𝙪𝙟𝙞

Your mouth fell open. His did too.

Watching you slowly blink, eyes slowly narrowing into a squint as he panicked and pushed out some frantic explanation, holding his hands up as he tried to make it sound somehow less creepy, “Look, you just never know if the guy you pick already has like, fifty other kids, and what if your baby meets one of them and doesn’t know that they’re siblings and-” 

“You don’t want me to use a sperm donor because you think my hypothetical kid might accidentally fuck their sibling?” 

Okay, wow, that was worse. 

“I’m just saying you wouldn’t have to worry about that sort of stuff with me,” he continued, choking on the lump in his throat before clearing his throat. “You already know I have great genes.” 

And like he wasn’t already shooting himself in the foot just by speaking, he flexed his bicep with a stupid grin on his face, t-shirt straining against his muscles just for you to roll your eyes at him. 

“You’re twenty-eight,” you bluntly said, as if he had ever given a shit about being younger than you before. 

If he was the same age, would you see him differently? 

He had asked himself that too many times to count. Enough that the hurt that it came with had seeped into his bones and started to live there. Weighing him down as he wondered how you would treat him if he met you later, when you were both older, somewhere neutral. 

Would you want him the way he wanted you?

“And?” He whined, pouting as you resisted the urge to shut him down harder. “Doesn’t that mean I have, like, even better sperm?”

“Satoru, you’re gonna meet some gorgeous girl and get married, and then it’s just going to be weird if-” You started, shaking your head dismissively. 

“I’m not,” Satoru cut you off before you could finish coming up with weak excuses, like he’d ever met anyone he thought was half as gorgeous as you.  

You made that cute little face you always did when you wanted to argue with him but couldn’t come up with anything that would make him agree with you. 

“You don’t know that,” you said after a few short moments, leaning in closer, oblivious that the next whiff of your perfume was enough to make him lose what little reason he had left. 

“What if I pinky promise?” 

“That you’ll never have kids with anyone else?” You gawked at him, face scrunching up in confusion. “That’s literally ridiculous. You know I’d never ask you to-” 

“I was going to get a vasectomy in a couple years anyway,” he lied in a panic, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn’t really care when he had literally never cared more about the simple notion of some stranger’s sperm winning out over his. 

“You never mentioned that,” you quietly pouted back, like you were a little upset at the idea he never brought it up. But at least you believed it. 

“If I was even ever going to have one,” He paused, dragging his chair closer to the table to stretch over it and wipe some icing stuck to the corner of your mouth, dredging up something he knew without a doubt was the truth to make up for his bullshit. “I’d want it to be with you anyway.” 

You stared at him, his fingers still grazing against your mouth before he dropped his hand and reclined back in his chair, as if there was even a scrap of his cool left to recover. Shrugging his shoulders as he scrambled for something to say before you could call him an idiot for even suggesting something like that. 

“I could even pay for it,” he grinned like this was some grand gesture instead of him desperately clinging onto this chance. He didn't like to just throw money at problems – but he'd throw his entire dignity in the trash can if it meant when you were waddling around pregnant in six months, that it would be his baby you were carrying. “What else are best friends for?” 

Personally, he’d prefer to add father of your child (and future husband) to his resume, but he was used to accepting whatever you offered. 

“Satoru,” you said his name slowly, sounding out the syllables so he could hear the hint of scolding in them. But you didn't dismiss him. 

He smiled at you, and it was just as easy as it had always been. Comfortable. Cozy.

“It's not a big deal,” Satoru shrugged. “I want what you want.”

Even if it meant pulling down his pants and jerking off in a cup a few weeks later after you admitted that maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to have the hottest guy you knew contribute his sperm to create the cutest child ever – not that you worded it exactly like that. He guessed his promise of paying all the bills may have also helped sway your decision. 

The whole thing was sorta scary, waiting and hoping for updates from there about egg retrieval and embryo viability, feeling like a loser checking his phone two hundred times a day when he wasn’t with you and showing up at your place with meals, trying to pick out foods that were good for someone doing IVF. 

You always let him in, even if you hummed and huffed that he didn’t have to do it. 

Satoru clung to claiming that he just wanted to be supportive.

Carrying you back to your bed after you crashed on the couch, tucking you under the blankets and cleaning up the dinner, stuffing the styrofoam boxes down in the trash can while he cursed himself for not just coming clean about his feelings fifteen fucking years ago. 

Sometimes he wasn’t sure you even saw him as a man. Didn’t realize he wasn’t the awkward, lanky preteen or scrawny kid he used to be despite the fact he’d been taller than you for over half your lives now. 

You didn’t even blink when you woke up to him sleeping with no shirt on your couch, the blanket deliberately draped at his hips to show off his sculpted abs, just yawning and walking past him, already showered and fully dressed, applying lip gloss as you scrolled on your phone. 

“Just lock the door after you leave,” you hummed, dropping your phone back in your purse and picking up your shoes before returning back to the couch to sit on top of his calves so you could slip them on.

A few years ago, he might have pretended to groan, to tease you for being on him, but now he just felt utterly hopeless at how hard he was savoring the connection, the weight of you on him even when it was totally platonic. Blinking sleepily and staring at your side profile as you bent over to slide your shoes on, preemptively picturing where you both might be in nine months. Would he be helping you get them on then? Putting his hand on your stomach and feeling his baby kick underneath your skin?

“Where are you going?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes before he propped himself up on his elbows. 

“Today’s the day,” you casually said, and after a painfully long pause, it clicked. 

“Like, the day?” He gawked, adrenaline overwriting the exhaustion at the thought that you could be coming back home with his babies implanted inside you. 

“We don’t know if it will take,” you muttered. The cocky half of him wanted to remind you that the doctors had said that his sperm was high quality, tempted to turn it into a joke and break the tension, make some childish offer. But he held it in, reached out to brush his fingers against your arm. 

“How many are they implanting?” He asked, tracing a faint little heart over your skin you didn’t seem to notice. 

“Just one,” you answered with a little sigh, biting your lip to hide the hint of a smile curling up and betraying the hint of excitement under the surface you were trying not to feel. “A girl.”

And then you were standing back up, readjusting your purse over your shoulder as you searched it for your keys, despite the fact they were sitting on your kitchen counter instead. 

“Can I come?” He asked, wiping his sweaty palms on his slacks as you puckered your lips together, shuffling on your feet. Was it so fucking wrong to want to be in the room at least when he got you pregnant? 

“It’s not like-” 

“I could drive you,” Satoru offered, hyperaware of how hopelessly desperate his own voice sounded. “I have the day off anyway.” 

He didn’t, but he’d call out sick if he had to, fake a coughing fit and convince Ijichi to push back all his meetings or come in at absurd hours to catch up on stuff if he had to.

Satoru didn’t want to miss a single appointment. Didn’t want to let you do it alone – no matter how strong he knew you were. You never needed him. But he needed you. 

Craved being the guy you depended on. Trusted to help take care of you. 

You glanced back at him, tilting your head to the side with that cute little sigh of yours you always made right before you caved in. 

“Fine.”ᘏ⑅ᘏ

“Do you think she’ll like it?” 

For a man who was only supposed to be a sperm donor, Satoru Gojo was acting far more like a father. 

Your best friend standing outside your front door with shopping bags of baby stuff, stumbling through your threshold with that stupidly charming cheeky smile. And when he realized he was about to be scolded, he started dramatically sniffing the air as he peeked past you to see what you were cooking, eagerly changing the subject before you could comment on what he brought, “Whatcha making?” 

“How many different outfits do you think she needs?” You rolled your eyes as you eyed him suspiciously, sighing as you shut the door behind him. Satoru just laughed, already piling up everything on your coffee table as you self-consciously tried to pull down your t-shirt from where it was sticking to the swell of your stomach, threatening to ride up and show off your growing baby bump. Only five months in and barely fitting into any of your old stuff anymore, despite how many prenatal yoga classes you attended or midnight cravings you ignored. 

He looked as perfect as he always did. White hair tousled and the sleeves of his button-up rolled up on his forearms, veins sticking out as he glanced up at you with those irritatingly sparkly blue eyes. God, you couldn’t remember a single time you’d seen him look bad. 

Even when you were younger, you couldn't escape the effect he seemed to have on everyone else. It didn't help that your family worked for his, that you got a front row seat to watch him get everything he ever wanted. Hyper aware of all the differences in his life than yours, what world he'd been born into that you just happened to occupy. Only able to stare from the sidelines, the bottom row of the bleachers, pointedly aware that he occupied a certain position above everyone else. 

You’d grown up glaring as your other friends fawned over him, strangers approaching him in public to shove their numbers at him or shyly flirt while he smiled at the affection he was showered with. It wasn’t his fault. You didn’t even hold it against him, not when over time, you’d found yourself increasingly, um, fond of him.

 But you couldn’t just ignore who he was when it trickled down to every aspect of your own life. 

All the guys you started seeing never lasted long. 

Either assholes who cheated on you or dickheads who dumped you, both always citing how little they could stand Satoru, just insecure, you supposed, unable to tolerate your best friend and his sometimes annoying antics. He had a bad habit of showing up right when you were about to go on dates, swinging by late at night or bringing presents just because. 

You tried to explain that it was just how he was. Satoru had spent his entire life being spoiled and sheltered. Spoiling you in return was one of the few ways he knew how to show affection. And when he could drop a few bands a day without noticing so much as a tiny dent in his bank account, it wasn't like money or gifts meant anything to him. 

And here you were now, feeling like you were taking advantage of it anyway, single and pregnant while your best friend bought your (his?) baby teething toys and the most expensive car seat stroller combos, helping turn your spare bedroom into a nursery on the weekends while you reminded him (and yourself) over and over again that you didn’t expect him to do any of it. 

Satoru didn't just blur the lines. 

He buried them. 

Took a shovel and tossed so much sand over it that it was impossible to tell where they originally were. And after the first embryo was successfully implanted, once you went to the first scan and saw the tiny little blob that would be your baby, you seemed to be making meals for three instead of two most days when the man who helped make it insisted on coming over after he got off work nearly every evening.

Sometimes, he'd arrive with takeout or groceries, but he never showed up empty handed. 

“How's our, um, this little princess doing?” Satoru grinned after he corrected himself, walking over to squat down in front of you, tapping your stomach like he was trying to wake her up. 

“She keeps kicking,” you murmured, biting your lip as his palm abruptly pressed flat as if he was hoping to experience it for himself. His hand was warm through your thin shirt, his thumb subtly dragging a small semi-circle as you continued, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.” 

“Lay down,” he muttered, just as a faint flutter stirred in your stomach, the sensation of your baby moving around still alien and strange as you watched the slow smile spread up on his face as he felt it too. “I’ll finish cooking.” 

“You suck-” 

Satoru pressed one long finger against your lips before you could argue with him, shaking his head as he scoffed, “I’ve been taking classes.” 

“When?” You pouted, a hand on your hip as you racked your brain for when he’d even have the opportunity when you practically had to shoo him out of your place half the time. 

“Every other Tuesday,” he retorted – and then he was gently trying to guide you over to your couch, not stopping until you were sitting down and he was putting the remote in your hand. 

Begrudgingly flipping through boring movies, readjusting a pillow behind your back before you gave up and started sorting through the bags of stuff he brought with him. 

Blue dresses. Pink bows. Extra diapers and wipes. Swaddles. 

A two-pack of onesies featuring the words MOMMY’S ANGEL and DADDY’S PRINCESS embroidered across the chest. 

A small voice in your head rationally suggested that you should set some better boundaries. Tell him you weren’t going to put her in that second one when he was supposed to be more like a…rich uncle? Family friend? 

Well, something other than daddy. 

But some awful part of you sort of liked it.

Liked how much his attention was devoted to you, how you couldn’t exactly ever feel lonely when he was always around, always willing to step into whatever box he thought you needed from him. He didn’t complain. Never groaned or gritted his teeth and acted like you were too much. Always able to make you laugh and smile, holding your hair back when you were nauseous and holding your bags for you in public. 

Even if all of it was only platonic. 

You weren’t stupid enough to think his interest in you was romantic. 

He could pick anyone. Go out and come home with a girlfriend in two hours if he wanted to.

Satoru was simply excited to share this with you, at the idea of a little infant that might have his hair or his eyes, his ego probably ballooning and bigger than ever because you chose him to have it with. 

The one thing you could never afford was letting yourself have a crush on him.

Especially when his care right now was temporary. 

It would probably fade after your baby was born, once she was crying and crawling and required more than just trinkets and toys to thrive. You didn’t think he’d disappear. But he would move on, focus on his work or his other friends, return to his more spontaneous visits as he resumed his role as your best friend rather than baby daddy.

Which was fine. 

Completely, totally, fine. 

“Here you go, sweetheart,” Satoru hummed, handing you a warm bowl before clearing off a space on the coffee table for you to put it before rushing back to grab napkins and a drink for you to go with it. You stared at him. Struggling to ignore how sturdy his frame was, how handsome, how steady he’d turned out as he hurried around, casually rummaging through your cabinets to pick out a glass while he acted like he was perfectly at home here when his own place was probably three times bigger, your heart thumping a little too loud for your own comfort as you caught a glimpse of that cute crinkle by his eyes when he turned his head.

You loved him. 

As a friend. 

You were content to raise your daughter by yourself, made the decision to have her because you knew you could. 

But maybe you could enjoy his attention while you had it. 

Hold onto how things were before he got bored. 

And whatever this fluttering in your stomach was, the one that you couldn’t blame on the baby in there, it would pass.

ᘏ⑅ᘏ

Satoru only realized the depth of his own stupidity when he was realized just how fucking hard it was to stay best friends watching you waddle around swollen and seven months pregnant with his baby. Barefoot with powdered sugar dusting your fingertips, one hand casually resting on your stomach and leaving a print on your loose pajama shirt while you baked your favorite dessert, babbling about how badly you were craving it in between complaining about how much your back was aching. 

He’d known his pining was pathetic from an early age. 

Forced to acknowledge it post-puberty when you started going on dates and he had to resist the temptation to punch a wall and tell you that no one was good enough for you. Discomfort and anger crawling under his skin at the idea of you giving anyone else who obviously didn’t deserve you any of the time that should be his. 

And now, despite the (lack of) wisdom age had added, he was still just stuck staring at you with an open mouth like a moron as you glanced back at him, glowing no matter how much you complained about how awful you thought you looked. 

His pants had never been fucking tighter around you. 

Boner carefully concealed with one of your throw pillows, long legs stretched out on your couch as he pretended to scroll on his phone. 

Every day only seemed to get harder too. More of a struggle to shove down his feelings when you started to rely on him more. Leaning against his shoulder, holding onto his forearm, your fingers skimming over his skin as you started to casually cling to him the same way he always hung onto you. Asking him for massages, laying your head on his lap, playing with his hair when you walked by him. Your stare had started to stick to him more, catching you watching him when you thought he wasn't looking. 

Satoru had spent years dreaming of this easy domesticity with you. 

Walking through your door to find you already making a meal big enough to share, baking or singing to yourself, peeking out and smiling at him without even being surprised. Expecting to see him there. 

And still, he only ever got to sleep on the couch. 

Didn't get to hug you or hold your hand or kiss you at the end of the night. 

He wanted to invite you back to his place, see if you’d spend it with him if he changed up this new normal, but he was scared that you’d decline. That he’d fuck up this tightrope he was walking before he made it to the other side. 

Um, and maybe because he’d turned one of his own extra rooms from storage to a pretty, pink nursery too. Just in case you asked him to babysit, or uh, wanted any extra help with her. 

But there was a subtle edge to your behavior, your softness sometimes switching abruptly, going cold or sharp when least expected it, suddenly getting short with him when he got a little too close. Hormones, maybe? 

It wasn’t like he could ask without receiving a lecture that he shouldn’t blame your feelings on your hormones just because they didn’t match whatever he thought they should. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” you commented with a huff, turning on the timer on the microwave after you shut the stove. 

“Jus’ thinking,” he hummed, trying to avoid the urge to spill out his dirty secret. 

“About?” You tilted your head to the side, almost bumping into the baby swing he built last weekend as you walked back over to him, starting to bend over to try and lift one of his legs instead of just sitting on him like you used to. 

He patted his thighs, as if you would actually take him up on it, just to earn a dramatic hand on your hip, pouting hard. 

“You’re really making a pregnant lady stand?” You muttered dryly, jutting your bottom lip out further.

“There’s a perfectly good seat right here,” he teased, grinning as his hand reached out, leaning forward, about to gently graze against your waist when- 

You started crying.  

Big tears welling up in your eyes before he could so much as blink, your brows knitting together in frustration as your own fingers rushed to wipe them away. 

His mouth fell open, words automatically spilling out, “Sorry, I’ll move, I-”

“You’re an asshole,” you hissed, breath hitching as you started to turn away from him, and he was shoving himself up off the couch, hurrying to spin you around by your wrist only for you to yank your arm away from him. 

“What did I do?” He gawked, blinking hard and fast, panic seizing in his chest as he desperately tried to search your face for any sign. 

“You keep acting like-” You stopped yourself, just vaguely gesturing up-and-down at his body before you scoffed and buried your face in your hands. “I’m such a fucking idiot for thinking that this was a good idea.” 

“You’re not an idiot,” he argued, pulling your hand down so he could wipe away your tears himself. Dragging his thumb under your eyes and cupping your cheeks to force you to look at him. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“We need, like, boundaries, or-”

“Boundaries?” 

Okay, sure, boundaries were normal, needed even, in most relationships. But he’d be lying if he said the idea of you putting up walls and pushing him away with new rules didn’t make him want to vomit. 

“You keep treating me like I’m your girlfriend,” you said, eyes wide and wavering as you barely managed to meet his stare. “Like, this means something more-” 

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” 

He knew he shouldn’t have said it the moment he heard how it sounded out loud. Heard the sharp inhale you sucked in, how shattered it came out. “Stop-” 

“You mean everything to me,” he blurted out before you could break his heart, ready to beg, to barter, to do whatever he had to just so you would see it. 

“Don't say that,” you whispered, shaking your head as you tried to take a step back. “Not when you don't mean it.”

“I do,” he huffed, holding onto you as he again attempted to stop you from pulling away, from severing this connection. And somewhere in his panic, his body purged all the words his mind had been shoving down for so long. “Fuck, sweetheart, I love you. I've loved you my entire life and I will for the rest of it. I'll be anything you want me to be, shit, just don't shut me out.” 

“You love me,” you repeated, like it was ridiculous. 

“I love you,” he said it again anyway, his voice dropping low.

“You-” You stopped yourself, starting to breathe fast through your nose, biting your bottom lip before you continued, “If you're just trying to make me feel better-”

“Do you seriously think I'd say it and risk ruining us just because you're crying?” He asked, wiping away another stray tear from your soft cheek, managing to sound appropriately serious for the first time in his life. 

You swallowed hard, like you were suffocating on the truth now that it was out there. Fingers balled up by your side, fists shaking as you fought the reality Satoru had dropped on you. 

“I don't expect you to tell me that you love me too, just, fuck, just don't walk away from me, okay-” 

And before he could finish begging, you were grabbing the collar of his shirt to pull him down, his mouth still open when yours connected with it. 

You kissed him, soft, unsure, like you weren't certain or confident that this was the right decision. But you didn't stop even if part of you thought you'd regret it later. 

His own hands failed him, his brain freezing the second if processed the fact you were actually kissing him, stuck completely still as you soft lips lightly started to suck on his bottom one, his breath stolen and his heart straining to accept how fucking sweet this felt. 

But then your fingers went loose, started to let go of his shirt, and he snapped out of it. Tethering his hands in your hair, deepening the kiss before you could pull away and he'd have to hear that you changed your mind. That he lost his only chance. 

Satoru tried to show you with his lips. 

Tongue dancing across your bottom lip for entry, dragging over the ridges of your teeth, exploring your mouth and memorizing how it felt. Saved it in case he'd never be able to savor the experience again. 

And when a cute little moan slipped out as his chest pressed against yours, as your bodies connected, your baby bump pressed against his stomach and your free hand draped over his shoulder, he knew his boner was back. 

“Mmph, Sato-” you murmured when you finally pulled away for air. He was desperately trying to suck in the quickest breath he could just to kiss you again.

The most he managed was a few quick pecks pressed to the corner of your mouth before your palm pressed flat against his chest. 

“We should talk about it,” you reasonably said, despite how inclined he was to throw reason out the window and carry you back to your bed. 

“Do you want me?” He asked, sucking in a short breath, leaning down so his nose was nuzzling against yours. 

“I do,” you answered, your voice strained and tight as you reluctantly looked up at him, studying the shape of his lips. And maybe it was because he’d spent an entire life wrapped around your finger, building and molding himself to be the sort of man you wanted, that you needed, he knew what thoughts were swirling around in your head before you said any of them. “I’m just scared.”

Hearing it out loud still scared the shit out of him though. 

Knowing how close he was to having you – and how easy it would be to fuck it all up. 

“What can I do to show you just how serious I am?” He murmured, leaning in, lightly grazing his lips against your mouth again. 

You closed your eyes, held onto his shirt and let yourself melt into his chest. 

This kiss didn't last long though, not when the timer on the microwave suddenly blared out. 

“I, um, should check on that,” you muttered, and it was incredibly hard to let you go. To watch you slip from his hold again and walk back into your kitchen, some intangible thread tugging him towards you, unable to stay more than a few steps away from you while you opened the oven and sighed before you added a few more minutes on the timer. 

But you didn’t come back, didn’t speak up immediately. 

You were staring at your distorted reflection in the microwave, like you were silently attempting to convince yourself of something. 

Maybe to turn him down. 

Say that you were both always going to be better off as friends.

“Tell me what to do,” Satoru begged. 

“I don’t know,” you blanched. 

“Anything,” he started. “I swear, I’ll-”

“Shouldn't we take this slow?” You hesitantly asked before he could offer to put up a billboard professing his love or get down on his knees to propose, clinging onto the counter tight enough he could see the clear outline of the bones and tendons in your knuckles. 

“You're having my baby,” he pointed out, and you just pouted at him. 

“I know,” you muttered, mulling over how you wanted to word your concern. “But what if you're only doing this because of that?”

“Sweetheart,” Satoru started, a fresh pang of panic shooting straight through his chest. “I would want you whether or not the baby was mine or someone else's. I've loved you for so fucking long-”

“It's hard for me to accept that,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don't understand why you would pick me. You could have-”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted. You occupy all my thoughts,” he breathed, his throat constricting as he did his best to confess. “Your glare. Your laugh. The way you defend me even when I'm a dick. How you indulge me even when I don't deserve it. Every morning, every night, every stupid meeting I get stuck in and when I'm in the shower. I've spent my whole life waiting for you to see me standing here and hoping for you.”

Another big tear welled up in your pretty eyes, one you quickly blinked away as your stare shined up at him. 

“Can you wait a little longer?” You asked, as if he wouldn't wait another ten, twenty, thirty fucking years holding onto this. 

“Of course,” he whispered. 

As long as you needed. 

He’d just hope it was a sooner rather than later thing. 

You wiped your cheeks, recollecting yourself before checking the oven again, pressing your lips together in a thin line as you put some mitts on and opened it to pull out the baking tray before reaching up to shut off the timer.

Satoru ended up where he always did. 

Stretched out in the corner of your couch, arm thrown around the back and pretending to pay attention to what was on TV instead of watching you in the corner of his vision. But this time, you snuggled up a little closer after you sat a plate down in front of him.

Curled up enough that your thighs were firmly pressing against each other, and slowly, his hand drifted down to cup your stomach. Just under the skin, feeling the faint flutter of his daughter kicking, or readjusting in there. Growing to hopefully be more like you than him, even if she would get stuck with half his DNA. 

“You’re warm,” you softly said, as if that was your excuse to melt into him more.

“Will you still let me spend the night?” He pouted, lips parting only for you to push a warm treat against them to shut him up. 

“On the couch?” You asked, watching him chew, chocolate probably smeared across his mouth before you asked something he only ever dreamed about. “Or in bed?” 

ᘏ⑅ᘏ

Satoru never stopped staying the night. 

And despite the fact he’d technically gotten you pregnant, you still had yet to have sex with him. But instead of him walking in hungry for your cooking, he was starving for you. Thighs hooked over his shoulders while he dragged his tongue up across your pussy, greedily lapping you up like it was his new favorite meal. 

You liked the way he kissed you when you woke up, his strong arms slung around your body, his soft mouth dotting your face like it was his favorite thing in the world. You loved the way he looked at you when he left for work, the warmth that seemed to radiate and wrap around you when he leaned down to caress your cheek and tell you that he’d call you at lunch. 

Somewhere along the way though, or more precisely around week thirty-eight, you started spending the night at his place instead, getting stretched out on his long fingers in his silk sheets instead of your cotton ones. 

You spent almost an hour chewing him out for the nursery he’d already set up there, dismissing his excuses because you both were well aware of the reasons why. 

He didn’t want to just be the donor. 

He wanted to be your baby’s dad. 

And when it came time to actually have your daughter, when your water broke a couple days past your due date and he rushed you to the hospital, you were the one to tell the nurses that was exactly what he was instead of playing pretend and ignoring what was right in front of your face. 

Letting him wipe the sweat from your brow and hold the cup of water to your lips, nearly breaking his hand by holding it so hard when it came time to push, hours of labor culminating in a little baby with your favorite set of blue eyes. 

She had your hair though, and he tried to say your smile too, peeling off his shirt right there in the room and ready to do skin-to-skin with her the second you said he could. 

If you hadn’t figured out you were completely and totally fucking in love with him, you knew the second you saw him cradling her to his chest, the gleam in his stare and the reverence in his trembling fingers brushing across her chubby cheeks. 

He had looked up at you with that lopsided smile, pride and adoration present in every line etched in his face. 

“I feel like the luckiest guy in the world,” he grinned.

And just a couple months of being with him had made you see how lucky you’d always been to have him. 

To have her. 

Even though you were pretty sure she inherited her dad’s personality. 

Specifically the loud and clingy parts. 

Always needing one of you to be carrying her, crying when you tried to leave her in the crib, refusing to be bottlefed half-the-time even when you were just feeding her what you pumped. Her crystalline stare welling up with fat tears if you dared to put her down on a soft mat for tummy time, lazily hitting her tiny feet against the ground instead of trying to roll or crawl.

All that baby proofing Satoru had spent hours on pretty much useless so far when she'd barely been outside of your arms or the baby carrier he proudly walked around with her in. He even started working from home once his paternity leave ran out, taking meetings with her still in the carrier, chatting with people on the phone or on video calls, something about the sound of his voice and the way he bounced her, always seeming to lull her to sleep. 

You had unofficially moved in with him, although you let him handle all the packing and unloading, rooms conveniently already set up like he'd always been holding that space for you, closet half-vacant until all your clothes were hung up by his. 

Boyfriend, best friend, husband, no title really needed to tag onto whatever it was the two of you shared. 

It was bigger than that. 

You were his now. 

And you didn’t want to deny it anymore. 

Besides, you'd done some laundry a couple days ago and found a ring box underneath his boxers in the sock drawer, so you supposed it would have a label soon anyway. 

If you were going to spend the rest of your life loving someone, it was always going to be him. 

You were an idiot for not seeing it sooner. 

But he never made you feel like one. 

He kissed you good night like it was the most natural thing in the world, half-draped across your body and skimming his fingers over your face before he curled up next to you in the dim bedroom, blankets tangled around your bodies. 

Falling asleep came fast when it was in his arms, but you'd begun to have one, or, uh, two problems when you woke up at four in the morning with a massive ache in your chest. 

In his quest to be the best father (and future husband), he'd taken over night feedings to make sure you slept, but despite his sweetness, your body wasn't on the same page. Or rather, schedule. 

Missing her night feedings had left you engorged. 

Tits swollen and milk stuck in the ducts, the usually soft flesh practically hard under the stretched skin, painful when you sat up and realized you had started to soak through your bra and shirt. You tried to peel both off of you, wincing at the wetness as your finger fumbled for the pump you left by the nightstand in the dark only to knock it off instead. 

“Sweetheart?” Satoru groggily spoke up, a big hand reaching out, half-patting your stomach in his sleepy state.

But then he was already shutting his eyes again, yawning and humming as he drifted back to sleep, your lips pressing together in a frustrated line as you swung your legs off the bed and bent over to grab the pump. 

Although, it wasn’t really much use when your ducts were too fucking clogged for anything other than a painfully slow drip to come out, the ache just getting worse as you begrudgingly switched on the lamp by your bed and bathed the room in warm yellow light as you put the pump back. 

“Satoru,” you whined, rolling over in bed and lightly shaking the pretty man drooling on the pillow next to you. He almost immediately stirred for real this time, sitting up and blinking before wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth, grunting as he got up, the low sound only making your thighs tense and press together. 

“Mm, baby?” He yawned as he stretched, running his fingers through his hair as his baby-food-stained sweatshirt rode up to show a sliver of his toned abs. 

“When did you feed her?” You half-whispered as his tired eyes shifted to his phone on the other side of him, briefly turning it on with a sigh. 

“Like, an hour ago?” He answered, blinking a couple times as his eyes returned to you – and then practically bulged out of his head at the realization your boobs were out. 

Mouth falling open in a pretty ‘o’, drool probably pooling inside it as he stared at how heavy they were hanging, tongue uselessly trying to form a coherent follow-up and some strangled sound escaping instead. 

“I need you,” you admitted just as another droplet of milk leaked out, starting to roll down your breast – but before it could make it more than an inch, Satoru was there, wrapping his lips around your areola and starting to suck before you could even get another sentence out. 

He pulled you closer, an arm slipping around your lower back, pulling you in as his tongue dragged over your hardened nipple, his other hand already reaching up to squeeze your other tit, groaning at how it felt under his palm. 

You gasped, a surprising surge of electricity racing down your spine as heat you hadn’t expected bubbled up to simmer in your core. Technically, you’d been cleared for sex, like, six weeks ago, but you’d been a little anxious about him seeing your postpartum body. 

Not sure if his feelings would be swayed after you carried his baby, if the stretchmarks or soft plush of your stomach would put him off. 

But the ravenous gleam in his eyes, the frenzied way his fingers kept fumbling to make sure you couldn’t slip away, you didn’t think anyone had ever wanted you as badly as he did right now. 

And before you could fully process it, your back was hitting the bed, pinned between his heavy body and his firm mattress, the sheets crinkling underneath you as he greedily drank. 

He looked delirious. 

Okay, probably a little bit sleep deprived from being in night feeding duty half the time, but he was drunk on you, letting out a lewd moan as he sucked hard on the hardened bud, desperately kneading into the other one with those thick fingers of his while something hard and huge dug into your thigh. 

Fuck.  

Why the hell was he that big? 

The size of him was on your mind as he switched breasts, eagerly slurping as he squeezed, trying to break up the clog with his thick fingers, pressing in and working into the skin, forcing more milk out as he tried to drain you. 

“Shit, angel,” he moaned, barely pulling away to glance up at you, the blue in his eyes swallowed up by his pupils as milk dribbled down the corner of his mouth. “You’re so sweet.” 

“S-Satoru,” you stammered, relief washing over you as he went back to drinking and managed to clear out at least one of the ducts, eyelashes fluttering as his tongue toyed with your still overly sensitive nipple. Your fingers were shaking as you tangled them in his hair, trying to guide him back to the other one, hyperaware of how sticky your skin was, some of the milk definitely leaking down onto the bed and getting on his shirt as he continued without a pause. 

“S’not fair,” he whined, fingers digging in again as he practically rutted his cock against your thigh. Hips rolling down to grind against you, his muscled thighs flexing with every rock of them. “How come she gets to drink this all the time and I don’t?”

“You can’t be serious,” you gasped, tugging at his roots to pry him back just to find that fucked-out look on his face, everything relaxed as he jutted out his bottom lips like he was willing to beg for more if he had to. 

“This is my new favorite drink,” he insisted, and before you could sputter out another protest, he was latched on again, relieving your other breast with that pretty mouth of his, massaging it until you were both moaning, your head falling back against the pillow as you gave in.

Gave it all up for him. 

Finding yourself arching your own back up off the bed, squirming and shuddering as he went to work on it, teeth skimming and scraping until your nipples were sore, swallowing your milk until your breasts almost felt empty – but you knew they’d fill back up sooner or later. Sooner, if he kept sucking on them like that as if he could telepathically communicate to them to make more. 

And even when they were nearly drained, he was running his tongue over your chest, cleaning you up like he was a goddamn cat. Taste buds dragging over your skin, running his fingered over your peaked nipples now, a surprised squeak pulled from you that made you both pause for a second, his blue eyes wide when they immediately locked onto your face.

Neither of you said anything. 

But his cock twitched, and a funny pulse shot down to your clit, and your mouth was opening to ask him something you’d been craving more than you could confess. 

“Do you want to fuck me?” You breathed, awkward, tense. 

Terrified he’d say no, no matter how irrational it was. 

But Satoru just smiled, climbing completely on top of you and caging you back in to caress your cheek, “God, you have no idea just how long I’ve been waiting for-” 

Your mouth crashed against his before he could even finish his sentence, your own impatience catching you by surprise, lips fitting so nicely in between his, and you wondered why it had taken you so long to take what was always yours. 

You could taste yourself on him, the faintly sweet milk on his breath, although it was a little weird mixed with the leftover mint from him brushing his teeth. He didn’t seem to mind though, eagerly shoving his tongue in your mouth, the now-damp fabric of his shirt pressed against your chest. 

One of you would definitely need to throw a load into the washing machine after this, strip the sheets down and change them after the mess you were making. 

But you couldn’t help but slip your hand down, sneaking underneath the band of his sweatpants and inside his boxers to feel his swollen tip, collecting the thick pre-cum already there and sliding it down his dick. 

Veins pulsing against your palm, your fingers delicately wrapping around his girth and starting to stroke as he made some guttural groan that made your stomach feel funny. Pure want searing through you, desire you weren’t used to handling or holding back now dealt to you in spades. 

Maybe it was because some small voice was trying to suggest that you were about to have sex with Satoru, a sliver of you thrilled at the idea of him needing you too. 

“F-fuck,” he whimpered, and it was probably the prettiest sound you ever heard. “M’gonna cum if you keep doing that.” 

“You’re not even in me,” you teased him. He growled at that, and before you could even giggle, he was pulling your hand back out of his pants, firm fingers gripping your wrist and pinning it above your head before you could make him snap. 

And then his other hand was suddenly helping spread your thighs further apart, easily able to move the thin fabric of your cotton shorts and lacy panties aside so he could shove two fingers inside your pussy to see how soaked you were. 

“Baby,” he immediately hummed the second his fingers swirled inside, one corner of his mouth curling up almost condescendingly while you huffed back at him. “I wasn’t even in you.” 

Dick. 

But it was hard to be hurt by him mocking you back when he was sliding his actual dick inside you barely thirty seconds later, the rest of your clothes and his quickly discarded so he could do what you'd both been dreaming about, his eyes scrunching shut as he slowly took it inch by inch. Savoring the stretch, the way his hands trembled as he touched you, his breathing heavy and uneven as he felt your walls squeeze around him. You might’ve complained at how long it was taking if you weren’t also having a hard time holding yourself together. 

Studying all those details of his face you’d fallen for, the shape his soft lips made when his features were all twisted up in pleasure, how his long lashes fluttered as he whispered your name like a prayer. 

Sure, you had sex before. Weren’t exactly a virgin by any means. 

But nothing was like this. 

No one was like him. 

Satoru was treating you like some alter he was born to worship at. Every movement deliberate, sucking in a sharp breath as he pushed through, filling you up until his cock was nestled against your womb, the pressure mind-melting as he tried to focus on your own body reacting to him. 

“I-is it too much?” He asked, like he wasn’t straining, his voice thin and airy. “Tell me if anything hurts.” 

Still concerned for you, still worried he might wound you. 

You nodded, heart thrumming wildly as his cock throbbed and all your sore muscles tensed around him. Hesitantly opening your mouth to reassure him, “I’m good. This is good.” 

Fantastic, actually, but his ego didn’t need that much of a boost. 

Satoru still lit up like you’d told him it was the best you ever had. 

“Thank fucking god,” he murmured, his head falling down so he could nuzzle his nose against your neck. Peppering your throat with kisses as he started thrusting, almost delicate at first, but quickly picking up the pace once he was confident he wouldn’t completely break you with his cock. 

Driving himself in faster, harder, both hands now holding up your hips, angle himself deep enough you could feel himself re-molding you to him. You were out-of-practice, and you could tell he was too, but his sloppiness was made up for with how eager he was, how earnestly his mouth and his fingers and his cock worked to make you feel good. 

“I love you,” he babbled, breathing hard and heavy into your collarbone, your breasts still leaking a little bit of milk onto his chest that he didn’t seem to notice. “I, oh fuck, I love you so much.” 

You were nodding, tracing your fingers over his broad back, his defined shoulder blades, holding onto him as your walls tried to squeeze and clamp down on him. The sex felt different, all your nerves suddenly more sensitive, everything burning and starving for more. 

“I-I love you too,” you gasped, an invisible weight lifted off your chest hearing the words leave your mouth. 

He made a noise that was probably loud enough to wake anyone else in the building, both of you freezing as your heads snapped back towards the door to see if it woke up your daughter down the hall. 

But then his thumb darted to your clit, rushing to make rough circles, his chest heaving with fast breaths as he tried to make sure this wouldn’t end without him making you cum. 

“My pretty girl, fuck,” he purred, sucking a spot he’d already nipped at above your tendon, the jolt it sent through you dragging you embarrassingly close to climax when it was combined with the patterns he was painting over your needy bud. The friction was intense, feeding something deep in your chest you hadn't realized was hollow before. 

Comforted by him coaxing you, crumbling bit by bit into his hand as his cock continued pumping inside you. 

“Always been your girl,” you half-whispered back, toes curling hard as your body tensed up again, lips staying parted as he pulled you right to the precipice. 

“Mine forever then?” Satoru asked, sounding ruined. 

“Forever,” you promised without really thinking, breath itching in your throat as his cock abruptly stalled, still buried deep. 

You were pretty sure he came first, but before you could open your eyes or get another word out, his thumb twitched and pressed down mid-motion and you were seeing stars right as he groaned and snapped his hips down. Too occupied with the pleasure rolling through your almost limp limbs, your nails scratching down his back as warm spurts of cum started coating your walls, leaking down your legs. 

“Shit, fuck, please tell me you came,” he hissed, his own eyes shut, sweaty strands of hair hanging down and sticking to his forehead as you stared at his glossy lips. 

“Mhm,” you murmured, blinking as he finally peeked his eyes open and took in the full sight of you. Breasts still sticky and swollen, his cum dripping down your thighs, bite marks probably staining your throat. 

“Will you marry me?” He bluntly asked, and you could only roll your eyes and laugh at him. 

“Ask me again later,” you muttered, sighing at the state of yourself and wondering if a late night shower would wake a sleeping baby. 

You guessed it didn't matter when her soft cry cut through the brief silence, both of you exhaling at the same time. 

“I'll get dressed and go get her,” Satoru preemptively offered, climbing off of you with a small yawn. You watched him pad barefoot over to the dresser, biting your lips as he pulled fresh boxers back on and rummaged through the other drawers for pajamas. 

“Um, Satoru?” You hesitantly spoke up as a thought nagged at you. 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“I'm not on birth control.”

reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3

THE HOUSE RULES: 1. The omega is never allowed to eat alone unless she asks to - SEUNGCHEOL 2. If she falls asleep on you, carry her to bed. No exceptions - MINGYU 3. Nobody leaves for long amounts of time without scenting her goodbye - JEONGHAN 4. Her nest is neutral territory. Arguments end at the door - JOSHUA 5. If the omega asks anything during heat, the answer is always yes - THE PACK 6. No one is allowed to make her cry and leave the room afterward - WONWOO 7. If she steals your clothes, they belong to her now - MINGYU 8. The omega is not permitted to carry heavy things while alphas are present - MINGHAO 9. Whoever wakes her up is responsible for dealing with the consequences - VERNON 10. Use the omega as you please, but respect is mandatory - THE PACK 11. The omega is not allowed to beg and then act surprised when someone gives in - SEUNGKWAN 12. If she wanders into an alpha’s room after midnight, she knows exactly what she’s doing - SEOKMIN 13. The omega is not allowed to start things in shared spaces and then complain about being watched - JUNHUI 14. If she’s whining, someone should probably handle it - CHAN 15. The omega is not allowed to say “I’m fine” without at least one person investigating immediately - JIHOON 16. Arguments about whose turn it is to use her next must be resolved by rock paper scissors - SOONYOUNG

MEET THE ALPHAS: Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Junhui, Soonyoung, Seokmin, Minghao MEET THE BETAS: Joshua, Wonwoo, Jihoon, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Vernon, Chan

Eat. Real meals, on a schedule, whether or not the appetite was there, because the appetite was a liar when a body got this depleted, and you couldn't wait for it to come back before you fed yourself. Drink water, actual water, throughout the day. Sleep, the real kind, enough of it. And rest, which he stressed, because he'd clearly read the shape of how she'd ended up here and knew that the rest was the one she'd ignore. Don't push yourself, he said, plainly, looking at her over the chart. Whatever you were doing that got you here, you can't do it for a while. Your body will tell you it's fine before it actually is. Don't believe it.

She'd nodded at all of it, the patient nod, the I'm-receiving-this nod. She took it in the way she took in everything, accurately, and privately reserved judgment on the rest part, because she always reserved judgment on the rest part, and then the paperwork happened. The line came out of her arm, and she was free to go, dressed in yesterday's practice clothes, scoured-out and unsteady but upright, a person again.

The dorm sent a car. She'd half-expected the whole group, some delegation, the awkward continuation of last night's everyone-in-one-room, and was relieved and obscurely something-else when it was just the practical arrangement, a car and a driver and the manager's text confirming the time. The others had schedules, she understood. The world hadn't stopped because she'd dropped on a practice room floor; there was still a group, still a re-recording on the calendar, still the machine of being CORTIS grinding forward, and she was the one piece of it that had been temporarily removed for maintenance and was now being returned.

But James was at the hospital when she came out.

She didn't understand it at first, seeing him in the corridor near the discharge desk, in clean clothes, not last night's studio things, which meant he'd gone home and come back, which meant he'd chosen to be here, which didn't fit any logistical reason she could construct. The others had gone. The crisis was over. There was no role left for a member to play at a hospital the morning after; the dramatic part was done, the part where you rushed in and waited and were frightened. The morning after was just paperwork and a car, and no one came back for paperwork and a car. And yet here he was, the eldest, leaning against the wall near the desk with the settled unhurried quality she'd learned to read in the practice room, the quality of a person who had decided to be somewhere and would be there for as long as it took.

"They're discharging you," he said. Not a question. He'd clearly already confirmed it with someone. "Car's not here for twenty minutes. The manager got the time wrong, or the hospital did." A small shrug. "Either way. Twenty minutes."

"You didn't have to come." It came out before she could shape it into something more gracious, the bare fact of her confusion. "There's a car. I'm fine. It's just paperwork."

"I know." He didn't move off the wall. "I came anyway."

And that was all the explanation he offered. I came anyway, delivered with the balanced evenness that she'd learned, in the late-night practice room, was not coldness but simply the temperature he ran at, the same register he used for a correction and a concession and, apparently, this. He didn't dress it up. He didn't explain the reasoning, didn't make a big deal of having chosen to spend a morning at a hospital for a member he barely knew, and didn't offer the social padding most people used to make a gesture legible. He'd just decided to come, so he'd come, and the not-explaining was somehow more than an explanation would have been, because an explanation could be argued with, and a flat 'I came anyway’ could not.

She didn't know what to do with it, so she did what she usually does when she doesn't know what to do, which was nothing. Yona just stood there, scoured-out and unsteady as she let the moment hold while her depleted machinery tried to work out what this was and what it would cost her.

Because that was the frame she put everything in, automatically, the cost frame. A person who came to the hospital when they didn't have to was someone who wanted something, or who would at some point want something, who was depositing a kindness now against a future withdrawal. That's how it works. Always had been, people don't do things for free. The warmth in the trainee rooms had always had a price, the kindness had always been a transaction, the help had always come with a quiet ledger that got called in eventually. She'd built her whole self around owing nothing, around making sure no one had a claim on her. James, standing in a hospital corridor, having chosen to be there, was a person establishing a claim, or so the machinery insisted, even as some quieter part of her noted that James had never, in any of their interactions, asked her for a single thing.

"You look terrible," James observed, mildly, with the same balanced accuracy he'd have used to tell her a transition was late.

"Thank you," she said. "I've been told it's the lighting."

The corner of his mouth twitched, the almost-laugh, the dry texture under the flatness that she'd surprised out of him in the practice room. Yona felt the small unexpected click of it, the recognition that they had this, the one register that worked between them, the precision-and-dryness that asked nothing and performed nothing. It was almost a relief, after the wall-down warmth of last night, to be back in a register she understood, one with rules, one she could meet.

"There's a waiting area down the hall," he said, pushing off the wall. "Chairs that aren't terrible. You can sit down before you fall down, which, no offense, looks like a live possibility." He started toward it without waiting to see if she'd follow, the eldest who'd solved the standoff by sitting down on a practice room floor now solving this one the same way, by simply changing the terms and assuming she'd come. "Twenty minutes. Might as well not spend them standing in a hallway, and besides, it feels a bit stuffy here."

She followed, because the alternative was standing in a hallway, and because her legs did in fact have the live-possibility quality he'd named, and because some part of her, the part too depleted to maintain the usual distance, was curious despite itself about what the eldest had come back for. They sat in the waiting area, the not-terrible chairs, a reasonable distance apart, the same reasonable distance she'd put between them on the practice room floor, and for a moment neither of them said anything, and the silence was not the heavy gapped thing of strangers but the working quiet they'd found in the late hour, the quiet of two people who'd taken each other's measure and didn't need to fill the air to be in it.

And then James, looking not at her but at the middle distance, in the even voice he used when talking off the camera, said, "So, Yona-ssi, wanna tell me what you were actually doing in that room?”

It wasn't an accusation. No edge in it, no judgment, none of the ‘gotcha’ I'd have braced for. It was just a question, level and direct, the same way he'd named her weight wrong in the practice room, a person stating that he'd seen a thing and would like to understand it. And she understood—somehow, in the small, accurate place that never went fully offline—that the twenty minutes and the I came anyway and the not-terrible chairs had all been leading here, that James had not come back to a hospital for paperwork and a car. He had come back to ask her this, in private, away from the group, calmly, with no one else to hear the answer.

She didn't answer right away, and James didn't push into the empty void setting in, which was itself a kind of information, because most people pushed into the said void, filled the silence with the answer they wanted, made the question impossible not to answer by leaving no room. He left room. He sat with his eyes on the middle distance and let the question stand and waited, the way he'd waited for her to find the count in the practice room, patient in the specific way of a person who'd decided the thing was worth the time it took.

"I was practicing," she said finally. The first line of defense, the true-enough thing, the cover she'd been using for weeks. James looked at her for a while, then released a heavy sigh.

"You had it." He said it without heat, the same flat way he'd say a transition was clean. "The choreo. You had it before this. I drilled it with you. You had it perfected, to the point you already knew it by heart. You don't run a thing for hours past midnight, alone, until you drop, especially when you've already got it." A pause. "Seonghyeon said the same thing last night, for what it's worth. He was the one who noticed it first. You don't run a thing you've already got. So that's not what you were doing. You were doing something else, and the term practicing is just some excuse you decided to choose to cover up something else."

It landed precisely because it was true. After all, he'd named the exact mechanism, the practicing-as-shape, the thing she'd known about herself in the room and had hoped no one else could see from outside. He'd seen it. Of course he saw it. He was the one who saw the slip on the third count from across a room; he was not going to miss a member running a mastered section into the ground.

She didn't confirm it. But she didn't deny it again either. For James, that was its own kind of confirmation, the way conceding a count had been, and he received the non-denial the way he received everything, as a fact, without making her say more than she'd said.

"I'm not going to ask you what it was," he said. "Whatever that something else could be, or whatever you’re hiding—if there is one. That's not mine to ask, and you most likely wouldn't tell me. I wouldn't tell you either if it were the other way around." The honesty of that, the eldest acknowledging he had his own rooms she wasn't allowed into, the Trainee A he'd snagged on and recovered from in the practice room. "So I'm not asking. But I'm going to say one thing about it, and then I'll leave it, and you can do whatever you want with it."

She waited. Yona’s cold machinery braced for the lecture, the scold, the don't-you-know-how-worried-everyone-was, the guilt-delivery she'd have gotten from almost anyone, the cost finally being named.

It didn't come. What came instead was level, and almost clinical, and entirely without judgment, the anchor's instinct surfacing in the eldest before he'd have called it that, the instinct to convert a feeling into a structure, a worry into a plan.

"Whatever you're chasing," James said, "you can't catch it from a hospital bed. That's the whole of it. You want to be better, get better, close whatever gap you think you're behind on, fine. I get that. I live there too, you know I do, you watched me refuse to leave a room over a transition I'd already fixed. So I'm not going to tell you to want it less. That'd be a lie coming from me, and you'd know it was a lie." He turned, then, and looked at her directly, the flat even gaze. "But you can't improve a body you've broken. That's just true. Look, we’re humans, not some sort of object that could keep going on and on. Even a moving ball needs rest in its own way. You ran yourself empty, and now you've lost what—a day, two, of any real work, because you have to spend them putting the fuel back that you should never have let run out. That's not faster. You technically just made everything go slower. You went backward to feel like you were going forward."

It was—she'd think later—the single most effective thing anyone could have said to her, and it was effective precisely because it spoke her own language back to her, the language of the work, of mechanics, of faster and slower, of something being measured by the thing itself. He hadn't appealed to her well-being, which she'd have deflected, or to how scared the group had been, which she'd have absorbed as guilt and used as fuel for the next spiral. He'd appealed to the work. He'd pointed out that the overworking didn't even serve the work, that it was self-defeating on its own terms, that a person who wanted to improve and ran her body into the ground was a person sabotaging the exact thing she was killing herself for. It was an argument she couldn't dismiss as softness, because there was no softness in it. It was just true, the way the third count being wrong was true, and the work didn't care how she felt about it.

"You sound like the doctor," she said. Dry, deflecting, buying a second.

"The doctor's right." Unbothered. "Doctors usually are about this. I mean, hello? They’re doctors for a reason. Plus, you think you're the first person to run yourself into a wall thinking it was discipline? It's the most common thing in the world. Everyone who's any good does it at least once. The good ones do it once and learn from it. The ones who don't learn do it until something doesn't come back." Another pause, even. "I'd put you in the first category. You're too smart to be in the second. But being smart doesn't help if you won't apply it to yourself, and you don't, do you? You apply it to everything except you. Yona, at least—” James just exhaled, at least take care of yourself. 

That one got under, in a way, the work-argument hadn't, because it was about her specifically, and it was correct. I do apply it to everything except myself. She'd watched herself do exactly this in the practice room, the cold, accurate part keeping its log of the light-headedness and the distant hands, noting every signal with perfect clarity and acting on none of it, the same intelligence that could diagnose anyone turned uselessly inward and overruled. She was, she knew, ferociously good at recognizing this. She was just constitutionally unable to let the accurate seeing change what she did to herself, because what she did to herself wasn't governed by accuracy, the older one governed it, the one that screams at your head to survive, the you-do-not-stop that ran underneath all the seeing and didn't care what the seeing reported.

"How do you know that?" she said. Not quite a challenge. Closer to a real question, she was surprised, because he'd named something about her she'd thought was invisible. "That I apply it to everything except me."

James was quiet for a second, and when he answered, it wasn't with a deflection, which she'd half-expected, the dry turn that would let them both off the hook. He answered it straight.

"Because I watched you take an hour of me correcting you without cracking once," he said. "Most people can't do that. You could, because you don't take it personally, you take it as information, you're better at hearing a hard, true thing than almost anyone I've worked with. It’s rare to see someone take information and criticism without taking it as an attack. And then I watched you, the same night, run a section you'd already mastered until your legs gave out, because some part of you had decided you weren't allowed to stop." He let that sit. "So you can hear the truth about everything: the count, the weight, the line. You just can't hear it about whether you're allowed to rest. Someone taught you that resting wasn't allowed. I don't know who, and I'm not asking. But it's the one place the smart part of you doesn't reach, and it almost killed you on a practice room floor, so it's worth knowing about."

The corridor sounds went on around them, the ordinary hospital morning, a cart somewhere, a page over the intercom, and Yona sat in the not-terrible chair with the fluid soreness still in her arm and felt the strange exposure of being read accurately by a person who'd given her no reason to expect it and asked nothing for it. He understands me. It may not be all of it—but the mechanism, the shape. Not the Yavana of it, not the years under it, but the way the seeing stopped at her own skin. He'd assembled it from two nights in a practice room and a collapse, and he'd assembled it correctly. He was handing it back to her not as a weapon and not as a debt but as a thing she might find useful, the way you'd hand someone a correction on a transition, here, this is the flaw, do what you want with it.

"You're not going to tell anyone," she said. It came out before she'd decided to say it, the worry under everything, the exposure of the night before still raw, the wall she'd had taken down by her own body and didn't want taken down any further. "What you just said. The—" she didn't have a clean word for it. "Any of it."

"Tell them what?" James said, with the flat ease of a person stating the obvious. "That you work too hard? They were all there last night; they figured that part out. The rest of it's yours. I don't go around narrating other people's insides. Wouldn't want it done to me." He shrugged. "We're talking. That's all this is. Two people in bad chairs. It doesn't leave the chairs unless you take it out of them.”

And that, more than the work-argument, more than the accurate reading, was the thing that started, very slightly, to loosen something in her, the flat assurance that the conversation had no audience and no afterlife, that he wasn't building a case or depositing a kindness against a future claim, that he had, against everything her machinery insisted was possible, simply come to a hospital to say a true useful thing to a person he'd decided was worth saying it to, and would now leave it in the chairs and ask nothing for having said it.

The trouble was that she had no script for this.

She had scripts for almost everything. The structure she'd built over the years, a response prepared for every kind of approach, because a person who'd been read and ranked and judged her whole life learned to have the answer ready before the question landed. She had a script for criticism: take it as information and give nothing back but precision. She had a script for kindness-with-a-hook: accept the kindness gracefully and quietly note the hook, and stay alert for the withdrawal it predicted. She had a script for the cold: take it in as data and convert it into a task. She had a script for being managed, for being handled, for being debated, for being braced against; she'd built a response for every transaction she'd ever encountered, because every interaction she'd ever had was, in the end, a transaction, and you could prepare for a transaction.

She had no script for this because this wasn't a transaction, and she couldn't make it into one, no matter how hard the machinery that she curated tried.

The not-fitting was what she kept running up against, sitting in the not-terrible chair, the machinery turning over and over and failing to find the angle. She kept looking for the price tag. She kept waiting for the part where the concern revealed its cost, the moment James would name the thing he wanted, the favor, the leverage, the quiet claim being established for later collection. It has to be there. Concern has a price; that's a law, as reliable as the work, not caring how I feel. People did not spend a morning at a hospital, read you accurately, and hand you a true, useful thing for nothing. There was always a nothing-for-nothing. The kindness was always the front end of a ledger.

But she couldn't find the ledger. She'd been looking at the whole conversation, the cold, accurate part scanning every sentence for the hook, and the hook wasn't there. James hadn't asked her for anything. He hadn't angled toward a favor, hadn't established a thing she'd owe, hadn't even done the softer version of the transaction, the one where the price was just gratitude, where the kindness was given so that the giver could enjoy being seen as kind. He'd specifically refused that version. It doesn't leave the chairs. He didn't want it witnessed. He didn't want it banked. He'd come, said the true thing, declined to ask anything, and declined even to be thanked for it. The machinery had nowhere to put a kindness that refused every form of repayment, including the repayment of being acknowledged as a kindness.

So she sat there, and the not-knowing-how-to-respond became its own visible thing, the silence stretching past where a response should have gone.

"You're doing it again. You’re over analyzing and assessing things," James observed. Mild. He'd gone back to watching the middle distance, giving her the not-watched space she needed, but he'd clearly clocked it anyway. "I can see it. You're trying to figure out what this costs you." He said it without offense, almost with recognition, the way you note a thing you understand from the inside. "It doesn't cost you anything. I know that's hard to believe. You can keep doing the math, you'll just keep getting the same answer, which is literally none, and eventually it's less tiring to believe me than to keep checking."

The accuracy of it was almost unbearable. He'd named the exact thing she was doing, the scanning for the cost, and named it without mockery, and then told her the answer was zero. The worst part was that she still didn't believe him, couldn't believe him, because believing him would mean the law was wrong, the law she'd organized her whole self around, the law that said concern had a price. If the law is wrong, then the structure is built on nothing. And she did not have the fuel, scoured out in a hospital chair, to consider the possibility that the structure was built on nothing.

"Everything costs something," she said. It came out flatter than she meant it, more revealing than she meant it, the law stated aloud as if it were obvious, as if everyone knew it.

James was quiet for a second.

Then, "Yeah," he said. "It does. But the cost isn't always to you, and it isn't always a debt." He turned the cup he wasn't drinking from in his hands, the way she'd seen him hold the coffee in the waiting room, the warmth apparently the point. "This cost me a morning. That's the cost. I paid it. It's already paid. You don't owe me the morning back; you can't, it's gone, I spent it. That's how it works when someone does something for you that you didn't ask for. The cost is theirs. They already paid it. The only thing you can do with it is let it have happened. Accept it as it is.”

Let it have happened. The phrase lodged somewhere, the same place Juhoon's you don't have to do all of it alone had lodged the night before, words landing in a person too depleted to deflect them, getting past the gap because the gap had no power. Let it have happened. As if the thing she was supposed to do with an unrepayable kindness was not to repay it, not even acknowledge it, just allow it to have occurred, to let it sit in the world as a thing that had happened to her that she didn't have to do anything about.

She didn't know how to let something be, how to accept something as it is. Her whole life had been a project of making sure nothing happened to her that she hadn't accounted for, controlled, or prepared a response to. The idea of just letting a kindness sit there, unrepaid, unmanaged, unconverted into either a debt or a transaction, was so foreign that the machinery genuinely didn't know what to do with it, kept reaching for the response and finding no response, kept looking for the script and finding the page blank.

"I don't—" she started, and stopped, because she didn't know how the sentence ended. I don't know what you want. I don't know why you'd do this. I don't know how to take this. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with a person who comes to a hospital for someone they don’t know. I don’t know what to do when someone willingly does something for you without asking anything in return. All of them true, none of them sayable, the whole jumble of them stuck behind the wreckage of the wall the night had taken down.

"You don't have to say anything," James said, easily, letting her off the unfinished sentence the way he'd let her off nothing in the practice room, because this wasn't the practice room and the rules were different here. "I told you, just accept it as it is. There's no response required. I said a thing, you heard it, that's the whole transaction, if you even want to call it that. You don't have to thank me. You don't have to agree. You don't have to do anything except, maybe, eat something today and not run yourself into the ground again before your body's even back. That's not for me. That's for you. I don't get anything if you take care of yourself. I just think you should."

I don't get anything if you take care of yourself. It was such a strange sentence, and it cut so directly against the law, that she actually looked at him, the cold, accurate part trying one more time to find the angle, the way caring about her well-being could route back to a benefit for him, and failing, because there wasn't one. He genuinely doesn't get anything. Her eating today, her resting, her not-collapsing, conferred no advantage on James that she could locate. It wasn't even the group-cohesion angle, the we-need-you-functional-for-the-recording angle, because he hadn't framed it that way, hadn't said the group needs you healthy, had said the smaller, stranger, more unanswerable thing, I just think you should.

Concern with no beneficiary but me. It didn't compute. She turned it over, and it didn't compute, and she turned it over again. It still didn't compute, and somewhere in the not-computing was the dim beginning of the thing that frightened her more than the cost ever had, which was the possibility that some people, occasionally, did things for each other that were not transactions, that the law she'd built her life around was not a universal law but a local one, true in the rooms she'd survived in and maybe not true everywhere, maybe not true in this bad-chaired hospital corridor with a tired eldest turning an empty cup in his hands and asking nothing.

She wasn't ready for that possibility. It was too big, and she was too empty. So she did what she did with things too big to handle: she set them in the cold, accurate place to be examined later, when she had fuel, when the wall was back up, and she could look at the dangerous thing from behind it. She took note of it: James, a morning, zero cost, no beneficiary, doesn't compute, examine later. And having done that, she was left with the immediate problem of the silence, and his face turned toward her now, waiting, not pressing, just open, having said the thing and asked nothing and leaving her the space to do whatever she was going to do with it, which she still, sitting there, scoured-out and scriptless, did not know how to fill.

In the end she nodded.

It was the smallest possible answer, and that was exactly why she chose it, because a nod committed to nothing. A nod could mean I heard you, or I agree, or I'll try, or simply yes. This conversation has reached a place where a response is expected, and I am providing the minimum one. It was the answer with the least surface area, the one that seemed to want his acknowledgment without giving him anything he could hold her to. She'd retreated to it the way a tired animal retreats to the smallest, most defensible space, because words were dangerous when you were this empty, words could come out wrong, could reveal the thing under them, could turn into the unfinished sentence again, the I don't know what you want that would have told him far too much about how she'd been built.

A nod told him nothing. A nod was safe.

She knew, even as she did it, that it was a retreat. She knew it the way she knew everything about herself, accurately and uselessly, the cold part observing the choice and naming it: you're nodding because you can't risk speaking, because anything you said would have to come from somewhere real. You don't trust what's there right now. The wall was still down. That's the danger. The night had taken it down, and the morning hadn't rebuilt it, the fuel not there to rebuild it with, and so anything she spoke would come out unguarded, would come from the undefended place the laugh had come from. She could not afford another undefended thing on top of the apology and the laugh and the dry line, could not afford to give James, however much she'd started to not-distrust him, one more piece of the real her while the wall was down. So she gave him the nod instead. The nod came from no real place. The nod was the one gesture she could make that didn't require the wall to be up, because it didn't reveal anything for the wall to have to guard.

James looked at her for a moment, and she braced, the way she braced for everything, for the nod to not be enough, for him to press, to say words, please, I want to hear you say it, the way people did when a nod didn't satisfy them, when they needed the verbal confirmation, the out-loud agreement, the thing they could point to later. People usually weren't satisfied with a nod. People usually wanted more, wanted the spoken yes, wanted you to receive their kindness so they could be sure it had landed, so they could enjoy having given it. The nod was almost never enough, in her experience, and the not-enough was where the pressing started, and the pressing was where she'd have to either produce words she didn't trust or refuse to and create a scene.

He didn't press.

That was the thing. He looked at her, and he read the nod, and he accepted it, exactly as offered, at exactly the size it was. He didn't ask her to say it out loud. He didn't lean in for the verbal version. He didn't do the thing where a person treats a nod as the opening bid in a negotiation toward a real answer. He took the nod as a complete response, a sufficient one, and something in his face settled, the small recognition of a person who understood that a nod, from her, right now, was not a brush-off but possibly the most she had, and was choosing to receive it as the full thing it was rather than the partial thing it looked like.

"Okay," he said. Just that. Okay. The same, okay, he'd have given a clean transition, the acknowledgment that something had been completed to standard, no more required.

And the okay did something the pressing would never have done, which was to make the nod feel, retroactively, like enough. Because he'd treated it as enough, it became enough. He hadn't forced her to upgrade it into words, hadn't made her pay the toll of speaking. The not-forcing meant the nod got to stand as a real answer instead of a dodge, and a real answer that cost her nothing to give was a thing she almost never got to give, because almost everyone made her pay more than she wanted to pay for the privilege of having responded at all.

She understood, dimly, through the depletion, that he'd done it on purpose. Not the okay specifically, but the whole shape of it, the asking-nothing, the leaving-room, the accepting-the-minimum. He'd built the entire conversation so that she could get out of it without having to spend anything she didn't have. The twenty minutes, the not-terrible chairs, the question with no edge, the truth with no scold, the kindness with no price, and now the nod accepted as a full answer. It was, she realized, the same thing he'd done in the practice room, when he'd solved the standoff by sitting down, found the structure that let them both keep their spines. He'd found the structure here, too. He'd built a conversation she could survive, one that asked nothing of a person who had nothing to give, and he'd done it so quietly that she'd almost missed the building of it.

"They'll have the car here soon," James said, glancing at the corridor, the practical thing surfacing, the eldest closing the moment cleanly, the way he closed everything. "You should eat before you get in it. There's a place in the lobby, it's bad, but it has bread." A small pause, dry. "Juhoon would want me to mention the bread. He's very committed to the bread."

It surprised the smallest sound out of her, not quite a laugh, too tired for a laugh, but the exhale-shape of one, because it was true, because Juhoon was very committed to the bread. After all, the bread had been the last thing she'd heard before sleep, eat the bread, the bread matters more, and James had clearly heard about it or seen the table or simply knew Juhoon well enough to know that the bread was now a whole campaign. And the small almost-laugh came out unguarded, the wall still down, but it didn't frighten her this time the way the hospital-bed laugh had, because there was only James to see it, and James, she was beginning to grasp, didn't keep a ledger of the things he saw.

"He left bread on the table," she said. The first real sentence she'd offered since the nod, small but real, surprised out of her the way the almost-laugh had been. "Last night. With a—a whole instruction about it."

"That tracks. Kinda makes sense." James stood, unhurried, collecting himself the way he'd collected his phone in the practice room, a person ending a thing on his own terms. "He'll ask you if you ate it. Tomorrow, the next day, whenever he sees you. He'll make it sound like he's just asking, but he's checking. That's how he is. You'll get used to it." He said it like a piece of practical information, here is a thing about the group you've been added to, the way you'd tell a new member where the good practice room was, and under the practicality was the quiet assumption that there would be a you'll-get-used-to-it, that she'd be here long enough to learn the group's small grammars, that she was, despite everything. This member would get used to things rather than a guest who'd be gone before the getting-used-to mattered.

She took note of that too. The assumption of her staying. The casual "you'll get used to it" that treated her continued presence as a settled fact rather than the open question the fandom, the company, and her own fear all treated it as. James had said it without weight, hadn't meant it as reassurance, probably hadn't even noticed he'd said it, and that was exactly why it landed, because reassurance offered on purpose could be doubted as performance, and a thing said by accident could not. He simply assumed she'd be around. It was the most anyone had assumed about her future with the group since she'd arrived, and he'd done it while talking about bread.

"Okay," she said. Her turn for the word, given back to him, the small shared vocabulary again, the okay that meant the conversation had reached its clean end. And this time it wasn't a retreat. This time it was almost an agreement, the closest she could come, with the wall down and the fuel gone, to saying the thing she couldn't say, which was something like thank you, or something like I heard you, or something like the larger unspeakable thing underneath both, the thing about the cost being zero and the concern having no beneficiary but her, the thing she'd set aside to examine later and could feel, even set aside, still quietly working at the edges of the law she'd built her life on.

He left the way he'd arrived, without ceremony, and that was the part that stayed with her.

There was no production to his leaving. He didn't draw it out, didn't make her watch him go and feel the weight of having been visited, didn't extract the small final acknowledgment most people extracted on their way out the door, the take care of yourself with the meaningful look, the I mean it that demanded a response, the lingering that asked to be thanked one more time before it released you. He just stood, having said the bread thing, having given her the okay and received hers back, and he picked up the cup he'd never drunk from to throw it away.

“Car's probably out front by now. Eat first. I'll tell the manager you're coming," he stood up, “Yona-ssi, don’t push yourself next time.”

He went. He walked down the corridor toward the lobby with the unhurried, settled quality he carried everywhere, the eldest who saw things through, and he didn't look back. He didn't pause at the doors for a last word, and he didn't do a single one of the things that would have converted the morning into a thing she owed him for. He'd come, he'd said his piece, he'd asked nothing, and he left exactly as cleanly as he'd done all of it, the leaving as free of hooks as the arriving had been.

And she sat in the not-terrible chair and watched him go, and felt the not-pressing land.

It was strange which things landed, she'd think later, when she had the fuel to think. Not the kind words; she had defenses against kind words, years of them, a whole apparatus for receiving warmth and quietly discounting it. Not even the accurate reading, you apply it to everything except you, though that has gotten in its way. What actually landed, what lodged in the place where the genuineness lodged and would not file away as cleanly as the rest, was the leaving. The not-pressing. The way he'd let the nod be enough and then simply gone, taking nothing with him, leaving her with no debt and no scene and no obligation to feel anything in particular about having been visited.

Because the pressing was the part she knew. The pressing was the universal thing, the toll everyone charged. Even the people who cared, especially the people who cared, pressed, because caring made them want the confirmation, want to see the care land, want the receiving performed back to them so they could be sure it had worked. The trainee managers who'd cared had pressed, " Do you understand what I'm telling you? Say it back to me.” The few people over the years who'd tried to reach her had pressed, talk to me, tell me what's wrong, you can trust me, the pressing always framed as for her benefit and always, underneath, for theirs, the need to be let in, to be the one who got through, to be thanked for the trying. Pressing was how care announced itself, how it made sure it got credit. A person who cared and didn't press was almost a contradiction, because how would you even know they cared if they didn't make you acknowledge it.

James hadn't pressed. He'd cared enough to spend a morning and say the true useful thing, and then he'd cared enough to not need her to do anything about it, to let her keep the nod and the silence and the wall-down emptiness without demanding she convert any of it into the performance of having been helped. He'd given the care and then declined the credit, and the declining was somehow the realest part of the care, because it was the part that proved the care had actually been for her and not for him. A person doing it for himself would have needed the credit. A person doing it for her could let it go.

It landed as a fact about him and then, slower, as a fact about the world. If James can care and not press, then care-without-pressing exists. It's possible. It's not the contradiction my whole experience says it is. And if it existed, then the pressing she'd always understood as the inseparable cost of being cared for was not actually inseparable from it, was a thing some people did and some people didn't, was a feature of the rooms she'd survived in rather than a law of caring itself. The thought was too big to hold for long, scoured-out as she was, and it slipped away almost as soon as it arrived, but it left a residue, the way the night before had left a residue, the small accumulating evidence that the model was wrong somewhere, that the world had more shapes in it than the one she'd built herself to survive.

She got up, eventually, when her legs felt like they'd hold, and she went to the bad place in the lobby, and she bought the bread, because James had said to and Juhoon would ask and because, she admitted to herself with the dry honesty she could only afford when too tired to perform, she wanted to be able to say yes when Juhoon asked, wanted to give him that, the small true yes, I ate it. She ate the bread standing in the lobby, slow, the body taking it gratefully, the fuel beginning, by the smallest degree, to come back. And with the first edge of fuel came the first edge of the wall, the machinery beginning to boot again, the surface starting its slow reassembly, and she felt it come back and felt, underneath the relief of it, a small unexpected reluctance, because the wall coming back meant the morning would soon be behind the wall too, would become a thing she'd remember from the far side of the glass rather than a thing she'd felt.

But it wouldn't go all the way behind the glass. Some things don't file cleanly. The bottle she wouldn't drink hadn't filed cleanly; it was still in the zippered pocket of her bag, sealed, kept, something genuine she couldn't convert into either a debt or a discard. The laugh the camera caught hadn't filed cleanly. The baseline James had set in the practice room hadn't filed cleanly. And this wouldn't either, the morning, the not-terrible chairs, the cost of zero, the nod accepted as enough, the leaving with no hooks in it. It would stay where the uncleanly-filed things stayed, in the place that wasn't quite the cold accurate drawer and wasn't quite feeling either, the growing place where the evidence accumulated, the evidence that contradicted the law.

She wouldn't be able to say any of this. She knew that too. If anyone asked her, later, what James had said at the hospital, she'd say he told me not to overwork, which would be true and would be nothing, would be the filed version, the version that fit through the gap. She wouldn't be able to say he came back when he didn't have to and asked for nothing and let me nod instead of speak and left without making me thank him, and it was the not-making-me-thank-him that I can't stop thinking about. She didn't have the language for that, or rather she had the language but not the permission, because saying it would mean admitting it had mattered, and admitting a thing had mattered was a kind of wall-down she couldn't do on purpose, only by accident, only when scoured empty, only the way the laugh had gotten out.

But she'd remember it. She'd remember the not-pressing even when she couldn't say she remembered it, would carry it in the uncleanly-filed place, would find it surfacing later at odd moments, in the practice room or between takes or in the dark of her own room with the apps deleted and the comments gone quiet, the memory of a tired eldest in bad chairs who'd cared without charging for it and left without collecting. It would be one of the things she measured the next thing against, the way she'd started measuring everything against the small collection of genuineness, honesty, and care—the bottle and the laugh and the baseline and now this. The morning would become part of the quiet evidence she didn't know she was gathering, the case being slowly built, in the place under the wall, against the law she'd organized her whole life around, the law that said no one did anything for free.

The manager's text came through, the car was out front. Yona finished the bread, gathered herself, and went, upright, scoured-out but refueling, the wall most of the way back up now, the morning already beginning to slip behind the glass. But not all the way. Never all the way. As she walked out into the grey ordinary day, toward the car and the dorm and the recording still waiting on the calendar and the whole grinding machine of being CORTIS resuming around her, she carried the morning with her, unfiled, unsayable, lodged in the place that was learning, against everything she'd built, to hold whatever this new genuine feelings and actions instead of converting them, and she did not look back at the building either, because she'd learned that from him too, just now, without deciding to: that you could leave something, without ceremony, and still carry all of it with you.

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The impact came fast and hard, sending a sharp sting across your cheek. Your eyes watered instantly as the ball bounced away somewhere across the field, but you barely noticed. For a second, all you could do was stand there, blinking in disbelief.

Seriously? Out of everyone on the field, it had to hit you?

A mixture of gasps and laughter erupted around you. Heat rushed to your face immediately, not from the pain, but from the sudden realization that half the football field was staring at you. Great.

Nothing was more humiliating than becoming the center of attention because a football had smacked you directly in the face. You pressed a hand against your cheek, hoping the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

A pair of hurried footsteps pounded across the grass, growing louder by the second. Before you could even recover, someone came to a stop right in front of you. “Oh my god.”

You looked up, it was Seonghyeon.His eyes were wide, his face pale, and judging by the expression on it, you’d think he’d just witnessed a murder.

“Are you okay?” he asked immediately. You opened your mouth to answer.

“I am so sorry.” Then closed it again.

“I wasn’t aiming anywhere near you, I swear. I don’t even know how that happened. Are you hurt? Does your head hurt? Can you see properly?”

The questions came so quickly that you barely had time to process them. For a moment, you just stared at him. It wasn’t really because your head hurt, more so because Eom Seonghyeon, the same Seonghyeon who usually looked far too cool and confident for his own good, looked like he was seconds away from having a complete breakdown. Finally, you sighed.

“I got hit by a football, not hit by a truck’’

‘’Some would argue that that’s worse.’’

Despite yourself, a faint laugh escaped you. The tension in Seonghyeon’s shoulders eased immediately at the sound of your laugh. For some reason, that made your stomach do something strange.

“You laughed,” he said, narrowing his eyes slightly.

‘’Hm?’’

“It means you’re okay.”

You blinked at him. Then, before you could stop yourself, you let out a quiet groan and pressed a hand to your forehead. Immediately, panic returned to his face. “Wait. What happened? Are you dizzy?”

“…Very.”

The reaction was instant.

“Oh god.”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. “Very” was apparently the wrong thing to say. Seonghyeon looked seconds away from calling an ambulance.

“I might die, it could be because of you.” you said dramatically.

“It’s that bad?!”

Then he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“I’m taking you to the nurse.”

You opened your mouth to protest, then closed it again. Actually…that didn’t sound so bad.

A few minutes later, you found yourself sitting on a chair in the nurse’s office while Seonghyeon hovered nearby like an anxious parent. The nurse had spent less than thirty seconds checking you over before declaring you completely fine. Unfortunately for Seonghyeon, he didn’t seem convinced.

“Are you sure?” he asked. The nurse looked mildly offended.

“Yes.”

“But the ball hit her pretty hard.”

“She’s fine.”

“How do you know?”

You looked away before either of them could see your smile. This was getting ridiculous. Yet you couldn’t remember the last time someone had worried about you this much. When the nurse finally sent you back out, Seonghyeon stayed beside you the entire walk down the hallway.

“You sure you’re okay? Do you want me to get you something? You’re not bruised, are you? Wait, let me check-” Before you could respond, Seonghyeon was already leaning closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he examined your cheek. You froze for a second, suddenly very aware of how close he was. After a moment, he leaned back with a small frown.

“I think it’s going to bruise.”

A few days have gone by, and Seonghyeon had somehow managed to become your personal caretaker. At first, it had been small things.

A bottle of water placed on your desk every morning with a bright smile that had you not doubt why everyone is charmed by him. When you carried many books, he’d take them out of your hands without hesitation. Everytime he would walk past you, he’d ask you this very question:

‘’How’s your head today?’’ as if you were recovering from a life threatening injury. You have never met someone so commited. At some point, you stopped correcting him because everytime he checked on you, his face softened in a way you’d never seen before.

Before what happened in the football field, Seonghyeon had been one of those people you only knew from a distance. The kind of person everyone seemed to recognize. He wasn’t loud or constantly trying to be noticed, he never really had to. People gravitated towards him naturally.

Teachers liked him. Students liked him. Heck, even the security guard near the front entrance seemed happy to see him every morning. You had always thought Seonghyeon was cold and intimidating, which is why you have never spoken to him before. You weren’t exactly the type to walk up to people.

While Seonghyeon seemed to move through school as if he belonged everywhere, you preferred blending into the background. You kept your circle small, avoided unecessary attention and spent most of your time in your own world. The idea of starting a conversation with someone like Seonghyeon had never even crossed your mind. You were pretty sure he didn’t know who you were, or at the very least never bothered to pay any attention to you. Then he kicked a football directly into your face, now he wouldn’t leave you alone.

You really should’ve kept your mouth shut. It had been a completely harmless comment, a passing observation. Something you’d mutter to your friend while packing up your things after class.

‘’I’m hungry’’

You hadn’t asked anyone to get you anything, and you certainly hadn’t been talking to Seonghyeon. Yet somehow a few minutes later, he came back with a recognizable sandwich from the school cafeteria. You looked up in confusion.

“So..”

Before you could finish your sentence, Seonghyeon handed you the sandwich.

“You said you were hungry”

You stared at him, then the sandwich, then back at him.

“..oh.”

Very articulate. His expression didn’t change.

“Eat.”

“I was going to buy one after class.”

“Now you don’t have to.”

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again. Because the problem wasn’t the sandwich. The problem was that half the classroom had suddenly become very interested in what was happening. You could practically feel the stares.

The girls sitting by the window had stopped talking. Someone behind you let out a suspiciously amused laugh. Your friend looked seconds away from exploding. She had many questions, the look upon her face says it all. Heat immediately rushed to your face.

‘’Tha..nks.’’ You mumbled, taking the sandwich quickly in your hand while lowering your head. Seonghyeon was completely unaware of the crisis unfolding internally.

‘’Your head okay?’’

‘’Yeah..’

‘’You sure?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Good.’’

The conversation really should’ve ended there. Instead, Seonghyeon remained standing next to your desk. Your face grew warmer. Why is he still here? Finally, after a few seconds he spoke again.

‘’Let me know if it starts hurting.’’

Then, as casually as he’d arrived, turned and walked away. You turned to your friend, you already knew where this was going.

‘’Y/n-‘’

‘’No.’’

‘’There’s like-clearly something going on that you’re refusing to inform me about.’’

‘’Like what?’’

Her expression changed, as if it was obvious and self explanatory.

Choi Haejin was the complete opposite of you. You were reserved, she was sociable and open. You were in your own world and Haejin was in everybody else’s, gathering information to gossip about later. Somehow this dynamic worked extremely well. You needed a friend to do all the talking, and you really do enjoy it.

‘’Hello? Why is he practically working for you?’’

‘’There’s obviously something going on!’’

‘’WHAT IF HE POISONED THE SANDWICH?!’’

‘’It’s not reasonable for him to have any hatred towards you though..”

‘’How are you so calm?!’’

Yes, one of Choi Haejin’s many loveable qualities. Her overwhelmingly stacked questions.

Seonghyeon’s concern didn’t seem to fade with time. If anything, it had simply evolved. A week after the football incident, you found yourself stuck in a conversation you had absolutely no interest in being part of. You’d only been trying to get to class. That was it.

Somehow, somewhere between leaving the cafeteria and reaching the stairs, a girl from your year had stopped you. You knew who she was, but not well enough to have a ten minute conversation in the middle of the hallway. Yet here you were, smiling politely, nodding occasionally and secretly praying for an escape.

“-and then she literally posted about it!” the girl continued. “Really?” you replied.

You didn’t even know what you were saying “really” to anymore. The conversation had dragged on for so long that you’d completely lost the plot. You shifted your weight awkwardly, glancing toward the staircase. Your next class started in a few minutes, but cutting her off felt rude. Standing here forever also felt rude to yourself.

“So then I told her-‘’

“There you are.”

The familiar voice made you look up immediately. Seonghyeon. For a second, you just stared. He stopped beside you, one hand shoved casually into his pocket.

“Why are you still here?” he asked.

You blinked.

“What?”

“Class starts in like two minutes.”

Your eyes widened slightly.

It did?

Before you could check your phone, Seonghyeon looked over at the girl.

“Sorry,” he said easily. “I need her for something.”

Need you?

The girl glanced between the two of you.

“Oh.”

You felt your face heat up instantly.

“Oh.”

Seonghyeon, meanwhile, looked completely unaffected. The girl quickly stepped aside.

“Yeah, of course.”

And just like that, you were free. You followed Seonghyeon down the hallway, still trying to process what had happened. Neither of you spoke.

“You didn’t need me for anything.” You began.

“Nope.” You stared at him. He glanced over.

“You looked like you wanted to escape.” Your steps faltered slightly.

“Was it that obvious?”

“To me?” he shrugged. “A little.”

You looked away before he could see the smile threatening to appear. The strange thing was that you hadn’t even told him you were uncomfortable. You hadn’t said anything at all. And somehow, he’d noticed anyway.

The next day, by the time you reached your classroom, you were expecting everyone to already be inside. Instead, a small crowd had gathered outside the locked door.

A few students sat on the floor scrolling through their phones while others stood around complaining about the teacher being late. Relieved that you hadn’t actually missed anything, you slipped into an empty spot against the wall and pulled out your phone, hoping to blend into the background until the classroom opened. It was working for about thirty seconds, then a familiar voice spoke beside you.

“You’re late, It’s not because of your head is it?’’

You looked up to find Seonghyeon standing there. Before you could answer, someone walking down the hallway lifted a hand.

“Hey, Seonghyeon.”

“Hey.”

Another student nodded at him as they passed. A group farther down the hall called his name and he acknowledged them with a small wave. It was such a normal thing that he barely seemed to notice it. You did.

Before he acknowledged you, this was exactly how you’d always seen him, from a distance. Someone who seemed to know everyone and be known by everyone. Teachers greeted him. Students greeted him. Even people who weren’t in his friend group seemed comfortable walking up to him. Meanwhile, you were usually trying to avoid being perceived altogether.

“Well?” he asked.

You blinked.

“What?”

“Why are you late?” You immediately looked away because the answer was embarrassing.

“I couldn’t find a pen.” Seonghyeon stared at you.

“A pen.”

“Yes.”

“You were late because of a pen.”

“It was an important pen.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, you felt strangely defensive.

“It was.”

A laugh escaped him.

Not loud enough to draw attention, but enough that you looked up in surprise. You weren’t sure why the sound caught you off guard. Maybe because Seonghyeon always seemed so composed around everyone else. Maybe because you’d spent months assuming he was intimidating. Now he was laughing because you apparently make hilarious jokes.

The interaction hadn’t gone unnoticed, somehow you caught two girls nearby glancing over before quickly looking away. One of them whispered something to the other. Heat immediately crept up your neck.

For some reason, whenever Seonghyeon talked to you, it felt like everyone else suddenly became interested too. Seonghyeon either didn’t notice or didn’t care. A few minutes later, one of his friends appeared and nudged his shoulder.

“Come here for a sec.” You expected him to leave but instead he glanced over briefly. “I’ll be there in a minute, Keonho.’’ His friend looked between the two of you before smirking slightly. “Right.”

The second he walked away, you wanted to disappear. Seonghyeon meanwhile, looked completely oblivious. The conversation continued in small pieces after that. Nothing important. Complaints about homework. A teacher neither of you liked. The upcoming test everyone was stressing about. You still weren’t saying much but for the first time, the silences didn’t feel awkward.

That was what surprised you the most because before all of this, talking to Seonghyeon had never even seemed like a possibility. Now you found yourself hoping the teacher would stay late for a few more minutes.

If there was one thing you’d learned from being friends with Haejin, it was that she was incapable of making a quick decision. She was supposed to buy a game for her younger brother’s birthday.

You were only there because she’d insisted she needed a “second opinion”. According to Haejin, this was a very important responsibility. According to you, she just didn’t want to go alone. Twenty minutes later, your theory was proven to be correct.

“You’ve been staring at these three games for like ten minutes”

Haejin gasped dramatically. “This is a life changing decision.”

“…It’s a birthday gift?’’

‘’Exactly.’’

You sighed and glanced around the store.

The place was busier than you’d expected for a saturday afternoon. The game store was warm and slightly crowded, lined with shelves stacked with colorful game cases and collectibles. Bright lights reflected off display screens scattered throughout the store, while the faint sounds of racing games, button mashing, and excited conversations filled the air.

Groups of friends wandered between aisles, kids begged their parents to buy things and somewhere in the back of the store, a racing game played loudly through a set of speakers.

‘’Oh, what do i do? Haemin likes all of these.’’ At this point, you were mostly waiting for Haejin to decide which game she’d buy for her brother so you could both leave. Then a familiar voice drifted across the store.

‘’You can’t blame me for that.’’

For a second, you thought you’d imagined it but then another voice answered.

‘’Oh yes i can.’’

You turned your head slightly. Near the racing simulator setup stood two boys. One was sitting in the simulator, controller still in hand. The other stood beside him with his arms crossed. You recognized them immediately.

Seonghyeon and Keonho.

You simply stared. Not because seeing them was surprising, you’re sure many highschoolers come here.

Because seeing them like this was.

‘’You literally drove into me!’’ Keonho blamed.

‘’I didn’t-‘’

‘’You did.’’

‘’I barely touched you.’’

Keonho looked genuienly offended.

‘’You sent my car into a wall.’’

‘’Well you suck at this game anyway.’’

A laugh escaped Seonghyeon.

Even after becoming friends with him, most of your conversations had happened between classes, in hallways, or during lunch breaks.

School Seonghyeon was confident, calm, and seemingly unbothered by everything. This version felt more relaxed, warm. More real. Like the moment he stepped outside school, some invisible pressure disappeared.

Beside you, Haejin finally noticed where your attention had gone. She looked at the two boys.

“No way.”

You already knew that tone.

“Haejin.”

“No way.”

“Haejin.”

“That’s Seonghyeon- and Keonho.’’

“I can see that.”

She looked far too excited about this discovery. Fate apparently hated you because at that exact moment, Keonho looked up and spotted the two of you. His grin appeared instantly.

“Oh, this is interesting.”

Seonghyeon frowned.

“What?”

Keonho tilted his head toward the entrance. Slowly, Seonghyeon turned around. For a brief moment, surprise flashed across his face. His eyes met yours. The first thing he did was smile, a genuine smile. Suddenly, becoming very interested in the floor seemed like a fantastic idea. Haejin had other plans. Before you could stop her, she grabbed your wrist and started walking.

“Haejin.”

“Nope.”

“Haejin, come on-”

“We’re already committed.”

“We absolutely are not.”

Across the store, you could hear Keonho laughing which somehow made everything worse. By the time the two of you have reached them, your dignity had already left the building.

‘’Y/n,’’ Seonghyeon said.

The fact that he greeted you first did absolutely nothing to help.

‘’Hi.’’

Haejin meanwhile, had abandoned all subtlety.

‘’What happened to fourth place?’’

Keonho immediately pointed at her.

‘’THANK YOU.’’

Seonghyeon closed his eyes briefly. ‘’You are not helping.’’

‘’You came fourth?’’

You really couldn’t help asking. The look Seonghyeon gave you was almost enough to make you laugh, almost. Keonho looked delighted. Finally, someone was on his side. “You see?” he said, pointing at you. “Even y/n agrees.”

“I didn’t agree with anything,” you replied immediately.

“You asked the question.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It basically is.”

“It absolutely is not.”

Seonghyeon looked exhausted.

“You two are impossible.”

The comment earned matching offended expressions from both you and Keonho which, unfortunately, only made Haejin laugh.

“Wow,” she said. “I’ve never seen him lose an argument before.”

“I’m not losing.”

“You came fourth.”

“I came fourth because somebody doesn’t know how to drive.”

Keonho gasped.

The betrayal.

The audacity.

The complete disrespect.

For a second, the two of them resumed arguing while you stood there trying- and failing not to smile. It was strange. Before today, you’d never really seen Seonghyeon with his friends. Not properly.

At school, people always seemed drawn to him. There was always someone talking to him, waving at him, asking him something. But this felt different, like it was more real, less intimidating.

“You know,” Seonghyeon said, glancing toward Keonho and Haejin, “I don’t think they’re coming back.”

You followed his gaze. Haejin was holding up two game cases while Keonho looked like he was defending his thesis.

“Yeah.”

“They’ve been arguing about the same thing for like ten minutes.”

“You say that like you weren’t arguing over a racing game when I walked in.”

Seonghyeon looked over.

“That was different.”

“Was it?’’

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Neither of you said anything for a moment. You found yourself looking around the store instead, eyes moving over shelves packed with games you knew nothing about. Then Seonghyeon pointed toward one.

“Have you played that before?”

You glanced at the cover.

“No.”

“What about that one?”

“No.”

He pointed at another.

“No.”

Another.

“No.”

Seonghyeon stared at you.

“Have you ever had fun before?”

You were slightly taken aback.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m trying to figure out why Haejin brought you to a game store.’’

“I’m here to supervise.”

To your surprise, he laughed.

Slowly, Your conversations started to flow naturally. It felt easier to talk to him. Maybe because it didn’t feel like talking to the cool guy everyone knew. Or the football player.

Just Seonghyeon.

Talking to him was becoming easier than talking to most people.

“You owe me.”

You looked up from your phone.

Across the lunch table, Haejin was staring at you expectantly.

“What?”

“You owe me.”

“..I don’t think I do.”

“You do.”

You narrowed your eyes, then Haejin leaned forward.

“Aren’t friends supposed to support each other’s interests?” She gave you a cheeky smile.

‘’Mm..that depends.’’

‘’On what?’’

“Whether those interests involve dragging me somewhere against my will.”

A look of betrayal crossed her face.

“Wow.”

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“Haejin.”

She grinned. “What?”

You gave her a knowing look before she finally decided to answer.

“There’s a football match after school.”

You stared at her.

“Seriously? No.”

The answer came so quickly that she looked offended.

“You didn’t even think about it.”

“I did.”

“You really didn’t.”

“I absolutely did.”

Haejin pointed at you.

“See? This is exactly why I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Unfortunately, that was how you found yourself sitting on the school bleachers three hours later, questioning every life decision that had led you to this moment. It seemed fun though.

The field was already crowded by the time you arrived.

Students filled up most of the seats, scattered in groups with friends, snacks and far more enthusiasm than you could ever relate to. The noise was conversations overlapping, people calling out to eachother, the occasional burst of laughter carrying across the field.

You adjusted your position on the bleachers and glanced around.

“This is way more people than I expected.”

“Obviously,” Haejin replied.

“Why obviously?”

She looked at you as if you’d asked something ridiculous.

“It’s the biggest match of the season.”

“Oh.”

“You didn’t know that either?”

“No.”

Haejin sighed. Sometimes you genuinely worried about her blood pressure whenever she talked to you. The teams began gathering on the field below. A few students immediately started cheering. Others waved at friends playing.

You found yourself mostly observing, until a familiar figure stepped onto the field. The annoying thing was that you recognized him immediately. Not because of the jersey, not because he was standing the closest, your eyes had simply found him automatically.

You hated that, a lot.

Before he hit you with the football, Seonghyeon would’ve blended into the crowd of players. Now he stood out immediately. The realization was embarrassing enough that you quickly had to look elsewhere.

When you looked back a few moments later, your eyes found him again. And again. And again. It was becoming a problem.

The whistle blew.

The game began.

At first, you paid attention out of politeness. Haejin had dragged you here, after all. The least you could do was pretend to care. A few minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. Somewhere along the way, you realized you were actually watching.

Not football.

Seonghyeon.

The thing was, you’d never seen him like this before. At school, Seonghyeon always seemed relaxed and comfortable. The type of person who could walk into any room and immediately belong there. On the field, however, there was something different about him. He moved with an ease that made everything look effortless. Even from a distance, you could tell people listened when he spoke.

Teammates glanced toward him constantly. A few times, he called something out and everyone immediately adjusted. It was strange. Not because you hadn’t known he played football. Because you’d never really thought about what that meant.

For the first time, you understood why so many people admired him. And for some reason, that realization made your stomach feel weird. Beside you, Haejin followed your gaze. Then smirked. You knew that smirk. It was never a good sign.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Haejin.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking something.”

“I am.”

You groaned.

“Please don’t.”

The smirk only grew.

Thankfully, before she could speak, the crowd suddenly erupted around you. Cheers echoed across the bleachers. Students jumped to their feet. You blinked.

Apparently something had happened. Unfortunately, you’d been too busy arguing with Haejin to notice.

“What happened?”

Haejin stared at you, then at the field, then back at you.

“You weren’t watching.”

“I was.”

“You literally weren’t.”

“What happened?”

She pointed toward the field and you followed her gaze. Seonghyeon was jogging back toward the center, teammates crowding around him.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Haejin repeated.

“He scored.”

“He scored.”

You nodded.

For some reason, a smile pulled at your lips. A small one. One you didn’t even notice until Haejin did. Her eyes widened immediately.

“Wow.’’

Your smile disappeared.

“What?”

“You smiled.”

“So?”

“You smiled because he scored.”

Heat immediately rose to your face. You felt your ears swell.

“No i didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

You looked away before she could continue. You weren’t entirely sure she was wrong. That realization lingered for the rest of the match. Long after the cheering died down. Long after the game resumed. Long after you’d convinced yourself you were imagining things.

Because every time something happened on the field, your attention drifted toward the same person. Everytime he did something impressive, you felt strangely proud. As if you’d somehow earned the right.

Which was absurd.

You were still trying to convince yourself of that when the final whistle blew. The crowd immediately came alive. Students began standing, gathering their things, and making their way toward the exits. Some headed toward the field. Others were already talking excitedly about the game.

You stayed seated. Mostly because moving required effort. Partly because Haejin had disappeared five minutes ago after spotting someone she knew. You’d just pulled out your phone when a shadow fell across you. You assumed it was Haejin. Then a familiar voice spoke.

“I need an unbiased opinion.”

You looked up.

And immediately wished you hadn’t. Seonghyeon was standing there. Still wearing his uniform. Still slightly out of breath. His hair was damp from the game, falling messily across his forehead. For some reason, that bothered you.

Not because it looked bad, quite the opposite actually. Judging by the expression on his face, something had clearly bothered him.

“Hello to you too.”

“That can wait-‘’

You blinked.

“That’s sort of concerning.”

“I was robbed.”

A pause.

‘’Didn’t you guys win?’’

‘’That’s not the point.’’

‘’Feels like a pretty important point.’’

Seonghyeon looked genuinely frustrated, his breathing was heavier since the game had ended.

‘’The referee was seriously against me.’’

You stared at him for several seconds before you shifted in your seat.

‘’You’re one of those people?’’

‘’What?’’

‘’The people who blame the referee everytime something doesn’t go their way.’’

‘’It didn’t go my way.’’

‘’Well, you won.’’

‘’Of course i did.’’

You laughed, the reaction was immediate.

‘’You didn’t even pay attention.’’

‘’I was.’’

‘’No you weren’t’’

‘’How would you know?’’

‘’Because if you did, you’d be angry too.’’

‘’I’m not emotionally invested enough to be angry.’’

The look he gave you suggested this was the wrong answer.

“Okay, imagine this’’

‘’Oh-‘’

‘’I score.’’

‘’You score.’’

‘’A beautiful score.’’

‘’According to whom exactly?’’

‘’Everybody.’’

‘’Mm.’’

‘’Then the referee- who’s job is to observe accurately, calls it offside.’’

You considered this, then shrugged.

‘’Well- maybe it was offside.’’

The betrayal on his face creeped up fast.

‘’I swear it wasn’t.’’

‘’Were you the referee?’’

‘’No.’’

‘’Then how do you know?’’

For a moment, Seonghyeon simply stared at you, then he pointed accusingly.

‘’You’re terrible at this.’’

‘’At what?’’

‘’At being supportive.’’

‘’You wanted an unbiased opinion.’’

‘’I wanted you to agree with me.’’

‘’That’s not quite what unbiased means.’’

The corner of his mouth twitched. You knew he was competitive, he shot a football straight at you a few weeks ago.

‘’You know what? Nevermind.’’

You laughed again.

This time, Seonghyeon shook his head dramatically and dropped down to the bleacher seat in front of you. The field behind him remained crowded with players and students slowly making their way home. Voices carried across the evening air while coaches gathered equipment near the sidelines.

“You stayed for the whole match.”

The comment caught you off guard.

“What?”

“The whole thing.”

He leaned back slightly.

“I thought you’d get bored and leave.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“You have a very low opinion of me.”

“I watched you spend twenty minutes in a game store staring at absolutely nothing.”

“I was being supportive.”

“You were wandering.”

“I was observing.”

“You were probably lost.”

“I knew exactly where I was.”

“Sure.”

You hated how satisfied he looked, with a smile to follow up on. His smile was genuine, like you could argue about anything- and it would still feel like you won, simply because he gave you that smile.

Then again, you hated how often he made you laugh. Before either of you could continue, a voice called from somewhere behind him.

“Seonghyeon!”

You looked up automatically.

A girl was jogging across the field toward the two of you, a bottle of water in one hand. She couldn’t have been much older than you. She looked pretty, and confident. The type of person who seemed completely comfortable talking to anyone. The type of person you immediately disliked for absolutely no reason.

She stopped beside him and held out the bottle. “You left this.”

“Oh.” Seonghyeon took it.

“Thanks.”

The interaction was completely normal.

The girl smiled. “No problem.”

Then she started talking, and Seonghyeon talked back. Which again, was normal. Because why wouldn’t he? But as you stood there listening to their conversation, a strange feeling settled in your chest. One you didn’t particularly like. The girl seemed familiar with him, she was comfortable like this wasn’t the first time they’d spoken. Obviously it wasn’t, Seonghyeon knew everyone. You already knew that.

Still, you found yourself looking away. Suddenly very interested in fixing the strap of your bag.

“You coming to practice on monday?” the girl asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” She grinned.

“Coach would’ve killed you if you missed it.”

Seonghyeon laughed. The same laugh you’d spent the last few weeks becoming far too fond of. Hearing it now felt different, a little less special.

You’d never thought it was special. Not really. Right? The realization hit, maybe that was the problem. You had.

At some point, without noticing, you’d started treating every conversation with Seonghyeon like it meant something. When in reality this was just who he was. He was friendly, easy to talk to. He was comfortable around everyone.

The girl finally glanced toward you.

“Oh.”

For a second, she looked between the two of you then smiled politely.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

The conversation lasted another minute or two.

You weren’t really paying attention anymore because the stupid feeling in your chest had only gotten worse. Thankfully, someone else called Seonghyeon’s name from across the field. A teammate this time.

“Seonghyeon!”

He looked over, then back at you.

“I should probably go.”

The words were simple and harmless, but for some reason they felt disappointing.

“Yeah,” you said.

“See you monday?”

You smiled, disingeniously.

“See you.”

The second he stood up and walked away, you knew something was wrong. Not with him, but with you. You spent the entire walk home thinking about a conversation that hadn’t even involved you. You replayed everything, the exchanged conversation, his gaze, his laughter. You replayed him.

The realization irritated you more than anything else. It wasn’t as if Seonghyeon had done something particularly memorable. He’d talked to a teammate, that’s all. The interaction had been completely normal, yet somehow your brain insisted on revisiting it every few hours like there was some hidden meaning you’d failed to uncover the first time around.

By monday morning, you’d become so annoyed with yourself that you’d practically banned yourself from thinking about him altogether. Unfortunately, that lasted less than a day.

School carried on as usual. Teachers assigned work, students complained about it, and Haejin continued collecting gossip the way other people collected hobbies, which was admirable really. Everything felt normal. At least until the end of third period.

Your teacher had been gathering her things when she suddenly bent down and picked something up from beside one of the desks near the front of the classroom. It was a dark grey hoodie, slightly oversized and folded in on itself as if somebody had shoved it underneath a chair and forgotten about it.

“Did someone leave this behind?” she asked, holding it up.

A few students glanced over before immediately losing interest, you looked up too and knew exactly who it belonged to.

The answer came so quickly that you didn’t even question it at first. Seonghyeon. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation, you simply looked at the hoodie and knew.

Maybe it was because you’d seen him wearing it countless times over the past few weeks. Maybe it was because it had become one of those things your brain automatically associated with him. Whatever the reason, the certainty came naturally enough that you barely thought twice about it.

Then somebody behind you spoke.

“Oh, that’s Seonghyeon’s.”

Somehow, it felt odd. It wasn’t because they’d confirmed it, it was more so because they hadn’t told you anything you didn’t already know.

The rest of the class moved on immediately. The teacher placed the hoodie on her desk, someone made a joke and within seconds everyone was talking about something else. Everyone except you.

For some reason, that insignificant moment refused to leave your head. You spent the next hour trying to convince yourself it meant nothing. It was just a hoodie. People recognized each other’s belongings all the time. There was really nothing strange about it.

The argument would’ve been much more convincing if you hadn’t immediately noticed he wasn’t wearing it during lunch. The realization hit you before you even saw his face.

Your eyes found him automatically across the cafeteria surrounded by Keonho, Martin, James and Juhoon, the same group of friends he was always with. The first thing your brain registered wasn’t the conversation he was having or the fact that Keonho was laughing at something.

It was the absence of the hoodie. That’s why he looks different. You seriously didn’t like this, you in fact hated it. Seonghyeon, whom you hadn’t bat an eye on two months ago had occupied your mind the past four days. It was torture, simply because you refused to accept the thoughts. You denied everything, you brushed everything off and went about your day.

The following morning started with a problem. Not a particularly serious one, nor one that should have occupied more than a few seconds of your time, yet somehow you found yourself standing in front of your bedroom mirror far longer than necessary. You’d already finished getting ready.

Your makeup was done, your uniform was on, your bag was packed and waiting by the door. By all accounts, you should’ve been downstairs eating breakfast. Instead, you were still there staring at your reflection as if it had personally offended you. Something felt wrong.

The frustrating part was that you couldn’t figure out what. Your hair looked fine, more than fine actually. You had spent enough time on it to ensure that. Yet your hand still reached up to smooth down a strand near your cheek before stepping back again.

A few seconds later you found yourself leaning toward the mirror adjusting something else, then immediately questioning whether it had looked better before. The cycle repeated itself often enough that by the time you finally checked the clock, nearly fifteen minutes had disappeared. You frowned. That couldn’t be right.

Normally, getting ready in the morning wasn’t something you thought much about. You liked looking presentable and usually put effort into your appearance, but there was a difference between effort and whatever this was. This felt suspiciously close to perfectionism, except there was nothing to perfect.

Every time you fixed one thing, your eyes immediately found something else to focus on. A different hairstyle. A little more lip tint. Maybe a different pair of earrings. None of the changes were dramatic enough for anyone else to notice, but you noticed them, and apparently that was enough to keep you rooted in front of the mirror like an idiot.

Moments later, your phone buzzed. Haejin was texting you.

HAEJIN

Overslept.

Can’t make it to first period.

Meet you second period😴

Haejin was a bit careless when it came to school. You don’t think it’s on purpose, she just doesn’t see the need to wake up at 7:30 AM for merely first period. She makes it so justifiable, so you guess you could see it from her perspective, however not today. Today, was an important day.

By the time first period began, you were already feeling self aware. Now, instead of sitting beside your best friend, you found yourself alone at your desk while the teacher droned on at the front of the classroom. The seat beside you remained empty, which felt strangely noticeable. Haejin had a way of filling every space she occupied, and without her there the morning seemed significantly quieter.

When the bell finally rang, you gathered your things and stepped into the hallway with no particular destination in mind. Your next class was on the opposite side of the building, leaving you with more than enough time to get there. Normally, you would have spent the break with Haejin. Today however, you found yourself wandering alone through the crowded hallways.

“Y/n, hey.’’

The familiar voice made you turn immediately.

Seonghyeon stood a few feet away, one strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder. For a moment, your brain supplied an extremely unhelpful thought.

Did he notice?

You hated yourself instantly.

Notice what?

Your hair?

Your makeup?

The fact that you’d spent half your morning acting like a love island contestant? Thankfully, Seonghyeon seemed completely unaware of the spiraling thoughts currently unfolding.

“Haejin’s late,” you explained before he could ask. Before you could think of a more logical answer, like a simple hey.

Seriously?

What does Haejin have to do with this?

Why would he care?

Seonghyeon almost surpressed his reaction.

‘’Oh- right.’’

He was confused. Did you think he approached you to talk to Haejin? He didn’t read much into it though.

However, he did notice something was different about you today.

At first, he couldn’t figure out what it was.

Maybe your hair looked different. Maybe your makeup. Whatever it was, it gave you a slightly softer appearance than usual. Not dramatically different, just enough to make him pause for a second longer than normal.

“You look tired” he said instead.

You stared at him. Of all the things he could’ve said.

“Tired?”

“Yeah.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t sleep?”

The betrayal you felt was immediate. You had spent an embarrassing amount of time getting ready this morning. An embarrassing amount. And somehow the only conclusion he’d reached was that you looked tired. For a brief moment, you considered pushing him down the nearest staircase.

“That’s offensive.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me.”

“I’m choosing peace.”

Seonghyeon laughed.

Unfortunately, the sound did absolutely nothing to improve your mood. If anything, it made it worse. Because now all you could think about was the twenty minutes you’d wasted staring at yourself in the mirror. The universe clearly had a sense of humor.

“You look fine, by the way.”

The comment was casual. So casual that he probably didn’t think twice about saying it. You however, nearly forgot how to function. Before you could respond, Martin called Seonghyeon’s name from farther down the hallway. He looked over his shoulder, then back at you.

“I’ll see you later.” And just like that, he was gone.

Leaving you standing in the middle of the hallway wondering why two completely harmless words had managed to ruin the rest of your morning. The rest of the day passed surprisingly quickly after that.

Haejin eventually arrived halfway through second period carrying the same energy she always did, immediately filling the empty space beside you with stories, complaints and dramatic retellings of how she had supposedly fallen victim to circumstances completely beyond her control.

According to her, the blame rested entirely on a combination of faulty alarms, unfair school schedules and a universe that seemed personally determined to make her suffer.

“I woke up and it was 9:12.”

“You start at 8:30.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s doesn’t quite help.” Haejin pouted.

The rest of the day continued pretty much the same way. Haejin spent most of her time insisting she was being unfairly persecuted by the education system. By the final bell, you had almost forgotten about the awkward interaction from that morning. Almost. Unfortunately, while you were fully prepared to go home, Haejin apparently had other plans.

“I’ll be two minutes.”

“You said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“This time I mean it.”

“You also meant it last time.”

Ignoring you entirely, she disappeared back into the building after being stopped by a teacher regarding an assignment she had forgotten to submit. So you waited.

The afternoon air was cool, carrying the familiar sounds of students lingering around school grounds before heading home.

Groups gathered near the entrance, conversations overlapping as people delayed going home for as long as possible. You had been scrolling through your phone for several minutes when a football rolled across the pavement a few meters away. Your eyes followed it automatically.

Several members of the football team had gathered near the edge of the courtyard, passing time before practice. Some were kicking a ball around while others leaned against a nearby fence talking amongst themselves. The sight would’ve gone largely unnoticed if Haejin hadn’t finally emerged from the building at that exact moment.

“Oh.”

“What?”

Her eyes lit up. “Keonho’s here.”

Before you could stop her, she’d already started walking.

“Haejin.”

No response.

“Haejin.”

Still nothing.

Sometimes you genuinely believed she could hear only the things she wanted to hear. Unfortunately, Keonho seemed equally enthusiastic. A few minutes later, the two of them had somehow dragged everyone into the same conversation.

You weren’t entirely sure how it happened. One moment you were waiting for Haejin, the next you were standing in a loose circle listening to Keonho passionately argue that football players deserved special treatment during exam season.

“You kick a ball around.”

“That’s not all we do.”

“That’s literally what football is.” Seonghyeon let out a faint laugh. Keonho pointed at him immediately.

“See? He understands.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your silence supports me.”

The conversation drifted from one topic to another after that. Homework became complaints about teachers, which somehow turned into stories from middle school and then an argument over who had the worst attendance record. At some point, Keonho glanced toward Seonghyeon.

“Actually, speaking of people abandoning their friends.” Seonghyeon already looked tired.

“You spend more time talking to y/n than you do with me nowadays.”

The comment earned a laugh from Haejin. You wished it hadn’t, because now everyone was looking at the two of you. Seonghyeon meanwhile, seemed completely unaffected.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m serious.”

For a second, Keonho gestured vaguely between the two of you as though presenting evidence to a jury. The response came easily. Without hesitation. Without even a second of thought.

“She’s my friend.”

The following morning began with rain.

Not the kind that belonged in movies, where people stared moodily out of windows while life changing realizations unfolded in the background. This was ordinary rain. Annoying rain. The sort that turned sidewalks slippery and made umbrellas feel completely useless because somehow you still ended up getting wet anyway.

By the time you arrived at school, your shoes were damp, your patience was gone and Haejin was already waiting by the entrance looking personally offended by the weather. She immediately launched into a five minute rant about how rain should be illegal before eight in the morning, only pausing long enough to complain about an upcoming assignment and the fact that she had forgotten to study for a quiz she apparently hadn’t known existed until fifteen minutes ago.

The conversation continued all the way to class. Then through first period. Then through half of second period. That was one of the things you liked most about Haejin. Being around her left very little room for overthinking. Unfortunately not no room, just very little.

The thought arrived sometime during lunch. You were sitting across from Haejin while she attempted to convince three people that she deserved compensation for having to wake up before sunrise every day. Around you, the cafeteria buzzed with the usual noise of conversations, laughter and the occasional argument over stolen food. It was normal. Completely normal.

Yet for some reason, you found yourself looking up whenever the doors opened. The first time, you didn’t think much of it. The second time, you barely noticed. The third time however, you caught yourself doing it and immediately looked back down at your food. That was strange. You frowned slightly.

Because you knew exactly what you had been looking for. Or rather, who. The thought irritated you far more than it should have. The problem was that it happened automatically. You had not consciously wondered where Seonghyeon was. You hadn’t been sitting there waiting for him to appear. Your eyes had simply searched the room on their own before your brain had the chance to stop them. Annoying. Deeply annoying. Across from you, Haejin paused mid-sentence.

“…Why do you look angry?”

“I’m not angry.”

“You look like it.”

“I’m thinking.”

“That explains nothing.”

You stabbed a french fry with considerably more force than necessary. Haejin narrowed her eyes immediately. Never a good sign.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie.”

“It isn’t.”

“It literally is.”

You sighed. The problem with having a best friend for years was that they became impossible to fool.

“You know,” Haejin continued, leaning back in her chair “most people don’t glare at potatoes unless something is bothering them.”

For a brief moment, you considered telling her. Not everything. Then immediately decided against it. Mostly because hearing your thoughts out loud would somehow make the situation significantly worse, and because deep down there was a part of you that already knew exactly what Haejin would say. The problem was that you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to hear it.

If someone had asked Seonghyeon whether anything had changed over the past couple of weeks, he probably would’ve said no.

Life looked exactly the same as it always had. Football practice continued to consume most of his afternoons and Keonho remained committed to making every situation at least twice as loud as necessary. The days blended together in the way school days often did. One class became another. One week became the next. Nothing particularly significant seemed to happen. At least, that was what he thought.

The realization didn’t arrive all at once. It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t even particularly noticeable at first. Instead, it appeared in small moments and then disappeared again before he could properly think about it. A hallway conversation that felt strangely short. An empty seat during lunch that shouldn’t have mattered. The first few times, he ignored it. By the tenth, it was becoming difficult to.

Thursday afternoon found him sitting through one of the most painfully boring lessons of the semester. Even the teacher seemed tired of listening to himself speak. Around the classroom, students had long since given up pretending to pay attention. Some were doodling in notebooks, others were staring blankly out windows, and James had somehow managed to fall asleep while sitting upright. Honestly, it was impressive.

Seonghyeon’s attention had drifted somewhere around twenty minutes earlier. His notebook remained open in front of him, untouched except for a few half finished notes written without much thought behind them. He wasn’t really looking at anything in particular when the teacher suddenly stopped speaking and sighed.

“Since nobody seems interested in participating today, let’s try something easier.”

Immediately, several students sat up. The word easier had that effect.

The teacher began asking questions instead, pointing at different students around the room whenever he needed an answer. Most people responded with varying levels of enthusiasm. Some answered correctly. Others guessed. One student somehow managed to produce an answer so incorrect that the entire class burst out laughing. Including Seonghyeon. For some reason, the moment reminded him of y/n. The thought appeared so unexpectedly that he almost frowned.

It wasn’t even a specific memory. Just a vague association. Something about the expression she would’ve made if she’d heard the answer. The way she tried not to laugh when she found something funny. The way she usually looked away immediately afterward as if being caught smiling was somehow embarrassing. For a second, he found himself glancing toward the row she usually sat in. Then paused, because that was strange. He hadn’t spoken to y/n properly in what felt like ages. It didn’t make sense.

A few weeks ago, running into her had somehow become normal. Conversations before class. Conversations after class. Random interactions in hallways that stretched far longer than either of them intended. Nothing major. Just enough that he’d stopped noticing when they happened.

Now he was noticing when they didn’t. The thought lingered for the rest of the lesson. Then followed him into the hallway. Then all the way to lunch. By the time football practice started, he still hadn’t managed to shake it. People got busy, that was all. School happened, life happened. There was no reason to think about it this much.

Unfortunately, that explanation became slightly harder to believe when he realized he couldn’t remember the last actual conversation they’ve had.

Instead, he found himself standing on the edge of the football field staring at absolutely nothing while the rest of the team warmed up around him.

“Earth to Seonghyeon.”

Martin’s voice snapped him out of it.

“What?”

“You’ve been staring at the same patch of grass for thirty seconds.”

Seonghyeon blinked.

Had he? Apparently. Keonho narrowed his eyes immediately.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Seonghyeon didn’t understand why he had thought about it this much. He wasn’t the type to. He’d logically examine situations, come up with a logical answer and move on with his day. Somehow this was different, yet he couldn’t pinpoint why.

Keonho had never been the type of person to let things go. In fact, if Seonghyeon had to describe him using a single phrase, it would probably be incapable of minding his own business. The moment practice ended, Keonho’s attention returned to the subject with the determination of somebody investigating a crime.

At first, Seonghyeon didn’t even realize it was happening. The team had just finished collecting equipment, everyone moving around the field in various states of exhaustion while the sun slowly disappeared behind the school buildings. Conversations overlapped from every direction.

Somebody was complaining about the coach, somebody else was arguing about where to eat afterward and a football rolled across the grass before being kicked back toward a storage cart. Everything felt normal. Until Keonho appeared beside him. That wasn’t unusual. The fact that he remained there in complete silence however, definitely was.

For several seconds he simply walked beside him without saying anything. Coming from Keonho, that was concerning enough on its own. When Seonghyeon finally glanced over, he immediately regretted it. Keonho was already staring at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Seonghyeon asked.

“I’m thinking.”

A sigh escaped him. The evening air had turned noticeably cooler now, students gradually filtering away from the field in small groups as the noise around them slowly faded into the distance. For a brief moment it almost seemed like Keonho might finally drop the subject. Then he spoke again.

“You know what I think?”

“No.”

“I think you’re lying.”

Seonghyeon barely reacted. Mostly because this conversation happened at least three times a week.

“About what?”

“I don’t know yet.”

The answer was so stupid that a laugh almost escaped him.

“No, seriously.” Keonho adjusted the strap of his bag before continuing. “You’ve been zoning out lately.”

That got his attention. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard something similar. Over the past week different people had made almost identical observations often enough that it was becoming difficult to ignore. Martin had asked whether he was tired. His mother had asked whether something was bothering him. Even the coach had commented on him being distracted during practice yesterday.

At the time Seonghyeon had brushed all of it off. Now however, standing on the sidewalk outside the school while Keonho kicked absentmindedly at loose gravel beside him, he found himself wondering whether they all had a point.

The problem was that he couldn’t figure out what exactly was different. Or rather, he could. He just didn’t particularly like the answer. Because every time he started pulling at the loose thread of the thought, it somehow led back to the same place. The same person. The same question. When was the last time he’d actually talked to y/n?

Not seen her. Not waved at her from the other end of a hallway. Talked to her, a proper conversation. The answer should’ve come immediately. Instead, he found himself drawing a blank.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain, that really bothered him.

By the time he got home later that evening, dropped his bag beside the door and collapsed onto his bed, the thought was still there. Which was annoying, because he had homework to finish and football practice again tomorrow. He had significantly more important things to think about. Yet somehow, while staring at the ceiling of his room, his mind drifted back to the same thing. He dug deep into his thoughts.

The first time was almost laughably insignificant. Class had just ended, and students were spilling into the hallways at every direction. Seonghyeon had been halfway through putting his books away when he spotted y/n a little farther down the corridor.

She was standing beside her locker, listening to something Haejin was saying. Or rather, dramatically performing. Haejin’s hands were moving so aggressively that even from a distance it looked less like a conversation and more like an emergency press conference.

Without really thinking about it, Seonghyeon started heading that way.

Then suddenly y/n grabbed Haejin by the wrist and dragged her around the corner. Gone. Seonghyeon stopped walking, he had simply stared at the space where she’d been stadning.

‘’Why are you just standing there?’’

He looked over and Juhoon was staring at him.

‘’Nothing-‘’

Juhoon looked unconvinced.

The second time happened during lunch, Seonghyeon had just entered the cafeteria when he noticed y/n sitting at her usual table. For some reason, the sight made him smile.

He grabbed his tray and joined his friends. Halfway through James’s completely unecessary rant about him having to balance both the exams- since he’s a few years older, and football practice, Seonghyeon glanced across the cafeteria again.

The seat was empty, he frowned.

‘’How dare they stack up on exams the second football season gets serious? I can’t be expected to memorize biology and score goals.’’

Yeah that was just background noise for Seonghyeon.

The third time was when it had actually started bothering him. School had ended, and the campus was filled by students and chatter. Seonghyeon, Keonho, Juhoon, Martin and James stood in front of the school, talking while Martin shot the basketball into the hoop continuously.

Suddenly, he spotted y/n coming out of the main entrance. She was carrying a bag over her shoulder, already heading toward the front gate. He considered calling her name, the thought had appeared automatically. Then he paused. Because that would be weird, wouldn’t it? He wasn’t even sure what he would’ve said. Hey? Hello? Why have we apparently forgotten how to exist in the same space lately?

Before he could decide, a group of guys crossed between them. By the time they passed, she had already disappeared around the corner. That annoyed him.

He found himself looking for her the next day. Which felt ridiculous, that’s what he told himself while scanning the cafeteria without realizing he was doing it. He didn’t understand why it had bothered him so much.

Everytime he looked up, she seemed to walk the other way. He could’ve sworn she stood wherever he saw her, then poof she’s gone again. He missed talking to her. The more he thought about it, the more he realized y/n hadn’t actually disappeared. She was still around.

The strange thing about time was that it continued moving whether you wanted it to or not.

A few weeks ago, you’d convinced yourself that liking Seonghyeon was some life altering catastrophe. Every conversation felt important. Every interaction lingered longer than it should have. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of energy thinking about things that in hindsight, probably didn’t deserve nearly that much attention.

Now however, life had begun settling back into place. It wasn’t really because your feelings had disappeared, they hadn’t. You still liked him, that much obvious.

The difference was that it felt like your entire existence no longer revolved around it. Somehow, focusing on all ordinary frustrations had made everything else feel smaller. For the first time in a while, you felt like yourself again, which was probably why you agreed to help one of your teachers after class.

It seemed harmless enough at the time. It was just a simple favour, five minutes of your time. Unfortunately, teachers had a very different understanding of the word simple. Twenty minutes later, you found yourself carrying what felt like the entire contents of a storage room through one of the academic buildings.

A stack of folders was balanced precariously against your chest, several textbooks were tucked underneath one arm and a plastic container filled with miscellaneous classroom supplies kept threatening to slide out of your grasp every time you took a step.

You couldn’t see properly.

You couldn’t walk properly.

You were beginning to suspect your teacher had deliberately chosen you because you looked too polite to say no.

The hallway itself was mostly empty. Classes had ended nearly half an hour ago, leaving only the occasional student lingering behind for clubs, sports or whatever mysterious activities seemed to keep people at school long after everyone else had gone home. The combination of limited visibility and questionable balance meant you didn’t notice someone approaching from the opposite direction.

Not until it was too late.

The collision wasn’t dramatic, nobofy went flying across the hallway, well just the stack of folders that immediately tilted sideways, and the plastic container that slipped- oh and a pencil case launched itself onto the floor.

And before you could react, several sheets of paper had already escaped and scattered across the hallway like they were making a run for freedom. For one dreadful second, you simply stood there staring. Of course this was happening. Then a voice spoke.

“Whoa.”

You froze. Slowly, you looked up.

Seonghyeon looked just as surprised as you felt, then he looked down at the disaster surrounding your feet. Then back up at you. Then back down again. A smile appeared.

“Don’t.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“You’re thinking something.”

“I am.”

You sighed.

“Great.”

The smile widened slightly.

Without another word, he crouched down and began gathering the papers scattered across the floor.

You hated how familiar the sight felt.

A few months ago, seeing Eom Seonghyeon kneeling on a hallway floor collecting your homework would’ve felt absurd. Now it barely registered as unusual. Together, the two of you began collecting the mess. Most of it in silence. The kind that had somehow become normal between you before either of you noticed.

The strange thing was that for the first time in weeks, you weren’t hyperaware of him. You weren’t overthinking every word, you weren’t wondering what something meant. You were simply trying to stop your papers from disappearing underneath a nearby vending machine.

“You know,” Seonghyeon said eventually, handing over another folder “for somebody who was late because of a pen, I feel like this tracks.”

You stared at him then immediately groaned.

“No.”

“Oh, yes.”

“That happened once.”

“You were defeated by a mere pen.”

“I wasn’t defeated.”

“You absolutely were.”

To your annoyance, a laugh escaped before you could stop it. The sound earned a grin from him. The folders had been restacked, the notebooks gathered and the loose papers that had scattered across half the hallway had been retrieved. Only one sheet remained. It had drifted farther than the others. The hallway itself had grown noticeably quieter during the few minutes.

You moved first, or atleast you thought you did. The second you stepped forward, Seonghyeon did too. The realization seemed to hit both of you simultaneously. You stopped, he stopped. The paper remained exactly where it was.

‘’Go ahead.’’

You looked up.

‘’What?’’

‘’You saw it first.’’

‘’No i didn’t’’

‘’You did.’’

‘’I was being polite.’’

‘’You’re never polite.’’

The response left his mouth so quickly that he seemed to realize what he had said only afterward. You stared at him, and he stared back. Then a smile appeared, it was small. The kind that always seemed to show up before he could stop it.

‘’You know what i mean.’’

‘’Do i?’’

‘’No.’’

You smiled- it was stupid. You loved the conversations, you missed them. Both of you moved at the same time again. The result was immediate. Your shoulders bumped together.

‘’Ow.’’

You immediately laughed in shock. He was being dramatic, it was a small bump.

The past few weeks suddenly seemed a little ridiculous. Seonghyeon spent so much time wondering why something felt off only to discover the answer was embarrassingly simple. He’d missed this aswell.

Haejin had never been particularly interested in making your life easier. The first sign of trouble appeared at exactly 5:34 PM on a Saturday.

Your phone buzzed.

Haejin

Can i come overrrr~

You stared at the message. Of course she could, rather it was weird she didn’t show up at your door to ask that.

You

obv

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Haejin

keonho is coming too apparently

You

Oh

Why?

Haejin

because he’s annoying and won’t leave me alone

he just texted me

he’s already on the bus

Before you could gather your thoughts to respond, another message arrived.

Haejin

oh Seonghyeon’s coming too

You nearly dropped your phone.

The thirty minutes Haejin had promised turned into forty three. Not that you were counting. You absolutely weren’t. The problem was that once somebody informed you that Haejin, Keonho and more importantly- Seonghyeon would be entering your house, suddenly every insignificant detail became a problem.

The blanket draped over the couch looked wrong. The cushions looked wrong. The stack of books sitting on the coffee table looked wrong. Even the framed photo sitting on the shelf near the television somehow looked wrong despite having remained in the exact same position for nearly three years. You were in the middle of rearranging the cushions for the third time when a voice spoke from behind you.

‘’Is Haejin coming over?’’

Your mother stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. Her eyes moved from you to the perfectly arranged couch, then to the freshly folded blanket, then to the coffee table you’d wiped down approximately fifteen minutes ago.

You nodded, before following it up.

‘’And two other friends.’’

‘’That’s fine- Should i go make something? A snackplate? Cut up some fruits?’’

‘’No, that’s okay.’’

The doorbell rang. The sound practically echoed throughout the house. The second your hand touched the doorknob, you could swear your heart dropped, like seriously. The door opened, and Haejin immediately walked inside without waiting for an invitation.

‘’Hello to you too.’’ You said.

‘’Thank you.’’

‘’What?’’

Behind her came Keonho, then Seonghyeon.

For some reason, seeing him standing on your doorstep felt stranger than seeing him anywhere else. Maybe because he’s become so firmly associated with school that your brain momentarily struggled to place him here. There was no football field, no hallway. Just your front porch, and Seonghyeon standing on it looking mildly uncomfortable beneath your scrunity. There was a long pause, it felt awkward.

‘’Hi.’’

Immediately, you wanted to throw yourself into traffic. It was a groundbreaking greeting, really. Thankfully, Seonghyeon wasn’t much better.

‘’Hi.’’

Behind him, Keonho sighed dramatically. ‘’This is painful.’’

The two of them stepped inside while Haejin continued acting like she had lived there for years. Almost immediately, your mother appeared from the kitchen.

‘’Hello, dear.’’

‘’Hi!’’

The response came so naturally that it sounded like a part of a routine they had performed hundreds of times before. Then your mother looked toward the boys. Before Seonghyeon could do anything, Keonho stepped forward.

‘’I’m Keonho,’’

‘’Nice to meet you.’’

‘’And that’s Seonghyeon.’’

A brief silence followed. Seonghyeon looked over, Keonho looked back.

‘’I can introduce myself.’’

‘’You were taking too long.’’

‘’You spoke first.’’

‘’Exactly.’’

Your mother laughed.

‘’It’s nice to meet both of you.’’

‘’Nice to meet you too.’’ Seonghyeon replied, then bowed out of respect, Keonho followed. Hearing him speak to your mother felt oddly surreal. Your mother smiled politely.

The second everyone made it upstairs, the energy somehow shifted.

Maybe it was because school had become such a permanent backdrop to all of your interactions that seeing those same people inside your house felt strangely unnatural. Haejin immediately made herself comfortable. Keonho wasn’t much better.

He wandered around without shame, examining random objects on your shelves with the confidence of somebody who had been granted permission despite the fact nobody had actually given him any. Meanwhile, you found yourself standing near your desk, suddenly hyperaware of everything around you.

The room wasn’t messy. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that it was yours.

School only allowed people to know certain versions of each other. Hallway conversations. Lunch breaks. Shared classes. Small pieces. Nobody saw what happened outside of that. Nobody saw your room at midnight when you were studying for exams. Nobody saw the stuff lying on your vanity or the old concert tickets tucked into your mirror frame. Nobody saw the photos you had forgotten were hanging on the wall until this exact moment.

And Seonghyeon seemed to notice everything.

Not in an obvious way. He wasn’t walking around inspecting things. If anything, he seemed quieter than usual. While Keonho was busy making himself at home and Haejin was already flopped across your bed scrolling through her phone, Seonghyeon’s gaze occasionally drifted around the room before moving elsewhere again. Small observations. Brief glances. Yet somehow those felt worse. You couldn’t tell whether he was actually paying attention or whether your brain was simply inventing reasons to be nervous.

“You definitely cleaned.”

You immediately looked at Haejin.

“No.”

“Yes you did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You moved something.”

“I didn’t.”

Haejin’s eyes slowly travelled across the room.

“The cushions downstairs.”

You hated her.

The smile spreading across her face told you she’d won.

“Oh my god. You did move the cushions.”

“I hate talking to you.”

From somewhere beside the bookshelf, a laugh escaped Keonho.

“You cleaned for us?”

“It wasn’t for you.”

The room fell silent for half a second before Haejin started laughing because of Keonho’s reaction. The next hour passed surprisingly quickly. Conversations drifted from one topic to another without much direction. Somebody brought up an old teacher. That somehow became a discussion about embarrassing middle school memories. Then football. Then exams. Then an argument, nobody actually cared about the answer. The argument continued anyway.

At some point, somebody stole your blanket. At some point, Keonho and Haejin became invested in a debate so stupid that the original topic had long since been forgotten.

“You are fundamentally misunderstanding the point.”

“I understand it perfectly.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You’re just wrong.”

“I’m always right.”

“That’s not how opinions work.”

Watching them argue was a bit like watching two people accidentally start a fire and then continue pouring gasoline on it.

Eventually, they ended up sitting on the floor near your television, completely absorbed in whatever nonsense they were discussing now. For the first time all afternoon, the room became quieter. You were sitting near the edge of your bed, scrolling through your phone while the sound of Haejin and Keonho arguing faded into the background. Beside you, Seonghyeon sat comfortably against the wall. Neither of you were really speaking.

The silence wasn’t awkward. A few months ago, silence between you would’ve felt unbearable. Now it barely registered. You scrolled past an old photo without thinking, then immediately scrolled back. A small laugh escaped you.

“What?”

You glanced up.

“Nothing.”

“That’s never true.”

You looked back down at the screen.

“It was from middle school.”

“Let me see.”

Without thinking, you handed him your phone but the second you did, you regretted it. Because the photo was awful. Seonghyeon looked at the screen, then looked at you. He smiled.

“What?” His smile widened.

“You look twelve.”

“I was twelve.”

“You look younger than twelve.”

“Give it back.”

You reached for the phone. At the exact same moment he pulled it slightly away, your hand brushed against his. The movement was tiny, it was barely anything. Yet both of you froze for a second. The noise from the rest of the room suddenly felt strangely distant. You weren’t sure why, it was stupid. People accidentally touched hands all the time, nothing should’ve happened.

Then Seonghyeon handed the phone back.

And somewhere across the room, Haejin suddenly yelled:

“THAT’S LITERALLY NOT WHAT I SAID.”

Seonghyeon didn’t realize he was still thinking about it until he walked straight into his bedroom door. The impact wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it was embarrassing enough that he immediately looked around despite being completely alone. A second later he let out a quiet groan and rubbed a hand over his face.

A few minutes later after showering and changing into comfortable clothes, he found himself sitting on the edge of his bed with a towel draped around his neck. His phone had been abandoned somewhere beside him. Downstairs, he could faintly hear the television playing. Everything felt normal. The day was over. There was absolutely no reason for him to still be thinking about it.

Nothing important had happened. They had gone to y/n’s house, wasted an entire afternoon doing nothing productive, listened to Keonho and Haejin argue about things neither of them cared enough to remember and eventually gone home. That was it. Yet every time Seonghyeon tried focusing on something else, his mind drifted right back there again.

The strangest part wasn’t that he had seen y/n’s room for the first time. It wasn’t even that he had spent several hours with her outside of school. It was the fact that every new thing he had learned about her somehow felt oddly expected. Not because he knew those things already, but because they fit.

The way everything looked slightly messy until you paid attention and realized there was a system behind it. Even the way she’d reacted whenever somebody pointed something out. Half embarrassed. Half annoyed. Like she wanted people to know her but only on her own terms.

A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it. He could already imagine how offended she’d be if she knew he was sitting here psychoanalyzing her bedroom.The thought should’ve ended there, instead another one immediately followed.

The look on her face when Haejin exposed the fact that she had obviously cleaned before they arrived. The way she tried denying it despite the evidence being painfully obvious. Then the laugh she’d let out later. Then the smile she’d been trying not to show when he teased her.

Seonghyeon dropped backward onto his mattress and stared at the ceiling. There it was again. That same problem. Every thought somehow led back to her. It was infuriating, it’s like his brain had no originality.

He had known y/n for what? A couple of months? Yet lately it felt like she kept appearing in places she wasn’t even supposed to be. In random thoughts, in conversations, in moments where he was supposed to be focusing on literally anything else. It was getting harder and harder to ignore. For the first time, Seonghyeon found himself staring directly at a possibility he had been avoiding for weeks. Not accepting it. Definitely not accepting it. Just looking at it from a safe distance. Then immediately backing away.

Nope, absolutely not.

For a long moment he simply layed there with one arm thrown across his face, feeling increasingly annoyed with himself. Because the more he thought about it, the worse his life defense became. Maybe there wasn’t some complicated explanation. Maybe the reason he had spent weeks looking for her in crowded hallways, noticing when she wasn’t around, and wondering why everything felt different lately wasn’t because something weird was happening.

Maybe the problem was much simpler than that, and that’s exactly why he didn’t wanna think about it, didn’t wanna consider it.

The problem started with a pencil.

Not because the pencil itself was important. It wasn’t. The pencil belonged to Keonho, who had somehow managed to drop it three separate times during a single class period. By the third time, the teacher looked ready to launch it out the nearest window.

A few people around the classroom were already trying and failing to hide their laughter, while Keonho seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he was seconds away from becoming someone’s least favorite student.

Normally, Seonghyeon would’ve found this entertaining. He probably would’ve made a comment. Maybe laughed. Maybe joined Martin in making fun of Keonho later. Instead, he was staring out the classroom window, his attention drifting somewhere beyond the teacher’s voice and the half finished notes sitting in front of him.

He wasn’t thinking about anything in particular. At least, that was what he told himself. The lesson had become background noise a long time ago, blending together with the scratching of pencils, turning pages and the occasional sigh from students who had already mentally checked out for the day.

Outside, students crossed the courtyard below in small groups. Some were heading back toward the academic building after lunch while others lingered near the benches despite the fact that the break had ended nearly ten minutes ago. From up here everyone looked smaller, moving through familiar routines without much urgency. It was the sort of thing he would’ve glanced at for a second before looking away.

Then movement caught his attention. Someone familiar stepped through the courtyard gate. Immediately, his eyes followed. Which would’ve been fine if he hadn’t recognized her from half a building away. That felt excessive.

The distance alone should’ve made it impossible. He couldn’t even properly see her face from here. Yet somehow he had known it was y/n before he consciously registered any actual details. Before he thought about it. Before he even realized he was paying attention.

She was walking beside somebody. Just some guy from their year that Seonghyeon vaguely recognized. For a moment, he found himself watching longer than necessary. Not because anything unusual was happening. The opposite, actually. They were just talking. The guy said something and y/n laughed before shaking her head slightly. Then the conversation continued as if nothing had happened.

Have they always been friends?

Worked on a project together?

Why was he even thinking about this?

Because he genuinely didn’t care. He shouldn’t, atleast. His eyes remained fixed on the courtyard for another moment before he finally looked away. The strange thing was that nothing about the situation actually bothered him. Y/n was allowed to talk to whoever she wanted. She was allowed to have other friends. The thought shouldn’t have occupied more than two seconds of his attention.

The thought lingered for the rest of the lesson. It followed him when the bell rang, when students immediately began shoving books into bags and when Keonho somehow dropped the same pencil again while standing up.

Seonghyeon barely heard Martin laughing about it beside him. His attention had drifted elsewhere. Not toward the courtyard anymore, but toward the uncomfortable realization itself. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have noticed.

A few months ago, y/n would’ve blended into the hundreds of students moving around campus every day. Not really because there was anything forgettable about her, but because she had never given people a reason to look twice. She wasn’t loud. She didn’t try to draw attention to herself. Half the time she seemed perfectly content existing just outside the center of things.

The weather was unusually good, good enough that nobody wanted to spend lunch indoors. The football field, basketball court and every bench around campus were crowded with students taking advantage of the rare sunshine. Conversations echoed across the courtyard.

Seonghyeon sat on a low concrete wall near the basketball court with Martin, Keonho, James and Juhoon. Or rather, everyone else was sitting. Martin had somehow convinced himself he was the next basketball prodigy and had spent the last ten minutes repeatedly shooting the same ball at the hoop missing every time.

“You know,” James said, watching another failed attempt, “at some point this becomes a public safety hazard.”

Martin caught the rebound.

“You people don’t understand greatness.”

“Stick to football, please.”

Martin looked offended.

Beside them, Keonho was lying dramatically across the wall as if he’d just survived a life threatening event.

“I’ve decided something.”

Nobody reacted.

“I’m serious.”

Still nothing.

“You guys never support me.”

Juhoon didn’t even look up from his phone. “That’s because your ideas are usually terrible.”

“See? Exactly what I’m talking about.”

James sighed.

“What realization have you had now?”

Keonho sat up immediately.

“I should get priority in the cafeteria queue.”

‘’Why?’’

‘’Because i’m an athlete.’’

‘’…and so are we.’’

‘’Yeaaaaah- whatever.’’ Keonho immediately leaned back again.

The bookstore had always felt different after sunset.

Because there were fewer people around, or because the street outside became quieter once the shops started closing for the evening. Whatever the reason, everything seemed softer at night. The warm yellow lights reflected against the shelves, the air smelled faintly of paper and old wood and somewhere near the front counter low music played quietly enough that it blended into the background. It was one of the reasons you came here so often. Nobody bothered you. You could spend an hour staring at the same shelf and nobody would question it.

Which was exactly what you had been doing for the last ten minutes. At least until a familiar voice drifted from somewhere deeper in the store. You didn’t react immediately. At first your brain simply registered the sound as familiar. Then a second passed. Then another. And suddenly your head snapped up.

For a brief moment you genuinely convinced yourself you were imagining things. The possibility would’ve been less embarrassing than the alternative. Slowly, you stepped around the end of a bookshelf and glanced down the next aisle. Immediately, your stomach betrayed you.

Because standing near the back of the store was Seonghyeon. Not somebody who looked like him. It was him. Seeing him here felt like spotting a teacher at the grocery store. Not wrong exactly, just unsettling enough to force your brain to restart.

He was standing beside a rolling cart filled with books, listening while the owner explained something. Every now and then he would nod before reaching over to place another book onto a shelf. Judging by how comfortably he moved around the store, this clearly wasn’t his first time here. Then the owner noticed you. His face brightened instantly. “Y/n.”

Oh great, Seonghyeon was turning around too. For a second, surprise crossed his face. Then he smiled. The same smile that had become increasingly dangerous for your emotional wellbeing over the past few months.

“Hey.’’

It still managed to make your heart forget how to function. The owner looked between the two of you before immediately deciding this was the most entertaining thing that had happened all week.

“You two know each other?”

The silence that followed felt unnecessarily heavy. Technically, the answer was simple. Still, none of you spoke immediately. Eventually Seonghyeon answered first. “We go to school together.”

The owner looked unconvinced. You understood why. Because there was something suspicious about the way Seonghyeon had smiled while saying it. As if the answer was technically true. Just not the entire truth.

The owner eventually disappeared toward the front of the store after receiving a late delivery, leaving the two of you alone with several half empty shelves and a cart stacked with books that apparently needed to be reorganized before closing. The task itself wasn’t particularly difficult, but the aisle he had assigned you to was.

It was narrow enough that every time one of you moved, the other had to adjust accordingly. At first neither of you paid much attention to it. The conversation flowed naturally. It should have felt normal. In theory, it was normal. Still, somewhere between reaching for the same stack of novels and arguing over whether a book belonged in the mystery section or literary fiction, you became increasingly aware of how little space actually existed between the two of you.

You noticed gradually rather than all at once. One moment you were focused on sorting books, the next you found yourself noticing things that shouldn’t have mattered. The sleeves of Seonghyeon’s hoodie were pushed up to his forearms. His hair kept falling into his eyes every few minutes. Every time it did, he would push it back before continuing whatever he was doing. It wasn’t remarkable.

It wasn’t even interesting. Yet for some reason, your attention kept returning to it. Across from you, Seonghyeon wasn’t doing much better. He had spent the last several weeks trying very hard not to think too deeply about certain things, only to discover that being alone with you outside school made that task significantly more difficult. At school there were distractions. Friends, classes, teachers, noise. Here there was only the soft hum of the bookstore, the occasional turning page from a customer somewhere in the distance, and you.

You reached for a book resting near the top shelf at the exact same moment Seonghyeon stepped forward to place another back in its place. Neither of you noticed the timing until it was already too late. The aisle was far too narrow for both movements to happen at once. One second you were focused entirely on the shelf in front of you, the next you found yourself stopping abruptly as Seonghyeon did the same. Far too close.

You hadn’t walked into him. Neither of you had. Yet somehow the distance between you had disappeared anyway. The narrow aisle had trapped both of you in the same small space and now neither of you could move without brushing past the other. Instinctively, you took a small step backward. Though, your shoulder bumped lightly against the bookshelf behind you, leaving nowhere else to go. The movement seemed to catch Seonghyeon’s attention. His eyes flickered toward you before immediately looking away again. Then back. That was worse.

Because now he was actually looking at you. Not casually. Not the way he normally did. The kind of look that lasted a second too long. The kind that made you suddenly aware of every inch separating you.

Neither of you moved. Somewhere outside, a car passed by. Somewhere inside, somebody turned a page. Neither sound felt real. Not compared to this. Not compared to the fact that Seonghyeon was standing close enough for you to notice details you never should have been able to notice. The faint scent of his cologne. The slight rise and fall of his breathing. The way his gaze kept dropping for the briefest moments before returning to your eyes again.

Seonghyeon wasn’t doing much better. A normal person would have stepped away by now. That was the logical thing to do. The obvious thing. Yet for some reason, neither of them seemed capable of being the first one to move. His hand was still resting against the shelf above your shoulder. Not touching you. Close enough that it felt like it.

Close enough that every rational thought in his head had abruptly stopped functioning. He couldn’t even remember what book he had been reaching for. Couldn’t remember what either of you had been talking about thirty seconds ago. All he knew was that you were looking up at him and that suddenly felt like a very torturous thing. The silence stretched. Your eyes dropped briefly, then lifted again.

Mistake.

Because the second your gaze met his again, something shifted. Neither of you moved, yet the distance felt smaller than before. Small enough that for one completely irrational second, the possibility crossed both of your minds at the same time. And judging by the way Seonghyeon’s breathing faltered, he knew it too.

The sound of a stack of books being dropped somewhere near the front counter shattered the moment instantly. Both of you stepped back so fast it almost hurt.

The rest of the evening felt strangely disconnected after that.

You had left the bookstore not long after, mumbling some excuse about needing to get home before it got too late. The owner had teased you for leaving earlier than usual, but you barely remembered what you had said in response. Your brain had been somewhere else entirely.

The walk home should’ve felt familiar. You had taken the same route hundreds of times before. The same streets. The same convenience store on the corner. The same traffic lights that always seemed determined to turn red at the worst possible moment. Yet everything felt slightly off, as if somebody had shifted the world half an inch to the left without telling you.

The problem was that your brain had apparently become incapable of behaving normally whenever he was involved. Every time you replayed the evening, you found yourself stopping at the same moment. Your thoughts kept drifting there on their own. The narrow aisle. The silence. The way neither of you had moved. The way you suddenly became aware of absurd things you never paid attention to before, like how close he was standing or how easy it would’ve been to reach out and touch him.

Meanwhile, Seonghyeon made it approximately twelve minutes before realizing he was completely screwed.

The bookstore owner had eventually returned to find him standing in the wrong aisle holding a book he had already shelved three separate times. Seonghyeon wasn’t usually the type to get distracted. If anything, one of the things people liked most about him was how calm he was under pressure. Football matches didn’t stress him out, presentations didn’t stress him out. Exams stressed him out a little, but not enough to make him lose sleep. One interaction with y/n had completely destroyed his ability to focus. The owner had asked him a question and Seonghyeon had stared at him for three seconds before realizing he had not heard a single word.

Every time he thought he had moved on, he would remember some tiny detail and immediately get distracted again. The way she looked up at him. The way she froze. The fact that neither of them had stepped away immediately. That part bothered him most. A normal person would’ve moved. A normal person would’ve laughed it off and continued shelving books. Instead, they had both just stood there staring at each other like complete idiots until somebody dropped books near the front counter and snapped them back to reality.

The days after the bookstore felt strangely normal on the surface and completely unbearable underneath. Y/n would be halfway through listening to Haejin before suddenly remembering the look on Seonghyeon’s face in that aisle and immediately losing track of the conversation. Seonghyeon wasn’t doing much better. Looking for y/n had somehow become a habit. Not a conscious one. His eyes just seemed to find her automatically now, and what bothered him most wasn’t seeing her. It was when he couldn’t.

By Thursday afternoon, students flooded out of their classrooms as the bell rang. Conversations echoed through the hallways while people pushed toward their next lesson. Seonghyeon was walking with his friends, half listening to whatever argument Keonho was currently having, when he spotted y/n a little ahead. She was walking through the crowd. He didn’t think about it. Not really. The words left his mouth before his brain had the opportunity to intervene.

‘’You coming this friday?’’ The second he said it, she turned around.

‘’What?’’

Seonghyeon blinked, for a moment neither spoke.

‘’Where?’’

And suddenly every functioning thought in Seonghyeon’s head disappeared. Apparently, he had skipped an entire conversation.

‘’You know..’’ He started. No, obviously she didn’t know.

‘’The game.’’ She stared. ‘’The football game?’’

‘’Yeah.’’ Only now did Seonghyeon realize how insane this looked. They had never actually discussed her coming. Not once. For some reason though, it had already become a possibility in his head.

‘’Oh.’’ The hallway suddenly felt far too crowded. ‘’You don’t have to.’’ The words came out faster than he intended and he immediately regretted them, because now it sounded like he didn’t care. Which wasn’t true. Not even remotely. ‘’You could- you-‘’ He paused, then looked at her. Actually looked at her. ‘’I’d like it if you did.’’

Y/n’s heart had stopped functioning. There was no reason that sentence should’ve affected her the way it did. It wasn’t a confession. It wasn’t even flirting. Yet standing there in the middle of a crowded hallway, it felt dangerously close to something else. And suddenly she realized he actually meant it.

He wanted her there. A smile threatened to appear, she fought it immediately and failed. ‘’Okay.’’ The answer came out softer than she had intended.

Something shifted in Seonghyeon’s expression. The tension in his shoulders eased and the smallest smile appeared.

By the time you arrived, most of the stadium was still empty. The match wasn’t starting for another hour, leaving the school caught in that strange period between preparation and chaos. Staff moved equipment across the field, a few students wandered through the entrance gates and somewhere deeper inside the athletic building, the football team was getting ready. You honestly hadn’t planned on coming this early. At least, that was what you kept telling yourself. The hallway leading toward the locker rooms was nearly deserted when you spotted him.

Seonghyeon was standing beside a row of lockers, already dressed in his uniform, one hand resting against the metal door while he searched through his bag for something. For a moment, you simply watched. It felt unfair how normal he looked. Like he hadn’t spent the last few weeks slowly becoming the cause of half your problems.

Maybe he felt you staring, because a second later he looked up and smiled. Not the polite smile. Not the one he gave teachers. The real one. The one that always seemed to appear before he could stop it.

“You know the game’s not starting for another hour, right?” The greeting caught you off guard.

“What, you’re kicking me out already?”

“No,” he said immediately, a little too quickly.

“I’m just trying to figure out why you’re here this early.”

You adjusted the strap of your bag. “Maybe I have nothing better to do.”

“That’s depressing.” You stared at him.

“You’re about to play an important match.”

“And you’re making fun of me.”

“I’m helping you stay humble.” A laugh escaped him, and for a moment neither of you said anything else. The conversation should’ve ended there. It didn’t. For some reason, Seonghyeon was still standing there. For some reason, you were too.

“You nervous?” you asked eventually.

“About the game?” You nodded.

“Unless you’re secretly taking a math exam afterwards.” His smile returned.

“A little.” The answer surprised you, it sounded genuine.

“You?” he asked. You frowned. “What?”

“Nervous.”

“Why would I be nervous?” Something shifted in his expression. “Good question.” The look he gave you made your stomach drop because suddenly it didn’t feel like you were talking about football anymore.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. That was the problem. It felt too easy. Too comfortable. The kind of silence that only happened when you genuinely liked being around someone. You looked away first, which immediately turned out to be a mistake because the second you did, you became aware of how close he was standing. Not close enough to be strange. Close enough to matter. When you looked back up, Seonghyeon was already looking at you.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The hallway felt quieter than before, and you couldn’t remember what you had been about to say. His gaze dropped for the briefest second before lifting again. The movement was tiny. It still made your heart nearly stop. For the first time since you had met him, Seonghyeon looked completely thrown off, like he was realizing something at the exact same time you were.

The realization hung between you. Neither of you acknowledged it. Neither of you looked away. The distance somehow felt smaller now. A lot smaller. You weren’t sure whether one of you had stepped forward or if you had simply stopped paying attention to everything except him. Seonghyeon let out a quiet breath. His eyes flickered down again. This time neither of you pretended not to notice. The moment stretched. One second. Two. Three. Long enough for your pulse to start racing. Long enough for him to look like he’d completely forgotten where he was.

Long enough that if either of you moved even slightly-

“SEONGHYEON!”

The shout echoed through the hallway, making both of you jump apart so fast it was embarrassing. A teammate appeared around the corner. “Coach is looking for you.” Seonghyeon genuinely looked annoyed. Actually annoyed. Which somehow made everything worse.

“Yeah.” he muttered. The teammate disappeared again, leaving the two of you standing there in the aftermath of something neither of you seemed willing to acknowledge.

Then Seonghyeon rubbed the back of his neck and let out a short laugh. “I should probably go before he benches me.”

“Probably.”

Then he looked at you properly. Not past you. Not around you. At you.

‘’Stay until the game finishes.’’

You blinked.

‘’What?’’

‘’You came all the way here, it’d be rude to leave earlier.’’ The excuse was terrible, both of you knew it. You were smiling. You gave him a reassuring hum. His own smile softened.

The whistle blew before you were ready for it.

Almost immediately, the atmosphere shifted. The scattered conversations around the stadium disappeared beneath the sound of cheering as both teams surged forward. Whatever relaxed energy had existed before kickoff vanished entirely. Suddenly everything felt louder. Faster. More important. You tried focusing, you really did.

For the first few minutes, your attention stayed where it was supposed to. The ball moved rapidly across the field, players weaving around each other while the crowd reacted to every near miss and interception. It was impossible not to get caught up in it. Even people who barely cared about football seemed invested tonight.

Then your thoughts wandered. Without warning, your mind dragged you back to the hallway. To the silence. To the way Seonghyeon had looked at you. A collective groan erupted from the crowd. You blinked. Apparently you missed something.

“That would’ve been such a good goal!’’ Haejin complained beside you.

“Are you even watching?’’

‘’I am.’’

‘’You’re not!’’

Before you could argue, the game resumed and your attention returned to the field. This time it stayed there for a while.The match itself was good. Really good. Both teams were evenly matched which only made the atmosphere more intense. Every attack felt intense. Every mistake earned a reaction from the crowd. By the time twenty minutes had passed, even you had stopped pretending not to care. A player from the opposing team broke through the defense. The stadium collectively held its breath. The shot missed by centimeters and the entire crowd exploded. Students jumped to their feet.

And before you realized it, you were standing too. For a moment, you just stared then slowly sat back down.

Huh. Maybe football wasn’t completely boring.

The final minutes of the match passed in a blur. The score was tied. Every touch of the ball seemed to pull a reaction from the crowd, every mistake earning groans and every opportunity drawing people to the edge of their seats. Even students who barely cared about football were standing now. The atmosphere had become infectious. Somewhere beside you, Haejin had completely abandoned any attempt at acting normal. She was half standing, half leaning over the railing, reacting to every play as if her life depended on it.

The clock was running down when Seonghyeon received the ball near midfield. The crowd immediately reacted. Maybe it was because everybody trusted him. Whatever the reason, the second he moved forward thousands of eyes followed. Including yours. The play happened so quickly you barely had time to process it. A pass. A turn. Somebody shouting. Then suddenly the ball hit the back of the net. The stadium exploded, the noise that had erupted was unbelievable.

Students jumped to their feet. Teammates rushed across the field. People screamed loud enough to make your ears ring. Somewhere beside you, Haejin grabbed your shoulders and started shaking you like she had personally scored the goal herself. You laughed in surprise.

The first thing Seonghyeon did after his teammates swarmed him was lift his head and look at you. The distance between you was enormous. The field, the track, hundreds of people, yet he found you.

The final whistle blew moments later. The match was over. The celebration wasn’t. Students immediately flooded toward the exits, some heading for the field while others crowded around friends and teammates. The entire stadium seemed alive with movement. You lingered for a while, letting people pass before eventually gathering your things.

You weren’t entirely sure where you were going. Only that suddenly being surrounded by hundreds of people felt overwhelming. The night air was cooler outside the stadium. The noise became quieter with every step until it faded into the background completely. For the first time all evening, you were alone with your thoughts.

You had almost reached the corner of the building when you heard footsteps behind you. You turned around, it was Seonghyeon. He was still wearing his uniform, still slightly out of breath. He looked at you, the corners of Seonghyeon’s mouth lifted first.

“You were leaving.”

You laughed softly.

“Why does everybody keep accusing me of that?”

“Because you keep doing it.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

Maybe you would’ve argued. Maybe you would’ve defended yourself. You found yourself smiling instead. The noise from the stadium felt distant now. The world seemed smaller somehow. Reduced to the stretch of pavement between the two of you and the fact that neither of you seemed interested in leaving.

A group of students passed somewhere behind Seonghyeon still loud from the match, still arguing over goals and missed opportunities and who deserved credit for the win. One of them called his name. Normally he would’ve responded automatically. You had seen it happen a hundred times before. Yet he didn’t even turn around. His attention never left you. Something about that made your stomach flip.

For months, Seonghyeon had existed in constant motion. Surrounded by teammates, friends, conversations. There was always somebody looking for him. Always somewhere else he needed to be. Now, after one of the biggest matches of the season, after scoring the winning goal, after spending two hours being pulled in every direction, he was standing here looking at you like the rest of the world had become background noise.

The smile on Seonghyeon’s face faded slightly. Your pulse sped up immediately, you knew. Not what he was thinking, not exactly. However, you knew this moment mattered.

The distance between you felt ridiculous, like it was the only thing both of you could focus on. Every second stretched longer than it should have. Your heart was beating so hard, you became painfully aware of it.

Seonghyeon took a step forward. You hated how quickly your breath caught. You hated how your eyes immediately dropped before finding his again. You hated that he noticed. You were standing close enough to notice details you never should’ve noticed. The faint flush lingering across his cheeks from the match. The way his hair had fallen messily across his forehead. The fact that he looked just as overwhelmed as you felt.

Your hand found the sleeve of his jersey before you even realized what you were doing. The second your fingers curled around the fabric, Seonghyeon’s eyes dropped to your hand. Then back to you. Something in his expression completely softened. Then finally, after a dreadful amount of missed chances and interrupted moments and terrible timing,

Seonghyeon kissed you.

The football field, the crowd, the noise from the stadium, all of it disappeared into the background until there was nothing left except the overwhelming realization that this was actually happening. The kiss wasn’t rushed, it felt like both of you had spent so long circling around this moment that neither of you quite knew what to do once you had reached it. Your grip tightened slightly against his jersey without meaning to, and something about that made his hand find yours.

You had spent weeks turning Seonghyeon into a problem inside your head. Something complicated. Something impossible to ignore. Yet standing here now, there was nothing complicated about it.

Then, your lips crashed against his. Off-center at first, your nose bumping his jaw accidentally before you corrected. You were pulling him closer. Seonghyeon had reacted immediately, his hands reached to cup your face delicately. His lips were warm and softer than you had expected for a boy who felt so intimidating and cold at first. The contrast sent something sharp down your spine.

He shifted one of his hands to your waist, the touch light at first, like he was questioning if you’d pull away. You didn’t, you kissed him harder. He tilted his head, adjusting the angle, and suddenly the kiss fit differently, better, deeper. His chest was pressed against yours. Your heart was pounding, he could feel it. Or maybe it was his own heart.

His thumb was brushing along your cheekbone, tilting your face up to meet his more fully. He kissed you properly now, he matched your energy. He kissed you until his lips were numb, he kissed you with genuine love. He kissed you like he was trying to get inside your skin. He was a mess for you. He took over the pacing, guiding slowly through it.

At some point, neither of you seemed to care how long you had been standing there. When you finally pulled apart, it wasn’t because either of you wanted to. It was because breathing had become somewhat important. The distance between you barely existed. Seonghyeon’s hand remained at your waist, his forehead nearly brushing yours as both of you tried to remember how to function.

You simply looked at each other. Weirdly, after months of wondering and guessing and pretending not to notice, that felt like enough. For the first time since all of this started, neither of you had to question it anymore.

Seonghyeon liked you.

You liked Seonghyeon.

And after everything it had taken to get here, It felt so good.

The next morning felt strangely normal. The school building was still crowded. Students still dragged themselves through the hallways half awake. Somewhere down the corridor, Martin was already being unnecessarily loud before first period had even started.

He was greeting everyone with the biggest smile plastered across his face, he was way too happy at 8:30 in the morning. Not as happy as you though. Your cheeks hurt, genuienly hurt reaching the main building. Everytime you remembered yesterday, another smile appeared before you could stop it. You were very warm, you just hoped it wasn’t obvious externally.

‘’You look happy.’’

You looked up, Seonghyeon was standing beside your locker. Immediately your smile got worse, a strange feeling in your stomach had come from nowhere when you looked at him.

‘’Hi.’’

He smiled.

His hand found yours so naturally it almost sent shivers through your body. His fingers slipping through yours as though they’d belonged there since forever. The action sent a completely unreasonable amount of warmth through your chest.

the two of you started walking toward your classroom. The hallway buzzed with conversation around you, people moving in every direction. A few students greeted Seonghyeon as they passed. He greeted them back automatically. Everything felt familiar. Yet every few steps your attention drifted toward your joined hands again. It was such a small thing.

“You know,” Seonghyeon said after a moment, glancing sideways, “you look less tired today.” You immediately narrowed your eyes. “You said I looked tired.”

“I said you were tired.”

“No.’’

“I meant it differently.”

“Sure.”

You tried very hard not to smile. Failed immediately. Beside you, Seonghyeon looked equally hopeless. The two of you reached your classroom far too quickly. Students were already filtering inside. The bell would ring any minute now. Neither of you seemed particularly eager to acknowledge that. Eventually, Seonghyeon stopped outside the door.

“So.”

‘’So.’’

A smile appeared, and a matching one answered it. Then Seonghyeon sqeezed your hand once before letting you go.

‘’I’ll see you later.’’

☘︎

normally, that would have you laughing harder. right now, though, you were too busy trying not to freeze to death. only a half a huff made it past your lips before you shuddered again, pulling your hoodie closer around you.

your hoodie had stopped being effective almost an hour ago. cold air slipped easily through the fabric every time the wind picked up, and the paper-cup coffee in your hands had long since gone lukewarm.

you rubbed your palms against the paper anyway, staring out toward the water while staff reset cameras for the next segment.

god, this was miserable.

“you’re doing that thing again.”

you glanced sideways immediately.

seonghyeon stood beside you now, hands tucked into the pockets of his own jacket while the wind pushed dark strands of hair across his forehead. his cheeks were slightly pink from the cold, nose scrunched faintly like he regretted agreeing to this schedule in the first place.

you blinked once. “what thing?”

“staring into the distance like a divorced father.”

a laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“wow... okay.”

“it’s accurate.”

“i’m literally just cold.”

“you’ve been sighing for like five minutes.”

“because i’m suffering.”

“dramatic.”

you frowned at him weakly before taking another sip of now-disappointing coffee.

up close, seonghyeon smelled faintly like clean laundry and seawater. probably from the wind. unfortunately, noticing things like that had become a serious problem lately.

actually, everything about seonghyeon had become a problem lately.

the way he always drifted toward you unconsciously during schedules. the way he looked for your reaction first whenever something happened. the fact that every tiny bit of attention from him now felt capable of permanently altering your internal chemistry.

it was exhausting, honestly.

another violent gust of wind swept across the beach. you physically recoiled.

seonghyeon glanced down at you at once. “…you’re seriously cold.”

“no, really?” you deadpanned. “what gave it away.”

not enough for anyone else to notice immediately. and instead of answering, he just stepped closer. just enough that the warmth from his body brushed faintly against your arm through both your hoodies.

your brain stalled instantly.

seonghyeon was warm. unfairly warm.

the cold paper cup between your hands. the wind against your face. the heat radiating off the arm barely touching yours.

“better?” he asked casually.

you just stared back at him.

and he stared right back with complete calm, like he hadn’t just shortened your lifespan by several years.

“…a little.”

“hm.”

his gaze lingered on your face for a second before drifting back toward the ocean.

behind you, staff members yelled about batteries while someone from makeup chased juhoon around with blotting papers. the entire beach felt chaotic and loud and freezing.

and yet somehow, standing next to seonghyeon felt strangely separate from all of it.

another gust of wind hit hard enough to make you shiver visibly this time.

seonghyeon frowned slightly.

then suddenly reached forward.

you blinked. “what are you—”

“hold still.”

before you could process the situation properly, he pulled open the zipper of his oversized hoodie, tugged you forward by the sleeve, and pulled you directly against his chest.

your entire nervous system shut down.

because then—

oh.

oh, this was bad.

really bad.

he zipped the hoodie around both of you in one smooth motion, trapping you together inside the oversized fabric while cold wind continued roaring around the beach outside.

warmth hit you instantly.

but so did seonghyeon.

your shoulder pressed against his chest awkwardly, your arms half trapped between both your bodies while the hoodie stretched around you. you could feel warmth through every layer of fabric, could hear the faint rush of his breathing over the distant sound of waves.

your heartbeat went violently uneven, loud enough that you were convinced he could feel it through both layers of fabric.

“seonghyeon,” you whispered.

“you were cold.”

“that’s not the issue here.”

“you complain a lot for someone receiving help.”

you looked up at him in disbelief.

he looked completely normal. entirely too calm.

meanwhile you were currently zipped into his clothing and actively losing the ability to form coherent thoughts.

“how are you acting normal right now?” you demanded quietly.

one of his eyebrows lifted slightly. “should i not be?”

“…no?”

that finally got the corner of his mouth to twitch. barely.

“you’re overthinking it,” he murmured.

easy for him to say. he wasn’t the one trying not to implode because seonghyeon smelled good and kept glancing down at your face every couple seconds like this was somehow casual.

another gust of wind howled across the shoreline.

instinctively, seonghyeon’s hand settled lightly against your back beneath the hoodie, steadying you closer against him.

both of you froze immediately afterward.

the movement had been unconscious.

and somehow, that made it worse.

because now you were facing him fully, front nearly pressed against his, with barely any space left between you at all.

slowly, your eyes lifted toward his face again.

for the first time all night, seonghyeon actually looked affected too.

only slightly.

his jaw tightened faintly. his ears had gone pink beneath the harsh lighting. his gaze flicked away from yours for half a second too long before returning again.

the realization hit so suddenly it almost made you laugh.

“you’re acting weird too,” you said quietly.

his eyes narrowed a little. “am not.”

“you literally zipped me into your hoodie.”

“you were cold.”

“and now?”

finally, finally, seonghyeon hesitated.

only for a second. but it was there.

his hand flexed once against your back before he answered carefully,

“…still cold, probably.”

except neither of you were talking about the weather anymore.

outside the hoodie, the beach still felt loud and chaotic—staff shouting over the wind, waves crashing violently against the shore, keonho somewhere in the distance threatening to file a formal complaint against autumn itself.

but inside the cramped warmth surrounding both of you, everything suddenly felt quieter somehow.

smaller.

your shoulder rested fully against seonghyeon’s chest now, the fabric of your hoodies tangled awkwardly together while his hand remained steady against your back.

you became painfully aware of every little thing.

the warmth trapped beneath the hoodie. the clean smell of detergent clinging faintly to him. the slow rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek whenever the wind shoved you closer together.

and the dangerous part was that seonghyeon could’ve stepped away by now.

the joke had already lasted too long to still be a joke.

but he didn’t.

if anything, every burst of cold air only seemed to make him hold you a little closer afterward, like keeping you tucked against him had stopped being a conscious decision somewhere along the way.

“…you’re staring again,” he murmured eventually.

you blinked, realizing far too late that your attention had drifted directly to his face.

“sorry.”

“i didn’t say stop.”

your stomach flipped hard enough to physically hurt.

slowly, your eyes lifted toward his again.

big mistake.

because seonghyeon was already looking at you in that quiet, intent way of his that always made it feel like he noticed too much.

the wind howled violently somewhere behind him, pushing another burst of cold air across the shoreline.

instinctively, his hand spread slightly wider against your back, pulling you closer beneath the hoodie before the chill could reach you.

the movement felt so natural it almost hurt.

like his body had already decided where you belonged tonight.

your breath caught softly.

“you know,” you said carefully, “most people would just offer someone their jacket.”

“this is my jacket.”

“you know what i mean.”

the corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “this works better.”

it really, really did.

especially because he kept doing it without seeming to realize. every brush of cold air earned another small pull closer, another absentminded adjustment to keep you tucked against him.

you were trying very hard not to think too deeply about that.

failing horribly, but trying.

somewhere behind you, staff called for everyone to get ready for the next setup. and neither of you moved.

your pulse stuttered.

because by now, this wasn’t reflex anymore. seonghyeon was choosing to keep you here.

“seonghyeon,” you said quietly.

“hm?”

“people are gonna notice eventually.”

“probably.”

…and yet he still didn’t let go.

if anything, his thumb brushed once against your back through the fabric of your hoodie before going still again, like he’d done it unconsciously.

“you’re really calm about this,” you whispered.

that finally made him exhale a quiet laugh through his nose.

“i’m actually losing my mind right now…”

your brain went completely blank for a second.

because that was somehow worse. worse than pretending. worse than teasing. the fact that he was feeling this too hit embarrassingly hard.

suddenly, you became hyperaware of how close your faces actually were now. close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breathing against your skin despite the freezing weather surrounding you.

if either of you moved even slightly, your noses would brush.

and judging by the way seonghyeon suddenly went still too, he’d realized it at the exact same time.

his gaze flicked downward briefly.

your heart nearly stopped.

because this close, you could see the exact moment his breathing changed.

slower.

heavier.

like he was thinking about it.

neither of you moved.

the space between you suddenly felt impossibly small, charged with something warm and terrifying and dangerously close to becoming real.

if either of you leaned forward even a little—

“seonghyeon—”

his name barely made it out before he leaned in.

you genuinely thought he might kiss you.

instead, seonghyeon rested his forehead lightly against yours.

small. careful.

like he wanted more and was trying very hard not to take it.

the soft breath that escaped you seemed to knock something loose in him.

his hand tightened faintly against your back. and he shut his eyes for half a second.

“…you’re warm now,” he murmured quietly.

neither of you pulled away immediately.

if anything, seonghyeon only seemed to sink closer for a second, like the contact itself had relieved something in him too.

somewhere behind you, staff called everyone back to set again.

neither of you answered right away.

©young2keu, 2026

🥥 is typing...

no one would think you and vernon chwe dating, let alone on good terms.

the two of you kept up the "bandmates who can't stand each other but get along because they have to" facade up perfectly to the public—he ignored you as much as he could, and you made hidden jabs at his career that critics could obviously see. even your band members had to check up on you two to make sure all was tolerable between you.

the whole world thought the two of you couldn't stand each other.

and it was true...partially.

you couldn't stand how good vernon looked as he focused in on his guitar, producing stunning riffs that sent the crowd into a frenzy. how good he looked with his ring covered hand tightened around the mic stand and how easy the lyrics flowed from his lips. how good he was at making everyone go crazy over the little things he does.

he couldn't stand how your fingers lingered on his hands when you two bumped into each other before a show. how you sing like you don't have a chance to ever sing again. how you dance on stage like no ones watching, drawing all the attention to you in the best way possible.

and so, before either of you two knew it, you started dating.

and nights like this one reminded you just how much you were into vernon chwe.

he had you pressed up against the door of his dressing room, lips on yours the moment the two of you started a fake fight to distance yourself from the rest of the band. his hands were hot against you, fingertips rough from the guitar strings as he grumbles against you.

"damn you." he mumbles, and you feign innocence, looking up at him confused. "why?"

"why do you do that?" he asks, and when you don't reply, he continues. "do things that make me want you in front of everyone knowing good and damn well i can't have you there."

you laugh, sighing when it gets swallowed up by vernon's lips against yours once more. they taste like that strawberry chapstick you see him buy at gas station stops, and you can't get enough of it.

"i just like seeing that fire in your eyes," you answer simply, wrapping an arm around vernon's neck as you pull him towards you. his dark hair is soft against your hand as your run your hand through his hair, and he's swinging his arms around your waist in return.

"vern, why are you so angry?" you ask, and vernon looks away from you for the first time during this whole encounter. jealousy rolls off of his body in waves, broad shoulders tense and arms stiff around your waist.

"you were flirting with that reporter, giving him those eyes i know are only reserved for me. laughing at every stupid joke he made. that damn hug that you know lasted too long." vernon's voice has a growl to it now, and he kisses you again, this time bringing his hand to hold your head and pull you closer to him.

"i wanted to get out of there so bad. i wanted to get him away from you." vernon's voice is harsh against your ear, but you don't mind, too busy being proud of vernon's reaction towards your ministrations tonight.

"i'm sorry, vern. i just wanted to see how long you would let me ignore you and do what i want." the apology sounds light hearted, but you truly mean it, and vernon sees it your eyes, watching them with such a hunger it makes your face heat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Just fries.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Morning,” he mutters, voice rough.

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

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

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

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

“Just take it.”

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

“You made this?” he asks.

“It’s literally fries, Keonho.”

“Yeah, but still.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pause.

“Give me your jacket… please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More than you should.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First again. Of course.

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

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

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

“What? Nothing interesting about him.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s up?”

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

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

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

“What’s on your mind Keon?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. He’s not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few minutes later, the team finally gets dismissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod shyly.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not.”

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

“That’s because you keep staring first.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Moka, what the fuck?”

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

“That’s not a no,” Yunah points out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at him. “In this heat?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes widen immediately. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at him. “Now?”

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

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

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

“I’m hungry.”

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

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

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

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

“Nationals?” you ask quietly.

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

“You will.”

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

“I am.”

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

“Someone has to.”

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

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

Your heart still reacts embarrassingly fast.

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

“No I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

You look away immediately. “Shut up.”

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

You blink at him. “What?”

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

“You look pretty.”

“Keonho.”

“Stand there.”

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

“Just one photo.”

“No.”

“Please?”

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

“No.”

“Keonho.”

“It’s cute.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yn.”

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

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

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

“You still drink these?” you ask.

“They’re good.”

“They’re made for children.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s literally noon.”

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

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

You open your eyes slightly. “For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not.”

“You really are.”

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

You blink slowly. “Why Saturday?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keonho.

He’s here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keonho chuckles. “Try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keonho steps forward immediately. “Don’t.”

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

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

Your stomach drops.

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

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

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

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

James reaches them in seconds, jumping straight into the situation, as he starts yelling at both of the guys. Louis is completely distracted by James’ rant. Keonho takes the chance, he rushes closer to you. But, just because Louis is focused on James, doesn't mean his grip on you has weakened. 

The second Louis spots Keonho trying to grab onto you, he doesn't hesitate. He pushes you harshly. Your breath catches as the grip around you shifts—then releases—and suddenly the world tilts.

The railing is gone, you hit the waters harshly—shouting as you fall. 

Silence follows like the world itself doesn’t understand what just happened. James grabs Louis and everything collapses at once. James hits Louis Uncontrollably. Keonho is already moving before the sound fully registers. hitting him continuously as Keonho doesn't hesitate to jump into the harsh currents himself.

The next moments blur. Keonho doesn’t think—he reacts. He’s in the water before the thought fully lands, eyes scanning the surface, searching for you in the harsh currents. He takes a deep breath and dives in. Every time he comes up, he’s breathing harshly.

“Yn? Where are you?” He yells helplessly. He’s panicking, he’s fighting himself internally.

Why was I late?If I was there sooner—

Such thoughts flood his brain. To him, it’s his fault. That’s all he thinks about. But he has no time to calm himself now. Not when you’re nowhere to be seen. 

His world pauses again, he takes a deep breath and dives in again. As he tries to navigate through the cold and dark waters. A hand touches him. He grabs onto it tight as he swims back to the surface. And then, he sees your face. You’re unconscious. 

He drags you out of the water with urgency, refusing to accept what his mind is trying to tell him. Every step feels heavy, until finally he gets you onto the grass nearby. 

You’re not moving. Not an inch. Your chest doesn't rise and fall—you’re not breathing.

Keonho drops beside you instantly. “No, no, no, stay with me.” His hands are shaking so badly he can barely hold still. His voice breaks completely as he pleads with you, over and over, like his words alone could change reality. “Yn, please. Please look at me.”

No answers. He leans down to you, placing his mouth on yours as he tries to pump air into your lungs. Nothing changes, there's no expression on your face, not a single muscle moves. He pulls you closer like he’s afraid to let you go. His face is close to yours, his forehead touching yours.  “I’m sorry… I’m sorry—please…” He starts crying. James’ voice cuts through Keonho’s sobs—“They’re here.”

James had called people beforehand, just in case something escalated. Which it did. When the paramedics try to pull you away from Keonho, his grip just tightens on you. “No–no.” James pulls Keonho back as he whispers to him, “She’s okay, she’ll be okay. Let them help her.” Keonho can’t help but sob uncontrollably. He knows you’re not okay. There's no pulse. Your lips were blue.

Keonho now stands in front of a stone. A stone that holds your name.

Yn, 2009–2026.

He gets on his knees next to it, placing the same flowers down that he got you on your first date. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He lets out a broken sob. “I’m so sorry. Only if I arrived earlier, only if I—” He can’t speak anymore. Tears run down his face, and he can taste the salt on his lips. His breath is shaky, eyes now red.

“I know I come by here every other week and just cry,” he lets out a hiccup. “I know, if you were here you’d tell me to shut up and say—‘you’re so annoying.’” He touches your grave lightly. “I can’t help but think it’s all my fault. I’m sorry, Yn. I’m sorry. I barely got to spend time with you as your boyfriend—I barely got to treat you right.”

He finally wipes his face, taking a deep breath. He tries to speak again but is interrupted by a camera flash. He looks toward the direction of it quickly before getting up and hiding his face. Five paparazzi start walking behind him, throwing questions like—

How do you feel about winning the Olympic awards for 2032? How does it feel knowing you achieved so much at just 23? How does it feel having two Olympic medals just a few years into your career?

Keonho doesn’t answer any of them. He just turns his phone on to check the time—his wallpaper a picture of both of you cuddled up in his room. Tears flood his face again as he rushes to his car.

The driver pulls off while all Keonho can do is sob into his palms, knowing you’re not there to comfort him anymore, knowing you’re not there to support him anymore, knowing you don’t know the two-time Olympic gold medalist Keonho has become.