skye ⭑

ONE YEAR AGO. FIRST YEAR OF UNI — about you ✫ the 1975 [wc. 17,082]

the acceptance emails arrived on a friday night. your families were gathered around the dinner table at martin’s house, half-finished plates pushed aside while your mothers argued over whether homemade kimchi tasted better after three days or five. 

your friends spammed the group chat every thirty seconds with increasingly unhelpful encouragements.

juhoon: if either of you fail, im actually disowning you both

james: yn would survive

james: martin would become one of those tortured

underground soundcloud musicians living off ramen

martin: fuck you

yn: he already lives off ramen so he’s halfway there actually

wonhee: OPEN THE FUCKING EMAILS OFMG????

your laptop was open in front of you like it personally wanted to ruin your life. martin sat beside you on the floor, his knee pressed against yours while his fingers tapped anxiously against a soda can. he looked calmer than you, but only because he’d mastered the art of looking relaxed while internally panicking.

“why does the portal look so ominous?” you whispered.

“because universities enjoy psychological warfare,” he muttered back.

your father leaned over the couch dramatically. “just open it already.”

“easy for you to say,” you groaned. “you’re not the one whose uncertain future is sitting behind a loading screen.”

martin snorted softly beside you. “dramatic ass.”

“you literally threw up before your audition evaluation,” you reminded him. 

“that was different.”

“you threw up on juhoon’s shoes.”

“okay, and? they were ugly shoes.”

“they were his new vans!”

“exactly.”

“open the emails!” your mothers yelled simultaneously from the dining table. you flinched so hard you accidentally clicked the email. for one horrible second, neither of you breathed.

‘congratulations.’

your eyes widened so quickly it hurt. martin made a strangled noise beside you. “holy shit.”

“holy shit,” you echoed breathlessly.

fashion major and music production major. same university. same campus in busan.

“we got in?” you shouted.

“we got in!” martin repeated louder.

suddenly everybody was yelling. your mom started crying instantly, like you’d won a nobel prize. martin’s mother cried harder. your fathers high-fived so aggressively that one of the glasses on the table between them nearly tipped over. wonhee spam-called you five times in a row while juhoon sent fifteen voice messages screaming incoherently.

martin grabbed your face with both hands so suddenly you barely processed it before he pulled you into him in the tightest hug imaginable.“we actually did it,” he laughed breathlessly into your neck.

you smiled instantly, because he sounded really happy. you hugged him back just as tightly. “we’re moving to busan,” you whispered disbelievingly.

“together.”

“together.”

the word settled dangerously deep inside your chest, and you hated how much you loved that word when it came from him.

soon, moving day arrived far too quickly for your liking.

seoul station looked unbearably and annoyingly crowded at six in the morning, filled with rushing people dragging luggage behind them while train announcements echoed overhead every few minutes. you stood beside martin near the platform entrance looking half-dead with a drink from a nearby cafe in one hand, and your suitcase threatening to collapse beside you.

“why do you own these many clothes?” martin complained while dragging two of your suitcases at once.

“fashion major,” you replied immediately. “it’s academic dedication.”

“you packed six jackets.”

“what if i need options?”

“you’re insane.”

“yet you carried them anyway,” you grinned sleepily.

he rolled his eyes, but adjusted his grip on your luggage without complaining further. your parents hovered nearby acting like you were being shipped off to war instead of university.

“call me every night,” your mom sniffled dramatically.

“don’t eat convenience store food every day,” martin’s father warned.

“don’t get married in busan without telling us first,” your father added.

you and martin looked at each other instantly before bursting into laughter.

“we’re skipping taxes, remember? we’ll be fine!” you called back.

martin nearly choked laughing while your mothers groaned in unison, muttering something about how ‘these kids will never change’.

eventually, after approximately five hundred warnings and emotional speeches later, you boarded the train together. the moment your seats came into view, you immediately claimed the window seat.

“i get motion sickness,” martin argued.

“skill issue. i want to look at the beautiful world outside.”

“yn.”

“martin,” you smiled threateningly. 

he stared at you flatly for a second before sighing dramatically and sitting beside you anyway. “if i throw up on you, that’s on you. literally.”

“you’re the least threatening person alive, bro.”

“i microwaved crayons once.”

“and nearly died.”

“exactly.”

the train began moving slowly after that, seoul gradually blurring into passing buildings outside the windows. you stared outside quietly for a moment… busan. university. a completely different life. and you had martin right by your side. 

in the seat beside yours, he leaned back with his hood pulled over his messy hair slightly, eyes half-lidded from the exhaustion of carrying your suitcases and having to wake up early that morning.

“you nervous?” he asked softly.

you thought about it honestly before nodding. “…a little.”

he looked at you immediately. and then, naturally, like it was instinct, his hand found yours between your seats. just for a second; just enough to give you a reassuring squeeze before pulling away again, but your stupid heart nearly exploded anyway.

“we’ll be okay,” he said quietly. you believed him immediately because he had such a way with words, that you always ended up believing him.

busan felt louder and saltier than seoul somehow. the air smelled faintly like the ocean mixed with traffic and hot food from nearby street vendors. your university campus was enormous, spread across hills that overlooked the harbor. students dragged suitcases through pathways while orientation banners hung between buildings.

“who designed this campus?” you complained while dragging your suitcase uphill. “the devil?”

martin laughed breathlessly beside you. “you’ve complained ten times in the last five minutes.”

“because my shoulders are collapsing into themselves. even james didn’t run me into the ground so hard during practice in high school,” you complained. 

eventually, you both reached the dormitory buildings.

the music majors’ dorms sat directly opposite the arts and fashion majors’ dorms, connected by one long hallway in the newer shared wing.

you stared at the room numbers in disbelief. “no way,” you said slowly.

martin looked between the doors twice before laughing. “you’re kidding.”

room 520.

room 521.

right beside each other.

“that feels spiritually concerning,” you muttered.

“our parents are gonna think this is fate.”

“our mothers are gonna start planning grandchildren immediately.”

“horrifying sentence. never say that again.”

you grinned tiredly while fishing your dorm keycard that you were given on entry, from your pocket. the doors opened almost simultaneously.

your dorm rooms were painfully small, but cozy in a way that felt exciting instead of sad—single beds shoved against walls, tiny desks near wide windows overlooking parts of the city below, unpacked boxes stacked everywhere. you immediately flopped face-first onto your mattress.

“…i live here now,” you mumbled into the sheets.

martin leaned against your doorway with his arms crossed loosely. “you sound like your puppy died.”

“i think my spine dissolved during that train ride.”

he smiled softly for a second before glancing toward your unpacked boxes. “need help?”

“with what? emotional recovery?”

“unpacking, idiot.”

you lifted your head slightly to look at him. “…maybe.”

three hours later, your room somehow looked worse—clothes covered half the floor. one of your desk drawers refused to close properly. martin sat cross-legged near your bed untangling fairy lights while you aggressively fought with hangers.

“why the fuck is all this taking so long?” you complained.

“because you packed your closet like a wild animal.”

“fashion is a difficult art form.”

“this isn’t fashion anymore,” he held up one of your tangled necklaces. “this is archaeological excavation.”

before you could defend yourself, your stomach growled violently. martin looked up immediately. “…beautiful timing. very cinematic.”

“shut up.”

you walked out of your room together, heading downstairs. before either of you could decide where to eat, an older street vendor outside the dorm area spotted you both immediately. his eyes lit up.

“ahhh! young couple!” he grinned, waving you over excitedly. “special discount for pretty students today!” you blinked. martin blinked harder.

“…we’re not—” he started immediately.

“fifty percent off,” the vendor added casually. you froze. slowly, you turned toward martin. he already looked horrified because he knew that expression on your face.

“yn,” he warned quietly.

you grabbed his sleeve instantly. “play along.”

“what?”

“we’re about to become broke university students drowning in debt,” you hissed. “this is survival.”

“you can’t just fake-date for dumplings.”

“watch me. i’m saving us from poverty.”

before he could argue further, you kicked his shin lightly. he looked deeply betrayed. “ow?!”

“babe,” you said through gritted teeth with the fakest smile imaginable. “stop embarrassing me in front of the nice man.”

martin stared at you like you’d become possessed.

the vendor laughed loudly. “ahhh, young love!”

“i hate you,” martin muttered under his breath, so only you could hear.

“no, you don’t,” you replied automatically, smiling. his expression shifted for one dangerous second because that sentence had followed you both your entire lives. you hated how your heart still reacted to it.

the vendor handed over your dwaeji gukbap afterward with a delighted smile and a ridiculous amount of extra side dishes.

“take care of your girlfriend!” he told martin seriously. martin nearly inhaled wrong. you kicked him again before he could deny it.

“he will,” you answered brightly.

eventually, you both sat outside the dorm building near the campus, eating discounted busan food, while the evening sunlight reflected gold against the distant harbor.

“you’re actually evil,” martin informed you between bites.

“and yet,” you pointed your chopsticks at him accusingly, “you’re eating the fake-couple discount food.”

“…it is really good.”

“exactly.”

he laughed softly after that, shaking his head while the sea breeze moved through his hair. you looked at him quietly for a second too long. busan looked good on him already… dangerously good. the sunlight softened the edges of his face while he sat beside you in an oversized hoodie and tired eyes and that same familiar expression you’d spent your whole life memorising without meaning to. and suddenly, horribly, your chest hurt again because nothing had changed—new city. new university. new beginning. same boy. same unbearable love.

he glanced toward you mid-bite. “why are you staring at me now?” your heart nearly stopped.

“you’ve got sauce on your face,” you lied instantly, scoffing.

his eyes widened slightly. “where?”

you leaned forward automatically before thinking properly, thumb brushing lightly against the corner of his mouth. everything went still as your breath caught, and he froze too. the harbor sounds blurred softly around you. crashing waves, zooming cars, distant voices—none of it mattered in that moment, because he was looking at you like he’d forgotten how to breathe for one terrifying second. then you pulled away too quickly.

“…there,” you muttered.

he blinked quickly, throat bobbing once. “oh.”

you looked down at your food immediately because eye contact felt life-threatening. beside you, he stayed unusually quiet afterward, and neither of you noticed the street vendor smiling knowingly from across the road.

somehow, martin’s room took only nineteen minutes to unpack. you stood in the middle of room 520 with your hands on your hips while he finished shoving the last few hoodies into his closet.

“…i hate you,” you said flatly.

martin looked up from where he sat cross-legged beside an almost-empty suitcase. “because i’m efficient?”

“because you own, like, four shirts.”

“they’re good shirts.”

“they’re all just solid colours.”

“exactly,” he nodded seriously. “versatile.”

you stared at his closet in disbelief—three oversized zip-up hoodies, three black shirts, two white ones, four coloured shirts with literally no design on them, cargos folded with suspicious neatness, and one leather jacket hanging carefully near the corner. that was literally it.

“martin edwards park,” you said slowly, “this is psychotic behavior.”

“i’m a music major. we dress like divorced indie dads.”

“you’re nearly twenty.”

“artistically divorced.”

you snorted despite yourself before turning toward the rest of his room. unfortunately, his room looked annoyingly cool already. his desk sat near the window with speakers stacked carefully beside his laptop. vinyl records leaned against the wall near the shelf. a silver pair of headphones rested around the neck of a desk lamp like decoration. even his bed somehow looked aesthetic.

you hated men.

“your room looks like a pinterest board,” you accused.

“thank you.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

“still taking it as one.”

you wandered toward the small rack beside his desk where a few accessories already hung neatly—chains, rings, a pair of wired earphones, beanies, his stupid black skull necklace.

“you packed accessories before basic survival necessities?” you turned toward him in disbelief.

he shrugged once. “priorities.”

“you brought one towel.”

“and?”

“you live like a cryptid.”

“you own ten lip glosses.”

“those are emotionally important.”

“my chains are emotionally important too.”

you narrowed your eyes at him before opening another drawer—more rings, more chains, suspicious amounts of silver jewelry for someone who owned only six-ish shirts. “oh my god,” you laughed. “you’re actually one of those boys.”

“what boys?” his nose scrunched in genuine curiosity.

“the ‘i wear one outfit every day but accessorise differently, so people think i’m fashionable’ boys.”

he gasped dramatically. “slander. take that back, yn!”

“martin, your entire wardrobe is literally if dark academia had a child with an underground soundcloud producer, and then they got divorced.”

“and your wardrobe looks like a futuristic bratz doll exploded.”

“…that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

he laughed quietly while standing up from the floor. today, he wore oversized faded black jeans with silver chains hanging from the belt loops, a washed-out light grey thermal shirt layered beneath a loose zip hoodie, and rings decorating nearly every finger. his hair fell messily over his eyes because he refused to cut it again. he looked unfairly pretty and annoyingly cool. you hated how well he fit beside you aesthetically now. because you matched; you always matched.

“stop staring at me weirdly,” he said suddenly.

your eyes widened. “i wasn’t.”

“you were.”

“prove it.”

“your eyes were literally pointed at my face. again.”

“i was zoning out because your room smells like ugliness and matcha.”

“it’s not that bad,” he said dryly.

“it so is,” you grinned.

he smiled helplessly at you before grabbing the last empty suitcase. “okay, come on. let’s go unpack your apocalypse bunker now.”

three hours later, he deeply regretted offering help. your room looked catastrophic—clothes covered nearly every visible surface, even after so many hours of trying to organise them. open suitcases spilled fabric across the floor, and jewelry tangled across your desk like tiny metal casualties of war.

martin stood frozen in the middle of the destruction holding up a tiny rhinestone baby tee between two fingers. “…what is this supposed to be?”

you looked up from your closet and shrugged. “a shirt.”

“for a small mouse?”

“it’s supposed to fit like that.”

he stared at it again. “i think i could use this as an eyepatch.”

“you have no vision.”

“i have too much vision actually. this room is hurting my eyes.”

you ignored him, scoffing, while hanging up another outfit carefully. unlike his mostly monochrome wardrobe, yours looked like a cyber-slash-neo-y2k fever dream—baby tees with glitter text, off-shoulder tops, oversized fur-lined jackets, mini skirts layered over ripped tights and flared jeans, low-rise cargos with dangling straps, track jackets in silver and gorgeous blue, platform boots, doc martens, and mary janes lined beneath your bed, arm warmers, mesh tops, decorated cross-body bags with charms hanging off the zippers. and belts. so many belts.

martin sat cross-legged beside one suitcase after a while, silently watching you pull out outfit after outfit like a magician performing increasingly concerning tricks. “why do your pants have nine unnecessary buckles?” he asked eventually.

“because they’re cute.”

“they look like they could survive a natural disaster.”

“that’s the goal.”

he held up another item. “is this even a shirt?”

“yes.”

“where’s the rest of it?”

“martin, you dress like a widowed underground bassist. don’t piss me off.”

he burst out laughing immediately. “widowed?”

“you look like your wife died mysteriously in 1990 and now you only communicate through unreleased mixtapes.”

he physically bent forward laughing this time. “that is genuinely insanely creative.”

“am i wrong?”

“...only a little.”

you grinned triumphantly before tossing another jacket onto the bed. he watched quietly while you continued unpacking. and honestly? your clothes looked cool to him—very you—messy, expressive, and dramatic in the same way your sketchbooks looked.

he picked up a black-and-pink jersey top with airbrushed graphics across the front. “wait, this one’s good-good.”

you looked over instantly. “right?” you grinned. 

“you’d look good in that.” his words slipped out naturally, but your heart still reacted violently anyway.

you turned away quickly before he noticed your expression. “…i know,” you answered weakly.

he didn’t notice the effect he had on you… or maybe he did. that was the terrifying thing sometimes—you genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.

eventually, he wandered toward the clothing rack beside your desk while you fought with your favourite tangled necklaces nearby.

“why do you own so many clothes?” he asked again.

“fashion major,” you repeated automatically.

“this feels less like fashion and more like archival research.”

you gasped. “oh my god, shut your damn mouth.”

he laughed softly before pulling one jacket carefully from the rack.

a black cropped leather jacket with silver studs and spikes that you’d worked on yourself, a few nights back.

“…this one’s cool,” he said.

“don’t touch her with your greasy musician hands.”

“greasy musician—wow.”

you grinned before finally looking over at him properly, and then you paused, because he had absentmindedly thrown the jacket over his shoulder while looking through your rack. it suited him disgustingly well.

your stupid stylish best friend. “wait,” you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “try it on.”

he blinked once. “what?”

“put it on once.”

“yn.”

“martin.”

he sighed dramatically before sliding the jacket on anyway. your heart betrayed you instantly, because damn. the cropped fit sat perfectly against his frame over the loose shirt he wore, silver jewelry glinting under the dorm lights while his hair fell into his eyes messily. he looked like he belonged on the cover of some underground fashion magazine titled ‘emotionally unavailable boys with guitars’. you hated it so much. you loved him so much.

“…wow,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

he looked down at the jacket sleeves. “it’s kinda nice.”

“kinda?” you repeated incredulously, eyes widening in faux annoyance.

he looked back up at you then, and froze slightly, because you were staring again. not teasingly this time; just staring. your eyes moved over him slowly before snapping away too late. his throat bobbed once.

“…why are you looking at me like that?” he asked quietly. your heart nearly exploded inside your ribcage.

“because,” you answered quickly, turning back toward your closet, “you look stupid as fuck.”

“liar,” he murmured softly behind you. your hands stopped moving immediately, just for one second, but martin noticed anyway.

silence stretched strangely. you could practically feel his eyes on your back now, warm and steady and entirely too aware. your heart beat annoyingly harder while you aggressively untangled a necklace that honestly did not need that much concentration.

“you say ‘liar’ like you’re in some netflix mafia drama,” you muttered finally, aiming for casual, but landing somewhere near emotionally unstable.

he snorted softly behind you. “what does that even mean?”

“you know exactly what i mean.”

“i really don’t.”

you turned around finally, narrowing your eyes at him while pointing accusingly toward his face. “that voice.”

“…my normal voice?”

“yeah. your suspiciously deep, weirdly calm voice.”

he blinked innocently. “sorry for having vocal cords, i guess?”

“don’t piss me off, edwards.”

“you’re acting like i transformed into batman,” he choked out.

“close enough honestly.”

he laughed quietly, shoulders shaking slightly beneath your jacket—your jacket that still looked disgustingly good on him, unfortunately. you hated how aware you were of every little thing… the rings on his fingers, the chain resting perfectly against his collarbone, the sleeves pushed up just enough to show his forearms.

god. men should be illegal.

“you’re staring again,” he pointed out casually.

“i’m literally not.”

“you literally are.”

“prove it in a court of law.”

“for the hundredth time, yn, your eyes are pointed directly at me.”

“maybe i’m looking at the wall behind you.”

“there is no wall behind me,” he looked back at the empty space.

“okay, well. maybe… spiritually there is,” you tried helplessly.

martin burst into laughter immediately. “spiritually?” he repeated. “what the hell does that even mean?”

“don’t worry about it.”

“no, explain yourself.”

“i don’t owe you explanations,” you rolled your eyes.

“you absolutely do after saying crazy shit like that,” he grinned.

you scoffed dramatically before turning back toward your closet again. “whatever. give me my jacket back.”

instead of answering, you heard him shuffle closer behind you—too close. your stupid nervous system reacted instantly.

“hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “i don’t know.”

you looked over your shoulder suspiciously. “martin.”

“it’s kinda comfortable.”

“martin.”

“and i think,” he continued calmly, adjusting the collar slightly, “i pull it off better.”

you gasped so violently it was almost theatrical. “you bitch.”

he looked extremely delighted with himself now. “language.”

“don’t ‘language’ me in my own dorm room!”

“make me.”

“oh my god,” you laughed loudly. “you move to busan for one day and actually think you’re tough.”

“i’ve always been tough,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

you stared at him flatly. “you cried during toy story 3.”

“everybody cried during toy story 3.”

“you cried during kung fu panda too.”

“…emotional depth.”

“you cried because the turtle died.”

“master oogway mattered to me!”

you physically bent over laughing.

he pointed accusingly at you immediately. “don’t laugh! you cried because your tamagotchi died in fifth grade!”

“that was different!.”

“you held a funeral.”

“because she had hopes! and dreams!”

“it was a pixel.”

“she was a mother.”

he laughed so hard he nearly stumbled backward into your desk. “oh my god,” he wheezed, clutching his stomach slightly. “you’re actually really weird.”

“you literally helped me bury it.”

“because you were crying too hard to dig properly!”

you both laughed together again after that—the kind that hurt your stomach after a while and made breathing difficult. he leaned against the side of your closet trying unsuccessfully to regain composure while you sat half-collapsed on the floor beside your bed wiping tears from under your eyes.

“i hate you,” he laughed breathlessly.

“you’re the one who attended the funeral.”

“you made a playlist.”

“because even mourning requires ambiance.”

he made the most offended noise imaginable before grabbing one of your throw pillows and throwing it directly at your face.

you gasped. “violence?!”

“self-defense.”

“i didn’t even attack!” you immediately launched the pillow back at him. unfortunately, he caught it easily.

“oh, you’re done for now,” he said calmly, standing up straight.

your eyes widened instantly. “don’t.”

“you started this.”

“martin.”

he took a step toward you.

you scrambled backward across the bed immediately. “martin edwards park.”

“government name, huh? serious situation.”

“don’t you dare.”

his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “why are you scared?”

“i’m not scared.”

“then why are you retreating like a medieval peasant avoiding the plague?”

“because you fight dirty!”

“that sounds like fear.”

“that sounds like shut the fuck up.”

he grinned dangerously. oh no. you recognised that grin.

“martin,” you warned.

“hm?”

“don’t.”

“don’t what?”

“you know exactly what.”

he lunged, and you shrieked instantly.

“oh my god—” he grabbed your ankle before you could escape properly, dragging you back toward him while laughing so hard his voice cracked slightly. “martin!” you wheezed. “martin! stop—!”

“you called me a widowed bassist!”

“i wasn’t wrong!”

“rude.”

his hands found your sides immediately, making you fold in on yourself so fast you nearly fell off the bed. because unfortunately, tragically, your biggest weakness in life was tickling.

“no—!” you gasped between helpless laughter. “martin, i swear to god—”

“swear to god what?” he laughed, leaning over you slightly while continuing his attack. “you gonna spiritually fight me, pretty girl?” you hated that you physically could not breathe properly right now.

“i hate you!” you cried dramatically, trying unsuccessfully to shove him away.

“liar.”

“martin—stop—i can’t breathe—”

“sounds fake.”

“you sound fake!”

he laughed harder at that, hands finally easing slightly while you tried desperately to recover your dignity. unfortunately, in your attempt to push him away, your legs tangled together weirdly. he lost balance immediately. “wait—” you grabbed his sleeve instinctively: big mistake. 

the next second, both of you toppled sideways onto the mattress messily. your breath left your lungs in a startled laugh. he caught himself at the last second with one hand pressed into the bed beside your head. everything went still way too quickly afterward.

your laughter faded slowly first, and then his, because suddenly he was hovering over you close—way too close.

his hair fell into his eyes messily from laughing too hard moments earlier. your jacket still hung loosely from his shoulders. one of his rings brushed lightly against your wrist where his hand rested near yours against the sheets. your chest rose too fast beneath him, and his breathing wasn’t exactly steady either.

hallway noise echoed faintly somewhere beyond your door, but right now, it was just you. and him. and the terrifying awareness of how close his face was to yours right now.

he looked at you for one dangerous second too long. your eyes dropped instinctively toward his mouth, then immediately back up. unfortunately, he noticed.

he swallowed. “…hi,” he said quietly.

your heart nearly killed you. “…hi.”

neither of you moved, which honestly felt worse, because every second stretched tighter and tighter between you both like something fragile about to snap. his gaze flickered slowly across your face—to your lips, and then back to your eyes again—like he was thinking too much again. or maybe… like he was trying not to think at all. you could feel his breath against your skin, and your pulse felt genuinely humiliating.

“…you have really long eyelashes,” you blurted out. he blinked once in confusion, and laughed softly under his breath, cracking the tension just slightly.

“that’s your observation?” he murmured.

“i panic when i’m nervous.”

“i noticed.”

“shut up, mars.”

his smile softened at the familiar nickname in a dangerously affectionate way, and somehow that expression hurt worse than anything else, because nobody should look at their best friend like that. right?

the room had gone completely quiet after that. not awkward-quiet, but worse—the kind where every tiny thing suddenly became noticeable all at once: the sound of your breathing, the way his hand had instinctively braced itself beside your head against the mattress, the warmth of his body hovering over yours, the fact that your laughter had faded into something softer without either of you realising when it happened.

his hair had fallen into his eyes from laughing too hard earlier—soft dark strands hanging over his forehead—while his cheeks still stayed faintly flushed from literally wrestling you over something stupid you couldn’t even remember anymore.

“you’re insane,” he breathed out quietly, though he sounded more affected than annoyed.

“you started it,” you whispered back automatically.

“no, actually, you started it when you threatened to put some leopard print scarf on me.”

“because it would elevate your aura.”

“my aura does not need elevating.”

“yes it does. your outfit looked like a divorced rockstar.”

“that is literally the coolest thing anybody has ever said to me.”

you snorted softly despite yourself, but neither of you moved, which was the problem. because now? you were suddenly very aware that martin edwards park was bracing himself over you on your dorm bed while your faces were way too close, and his eyes kept flickering down toward your lips before darting away again like he hated himself for it.

his expression softened slowly. “…your eyeliner smudged,” he murmured quietly.

“oh.”

neither of you moved to fix it. god damn.

the late afternoon sunlight spilled lazily through your window, warm against the side of his face, while city noise drifted faintly from somewhere outside campus. one of your unpacked chrome belts dug painfully into your side, but honestly? you could’ve been getting stabbed and still not moved.

he swallowed again.

“so,” you said weakly, because your brain stopped functioning properly around him sometimes, “you’re, like… really heavy.”

his jaw dropped slightly in disbelief. “wow.”

“i’m just saying.”

“i’m literally holding myself up.”

“barely.”

“yn.”

“what?”

“you’re evil.”

“you’ve been saying that since we were six.”

“because it’s always been true since we were six.”

you grinned faintly, and he stared at your smile. and there it was again—that uncertain shift in the air; because suddenly you couldn’t stop thinking about how pretty he looked this close. or how easy it would be to—

the dorm room door suddenly swung open. “oh my god?!” you both jerked violently apart like criminals caught committing tax fraud.

a girl stood frozen in the doorway with two massive tote bags hanging off her shoulders and a suitcase beside her. she had long dark hair and really pretty eyes you could get lost in. she was wearing an oversized zip-up hoodie and pink headphones rested around her neck. she blinked at the situation in front of her, and then her expression transformed into pure delight.

“…no because, this is crazy,” she said immediately. your soul left your body.

“wait—”

“hi!” she grinned brightly, looking between both of you like she’d just walked into free entertainment. “i’m yunjin. your dormmate apparently. and wow. first day too? you guys move fast.”

“we weren’t—”

“she attacked me,” martin said at the exact same time.

you turned toward him in betrayal. “excuse me?”

“you literally tackled me onto the bed.”

“you were tickling me!”

“because you called my jeans emotionally unemployed.”

“that’s because they are emotionally unemployed!”

yunjin stared at both of you for a long second before slowly setting her bags down. “so… are you guys dating already or are you doing that thing where you act married for seven years before realising you’re in love with each other?”

you and martin froze. “we’re not in love with each other,” you both said at the same time. 

yunjin’s smile widened dangerously. “oh, you’re that kind of duo.”

“please don’t psychoanalyze us,” martin groaned, dragging a hand down his face while sitting up properly from the bed.

“i’m literally a fashion major,” yunjin said. “psychoanalysing people is part of the curriculum.”

“it is not,” you muttered weakly. she ignored you completely.

“you,” she pointed directly at martin, “look at her like she invented music.”

martin choked on air. “i do not.”

“you literally folded her tiny sparkly tank tops like they were historical artifacts.”

“they wrinkle easily!” he defended weakly. 

“and you,” she pointed dramatically at you, “look at him like you’d forgive him for arson.”

you opened your mouth, then closed it again. “…depends on the circumstances,” you admitted.

martin made the most offended noise imaginable while yunjin doubled over laughing. “oh my god, you guys are insane.”

the knock that sounded against the still-open doorframe wasn't particularly loud, but it was enough to cut through the chaos that had completely consumed the room. all three of you looked up at once.

a tall guy stood awkwardly in the doorway, balancing a cardboard box against his hip as though he’d already begun regretting every decision that had led him here. written across the side of the box in thick black marker were the words ‘vinyl collection: do not touch’, which somehow felt like a warning and a personality trait at the same time. he had on a dark hoodie, and had messy hair, paired with the sort of perpetually sleepy expression that made it look like he’d been dragged out of bed against his will and still hadn't fully recovered from the traumatic experience.

for a second, he simply stared. his gaze swept slowly across the room, taking in the half-unpacked suitcases that seemed to have exploded across every available surface, martin sitting on the edge of your bed looking deeply offended by circumstances entirely of his own making, you still gripping a fuzzy leopard-print scarf like you were seconds away from committing a crime, and yunjin, who appeared to be experiencing the strongest laughing fit of her life.

the guy blinked. then blinked again. “...uh.” his voice carried the careful caution of someone approaching an unfamiliar animal. “before i make assumptions here, is one of you martin?”

martin immediately looked up. “yeah?”

the relief that crossed the stranger’s face was almost embarrassing to witness. “oh, thank god.” he shifted the box higher in his arms before exhaling dramatically. “no, seriously. thank god.”

martin frowned. “what?”

“i'm heeseung—your roommate.” he pointed vaguely toward the neighboring dorm room. “i’ve been standing outside the room for, like, fifteen minutes trying to figure out whether you got lost during move-in, got kidnapped, or somehow died or switched majors before classes even started.”

a horrified gasp escaped yunjin. “no, because, he almost did die.”

martin’s expression immediately twisted. “i absolutely did not almost die.”

“he did,” yunjin insisted. “emotionally.”

“i don’t think that’s a thing.”

“it became a thing the second she started unpacking.”

you stared at her. “we met ten minutes ago.”

“and yet,” she replied without hesitation, “i’ve somehow managed to be correct about every situation i’ve encountered.” the confidence in her voice was genuinely concerning.

heeseung’s eyes moved slowly between all three of you, long enough for him to begin understanding dynamics he absolutely should not have understood this quickly. finally, he nodded to himself. “...right.” nobody liked the way he said that.

“what?” martin asked suspiciously. heeseung looked at him. then at you. then at yunjin. then back at martin.

“this floor is going to be a complete nightmare.”

martin let out a long suffering sigh. “yeah.”

“absolutely,” yunjin agreed immediately.

“cool,” you strung along.

for a moment, heeseung looked prepared to leave. then something seemed to click. his eyes narrowed slightly. “...wait.”

martin visibly regretted whatever was about to happen. “what?”

“you’re that music guy.”

“what music guy?”

“the guitar account.”

martin blinked. for a second, genuine confusion crossed his face before realisation followed. “oh.”

“oh?” you echoed curiously. he immediately looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“yeah. i guess.” he rubbed the back of his neck slowly.

“no way.” heeseung laughed so suddenly it startled all of you. yunjin looked at him like she was ready to book him into a hospital. “dude, my sister listens to your covers all the time!”

your head snapped toward martin so fast it almost hurt. he looked horrified, while you looked delighted. 

“you never told me you already had campus clout,” you nudged his shoulder.

“i don’t have ‘campus clout’.”

“you have followers.”

“i posted, like, five videos.”

“exactly.” heeseung nodded with complete seriousness. “five too many.”

martin groaned loudly. “can everybody stop humiliating me for one day?”

“no,” the answer left you and yunjin at exactly the same time. the boys stared at you both. 

the betrayal on martin’s face was immediate. “you switched sides that fast?”

yunjin shrugged.

“she’s funny.”

“i’m funny,” you echoed.

“you got folded into a bed frame ten minutes ago,” he recalled.

“that was tactical weakness.”

“that’s not even a thing, dude,” heeseung chimed in, shaking his head. 

before you could stop yourself, laughter escaped you again. the sound came easier this time, and the worst part was that martin's attention found you immediately—like it always did; like it had been doing for years. his eyes moved toward you automatically, drawn there without thought, and for one very very stupid second the rest of the room seemed to blur around the edges. you hated how familiar that felt… hated how your chest still reacted to it… hated how every year that passed somehow made it worse instead of better.

“you are never living this day down,” martin informed you, pointing accusingly in your direction.

“correct,” yunjin said before you could answer. the traitor.

heeseung shifted the box in his arms, nearly losing his grip on one corner before catching it at the last second, and then jerked his head toward the hallway as though suddenly remembering that there were actual responsibilities waiting for them beyond whatever strange social experiment had apparently unfolded inside your dorm room. “anyway,” he said, glancing between the three of you, “orientation starts in, like, thirty minutes, and our RA gave an informal speech earlier that sounded suspiciously close to a threat. apparently anyone who shows up late is getting spiritually destroyed.”

martin let out a long groan that sounded like he was already exhausted by university despite having been a student for less than a day. “you say that like it’s a joke.”

“he wasn’t joking.”

“that’s worse.” with another dramatic sigh, he pushed himself up from the edge of your bed. immediately and very annoyingly, your stomach decided to betray you. it wasn’t even for a good reason, or at least that was what you told yourself. he was just standing up. people stood up all the time. there was absolutely no reason your brain should suddenly become hyperaware of the fact that his hair had gotten somehow messier during all the chaos, a few strands falling slightly into his eyes in a way that looked effortless despite the amount of effort it took other people to achieve that exact look. there was no reason you should notice that his hoodie sleeves had been pushed up sometime during the wrestling match he’d disguised as unpacking, exposing familiar forearms and familiar hands that you’d seen your entire life and somehow still couldn’t stop looking at. and there was definitely no reason you should notice the faint trace of pink still lingering across his cheeks from laughing earlier. that part felt particularly unfair because he looked happy; because you’d always liked the way he looked when he was happy; because some small, embarrassing part of you had spent years collecting moments like that without permission.

as though sensing your attention, he glanced down, and because apparently your body had given up pretending to cooperate with your dignity, you looked up at exactly the same moment. the eye contact happened naturally, like it always did, like neither of you had ever learned how not to find each other in a room. for a second, the noise around you seemed to blur into the background, and there it was again: that feeling. that horrible, impossible, unnamed thing that seemed to appear every time your eyes met and lingered a fraction too long—not enough to mean anything, but too much to mean nothing. the worst kind of almost.

yunjin noticed immediately, of course. her eyes widened ever so slightly before darting between the two of you, and the expression that crossed her face looked disturbingly similar to someone finally fitting the last piece into a puzzle.

“oh.” the word was barely louder than a whisper, more to herself than anyone else. 

martin’s reaction was immediate. without even looking away from you, he grabbed one of the plushies scattered across your bed and launched it directly at her face. it hit her shoulder. “don’t start.”

yunjin looked deeply offended. “you say that like i said something.”

“you were about to,” he finally looked at her.

“i wasn’t.”

“you absolutely were.”

the grin spreading across her face suggested otherwise. thankfully, heeseung chose that moment to rescue everyone from whatever conversation was about to happen. “c’mon,” he called, backing toward the hallway. “if we miss orientation because of whatever this is, i’m blaming all three of you weirdos.”

martin pointed at yunjin one last time. “this conversation isn’t over.”

“it absolutely is.”

“it isn’t.”

“it is.”

“it isn’t.” then he disappeared into the hallway with heeseung. and somehow, the room felt quieter, which was actually ridiculous. he’d been gone for maybe ten seconds; maybe less. you’d spent entire summers without seeing him sometimes—entire school breaks, entire vacations. so there was absolutely no logical reason for his absence to feel noticeable, and yet, the empty space he left behind seemed larger than it should have been, like the room had shifted around him without your permission.

“bro,” heeseung’s voice echoed faintly from somewhere in the hallway. “you literally had her pinned to the bed.” your entire body froze.

a beat later, martin’s horrified voice followed. “i was being assaulted.”

“you looked pretty happy about it.”

“shut up.”

the conversation dissolved into distant laughter before fading entirely. meanwhile, your face felt approximately nine hundred degrees. slowly, very slowly, yunjin turned toward you.

you pointed at her immediately. “don’t.”

“i haven’t even said anything.”

“your face is saying enough.”

her grin widened. “your face is saying significantly more.”

a groan escaped you before you could stop it. you threw yourself backward onto the mattress and buried your face into the nearest pillow. “i hate this university already.”

“no, you don’t.”

your voice came out muffled. “…maybe not entirely.”

“exactly.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke. you watched her from beneath the edge of the pillow as she crouched beside one of the suitcases she’d dragged in earlier and began unpacking with the confidence of somebody moving into a place she’d lived her entire life instead of somewhere she’d arrived less than an hour ago. and somehow, despite the fact that you’d only known her for ten minutes, the room already felt different—less temporary; less awkward; less like two strangers sharing a space. maybe it was because she behaved as though friendship was a foregone conclusion rather than something that needed to be carefully negotiated. or maybe it was because there was something familiar about her energy—the way she filled silence without overwhelming it, the way her teasing never felt cruel, the way she made conversation feel easy instead of exhausting. she seemed like the kind of person who could sit beside you for hours without making you feel responsible for entertaining them; the kind of person who made spaces feel lived in.

“are you planning on helping me unpack?” you looked up. she was holding an aggressively fluffy cardigan. “or,” she continued, entirely too casually, “are you planning on mourning your fake-boyfriend situationship for the rest of the evening?”

a horrified gasp escaped into the pillow from your mouth. “that wording was evil.”

“so that’s a yes?”

you considered pretending to be unconscious. unfortunately, she already knew you were alive. “...fine. yes.”

“excellent!”

with all the grace and dignity of a fallen soldier, you rolled off the bed and onto your feet before making your way toward her side of the room, already regretting every life choice that had somehow led to a complete stranger diagnosing your emotional problems within the first hour of meeting you.

the second you started helping yunjin unpack, everything about her suddenly began making sense, not in some life-altering revelation way, just in the quiet way people sometimes clicked into place once you saw the things they surrounded themselves with. her side of the room looked exactly how she felt: like somebody had taken the aesthetic of a clean-girl influencer, thrown it into a blender with an overenthusiastic theatre kid, and somehow ended up with something that just worked. lace tops spilled from one suitcase in soft pastel piles. oversized hoodies were tangled together like they'd been stuffed in at three in the morning with absolutely no concern for organisation. tiny silver rings and necklaces appeared every time she opened another pouch. chunky boots sat beside delicate camisoles. at least three different shades of pink existed within arm’s reach at all times.

and then there was the makeup bag, or rather, the makeup explosion. you watched in silence as what looked like approximately thirty lip products immediately attempted to escape the second she unzipped it.

your eyebrows climbed higher. “you own an unreasonable amount of pink.”

she didn’t even look up. she was too busy wrestling a cardigan off a hanger. “and you own enough belts to survive an apocalypse.”

you glanced toward your own side of the room. fair observation. “fashion is survival.”

“that sounds concerning.”

“that’s because you’re uncultured.”

“that’s because i think normal people don’t prepare for the collapse of civilisation through accessories.”

“normal people are boring.”

a laugh escaped before you both could stop it. the sound lingered comfortably between you for a moment, and the strange thing was that it shouldn’t have felt comfortable. somehow the awkwardness that usually accompanied meeting new people had already disappeared. maybe it was because yunjin seemed physically incapable of behaving like a stranger, or maybe it was because she’d walked into your life with the confidence of somebody who had already decided friendship was inevitable. either way, the room felt warmer now, less like two people assigned to share a space, and more like the beginning of something.

you reached for another hanger and slid a graphic tee onto it while yunjin continued unpacking at an almost alarming speed. for a few minutes, conversation drifted harmlessly between you.

“so,” she started.

the word immediately made you suspicious. not because of the word itself, because of the way she said it—slow. deliberate. dangerously casual.

you didn’t even bother looking at her. “no.”

“you haven’t even heard the question.”

“i don’t need to.”

“oh?”

you hung a sweater inside the wardrobe. “i already know where this is going.”

“and?”

“and no.”

the smile in her voice was audible, which meant she was absolutely going to ignore you. “how long have you and martin been in love with each other?”

the hanger slipped, not dramatically enough to hit the floor, just enough that you had to catch it again before it fell. across the room, yunjin looked deeply satisfied with herself. you looked horrified.

“we are not—”

“oh my god.” she dropped her head back immediately. “stop lying to me.”

“i’m not lying!”

“you absolutely are.”

“yunjin.”

“yn. i literally watched that entire k-drama scene unfold in front of me.”

“there was no scene.”

“there absolutely was.”

you groaned loudly. the problem wasn’t that she was asking, but that you knew exactly what she was talking about—every glance, every accidental touch, every stupid moment that had happened since move-in. and somehow hearing it out loud made everything feel worse. “it’s not like that.”

“then explain the eye contact.”

you immediately regretted engaging. “what eye contact?”

she stared at you. the look on her face suggested she was seconds away from filing a formal complaint against your intelligence. “the eye contact.”

“that explains nothing.”

“the eye contact where both of you looked approximately one second away from kissing.”

your soul wanted to leave your body immediately. “we were not—”

“you were.”

“we weren't.”

“you literally looked at each other like divorced lovers reuniting during wartime.”

you paused, and then blinked. “…that’s weirdly specific.”

“thank you.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

“answer the question.”

the sigh that escaped you felt old. you abandoned the hangers entirely before lowering yourself onto the floor beside her suitcase. the carpet scratched lightly against your legs. sunlight spilled through the dorm window, stretching golden across the room and catching on the silver jewelry scattered around yunjin’s side. for some reason, the domesticity of it all made this conversation worse, like you’d known her longer than a single afternoon.

“…we’ve known each other forever.”

the teasing expression on her face softened slightly. “how forever?”

you stared down at the sweater in your lap, at the loose thread hanging from one sleeve, at literally anything except her. “like…” the answer sounded ridiculous when spoken aloud. “...toddler forever.”

everything stopped. the tee she’d been folding froze halfway through the process. “oh.”

“yeah.”

“oh, this is serious serious.”

you immediately groaned. “it is not.”

“it absolutely is.”

“no.”

“yes.”

you grabbed one of her sweaters and began folding it with far more aggression than necessary. “it’s not serious.” the weakness of the argument was obvious, even to you.

she looked unconvinced. actually, she looked concerned, which somehow felt weirder. “it’s giving… soulmatism.”

you looked up at her with narrowed eyes. “that’s not a word.”

“it is now.”

“that’s not how language works.”

“language is fake.”

you hated that you laughed. you hated it even more because she looked unbearably pleased afterward. and somehow, after that, talking became dangerously easier. maybe it was because yunjin actually listened when people spoke, or maybe it was because she never treated emotions like inconveniences… or maybe it was because she had a way of making confessions feel casual, like you weren’t handing somebody pieces of yourself, but like you were simply continuing a conversation.

whatever the reason was, one story became another, and then another, and another, until you found yourself talking without really meaning to—about paper rings exchanged under warm lights, about strawberry milk cartons saved during lunch, about middle school dances, about train rides, about birthdays spent together, about aquariums, about all the tiny moments that shouldn’t have mattered so much but somehow did. the stories piled up around you—years and years of them—every single one somehow leading back to martin edwards park. 

by the time you finished talking, yunjin was sitting motionless on the floor surrounded by half-unpacked skincare products and jewelry organisers. she looked like somebody attempting to process a particularly devastating tv show finale. 

“…no because if this ends badly, i’m suing somebody.”

you immediately buried your face in your hands. “see?” your voice came out muffled. “this is exactly why i can’t tell him.”

“but he literally loves you.”

the words hit harder than they should have, making you shake your head immediately. “not like that.”

“yn.” the way she said your name made you nervous, like somebody preparing evidence. “that man learned your favorite anime opening on guitar in middle school.”

the memory surfaced immediately—martin sitting on the edge of his bed, frowning at sheet music, playing the same section over and over until he got it right. just because you’d mentioned liking it once. “…yeah.”

“he waits through your track practices.”

another memory—summer heat, bleachers, martin sitting through three straight hours of training with a bottle of water and absolutely no reason to be there. “…yeah.”

“he remembered the exact jellyfish exhibit you cried at when you were a kid.”

your chest hurt just a little because suddenly you weren’t in your dorm room anymore. you were ten years old again, standing in front of dark blue glass while jellyfish drifted through water like floating ghosts. you’d forgotten when exactly that had happened, what you’d eaten afterward, and almost everything else. but he remembered—of course he remembered. he remembered things the way other people collected photographs: carefully, quietly, keeping them safe until years later when he’d hand them back to you. “…yeah.”

“and today,” yunjin continued, sounding increasingly exasperated, “he looked ready to square up with god knows who because your eyeliner smudged.”

you let your head fall against the side of her suitcase. “that’s just his personality.”

a long silence stretched out, the kind that made you look up eventually. she was staring at you, just… staring. the look on her face suggested she’d reached a conclusion, and unfortunately for you, it wasn’t a flattering one. “you are actually the dumbest smart person i’ve ever met.”

you smiled weakly. “thank you.”

“that wasn’t a compliment.”

before you could defend yourself, a sharp knock echoed through the room making both of you look toward the door.

“orientation in five!” heeseung’s voice carried through the hallway. then, after a brief pause, he added, “also martin walked into a wall literally thirty seconds ago.”

a horrified voice immediately followed. “heeseung, shut up.”

yunjin’s jaw dropped in amusement as she got ready to bully him about it for the next few years. “oh my god.”

you bit down on the inside of your cheek. unfortunately, that did absolutely nothing to stop the smile spreading across your face.

campus orientation was genuinely hellish: too many people, too much noise, and way too many overly cheerful upperclassmen wearing matching university hoodies while yelling directions through microphones like literal military commanders. the four of you ended up squeezed together near the back of the massive auditorium after barely finding seats beside each other. the air was thick with humidity and freshman anxiety.

you sat directly between yunjin and martin, while heeseung slouched on martin’s other side looking exhausted already. “i think i blacked out during the third speech,” he admitted, his head tilted back against the plastic seat.

“there were seven speeches,” you informed him helpfully.

“exactly.”

martin leaned closer toward you slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours. “did you eat anything today besides pocky?”

you looked offended. “i had iced coffee too.”

“that’s not food.”

“it has calories.”

“that’s not how nutrition works.”

“you sound thirty,” you rolled your eyes.

“you sound malnourished.”

yunjin watched both of you from your left like she was witnessing live theatre, her eyes darting back and forth between your faces. heeseung noticed her expression immediately.

“…oh, you clocked them too?” heeseung muttered across the seats.

“immediately,” she whispered back.

you narrowed your eyes, leaning forward slightly to glare past martin. “i can hear both of you.”

“good,” they answered together, completely unfazed.

martin looked between all three of you suspiciously, his brow furrowing. “…why do i feel like i’m being cyberbullied in real life?”

“because you are,” heeseung nodded solemnly.

a loud cheer erupted somewhere near the front of the auditorium as one of the orientation leaders announced club sign-ups, the sound echoing sharply through the sound system. the sudden noise startled you enough that you instinctively flinched slightly toward martin. without even looking, his hand moved automatically to steady your knee. just for a second—just instinct. his fingers were warm through your jeans, grounding you instantly before he pulled his hand back into his pockets.

yunjin slowly looked at heeseung. he slowly looked back at her. simultaneously, their lips moved in a silent, terrifying synchronisation: ‘they’re doomed.’

orientation dissolved into absolute chaos pretty quickly after that. the auditorium emptied into the campus courtyard in huge, noisy waves of students while upperclassmen practically hunted freshmen down with club flyers. music blasted somewhere near the student union building, where somebody was already performing an acoustic cover of a k-pop ballad with a guitar near the fountain, while fashion majors were taking photos literally everywhere, and the engineering students looked universally terrified.

“why does everybody here dress like they’re in a pinterest board?” heeseung muttered, looking around the area with a slight frown.

“because we’re art and music students,” yunjin replied, adjusting her tote bag. “half this campus survives entirely on aesthetics and caffeine.”

“that explains the emotional instability in the air,” you snorted softly while adjusting the straps of your bag. your outfit definitely wasn’t helping the pinterest allegations either—low-rise dark washed jeans with silver chain details hanging against your thigh, a pink graphic tee layered over white thermals, chunky headphones resting around your neck, and rings decorating almost every finger. your eyeliner was slightly smudged from earlier, giving your makeup an accidentally messy look. beside you, martin somehow looked equally unfair: he wore an oversized black hoodie layered beneath a faded leather jacket despite the warm weather, a long silver necklace resting against his shirt, baggy jeans, and black headphones hanging around his neck, rings, bracelets, and that wavy, annoyingly pretty hair that fell slightly into his eyes.

“okay,” yunjin clapped suddenly, snapping everyone out of their daze. “campus exploration mission.”

“i thought this was orientation.”

“it is orientation,” she nodded. “we’re orienting ourselves toward good food and attractive people.”

“those are two very different things,” heeseung frowned.

“not to me. let’s go!”

the four of you began wandering through the crowded campus pathways afterward, occasionally stopping whenever some extra hyper club member aggressively shoved ugly neon flyers into your hands. at one point, martin ended up arguing with a music production senior for nearly ten minutes about analog recording frequencies, his hands gesturing wildly while the rest of you sat at a nearby concrete table pretending to care.

“he’s kinda nerdy,” yunjin whispered to you quietly, leaning her chin on her palm.

“you noticed that now?”

“he tried explaining microphone frequencies to me earlier with the passion of a divorced rockstar.”

“those are literally the same words i used today!” you burst into laughter, the sound cutting through the ambient noise of the courtyard. martin shot both of you a suspicious look from across the table, pausing mid-sentence with the senior.

“what are you laughing at?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

“nothing,” you replied without missing a beat.

“that sounded fake.”

“your face sounds fake,” you rolled your eyes.

“…what does that even mean?”

“exactly. shut up.”

heeseung looked genuinely emotional watching you both, shaking his head. “you guys argue like an old married couple. it’s exhausting as fuck to listen to.”

eventually, the four of you split apart slightly while exploring one of the outdoor student booths lining the main courtyard. martin got completely distracted by some vintage vinyl display, his inner music nerd taking over, and heeseung followed him because apparently they shared the same exact soul of a forty-year-old man. which left you and yunjin wandering between the art booths together.

“you know,” she started carefully, her voice dropping into that specific matchmaker tone, “i still think he likes you.”

you sighed dramatically, examining a handmade ceramic pins display. “yunjin, you’ve known us for, like, four hours.”

“and i’m already deeply invested.”

“you need hobbies.”

“this is my hobby now.”

before you could respond, someone stepped beside you suddenly, blocking the sunlight. “hey.”

you turned and came face-to-face with a guy who stood there holding two iced americanos in one hand, while his other hand rested casually in the pocket of his varsity jacket. sharp eyes, a pretty smile, and orange-ish hair pushed back slightly. he had a very confident, effortless aura about him. he tilted his head slightly, his eyes crinkling as he recognised you from the auditorium earlier. “you’re one of the fashion majors from orientation, right?”

“oh,” you blinked, caught off guard. “yeah.”

“i’m jeongin.”

“yn.”

“pretty name for a pretty woman,” he smiled, offering a casual nod. yunjin physically perked up beside you like a shark smelling blood in the water. you ignored her, keeping your eyes on him. he took a sip of his coffee, his smile widening slightly. “you looked deeply miserable during the speeches earlier.”

“that’s because i was.”

“that’s fair. i almost fell asleep during the dean’s speech.”

“you and half the campus,” you smiled back. he laughed softly. okay… he was actually kind of charming. yunjin noticed your expression immediately, a tiny, knowing smirk spreading across her face.

“so,” he glanced toward the flyer in your hand, a tiny smirk playing on his lips, “you joining any clubs or are you just pretending to listen like the rest of us?”

“mostly pretending,” you hummed.

“you’re surviving university well already.”

“thank you,” you nodded solemnly. he laughed again—that same low, nice sound from before. unfortunately, you were actually a little funny, which meant conversations like this happened relatively often. yunjin slowly looked over your shoulder toward something behind you. then her eyes widened slightly, her eyebrows shooting up.

before you could even turn around, a familiar voice cut right through the conversation. “yn.” your stomach betrayed you instantly, doing a violent flip. martin stood there holding two cans of redbull and a plastic bag of snacks, while heeseung lingered beside him looking way too entertained already. martin’s expression looked neutral—too neutral, which was usually dangerous.

“hi,” you said carefully. his eyes flickered briefly toward jeongin, taking in the varsity jacket and the two americanos, before landing back on you. jeongin looked back casually, tilting his head, and suddenly the atmosphere became weird. not openly hostile or aggressive, just… boy weird.

“this is jeongin,” yunjin introduced immediately, jumping into the silence like the shit stirrer she truly was. “he was just talking to yn.”

“i gathered that,” martin replied too calmly.

jeongin smiled politely, totally unfazed by the sudden drop in temperature. “you guys friends?”

before you could even open your mouth to answer, yunjin cut in. “she’s basically his wife.”

“yunjin!” you choked, your face heating up instantly.

martin nearly inhaled his own oxygen wrong, clearing his throat aggressively as his ears went a furious shade of pink. beside him, heeseung physically turned away because he started laughing too hard, burying his face in his hand.

jeongin blinked once, looking between you. “…oh.”

“we are not married,” you said immediately, looking at yunjin with an expression that clearly said ‘i am going to murder you in your sleep’. you wanted to actualise a black hole and die right there on the pavement.

“she proposed first, actually,” martin added dryly, recovering his composure remarkably fast.

you stared at him in pure betrayal. “why would you bring up the paper rings right now?!”

“because you started the marriage allegations.”

“you literally agreed to it!” you said, exasperatedly.

“i was a kid!”

“you said yes immediately!” you threw your hands up.

jeongin watched the entire exchange slowly, his eyes darting back and forth like he was watching a tennis match. then he looked at yunjin. then heeseung, who was still silently shaking with laughter. then back at you and martin. “…so you’re not dating.”

“no,” both of you answered instantly, your voices overlapping in perfect, frantic synchronisation. another heavy pause stretched over the yard. “…right,” jeongin nodded, his tone suggesting he believed absolutely zero percent of that. he offered a polite, somewhat amused, smile. “well, i should probably head to the design building. see you around, yn.” he still lingered, though.

“yeah, see you,” you muttered. martin stepped up, handing you one of the redbulls a little abruptly. your fingers brushed briefly while taking the cold metal can from him. it was a tiny moment. a tiny, stupid, completely insignificant moment. but he looked down at your hand for half a second too long afterward, his thumb twitching slightly against his jacket pocket as his expression softened almost unconsciously.

yunjin saw it. heeseung saw it. unfortunately, both of them were thoroughly evil.

“so,” heeseung said casually to martin, a knowing smirk stretching across his face, “you looked ready to kill him just now.”

martin looked genuinely horrified, his head snapping toward him. “what?”

“you walked over here like a divorced husband discovering his wife on a dating app,” yunjin nodded seriously, her arms crossed over her chest.

“i did not.”

“you literally interrupted their flirting.”

“we weren’t flirting,” you defended weakly, your face feeling warm as you gripped your canned drink a little tighter.

jeongin, who hadn’t actually walked away yet, tilted his head with a lazy, amused smile. “… i kinda was.”

absolute silence. oh. oh no. martin froze completely, his entire posture locking up. beside him, heeseung made a choked noise so sudden and violent it sounded medically concerning. yunjin grabbed your arm immediately, her fingers digging into your jacket sleeve like she was about to witness front-row live entertainment. meanwhile, martin stared at jeongin with the exact expression of someone trying very hard to remain normal. “…cool,” he said finally. not normally at all. 

jeongin either didn’t notice the sudden drop in atmosphere or he chose violence intentionally. “you’re pretty,” he told you casually, his tone incredibly effortless. “i wanted to talk to you earlier in the auditorium, but you were always with him.”

the silence afterward was catastrophic because martin visibly stiffened, his shoulders squaring beneath his leather jacket. your own brain completely stopped functioning, the words echoing in your ears. yunjin physically folded into herself, trying not to scream out loud, while heeseung just whispered, “oh my god,” under his breath like he’d just witnessed a historic geopolitical event.

you looked at martin instinctively. big mistake. because his jaw had tightened slightly, a sharp line forming along his throat, and his pretty eyes were darkened slightly under his bangs. and suddenly he looked… jealous? your chest hurt immediately, your heart nearly exploding on impact from the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“you should come hang with us later tonight,” jeongin continued easily, totally ignoring the tension radiating off martin. “some freshmen are exploring the night market nearby.”

before you could even open your mouth to answer, martin chimed in, “she’s busy.” everyone turned toward him. including himself, apparently, because he looked deeply startled right after the words left his mouth.

you blinked, looking up at him. “i am?”

he stared at you for one painfully long second, his eyes wide and slightly panicked before he recovered his composure. “…we’re unpacking stuff later,” he said weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. yunjin almost started convulsing from trying not to laugh, her shoulders shaking violently against yours. 

jeongin looked between both of you once again, his sharp eyes taking in your flushed face and martin’s absolute rigidity, and then he suddenly grinned. “oh,” he said softly, like he’d just figured out a very amusing secret.

martin’s expression darkened instantly. “we’re not dating,” he said, not for the first time that day, his voice dropping an octave.

“sure,” jeongin nodded politely, which somehow felt ten times worse than him actually arguing back. he eventually actually left after exchanging socials with yunjin instead of you, which honestly felt entirely intentional. “see you guys around,” he smiled casually, walking backward a few steps into the yard. then he looked at you specifically, his eyes crinkling. “and yn? don’t let him scare every guy away before the semester even starts.”

martin looked genuinely offended. “i didn’t scare anybody.” 

jeongin only grinned, turning around and disappearing back into the buzzing crowd of students. the exact second he was fully out of hearing range, yunjin exploded. “oh, you are sick,” she let out the scream she’d been holding in.

“i actually need this documented academically for future research purposes,” heeseung added, clutching his chest dramatically.

martin frowned immediately, his ears still burning pink. “what are you both even talking about?”

“you got jealous.”

“i did not.”

“you interrupted a man mid-flirt like an overprotective victorian husband,” yunjin cackled.

“he was annoying.”

“he was hot,” yunjin corrected smoothly.

martin visibly recoiled, his eyebrows shooting up. “okay, now you’re just saying things to upset me.” the words slipped out so naturally, so entirely without thought, that nobody reacted for half a second. then the realisation hit, and silence slammed into the group. martin froze. you froze.. heeseung’s mouth fell completely open, and yunjin dramatically grabbed onto his shoulder to steady herself because her knees were actually giving out.

martin recovered first, clearing his throat aggressively as he looked anywhere but at you. “…not upset me,” he corrected weakly, his voice cracking slightly. “like—like, generally. as a person.”

“right,” heeseung nodded solemnly, his face deadpan. “you sounded very normal and convincing there, bro.”

“shut up.”

unfortunately for martin, his ears had already gone a furious shade of red, which made everything so much worse. you rolled your eyes to hide the massive smile tugging at your lips, but inside, your heart was still hammering against your ribs, helpless against the look he had given you just moments before.

by nighttime, the entire campus had transformed—fairy lights glowed in long, tangled strings around the main lawn while students gathered in messy circles across picnic blankets and foldable chairs. someone had set up huge speakers nearby, the bass thumping low against the ground. somebody else was definitely grilling food illegally behind one of the dorm buildings because the smell of charcoal drifted over the grass all the way till your group. a massive campfire burned near the center of the field, warm orange light flickering across hundreds of faces while music drifted softly through the cool night air. the atmosphere felt… nice. too nice. maybe even dangerously nice.

“this is kinda cute,” you admitted quietly, tucking your legs under you as you sat down beside yunjin on one of the plaid blankets.

“kinda?” she looked around dramatically, gesturing with her hands. “this is peak university movie montage. if a guitar guy shows up, i’m gonna go feral.”

heeseung dropped down nearby a second later, holding a ridiculous assortment of drinks and snacks balanced dangerously in his arms. “i stole these from a business major,” he announced, dumping them in the center of the blanket.

“you can’t just confess crimes casually,” martin frowned, sitting down right beside you.

“it’s orientation week. laws don’t exist yet.”

“that’s not how society works.”

“you sound like you pay taxes willingly, dude.”

“yn and i already planned to skip taxes, actually,” martin said while looking personally insulted, his mouth parting slightly in offense. you laughed quietly at his face, accepting one of the brightly colored canned drinks heeseung confusedly tossed into your lap.

“what even is this?” you asked, tilting the can to read the blurry label.

“something fruity.”

“that sounds dangerous coming from your mouth, hee.”

“exactly.”

you took a sip anyway, because why not. immediately, you grimaced. “oh my god.”

yunjin snorted, leaning closer. “you hate it?”

“it tastes like… if battery acid and artificial strawberries had a baby,” you shuddered.

“…you’re drinking more though.”

“unfortunately,” you muttered, taking another long sip.

the night blurred softer after that—music, laughter, and the distant sound of people shouting lyrics badly around the fire. you watched yunjin aggressively force an exhausted heeseung into some random group game against his will a few blankets over. beside you, martin was sitting close. close enough that your shoulders kept brushing accidentally every time either of you shifted. or maybe not accidentally. you honestly couldn’t tell anymore.

the fruity battery-acid drink turned out to be way stronger than expected, too. you weren’t blackout drunk—not even close—but just enough to make your chest feel fuzzy and warm, your thoughts a little softer, and your self-control significantly worse than usual. 

that was a massive problem when martin existed nearby looking like… martin. his sleeves were pushed up slightly now, and his hair was entirely messy from the night wind. his silver rings glinted sharply under the orange firelight as he laughed quietly at something heeseung was yelling from across the lawn, his fingers absentmindedly tapping a rhythm against his knee. you stared too long. again. 

yunjin noticed immediately. “oh, she’s gone,” she whispered loudly toward heeseung, pointing a finger at you.

“what?”

“she’s doing the yearning stare again.”

you nearly choked on your drink, your eyes widening. “i am not!”

“you look at him like he personally hung the moon, yn.”

“that doesn’t even make sense.”

“it does, actually,” she insisted.

martin looked over finally, drawing his eyes away from the fire. “what are you guys talking about?”

“nothing,” you answered way too quickly, your voice hitting a higher octave.

“yn’s in love with—ow!” yunjin yelped, clutching her shin after you kicked her violently across the blanket. martin blinked slowly, looking between the two of you in mild confusion.

“…yn, you just assaulted her.”

“she lied.”

“i literally didn’t even finish the sentence,” yunjin complained, rubbing her leg.

“you didn’t need to.”

heeseung looked between all of you before letting out a deeply exhausted, long-suffering sigh. “this friend group is gonna kill me before the first semester even starts.”

the campfire crackled loudly nearby, a shower of sparks flying up into the dark sky while the music shifted into something slower and softer. students started pairing off slowly around the lawn—some dancing badly near the speakers, others wandering toward the dark food stalls, or just sitting closer together beneath shared blankets. the air grew noticeably colder, the wind biting through your thin zip-up. without thinking much about it—blame the alcohol, blame the temperature—you leaned slightly closer toward martin’s side for warmth.

he noticed instantly. “you cold?”

“a little,” you muttered, looking down at your drink. without saying another word, he tugged off his heavy flannel overshirt, his movements effortless as he draped it gently over your shoulders, helping you pull your arms through the sleeves. your heart beat much faster because the fabric was still warm from his skin, and it smelled entirely like him—the specific laundry detergent his mom had been using since you were kids, faint cologne, and something else that was just painfully, distinctly martin.

“you’re gonna freeze,” you muttered quietly, burying your chin into the high collar of the shirt.

“i’m fine.”

“you say that every time.”

“because you steal my clothes every time,” he pointed out dryly.

“that sounds like a you problem.”

he laughed softly under his breath, his head tipping back slightly against the cool night air. your heart nearly folded in on itself. god, this was genuinely humiliating. the alcohol made everything ten times worse because suddenly all your carefully hidden feelings sat way too close to the surface—raw and exposed. every glance he threw your way felt incredibly heavy. every accidental touch lingered a second too long. at some point, yunjin and heeseung completely disappeared to go bully another freshman group into sharing their marshmallows, leaving you and martin sitting near the dark edge of the firelight dangerously alone. 

the music softened again nearby, the acoustic guitar chords floating over the lawn. martin leaned back against the grass, propping himself up on his elbows with a quiet sigh as he looked up at the sky. you didn’t look at the sky. you watched him instead.

“you’re staring again,” he murmured without looking over.

drunk bravery was a disease. “so what if i am?”

that got his attention immediately. his head turned toward you slowly as the firelight flickered across his face while surprise flashed briefly through his expression.

“…you okay?” he asked, still balanced on his elbows to look up at you, his eyes dark under his bangs.

“no.”

his brows furrowed instantly and his entire posture shifted as he sat up a bit straighter on the blanket. “what’s wrong? did you drink too much of that battery acid stuff? i kept warning you to slow down.”

“maybe.”

“you absolute lightweight,” he muttered, his voice dropping into that low, fondly exasperated tone that always made your chest feel tight. “i knew i shouldn’t have let heeseung give you that.”

“you’re literally prettier tonight,” you suddenly informed him. the words tumbled out of your mouth before your brain could even initiate a broadcast. what followed was absolute, catastrophic silence. oh no. your internal filter had arrived around twenty fucking thousand business days too late.

martin blinked once, his hand freezing mid-motion where he had been about to run it through his hair. “…what did you just say?”

“you heard me,” you said, stubbornly refusing to back down now that the damage was already done, even though your face was burning so hot, it felt like the campfire was under your skin.

his ears turned a furious shade of pink almost instantly, the color creeping up from the collar of his shirt. you wanted to desperately disappear into thin air right then and there. “yn—”

“no, because actually,” you interrupted aggressively, pointing a slightly shaky finger vaguely at his face to stop him from speaking, “it’s genuinely, incredibly annoying. you have no idea.”

“what is?” he asked, his voice sounding a little breathless now as he watched your finger.

“you.”

“…me?”

“yes. your whole…” you gestured helplessly between his face and his shoulders, completely losing your grip on vocabulary, “your whole everything. it’s unfair.”

he stared at you in complete disbelief now, his mouth slightly parted. you kept going anyway, because apparently the artificial strawberry alcohol had taken away your survival instincts and replaced them with pure, unfiltered honesty.

“you keep doing this thing where you look all…” your hands moved vaguely in the air again, trying to map out the exact way the firelight caught his jawline, “…all soft and nice and stupidly handsome all the time. in that ugly uniform back then, in that leather jacket right now. it’s ridiculous.”

he looked like his soul had temporarily left his body. he just sat there, the orange light flickering across his wide eyes. “handsome?” he repeated weakly, his voice cracking just a fraction. “you think i look… handsome?”

“oh my god,” you groaned, burying your face entirely into your hands immediately, the rough denim of his flannel overshirt pressing against your cheeks. “forget i said that. delete it from your memory, actually. i’m insane. don’t let me touch alcohol ever again.”

unfortunately for you, he started laughing softly. it wasn’t a mocking laugh, or a teasing one, which would have been so much easier to handle. it was worse—it was that deep, quiet, devastatingly fond sound that always made your knees weak. “you’re so drunk right now,” he murmured, his voice practically vibrating against the space between you.

“i’m not drunk, i’m emotionally suffering,” you mumbled into your palms.

“that too,” he chuckled softly.

you peeked at him through the small gaps between your fingers. big mistake. huge mistake, actually, because now he was looking at you in that way again. that soft, weird, focused way that always made your heart beat too fast.

“you’re pretty too, you know,” he said quietly, his eyes locked onto yours as you lowered your hands. “especially when you’re tired and your eyeliner is all smudged like that.”

your heart stopped completely. the air in your lungs went entirely cold. “…don’t joke right now, martin. i will actually throw this drink at your head.”

his expression shifted immediately, the teasing softness hardening into something intense, something real, something that made your stomach drop. “i’m not joking,” he said, his voice incredibly steady.

the air changed again, the heavy humidity of the night suddenly compressing into that terrifying almost-feeling that had been hovering over the two of you for years. the fire crackled loudly somewhere nearby, and the distant, buzzed laughter of other freshmen echoed across the lawn, but suddenly everything felt completely muted around the two of you. he looked at you for a second too long, his gaze dropping from your eyes. you looked back, unable to move, unable to breathe. and suddenly your chest hurt so badly you wanted to scream because this was the ultimate problem. always this. too much feeling. too much history. too much almost.

his eyes flickered downward briefly—pointed directly, unmistakably, toward your lips. your breath caught instantly in your throat. he noticed, and you noticed him noticing. and somehow, despite the rules and the allegations and the fear, neither of you moved away. the distance between you suddenly felt very small. 

his leather jacket brushed against the flannel on your shoulders. “yn,” he said softly. you almost cried at the way he said your name—gentle, careful, like it was something sacred that only he could worship correctly. he didn’t say it as a warning, or an insult, or even as a question. it was just your name, but it sounded like something dangerous and precious in his mouth. your eyes locked onto his, leaning slightly closer.

“oh my god, heeseung, look! they’re doing the eye contact thing again. i told you they were doomed as fuck!” the loud, cackling whisper shattered the silence like bricks through glass.

you both jumped apart like actual convicted criminals caught in the act, martin clearing his throat aggressively as he violently turned his head to stare at the grass, his entire face flashing a bright, brilliant red under the firelight. heeseung nearly collapsed laughing, bending over with his hands on his knees, while yunjin pointed a sticky marshmallow stick at both of you accusatorily.

“you guys are embarrassing!” she yelled over the bass, her voice carrying across at least three neighboring blankets. “the tension is literally radioactive! i can see the waves, like the ones from spiderman’s spidey tingles!”

martin grabbed a nearby, half-empty marshmallow packet from the grass and threw it directly at her face. it was a remarkably accurate shot. somehow—the plastic bag hit yunjin squarely in the forehead with a soft thud before dropping into her lap. she gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her heart. “domestic violence! i am calling campus security! i am reporting a hate crime!”

“you deserved that,” he informed her, his voice tight as he tried—and failed—to control the dark blush still burning across his cheekbones.

“you almost kissed her!” yunjin shrieked, totally unfazed.

“literally nothing happened!”

heeseung stepped up, pointing aggressively between both of you like a prosecutor presenting evidence. “bro, don’t lie to the court. your faces were literally moving closer. we saw the physical trajectory. it was a closing gap.”

“we were talking,” martin defended, his jaw tightening as he crossed his arms over his chest. “the music is loud. i was leaning in so I could hear her.”

“your eyes were closed halfway, bro.”

he froze. his arms slowly uncrossed. “…they were not.” you, unfortunately, remembered that they absolutely, one hundred percent, were. your memory might have been a little fuzzy around the edges from the weird alcohol, but you distinctly remembered the heavy, dark sweep of his eyelashes just inches from your own, which meant your entire body immediately overheated again, a hot wave of panic rushing straight to your ears.

“okay!” you announced loudly, standing up way too quickly from the plaid blanket. “i’m choosing peace and pretending you both said absolutely nothing. goodbye!”

“you’re walking crooked,” yunjin noted, watching you sway.

“the earth is tilted,” you argued, staring straight ahead.

“that’s not how gravity works, yn.”

“not with that attitude it doesn’t, yunjin,” you glared drunkenly at her.

heeseung started laughing all over again while martin instinctively reached out, his reflexes kicking in the exact second you almost tripped over the raised edge of the picnic blanket. his hands wrapped around your waist briefly to steady you. his palms were incredibly warm through the fabric of your shirt and his flannel on top, spanning the sides of your ribs, holding you entirely still against the pull of gravity. for a second, everything felt perfectly balanced and safe. your brain short-circuited instantly, the remaining alcohol turning into pure static.

“there,” he muttered quietly, his breath brushing the side of your neck as he helped you find your footing again. his hands lingered on your waist for just a beat too long before he slowly pulled them back, his fingers twitching slightly. “careful. i don’t need you cracking your skull open on orientation night.”

you looked up at him through your messy bangs. another massive, fatal mistake… because now he was standing too close, looking down at you with some intense, protective gaze that made your stupid alcohol-filled heart immediately start malfunctioning again.

“i wouldn’t have cracked it,” you whispered, your voice suddenly losing all its previous defensive bite. “you caught me.”

his eyes softened, his gaze dropping to your mouth for a fraction of a second before he looked back up, his voice dropping an octave. “i’m always gonna catch you, yn. you know that.”

thankfully, before your brain could completely spiral into a puddle of mush, loud, explosive music suddenly blasted through the main campus speakers. the beat dropped hard, and a massive, roaring cheer erupted across the entire lawn. 

“oh hell yes,” yunjin gasped, her eyes lighting up. students immediately started abandoning their blankets, rushing toward the large open space near the roaring campfire where a group of upperclassmen had apparently decided orientation night required a massive, chaotic dance floor now.

“you guys are coming,” heeseung announced, already bouncing on his heels.

“i don’t dance,” martin said instantly, taking a step back.

“that’s crazy because our entire major literally revolves around rhythm,” heeseung pointed out, grabbing his shoulder.

“music and dancing are not the same thing.”

“you’re literally lying to yourself.”

yunjin grabbed your wrist dramatically, her grip tight and unyielding. “come on, yn! don’t let the resident loser ruin the vibe!” you honestly didn’t need much convincing. 

maybe it was the heavy buzz of the alcohol, or maybe it was the infectious energy of the music pulsing through the grass. or maybe, honestly, it was just the overwhelming rush of being independent, finally away from home, with your best friends beside you under the glowing campus lights while the night still felt entirely endless and full of potential. either way, you let yourself get dragged straight into the center of the crowd.

the atmosphere became chaotic immediately—hundreds of students were yelling lyrics at the top of their lungs, people jumping around horribly off-beat, and someone had already fallen face-first onto the grass nearby, laughing too hard to get back up. the playlist shifted wildly between trendy pop songs and old, nostalgic throwback hits, but everybody screamed along regardless, throwing their hands in the air.

yunjin danced like rent was due, throwing her hair around and aggressively pointing at people in the crowd to blow kisses to. heeseung somehow danced even worse, doing ironical 80s disco moves that had you clutching your stomach from laughing so hard. martin mostly stood nearby on the perimeter of your little circle, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, laughing quietly at all of you. he looked so separate from the chaos, so steady and grounded, that you couldn’t take it. 

you stepped forward and grabbed both his wrists dramatically, pulling his hands out of his pockets. 

“oh no,” he said immediately, his lips twitching into a smile even as he tried to pull back.

“oh yes.”

“yn, please. have mercy.”

“dance, loser!” you yelled over the chorus of a pop song, tugging on his arms.

“i physically can’t, like, i genuinely lack the coordination for whatever heeseung is doing over there.”

“you’re literally a musician! your whole life is tempo!”

“that’s discrimination,” he protested, but the resistance in his arms was already fading.

you snorted before trying to pull him closer into the dense crowd anyway, moving your shoulders to the beat. he resisted for a whole two seconds before giving up completely. mostly because you looked too happy to say no to. your laugh echoed loudly through the music, bright and unfiltered, while the warm firelight flickered beautifully across your face. 

he watched you, and he suddenly felt that familiar, terrifying, heavy ache in his chest again. god, he loved you so much. it was honestly becoming a liability, and medically concerning how much space you took up in his head, how a single look from you could completely dictate the rest of his day. 

you caught him staring and pulled him a little closer, your hands shifting from his wrists to rest lightly against his chest. “see? it’s not that hard,” you laughed, looking up at him. “just move a little.”

he let out a soft, defeated breath, his hands coming up to rest gently on your hips to keep people from bumping into you as the crowd surged. “i’m only doing this because you’re drunk,” he lied softly, his thumb absentmindedly drawing a small circle against your waist.

“liar,” you teased, leaning into his space. “you’re doing it because you love me.”

his heart did a violent, dangerous backflip. he looked down at your face, his expression turning incredibly serious for a split second despite the screaming crowd around you. “yeah,” he murmured, the word swallowed by the loud bass, though his eyes said it clearly enough—‘yeah, i do’.

eventually, the crowd shifted around again as another wave of students joined the circle, pushing people around. somewhere in the sudden chaos, yunjin completely disappeared toward the snack tables to hunt down more food, and heeseung and martin got aggressively dragged into an intense dance-battle circle against their will, leaving you tucked away in a corner of the moving crowd. 

suddenly you found yourself beside an unfamiliar guy—dark hair, sharp smile, performatively fake glasses slightly crooked from dancing.

“oh,” he laughed when you nearly bumped into him. “sorry.”

“my bad,” you grinned tipsily.

“i’m seungmin,” he introduced himself over the loud music.

“yn.”

recognition flashed across his face immediately. “ohhh. jeongin told me you’re that martin guy’s—”

“best friend,” you interrupted automatically. 

seungmin looked deeply unconvinced. “…right.”

the music switched again with a massive, heavy bass drop, and the crowd collectively screamed in recognition. “oh my god, i love this song!” you gasped, your eyes lighting up as you threw your hands in the air, completely giving in to the rhythm. 

seungmin laughed immediately, his shoulders shaking as he shook his head at you. “you’re definitely drunk.”

“i’m not drunk, seungmo,” you yelled back over the blaring speakers, spinning around on your heel. “i’m experiencing life!”

“that sounded deeply philosophical.”

“thank you! i try!” you grinned.

unlike martin, who always tended to watch you carefully and protectively whenever you drank—guarding your space and counting your sips—seungmin just matched your chaotic energy instantly. within minutes, the two of you were yelling lyrics completely out of key, jumping hysterically, and dancing stupidly among the sweaty crowd like you’d known each other for an entire lifetime instead of just a few minutes. to you, this was just pure, unadulterated excitement. new friend, fun person, cool vibes, the university experience you had always read about.

unfortunately, martin noticed from across the lawn, and he immediately looked like somebody had shot him.

he stood near the edge of the dense crowd, holding two fresh drinks he’d gone to get for the two of you, staring directly through the moving bodies to where you were laughing brightly at something seungmin had just said. his fingers tightened around the aluminum cans, his jaw setting into a rigid, hard line as he watched seungmin casually lean in close to hear you over the music. 

heeseung materialised beside him instantly, a smug smirk plastered across his face. “oh, brother.”

“i’m literally fine,” martin said, his voice entirely flat, though his eyes didn’t leave your face for a single second.

“sure you are. you look like you’re about to write a critically acclaimed, ten-minute, best-selling indie breakup album.”

he looked away immediately, staring down at the grass as if it were the most fascinating thing on campus. “they’re just dancing, bro. it’s fine. she’s having fun.”

“yeah,” heeseung nodded, crossing his arms and tilting his head toward the dance floor. “and you’re staring at them like a tragic war veteran watching his entire hometown burn to the ground.”

“i am not.”

“martin, you’ve literally crushed your drink can.”

he looked down at his right hand. oh. he had. the metal can was completely mangled, liquid dripping slowly over his silver rings and onto his sneakers. “…oops,” he muttered, his face turning a dark, frustrated shade of red.

meanwhile, you remained blissfully unaware of the silent crisis happening. seungmin had somehow convinced you to join a completely ridiculous dance challenge with a group of random upperclassmen nearby, and the two of you were currently losing horribly.

“this is rigged,” you accused, pointing dramatically at the guy who had just executed a perfect backflip. “he’s a professional!”

“you’re just bad at coordination, yn,” seungmin teased, leaning back with a grin.

“i was an athlete!” you protested loudly.

“that actually makes this so much sadder.”

you gasped dramatically, clutching your chest before breaking out into another fit of laughter. but as you laughed, the world suddenly felt oddly, overwhelmingly warm. the cool night air didn’t feel cold anymore; instead, a sudden wave of heat flushed through your body, and the colorful fairy lights blurred sharply at the edges, spinning into bright, dizzying streaks of gold and orange. hm… weird.

“you okay?” seungmin asked, his teasing smile fading instantly as he noticed your expression shift, your eyes glazing over slightly.

“yeah,” you nodded automatically, trying to ground yourself, but the motion of nodding was a terrible idea. you immediately swayed heavily sideways, your balance completely deserting you. “oh,” you whispered. okay, maybe you were not okay.

the music suddenly sounded like it was playing underwater, the thumping bass echoing distantly in your ears. your stomach flipped unpleasantly, a sharp wave of nausea hitting you right before a massive wave of dizziness crashed over your head all at once, making the grass feel like it was tilting at a ninety-degree angle.

“oh shit,” seungmin muttered, his eyes widening in alarm as he reached his arms out slightly toward you. “yn? hey, stay upright—”

somewhere nearby, martin looked over instantly. his eyes had never really left you anyway, but the exact millisecond your shoulders slumped and your footing gave way, his internal alarm went off.

your vision blurred badly now, the bright colours of the campfire and the strings of fairy lights smearing together into a dizzying canvas of color. the heavy bass from the speakers faded into a muffled noise. your knees buckled beneath you before you could fully realise what was happening, the grass rushing up to meet you.

and then warm, solid arms caught you before you could even graze the ground. there was a strong, unyielding grip around your waist, pulling you up and anchoring you against a broad chest. a familiar, comforting scent washed over you—his cologne, and the winter wind. 

and then, his voice followed. “hey, hey, hey—careful. i’ve got you, ynnie.” martin. of course it was martin.

your head lolled slightly against his chest, your forehead resting against the cool zipper of his jacket while he carefully shifted his weight to steady you both. he was holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to shield you from the entire world. the last clear thing you saw before your vision went completely fuzzy again was his face hovering directly over yours. his brows were deeply furrowed with worry, his usually guarded eyes turned soft and hyper-focused, and his lips were parted slightly as his gaze scanned your face, frantically checking to see if you were okay.

“…pretty,” you mumbled weakly, your voice thick and slurred as you reached up a heavy hand to vaguely touch his jawline. his intense, worried expression broke instantly. a helpless flush crept all the way up his neck, and his lips twitched, completely losing his battle against the effect of your words.

“oh my god,” heeseung whispered somewhere nearby, having jogged over right behind him. “he’s done for. he’s actually never recovering from that. put it on his tombstone, seriously.”

“shut up, heeseung,” martin hissed quietly, keeping his eyes locked entirely on you while trying not to smile, but ultimately failing, because how could he not smile at his girl? his hands smoothed over your back, keeping you pressed securely against him. you blinked slowly up at him, the darkness of the night sky framing his face like a halo.

“mars?” you whispered, using the old childhood nickname that always made his defenses completely crumble.

“yeah, pretty girl,” he answered softly, his voice dropping to a tender, private whisper meant only for you. he leaned down slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your forehead with the gentlest touch. “i got you. i always got you.” wrapped up in his warmth, listening to the steady, rapid thumping of his heart against your ear, that was more than enough.

by the time martin carried you back toward the freshman dorm buildings, the campus had gotten noticeably quieter. the heavy bass from the lawn faded into a dull hum in the background behind you both, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves as the cool night air drifted through the brick pathways. you were fully conscious now—the brief wave of blacking out had passed—you were just dramatically, dangerously drunk. which somehow made you even more of a menace.

martin had originally been carrying you piggyback-style because, according to you, your legs had ‘officially stopped cooperating.’ your cheek rested heavily against his shoulder while your arms hung loosely around his neck, your fingers casually playing with the collar of his jacket.

“you smell nice,” you informed him very seriously, your breath brushing right against his ear.

he laughed quietly under his breath, tilting his head slightly away from the tickle of your hair. “thanks.”

“you always smell nice. even when you look mean.”

“that’s slightly creepy, yn.”

“i’m not creepy, i’m observant.”

“you’re drunk.”

“both can coexist,” you argued logically, nodding against his neck. “it’s a spectrum.”

he smiled helplessly to himself, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip under your legs to hoist you a little higher. damn, you were actually gonna kill him someday. he could feel the steady warmth of your body pressed against his back, and every time you spoke, his heart did a stupid, erratic little jump.

“you know,” you mumbled after a moment of staring at the passing lampposts, “i think my internal organs completely dissolved back there. the strawberry battery acid got them.”

“that’s not medically possible.”

“you don’t know that, mars. you’re a music production major.”

“i literally do know that. i took high school biology.”

“...whatever. no.”

he snorted softly, the sound vibrating through his back against your chest. your building’s lights glowed warmly ahead, illuminating the empty concrete courtyard. your head tipped sleepily against his shoulder again, your eyes closing as the gentle motion of his walking rocked you. 

after a quieter moment, your eyes snapped open and you suddenly gasped softly. “oh my god.”

“what?” he asked, his tone instantly sharpened with worry. “do you feel sick again? do i need to put you down?”

“…i never finished unpacking my belts,” you whispered in horror.

he paused and then laughed harder this time—a real, unsuppressed sound that echoed softly in the quiet courtyard. “your priorities are absolutely unbelievable.”

“no, because yunjin was helping me, and then you came into the room and you were being…” you lifted one hand from his shoulder to gesture vaguely in the air, “…all handsome and emotionally stressful. you ruined the workflow.”

he nearly tripped over the first step of the dorm entrance. “…emotionally stressful?” he repeated, his voice cracking just a fraction as he recovered his footing.

“yes.”

“that’s not a real medical condition, pretty girl.”

“it should be. they should put your picture next to it in the textbook.”

your voice had grown much softer now—thicker and sleepier as the wind caressed your face. martin slowed his pace slightly. when he reached the dorm entrance, he carefully lowered you back onto your feet. 

“alright,” he said. “can you walk?”

“obviously.” you took one step. then another. then somehow managed to walk directly into a decorative concrete planter. 

he grabbed your elbow before your face could meet the shrubbery. “yn.”

“mars,” you almost cried, eyes filling. “the bush moved!”

“the bush did not move.”

“that sounds exactly like something a moving bush would say,” you pouted sadly.

he pinched the bridge of his nose. “come on.”

you took another step. and immediately swayed. your balance vanished so fast it almost looked cartoonish—one second you were standing upright; the next, your body tilted dangerously sideways toward the concrete walkway. 

he caught you instantly again. his arm wrapped around your waist before you could fall, pulling you back against his chest. “okay,” he said firmly.

“okay what?”

“okay, we’re done pretending you can walk.”

“i can absolutely walk. the bush moved last time, ‘twasn’t my fault.” to prove your point, you attempted another step, causing your ankle to roll in the wrong direction. he closed his eyes for one long second, then sighed deeply—the kind of sigh people let out when accepting a fate they can no longer avoid. 

before you could protest, one arm slid behind your knees while the other wrapped securely around your back. the world tilted. you let out a surprised squeak as your feet left the ground entirely. “mars!”

“nope.”

“what do you mean ‘nope’?”

“i mean you’ve lost walking privileges.”

“that’s authoritarian.”

“and yet here we are.”

you stared up at him in outrage from where he was carrying you bridal-style. the anger lasted approximately four seconds, and then you got comfortable. “…this is actually kinda nice.”

“i know.”

“wow. so humble.”

“you almost fell into a bush. i’m not taking any chances.”

“the bush started it.”

he laughed under his breath again and continued toward the stairwell. he carried you up the stairs with deliberate, careful steps—apparently there were no elevators because your university wished suffering upon its students—making sure your shoes didn’t bump against the railings. after a minute, your head settled against his shoulder. “you know what your problem is, mars?” you murmured suddenly.

he smiled faintly, his eyes fixed on the step ahead. “what’s my problem, ynnie?”

“you keep looking at me all… all…”

“all what?”

you frowned against his shoulder, your eyebrows knitting together as your alcohol-addled brain tried desperately to find the right words to describe the heavy, suffocating feeling in your chest. 

“…like you like me,” you whispered honestly.

his entire body went completely rigid for half a second. his feet froze on the concrete step. the stairwell suddenly felt suffocatingly quiet, the distant sounds of the campus completely cutting out. his grip on you tightened instinctively. he swallowed hard, his throat dry, before forcing his legs to start moving again, his heart hammering violently against his ribs.

“…you’re drunk, yn,” he said, his voice lower now, strained under the weight of the massive secret he’d been carrying for years.

“mm.”

“you should sleep. you’re filtering absolutely nothing right now.”

“…you’re still pretty though,” you mumbled into his jacket, your eyelids fluttering shut as you gave up the fight against sleep.

martin’s heart genuinely hurt now—a sharp ache right in the center of his chest. because you said things like that so easily, throwing around words that could completely ruin him, while having absolutely no idea what they did to his sanity. or maybe you did know. maybe you felt the shift too. and to him, as he finally reached your dorm door, that was the most terrifying part of all.

‘friendship’ feels like too small of a word to describe what you had together. the thing you share is more than friends, nearly lovers, but not quite. there’s no other way to explain it.

© hyuneskkami ❦