Angie Which way to NeverNeverLand?✨

✦ • ──── FEBRUARY 6, 2025. 1 PM

Thursdays were some of the toughest days of the week in your timetable. You had three back-to-back classes starting at 9 AM—often paired with a deadline for an essay or a presentation—followed by a four-hour shift at the campus library. By your final lecture, you were drifting through the building on autopilot, more asleep than awake.

Reina, your closest friend and flatmate, did her best to jolt you back to life. The class was taught by the most intimidating professor you’d encountered in grad school, and she didn’t want either of you to draw his attention.

“Here,” she said, nudging a water bottle toward you as payment for opening your eyes. “Come on.”

Groaning, you sat up straighter. But just as you unscrewed the cap, you caught sight of Yeonjun sauntering into the room and scowled again.

To be fair, Yeonjun made it easy to scowl at him. He was notorious for only attending lectures when it suited him, typically missing any that began before 1 PM.

Not that it mattered, really.

He could have skipped half the semester (and has, actually, in undergrad) and still passed every exam. Between having parents on the university board and an uncanny ability to predict exam questions, he also used his charm to coax the professors into giving him suggestions on what to revise.

(“Exceptional as always, Mr. Choi,” one of your Statistics professors had gushed a few years back. “So glad you stopped by my office so we could go over your presentation together.”)

By the time you started grad school, he had outperformed you and received the prestigious scholarship for outstanding academic achievements in a school year. All while maintaining an attendance of about 30% in each class.

Now, he entered the room with his trademark grin and a deliberately energetic bounce to his step. Your eyes met briefly across the auditorium, and his grin widened. He could see the exhaustion on your face.

As if eager to prove that he hadn’t been visited by the three spirits last night to help him transform from despicable to at least tolerable, he pouted and clicked his lips, feigning sympathy for your predicament. The moment you shot him a glare in response, he began to grin again.

You considered hurling Reina’s water bottle at his head, just to see if he was waterproof on top of everything else, too.

“I see Yeonjun has blessed us with his presence,” Reina remarked, following your gaze. “Splendid. The rest of us won’t have to participate.”

“The professor won’t even notice the rest of us are here,” you replied, handing her water bottle back.

Yeonjun, in the meantime, exchanged an elaborate handshake with Soobin, his housemate and (unfortunately) Reina’s boyfriend.

Soobin was the only one in your circle who made an effort to defend Yeonjun from your and Reina’s jabs. You both felt they were well-earned. Soobin didn’t always agree.

“We’ve all got to have perfect attendance in this class,” he said now, sliding into a chair to Reina’s left. “Or we’ll fail. Jun’s no exception.”

You shot Reina a betrayed look. It had become a running joke: since she introduced Soobin to you, it was technically her fault that the two of you now had someone defending Yeonjun in your midst.

Despite these occasional blunders, however, Soobin was brilliant. He loved Reina, was funny, considerate and usually smarter than anyone else in the room—but he was modest about it. Really, his only flaw was that Yeonjun usually lurked near him.

“You know he is an exception, though,” Reina said, her voice soft. “The professor’s his thesis advisor. He wouldn’t fail his favourite student.”

“He would if he had to,” Soobin replied. “Jun’s not the best at keeping up with deadlines. Or, uh, being clear and concise.”

Reina snorted. “Oh, yeah, no. He should come with subtitles.”

“He shouldn’t come at all,” you suggested.

Reina clicked her fingers and pointed at you in approval, reconsidering her earlier words.

Soobin turned away, surrendering the argument. He did agree, usually, that a lot of Yeonjun’s academic success felt quite unfair, given how little effort he had to put into it. So, you could forgive Soobin for occasionally taking his side.

“Did you read the article?” Reina switched the topic, addressing you before turning to Soobin. “I’ve personally decided to give up on homework. Didn’t even open the PDF.”

You snickered, but nodded. “It’s nearly fifty pages of nonsense. The first ten had me nodding off.”

“Yeah, I got through half,” Soobin agreed. “Then started daydreaming about dropping out and becoming a farmer, so figured that’s enough. Or just a goatherd, maybe. That’s cool, too.”

You and Reina began to chuckle just as a hush fell across the auditorium. You didn’t need to look up from the laptop on your foldable table to know that the professor had arrived. The man was frightening.

“Good afternoon,” he announced at the front, as if the goodness of the afternoon was a scientific fact, not a mere greeting. “I am very pleased to have received your essays. I know last week’s seminar proved a bit of a challenge, but most of you have done rather well.”

“Most of us,” Reina repeated to you in a mocking whisper.

Your gaze drifted to Yeonjun just as he glanced over at you.

Not fully registering the eye contact, you turned back to the front and leaned towards Reina. “Pleased to receive our essays. As if we had a choice.”

She snorted, recalling the two consecutive all-nighters you’d pulled in your flat, trying to meet the absurd word count. You’d forgotten what sleep felt like, but you sure enjoyed learning how to explain computationalism in layman’s terms.

“For today’s class,” the professor continued, and you heard Soobin and Reina take matching deep breaths beside you as they opened their own laptops, “I thought we’d revisit some alternative behaviourism theories we haven’t yet had the chance to properly discuss.”

You tried to stay diligent with your notes, but the moment the professor started rattling off names and experiments you’d already heard before, your thoughts began to wander. The two previous classes were catching up with you.

Evidently, Reina shared your exhaustion—she usually did—because just as you began daydreaming about an iced latte, your phone lit up with a message from her.

You glanced her way. She met your eye but didn’t acknowledge the text. She didn’t want to speak and risk being called on to elaborate on Skinner’s operant conditioning.

Finally, you picked up your phone and opened the chat.

REINA [1:27 PM] bin’s going to the race tonight will have drinks… you could use some we’ll try my gran’s homemade sambuca

She was very clever. She knew you’d planned to spend the evening working through Marlon Brando’s filmography together. But instead of admitting she wanted to postpone that to see her boyfriend, she immediately rerouted the whole night.

YOU [1:29 PM] lovely but i’m heading straight to sleep

She read the message and shook her head before typing:

REINA [1:29 PM] sounds like a plan after we’re back from the race

She didn’t directly ask you to come with them; she knew you wouldn’t. You avoided the drag races at the old camping grounds outside campus, not just because of the noise, but also because some of the drivers raced drunk, when they could barely race sober. You wanted nothing to do with that.

You’d said as much out loud, a couple of years back, when Soobin and Reina first started dating and Reina wanted you at the race with them. Yeonjun had cynically declared that your reasons were “laced with moral superiority.” You told him his face was laced with moral superiority, and that your reasons were simple common sense.

Reina knew this about you and usually respected your decision.

Other times, she made a different decision for you.

For a few moments, the two of you sat in the quiet auditorium, fervently shaking your heads at one another.

Then, Reina picked her phone back up.

REINA [1:32 PM] NO. you are not making me go alone (please) if yeonjun wins anything, i might end up arrested for assault

You snickered quietly into your fist. Yeonjun was already unbearable on a normal day, but if he won—in his obnoxious, classic blue Nissan Skyline with its obligatory grey stripes on the bumper—he unlocked new, unseen levels of insufferability.

YOU [1:33 PM] so don’t go let soobin celebrate with him

Reina’s response came seconds later, and it was everything you’d expected her to say:

REINA [1:33 PM] i want to spend time with my boyfriend, though :(

YOU [1:34 PM] hard to do when your boyfriend’s boyfriend is also there

Reina fixed you with another long look. You met it head-on.

REINA [1:35 PM] i have a feeling that if you’re at the race, then yeonjun won’t win you’re his bad luck charm an omen, if you will :)

She saw your struggle to keep a straight face and her own smile spread in quiet triumph.

YOU [1:36 PM] i wish

Discouraged but far from defeated, Reina opted for a different approach.

REINA [1:36 PM] you can’t miss seeing me in the dress we got last week!!

You raised a questioning eyebrow. She only grinned, mischief tugging at the corners of her lips, and turned back to the front of the auditorium.

The two of you had gone shopping together last week, and you found her a dress that looked like it had been designed with her in mind. She hadn’t had a chance to wear it yet, so naturally, she was now deploying it as a weapon.

You did want to see if the dress suited her as well as you’d imagined, and if she felt good in it.

YOU [1:37 PM] you’re wearing it to the race?

That hardly seemed like an occasion suited for such an outfit. But Reina tucked a determined strand of hair behind her ear and texted back:

REINA [1:37 PM] yes

YOU [1:37 PM] fair i’ll look at it at home <3

She turned in her seat to glare at you once more, mouthing a loving “fuck off” before returning to her phone.

REINA [1:38 PM] i won’t show it to you at home

You smiled at your phone.

YOU [1:38 PM] mean :(

REINA [1:38 PM] you’re coming with us

She was done negotiating.

But after hearing you groan, she quickly added:

REINA [1:38 PM] ok we love you bye

With a resigned sigh, you typed back a succinct:

YOU [1:39 PM] :(

Then placed your phone screen down on your desk.

You’d go, then. Or Reina would bury you under the bare hydrangea branches behind your flat.

Innocently, she leaned back in her seat, nudging your shoulder. You refused to meet her satisfied grin and stared resolutely ahead in one last act of defiance.

✦ • ──── FEBRUARY 6, 2025. 9 PM

The winding hillside roads at the edge of the campus were packed with drunken students and cars that shouldn’t have been driven a decade ago, let alone tonight—the upgraded parts had long outnumbered the originals. Some of the engines couldn’t have powered a bicycle, yet somehow they kept the monstrosities that had once been BMWs moving.

The air reeked of petrol, and the roaring engines drowned out the chatter of the crowds. All around you, people were intoxicated and exhilarated. No one minded the February chill or the frozen grounds still dotted with snowbanks.

The first pair of drivers was already at the starting line. You didn’t recognise all the names on the old blackboard, with numbers scrawled in chalk, but you saw that Yeonjun’s turn was next. His bright blue Nissan was undoubtedly the most expensive model on the grid, and looked almost offensive around the beaten-down Mitsubishis of his opponents.

You were tired and cold as you clutched your coat tighter around yourself and dreamed about going home early. Your only consolation was that Reina did indeed look breathtaking in the dress you’d picked—Soobin had nearly needed an inhaler when he saw her; you’d never felt prouder—even bundled under her heavy winter jacket.

Eventually, the Sambuca she’d brought warmed you up, too, and you agreed to stay longer. It helped, of course, that Reina preferred to light the shot on fire before drinking.

“Beomgyu’s car isn’t here yet,” Soobin observed, and Reina lifted her head from the bottle to glance at the scoreboard.

Beomgyu wasn’t due to start for another three rounds, but you knew he was already here. You’d heard him as soon as you arrived, chatting by the snack table with Yeonjun and a few friends, standing beneath a dangerously leaning wooden pergola, likely assembled by the drivers before your time.

You checked the board again and spotted Taehyun and Kai’s names underneath Beomgyu’s. They were both a year below you, but Kai—being Beomgyu’s roommate—and Taehyun—being your companion during dull campus parties—had quickly become part of your group as well.

“I heard he had an engine problem last week,” Reina said, waving when Beomgyu’s gaze drifted your way. “Said it sounded like a cage of wild squirrels.”

You snorted at the image, and Soobin smiled, too. You’d driven Beomgyu’s Audi before; it always sounded like that.

“Nothing new. Even if he says he’s fixed it,” Soobin said. “Let’s see how long that lasts, knowing his dedication to hit every kerb in sight.”

Reina was about to reply—Beomgyu’s Audi held a special place in her heart—but someone nearby set off a cherry bomb, cutting her off and making all three of you jump. To be fair, it was Soobin’s startled yelp as he reached for Reina that scared you more than the firework; those were typical for drag race nights anyway. Someone always brought explosives for the noise, rather than for the light.

As you scanned the crowd for the culprit, you felt hands on your shoulders and startled once more.

“There you are!” Nara exclaimed, pulling you close and grabbing Reina’s arm, too. She was clearly very tipsy already. “Been searching all over the grounds for you!”

Nara was a part of your cohort as well, and ever since you’d met her in your freshman year, she had always drunk until she physically couldn’t anymore.

You hugged her back and then slid out of her surprisingly strong grip.

“Why?” Reina managed to ask, still within Nara’s reach.

“The sambuca,” she explained, though judging by her swaying, she really could have done without any more spirits.

Reina seemed to share your thoughts as she gathered her hair out of Nara’s hands and glanced at you.

“I’m not even drunk,” Nara declared drunkenly. “And I came for just a—just one shot anyway. I’m more of a Corona girl. Liquor’s not for me. Is it true you put coffee beans in it?”

“Yeah, it—”

“Well, I don’t like Espresso Martinis,” she went on. “Not very fond of gin, but this—”

“Espresso Martinis aren’t made with gin,” Soobin chimed in. He had taken up bartending at one of the bars downtown last month. The job, it appeared, came with an unwritten duty to correct all misconceptions about alcoholic drinks.

Nara gave him a sceptical look. “But it’s a Martini.”

Soobin shrugged. “Just a name.”

“Alright.” She responded with a shrug of her own and turned back to Reina. “Pour.”

Reina poured, then flicked her lighter. Nara barely waited for the flame to burn before she blew it out and threw her head back, downing the shot in one determined gulp.

You were about to offer a—belated—warning, but Nara had already swallowed. Her face froze in a half-scowl, half-gag, and you stepped closer to place a concerned hand on her back.

“You alright?” you asked, trying not to laugh as Soobin’s expression morphed into comical amusement behind her. You and Soobin have already tried the drink before—brutal on the first go, but much smoother on the second.

Nara clicked her tongue, then licked her lips.

“Yeah,” she said. “Shit. Right. I can’t stand liquor, so if I—”

She bent down and gagged dramatically. All three of you took a cautious step back. Then she straightened, waved you off with one hand, closed her eyes, and finally burst out laughing.

“I’m okay,” she decided. “Actually, wasn’t even that bad. Considering another one.”

You and Reina looked at each other again. She capped the sambuca bottle. You retrieved the water bottle from your bag.

“Have you considered,” Reina said, holding up the shot glass while you poured water into it, “that you shouldn’t mix liquor with beer?”

“Beer before liquor,” Soobin offered helpfully, “never been sicker.”

Nara rewarded his rhyme with another scowl, then mindlessly took the shot from Reina’s hand. She knocked it back without realising it was water, then spluttered halfway through a swallow.

“Hmph,” she began, her gaze locked on something behind you, “is that Amy?”

You turned, despite not recognising the name, then glanced at Reina to see if she was confused, too. She was not.  She was squinting at a group of girls in the crowd, evidently having connected the name to a person.

“It is!” Nara exclaimed. “Where’s Yeonjun?”

You leaned in closer to Reina. “Who’s Amy?”

“Yeonjun’s ex,” she whispered back, nodding ahead. “It does look like her, yeah.”

“Ah.” You pulled back, losing interest. “Okay.”

You’d heard that Yeonjun had been in a relationship; everyone had. But he’d never seemed to bring his girlfriend to any of the parties you’d been to, and you never bothered to find out who the poor girl was.

Reina turned back to Nara. “I heard she’s taken the year off, though.”

“Yeah, she was working at her dad’s company in Milan,” Nara replied, then paused, waiting to hiccup. “Sh-she’s back, though. Moved in with this girl, Jiyoung. My friend from high sch—high school.” The second hiccup caught her off guard. “We think she wants to get back together with Jun again.”

You turned back at the group of girls Reina had indicated before. There were three of them standing close together, but only one faced your way—likely Amy herself, given how quickly Nara noticed and recognised her.

If that was indeed the case, Amy was beautiful. She had long black hair and wore a white coat that looked like it cost half of your tuition. You watched her laugh at something her friends said, and felt yourself smile instinctively. Her movements and the slow, deliberate softness of her speech all pointed towards generational wealth. And still, she seemed sweet and approachable.

You thought she was outrageously out of Yeonjun’s league.

“Is she… masochistic?” Reina asked Nara, opting for a more diplomatic word than the one she’d originally considered.

Nara snorted, and you noticed Soobin turning away—presumably to stop himself from reprimanding the girls for making fun of Yeonjun again.

In the meantime, the music quieted around you, and the first pair of cars at the starting line revved their engines.

“They’ve been on and off for years. She’s used to him,” Nara said, running her fingers through her hair and swaying slightly on her feet. “Off for a while, though. She’s been seeing this other bloke, but guess that’s done now.”

“So now she wants Yeonjun?” Raina questioned. You nodded when she cast you a look, seeking your backup. “Of all people? How have her friends not staged an intervention?”

“They might have,” Nara said, “but you know their parents. They think those two are meant to be. Maybe they are.”

Aside from knowing that Yeonjun came from a wealthy background, you did not, in fact, know his parents. Nara, on the other hand, knew most of everything on campus: the truth and the speculation.

You did not care to ask to elaborate, and neither did Reina; she had developed a distracted smile on her face the moment Soobin bent down to lean his head on her shoulder. Their height difference was already ridiculous, and he always made sure to fold himself around her in ways that only accentuated that.

Bored, you turned towards the field behind you, searching for something else that could help you feel more awake and present. This day already felt like three days stitched together.

You checked the track again. The first pair had just finished their lap when you spotted Yeonjun opening the door of his Nissan. With his helmet perched at the back of his head, he wiped the long strands of his hair from his eyes and turned toward the crowd, seemingly searching for someone.

Could it really be, you wondered, surprised, that he was looking for his ex?

That would mean he actually had a heart, thus disproving your long-held theory that he was a poorly developed bot that had escaped from some IT-obsessed student’s basement.

Just then, Yeonjun locked eyes with you across the field. And grinned.

You did not have enough time to hide your confusion.

Satisfied with your perplexed expression, he winked, too—just to see you blink, then roll your eyes at him.

With that, he slid his helmet on and climbed into the car, having successfully found the one motivation that would push him to the finish line ahead of everyone else.

✦ • ──── FEBRUARY 7, 2025. 12 AM

Yeonjun won all eight races he’d entered.

You’d never stayed long enough to actually see the final tallies before, but an exhilarated Soobin told you that this had never happened. No one had swept every race in a single night.

Still, Soobin’s energised cheers failed to make you feel excited. Your feet ached from standing so long, and the heavy air—thick with liquor and exhaust fumes—was beginning to sting your eyes. Not to mention, Yeonjun and his entourage were howling in unadulterated thrill, and that only made you reconsider your own life choices.

“Maybe he cheated,” you suggested to Reina while Soobin ran ahead to congratulate his friend.

“Had to,” Reina agreed. “If they weighed his car, they’d probably see it’s floating.”

“Not in the rules, Rei!” Soobin called over his shoulder. “They inspect the engines, and his was top-notch. It’s a brilliant car, actually. We shouldn’t be surprised. Probably the best one here.”

“So, then he only won because he can afford the best car,” you said. “That’s hardly a skill.”

Soobin made a sound of dissent, but couldn’t find a weighty enough argument. Yeonjun did have an outstanding car, which likely did half the work for him.

“So much for being the bad luck charm, huh?” Reina said to you, watching Soobin disappear into the exuberant crowd that was butchering a victory song—to the tune of Happy Birthday—in Yeonjun’s honour. “I’m sorry if you had a shit time here.”

“S’alright,” you replied, pausing briefly to roll out your tired ankles. “Least I saw you in your new dress. The night wasn’t too bad.”

Reina smiled, but her response was drowned out by champagne corks popping as the crowd doused Yeonjun in celebration.

The two of you lingered at the edge of the scene until Yeonjun pulled Soobin in for a hug, and the champagne showers from the crowd stained him too. Soobin screeched—in horror, disgust, and disapproval—and dashed off towards Reina.

After a momentary chase—during which Reina assigned you to bodyguard duty to keep the champagne off her clothes, and Soobin nearly sent all three of you toppling into an icy snowbank—you finally joined the rest of your friends.

“No, I already told you,” Yeonjun was saying as you approached, his black hair flattened from the helmet, his right hand tightly gripping Beomgyu’s shoulder. “Your engine’s got a thermal inefficiency. Suboptimal combustion dynamics. Heard you choking from the third lap like a fucking asthmatic at a marathon.”

“Respectfully,” Beomgyu replied, “I’ve no idea what the fuck you’re on about right now”

“Your carburettor’s not bringing in enough air, love,” Yeonjun went on. He loved explaining things almost as much as he loved aggressively flirting with everyone. “Causes an incomplete combustion cycle. You’re backfiring and bleeding horsepower. And you’ve got a dodgy clutch, too.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Beomgyu asked.

Reina squeezed your hand and leaned in to whisper, “the lecture’s about to start.”

You snorted, but didn’t have time to respond, because, of course, Yeonjun had to continue.

“Transmission’s backwards,” he said to Beomgyu. “You lose more energy shifting gears than you gain on the straigh—”

“Alright,” Soobin interjected before Yeonjun could go off on a proper tangent. Several people around you exhaled in relief while you and Reina stifled a fit of giggles. “After-party at ours?”

Although he didn’t look sure about the decision—crowds at his house meant he’d have to do the cleaning—Soobin offered everyone a good-natured grin. Drinking at home also meant he didn’t have to worry if his friends got home alive or slipped on the ice and accepted death. He glared at Kai just to make sure they didn’t repeat last winter again.

Yeonjun finally pulled back from Beomgyu and nodded, approving the suggestion. Unlike Soobin, he did enjoy the crowds at their house.

“It’s not that far away,” Soobin continued, “s’warm, and we’ve got booze there, too.”

A drunk chorus of whoops and other incoherent but enthusiastic cheers followed.

The decision had been made.

That wasn’t what you’d planned for the rest of the night, so you turned to Reina—who had no choice; Soobin already had her hand and was gently tugging her along.

“Actually,” you said, catching her pleading gaze, “think it’s time for me to go home.”

“Come on,” Reina still tried. “Just for an hour?”

“I don’t think so,” your voice was apologetic. “I’m falling asleep standing up.”

“I know you’ve got an hour in you,” she pushed gently.

“I don’t know, it’s already late—”

Although you did not mean to advertise your decision to skip the party, Yeonjun—forced to wait for Soobin—had heard it and, predictably, scoffed.

“Aw,” he crooned, interrupting you. “Mummy and daddy set a strict bedtime? Shame. Was looking forward to spending time with you.”

You gritted your teeth, but decided not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you angry.

You pondered for a moment whether you were petty enough to waste the night just to irritate him right back.

Reina watched your clenched jaw until you met her gaze. She nodded, reading through the thoughts in your head.

“Okay. Well, in that case,” you said, grabbing Reina’s other hand. “I’m coming. Can’t have you staying up all night, thinking about how much you regret not talking to me more.”

“So kind of you to accommodate my wishes, love,” Yeonjun replied, never missing a beat. “Anything else you’d like to do for me?”

Everyone else had already strolled off. Aside from Reina (currently mid-sigh) and Soobin (currently mid-longer sigh), no one was left to hear the two of you bicker.

You nodded at the scarf in Yeonjun’s hand.

“I’d love to strangle you with that scarf, for instance,” you said. “But can’t risk going to prison. Not worth it.”

He snorted, ran his tongue over his lips, and nodded twice.

That was about as close to surrender as Yeonjun would ever give. But you knew better than to take pride in your victory; he had plenty more ammunition hidden behind his delighted grin.

✦ • ──── FEBRUARY 7, 2025. 12:30 AM

And so you ended up going to the after-party—mostly out of spite, but partly for Reina. She had a talent for making you feel essential, like she couldn’t function without you. Really, she just thrived on having someone to exchange judging glances with at parties. Usually, you loved being that someone for her. You only hoped you wouldn’t come to regret this night.

Yeonjun and Soobin lived in a house about fifteen minutes from the camping grounds. The girls in heels had every right to argue with Soobin’s earlier claim that the house was ‘not that far away.’

The entire fifteen-minute walk—mostly uphill, to make matters worse—your friends continued to holler and praise Yeonjun. They carried him on their shoulders half the road, too, and only dispersed after Taehyun nearly carried Yeonjun right into a streetlight.

Observing this, you and Reina pulled another few classmates into an intentionally loud discussion about the toxicity of male sports fans.

You’d never been to Yeonjun and Soobin’s house before, and the modest, lively building at the end of the street wasn’t what you’d pictured Yeonjun living in. It certainly suited Soobin, though. Perhaps he’d taken Yeonjun in as a stray.

Yeonjun stood by the door, holding it open and ushering everyone inside. Just as you approached, he theatrically switched the hand on the door, forcing you to step back in surprise. A smug grin spread across his face as you stumbled slightly on the uneven patio.

You bumped his chest with your shoulder in retaliation and walked inside.

Several of your friends noticed this, but carried on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. And it hadn’t, really.

You and Yeonjun had been unfortunately grouped together since undergrad, long before you began competing for grades. Both of you were the oldest among your peers, having dropped out of separate programs—Biology for you, IT for him—taken gap years, and landed here, in Sociology.

It was sometime during freshers’ week, five years ago, when you introduced yourselves, and Nara, somewhat tipsy, declared that you and Yeonjun were kindred spirits – all because you’d missed your first shot at university. You questioned that reasoning, but arguing with a drunk Nara was a losing game.

She changed her mind, however, once classes started and Yeonjun began picking fights with you in almost every seminar you attended together.

Aside from that, not much has changed now that you were in graduate school. You remained in the same program with most of your friends, and you and Yeonjun still possessed a relentless distaste for each other.

Tonight was the first time you were at his house.

You quickly discovered that the corridor here was surprisingly spacious, but not spacious enough to hold everyone. Some people were already meandering through the house unsupervised.

About three seconds later, you heard music—someone had found the speakers—and before long, the house was echoing with the clinking of glass bottles, too.

“Feel right at home, friends,” Soobin called belatedly, laughing when he was greeted with appreciative cheers.

Yeonjun locked the door behind him and shouted to the crowd lingering in the corridor. “Go on straight ahead for the sofa, yeah? We’ll all fit there. Did you find the drinks?”

They had.

You stepped further in—past a group of people, carrying a bottle of wine each—and scanned the space: a kitchen and a living room divided by a large, round dining table. You could all fit here, and bring another crowd of a similar size. You could host classes here. Small concerts, even. Perhaps an uprising.

Soobin had definitely not taken Yeonjun in as a stray. It was likely the other way around.

“We found the wine and the champagne!” someone yelled from the kitchen. “But not the corkscrew.”

“I’ve got it,” Soobin said to Yeonjun.

They exchanged a nod. Soobin removed his coat and followed the sound of clattering bottles.

It didn’t take long for everyone to settle into the boys’ living room, filling the sofa, the chairs, and the cushions on the carpet. Yeonjun was the last to join, bringing in four six-packs of Heineken.

“Yeonjun,” Nara called out. Drunk Nara, although argumentative, was your favourite. She did not ask questions; she demanded you talked to her. “How come I saw Amy at the race, yet she isn’t here?”

The room responded to the name with a sudden hush, but Yeonjun did not react. You took a long sip of your beer.

“You’ll have to ask her that, love,” he said, distributing the drinks around.

“Well, did you invite her?” Nara pressed.

“Everyone’s invited,” he returned, offering her a smile and a bottle, both of which seemed to briefly pacify her.

You leaned your head against the back of the armchair, locking eyes with Reina across the room. She stood beside Soobin by the home bar—an impressive cabinet with a built-in fireplace—and he appeared to be mixing her a cocktail that the rest of you did not deserve, because the resident bartender was not in love with any of you.

You smiled at this and momentarily zoned out of the conversation taking place in the room.

“Have you talked to her at all?” Nara was asking Yeonjun.

“Haven’t had the chance,” Yeonjun said, settling onto the sofa.

He sat just far enough from your armchair that you couldn’t catch the scent of his cologne, but close enough to watch him finish half of his beer in one go.

“Are you going to?” Nara pressed.

Yeonjun swallowed and gave her a lazy grin.

“I guess we’ll see,” he said. “If I do, Nara, you’ll be the first I tell, okay?”

Realising she’d been prying but not caring one bit, Nara shrugged.

“I could help,” she said, “if you’re interested in reconnecting.”

You didn’t see Yeonjun’s reaction because Beomgyu leapt from the sofa and pointed an accusing finger at his friend. He then spun towards Nara and pointed at her, too.

“How about you don’t help him with anything,” he demanded, “until he explains himself.”

Yeonjun blinked. “Excuse me?”

“We had a presentation last week,” Beomgyu said. “Nara, me, and you. And you didn’t bother to show up.”

“Oh!” Nara straightened abruptly, sloshing her beer across the floor. You heard Soobin’s sharp inhale from across the room as droplets splattered onto the grey carpet. “That’s right! He abandoned us.”

“I didn’t abandon you,” Yeonjun said, unconcerned. “I had plans.”

Beomgyu scoffed. Nara clicked her tongue. Neither looked impressed.

“We didn’t get an A because you weren’t there,” Nara said, her voice softening. Another thing about drunk Nara was that her drunken confidence never lasted long. It always melted into slurred sentences and muted words as her eyes began to droop. She’d fallen asleep at the drag race last week.

Wordlessly, Yeonjun stood up to grab a gin and tonic from Soobin, then joined him and Reina at the cabinet. Right away, Reina drifted away from them and perched on the armrest of your chair.

“I’m sure that’s not why,” Yeonjun told Nara.

Something in his casual tone made you sit upright, nearly knocking Reina off the armrest. Reaching out a steadying hand to keep her in place, you took a swig of your beer and tuned into their conversation with a fresh curiosity.

“It is why,” Beomgyu insisted. “Now you’ve got a make-up paper to write. So, we didn’t get an A, and you got—you got that.”

“Yeah,” Nara added, smacking the armrest of the sofa. “You dumbass.”

Her friends chuckled and patted her shoulder in sympathy.

Yeonjun only smiled and walked over to the other end of the sofa—unfortunately, right beside your armchair. He looked almost relieved that Nara didn’t press the issue further.

You couldn’t resist taking over.

“Is that why you didn’t come?” you asked, the armchair dipping as you scooted to the edge. “Because you sensed you wouldn’t get an A?”

The provocation in your question brought another silence into the room.

You hadn’t meant for this to be a dramatic confrontation, but now everyone tilted toward the two of you. No one had thought of his absence in this way—Yeonjun skipped too many classes to keep track—but now it made sense.

He cleared his throat and shuffled on the sofa, tugging a pillow from behind his back and tossing it on the floor. A classic sign of discomfort, you noted, and took another sip to hide your smile.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t come because I had plans.”

Heads turned your way, as if this were a tennis match and yours was the next serve.

You swallowed your beer. “Why apply to grad school if you’ve got other plans?”

“Getting a graduate degree is also one of my plans, love,” he said, batting it straight back.

“But, clearly, not a priority.”

He shifted again, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees—closer. You felt Reina sigh beside you, sinking deeper into the armrest to get further away from him. You did not move.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

You tried to remain unfazed by his closer proximity. The lean-in had the feel of an intimidation tactic if you’ve ever seen one.

“You were doing a presentation with Reina last week, too,” you said, palm slick from the condensation on your bottle. “That one wasn’t even graded, but you still didn’t show up. I had to step in.”

“Aha!” Beomgyu shouted, victorious, as he plopped back down on the sofa. “So it’s a pattern with you.”

Yeonjun ignored him and continued to stare you down.

Reina, in the meantime, was surprised you’d brought this up at all. Normally, she avoided arguments with Yeonjun, finding them a waste of time rather than an opportunity to prove him wrong. But she was wholeheartedly on your side and was prepared—should you need her—to use all five feet of her height in a fight.

Without looking away from you, Yeonjun took a sip of his gin.

“Aren’t you glad?” he asked, a winning sparkle in his eyes. “No one to steal your spotlight.”

“Everyone in a team shares ‘the spotlight’ equally,” you countered. “But I get why you’d be confused. Teamwork isn’t part of your vocabulary.”

“Not part of yours, either,” he said. “Unless it means doing everything yourself and making sure everyone knows it. S’your whole act.”

His eyes stayed on yours, and he watched, cautiously, the way the bluntness landed and made you hesitate for two long seconds. Then, your expression sharpened again.

You forced yourself to swallow, then ran your hand down your thigh, the denim brushing against your rings.

“So, what were your so-called other plans, then?” you chose to ask, far from ready to admit defeat. “Buying new cars with Daddy’s money?”

He tipped his head back and downed his drink. When his eyes met yours again, he wore a golden grin.

“Actually,” he said, gaze drifting to your classmates, “I used Daddy’s money to go skiing. Kai nearly broke his neck trying out snowboarding.”

You heard Kai laugh, not bothered by the almost-accident at all; he usually almost broke his neck doing pretty much anything. Now he proceeded to high-five everyone who stood within reach.

“Good for you,” you said. “Not all of us can throw our money down the drain, but I’m thrilled that some can.”

“Oh, okay, then.” Yeonjun leaned back against the sofa, an intrigued glimmer in his eye. “And what does Her Responsible Majesty do when she’s not at the library, graciously sorting books for the rest of us?”

Although you held your glare, you were still surprised that he knew you worked at the library.

“When I’m not working,” you replied, “I still have classes to attend, obviously.”

“Well, obviously,” he echoed with an exaggerated, mocking pout on his lips. “Because you’ve got no life outside of them.”

“No, I’ve got a life,” you countered. “It just doesn’t make me skip presentations or let my teammates down. Must be a foreign concept for you, but—”

“Reading alone in your room is not a life, love.”

You felt your jaw clench. This time, you couldn’t hide the fury behind your teeth.

“You think you know everything I do?” you asked.

He lazily lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Hard not to, when you don’t do anything.”

Your grip on the Heineken bottle tightened so much that it was a miracle the glass didn’t shatter. “I—”

“Guys, oh my God!” Nara jumped to her feet suddenly, eyes alight. “You know what would be so funny?” Once she had the room’s full attention, she paused dramatically. Then spoke again. “If we locked you two in a fucking closet, so we wouldn’t have to hear you argue anymore.”

“Oh my God, yes!” Beomgyu, her partner in crime, cried out. “Seven Minutes in Heaven!”

You had just enough time to realise that drunk Nara may retire from being your favourite, when a supportive shriek—“fuck yes!”—was heard in the room. A jolt of goosebumps zipped down your spine.

“Nara, you technically argued with him first,” you tried to inform her, but she was already leading a new chant—closet! closet! closet!—and therefore no one heard you.

“That’s a childish—” Yeonjun tried as well, but even more raucous yelling drowned him out.

There was no time to protest, no chance to seek out Reina’s help, or even identify the voices of your friends for later revenge. Several people surged forward, gripping your upper arms and dragging you into the corridor. They’d noticed the door into the small wardrobe room as soon as they’d arrived; it was a disaster waiting to happen.

You opened your mouth to say you’d rather they locked you in the basement and left you the rats for company, but the door of the wardrobe was flung wide, and you were swallowed by plastic hangers before you could speak.

The so-called wardrobe room was certainly larger than a regular wardrobe, but still offered no real space. Once they shoved Yeonjun in after you, even lifting your arms required a special sort of acrobatics.

Laughter filtered in from outside, followed by the sound of something heavy being propped against the door—in case you thought your friends weren’t serious about this.

You wondered if they’d even remember you in seven minutes.

“Lovely,” Yeonjun remarked, arms folded as he stared at the wardrobe door. He gave it a shove. It didn’t budge.

You both sighed in unison.

“Well,” you said, leaning your back against the wall, palms measuring the width of the plywood, “thanks for this.”

Yeonjun tried to whirl around and suffered from an elegant poke of a hanger right into his eye. You swallowed back your laughter and regretted the dim lighting; you couldn’t see the expression on his face.

“Fuck,” he pushed the hanger aside, “how’s this my fault? You started it.”

You glowered at his silhouette, offended by the accusation. “All I did was ask you a question. You’re the one who started it.”

“All I did was answer your question,” he bit back, “but you kept at it.”

“You kept at it.”

“You kept at—okay.” He groaned, and you watched as the edges of his silhouette blurred; he must’ve run a hand over his face. “This is why we’re in here right now.”

You exhaled and glanced up. There wouldn’t have been enough space here even if you’d climbed onto the beams under the upper storey shelves.

“You can still save the situation by revealing you’ve got a fire escape here somewhere,” you said. “Or at least, a hiding spot with drinks.”

Your eyes finally started to adjust to the faint light seeping through the cracks between the floor and ceiling. You could see Yeonjun push a few more hangers aside and shake his head.

“Got none of that,” he said. “I’ve never even been in here with the door shut.”

“Really not much of a wardrobe room, then.”

“Well, I can still walk around in here,” he said, stepping forward to prove it. “I just choose not to.”

He was taller than you, but not enough to feel intimidating when he was suddenly closer. Still, you retreated further into the back wall—as if you could vanish into it with enough effort—and turned your head away in an unintentionally theatrical manner. Then immediately hated yourself for the drama.

Yeonjun’s smirk returned.

“You can also walk back,” you said.

“And if I choose not to?” he challenged, amused by your determination to maintain as much distance between you as possible.

“You’ll be the reason I leave here with whiplash,” you retorted, stubbornly straining your neck and staring at the corner.

That didn’t faze him much. “I can live with that.”

Realising there was nothing you could bite back with, you slowly returned your head to its normal position but refrained from breathing. He was standing so close that one accidental flinch from either of you would have resulted in your foreheads colliding.

“Happy you came to watch me race,” he said, drawing your gaze back to his face.

“I came to spend time with Reina,” you returned. “You just happened to be racing there.”

He scoffed, but remained undeterred.

You wondered if anything could dent his confidence. Perhaps a kick in the teeth. Then you wondered if your foot could reach that high in this Harry Potter’s cupboard.

“You didn’t have to stay so long,” he said. “Admit it; you wanted to see me win.”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d crash,” you replied. “Preferably in a violent burst of flames.”

This made him laugh out loud, and your own lips twitched at the sound.

“Sorry to let you down, love,” he said, planting his palm on the wardrobe wall. His frame now completely boxed you in, and you turned your head again. “Maybe next week?”

You took a deep breath, chasing air that wasn’t saturated with the woody scent—laced with citrus and vice—of his cologne.

“Not going to be there next week,” you said.

Yeonjun noted your discomfort and decided to offer more.

“Hmm.” He leaned in closer and grinned at the sound of your sharp inhale. Then, pulled back, smug. “Reina’s definitely coming, though.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Soobin will be there,” he replied, softening his tone in what you assumed to be a mockery of Reina. “And, gee, she just wants to spend every moment she can with him. Especially now that he’s landed that bartending job, and she can’t see him as much. So tragic.”

A kick in the teeth no longer seemed like enough. You imagined stringing him up in place of a scarecrow on your grandparents’ farm.

“I can’t understand why Soobin talks to you about these things,” you muttered, lowering your voice. He was forced to lean back in to hear you. “You couldn’t tell your girlfriend from your ass. What good are you at relationship advice?”

His expression, partly obscured by the darkness of the wardrobe, appeared highly entertained.

“You want to discuss my girlfriends,” he said, “while you’re trapped in this wardrobe with me?”

You gave him a flat look despite the unexpected clenching of your stomach.

“Might as well,” you said. “What else can we do?”

Laughing, Yeonjun removed his hand from the wall to rub the corner of his right eye.

“I’ve no idea,” he said. “I am actually good at relationship advice, though. Too good, even.”

“Must be why you’re single.”

He smiled and leaned his shoulder against the wardrobe door. He was clearly restless, and all of his fidgeting pulled more of him into your personal space. It was already too warm here.

“Why are you, then?” he asked.

“What?”

“Single.”

You glanced at him before shifting your gaze to the hangers behind his head. “Guess I’m also too good at relationship advice.”

“I bet.” He smirked. “And your advice is always right, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t be giving it if it wasn’t.”

“Hmm.” He bent slightly, brushing your arm as he glanced down at his shoes. You shivered at the contact with his skin and tried to blink it away. “Does it come from experience?”

Straightening again, he caught your eyes and didn’t pull away. His arm stayed pressed against yours.

You swallowed. “You want to discuss my boyfriends while you’re trapped in this wardrobe with me?”

His smirk deepened.

“Nice,” he said. “Alright, I don’t. No point flicking through old pages, right?”

“Right,” you said. “Unlike you, once I break up with someone, it’s really over.”

Yeonjun paused. There were hints of something other than superiority in your voice, but he couldn’t say what.

“Despite what Nara thinks,” he said, “I haven’t spoken to or even thought about Amy in a very long time.”

He looked like he wanted you to believe this, and you couldn’t resist:

“Well,” you said, “she was at the race tonight. Are you sure you didn’t just bottle it after you saw her?”

“Haven’t seen her,” he replied. “I was looking for you.”

The lack of oxygen in his wardrobe made your heart skip a confused beat. You forgot the follow-up comments you’d planned.

“You were looking,” you repeated, “for me?”

He shrugged.

You stared at him. “Did you get a concussion?”

He snorted and gave an amused shake of his head.

“Knew how much seeing me win would piss you off,” he said. “Boost of motivation.”

“Oh. Flattered you think of me when you race.”

“Helps me not to crash,” he replied. “Who’d get on your nerves if I got myself killed?”

You shut your eyes to keep them from rolling to the back of your head, and pressed your tongue into your cheek.

“Alright,” you said dryly. “Glad you’re aware of what I feel for you.”

His gaze traced your face while you kept your eyes closed. “I think you feel too much for me, actually.”

You scoffed. “Oh, sure, sure. Hard not to when you’re obsessed with constantly being in my line of sight.”

“Ah.” His breath shifted into a laugh. “Of course you’d see me everywhere you look. In the shapes of the clouds, too, perhaps?”

You clicked your tongue and opened your eyes, fixing them on the ceiling.

“It must be exhausting,” you said, “carrying all that ego everywhere.”

“Wouldn’t know,” he said. “How about you tell me?”

“Hm.” Your glare faltered with your breath, and you turned away again. “Fuck. Really not much to breathe here.”

Yeonjun turned to the clothes hangers behind him. As though they were the problem, he offered: “Want me to move these out of your way?”

“It’s fine,” you said, half a sigh passing your lips. “It’s only seven minutes. Surely we’re halfway through by now.”

His lips curled into a fresh grin. “Surely.”

He loved the way you made your discomfort obvious—all eye-rolls, sighs, and suppressed groans—but each time the two of you fell into a silence, he could feel your pulse against the side of his arm. He could hear your breathing.

You weren’t nearly as annoyed as you claimed to be, but he certainly enjoyed watching you pretend.

“I’m surprised there’s any room here at all,” you said, gaze flicking to the hangers. “Considering you own more clothes than everyone else in this house combined.”

“You like them?” he asked, nudging a hanger your way, then reading the writing on the hoodie on it. “I don’t mind lending you something.”

“I don’t like them,” you replied automatically. “I worry whether you own a washing machine, or just buy a new outfit for every day of the week every week.”

“Of course, you worry.” Another grin. “Would you lend me your washer, then, if I didn’t have my own? You seem like the sort to offer.”

For a second, you genuinely considered using him as a battering ram to break down the wardrobe door.

“Is that what you think I do in my spare time?” you asked. “Look after charity cases?”

“Not necessarily,” he said. “But you go out of your way to make sure everyone likes you, so it’d make sense.”

You pressed your lips together. It was hard to defend yourself without coming across as aggressively defensive and burying any chance of putting him in his place.

“‘Everyone’ doesn’t include you,” you ended up saying.

He smiled, digging his teeth into his bottom lip. “M’curious about that, actually. You may not be who I thought you were.”

His gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips again—most likely an unintentional response brought on by your forced proximity. Still, you found yourself looking away.

“Who did you think I was?”

“Boring,” he replied straight away. “Prideful and fake. You walk around like you’re auditioning for Most Liked in a high school yearbook. And all the while, you’re hoping no one notices that you’re actually judging every single person in the room. You’re an optical illusion of warmth and kindness. Have to squint to really see through your shiny surface.”

You felt your chest tense, but you were getting much better at ignoring the signals it was sending you.

“Wow,” you muttered, maintaining a flat tone. “Do you just sit around at home, then, coming up with this shit?”

“I read a lot,” he said. “That helps.”

“Oh, and you think of me when you read your Freudian bullshit?” You tilted your head. “Again, I’m very flattered. But not interested.”

He laughed, chest lifting just enough to brush yours as it moved. Your heart, momentarily forgetting how much you loathed him, made an attempt at a somersault. He felt it—in the stuttered breath you took, and in the way your arm pressed into his harder for a split-second.

“Look at that, love,” he said in a jaunty tone. “You’re not very shiny with me.”

“I don’t care about you,” you shot back. “That probably helps.”

“Yeah?” His smile was a sharp blade. “I almost believe you.”

Something dipped in your stomach—a warning bell, hinting at his peculiar ability to see beneath your composure.

You ignored it, too, and raised a defiant eyebrow instead. “Almost?”

He hummed, but did not answer right away.

There was a calculated precision in the way he leaned in just a little closer, his arm fully pressing against yours. You took in what little breath you could.

His eyes swept across your face like you were the only thing worth looking at in this wardrobe. There was nothing unintentional about it; he wanted to look.

“You’re not that easy to read,” he murmured. “Are you?”

“I’m not one of your books.”

“No. You’re definitely not.” His eyes flickered to your lips as he parted his own. “Hm. Guess it’s fucking with my head a bit.”

You felt your throat tense up when you tried to swallow.

“Well,” you said, oblivious to how much quieter your voice had become, “you’re fucking with my head, too.”

“How so?”

“Want to jump out of a window every time you open your mouth.”

You held his gaze as you said it, and he couldn’t help his smile. He could tell you really wanted to mean every word, but there was a curious sort of anticipation in your eyes. An approaching storm.

Yeonjun felt his blood run faster.

“That so?” he asked, barely audible now. You had to watch his lips to catch it. “Have I really got that big of an impact on you, then?”

It was the proximity, surely, that made searing heat push against your ribs. It was his cologne, and the soft cotton of his t-shirt, gently brushing against the tips of your fingers when you dropped your hands to your sides, and found him right there, in front of you, and all around you, all at once.

It was terribly, terribly warm here.

“Why?” you countered, breathless. “Thrilled at the thought?”

“Mmhmm.” The soft resonance of his voice wrapped around the wardrobe walls. Your chest tightened again. “Really enjoying the look in your eyes every time you see me. Could kill someone with it.”

“Hopefully you.”

“Funny.”

He was already in front of you, and now the space between your bodies had shrunk to practically nothing. Not nearly enough room for a breath, let alone a fly.

It was impossible to determine what happened first: your hand making tentative contact with his chest, or his mouth with yours.

The touch of your lips was soft, tentative, and uncertain—but soon the kiss turned rushed.

His body pressed into yours, backing you into the rear wall as your lips responded to his. Your tongues found each other, allowing for the kiss to deepen, and he exhaled helplessly into your mouth, evidently struggling for a breath, too.

He rested one hand against the plywood beside your head, trapping you between the wall and his chest, while his other hand cradled the side of your face. He didn’t take complete charge of the kiss (contrary to what one might have expected from someone like him), and allowed you to touch him and kiss him in any way that you wanted.

And you wanted. He couldn’t breathe from the realisation that you wanted.

You were absolutely dazed from the lack of oxygen, and completely drunk on the pressure of his mouth against yours. There were moments when you didn’t feel like you were entirely conscious.

But there was one moment of vivid clarity, when Yeonjun pulled away just enough to part from your lips, yet still breathed the same air.

You felt his chest rise and fall in rhythm with yours.

His wide, glossy eyes searched your face in the dark.

The tips of his fingers caressed your cheek.

In that moment, as clear as day, you were the one who leaned back in.

Yeonjun responded to your kiss instantly, moving his hand from your cheek to the back of your head, tilting it at just the right angle that allowed him to taste your mouth better. Deeper.

The space inside the wardrobe seemed to expand because, suddenly, you could not get close enough. The air grew thick as your heavy breaths mixed with the soft, wet sounds of your tongues and your lips and your hearts.

His hand slipped lower, drawing your hips to his. The breathy hum that escaped your lips in response—half-gasp, half-plead—made his head spin.

Suddenly, he was kissing you harder, faster. His world narrowed to the feeling of your fingers threading through his hair and the way you pulled him in.

“Fuck,” he exhaled against your mouth, soft enough to barely register, but still electric enough to send sparks coursing through your body.

His hand travelled up and down your spine, then reached the edge of your shirt. He paused for barely a second, toying with the hem, then slipped his hand underneath. Another curse passed his lips when he felt the warm skin of your lower back beneath his fingertips.

His mouth was hot against yours, and you were most certainly burning up. The taste of his tongue felt dangerous in a way that liquor did to a recovering alcoholic. You felt dizzy to the point of wanting nothing more than to—

“Seven minutes are up, lovebirds!” a voice shouted outside.

Both of you flinched violently, limbs smacking into the wooden panels of the wardrobe as you pulled away from each other.

The wardrobe shrank at once, and you felt trapped again.

“Hope you’ve worked through your unresolved tension,” Beomgyu added, laughing as he and Nara pulled the door open, dragging aside whatever they’d used to block it.

They gave you about three seconds to get yourselves together, which was quite generous of them. But as the door opened and you squinted at the light, you saw that Yeonjun’s face was still flushed, his lips rosy and more swollen than usual.

You suspected you didn’t look much better.

As the two of you walked out, a few classmates—led by Nara and Beomgyu, of course—delivered playful punches to your shoulders.

But nothing more than that.

Everyone was drunk—bless—and no one cared. Soon, they all drifted back to join the rest of the group in the living room, where the drinks were. And the music.

Had the music always been playing?

There was a buzzing in your ears, and you weren’t convinced if you hadn’t accidentally gone deaf.

Clearing your throat, you risked a glance at Yeonjun.

“I, um—” You paused, forcing the bite back into your voice. “Just so we’re clear, I still can’t stand you.”

“Right,” he said, not looking at you. “See you in class.”

He took a step to the corner of the corridor, swung the bathroom door open, and disappeared inside.

His cologne lingered—sharp, persistent, unyielding.

You weren’t sure if your heart had caught up with your head.

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dedication

to @eleni-cherie who is the only reason i finish what i start 🙏🏻 thank you so much for taking the most intense idea for the plot, and sending it to me on a random night before i had a shit dentist appointment, just like, "you'd probably like this 👀" because i sure did. you revived a fic that i've already buried, and now we're back babyyy.

also, thank you so much for our 6-hour calls where we spend 75% of the time talking about fanfiction. and thank you for kicking my ass when i give up on writing, and for reigning me in when i decide to turn the whole plot upside down. thank you for thinking out of the box and immediately finding solutions to plot problems that have been kicking my ass for days. thank you for listening to me yap endlessly until i get to the point. thank you for always having ideas that have us giggling and kicking our feet at 1am. thank you for your support and feedback, for your improvements and adjustments. realising now that i'd never finish this note if i actually thanked you for everything, so just thank you for you 🥺

considering that this fic has been 2 years in the making, i am confident to say it would not exist without you 🤍