just like my birds.”

He speaks of the mechanical birds he crafts with his own hands, little creatures which can take to the sky and sing as readily as their living brethren. One of them sits in your room, and it likes to coo you to sleep, so you keep it on your dresser and pet its little head with your index finger whenever you walk past.

“A dromas is a bit bigger than a metal nightingale,” you say.

“Then I’d give it bigger wings,” he says, always so quick with a rebuttal, always so ready. “There’s nothing saying I can’t.”

“Well, go on and fashion a pair of wings for Rhode, and we’ll see how far she can fly,” you say, speaking of the young dromas that Hellanike has been raising for almost as long as Anaxagoras has been alive. She is lazy and affectionate, to Anaxagoras especially, for according to Hellanike she views him as her own son despite being younger than him. 

“Rhode’s inability to fly has nothing to do with her being a dromas, and everything to do with her being entirely unmotivated,” he says with a snort. 

“What’s all this about Rhode?” Hellanike says, balancing a steaming dish in one hand and three plates in the other. Her eyebrow is raised as if she’s angry, but she’s smiling, and anyways she’s incapable of anger, so it comes across as more of a silly thing than a true rebuke. “You shouldn’t tease her, Anaxagoras. She’s not bright for a dromas, but her heart is bigger than any you’ll meet.”

“What good does that do her?” he says, rolling his eyes and pushing the plate with the larger of the two portions towards you. You try to refuse it, but you’ve long since learnt that both he and his sister are too proud to accept anything resembling charity, so, pressing your lips into a thin line, you take it and begin to eat, albeit begrudgingly. “She’d never survive in the wild.”

“That’s right,” you say, interrupting sagely. “She can’t even fly.”

“Fly!” Hellanike says. “Why, have you heard of a dromas that could?”

Anaxagoras shoots you a look that makes it nearly impossible for you to maintain your composure, especially in front of the earnest Hellanike, who seems to really think that you have discovered such a thing. You open your mouth, but the only thing that escapes it is a strangled laugh, and so he kicks you under the table and gives his sister a bright grin.

“We were just discussing it,” he says. “If you give a dromas wings, might it not fly?”

“Oh, I see,” she says, because she’s better than you, better than anyone, and so she entertains his notions as if they are legitimate theories instead of just flights of fancy. “Maybe not Rhode, but Argos could.”

Argos is one of the dromases whose owner has sent him to Hellanike so she can attempt gentling him. He’s a beast of a thing, bred for war, and thus far she is the only one allowed close enough to him to touch. She’s right, too, it’s a lot easier to imagine him taking to the skies than Rhode, but even then it’s humorous, for he is such a behemoth that your mind cannot even fathom how he might lift himself into the sky.

“A fair point,” he says.

“I think that even if you gave him wings, he wouldn’t know what to do with them,” you say. “Just because he could fly doesn't mean he would.”

“We could teach him,” Anaxagoras says.

“Some things can’t be taught,” you say. “How could you make a creature that doesn’t even know what flight is understand that he must now take to the skies? How would wings be any different from a saddle?”

He’s about to shoot back with some other argument, you’re sure of it, but before he can, Hellanike is raising her hands in an attempt to calm you two. Neither you nor he can really refuse her, so you both grow silent and turn to her obediently, for it’s clear she has something to say, and this draws a smile out of her.

“I heard something interesting today,” she says. “From some merchants. They mentioned a holy sanctuary called the Grove of Epiphany.”

“So what?” Anaxagoras says. He’s never put much stock in divinity, and Hellanike knows this better than anyone, so you wonder what has driven her to bring this up.

“It’s an academy,” she says. “Devoted to Cerces, and to the pursuit of wisdom.”

Anaxagoras’s eyes light up, just for a second, although he immediately quashes that faint and fiery desire. You see it, though, just as you see every little change in his demeanor, in his very being. 

“Well, anyways,” she says. “I just thought you might find it interesting, that’s all.”

The conversation moves on to other, lighter things, but the wanting does not fade from his irises. It has been imprinted in his soul, that need, that hunger, and he cannot forget it so easily. That night was the first time, although not the last, that you grew aware of the fact he would someday leave you for good.

“Do you ever consider trying to reconcile with Anaxagoras?” Lasthenia asks you, the next time you visit her. You are busy glancing around her office, trying to see where she must keep the art supplies she keeps miraculously bringing for you, so at first you do not register the question. Then, when you do, your spine stiffens.

“Did he tell you to ask me that?” you say. She shakes her head.

“I was only wondering out of my own curiosity,” she says. “Do you think that talking to him would make you feel better? Like I keep telling you, he’s adjusting to everything quite well. He could help you.”

“No,” you say immediately. “No, he — it would make it worse. For both of us.”

“Why is that?” she says.

“Can I draw?” you say instead of answering. Then, cringing at your rudeness, you hastily add: “It doesn’t matter. It just would.”

She regards you with condolence brewing in her eyes; for a moment, you think that she’s going to keep pressing, that she’ll withhold her materials from you until you explain everything to her, and that’s something you can’t bring yourself to do. So you rip at the skin around your nails and chew on your lower lip, a habit you learnt from Anaxagoras when you both were young, and you try your best to pretend that it isn’t real, that none of this is real, that Hellanike is still alive and Anaxagoras still speaks to you and Rhode is there, waiting outside of the window for you to give her a treat she is far too spoilt to deserve.

“Alright,” she says. “But I do have a request this time.”

“What is it?” you say, for you are so desperate to move on that you grasp at her words and her parchment like they are lifelines, like the only thing saving you from drowning is the feel of the brush in your hand and her orderly inquiries.

“Draw something pleasant,” she says. “Maybe that boy and girl. We’ve spoken a lot about their sadness, but how about a time when they were happy with one another?”

“I don’t know if they ever were,” you say, worrying with the ink pot’s lid, screwing and unscrewing it absentmindedly. 

“Come on, now,” she says. “That isn’t fair to them, is it? Of course they must have been, at some point.”

“And if I said they really weren't?” you challenge.

“Then I would ask you why you did that to them,” she says. You let out a bark of laughter.

“I ask that, too,” you say. “Every day, I ask Thanatos why they did this to us, to me, but they never answer. Sometimes, there is no reason. Sometimes, it just happens.”

“But you can change that,” she says gently. “You can be better than Thanatos and the rest of the titans.”

“You sound like Anaxagoras,” you say, for even here, he has made something of a name for himself as a blasphemer.

“I don’t mean it like that,” she says. “This is your story. You can make them happy if you want.”

“Fine,” you say after a moment. “Yes. They were happy on one occasion, for a short while. An hour or maybe less.”

“Why is that?” she urges as you take the pen to your paper. “What made them so happy?”

“Because he fucked her,” you say sardonically, half-hoping the shock of it will bring her to leave you alone. She seems the prim type, but to your surprise, she doesn’t even flinch, only nodding pensively.

“Yes, that could make anyone happy,” she says. “Is that what you’re drawing, then?”

The detached approach causes your face to burn with shame, embarrassment flooding you as you sink deeper into your chair. She’s taking you seriously, and somehow this is more invasive, more violating than if she had been mortified by it.

“No,” you mutter. “I’m drawing a dromas.”

You show her as proof — it really is just a rough diagram of a dromas, the body parts labeled, Rhode written neatly in the corner. It’s contrary to her instructions, but Lasthenia doesn’t point that out, taking it in stride and examining it like it’s a piece in a museum.

“Incredible,” she says. “You have an excellent understanding of anatomy. You didn’t even have a reference, but this is nearly textbook-worthy. I know several people who would pay a lot of money for talent like that; I’ll be sure to recommend you if it ever comes up.”

“Thank you,” you say. “Is that all for today?”

“Do you think it is?” she says as you get up. You pause, and for a second your resolve wavers. A voice in the back of your mind whispers, wouldn’t it be nice? If you could tell someone about it…wouldn’t it be nice?

Then you realize that the voice is Hellanike’s, and so you leave before she starts screaming again.

Argos’s breeders made such a sum from his sale — apparently some representative of Kremnos’s royalty found him so fine that he was bought on their king’s behalf — that they were willing to give Hellanike a third of it, although she had not asked for any commission after sending him back to them, as docile as a lamb but with enough spirit to march alongside any army, even one such as Kremnos’s.

You and Anaxagoras only learn of this after the fact, and you are opposite in your reactions — he is delighted, for even that third is more money than he’s ever seen in his life, and you are irritated, for you believe she should’ve demanded more. She certainly deserves more, for without her, Argos would’ve long ago been put down for his bad manner, but she is too humble to ever give herself that much credit, and so all she says is this: a third is more than enough for what I want.

You’ve never known Hellanike to want much, so you ask her what she’s talking about, and although he doesn’t say anything, you know Anaxagoras is intrigued as well. She looks around furtively before beckoning you closer and lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper.

“I paid one of the traveling merchants,” she says. “He’s leaving in a fortnight, setting out for the Grove of Epiphany, and — and I asked him to take you with him, Anaxagoras.”

“What?” he says. “Me? Hellanike, why would you do that? You should’ve saved it.”

“What would I save it for? I make enough to feed Rhode and I as it is, and I know you’ve always wished to go. You’re meant for more than living the rest of your life here,” she says.

“What about you?” he says. “Where will you go?”

“Nowhere!” she says, as cheerful as ever. “I’ll stay right here, and I’ll brag to everyone that my little brother is going to be an eminent scholar. You’ll be the pride of our town!"

“I don’t want to go if you won’t be there,” he says.

“Oh, don’t say that, I already paid for your journey! Anyways, you can visit me whenever you’re able, so it’s not like you’ll never see me again,” she says. He turns to you as if for support, but you click your tongue.

“You’ve spent years waiting for this,” you say. “Don’t let something as fleeting and silly as homesickness stop you from going.”

“Alright,” he says, and when Hellanike crosses her arms and you pretend to scowl, he beams at you, like he’s proving a point. “Alright! I’ll go.”

“You’ll go!” Hellanike says, as happily as if she is the one who’s getting the chance to escape our remote hometown. “We have to start packing.”

“Two weeks isn’t long at all,” you agree. “The time for you to leave will be upon us before you know it.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he says. “It’s a long time.”

Then he does this thing he’s begun doing recently, his arm brushing against your own, quickly enough that it might be an accident but closely enough that you are left hot and shy from it anyways. And it’s just him, just Anaxagoras, so you shouldn’t feel this way, but you do, which only exacerbates it further. You’ve known him since you were little, you’ve braided his hair and fed his dromas countless times, so why now is it that your stomach knots itself into something tangled and sick from just that slightest, barest touch? Why is it that lately you are finding it difficult to speak with him, when your entire friendship thus far you have never approached him with anything but level candor? 

You know you should tell him something, especially as the day of his departure grows nearer and nearer, but you don’t know what it is that you should say. He’s confused by it, you are sure, because your conversations are stilted instead of easy as they always used to be, but he’s never been good with this sort of thing, either, so he never brings it up. He does stop touching you as frequently, though, which you are as glad for as you are saddened by — your mind is a bit clearer, at least, and if you turn your back it’s almost like you are children and he will never leave and you will never feel so unwell again.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says. His room is empty, hollow without his things littering it, his various instruments and texts carefully packed away, his clothes folded around them to keep them safe. It makes the two of you feel closer than you are, although in truth he is perched on his bed and you are about to leave.

“Yes,” you say, and your voice does break when you do, but you do your best to pretend it doesn’t. “The journey isn’t too long by dromas, right? Write as soon as you get there.”

“Of course,” he says.

“To me, too,” you say. “Not just Hellanike.”

“I always planned to,” he says, and you can hear the way he must be rolling his eyes when he does.

“You’ll like it there,” you say, your hand resting on the doorframe, your forehead leaning against it. You are poised like you are about to walk away, but you have no intention to, not yet. You just don’t want him to see that your eyes are watering and your lower lip is trembling. “You can ask as many questions as you want, and there will be people who can actually answer them.”

“That’s right,” he says.

“It’s good,” you say. “It’s really good.”

“You’re crying,” he notes. 

“I’m not,” you say. It comes out brattier than you would’ve liked, but to your eternal relief, he doesn’t point that out.

“Turn around, then,” he says. You remain still instead of obliging, and he exhales with something like amusement. “So you are.”

“You’ll make fun of me if I am,” you say. “I’m not.”

“I won’t,” he says, uncharacteristically gentle. “You have to know I wouldn’t do that to you. Come sit with me for a while longer, and if you want to cry, then I promise I won’t say anything about it.”

“You should sleep,” you say, a last-ditch attempt at denial. If you sit with him it will hurt even more when you have to get up and face the loss anew; it’ll be better, you think, for you to flee now, while you are on your feet and hardened to it. “You’re leaving early, Hellanike said.”

“Who cares what she said or when I'm leaving?” he says. It’s so willful you're taken aback, even though you’ve always known him to be stubborn. “It might be a while before I see you next. I don’t mind staying up the entire night, even. Like we used to.”

The mention of your childhood is what causes you to cave, as he must have known it would. The reminder of your youth, when you both would sometimes share a bed and he would lull you to sleep with stories of great bursts of fire in a faraway sky, is enough for you to flinch and then, before you know it, you are crossing the room and collapsing beside him. You’re not sure which of you lies down first, but then you both are splayed out atop his blanket and his pinky is just a hair’s breadth away from yours.

“You’ve been angry at me recently,” he says.

“I haven’t,” you say, but you still can’t look at him. “I’m not angry. Especially not at you. I don’t think I’ve ever been angry at you.”

“But something is bothering you,” he says. “I’m not an idiot. I can tell these things.”

“I need more time,” you say finally, after allowing yourself a single chuckle at the prospect of anyone calling him an idiot, even him. “I thought I would have longer to understand it, but now you’re leaving and I’m still so unsure.”

“Understand what?” he says. You turn on your side, so that you can look at him; he’s staring at the ceiling, and you are suddenly struck by how beautiful he is. You’ve never really considered it before, never thought to call him such a sweet word, but it’s apt, and the longer you look at him the more you are convinced it is. He isn’t spindly and odd-looking anymore, the way he was when the two of you first met — he’s beautiful, he is, his skin gold in the candlelight, his eyes a dark, unreadable sanguine, his hair loose and fanned out on his pillow.

“All of it,” you say. 

“I can help you, if you’ll let me,” he says, and now your fingers are touching, although you are sure you haven’t moved. “Just tell me everything. I’ll understand it for you, so that you don’t have to.”

“You don’t need to do that,” you say, although it’s more of a deflection on your part than it is out of any real concern for him. You’re scared of what he’ll think, what he’ll discern. Will he laugh at you? Will he cast you from his bed and demand you leave at once? Of course he is going away tomorrow anyways, so maybe it doesn’t matter, but this makes you even more distraught, because it’s so immediate now. In the morning, he will set out for the Grove of Epiphany, and he will spend the rest of his life somewhere you can’t reach him, not for a long time. Maybe not ever.

“Please,” he says. “Just this once, let me listen to you.”

He tilts his head to look at you entreatingly; you are helpless to deny him, but you are also frozen, burdened by the weight of his stare, and so you do the only thing you can and roll over, your back to him as it has been more and more frequently.

The bed whines as he shifts with you, tucking his chin over your shoulder, his hand hovering over your waist but not yet touching it. You swallow, but you do not move away as you think he must anticipate — instead, you take his hand by the wrist and drag it up so that his cool palm can rest against your overwarm cheek.

“I like it when you do that,” you confess, because his newfound proximity has driven away all the will you might have mustered to argue. “Whenever your knee knocks against mine, whenever your arm slips past my own…I like it.”

“Hm,” he says, like this is a crucial finding that he must take into proper consideration.

“I don’t think I should, though,” you say. “Not so much.”

“Why not?” he murmurs.

“Because it’s you,” you say, keeping your gaze trained on a blank spot on the wall, willing your eyes to stay just as dry as they are now, your voice to remain exactly as steadfast.

“You want it to be someone else?” he says. “Echephron, maybe? Iasus? Hypenor?”

He’s naming boys from your town, the very boys who once tormented him. At first you think he is mocking you, and you almost get up and tell him you will go, if he means to be like this, but then an edge of despair enters his tone and it’s all you can do to cut him off before he can continue.

“No,” you say. “It’s just — I’ve known you for so long, and never have you made me feel so ill with…whatever this is. I have always told you everything, so why now am I shy? We’ve shared a bed countless times, so what about tonight is different?”

“I think,” he says, with the surety of a doctor describing some age-old and incurable malady, “you like me.”

“What?” you say, a knee-jerk reaction to this absurd new development, which perhaps isn’t so new or so absurd after all. 

“You like me,” he repeats, and although he sounds victorious, he’s the furthest thing from smug. His hand pulls away from your face, and you almost beg for it back, but then it’s dancing along your side and coming to rest over your navel and your supplication dies before it can form. “You do.”

“What does it matter?” you say after a long pause where you neither confirm nor deny the claim. “If you’re leaving tomorrow, then what does any of it matter?”

“It matters to me,” he says. “It would’ve driven me mad to go so far away without knowing for certain.” 

You lace your fingers through his rough ones, because you are so overcome with the need to hold onto him you cannot bear it any longer. His thumb pets along your knuckles, and a choked laugh escapes you, because it is so foreign and yet so familiar at once, and how could you have been so foolish? Of course it ended up this way. Of course it did.

“I like you,” you say, repeating it over and over as if it will make it more true. “Oh, I like you, I like you—”

You will cry if you continue, so you purse your lips and squeeze his hand, which is still on your stomach, and you do it so tightly you are surprised he doesn’t yelp. Miraculously, though, he really doesn’t; he only presses a kiss to your temple, a ghostly, lingering thing.

“Don’t stop,” he says. “Tell me again.”

“I like you,” you say. This time when he kisses you, it is at the angle of your jaw, and you must stop yourself from shivering for fear that it will chase him away.

“Once more,” he says. “So that I can be sure of it.”

“I like you,” you say. Now his nose is against your neck and his lips are at the tender place where your throat meets your shoulder and his palm is searing into you, you are sure it is, but you make no attempt at removing it.

“I like you, too,” he says. “So much. For so long. I was going to tell you, I swear, before you left to go home — well, I might’ve told you earlier, if only I had known…”

“Can I stay?” you say. “I don't want to go home. I want to stay with you tonight. Tell me I can.”

“Shall I wake Hellanike?” he says. “You might prefer sleeping in her room. Her bed is bigger.”

“No,” you say, and then, in the sort of bravery you can only summon now, when there is nothing left for you to lose barring your pride, which you have long ago relinquished to him anyways, you guide his hand from your stomach, taking it slowly, carefully, to where your waistband sits low on your hips. “No, there’s no need to wake her. I want to stay with you, Anaxagoras.”

Your hold on him loosens as he moves his fingers with deft curiosity, your nails digging into his forearm when he experimentally dips them into the place where your thighs come together. You inhale sharply, and you feel his chest vibrate against your back as he hums, cataloguing this reaction before repeating the motion, this time grinding the heel of his palm against you at the same time before pausing, only resuming when you make a small, pathetic sound to prompt him to continue.

He is so close to where you want him, but you want him closer and closer still, and you think he knows this and finds some humor in denying you that final plunge of his fingers inside of you, threatening it, tracing around it until you are sure you will burst, but never quite following through, leaving you to teeter on that precipice.

“Anaxagoras,” you say finally, when you grow tired of waiting. “Please.”

“Please what?” he says, and instead of sounding cocky, there is a faint hint of worry in his voice. You are reminded in that instant that you have never seen him with another girl, with anyone else, really, meaning that this is as foreign to him as it is to you. You swallow, and before you can burn away from the shame of asking, you steel yourself to it.

“Inside,” you say. “I want you inside of me, please, please…”

“You have to tell me if it hurts,” he says before indulging you slowly, methodically, with the same patience he uses to build those intricate models of his, the same delicacy and care. You groan at this newfound sensation, and immediately he freezes before beginning to withdraw, apologizing fervently until you cut him off before he can leave you empty again.

“Keep going,” you say. “Don’t leave.”

“Okay,” he says breathily, and then he is peppering kisses to your nape, you suppose to soothe your quivering, which only mounts more and more with every successive thrust of his fingers into you. 

“I feel strange,” you say, and you don’t know whether an eternity has passed or a mere instant, for your mind is hazy and all you can think of is him and whatever is building deep within me. “An—Anaxa, Anaxa, I feel strange—”

“Do you want me to stop?” he says, without even teasing you for the way your tongue has grown so leaden in your mouth that you are stumbling over his name, the very name you are generally so fond of repeating as often as you can.

“No,” you say, your muscles involuntarily clenching at the mere prospect. “No, keep going, keep going, I just — my stomach, or no, not my stomach, somewhere else, I don’t know, I’ve never—”

Your babbling tapers off into a soft exhale as the edges of your vision blur and you clutch his arm so that you aren't swept away. He is saying something to you, but it takes a second for the air to return to your lungs and your awareness to creep back.

“It’s okay,” he says when you realize that there are crescent marks indented along the inside of his elbow where you have pressed into him, not hard enough to draw blood but enough that the skin there is angry and red. “It’s okay, it’s okay, please don’t worry. It’s okay.”

A single tear drips from the corner of your eye, and then another and another and another, splashing onto the sheets that your cheek is pressed to as you sniff in a vain attempt to suppress them before he can notice. But Anaxagoras is far too observant to miss it, and he pushes on your shoulder until you are flat on your back, so that he can loom over you, his brow furrowing as you cry in earnest.

Before he can ask you why you are being so irrational, you wrap your arms around his neck, knowing it is selfish but unable to stop yourself, tugging him closer to you until your lips meet, the salt of your sobs mingling with the taste of his sincere mouth. You cling to him, only drawing back to gasp for air briefly before you return to him once more, your hands beginning to wander until they are tugging his clothes off of him. He responds in kind, albeit with far more control than you, and then you are left bare, his chest to yours, his palms on the back of your head, your own skimming along the ridge of his spine. 

“Are you sure?” he says, but it’s really more of a formality than anything, your legs already spreading wider to accommodate him, your fingers already combing through his hair. You nod anyways, and when he enters you, you begin to weep again, although it is not from pain, as you once thought it might be.

“Don’t leave tomorrow,” you beg. “Don’t leave me, I don’t want you to leave me — I’ve only just gotten you, please don’t leave tomorrow, please don’t leave—”

“I won’t,” he says, and he punctuates it with a roll of his hips against your own. “I’ll stay. I’ll stay here, I will, I will, I don’t care, I don’t care for the Grove or the merchants or any of it, I’ll stay with you, just like this.”

He kisses away your tears as he finishes on your thighs, and then his fingers find their home in you once more until you, too, are spent. You both lie side-by-side for a moment, neither of you looking at the other, the evidence of your union drying against your skin, pearly in the candlelight, and then he clears his throat.

“You know I still have to go,” he says, a little awkwardly.

“Yes,” you say, busying yourself with counting the dust motes swirling in the air. 

“I shouldn’t have said I wouldn’t,” he says.

“I shouldn’t have asked you not to,” you say. “I didn’t mean it. I’m happy for you. This is what you’ve always wanted.”

“I’ve always wanted you, too,” he says, matter-of-factly, the simpleness with which he does so nearly caustic. It’s just another thing. Just another truth. He’s always wanted you, too.

“You don’t have to say that,” you say, feigning a laugh, because the time for crying has passed. “It’s not the same.”

“Yeah,” he says with a heavy sigh, because he knows better than to lie to you. “I guess not.”

“I’ll be here when you come back to visit,” you say. “And when we’re older, maybe I’ll go to the Grove, too. It’s not like this is goodbye forever.”

“Yes,” he says. “You should do that. Come to the Grove, I mean. Rhode is almost old enough to carry two people and their things for such a long journey, so you and Hellanike can ride her and cut the cost of the passage in half.”

“Exactly,” you say. “It won’t be that long. Long enough for you to gain some acclaim, but not long enough that you forget about me.”

“I won’t forget about you. Not ever,” he says, and then he helps you stand so that you can sneak towards the washroom, cleaning yourselves off together shyly, kissing only when you are sure that your footsteps have not caused Hellanike to stir.

You remain in his bed with him that night, your head on his chest, his knuckles rubbing against your cheek idly as you both drift off. The faint scent of mint and lemon soap sticks to him, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing is a melody all on its own, the kind of lullaby that even one of his pretty little tin birds could never replicate. It is easy for you to pretend like nothing will ever happen to the two of you, to fall asleep and dream of the countless nights you might spend exactly like this — but when you wake up the next morning, he is already gone, and you can pretend no longer. 

“What’s that?” Lasthenia says. She’s given you paints again, but although they are your favorite medium, you cannot bring yourself to make anything beautiful from them. Instead, the colors bleed into one another, black ringing the canvas and red streaking through it, forming an incoherent tangle of something or another. Well, it may be incoherent to anyone else, but you can hear Hellanike’s voice emanating from the mess, can feel the floorboards digging into your back, can smell the corroding metal and taste rusty iron bursting from your unbitten tongue, so to you it’s the opposite.

“The bed,” you say. The page isn’t meant to take as much paint as you are slapping on it, and it crinkles in the most saturated places, protesting the thickness, but you continue without asking for a new sheet. “His bed.”

“The boy’s?” she guesses.

“Yes,” you say. “His bed at home.”

“Why is it dark?” she says.

“Because the girl is hiding beneath it,” you say without looking up, squinting and tilting your head before deciding that even now, it is too bright. Dipping the brush in the black ink, you splatter more without care for how it might fall, continuing to do this, although it is such a waste of what is no doubt the result of an entire month of efforts from some poor scholar or another.

“From him?” she says.

“No!” you say vehemently, for even the mere notion of hiding from him is unthinkable. “No, he left some time earlier to pursue greater things, and wherever he is, he is safe, at least. She’s hiding from the monsters.”

Lasthenia reaches across her desk to place a hand on your upper arm. The gesture is surprisingly maternal, but you do not allow yourself to dwell on it, because she isn’t your mother, she isn’t even Hellanike, and so you cannot embrace her and wail like a child.

“Such ugly things, those monsters,” you say. “They frighten that girl to no end, and worse so because they have paralyzed her completely. The boy’s dromas stopped its bellowing a few hours ago, and his sister has moved from pleading to resignation, and all the girl can do is hide under the bed and hope it ends soon.”

“And did it?” Lasthenia asks you.

For a moment, you think to yourself that if she pries your brush from your hands and embraces you, you will finally give in. But of course, why would she do that? This is only her job, dealing with people like you, who are too difficult for anyone else to manage. She holds no love for it, for you. 

More dark ink. Now the entire canvas appears to have been dipped in black dye.

“No,” you say, finally satisfied with this final product. “She’s still there.”

“Still hiding?” Lasthenia says. 

In the back of your mind, Hellanike is weeping, her throat too raw for anything more. You weep with her, though only in that place tucked far away from the rest of the world; to Lasthenia, to this abhorrent present where you are now, you only offer a tight smile.

“Yes,” you say. “I think so.”

A trumpeting cry from Rhode is the only advance warning you and Hellanike receive when the Black Tide comes. She’s uncommonly docile even for a dromas, and you’ve never heard her scream before — judging by the frown on Hellanike’s face, she hasn’t either, and so instead of rushing outside to comfort her, she hesitates, peering through the window first and then gasping.

“Lock all of the doors,” she instructs you, her gaze trained on the horizon.

“Hellanike?” you say. “What’s going on? Is Rhode alright?”

“There’s no time,” she says, and so rarely is she stern that you comply without further complaint, glancing at her one final time over your shoulder before checking all of the doors, making sure that they are secured before returning to her side.

Rhode is still causing a ruckus, and you are surprised that Hellanike has not gone to her yet. After all, she loves Rhode, more than anything or anyone except her little brother, so how can she leave her to her suffering? You almost ask, your mouth going so far as to open, but Hellanike raises her finger to her lips, shaking her head before you can.

“We can’t delay anymore,” she murmurs, and then she places a hand on the small of your back, pushing you towards the stairs. “I’ve heard stories from the merchants about these fiends. They’re called the Black Tide, and they kill everything they touch slowly, without mercy. They travel quickly, fleeing once they have wrought complete destruction, but sometimes, if you are a particularly good fighter, or if you can escape their notice…you can survive.”

“Then we must hide!” you say, reaching for her wrist so that you can yank her along with you. She pulls it out of your reach, leaving you bewildered, and then she shakes her head, her eyes crinkling at the corners 

“You must hide. Hide, and no matter what you think you hear, do not leave until the beasts are well and truly gone,” she says.

“But what about you?” you say.

“Out there, they are killing Rhode,” she says gravely. “She is a dromas, and so she is no easy prey, but there is some gryphon-like creature rending her flesh with its claws, and soon she will fall and it will pounce upon her underbelly and she will die. It is her sacrifice which has given us a chance that no one else in the city got: a chance to adequately prepare ourselves. Maybe it’d be more prudent if I hid, but — but they are killing Rhode, don’t you see? I can’t.”

“You’re going to protect her,” you realize, because this is who Hellanike is. “Let me come!”

“Absolutely not,” she says. “I will not put you in danger. Enough of this; we’re running out of time. Go, and remember what I told you.”

“‘No matter what you think you hear, do not leave until the beasts are well and truly gone,’” you repeat uncertainly.

“Yes, that’s it,” she says.

“But—”

“No matter what,” she says emphatically, kissing your forehead afterwards with her typical good nature. “Darling little girl. Run now. Hide before it is too late.”

You want to tell her you won’t, but even in the best of times it is impossible and futile to argue with her, for she is more stubborn than she lets on, more stubborn than even her brother, who is notorious for the vice. So you turn and race up the stairs, crawling into the small space beneath Anaxagoras’s bed without thinking, lying flat and making yourself small behind his drooping blanket and praying to every titan you can think of to protect her, to protect you.

The day passes differently when you are stuck in a place like that. So many times you nearly stand in surrender, thinking that surely they must have moved on by now, but on each occasion, some instinct stops you. By the third occurrence, however, you resolve to ignore that insistence, but then the air is split by the moan of splintering wood, followed by a horrified shout.

Hellanike. The shout was definitely hers, and her words ring in your mind once more: no matter what you think you hear, do not leave until the beasts are well and truly gone. She swears loudly, and then there is the sound of fighting, of furniture breaking and dishes shattering on the ground, and all you can do is stuff your fist in your mouth, so that when you begin to sob in terror, at least it is soundless.

She sounds like a child when they tear into her, crying and shrieking, high-pitched and utterly frightened. You cannot see her, but her voice reverberates through the house, and so it is like you are there with her, watching those demonic creatures rip her into shreds until she resembles one of them, lifeless and bent in ways that should be impossible. Bile rises sour in your mouth, but you swallow it down, far too frightened at the prospect of accidentally inhaling it to even try spitting it out.

They are cruel and unhurried in killing her. You don’t know if they can understand revenge and so draw it out more than they otherwise would’ve, or if this is just how they always are; you also don’t know which of these options is worse, but that matters less. Whatever their motivations, the fact is that the Black Tide creatures take their time with Hellanike, refusing to kill her until she is reduced to an incomprehensible wreck that, in her final moments, can only whimper for her long-dead mother.

You don’t move from under the bed for what seems to be hours but could be more or less, and even then it is only because you hear footsteps, actual footsteps, not the spectral ones of the demons which have been haunting the house thus far. They are in a pattern you recognize, too, and so you clamber out of the cramped space and open the door to Anaxagoras without questioning why he is here, or how. You just fall against him, allowing him to hold you tightly, fisting the fabric of his himation for some semblance of grounding.

“You’re alive,” he says. “When I saw Rhode’s half-eaten carcass in her corral, I assumed the worst, but you — you’re alive.”

“Everyone else is gone,” you say, your knuckles pale as you cling to him with all the strength left in your cramped body. 

“Everyone?” he says, and his body, which had relaxed so readily against yours only a few seconds prior, stiffens again. “What do you mean by that?”

The longer you don’t answer, the more you feel his panic begin to grow, but the worst part is that you cannot even tell him that what he is thinking is wrong. You know what his next question is, and he knows what you will answer it with, but the two of you go through the charade in miniature anyways, because he still has to do it. He still has to ask, he’s just that kind of person, there’s no version of him which ever won’t.

“Hey,” he says, though he does not push you from the safety of the crook of his neck, where you have buried your face. “Hey. Where’s Hellanike?”

“Lasthenia says that you and I should talk,” Anaxagoras says. When he had come to your chambers, you had half-expected him to stand motionless in the doorway as he always does, as he always has ever since you told him that his sister is dead. “I told her I’m trying, but she seems to think that’s not good enough.”

“What are we meant to talk about?” you say, and although you do not explicitly invite him, he is more than quick enough to read into your implication. Ducking into the room, he shoves the door behind him, allowing it to slam shut with an air of finality.

“You know,” he says.

“I don’t,” you say, continuing to massage oil into your face. You can see his form reflecting in the mirror — he is becoming more and more a man with every day he spends in the abundance of the Grove, impossible to ignore, muscles covering bare bones, scowls replacing awed smiles — but you do your best to act like you don’t.

“My sister,” he says. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“What?” you say. Of all the things you imagined he might come up with, the chance of that being the first thing he said to you was relatively low, if not nonexistent. Though then again, he thrives on such stakes, so maybe it’s not a surprise that he has once more proven himself eccentric.

“She died on her own terms,” he says. “You had nothing to do with it.”

The silver-backed mirror turns to water, your visage and his alike swimming in it, unsteady as the lump in your throat turns swollen and furious. You know you should set the bottle of oil down before you can drop it, because the crystal will be torturous to clean should it shatter, but the tendons of your hand have seized, and it’s all you can do to remember to breathe.

“I don’t blame you,” he continues. “Do you think I do?”

“I should’ve told her not to go to Rhode, to come and hide with me,” you say, your voice so quiet it is nearly inaudible. “I should’ve fought with her a little longer.”

“She never would’ve listened to you,” he says. “She would never have left Rhode like that.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Then I should’ve helped her. The two of us, maybe we could’ve—”

“You would’ve died,” he says dispassionately, cutting through the cacophony echoing in the chamber of your skull with an efficiency only he possesses. “You’re not some Kremnoan soldier or Okheman guard. You’re not a demigod or a Chrysos Heir. You can’t use a sword or a spear. What else would you have done but died as well?”

“Wouldn't it have been better that way?” you say.

“No, I don’t think so,” he says. “I would’ve had to mourn you both.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Anaxagoras, I’m sorry—”

“It’s not your fault,” he says again. You’ve lost track of how many times he’s repeated that phrase, but he hasn’t grown tired of it yet, and so he goes on. “Blaming yourself won’t change anything.”

“It should’ve been me,” you say.

“It shouldn’t have,” he says. “It shouldn’t have been anyone, but that tide is indiscriminate in who it takes.”

He shifts from foot to foot, like he is weighing the merits of further discussion, and you grieve for the time that the two of you spoke to each other without having to think about it. But now you are like this. Now his sister is dead and your home is destroyed and neither of you can ever go back.

“Thank you,” he says, all in a rush, like he cannot be rid of the words soon enough.

“What?” you say, taken aback.

“Lasthenia said I should be honest with you about how I feel,” he says. “So, thank you. For hiding. For running away. For living.”

When you finally bawl, it is excruciating, the months upon months that you have denied that blade of anguish from splitting you open compounding until you think it will kill you. You stain his tunic with your tears and cause blood to bead along his biceps from how you dig into him, and he does not complain, only murmuring in your ear in that wretched, broken voice of his, thick and profound with loss: it’s not your fault, I’ll bring her back, it’s not your fault, thank you for being alive, it’s not your fault, I love you. I love you. It’s not your fault. I love you.

image credits: official scene recoloring and blue line dividers by me; beige line dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

You couldn’t stop a smile from erupting on your face. The key to your heart was the simplest thing in the entire world: food, and Jaehyun knew this—and he often used this fact to its fullest potential. It didn’t really help that he’s your best friend, too, so he clearly knew what your favourites were. You weren’t exactly complaining, though. Jaehyun liked to tease you, and as compensation for making you a little pouty, he’d buy or offer you some food.

A win-win situation for seven-year-olds.

“Okay!” you agreed cheerfully. 

And that’s how you found yourself, happily munching on Pepero and chocolate churro chips on the way back to the playground from the store. Jaehyun walked next to you, holding a bunch of candy in his hands. 

You were munching on your snacks, and were just about to thank him for the Pepero when Jaehyun leaned in, stealing a big bite of the Pepero from your hand. 

You shrieked in shock, pouting after realising what had happened. 

“Jaehyun!” you whined, hitting his arm.

Jaehyun giggled. “You snooze, you lose,” he teased with a stupid grin. 

You crossed your arms, huffing. “Some best friend you are.”

Jaehyun’s grin immediately faltered. He quickly broke the chocolate chip cookie he was nibbling on in half, handing you the bigger piece. “Here. Best friends share, right?”

You eyed him rather suspiciously before taking it. “Fine. But you owe me for life.”

“How does that work?” Jaehyun asked, tilting his head slightly. 

“We’d have to be best friends forever,” you replied. The look on your face was enough to tell how serious you meant your words, even for a first grader. “That way, you can always buy me food every day.”

“What if… I won’t be here tomorrow?” Jaehyun asked. You immediately turned to him, confused. That wasn’t what you expected from him as an answer. 

You took a minute of munching through your chips for you to analyse Jaehyun’s doubtful expression. “What are you talking about? Don’t be silly,” you shoved his shoulder. “You’re always here.”

Jaehyun smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then, promise me—let’s be best friends,  no matter what happens.”

You paused, staring right into his eyes.  

Jaehyun looked at you, his face mixed with some kind of fondness and amusement. “Promise me, Sunshine?” he asked, holding out his pinky in a solemn promise. “Best friends forever.”

You returned his gaze, a smile forming on your face as you linked your pinky with his, sealing the promise without a second of hesitation. “Always.”

The words echoed in the air, and from the way the winds caressed your skin, it’s like the universe had taken note of your promise to each other. 

However, you were completely unaware that this would be the last day you’d spend with him. 

The next afternoon, after completing tasks that your mother had told you to do, you rushed to Jaehyun’s house—a few mere blocks away—with a bag of homemade cookies in hand. A big smile was painted across your face, you were excited to surprise Jaehyun with the sweet treats that you had baked with your mother last night. 

But something was wrong. 

The front yard, usually scattered with Jaehyun’s soccer balls and bicycles, was oddly empty. The windows were shut tight, and the driveway—where his father’s car was always parked—was vacant. 

You felt your heart thump hard against your chest. Your grip on the paper bag tightened, and you approached the front door. 

You knocked. 

Nothing. 

“Jaehyun?” 

You knocked again, harder this time. 

“Myungjae? It’s me, Y/N–”

“Sweetheart? Who are you looking for?” 

You turned towards the voice straight away. It was the old lady who lived next door, the one who always made sure to give you and Jaehyun a popsicle whenever you two passed by her house. She had a gentle yet unreadable smile on her face. You ran up to her, head spinning with a dozen questions. 

“Where’s Jaehyun?” you asked her. 

“My dear…” she began, her voice soft. “Jaehyun left early this morning.”

You blinked. The words were heavy, but you couldn’t understand what they meant. “Left? Where?”

“They moved away.”

Nothing made sense. Jaehyun moved? No one had said anything about moving. 

You looked back towards Jaehyun’s house, hoping that the door would swing open and that he would come running towards you, grinning like he always did. 

But he didn’t come. 

The house was quiet, empty. 

Your throat tightened. “But he promised to play. He said he would… stay.”

The lady kneeled in front of you, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I’m so sorry, my dear.”

You bit your lips, and you didn’t realise you were crying until you tasted salt on your lips. 

Later that evening, you had found yourself wandering back to the playground, the noisy chatter of kids playing around fading into the background. The paper bag still in hand, you walked around aimlessly. You could still hear Jaehyun’s laughter ringing in your ears, the sound of your footsteps blending with his as you two ran around. 

Jaehyun was gone.

And he didn’t even say goodbye. 

You sat down at a bench overlooking the playground where the two of you always played, staring at the place where you both had linked pinkies and made a promise. A promise you had believed in with all your heart.

A promise that, it seemed, only you remembered.

“I’LL see you after school, sweetie,” your father says into your hair. You set your lips into a line, nodding timidly. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” your mother asks, appearing from behind your father. “We can always accompany you to school–”

“Darling,” your father reminds your mother by putting a gentle hand on her arm. “Our Y/N will be fine. She’s almost eighteen now, I’m sure she can handle it all.” 

You give your parents a reassuring smile before walking away, each step bringing you uncomfortably away from home.

The morning felt weird, anyway. You’re here, in a new school, in a state you’ve never set foot to before. The air here feels like a heavy fog, clinging to your chest as you stand in front of the towering school building. You could feel the weight of an agonising unknown pressing down on you. It’s a sensation that you could never get used to, despite the sun peeking through the clouds, and the bustling cacophony of students around you. You stand at the gates, fingers tightly grasping the straps of your backpack. You take a deep breath, remembering your mother’s advice to help overcome your nerves. 

You walk into your new school, the new feeling of being somewhere so unfamiliar enveloping you. It feels different from the school you left behind—the campus is bigger here, the hallways seemed endless and much wider, and each turn made you feel like you’re lost in a looping maze. They even have a separate building for the library.

You find your footsteps slowing down as you reach the middle of the common area, unsure of where you should go. Your eyes dart here and there, desperately trying to find some kind of clue that could help you. 

You had always been the quiet one, preferring to keep to yourself, listening more than you talked, the one that often found herself slipping to the background of a party and corner of classrooms. Currently surrounded by boisterous students, each seeming to know what they’re doing, you feel slightly overwhelmed. The school map you opened on your phone suddenly feels too complicated for you to understand. 

Suddenly, something solid crashes against the back of your head, causing you to stumble forward, the impact hard enough to make the books you’re holding fall to the ground. 

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!”

You turn to reply, but find your words stuck in your throat. 

A tall guy in a basketball jersey stands before you, his hair tousled in an athletic tangle. He picks up the ball—the solid object that hit the back of your head a moment ago—and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. He gives you a sheepish smile, trying his best to convey how sorry he is—but you’re too focused on his sharp features and messy brown hair. It’s all too familiar. 

Myung Jaehyun. 

Before you could say anything, he leans down and picks up your books. He hands them to you, a charming smile replacing whatever backward expression he had earlier. “Careful there, newbie,” he says, teasing. “Wouldn’t want to be trampled on your first day here, no?”

You take your books from him, dazed. 

He doesn’t recognise you. 

You watch as he jogs back to his friends, spinning the orange ball in his hands. You stand there, exactly where he left you, unsure of what to do next. 

YOU’RE sitting alone at lunch, perfectly at peace with your packed lunchbox. You sit quietly, not wanting to stand out. This is your first day at a completely new school, and the last thing you want is to make yourself the centre of attention. 

Unfortunately, fate had written that this was your first mistake. 

You’re about to enjoy your lunch in the comfort of solitude, a figure that you didn’t expect to see, again, slips into the seat in front of you.

“Hey, newbie,” you hear Jaehyun say as he takes a seat. “Eating alone?”

You simply nod, not knowing what to say. 

“So, um,” Jaehyun finds himself stuttering after not receiving a reply from you. “You’re the new student, right? That explains the self-introduction in class just now.”

You nod again. Seeing the pitiful look on his face, masked poorly by a confident demeanor, you decide to reply. “Yes. I just moved here.”

Jaehyun’s face lights up like a lightbulb. 

“I’m Jaehyun, if you didn’t know that,” he grins. “I’m in your homeroom! My seat is behind you.”

You noticed that, of course. Who wouldn’t recognise someone whose laugh echoed throughout the room, brightening the atmosphere like the rays of a bright spring morning?

You give him a small smile. 

“Your seatmate, Sanghyeok, is my friend! He told me you seemed… er, lonely,” he hesitates for a while, “so I came up with a genius plan,” Jaehyun reveals with a grin that you’re a bit too familiar with. 

He’d always flash that big smile towards you whenever he wanted to propose a plan, but didn’t really want to take credit for it, in case it was a little too ridiculous. 

“What is it?” you reply. 

“We should be friends,” Jaehyun responds, and your eyes widen almost immediately. 

What does he mean by that?

Your heart begins to race, not just because you’re shocked to see Jaehyun, who was once the most important person in your life, after so many years—but from the fact that he naturally is taking charge, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it came to him with no hesitation. 

“It’s all good! I talked to my friends—Sanghyeok, Sungho, Yoona and Minji—about this, and they all seem pretty cool about it.”

“Oh,” is all you’re able to manage. Everything is moving a little too briskly, and you’re feeling a bit dizzy from how fast things are escalating. 

You feel your brain short-circuiting. 

Just like that?

No hesitation? No ‘wait, Y/N? Is that you?’? No recognition?

You swallow hard. 

“Thank you?” you say, wary. You take a small bite of your sandwich. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Jaehyun beams, and as if on cue, he waves towards a group of people behind you. You turn around, eyes slightly bulging at the way Jaehyun’s friends are quickly approaching your table. You recognise Sanghyeok, naturally, and the girl with a bubbly smile that you assume would be Yoona, but the rest of his friends are new faces for you. 

Jaehyun barely left any room for you to process anything. 

As quickly as they came, the air begins to smell like snacks and sports equipment—a strangely uplifting scent. 

“Guys, meet Y/N!” Jaehyun announces as soon as his friends arrive, putting away their things. “She’s the new kid I told you guys about.”

You look at him for a few seconds. 

Jaehyun is beaming with a smile, and the way he introduced you with such confidence, like you’ve been best friends since forever, makes your heart thump in a weird way.

“Wow, that was fast,” the tall, broad shouldered boy comments, whistling playfully. “Already claiming her as one of us?”

Jaehyun puffs his chest out. “Of course, I have a talent for spotting good people–”

“Hi, nice to meet you, Y/N,” Yoona quickly says, rolling her eyes at Jaehyun. She takes the empty seat next to you. “We’re in the same homeroom. My name is Im Yoona.”

You give her a polite smile. 

A girl with sharp eyes and an amused smile displayed on her face slips into the seat next to Yoona. “So, did he actually ask if you’d like us to sit with you, or did he have you sit here unwillingly?”

You hesitate. “Unwillingly…?”

“Shut up, Minji,” Jaehyun grumbles as the entire group bursts into laughter. 

“That’s Jaehyun for you,” Sanghyeok, your desk mate, says to you. He then gives you a warm smile, just like earlier. “Do you like how KOZ Academy is so far?”

You take a little bite out of your sandwich. “It’s fine. I like how big the campus is.”

“That’s what I always brag about this school,” Minji, who’s been quiet for a while, adds in. The smile on her face is relaxed. “I’ve been here since freshman year, and I still can’t fathom the way we have a swimming pool and tennis courts.”

You nod enthusiastically, recalling how you did see the facilities she mentioned in the school map. 

“Speaking of that, should we give the newbie a tour of the school?” Jaehyun suggests, his face lightening up with excitement. He barely swallows his food as he’s giving you a bright, friendly grin. 

“You speak of her like she’s not in front of you,” the tall boy sighs. He turns to you, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry. Y/N, isn’t it? I’m Sungho.”

You nod. “Yeah. Nice to meet you.”

“Do you want us to give you a tour of the school?” Yoona asks. She gestures to Jaehyun. “Don’t worry, this dumbass won’t be in charge of it.”

“Hey!” Jaehyun exclaims. 

“You’ll just show her the boring parts of school,” Minji chimes in. 

Jaehyun makes a bewildered expression. “I will not–!”

“Remember the time when Sanghyeok first came to this school? You showed him all the unnecessary classrooms that you didn’t have time to show him where the lunch card machine is,” Sungho adds, laughing.  

Jaehyun rolls his eyes. He passes you a snack. “You’re all so dramatic. Anyway,” he says, shifting his gaze to you. “Don’t mind them, Y/N. You’re welcome here—just sit back and relax.”

You nod, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that it’s the only reaction you’re able to give them so far. You’re not so sure that you’re able to relax when all these new faces have their eyes on you, but surprisingly, their energy isn’t too bad. It’s welcoming, bustling with a friendly spirit. It’s uncomfortable, sure, but it’s not unkind. 

Jaehyun passes you another snack he grabbed from Sanghyeok’s stash, and something in your chest begins to warm. 

Maybe it’s not too bad at all. 

THE next day feels like a dream. 

You arrive at school pretty early, and much to your surprise, you’re greeted warmly by Yoona, who also happens to arrive at the same time as you. She hops off the bus and jogs towards you, catching up to you as soon as you park your bicycle. 

“Good morning, Y/N,” she smiles at you. 

You mirror her expression. “Good morning.”

“It’s still early… Do you want to go to the common area?” Yoona suggests. “I’m sure the rest will already be there.”

You simply nod. “Cool. Let’s go.”

Yoona links her arm with yours, and together, you walk towards the common area. It’s bustling and loud despite it being only half past seven. Most of the energy radiates from Jaehyun and his group of friends: the boys are tossing a basketball up and down—even though they’re clearly indoors, and they shouldn’t be playing with a ball inside. Minji sits on the sofa nearby, leaning back as she lazily reads through a novel, completely unbothered with the ruckus around her. 

As soon as you arrive, Yoona puts her bag down, sitting down next to Minji and they both begin chatting about whatever topic that comes to mind. You, however, aren’t used to this kind of energy—fast-paced, full of jokes and friendly banter. You sit at the edge of the sofa, unsure of how you’d insert yourself into the conversation. 

Jaehyun, on the other hand, is thriving. As always. 

“Bet I can make the shot from here,” he brags, crumpling a snack wrapper in his hands. He gestures to the trash can, located at the far corner of the room. 

“No way,” Sungho scoffs. “That’s, like, ten feet away.”

“You’re all talk, MJ,” Sanghyeok chimes in, laughing. 

Jaehyun smirks, turning to you. “Yo, new kid. Believe in me?”

You meet his eyes, blinking profusely. “Uh…” 

The group laughs, and Jaehyun gives you an exaggerated gasp. He puts a hand over his chest in a dramatic manner. “Wow. The hesitation? I’m hurt.”

“Well–” you say, pausing. You’re unsure if you should say what your thoughts really are, or if you should play it safe. You bit your lip, suddenly feeling self-conscious of the way you’re sitting.

“You’ll miss, definitely,” you quietly mumble. 

For a second—one that felt way too long—Jaehyun stares. 

Then, he throws his head back, laughing his lungs out. “Yo, she’s got a bite! I like her.”

You gape at him, not knowing what to respond to the grin he flashed at you amidst his loud laughter. Your face begins to burn, but the others are nodding in approval.

“Good job,” Minji pats your shoulder. “You’re keeping him humble.”

Sanghyeok hands you a juice box, grinning like his gesture is a kind of initiation. “You’re officially one of us.”

You hesitate, but eventually accept it. 

“Told you you’d fit right in,” Jaehyun says, nudging your side as he grins. 

And just like that, you find yourself smiling back. 

YOU’RE not sure if it’s just you, or it’s that Jaehyun does not remember you at all. It has been quite a long time, you admit that, but you don’t think that it’s reasonable for someone to completely forget someone so important, no matter how long you’ve been without them.

So, for the following weeks, you decided to test the waters, to see if Jaehyun truly did forget you, that if you’re just a passing memory in his childhood. 

“Jaehyun!” you exclaim, running up to the soccer court. The boy perks up, his eyes lightening up as he watches you jog up to him. He was scrolling animatedly on his phone, but when he heard his name being called by you, whatever that he was interested in was tossed aside. 

“Are you done with soccer?” you ask, panting slightly. 

Jaehyun nods. 

“What’s up, newbie?” he then grins, wiping off his sweat using the towel hanging around his neck. 

You cringe slightly at the nickname. “I have a name, you know.”

Jaehyun laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, Y/N. What’s wrong though?”

“Nothing,” you reply. You then rummage through your backpack, bringing out a bunch of strawberry fruit roll-ups. You give Jaehyun a small smile before handing them to him. “Here, I thought you’d want them after practice.”

Jaehyun beams, delightfully grabbing the candies. He opens one of them, and when he’s about to put it in his mouth, he pauses mid-action. His eyes turn straight to you, looking fixedly into your gaze. “Wait.” 

You bite the bottom of your lips, trying to contain yourself. 

“What?”