the moonlight through the window.

it’s aggravating, how easily she can misconstrue his intentions—how she can twist them and turn them into something they are not in that pretty little head of hers. it’s clear as day how she takes his words, processes them, and reaches a conclusion. he often enjoyed watching hundreds of emotions flicker over her face, but right now he loathes how he can easily read how she doubts him, how she mistakes his concern for disdain. especially when he’s made it so blatantly obvious that he’s interested in her. knowing full well that he can’t talk sense into her when she’s like this, he backs off, hands raised in surrender as he puts space between them. “i’m just concerned about you, han, since you apparently can’t think to worry about yourself, the responsibility has to fall on someone to do it for you.”

he’s a storm of irritation and concern as he speaks plaintively, arms crossed over his chest as he bores holes into the back of her head as she walks away, only to return and retrieve her wand. yonghwa snorts, knowing full well it’ll aggravate her further. they’re already on the path towards a full blown argument, there’s no point in turning back now. maybe once they’ve aired their grievances they can have an actual conversation, like the fully functioning people they’re supposed to be. but it all goes to shit when she’s cast the counter spell for the locking charm she had cast earlier. without thinking, he closes the distance between them in a single stride, blocking her against the desk before she could escape. 

“are you done acting like a kid, han?” he huffs, looming over her, hands splayed on the desk behind her as a means to get her to finally look at him in the eye and talk. “instead of just walking out of every argument, maybe you should stick around so we can actually figure shit out. because i’m getting really sick and tired of watching you leave. it’s like you keep expecting me to always come around, and someday, i might not even bother anymore—” his words are scathing, and perhaps harsher than they need to be, but seol has that uncanny ability to bring the best and the worst out of him. he’s not even talking about her inability to care for herself anymore, he’s breached the unknown territory in regards to their ambiguous relationship ( if one could even call it that ) “—make up your mind already. i know i have.”

yonghwa moves away from her, putting distance and desks between them before he does something he’ll regret later. he eyes her, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists until his knuckles were taut and white against bone. without so much as a warning, he pivots on his heel, leaving her there to stew in her thoughts. as he reaches the door, he throws in the towel, suddenly tired of this game of cat and mouse they’ve been playing. “you know where to find me. see you around, han.”

he doesn’t have to be a legilimens to be able to see through her, his every movement and action bringing about reactions and emotions she can’t quite manage to ever hide. it’s like he knows and revels in that fact, perpetually leaving fingerprints on the glass of her heart, and try as she might, she can’t ever seem to clean them off. 

“i don’t need you to worry about me!” 

he’ll come back because he always does, always has, no matter how far she goes.

so she pushes even more, because it hits her in a soft spot; she doesn’t like to remember their age gap, their difference in life experience, because it’s just another thing stacked against her. reminding her why this isn’t going to work out like she wants it, why she’s not going to get the fairytale ending with the first boy she’s ever properly liked, no matter how bad she wants it.

she likes him. 

this earth-shattering, ground-shaking revelation could not have come at a worse time. she’s past the point of simple frustration now, her fury absolutely explosive when her hubris is the fuel. “then maybe you should go fuck around with another girl, kim yonghwa. i don’t know why you’re staying if you so clearly don’t wanna.” seol refuses to look at him, gaze firmly trained on anywhere but him, because she’s aware of what she’s doing. pushing yonghwa further and further away, for no reason other than she can’t admit defeat, swallow her bitter pride, and apologise.

when he puts distance between them, she’s furious. at herself, at him, at every single atom and particle separating the two of them. it’s a consequence of her actions. she knows that, but it doesn’t mean she likes having to face up to it. this stupid fucking game of push and pull’s been rigged against the both of them since the very beginning, and if she’d been a better person, she’d apologise immediately, because that’s the only way they can win. together.

she’s not, though.

yonghwa curses himself for how forward he had been, but in his defense, he was desperate for any indication that she could ever feel the same ( because despite the kisses they shared in dark corners, abandoned classrooms, and hidden alcoves, they didn’t spell anything out for him other than physical attraction. he wanted more than that ) the symbolism of giving her his jersey was his final play, and if she doesn’t show up in it, he would have his answer: han seol didn’t want him. at least, not in the same way that he wanted her, and he didn’t blame her, not in the least. yonghwa was just doing the best he could do given the circumstances, he brushes his lips against her forehead, a tender expression of affection so jarring to the impassioned kisses they’ve exchanged before. with one last hopeful look her way, he leaves her. 

he wakes the next day, haggard and miserable, the bags under his eyes purpling from lack of sleep. the day passes in a blur, and before he knows it, he’s being ushered towards the quidditch pitch and shoved into the locker room for pre-game debriefing. he hardly pays attention to their coach, who drones on and on with the same pep talk he spouts before the start of every game. once they’re released, yonghwa robotically puts on his gear, following the assembly line and taking his spot on the pitch as they went through stretches and talks of strategy thereafter.

all the while the quidditch team is preoccupied, the stadium stands begin to fill with students, professors, and alumnus. and from his periphery, he spies her twin brother sitting in the sea of unfamiliar faces, probably with the rest of chollima’s fanclub. unfortunately, yonghwa has yet to see seol. grimacing, he shakes his head to rid himself of the anxiety and doubts that plague him. in little to no time at all, he’s straddling his broom with his beater’s bat in hand, kicking off and propelling himself up into the sky, floating along side the rest of his team as their headmaster greets the audience and their opponents. with a short lecture on good sportsmanship and rule abiding plays, the whistle is blown, and the match commences. 

still lost in his thoughts, yonghwa’s roughly pushed aside by one of the varsity chasers when an opposing beater whizzes past his head, nearly grazing his ear with their foot.

“what the fuck, yonghwa ?” his teammate shouts as they fly side by side, circling the stadium, to get back into formation.

“fuck off and focus on yourself, dude,” the fourth year hisses, tightening his grip on his bat as a bludger zooms their way. in a display of dexterity, yonghwa releases his hold on his broom, thighs tightening around the shaft as he uses the strength in both his arms to change the trajectory of the volatile sphere, aiming it towards the opposing team and breaking their formation. “i know what i’m doing.”

at their captain’s signal, the team disperses, shadowing their marks so their seeker could focus on finding the snitch. throughout the early stages of the game, yonghwa has been yelled at, left and right, by his teammates who know he can play better than the way he is now. gritting his teeth, molars grinding together, he pulls back, ready to bench himself to get out of the funk he’s found himself in when he finally sees her. the bane of his existence, han fucking seol, dressed in his jersey. it does something to him, something neanderthal and primal—it’s as if he’s marked her, and in some ways he has. 

wear it tomorrow, and i’ll know your answer, he remembers telling her yesterday. even if you don’t, i’ll understand. i’m still yours either way. i don’t mind being your secret.

his lips twitch at the corners, resembling the barest of smiles. he knows she’ll see it, and it takes all his willpower not to swoop down into the stands and kiss her, right then and there, damn anyone that dares to try and stop him. but he knows better, and knows her, that this should be done in private—though her very act of wearing his jersey was anything but. 

with renewed resolve, yonghwa turns back to the game, energized and burning to bring victory home.

seol’s never thought for a moment that anything she’s seen in her guilty pleasure maeobsa movies would actually happen in real life. there’s no way that everything’s going to slow around her when she looks at her love interest, because everything in those stupid fucking movies are exaggerated to high heaven.

but on god, she swears the earth stops spinning for the briefest of seconds when yonghwa looks at her. cheol hisses a ‘is he SMILING? oh my god, seol, he’s smiling! at you!’, smacking her again and again on the thigh like an overexcited toddler. seol doesn’t bat his hands away like she usually would, though, because yonghwa’s smiling at her and nothing else really matters.

everything else happens too fast. 

cheol just says that it’s because she hadn’t been paying attention to anything else but him, but she can’t quite find it in herself to retort with something snappy when she’s on the verge of throwing up. she’d elected to wait until mostly everyone had cleared out to get ready for the victory party baek ho were hosting before making her way down to the locker rooms, but all that’s done is given her time to get in her head and freak out as cheol neatly pushes a few silver bobby pins into her hair and dots some tint on her lips. her brother recognises the look on her face, and he conjures up a paper bag for her to breathe into. just in case. 

she ends up doing origami with it as she lingers outside the locker room. she manages to fold it into a heart, a crane, and halfway to a frog before the door swings open. her shy inquiry as to his whereabouts are met with teasing remarks from every single player filing out the locker room, until the keeper, who’s the last to trudge out, takes pity on her and tells her yonghwa’d still been in the shower the last he remembered.

the ‘get some!’ from one of the chasers is cut off by the door closing heavily behind her. the sound’s almost too loud in the silence of locker room, a far cry from the raucous victory celebration in the bleachers that had been on-going just 15 minutes earlier. it’s only through her sheer strength of her iron han willpower that she calls out a shaky “hey!”, before almost immediately regretting every life decision she’s made that’s led her to this point.

well, she’s already made her presence known. seol has a mission to accomplish, and she’s not leaving without having finished it. there’s a row of lockers that’s separating the both of them, and she makes her way towards the benches in front of them. “um, i’m gonna cover my eyes, since i don’t know if you’re decent or not.” i damn well hope you are. 

he frowns, immediately noticing her change in mood as soon as he’s finished speaking. yonghwa knows he’s stepped on and triggered a landmine with her when her tone adopts a sharp edge to it, the corner of her lips turned down into a grimace, her eyes refusing to meet his when he tries connecting them. seol was always difficult to deal with when she got like this, and as sad as it was to say, yonghwa often sends her into this moody stupor. the only thing he could do now was damage control—to distract her as best as he could with the limited options he has. he sighs, using his free hand that isn’t holding her steady at the hip to clasp their hands together, squeezing her fingers gently as he coaxes her to look at him. “don’t worry about it okay ? it happened and it’s over and done with. i didn’t get hurt—” the purpling bruises on his knuckles say otherwise, but he makes sure to not bring it to her attention “—doesn’t that matter more ? besides, you should be more concerned about yourself because you did get hurt.”

yonghwa’s frown deepens as he gives her a quick once over, noticing as she shakes her hair out of the braid she put it in how her fingers immediately press against the back of her skull grunting that it hurt—a reaction that sets alarms off in his head. carefully switching their positions, he distributes her onto the chair he had once occupied. he brushes aside her hands, and with a gentleness uncharacteristic of him, he combs his fingers through her hair, observing and gauging her reaction to his probing touch. at her wince, he sets his mind on bringing her back to the hospital wing. taking her wrist in hand, he tugs her out of her seat, leading her towards the door. “c’mon, you never shoulda came here, never shoulda fuckin’ got outta bed, you dumbass—” he speaks harsher than he means to, but he’s upset on her behalf, since she obviously cannot do that for herself “—god you’re so annoying.”

she doesn't know what the hell his deal is.

one minute he’s telling her that he’s fine and she doesn’t need to worry, entertaining her mini-tantrums and coddling her in ways only a lover would. seol wants to let herself be optimistic and believe this isn’t as hopelessly one-sided as she thinks, because she never sees him this way with anyone else-- she can almost let herself believe she’s special to him, the more he runs his fingers gently through her hair.

his fingers glide over the sore spot, and the change in his expression at her reaction is instantaneous. any traces of softness replaced immediately by a quick clench of his jaw to show the obvious displeasure he’s feeling toward her, and it’s like a bucket of cold water to wake her up from the dream she’d been in.

because the next he's calling her annoying and telling her to go back, and she’s reminded of why exactly she only ever talks about schoolwork whenever cheol asks her what’s going on in her life. the person he is right now is the domineering kim yonghwa she’s constantly at odds with. she doesn’t sand her own edges down to make dealing with his any easier, and the friction between the both of their gears is almost palpable.

seol hates it. 

hates how the playing field seems to be levelled to his advantage all the time, because even in this situation, there’s something frustratingly hot about the way he’s rounding out his words (that seol realises belatedly is satoori. fuck!) that have her needing to loosen her proverbial tie. she doesn’t though, because 1) she’s wearing a sweater over the dress shirt of her uniform, so there wasn’t a need for a tie, and 2) she’s far too mad to actually do that, and snatches her wrist from his grasp. “leave, then!” seol’s striding across the room, back to his desk to grab her wand. she seizes it, and pivots to cast an alohomora, blood still rushing in her ears.

the silence that ensues following her denial speaks volumes of how yonghwa’s pointed questions flustered her. he knows he can send her into a tizzy, often does just because he can because he likes seeing the effect he has on her firsthand. how her cheeks pool with heat, her inability to look him in the eye, but still somehow veered closer. he didn’t want to call it attraction—he couldn’t really fathom a word for this complicated dance they did around each other—but it was the only word that even came close to defining it. the longer he stares, the closer in proximity he becomes, until his chest is pressed flush against her side, and their lips millimeters—but the spell is broken when she breaks their eye contact. amused at her juvenile display, his lips curling at the corners while seol proceeds to pretend he doesn’t exist, as if she wasn’t perched on his lap, comfortably. pandering at whatever game she decided she wanted to play, he whispers near her ear, “what’re you up to ? pay attention to me instead.” 

he can imagine her rolling her eyes alongside the huff she expels, attention wholly concentrated on the transfiguration tome she summoned earlier. so she studies in silence under yonghwa’s watchful gaze, his chin comes to rest on her shoulder, eyeing the text she intends to memorize and regurgitate back in class. he’s grown comfortable with the silence, nearly falling asleep until she poses the question he had hoped to avoid altogether: why ? he would have been more than happy to ignore her inquiry and feign sleep, but he can feel her penetrating gaze on him, so he offers her half-truths, “i’m in detention for the same reason i usually am—” he shrugs lazily, explaining no further. he knows how she feels about him defending her honor ( she hates it ) but he can’t help but feel responsible for her, to take care of her  “—got into a fight, and won. simple as that. any other riveting questions you’d like to ask the class ?”

as much as she’d like to pretend she’s above whatever little game of cat and mouse they’re playing, yonghwa has the ability to knock her from her high horse almost effortlessly. it’s almost eerie to her how he knows exactly which buttons to push and which strings to tug at to keep her on the edge of her seat, anticipating more. he frustrates her to no end, but it takes two hands to clap. it’s as much on her as it is on him.

but... seol’s managed to rationalise it! she’s in the middle of her youth, damn it! she’s totally allowed to enjoy flings like this! it’s what all those maeobsas in the movies do! it’s just... this feels like she’s toeing an unspoken line. there’s physical attraction, which she’s sure is only what it is for yonghwa, and then there’s...whatever this is... that’s got her holding her breath whenever she walks by an empty classroom. she doesn’t want her first love to be unrequited, damn it! if her gumiho’s blood good for anything, it’ll be for finding a nice boy who likes her just as much as she does him, and having a taylor swift-esque relationship she’d be able to look back fondly on and tell her kids about!

at the rate they’re going, though? is there a them? she thinks she might have to actually have to drop out of school to become a cave dweller in the himalayan mountains to maintain whatever shreds of sanity he’s oh-so-graciously left her with.

"no. forget it. ” her tone’s sharp to hide the embarrassment that’s welling up. why had she asked, anyway? should’ve kept her mouth shut, pretended like she didn’t give two shits about what he’d landed in detention for. or for whom, her brain supplies unhelpfully. she shakes her hair out from the loose braid she’d pulled it into after her shower, like it’s an etch-a-sketch and the concept of him’s something she can get rid of that easily. 

the dull ache she’d been managing to ignore until now makes itself known with a sharp twinge that has her almost immediately regretting her decision, and she lightly rests her fingertips on the back of her head. “ah, it hurts.” she sighs, more to herself than him. she’d left her pain relief potions in her dorm room in her rush to get to detention on time, after having laid in bed for 15 minutes to weigh the pros and cons of skipping.

for some reason, she has the urge to tell him to kiss it better. 

kim yonghwa always found time to come and watch the intramural games, on the lookout for varsity hopefuls, as well as watch a good game. he had just found a seat within the stands to observe the scrimmage between hyeon mu and baek ho when the dumbass beater from hyeon mu decided to use han seol as target practice. he recollects it all happening in slow motion, his eyes transfixed as he could only watch in horror as the bludger connected with the back of the second year’s head. the sickening squelch on impact reverberated throughout the quidditch stands, as if someone had cast a sonorous. without missing a beat, yonghwa jumps out of the stands, hurrying onto the pitch and grabbing one of the spare brooms from the racks, he kicks off into the sky, barreling into the perpetrator. through sheer will and adrenaline, yonghwa drives the both of them forward, into the stands where he clambers over them, fist reared backward before connecting with flesh. his vision is red, his blood boiling with rage—he was a hurricane of a man in this moment, unstoppable. he’d wreak havoc upon anyone dumb enough to touch his girl ( she wasn’t, but a man can hope that his fervent wish could become reality ) he hardly recalls being pulled off the fucker, his memory a blur whilst he had been overcome with rage. from one moment into the next, yonghwa finds himself being chastised by a teacher for resorting to violence, he’s heard this diatribe before. after the longwinded lecture, yonghwa leaves the quidditch pitch with a detention slated for tonight in hand.

he barely makes it in time for detention that evening, but slips into the room as the teacher’s aid prattles off a greeting—which he ignores as he takes a window seat. yonghwa seems to be the only one in attendance, and he had been content to enjoy the solitude—but that had been before the door swung open, revealing the woman of the hour herself. his eyes rove over her being, looking for any signs of discomfort or pain. finding none, the tension in his shoulders dissipates, giving way to relief. he hardly wastes time dragging her towards him when she ventures into his space, situating her onto his lap. yonghwa raises a brow at her spell choice, and is quick to make a jab at it. “locking doors now, are we ? are you trying to seal the room so i can’t escape ? or are you locking me up to keep everyone else safe ?—” he shoots her a snarky grin, arms entwining around her midsection, peering up at her “—s’not my fault teachers choose to punish the wrong people. i’m more than happy to get in trouble for the right reasons.” ( it was unspoken but almost universally known that yonghwa was fond of seol. except perhaps seol herself )

“no,” she huffs, the denial automatic. her brows draw together in the beginnings of a petulant pout. “just tryna...” make sure no one walks in? in on what? she can almost hear his teasing, and she clears her throat. what exactly is she expecting, anyway? yonghwa’s an enigma-- as much as she doesn’t like to admit it, he leaves her awaiting. anticipating. she wonders briefly if he knows just how absolutely magnetic he is.

god, of course he fucking does.

it’s why he carries himself in such a way that leaves her wanting to hang off his every last word, her eyes drawn to him like a moth to a flame in every room they’re in. gravitating towards him no matter what she does to stop it, to prevent herself from becoming just another notch in his bedpost. she’s got far too much pride to admit the burgeoning attraction, even to herself. seol is not going to fall for kim yonghwa, who’s the personification of every single bad boy trope ever because she’s smarter than that. even if he’s the best kisser ever. you’ve never kissed anyone else, dummy, of course you think he’s good!

seol can’t stand to look at him for a second longer, because she thinks she’s gonna kiss him if he keeps looking at her like that, so she turns and accios her transfiguration book to her. “just tryna study in peace!” the excuse is flimsy even to her, and she waves the book around like it’s proving her non-existent point.