just things i love!

The dungeon classroom was dead quiet except for the hiss of simmering flames and the faint scratch of quills. The torches had burned low, shadows reaching long fingers across the stone walls. Everyone else had gone to dinner hours ago, but you were still here, hunched over your parchment like a soldier refusing retreat.

And across the room sat the reason your blood pressure lived permanently on the edge.

Kim Sunoo.

He wasn’t doing anything spectacular — just sitting there, back straight, robes neat, quill gliding like the world was his to annotate. But not a single strand of his hair was out of place. His ink didn’t blot, his robes weren’t wrinkled, and his flame burned steady and perfectly controlled, blue at the base and gold at the edges. He looked carved out of effortlessness, all tidy lines and unfairly good bone structure.

It wasn’t fair.

You were tired — hair slipping loose from its pin, eyes burning from rereading the same page five times, ink smudged across the side of your hand. Meanwhile, Sunoo looked like he could stroll into the Great Hall right now and charm every professor into giving him extra credit. The only imperfection about him was his mouth.

Because every time he opened it, you wanted to scream.

“You’ve been on the same paragraph for ten minutes,” he said flatly, not even bothering to look up from his notes. His voice carried easily in the quiet, just sharp enough to needle.

Your quill paused mid-stroke. “And you’ve been counting?”

He let out the faintest scoff — not even a laugh, just a soft exhale and the narrowing of his eyes. “Hard not to when you mutter every line like it owes you money.”

You clenched your jaw, resisting the urge to throw your inkwell at his perfectly symmetrical face. “At least I’m actually studying instead of writing love letters to my notes.”

His quill didn’t falter. He simply rolled his eyes, slow and deliberate, before flicking them back to you. “Better to love my notes than fail the quiz.”

The remark sliced sharper than it should have. Typical Sunoo — not cruel, but always hitting just close enough to sting. He never shouted, never snapped. He just… observed. Found the flaw, slipped the knife in with a dry comment, and returned to his work like nothing happened.

You hated him for it. You hated how composed he looked when you were unraveling. You hated how the corners of his mouth twitched like he was always two seconds from laughing at you. And you hated — truly hated — how handsome he was when he did it.

So you did what you always did: fought back.

“At least when I fail, I’ll still have a personality,” you muttered, flipping a page with unnecessary force.

This time, he did glance up, his eyes narrowing just slightly, assessing. His expression didn’t crack into a grin like it might with his friends. With you, all he offered was silence, then the smallest arch of his brow — condescending, practiced, infuriating.

“Some of us,” he said coolly, “don’t need to audition for attention. Our work speaks for itself.”

Your quill nearly snapped in half.

The next hour stretched thin, taut as bowstring. The only sounds were the occasional clink of glass or the low bubble of a potion being tested. You fought to keep your eyes open, exhaustion digging hooks behind your temples. Every few minutes you risked a glance at Sunoo — and every time, he looked the same. Composed. Sharp. Untouchable.

It made you restless.

You shifted, reaching for your reference book at the end of the table. But your fingers brushed too fast, catching the edge of your robe. In your tired clumsiness, you dragged half your notes with you, the parchment sliding, the stack of spellbooks teetering dangerously.

“Careful—” Sunoo started, tone edged with warning.

The books toppled. One heavy tome slammed to the floor, landing with a crack that sent dust spiraling. But worse were the phials — half-full with leftover practice draughts — that rolled straight into the shadow beneath the table.

You swore under your breath, dropping to your knees to grab them. Your hand hit chalk.

Not fresh chalk — old, faint carvings in the stone itself. Runes etched long ago, their outlines dulled with dust but not erased. One of the phials cracked against the grooves, liquid seeping straight into the lines.

The runes sparked.

“Wait!” Sunoo snapped, his chair scraping back as he stood.

But the circle was already waking, glowing brighter as the potion sank deeper. Light crawled through the runes like veins catching fire, humming against the air.

You tried to pull back. Instinct made you grab something steady — and of course the nearest thing was Sunoo, who had lunged forward to stop you.

Your hand locked around his wrist. His fingers caught yours automatically, firm and sure.

The circle flared gold.

For a moment it was all light and vibration, a pressure blooming against your chest like being caught between thunderclaps. Then it snapped shut with a pulse that knocked the air from your lungs.

When the smoke cleared, you were still clutching Sunoo’s wrist. His grip was tight, too, though the second he realized it, he loosened and pulled back. Only — he couldn’t.

A golden tether, thin and glowing faintly, stretched from your wrist to his. It hummed softly, pulsing like a heartbeat in the silence.

You both stared at it.

“…No,” you whispered, tugging instinctively.

The tether resisted, pulling him half a step closer until your shoulders nearly brushed.

Sunoo’s eyes narrowed, dark lashes shadowing the sharp cut of his gaze. His voice came out low, controlled, but laced with disbelief. “Tell me you didn’t just activate a binding circle.”

You yanked again, uselessly. “Why would I do that on purpose?”

“Because you’re reckless,” he said, thin eyes fixing on you. “And loud. And—” he gestured pointedly at the glowing tether, “—clearly cursed.”

Your blood boiled. “This is not my fault!”

His mouth twitched — not into a smile, but into the kind of look that said he was holding back ten insults and enjoying the restraint. “Of course it isn’t. Nothing ever is.”

The tether pulsed again, warm against your skin. Your stomach flipped, though whether it was magic or fury, you couldn’t tell.

You tried to step back; Sunoo followed unwillingly, dragged by the glowing thread. When he tested the opposite direction, you stumbled forward, colliding into his chest. He caught himself with a hissed breath, steady hands bracing you before letting go immediately like the touch burned.

“This is—” you started.

“Temporary,” he finished, clipped. “We’ll fix it.”

But even as he said it, his jaw clenched, and you swore you felt his irritation prickle under your own skin.

Your breath hitched. “…Did you just—”

“Yes,” he said tightly, meeting your eyes. “I can feel you. And judging by the pounding in my head, you’re about to start yelling again.”

You gaped at him, pulse racing, magic thrumming against your wrist in time with his.

This was going to be hell.

The tether glowed faintly in the dark, humming like a live wire between your wrists.

Sunoo didn’t waste time staring at it the way you kept doing — he was already moving, striding for the door like he’d been planning his escape since the second it appeared. His hand flexed, tugging yours along without hesitation.

“Come on,” he muttered, voice low and tight.

You stumbled after him, tugged by the golden link. His strides were longer than yours, brisk and efficient, each step eating the distance while you scrambled to keep your footing.

“Could you not drag me like a sack of potion ingredients?” you hissed, catching yourself before you tripped over your own robe again.

He cut a look at you over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, expression carved from stone. “If I slow down, we’ll get caught in the halls. Do you want to explain this to half the castle before we even figure out what it is?”

You pressed your lips together, unwilling to admit he had a point. The image of walking past a gaggle of gossip-hungry Hufflepuffs or, worse, a line of Slytherins — all smirking at the golden chain glowing between your wrists — made your stomach knot.

So you stayed quiet. And let him pull.

The halls were mercifully empty. Torchlight flickered across the stone floor, throwing shadows that stretched long and thin. The only sound was your mismatched footsteps — his, swift and steady; yours, a half-second too quick, always catching up. Every time you lagged, the tether tugged you forward with a sharp little reminder that Sunoo’s pace dictated yours now.

The irritation gnawed at you, sharp and humiliating. He looked so calm. His shoulders set, stride sure, not even a strand of hair out of place. Like he’d been waiting for this — for you to be the one stumbling while he led.

Too pretty, you thought viciously. Too put together. Too smug even when his mouth was shut.

The tether pulsed faintly against your skin, like it had overheard. You swore you felt his mood tighten in return — a flicker of irritation that wasn’t yours.

Sunoo’s jaw ticked. “Stop broadcasting every thought like a wireless.”

Your eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t break stride. “I told you. I can feel it. Every spike of annoyance, every—” he cut himself off, nostrils flaring, “—whatever that was just now.”

Heat climbed up your neck. You yanked at your wrist, uselessly. “Then stop eavesdropping.”

“I don’t have a choice,” he said flatly. “Trust me, if I did, I wouldn’t exactly sign up to swim in your emotions.”

You opened your mouth for a sharp retort, but the tether pulsed again, humming like it was laughing. The sound echoed off the empty walls, and you felt Sunoo’s exhale through the bond — a tight, controlled sigh.

Neither of you spoke again until the infirmary doors came into view.

Madam Pomfrey’s office was lit with soft candlelight, shelves lined with neatly arranged potions and bandages. She looked up from her desk when you and Sunoo entered, eyes already narrowing.

“Well?” she asked, voice brisk. “What’s the emergency at this hour?”

Sunoo stepped forward first, ever the composed one, though the tether pulled you right along with him. “Binding accident,” he said simply, lifting your joined wrists.

Madam Pomfrey’s eyebrows shot up. The golden thread glowed between your arms, pulsing gently in the warm light.

“Oh, heavens above,” she muttered, standing abruptly. She bustled over, her sharp eyes flicking between you both. “And how, exactly, did this happen?”

You opened your mouth, ready to explain about the toppled books and cracked phials, but Sunoo beat you to it.

“She tripped,” he said flatly.

You snapped your head toward him, scandalized. “I tripped because you—”

“Don’t start,” he cut in smoothly, his eyes narrowing just enough to remind you he held the high ground right now.

Madam Pomfrey clapped her hands once, silencing you both like children bickering over a toy. “Enough! Sit.”

You sat. Sunoo sat beside you, posture straight, expression infuriatingly calm. You wanted to elbow him just to ruin his composure, but the tether would only drag you with him.

Pomfrey muttered under her breath as she examined the tether, running a hand just above the glowing line. “Hm. Old magic. Rare these days.”

“Can you undo it?” you asked, too quickly, too hopeful.

“Not easily,” she said, frown deepening. “This kind of binding wasn’t designed to snap apart. It requires resolution — the magic feeds on tension.”

Your heart sank. “Resolution…?”

“Don’t look at me,” she said sharply. “I don’t make the rules. The magic will hold until you’ve settled whatever discord sparked it.”

Silence settled heavy. You could feel Sunoo stiffen beside you, the tether vibrating faintly with his sudden spike of annoyance.

“We don’t have discord,” he said finally, voice clipped.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Right. We just happen to despise each other coincidentally.”

He turned his head, thin eyes cutting sharp as a blade. “I don’t despise you.”

You blinked, startled by the honesty in his tone. But before you could process it, he rolled his eyes and added, “I just don’t enjoy you.”

There he was again — infuriating, precise, untouchable.

The tether pulsed, warm, humming in amusement or warning, you couldn’t tell.

Madam Pomfrey sighed, rubbing her temples. “You two had better figure it out quickly, because I’m not babysitting. Until then—” she gestured at the tether, “—consider yourselves inseparable. Better start deciding your sleeping arrangements.”

Your stomach twisted. Inseparable.

Sunoo rose smoothly to his feet, already adjusting his sleeve like nothing fazed him. He glanced down at you, expression flat but his tug on the tether sharp. “Let’s go.”

You stumbled upright, dragged by his steady pace again. Irritation buzzed through your chest like static.

“Would you stop pulling me like I’m your broomstick?” you snapped.

He didn’t slow. Didn’t even look back. His voice came cool and controlled: “Then keep up.”

And so you did. Because you had no choice.

The walk to Ravenclaw Tower was worse than the trek to the infirmary.

At least in the dungeons, the halls were empty. By the time you and Sunoo wound up near the marble staircases, a few stragglers were still out, whispering and laughing in clusters. The tether between you glowed faintly in the torchlight, a thread of obvious magic neither of you could hide. You felt their eyes on you — the curious stares, the shocked looks.

Sunoo’s jaw was tight, his strides clipped and fast, as though the faster he moved the less chance anyone had to see. Every time you lagged even half a step, the tether jerked your wrist, forcing you into a graceless shuffle to catch up. You guys decided on staying in your private head girl room.

“Slow down,” you hissed.

He didn’t glance back. “Keep up.”

Your teeth ground together, but you said nothing. He was right — the less you lingered, the better.

By the time you reached the Ravenclaw entrance, your patience was in tatters. The eagle knocker on the door tilted its head, eyes glimmering with wisdom too smug even for a riddle.

“What has to be broken before it can be used?” it asked.

You answered without hesitation. “An egg.”

The door swung open, and you tugged Sunoo inside before it could get nosy.

The Ravenclaw common room was silent, most of your housemates already asleep. Stars glimmered faintly through the tall arched windows, moonlight spilling across the blue and bronze decor. Normally, the place calmed you — bookshelves neat, the air cool and scented faintly with parchment and polished wood.

Tonight, though, you barely noticed. Your wrist still glowed with Sunoo tethered to the other end.

You tugged him toward the corridor that led to the private rooms reserved for house leaders. Being Head Girl had its perks: your own room, your own bath, a door you didn’t have to share with anyone else.

Except now you did.

The second the door shut behind you, the weight of reality sank like a stone in your stomach. One room. One bed. One bathroom. And Sunoo.

Sunoo looked around your space with that same critical eye he used in class — not openly judgmental, but sharp enough that you felt judged anyway. His gaze landed on the shelves crammed with books, the parchment stacked on your desk, the neat but crowded bulletin board above it.

“Figures,” he murmured, the faintest curve tugging at his mouth. “Your room looks like a library threw up.”

“Shut up,” you snapped automatically, marching toward your wardrobe. The tether followed, dragging him half a step after you.

“Stop yanking,” he muttered.

“Stop existing.”

The tether pulsed faintly, almost… amused.

You stopped in front of the wardrobe and froze. Clothes. Pajamas. Sleep. The problem you’d been ignoring all evening rose like a tidal wave.

Sunoo noticed the hesitation. His eyes narrowed, reading you like a textbook. “What?”

You turned on him, cheeks already heating. “We’re not… sleeping in the same bed.”

His brows lifted, unimpressed. “Did I ask to?”

“No,” you snapped. “I’m just making it clear.”

“You have one bed.” His tone was maddeningly matter-of-fact. “And last I checked, Madam Pomfrey didn’t say anything about conjuring another.”

Your stomach twisted. He wasn’t wrong. Your room was private but small — bed, desk, wardrobe, single armchair by the window. Unless one of you slept on the floor, there weren’t many options.

You glanced at the armchair. Sunoo followed your gaze.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said flatly. “That chair wouldn’t fit me.”

“Then maybe I’ll take the chair,” you said stubbornly.

He rolled his eyes, thin and sharp. “You’ll be useless tomorrow if you don’t sleep. And I’m not dragging you around all day.”

“You wouldn’t have to drag me—”

The tether pulsed sharply, buzzing your wrist, and you both froze. You weren’t sure if it was reacting to your bickering or warning you to stop, but the timing made your throat tighten.

“Fine,” you muttered, turning back to the wardrobe. “We’ll… figure it out.”

You stopped in front of the bathroom door, dread sinking like a stone.

“How are we supposed to do this?” you asked, turning to glare at him.

Sunoo looked just as unbothered as ever, though you could feel the flicker of unease under his calm mask through the tether. “Simple. One of us goes in. The other waits.”

You lifted your joined wrists pointedly. “We’re attached.”

He gave you a flat look, eyes narrowing. “Congratulations on catching up.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” you hissed. “You can’t exactly stand here while I change.”

His gaze flicked to you, unreadable, then away again. “Then change behind the door. I’ll face the other way.”

“That’s supposed to make this better?”

“Do you have a better plan?” he asked, voice clipped, thin eyes watching you like he knew you didn’t.

You groaned, dragging your free hand down your face. “This is hell.”

In the end, you compromised.

You tugged him just inside the bathroom, stretching the tether to its limit, then shoved him to stand facing the corner by the sink. He planted his feet, back straight, arms crossed — giving you his shoulder like a sulking statue. You positioned yourself as far as the tether allowed, muttering every curse you knew under your breath while you washed up and wriggled into your sleep clothes.

Every brush of fabric felt magnified, every splash of water too loud. The tether buzzed faintly with your embarrassment, and you swore you felt the faintest flicker of secondhand discomfort ripple from him, even though his face stayed blank.

“Done yet?” he asked finally, voice even.

“Almost,” you snapped. “Keep your eyes to yourself.”

“Relax,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’re not that interesting.”

You yanked your wrist when you were finished, dragging him toward the door again. “Your turn.”

His preparation was worse. You stood awkwardly by the doorway as he brushed his teeth, washed his face, folded his robes with military precision — all while tethered to you. He didn’t rush, either. Every movement was measured, tidy, deliberate.

The worst part? He didn’t look ruffled at all. Not a drop of water on his collar, not a strand of hair out of place. Perfect. Irritating. Too pretty for his own good.

You hated him even more for it.

The room felt smaller once the bathroom ordeal was over. The tether buzzed faintly between you like it was smug about your humiliation.

You sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, arms crossed. Sunoo leaned against the desk, looking at you with narrowed eyes that seemed to gleam even in the dim lamplight.

“We’re not sharing a blanket,” you said immediately.

He exhaled, sharp through his nose. “Fine. I don’t want your germs anyway.”

Your jaw dropped. “My germs?”

“You mutter in your sleep,” he said, as if it were fact. “I’m not risking secondhand insanity.”

“I don’t mutter!”

His gaze flicked to you, flat and unimpressed. “You mutter in class. You mutter when you study. I’d bet good money you mutter when you dream.”

You were going to strangle him. “If I mutter, it’s only because people like you deserve to be cursed out in multiple dimensions.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath — irony not lost on you. Then, without asking, he toed off his socks and slid onto the mattress. He lay stiffly on his side of the bed, one arm bent under his head, back resolutely turned to you.

“You’re impossible,” you whispered.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Takes one to know one.”

The tether pulled you when you shifted, forcing you to climb in beside him. You yanked the covers halfway and cocooned yourself, your back to his.

For a while, the silence stretched — not comfortable, but taut. You could feel his irritation through the bond, sharp little flares whenever you moved, and you knew he could feel yours too. It was like lying beside a storm cloud.

Finally, his voice broke the silence. Low, rougher now with fatigue. “Temporary. That’s all this is.”

You closed your eyes, clutching the blanket tighter. “Temporary,” you echoed.

The tether pulsed, warm and steady, like it didn’t believe either of you.

The next morning, you slipped out of the tower before dawn, tethered wrist dragging Sunoo with you. Neither of you spoke; the air was cold, the castle halls empty except for the occasional portrait blinking awake.

It wasn’t until you reached the Great Hall that the true horror hit.

You froze in the doorway. Long tables stretched down the hall, a handful of early risers scattered among them. More would come. And soon.

Sunoo didn’t hesitate. He tugged your wrist, guiding you toward the Hufflepuff table.

“Why here?” you hissed.

“Because I woke up in your tower,” he said evenly. “Now it’s my turn. Fair’s fair.”

You wanted to argue — but he was already sitting, pulling you down with him in one smooth motion. You nearly toppled into the bench.

The first years nearest you froze mid-bite, wide-eyed. A pair of Ravenclaws across the aisle nudged each other, whispering. By the time more students trickled in, the stares had multiplied.

Kim Sunoo and you. Side by side. Eating breakfast.

Whispers rose like steam. The notorious rivals of seventh year — the ones who couldn’t survive a class without barbed comments and raised voices — tethered wrist-to-wrist, sitting shoulder to shoulder.

Even the first years were staring. Judging.

Sunoo didn’t flinch. He filled his plate calmly, buttering his toast like he wasn’t the subject of half the hall’s attention. His composure only made your skin crawl hotter.

A group of his friends slid into the seats across from you. Jake, Jungwon, and a couple others, all blinking between you and Sunoo like they’d walked into the wrong dimension.

Jake leaned forward, eyes wide. “Okay. What—”

Before he could finish, Sunoo raised his hand — yours lifting with it unwillingly, the tether making the gesture look ridiculous.

“It’s not what you think,” he said, voice sharp and commanding enough to silence the table. “This isn’t by choice. A spell went wrong. That’s all. I would never choose to be in her presence voluntarily.”

The words landed like stones in your chest.

He dropped your joined hands back to the table with finality, picked up his fork, and began eating with the same infuriating composure as always.

Conversation at the table shifted — not away from you, exactly, but muffled into sidelong glances and half-hidden smiles. Sunoo deflected questions with practiced ease, even laughed at one of Jake’s jokes. His eyes curved into bright crescents, smile glowing like sunlight on water.

It was jarring. Whiplash.

He looked like a different person. The same boy who stayed up late in the dorms with his friends, laughing and teasing. A Sunoo you never got to see.

And you? You sat stiff, stabbing your eggs with your fork, humiliated and silent.

Because even though his words were sharp, even though they’d cut deep — your wrist still pulsed faintly in time with his. And you swore you could feel the truth underneath, quieter than anything he’d admit aloud.

If breakfast was humiliating, the rest of the day was pure torture.

By the time first period rolled around, you and Sunoo had already tripped over each other twice in the corridors, been yanked in opposite directions by your own stubbornness three times, and earned more stares than a pair of professors caught dueling in the hall.

He didn’t make it easier. He walked like he had somewhere to be five minutes ago, each stride smooth and annoyingly long, while you scrambled to keep up, tugging at his wrist.

“Do you have to walk like you’re leading a parade?” you muttered as you stumbled into Charms.

He flicked his eyes at you, unimpressed. “Do you have to walk like you’re wading through mud?”

Your jaw tightened. The tether hummed between you, a faint reminder that your irritation bled into his pulse and vice versa.

Professor Flitwick’s eyes nearly popped when he saw you two come in tethered together, but to his credit, he only raised a brow before moving on. The rest of the class wasn’t as discreet.

Whispers crackled like static as you and Sunoo took the only available desk in the back — one chair, one desk, two people forced shoulder-to-shoulder.

“This is your fault,” you hissed as you dropped your bag, elbow colliding with his.

“My fault?” he said coolly, arranging his books with precision. “If anyone deserves blame, it’s your clumsy—”

You pinched his wrist through the tether.

He inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. “Don’t.”

“Then shut up,” you whispered, teeth clenched.

Professor Flitwick clapped his hands for attention, and you both forced yourselves to sit still. But every time you reached for your wand, the tether tugged his sleeve, jerking his arm. Every time he shifted to take notes, your elbow cramped against his side.

By the end of class, your parchment was crinkled, his handwriting was slanted, and both of you looked like you’d fought a small war under the desk.

Between classes, the tether was worse.

You wanted to head left toward the library; he pulled right toward Transfiguration. The golden thread tightened like a leash until you nearly collided chest-first.

“Merlin’s sake, warn me before you drag me,” you snapped.

“Maybe keep up instead of drifting like a lost ghost,” he retorted.

The tether pulsed warm, buzzing your wrists. This time, though, you caught something that wasn’t irritation — a flash of something else, something you couldn’t name. His exasperation mixing with… concern?

You blinked at him, thrown off, but he had already tugged you forward again, jaw set.

The staring was worse in this class. A cluster of first years in the corner whispered furiously, wide eyes darting between you two. Even Professor McGonagall’s lips pressed thin as she cleared her throat.

“Is there a reason you two are shackled together?” she asked pointedly.

Before you could speak, Sunoo raised your joined hands, his voice crisp and controlled. “Spell mishap, Professor. Madam Pomfrey is aware.”

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded once and moved on. The rest of the class didn’t. You felt the stares like heat on your back.

Sunoo ignored them, sitting with perfect posture, quill poised. You, meanwhile, struggled to keep from shaking with embarrassment as you scrawled notes beside him.

At one point, you muttered under your breath, “You really enjoy pretending this doesn’t bother you, don’t you?”

He didn’t look at you. “It doesn’t.”

But the tether pulsed again, hot and sharp, betraying him. And you smirked despite yourself.

By afternoon, the tether had taken on a personality of its own. Every stumble, every tug, every brush of wrists sent a pulse through you both.

When you reached for an ingredient in Potions, Sunoo’s arm yanked with you, nearly knocking a vial off the counter.

“Are you trying to kill us?” he muttered.

“Are you trying to control me?” you shot back.

“Clearly, someone has to.”

The tether pulsed, sharp with your anger — but beneath it, you swore you felt his heartbeat skip.

You turned to glare at him. His thin eyes met yours, steady, daring.

Neither of you spoke the rest of the class, but the tension coiled thick, humming through the tether like it was feeding off you.

By the time the day ended, you were drained. Your wrist ached, your head pounded, and yet Sunoo still looked composed, like he’d stepped straight out of a uniform catalog. Too neat. Too handsome. Too infuriating.

And when your eyes lingered on him too long, he rolled his eyes and muttered, “Stop staring.”

You snapped back instantly, “In your dreams.”

But the tether pulsed warm again — almost like it knew better.

Two days.

Two days tethered wrist-to-wrist with Kim Sunoo, and somehow you hadn’t committed murder. You weren’t sure how.

The tension hadn’t eased — if anything, it thickened, stretched tauter every hour you were forced to share air, meals, classes, sleep. Your nerves were frayed raw.

And the worst part? You’d stopped censoring yourself.

“Move your pretty-boy legs faster, I’m not your fucking pet,” you snapped as he strode down the hallway, tugging you behind him like luggage.

His head turned sharply, eyes narrowing, his mouth parting with a sound that was almost a growl. “Then walk properly. Merlin, it’s like dragging around a broken broom.”

Your wrist ached where the tether pulsed hot between you, feeding on the irritation. A few second-years scuttled past, gawking at the glowing thread. You wanted to hex them and yourself at the same time.

Sunoo huffed, sharp, his shoulders stiff. “You swear at me one more time and—”

“And what?” you cut in, voice dripping venom. “You’ll smile me to death?”

That landed. He stopped dead, turning to face you fully, eyes thin, jaw tight. For once, the calm mask cracked, irritation flashing raw across his features.

“Careful,” he muttered, voice low and strained. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

The heat that surged through your chest wasn’t entirely anger. You hated that. Hated how the bond made it worse, muddling your fury with the thrum of his.

If it weren’t bad enough being tethered to him, the universe seemed to delight in rubbing salt in the wound.

Everywhere you went, people stopped Sunoo.

“Sunoo! Did you finish McGonagall’s essay already?”

“Sunoo, are you coming to study group later?”

“Sunoo, sit with us at dinner!”

The tether dragged you into each conversation, your wrist chained to his while you stood there like his shadow. Like his personal bodyguard.

And he ignored you. Completely.

Not maliciously — he wasn’t cruel enough to shove you away in front of people — but he didn’t introduce you, didn’t acknowledge you, didn’t so much as glance your way while he chatted and laughed.

You stood awkwardly, every time, plastered to his side while the tether hummed at your wrist.

“Do you ever shut up?” you muttered one afternoon after the fourth hallway stop, yanking at the bond. “Or is your entire personality just collecting worshippers?”

He gave you a side-eye, unimpressed. “Sorry I have friends.”

The bluntness stung more than you expected.

You had friends too, of course. But they weren’t really yours. They were… mutuals. Acquaintances who liked Sunoo just as much — sometimes more. You couldn’t even vent about him to them without sounding bitter, because to everyone else, he was golden. Polite. Lovable.

That asshole.

By late afternoon, the irritation was boiling.

You yanked your wrist when he stopped to greet another Hufflepuff boy. “Go on,” you muttered under your breath. “Flash your smile. I’ll just stand here like a trophy chained to your arm.”

His eyes cut to you, sharper than usual. The smile he’d been about to give his friend faltered, replaced by a thin line.

“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” he said quietly, so only you could hear.

“Stop what?” you snapped. “Existing next to your perfection? Sorry, I’ll try to evaporate next time.”

The tether pulsed hard, buzzing hot, making both of you flinch.

His composure slipped another inch. You could see it in the tight set of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed at his side. His cool exterior — the one that made him seem untouchable — was cracking, and for the first time you thought maybe, maybe, you weren’t the only one losing your sanity.

“Keep talking,” he muttered finally, eyes narrowing. “Let’s see how long before you choke on your own sarcasm.”

You almost laughed — sharp, humorless. “Better than choking on all your friends’ praise.”

His breath caught, sharp, but he didn’t reply. He just tugged your wrist and kept walking, faster now, like if he didn’t, he might say something he couldn’t take back.

The tether pulsed again, but this time it wasn’t hot with anger. It was heavy. Like both your hearts had skipped, then slammed back into rhythm together.

And it left you unsettled in a way insults never had.

Three days tethered.

The remarks had slowed — not because you’d made peace, but because you were both too tired to keep up the constant warfare. Your barbs had grown shorter, his comebacks drier. Sometimes the silence between you felt heavier than the fights.

You weren’t sure which was worse.

That night, you sat at your desk, quill scratching across parchment. The lamplight painted shadows across the room, your private Ravenclaw quarters quieter than usual. Sunoo sat on the edge of your bed, flipping absently through one of your books — your book — his wrist tethered lazily to yours.

The quiet grated.

“You can’t just steal my book,” you muttered, not looking up.

He turned a page, unbothered. “You weren’t using it.”

“That’s not the point.”

He hummed, the sound low, dismissive. “Then make a better point.”

You groaned, dropping your quill. “Do you ever get tired of yourself?”

He finally looked up, thin eyes narrowing. “Do you?”

It should’ve turned into another back-and-forth. A spat. A sharp clash of words. But instead, the room fell quiet again, both of you too worn to pick the fight clean.

Your wrist ached faintly from the tether, the magic pulsing steady and unyielding. You rubbed at it absentmindedly, trying to ease the weight of it.

“You know,” you said suddenly, surprising yourself as the words slipped free, “I don’t know how you do it.”

Sunoo blinked, brows furrowing. “Do what?”

You gestured vaguely, trying not to look at him. “All of it. Everyone likes you. You’ve got people stopping you in the halls every five minutes, professors praising you, friends everywhere. Meanwhile…” Your throat tightened, and you forced a laugh. “Meanwhile I’m stuck looking like the bitter rival who can’t stand you.”

Silence.

You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It had just… spilled out. But the tether pulsed warm, heavy, carrying your feelings straight across the bond. And you felt it — the second Sunoo caught them.

His book lowered slowly to his lap.

“That’s what this is about?” His voice was quiet, sharper than usual not from irritation but something else.

You scowled at the floor, heat crawling up your neck. “Forget it.”

The tether pulsed harder, your embarrassment tangled with his reaction. It was like standing too close to a flame.

“No,” he said, voice tighter now, a thread of agitation slipping through. “You think I enjoy this? Being pulled into every conversation, smiling at everyone, pretending I don’t feel half the things I actually do?”

You looked up, startled. His composure — that smooth, unshakable calm — was cracking. His eyes were sharp, yes, but his voice carried something raw.

“You think I like being everybody’s favorite? You think it doesn’t get exhausting?” He let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Merlin, you really don’t get it.”

Your chest tightened. The bond buzzed with his frustration, echoing inside your ribs until you weren’t sure which feelings were yours anymore.

“I…” You swallowed, words sticking. “I just thought you didn’t care.”

For the first time in days, he stared at you without the armor of sarcasm. No smirk. No thin-eyed roll. Just tired, sharp honesty.

“I care too much,” he said finally. His voice was quiet, but the tether hummed like it was shouting the truth straight into your bones.

The room felt smaller suddenly, the air heavier. Neither of you moved.

And for once, neither of you had a retort.

By the third week, the edges of your anger had dulled.

Not gone — never gone — but worn down like stone under water. The constant bickering, the tugging, the snide remarks… they took energy neither of you had anymore. Living glued to Sunoo meant rationing your fire.

You still snapped. He still rolled his eyes. But the words landed lighter now, like the reflexes they’d become.

The mornings were the worst at first. Sharing the bathroom, brushing your teeth back-to-back, trading glares in the mirror. But after days of the same, the hostility thinned.

One morning, your toothpaste tube slipped from your hand. He caught it without looking, handed it back.

“Thanks,” you muttered, brushing quickly.

“Don’t waste it next time,” he said, tone flat but not cruel.

You almost smiled into the mirror, realizing he hadn’t jabbed at you, just… stated a fact.

Walking through the castle changed, too. The first days were all jerks and yanks, but now your strides unconsciously matched.

When he pulled too fast, you muttered, “Easy, long legs.”

When you slowed too much, he’d sigh, “Keep up, short stack.”

But there was no bite in it anymore. Just… rhythm.

Sometimes you even caught yourself falling into conversation, almost normal. Passing comments about homework, a professor, the weather outside. Not friendly, exactly, but not war either.

The professors had stopped asking questions about the tether, though the students hadn’t. Whispers still followed you, but you both ignored them now.

During one double Potions, Sunoo nudged your elbow when your hand cramped over your notes. “Your wrist is locking. Shift your grip,” he said, quiet so only you could hear.

You blinked at him, surprised. “You notice everything, don’t you?”

His eyes narrowed, sharp but not unkind. “You make everything obvious.”

The words should’ve cut. Instead, they settled in your chest, warm and unwelcome.

Evenings in your dorm had softened, too. The first nights had been tense, every movement a battle for space. But now, the bed had divided itself into silent borders.

He stayed on his side. You stayed on yours.

One night, you rolled over, blanket slipping off your shoulder. Without a word, Sunoo tugged it back over you with the tethered hand.

You stiffened, ready for a remark. But none came.

The silence was heavier than any jab.

It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t friendship.

It was simply survival.

Being bound together stripped away the sharpest weapons. You saw him tired, silent, hair mussed for once. He saw you yawning mid-sentence, ink stains on your fingertips, head tipped onto your arm at your desk.

The fight was leaving not because you’d chosen peace, but because proximity had made the battle pointless.

And though neither of you would admit it, the absence of malice was more dangerous than the presence of hate.

Because without the fire, you weren’t sure what was left burning between you.

It was past curfew again, both of you hunched over parchment in your room. Your quill scratched unevenly, exhaustion dragging at your eyelids, while Sunoo sat across from you, posture infuriatingly perfect as always.

“Your handwriting looks like a Hippogriff trampled it,” he muttered without looking up.

“Better than looking like a robot practiced calligraphy for fun,” you shot back automatically, your words sluggish with fatigue.

The tether pulsed faintly — not irritation this time, but something softer. Mutual weariness, shared through the thread.

You rubbed your temple, groaning. “I swear, if Flitwick assigns one more foot of parchment, I’m just going to—” You mimed stabbing yourself in the chest with your quill, dramatic and pitiful.

The gesture caught him off guard. He blinked once, then — before he could stop it — the corner of his mouth twitched. His shoulders even shook with the tiniest laugh.

And then it happened: his smile.

Not the sarcastic twitch he gave in class, not the polite curve he showed professors. A real, unguarded smile. Bright. Bare. Sunlight breaking through.

It lasted all of two seconds before he caught himself. His lips flattened, his eyes narrowed, and he ducked his head back to his notes.

But the tether betrayed him.

You felt it — the warmth in his chest, the spark of something light and surprising, like laughter pressed into bone. It mingled with your own, so strong you knew he felt your answering jolt too.

Neither of you spoke.

The silence wasn’t tense this time. It was charged. Different.

And the tether pulsed again, carrying that mysterious emotion neither of you dared to name.

By the end of the week, breakfast at the Hufflepuff table had become routine.

At first, you sat stiff and silent while Sunoo’s friends crowded around, their curiosity sharp as knives. But over days, the edge dulled. Somehow, without planning it, you’d ended up talking to Jake and Jungwon.

This morning was no different. Jake was midway through an overdramatic story about misplacing his broom, Jungwon poking holes in the logic while you laughed into your pumpkin juice.

“—and then I thought I’d left it in the courtyard, but it turns out I’d leaned it against the owlery like an idiot,” Jake said, face flushed with animated embarrassment.

“Typical,” Jungwon deadpanned.

You grinned. “Honestly, I’m impressed you found it again at all. You’d lose your own head if it wasn’t attached.”

Jake pointed at you, delighted. “See? She gets it!”

The three of you laughed, easy and unforced.

Beside you, Sunoo ate in silence.

But the tether pulsed again, carrying something you couldn’t decipher. It wasn’t irritation — that had faded. It wasn’t jealousy exactly, either. It was heavier. Stranger.

He chewed his toast, expression neutral, but you could feel it through the bond. The weight of him noticing you weren’t just tolerated anymore — you were part of this circle. His circle.

And for reasons he’d never say out loud, he didn’t mind.

Jake leaned across the table suddenly, smirking. “See, Sunoo? She’s actually funny when she’s not insulting you.”

Jungwon grinned. “Maybe she should ditch you and hang with us.”

Sunoo’s fork paused mid-air. He looked at you then — a flash, thin eyes sharp — and for the briefest moment you caught something unguarded.

Not annoyance. Not smugness. Something else.

Then it was gone. He rolled his eyes, setting the fork down. “Trust me, she’d get tired of you two in a day.”

But the tether pulsed again, steady and warm, like it knew he didn’t believe his own words.

The corridor was buzzing with students changing classes, voices bouncing off the stone walls. You were halfway through being dragged toward your next lesson when a voice called out:

“Sunoo!”

You both stopped automatically, the tether tugging tight.

A Slytherin girl with sleek dark hair and a perfectly smug smile appeared at his side, sliding into step like she owned the floor. She didn’t even glance at you.

“I was wondering,” she said smoothly, tilting her head at him, “if you wanted to meet at the Astronomy Tower tonight. Just the two of us.”

The words sent irritation pulsing straight through the tether. Yours. His. Both tangled together.

Sunoo’s face didn’t flicker. Calm. Collected. Infuriatingly polite.

“I can’t,” he said evenly. He lifted his wrist a fraction, letting the golden tether gleam in the torchlight. “As you can see.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed briefly before darting to you. Her lips curved into a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Then just cut her hand off. Problem solved.”

The heat that rushed through your chest was immediate and violent. Your mouth opened, ready to unleash something venomous, words sharp enough to flay her smugness off her face.

But you never got the chance.

“Funny,” Sunoo said before you could speak, his tone cool and razor-sharp. His thin eyes cut to hers, flat and icy. “Last I checked, desperate jokes aren’t a good look. Might want to check a mirror before you try again.”

The girl froze, color rising to her cheeks. She wasn’t used to that — Sunoo was supposed to be sweet, playful, always smiling. Not this cold, sassy, precise cut.

She scoffed, huffed, and spun on her heel with a stomp, her hair whipping behind her.

The tether pulsed hot, your chest thrumming with adrenaline — and something else. That mysterious emotion again, threaded tight between you.

You looked at him as he tugged you forward, his stride quick, his jaw set.

“Why did you do that?” you asked finally, voice low.

He shrugged one shoulder, not meeting your eyes. “She’s asked me out before. Annoying. Figured it was as good a chance as any to cut her off.”

The words were casual, dismissive. But the tether buzzed steady against your skin, humming with an undercurrent that said otherwise.

You knew there was more to it.

And though he’d never admit it, you couldn’t stop the thought: for once, his sharpness hadn’t been aimed at you. It had been wielded for you.

The tether pulsed once more, heavy and warm, like it agreed.

The courtyard was buzzing with late afternoon chatter, sunlight spilling across the stone benches. You sat on the edge of one, tethered wrist resting on your knee, trying to enjoy the warmth.

Jake dropped into the seat on your other side, all easy smiles and golden warmth.

“Thought I’d find y'allhere,” he said brightly. His eyes flicked to the glowing tether and Sunoo, then back to your face, his grin widening. “Guess Sunoo’s still your shadow.”

You smirked, leaning back a little. “More like I’m his ball and chain.”

Jake laughed, the sound warm. “If that’s true, you wear it well.”

The tether pulsed faintly, sharp and hot. You didn’t look at Sunoo, but you felt it — the flicker of irritation that wasn’t yours.

Jake didn’t notice. He leaned closer, voice conspiratorial. “So, you coming to my match this weekend? Could use a Ravenclaw brain for strategy… or maybe just a lucky charm in the stands.”

You raised a brow, pretending to think. “Lucky charm, huh? That’s a new one.”

“Not new,” he said, eyes crinkling. “Just true.”

The tether burned suddenly, jealousy rising so strong it made your chest tighten. You blinked, startled, and glanced at Sunoo.

He was silent, expression calm to anyone else. But you could feel it. The spike of something dark and hot he was trying to smother.

You brushed it off quickly. Sunoo? Jealous? Impossible. He’d rather eat his own wand than care about you and Jake.

Jake opened his mouth again, grin easy. “So what do you say? Come be my charm? I’ll even—”

“We have to go,” Sunoo cut in suddenly, his tone clipped. He stood in one smooth motion, tugging your wrist with him.

You stumbled up, eyes wide. “What—”

“The library,” Sunoo said flatly, already steering you away. “Test tomorrow.”

You blinked. “We don’t have a—”

His eyes snapped to yours, sharp and warning. You swallowed the rest of the sentence, lips pressing together.

Jake looked after you both, brows raised in surprise, but you managed a quick, awkward smile. “Bye, Jake!”

He waved, still smiling, and you were dragged out of the courtyard by Sunoo’s swift strides.

The tether pulsed, buzzing with his tightly leashed emotions.

You stared at his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lips pressed thin. “You know,” you said finally, your voice low, testing, “you’re awfully invested in my study habits all of a sudden.”

His eyes flicked to you, unreadable. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But the tether betrayed him. Jealousy throbbed hot between you, undeniable.

You swallowed, heat crawling up your neck, brushing it off even as your heart hammered.

Because Sunoo being jealous of Jake? Of you?

…couldn’t be.

Could it?

The Astronomy Tower was quiet at night. Too quiet. The kind of silence that made every step echo, every breath feel like it carried weight.

Sunoo had dragged you up here past curfew, his excuse simple: “Your room’s too stuffy. I need air.”

You’d rolled your eyes, but followed anyway, tether glowing faintly between you like the castle itself wanted to keep you in check.

Now you sat side by side on the stone ledge, the night sprawling open before you. Stars scattered across the sky like spilled potion, the moon hanging low and bright.

It could’ve been romantic.

If Sunoo wasn’t complaining.

“I’m telling you,” he said, voice animated, eyes fixed on the stars, “the way people talk about constellations makes no sense. They connect the dots wrong on purpose, I swear. Orion’s belt? Those stars are light-years apart, and everyone pretends it’s just some neat little line. It’s scientifically irresponsible.”

You blinked at him, half-dazed from the night air. “Sunoo… no one’s taking constellation diagrams as gospel.”

“They should care!” he said, indignant, his hands waving as if he could rearrange the sky itself. “It’s misleading! Some poor first year is going to think the stars are neighbors when really they’re galaxies apart. That’s a tragedy waiting to happen.”

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

He pouted, lips pursing as he leaned back against the cold stone. “Ridiculous, or the only one making sense?”

You didn’t answer right away. Because in the middle of his rant, you’d turned your head to look at him.

The moonlight softened his features, tracing the curve of his cheek, the slope of his nose. His styled hair, usually neat and perfect, was a little mussed from the climb — a stray strand falling across his forehead. His eyes, sharp by day, looked softer now, glassy with starlight.

Pretty. Too pretty.

Your stomach flipped before you could stop it, heat blooming under your ribs.

And then he looked at you.

You braced yourself for his irritation, expecting the tether to drown you in his familiar annoyance. But it didn’t. The flutter in your chest only grew stronger, sharper, undeniable.

You tore your gaze away, fixing it on the sky again, heart thudding.

For a moment, silence stretched between you. Only the sound of your breathing, the hum of the tether, and the whisper of wind over stone.

Then Sunoo’s voice came, softer than you’d ever heard it.

“You make it less boring.”

Your head whipped toward him, eyes wide. His face was turned up to the stars, but you could see the way his lips parted, like he hadn’t meant to say it at all.

The tether pulsed warm, steady, carrying the weight of his words straight into you.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Shock rooted you in place.

Sunoo’s eyes flicked to you then, catching your stunned expression. His own widened a fraction — like he’d startled himself.

And just as quickly, his mask snapped back on. He stood abruptly, tugging you with him.

“It’s late,” he said, voice brisk now, controlled. “We should sleep. Long day.”

The walk back to your dorm was silent, the tether buzzing faintly between you. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you looked at the other.

But when you finally climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling, you knew one thing for certain.

You fell first.

But didn’t know.

Sunoo fell harder.

The first thing you felt that morning wasn’t the sunlight streaming faintly through the curtains or the cool air seeping in from the cracked window.

It was warmth.

Strong and steady, wrapping around you like it belonged there.

Sunoo’s arm was draped firmly across your waist, pulling you close. His chest pressed against your back, his breaths slow and deep, perfectly in sync with yours.

For a second, half-asleep, you didn’t question it. The tether had trained you into closeness; mornings had blurred into a pattern of accidentally brushing knees, falling asleep shoulder-to-shoulder, pretending it meant nothing. This felt like another version of that.

But something was different.

You shifted slightly, blinking into the hazy light — and that’s when you realized.

The tether wasn’t tugging. It wasn’t humming or buzzing between you like it always did.

It was silent.

Gone.

Your chest tightened.

Sunoo stirred then, his grip tightening instinctively before his eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he didn’t move. His face was relaxed, softer than you’d ever seen it — a faint crease in his brow smoothed out by sleep, hair a little mussed, one strand falling across his forehead.

And then realization struck.

His body stiffened.

He pulled back quickly, eyes widening as he followed your gaze to your joined wrists. Nothing bound you anymore. No golden glow. No tether.

He let go like he’d been burned, scrambling back so fast he slipped off the bed entirely, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

You sat up fast, messy hair falling into your face. “Sunoo?”

He didn’t answer, too busy staring at his wrist like it had betrayed him. His chest rose and fell quickly, his composure cracking.

Then you saw it — the truth.

The tether was gone.

Your heart lurched, then broke into a grin before you could stop it. Relief spilled through you like sunlight. “Finally!” you gasped, jumping off the bed.

Your eyes were wide, a smile tugging your lips as you turned toward him. “We’re free.”

But the reaction that met you wasn’t joy.

It was sharp. Bitter.

Sunoo was on his feet now, brushing dust off his sleep trousers, jaw tight. There was no light in his expression, no soft curve of a smile. Just cold.

Your grin faltered. “You… don’t look happy.”

He didn’t meet your eyes. His voice was clipped when he answered. “Thrilled.”

The single word landed heavy, colder than any retort he’d thrown before.

You blinked, confused. “Sunoo—what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly, reaching for the robes draped neatly over your chair. His movements were sharp, efficient, like each tug and fold of fabric was punishment. “It’s what we wanted, right? No more tether. No more… inconvenience.”

The way he said it — like the days spent side by side had been nothing but a nuisance — cut deeper than any of your old bickering ever had.

Your throat tightened. “Is that all this was to you?”

His hand stilled on the satchel he’d left by your desk. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he forced a shrug, slipping the strap over his shoulder. “What else would it be?”

The words gave you whiplash. The Sunoo you’d seen under the stars, the one who smiled without meaning to, the one who pulled the blanket back over you when you’d rolled away — he was gone. Back was the Sunoo who smirked, who scoffed, who cut sharp with his tongue.

And yet… the tether might have disappeared, but you still felt something twisting heavy in the space between you.

You stepped forward despite yourself. “Sunoo, I—”

“Don’t.” His voice cut through the air like a blade. He adjusted his satchel, eyes flicking anywhere but you. “It’s late. I have to go.”

Late? It was barely morning. You opened your mouth to call him out on the lie, but the look on his face — tight, guarded, almost desperate — stopped you.

He moved to the door, hand gripping the knob, his shoulders rigid. For a second, it seemed like he might turn, might say something real.

Instead, his voice dropped low, almost too soft to hear.

“Goodbye.”

And then he was gone.

The silence left in his wake was deafening.

You stood frozen for a moment, staring at the empty space he’d just occupied. Your hands trembled slightly, your heart twisting in your chest.

Finally, you sank back onto the bed, your knees folding under you. The sheets were still warm where he’d been. You pressed your palm against the spot, your throat tightening until it hurt to breathe.

You should’ve never let your guard down. Should’ve never let yourself look at him under starlight, listen to his endless complaints, laugh at his stubbornness. Should’ve never let yourself care.

Because now he thought of you the way he always had — a rival. An inconvenience. Nothing more.

But you didn’t.

You’d grown fond of him. Too fond. And now your heart ached, raw and heavy, because the tether was gone but the feeling it left behind wasn’t.

The days that followed blurred into something familiar. Too familiar.

Classes. Hallway patrols. Late nights grading papers and checking dorm curfews.

It was almost as if nothing had happened.

Almost.

Because the tether was gone, and with it, so was Sunoo.

Meals turned into a game of glances.

You sat at the Ravenclaw table, pushing food around your plate, pretending to listen while Jake rattled on about the Charms professor’s strange obsession with pumpkin pasties.

“Swear he eats three at a time. Like—three, not two, not four, three,” Jake said, shaking his head dramatically. “It’s terrifying.”

You laughed weakly, just enough to pass, but your eyes betrayed you.

They wandered. Across the hall. Past the sea of students, past the floating candles, straight to the Hufflepuff table.

Where Sunoo sat,styled jet black hair gleaming under the candlelight, smiling at something Jungwon said.

And when your gaze lingered too long, he shifted. He never looked back. Not once.

He avoided your eyes like they were poison.

It hurt more than you’d ever admit.

At night, when you finally collapsed into your bed, you buried your face in your pillow, trying to smother the ache.

But the sheets betrayed you.

The faint scent of blossom perfume still clung there — soft, delicate, the same one Sunoo once told you he wore because colognes made him nauseous.

You hadn’t noticed it before. Not when he was still there, breathing the same air.

Now it was all you could smell.

And it hollowed you out.

You saw him in the hallway one afternoon, just outside the library. The change struck you immediately — blonde hair, styled neat, light catching on every strand.

It fit him. Too well.

Your chest squeezed. You wanted to walk up, to tell him. To smile for once and say, it suits you, Sunoo.

But before you could take a step, Angie appeared. The same Slytherin girl he’d cut off for you weeks ago.

This time, he didn’t look cold. He laughed at something she said, head tipping slightly, his smile wide enough to make her blush.

The sight was a dagger straight through you.

Your stomach dropped, and you spun away before he could see.

You slipped into an empty classroom, the door clicking shut behind you. Your hands gripped the edge of a desk as you bowed your head, tears falling hot and fast.

You pressed your fist to your mouth, trying to keep quiet. Trying not to choke on the sound.

So many emotions pressed heavy on your chest, clawing to get out, until all you could do was let them spill in silence.

It kept happening.

The friends who had once hovered around you both in the hallways drifted back to him, orbiting Sunoo like they always had. You became background again. Invisible.

You carried on your Head Girl duties, pacing halls, checking common rooms, pretending the exhaustion was from work and not from nights spent staring at the ceiling.

Sleep barely came. And when it did, it was shallow, restless, haunted by phantom warmth at your side.

Jake and Jungwon tried, bless them. They caught you in the corridor one evening, voices low with concern.

“Hey,” Jungwon said softly. “Are you—”

“I’ve got to do my hourly sweep,” you cut in quickly, forcing authority into your tone. “Prefects aren’t going to check themselves.”

It wasn’t true. Not even close.

But you walked away anyway, leaving their worried looks behind.

Because what could you say?

That the boy you’d sworn to hate had left a hollow in your chest you didn’t know how to fill? That he pretended you’d been nothing, while you were still haunted by every smile, every touch, every accidental moment of softness?

No. You’d carry it alone.

Even if it crushed you.

The hallway was quiet except for your footsteps. Head Girl duties had you out later than most, patrolling corridors, wand in hand. You rounded the corner — and froze.

Sunoo.

He leaned against the wall near the staircase, arms crossed, golden hair catching the flicker of torchlight. He looked like he’d been waiting.

Your chest seized, but you forced yourself to keep walking. You could pretend. Pretend you didn’t feel the ache in your ribs every time he ignored you. Pretend his laughter with Angie hadn’t shattered you. Pretend the tether hadn’t left you lonelier than before.

You stepped past him.

“You’re really not going to say anything?” His voice was low, tight, not calm like he wanted it to be.

You froze, shoulders stiff. Then you turned, jaw clenched. “What is there to say, Sunoo? That I was stupid enough to think any of it mattered? That the second we were free you went right back to pretending I’m nothing?”

Your voice cracked, but you swallowed hard, lifting your chin. “No. I’m done humiliating myself.”

You pivoted, steps quick, but before you could leave, his hand shot out and closed around your wrist.

The pull was sharp, desperate.

“Don’t,” he bit out. His voice shook. “Don’t just walk away from me. Be damn patient for once—it’s not easy for me.”

Your breath caught. He rarely let anything slip. But now, his eyes were wild, his chest rising and falling like the words were clawing their way out of him.

“You think I wanted this?” His voice rose, harsh, blaming. “You think I wanted to spend weeks chained to you, stuck hearing everything you said, feeling every emotion? I didn’t! I hated it! I—” He broke off, dragging a trembling hand through his hair.

“I thought it would end, and I’d go back to normal. That I wouldn’t have to…” His voice cracked. “…to feel you anymore.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you forced your voice steady. “And yet here we are. You’re still angry, Sunoo, so what’s changed?”

He laughed bitterly, sharp and raw. “Everything! That’s what’s changed!”

The words echoed, harsh and too loud in the quiet corridor. He pressed a hand to his chest, his golden hair falling messily into his face.

“I can’t stop,” he said, voice breaking. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I tried ignoring you, I tried pretending the tether twisted my head, but it wasn’t the tether—it was me. It’s still me.”

Your throat tightened, your whole body trembling.

His voice softened, frantic but quiet now, spilling unfiltered from his chest. “Four weeks ago, I could’ve sworn I hated you. But you—” His eyes lifted to yours, raw, shimmering. “You’re the only one who’s seen me. Not the bright, smiling Sunoo everyone thinks they know. You saw me when it was quiet. When I couldn’t keep the mask on. And now—” His voice cracked. “Now I don’t know how to live without you seeing me.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came.

He stepped closer, still clutching your wrist. “I want you, and it hurts. It keeps me up at night. And I don’t know why, but I can’t let you go.”

Before you could answer, his other hand cupped your jaw, pulling you toward him. His lips crashed against yours in a deep, desperate kiss, messy and trembling with everything he couldn’t say.

The kiss said it all. His anger. His longing. His surrender.

And when you kissed him back, all the bitterness burned away, leaving only the truth neither of you could deny anymore.

A week later, it felt like the castle had shifted. Not in stone or magic, but in you.

The tension was gone. The ache had loosened. What replaced it was something foreign but soft, like stepping into a new pair of shoes that fit just right.

You sat at the Hufflepuff table — your table now too, if the boys had any say — surrounded by the buzz of chatter and clinking plates. Sunoo was beside you, shoulders pressed close, animatedly telling Jake some ridiculous story with his hands.

“…and then he tried to charm the quill, but instead, it burst into flames!” Sunoo’s laugh rang out, his eyes crinkling as Jake nearly spit pumpkin juice across the table.

“Okay, but to be fair, you were the one who said it’d work—” Jake shot back, waving his fork.

Sunoo leaned back, smug, his grin brighter than the floating candles above. Jungwon shook his head, biting into a roll like he’d heard the story too many times.

The conversation rolled on without you — Jake needling Jungwon now, both of them bickering lightheartedly — while you ate in silence, content just to watch.

Then, under the table, Sunoo’s hand slipped into yours.

Your gaze snapped to him. He was still facing forward, cheeks faintly pink, glossy-eyed in the candlelight. When he finally looked at you, his smile was small, private.

“You’re staring,” he teased softly, lips quirking.

“Am not,” you muttered, but your face warmed instantly.

“Yes, you are,” he said, squeezing your hand gently before leaning in. His whisper brushed against your cheek. “Lucky me.”

Before you could roll your eyes or fire back a quip, he kissed your cheek. Quick, soft, shameless.

Jake gagged immediately, clutching his chest. “Merlin, not at the table! Some of us are trying to eat.”

You barked a laugh, grabbed the nearest Brussels sprout from your plate, and chucked it straight at him. It bounced off his robes, leaving a green smear.

The whole table erupted — Jungwon choking on his juice, Sunoo burying his face in his sleeve from laughing so hard, Jake threatening revenge while trying not to grin.

You sat there in the middle of it all, hand still snug in Sunoo’s, cheeks aching from smiling.

Yeah. This felt right.

You exhaled, quiet and grateful, and whispered a thanks to whatever Cupid decided to trip you up that night. The spell that bound you, the chaos it caused — it hadn’t been a curse at all.

It had been the start of this.

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you stir when the mattress dips. heeseung’s still half-asleep, hair messy, eyes heavy with dreams. his arm finds its way around your waist like muscle memory, pulling you against his chest. he hums, the sound low and lazy.

“it’s cold,” you mumble into his hoodie. “mhm,” he answers, voice thick and rough, “stay here then.”

his breath is warm against your neck. you can hear the faint tick of the heater trying to come alive, the slow rhythm of rain on the window. there’s coffee waiting to be made, breakfast that could happen if either of you moved — but neither of you do.

he presses a sleepy kiss to your temple, his fingers tracing idle circles on your arm. you feel him smile against your skin.

“this is my favorite kind of morning,” he says quietly. and maybe it’s yours too — the world outside shivering while you stay tucked away, caught between dreams and reality, safe in the space where heeseung holds you like you’re the only warmth he’ll ever need.

jay - pumpkin patch & hot cocoa

the sun sits low, pale gold spilling through a sky that smells faintly of woodsmoke. the air is crisp — the kind that bites at your nose but feels good on your cheeks. jay’s hand fits easily around yours, his thumb brushing lazy circles over your knuckles as you walk through rows of orange and brown.

the pumpkin patch is quiet except for the crunch of leaves underfoot. you can hear children laughing somewhere near the hay bales, but here it’s just the two of you — the world dipped in soft color, your breath visible in little clouds.

“that one,” you say, pointing to a small, slightly crooked pumpkin. jay tilts his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “that one? it’s kinda lopsided.” “it has character,” you grin. “like you.”

he lets out that low laugh that always makes your chest feel warm, and before you can walk away, he’s tugging you closer by the scarf. “you’re lucky i’m too cold to argue,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours.

later, the two of you end up inside a tiny café off the road — all foggy windows and cinnamon air. you share a blanket draped over your shoulders, sitting so close your knees touch under the table. jay’s drink sits untouched, steam curling upward as he watches you sip yours.

“what?” you ask, cheeks flushed from the heat. he just shakes his head, smiling in that quiet way of his. “you’ve got cocoa on your lip.” he reaches over and wipes it away with his thumb — slow, deliberate — before leaning in to kiss you softly, his lips tasting like chocolate and fall air.

and for a moment, everything feels still. the café hums softly in the background, your pumpkin waits forgotten in the trunk, and jay’s hand stays on your knee like he’s holding you in place, right here, in this golden sliver of time that smells like autumn and feels like love.

jake - early christmas shopping

the city feels softer tonight. storefronts glow with warm light, every window dusted with tiny wreaths and fake snow. you can hear carols playing faintly somewhere down the street, the air sharp with cold, your breath puffing out in small clouds.

jake’s walking beside you, gloved fingers brushing yours until they find their way together. his nose is pink, his smile even more so. every time he laughs, it fogs the air between you.

“you said we were just getting a few things,” he teases, nodding at the bags hanging from his arms. “they were all on sale,” you say, but your grin gives you away. he bumps your shoulder gently. “you’re lucky i’m a sucker for you and christmas.”

you end up walking slower than you need to, the streets quieter now. snow hasn’t started yet, but you can smell it coming — that faint, metallic chill. by the time you reach home, your hands are numb, and the world outside is shivering.

inside, it’s different. warm air rushes to greet you; soft yellow light spills across the floor. jake sets the bags down and shrugs off his coat, his hair messy from the wind. you’re still laughing about something small — how he tried to hum along to “last christmas” and missed every note — when he pulls you close.

you fit against him easily. his arms come around you, the fabric of his sweater rough against your cheek, his heartbeat slow and steady beneath. “see?” he whispers, voice low, “warm again.”

you don’t even try to move. the room smells faintly of pine and chocolate, a candle flickers on the counter, and the only sound is the wind brushing against the windows. he presses a kiss into your hair and says, “next year, let’s get a real tree.” you smile into his chest. “and more lights.” “deal.”

the rest of the world fades until there’s just this — you, him, and the quiet hum of a heater working overtime, keeping you both wrapped in something that feels like home.

sunghoon - skating in the cold

the rink is almost empty. just the echo of blades gliding, a few scattered laughs, and the soft hum of music that drifts from the speakers above. you can see your breath every time you exhale, the air sharp enough to sting your nose.

sunghoon kneels in front of you, his hands lift as he tightens the laces on your skates. his hair falls into his eyes, and for a second you forget how to breathe. there’s something about him here — in his element — that feels untouchable. like winter itself softened just enough to take human form.

“too tight?” he asks, looking up, voice low and careful. you shake your head. “perfect.”

he smiles a little, barely there, but you catch it before he looks away. when he stands, he offers you his hand, gloved but still warm. his fingers close around yours, steady and certain.

the first few minutes are clumsy — you wobble, grip his arm, and he just laughs, patient and quiet. “don’t look down,” he says, his breath a pale cloud between you. “easy for you to say,” you mutter, clinging tighter.

he’s still laughing when he pulls you forward, his hand firm at your waist. you stumble once, then twice, and somehow you end up chest-to-chest, his nose brushing your temple, his breath skating along your skin.

time slows. the ice hums beneath your feet, lights reflecting off its surface like stars caught in motion. his voice drops — softer now, almost shy. “you’re getting better,” he says.

you glance up at him. “because you’re holding me up.” “maybe,” he whispers, “but i don’t mind.”

later, when you’re both back inside, cheeks flushed and fingers stiff from the cold, you sit together with steaming cups of hot chocolate. the window fogs over from your breath, and he draws a tiny heart in the glass before leaning back, eyes finding yours.

the world outside is frozen, but somehow, next to him, everything feels warm.

sunoo - rainy afternoon baking

the rain hasn’t stopped all day. it moves across the windows in lazy streaks, soft and steady, like the sky’s been wrapped in a blanket too. inside, it’s warm — the kind of warm that smells like butter and vanilla, soft music humming in the background while you and sunoo stand side by side in the kitchen.

he’s wearing an apron that says kiss the cook in faded letters, and he’s taking it very seriously — even though there’s flour on his cheek and a bit of chocolate smudged near his jaw.

“you’re supposed to mix, not eat all the batter,” you say, watching him sneak another spoonful. he gasps dramatically. “i’m quality testing!” “you’re unbelievable.” he grins, the kind of grin that feels like sunlight. “you love me though.”

you roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile. he looks so content here — hair a little messy, sleeves pushed up, the rain playing its rhythm just beyond the walls. when the timer dings, he leans over to pull the cookies from the oven, the scent of caramel and sugar spilling into the air like warmth itself.

“moment of truth,” he says, breaking one in half and holding it out to you. it’s still steaming. you take a bite, the edge crisp, the center soft, and hum in approval. “perfect.” his eyes light up instantly, like praise from you means more than he’ll ever admit.

later, you end up on the couch, legs tangled under a blanket, a plate of cookies between you. the rain sounds softer now, like a lullaby. sunoo leans his head on your shoulder, crumbs on his sweater, the glow from the candle flickering over his face.

“days like this feel unreal,” he murmurs. you smile, brushing your thumb across the back of his hand. “they feel like home.”

he hums in agreement, eyes closing, the corners of his lips lifting in that small, sleepy way he smiles when he’s happy. and as the rain whispers against the glass, the whole world narrows to this — the smell of cookies, the sound of his breathing, and the quiet warmth of love that asks for nothing but to stay.

jungwon - firelight and snow

the world outside is white. snow drifts down slow and steady, gathering on the window ledge in soft heaps. the room glows with firelight — amber and flickering, shadows dancing lazily across the walls.

jungwon sits cross-legged on the rug, a blanket pooled around his shoulders, the fire painting gold across his skin. his hair’s still a little damp from his shower, and his cheeks are pink from the warmth. there’s a mug of cocoa beside him, forgotten as he watches the flames curl and twist.

you settle down beside him, pulling the blanket over both of you. it’s quiet — the kind of quiet that only happens when the world outside has gone still, snow swallowing every sound.

“cold?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “a little,” you admit, leaning closer.

he shifts instantly, wrapping an arm around you and tucking you into his side. the blanket falls around you both like a secret. your head finds his shoulder, and he tilts his face slightly until his hair brushes your temple.

the fire cracks softly, and for a moment, it feels like time doesn’t exist — just the faint hum of heat, his steady breathing, the snow outside still falling. he sighs, content. “i wish every night felt like this.” you smile into his sweater. “me too.”

he hums in response, the sound low and comforting, his thumb tracing slow circles on your arm beneath the blanket. the light flickers over his lashes when he looks down at you, something tender in his eyes — a quiet affection, too soft for words.

“don’t fall asleep yet,” he says, half-teasing. “why not?” “because then i’ll have to carry you to bed.” “you say that like you wouldn’t.” he laughs quietly. “yeah… i would.”

you can feel it then — how deeply calm it all is, how much he means it when he holds you closer, like keeping you warm is the only thing that matters.

outside, the early snow keeps falling. inside, the fire burns low. and between the two of you, there’s just the quiet promise of warmth that won’t fade when morning comes.

ni-ki - late night drive

the highway hums beneath the tires, soft and steady like a heartbeat. city lights blur in the distance, stretching out like stars that decided to come closer. the dashboard glows faintly, washing everything in shades of blue and gold.

niki’s hands rest on the steering wheel, his fingers tapping along to the quiet song playing through the speakers. the music’s slow — the kind that fits perfectly with the rhythm of rain starting to fall, light and scattered against the windshield.

you’re half-leaning toward the window, watching the world drift by, when he glances over. “tired?” “just peaceful,” you murmur. he smiles, one corner of his mouth curving up. “good. i like you like this.”

the heater hums, warm air curling around your legs. you pull his hoodie tighter around you — it smells faintly like pine and something clean, something him. outside, everything’s washed in motion: passing lights, wet asphalt, reflections sliding across the glass like brushstrokes.

he reaches over and finds your hand, his fingers cool against yours before they settle into warmth. you turn your palm up so he can interlace them, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, eyes still on the road.

“where are we going?” you ask, voice soft. “nowhere,” he says. “just… driving. i didn’t want the night to end yet.”

you smile at that, small and secret, because you feel the same. there’s something about this — the hum of the car, the rain, the soft pull of gravity between you — that feels like a memory you’ll replay long after it’s over.

when he finally pulls over, it’s somewhere quiet — a hill overlooking the sleepy stretch of the town below. you can see the faint glow of streetlights, the world looking smaller, softer from here.

niki leans back in his seat, still holding your hand, thumb tracing idle shapes against your skin. “this is my favorite part,” he says. “what is?” “the quiet after everything. when it’s just us.”

the rain slows to a drizzle, tapping gently against the roof. he looks at you then — really looks — his eyes reflecting the dim light, his voice dropping low. “you make everything feel slower. easier.”

you rest your head against his shoulder, and for a long while, neither of you speak. just the faint sound of rain, the warmth of his palm against yours, and the quiet knowing that this — this stillness, this peace — is what falling feels like.

Thanks for reading! Reblogs + notes always mean a lot 💌 other works

tl: @yazmike @teddybeartaetae

“Can I?” he asks softly, eyes dark, yet hesitant, like he’s giving you a chance to pull away if you want. You nod, breath hitching, and he lets a slow, almost possessive squeeze settle around your neck. Your pulse hammers under his palm, and just like that, every nerve in your body screams awareness, heightened, sharp, sensitive.

He leans closer, pressing his forehead against yours, lips brushing your ear. “Good… you like feeling me like this, don’t you?”

You moan in answer, hips shifting against his, feeling the taut strength of him behind the gentle violence of his hold. His other hand slides down to cup your chest, thumb brushing over your nipple, drawing a gasp from you. He’s slow, teasing, testing boundaries, letting every subtle flinch, every quiver, every whimper guide his hands.

When he tilts his hips, pressing into you, the combination of pressure on your throat and the friction of his cock or fingers inside you makes your knees buckle. You feel raw, hypersensitive, and every small movement, every little gasp or moan, is like fuel to him.

He leans in for a kiss, teeth grazing, and suddenly it’s not just physical, he’s in your rhythm, matching every shiver, every twitch, holding you in the precise balance between control and pleasure. His grip tightens just a little more, perfectly timed with a slow, deep thrust, and you’re drowning in sensation.

“Look at you… mine,” he murmurs, voice low, rough, yet still warm, almost tender despite the dominance. You can’t stop trembling, can’t stop needing him, every press, every squeeze, every gasp you let out feeding the feral heat between you.

And even when you’re gasping, shaking, on the edge of losing control, he’s careful enough to never let it go too far, easing the pressure if you falter, but keeping you right there, on the verge, entirely at his mercy, entirely his.

You’re lying back on the bed, muscles already trembling from the way Sunoo’s hands have been tracing over your body. His fingers are warm, firm, yet gentle, and the weight of his attention makes your chest rise faster than it should. Then, slowly, deliberately, he slides a hand around your throat, thumb brushing lightly along your jaw.

“Can I?” he murmurs, eyes dark, low, almost feral, but with that signature gentleness he always carries. Your breath hitches, heart hammering. You nod, barely trusting your voice, and he presses just enough to let you feel the control without hurting, letting his warmth settle through you.

The instant his hand tightens slightly, a shiver runs through your body. You gasp, and he watches you intently, thumb stroking lightly over the side of your neck as if to check in. He leans close, forehead resting against yours, lips brushing your ear.

“You feel so good like this,” he murmurs, voice rough, low. “So responsive… mine.”

You moan, hips shifting toward him almost instinctively, needing the friction of his body. One hand slides down to your chest, cupping your breast, thumb circling your nipple, drawing another sharp gasp from you. Your hands fumble for him, but he catches them lightly, holding them at your sides, keeping you open, exposed, entirely under his control.

Every slow press of his palm around your throat, every deliberate movement of his fingers, sends jolts of awareness straight through you. The mixture of dominance and care, how he’s pushing just enough to make you shiver without fear, has your senses sharpened, making every touch, every brush of skin, electric.

Then he shifts, letting his hips press into yours. The combination of pressure on your neck and his cock sliding against you, or fingers, depending on the moment, makes your knees tremble. You’re hypersensitive, trembling with overstimulation, every small movement of his body amplifying your arousal.

His eyes never leave yours. You see the hunger there, the possessive need, but also the careful monitoring, the way he keeps you safe even as he pushes boundaries. He leans down, lips brushing yours in a messy, desperate kiss. His teeth graze lightly, then pull back, leaving your skin tingling in multiple ways.

“You like that, don’t you? Feeling me like this?” he whispers, hand tightening just enough around your throat to make you shiver. Your answer is a shaky moan, your body arching into him, hips pressing, desperate.

He laughs low, feral, the sound vibrating through you. One hand drifts to your waist, pressing you down as he lets the other slide from your throat to cup your breast fully, fingers kneading, thumb circling. Every motion is timed, deliberate, designed to maximize overstimulation while keeping you on edge.

The pressure on your throat shifts in perfect rhythm with his movements, pulsing with your arousal. He tilts his hips just right, thrusting slowly, letting every inch sink deep. You’re trembling, whimpering, every nerve ending alive with sensation, and he’s watching, memorizing, controlling, savoring.

Then, suddenly, he tightens his grip slightly, teeth brushing your collarbone as he murmurs, “Come for me. I want to feel you trembling all over me.”

Your body responds instantly, convulsing with pleasure, shuddering under his touch. Every thrust, every squeeze, every circling finger drives you higher, teetering on the edge of overstimulation, every gasp and moan feeding his hunger. He doesn’t relent, alternating the pressure just enough to keep you on the brink, letting your body ride the wave, completely undone beneath him.

When you finally shatter around him, screaming, hips bucking, breath ragged, he doesn’t let go completely, still holding your throat lightly, still keeping you close, letting you feel the full weight of his control even as your muscles quiver. You collapse against him, soaked in sweat, trembling, heart racing, completely spent, and yet every nerve still hums with overstimulation.

He pulls you close, chest pressed to yours, lips brushing your temple. His hand drifts from your neck to cradle your head, thumb brushing along your cheek.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, low, rough, possessive, but soft enough that it makes your body relax slightly, even as it still hums with tension. “Every part of you.”

You can barely nod, body still shaking from the intensity, from the edge of sensation he kept you on, from the perfect balance of dominance and care. And you know, deep down, that being his, feeling him like this, under him, trembling and helpless, was exactly where you belonged.

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