She/Her

Her tutoring sessions with Sieun continued as usual. No, she hadn't stopped trying to decipher his gaze, even though it was rarely directed at her unless she'd made a mistake in a math problem. The awkwardness existed entirely on her side. For some reason, she found it surprisingly difficult to move past something so trivial when she'd survived far more embarrassing moments before. Like the time a girl had quietly pulled her aside to let her know one of her bra straps had slipped off her shoulder. Compared to that, this was nothing.

After rethinking a dozen times whether she should continue sitting behind Sieun, she concluded that he had no idea about her embarrassment, so nobody really cares. 

"We have a new student." The teacher's voice drew everyone's attention to the front of the classroom, where a frail-looking boy with glasses stood beside her. "Please introduce yourself."

"Hello. I'm Oh Beomseok."

He looks like the perfect candidate for Youngbin's next target.

And just as expected, the boys gathered around him the moment the teacher stepped out of the classroom. "Where are you from?" Youngbin asked.

"Mungang High School," Beomseok answered.

Youngbin let out a chuckle. "Born with a silver spoon, huh? You know Jiwon from Mungang? We're best buds."

It was no surprise that the kind of friends who flocked around Yeongbin would be exactly like him. Beomseok just confirmed the fact with his stutter and body language.  With a quiet sigh, she looked away and found Suho asleep at his desk, his head resting on his folded arms. She poked him relentlessly until he clicked his tongue in annoyance. Amusing.

For someone so terrible at framing sentences, Suho was surprisingly good at reading her mood. She remembered him waiting outside after her shift the previous evening.

"Come on," he'd said. "Do you really think Sieun actually overthinks things the way you do?"

She'd genuinely tried to stay annoyed with him. It hadn't worked. He just had some misconceptions about how she had a crush on Sieun, but that's understandable when she barely talked about anyone else. Or to anyone else.

"You stare at him a lot," Suho muttered without lifting his head.

Y/N leaned over slightly. "Do you think he knows?" she whispered.

One eye slowly opened, followed by a grin. "Wow." He looked almost impressed. "So we're finally past the denial phase?"

Before she could defend herself, she saw Sieun enter the classroom which shut her up pretty quickly. Not just because he was the topic of discussion, but because Youngbin was currently sitting on his desk.

"Move," Sieun said evenly. "That's my seat."

Youngbin turned around with a glare and said, "I don't want to."

Oh, fuck.

Y/N noticed Sieun lower his gaze for a brief moment before picking up a pen. When he looked back at Youngbin, his expression hadn't changed. "I said move."

Youngbin clicked his tongue and got to his feet. "I'm getting real sick of your attitude." The others stood up beside him. Y/N instinctively started to rise from her seat, already thinking of how she could stop this before it escalated. But Suho beat her to it.

"Why are you guys so chatty these days?" he mumbled. "I'm trying to sleep." He lazily lifted his head from the desk. "So... can I go back to sleep?"

Youngbin scoffed, but he and his friends backed off almost immediately. For all the trouble they caused everyone else, they seemed to know exactly where to draw the line when it came to Suho. Y/N didn't know whether Suho always interfered because he didn't like bullies, or if he sensed the anger Sieun carried with him. 

She was about to send the most risque text she had ever sent to anyone.

"Oh my God, are you shitting me?" Before she could react, Suho snatched the phone from her hand and quickly typed something.

"Hey!" She grabbed it back just as fast and stared at the screen.

"You do realize you're technically making me text myself?" Suho groaned, glaring at her.

The mock test is the day after tomorrow. She needed tomorrow to revise everything on her own, without Sieun's help. Which meant today was her last tutoring session with Sieun. Assuming she passed, there wouldn't really be a reason for them to keep meeting after this. The thought left an odd feeling in her chest. She wanted to spend a little more time with him...just today. Which meant she actually had to ask, and it wouldn't be possible if she didn't make any plans.

"So?" Suho asked, "Did I fuck it up?"

Y/N looked down at the message and frowned, "I... don't know. Is it weird to ask for more tutoring when he's already covered everything?"

When she looked up, Suho was smiling. A little too knowingly. "So?" he asked. "Why are you so nervous?"

"Well... after the stunt you pulled yesterday—"

"No." He cut her off. "Why does it feel like you're about to lose him?"

Y/N froze. She lowered her eyes to her phone again, avoiding his gaze. She didn't want to answer that. But it's no use hiding anymore.

"Okay, fine," she sighed, dropping her forehead onto the desk. "I just think he's cute. That's all. He has pretty eyes, okay?"

"You can see those pretty eyes every day in class."

"...Not up close." A small smile escaped before she could stop it. When she looked back at Suho, he was already wearing that irritatingly smug I-knew-it grin.

"But something feels... off about him," Suho said after a moment, the teasing fading from his voice. "Just be careful."

Y/N nodded and raised her eyebrows, "I know what you mean. He's kind of scary."

Suho looked offended. "Am I not scary?"

"No." She rested her chin in her hands. "You're more like a dog. And before you yell, that's a compliment."

Ting. 

Both of them looked at her phone. Suho immediately dragged his chair closer. "It's happening." Y/N opened the message. 

Sure. 

One word. That was all. Yet somehow, it was enough to make her smile. Suho burst into laughter and raised a hand for a high-five. "Am I not the greatest wingman ever?"

"Anything else?" Sieun's voice pulled her back to reality. His eyes bored straight into her soul.

Good Lord. Two hours had gone by, and she'd run out of excuses to keep the tutoring session going.

"Are you stalling on purpose?"

Y/N flinched. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Instead, her eyes drifted to the fading marks around his neck. "Did you... not apply the medicine?"

"I did."

That was it. She couldn't take the awkwardness anymore. Suho was right. She could always see him in the classroom. Slowly, she packed her books into her bag.

"Um..." She hesitated. "Do you want to grab dinner together?"

Sieun stood up, packed his things, and slung his bag over his shoulder. He didn't answer and simply started walking toward the exit. Y/N smiled to herself as she hurried after him. Close enough.

The evening air was cool as they walked in silence. After a while, she glanced sideways at him. "I feel like you're entering dangerous territory," she said. "Youngbin is one step away from becoming a criminal."

"So am I."

Y/N stopped in her tracks. Was...Was that a joke?

A laugh escaped her. "You know," she said as she caught up to him, "I think I'm starting to understand you better."

Sieun, who had been walking a step ahead, slowed down and looked back at her. There was something about his eyes, or maybe the way he said it. Whatever it was, she could feel warmth creeping into her cheeks. Either in embarrassment or in fear. Maybe both.

"Same goes for me."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat.

Surely he didn't mean that the way she thought he did...right?

next: chapter five >

invisible

─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── The apartment was quiet that night, too quiet, in the way that made the absence of sound feel like something pressing against your ears instead of something peaceful. You had been sitting on the couch, one hand absentmindedly resting over your stomach, thumb tracing the same small, unconscious pattern over fabric, over skin, over something that still didn’t feel entirely real even a month later.

Pregnant.

Even now, the word didn’t land cleanly. It didn’t settle the way it should have, didn’t root itself into certainty. It hovered instead, fragile and suspended between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

Across the room, Kim Gun-woo was watching you.

He had gotten quieter since you found out, more deliberate in everything he did, from the way he moved through the apartment to the way he looked at you. He was constantly recalibrating his understanding of the world to account for something new and impossibly important.

“You’re doing it again,” he said after a moment, his voice low but steady, pulling you gently out of your thoughts.

You blinked, looking up at him. “Doing what?”

He nodded toward your hand.

Only then did you realize you were still tracing that same pattern over your stomach, your touch absent but protective in a way that had become instinctive without you noticing.

You pulled your hand back slightly, almost embarrassed. “I didn’t even notice.”

Gun-woo didn’t smile. He rarely did lately, not fully.

Instead, he stood and crossed the room in a few quiet steps, sitting beside you. For a moment, he didn’t move, like he was waiting, for permission, maybe, or for the right way to exist in this new space between you.

Then, slowly, he reached out towards your belly.

His hand hovered first, the same way it had that first day, like he was still learning where it was safe to touch. You took his wrist and guided him down again.

He exhaled softly when his palm rested against you, his fingers spreading just slightly, careful, grounding. There was still nothing to feel. No movement. No sign that anything had changed beyond the knowledge itself.

And yet, everything had.

“We should leave,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter now, more controlled.

You frowned, looking up at him. “Leave?”

“For a while.” His gaze didn’t leave your face. “Until this is over.”

You already knew what he meant.

Im Baek Jeon.

The name didn’t need to be spoken anymore. It existed between all of you, heavy and unavoidable, shaping decisions before they were even fully formed.

“You don’t think he’ll find us anyway?” you asked.

Gun-woo’s jaw tightened slightly. “Not if we move first.”

From the kitchen, Woo-jin let out a quiet scoff, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. “You say that like we haven’t been trying to stay off his radar this whole time.”

Gun-woo didn’t look at him. “This is different.”

“Yeah,” Woo-jin said, his tone losing its edge as quickly as it had come. “I know.”

Silence settled over the three of you again, heavier than before. Because it was different.

A month ago, the threat had been personal, dangerous, yes, but contained within the boundaries of choices Gun-woo could make, risks he could take, consequences he could accept for himself.

Now, it wasn’t just him. And that changed everything.

“We can’t run forever,” you said quietly.

Gun-woo’s hand tightened just slightly where it rested over yours, his thumb brushing your skin lightly. “We don’t have to. Just long enough.” You could see in his pleading eyes that he was desperately just trying to keep all of you safe, in any way he could. “Can we talk about this in the morning?” you questioned, not having the mental energy to think about it right now. You just wanted to enjoy the feeling of Gun-woo’s hand against your belly and pretend you were just a normal, young and anxious couple like any other. “Sure”, he agreed, sensing the tiredness in your voice. You kissed him softly on the cheek as a silent thank you. ____

By the time night settled in, the tension hadn’t eased. It rarely did anymore.

You had gotten used to it in small ways. The way doors were always double-checked before bed, the way Woo-jin insisted on keeping his phone within arm’s reach at all times, the way Gun-woo would pause sometimes in the middle of a conversation, his head tilting ever so slightly as if he were listening to something no one else could hear. It had become routine.

You lay in bed beside him, the room dim, the soft hum of the city outside filtering faintly through the windows. His presence next to you was steady, solid, a constant in a world that felt like it was shifting too quickly beneath your feet.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Your hand rested between you, your fingers loosely intertwined with his, your thumb brushing lightly against his knuckles in a rhythm that was more for you than for him.

“Are you awake?” you murmured after a while.

There was a slight shift beside you.

“Yeah.”

You turned your head slightly, looking at him even though you knew he didn’t need the light to see you.

“…Do you think they’ll try something soon?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than you intended.

Gun-woo didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was calm.

“Yes.”

Your chest tightened, but you nodded anyway, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Okay.”

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, just enough for you to feel it.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said quietly.

You shifted closer, resting your forehead lightly against his shoulder. “I know.”

“Try to sleep”, he whispered, while softly kissing your hair. “Baby needs you to rest”. With his warm hands holding yours, you closed your eyes and tried to relax despite the anxiety that insisted to grow in your heart. ----

It happened at 2:17 a.m.

You didn’t know the exact time until later, when everything was already over and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking long enough for you to look away from the clock on the wall.

At the time, all you knew was that something felt wrong.

It wasn’t a sound, not at first. It was the absence of one, the subtle disruption of something that should have been there and wasn’t anymore. The faint hum of the security system, the almost imperceptible white noise you had gotten used to without realizing it.

Your eyes opened slowly, your body still heavy with sleep but your mind already sharpening, pulling you toward awareness before you could fully understand why.

Beside you, Gun-woo stilled.

You felt it immediately, the shift in his breathing, the way his body went from relaxed to coiled in an instant, every muscle tightening with sudden, controlled alertness.

“…Did you hear that?” you whispered.

“Yes.”

He was already moving before you could say anything else, carefully disentangling his hand from yours as he sat up, his movements silent, precise. The room felt colder without him next to you, the space he left behind too noticeable.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice barely above a breath.

He didn’t answer right away because he was listening.

You could see it in the way his head tilted slightly, his focus narrowing on something beyond the walls of the room, beyond what you could perceive. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until-

You heard a faint sound. A floorboard. Not in your room, but outside.

Gun-woo stood.

“Stay here”, he said quietly.

Your chest tightened immediately. “Gun-woo—”

“Stay here”, he repeated, this time giving you a clear order. “I’m going to wake Woo-jin up.”

You swallowed, nodding even though he wasn’t looking at you anymore, already moving toward the door.

Seconds after, a crash echoed through the house. Something was knocked over, a chair, or maybe a table, followed by multiple footsteps.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up, your feet hitting the floor as you stood, your heart slamming against your ribs hard enough to make it difficult to breathe.

You shouldn’t leave the room, you knew that, but every instinct in your body screamed at you not to be alone. You stepped toward the door just as it burst open.

You didn’t have time to process anything beyond that, just the shape of him, the movement, the hand reaching for you.

Your body twisted sharply as he lunged forward, your hand coming up to shove against his chest with more force than you thought you had. He stumbled back half a step, surprised, but it wasn’t enough.

A hand tangles in your hair, so tight it yanks your head back with a force that tears a scream straight from your throat before you can stop it.

Pain blooms sharp and immediate, blinding in its intensity, your hands flying up instinctively to grab at the wrist holding you, trying to pry it loose.

“Let go—! Let go of me!”

Your voice cracks, panic rising fast and uncontrollable as you’re dragged forward, your balance completely thrown off. Your feet scramble against the floor, slipping, catching, failing to ground you as he pulls harder, forcing you toward the door.

“Move,” he snaps, jerking your head back again.

Another scream rips out of you, raw and uncontrolled this time, your fingers clawing at his hand, your body twisting in desperate resistance.

“Please—!” The word breaks out of you before you can stop it, survival instinct overriding everything else. “Please don’t—don’t hurt me—!”

Your hands drop from his wrist, instinctively, curling inward over your stomach as your body folds slightly around it, your movements shifting without thought, driven by something deeper than panic.

“Please—” your voice cracks again, softer now, desperate in a different way. “Please, I—”

The man holding you pauses.

His grip doesn’t loosen, but his attention shifts, his gaze dropping, following the movement of your hands.

“…Wait.”

The word cuts through everything and the others hesitate.

“What?” one of them snaps.

“Look at her.”

Your breath stutters.

No. No, no, no—

“She’s protecting her stomach.”

Your fingers tighten instinctively where they rest, your entire body going still as the realization settles in the air between all of you.

“…You’re pregnant,” he says slowly.

It isn’t a question.

Your chest tightens so sharply it almost hurts, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts as you shake your head instinctively, denial rising even though you know it’s useless.

“No—no, I—”

The lie dies before it can fully form.

A low laugh escapes him, quiet and almost disbelieving. “Well, Baek-jeon will love the news”.

Your heart drops.

“Please,” you try again, your voice trembling, desperation clawing its way through every word. “Please, don’t—”

“Shut up.”

His grip tightens in your hair, forcing your head back again, and pain explodes across your scalp, your vision blurring as another cry tears out of you.

“Gun-woo!” you scream, the name ripping from your chest before you can stop it, raw and desperate while the man in black tries to drag you down the stairs.

Suddenly, the man holding you is gone in an instant, his grip ripped away so violently it sends you stumbling forward, your knees nearly buckling as you catch yourself against the edge of the first step.

A sickening crack echoes through the room as Gun-woo’s fist connects with the man’s face, the force of it sending him crashing to the ground hard enough that the entire floor seems to shake with it.

“Get away from her,” Gun-woo says, his voice low and unrecognizable, each word punctuated by another hit.

Across the room, Woo-jin is already engaged with the others, his movements fast and aggressive, a curse spilling from his mouth as he blocks a strike and retaliates immediately.

“Bad move,” he snaps, slamming one of them back against the wall.

The room is chaos. But Gun-woo… Gun-woo is something else entirely.

The second man tries to move toward you again, maybe thinking Gun-woo is too focused on the one beneath him to react.

He’s wrong.

Gun-woo shifts instantly, abandoning the first without a second thought, intercepting the movement mid-step. His fist connects with the man’s jaw with brutal precision, snapping his head back before he even has time to react.

He follows through without pause, grabbing him by the collar and driving him into the wall hard enough to rattle everything hanging on it.

“She’s pregnant”, the man says quietly, flashing a sick bloody smile.

“Say it again,” Gun-woo demands, his voice deadly quiet now, his grip tightening.

“She’s pregnant, right?”

There’s no hesitation this time. No restraint. He slams him back again, harder, his fist connecting with a force that leaves no room for recovery, no chance to fight back.

The third man—still struggling against Woo-jin—lets out a breathless laugh despite the situation. “You think this helps?” he spits. “You think beating us changes anything?”

Woo-jin shoves him back hard, knocking the wind out of him. “Shut up.”

But the damage is already done, because the man keeps talking.

“You couldn’t even keep us out,” he continues, his voice strained but mocking. “What happens next time, huh? You gonna watch when we take her for real?”

“To keep her safe,” the man adds, pushing through the pain, “you know what you have to do.”

Gun-woo stills. But that’s all it takes for the words to sink in.

Without hesitation, Woo-jin strikes the man’s face with a punch so strong he passes out instantly.

“Shut up, asshole”.

But it’s too late. Because now, they know.

And worse—

They’ve given Gun-woo a choice. ----

For a moment after the last blow lands, there is no sound.

The kind of silence that follows violence isn’t empty. It’s thick, ringing, filled with the echo of what just happened. Your ears buzz, your breath comes too fast, too uneven, and the room feels like it’s tilting slightly under your feet.

One of the men groans.

Another coughs, dragging in a broken breath as he tries to push himself up from the floor. They don’t fight anymore. They can’t. Whatever confidence they had when they broke in is gone now.

“Get out,” Woo-jin snaps, his voice sharp, still edged with adrenaline. He doesn’t even wait for them to respond before stepping forward, grabbing one of them by the collar and hauling him roughly toward the door.

Gun-woo doesn’t help. He doesn’t need to. The look in his eyes is enough.

The men see it too. You can tell by the way they don’t argue, don’t try to say anything else clever or threatening as they drag themselves toward the exit. One of them glances back once and whatever he sees in Gun-woo’s expression makes him look away immediately.

They retreat the way wounded animals do, slow, uneven, desperate to put distance between themselves and the threat that nearly tore them apart.

The front door hangs open, broken at the frame, creaking faintly as it shifts on its hinges. Cold air spills into the apartment, brushing against your skin in a way that makes you shiver, though you don’t feel cold.

You don’t feel much of anything and your knees give out before you realize they’re going to. You don’t even remember moving from where you were standing, just the sudden absence of strength in your legs as you sink down, your hands catching you clumsily against the floor.

The world feels far away, muted and your hands are shaking. You notice that first. The tremor is small at the beginning, barely noticeable, but it grows quickly, spreading through your arms, into your chest, until your entire body feels like it’s vibrating under your skin.

A sob escapes you before you can stop it.

“Hey—hey—”

Woo-jin’s voice cuts through the haze first, closer than you expect. He crouches in front of you quickly, his movements urgent but careful, like he’s afraid of startling you further.

“You’re okay,” he says, though his own breathing is still uneven. “You’re okay, it’s over.”

Behind him, Gun-woo hasn’t moved.

His chest rising and falling too fast, his hands still clenched at his sides like he hasn’t fully come back yet. There’s blood on his knuckles, some of it his, most of it not, and his entire body is rigid, like the fight hasn’t actually ended for him.

Woo-jin glances back at him, just for a second.

“…Gun-woo.”

No response.

He tries again, sharper this time. “Hey.”

Gun-woo’s gaze shifts, slow and heavy, landing on you where you’re sitting on the floor, shaking, your hands still hovering uncertainly near your stomach like you don’t know where else to put them.

He moves slowly at first, like his body is resisting the transition from one state to another, from violence to something softer, something human again. Each step is deliberate, measured, like he’s forcing himself to calm down with every inch he closes between you.

He lowers himself in front of you, mirroring Woo-jin’s earlier position, but closer, closer than anyone else is allowed to be. His hands lift slowly, hesitating for only a second before settling carefully on both sides of your face.

“…Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

You shake your head, though the movement is small, unsteady. “N-no…”

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words coming out before he can stop them.

Your head snaps up slightly, your eyes finally focusing on him. “What?”

“I should’ve-” His jaw tightens, the rest of the sentence catching somewhere in his throat. “I should’ve stopped them before they got to you.”

You shake your head quickly, the movement more desperate this time. “You did, Gun-woo, you did-”

“They were inside,” he cuts in, his voice sharper now, edged with something that hasn’t fully settled. “They had you-” Woo-jin exhales heavily from beside you, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, we’re not doing this right now.”

He shifts closer, one hand coming down gently on your shoulder, grounding, steady, while his other reaches out to shove lightly at Gun-woo’s arm, just enough to get his attention.

“Hey,” he says, more firmly now. “Look at me.”

Gun-woo doesn’t want to, but after a second, he does.

“This isn’t on you,” Woo-jin continues, his tone steady despite the adrenaline still lingering beneath it. “They broke in. That’s on them.”

“They came because of me.”

“Yeah,” Woo-jin says bluntly. “And they left because of you too.”

That lands. Not fully, but enough to make Gun-woo exhale and drop some of the guilt he has holding all on his own.

Woo-jin squeezes your shoulder lightly, his voice softening as he looks back at you. “And you—breathe, okay? You’re safe. We’re here.”

You nod weakly, and squeeze his hand, your way of saying a silent thank you for saying the words you and Gun-woo needed so bad to hear right now.

Gun-woo’s hand shifts slightly where it rests on your arm, his thumb brushing once, grounding both of you.

“…They know,” he says quietly.

The words settle heavily in the room. Woo-jin exhales again, slower this time. “Yeah.”

You swallow, your throat still tight, your voice small when you finally speak. “…What does that mean?”

Gun-woo doesn’t answer right away and that’s worse than anything he could say. The silence is filled with everything he’s thinking, considering and Woo-jin notices it too.

“Hey,” he says quickly, sharper now, his tone shifting in warning. “Don’t go there.”

Gun-woo’s gaze flicks to him.

“I’m serious,” Woo-jin adds, holding it. “We figure this out. Together.”

For a while, no one moves.

The apartment feels wrong now, too open, too exposed, like the walls themselves can’t protect you anymore. The broken door lets in a slow draft of cold air that brushes against your skin, but you still barely register it. Everything still feels distant, like your body hasn’t fully caught up to what just happened.

Gun-woo is the first to pull away.

The movement is abrupt compared to how careful he had been with you moments ago, like something inside him has shifted again—snapped back into urgency, into action.

“We can’t stay here.”

Woo-jin exhales sharply through his nose, nodding immediately. “Yeah, we need to go.” ---- The place Woo-jin finds isn’t home.

You can tell the second you step inside. It’s clean, functional, temporary in a way that makes everything echo just a little too much. The furniture is sparse, the walls bare, the air carrying that faint, unfamiliar stillness of somewhere that hasn’t been lived in long enough to feel safe.

But the door locks. Twice. And the windows are intact so for now, that was enough.

Woo-jin checks everything first. Every room, every window latch, every blind, every possible entry point. He moves with purpose, still riding the edge of adrenaline, but more controlled now, more focused.

“Clear,” he finally says, exhaling as he steps back into the main room.

Gun-woo doesn’t respond right away. He hasn’t let go of you since you arrived.

His hand is still wrapped around yours, firm and grounding, like if he loosens his grip even slightly, something might take you again. His other hand rests at your back, guiding you gently further inside, his body positioning itself instinctively between you and the door even after it’s locked.

“Sit,” he murmurs.

Your body still feels like it’s catching up to everything that happened, your limbs heavy, your thoughts slower than they should be.

The couch is firmer than the one back home. You notice that.

Gun-woo kneels in front of you almost immediately, his gaze moving over you again, searching in that same careful, quiet way. It’s less frantic now, but no less intense, like he still expects to find something wrong if he looks hard enough.

“I’m okay,” you say softly, before he can ask.

He nods, but he doesn’t stop looking.

Woo-jin disappears into another room for a moment, the sound of drawers opening and closing faint in the background, giving you space without saying it out loud.

Silence settles between you and Gun-woo.

Your hand shifts in his, your fingers tightening slightly as you watch him, taking in the tension that hasn’t left his shoulders, the way his jaw is still set like he hasn’t fully come down from the edge yet and the fact that his knuckles still have dried blood on them.

“You need to rest,” you murmur.

His eyes flick up to yours. “I’m fine. I’ll rest later,” he says.

You know better than to argue right now.

Woo-jin comes back eventually, setting a glass of water on the table in front of you, his movements calmer now, more grounded.

“Drink,” he says gently.

You nod, taking it, your hands steadier now than they were before.

He lingers for a second, watching both of you, then exhales and drops into the chair across from you.

“We’ll stay here a couple days,” he says, more to Gun-woo than to you. “Figure out next steps after.”

Gun-woo nods once.

It’s enough. For now, that’s all any of you can manage.

---- After forcing the boys to take a shower, you and Gun-woo climb into bed. The sun will rise in a couple hours.

You lie in a bed that isn’t yours, staring up at a ceiling you don’t recognize, the faint hum of the building replacing the familiar sounds you used to rely on. Your body is exhausted, your mind heavier than it should be, but sleep doesn’t come right away.

Beside you, Gun-woo hasn’t moved.

He’s been like this for a while now, awake, even in the dark, even when he pretends otherwise.

“Are you going to sleep?” you whisper.

“In a bit.”

You turn slightly toward him, studying the outline of his face in the dim light, the tension still there, quieter now but not gone.

“You said that an hour ago.”

You shift closer instead, closing the space between you, your hand finding his under the blanket. His fingers curl around yours immediately, like he’s been waiting for it without realizing.

You guide his hand again slowly down to rest it over your stomach.

You feel him shift closer, his shoulder pressing more firmly against yours as his head dips forward, resting lightly against you. His hand stays where it is, warm, steady, careful.

“…I’m going to fix this,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that it barely disturbs the silence, but close enough that you feel it more than hear it, the vibration of it settling somewhere deep in your chest.

“I will,” he continues, softer now, but steadier in a way that feels less like certainty and more like something he’s forcing himself to believe, something he needs to hold onto so he doesn’t break under the weight of everything else. “Before–”

Then his fingers spread just a little, his palm settling more intentionally against you, and when he speaks again, his voice shifts closer, like it isn’t meant for you anymore.

“…before you’re here.”

“I know you can’t hear me yet,” he continues, his voice dropping even further, softer than you’ve ever heard it, stripped of everything sharp or guarded, “but I’m your dad.”

Your eyes sting suddenly, the feeling creeping in without warning as you listen.

“And I’m sorry,” he adds, his voice rougher now. “For tonight. For everything you don’t understand yet.”

Your chest tightens, your hand instinctively covering his where it rests, grounding him without interrupting.

“I’m supposed to make sure nothing touches you,” he continues, quieter still, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile. “That nothing gets close enough to hurt you. Or your mom.”

Your vision blurs further, your eyes fully glassy now, tears gathering without falling, held back only by the fragile stillness of the moment. You bite down softly on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your breathing even, trying not to let it break.

“I’m still figuring out how to do that.”

“But I will,” he murmurs, more firmly now, even if his voice stays soft, the resolve settling into something quieter but stronger. “I’ll figure it out.”

And in the quiet that follows, with your eyes still damp and your chest still tight, something shifts again into something softer, something that feels like the beginning of hope.

And when sleep finally comes, slow and gentle and long overdue–it finds you like that.

Together.

─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────

The shift was supposed to be quiet. Since the Monday evenings on campus cafe is usually very quiet and empty, you often find yourself doing your assignments on the shift. No one came in the last one hour, so you were sitting deeply invested in your statistics homework. That was your first mistake.

The door swung open, bell ringing violently as a group of tall, loud guys poured into the cafe like they owned it. Sweat, laughter, the squeak of sneakers against tile.

Basketball team. Obviously.

You didn’t even look up as you called out, “Hello, please order at the self checkout kiosk.”

None of them acknowledged your presence or greeted you back. You rolled your eyes as they were talking loudly, laughing and hitting each other like elementary school students.

One of them leaned over the counter anyway.

“Hey, can we get...”

“No,” you said flatly. “we only take orders through the machine over here”

A pause. Then a laugh deep, rough, unmistakably amused.

You looked up.

He was big. Broad shoulders, messy hair still damp, deep blue hoodie half zipped, eyes sharp and a little too confident. He stared at you like you were interesting instead of irritating.

“Wow,” he said. “Didn’t know customer service came with attitude.”

You smiled sweetly. “Didn’t know basketball players came with short temper.”

His teammates lost it.

“Gotak she got you.”

“Bro, that was clean.”

His jaw tightened.

“What’s your problem?” he asked.

“My problem,” you replied calmly, “is six grown men yelling in my cafe.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Then quit.”

You met his gaze, unflinching.

“Or you could behave like adults.”

Something sparked in his eyes, annoyance mixed with something else.

He straightened slowly, like he’d decided not to bite back yet.

“Adults, huh,” he said, clicking his tongue. “You talk a lot for someone working alone. The customers are waiting.”

You shut your notebook with a soft thud and turned, meeting him eye to eye across the counter. Up close, he was even more irritating, too tall, too broad, too aware of it.

“And you’re loud for someone who can’t read a sign,” you replied, pointing behind him. SELF CHECKOUT ONLY was printed in bold letters.

One of his teammates snorted.

“Hyung, she’s right.”

Another added, “Just use the machine, man.”

He didn’t look away from you.

“Now please go stand in line like the rest of your friends.”

A beat. Then laughter exploded behind him.

“Damn, Gotak, she’s scary.”

“Is she your girlfriend already?”

He shot them a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Silence followed instantly.

Gotak exhaled through his nose and stepped back, muttering, “Unbelievable,” as he turned toward the kiosk.

You sat back down, heart thudding harder than you wanted to admit.

Ten minutes later, the printer beeped.

You stood, grabbed the tray, and called out, “Americano. One protein bar.”

Gotak walked over, took the cup and frowned.

“…This is iced.”

You blinked. “You ordered iced.”

“I said hot.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

You stared at him. He stared back. The air tightened.

From behind him, one of his friends whispered, far too loudly,

“Hyung, you definitely clicked iced.”

Gotak’s ears went red.

You tilted your head, lips curving. “Want to apologize to the machine too?”

For a second, you thought he might actually snap. Instead, he grabbed the cup, took a long sip, then grimaced. “Whatever.”

He paused, then added, quieter, “It’s fine.”

You didn’t know why that surprised you.

As he turned to leave, one teammate lingered behind, a taller guy with a friendly grin and zero shame.

“Hey,” he said, nodding toward you. “I’m Baku. Sorry about him. He’s a bit grumpy today.”

You glanced at Gotak’s back, then back at Baku. “I noticed.”

Baku laughed. “See you around?”

“Probably,” you said.

Gotak shot Baku a look. “Move.”

They left in a rush of noise and sneakers, the bell ringing violently again.

The cafe fell quiet.

You stared at the door for a second longer than necessary, then shook your head and reopened your statistics notes.

Great, you thought.

Another campus menace.

You didn’t know yet that this wouldn’t be the last time you saw him. Not even close.

Few days passed since that evening. Your life was going normally as usual. School, part time job, home and repeat again and again. 

But for last few days you barely slept.

Between rehearsing your slides in your head and triple checking your notes, your alarm felt like it went off the moment you closed your eyes. Still, you got up, showered, and dressed with the kind of care that made your stomach twist.

Black blazer. White blouse. Pressed slacks. Hair neat. Minimal makeup.

You looked… professional. Exactly the way your professor demanded.

Forty percent of your grade, you reminded yourself as you stepped out onto campus. Just get through today.

The hallway outside the lecture building was busy. People were rushing, laughing, cutting through crowds without looking.

You hugged your laptop to your chest and kept walking while repeating your speech in your head. That was your second mistake.

“Yo, pass it!”

Something collided with you hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs.

You stumbled back a step as a splash of cold liquid spread across your chest.

You froze. Slowly, horrifically, you looked down.

Iced coffee. Brown. Soaking into your white blouse.

“No,” you whispered.

“No, no, no”

“Oh... shit.”

That voice.

You looked up.

The rude basketball player from that night stood in front of you, eyes wide, cup still tilted in his hand like he couldn’t believe what just happened. He was laughing with his friends a second ago. Now he looked… genuinely stunned.

“Watch where you’re going!” you snapped, panic and fury crashing together.

“I was...” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “You walked right into me.”

“I was walking,” you shot back. “You were running like a child!”

One of his friends burst out laughing behind him.

“Hyung, you killed her outfit.”

Gotak shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

You pressed your laptop tighter to your chest, heat burning behind your eyes.

“This is a presentation,” you said, voice shaking despite yourself. “A formal one.”

He looked down again, really looked this time. The blazer. The blouse. The spreading stain.

His brows knit together.

“…You serious?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m serious!” you hissed. “Do you think I dress like this for fun?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His friends shifted awkwardly, the humor draining from the situation.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said finally, lower now. “I’ll...”

“You’ll what?” you cut in. “Unspill it?”

He opened his mouth, closed it again. Ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“I’m late,” you said, stepping past him. “Thanks. Really.”

You walked away before he could say anything else.

You locked yourself in the nearest bathroom stall and stared at the stain like it might disappear if you glared hard enough.

It didn’t. You dabbed at it with wet paper towels. It only spread.

Your phone buzzed. A text from your teammate.

"You coming? You know you have to be here 10 minutes before the presentation starts, right?"

Your throat tightened. Get it together, you told yourself.

You straightened your blazer, took a deep breath, and went to class anyway.

You were already standing at the front of the room when the door opened.

Your professor glanced up sharply. “No one should step into this classroom after me.”

“Sorry,” a familiar voice muttered. Your heart sank.

Gotak slipped into the back row, basketball jacket thrown over one shoulder. His eyes flicked up and landed on you.

Recognition hit. Then his gaze dropped to the stain. His expression changed instantly.

You didn't know at the time that Gotak followed after you to your class (while skipping his own one) to explain the incident from earlier if your professor points out your coffee stained outfit.

You turned away, face burning, and began your presentation.

Your voice was steady. Your slides were clean. You answered questions clearly.

Still, you felt it the weight of eyes, the whisper of judgment, the humiliation crawling under your skin.

When you finished, the professor nodded once. “You may sit.”

As you walked back to your seat, you risked a glance toward the back.

He was watching you. His jaw was clenched, his posture stiff, guilt written all over his face.

When class ended, you packed up quickly, determined to leave before he could say anything.

Too late.

“Hey,” he said, stepping into your path. “Wait.”

You stopped but didn’t look at him.

“I said I’m sorry,” he added, quieter now. “I really am.”

You finally met his eyes.

“Apologies don’t fix grades,” you said flatly.

Something in his expression faltered.

“…Let me make it up to you,” he said.

You laughed once, humorless. “You can’t.”

He hesitated. “At least let me try.”

You studied him for a second, really studied him.

Then you sighed.

“This isn’t over,” you said, stepping past him again.

And for the first time since you met him, he didn’t talk back. He stood there for a second after you passed him, fingers curling at his sides like he wanted to grab the words back and redo them properly.

“Hey,” he called again, not as sharp this time. “At least...”

You didn’t stop.

So he lets you go.

The rest of the day blurred together.

You replayed the presentation in your head over and over, every slide, every pause, every question you answered, trying to convince yourself the stain hadn’t mattered. Trying to believe the professor hadn’t noticed. Trying not to feel the humiliation simmering under your skin.

By the time your cafe shift rolled around that evening, exhaustion sat heavy in your bones.

Monday nights were quiet. Too quiet.

You wiped down the counter slowly, glancing at the door out of habit.

He won’t come back, you told yourself. Why would he? And why am I expecting him anyways?

The bell rang.

You closed your eyes for half a second before looking up.

Gotak stood there alone this time. No teammates. No noise. Just a navy hoodie, backpack slung over one shoulder, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets.

He hesitated when he saw you, like he wasn’t sure if walking in had been a mistake.

“…Hey,” he said.

You straightened, professional mask snapping into place. “Self checkout’s over there.”

He winced. “Yeah. I know.”

He didn’t move right away. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I didn’t skip class to mess with you earlier.”

You paused. “That’s not comforting,” you said, flat.

“I skipped it,” he continued stubbornly, “because if your professor said something about the stain, I was gonna explain. That it was my fault.”

Your hand tightened around the cloth you were holding.

“And if he didn’t?” you asked.

“Then I’d shut up,” he replied. “Which I did.”

You finally looked at him.

His jaw was tight, eyes serious, not defensive, not annoyed. Just… sincere. Uncomfortable with it, but sincere.

“…Why?” you asked quietly.

He shrugged, then immediately scowled like he hated himself for doing it. “Because it was my fault.”

You turned away, pretending to reorganize the cups. “You already apologized.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m bad at saying things right.”

“That’s obvious.”

A corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. He walked to the kiosk, ordered, then lingered by the counter instead of waiting at a table.

“So,” he said after a moment. “Did it… go okay?”

You hesitated.

“…I think so,” you admitted. “I won’t know until grades are out.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing that. “Good.”

The printer beeped.

You slid his cup toward him without comment.

“…Thanks,” he said, then paused. “For not throwing it at me.”

You huffed a quiet laugh before you could stop yourself.

He caught it. His eyes softened just a little.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said again, gentler now. “Not today. Not like that. Just… eventually.”

You studied him over the counter. Still loud. Still annoying. Still the guy who spilled coffee on your blouse and nearly wrecked your morning.

But also the guy who followed you to class without being asked. Who stood in the back like a silent apology.

“…We’ll see,” you said.

Gotak nodded once, like he understood exactly what that meant.

He lingered by the counter, shifting his weight like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that the apology was out there.

Silence stretched.

“…I never said my name,” he muttered.

You glanced up briefly, noncommittal. “You don’t have to.”

“I know. Just I caught your name from the slides earlier” He scratched the back of his neck anyway. "And it's weird if only I know your name.”

You waited.

“Go Hyuntak,” he said. “Most people call me Gotak.”

The name clicked instantly, his teammates yelling it, the way it carried authority without him trying.

“Okay,” you replied. “Gotak.”

Something in his expression shifted at that. Just a quiet acknowledgment.

“…Nice to meet you,” he said, a beat late, like the words didn’t come naturally.

You raised an eyebrow. “We’ve met twice already.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Didn’t go great.”

A small pause.

“I play basketball,” he added, gesturing vaguely to himself. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”

You snorted despite yourself. “I gathered.”

He exhaled, relieved, and picked up his cup. “I won’t bother you tonight.”

“That would be great,” you said lightly.

He huffed a laugh short, surprised and headed toward the door. Before leaving, he stopped and looked back.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, quieter now, “you didn’t deserve that this morning.”

Then he left, the bell chiming softly behind him.

You stood there for a moment longer than necessary, fingers resting against the counter.

Go Hyuntak.

Great, you thought. Now he has a name. And somehow, that made everything more complicated.

The bell rang again the next evening.

You didn’t look up right away.

“Hello. Self checkout’s over there,” you said out of habit, eyes still on the register screen.

“…Yeah. I know.”

You paused.

That voice again. You looked up.

Gotak stood just inside the cafe, alone, hoodie zipped up this time, backpack hanging off one shoulder. He wasn’t loud or grinning. Wasn’t surrounded by chaos.

He looked awkward yet excited.

“Oh,” you said. “You.”

He nodded once. “Me.”

A beat passed.

Then he turned and walked straight to the kiosk, tapping the screen with far more focus than necessary. You watched from behind the counter as he frowned at the options like they’d personally offended him.

The printer beeped.

You tore off the receipt. “Americano. Iced.”

He glanced over. “I didn’t...”

“You did,” you cut in calmly.

He sighed. “Figures.”

When you slid the cup across the counter, his fingers brushed the lid by accident. He pulled his hand back immediately, like he’d touched something hot.

“…Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, neutral.

He didn’t leave.

Instead, he hovered near the counter, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You wiped down the surface slowly, waiting him out.

“So,” he said eventually. “You always work on Mondays and Tuesdays?”

“Usually.”

He nodded, filing that away. “Makes sense. It’s quiet.”

“It is,” you agreed. “Until it isn’t.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. Before either of you could say more, the door flew open.

Noise flooded in. Sneakers, laughter and familiar voices.

“Oh! There she is!”

Baku spotted you instantly, grinning like he’d just found something shiny. “Yo! Cafe boss!”

You blinked. “Hi?”

Gotak closed his eyes. “I told you idiots to wait.”

“Relax,” Baku said, already leaning on the counter. “We’re just grabbing drinks.”

Another teammate nudged Gotak. “Hyung, is this the scary girl you told us about?”

“I didn’t say scary,” Gotak snapped.

“You implied it,” Baku said cheerfully.

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m standing right here.”

Baku beamed. “See? Terrifying.”

Gotak groaned and turned away, rubbing his face. “Order and leave.”

They didn’t. Instead, they crowded around the kiosk, arguing loudly about protein shakes and caffeine limits, completely ignoring the line they were creating out of thin air.

“Guys,” you said evenly. “One at a time.”

Baku glanced at Gotak, impressed. “Wow. She’s got authority.”

Gotak muttered, “Told you.”

The orders went out. The team filtered toward a table near the window, still loud but at least seated.

Gotak lingered again.

“I should go,” he said. “Before they get worse.”

“Good call.”

He hesitated, then added, “See you.”

Not tomorrow or later. Just see you.

You nodded once.

“Yeah.”

The next day, you nearly ran into him in the hallway. Literally. You both stopped short at the same time.

“Oh sorry,” you said automatically.

“Yeah,” he replied, just as quick. An awkward half second passed. Students streamed around you like water around rocks.

“Uh,” he said, gesturing behind him. “I’ve got practice.”

“I’m heading to the library.”

“Right.”

Another pause.

Then Baku’s voice echoed down the hall. “HYUNTAK! WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO YOUR CRUSH WITHOUT ME?”

Gotak spun around. “SHUT UP.”

You kept walking, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

After studying at the library for two hours your phone buzzed.

Sis: are you on campus rn

You: unfortunately

Sis: good. i’m outside the gym. come save me

You sighed, already turning on your heel.

When you reached the gym entrance, you spotted her immediately, arms crossed, expression unimpressed. In front of her stood a very familiar tall guy, animated hands, loud voice, zero shame.

“…so yeah,” Baku was saying, grinning, “I don’t usually do this, but you seem cool, and I was thinking maybe coffee? Or dinner? Or both?”

Your sister stared at him. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m nervous,” he said proudly.

She glanced past him and locked eyes with you. Help me.

Before you could step in, another presence slid into your peripheral vision.

Gotak.

He stopped short when he saw you, then looked between Baku and your sister like he’d walked into the wrong scene.

“…What are you doing,” he muttered.

Baku turned. “Oh! Gotak. Perfect timing. This is...”

“Don’t,” Gotak said flatly.

Your sister raised an eyebrow. “Is he always like this?”

“Unfortunately,” you said, deadpan.

Gotak glanced at you. Then away. “You know her?”

“She’s my sister,” your sister answered before you could, sticking her hand out toward Baku. “And you’re…?”

“BAKU,” he said immediately, shaking her hand way too enthusiastically. “Basketball. Business major. Extremely single.”

Gotak groaned. “You didn’t need to add that.”

“Yes, I did,” Baku replied. “Transparency builds trust.”

Your sister laughed despite herself.

You noticed Gotak notice it. He shifted his weight, jaw tight, eyes flicking between them like he was calculating damage control.

“So,” your sister said, pulling her hand back, “do you flirt with every girl who stands still long enough?”

Baku blinked. “Only the pretty ones.”

She stared at him for a second.

“…Bold,” she decided.

“Is that a yes?” he asked hopefully.

“It’s a ‘you’re weird,’” she said. “But not in a bad way.”

Baku beamed like he’d just won a championship.

Gotak leaned closer to you, voice low. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” you asked.

“For him.”

You huffed a quiet laugh before you could stop it.

He caught it. Noticed it. Didn’t comment but something eased in his shoulders.

Your sister checked her phone. “I have to go. You coming?”

“In a second,” you said. She walked off anyway.

Baku watched her go, dreamy. “I think she likes me.”

Gotak snorted. “She doesn’t.”

“She laughed.”

“She pitied you.”

Baku ignored him and turned to you. “Your sister’s cool.”

“She knows,” you replied.

An awkward pause followed as Baku finally took the hint and jogged to the gym.

That left you and Gotak standing there, the noise of the gym spilling out around you.

“…So,” he said.

“So,” you echoed.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Your presentation...”

You tensed instinctively.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he added quickly. “I just heard some girls from my English class talking about it after.”

“…Okay.”

“They said you did good,” he continued. “Like. Really good.”

You hadn’t expected that.

“Oh,” you said. “Thanks.”

He nodded once, satisfied, as if he had checked something off the list.

Awkward silence stretched between you two again.

“I’ll see you around,” he said eventually.

“Yeah.”

He took a step back, then hesitated. “Uh. Good luck. With… everything.”

You smiled for real.

“Thanks, Gotak.”

He froze for half a second at his name.

Then nodded and walked away, hands in his pockets, ears just a little red.

You watched him disappear into the crowd and exhaled.

It's kind of fascinating how often you run into each other. Maybe you always did and passed without acknowledging each other's presence.

Now that you know him, his name and the fact that he will be out somewhere in the campus, you somehow want to wander around the campus a little longer.

The gym was loud in that specific way that made your chest vibrate, sneakers squealing, whistles sharp, the bass of the crowd rolling like a wave. You hadn’t planned on coming. Your sister had.

“Come on,” she’d said, already pulling you by the wrist. “You’ve been holed up all week. And the basketball team’s actually good this year.”

You sat halfway up the bleachers, jackets folded on your laps, knees brushing because the place was packed. Your sister leaned forward, elbows on her thighs, scanning the court like she was looking for someone. You noticed. Of course you did.

Then the team ran out.

You didn’t mean to look for him. Your eyes just… landed there.

Go Hyuntak. Gotak was impossible to miss. Broad shoulders stretching his jersey, jaw set, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he was already irritated at something. He clapped once, hard, shouting something you couldn’t hear. The sound carried anyway.

Your sister nudged you. “Isn’t that the guy from the...?”

You groaned. “Don’t.”

“He’s kinda”

“Don’t,” you repeated, but you were smiling despite yourself.

The game started too fast. Gotak played like everything was personal, driving hard into the paint, stealing passes with a sharpness that made the crowd gasp. Every time he scored, the bleachers erupted. Every time someone fouled him, he argued like his life depended on it, veins standing out in his neck.

He was hot headed. You’d been right.

Somewhere in the second quarter, you noticed another presence, louder, flashier. Number eight. Big grin, constant trash talk, blowing exaggerated kisses toward the stands after a clean three pointer.

Baku.

You felt your sister stiffen beside you.

“Oh my god,” she muttered.

You followed her line of sight. Baku was waving. Not generally. Specifically at her.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled something. You couldn’t hear the words, but the intent was painfully obvious. Your sister dropped her face into her hands.

“I hate him,” she said. “Why does he keep doing that?”

“You don’t hate him,” you said dryly. “You’re just mad it’s working.”

She shot you a look. “Shut up.”

On the court, Gotak noticed. You saw it happen for the split second glance toward the bleachers, the way his mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh. He shoulder checked Baku as they reset, muttering something that made Baku cackle and almost miss the inbound.

The crowd roared.

By halftime, your throat hurt from cheering. You hadn’t realized you were doing it until Gotak sank a brutal layup through contact and you were on your feet, shouting his name like you’d been doing it your whole life.

He looked up then straight at you just for a moment.

It wasn’t a smile. Not really. Just the corner of his mouth lifting, like he’d clocked something interesting and filed it away for later.

Your stomach flipped, sharp and unwelcome.

Your sister leaned close. “He saw you.”

“I know,” you said, too quickly.

The second half was messier. Fouls, shoving, tempers flaring. At one point Gotak nearly got a technical, chest to chest with an opponent, Baku dragging him back by the jersey and yelling, “Bro, relax! She’s watching!”

You nearly choked.

When the final buzzer went and their team won by six, the gym exploded. Music blared. People poured down toward the court.

Baku, sweat soaked and grinning, jogged straight toward the bleachers.

“Hey!” he called, stopping in front of you. He pointed at your sister like he’d finally found Waldo. “You came.”

She crossed her arms. “You play better when you’re not busy flirting with strangers.”

“Ouch,” he said, hand to his chest. “See, Gotak? She’s mean to me.”

Gotak came up behind him, towel slung around his neck, breathing heavy. Up close, he smelled like sweat and detergent and adrenaline.

“Don’t drag me into your mess,” he said, then glanced at you. “You two enjoy the game?”

You nodded. “You almost got thrown out.”

He huffed a laugh. “Worth it.”

Your eyes met again. Closer now. Something unspoken pressing between the noise and the heat and the fact that this definitely wasn’t the last time you’d run into each other.

After that day, It started quietly. Too quietly to call it flirting.

Gotak begins showing up on your shifts. Not every day, only Mondays and Tuesdays, just often enough to feel intentional. Always around the time the campus cafe slows down, when the espresso machine sighs instead of screams.

He orders the same thing every time. Iced Americano, no syrup.

He sits at the same table in the corner. Back to the wall with his laptop open, notebook beside it, basketball bag at his feet like he doesn’t quite trust the world not to steal it.

At first, you pretend it’s coincidence. By the third week, it’s not.

“You work late,” he says one night, glancing at the clock as you wipe down the counter.

“Home is close, so not a huge problem,” you reply.

He shrugs. “Someone’s gotta walk you home.”

You freeze for half a second. Long enough for your heart to misbehave.

It becomes a routine. Homework silence broken by small things, for instance him complaining about group projects, you venting about professors who think deadlines are suggestions for suffering. Sometimes he waits. Sometimes he doesn’t. When he does, he walks you back to home like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The tension creeps in sideways.

His knee brushing yours under the table when the cafe is empty. The way he hands you your jacket instead of tossing it.

How he remembers you are not liking the people from your group project and brings you a canned peach drink without being asked.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him.

“I know,” he says, simple. “I want to.”

That’s the problem.

Your sister notices before you say anything.

“He likes you,” she declares, spoon paused mid air.

“He’s just nice,” you argue.

She snorts. “He glares at men who look at you for more than three seconds.”

You choke on your drink.

It’s stupid. You know it is. But you start letting yourself imagine things. Him asking you out properly. A date that isn’t just studying side by side. His hand warm around yours instead of hovering a respectful inch away.

The cafe closes late, and Gotak waits like usual, leaning against the brick wall outside with his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t say anything when you lock up. He just falls into step beside you, matching your pace without trying.

You’ve walked this route together enough times now that the silence feels comfortable, familiar and most importantly safe.

“You eat?” he asks halfway down the path.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

That’s it. That’s the conversation.

You reach the corner where your paths split. He slows.

“Text me when you get in,” he says, casual like it’s nothing.

“I will.”

You do.

He always replies with a single 👍 or good. Then goodnight.

That’s how it’s been.

So when you see him again later that week, you’re not expecting it to hurt.

You’re crossing campus with your sister, arms linked, complaining about an assignment, when she stops short.

“Oh,” she says. “Isn’t that your man?”

You follow her gaze.

Gotak is near the gym entrance, standing off to the side like he’s waiting for someone. His hoodie is zipped up, backpack slung low, posture tense.

Then a girl approaches him. She’s smiling in a comfortable that doesn’t need permission.

You slow without realizing it. Your sister keeps walking, not noticing. You let your arm slip from hers.

“Go on,” you say quietly. “I’ll catch up.”

She nods, distracted, and disappears into the crowd.

You stay where you are. Half hidden behind a column. Close enough to see, far enough not to be seen.

The girl says something you can’t hear.

Gotak exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. He looks tired but not annoyed, just worn down.

She steps closer.

You tell yourself you’re overthinking it.

Then she reaches for him just… naturally. She wraps her arms around his waist like she’s done it before.

Gotak just stands there. Your breath catches.

He doesn’t hug her back. But he doesn’t move away either.

She says something again, quieter this time, face tilted up toward him. Her hand presses flat against his chest and starts leaning toward him on her tiptoes.

You don’t wait for the rest.

You turn away before your eyes can betray you, heart pounding so hard it makes you dizzy.

You don’t see him step back. Don’t hear him say her name sharply. Don’t hear the edge in his voice when he tells her to stop.

All you know is what it looked like. And that’s enough.

You don’t tell anyone. Even your sister, your friends and not even yourself, really.

You just… adjust.

You switch your cafe shifts to earlier ones on different days. You tell your manager it’s for academic reasons. It’s not a lie. Just not the whole truth.

Gotak shows up on a Monday and doesn’t see you. He checks the schedule on the wall.

Shows up Tuesday. Still nothing.

By the third time, he asks.

“Did she quit?” he says, frowning at the barista.

She shrugs. “Nah. Different shifts now.”

His chest tightens. He texts you.

"hey. didn’t see you this week."

"yeah, my schedule changed." you reply hours later.

"oh okay."

He tries again. Shows up earlier. Stays later. Misses part of practice once and gets chewed out for it.

After two weeks, he finally catches you restocking cups one afternoon.

“Hey,” he says, relief flashing across his face before he can stop it.

You barely look at him. “Hi.”

“You’ve been… busy,” he says carefully.

“Yeah.”

Silence stretches.

“I did something wrong?” he says eventually. Not accusing, just tired.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Then what...”

“I should get back to work,” you interrupt, already stepping past him.

That’s when he knows you don't want him around you. That's when he knows he lost you but not knowing when and what went wrong.

And not knowing why hurts worse than anything else.

Baku figures it out last which is impressive, honestly.

“Okay,” he says one day, sitting between you and your sister in the library like he belongs there. “So something happened.”

“No it didn’t,” you say.

“It absolutely did,” your sister adds.

Baku grins. “See? Teamwork.”

You glare at him. “Go away.”

“Nope,” he says cheerfully. “Because Gotak’s been miserable, and you’ve been weird, and I refuse to believe that’s a coincidence.”

Your sister watches you closely. “You saw something, didn’t you?”

Your throat tightens. You don’t answer.

That’s answer enough.

Baku leans back, hands behind his head. “By any chance, was it a girl?”

You freeze.

“…What girl?” your sister asks.

Baku groans. “Oh my god, you didn’t know? I think I told you about it when we were going to that...”

“Shut up. Know what?” she presses.

“That Gotak’s ex transferred back this semester,” Baku says. “The one who dumped him for that baseball player right before finals last year?”

Your chest twists.

“She tried to get back together with him,” Baku continues. “He shut that down.”

You laugh weakly. “That’s not what it looked like.”

Baku sits up. “What did you see?”

You hesitate. Then, quietly, “I saw her hug him. Then leaning for a kiss... And he didn’t stop her.”

Your sister’s eyes soften immediately. Baku swears under his breath.

“He froze,” Baku says. “He always does when she pulls that crap.”

“That’s not better,” you whisper.

“No,” your sister says gently. “But it’s not what you think either.”

Baku leans forward. “He told her no. Immediately after.”

Your heart stutters.

“Maybe you ran without seeing the whole thing,” Baku says, stating a fact

Silence crashes down.

Your sister reaches for your hand. “You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want it to be real,” you admit.

"Can we stop talking about it?" you stand up, grabbing your water bottle.

After you went to refill your water bottle, Baku exhales. “Okay. New plan.”

Your sister blink. “What plan?”

He grins. “We fix this.” Your sister nods. “Together.”

Somewhere across campus, Gotak sits alone on a bench, phone in his hands, staring at a text he’s typed and erased five times.

He has no idea but help is finally on the way.

You don’t know it yet, but the next Thursday is doomed the moment your sister insists on dragging you to dinner.

“Baku invited us,” she says, already slipping on her shoes.

“That’s suspicious,” you mutter from the couch.

“He invited me,” she corrects, not looking at you. “You’re collateral.”

You narrow your eyes. “You hate basketball boys.”

“I hate loud ones,” she says lightly. “He’s… loud in a manageable way.” That alone is concerning.

By the time you realize you’re being set up, it’s too late.

The restaurant is just off campus. Small and warm. It's the kind of place people go when they want to talk without being overheard.

Baku is already there when you arrive, standing up from the round table that's too big for two people to pull out chairs like he’s auditioning to be someone’s decent boyfriend.

He grins when he sees your sister. Not his usual over the top grin but in a softer, quieter way. He hands her a menu before she even sits.

You clock it immediately. Since when does he do that?

“Hey,” he says to you, casually.

“Hi,” you reply, suspicious.

Your sister sits beside him without thinking. Their knees brush. Neither of them move away. Interesting.

“So,” Baku says, once you’ve ordered. “Funny story.”

“No,” you say immediately.

He laughs. “Just wait.”

You don’t have to wait long. The door opens.

You know it’s him before you see him.

The air shifts just enough to make your chest tighten. You look up on instinct.

Gotak freezes in the doorway.

He’s wearing a hoodie you recognize. The one he used to walk you home in. His eyes sweep the room, land on Baku, then... On you.

For half a second, he looks like he’s been punched.

“…What?” he mutters.

Baku raises his hand cheerfully. “Hey, man! Over here.”

Gotak’s jaw tightens. 

You don’t look away. You can’t.

Your sister glances between you two, then smoothly reaches for her water like nothing is wrong.

“Sit,” Baku says. “Food’s good.”

Gotak hesitates. You almost hope he won’t.

He sits across from you anyways. The table suddenly feels very small.

For a while, no one says anything meaningful. Small talk fills the space, classes, practice, a joke about Baku getting fouled too easily.

Your sister laughs at something Baku says, leaning closer without realizing it. Her hand rests briefly on his arm. He stills like it matters.

You notice. Gotak notices too. His eyes flick to them, then back to you.

“You changed your shifts,” he says quietly.

You stiffen. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Baku opens his mouth. Your sister kicks him under the table.

“Gotak,” she says evenly, “maybe...”

“No,” he cuts in, not raising his voice. “I want to hear it from her.”

Silence drops like a held breath.

You stare at your plate. “I told you. School.”

“That’s not all of it.”

You look up then. “Why does it matter?”

His hands curl slightly on the table. “Because you stopped looking at me.”

Your heart stutters.

“That’s not...”

“Two weeks,” he continues, controlled but fraying. “Two weeks of pretending I don’t exist, and I don’t even know what I did.”

Baku shifts uncomfortably. “Okay, maybe this isn’t...”

“I saw you,” you say suddenly.

Gotak stills.

“…Saw me?”

Your voice is steady. It surprises you. “By the gym with her.”

The realization hits him instantly. “Oh,” he says. Then softer, “Oh.”

“You two seemed so close,” you continue, words tumbling now that they’ve started. “She leaned in. And you didn’t stop her.”

“I did,” he says immediately.

“You didn’t,” you snap, louder than you meant to. A few heads turn. You lower your voice. “I was right there.”

His brows knit together. “You were?”

“Yes.”

He exhales sharply, frustration flashing across his face. “Maybe you left before...”

“I didn’t want to watch.”

“I told her no,” he says. “Right after.”

You shake your head. “That’s not what it looked like.”

“I froze,” he admits. “For a second. Even though she hurt me, she's still a woman. I can't just shove her off.”

“That second mattered.”

Silence stretches.

Your sister reaches for Baku’s hand under the table. You catch it out of the corner of your eye. He squeezes back without thinking. They really are a team now.

Gotak’s voice softens. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

You swallow. “Because I didn’t want the answer.”

He looks at you like that hurts worse than the misunderstanding.

“I wait for you,” he says quietly. “I walk you home. I sit in that stupid cafe just to be near you. Do you really think I’d be doing that if I was with someone else?”

You don’t answer. Because part of you already knows.

Baku clears his throat. “Okay. I’m gonna take your sister to the bathroom.”

She gives him a look. “I don’t need...”

“Bathroom,” he insists, standing and pulling her gently with him.

She sighs but goes, shooting you an encouraging look over her shoulder.

And then it’s just the two of you.

Gotak leans forward slightly. “I didn’t push her away immediately because I was tired. Not because I wanted her.”

Your throat tightens.

“She hurt me,” he adds. “You didn’t.”

That lands. Hard.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “But you could’ve told me.”

“I was scared,” you admit. “I was already letting myself want things.”

He nods slowly. “Me too.”

Baku and your sister return a moment later. “Okay,” Baku says, clapping his hands softly. “We done yelling?”

No one answers.

"I think it's better if we just leave them alone, right?" your sister says looking at Baku. They left in a second.

Gotak stands. “Walk with me.”

It’s not a question.

You hesitate, then stand too.

The night air is cool enough to sober you up from the warmth of the restaurant. Streetlights stretch long shadows across the sidewalk, and the city feels gentler at this hour, quieter, like it’s giving the two of you space.

Gotak walks beside you, close but not crowding. His hands are in his jacket pockets again, shoulders relaxed in a way you don’t remember seeing before.

“You didn’t have to walk me all the way,” you say, even though you slow your steps just a little.

“I know,” he answers. A pause. Then, softer, “I want to.”

There it is again. That same simple sincerity. It still makes your chest feel strange.

You walk in silence for a bit, the comfortable kind this time. The kind that doesn’t ask to be filled.

“I was really nervous earlier,” he admits suddenly.

You glance at him. “You? You barely talked.”

“Exactly,” he says dryly. “That’s how bad it was.”

You laugh, and he smiles like he caused it on purpose.

“I kept thinking I’d mess it up,” he continues. “Say something wrong. Push too hard. Or not enough.”

You stop at a crosswalk, the light still red. He stops too, turning to face you properly. The city noise fades into background static.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he says, serious again. “About wanting to do this right.”

You hold his gaze. “Okay.”

A beat. Then, quieter, “I don’t really know what right looks like. I just know I don’t want to lose you again.”

Your breath catches. “You didn’t lose me.”

“I did,” he says. “Even if it wasn’t on purpose.”

The light changes, but neither of you moves.

“I should’ve asked,” you say. “I should’ve trusted you enough to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” he agrees gently. “But next time, we will.”

Next time. The words settle warmly between you.

You start walking again, fingers brushing. He hesitates for half a second, just long enough for you to notice and then... laces his fingers with yours. His hand is warm, steady and grounding.

You squeeze back.

When you reach your building, you linger by the entrance, neither of you quite ready to end the night.

“So,” you say, rocking back on your heels. “This was… a date.”

His mouth quirks. “Not an official one.”

“And you’re going to ask me out officially?” you tease.

He steps closer, voice low. “I was hoping you’d let me.”

You smile up at him. “I will.”

Relief flashes across his face, unguarded and real. “Good.”

He walks you to the door, waits while you unlock it. You turn back to him before going inside.

“Text me when you get home,” you say.

He grins. “I always do.”

You hesitate, then lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek. It’s brief, sweet but when you pull back, his ears are bright red and he looks like he forgot how to breathe.

“Goodnight, Gotak.”

“Goodnight,” he manages, still stunned.

You go inside with a lightness in your chest you haven’t felt in a long time.

The shift was supposed to be quiet. Since the Monday evenings on campus cafe is usually very quiet and empty, you often find yourself doing your assignments on the shift. No one came in the last one hour, so you were sitting deeply invested in your statistics homework. That was your first mistake.

The door swung open, bell ringing violently as a group of tall, loud guys poured into the cafe like they owned it. Sweat, laughter, the squeak of sneakers against tile.

Basketball team. Obviously.

You didn’t even look up as you called out, “Hello, please order at the self checkout kiosk.”

None of them acknowledged your presence or greeted you back. You rolled your eyes as they were talking loudly, laughing and hitting each other like elementary school students.

One of them leaned over the counter anyway.

“Hey, can we get...”

“No,” you said flatly. “we only take orders through the machine over here”

A pause. Then a laugh deep, rough, unmistakably amused.

You looked up.

He was big. Broad shoulders, messy hair still damp, deep blue hoodie half zipped, eyes sharp and a little too confident. He stared at you like you were interesting instead of irritating.

“Wow,” he said. “Didn’t know customer service came with attitude.”

You smiled sweetly. “Didn’t know basketball players came with short temper.”

His teammates lost it.

“Gotak she got you.”

“Bro, that was clean.”

His jaw tightened.

“What’s your problem?” he asked.

“My problem,” you replied calmly, “is six grown men yelling in my cafe.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Then quit.”

You met his gaze, unflinching.

“Or you could behave like adults.”

Something sparked in his eyes, annoyance mixed with something else.

He straightened slowly, like he’d decided not to bite back yet.

“Adults, huh,” he said, clicking his tongue. “You talk a lot for someone working alone. The customers are waiting.”

You shut your notebook with a soft thud and turned, meeting him eye to eye across the counter. Up close, he was even more irritating, too tall, too broad, too aware of it.

“And you’re loud for someone who can’t read a sign,” you replied, pointing behind him. SELF CHECKOUT ONLY was printed in bold letters.

One of his teammates snorted.

“Hyung, she’s right.”

Another added, “Just use the machine, man.”

He didn’t look away from you.

“Now please go stand in line like the rest of your friends.”

A beat. Then laughter exploded behind him.

“Damn, Gotak, she’s scary.”

“Is she your girlfriend already?”

He shot them a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Silence followed instantly.

Gotak exhaled through his nose and stepped back, muttering, “Unbelievable,” as he turned toward the kiosk.

You sat back down, heart thudding harder than you wanted to admit.

Ten minutes later, the printer beeped.

You stood, grabbed the tray, and called out, “Americano. One protein bar.”

Gotak walked over, took the cup and frowned.

“…This is iced.”

You blinked. “You ordered iced.”

“I said hot.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

You stared at him. He stared back. The air tightened.

From behind him, one of his friends whispered, far too loudly,

“Hyung, you definitely clicked iced.”

Gotak’s ears went red.

You tilted your head, lips curving. “Want to apologize to the machine too?”

For a second, you thought he might actually snap. Instead, he grabbed the cup, took a long sip, then grimaced. “Whatever.”

He paused, then added, quieter, “It’s fine.”

You didn’t know why that surprised you.

As he turned to leave, one teammate lingered behind, a taller guy with a friendly grin and zero shame.

“Hey,” he said, nodding toward you. “I’m Baku. Sorry about him. He’s a bit grumpy today.”

You glanced at Gotak’s back, then back at Baku. “I noticed.”

Baku laughed. “See you around?”

“Probably,” you said.

Gotak shot Baku a look. “Move.”

They left in a rush of noise and sneakers, the bell ringing violently again.

The cafe fell quiet.

You stared at the door for a second longer than necessary, then shook your head and reopened your statistics notes.

Great, you thought.

Another campus menace.

You didn’t know yet that this wouldn’t be the last time you saw him. Not even close.

Few days passed since that evening. Your life was going normally as usual. School, part time job, home and repeat again and again. 

But for last few days you barely slept.

Between rehearsing your slides in your head and triple checking your notes, your alarm felt like it went off the moment you closed your eyes. Still, you got up, showered, and dressed with the kind of care that made your stomach twist.

Black blazer. White blouse. Pressed slacks. Hair neat. Minimal makeup.

You looked… professional. Exactly the way your professor demanded.

Forty percent of your grade, you reminded yourself as you stepped out onto campus. Just get through today.

The hallway outside the lecture building was busy. People were rushing, laughing, cutting through crowds without looking.

You hugged your laptop to your chest and kept walking while repeating your speech in your head. That was your second mistake.

“Yo, pass it!”

Something collided with you hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs.

You stumbled back a step as a splash of cold liquid spread across your chest.

You froze. Slowly, horrifically, you looked down.

Iced coffee. Brown. Soaking into your white blouse.

“No,” you whispered.

“No, no, no”

“Oh... shit.”

That voice.

You looked up.

The rude basketball player from that night stood in front of you, eyes wide, cup still tilted in his hand like he couldn’t believe what just happened. He was laughing with his friends a second ago. Now he looked… genuinely stunned.

“Watch where you’re going!” you snapped, panic and fury crashing together.

“I was...” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “You walked right into me.”

“I was walking,” you shot back. “You were running like a child!”

One of his friends burst out laughing behind him.

“Hyung, you killed her outfit.”

Gotak shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

You pressed your laptop tighter to your chest, heat burning behind your eyes.

“This is a presentation,” you said, voice shaking despite yourself. “A formal one.”

He looked down again, really looked this time. The blazer. The blouse. The spreading stain.

His brows knit together.

“…You serious?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m serious!” you hissed. “Do you think I dress like this for fun?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His friends shifted awkwardly, the humor draining from the situation.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said finally, lower now. “I’ll...”

“You’ll what?” you cut in. “Unspill it?”

He opened his mouth, closed it again. Ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“I’m late,” you said, stepping past him. “Thanks. Really.”

You walked away before he could say anything else.

You locked yourself in the nearest bathroom stall and stared at the stain like it might disappear if you glared hard enough.

It didn’t. You dabbed at it with wet paper towels. It only spread.

Your phone buzzed. A text from your teammate.

"You coming? You know you have to be here 10 minutes before the presentation starts, right?"

Your throat tightened. Get it together, you told yourself.

You straightened your blazer, took a deep breath, and went to class anyway.

You were already standing at the front of the room when the door opened.

Your professor glanced up sharply. “No one should step into this classroom after me.”

“Sorry,” a familiar voice muttered. Your heart sank.

Gotak slipped into the back row, basketball jacket thrown over one shoulder. His eyes flicked up and landed on you.

Recognition hit. Then his gaze dropped to the stain. His expression changed instantly.

You didn't know at the time that Gotak followed after you to your class (while skipping his own one) to explain the incident from earlier if your professor points out your coffee stained outfit.

You turned away, face burning, and began your presentation.

Your voice was steady. Your slides were clean. You answered questions clearly.

Still, you felt it the weight of eyes, the whisper of judgment, the humiliation crawling under your skin.

When you finished, the professor nodded once. “You may sit.”

As you walked back to your seat, you risked a glance toward the back.

He was watching you. His jaw was clenched, his posture stiff, guilt written all over his face.

When class ended, you packed up quickly, determined to leave before he could say anything.

Too late.

“Hey,” he said, stepping into your path. “Wait.”

You stopped but didn’t look at him.

“I said I’m sorry,” he added, quieter now. “I really am.”

You finally met his eyes.

“Apologies don’t fix grades,” you said flatly.

Something in his expression faltered.

“…Let me make it up to you,” he said.

You laughed once, humorless. “You can’t.”

He hesitated. “At least let me try.”

You studied him for a second, really studied him.

Then you sighed.

“This isn’t over,” you said, stepping past him again.

And for the first time since you met him, he didn’t talk back. He stood there for a second after you passed him, fingers curling at his sides like he wanted to grab the words back and redo them properly.

“Hey,” he called again, not as sharp this time. “At least...”

You didn’t stop.

So he lets you go.

The rest of the day blurred together.

You replayed the presentation in your head over and over, every slide, every pause, every question you answered, trying to convince yourself the stain hadn’t mattered. Trying to believe the professor hadn’t noticed. Trying not to feel the humiliation simmering under your skin.

By the time your cafe shift rolled around that evening, exhaustion sat heavy in your bones.

Monday nights were quiet. Too quiet.

You wiped down the counter slowly, glancing at the door out of habit.

He won’t come back, you told yourself. Why would he? And why am I expecting him anyways?

The bell rang.

You closed your eyes for half a second before looking up.

Gotak stood there alone this time. No teammates. No noise. Just a navy hoodie, backpack slung over one shoulder, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets.

He hesitated when he saw you, like he wasn’t sure if walking in had been a mistake.

“…Hey,” he said.

You straightened, professional mask snapping into place. “Self checkout’s over there.”

He winced. “Yeah. I know.”

He didn’t move right away. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I didn’t skip class to mess with you earlier.”

You paused. “That’s not comforting,” you said, flat.

“I skipped it,” he continued stubbornly, “because if your professor said something about the stain, I was gonna explain. That it was my fault.”

Your hand tightened around the cloth you were holding.

“And if he didn’t?” you asked.

“Then I’d shut up,” he replied. “Which I did.”

You finally looked at him.

His jaw was tight, eyes serious, not defensive, not annoyed. Just… sincere. Uncomfortable with it, but sincere.

“…Why?” you asked quietly.

He shrugged, then immediately scowled like he hated himself for doing it. “Because it was my fault.”

You turned away, pretending to reorganize the cups. “You already apologized.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m bad at saying things right.”

“That’s obvious.”

A corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. He walked to the kiosk, ordered, then lingered by the counter instead of waiting at a table.

“So,” he said after a moment. “Did it… go okay?”

You hesitated.

“…I think so,” you admitted. “I won’t know until grades are out.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing that. “Good.”

The printer beeped.

You slid his cup toward him without comment.

“…Thanks,” he said, then paused. “For not throwing it at me.”

You huffed a quiet laugh before you could stop yourself.

He caught it. His eyes softened just a little.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said again, gentler now. “Not today. Not like that. Just… eventually.”

You studied him over the counter. Still loud. Still annoying. Still the guy who spilled coffee on your blouse and nearly wrecked your morning.

But also the guy who followed you to class without being asked. Who stood in the back like a silent apology.

“…We’ll see,” you said.

Gotak nodded once, like he understood exactly what that meant.

He lingered by the counter, shifting his weight like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that the apology was out there.

Silence stretched.

“…I never said my name,” he muttered.

You glanced up briefly, noncommittal. “You don’t have to.”

“I know. Just I caught your name from the slides earlier” He scratched the back of his neck anyway. "And it's weird if only I know your name.”

You waited.

“Go Hyuntak,” he said. “Most people call me Gotak.”

The name clicked instantly, his teammates yelling it, the way it carried authority without him trying.

“Okay,” you replied. “Gotak.”

Something in his expression shifted at that. Just a quiet acknowledgment.

“…Nice to meet you,” he said, a beat late, like the words didn’t come naturally.

You raised an eyebrow. “We’ve met twice already.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Didn’t go great.”

A small pause.

“I play basketball,” he added, gesturing vaguely to himself. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”

You snorted despite yourself. “I gathered.”

He exhaled, relieved, and picked up his cup. “I won’t bother you tonight.”

“That would be great,” you said lightly.

He huffed a laugh short, surprised and headed toward the door. Before leaving, he stopped and looked back.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, quieter now, “you didn’t deserve that this morning.”

Then he left, the bell chiming softly behind him.

You stood there for a moment longer than necessary, fingers resting against the counter.

Go Hyuntak.

Great, you thought. Now he has a name. And somehow, that made everything more complicated.

The bell rang again the next evening.

You didn’t look up right away.

“Hello. Self checkout’s over there,” you said out of habit, eyes still on the register screen.

“…Yeah. I know.”

You paused.

That voice again. You looked up.

Gotak stood just inside the cafe, alone, hoodie zipped up this time, backpack hanging off one shoulder. He wasn’t loud or grinning. Wasn’t surrounded by chaos.

He looked awkward yet excited.

“Oh,” you said. “You.”

He nodded once. “Me.”

A beat passed.

Then he turned and walked straight to the kiosk, tapping the screen with far more focus than necessary. You watched from behind the counter as he frowned at the options like they’d personally offended him.

The printer beeped.

You tore off the receipt. “Americano. Iced.”

He glanced over. “I didn’t...”

“You did,” you cut in calmly.

He sighed. “Figures.”

When you slid the cup across the counter, his fingers brushed the lid by accident. He pulled his hand back immediately, like he’d touched something hot.

“…Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, neutral.

He didn’t leave.

Instead, he hovered near the counter, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You wiped down the surface slowly, waiting him out.

“So,” he said eventually. “You always work on Mondays and Tuesdays?”

“Usually.”

He nodded, filing that away. “Makes sense. It’s quiet.”

“It is,” you agreed. “Until it isn’t.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. Before either of you could say more, the door flew open.

Noise flooded in. Sneakers, laughter and familiar voices.

“Oh! There she is!”

Baku spotted you instantly, grinning like he’d just found something shiny. “Yo! Cafe boss!”

You blinked. “Hi?”

Gotak closed his eyes. “I told you idiots to wait.”

“Relax,” Baku said, already leaning on the counter. “We’re just grabbing drinks.”

Another teammate nudged Gotak. “Hyung, is this the scary girl you told us about?”

“I didn’t say scary,” Gotak snapped.

“You implied it,” Baku said cheerfully.

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m standing right here.”

Baku beamed. “See? Terrifying.”

Gotak groaned and turned away, rubbing his face. “Order and leave.”

They didn’t. Instead, they crowded around the kiosk, arguing loudly about protein shakes and caffeine limits, completely ignoring the line they were creating out of thin air.

“Guys,” you said evenly. “One at a time.”

Baku glanced at Gotak, impressed. “Wow. She’s got authority.”

Gotak muttered, “Told you.”

The orders went out. The team filtered toward a table near the window, still loud but at least seated.

Gotak lingered again.

“I should go,” he said. “Before they get worse.”

“Good call.”

He hesitated, then added, “See you.”

Not tomorrow or later. Just see you.

You nodded once.

“Yeah.”

The next day, you nearly ran into him in the hallway. Literally. You both stopped short at the same time.

“Oh sorry,” you said automatically.

“Yeah,” he replied, just as quick. An awkward half second passed. Students streamed around you like water around rocks.

“Uh,” he said, gesturing behind him. “I’ve got practice.”

“I’m heading to the library.”

“Right.”

Another pause.

Then Baku’s voice echoed down the hall. “HYUNTAK! WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO YOUR CRUSH WITHOUT ME?”

Gotak spun around. “SHUT UP.”

You kept walking, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

After studying at the library for two hours your phone buzzed.

Sis: are you on campus rn

You: unfortunately

Sis: good. i’m outside the gym. come save me

You sighed, already turning on your heel.

When you reached the gym entrance, you spotted her immediately, arms crossed, expression unimpressed. In front of her stood a very familiar tall guy, animated hands, loud voice, zero shame.

“…so yeah,” Baku was saying, grinning, “I don’t usually do this, but you seem cool, and I was thinking maybe coffee? Or dinner? Or both?”

Your sister stared at him. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m nervous,” he said proudly.

She glanced past him and locked eyes with you. Help me.

Before you could step in, another presence slid into your peripheral vision.

Gotak.

He stopped short when he saw you, then looked between Baku and your sister like he’d walked into the wrong scene.

“…What are you doing,” he muttered.

Baku turned. “Oh! Gotak. Perfect timing. This is...”

“Don’t,” Gotak said flatly.

Your sister raised an eyebrow. “Is he always like this?”

“Unfortunately,” you said, deadpan.

Gotak glanced at you. Then away. “You know her?”

“She’s my sister,” your sister answered before you could, sticking her hand out toward Baku. “And you’re…?”

“BAKU,” he said immediately, shaking her hand way too enthusiastically. “Basketball. Business major. Extremely single.”

Gotak groaned. “You didn’t need to add that.”

“Yes, I did,” Baku replied. “Transparency builds trust.”

Your sister laughed despite herself.

You noticed Gotak notice it. He shifted his weight, jaw tight, eyes flicking between them like he was calculating damage control.

“So,” your sister said, pulling her hand back, “do you flirt with every girl who stands still long enough?”

Baku blinked. “Only the pretty ones.”

She stared at him for a second.

“…Bold,” she decided.

“Is that a yes?” he asked hopefully.

“It’s a ‘you’re weird,’” she said. “But not in a bad way.”

Baku beamed like he’d just won a championship.

Gotak leaned closer to you, voice low. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” you asked.

“For him.”

You huffed a quiet laugh before you could stop it.

He caught it. Noticed it. Didn’t comment but something eased in his shoulders.

Your sister checked her phone. “I have to go. You coming?”

“In a second,” you said. She walked off anyway.

Baku watched her go, dreamy. “I think she likes me.”

Gotak snorted. “She doesn’t.”

“She laughed.”

“She pitied you.”

Baku ignored him and turned to you. “Your sister’s cool.”

“She knows,” you replied.

An awkward pause followed as Baku finally took the hint and jogged to the gym.

That left you and Gotak standing there, the noise of the gym spilling out around you.

“…So,” he said.

“So,” you echoed.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Your presentation...”

You tensed instinctively.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he added quickly. “I just heard some girls from my English class talking about it after.”

“…Okay.”

“They said you did good,” he continued. “Like. Really good.”

You hadn’t expected that.

“Oh,” you said. “Thanks.”

He nodded once, satisfied, as if he had checked something off the list.

Awkward silence stretched between you two again.

“I’ll see you around,” he said eventually.

“Yeah.”

He took a step back, then hesitated. “Uh. Good luck. With… everything.”

You smiled for real.

“Thanks, Gotak.”

He froze for half a second at his name.

Then nodded and walked away, hands in his pockets, ears just a little red.

You watched him disappear into the crowd and exhaled.

It's kind of fascinating how often you run into each other. Maybe you always did and passed without acknowledging each other's presence.

Now that you know him, his name and the fact that he will be out somewhere in the campus, you somehow want to wander around the campus a little longer.

The gym was loud in that specific way that made your chest vibrate, sneakers squealing, whistles sharp, the bass of the crowd rolling like a wave. You hadn’t planned on coming. Your sister had.

“Come on,” she’d said, already pulling you by the wrist. “You’ve been holed up all week. And the basketball team’s actually good this year.”

You sat halfway up the bleachers, jackets folded on your laps, knees brushing because the place was packed. Your sister leaned forward, elbows on her thighs, scanning the court like she was looking for someone. You noticed. Of course you did.

Then the team ran out.

You didn’t mean to look for him. Your eyes just… landed there.

Go Hyuntak. Gotak was impossible to miss. Broad shoulders stretching his jersey, jaw set, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he was already irritated at something. He clapped once, hard, shouting something you couldn’t hear. The sound carried anyway.

Your sister nudged you. “Isn’t that the guy from the...?”

You groaned. “Don’t.”

“He’s kinda”

“Don’t,” you repeated, but you were smiling despite yourself.

The game started too fast. Gotak played like everything was personal, driving hard into the paint, stealing passes with a sharpness that made the crowd gasp. Every time he scored, the bleachers erupted. Every time someone fouled him, he argued like his life depended on it, veins standing out in his neck.

He was hot headed. You’d been right.

Somewhere in the second quarter, you noticed another presence, louder, flashier. Number eight. Big grin, constant trash talk, blowing exaggerated kisses toward the stands after a clean three pointer.

Baku.

You felt your sister stiffen beside you.

“Oh my god,” she muttered.

You followed her line of sight. Baku was waving. Not generally. Specifically at her.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled something. You couldn’t hear the words, but the intent was painfully obvious. Your sister dropped her face into her hands.

“I hate him,” she said. “Why does he keep doing that?”

“You don’t hate him,” you said dryly. “You’re just mad it’s working.”

She shot you a look. “Shut up.”

On the court, Gotak noticed. You saw it happen for the split second glance toward the bleachers, the way his mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh. He shoulder checked Baku as they reset, muttering something that made Baku cackle and almost miss the inbound.

The crowd roared.

By halftime, your throat hurt from cheering. You hadn’t realized you were doing it until Gotak sank a brutal layup through contact and you were on your feet, shouting his name like you’d been doing it your whole life.

He looked up then straight at you just for a moment.

It wasn’t a smile. Not really. Just the corner of his mouth lifting, like he’d clocked something interesting and filed it away for later.

Your stomach flipped, sharp and unwelcome.

Your sister leaned close. “He saw you.”

“I know,” you said, too quickly.

The second half was messier. Fouls, shoving, tempers flaring. At one point Gotak nearly got a technical, chest to chest with an opponent, Baku dragging him back by the jersey and yelling, “Bro, relax! She’s watching!”

You nearly choked.

When the final buzzer went and their team won by six, the gym exploded. Music blared. People poured down toward the court.

Baku, sweat soaked and grinning, jogged straight toward the bleachers.

“Hey!” he called, stopping in front of you. He pointed at your sister like he’d finally found Waldo. “You came.”

She crossed her arms. “You play better when you’re not busy flirting with strangers.”

“Ouch,” he said, hand to his chest. “See, Gotak? She’s mean to me.”

Gotak came up behind him, towel slung around his neck, breathing heavy. Up close, he smelled like sweat and detergent and adrenaline.

“Don’t drag me into your mess,” he said, then glanced at you. “You two enjoy the game?”

You nodded. “You almost got thrown out.”

He huffed a laugh. “Worth it.”

Your eyes met again. Closer now. Something unspoken pressing between the noise and the heat and the fact that this definitely wasn’t the last time you’d run into each other.

After that day, It started quietly. Too quietly to call it flirting.

Gotak begins showing up on your shifts. Not every day, only Mondays and Tuesdays, just often enough to feel intentional. Always around the time the campus cafe slows down, when the espresso machine sighs instead of screams.

He orders the same thing every time. Iced Americano, no syrup.

He sits at the same table in the corner. Back to the wall with his laptop open, notebook beside it, basketball bag at his feet like he doesn’t quite trust the world not to steal it.

At first, you pretend it’s coincidence. By the third week, it’s not.

“You work late,” he says one night, glancing at the clock as you wipe down the counter.

“Home is close, so not a huge problem,” you reply.

He shrugs. “Someone’s gotta walk you home.”

You freeze for half a second. Long enough for your heart to misbehave.

It becomes a routine. Homework silence broken by small things, for instance him complaining about group projects, you venting about professors who think deadlines are suggestions for suffering. Sometimes he waits. Sometimes he doesn’t. When he does, he walks you back to home like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The tension creeps in sideways.

His knee brushing yours under the table when the cafe is empty. The way he hands you your jacket instead of tossing it.

How he remembers you are not liking the people from your group project and brings you a canned peach drink without being asked.

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him.

“I know,” he says, simple. “I want to.”

That’s the problem.

Your sister notices before you say anything.

“He likes you,” she declares, spoon paused mid air.

“He’s just nice,” you argue.

She snorts. “He glares at men who look at you for more than three seconds.”

You choke on your drink.

It’s stupid. You know it is. But you start letting yourself imagine things. Him asking you out properly. A date that isn’t just studying side by side. His hand warm around yours instead of hovering a respectful inch away.

The cafe closes late, and Gotak waits like usual, leaning against the brick wall outside with his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t say anything when you lock up. He just falls into step beside you, matching your pace without trying.

You’ve walked this route together enough times now that the silence feels comfortable, familiar and most importantly safe.

“You eat?” he asks halfway down the path.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

That’s it. That’s the conversation.

You reach the corner where your paths split. He slows.

“Text me when you get in,” he says, casual like it’s nothing.

“I will.”

You do.

He always replies with a single 👍 or good. Then goodnight.

That’s how it’s been.

So when you see him again later that week, you’re not expecting it to hurt.

You’re crossing campus with your sister, arms linked, complaining about an assignment, when she stops short.

“Oh,” she says. “Isn’t that your man?”

You follow her gaze.

Gotak is near the gym entrance, standing off to the side like he’s waiting for someone. His hoodie is zipped up, backpack slung low, posture tense.

Then a girl approaches him. She’s smiling in a comfortable that doesn’t need permission.

You slow without realizing it. Your sister keeps walking, not noticing. You let your arm slip from hers.

“Go on,” you say quietly. “I’ll catch up.”

She nods, distracted, and disappears into the crowd.

You stay where you are. Half hidden behind a column. Close enough to see, far enough not to be seen.

The girl says something you can’t hear.

Gotak exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. He looks tired but not annoyed, just worn down.

She steps closer.

You tell yourself you’re overthinking it.

Then she reaches for him just… naturally. She wraps her arms around his waist like she’s done it before.

Gotak just stands there. Your breath catches.

He doesn’t hug her back. But he doesn’t move away either.

She says something again, quieter this time, face tilted up toward him. Her hand presses flat against his chest and starts leaning toward him on her tiptoes.

You don’t wait for the rest.

You turn away before your eyes can betray you, heart pounding so hard it makes you dizzy.

You don’t see him step back. Don’t hear him say her name sharply. Don’t hear the edge in his voice when he tells her to stop.

All you know is what it looked like. And that’s enough.

You don’t tell anyone. Even your sister, your friends and not even yourself, really.

You just… adjust.

You switch your cafe shifts to earlier ones on different days. You tell your manager it’s for academic reasons. It’s not a lie. Just not the whole truth.

Gotak shows up on a Monday and doesn’t see you. He checks the schedule on the wall.

Shows up Tuesday. Still nothing.

By the third time, he asks.

“Did she quit?” he says, frowning at the barista.

She shrugs. “Nah. Different shifts now.”

His chest tightens. He texts you.

"hey. didn’t see you this week."

"yeah, my schedule changed." you reply hours later.

"oh okay."

He tries again. Shows up earlier. Stays later. Misses part of practice once and gets chewed out for it.

After two weeks, he finally catches you restocking cups one afternoon.

“Hey,” he says, relief flashing across his face before he can stop it.

You barely look at him. “Hi.”

“You’ve been… busy,” he says carefully.

“Yeah.”

Silence stretches.

“I did something wrong?” he says eventually. Not accusing, just tired.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Then what...”

“I should get back to work,” you interrupt, already stepping past him.

That’s when he knows you don't want him around you. That's when he knows he lost you but not knowing when and what went wrong.

And not knowing why hurts worse than anything else.

Baku figures it out last which is impressive, honestly.

“Okay,” he says one day, sitting between you and your sister in the library like he belongs there. “So something happened.”

“No it didn’t,” you say.

“It absolutely did,” your sister adds.

Baku grins. “See? Teamwork.”

You glare at him. “Go away.”

“Nope,” he says cheerfully. “Because Gotak’s been miserable, and you’ve been weird, and I refuse to believe that’s a coincidence.”

Your sister watches you closely. “You saw something, didn’t you?”

Your throat tightens. You don’t answer.

That’s answer enough.

Baku leans back, hands behind his head. “By any chance, was it a girl?”

You freeze.

“…What girl?” your sister asks.

Baku groans. “Oh my god, you didn’t know? I think I told you about it when we were going to that...”

“Shut up. Know what?” she presses.

“That Gotak’s ex transferred back this semester,” Baku says. “The one who dumped him for that baseball player right before finals last year?”

Your chest twists.

“She tried to get back together with him,” Baku continues. “He shut that down.”

You laugh weakly. “That’s not what it looked like.”

Baku sits up. “What did you see?”

You hesitate. Then, quietly, “I saw her hug him. Then leaning for a kiss... And he didn’t stop her.”

Your sister’s eyes soften immediately. Baku swears under his breath.

“He froze,” Baku says. “He always does when she pulls that crap.”

“That’s not better,” you whisper.

“No,” your sister says gently. “But it’s not what you think either.”

Baku leans forward. “He told her no. Immediately after.”

Your heart stutters.

“Maybe you ran without seeing the whole thing,” Baku says, stating a fact

Silence crashes down.

Your sister reaches for your hand. “You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want it to be real,” you admit.

"Can we stop talking about it?" you stand up, grabbing your water bottle.

After you went to refill your water bottle, Baku exhales. “Okay. New plan.”

Your sister blink. “What plan?”

He grins. “We fix this.” Your sister nods. “Together.”

Somewhere across campus, Gotak sits alone on a bench, phone in his hands, staring at a text he’s typed and erased five times.

He has no idea but help is finally on the way.

You don’t know it yet, but the next Thursday is doomed the moment your sister insists on dragging you to dinner.

“Baku invited us,” she says, already slipping on her shoes.

“That’s suspicious,” you mutter from the couch.

“He invited me,” she corrects, not looking at you. “You’re collateral.”

You narrow your eyes. “You hate basketball boys.”

“I hate loud ones,” she says lightly. “He’s… loud in a manageable way.” That alone is concerning.

By the time you realize you’re being set up, it’s too late.

The restaurant is just off campus. Small and warm. It's the kind of place people go when they want to talk without being overheard.

Baku is already there when you arrive, standing up from the round table that's too big for two people to pull out chairs like he’s auditioning to be someone’s decent boyfriend.

He grins when he sees your sister. Not his usual over the top grin but in a softer, quieter way. He hands her a menu before she even sits.

You clock it immediately. Since when does he do that?

“Hey,” he says to you, casually.

“Hi,” you reply, suspicious.

Your sister sits beside him without thinking. Their knees brush. Neither of them move away. Interesting.

“So,” Baku says, once you’ve ordered. “Funny story.”

“No,” you say immediately.

He laughs. “Just wait.”

You don’t have to wait long. The door opens.

You know it’s him before you see him.

The air shifts just enough to make your chest tighten. You look up on instinct.

Gotak freezes in the doorway.

He’s wearing a hoodie you recognize. The one he used to walk you home in. His eyes sweep the room, land on Baku, then... On you.

For half a second, he looks like he’s been punched.

“…What?” he mutters.

Baku raises his hand cheerfully. “Hey, man! Over here.”

Gotak’s jaw tightens. 

You don’t look away. You can’t.

Your sister glances between you two, then smoothly reaches for her water like nothing is wrong.

“Sit,” Baku says. “Food’s good.”

Gotak hesitates. You almost hope he won’t.

He sits across from you anyways. The table suddenly feels very small.

For a while, no one says anything meaningful. Small talk fills the space, classes, practice, a joke about Baku getting fouled too easily.

Your sister laughs at something Baku says, leaning closer without realizing it. Her hand rests briefly on his arm. He stills like it matters.

You notice. Gotak notices too. His eyes flick to them, then back to you.

“You changed your shifts,” he says quietly.

You stiffen. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Baku opens his mouth. Your sister kicks him under the table.

“Gotak,” she says evenly, “maybe...”

“No,” he cuts in, not raising his voice. “I want to hear it from her.”

Silence drops like a held breath.

You stare at your plate. “I told you. School.”

“That’s not all of it.”

You look up then. “Why does it matter?”

His hands curl slightly on the table. “Because you stopped looking at me.”

Your heart stutters.

“That’s not...”

“Two weeks,” he continues, controlled but fraying. “Two weeks of pretending I don’t exist, and I don’t even know what I did.”

Baku shifts uncomfortably. “Okay, maybe this isn’t...”

“I saw you,” you say suddenly.

Gotak stills.

“…Saw me?”

Your voice is steady. It surprises you. “By the gym with her.”

The realization hits him instantly. “Oh,” he says. Then softer, “Oh.”

“You two seemed so close,” you continue, words tumbling now that they’ve started. “She leaned in. And you didn’t stop her.”

“I did,” he says immediately.

“You didn’t,” you snap, louder than you meant to. A few heads turn. You lower your voice. “I was right there.”

His brows knit together. “You were?”

“Yes.”

He exhales sharply, frustration flashing across his face. “Maybe you left before...”

“I didn’t want to watch.”

“I told her no,” he says. “Right after.”

You shake your head. “That’s not what it looked like.”

“I froze,” he admits. “For a second. Even though she hurt me, she's still a woman. I can't just shove her off.”

“That second mattered.”

Silence stretches.

Your sister reaches for Baku’s hand under the table. You catch it out of the corner of your eye. He squeezes back without thinking. They really are a team now.

Gotak’s voice softens. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

You swallow. “Because I didn’t want the answer.”

He looks at you like that hurts worse than the misunderstanding.

“I wait for you,” he says quietly. “I walk you home. I sit in that stupid cafe just to be near you. Do you really think I’d be doing that if I was with someone else?”

You don’t answer. Because part of you already knows.

Baku clears his throat. “Okay. I’m gonna take your sister to the bathroom.”

She gives him a look. “I don’t need...”

“Bathroom,” he insists, standing and pulling her gently with him.

She sighs but goes, shooting you an encouraging look over her shoulder.

And then it’s just the two of you.

Gotak leans forward slightly. “I didn’t push her away immediately because I was tired. Not because I wanted her.”

Your throat tightens.

“She hurt me,” he adds. “You didn’t.”

That lands. Hard.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “But you could’ve told me.”

“I was scared,” you admit. “I was already letting myself want things.”

He nods slowly. “Me too.”

Baku and your sister return a moment later. “Okay,” Baku says, clapping his hands softly. “We done yelling?”

No one answers.

"I think it's better if we just leave them alone, right?" your sister says looking at Baku. They left in a second.

Gotak stands. “Walk with me.”

It’s not a question.

You hesitate, then stand too.

The night air is cool enough to sober you up from the warmth of the restaurant. Streetlights stretch long shadows across the sidewalk, and the city feels gentler at this hour, quieter, like it’s giving the two of you space.

Gotak walks beside you, close but not crowding. His hands are in his jacket pockets again, shoulders relaxed in a way you don’t remember seeing before.

“You didn’t have to walk me all the way,” you say, even though you slow your steps just a little.

“I know,” he answers. A pause. Then, softer, “I want to.”

There it is again. That same simple sincerity. It still makes your chest feel strange.

You walk in silence for a bit, the comfortable kind this time. The kind that doesn’t ask to be filled.

“I was really nervous earlier,” he admits suddenly.

You glance at him. “You? You barely talked.”

“Exactly,” he says dryly. “That’s how bad it was.”

You laugh, and he smiles like he caused it on purpose.

“I kept thinking I’d mess it up,” he continues. “Say something wrong. Push too hard. Or not enough.”

You stop at a crosswalk, the light still red. He stops too, turning to face you properly. The city noise fades into background static.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he says, serious again. “About wanting to do this right.”

You hold his gaze. “Okay.”

A beat. Then, quieter, “I don’t really know what right looks like. I just know I don’t want to lose you again.”

Your breath catches. “You didn’t lose me.”

“I did,” he says. “Even if it wasn’t on purpose.”

The light changes, but neither of you moves.

“I should’ve asked,” you say. “I should’ve trusted you enough to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” he agrees gently. “But next time, we will.”

Next time. The words settle warmly between you.

You start walking again, fingers brushing. He hesitates for half a second, just long enough for you to notice and then... laces his fingers with yours. His hand is warm, steady and grounding.

You squeeze back.

When you reach your building, you linger by the entrance, neither of you quite ready to end the night.

“So,” you say, rocking back on your heels. “This was… a date.”

His mouth quirks. “Not an official one.”

“And you’re going to ask me out officially?” you tease.

He steps closer, voice low. “I was hoping you’d let me.”

You smile up at him. “I will.”

Relief flashes across his face, unguarded and real. “Good.”

He walks you to the door, waits while you unlock it. You turn back to him before going inside.

“Text me when you get home,” you say.

He grins. “I always do.”

You hesitate, then lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek. It’s brief, sweet but when you pull back, his ears are bright red and he looks like he forgot how to breathe.

“Goodnight, Gotak.”

“Goodnight,” he manages, still stunned.

You go inside with a lightness in your chest you haven’t felt in a long time.

He groaned loudly and let his head hit his desk with a dull thud.

It all started two months ago. You had been dating the giant golden retriever of a boy for almost a year. You were a foreigner, an exchange student with Hispanic roots, and while your Korean was great, you still slipped into Spanish whenever you were surprised, angry, or really happy.

Baku thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world. Whenever you stubbed your toe and yelled "¡Ah, mierda!" or whenever you tasted really good food and mumbled "Dios, qué rico," his heart did a stupid little flip. He loved the way the words rolled off your tongue. He loved how fast and passionate you sounded.

But he hated not knowing what you were saying.

Especially when you called him pet names. Sometimes you would play with his hair and call him "Mi osito" or "Mi amor," and he would just blush and nod, completely clueless but totally in love.

So, Baku did what any overly dedicated, totally whipped boyfriend would do. He secretly enrolled in an online beginner’s Spanish class.

His plan was flawless. He was going to study in secret for a few months, and then, on your one-year anniversary, he was going to drop a perfectly pronounced, super romantic speech in Spanish. He imagined you crying happy tears, jumping into his arms, and kissing him all over his face.

It was a great plan.

Until the midterm exam.

Which was tomorrow.

And Baku hadn’t realized that Spanish grammar was basically a torture device designed to destroy his brain.

"Why does a table have a gender?" Baku whispered to his empty room, staring at his flashcards. "Why is la mesa a girl? It’s a piece of wood!"

Suddenly, the front door of his apartment clicked open. He had given you a spare key a few weeks ago, and he heard your familiar footsteps in the hallway, followed by the rustling of plastic bags.

"Humin! I brought tteokbokki!" your voice rang out, cheerful and bright.

Baku panicked. He scrambled to gather his flashcards, his heavy textbook, and his notebook. He tried to shove them under his bed, but his giant hands knocked over his trash can instead.

"Humin? Are you in there?"

The bedroom door pushed open. You walked in holding a bag of spicy street food, wearing one of his oversized hoodies that went down to your thighs. You stopped in your tracks, blinking at the chaotic scene.

Baku was frozen on the floor, half under his bed, holding a bright yellow book with the words ¡ESPAÑOL PASO A PASO! printed in giant red letters on the cover.

You looked at him. You looked at the book. You looked at the whiteboard on his wall that had verb conjugations scribbled in his messy handwriting.

"Baku..." you said slowly, your eyes wide. "Are you... studying Spanish?"

His face instantly turned the color of a tomato. He slowly pulled himself out from under the bed, still clutching the book to his chest like a shield. He couldn't even look you in the eye. He just stared at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"I... uh. No?" he lied horribly.

"Humin," you giggled, setting the food down on his nightstand. You walked over to him and gently pulled the textbook from his massive hands. "You literally have 'El verbo ESTAR' written on your forehead in dry-erase marker."

He quickly wiped his forehead, his blush deepening. "Man, I'm so stupid," he mumbled, looking totally defeated. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

Your heart completely melted into a puddle. You dropped the book on the floor and threw your arms around his neck. He immediately wrapped his thick arms around your waist, burying his face in your shoulder, still embarrassed.

"You were learning Spanish for me?" you asked softly, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Yeah," he grumbled against your hoodie. "You always say cute things to me, and I never know what they mean. I wanted to surprise you for our anniversary. I wanted to say... I wanted to say a whole speech. But your language makes zero sense, _____."

You laughed out loud, a happy, bright sound that made him look up at you.

"Oh, my sweet baby," you cooed, kissing his nose. "That is literally the cutest thing anyone has ever done for me. But why do you look like you're about to cry?"

"Because I have an online exam tomorrow!" he wailed, acting like a giant baby. He dropped his head back onto your shoulder. "If I fail, I get kicked out of the program. And I don't know anything. I don't know the difference between por and para. I don't know why hacer changes to hago. It's a nightmare!"

You couldn't help it. You started laughing so hard your stomach hurt. The image of Eunjang's strongest boy, the guy who made bullies pee their pants, being defeated by Spanish verbs was just too funny.

"Don't laugh at me!" he whined, picking you up by the waist and dropping you onto his bed. He hovered over you, pouting. "I'm suffering here."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," you gasped, trying to catch your breath. You reached up and cupped his cheeks, squishing his face. "I'll help you. I am a native speaker, after all. What's your exam on?"

His eyes lit up like you had just handed him a million dollars. "Really? You'll help me?"

"Of course I will, idiota," you smiled, pulling him down for a proper kiss. His lips were soft and eager, and he kissed you back with a desperate kind of relief, his heavy body pressing you gently into the mattress.

"Okay, enough of that," you said, pushing his chest playfully after a minute. "Go get your laptop. Let's see how bad the damage is."

Ten minutes later, you were sitting cross-legged on his bed, the laptop resting on a pillow between you. Baku was sitting right next to you, his chin resting on your shoulder, watching the screen like a lost puppy.

"Alright, let's start with pronunciation," you said, opening his study guide. "Read this sentence for me."

The sentence was: El perro corre rápido por el ferrocarril. (The dog runs fast through the railroad).

Baku squinted at the screen. He took a deep breath, looking extremely serious.

"El... pe-ro... co-re... rap-i-do... por el... fello-ca-lil?"

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop the giggles, but a snort escaped anyway.

Baku groaned, hiding his face in your neck. "I told you! I sound like an idiot!"

"No, no, baby, it's okay!" you promised, petting his hair. "You just have to roll your R's. Like this: Rrrrr."

Baku lifted his head and tried. "Dddrrr. Grrrr. Rwaaa." He sounded like an engine trying to start in the middle of winter.

"Put your tongue behind your top teeth and blow air," you instructed, turning your head to face him.

He stared at your mouth intensely, then tried again. "Rrrr... perro."

"Yes! Exactly!" you cheered, clapping your hands.

Baku's chest puffed out with pride. He smirked. "I did it. Do I get a prize?"

"A prize?"

He tapped his lips with a thick finger. "A kiss for every word I say right. That's the only way my brain works."

You rolled your eyes but smiled. "Fine. Say ferrocarril."

"Fello— wait. Fer-ro-ca-rril."

He struggled, but he got it out. You leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. He chased your lips, trying to deepen the kiss, but you pulled back.

"Ah ah ah. Only a quick kiss. Focus, Humin."

He huffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Fine. What's next?"

"Okay, let's check your vocabulary," you said, scrolling down. "How do you say 'I am 18 years old'?"

Baku smiled confidently. "Oh, I know this one! It's easy." He cleared his throat. "Tengo dieciocho anos."

You froze.

You stared at him. He smiled back, looking extremely proud of himself, completely unaware of what he had just said.

"What?" he asked, his smile faltering when you didn't say anything. "Did I say it wrong?"

You slowly put your face in your hands and started shaking with laughter. You were laughing so hard that no sound was coming out, and tears were literally forming in the corners of your eyes.

"_____! What did I say?!" Baku panicked, grabbing your shoulders. "Stop laughing! I thought I said years!"

"Humin," you wheezed, wiping a tear from your cheek. "You... you have to put the little squiggle over the 'n'. The ñ. It's años."

"Yeah, that's what I said. Anos."

"No, baby. Años means years. Anos means... anuses."

Baku stared at you. His brain buffered for a solid five seconds.

Then, his entire face, down to his neck, turned a violent shade of red. He threw his hands over his face, falling backward onto the mattress with a loud groan.

"I told my teacher I had 18 anuses yesterday on a voice recording," he whispered into his hands. "I'm going to drop out of school. I'm moving to the mountains. You can never look at me again."

You couldn't breathe. You were laughing so hard you fell back onto his chest, clutching your stomach. "Oh my god... I would pay money to see your teacher's face!"

"Stop it!" he whined, wrapping his arms around you to hide you against his chest, embarrassed but refusing to let you go. "This language is a trap! One little squiggle and suddenly I'm a medical anomaly!"

"It's okay, it's a common mistake!" you giggled, kissing his jawline since his face was still hidden. "I promise I won't tell Gotak or Sieun. They would never let you live it down."

"If you tell Gotak, I will literally throw him out a window," Baku mumbled, finally peeking out from behind his hands. He looked at you, his dark eyes softening when he saw how happy you were. Even though he felt dumb, seeing you laugh like this made the humiliation totally worth it.

"Okay, let's keep going," you said, sitting up and pulling him up with you. "Let's practice some conjugations. If you get three in a row right, you get a real kiss."

Baku's competitive side instantly woke up. He sat up straight, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight. "Bring it on."

For the next two hours, his room turned into a battlefield of grammar.

"To eat. Comer," you prompted. "Say 'We eat'."

"Nosotros... comemos!"

"Yes! Good boy. To sleep. Dormir. Say 'She sleeps'."

Baku frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in heavy concentration. "Ella... dorme? Wait, no. The 'o' changes. Ella duerme!"

"Correct!" You leaned in and gave him a soft, lingering kiss. His large hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. He smiled into the kiss, totally addicted to the reward system.

But it wasn't all smooth sailing.

"Okay, to want. Querer. Say 'I want you'."

Baku looked at you. His eyes darkened a little, his gaze dropping to your lips. "Yo... quiero... tú?"

"Almost," you teased, tapping his nose. "It's Yo te quiero. The 'te' goes before the verb."

"That's stupid," he argued, pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling his waist. "Why is it backwards? In Korean it's straightforward. In English it's straightforward."

"Don't question the language, just learn it," you laughed, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. "Say it."

"Yo te quiero," he said, his voice dropping an octave, sounding rough and incredibly sexy. His pronunciation was still a little clumsy, but the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat.

"Muy bien," you whispered.

He didn't wait for his reward kiss this time. He took it. He pulled you down by the waist, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His hands were warm as they slid under your hoodie, resting on the bare skin of your lower back. You sighed into his mouth, running your fingers through his messy, dark hair.

He tasted like the mint gum he always chewed and felt like home. You could feel his heart beating fast against your chest. For a guy who looked so scary to the rest of the world, he was so incredibly gentle with you.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless.

"Was that correct?" he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

"Perfect," you smiled.

"Can I stop studying now? My brain is melting."

"Humin, your exam is tomorrow."

"I know enough to pass. Probably. Maybe," he groaned, burying his face in your chest and wrapping his arms around you like a giant koala. "I'm so tired. Feed me tteokbokki."

You laughed, reaching over to the nightstand to grab the food you had brought earlier. It was lukewarm now, but neither of you cared. You sat on his lap, feeding him spicy rice cakes with a toothpick while he held you securely.

"You really didn't have to do this, you know," you said softly, popping a fish cake into your own mouth. "Taking a whole class just to talk to me. You're already the best boyfriend ever."

Baku chewed and swallowed before looking at you seriously.

"I wanted to," he said simply. "You always make me feel special. You make that whole foreign country feel like home for me, even though you're the one who's far from home. I wanted to... I don't know. I wanted to be closer to your world."

You felt a lump form in your throat. You put the food down and hugged him tight, burying your face in his neck. "You're gonna make me cry, you idiot."

He chuckled, rubbing your back with his large hand. "Don't cry. Tell me something in Spanish."

You pulled back and looked into his eyes.

"Eres el amor de mi vida," you said softly.

Baku smiled. He didn't know the exact translation, but he knew the word amor, and he knew the word vida. And he knew the way you looked at him.

"I know what that means," he whispered, leaning in to kiss you again. "And you're mine, too."

***

The next day, Baku sat in the school library with his laptop, staring at the final screen of his online exam.

Sieun and Gotak were sitting across from him, eating snacks.

"Is he still doing that weird test?" Gotak whispered loudly to Sieun. "He's been staring at the screen for ten minutes without blinking."

"He's processing," Sieun said calmly, flipping a page in his book. "Leave him be."

Baku took a deep breath and clicked 'Submit'.

A little loading circle spun on the screen. His heart was pounding louder than when he fought Baekjin.

The screen refreshed.

Score: 78% (C+)

Status: PASS

Baku let out a massive breath, slumping back into his chair. He rubbed his face with his hands, a huge, goofy grin spreading across his face.

"I passed," he whispered. Then, louder, "I passed! I'm a bilingual genius!"

"You got a C+, Humin," Sieun pointed out without looking up. "That's hardly a genius level."

"Shut up, Sieun, a pass is a pass!" Baku slammed his laptop shut and jumped up, grabbing his backpack. "I gotta go find _____!"

He ran out of the library, leaving Gotak confused and Sieun slightly amused.

Baku found you by your locker, putting away your books. You looked up when you heard his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway.

"Humin! How did it go?" you asked, closing your locker.

He didn't answer with words. He walked right up to you, picked you up by the waist, and spun you around, making you squeal. He put you down, grinning from ear to ear.

"¡Setenta y ocho por ciento!" he announced proudly, butchering the pronunciation but getting the point across.

"You passed!" you cheered, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him right there in the middle of the hallway. You didn't care who was watching. "I'm so proud of you, mi amor!"

"I literally guessed on the subjunctive part, but your kisses gave me good luck," he laughed, holding you close.

"Well, you deserve a reward," you smiled, playing with his collar. "What do you want to do to celebrate?"

Baku looked down at you, his eyes full of adoration. He leaned in close to your ear.

"Quiero... comer... contigo... y después..." He paused, his brain working overtime to remember the words. "Muchos besos."

You giggled, your heart swelling with so much love you thought it might burst. His accent was terrible. His grammar was incredibly simple.

But to you? It was the most perfect Spanish in the world.

"Muchos besos it is, mi osito," you whispered back, kissing his cheek. "Let's go."

As you walked out of the school hand in hand, Baku realized that he might never fully understand the complicated grammar rules, and he would probably embarrass himself a hundred more times trying to roll his R's.

———————————— ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆—————————————

💗 YEON SIEUN.

♡ HOW WOULD HE ASK YOU OUT? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- this man would know about valentine’s day, but genuinely would not give a damn

- not until you bring it up ofc.

- feel like you’d have a conversation like “i think valentine is such a cute day!” and he’d be like “…really?”

- since that minute, he thinks how to ask you properly to not disappoint you.

- would genuinely search for ideas how to ask you to be his valentine, finds everything extra cringe and would just go for it.

- he’d ask you the night before the 14th, with you lying in bed with him, minding your own business. he’d just blurt out “do you want to spend valentine’s day with me?”

- once you say yes, he smiles a little in relief when you don’t see him.

- spoiler: he was nervous. this guy genuinely thought you’d say no (even if you were HINTINGGG)

…

♡ HOW WOULD THE DAY GO? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- probably will go on a walk with you

- if the weather is bad, you’ll end up at a quiet, cozy café.

- if the weather is tolerable, he’d still buy you any drink you want and would want to be outside, or go to a park to sit down.

- he would actually love every minute of the day, talking about nonsense with you while holding hands like a couple in the movies.

- would want you to stay overnight, but is embarrassed to ask.

- best believe his cheeks will stay pink all day. will blame it on the cold wind.

- is surprisingly soft with you the whole day. this man just fell in love with valentine’s day, even if he thought it’s just a normal day. (he won’t admit it.)

…

♡ GIFT(S) FROM HIM !! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

your favourite hot drink (as mentioned before)

a chocolate box - valentine themed

maybe a little keychain w something you like!!

- his gifts wouldn’t be extra, but meaningful : )

…

♡ OVERALL VIBE:

———————————— ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆—————————————

💗 AHN SUHO.

♡ HOW WOULD HE ASK YOU OUT? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- this ahh acting all nonchalant about it like he wasn’t planning it since the half of january.

- if you try to ask if he’s planning something, he will deny to the point where you start thinking he actually won’t ask you out.

- “who knows? never cared about that stuff.”

- actually planned to ask you in school, but chickened out.

- plan b: call you at midnight, asking you to be his valentine. that also didn’t work because he fell asleep.

- so, when he woke up in the morning, the first thing he did was panic over it.

- he’d text you in a hurry, hoping you weren’t mad (how could you be?)

suho: hey y/n i’m so sorry i fell asleep yesterday please don’t be mad

suho: let’s go out, i’ll treat my valentine extra nicely today. deal?

…

♡ HOW WOULD THE DAY GO? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- first off, he’d stop by your house with a bouquet of your favourite flowers as he explains how he wanted to ask you.

- then, if you wanted to go somewhere specific, he’d prefer your place. but if the decision is up to him? you’re going to a restaurant.

- thinking either some fancier one, since he has some money from his part time jobs or to his grandma’s, since he knows the place and will be sure that he won’t disappoint.

- at least he wouldn’t need to pay HAHA

- i also see him taking a walk with you, holding hands and all that.

- you’ll end up by the han river, sitting at a bench with a beautiful view in front of you.

- expect him to pull you into his arms if you dare to shiver once. will fist bump the air in his head when he feels you lean into him.

- loves the intimacy of it all and is glad that you’re satisfied.

…

♡ GIFT(S) FROM HIM !! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

bouquet of your favourite flowers

a valentine themed chocolate box (will demand from you to share w him)

a BIG kiss 😉

- would think of the whole date as a gift, but little additions wouldn’t hurt him.

…

♡ OVERALL VIBE:

———————————— ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆—————————————

💗 OH BEOMSEOK.

♡ HOW WOULD HE ASK YOU OUT? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- this cutie will genuinely get all advices from suho.

- he just really wants to impress you and wants you to feel loved on this special day !!

- would practice lines in front of the mirror like a loser, then getting embarrassed and thinking about it in his head instead.

- for the whole week before valentine, he’d be rambling to sieun and suho about it constantly.

- when beomseok starts to spiral, sieun will reassure him and will give him more honest advices than suho.

- in the morning of february 14th, you’d hear a knock on your door. when you open, you’ll be welcomed with a big bouquet of flowers and a plushie of your favourite animal with a heart : )

- “i hope you like these, i think you said they were your favourites— oh, sorry. do you want to be my valentine?

…

♡ HOW WOULD THE DAY GO? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- he would steal lots of money from his dad to really treat you. you couldn’t really tell him otherwise, so…

- will buy you anything you want, take you wherever you want, but in the evening, you’ll end up in a fancy restaurant.

- yes, this man made a whole ass reservation.

- he’s really excited, let him be 😭😭

- would ask to spend the night at your place, since he doesn’t want to leave yet.

- when you get to your place (if you say yes), you both end up watching something cute on your tv and falling asleep, tangled in each other.

- trust that he’s beaming inside the whole day. will take many photos for memories, will post them later on his instagram story.

…

♡ GIFT(S) FROM HIM !! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

big bouquet of your favourite flowers + a plushie (as mentioned before)

to be honest, anything you wish for. he has the money and will treat you with anything.

- this man would give you his heart if he had to.

…

♡ OVERALL VIBE:

———————————— ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆—————————————

💗 GO HYUNTAK.

♡ HOW WOULD HE ASK YOU OUT? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- feel like he’d be so new to all of this, so when you bring up valentine’s day, he has no idea what to say.

- knows what it’s about but never bothered to ask a girl to be his valentine.

- has a moment of weakness and asks baku for advice -> regrets it immediately, scolds him, takes a mental note to NEVER ask him again for any relationship advice.

(also got himself into an endless teasing from him)

- but what he takes as advice is buying you something in advance and will think of a way to ask you so you’ll remember it forever.

- i see him actually waiting for you somewhere where you don’t expect him to be (if you’re going from practice for example) with a small amount of your favourite flowers and your favourite drink/snack/anything else you think of

- the minute you say yes, he hugs you immediately.

- if anyone glares your way, he’d actually smirk for himself, proud of what he had done.

…

♡ HOW WOULD THE DAY GO? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- a day in the movie theatre!

- it’s because he doesn’t need to be outside in such cold weather, loves being close to you and watching a movie at home TODAY feels very low effort.

- would let you pick the movie, will complain about it to tease you.

- throughout the movie, will make you sit closer to him and will hold your hand from the beginning.

- sharing a popcorn ofc (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

- will walk you home like a gentleman, letting you hook your arm trough his to keep you warm.

- or will give you his jacket.

- expect a minute of vulnerability and love in your doorstep when he has to go.

- don’t point it out or he’ll stop immediately LOL

…

♡ GIFT(S) FROM HIM !! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

small amount of your favourite flowers (as mentioned before)

something that’s your favourite as a sign of care (as mentioned before)

also a BIG kiss : ) - more affectionate than usual

…

♡ OVERALL VIBE:

———————————— ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆—————————————

💗 PARK HUMIN.

♡ HOW WOULD HE ASK YOU OUT? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- you know those couple photos where the boy is holding a paper with some cheesy pick up line that leads into asking to be their valentine?

- he’s doing that. this man doesn’t care about embarrassing himself in front of the whole school.

- but of course he’s not doing it alone.

- the boys will help him out (mostly juntae, because he’s the only one who thinks it’s such a cute idea)

- would actually be a nervous wreck about it alone at home, overthinking everything.

- but even if the guys helped him out, i just know something would be incorrectly spelled on that paper😭

- jumps, yells, hugs you in happiness when you say yes.

…

♡ HOW WOULD THE DAY GO? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- wants to spend the whole day with you, so good luck getting rid of him.

- will be okay with every activity!

- you guys would get lunch together (either something from the convenience store or in his dad’s restaurant!)

- then he’d want to spend some time at the basketball court & just have fun

- in the evening, you’ll end up at an arcade with him trying to win you a plushie holding a heart. you’d have to physically hold him down to not spend all of his money.

- even if he wins or not, he would still get it for you. loves seeing you happy.

- you’ll end up spending the night with him, too. he’s enjoying this a bit too much and doesn’t want the moment to end so quickly.

- this dumbass would forget that he had another thing to give you at home - you’d receive it later that week.

…

♡ GIFT(S) FROM HIM !! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

valentine themed plushie (as mentioned before)

his hoodie - he’d give you so you have something comfortable to sleep in, only for him to say you can keep it the next day.

a small, cute necklace that he saved his money for. 🥹

…

♡ OVERALL VIBE:

———————————— ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆—————————————

💗 SEO JUNTAE.

♡ HOW WOULD HE ASK YOU OUT? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- would take the idea from baku and will do the same thing.

- but not this flashy. something meaningful, in private, something that will send your mind into cuteness aggression.

- maybe get your favourite snack/drink and on the box, will write a simple “will you be my valentine? ❤️”

- plus with some other adorable things.

- if anyone had to be the biggest loser about it, it will be him.

- he will stutter and ramble something about not being flashy enough.

- “i-i know it’s not too much— i hope you like it, i heard you searched for this for a l-long time!”

- allat while blushing like crazy, fidgeting with his sleeves.

…

♡ HOW WOULD THE DAY GO? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- would ask his parents to buy you guys tickets to the aquarium !!

- he knows you love animals and he thinks the sea creatures are interesting, so he chose it for both of you to enjoy it.

- will be SO shy about holding your hand. but once it happens, he’s not letting go.

- would beam anytime you admire the fishes with honest interest.

- will buy you both matching keychains from there as a memory for him. (he will never forget about it)

- on the way home, you’d stop by in the convenience store for some ramen and eat it together.

- i’m telling you that he will either tell his parents or call gotak about it, because he never had a better day than this one.

…

♡ GIFT(S) FROM HIM !! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

the matching keychains (as mentioned before)

your favourite snack/drink + invitation to be his valentine (as mentioned before)

tickets to the aquarium !!

- bonus: if you love to read (especially manga’s), he will buy you another chapter of your favourite show!

…

♡ OVERALL VIBE:

———————————— ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆—————————————

💗 GEUM SEONGJE.

♡ HOW WOULD HE ASK YOU OUT? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- let’s be real, this ahh doesn’t care at all.

- doesn’t do love, doesn’t do cheesy, couple stuff that will ruin his nonchalant persona.

- but i think that if you really mention you loving valentine’s day, he will think about it.

- he’s not the guy to do flashy things and show his affection publicly

- but he knows that he does care for you, whenever he likes it or not.

- he won’t ask you. he will act as if it was a normal day.

- BUT on the 14th of february, he’d casually go up to you and demand you to follow him.

- this is his way of asking you. he doesn’t need to hear you accept, because he knows you will say yes either way.

…

♡ HOW WOULD THE DAY GO? (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

- would only spend the evening with you, taking you on a rooftop with a beautiful view.

- he likes the night hours more anyway.

- if you smoke, will share with you as a gift.

- if you don’t, he’ll just smoke by himself. yeah, you’re not stopping him.

- you both just talk normally, but you already guessed that this is a date.

- would eventually say that it is a date, snickers when you act surprised.

- if he’s feeling extra generous, you’d have a bouquet of flowers waiting for you at the doorstep without any letter.

- you know it was him. you never needed to guess.

…

♡ GIFT(S) FROM HIM !! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

pack of cigarettes (if you smoke)

bouquet of flowers the next day

- he wouldn’t think of any gifts to be honest. he thinks him not forgetting is enough.

…

♡ OVERALL VIBE:

———————————— ♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆—————————————

yayy, finally finished!! super proud of this one. hope you like it as much as i do :)

now i should get back to my drafts haha…

Your phone screen lit up for the umpteenth time that night, but it wasn't what you were hoping for. It was a notification from a food delivery app, not a message from Humin.

You sighed, tossing your phone onto the bed in frustration.

You’d been dating for almost a year. At first, everything was a mess, but it was fun. Baku was... Baku.

Sleepy, boisterous, a bit of an idiot sometimes, but he was always there. If you were cold, he gave you his jacket. If someone bothered you, that someone ended up with a punch to the face.

But ever since he joined the "Union," things had changed.

Na Baekjin wasn't a leader who gave much time off. And Baku, being the "King" of Eunjang and now a key piece in the organization, was always busy.

"I'm doing this so we can have some peace," he had told you the last time you saw him, four days ago. "If I control this, no one will mess with us."

The problem was that, in order to "protect us," he had disappeared.

There were no more tteokbokki dates. No more afternoons playing video games at his place. There were only short messages: "I'm busy," "I'm running late," "I can't make it, let's go out another day."

You felt like a ghost's girlfriend.

You looked at the clock. 11:30 PM.

Your stomach rumbled. You hadn't eaten dinner, waiting to see if he’d deign to show up, but it was clear today wasn't going to be the day either.

Frustration mixed with hunger and anger. "Screw it, Park Humin," you muttered, getting out of bed.

You put on an oversized gray hoodie—ironically, one he had left the last time he was at your place almost two weeks ago—and some comfy pants. You needed air. And you needed spicy instant ramen. Badly.

You left your apartment. The night air was cool, but not freezing. The streets in your neighborhood were relatively quiet, lit by the neon glow of promotional signs and yellowish streetlamps.

You walked toward the usual convenience store, the one three blocks away. While you walked, you checked your phone one more time.

"Going to the store, let me know if you get home." (Sent 11:35 PM)

No reply. Not even left on "read."

You shoved the phone into your hoodie pocket with rage. Was it so hard to send an emoji? An "ok"? A "be careful"?

You got to the store, bought two cups of spicy ramen, a banana milk, and some chocolates. You sat at one of the plastic tables outside to eat.

The ramen burned, but the spice helped clear your mind. You watched a few cars pass by and drunk people stumbling out of distant bars.

"Should I break up with him?" you asked your cup of noodles.

It was a question haunting your mind. You loved Humin. God, you loved him so much. But this distance... this feeling of being the last priority on his gangster to-do list was slowly killing you.

You finished eating and threw away the trash. You felt a bit better, less empty.

You started walking back home. It was already 12:15 AM. The streets were lonelier now.

That was when you felt that prickle on the back of your neck.

Someone was walking behind you.

At first, you thought it was paranoia, but when you sped up, the footsteps behind you sped up too.

Your heart leaped into your throat. You weren't in the main Union zone; you lived in the border territory, an area where guys from other schools who hated Baekjin and the Eunjang crew sometimes sneaked in.

You turned a corner, hoping to lose them.

Bad idea.

The street was cut off by construction work. It was a dead end right now.

You spun around quickly to go back, but three figures blocked the alley entrance.

"Well, well... look who we have here..." one of them said. He was wearing a southern technical school uniform, unbuttoned and dirty. They smelled like cheap cigarettes and alcohol.

"Isn't this the Eunjang King's girl?" asked the second one, a skinny guy with a rat face who looked at you in a way that made you feel instantly filthy.

Your blood ran cold.

That was the cruel irony of your situation.

Baku had distanced himself to "protect" you, so his problems wouldn't be yours. But by being his girlfriend, you had a target on your back that screamed, "Look at me, I'm the girlfriend of the asshole you hate." And now that he wasn't by your side, that target shone brighter than ever.

"I don't know what you're talking about..." you said, trying to keep your voice from trembling. You took a step back. "Let me pass."

"Pass?" The third one, the biggest, laughed and spat on the ground. "We've been wanting to send a message to the 'King of Eunjang' for weeks. But that bastard never shows up..."

He took a step toward you.

"But you... you appeared right in front of us..."

Panic exploded in your chest. You shoved your hand into your hoodie pocket, searching for your phone. Your fingers were shaking so hard you almost dropped it.

"If you come any closer, I'm calling the police!" you screamed.

"Call whoever you want, sweetheart." The skinny guy lunged at you and grabbed your wrist before you could unlock the screen.

"Let me go!"

You thrashed hard, kicking him in the leg. The guy groaned and let go for a second. You took the chance to run toward the only open gap, but the big guy grabbed you by your hood and yanked you back violently.

You fell onto the concrete floor, scraping your palms and calves. Your phone went flying and landed a couple of meters away, screen lit up.

"Damn bitch!" the skinny one growled, rubbing his leg. "Now you're really going to regret that."

You crawled backward until your back hit some sacks of cement from the construction site. You were cornered.

"We're going to take some pictures with you," the leader said, pulling out his own phone. "And we're going to send them to Baku. Let's see if he's still so arrogant when he sees his girlfriend crying."

"Get away!" you screamed, even though you knew they wouldn't listen. "Get away from me!"

The big guy crouched down and grabbed your face with a rough hand, squeezing your cheeks.

"Scream louder. No one is coming. Your boyfriend is too busy playing gangster. He left you all alone, didn't he?"

Tears started falling down your face. They were right. He had left you alone.

The skinny guy grabbed your arms to pin you down while the other one prepared to... whatever he had in mind.

You closed your eyes, waiting for the blow, waiting for the pain.

And then, it rang out.

It wasn't a police siren. It was a sound much more terrifying and, at the same time, the most beautiful sound in the world.

It was the sound of a bone breaking.

And then, an agonized scream.

You opened your eyes.

The guy who was holding the phone to take the picture was no longer standing. He was against the opposite wall as if he’d been hit by a truck. He smashed into the bricks and slumped down unconscious.

At the alley entrance, under the flickering light of the streetlamp, stood a silhouette.

He was wearing a white t-shirt, hands in his pockets, and his hair was a bit messy.

"Hey..." His voice was low, slurred, as if he had just woken up from a nap. But there was an edge to it that made the other two guys freeze. "You guys are being really loud."

It was Baku.

But it wasn't the Baku who smiled at you and stole kisses whenever you walked together. It was the Baku everyone feared.

The Monster of Eunjang.

"B-Baku!" the big guy stammered, letting go of your face as if it burned.

Park Humin walked toward them slowly. He didn't run. He didn't look worried. He looked... bored. And that made him a thousand times more terrifying.

He stopped two meters away from you all. His dark eyes scanned the scene. He saw your scraped knees. He saw your bleeding hands. He saw the tears on your face. And he saw the guy's hand still near your arm.

The indifference vanished.

His expression changed to one of pure, absolute, and terrifying fury.

"Get your dirty hands off my girlfriend," he whispered.

The skinny guy tried to pull out a knife.

"Don't come any closer! I'm going to—!"

He didn't finish the sentence. Baku moved with inhuman speed. Before you could blink, Baku's fist connected directly with the skinny guy's nose. The sound was wet and crunchy. The guy fell to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the cement.

The big one was left. The leader. He was shaking.

"Wait! We were just playing!" he yelled, backing away. "We didn't know that—!"

"Didn't know what?" Baku tilted his head. "Didn't know what? Didn't know that if you touch my girlfriend, you get a beating?"

Baku delivered a kick to his stomach that knocked all the air out of him. The guy doubled over. Then, Baku grabbed his head and slammed a knee into his face. The guy fell next to his friends.

Three against one. And it had lasted less than thirty seconds.

Silence returned to the alley, broken only by the groans of pain from the guys on the ground.

Baku stood there for a moment, breathing a bit heavily, his knuckles stained with blood that wasn't his. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and turned toward you.

You were still on the ground, trembling, in shock.

He ran to you and dropped to his knees, ignoring the dirt on the floor.

"..." His voice was no longer that of the monster everyone feared. It was your boyfriend's. Full of panic. ", look at me. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

He touched your face with shaking hands, checking you frantically.

"Humin..." you sobbed, throwing yourself into his arms.

He caught you, hugging you so tight he almost squeezed the air out of your lungs, but you needed to feel that to know you weren't dreaming and that he was really there.

You buried your face in his neck, smelling his cologne mixed with sweat.

"I'm sorry... shit, I'm so sorry..." he murmured against your hair, kissing your head over and over. "I was late. I'm an idiot."

You pulled back a little, still crying.

"You didn't answer!" you screamed at him, hitting his chest weakly. "I texted you all week! And you couldn't answer a single one, you idiot!"

Baku looked at you, and you saw something you'd never seen in him: guilt. A devastating guilt that made you feel guilty yourself for yelling at him like that.

"Baekjin ordered us to turn off our phones." He took your scraped hands and kissed them, not caring about the blood. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, I'm sorry I didn't answer the messages..."

He looked at the guys lying on the ground with renewed hatred.

"I'm going to kill them... I swear I'm going to wake these bastards up and kill them one by one for touching you."

He made a move to get up, but you grabbed his shirt.

"No!" you begged. "No, Humin. Let's go. Please. I just want to go home..."

Baku stopped. He looked into your eyes, saw the terror you still held. He nodded slowly, swallowing his rage for your sake.

"Okay. We're leaving."

He crouched down, picked up your phone from the ground—the screen was cracked—and put it in his pocket. Then, without a word, he slipped one arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you up bridal style.

"I can walk..." you murmured.

"And I can carry you..." His tone allowed for no argument. "You hurt your knees. You don't have to walk."

You leaned against his chest, listening to his heart beat wildly.

"Where are we going?"

"To my place. It's empty..." Baku started walking, leaving the alley and leaving them behind. "No one's going to bother us there."

The ride was silent. Baku didn't let go of you for a second. He hailed a taxi and kept you on his lap the whole way, his arm around you like a barrier, glaring at anyone who dared to look in your direction.

You arrived at the apartment he had managed to rent with his new "job." It was a simple place, a bit messy as always, but it smelled like him. And best of all, his drunk father wasn't there screaming and demanding attention.

He took you to the bathroom and sat you on the closed toilet lid.

"I'm going to get the first aid kit," he said, and ran out.

He returned in a minute with a box of supplies and a damp towel. He knelt in front of you, between your legs.

With a gentleness that contrasted with the violence he had just unleashed, he started cleaning your knees with the towel.

"It's gonna sting a little," he warned softly.

You hissed when the antiseptic touched the raw skin. Baku stopped immediately and blew softly on the wound.

"Sorry, sorry..."

You looked at him. His brow was furrowed, focused on healing you as if it were the most important mission of his life. He looked tired. He had dark circles under his eyes. Life in the Union was wearing him down.

"Humin..." you said softly.

He looked up. His eyes met yours and filled with tears. Park Humin, the guy who never cried, had glassy eyes.

"I'm so sorry..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "If I had arrived a minute late... if they had weapons..."

He rested his head in your lap, hugging your waist. You felt his shoulders shaking.

"It's my fault." His voice came out muffled by your hoodie. "All of this. I pushed you away so you’d be safe. I thought if they didn't see me with you, if I focused on the Union work, you'd be safe. But I'm stupid. I left you alone. I left you exposed."

You stroked his soft hair, feeling your heart break for him.

"I was so mad at you..." you admitted. "I thought you didn't care anymore. That the Union was more important."

Baku snapped his head up.

"What?" He looked at you in horror. "How can you think that? The Union is shit. It's dirty work. You are... you are the only good thing I have. You're the only reason I put up with Baekjin and his bullshit."

He rose a bit and cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him.

"Listen to me closely, ____. There is nothing, absolutely nothing in this world more important than you. I stayed away because I was afraid you'd get hurt because of me. But I see I was an idiot. By staying away, I only put you in more danger and made you feel bad..."

He rested his forehead against yours.

"I'm not doing that again. Screw the Union. If I have to take you with me everywhere, I will. If I have to put Go Tak on bodyguard duty when I can't be there, I will. But I'm never leaving you alone again."

"Promise..." you whispered.

"I swear on my life." Baku kissed you.

It was a salty kiss from the tears, but full of desperation and love that left you breathless. His lips were soft, insistent. He kissed you as if he wanted to erase the memory of those guys, as if he wanted to remind you who you belonged to and who belonged to you.

When you pulled apart, both of you were panting a little.

"Let me finish fixing you up..." he said, returning to his task with your knees and hands.

When he finished, he put some colorful band-aids on you, which he claimed he bought because they were on sale. But you knew he did it because they were Iron Man ones.

"Done." He looked at you. "Hungry?"

You laughed a little, a nervous but relieved laugh.

"I already ate... I just want to sleep. A lot."

"Let's sleep then."

Baku took you to his bed. He lent you a clean t-shirt because your hoodie was dirty. He took off his sweaty shirt and stayed in sweatpants.

You lay down. Baku's bed was always full of pillows, which you always criticized because you didn't know how he could sleep like that, but it was always the most comfortable place in the world.

He pulled you into his chest, wrapping you in his strong, heavy arms. He threw a leg over yours, pinning you in a protective bear hug.

"Comfortable?" he asked against your ear.

"Yes."

"Does anything hurt?"

"No. I'm okay."

There was a moment of silence. You could feel his breathing slowing down, exhaustion overtaking him now that the adrenaline was fading.

"Humin..." you murmured.

"Mmm?"

"Those guys... They said they wanted to send you a message."

You felt him tense up for a second, but then he stroked your back to calm you.

"Don't worry about them anymore." His voice turned dark and serious for a moment. "Tomorrow I'll make sure everyone knows that if anyone looks at you wrong, all of Eunjang is going to come down on them. No one is ever going to touch you again, my love... Not while I'm with you."

He kissed the back of your neck.

"Now sleep... I'm sleepy too..."

You relaxed, closing your eyes. The fear was gone. You knew he would keep his word to take care of you. You knew that tomorrow, when you woke up, you’d have to talk more about how to manage his schedule, but for now, that didn't matter.

Park Humin was back. And this time, he wasn't planning to let go.

"I love you..." you whispered, half-asleep.

He let out a soft chuckle, that laugh that made you fall in love with him over and over again.

Baku didn’t usually call you at night.

Not unless it was over something small—memes, show recaps, reminders.

But tonight, when your phone lit up with his name, there was something in the timing… something tight in your chest telling you this wasn’t casual.

You answered immediately.

“Baku?”

His voice was low, rough. “Hey… are you home?”

You sat up straighter. “Yeah. What’s wrong?”

There was muffled shouting behind him. Something slammed. You heard him suck in a shaky breath.

“Is Gotak with you?” he asked.

“No, he’s not. Why? What happened?”

“I tried calling him,” Baku said quietly. “Twice. He didn’t pick up.”

Your heart dropped.

He never liked saying things out loud, but you knew what it meant.

His dad. Another bad night.

“I think he's out of town for the weekend,” Baku continued. “He mentioned going to see his aunt...”

“And his place…?” you asked gently.

“He’s not home, so I can’t get in,” Baku muttered. “He offered to leave the spare key somewhere but it’s already late and I…”

He trailed off, voice cracking at the edge. “I don’t really wanna go near my place again.”

You closed your eyes, trying not to let your voice shake. “Baku.”

“I’ll figure something out,” he said quickly, defensively. “I’ve slept outside before, so it’s not a big—”

“No.” Your tone came out firmer than you expected. “You’re not sleeping outside.”

He went silent. Completely.

Then, softly:

“…Then what am I supposed to do?”

“You’re coming here.”

Another pause.

A breath.

Like the idea hadn’t even occurred to him.

“I don’t wanna dump all this on you,” he muttered. “You shouldn’t have to deal with—”

“You’re my boyfriend,” you said. “Come over.”

Silence again—this time the kind where you could almost feel him leaning into your voice.

“Can I really?” he whispered.

“Yes, Baku. Right now.”

A shaky exhale. “Okay… I’ll be there in five.”

———————————————

You left the door unlocked and waited, pacing, twisting the strings of your hoodie. When footsteps sounded outside, you opened the door before he even touched the handle.

His hood was up, eyes tired, shoulders tight. He walked in slowly—then immediately wrapped his arms around you. No words. No hesitation. Just full-body exhaustion and relief pressed into you.

You held him, rubbing slow circles on his back “You’re safe now,” you whispered.

He didn’t speak for almost a full minute. Then, muffled against your shoulder:

“Sorry. I just… needed to be somewhere that wasn’t there.”

“You never have to apologize for that.”

He pulled back a little, avoiding your eyes. “You shouldn’t have to handle me like this.”

“I don’t have to,” you corrected. “I want to.”

His eyes darted to you—surprised, grateful, overwhelmed.

He didn’t argue again.

———————————————

You made him tea while he sat on the edge of your bed, watching you with soft, tired eyes.

When you handed him the mug, he held it with both hands like it was the only warm thing in the world.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Always,” you replied.

He took a small sip, then looked around your room—with that shy, awkward curiosity he tried to hide.

“This is the first time I’ve… you know… stayed over. At a girlfriend’s place.” His ears turned pink. “Kinda don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You’re supposed to relax.” You nudged his knee. “And sleep. Preferably in my bed, not on the couch.”

His head snapped up. “Your bed?”

You smiled. “Unless you don’t want to.”

“N–no! I want to.”

Then he froze. “I mean—not in a weird way. Just… you know… warmth. And safety. And—”

You placed a hand on his cheek. “Baku. It’s okay.”

He shut up instantly.

———————————————

Later, under the blankets, he lay stiff for a moment—clearly overthinking everything. You scooted closer and rested your head on his chest.

His breath hitched.

Then, slowly, his arm curled around you, pulling you in like he’d been wanting to all night but was too afraid to ask.

“You comfortable?” you whispered.

He nodded against your hair. “Yeah. This feels… good. Really good.”

You laced your fingers with his. He squeezed back instantly.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For letting me come here instead of… doing something stupid.”

“You didn’t do anything stupid,” you said. “You came to me. That’s brave.”

He breathed in sharply, like your words hit deeper than he expected.

“You make things feel less… heavy,” he whispered.

You pressed a small kiss to his chest. “You’re safe with me.”

His hand tightened around yours.

“And I wanna stay here,” he murmured, voice finally calm. “In your bed. With you.”

You snuggled closer.

“Good. Because you’re not going anywhere tonight.”

————————————- 🎂 ——————————————

all of this was your and baku’s idea.

gotak had his birthday today and you both knew that he never really had a birthday party - not like he needed any anyways, like he always liked to say.

but you just had to surprise him. you both, even juntae and sieun thought that it would be hilarious seeing his reaction to having balloons all over his bedroom.

that’s how you ended up at gotak’s place with the rest of your friend group, setting up the place for the great surprise.

balloons? everywhere. gifts? prepared. cake? well… yes, but you didn’t know if it was even edible with the way how it looked.

you were feeling giddy inside, ready to see the priceless reaction on gotak’s face.

and so were the others.

“hey, give me the best impression of gotak coming here and seeing all of this,” baku suggested, then speaking again. “i’ll start…”

”yahh! are you serious? i told you i don’t like surprises!” baku whined, trying to imitate gotak’s voice as best as possible. you all laughed, even sieun cracked a small smile.

“i think he will be glad though,” juntae added, smiling softly. “he never had a birthday party before, right?”

“he had to have one when he was a child,” sieun replied to juntae’s question like it was an obvious thing.

“right? he had to have at least one birthday party before!” you agreed with sieun, making the group discuss gotak’s childhood.

“i agree with juntae. he’s just a grumpy man that can’t admit some things make him happy,” baku spoke up, checking the time. “when did he say he’ll be going home again?”

“4PM,” you replied almost immediately, making all of them look at you in suspicion. you saw the way baku looked away but smirked to himself.

before you could even wonder why was he doing that, you heard the main door open downstairs.

everyone got quiet.

“everyone hide!” you whisper-yelled as you all had hidden somewhere from gotak’s view.

it took him a while to finally reach his bedroom. he just wanted to take off his bag and finally lay down on his bed.

but when he opened, he didn’t expect you all popping up from somewhere, yelling “surprise!” with big smiles on your faces.

his eyes roamed around the decorations in his bedroom, groaning softly. “you have to be kidding me…”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS? THAT’S ALL YOU’RE GOING TO SAY?” baku yelled in excitement, already moving towards him.

“stop yelling, you idiot,” gotak replied, his eyes suddenly getting on you.

you were laughing at baku being absolutely careless like he always was. then he noticed that you had some soft make-up on your face, your hair was nicely done and you just looked… nicer than usual.

that made him soften up a bit, seeing how much effort you had put into this surprise.

“you’re all so stupid,” he said, but his smile betrayed him.

“see? i told you he would love this!” you replied, your smile only widening.

“don’t get ahead of yourself,” he warned. “i didn’t say i love it.”

“but you do,” you teased back. “you just can’t admit it.”

————————————- 🎂 ——————————————

you guys hung out like you would usually do.

the party was really nice. you all laughed, played games, talked a lot. even gotak liked his gifts and sieun wasn’t that quiet anymore.

when the clock striked 10PM, you decided to finally go home.

you all were putting on your shoes, except gotak, who was leaning against the doorframe watching you.

the boys said their goodbyes, heading outside. you were about to follow them, but gotak’s unusually soft voice stopped you.

“hey,” he started, waiting for you to turn around. “who’s idea was all of this?”

you smiled. “why do you wanna know?”

“to know who’s ass i’m kicking,” he joked, his smile widening itself.

“well… mostly mine. but baku had his part too.” you confessed.

“i’m guessing he had the cake part?” he asked, mentioning the crusty looking cake he received.

that made you laugh softly, “yeah, that was him.”

he only smiled, looking away from you for a moment.

“… thanks,” he spoke up like he wasn’t sure if he’s able to finish the sentence without embarrassing himself. “… for preparing all of this. it made me really happy,” he revealed. like it wasn’t obvious.

“you don’t have to thank me—“

“but i do,” he interrupted you, stepping closer. “no one has never done this for me before,” he stopped in front of you, unusually close. “and i’m thankful that you did.”

it all made your heart do a stupid flip inside of your chest, feeling the blush creeping up your cheeks. you couldn’t even look into his eyes properly.

and he had noticed.

that’s why he just pulled you close to him, giving you a hug. another thing that wasn’t so usual for him to do.

what was up with him today?

you stood there, in his hallway, hugging each other like you were about to disappear.

both of your hearts were racing. and it both made you realise one thing - this isn’t casual at all.

he pulled away slowly just to look into your eyes, adding one last thing before letting you go.

“don’t think i didn’t notice that you dolled up for today,” he patted your shoulders. “you look… nice.”

before you could think of what to say, you heard someone yell outside. “y/n-ssi! hurry up, we’re super bored!”

you heard gotak chuckle to himself, before letting go of you for real this time. “text me when you get home.”

you nodded and left, the warmth in your chest never leaving.

you were sure that you fell in love just now.

and so did he. <3

————————————- 🎂 ——————————————

AHH MY HUBBY!!

it’s kinda shit now that i read it lol 🫩

.ᐟ YEON SIEUN

.ᐟ AHN SUHO

.ᐟ OH BEOMSEOK

.ᐟ BAKU

.ᐟ GOTAK

.ᐟ SEO JUNTAE

.ᐟ GEUM SEONGJE

.ᐟ NA BAEKJIN

The lunch break was half over. While most students had migrated to the cafeteria or gathered in boisterous clusters around the popular kids, you remained in your seat. The early afternoon sun filtered through the dusty windowpane, warming the side of your face. You had a sketchbook open, a graphite pencil hovering over a half-finished drawing of the school courtyard, and a small, dry melon bread sitting on the corner of your desk.

You took a breath, enjoying the relative peace.

"Haaaaah... so stiff."

The peace shattered instantly.

The groan came from the desk directly in front of yours. You froze. That desk belonged to Park Humin—or "Baku," as everyone called him. The unspoken king of the class. The guy who looked like a golden retriever but fought like a demon. He had been asleep since second period, his head buried in his arms, his hoodie pulled up.

Now, he was stretching. His arms shot up toward the ceiling, his spine cracking with a series of audible pops. He shook his head like a wet dog, his shaggy, brown hair falling messily over his eyes. He turned in his chair, spinning it around completely so he was straddling it backwards, facing you.

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Don't make eye contact. Don't make eye contact.

"Hey," he said.

You flinched, your pencil skidding across the paper, ruining the shading on a tree trunk. You slowly looked up.

Baku was resting his chin on his folded arms atop the back of his chair. He didn't look terrifying. He looked... sleepy. His eyes were half-lidded, dark and curious, and there was a red imprint on his cheek from where he’d been sleeping on his sleeve.

"You're always here," he observed, his voice raspy from sleep. He tilted his head, studying you as if you were a new species of bug he’d found in the grass. "Don't you eat?"

"I..." Your voice cracked. You cleared your throat, heat rushing to your cheeks. "I am eating."

You pointed a shaking finger at the melon bread.

Baku’s eyes shifted to the bread, then back to your face. A slow, lazy grin spread across his features. It was blinding. It was the kind of smile that made people lower their guard before he punched them, but right now, it just looked like sunshine.

"That’s dry," he stated flatly. He reached into the pocket of his blazer and pulled out a small carton of strawberry milk. He slammed it onto your desk with a decisive thud, right next to your sketchbook. "Here. Trade."

You stared at the pink carton. "What?"

"Trade," he repeated, reaching out and snatching your melon bread before you could protest. He tore the package open with his teeth, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "I need carbs. You need calcium. Look at you, you’re tiny. The wind might blow you away if someone opens a window."

"I'm not that tiny," you muttered, surprised by your own boldness.

Baku laughed. It was a bright, infectious sound that cut through the low murmur of the classroom. "You totally are. You’re like... a hamster. Hiding in the corner with your seeds." He took a massive bite of your bread, chewing happily. "Mmm. Not bad."

You sat there, stunned. Park Humin was eating your lunch. Park Humin was talking to you. Park Humin was comparing you to a rodent.

"Drink," he commanded, nodding at the milk.

Mechanically, you poked the straw through the foil and took a sip. The artificial sweetness of strawberry flooded your mouth. It was cold and sugary, a stark contrast to the dryness of your throat.

"Good, right?" He grinned, crumbs on the corner of his mouth. "Strawberry milk solves ninety percent of life's problems. The other ten percent are solved by basketball."

"That’s... a weird way to see life," you whispered.

"It's efficient," he countered, leaning closer. His personal space boundaries were nonexistent. He was so close you could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent and whatever sweet snack he’d eaten before his nap. "So, Hamster. What are you drawing?"

He looked down at your sketchbook before you could cover it. You braced yourself for mockery. Most people at Eunjang didn't care about art unless it was graffiti.

Baku’s chewing slowed. He swallowed, his expression shifting from playful to attentive. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the edge of the paper to rotate the book toward him.

"Whoa," he breathed out. "That’s the courtyard? The shading is crazy." He looked up at you, his eyes wide and genuine. "You did this just now?"

"It’s just a sketch," you mumbled, looking at your hands. "It’s messy."

"It's cool," he insisted, tapping the paper. "You made that ugly tree look actually dignified. That’s a talent. Usually, it looks like a dead stick."

He shifted his weight, getting more comfortable on his backward chair. He didn't seem to have any intention of turning back around or leaving to find his friends. He was just... staying.

"Why are you sitting here?" you asked. The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Baku blinked. "Here? In my chair?"

"No. I mean... talking to me. Dealing with me." You gestured vaguely at your isolated corner. "I’m boring."

Baku rested his cheek on his palm, the smile returning, but softer this time. He looked at you, really looked at you, his gaze sweeping over your hair, your nervous hands, your eyes that were trying so hard to hide.

"You're not boring," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more serious register. "Boring is everyone else trying to act tough. Boring is the guys who yell just to hear their own voices." He gestured with the half-eaten bread toward the loud group of boys near the chalkboard. "You? You’re quiet. Quiet is interesting. It makes me wonder what you’re thinking about."

He took another bite, humming thoughtfully. "Plus, you have good reactions. You turn pink when I talk to you. It's cute."

You felt your face catch fire. You grabbed the strawberry milk and drank aggressively to hide your expression.

"See?" He poked your forehead gently with one finger. "Pink."

"Stop it," you squeaked, batting his hand away.

He caught your hand.

Time seemed to freeze. His grip wasn't tight; it was warm and firm. His hand was calloused—the knuckles slightly rough, evidence of the fights he’d been in—but his hold was incredibly gentle. He didn't let go immediately. He just held your hand in the air between you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Your hands are cold," he noted, frowning slightly. "Are you cold?"

"I... no. I'm fine. I just... have cold hands."

"Hmph." He didn't let go. Instead, he pulled your hand toward him and placed against his own.

Your brain short-circuited.

His hand was warm, soft despite the faint scars covering it.

"Better?" he asked, opening one eye to look at you.

"Baku," you whispered, terrified someone would see. "What are you doing?"

"Sharing body heat. Survival tactics. Don't they teach you anything in science class?" He grinned, finally releasing your hand, but he didn't pull away. He stayed in your bubble.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the front of the room. Two guys were shoving each other, and one of them stumbled backward, knocking into a row of desks. The domino effect sent a chair skidding toward your aisle.

You flinched, instinctively curling inward, expecting the noise and chaos to come your way. It was a reflex born of habit—make yourself small, let the storm pass.

But the storm didn't reach you.

Baku moved with a speed that blurred in your vision. One moment he was leaning on his chair smiling at you; the next, his leg had shot out, stopping the skidding chair inches from your desk with the sole of his sneaker.

The room went quiet. The two guys fighting looked over, saw whose space they had invaded, and paled.

"Hey," Baku said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that froze the air in the room. He didn't even look at them; he was looking at you, checking to see if you were okay. When he saw you were just startled, not hurt, he turned his head slowly toward the disruptors.

The sunshine was gone. His eyes were cold, sharp, and dangerous.

"Keep it down," he said, a simple command. "We're trying to have a conversation here."

"S-sorry, Baku! Sorry!" The guys scrambled to pick up the chair and retreated to the other side of the room as fast as their legs could carry them.

The tension lingered for a second longer, then Baku turned back to you. The darkness vanished from his eyes instantly, replaced by that golden-retriever brightness.

"So noisy," he complained, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, where were we? Right. You being cold."

You stared at him, your heart racing for a different reason now. You had seen him fight before—everyone had—but having him use that presence to protect your little corner of peace was... overwhelming.

"You didn't have to do that," you said quietly. "They weren't going to hit me."

"They were annoying you," Baku stated simply. "And you looked scared."

"I wasn't scared."

"Hamster," he drawled, "you flinched like a startled cat. It’s okay." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on your desk, invading your space again. "I'm here now. No one's gonna bug you."

The words hung in the air. *I'm here now.* Not just for lunch. Not just for a moment. It sounded like a declaration.

He reached out and picked up your pencil, twirling it deftly between his fingers. "So, do you draw people?"

"Sometimes," you answered, watching the pencil spin.

"Draw me," he said. It wasn't a demand; it was an eager request. He struck a pose, framing his face with his hands, flashing a peace sign. "Draw me like one of your French girls. Or just... cool. Make me look cool. Bigger muscles, maybe."

You couldn't help it. A small laugh bubbled up from your chest. It felt foreign, rusty, but good.

Baku’s smile softened into something genuine and tender at the sound. "There it is," he murmured.

"What?"

"You laughed. I was wondering what that sounded like." He lowered his hands, resting his chin on your desk again, looking up at you through his lashes. "You should do it more often. It suits you better than the silence."

You felt a strange pressure in your chest, a swelling sensation that made it hard to breathe, but in a good way. The loneliness that usually wrapped around you was unravelling, thread by thread, pulled apart by this strange, energetic, terrifyingly sweet boy.

"Baku," you started, unsure of what you wanted to say. Thank you? Why me? Please don't leave?

"Call me Humin," he interrupted softly.

Your eyes widened. "What?"

"Everyone calls me Baku. It’s a nickname. But..." He looked down at the graphite smudge on your desk, tracing it with his finger. "I think I'd like it if you called me Humin."

He looked up, and the intensity in his eyes pinned you to your seat. It wasn't the aggressive intensity of a fighter; it was the focused, unwavering attention of someone who had found something precious.

"Okay," you breathed. "Humin."

He grinned, and it was the brightest thing in the room. "Nice. Sounds better when you say it."

He sat up straight, stretching his arms again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a second carton of strawberry milk.

"Wait," you said, confused. "I thought you only had one."

"I always have reserves," he winked. "Strategic planning." He poked the straw in and took a sip, looking satisfied.

"Are you... going to stay here?" you asked, gesturing to the backward chair. "The bell is going to ring in a few minutes. Your friends usually come get you."

"Let them come," he shrugged. "I like this spot. The lighting is good. It’s quiet. And the company is top-tier."

He looked at you, and for the first time, you realized he wasn't just being nice. He wasn't just bored. He was... flirting. In his own, weird, straightforward way.

"You have a crumb on your face," you said, deflecting the sudden wave of shyness.

"Where?" He pawed at his face uselessly.

"Here." Without thinking, you reached out and brushed the bread crumb from the corner of his lip.

Your fingers lingered for a fraction of a second too long. His skin was warm. He went still, his eyes widening slightly, his pupils dilating until the dark brown swallowed the iris. He didn't pull away; he leaned into your touch, just a millimeter, barely perceptible.

You snatched your hand back, your heart pounding like a drum. "Sorry."

"Don't be," he said, his voice husky. He licked his lip where your finger had been. "I think I'm gonna hang out here every day, Y/N."

It was the first time he had used your name.

"Every day?" you repeated.

"Yeah." He leaned his head on his hand, looking at you with a gaze that felt like a warm embrace. "I’ve decided. You’re my favorite spot in this whole school. So you’re stuck with me."

"I... I don't mind," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

"Good." He reached over and tapped the sketchbook page. "Now, seriously. Draw me. I want a portrait. I'll hang it on my fridge."

"On your fridge?"

"Yeah. Right next to the grocery list. Prime real estate."

You picked up your pencil, a small smile playing on your lips. You looked at him—the messy hair, the bright eyes, the confident slouch. He was a whirlwind that had just decided to settle in your calm.

As you touched the pencil to the paper, starting to outline the curve of his jaw, the school bell rang, shrill and loud, signalling the end of lunch.

Usually, this was the time you felt a knot of anxiety, preparing for the noise of the returning class. But as the students started flooding back in, shouting and dragging chairs, Humin didn't move. He stayed right there, straddling his chair, watching you draw, creating a barrier between you and the rest of the world.

He winked at you. "Ignore them. Just look at me."