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YOU KEEP ME โด๏ธ UNDER YOUR SPELL
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WGFT - Lee Heeseung part 1
Pairing: senior!heeseung x loser!fem!reader Genre: slowburn, college!au, smut MDNI, comedy, fluff, socially challenged fem!reader, misunderstanding, he fell first he fell harder Synopsis: The hopeless romantic you are decided to confess and give a heartfelt letter to your all time crush but fate decided otherwise and made you confess to the wrong person...the so-called womanizer of campus, Lee Heeseung. Maybe you should have just keep your feelings to yourself...or maybe it was a sign from the universe. Warnings: footjob, swearing, oral (fem!rec), fingering WC: 17k Note: This one is a long one guys (just so you know), I really wanted to try putting more efforts in my writing and do something longer than I usually do, I don't know if people tend to read the shorter or longer fics but well... I'm really proud of myself for writing more detailed and polished fics, especially knowing that I'm a lazy person who usually do the bare minimum.
"You're a disaster...but God help me if I don't want to be a disaster with you for the rest of my life"
Youโre staring at your own reflection in the bathroom mirror, and the girl staring back looks like sheโs about to either throw up or ascend to another dimension. Maybe both. In that order.
The letter is clutched so tightly in your hand that the pale lavender envelope is starting to crease, and you force yourself to loosen your grip before you ruin the one thing youโve spent three weeks perfecting. Three weeks. Thatโs twenty-one days of drafting, crossing out, rewriting, Googling โhow to write a love letter without sounding like a desperate loser,โ and then rewriting again. Youโve used up an entire pack of stationery. Youโve watched so many calligraphy tutorials that the YouTube algorithm thinks youโre training to become a medieval scribe. All for this one moment. This one letter. This one massive, terrifying, possibly life-ruining leap of faith.
You are a hopeless romantic. Hopeless being the operative word.
Itโs not that you donโt believe in love. You do. Desperately, overwhelmingly, with every fiber of your first-year STEM student soul. You believe in meet-cutes and slow burns and the exact moment when two people look at each other and the entire world goes soft around the edges. Youโve read about it a hundred times. Youโve watched it play out on every screen you own. Youโve composed entire daydreams about it during particularly boring chemistry lectures. Love is your favorite subject, the one youโve studied with more dedication than calculus or physics combined. Thereโs just one tiny, inconvenient, absolutely infuriating problem.
Youโre terrified of it.
Not the idea of it. The idea is lovely. The idea is safe. The idea lives in your head where everything unfolds exactly the way you want it to, where you always say the right thing, where you never trip over your own feet or laugh too loud at the wrong moment or stand frozen in a doorway like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. But real love? The kind that requires vulnerability and eye contact and actually speaking words out loud with your mouth? That kind of love makes your palms sweat and your heart race in a decidedly unromantic, fight-or-flight kind of way. You are, and this is the most embarrassing part, a coward. A romantic coward. You dream of grand gestures but can barely manage a coherent sentence when an attractive person so much as glances in your direction.
Which brings you back to the letter.
The letter is your loophole. Your workaround. Your way of confessing your feelings without actually having to say them, because writing them down felt manageable in a way that speaking never has. You can be eloquent on paper. On paper, you can say things like โthe first time I saw your smile, it felt like someone had turned on all the lights in a room I didnโt even realize was darkโ without immediately wanting to crawl into the nearest hole and live out the rest of your days an hermit. On paper, youโre brave. On paper, youโre the kind of person who goes after what she wants.
In reality, youโve been hiding in this bathroom for fifteen minutes, and your hands are shaking so badly that a passing person would think you are having an epileptic seizure.
โOkay,โ you whisper to your reflection. โOkay. You can do this. You are a woman on a mission. You are a warrior. You are-โ
A toilet flushes in one of the stalls behind you, and you nearly launch yourself through the ceiling.
A girl you vaguely recognize from your introductory programming class emerges, gives you an odd look as she washes her hands, and leaves without saying anything. You wait until the door swings shut, then press your forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and contemplate every life choice that has led you to this moment.
His name is Jungwon.
Yang Jungwon. Second year. Undeclared major but leaning toward something in the humanities, which you know because you may have done a bit of light, respectful, completely non-creepy research. He has a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and a laugh that sounds like sunshine if sunshine could make noise, and he holds doors open for people even when theyโre still like ten feet away, which creates that awkward situation where the person has to speed-walk to not seem rude, but he never seems to mind. You first noticed him at the campus library during midterms when he quietly slid a pack of gummy bears across the table toward you at 2 AM, muttering something about glucose being good for brain function, and then went back to his book like he hadnโt just fundamentally altered the trajectory of your entire emotional existence.
That was four months ago. Youโve been pining ever since. Pining, yearning, longing, youโve run through the entire lexicon of unrequited affection, and youโre exhausted. Today, youโve decided, is the day it ends. One way or another.
You push yourself off the mirror, square your shoulders, and march out of the bathroom with the determination of someone going to war. The envelope is slightly damp from your grip, but itโs still intact, and the words inside are still true, and somewhere on this campus, Yang Jungwon is about to receive the most heartfelt confession letter ever written by a first-year student who has consumed an unhealthy amount of romance media.
Now you just have to find him.
โโโโโ
The hallway is bustling with students, the usual midday chaos of people rushing to classes or huddling in groups to complain about assignments. You scan the crowd, looking for a familiar face that might point you in the right direction, and your eyes land on a guy leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone with the dead-eyed expression of someone who has just finished a three-hour lab.
โExcuse me,โ you say, and your voice comes out about an octave higher than normal. You clear your throat. โSorry, um, do you know where I can find Yang Jungwon? Second year?โ
The guy looks up, blinks slowly, deciding whether or not to acknowledge your presence, and then shrugs. โPC room, I think. Saw him heading there like twenty minutes ago.โ
The PC room. Of course. Itโs in the engineering and informatics building, a place youโve rarely ever been to. But you know where it is, roughly, and you thank the guy with what you hope is a normal smile and not the rictus grin of someone rushing toward emotional catastrophe.
The walk across campus takes approximately seven minutes, and you spend every single one of them rehearsing what youโre going to say. Youโve already written the letter, so technically you donโt have to say anything, you can just hand it over and flee but you want to say something. Something cool. Something memorable.
โHey, Jungwon, this is for you.โ Simple. Direct. Good.
โI wrote you something. No pressure, just read it when you have time.โ Casual. Low-stakes. Excellent.
โHi, Iโve been emotionally compromised by your existence for several months, please accept this paper rectangle of feelings.โ Okay, maybe not that one.
The engineering building looms in front of you before youโre ready. You push through the main doors and immediately feel out of place. The students here move with a different energy, less frantic, more focused, the kind of people who probably know what a server is and have opinions about programming languages youโve never heard of.
You follow the signs toward the PC room, your footsteps echoing in the corridor, and with every step, your heart climbs higher up your throat. This is it. This is the moment. Youโre going to walk in there, find Jungwon, hand him the letter, and then whatever happens happens. At least youโll have tried. At least youโll have been brave, even if itโs only for thirty seconds.
The door to the PC room is slightly ajar, and you can hear voices inside, multiple voices, which gives you pause. You assumed heโd be alone. Or with maybe one other person.
You hesitate. Your hand hovers over the door handle. Every instinct is screaming at you to turn around, go back to your dorm, and spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been. And maybe you would, if not for the small, stubborn voice in the back of your mind that says: Youโve already come this far. Donโt you want to know? Donโt you want to be the kind of person who actually does the thing instead of just dreaming about it?
Yes. Yes, you do.
You squeeze your eyes shut, take a breath so deep it makes you lightheaded, and push the door open with more force than strictly necessary. It slams against the wall with a bang that makes approximately twelve heads swivel in your direction, and for one horrifying moment, you are the center of attention in a room full of strangers.
But you donโt see any of them. You only see the figure sitting at the computer closest to the door, his back half-turned to you, hair falling over his forehead, the exact silhouette youโve been looking for. Or at least, the exact silhouette you think youโve been looking for.
You donโt stop to confirm. You donโt let yourself think. You just march forward, thrust the letter out in front of you like a shield, and launch into the speech youโve been rehearsing for three weeks.
โThis is for you. Iโm sorry if this is weird or sudden but Iโve liked you for a really long time and I couldnโt keep it to myself anymore. You donโt have to respond right away. You donโt have to respond ever, actually. I just wanted you to know that someone out there thinks youโre wonderful and I wrote it all down because Iโm better at writing than talking and honestly I might pass out if I keep standing here so please just take this and Iโll go-โ
You finally look up.
And the face staring back at you is absolutely, categorically, one hundred percent not Jungwon.
The boy in front of you is taller than Jungwon. Broader shoulders. Sharper jawline. Different eyes, darker, deeper, currently widened in a mixture of surprise and something you canโt quite read. His lips are parted slightly, as if he was about to say something before you launched into your emotional word-vomit, and heโs holding a half-eaten protein bar thatโs now frozen halfway to his mouth.
The room has gone completely, utterly silent.
You can feel the stares of every single person boring into the back of your head. Someone coughs. Someone else whispers something that sounds suspiciously like โdid she just-โ before being shushed by their neighbor.
And then the boy, the very handsome, very wrong boy, sets down his protein bar, takes the letter gently from your trembling hand, and says in a voice thatโs low and smooth and completely unfamiliar: โWow. Okay. Whatโs your name?โ
This is the worst moment of your entire life. You are going to die right here, in this PC room, surrounded by computer monitors and half-empty energy drink cans and a dozen witnesses who will spread this story to every corner of the university within the next three hours. Your obituary will read: here lies Y/N, the loser who canโt even recognize her ultimate crush.
โY/N,โ you croak, because your mouth is apparently still functioning even though every other part of you has shut down. โL/N Y/N. First year. STEM.โ
You donโt know why you said STEM. He didnโt ask for your department. Youโre offering information nobody requested. This is a disaster.
But the boy, heโs looking at you with an expression you canโt decipher, his head tilted slightly to the side like youโre a puzzle heโs trying to figure out. Heโs wearing a dark hoodie with the informatics department logo on it, and thereโs a pair of expensive-looking headphones draped around his neck, and his hair is slightly mussed in a way that suggests heโs been running his fingers through it while concentrating. Heโs absurdly good-looking, the kind of good-looking that makes you simultaneously want to stare and look away, and youโre only now noticing the way several girls in the room have been watching him since you entered, not just because of your blunder, but because theyโve been watching him.
โIโm Heeseung,โ he says, and thereโs a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. โLee Heeseung. Third year. Informatics engineering.โ
Lee Heeseung. The name registers somewhere in the back of your panic-addled brain. Itโs familiar in the way that campus gossip is familiar, attached to words like hot and player and donโt get your hopes up because heโll charm you and then move on. Youโve heard girls in your dorm talking about him in hushed, giggling tones, trading stories about brief encounters and misinterpreted invitations. And you, in your infinite wisdom, have just handed a love letter meant for someone else directly into his notorious hands.
You have to fix this. You have to tell him it was a mistake. You have to-
โIโm flattered,โ Heeseung says, and his smile widens slightly, not quite a smirk but definitely approaching smirk territory. โReally. This is... I mean, no oneโs ever confessed to me with an actual letter before. Itโs kind of old school.โ He turns the envelope over in his hands, examining it with what seems like genuine curiosity. โThe handwriting is really pretty. Did you do the calligraphy yourself?โ
โYes,โ you say, because you are physically incapable of lying when put on the spot, and also because your brain has apparently decided that the best course of action is to just answer whatever questions he asks like this is a normal conversation and not the emotional equivalent of a tornado.
โImpressive.โ He looks at you, really looks at you, and something shifts in his expression. The teasing edge softens just a fraction. โA confession is a lot, though. I mean, Iโm honored, but we donโt even know each other.โ
This is your opening. This is the moment where you say โactually, thatโs because this letter wasnโt meant for you, thereโs been a terrible misunderstanding, Iโm so sorry, please forget this ever happened.โ The words are right there, lined up on your tongue, ready to go.
But the room is still watching. A dozen pairs of eyes. The whispers have stopped, but the staring hasnโt, and you can feel every single gaze like a physical weight pressing down on you. If you correct him now, in front of everyone, youโll have to explain. Youโll have to admit that you walked into a crowded room and confessed to the wrong person like an absolute buffoon. Youโll become a campus legend for all the wrong reasons: the girl who was too stupid to even identify her own crush. The story will follow you for the rest of your university career. Youโll never live it down.
But if you just... let him believe it... if you just nod and agree and leave as quickly as possible... you can fix this later. Privately. Without an audience. You can find him tomorrow, or send him a message, or do literally anything other than humiliate yourself further in front of all these people.
Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
โI know,โ you hear yourself say. โItโs a lot. I know.โ
Heeseung nods thoughtfully, like youโve said something profound. โBut Iโm not against it. Starting slow, I mean. If you want.โ
What.
โWhat,โ you say, but it comes out more like a statement than a question.
โIโm okay with starting slow,โ he repeats, and now the smile is definitely back, a little crooked, a little curious. โYouโre cute. And clearly brave. I like that. So if you want to, I donโt know, get coffee sometime and see where this goes... Iโm open to it.โ
Someone in the room lets out a low whistle. Someone else says โHeeseung, are you serious right now?โ in a tone of utter disbelief. But Heeseung doesnโt look away from you. Heโs waiting for your answer, his gaze steady and warm, and you are standing in the epicenter of a complete and total catastrophe with absolutely no idea how to get out.
Say no. Say it was a mistake. Say the truth.
โOkay,โ you whisper.
Okay?! Okay?!
โOkay,โ he echoes, and the smile breaks fully across his face, transforming him from handsome to devastating. โGood. Iโll find you. Y/N, first year, STEM, right?โ
You nod mutely.
โCool.โ He tucks your letter carefully into the pocket of his hoodie, like itโs something precious, like heโs planning to read it later, and the gesture makes your stomach twist with guilt so intense you think you might actually be sick. โIโll see you around, Y/N.โ
You donโt remember leaving the room. You donโt remember the walk back across campus or the elevator ride to your floor or the moment you collapsed face-first onto your dorm bed. All you know is that one moment you were standing in the PC room, and the next you are here, staring at the ceiling, replaying every single agonizing second on an endless loop.
You confessed to the wrong person.
You confessed to the wrong person.
And for some reason that you absolutely cannot comprehend, he said yes.
Across campus, in a PC room that has finally returned to its normal hum of activity, Lee Heeseung pulls a slightly crumpled lavender envelope out of his hoodie pocket and stares at it for a long moment.
โDude,โ says his friend Jay from the next computer over, not bothering to hide his grin. โWhat just happened?โ
โI donโt know,โ Heeseung says honestly. And he doesnโt. Heโs used to attention, he knows how to handle it, how to smile and nod and gently redirect without hurting anyoneโs feelings. Itโs a skill heโs developed over the years, the only way he knows to deal with the unfortunate side effect of his people-pleasing tendencies. Heโs nice to someone, he helps them with an assignment, he holds a door open or offers a pen, and suddenly theyโre looking at him with stars in their eyes, and he doesnโt know how to tell them that he was just trying to be polite without sounding like an arrogant jerk. So he lets them down easy, or he avoids the situation entirely, and his reputation grows in ways that donโt reflect the truth at all.
But this, this is new. A letter. An actual, physical, handwritten letter, with swooping calligraphy and a lavender envelope and a girl who looked so terrified that he thought she might actually pass out right there on the linoleum floor.
She looked at him like he was a natural disaster. Like she was watching a building collapse in slow motion and couldnโt do anything to stop it.
And then she said okay anyway.
โSheโs interesting,โ Heeseung murmurs, more to himself than to Jay, and carefully opens the envelope.
โInteresting how?โ
He doesnโt answer. Heโs too busy reading, his eyes moving slowly across the carefully penned words, the ink slightly smudged in places where the writerโs hand might have trembled. Itโs beautiful. Itโs earnest. Itโs the kind of letter that someone writes when they mean every single word, when theyโve poured their entire heart onto the page without holding anything back.
Heโs never received anything like it before.
And he wants to know more about the girl who wrote it, the girl who burst into his afternoon like a hurricane of nerves and feelings.
โJay,โ he says, still staring at the letter, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. โI think something interesting just walked into my life.โ
He doesnโt notice the way his friend shakes his head and mutters something about โhere we go again.โ
Heโs too busy wondering when heโll see Y/N next.
โโโโโ
The following forty-eight hours of your life can be accurately described as a masterclass in strategic avoidance and tactical regret.
You skip two classes. Not on purpose, exactly, you just canโt bring yourself to leave your dorm room when every shadow in the hallway might be Lee Heeseung coming to collect on that coffee date you apparently agreed to in a moment of temporary insanity. You survive on instant noodles and the protein bars your friend left on her desk with a sticky note that said โFOR EMERGENCIES ONLY,โ which this absolutely qualifies as. You watch three entire seasons of Bridgerton without retaining a single moment because your brain is too busy replaying the PC room incident on a continuous, merciless loop.
โIโm Lee Heeseung. Third year. Informatics engineering.โ
โIโm okay with starting slow.โ
โYouโre cute.โ
You bury your face in your pillow and scream, but it comes out muffled and pathetic, like a small animal giving up on life.
By day three, youโve developed a system. You only leave your room during off-peak hours, skittering through campus, your head on a constant swivel. Youโve memorized the locations of every vending machine in buildings Heeseung is unlikely to frequent. Youโve started taking the long way to your remaining classes, cutting through the art department and the greenhouse and once, memorably, a service corridor that smelled strongly of bleach and soap. Youโve become a ghost. A phantom. A creature of the shadows who survives on granola bars and instant noddles.
But the problem with running away from your problems is that your problems donโt actually go anywhere. They just wait. And think about you. And eventually, when you least expect it, they catch up.
It happens on a Thursday.
Youโre crouched behind a potted plant near the science building, scanning the courtyard for any sign of tall, attractive informatics students, when your phone buzzes with a text from your best friend, Yunjin.
Yunjin: heard youโve been living like a sewer rat. want me to bring you real food?
You: canโt. iโm in the middle of a crisis
Yunjin: Youโre executing what we talked about yet?
You: itโs in process
Yunjin: at the end of the day, you will have to tell him
You stare at the message for a long moment. Itโs such a simple solution. So elegant. So reasonable. And yet, every time you imagine yourself walking up to Heeseung and saying โactually, I meant to give that letter to someone else,โ your entire body physically recoils like youโve touched a hot stove. The humiliation would be astronomical. The look on his face, surprise, then confusion, then that horrible moment of realization that he was never supposed to be the recipient would haunt you for the rest of your natural life. And youโd still have to explain the Jungwon part. And Jungwon would find out. And then youโd be the weird girl who couldnโt even confess to the right person, and Heeseung would be the guy who got accidentally confessed to, and everyone would laugh about it for weeks, and-
Your phone buzzes again.
Yunjin: i can hear you overthinking from across campus. just rip off the bandaid. whatโs the worst that could happen
You type back a single message: he could tell everyone and iโd have to transfer schools and change my name and become a farmer in New Zeland
Yunjin: dramatic. but valid. good luck with your plant hiding
You shove your phone back into your pocket and peek around the potted plant again. The courtyard is clear. This is your window. You take a deep breath, steel your nerves, and scuttle out from behind the foliage.
The plan for today is simple: find Heeseung, explain the misunderstanding, and disappear forever. Youโve spent the entire morning psyching yourself up for this. Youโve practiced the speech in the mirror seventeen times. Youโve even written a script on your phone that you can refer to in case of emergency. Itโs thorough, itโs clear, it leaves absolutely no room for misinterpretation, and it ends with a sincere apology and a polite request that you both pretend this never happened. Itโs perfect. Itโs foolproof. All you have to do is locate the target.
Easier said than done. Youโve been looking for him since yesterday, not to talk to, but to observe from a safe distance so you could plan your approach and the universe, in its infinite comedic wisdom, has made him completely unfindable. Itโs like he vanished off the face of the earth the moment you actually wanted to see him. Three days ago, you couldnโt walk three feet without catching a glimpse of him, but now? Now heโs a ghost. A myth. A concept rather than a physical entity.
Youโre going to have to ask for help.
This is, objectively, a terrible idea. Asking for help means talking to people, and talking to people about Heeseung means potentially revealing that youโre looking for him, which means potentially revealing why youโre looking for him, which means the whole campus could know about the letter situation by lunchtime. But youโre running out of options, and youโre running out of granola bars, and you canโt live behind potted plants forever.
You find your informant near the engineering building, a girl with neon green headphones and a laptop covered in stickers, sitting on a bench and typing furiously at something that looks like code. She seems approachable. She seems like she wonโt ask too many questions. You approach with what you hope is casual confidence and not the desperate energy of someone who has been living on protein bars.
โExcuse me,โ you say, and your voice comes out surprisingly normal. Points for you. โDo you know where I can find Lee Heeseung? Third year, informatics?โ
The girl looks up, her eyes flicking over you with mild curiosity. She doesnโt ask why youโre looking for him, which makes you want to hug her. โHeeseung? Yeah, I think I saw him heading to the quad about ten minutes ago. Something about meeting up with some people before his next class.โ
The quad. Of course. The most open, public, exposed location on the entire campus. The place where literally everyone congregates. The absolute last place you want to have a conversation about accidental love confessions.
โGreat,โ you say, and your voice is definitely an octave higher now. โGreat. Thank you. Thanks. So much.โ
The girl gives you a weird look, shrugs, and goes back to her coding.
Youโre already moving, your feet carrying you toward the quad before your brain can catch up and talk you out of it. This is fine. This is progress. Youโll find him, youโll pull him aside, youโll give him the speech, and then youโll be free. Youโll be a normal person again. Youโll be able to walk through campus without checking every corner for a tall informatics student who thinks youโre cute and brave and worthy of a coffee date.
The quad is bustling when you arrive, clusters of students sprawled across the grass and gathered around the stone benches near the fountain. The afternoon sun is bright and warm, the kind of weather that makes everyone want to be outside, which is lovely and picturesque and deeply inconvenient for your purposes. You squint against the glare, scanning the crowd for a familiar dark-haired figure.
No Heeseung.
You circle the perimeter, weaving between groups of friends and dodging a frisbee that comes sailing dangerously close to your head. You check near the fountain, near the big oak tree, near the cluster of food trucks thatโs set up along the east edge. Still no Heeseung. Your informant said ten minutes ago, he should be here. Unless he already left. Unless you missed him. Unless this is a sign from the universe that you should give up and commit to the farmer life plan after all.
Youโre so focused on your search that you donโt notice someone approaching until a shadow falls across your path, and a voice, warm, familiar, the exact voice youโve been daydreaming about for four months, says:
โY/N? Hey, it is you!โ
You look up.
Yang Jungwon is standing right in front of you, smiling like the sun just came out from behind a cloud, and every single coherent thought in your brain immediately evaporates.
Heโs wearing a soft-looking cream sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his dark hair is slightly windswept, and thereโs a tiny mole near his chin that youโve never noticed before but is now seared into your memory forever. Heโs holding a book, something with a cracked spine and a title in a language you donโt recognize and heโs looking at you with genuine, undiluted pleasure, like running into you is the best thing thatโs happened to him all day.
โItโs me,โ you say, because you are a conversational genius. โI mean. Yes. Hi. Hello.โ
Smooth. Flawless execution. Ten out of ten.
Jungwon doesnโt seem to notice your complete lack of verbal grace. His smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes in exactly the way youโve catalogued in your mental Jungwon database. โI thought I recognized you. Youโre in my philosophy elective, right? Front row, near the window?โ
He knows where you sit. He knows where you sit. This is both the best and worst information youโve ever received, because on one hand, Yang Jungwon has noticed your existence, but on the other hand, Yang Jungwon has noticed your existence, and now you have to be a normal human being and not the disaster you currently are.
โFront row near the window,โ you confirm, nodding a little too vigorously. โThatโs me. I like the natural light. For... note-taking purposes.โ
โMakes sense.โ He shifts his weight, tucking the book under his arm. โYou take really detailed notes, by the way. I sat behind you once, and I was honestly impressed. Your color-coding system is no joke.โ
Jungwon has looked at your notes. Jungwon has been impressed by your notes. Your brain is short-circuiting at approximately the speed of light, and you have to physically resist the urge to fist-pump in the middle of the quad.
โThank you,โ you manage. โI have a lot of highlighters. Maybe too many. Is there such a thing as too many highlighters? I donโt think so, but Iโve been told my stationery collection is concerning.โ
Oh no. Why are you talking about stationery? You need to say something charming. Something witty. Something that will make him see you as more than the girl with the aggressive color-coding system.
โI donโt think itโs concerning,โ Jungwon says, and thereโs a teasing lilt to his voice that makes your knees go weak. โPassionate, maybe. Dedicated. I respect it.โ
โPassionate and dedicated,โ you repeat faintly. โThatโs... yeah. Thatโs my brand.โ
He laughs, and itโs exactly like you remember, bright and warm, the kind of laugh that makes you want to do whatever you just did again and again just to hear it on repeat. โI like it. Passion is underrated.โ He tilts his head, studying you with an expression you canโt quite read. โSo what brings you to the quad? You usually eat lunch in the science building courtyard, donโt you?โ
Your heart stutters. He knows where you eat lunch. Heโs observed your habits. This is either a sign of mutual interest or youโve accidentally become the subject of a sociological case study, and at this point youโre willing to accept either outcome.
โIโm, um, looking for someone,โ you say, and the confession letter debacle comes crashing back into your consciousness like a wrecking ball through a glass window. Right. Youโre supposed to be finding Heeseung. Youโre supposed to be fixing the misunderstanding. Thatโs why youโre here. Not to bask in the radiant warmth of Jungwonโs attention like a lizard on a sunny rock.
โAnyone I know?โ Jungwon asks, and thereโs something in his tone, curiosity, maybe.
โProbably not,โ you say quickly. โJust a... just a person. A random person. Not important.โ
Jungwon raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but before he can press further, a new voice cuts through the afternoon air like a knife through butter.
โThere you are.โ
You freeze. Your blood turns to ice. Every cell in your body screams in unison: run.
Lee Heeseung is walking toward you across the quad, his headphones hanging around his neck and his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket. He looks exactly as devastatingly attractive as he did three days ago, which is deeply unfair. His expression is a mixture of curiosity and amusement, and when his eyes meet yours, that slight smile, the one thatโs not quite a smirk but definitely is a smirkโs second cousin, curves across his lips.
โI heard youโve been looking for me,โ he says, coming to a stop beside Jungwon like this is the most natural gathering in the world. โYou know, if you wanted to see me, you could have just messaged. I would have given you my number at the PC room.โ
Jungwon looks between you and Heeseung with visible confusion, his earlier smile fading into something more guarded. โWait. You two know each other?โ
This is it. This is the moment the universe has been building toward. Every terrible decision, every act of cowardice, every misguided attempt to avoid embarrassment, itโs all led here, to this exact spot on the quad, with the wrong guy standing next to the right guy and your entire romantic future hanging in the balance.
โI wouldnโt say know,โ you begin, but Heeseung is already talking over you, apparently immune to the desperate telepathic signals youโre trying to beam directly into his brain.
โShe confessed to me two days ago,โ Heeseung says, and his tone is so casual, so conversational, like heโs discussing the weather or what he had for lunch. โWalked right into the PC room, handed me a letter, told me sheโd liked me for a long time. It was very romantic. Very old-school. I was impressed.โ
Silence. Jungwon stares at Heeseung. Then at you. Then back at Heeseung.
โShe... confessed to you,โ Jungwon repeats slowly, and his voice has gone flat in a way that makes your heart splinter into approximately seven thousand pieces.
โFull confession,โ Heeseung confirms, still smiling. โIโm thinking weโll start with coffee. Keep it simple, you know? Sheโs shy. I donโt want to overwhelm her.โ
This is a nightmare. This is a waking, breathing, actively-unfolding nightmare, and you are trapped in it like a fly in amber, unable to move or speak or do anything except watch as every possible future with Jungwon crumbles to dust before your eyes.
Because hereโs the thing you realize in that horrible, crystal-clear moment: you canโt correct Heeseung now. Not in front of Jungwon. Not when Jungwon has just been told, in no uncertain terms, that you confessed to someone else. If you explain the truth, that the letter was actually meant for Jungwon, that the whole thing was a catastrophic mistake, then what? Jungwon would know youโd been planning to confess to him, but heโd also know that you somehow managed to mess it up so spectacularly that you confessed to his friend instead. Youโd look incompetent at best and completely unhinged at worst. And Heeseung would be humiliated, and Jungwon would be awkward, and youโd be the epicenter of a social catastrophe so immense that all three of you would have to avoid each other for the rest of your academic careers.
You are trapped. Completely, utterly, irreversibly trapped.
โInteresting,โ Jungwon says, and the word is so neutral that it cuts deeper than any insult ever could. โI didnโt realize you two ran in the same circles.โ
โWe donโt,โ you croak. โWe really, really donโt.โ
โWeโre just getting started,โ Heeseung says cheerfully, and he has the audacity to wink at you. Like this is some kind of adorable inside joke instead of the emotional apocalypse it actually is.
You have to get out of here. You have to escape before the sob building in your chest forces its way out and makes everything infinitely worse. You can feel it pressing against your ribs, hot and insistent, and if you donโt leave right now, youโre going to burst into tears in the middle of the quad in front of both of them, and then the disaster will be complete.
โI have to go,โ you blurt out, and youโre already backing away, your feet moving before your brain can issue any kind of warning. โI haveโฆ a thing. A class. A lab. A lab class. Itโs very important. I canโt miss it. I have to go.โ
Heeseungโs brow furrows slightly. โWait, I thought you wanted to talk to-โ
โNope! No talking! Weโre good! Everythingโs fine! Bye!โ
You spin around and power-walk toward the nearest exit, which happens to be in the direction of the fountain, which you only realize when your foot catches on the low stone ledge and you go sprawling forward with all the grace of a newborn giraffe.
Your knee hits the ground. Your dignity hits the ground approximately three feet to the left. Several people turn to look.
โY/N!โ Thatโs Jungwonโs voice, concerned and moving closer, and you absolutely cannot handle that right now.
โIโm fine!โ you shriek, scrambling to your feet with adrenaline-fueled desperation. โTotally fine! Happens all the time! Iโm very clumsy! Itโs part of my charm!โ
You donโt look back. You canโt look back. If you look back, youโll see Jungwonโs worried expression and Heeseungโs confused one, and youโll have to confront the full magnitude of what just happened, and your fragile emotional state simply cannot withstand that kind of pressure. So you run. Not jog, not power-walkโฆrun. Across the quad, past the food trucks, through a gap between two buildings, and out onto the main campus pathway like the hounds of hell are snapping at your heels.
You donโt stop until you reach the arts building, and you donโt start breathing normally until youโve locked yourself in a practice room on the third floor, surrounded by soundproof walls and a piano thatโs seen better days. You slide down against the door, pull your knees up to your chest, and let out a sound thatโs halfway between a groan and a wail.
Everything is ruined. Everything. You had one chance, one single, solitary chance to fix the misunderstanding and salvage your dignity and maybe, just maybe, preserve the possibility of something with Jungwon somewhere down the line. And instead, you let your hopeless romantic heart get distracted by a five-minute conversation about philosophy notes and highlighters, and now youโre the girl who confessed to Lee Heeseung, and Jungwon thinks youโre interested in someone else, and there is no conceivable way to untangle this mess without making everything exponentially worse.
Youโre going to have to transfer schools. Youโre going to have to move to another country. Youโre going to have to fake your own death and start a new identity as a goat farmer in New Zeland.
The door handle jiggles behind you. โOccupied!โ you yell, your voice cracking.
โY/N? Is that you?โ
Your best friend Yunjinโs voice filters through the door, muffled but unmistakable, and the sound of it is enough to crack the dam youโve been desperately trying to hold together. You scramble to your feet, fumble with the lock, and yank the door open to reveal Yunjin standing in the hallway with a cup of bubble tea in each hand and an expression of profound concern on her face.
โI saw you running,โ she says, her eyes scanning your disheveled appearance. โLike, truly running. Iโve never seen you run before. You once told me running was for people who donโt appreciate the journey.โ
โYunjin,โ you crumble, and your voice is so pitiful that she immediately sets down both drinks and pulls you into a hug.
โOkay,โ she says, steering you back into the practice room and closing the door behind her. โOkay. Sit down. Tell me everything. What happened? Did you talk to Heeseung? Did you fix it?โ
You laugh, but it comes out wrong, high and wobbly, on the edge of hysteria. โFix it? Fix it? Yunjin, I made it so much worse. I made it so much worse that I think I actually created new dimensions of worse. Scientists are going to have to invent new words to describe how badly I messed this up.โ
โThatโs... improbable,โ Yunjin says carefully. โBut Iโm listening.โ
She settles onto the piano bench, and you collapse onto the floor in front of her, crossing your legs and burying your face in your hands. The story spills out of you in a torrent, the quad, the search for Heeseung, the unexpected appearance of Jungwon, the conversation that made your heart soar, and then the moment Heeseung appeared like a harbinger of doom and casually announced your confession to the one person you never wanted to know about it.
โAnd then I fell,โ you finish miserably. โIn front of both of them. And I ran away. And now Jungwon thinks I like Heeseung, and Heeseung thinks I like Heeseung, and I canโt correct either of them without making everything even weirder, and my life is a romantic comedy written by a petty incel.โ
Yunjin is quiet for a moment. Then she lets out a long, slow breath. โOkay. Thatโs... thatโs a lot.โ
โI know.โ
โAnd youโre telling me you couldnโt just say, hey Heeseung, sorry for the mix-up, the letter wasnโt for you, my bad?โ
You look up at her, your eyes rimmed with red. โIn front of Jungwon? After Heeseung already told him I confessed? What would Jungwon think of me?โ
Yunjin considers this. โThat youโre a disaster, probably.โ
โExactly!โ
โBut a lovable disaster,โ she adds. โDisasters can be endearing.โ
โYunjin, please focus.โ
She holds up her hands in surrender, but thereโs a glint in her eye that you recognize, the one that means sheโs about to drop some wisdom on you whether youโre ready for it or not. Yunjin has been your best friend since orientation week, when you both accidentally joined the wrong club meeting and ended up spending two hours in a competitive gardening seminar before realizing your mistake. Sheโs practical where youโre dreamy, decisive where youโre hesitant, and sheโs talked you down from approximately four hundred anxiety spirals since the semester started. If anyone can find a way out of this mess, itโs her.
โOkay,โ she says, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. โLet me present you with an alternative perspective.โ
โIโm listening.โ
โLee Heeseung,โ she says, ticking off points on her fingers, โhas a reputation. A big one. Everyone knows it. Heโs the guy whoโs super nice to everyone, especially girls, and then they fall for him and he gets all surprised when they expect something more, and then things fizzle out because he wasnโt looking for anything serious.โ She makes air quotes with her fingers. โSound familiar?โ
You blink. โI mean... Iโve heard things. But he didnโt seem like-โ
โThatโs his whole thing,โ Yunjin interrupts. โHe doesnโt seem like it. Thatโs why it works. He likes when everyone is after him. But nice doesnโt equal interested, so girls get the wrong idea and then they get hurt. Itโs a cycle.โ She pops a tapioca pearl into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. โMy point is, you donโt need to do anything. You donโt need to fix this. You just need to wait.โ
โWait for what?โ
โFor him to get bored.โ She says it like itโs the most obvious thing in the world. โThink about it. Youโre not actually interested in him, right? Youโre not going to fall all over yourself trying to get his attention. Youโre not going to be waiting outside his classes or accidentally showing up wherever he hangs out. Youโre not going to be like every other girl whoโs chased after him.โ
You frown. โSo... what, I just... do nothing?โ
โNo, you do the opposite of chasing.โ Yunjin grins, and itโs slightly wicked. โYou make yourself as uninteresting to him as possible. Youโre awkward, youโre weird, youโre clearly not trying to impress him. You donโt dress up when you know you might see him. You talk about boring things. You mention, I donโt know, your extensive collection of vintage stamps or whatever nerdy hobby you can think of. You make yourself boring.โ
โI donโt have a stamp collection.โ
โThen make one up! The point is, Heeseung is used to girls who want him. If you clearly donโt want him, his interest is going to fizzle out faster than a cheap sparkler. Heโll move on to the next girl who bats her eyelashes at him, and youโll be free. No confrontation necessary.โ
You turn this over in your mind. Itโs... not the worst idea youโve ever heard. In fact, compared to your current strategy of blind panic and tactical fleeing, itโs practically genius. If you canโt correct the misunderstanding without making everything worse, maybe you can just... let it die on its own. Let Heeseungโs fabled short attention span work in your favor. Become so aggressively unappealing that he loses interest within a week and never thinks about you again.
And once heโs out of the picture, once enough time has passed, maybe you can try again with Jungwon. Properly. With better aim.
โYouโre a genius,โ you tell Yunjin, the hope creeping back into your voice. โAn absolute genius. I could kiss you.โ
โPlease donโt, youโre covered in grass stains.โ She nudges one of the bubble teas toward you with her foot. โDrink your tea. Hydrate. And then weโre going to brainstorm all the ways you can make yourself seem as unappealing as possible to a hot third-year informatics student.โ
You grab the drink and take a long sip, the sweetness settling something in your chest. For the first time in three days, you feel something other than panic. You feel strategic. You feel determined. Lee Heeseung might think youโre cute and brave and worthy of a coffee date, but he hasnโt met the version of you thatโs about to emerge, a version so bland, so uninteresting, so aggressively mediocre that heโll run in the opposite direction before the week is out.
โOkay,โ you say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. โOkay. Letโs do this. Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested starts now.โ
Yunjin raises her bubble tea in a toast. โTo being boring.โ
You clink your cup against hers. โTo being boring.โ
Somewhere across campus Heeseung is still standing in the quad with a confused expression on his face and a lavender envelope in his pocket, wondering why the girl who supposedly has a crush on him just sprinted away like she was being chased by bears.
Heโs not used to this. Heโs not used to any of this.
And that, he realizes with a small, bemused shake of his head, is exactly what makes it so interesting.
โโโโโ
Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested lasted exactly four days before it encountered its first major obstacle.
That obstacle is approximately six feet tall, has flowing hair that falls perfectly across his forehead, and is currently walking directly toward your table in the cafeteria with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face that suggests he has absolutely no idea he's supposed to be losing interest in you.
You spot him approximately 2.3 seconds too late. By the time your brain registers the approaching danger, you are already mid-bite into a sad cafeteria sandwich, your mouth full of bread and lettuce and the dawning realization that you are trapped. There is no escape route. Your table is in the corner, surrounded on three sides by walls and on the fourth side by Heeseung's rapidly approaching form. You are a cornered animal. A very stupid, very panicked cornered animal with mayonnaise on her chin.
"Y/N!" Heeseung says your name like it's his favorite word, bright and warm and entirely too enthusiastic for someone who's supposed to be a notorious womanizer with a short attention span. "I was hoping I'd run into you. Mind if I sit?"
Mind if he sits? Of course you mind. You mind immensely. You mind with every fiber of your being. Sitting with Heeseung is the exact opposite of what Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested is supposed to accomplish. Sitting with Heeseung means talking to Heeseung, and talking to Heeseung means opportunities to accidentally charm him, and charming him is categorically Not The Goal.
But Heeseung is already pulling out the chair across from you, and his smile is so genuine, and there's a tiny bit of what looks like grease on his cheekbone that suggests he's just come from some kind of engineering lab, and you are weak. You are so, so weak.
"Go ahead," you hear yourself say, and then immediately want to punch yourself in the face.
Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested, Day Four, 12:34 PM: catastrophic failure already in progress.
Heeseung settles into the chair with an easy grace, setting his tray down and immediately stealing one of your fries like you're old friends who share food on a regular basis. You watch the fry disappear into his mouth and feel a small part of your soul leave your body.
"So," he says, leaning back and studying you with those dark, unreadable eyes. "You ran away from me pretty fast the other day. Should I be worried? Do I have something on my face?"
He doesn't. He absolutely doesn't. He has the kind of face that belongs on a billboard, all sharp angles and soft edges and that one little mole on his forehead that you are definitely not noticing because noticing things about Heeseung's face is counterproductive to the mission.
"No," you say quickly. "No, you're fine. Your face is fine. I mean, you don't have anything on your face. I just remembered I had somewhere to be. Very suddenly. It was urgent."
"An urgentโฆ lab class?" Heeseung's lips twitch. "That's what you said, right? An urgent lab class on a Thursday afternoon?"
Your face heats. "Yes. Exactly. Lab class. Very urgent. Science doesn't wait."
"Mmm." He pops another one of your fries into his mouth. "Well, the good news is, you don't look like you're in a hurry right now. So we can actually talk. You know, like normal people who are supposedly getting to know each other?"
Right. Getting to know each other. Because you confessed to him. Because he thinks you like him. Because you're living in an elaborate lie of your own making.
This is your chance, though. This is the perfect opportunity to implement Phase One of the Make Him Uninterested plan: Be Weird and Off-Putting. You just have to be the most boring, strange, unappealing version of yourself that you can possibly imagine. How hard can it be?
Pretty hard, as it turns out, because your brain chooses this exact moment to go completely blank.
"So," Heeseung says, apparently unbothered by your silence, "tell me about yourself. What do you like to do for fun? Besides writing beautiful love letters and then running away from the recipient?"
You choke on your own saliva. Justโฆ straight up choke on nothing, like a cartoon character. "I don'tโฆthat wasn'tโฆI do normal things. Normal fun things. Likeโฆ watching paint dry. And counting ceiling tiles. Very relaxing. You should try it."
Heeseung's expression flickers, confusion, amusement, something in between. "Counting ceiling tiles?"
"There are forty-seven in this cafeteria," you say, doubling down with the desperate energy of someone who has already committed to the bit. "Forty-eight if you count the one that's partially covered by that vent over there. But some people don't count partial tiles. It's a philosophical debate, really."
"Fascinating," Heeseung says, and the worst part is that he sounds like he actually means it. "What else?"
What else? What else can you say that will make you sound completely unappealing? You cast around for inspiration, your eyes landing on your sandwich. Okay. Fine. If words can't do the job, maybe actions can.
You pick up your sandwich with both hands and take the weirdest bite you can physically manage, mouth open slightly too wide, chewing with exaggerated jaw movements, making an unfortunate amount of noise in the process. You feel like a cow. You look like a cow. You are embodying the spirit of a cow, and surely, surely, this is enough to make any self-respecting hot informatics student run for the hills.
Heeseung watches you chew. His expression doesn't change.
"Good sandwich?" he asks mildly.
"Mmf," you say, still chewing, still being a cow. "Very good. I love-"
And then the lettuce hits the back of your throat.
You don't know how it happens. One moment you're chewing normally, well, abnormally, but in a controlled way and the next moment a piece of lettuce stages a rebellion and lodges itself directly in your windpipe. Your eyes go wide. Your hand flies to your throat. You make a sound that is somewhere between a wheeze and a honk.
"Y/N?" Heeseung's amused expression shifts to concern. "Are you okay?"
You are not okay. You are choking. You are choking on lettuce in front of Lee Heeseung in the middle of the cafeteria, and this is how you're going to die.
Heeseung is on his feet now, moving around the table with surprising speed. "Hey, hey, can you breathe? Do you need me to-"
You shake your head frantically, still making dying cow noises, and grab your water bottle with shaking hands. The first gulp does nothing. The second gulp, by some miracle, dislodges the lettuce just enough for you to cough it up into a napkin with all the grace and dignity of a cat hacking up a hairball.
Silence.
The entire cafeteria, you're convinced, is staring at you. In reality, probably only a few nearby tables have noticed, but it feels apocalyptic. You sit there, red-faced and teary-eyed, clutching a napkin full of your own near-death experience, and want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
Heeseung kneels beside your chair, one hand hovering near your shoulder like he isn't sure if touching you would be welcome. "Hey. You're okay. You're okay, right? Do you need me to get you anything? More water? A doctor? A new sandwich without lettuce?"
His voice is gentle. Genuinely gentle. Not the smooth, charming tone you expect from someone with his reputation, but something softer, something that sounds almost like real concern.
"I'm fine," you croak, your voice ravaged. "I'm fine. That happens. All the time. I'm very bad at eating. It's one of my traits."
"One of your traits," Heeseung repeats, and the corner of his mouth twitches despite his obvious worry. "Being bad at eating?"
"It's a lifestyle choice."
He laughs. Not a polite chuckle or a mocking snicker, but a real laugh, surprised and bright and completely unguarded. He sits back down in his chair, shaking his head, and looks at you with something that is definitely not boredom or disinterest.
"You're really something else, you know that?"
You don't know how to respond to that, so you don't. You just sit there, still clutching your napkin of shame, and wonder how Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested has somehow resulted in him laughing at your jokes and looking at you like you're the most entertaining thing he's encountered all week.
"So," Heeseung says, propping his chin on his hand, "I've been wondering. What made you decide to confess to me? Was there a specific moment? Something I did?"
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
This is the worst possible question he could ask. You can't tell him the truthโฆI didn't mean to confess to you, I meant to confess to your friend, you just happened to be sitting in the wrong place at the wrong time, please don't hate meโฆbut you also can't justโฆ not answer. He's looking at you expectantly, his dark eyes curious and open, and you have approximately three seconds to come up with a convincing lie before the silence becomes too awkward to recover from.
"Yourโฆ kindness," you say, grasping at straws. "You're veryโฆ kind. To everyone. I noticed."
Heeseung tilts his head. "My kindness?"
"Very kind," you repeat, nodding vigorously. "So kind. The kindest. I saw youโฆ hold a door open for someone once. It wasโฆ inspiring."
"I held a door open."
"A door. Yes. It was a very heavy door. And you held it. For a long time. Multiple people went through. It was very impressive."
Heeseung stares at you for a moment, and you stare back, your face burning, your soul evacuating your body. This is it. This is the moment he realizes you are completely unhinged and decides to never speak to you again. This is the victory of Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested.
"That'sโฆ" Heeseung starts, and then pauses. "That's the first time anyone's ever confessed to me because I held a door open. Usually I get compliments about my face. Or my voice. One girl told me I had a nose made to be sat on, which I still don't fully understand."
"Your node isโฆ fine," you say weakly. "I didn't notice your nose. Or your face at all. Just the door. The door was the important part."
"A door," Heeseung says, and that smile is spreading across his face again, the one that makes him look less like a notorious player and more like someone who has just found a particularly entertaining puzzle. "You wrote me a three-page love letter because I held a door open."
"The calligraphy alone took a week," you say, and immediately regret it.
Heeseung laughs again, and this time it's softer, almost wondering. "You're not what I expected," he says. "At all."
"Is thatโฆ good or bad?"
"I haven't decided yet." But he's still smiling, and his eyes are still fixed on you with that curious intensity, and you're starting to get the sinking feeling that everything you do, no matter how strange or off-putting you try to be, is having the exact opposite effect of what you intend.
You need a new strategy. Something foolproof. Something so aggressively unappealing that even the most determined people-pleaser can't pretend to be interested.
And then, like a gift from the gods of social awkwardness, the topic of video games comes up.
Heeseung mentions something about blowing off steam after a tough assignment by playing a few rounds of something, and the question slips out before you can stop it: "Wait, do you play League of Legends?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Sometimes. You?"
And that's it. That's the moment the dam breaks.
You don't mean to start geeking out. It just happens. One moment you're thinking be boring, be uninteresting, be bland, and the next moment you're fifteen minutes deep into an impassioned monologue about the current meta, the problems with the jungle role, and why Riot Games needs to nerf a specific champion into the ground before she single-handedly destroys the competitive scene.
"-and don't even get me started on the new items, because the balance team clearly doesn't play their own game, which is fine, whatever, it's not like I have strong opinions about it except I absolutely do, and I wrote an entire essay about it on the subreddit that got like two thousand upvotes, so clearly I'm not the only one who thinks the armor penetration scaling is completely broken-"
You stop.
You stop because you have just realized, with dawning horror, that you have been talking for an incredibly long time without letting Heeseung get a single word in. You have been gesticulating. You have been making sound effects. At one point, you're pretty sure you drew a diagram on a napkin to illustrate the optimal jungle pathing route.
This is it. This is definitely, absolutely it. There is no way a hot third-year informatics student wants to listen to a first-year STEM girl rant about video game balance for fifteen straight minutes. Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested has just achieved its first genuine success.
You brace yourself for the polite excuse, the awkward glance at his phone, the slow backing away.
Instead, Heeseung leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and says: "Okay, but hear me out, what if the armor penetration scaling isn't the problem, and it's actually the base damage values that need to be adjusted? Because if you look at the win rate data across different elos, the issue isn't consistent at all levels of play."
You blink.
"I main ADC," he adds, as if this is a perfectly normal confession. "So trust me, I feel your pain about the jungle situation. Do you know how many times I've been left to solo dragon because my jungler was AFK farming? Too many. Too many times."
"Youโฆ main ADC?"
"Vayne and Kai'Sa mostly. Sometimes Jhin if I'm feeling dramatic."
You have no response to this. Your brain has short-circuited somewhere around the phrase "win rate data across different elos," and it's still rebooting.
"Your essay on the subreddit," Heeseung continues, pulling out his phone. "What was the title? I want to read it. I love seeing well-reasoned arguments about game balance, and honestly, most of what gets posted is just people complaining without any actual data to back it up."
"It wasโฆ it was called The Current State of Armor Penetration: A Statistical Analysis and Why I'm Losing My Mind," you say faintly.
Heeseung types something into his phone, scrolls for a moment, and then his face lights up. "Found it. Two thousand three hundred upvotes and fourteen awards? That's impressive. Wait, you made graphs? You made graphs?"
"I was very passionate about the subject."
"Passionate," Heeseung repeats, looking up from his phone with an expression you can't quite read. "Yeah. I'm starting to get that about you."
He tucks his phone away and smiles at you, and it isn't the smooth, practiced smile you expect from the campus womanizer. It's something smaller. Something realer. Something that makes your stomach do a weird, traitorous flip that you immediately try to suppress.
"You know," he says, tilting his head as he studies you, "you remind me of a mouse."
Your brain screeches to a halt. "Aโฆ mouse?"
"Yeah. A little field mouse. The way your nose scrunches up when you're thinking, and how you get all twitchy and skittish when you're nervous. It's cute. It's really cute."
Cute. He calls you cute. He compares you to a rodent and somehow makes it sound like a compliment, and worst of all, worst of all, you can feel a traitorous blush spreading across your cheeks like wildfire.
"I'm notโฆI don'tโฆmice are not cute. Mice are pests. They carry diseases. I'm basically a health hazard."
Heeseung laughs, and it's the same genuine laugh from before, and he's looking at you like you're the most entertaining thing he's seen in years. "A health hazard. Right. Well, consider me warned."
He stands up, gathering his tray, and for one beautiful, hopeful moment, you think the ordeal is over. But then he pauses, looking down at you with that unreadable expression, and says the words that haunt you for the rest of the day:
"I was interested before, but now?" He shakes his head, still smiling. "Now I'm really interested. See you around, little mouse."
And then he walks away, leaving you alone at your corner table with a half-eaten sandwich, a napkin full of regurgitated lettuce, and the sinking realization that Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested is not only failing, it's backfiring spectacularly.
You try to be weird, and he calls you cute.
You try to be boring, and he engages with your niche gaming opinions.
You try to choke to death in front of him, and he kneels beside your chair with genuine concern in his eyes.
You bang your forehead against the cafeteria table once, twice, three times, not caring who sees. This is a disaster. This is an unmitigated, unprecedented, absolutely catastrophic disaster. Hana's plan was supposed to work. Heeseung was supposed to get bored. He was supposed to move on. He was not supposed to look at you like you're a puzzle he wants to solve, or call you a mouse in a tone of voice that makes your heart do gymnastics, or read your League of Legends essay and compliment your graphs.
You need to regroup. You need to call an emergency meeting with Yunjin. You need to figure out a new strategy before this situation spirals even further out of control.
But first, you need to go to the library and return the books that are due today before you accrue another fine, because no matter how catastrophic your love life becomes, the university library shows no mercy.
โโโโโ
The library is your sanctuary. It always has been, a quiet, climate-controlled haven where the smell of old paper and the soft hum of fluorescent lights can soothe even the most tensed of nerves. After the cafeteria incident, you need sanctuary more than ever. You slip through the main doors with your stack of books clutched to your chest, inhaling the familiar scent of knowledge and dust, and feel some of the tension begin to ease from your shoulders.
Everything is fine. Everything is going to be fine. You return your books, you find Yunjin, you regroup, and you figure out a way to-
"Y/N?"
The voice comes from somewhere to your left, and you know that voice. You know it the way a flower knows the sun, the way a compass knows north, the way a hopeless romantic knows the exact cadence of her crush's greeting.
Jungwon is sitting at a table near the history section, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks and loose papers. He's wearing glassesโฆglassesโฆand his hair is slightly mussed from what you assume is hours of intense studying, and he's looking at you with that smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your entire nervous system short-circuit.
"Hey," he says, waving you over. "What are you doing here?"
Existing in the same space as you, you think. Breathing the same air. Trying not to spontaneously combust.
"Returning books," you say, holding up your stack as evidence. "I have some overdue ones. The library fines are no joke."
"Tell me about it. I had to pay fifteen thousand won last semester because I forgot about a book I'd checked out for a research paper." Jungwon winces at the memory. "My wallet still hasn't recovered."
"That's brutal."
"The library giveth, and the library taketh away."
You laugh, and it comes out surprisingly normal, not too loud, not too high-pitched, just a regular human laugh from a regular human person who is definitely not having an internal meltdown about how good Jungwon looks in glasses.
"Hey," Jungwon says, glancing at the empty chair across from him, "if you're not in a hurry, do you want to study together? I've been here for three hours and my brain is starting to melt. It would be nice to have some company."
Your heart stops.
Yang Jungwon, the Yang Jungwon, the owner of the smile and the laugh and the gummy bears at 2 AM is asking you to study with him. This is the kind of moment you've daydreamed about for months. This is a meet-cute in progress. This is the universe throwing you a lifeline after the cafeteria disaster, a chance to actually spend time with the boy you've been pining over since midterms.
"Yes," you say, before your brain can remind you of all the reasons this is a terrible idea. "Yes, I'dโฆI'd love to. Let me just return these first."
You practically skip to the returns desk, your heart doing a full backflip in your chest. By the time you make it back to Jungwon's table, your philosophy textbook and notebook spread out in front of you, you've convinced yourself that this is exactly what you need. Some time with Jungwon. Some time to remember why you wrote that letter in the first place. Some time to reconnect with the feelings that got buried under the chaos of the Heeseung situation.
The only problem is that you can't focus on studying at all.
You try. You really, genuinely try. You open your textbook to the assigned chapter. You uncap your highlighter. You fix your eyes on the page and attempt to absorb information about ethical frameworks and moral philosophy. But your eyes keep drifting up, against your will, over the top of your book, to the boy sitting across from you.
Jungwon is studying. Actually studying, not fake studying, not pretending to study while secretly watching you the way you're watching him. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his pen moving steadily across his notebook as he takes notes. Every so often, he pauses, taps the end of his pen against his chin, and then resumes writing with renewed focus. The late afternoon light slants through the window behind him, catching the highlights in his dark hair and making him look like he's stepped out of a painting.
He is beautiful. He's so beautiful that it makes your chest ache, a soft, sweet ache that you've been carrying around since the moment you first saw him in this very library. You watch the way his fingers curl around his pen, the way he bites his lower lip when he's thinking, the way his glasses slide down his nose and he pushes them back up with an absent gesture.
"I can feel you looking at me," Jungwon says, not glancing up from his notebook.
Your entire body jolts like you've been electrocuted. "I wasn'tโฆI was justโฆthere's a clock behind you. I was checking the time."
Jungwon looks up then, and there's a knowing glint in his eyes that makes your stomach do a slow, somersaulting flip. "The clock is to your right, Y/N. Not behind me."
You look to your right. Sure enough, there's the clock, hanging on the wall in plain view, which you would have noticed if you'd spent even one second actually looking for it instead of gazing at Jungwon's face like a Renaissance painter studying their muse.
"I'mโฆ directionally challenged," you say weakly.
"Uh-huh." Jungwon sets down his pen, and the smile playing at the corners of his mouth is soft and teasing and absolutely devastating. "Come here for a second."
"What?"
"Just come here. Lean forward a little."
Your body obeys before your brain can intervene. You lean across the table, your heart hammering so loudly you're certain the entire library can hear it. Jungwon leans forward too, closing the distance between you, and you catch a faint whiff of something clean and subtle, laundry detergent, maybe, or the kind of fragrance that just smells like him.
His hand reaches out, and before you can process what's happening, his index finger gently pokes your cheek.
"Boop," he says.
You make a sound. You don't know what the sound is supposed to be. Maybe a laugh, maybe a question, maybe a plea for mercy. What comes out is something closer to a squeak, a small, strangled, completely undignified squeak that would be embarrassing if you had any brain cells left to feel embarrassment.
Jungwon's smile widens, and his finger lingers on your cheek for just a moment longer than necessary. "You had an eyelash," he says. "Right there. But also, you just looked really cute staring at me like that. I couldn't resist."
Cute. He calls you cute. That's twice in one day that a devastatingly attractive boy has called you cute, and your hopeless romantic heart doesn't know whether to celebrate or go into cardiac arrest.
"I wasn't staring," you whisper, but it comes out completely unconvincing.
"You were absolutely staring." Jungwon withdraws his hand, but his smile stays, warm and fond and knowing. "It's okay. I don't mind. It's kind of nice, actually. Being looked at like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm something worth looking at."
The words settle into your chest like a stone dropping into still water, sending ripples through your entire body. He thinks it's nice. He thinks you're nice or at least your staring is nice and he pokes your cheek and calls you cute and now he's going back to his studying like he hasn't just fundamentally altered your brain chemistry.
You try to return to your textbook. The words swim in front of your eyes, meaningless and blurry. You highlight a sentence at random, realize you have no idea what it says, and highlight it again for good measure. The page is now approximately forty percent highlighter ink.
"You're going to run out of highlighter at that rate," Jungwon observes, not looking up.
"I have backups," you say. "I always have backups."
"Of course you do."
The studying session continues for another hour, and you absorb approximately zero information about ethical frameworks. What you do absorb is a comprehensive catalogue of Jungwon's study habits: the way he organizes his notes with color-coded tabs, the way he mutters to himself when he's working through a difficult concept, the way he absentmindedly drums his fingers against the table when he's thinking. Every detail is another entry in your mental Jungwon database, another thread in the tapestry of your affection.
By the time you pack up your things and say goodbye, "See you in philosophy," Jungwon says, and you respond with something that might be words or might be a series of enthusiastic nods, you are floating. You are literally, physically floating, your feet barely touching the ground as you drift out of the library and across campus toward your dorm.
Jungwon pokes your cheek. Jungwon calls you cute. Jungwon says he likes being looked at by you.
You are winning. Despite the Heeseung disaster, despite the cafeteria catastrophe, despite everything, you are winning.
By the time you reach your dorm room, you are a mess of giddy energy with nowhere to go. You close the door behind you, throw your backpack onto your desk chair, and then proceed to wriggle across your bed like an ecstatic worm, kicking your feet and muffling your squeals into your pillow.
"He called me cute," you whisper to your empty room, your voice muffled by fabric. "He poked my cheek. He did the boop thing. The boop thing, you guys. Who does the boop thing? Adorable people, that's who. Perfect people. People with beautiful smiles and kind eyes and-"
You roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling with a dreamy expression. The ceiling has forty-three tiles in your room. You counted them on your first night in the dorm. But right now, all you can see is Jungwon's face, the way he looked at you across the library table, the way his finger felt against your cheek, the way his voice went soft when he said like I'm something worth looking at.
You are going to marry him. You are going to marry Yang Jungwon and have a beautiful wedding with string lights and wildflowers and a three-tier cake, and you will tell the story of how you stared at him in the library and he poked your cheek and-
You stop wriggling.
Wait.
Wait, wait, wait.
You can't marry Jungwon. You can't even confess to Jungwon, because Jungwon thinks you confessed to Heeseung. Jungwon thinks you're interested in someone else. Jungwon was sweet and friendly and maybe a little bit flirty, but that's just his personality. He's nice to everyone. He gives you gummy bears at 2 AM; he probably gives gummy bears to everyone who looks tired. You aren't special. You are justโฆ there.
The giddiness begins to drain out of you, replaced by the familiar weight of reality. You are still trapped in the Heeseung situation. You are still the girl who confessed to the wrong person. And no matter how many times Jungwon pokes your cheek, that fundamental fact isn't going to change.
With a heavy sigh, you drag yourself through your evening routine: shower, skincare, the episode of the baking show you're halfway through and finally crawl into bed around midnight, your emotions a tangled knot of hope and despair.
Sleep comes slowly, a gradual descent into darkness, and then-
โโโโโ
You are in the PC room again.
But this time it's different. The lights are dimmer, the computers all dark, the chairs empty. It's just you, and the door is swinging shut behind you, and there's someone waiting at the computer closest to the door.
Heeseung.
He's sitting in the chair, facing away from you, his headphones around his neck and his shoulders relaxed. When he hears your footsteps, he turns, and his expression isn't surprised or amused or curious. It's something else entirely. Something darker. Something that makes your breath catch in your throat.
"You're here," he says, and his voice is lower than you've ever heard it, a rumble that vibrates through your bones. "I've been waiting for you, little mouse."
"I'm not-" you start, but he's already standing, already moving toward you, and you can't seem to make your feet work. You're rooted to the spot, watching him approach with a mixture of fear and something else, something you don't want to name.
He stops inches away from you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that you can see the individual strands of his hair and the curve of his lips and the way his eyes, God, his eyes are fixed on your mouth.
"You know what I've been thinking about?" he murmurs, and one of his hands comes up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your temple. "I've been thinking about that letter. The way you said you only had eyes for me. The way you said you couldn't stop thinking about me."
"That wasn't-" you try, but your voice comes out as barely a whisper, and Heeseung's thumb is tracing along your jawline now, feather-light and devastating.
"I can't stop thinking about you either," he says, and his face is getting closer, closer, and you can feel his breath against your lips. "Do you want to know what I think about?"
Your heart is hammering. Your skin is on fire. You can't move, can't speak, can't do anything except stare up at him with wide eyes as his other hand settles on your waist, warm and solid and pulling you closer.
"I think about this," he whispers, and then his mouth is on yours.
The kiss isโฆit'sโฆ
It's intense. It's consuming. It's the kind of kiss that erases every rational thought from your brain and replaces it with pure, unfiltered sensation. His lips are soft but insistent, moving against yours with a confidence that makes your knees weak. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you make a sound against his mouth, something small and breathless and completely involuntary.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his voice is rough. "Youโre what Iโve been looking for my whole life, Y/N. Youโre my miracle."
And then his lips are on your neck, trailing fire down to your collarbone, and your head falls back, and his name escapes your mouth in a way you've never said it before-
He kneels before you, his movements fluid and deliberate. His eyes never leave yours as he unzips his jeans, freeing his already hard cock. It stands proud and thick, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He takes your foot in his warm hand, bringing it to his shaft.
"Look what you do to me," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. He wraps your foot around his length, his thumb pressing against your arch as he begins to move your foot up and down his cock. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, a low groan escaping his lips.
The sensation of his hot skin against your sole sends shivers through your body. You watch, mesmerized, as he uses your foot to pleasure himself, his hips thrusting in rhythm with the movements of your foot. His other hand moves to your ankle, his grip firm but gentle, his fingers stroking your sensitive skin.
His eyes open, locking with yours again, and the intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch. "You're so beautiful," he breathes, his movements becoming faster, more urgent. "Youโre perfect the way you are."
His breathing grows ragged, his muscles tensing. With a guttural moan, he comes, his hot release spilling over your foot and his hand. He leans forward, his tongue darting out to taste his own cum from your skin, his movements slow and sensual. He licks your foot clean, his tongue tracing patterns on your arch, between your toes, sending waves of pleasure through your body.
Then he shifts, positioning himself between your legs. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "I need to taste you," he says, his voice rough with need.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He tosses them aside, then leans in, his breath hot against your most sensitive flesh.
His tongue flicks out, teasing your clit, and you gasp, your hands flying to his hair. He chuckles, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through you. "Patience, little mouse," he murmurs against your skin.
His tongue moves in slow, deliberate circles, building your pleasure gradually. He alternates between broad, flat strokes and quick, precise flicks of his tongue against your clit. His fingers join in, one, then two, sliding inside you, curling to hit that spot that makes you cry.
Your hips buck against his face, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Heeseung," you moan, your fingers tightening in his hair.
He responds with increased enthusiasm, his tongue working faster, his fingers pumping in and out of you. The pressure builds inside you, a coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter until it snaps.
You come with a cry, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over you. But Heeseung doesn't stop. He continues his assault on your senses, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to bring you to the edge again.
And then you are squirting, your release flooding his mouth and chin as he drinks you in, his movements never faltering. He looks up at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he laps up every drop.
When he finally pulls away, his face glistening with your juices, he crawls up your body, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and the intimacy of it sends another wave of desire through you.
"Tell me youโre only thinking of me," he whispers against your lips, his hands roaming your body. "and not Jungwon."
You wake up.
You wake up in your dorm room, in your bed, at 7:43 AM on a Tuesday morning, with your heart pounding and your skin flushed, your panties soaked and your sheets twisted around your legs like they've been through a battle.
For a long moment, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe.
Did you justโฆ did you just dream aboutโฆ did Lee Heeseung, the guy you're supposed to be making uninterested in you, the guy you've been trying to avoid and ignore and repel, just star in what can only be described as an extremely obscene dream? The virgin you are just cringed at the memory.
You press your hands to your burning cheeks and let out a sound that is somewhere between a groan and a scream.
"No," you whisper to the empty room. "No, no, no. This isn't, this can'tโฆI don't even like him. I like Jungwon. Jungwon! I've liked Jungwon for four months. I wrote a letter to Jungwon. I have a color-coded mental database of Jungwon's habits. I want to marry Jungwon and have a three-tier wedding cake with wildflowers!"
But your brain, traitorous and unhelpful, keeps replaying fragments of the dream, the way Heeseung's eyes go dark, the way his voice rumbles against your ear, the way his hand feels on your waist, the way his tongue is warm and-
You grab your pillow and press it over your face, screaming into it with all the force your lungs can muster.
This is wrong. This is so, so wrong. You are a Jungwon girl. You've always been a Jungwon girl. You don't think about Heeseung like that. You don't think about Heeseung like anything. Heeseung is an obstacle. Heeseung is a problem to be solved. Heeseung is the guy you're actively trying to repel, not the guy who shows up in your subconscious and does things that make you blush in the privacy of your own bed.
"I'm a psychopath," you say to your pillow. "I'm a complete and utter psychopath. Who dreams about this with a guy they're supposed to be making uninterested? A psychopath, that's who. A deranged lunatic. A person with a broken brain."
Your pillow, predictably, does not respond.
You drag yourself out of bed and into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face and avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. You don't want to look at yourself. You don't want to see the evidence of the dream still lingering in your flushed cheeksโฆand between your legs.
This is a problem. This is a Major Problem with capital letters and possibly a warning siren. You can't afford to be having dreams about Lee Heeseung. You can't afford to be thinking about Lee Heeseung at all. Your entire strategy, Operation Make Heeseung Uninterested depends on you being able to keep a clear head and a steady heart, and neither of those things is going to be possible if your subconscious keeps ambushing you with extremely vivid, extremely inappropriate content.
You need to talk to Yunjin. Immediately. Before your brain can conjure up any more unauthorized imagery.
But as you grab your phone and type out a frantic message, EMERGENCY MEETING REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY CODE RED REPEAT CODE RED, you can't quite shake the lingering sensation from the dream.
The way Heeseung's thumb traces along your jawline.
The way he calls you little mouse in that low, rumbling voice.
The way he says you were perfect the way you were like he means it, like it's true, like he's been into you his whole life and hasn't even known it.
You shake your head violently, flinging droplets of water across the bathroom mirror.
"Nope," you say out loud. "Nope, nope, nope. We're not doing this. We're not thinking about this. We're going to go to class and eat lunch and avoid all tall informatics students, and we're going to get our brain back on the Jungwon track where it belongs."
But even as you say it, even as you try to mean it, a small, treacherous part of you wonders if maybe, just maybe, the Jungwon track isn't the only track worth following anymore.
You shove that thought into a mental box, lock it, and throw away the key.
You have a plan. You have a strategy. You are going to make Heeseung uninterested, and you are going to figure out a way to untangle the misunderstanding, and you are going to end up with Jungwon like you were always supposed to.
The dream is just a dream. It doesn't mean anything. It can't mean anything.
You refuse to let it mean anything.
(But when you catch yourself glancing toward the informatics building on your way to class, you walk a little faster, and you definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent do not wonder what Lee Heeseung is doing right now.)
โโโโโ
The dream haunts you for three days.
Not in a supernatural, ghost-in-the-corner kind of way. More in an I-can't-make-eye-contact-with-my-own-reflection kind of way. Every time you close your eyes, fragments of it flicker behind your eyelids like a movie you hadn't asked to watch. The dark PC room. The way Heeseung's voice drops to a rumble. The phantom sensation of his tongue on your clit, his hand on your ankle, his look-
You physically convulse every time the memory resurfaces, which is approximately every forty-five minutes. Your philosophy notes become a graveyard of distracted doodles, half of which look suspiciously like the curve of someone's jaw. You have to throw away an entire page because you accidentally write "little mouse" in the margin instead of "moral relativism."
Yunjin is no help whatsoever.
"So you had a wet dream about the hot guy who youโre supposedly getting bored of," she says over bubble tea the day after the incident, her expression thoroughly unimpressed. "This is a problem becauseโฆ?"
"Because I don't like him, Yunjin! I like Jungwon! I've liked Jungwon since midterms! Jungwon is the goal! Jungwon is the three-tier wedding cake!"
"And Heeseung isโฆ?"
"A temporary obstacle! A misunderstanding with legs! A very tall, very inconvenient plot twist!"
Yunjin sucks on her tapioca pearls with the air of a therapist who has heard it all before and is no longer surprised by anything. "You know what they say about protesting too much."
"I am not protesting too much. I am protesting exactly the right amount. I am protesting a perfectly calibrated quantity."
"Sure." She pats your hand with condescending sympathy. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. Oh wait-"
You throw a tapioca pearl at her face. It sticks to her cheek for a solid three seconds before falling off, and the look of absolute betrayal on her face is the only bright spot in your otherwise nightmare-plagued week.
But now it's Thursday. Thursday, 2:15 PM. You're stationed in the science building's main hallway, crouched behind a bulletin board that is absolutely not wide enough to hide your entire body, waiting for the coast to clear so you can sprint to your next class without encountering any tall informatics students.
Your system has evolved since the early days of the crisis. You now have a color-coded schedule of Heeseung's known movements, courtesy of some light reconnaissance work that Yunjin calls "stalking" and you call "strategic intelligence gathering." You know his class schedule. You know his preferred study spots. You know that he tends to grab coffee from the campus cafรฉ at exactly 3 PM on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which means the science building hallway should, theoretically, be a Heeseung-free zone at 2:15.
Theoretically.
You're just about to make your move, a quick dash to the stairwell, then up two flights, then a straight shot to classroom 307, when you hear it.
"Hey, is Y/N L/N in there?"
Your blood freezes. Your muscles lock. Your soul briefly departs your body and then slams back into it with force.
That's Heeseung's voice. That's unmistakably, undeniably, catastrophically Lee Heeseung's voice, and it's coming from approximately ten feet to your left, where the door to your department's main office stands open.
You press yourself harder against the bulletin board, praying for invisibility, praying for a sudden power outage, praying for the ground to open up and swallow you into its merciful embrace. None of these things happen. Instead, you hear the department secretary respond with cheerful obliviousness.
"Y/N L/N? First year, STEM? I think I saw her in the hallway just a minute ago. Let me check, oh, there she is! Y/N! You have a visitor!"
The secretary is pointing directly at your bulletin board. Your bulletin board that is not hiding you at all. Your bulletin board that is, in fact, leaving approximately seventy percent of your body completely visible to anyone who happens to look in that direction.
Heeseung turns.
Your eyes meet.
Time stops.
There are moments in life that feel like they stretch into eternity, moments so profoundly awkward, so cosmically embarrassing, that the universe itself seems to pause and take notice. This is one of those moments. You are frozen in a half-crouch behind a bulletin board, your backpack dangling from one shoulder, your hair escaping from the ponytail you threw it into this morning, your expression one of pure, unfiltered terror. Heeseung is standing in the doorway of the department office, looking unfairly attractive in a simple black hoodie and jeans, his eyebrows rising slowly toward his hairline.
A small crowd of students has paused in the hallway to watch. You can feel their eyes on you like a physical weight. Someone whispers something to their friend. Someone else pulls out their phone.
You are going to die. You are going to perish right here in the science building hallway, and your ghost will be doomed to haunt this bulletin board for all eternity.
"Y/N?" Heeseung's voice is a mixture of confusion and amusement. He takes a step toward you, and you instinctively take a step back, which results in you bumping directly into the bulletin board and causing several flyers to flutter dramatically to the ground. "Were youโฆ hiding behind that?"
"No," you say, too quickly. "No, I wasโฆI dropped something. A contact lens. I was looking for my contact lens."
"You don't wear contacts."
"I might! You don't know my life!"
"Your glasses are literally on your face right now."
You reach up and touch your glasses, which are indeed sitting on your nose, clearly visible, doing their job of correcting your vision. You have no response to this. There is no response to this. You have been caught in a lie so transparent it's essentially a window.
Heeseung's lips twitch. "You know, most people who have a crush on me don't run away and hide behind furniture. This is very confusing for my ego."
The crowd is still watching. Why is the crowd still watching? Don't they have classes to go to? Midterms to study for? Lives to live that don't involve spectating your public humiliation?
"I wasn't hiding from you specifically," you say, because apparently your mouth has decided to operate independently from your brain. "I was hiding fromโฆ the sun. It's very bright in here. I'm photosensitive."
"You're a STEM student hiding from the sun in a basement hallway with no windows," Heeseung says slowly. "That'sโฆ a new one."
"It's a medical condition. It's very serious. My doctor says I need to avoid direct fluorescent lighting."
"The fluorescent lighting is what's getting you."
"Absolutely. It's my greatest enemy. Well, second greatest. After-" You stop yourself before you can say after incredibly hot informatics students who keep appearing in my life like a recurring nightmare.
Heeseung waits. When you don't finish the sentence, that smile, the one that's definitely a smirk's second cousin, maybe even its first cousin at this point, spreads across his face.
"Well," he says, "now that I've found you and dragged you out of the shadows, literally, I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee. With me. Right now."
Every single person in the hallway is looking at you. The secretary is looking at you from the office doorway, her expression one of grandmotherly delight at what she clearly perceives as a romantic overture. The students who stopped to watch are exchanging glances and whispers. One girl gives you an encouraging thumbs up.
You are trapped. You are cornered. You are a mouse being offered coffee by a very tall, very persistent cat.
And just like every other time Heeseung has put you on the spot, you open your mouth and the wrong words come out.
"I love coffee," you say. "Coffee is my favorite liquid. After water. And possibly juice. But it's definitely in the top three."
"Is that a yes?"
"โฆYes."
Heeseung's smile widens. "Great. Let's go."
eeeeeeee i need moreโบ๏ธ
Past Due.แ - L.Hหห๐ขึดเป๐ฆขห
โ when the deadline hit, your landlord gave you an option that made paying rent the least of your worries.
โน เฃช ห -> :Parings: (Landlord) Heeseung x reader.แ -
โน เฃช ห -> :Genres: ( MDNI ),paying rent with your body, , necktie pulling, smut, everything is consensual , Spit-Trail Kiss, grown Adult romance ,(m) receiving and (f) receiving; ,freaky heeseung mentioned ,switch heeseung included , big d heeseung included , protection used , Landlord heeseung included , small age-gap included (2-4 years apart ) , Deep and husky / raspy voice heeseung included , he talks you through it , older heeseung included , Hickie's included , Pet names included (examples like : Sir, and ect ) , heeseung likes being called DADA, heeseung has man Tataโs , Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Deep Voice/Whispering, Encouragement,ย Financial Power Play, Broad shoulders heeseung , Paid In Kind, Contractual Relationship, Moral Ambiguity (Light), Evolving Power Dynamic, Overstimulated Submissive (M/F), Nipple Play (Male), Rough Kissing, Heavy Breathing, Collar Play, After care included, Internal Ejaculation, Visible Bulge Post-Ejaculation, , learning how to do your first blow job , riding the dih for the first time , experienced heeseung included , not fully experienced reader included , reader is (24 ) , heeseung / Evan is (28), creampie!, fingering and squirting included , if you squint closely size kink , pussy deprived eater included ,Both of them are consenting adults .
โน เฃช ห -> : sypnosis: The rent is late. Critically, impossibly late.You live in an apartment complex owned by the notorious Mr. Leeโor, as everyone knows him, Heeseung or Evanโand heโs finally come to collect. You expected an eviction notice. Instead, the older man with the deep, authoritative voice offers a different kind of payment plan: a strictly consensual, transactional arrangement where your body becomes the collateral for your debt. The deadline is past, the desperation is real, and the cost of keeping your home is becoming Heeseungโs most treasured tenant.
Coming soon.
Taglist: @squoxle,@chlorinecake,@phattyboo90, @cylovesmg,@mrleewife, @iverrr , @dxllyhorror , @cruzmiel , @cherryw0n
(Reblogging is fully allowed on my page loves ๐ซถ๐ฅน)
holy moly pls tag me๐๐๐๐๐๐
i went to the bts concert for two days and lemme tell you if theres gonna be a show near you FUCKING GO IT WAS SO FUN
iโm bored so here are my top five heeseung hair colors + best looks
โ .หณหณ.โ เฅฑห หเฅฑโ .หณหณ.โ เฅฑห หเฅฑแง โ .หณหณ.โ เฅฑห หเฅฑโ .หณหณ.โ เฅฑห หเฅฑแง โ .หณหณ.โ เฅฑห หเฅฑโ .หณหณ.โ เฅฑห หเฅฑแง
i might do all the other members cause i like talking lol
ps: i am a newer fan so these are more recent looks sorrryyy
5 -> silver / platinum blonde 2026
going out with a bang heeseung
โ ik that blonde hair is not special for hee but genuinely he had sm appeal with this hair
โ big girl donโt cry is definitely a better look for hs compared to knife (i still like his knife looks tho)
โ flannel hs was so boyfriend material
โ THIS SPECIFIC CLIP OF HIM DOING A DANCE CHALLENGE WITH i think alpha drive one OMG HE WAS SO LIKE MATURE IDK IT MADE ME SCREAM NO S
โ vogue bgdc video was so cunt from everyone but genuinely heeseung ate this shit tf up
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4 -> pink / orange 2024
peak idol heeseung
โ the kcon look with the jersey and the glasses was fucking everything, especially when they were performing sweet venom omfg
โ DONT GET ME STARTED JAPAN FEST PARANORMAL LOVE HEESEUNG I WILL LOOSE IT they all looked so good in that concert
โ bthb mv where they all had some variant of this button up with jeans god it was fabulous
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3 -> dirty blonde 2025
iconic touring heeseung
โ ALL the wtl concerts with this hair were pure art but i especially like this sunglasses look it was very fuck boy in la vibes (pls f me)
โ again these sexy black button up outfits, he was definitely feeling himself, he was so cheeky
โ THIS LIVE HOLY FUCK ahemโฆ
โ the tank top, the chain, the angle, the collar bones. heeseung baby wdf???
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2 -> burgundy 2024
prince charming heeseung
โ this come 2 me cover version is so cute, the length the face holy shit
โ seattle baseball bf hs, omg pls i need it i need it i need it
โ r:u emo look was so beyond cunt. the makeup was cunt. the outfit was cunt. the hair. c u n t.
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1 -> black mullet 2024
hybe 23 curse in full action
โ clap if youโre surprised
โ i would give 5 years off my life for this hs to come back (or js for him to comeback tbh๐)
โ i think the first photo was a prada event. so unbelievably sexy. so good. his side profile, mm more pls.
โ no doubt wavy hair. perfect. i could watch the fan cam everyday istg. like my body has a reaction.
โ and last but not least this selfie was the sluttest thing heโs EVER done. not the thrusting in the air. not the biting his lips. THIS
โ god i want mullet heeseung to beat me up till i canโt move
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thatโs all for now! lmk your guys opinions abt his best looks, i love talking abt him so much hehe

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
I wish I woke up tomorrow in a world where I don't have to see a single AI generated image ever again
whats grapevine
a grapevine means like you heard from multiple people. and multiple people in my case was js twitter
not to be the freak police but not ever enhypen edit on tiktok needs someone ejaculating in the background iโm so sorry
people are dying and we are getting worked up over enha and heeseung boycotts?? oh my days. . . anyway, free palestine ๐ค
also i heard through the grapevine that heeseung might have a buzz cutโฆnot on my watch.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
i have nothing civil to say abt these photosโฆ. producer heeseung makes me light headed ๐ตโ๐ซ
h_evva_n = heaven เป๊ฑ โงโห evan lee = heavenly โ๏ธ
i want to write but writing doesnโt want me
pause cuz that clip of niki telling a fan โi love you moreโ TWICE?? LIKE I WOULDVE DIED RIGHT THERE
im sorry to all the nct fans who might be upset abt mark leaving. i really dont wanna make everything abt heeseung, but seeing the nct members comment the sweetest things on marks departure post made me want to rip my hair out and eat it

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
anyone who makes heeseung edits with a mitski song will be getting followed home unfortunatelyโฆ
very much ready to write heeseung smut again lmk when you guys are ready

