for as long as you could remember, ice skating has always been your everything.

you tried to deny it by focusing and developing other interests as you grew, but the rink always called you back to where you belong—where it’s cold and the air is crisp in your lungs. where the sound of your sharp blades slice across the ice, and not to forget—the overwhelming pressure of your mother’s eyes and expectations.

you were four when you first stepped a foot on the ice rink. the white skates were slightly too big for you, the gloves too. you cried before even making it halfway across, and you remembered scraping and tearing your tights when you fell. but your parents clapped from the side with a big grin and cheered, “that’s my girl.”

you didn’t know it then, how that innocent sunday would be the beginning of everything.

what started as a fun weekend school break activity turned into something more and big—your mother saw the potential in you, and she began enrolling you in classes. nap time after preschool became skating lessons with that strict instructor from a country you couldn’t pronounce. rent skates became custom skates with your initials stitched at the side. by the time you knew it, you woke up earlier and went through aching ankles more than scraped knees from running at the playground. 

your mother said you were graceful when you skated— your body’s light and you were quick to learn. although your instructor said there were still some parts that needed to be softened.

at six, you placed third in your first ever local competition at seoul plaza. at seven, you cried in the car and starved yourself after losing to a girl two years older. your mother didn’t say much but a few words of light reassurance—handed you a bottle of water, and told you to practice your spins when you got home. 

it wasn’t just you who changed. 

your mother did too.

by the time you were nine, your father asked you if there was anything else you’d like to do. you had given up dance class, violin lessons, and almost every school club you tried joining. there just wasn’t enough time to juggle between skating, studying, and just… life. skating came first—always did, and will probably always be. so important that you couldn’t recall the last time you socialised with kids your age in the neighbourhood that’s not on the ice rink. they called you the ice princess because you didn’t know how to make conversations, so cold it was painful to even talk to you—but whenever they did, it was always about… you, and the ice. and competitions, or studies. there was nothing else you knew besides what you’ve been doing for the past five years, everyday. 

you told yourself you loved it.

maybe you really did at one point. 

maybe when you glide and it’s quiet except for the music and the cold air hitting your face. that was peaceful. you loved it when you stood on the podium with a heavy medal around your neck and bouquet bigger than your face—when your parents looked so proud and the cheers you got from the audience were louder than your head.

you learned early that winning was the fastest way to be seen. 

by the time you were twelve, skating wasn’t just a hobby, or something you’re great at anymore. it became your identity. more competitions filled your weekends, lessons extended until the night. you were even getting calls from tvs and events every now and then. you missed birthday parties and sleepovers, vacations and holidays—all for a chance to shave a few more points off your score. 

somewhere along the way, you got good. got really good. not just in your mother’s and coach’s eyes, but in the eyes of the judges, competitors, and the skating community. you were a name to watch and to remember circulating in junior skating circles. the audience gasps when you land jumps and tight and solid spins.

everything about you screamed potential. 

“hi, i’m sunghoon.” 

you blinked, pulling out one earbud. the boy standing next to your bench was new. you’ve never seen him anywhere before but you’ve heard of him just earlier this morning. he already had his skates on, and his cheeks were slightly flushed from the cold. you smiled and gave him a nod, taking his hand in yours. 

“oh, sunghoon… i know. everyone’s been talking about you.” 

the young boy looked surprised, his eyebrows raised. “oh, really?” 

you nodded, pulling your laces. “my coach said a boy from seoul is transferring here. everyone’s saying you’re really good.” you said, not looking at him anymore but the light pink ribbon on your skates. you wiped the surface with your wrist-warmers and glanced up at him.

sunghoon looked down at your hands, not sure what to say to that. “oh… i guess so.” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. upon his reply, you wondered if you shouldn’t have said that—that you should’ve just introduced yourself like normal without bringing up… skating. you wondered if sunghoon’s the type to get flustered when being praised. or maybe he just didn’t like to talk about skating in general.

either way, you wanted to disappear out of embarrassment. 

“um,” standing up, you dusted your tights and zipped your bags. “are you having your morning practice today?” you attempted but obviously failed, walking towards the rink. sunghoon followed and walked next to you. did he only come to the bench to greet you? “mmhm. my coach said i should get used to the schedule. i skipped practice for a few months.” 

you glanced at him. “why?” 

he shrugged, lips pursing. “because we moved and i had to wait until we found a new rink and a new coach. and school is kinda messy.”

“oh.” you nodded. “i’m not sure about yours, but mine’s a little strict. my practice starts at six but today’s at eight and he yells if i’m even two minutes late. i hope yours is kind.” you let out a small chuckle like it’s normal, seeing your coach from afar warming up.

it’s true. you’ve heard that russian coaches are strict—but apparently, that’s how champs are born. yours focused so much on precision that sometimes he forgot to encourage and compliment you. but you grew out of it. receiving one was once in a blue moon. rare. an occasion.

sunghoon made a face—ones where it’s mixed between concern and confusion and amusement. “he yells? that’s kinda scary. we’re only twelve—at least i am.” he said, honestly. his new coach was one of his mother’s friends, and as sunghoon knew, she was kind. he didn’t know that coaches were allowed to yell at kids. 

“in the beginning. but he’s really good. and i’m twelve too.” you justified, shrugging. suddenly, sunghoon looked down at your skates—slightly worn out from the usage, then back at you. “you’re good.” 

“what?”

“at skating.” sunghoon continued, his voice was awkward but genuine.

you blinked, pulling down your warmers instinctively. “i don’t know. i guess so? how can you even tell?”

sunghoon hummed, shrugging. “you looked serious when i came in earlier. like—like you were really focused.” he chuckled, recalling the look on your face—eyebrows slightly creased and lips pursing, biting the inside of your cheek when you did your practice spins. “you looked like this,” he continued, mimicking the face that you made earlier. 

you felt your ears go warm and if sunghoon wasn’t a new friend—you might’ve hit him on his forearm. “that… that’s just my face…” you mumbled, feeling the warmth travelling to your cheeks.

he laughed quietly. “it’s a cool face.” 

your eyes widened ever so slightly before you whipped your head in his direction, confusion and embarrassment flashed on your face. “you’re weird.” you said, picking up your pace and stepping onto the ice. 

sunghoon didn’t follow but he smiled. 

over the next few years, things slowly shifted.

the two of you started getting assigned to the same drills. your mother, and his mom, stood next to each other as they waited for their kids to finish practicing. they didn’t talk, though. your mother wasn’t always known for her social skills. you’d wait for sunghoon after conditioning just to walk to the locker room together, and sunghoon would save you some snacks and drinks.

the only similarity that you and sunghoon had was probably the sport.

unlike you, sunghoon had a… life outside of skating. you weren’t sure when you noticed it, but once you did, it was hard to unsee. 

sometimes, it wasn’t his mom who waited for him—it was a bunch of guys. he texted a lot during breaks and showed you random funny videos of his friends and him—at the convenience store, hiking, cycling along the han river. sunghoon told you stories about his homeworks and his plans with his boys on weekends and you found out on the days where he didn’t have skating lessons, he had dance practices and friendly football matches. 

you didn’t have stories like that to tell. not really. 

you weren’t homeschooled, but you didn’t have funny or interesting stories like sunghoon had. your schedule was blocked by hours on the ice and tutors who came every few nights a week to ensure you’re excelling academically too. your phone was mostly silent and confiscated on school days by your mother so you wouldn’t be distracted. no one asked you to hangout—and even if they did, you never have the time. 

it was better to focus on things that only enhanced your skills,

“why didn’t you join regionals?” you asked, wiping your tears with the edge of your sleeve. 

the two of you were fourteen. sitting on the edge of the empty rink—except for some janitors cleaning up the confetti. you two had your skates off, socks damp from melted cold.

“i missed the registration period.” sunghoon leaned back against the wall. 

you sniffled. “you’re such a dummy. i told you the date…” you mumbled, pinching the tip of your nose to suppress sobs and snots. sunghoon looked at you with pity in his eyes. you placed fourth. not even on the podium. no medals, just a stupid goodie bag to appreciate the kids’ efforts. 

“you could’ve won.” you murmured, looking away from him. 

oh, have you mentioned that sunghoon never messed up the same element twice? he landed his triple salchow before any other skaters you know. 

and you… you hated how good sunhoon was.

it’s not hatred in a jealous way—but more to envy. the kind of envy that made you train harder and spin tighter, but also the kind that made your tummy twist and eyebrows furrow when he landed a jump easily that you struggled with within two tries. 

somewhere deep in your guts—you were glad sunghoon didn’t participate. you could’ve placed fifth, which was even worse. still top five, but the last one.

“why do you say that? this isn't about me. this is about you,” he was quick to reply. now sunghoon’s the one with a crease between his brows. he didn’t like it when you compare yourself with him, with anyone even. he never once thought that you were better than him, or that he’s better than you. he thought that you were just good, talented, quick to learn, and easy to be around with. you’re a skater like him, isn’t that all that matters? 

stubbornly, you ignored him. “i think you’re better than me.” you picked at the edge of your sleeve. no longer crying as much, just hurt. sunghoon slumped his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. he was quiet for a few seconds and you thought you probably had disappointed him. “that’s not what i think when i skate with you.” he murmured.

you looked at him. he still didn’t open his eyes, but his mouth continued. 

“when i skate with you, i don’t care about scores. or the medals. or who’s better,” he continued, his voice almost lazy—like he was just saying what had been sitting on his chest for some time. “i just… know that i like skating,” 

“i like skating with you.” 

that made you go quiet. 

no one has ever said that to you before. you’ve always viewed this life like a competition. like a test. only the winner makes it to the top. and the loser? they did it for nothing. 

you blinked, your throat hurt a little but you didn’t cry again. you just sat there beside him, the cold of the rink seeping into the air but your chest was warm. after a while, you mumbled: 

“you’re stupid,” 

sunghoon smiled faintly. you felt better now—he thought. “probably.” 

you leaned your head against the wall beside his too, and slowly, it dropped onto his shoulder. 

sunghoon tensed—but he didn’t move. only shifting to be closer to you. 

——

“you transferred and didn’t even tell me?” sunghoon caught up to you in the hallway, his sneakers squeaking on the mopped floor. you glanced at him, shrugging teasingly and half-hiding your grin. “i didn’t think it mattered?” 

“it does!” he said, mock-offended with hand on his chest and rolling his eyes. “you could’ve at least informed me so i can tell my fan club to not bother you.”

“you have a fan club?” 

sunghoon shrugged. “i’m a man of the people.” 

it shouldn’t surprise you if sunghoon did really have a fan club of his own. he’d grown into his looks over the years—tall and lean with that perfect fair skin and sharp nose and sharper  jawline that made girls do triple-takes in the hallway. 

his hair was slightly longer now too—still according to the school's rules but it made him look older and mature, unlike the other boys your age you’ve seen. maybe because he’s a skater—and most skaters you knew carried themselves with an easy confidence—that it naturally applied to sunghoon as well on a daily basis. 

you snorted, bumping his shoulder lightly with your own. “well, i figured i'd just show up and ruin your peaceful school life.” sunghoon laughed, clearly unbothered. “it’s already ruined,” he replied, holding the cafeteria door open for you. “c’mon, i’ll introduce you to the others.”

he led you through the maze of tables toward a corner near the windows. and there they were—his friends that you always heard about but never seen. you recognised them right away from sunghoon’s instagram and videos he showed you. they looked fun to be around with. 

for sunghoon, it was as if his two worlds collided. for you—? well… they’re just sunghoon’s friends. 

“hey!” he called. the two of you stood by the table with you slightly hiding shyly behind sunghoon’s arm. “this is yn. she just transferred here.” he did the introduction for you and moved aside a little when he noticed he was ‘covering’ you.

you hovered awkwardly, lifting your hand for a slight wave and a shy, tight smile on your lips. “hi.” your voice barely above the scraping and cluttering trays noises at the back.

heeseung was the first one to say something, “oh, yn! you’re the girl sunghoon goes skating with, right?” 

you nodded. you supposed there was no separating you from skating wherever you went. “uh, yeah. we go to the same… ice rink.” his friends nodded in vague acknowledgement. “he talks about you a lot and i saw you on the tv sometimes.” jake chimed in, raising his eyebrows as he chewed. whenever his mother accidentally opened a sports channel that he saw you, that is. his mother would compare jake and you, by saying ‘look at her! she’s your age, do you know that? when are you going to be like her?’ 

“saw you fell once too.” he continued, casually. 

sunghoon’s eyes widened beside you—and if you weren’t here, sunghoon would’ve choked jake to death for just saying that. 

the table went quiet. “...nice,” you muttered, eyes flicking down to their trays. “glad that it made it on air.” you shrugged. sunghoon cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “uh, just ignore him. he thought track is harder than what we do.” he laughed awkwardly. jake didn’t protest but the rest of the table laughed at his reaction.

it felt weird to see sunghoon in this light. it’s even weirder sitting with his group of friends that for two years—you had been listening about. sunghoon had a life outside of skating—you’ve always known that, but to sit in a fragment of his life… no, you didn’t belong here.

after a few minutes of spending it with them, you ultimately decided that you didn’t want to meddle with sunghoon’s personal life. this world of his that existed beyond the field of rink didn’t feel like it had space for you.

“i think i have to go,” you mumbled, turning toward sunghoon as you stood up. it wasn’t a question of permission, but a statement. the chair scraping behind you drawing the boys’ attention. he raised his eyebrows and glanced at his wrist watch. “already?”

you nodded, reaching for your tray. “i… still need to check in the office. something about credits.” it wasn’t entirely a lie, but wasn’t the truth either. you still had to confirm your credits at the office, but that could be done anytime of the month. 

sunghoon’s mouth tugged slightly at the corner. “i could go with you—” 

“no, it’s fine,” you shook your head quickly, glancing at his friends. “you don’t have to.” 

then, you turned to the others with a polite dip of your head. “it was nice meeting you guys.” 

a few of them echoed goodbyes—niki and sunoo waving, and jay telling you to join them again. you nodded before walking out of the cafeteria without looking back. sunghoon watched as you went, the usual ease in his expression dulled a little. 

“is she okay?” jake nudged him.

sunghoon took a few seconds to reply, “she’s just shy—and why did you say that, you idiot?” 

that’s true too. but the truth that only you knew is buried deeper than that. 

——

new school was better. it had only been two months since you transferred here, and most days still felt like walking on unfamiliar ground. to be honest, you hadn’t quite found your rhythm yet, but the people here were kinder and friendlier. upon the first day, a girl shared her textbooks and workbooks with you—then the second week in, a boy gave you cookies.

you were just grateful that you at least had one person who knew you throughout—sunghoon. even though he was in a different class and a floor below yours. sunghoon helped you explore the school, lets you borrow his books when you’d forgotten—and sometimes, his p.e jacket as well. he’d share his umbrella even when you insisted it was just a drizzle.

you didn’t think much of it… not until that rainy wednesday afternoon.

the bell had just rung, and you were still packing when two of your classmates—minji and haeun—slid into the seat beside you with that air of conspiratorial interest. these girls were kind; they were the same ones who saved a seat for you during lab class. 

“hey…” minji started, picking and tugging on your sleeve. “can we ask you something?”

you blinked, hands paused as you were just about to tuck your books in your bag. “... sure?” they exchanged a look, and then haeun leaned in a little. “are you close with sunghoon?” 

you raised your eyebrows. sunghoon? “uh, kind of? i guess so…? why?” 

minji grinned. “you always go home with him, right? and i heard you were with him too at the corner store yesterday after club—” you blinked, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “oh, that’s just because we walk the same way.” you cleared up almost immediately. rumours were no good signs… 

they giggled, haeun drummed her fingertips on your desk. “sooo…” she stretched the word, her tone almost teasing. “is he single?” 

you didn’t answer right away. is sunghoon single?

it was such a harmless question. you should’ve and could’ve just laughed it off and shrugged and moved on. or just told them the truth which was—yeah, park sunghoon’s single and i think he’s ready to mingle. go ahead!—but for some reason, it sat in your chest longer than it should’ve. 

you thought about how he always angled his umbrella to shield you more than himself. letting his shoulders wet instead of the raindrop even touching a sliver of your skin. how he always made sure to buy three milkbreads on thursday so you could have them for lunch and snack. how he looked at you sometimes—when you ranted about a teacher.

you couldn’t… bring yourself to imagine losing all of that—especially, to another girl. as insecure as that sounded. 

so you smiled, lips pressed together like it was no big deal, and said, “i… i don’t think he;s looking.” haeun’s brows rose and there was a hint of disappointment flashed across her face. that made you want to jump off the third level of the building. “yeah,” you added, a little too quickly. “he’s… kind of talking to someone now. i think.” 

minji exchanged a look with haeun again, more curious now than teasing. “is it you?”

your eyes widened before you let out a dry chuckle. “hah—no, god, no.” 

actually… 

the bell rang again, and just like that, the topic slipped away. not the heat in your chest, though. 

that night, you couldn’t sleep. you tossed and turned in bed, sheets tangled at your feet, face half–buried into your pillow as if that could smother out the thoughts that kept circling back. that one dumb conversation… that dumb lie.

he’s kind of talking to someone. i think. no, god, no.

you winced, cringed, and groaned into the pillow. replaying your own words. what was that—who said things like that? and why did they believe? it didn’t even sound convincing! technically plausible—but why? 

… you knew exactly why you’d said it, sort of. 

sunghoon crossed your mind again. screw sunghoon and his—”this bread’s warmer, eat this first.”—so thoughtful. did he do it with everyone? 

you rolled over and stared at the ceiling. the little stars decorating your ceiling. did you… perhaps…. like him? you almost gasped—no. no, that’s crazy. sunghoon was… sunghoon. sunghoon’s a friend! smart (even though sometimes you thought he didn’t seem like it) and kind and popular in a way that didn’t even make sense. girls liked him. all kinds—pretty ones, older, confident, aunties, younger. he was the type to hold a door open for someone without realising the person behind him had already fallen in love.

you probably were no… different. you just happened to be there. just his friend. lunch and home partner most of the time. skating buddies? yeah—probably the only thing that made you a little different than the others. 

there was no way he would like you. 

still, you pulled the covers over your head and shut your eyes tight, as if that helped in stopping the thoughts from bubbling back up again. it didn’t help, by the way. 

maybe, just maybe… it’s okay to like sunghoon…? 

——

your schedule was a lot tighter than it was before. maybe it was the pressure of being in the same league as talented peers your age—but you had more competitions lined up, more evaluations, and more off ice-training that your mother enrolled you in.

your coach tweaked your routines almost weekly. on weekdays you got home at 11 at night, and on weekends, you started training at 5 in the morning. you fell asleep more on your notes more often than not. some part of you had long welcomed the busyness and the fatigue. if your body kept moving, your mind had less time to spiral.

less time to think about losing. less time to think about people landing jumps that you’ve always thought were impossible. 

less time to think about sunghoon’s life when yours was untaken care of.

“yn! come on, we went over it so many times.” your coach’s voice echoed across the nearly empty rink, sharp and frustrated. you swallowed hard, trying to catch your breath, heart hammering in your chest. the cold had seeped into your fingertips, muscles stiff from repetition. 

you nodded quickly, getting back up from the rink and skating back into position even though your legs felt like jelly. it’s not like you could argue anyway. not when nationals were only a few months away and the gold medal and interviews were calling your name. you couldn’t argue—not when your mother kept sending you articles about your future rivals training twice a day.

you took a deep breath, pushed off again—but stumbled mid-spin. not a full fall, but bad and ugly and enough to throw you off rhythm. “again,” your coach sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “you can’t expect to even be on the top 10 if this is how it is, yn.” 

“i’ll do it again,” you muttered almost instantly, pushing off the wall. “fix your entry this time. once that’s perfect, we’ll move on to your spins.” he called after you with a heavy sigh. you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it stung. you lined up the jump again, body moving automatically, but your head was buzzing and spinning—dizzy from cold, shame, and the voice in your head that said—you will never be good enough. 

but you still went for it.

toe pick. launch. twist.

you didn’t remember landing the ice but heard the sound of it right up against your ear—loud and final. 

then nothing.

——

when you opened your eyes and saw white—you thought you’d died. passed doing something you were unsure if you hated or loved.

the fluorescent lights buzzed softly above you, a dull hum that blended with the soft chatterings in the background. you blinked up at the white ceiling, the air sterile. your body ached sharply, cracking with every joint that you moved.

as you turned your head slightly, you saw your mother sitting in the corner of the room, her arms crossed, and she was reading a book—burnt sugar by avni doshi. her gaze was fixed on the page before her. 

“what happened?” you winched as you adjusted your position, shoulder throbbed. 

your mother didn’t answer right away. she glanced at you first. “you fell on your landing,” she said, closing her book and standing up to step closer to your bed. “you hit the ice and lost consciousness.” she hummed, letting out a soft sigh. you weren’t sure if it was out of relief that her daughter was still alive, or a disappointed sigh that you had to waste your training time in the hospital.

“oh.” 

“you're lucky it wasn’t worse,” she said again. “you didn’t break any bones but just bruising and a mild concussion,” your mother poured you a glass of water. “we’d have to readjust your dress with the tailor.” 

you nodded, glancing at the iv drip on the back of your hand. ouch. then softly, 

“i’m… tired, mom.”

she froze and stopped pouring. 

you’d never said that before. she set the cup down a little too carefully, but her expression was unreadable. “of course you’re tired,” she said softly. “you’ve just had a fall.” 

you shook your head, fiddling with the hem of the blanket atop of you. “not… that.” 

there was a period of silence between you—almost brittle. 

“i spent way too much and you’ve worked too hard for this to start giving in. one small mistake and you already want to walk away?” your mother folded her arms and looked at you like you’ve just said something ridiculous. 

what were you expecting? a hug? for your mother to immediately just agree… and drop you off the lessons? after thousands and most likely more that she’s spent on you? not to mention the skates and the outfits and competition registration fees?

“i didn’t say i wanted to quit…”

“then what?”

you couldn’t answer. even if you did, you doubted she’d understand you anyway—because what you really wanted to say was, you didn’t know who you are anymore. that you just wanted a break and rediscover yourself. that you didn’t know if you were skating for yourself or her. that you didn’t know if this was something that you… love anymore. 

“you have to push through it. you know a skater’s career is short, right? if you can’t be the best, then you’re… you’re nothing.” 

your fingers curled into the hospital blanket. 

nothing. you’re nothing.

you knew she didn’t mean it cruelly… she was just—she was just looking out for you, right? like what a mother should do. for the money she’d put into lessons. for the 12 years of her driving you to competitions. for the dream she once had, the one you took when you were four and didn’t know any better. she just wanted it for you—to do the things she wasn’t able to. 

you couldn’t bring yourself to look at her in fear that she’d see it on your face—how much that actually hurt. 

if you were nothing at skating, what were you?

she didn’t give you the chance to reply. “you’ll be discharged soon. i’ll talk to the coach and reschedule your fittings,” she continued casually, handing you the cold glass of water. “i’ll talk to the school too. they’ll understand that nationals are just as important as the midterms.” 

you nodded, turning your face to the window. you weren’t about to let her see the way your tears were brimming. what else could you do?

you’re great at nothing. 

——

besides peak winter, sunghoon always thought that the ice was the coldest in the mornings, after it was resurfaced. 

but right now—he hadn’t seen you for almost a week. not at school, not at training. you hadn’t replied to his texts or picked up his calls either; and he didn’t have your mother’s phone number. when he asked around your classmates, sunghoon realised that… you might just not have that many friends. 

“oh, yn? we’re… not sure, sunghoon. we don’t really talk to her.” 

“how would i know? thought you would.” 

“i’m sure she’s just busy with her skating stuff. isn’t she like the ice princess, or something?”

sunghoon frowned. as if that was your whole personality. as if you weren’t more than clean jumps and blue, red, and white ribbons. they just didn’t know you the way sunghoon does. 

he sank back into his chair, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. at first, he thought maybe you were just sick and tired and took a few days off school. nationals were coming up—sunghoon knew about that. he’s joining too, and been busy with training and practices. 

but for you to skip… something you’ve poured your heart out for the last 12 years… that just wasn’t you.

sunghoon opened his phone again, staring at the list of messages left on delivered. his thumbs hovered over the screen before he typed—

hoon: are you okay?

hoon: if something’s up, let me know. i’m worried :] 

he contemplated, but sent anyway. 

hoon: <3

he tucked his phone into his pocket and tried not to hope.

but it wasn’t until the next two weeks that he finally saw you at the rink. 

you were still in your defined warm-up jacket, your skates laced up with your warmers covering. you still had that same determined set to your mouth—but it doesn’t quite reach the eyes. he froze for a second, hand tightening around the strap of his skate bag as he watched you glided away. you didn’t notice him as your eyes locked ahead. focused and distant. 

sunghoon wanted to talk to you and asked where you’d been. what happened? why didn't you answer any of his messages? but something about your frown and tension in your shoulders told him not to. 

so he settled for the bench a few meters away, where he could still lace up his skates and glanced at you when you weren’t looking. you landed the first jump cleanly, like second nature, then the next, then the others—then sunghoon saw a slight tumble in your form. you stared at your reflection in the rink glass before continuing without a break.

you were skating like that was the only thing you knew how to do.

and that scared him, a lot. because the last time you fumbled your singles, you shut everything and everyone down and took almost a month to yourself to heal inside out. even then you’d still bring it up sometimes. sunghoon wasn’t there to catch you then—but this time, he swore he would be. 

he didn’t talk to you that day.

——

“... and the gold medal for the women’s single figure skating event at this year’s national championships goes to—” the announcer’s voice rang through the arena, crisp and echoing beneath the bright stadium lights.

you felt your coach step beside you. his hand hovered over your shoulder for a second, giving it a light squeeze of reassurance. the third spot didn’t belong to you—and you didn’t want to be the runner up. which meant you had to be the first—or nothing at all.

“—ln yn!” 

the breath you were holding collapsed out of you all at once. 

your coach hugged you and nudged you forward and said something you couldn’t hear. your ears were ringing from both the audience clappings and the bell of disbelief in your head. all you could see through your blurry vision of tears was the crowd and the gold spotlight as it found you among the others.

it felt so unreal. 

the pain and the admission to the hospital was almost worth it, the hollow days of recovery, the iv dripping tugging at your skin. the pressure of your mother’s eyes and your coach’s yelling —because now, standing on the top step of the podium with gold heavy around your neck felt like something just clicked into place.

you smiled for the cameras and waved when they screamed your name. the announcer in the background talked about a little bit of your life, scores, and jumps that you couldn’t care less about. you didn’t see your mother in the crowd but out of the corner of your eye—you saw him.

sunghoon.

leaning against the side of the rink in his jacket, still in his skates, holding his gloves in one hand with his own—gold medal—around his neck, and he was looking at you with a huge grin splattered across his face, clapping. his eyes never left the center of the rink where you stood ever since you came. 

god you deserved it more than anyone else.

for a while after not seeing you, sunghoon finally did—and you were on the podium.

later that evening, you found the nearest bench backstage and sat down, medal still heavy against your collarbone because you refused to take them off. you were waiting for your coach to finish up with his things. everything still felt static and a dream. you still couldn’t believe you had won nationals—and after this, the championships itself, and more to come. although it wouldn’t come up officially until the next two years, until you were eighteen. 

but still. this just opened the doors to championships and other opportunities. 

this was a big leap. 

you didn’t notice sunghoon nor heard his hurried footsteps on the polished floor. 

“yn,” 

you looked up. sunghoon stood there, in his half-zipped jacket, hair messy and damp, cheeks flushed. his eyes were wide when they found yours. you stood up instinctively, mouth parted to call out to him—

but before you could do so, he walked right up to you and pulled you into a hug, spinning you—his arms tight around your waist, your body collided against his, and you were on the tip of your toes. his gloves were still in one hand, cold against your back, but the rest of him was warm.

you stood there frozen for half a second, caught off guard—until your arms slowly lifted and held him back. your cheek pressed against his chest as he buried his face onto your hair. sunghoon smelled like wind and ice. his heartbeat fast against your cheek. 

“i’m so proud of you,” he mumbled against your hair, seemingly pulling you closer to him. you let out a small breath. almost a laugh. your fingers curled against the back of his black jacket. the warmth of his palm rubbed circles against your spine.

“thanks, hoon… i’m so proud of you too.” you murmured, slightly muffled. 

the two of you stayed in the position for a couple of seconds, before he pulled back slightly just enough to look at you. his eyes were soft, glowing like admiration. towards you. “i mean it,” he breathed out. “you… yn, you’re amazing,” he continued, his hands now resting on your waist. 

you looked up to him, nodding and letting out a soft chuckle. sunghoon was never like this. 

“you’re so beautiful when you land on that axel,” sunghoon said, genuinely. you could see it in his eyes. “you’re being dramatic…” you playfully rolled your eyes. “it’s just a programme.” 

“no, it wasn’t,” he said almost immediately. his brows drew together like he couldn’t believe you thought this wasn’t that big of a deal. “you worked way too hard for this. it’s more than just a competition to me.” he said, lightly squeezing your waist. sunghoon paused when you didn’t answer—and for a second, he thought he shouldn’t have said that.

“i just… i tried.” you finally said, blush crept over your cheeks and ears as you looked away. you’re not one to receive compliments. especially ones that were as intimate as this—and by him. you tilted your head slightly, heart fluttering from the way his stare burned at your skin. the way you looked now, cheeks almost as red as apple, lips trying to suppress a smile—your hands on his forearm and his on your waist. the two of you just won too—gold medalists. it was too perfect of a moment to just…

then, almost too softly for you to catch, sunghoon said—

“i’m in love with you.”

you froze. 

sunghoon’s eyes widened. he didn’t mean to say it out loud, seriously—not now, now like this. not backstage after your biggest moment. this was supposed to be about you, not him! but it slipped out even before he could register it. sunghoon wanted to disappear. but the words were already there, lingering in the air between you like frost.

“...what?” you whispered, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. 

sunghoon’s breath hitched—his mouth parted like he was about to take it back—but you can’t take back words when it's spoken, nor the arrow that has been shot. so he just exhaled and offered a small, lopsided, innocent smile. 

oh, screw it. if it goes wrong—he’ll just tell you it’s… it’s platonic, or something!

“i’m in love with you,” he repeated. a little confident this time. “ever since we met.” 

your breath caught in your throat. ever since we met—four years ago? you blinked, heart thudding in your ears. sunghoon said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. he liked you four years ago, while you just confirmed your feelings for him a few months ago? 

“...i didn’t even talk to you properly when we were kids,” you mumbled, your voice trembling slightly. sunghoon gave you a small smile. “i didn’t care about that. you were the only thing i really looked forward to when i skate,” he laughed softly, eyes dropping to your gold medal, “i want to be next to you and keep up,” 

a silence settled between you. 

“at first, i don’t want to imagine skating without you, but now i can’t—and i don’t want to imagine a future where we’re not together.” 

you stared at him, stunned, “i…” you swallowed hard. sunghoon watched you patiently and anxiously, his eyes kind and waiting, like he’d stay here forever if he had to—for when you’re ready. “i—i mean, as two friends—bestfriends? whatever we are—”

“i like you too.” you finally said, cutting him off. voice barely above a whisper. “i’ve always liked you—don’t you ever notice?” you wanted to hit yourself, if anything, you were the one who never noticed.

sunghoon’s eyes widened like it’s not obvious—your crush on him. momentarily, he didn’t say anything but his mouth kept opening and shut like he wanted to reply. but then his smile broke through slowly, so full of relief and quiet joy. he pulled you into another tight hug—and this time, it felt different, 

because things were different. everything was changing. 

“oh my god, you’re wonderful, yn,” he murmured against your hair. “you’ve always been.” 

——

sunghoon slowly became everything in your life. 

he had always had the longest chapter throughout your adolescence, but he might just become a chapter himself now. sunghoon became the first person you texted when you woke up, and the last one you heard before you went to sleep. 

he didn’t just make room in your life—he filled the quiet spaces you hadn’t realised were reserved for him. he filled the little moments when you weren’t skating. 

you thought medals meant winning, but you might just win without one.

“if you… could be anything you want, what would you wanna be?” you asked quietly, cheek pressed against his chest. sunghoon let out a breathy chuckle, his fingers lazily tracing shapes over your arm. “mmm,”

you tilted your head to look up at him when he didn’t answer right away. 

the two of you were chilling in his bedroom, specifically on his bed. it’s a skating day off for you, and he had invited you over. initially it was just to study—but hours passed, and neither of you found entertainment in facing books on hours end. 

sunghoon smirked a little, catching your eyes. “your husband?” 

you groaned, poking at his rubs until he winced and grabbed your hand—intertwining. “i’m serious,” you said, giggling. “answer me properly.” 

your boyfriend fell silent for a moment, gaze drifting toward the ceiling. his bedroom was boyish and lit only by the warm glow of his bedside lamp. “...maybe, i wanna be an idol,” he said, eventually. “you know. like a real one. like those kpop boys you love so much.” 

you giggled and blinked, pleasantly surprised with his honest answer. “really?” you didn’t see it coming but you could definitely imagine it now. sunghoon’s got that face of an idol to begin with, and you’ve seen him dance before—he was really, really good. 

if this was another life, would you have become idol sunghoon’s secret girlfriend, then?

sunghoon nodded, feeling a little sheepish now. “i can sing, you know?” he playfully rolled his eyes, glancing down at you. you suppressed a laughter, biting your bottom lip, “oh yeah?” you teased, “should i be worried about the fans?” 

he grinned. “not at all. i’ll tell them i’m a loyal boyfriend to my one and only.” 

you smiled faintly, letting the quiet settle over you again. he squeezed your hand, fingers warm against your colder ones. then, sunghoon asked softly, “what about you?” 

you blinked. for a moment, you thought he meant if you wanted to be an idol as well.

“if you could be anything,” he repeated. “what would you wanna be?”

you hesitated, eyes drawing up to his ceiling. what would you be—? something lighthearted like the way you laughed just moments ago. but nothing came to mind that didn’t feel genuine. “...i don’t know,” you said, voice small. “normal, maybe?” 

you swallowed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. for some reason, your heart thudded against your eardrums. your answer didn’t sound right on your tongue, but you didn’t fix it. it felt right in your chest, though. sunghoon frowned in confusion, tilting his head. “normal?”

you nodded, finally looking back to him with a smile on your face. “yeah, like you.” you hummed, snuggling closer to him. “i want to go out after school and watch movies on release day,” you continued, wrapping your arms around his frame. “i want to worry about bad grades and not completing homeworks and talk badly about other people with my friends.” 

sunghoon’s arms tightened around you, and he rested his chin on top of your head, listening attentively. 

“i want to sleep in on weekends,” you continued quietly. you had a lot in your mind, sunghoon thought. “that kind of normal, you know?” 

he replied with a nod and hum, it vibrated beneath his chest against you. “as long as that kind of normal has me,” he murmured, lips brushing against your hair. “you can be anything you want.” 

you let out a soft laugh. “any version of me will always have you. as long as when you become an idol, you don’t forget me.” you teased, nuzzling into the warmth of his chest. sunghoon frowned and playfully and gently pinched your back. 

“i’ll announce my girlfriend for the whole industry to know as soon as i debut.” he replied, feeling a little bittersweet about your answer. 

just for a moment—in his arms, with your quiet confessions and the warmth of being sixteen—you felt normal. 

this was enough.

——

“alright, yn,” your coach called out, clipboard in hand as you stepped off the rink, still catching your breath. “next year’s world junior championships is officially on the table.” 

your eyes widened, blinking. “seriously?” 

he nodded, walking beside you as you reached for your water bottle. “you hit the technical at nationals, and the federation’s been watching. they think you can really get it if you keep up the momentum, that is.” 

you stared at your coach, heart pounding harder than it had been during your performance in nationals. 

the world juniors. it was what every junior skater worked toward. 

would sunghoon—participate too? 

“i’ll have to readjust your routine,” he added. “no distractions, alright? not now. a year is not that long.” you nodded automatically, throat dry. “right… right, okay.” 

he nodded, humming. “now get back on the ice, yn.” 

——

you worked like you’ve never been alive before. up at four. jogging. school. on the ice as soon as school ended. gym. conditioning. late-night spins until you puked and your vision blurred. practice ended at 12. repeat. on sunday you got a half day off until 4 p.m.

some days, you skipped schools with letters. you didn’t even change out of your tights before collapsing onto the couch. you wore skates more than your home-slippers, you saw your coach more than sunghoon and your father, and sometimes even your mother. you were in the cold more than you were out under the sun.

speaking of sunghoon, he started attending practice at a different rink closer to his dad’s office so he could fetch him, so the two of you didn’t see one another during practices. 

that’s okay—less distraction, you thought. 

your mother was a lot kinder to you now too. packing up meals and offering to fetch and send and was willing to wait past the 12 in the morning clock as you practiced spins, in that sense. they pushed you, but not harder than you already pushed yourself. 

there was a new urgency in everything you did. a weight that sat in your lungs and refused to leave. the thought of the championships looming next season consumed you more than anything—and you weren’t about to let your momentum die, not now.

sunghoon was training for championships too, obviously. and he was as naturally brilliant as always. he never made you feel small, never flaunted his medals or scores. you noticed that whenever you came over, he’d put his frames down. and if anything, he cheered the loudest. louder than your coach’s yellings and your mother’s frustration, and your own voice inside your head.

your biggest cheerleader.

“don’t you… think you’re working too hard, yn?” 

sunghoon’s voice was soft, but you could hear the tension and concern woven through it.

you sat slouched in the chair, the iv drop slowly feeding into your veins. the clinic room was quiet except for the steady beep of a monitor in the next cubicle and the hum of the air conditioner. 

you kept your eyes on the bag hanging. “hm?” you hummed, looking at him. “no? i’m fine?” you muttered, though it sounded more like a question than an answer. sunghoon let out a quiet scoff, like he didn’t want to make a scene, but obvious enough that he wanted you to hear it. “this… this is the second time i accompanied you. i’m not complaining—never, but…”

you shut your eyes, brows furrowing slightly. “it’s just low blood sugar…” 

“and why do you think that is?” he leaned forward, cocking his head to the side. “yn, this isn’t normal. you don’t eat and you barely sleep nowadays. you never get nosebleeds but now—” 

“hoonie,” you cut him off, sharper than you intended. “i have to.” your voice echoed off the pale walls. you wondered if the patient next room heard. “i can’t fall behind,” you added, sighing. “i’m so close—mom said i’m in my… prime.” you mumbled, feeling embarrassed to say it. 

there was a long pause before your boyfriend spoke again, quieter this time. 

“you’ve always been great,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he kneeled down on the floor. “i wish you could see it the way i do.” you felt his hand hover for a second, then gently rested on yours—careful not to disturb the iv line. 

you wished you could see it too.

——

the rink was nearly empty, save for the low hum of the freezing vents and the scraping of your blades against the ice. your breath came out in heavy, white puffs as you circled the rink again—arms tucked tight, core engaged. 

you launched into a double axel, landed just slightly off-balance, and stumbled forward a few steps before catching yourself. it wasn’t bad, but it could be better.

“okay,” you muttered under your breath. “one more time.”

you didn’t pause or take a break despite the aching muscles and your thighs burning from overuse. but you skated back to your starting point, replaying the mistake in your head. 

this time, you visualised the jump—you’ll bent your knees, and launched off—you went up—

and fell. hard.

your shoulder hit the ice first, sending a sharp pain through your arm. “ah—!”

a beat of silence and you slide against the ice rink. the cold settled into your bones as you sat on the surface. but it wasn’t as chilly as your exhaustion and the dizziness. 

you were about to get up and skate when your coach called out to you—”yn?” 

you stopped, looking at him. 

“what are you doing?” he asked, he looked surprised—not pleasantly, but concerned—he glanced at his wristwatch, then back at you. “it’s late! go home, yn!” he stood by the rink entrance, hands up in confusion of why were you still here. 

you didn’t realise it was almost 1 in the morning. 

——

of course it wasn’t just skating everyday for you. you went out with sunghoon as well, whenever you could. and today, you went to the tiny street market in myeongdong—just the two of you, huddled beneath a shared jacket, hands brushing every now and then. it was raining.

sunghoon held a cup of fish cakes in one hand, and your drink in the other, while you stole a bite and winced. “hot, hot, hot,” you mumbled through your puffed cheeks, shutting your eyes tightly. 

he laughed, placing his cup down to take away yours so you wouldn’t accidentally hurt yourself. “ay, i told you.” he teased, dabbing the napkin over your lips. you scrunched your nose. “i’m starving.” 

he softened a little at that, brushing off a strand of your hair off your face. “then let’s get you something that won’t burn your tongue off,” he murmured, eyes twinkling as he looked down at you. 

then, he turned slightly towards the auntie before ordering a roll of kimbap. 

for a few seconds, neither of you said anything. sunghoon’s too busy chewing on his ricecakes. 

“...so, how’s your… practice going?” you asked softly and cautiously. sunghoon didn’t answer you right away, he kept chewing, slower now, as if pretending he hadn’t heard you. you watched the way his gaze dropped to the table, eyes unreadable. his fingers tapped once against the cup before he finally spoke.

“thought we weren’t gonna talk about skating,” he said lightly, but it came out a little flat. he meant to tease, but it didn’t seem like you took it that way. you blinked, slightly taken aback. “sorry,” you murmured, stuffing your mouth full with the rice. “i just… wanted to know.” your voice slightly muffled.

sunghoon glanced at you from the corner of his eyes. “i know,” he said, wiping the corner of his mouth with a tissue. “but if i wanted to talk about it, i would've brought it up.” 

the words stung more than… you expected. you’re not sure what kind of answer you’re expecting—maybe for him to actually tell you how practice was going for him. you nodded slowly, eyes dropping to your food. for a moment, you were glad that the two of you were out in the streets—so at least the buzz outside filled the awkward silence between you.

he noticed the way your face fell and instantly was struck with guilt. he didn’t mean it to make it sound like he was mad. if anything, it was the opposite of that. he just wanted tonight to keep your mind off skating, but it’s obvious you couldn’t stop thinking about it. you probably bit your tongue from even mentioning it throughout the day.

sunghoon sighed, finally setting down his stick. “sorry. i… i didn’t mean it like that.” he said, pursing his lips. you shook your head immediately, forcing a small smile but didn’t look at him. 

“no, it’s okay. really. i’m sorry.” 

——

the awkwardness lingered longer than either of you wanted to admit. after that supper, things felt… off. not enough to say that something was wrong, but it was there. like a cold war. a little more distance and shorter texts, a little more hesitation in the calls. some nights, none at all.

but there was something slightly bigger than that. 

when you looked at yourself in the mirror—hair pulled back, eyes dull and soulless, cheeks hollow, and your skin was pale and ghostly. you didn’t look like you anymore, “what the hell,” you murmured, bringing your hands up against your cheeks, and slightly tugging it down with your palms. you frowned, pulling the hair tie off and ruffling your hair. 

you lost some weight, and it was apparent. you didn’t have the puff on your cheeks when you smile anymore, and your cheekbone was a lot pronounced. not the pretty type, but the… sick ones.

“god, i look so,” you mumbled, wetting your chapped lips before cupping your face with your hands. “yn, you’re…” you choked on your name, crouching down on the bathroom tiles. 

“you’re obsessed… it’s time we admit that.” you say it aloud this time, it felt like throwing a stone into a silent lake, watching the ripple spread until they swallowed everything else. the words sat heavy in your mouth. 

you had turned something you loved into a punishment. into penance upon yourself. 

you dragged your knees up to your chest and rested your forehead there, sobbing silently and softly despite no one around. it’s only championships—yet it’s got you this way. what’s next then? junior championships aren't even as big as—the senior ones or the olympics—yet you felt like dying. you still had a few hours before practice ended.

you had to remind yourself that you were only seventeen.

you might actually die competing in the next tournament.

without knowing, you fished out your phone and dialed sunghoon’s number—

it rang once, twice—

“yn?” 

“hoon, can i—can i come over?” 

——

“i’m going to help you release all that stress,” sunghoon said softly as he pushed you gently on your shoulder onto his bed.

the mattress dipped beneath your weight, his sheets cool against the back of your thighs and tailbone as you sat up on your elbows. his bedroom was dim and as usual, lit only by the golden spill of the lamp on his bedside—the shadows dancing across the walls. sunghoon hovered above you for a moment, eyes scanning his pretty girlfriend with devotion. 

your breath hitched as you just looked up at him. 

sunghoon leaned down, his forehead meeting yours in a quiet pause. your fingers brushed the side of his sharp jaw, and he took that as an answer—dipping his head low and attaching his lips against yours. 

“mh—” you let out a soft, muffled moan as your lips synced. sunghoon tilted his head ever so slightly to deepen the kiss, his palms slid along your skin, the two of you were only left in your underwear. his canines scraped against your bottom lip.

you could feel the press of his body between your legs, but he wasn’t rushing. his hands moved with reverence, anchoring and grounding you down with every gentle touch. you closed your eyes and tilted your head back slightly as his lips found the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, the lower before his mouth grazed along the side of your jaw and neck. 

“oh, yn,” sunghoon moaned against your skin, his mouth nipped softly at your collarbone, sharp teeth and fangs grazing your skin before he soothed the spot with his tongue. he did it again lower this time. 

sunghoon wanted to leave something behind. a mark. a memory. proof that you were in his bedroom tonight.

you exhaled sharply and winched, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt as he kissed along your shoulder, biting just enough to make you feel the sting. “i love you so much.” he confessed as he licked the red spot. 

your body felt heavy in the best way from the tension bleeding out of you. sunghoon peppered more kisses across your chest and up your neck, your skin was his canvas—and his teeth were  the brush. 

sunghoon inched down your body, kissing and nibbling your tummy, dipping and kissing the surface of your belly button that elicited goosebumps and a breathy sigh out of you. when he chuckled, it vibrated against your tummy. 

he’s a tease—sharp teeth grazing the skin of your inner thighs—purposely ignoring the growing wet spot on your panties. “don’t—don’t tease me, hoonie,” you breathed out, swallowing the lump in your throat as you grew eager. 

he chuckled and nodded, “okay, okay, i’m getting there.” he hummed, wrapping his hands around your thighs and gently tugging you closer to the edge of the bed. you’re on your back, knees bent and slightly parted as sunghoon settled between them. he lowered himself until he was resting on his elbows—breath warm against your wet skin. his hands slid slowly along the outside of your legs, thumbs pressing into your hips. 

you gripped his bedsheet underneath, the fabric curling. hooking his slender fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, sunghoon slid the sopping fabric down your thighs. you let out a soft whine and tried to cover your pussy with your hands—but sunghoon was quick to catch your wrists with one hand. “no—don’t even think about it,” he murmured, swallowing his saliva. 

he licked his lips and glanced up at you—shutting your eyes out of embarrassment and self-conscious and teeth pulling your bottom lip behind. you’re so cute, so lovely, so lovable. sunghoon wished you could love yourself as much as he did you.

“damn,” his breath heavy as you were completely exposed and all for him. he let go of your wrists to splay his hands between your thighs, spreading them wider as he leaned in. your knees folding toward your chest slightly, spine arching off the mattress from the motion. 

your breath hitched. the air between you sparked with anticipation and horniness. “don’t… don’t look hoonie…” you mumbled shyly, covering your face with your palms. he let out a soft chuckle, “don’t think i can do that…” 

sunghoon was fascinated with what was displayed before you. you were wet—glistening, glossy, calling out to his name—he wasted no time as he leaned in and placed a kiss directly against your core. 

“mph!” you moaned at the sudden, unwarned contact. you bit on the skin at the back of your hand, suppressing your moans for the sake of his sleeping family members. sunghoon traced the outline of your labia with the tip of his tongue, separating your two wet lips with it. 

you swallowed the cherry pit inside your throat, whimpering pathetically against your hand. sunghoon hadn’t even started yet—he was just pressing open-mouthed kisses to your clitoris and anywhere his lips could. then slowly, he stuck his tongue out and pressed his appendage over your pussy—laying his tongue flat as he dragged it across, between your folds.

you jolted, breath hitching as you arched your back. the sensation sent a rush of heat you’ve never felt before through your body. “hoonie…” you mewled, pressing your palms against your mouth. 

he replied to you with a hum despite knowing you’re not looking for a reply. he lapped at your essence and began sucking and french-kissing your pussy. his sharp nose was practically inside of you—the tip brushing against your clitoris. you moaned softly, unknowingly bucking your hips against his face. 

sunghoon purred, his hands roamed up along your tummy to tweak and rub at your perky nipples, tugging between his fingertips. “you’re so sweet, you taste so sweet,” he moaned against your cunt, burying his face deeper. your chest heaved, insides twitching and throbbing. “i love you, i love you so much,”

you finally removed your hands off your face to tug and pull at his hair, urging him to continue, your thighs trembled as sunghoon slid his tongue inside your entrance, and started fucking you with his tongue like it’s cock. his tongue wiggled inside and found its place in your tunnel. you gasped and whimpered—tightening your grip around his hair. sunghoon liked the feeling of your fingers tangling and tugging on his scalp. a chuckle buzzed through his lips and onto your pussy as you moaned breathlessly.

“oh—oh my god,” you whimpered, burying your face to the side onto his pillow. sunghoon thrusted his tongue inside of you—back and forth, in and out—burying his tongue deep as his lips wrapped around your pussy. he was practically making out with your cunt while fucking it at the same time. 

you tightened up around him, twitching as his tongue glided across your walls. “mmh,” he muffled, slurping, sucking, and fucking it noisily. the wet, squelching noise filled the bedroom. sunghoon curled his arms underneath your thighs and gripped you down with his biceps as you started bucking your hips into face—rolling it up and down. his eyes rolled back, mixture of his saliva and pussy juices trailed down his chin and dripping down the floor. not much different than you—who had a bead of drool rolling down your chin and neck. despite the cold air outside, your skin was clammy with sweat and rubbing against his bedsheet. 

the pleasure overwhelmed you and left you with pathetic, cute writhing and whimpers. “hoonie, i’m—i’m close, i think i’m close,” you breathed out, tilting your head back against the pillow. you shut your eyes tightly, squeaking as you chased your high. “do it, cum, cum on my tongue, baby,” sunghoon encourages, lapping and fucking your pussy with tongue faster. 

you swore sunghoon wrote his name with his tongue inside of you.

you didn’t need him to commit to it—you clenched around sunghoon’s tongue. you trembled slightly and tensed, wrapping your thighs around his head—tight, desperate, and anchoring yourself. locking him in as the pressure built inside you. 

sunghoon pressed firm the tip of his tongue against your sweet, gushy spot with deep pressure. an ecstasy tidal wave rushed over you. “i’m gonna cum, hoonie—” you whimpered, face muffled against his pillow. your toes curled in the air, panting. 

your walls contracted around his tongue, pulsating before cumming right on his tongue, against his face. sunghoon moaned and kept his mouth over your pussy as you continued to buck your hips against his handsome face. “sunghoon!” you cried out, slapping your palm against your mouth as he milked you.

you panted, body giving in as you slowly unwrapped your legs around his head. every limb of yours felt like jelly, chest rose and fell, flushed skin damp with sweat. sunghoon rested his cheek against your inner thigh, his breath just as ragged as he left soft, loving kisses on your skin. he traced slow, idle patterns over your skin with his fingertip. 

slowly, he sat up and crawled back up and over you, eyes beaming and twinkling at you, a small smile tugged on his face as he hovered above you, knees pressing into the mattress at your sides. his hair fell on his forehead, lips, chin, and the tip of his nose glistened with your juices. 

evidence of how thoroughly he had loved you.

“are you okay?” he whispered, breath warm against your neck.

you nodded, dazed and tired, still trying to come back to yourself. you gathered the rest of your energy to wrap your arms around his neck to kiss him—tasting yourself on his lips. sunghoon gently lowered himself beside you, returning the kiss before slipping an arm under your armpits as he pulled you close and tight. your cheek rested against his chest, heartbeat fast beneath your ear. 

sunghoon pulled the covers and covered the two of you. “my amazing, wonderful, beautiful girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. his hand traced over your back. “always pushing herself too hard… let me be the one taking care of you for a while.” 

you hummed, “i love you, hoonie.” curling tighter into him, you pulled him close by your arms around his chest. sunghoon sighed contentedly, burying his face into your hair. “i love you more, yn.” wrapped in the quiet warmth of his arms, the ache in your limbs faded into something softer.

——

days had passed after that night you shared with sunghoon. 

that was your calm before the storm. 

“again, yn!” your coach’s voice echoed across the cold rink, cutting through your thoughts the way your blades cut through the ice. 

you inhaled sharply, skating back to your starting point. your limbs ached, knees stiff, and head throbbed and pulsing from lack of rest and meal. you couldn’t even bring yourself to nod. he promised a rest if you managed to land a jump perfectly.

you gathered your speed, the wind cutting against your skin, blessed slicing the ice rang in your ears. you saw ahead, the spot you needed to land your jump, you bent your knees and squinted your eyes to focus, and jumped—

only to feel something snap.

that pain was so blinding and sudden it seared up your leg and exploded through your entire system. you didn’t even realise you had screamed in pain until the sound bounded off the walls. 

your ankles buckled as you landed wrong, and before you could brace yourself for the impact—you collapsed onto the ice—hitting your knee, followed with your back, and your head before you rolled across the rink, scraping sharply. 

the wind knocked out of your lungs, and you immediately clutched your leg.

your coach skated over, panic replacing his earlier frustration. his voice sounded far away but he was near. your breaths were shallow, vision spotted purple and black. 

“yn, yn—stay awake, hey, hey,” you heard your coach said, but it sounded like it was coming from underwater, mixed with the loud ringing in your ears. he pulled your head onto his lap, using his hands to brush off the hair sticking onto your face. “you’re okay, you’re okay.” he muttered, more to convince himself than you. one of his hands cradled the back of your head, the other pressing down gently near your hips to keep you steady. 

your leg throbbed like it had its own heartbeat. you couldn’t move—your eyes fluttered like they weren’t functioning. 

“stay with me, alright? help’s coming. don’t pass out on me, yn—can you hear me?” 

your lips parted—you think you said yeah, okay—but you couldn’t hear it. 

your body trembled against his, you couldn’t feel your own body or focused on one thing. the ceiling was spiraling and moving and dropping on you. your fingers clawed weakly at his sleeve to just hold onto something so the world could stop orbiting around the sun. 

you squeezed your eyes shut.

and felt tears trailed down your cheeks.

——

“are you fucking crazy, minseo?!” your father barked, voice echoing off the cold hospital walls as he shoved the door shut behind him. 

minseo flinched, arms tight over her chest, though her eyes never left her unconscious daughter on the bed. the bandages, the iv, the awful swelling around your ankle that looked worse up close. her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“how many times have i told you before—?!” he snapped again, voice lowering just enough not to wake you, but laced with fury beside your bed. “look at her, minseo. just look at our daughter. this is what you think is worth it, right? this is what you call discipline?” 

“she’s an athlete,” she muttered stiffly. “this happens—” 

“no. no, it doesn’t.” he shook his head, pressing his fingers against his temples. “she’s this way because you don’t let her rest from skating—” he gestured sharply toward the bruises along your arms and the patch near your temple. “god, minseo. she’s a kid—not a fucking doll.” 

minseo’s jaw clenched, and she finally looked at him, pointing her index finger his way. “you don’t get to lecture me when you left, jun. she wouldn’t have gotten this far if i didn’t ask her to—”

“i left you, not her,” he spat. “and don’t you dare twist this around like i didn’t fight for custody. you and your fucking dreams of perfection. how many times has she told you she wanted to stop, huh? this—” he choked, pointing at your body on the hospital bed. “—this is what happens when you push her too far.” 

silence fell. the only sound was the quiet dripping of the iv drip, and the slow, steady rise and fall of your breathing. 

your father finally sank down into the chair by your side, burying his face in his hands for a long moment. “this is my fault,” he murmured. “i shouldn’t have… brought her to the rink.” 

the doctor said you tore multiple ligaments in your ankle. quite severe enough that you’d be benched for weeks—maybe months. you couldn’t hear it well but he mentioned words like, instability, therapy, and risk of permanent damage. 

and surgery. 

the recovery will be long and delicate.

“she won’t be able to skate competitively for at least a year or two. the chances of her returning are low, if not, not at the same level.” 

the room turned cold. 

your mother stood stiff beside the hospital bed while your father sat with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight in front of his mouth. she inhaled sharply, but the doctor continued, firm but kind. “you need to understand that right now, her physical recovery isn’t our only concern. she’s exhausted, malnourished, and stressed to the edge. if this had gone on any longer…”

he didn’t finish, letting his words trail and up to your parents’ imagination. 

when your father looked at you—bandaged and motionless except your slow breathing—it hit him just how much he hadn’t known about you after the divorce. how you must’ve been hurting and suffering in silence by yourself. 

your mother wanted to cry—even though she wasn’t sure if it was from the news that you wouldn’t be skating again or just from the fact that—thankfully—it was just your ankle. she sat beside your bed, fingers curled tightly around the edge of the blanket. she had pushed you, god, she had pushed you so hard.

every missed jump and shaky landing was something she saw to be corrected, she didn’t see the perfect entries and spins. she saw the ribbons but not the trophies. you were supposed to shine underneath the spotlight that followed you as you glided across the rink. you were supposed to prove that her sacrifices, choices, and dreams passed onto you weren’t in vain.

you woke up to the cold stillness of the hospital room a few days later. the white walls blurred with the ceiling, your head pounding hard, and your body felt heavy and limping. when you moved the blanket away, you saw your ankle wrapped in cast and bandages. 

the nurse must’ve seen your eyes flutter open because the next thing you knew, your parents were in the room, followed by the doctor. he performed light checkups on you. 

this was the first time after years that you saw your parents being in one room and it wasn’t for your graduation.

after the doctor and the nurses left you alone with your parents, they carefully made their way toward you. “yn?” your father called you out softly that you remembered it being, standing beside your bed. he carefully took your hand in his, circling his fingers around your hand. “how are you feeling?” 

you blinked softly, lips dry, throat tight even after drinking water. you forced a smile anyway. it was nice seeing your father. “everything hurts but not as much anymore.” 

you heard your mother let out a shaky breath but she didn’t say anything yet. just moved closer to you. “what happened?” you asked, glancing at your mother concernedly. 

your father gave your hand a light, comforting squeeze. “yn… you fell,” he whispered, standing closer. you turned your head toward him, pulse quickened as you raised your brows. “your ankle… there was a lot of damage. you might have to undergo a surgery.” he glanced at your mother before looking back at you. 

“...but as for now, you won’t be able to… skate.” 

your eyes widened in horror, breath caught in your throat. 

your world stopped turning.

no. no, no, no.

no, no way.

your lips parted, but nothing came out. this hurt more than physical—was this real? you couldn’t even form the words to protest even if you tried—if it was really that bad that it cost you… your whole being? the dull ache in your head suddenly throbbed harder than your ankle. 

“what do you mean?” your voice cracked as you let out a dry chuckle of disbelief, you pulled your father closer to you by his hand, ignoring the way the iv drip tugged on your skin. “what do you mean i can’t skate, dad?” you repeated, brows furrowed in confusion and growing anger. you turned to your mother, seeking an answer. “mom? why can’t i skate?” 

she looked away.

your father squeezed your hand, his voice barely holding it together. “sweetheart, you… you tore multiple ligaments in your ankle. the recovery is going to be long, and—” he paused to swallow. “—even then you might not regain the same… strength.” 

“but i… i’ve been through worse,” you whispered, shaking your head. waiting for the part where he’d laugh and say it was one of his other dad jokes. “there’s rehab, right? i just need time—”

your mother shook her head. “yn,” she finally spoke. “this isn’t like before. this is different.” 

you pulled your hand away from your father, fingers trembling as you glanced at your wrapped ankle. “no, no, i still have time. championships are still months away, i can train, i can—” you were gasping, heart racing, and tears were spilling fast along your cheeks at  the mere thought of you not being able to wear your white skates anymore. “mom, don’t take this away from me, please. don’t take this from me.”

you sobbed, pulling the blanket towards your face to muffle your tears and sobs against it. 

your father placed his hand gently on your back to pull you against him, rubbing slow circles as your body intercepted between gasps and sobs. “sweetheart, it’s okay,” he said softly, voice trembling as he pulled you into his warm embrace that you haven’t had since you were nine. “you can rest now, you’ve done more than enough.”

you shook your head in denial, wetting his shirt with your tears and snots. “i’m nothing,” you mumbled through your hiccups. “i’m nothing without skating, dad,” 

11 years.

his arms tightened around you. “hey. what are you talking about? don’t say that,” he whispered against your hair. “you’re so much more than that ice, yn. “ you kept shaking your head, refusing to believe it—but he pulled back just enough to meet you in the eye. 

“i’ll put you in new hobbies, mm? painting, baking—you like sweets right?” 

you stopped having sweets a long time ago—for your diet.

but you nodded anyway. you didn’t want to make your father feel shitty—as he already felt for leaving you under the care of your mother. for not being present, both physically and emotionally while you were growing up. he might not be the best father, but he tried. you sniffed in silence, and he gave you a soft crooked smile. 

you’d like to think that this was the universe's way of telling you to breathe for once. 

you were discharged a week after your surgery. you noticed that your mother really tried to make things easier for you by cooking your favourite meals, keeping your room spotless, and attending to everything that you wanted. she changed your bandages and brought your stuff down from your bedroom to ease you from having to climb up the stairs. your father visited whenever he could, bringing fresh fruits, food, and video games he knew you liked. oh, yeah—he bought you a new set of nintendo to keep you occupied.

you sat by the living room’s window most days, staring blankly as the sun rose and dipped again. it was as if you had no other goals in life. no purpose. 

the school gave you an exemption letter for recovery, so you were off from school for the next two weeks, which also meant—not seeing sunghoon. you hadn’t told him anything yet… not the hospital, the surgery, or the big news that sunghoon would only be skating by himself after this. 

your phone stayed mostly silent except for when he texted first. you knew you couldn’t ignore him forever—so you asked to meet up at a park.

“yn!” 

you turned at the sound of your name, just in time to see sunghoon jogging toward you across the park. he came right after school had ended—tie loosened and hair wind-tousled, eyes wide and worried as they scanned over you. you gave him a weak smile, clutching the sleeves of your sweater around your arms. next to you, your crutches rested against the bench.

his pace slowed when he got closer. “what…” he glanced down at the crutches, then back up at you, confusion and concern furrowing his brows. “what happened?” he asked, standing in front of you.

you lowered your gaze, fingers tightening. “i just… i tore some ligaments during training,” you murmured, flashing him a i’m-guilty-and-you-were-right smile. “had surgery. doctor said i need time to recover.” 

sunghoon frowned, taking a seat next to you. “why didn’t you tell me?” his voice was gentle but laced with hurt. he was your boyfriend, shouldn’t he at least be aware of it? 

you glanced away, absentmindedly kicking the pebbles and gravel beneath your shoe with the leg that was okay. “i didn’t think it would take this long and be this serious. i just thought it would be like last tim—” 

he cuts you off. “last time? what happened last time?” he asked, frowning with confusion. your lips parted as you realised your mistake—you had slipped and let out something you shouldn’t. you didn’t tell him about your admission to the hospital before nationals—!

“hoon, i—” you tried, darting your tongue to wet your lips. your eyes met with sunghoon’s and they were filled with… hurt. hurt from the fact that he wasn’t there for all the times you were in pain when he should’ve. hurt from the fact you never told him anything—never let him in on the saddest parts of your life. 

hurt that he only knew things that you allowed him to.

“why don’t you ever tell me anything?” 

you felt your breath hitch, guilt bubbled in your chest. “it’s not… that i didn’t want to,” you said quietly, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “i’m embarrassed—i don’t know how to.” you mumbled, pulling at the loose thread of your sweater. you heard sunghoon let out a soft sigh, shaking his head. 

sunghoon wanted to be… angry, almost. not angry at you—no he could never. angry at the… situation, the circumstances. he knew your upbringing wasn’t all unicorns and flowers, and he should've known better than anyone else of your habit to keep things to yourself.

he just wished that you… could rely on him too.

“okay,” he nodded, turning to face you. “tell me what happened, please?” 

you took a deep breath, heart hammering against your chest. you weren’t sure how to deliver—and how sunghoon would take it—but it had to be told one way or another. “i… i can’t skate anymore,” 

sunghoon’s expression stilled. for a moment, he didn’t say anything. your boyfriend just stared at you as he tried to process the words—maybe he had misheard. but you didn’t elaborate, and the silence began to sound like the truth.

he blinked once, then again, his brows slowly drawing together. “what… what do you mean?” he asked, careful. “like—temporary? until recovery?”

you shook your head, lips pressed into a trembling line. “no, i mean—maybe yeah, but for now no,” you paused. “maybe with therapy, i could skate again but it’d take some time.” you continued, shrugging—but sunghoon knew this meant everything for you—for you to be feigning casually like this. 

“i can’t do championships.” you said, avoiding his gaze. you didn’t wanna look at him with pity in his eyes. you didn’t want to be pitied—because what good would it do? pitying wouldn’t reverse the damage. only miracles could.

his mouth opened but no words came out. you watched the disbelief melt into heartbreak on his face. “yn…” he mouthed, swallowing the lump in his throat. “i’m so sorry.” sunghoon whispered. he couldn’t imagine how much of a pain it was for you—if it hurt him this much to hear the news. 

skating is everything for you—sunghoon wanted to say, but figured that you already knew that. you knew that better than anyone. he didn’t want to rub salt to the wound. so instead, he leaned in and wrapped his arms tightly around you, pulling you close against his chest.

you just sat there, stiff and fragile. you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt. “skating’s all that i have,” you whispered against his shirt. he held you tighter. “baby, don’t say that,” he murmured, fingers gently cradling the back of your head. “you’re still you. you’re everything.” 

you only had skating. you only knew how to figure skate for the last 11 years of your life. that was all you knew. and now—now it was gone. 

after a while, sunghoon leaned back slightly to look at you, his hands went up to your cheeks to cup them. his thumbs wiping off your tears. “i’m always here. i’ll always stay by your side through it all.” he said gently, tilting his head slightly as his eyes searched for yours.

you nodded through your hiccups, scrunching your nose. “yeah,” you whispered. “please.” 

sunghoon smiled, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. the two of you closed your eyes. teasingly, he darted his lips out and licked the salty tears on your skin. you gasped and pulled away, looking at him with wide eyes and just—baffled. “hoon! ew!” you blushed, hard. 

you didn’t ew-ed or flinched in disgust because of him, but because it was just embarrassing. it’s in public! you could get caught and be thrown in jail, or something. you covered your face with both hands. “that’s so gross. you just licked my snot.” you mumbled through your fingers, thought your voice was laced with laughter. 

sunghoon grinned and laughed, completely unbothered by it. “no it’s not?” he hummed, catching your wrists and trying to pry it off your face. “it’s poetic, don’t you think?” he teased, trying to get a better look at your flustered face. he’s just happy you’re at least smiling now.

you let out a whiny noise and lightly smacked his shoulder, now only hiding behind one wrist. “stop! you’re making it worse!” but sunghoon laughed, pulling both your hands down gently so he could see your face. “you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.” 

you rolled your eyes playfully. 

——

when sunghoon saw you for the first time when the two of you were twelve, you were skating across the rink and he wondered how a girl with a fluffy, pink scrunchie and pinkier gloves and white warmers could look so terrifying.

your movements were precise and clean for someone so young and small, and you didn’t smile when you landed a flawless axel. sunghoon thought you were like a machine—beautiful, serious, and a little bit crazy.

 he liked the way you skate.

some time when the two of you were still twelve, you tripped during one of your practices. it was the tiniest misstep—your blade catching on a ridge in the ice but you fell on your butt and you let out a breathless “ow”. 

and that was the moment sunghoon decided you were also kind of adorable. 

the two of you were fourteen—and he still remembered when you showed up to practice with your face full of cartoon pimple patches that you would kill before letting anyone see you like that. little stars, ducks, and cat paws peeked out from your hair, clinging stubbornly to your cheeks and forehead. 

“don’t look at me!” you immediately covered your face with your palms, whipped your head around and hissed. sunghoom blinked confusedly but nodded, closing his eyes as he extended his arm to offer you a clean towel. “but why?” 

“i look ugly right now.” 

that’s what you said—but sunghoon thought you looked really cute.

he didn’t say it outloud though. not like you’d believe him. 

sunghoon has always liked you—as a person and as a friend, but more than that? it never really crossed sunghoon’s mind. at one point it probably did, but he was more than content with the friendship that he had with you. besides, what did a fourteen year old boy know about love? 

until that first week when you transferred to his school two years later, he saw you with the student council president, sungchan—tall, sharp featured, and frustratingly charming—that really confirmed his feelings. 

he wanted more than skate sessions and late-night convenience store runs. sunghoon wanted more than casual texts asking if either one was coming to practice. he wanted more than accidentally hand touching and sharing umbrellas. 

sunghoon wanted to tell you he misses you anytime of the day. wanted to express his love loudly and openly and kiss you at every chance he has. sunghoon wanted to intertwine his fingers between yours and tell everyone that he’s your boyfriend.

he only kept it to himself though. 

“hoonie?” 

your voice brought him back to reality. oh—right. the same girl he had been pining for was actually laying beside him on his bed, curled on his arm like she belonged here. you belonged there. your hair was slightly messy from the nap, eyes barely open, and voice soft with drowsiness. 

he blinked, heart skipping a beat as he looked down at you, your hand reaching blindly for his. 

“yeah?” he answered, barely above a whisper. 

you shifted closer, resting your chin on his chest, eyes blinking up at him. “can i come and watch you practice?” sunghoon’s thick brows furrowed slightly, “what?” a confused smile tugging at his lips. “why do you wanna do that…?” 

you shrugged, lips twitching, pushing at the corner of one cheek. “i don’t know? i just wanna be there and support you.” 

he paused, eyes searching. there was something quieter behind your words. not sadness exactly, but it made his chest ache a little. you want to watch him… practice? why—?

“are you sure?” he asked carefully, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “you don’t… have to push yourself or anything, y’know?” you nodded and gave him a small smile. “i know,” and nuzzled into his chest. “i just wanna be there.”

sunghoon let out an unsure hum, biting the inside of his cheek before he wrapped his arms around your body and engulfed his frame over yours. he was careful not to lay his leg over yours. he wasn’t sure if agreeing was the right thing to do, but if that would make you feel better—then… sure. positive feelings can be evoked through watching others pursue what they enjoy—maybe that was one of your coping mechanisms.

“i’m starting my painting class next week,” you mumbled into his chest. 

“really?” he asked, a gentle surprise in his voice. 

you nodded. “i thought i should try something new while recovering. i didn’t wanna die out of boredom.” you chuckled, humming satisfactorily. sunghoon stayed quiet for a moment, then buried his face into your hair, his breath warm. “that’s so amazing, baby,” he murmured. “you’ll be the next leonardo and i can be your mona lisa.” 

you chuckled, pinching gently at his side. sunghoon let out a soft moan. “that’s just exaggerating,” you rolled your eyes. “i’m horrible,” 

“i’ll still hang it on my wall,” he replied, and you could feel his smile against your head. 

——

true to his words—you stood behind the glass panels of the rink that weekend, arms folded on the surface as your eyes followed sunghoon gliding across the ice. 

now that you thought about it—this was probably the first time that you had ever really watched him skate while of course, you had trained alongside him for years. the two of you shared rinks and sometimes schedules. but you’d never watched watched him. not from the outside looking in. 

and god, he was just so… good at it.

when sunghoon skated, he looked like a whole different person. there was a quiet confidence in the way he brought himself and moved. every curve of his spine, every step, every jump, or just the way he glided on the ice—they were clean and almost too effortless. skating for sunghoon was like breathing. 

you could see the concentration in his furrowed brows, the sheer dedication in every swing of his arms. it was the same sport you had lived for too, but through him… it looked completely different. 

less of a war and more of an art. 

compared to you—sunghoon looked like he skated because it was something he loved. but for you, you skated because it was the only thing you knew.

“sunghoon, you’re too tense hun!” 

and his coach was nice too.

she laughed after the correction, her voice light and teasing as it echoed faintly. “loosen up! you’re not a robot.” you saw your boyfriend grinned mid-glide, raising a thumbs up to say got it, and pushed forward into a clean double loop. he was still focused, but looser now, like his coach had said. if only that was how it was for you too. 

you rested your chin on your arms, eyes softening as you watched him land with control, his skates whispering. you watched as sunghoon suddenly skated your way, slowing down as he neared the edge of the rink. he didn’t say anything immediately, just let his eyes meet yours through the glass. 

his cheeks were slightly flushed and rosy from the cold and the movement, breath fogging up the panel between you. then, he gave you a crooked smile—half-playful, half-shy—and tapped the glass gently with his knuckle. you raised a brow in question, and he mouthed—”watch me.” 

you answered him with a thumbs up and a small smile—involuntary and a little sad, but you didn’t make it obvious. 

sunghoon continued with his routine for the rest of the evening. you stayed until the very end, behind the glass when he skated his final loop and slowed to a stop, his chest rising with steady breaths. his coach clapped and told him they’re done for the day—and asked him to keep it up.

it was only 7 p.m. when he exited the rink, towel around his shoulders, hair damp with sweat and melted ice. today, he decided to walk home with you. 

“you’re amazing, hoonie,” you said softly, eyes lingering on the path ahead. he let out a quiet laugh, slightly flustered. “you think so?” sunghoon blushed. you nodded, hands bruised in the sleeves of his hoodie. you had made a mistake coming there wearing a short sleeved top. “mmhm. watching you… made me realise…. you really love skating, don’t you?” 

sunghoon glanced down at you. his bag slung over his shoulder. “i do,” he admitted. “but not as much as i love you.” 

you feigned cringed, nose scrunched as you looked away, face burning as you hugged yourself tighter in his hoodie. “you can’t just say stuff like that out of nowhere…” 

“i can’t say i love you to my girlfriend?” he giggled, leaning down to take a look at your face. “i literally ate you o—” before he could continue, you gasped aloud and slapped your hands over his mouth, eyes wide in pure embarrassment, ears burning red.

“sunghoon!” you gasped, stopping in your tracks. sunghoon’s eyes widened too at your sudden movement—but his lips tugged into a smirk when he realised it. he wrapped his hands around the curve of your wrists and gently pulled it away before pulling you towards him. 

“am i wrong?” he teased, raising his eyebrows. “you let me do all that to you, but i can’t even tell you that  i love you?” you groaned, burying your face into his chest. “stop talking…” you mumbled, muffled against his shirt. “just—stop talking, hoon.” 

he chuckled, wrapping both arms around your shoulder. “you get embarrassed so easily,” he hummed, playfully swaying you in his hold. you stumbled a bit from the movement, curling your fingers around the fabric of his shirt.

“and you sound like you’re really in love with me.” you teased back. sunghoon felt your lips twitching into a smile against his chest. he pressed his cheek against the top of your head. “i do. i’m really in love with you, yn.”

——

“mommy? i think my bedroom’s haunted.” 

you stood at the doorway in socked feet, clutching your stuffed rabbit by her ears. the hallway light carved a soft halo around you as you squinted into the living room, where your mother was folding laundry on the carpet, and your father was asleep on the couch.

she looked up instantly. “haunted?” she repeated with a motherly mock alarm, setting down the towel. “hm, that won’t do.” she shook her head, letting out a fake–disappointed sigh. without missing a beat, she got up and offered her hand. “show me where, baby.”

you took it in your smaller one. your mother’s palm was warm, calloused slightly from housework, but still very soft. she’s always been both of that—rough but soft at the edges. she walked beside you with her back straight, peeking dramatically around the corners before entering your room. you watched as she flicked on the main light of your bedroom. “okay, let’s see…”

your mother got on the floor and started inspecting underneath the bed, the closet, and even behind the curtains. “nothing here…” she said finally. then she crouched down, looked you in the eyes, and whispered softly to not let the ghosts on it. “but just in case—should we put a shield up?”

solemnly, you nodded. she grabbed your pillows, fluffed it twice, and tapped the corners with her fingers as if she was casting a protection spell. then, patting on your bed, she nudged you to come. “there. ghost–proof.”

you giggled and climbed on the bed, threw your body onto her with your little arms around her neck. “thank you, mommy.” 

“aw, always,” she said, rubbing your back soothingly. she planted a soft kiss on the top of your head. “i’ll always keep you safe, okay? you don’t have to be scared.”

the thunder outside cracked sharply, pulling you back to the present like a snapped thread. 

you blinked and the memory faded like breath on glass. the living room looked colder now, dimmer despite the warm light overhead. your mother sat across from you at the dining table, her hands wrapped around a mug she hadn’t touched in minutes. the silence between you had  stretched long–tighter, heavier with each passing second.

you weren’t six anymore—but you just allowed yourself to be one for a couple of minutes. just long enough to remember what it felt like to be held with love and warmth. but when you glanced back at your mother—really looked—you were reminded of just how far the years had long forgotten.

she’s older now. she looked different; the lines near her mouth were deeper than before. and she smelt different; no longer the rose scent you grew up with. and she acted differently, too. you’d like to think you took the past for granted. 

“is it not good?” she asked, her voice tentative as she watched you push the food around the plate. she had cooked your favourite meal—but you weren’t in the mood for it. you shrugged, not looking up at her anymore. “it’s good.”

silence. 

then—maybe you should’ve just kept quiet… but something inside you stirred. you kept replaying back the memories of when life was good. it crept up your throat and came out sounding smaller than you meant.

“would you still love me if i never amounted to anything?”

she blinked. her fingers froze around the chopsticks as she looked at you in confusion, “what?”

“if i just… stopped trying. if i stayed like this forever. would you still love me?”

her brows furrowed and she set her utensil down on the bowl. “yn, why would you say something like that?”

still not a reply.

“i’m just asking,” you said, teeth pressing into your tongue. you really should’ve just kept your mouth shut. “hypothetically. if i never do anything impressive again.” your mother stared at you, still the same confused expression.

“you’re my daughter, of c—”

but you cut her off. she took way too long to give you a yes–or–no answer. “because you only loved me when i was good at something,” you added, before you could stop yourself. “when i was skating and i won.”

“that’s not true,” she said, way too fast. you finally looked up at her—you weren’t sure what kind of expression you had on your face, but you wished it was hurt rather than mad. “then why does it feel like it? i only ever felt loved when you’re happy.” your voice cracked, and for a second, her eyes softened—you saw it—but she held her ground.

“i’m always proud of you.”

“exactly,” you snapped. god—just stop, just fucking stop, you thought. stop talking. “you were proud of me. but were you ever just… just happy with me? even when i’m not doing anything?” 

your mother blinked. a beat. then two. “i am happy with you. what are you talking about, yn? where even is this coming from?” you scoffed, heat prickling at your eyes. you didn’t have an answer because you didn’t even know where you were going with this. 

“of course you’d say that now.”

she furrowed her brows, clearly offended. “now?”

you hated how well she performed her role when she needed to. how convincing she could sound when guilt finally caught up to her. god, she’s so fucking good at acting like a mother. 

“do you know i’ve always felt unseen?” you asked, quietly but not gently. “everything i did, for years, it was for you. i pushed and tore my body apart for you—and you—it was never enough for you unless i was winning or sacrificing something.”

her lips parted to protest, you assumed, but you didn’t let her interrupt.

“you never said ‘i’m proud of you’ when i was resting. you’re only saying this now, because you feel bad.”

your mother’s mouth stayed open, but no words came out.

you watched as her face slowly crumbled—something within collapsed like an old structure finally giving in to years of weight and wobbly foundation. her shoulders dropped, her chin trembled. but still—she didn’t say anything.

she didn’t deny it. she just looked at you like she didn’t know where to begin. where to put the guilt overflowing in her palms. the truth in your words had stunned her speechless she couldn’t even deny if she wanted to.

so you looked away first. you couldn’t bear the sight of her like that. it’s too late now. all you’d wanted for years was to be seen by your own mother, and now when she finally did, it hurt more than it should heal.

——

you gently tapped your brush against the mason water jar, watching the green bleed into the water—swirling like smoke, then fading. the studio smelled like linseed oil and fresh paper—so earthy, sharp, yet clean. sunlight filtered through the tall windows and softened by mesh blinds that swayed in the breeze. easels stood like figures scattered around the room, each one occupied by someone else.

only this.

you weren’t painting anything in particular as it’s a free–theme session—shapes, shadows… movement. 

“wow,” someone muttered beside you. you blinked, startled before glancing over your shoulder. it was a girl from the next easel—yeri, from the tag pinned on her apron. she wasn’t looking at you but at the canvas. there was a hint of curiosity and admiration in her voice. “what… are you drawing? i like the green.” 

your mouth opened a little. then closed. “thanks,” you murmured, shifting a little so she could get a better look. “just our house garden. kind of. i don’t really remember what it looked like anymore, so i’m making it up.” 

yeri nodded and brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear as she leaned closer to you, not intrusively. “it looks like a memory,” she said simply. “so that’s probably how your garden actually looks like.” she chuckled, pointing at the drawing with the back of her brush.

you hummed, smiling as you glanced at your painting. maybe. you didn’t remember it anymore as it was your father who looked after the flowers. after he left, nobody was around to tend it anymore—and naturally, they died. 

“i’m yeri,” she said, extending her hand out. you let out a soft—oh,—before taking it in yours, giving it a small shake. “hi, i’m yn.” 

her grip was warm, paint–smidged fingers cool against your palm but you didn’t care. “i like painting with you,” yeri said after a moment, eyes back on her own work now. “you’re really quiet so it’s nice.” she smiled.

as your brush moved, sweeping across the canvas, you couldn’t help but to think of a reply—even though yeri had probably forgotten about what just said. 

“i’m not good with words,” you said suddenly, voice low like you were confessing it to yourself than to yeri. but she heard you. she glanced over again, lips quirking. “that’s alright. you can always express things in other ways than talking.” 

that made you pause—mid–stroke, bristles hovering just above the canvas.

“what do you mean?”

“hm?” she hummed, eyebrows raised. “oh—i mean, life’s short, right? if something feels good for you—then maybe that’s reason enough. you don’t have to express solely through words if painting feels right. or dancing. or sitting still, or whatever.”

yeri shrugged lightly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “just do whatever makes you feel good, yn.”

your brush slowed, gaze drifted back to the canvas—but your mind was elsewhere.

yeah—you felt good painting. 

“woah—that looks like my nana’s garden—!” 

——

every day bled into the next, time marked not by sunrises or dinners but by routines—jumps, spins, footwork, landings for sunghoon. his coach kept praising his precision, stamina, and artistry non–stop. there were nods from others during practice, claps when he struck a clean triple lutz, and even the occasional glimmer of envy from the other skaters.

championships were only a month away and the weight of expectation pressed like cold hands on the back of sunghoon’s neck. he needed this gold to prove that the sacrifices had been worth it. he needed to dedicate this gold to you—for you.

but more than that—he needed his girlfriend.

“hi, sorry i’m late—had to sweep snow off the porch,” you giggled as you shuck off your coat. his parents were out, and the house was quiet in that wintery way. sunghoon hovered by the entrance as you put your shoes up on the rack, his shoulders still faintly damp from the shower. his cheeks pink from watching yours flushed from the cold. 

“i missed you,” he murmured, head leaning against the doorframe. you blinked, then softened. “i just saw you last week.” you replied as you closed the door shut behind.

“still missed you.”

you stepped into his space, “missed you more.” sunghoon’s arms came around you without thinking, wrapped around your waist as he pulled you in. his shirt smelled like laundry detergent and he was warm—so warm you almost melted right there, letting your face press into his chest.

sunghoon didn’t say—he just held you there, cheek rested lightly against the top of your head. you felt the rise and fall of his chest—syncing with yours. “i like it when you come over,” he mumbled after a moment. his voice was almost sheepish.

you smiled into his shirt. “yeah?”

“mmhm. so much better when you’re here.” sunghoon murmured. you tilted your head back to look up at him. “you sound tired.” he exhaled through his nose, a half–laugh. “no, i’m not~” he hummed, hugging you a little tighter and closer.

you didn’t push—but you reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “should i make you feel better?” 

his eyes opened, just a sliver. there was a flicker of surprise there—then something softer, something boyish. “yeah?” he said, like the word came out without a though, just breath.

sunghoon hadn’t meant to think so… lewdly but given the situation—you’re in his home and his parents were out, the world was snowed–in, and… and you were looking at him with those lovely eyes, asking if you could make him feel better…

better—how could he not?

sunghoon’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “what… what do you mean?” he asked, but it came out more nervous than intended. 

you let out a soft chuckle but didn’t answer right away. instead, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek—then lower, just near his jaw. “whatever you need,” you murmured, voice nearly a whisper. “whatever you want.”

and fuck—his restraint snapped just a little. 

sunghoon cupped your jaw gently—even when didn’t need to be—the pad of his thumb brushing your cheek. “come here,” he said, tugging you up the stairs and into his room. you followed without a single question, socked feet soft against the wooden steps.

his room was as usual, dim, cast in the dusky blue of early night. the space faintly warmed by the little heater he had near his desk. the bed was unmade, pillows mussed with his hoodie draped at the edge.

home.

as sunghoon sat, he almost instantly tugged you to straddle on his lap, your knees sank into the mattress on either side of his thighs, and you braced your hands against his chest. “oh—” you chuckled lightly at his eagerness. sunghoon truly wasted no time. 

“you’re so pretty,” he murmured absentmindedly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. his eyes followed the movement like he wanted to remember every inch of you. before you could reply, he catched your lips in a kiss that was almost firm, both hands cupping behind your neck to keep you close.

sunghoon pulled away, leaned in, another kiss. and another. like he couldn’t help himself.

your finger curled into the fabric of his shirt, clinging into him as he tilted his head, lips parting with yours with a gentle insistence. his tongue brushed against yours in a slow glide that made heat bloomed in your core.

“hoonie,” you breathed, pulling back to catch a breather and to look at him. but he chased your mouth, barely letting you get the word out. “no, no, don’t stop,” he whispered, voice hoarse and eyes heavy. “please.” the kiss got hungrier as his tongue danced along the seam of your lips. sunghoon got greedier—devouring every inch of you.

your fingers gripped the hem of his shirt before you even realised what you were doing. “off,” you whispered, tugging it upward. sunghoon broke the kiss just enough to let you peel it over his head—hair mussed, eyes half–lidded as he stared at you.

then his hands were on you, fingers tucked underneath your shirt. “yours too?” he asked as if he needed the permission. as if he didn’t know well what your answer was going to be. “mmhm,” you hummed, breath caught in your throat. 

sunghoon lifted it inch by inch, his knuckles grazing along your skin. when it finally came off, he tossed it aside without a glance. his hands came to rest at your waist as he pulled you back in, chests pressing together. “nice,” he murmured, mischievously snapped the strap of bra against your shoulder blade—eliciting a gasp out of you. “hey—!” you pouted, crossing your arms over your chest.

your boyfriend laughed, pecking your lips before he wrapped his hands around your wrist, tugging it away so he could see. could lavish his eyes with the sight of your cleavage pushed up behind that garment. “can i?” he asked, fingers brushing under the hem of your bra.

you let out a soft laugh, eyes heavy with affection and mutual want. “you don’t need my permission.” his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “don’t regret that,” he murmured before leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. sunghoon’s fingers skillfully unhook the two pronged clasp, letting your bra slip from your shoulders. “woa—” he expressed, blush crept over his cheek instantly. sunghoon felt like he was thirteen and discovering porn for the first time!

he bent slightly to wrap his mouth around your tit, moaning against the soft flesh. you dropped in a whine, back arching instinctively out of pleasure. you wrapped your arms around sunghoon’s neck, fingers tugging on his hair. “ah—hoonie—” you whimpered, shutting your eyes.

sunghoon rolled his tongue around your perky nipple as he let his other hand massaged, fondled, and tugged on your tit. his thumb brushed over your nipple, then his fingers curled, squeezing until your flesh spilled between the spaces of his knuckles like a stress ball—like he was trying to mold you into his palms. 

that got you shifting on his lap—eliciting a groan out of him. “ah, damn,” he murmured, tongue lapping around your bud. gently, sunghoon tugged on your nipple with his teeth before moving on to the other. you moaned aloud, rocking your clothed pussy against his growing hard–on. sunghoon tensed, but you couldn’t care less. you felt the flick of his tongue, gasping out a soft moan as he kept nipping until you were squirming on his lap.

his hands found your hips as he guided them so he could feel every drag of your pussy against his cock. “don’t tease me, babe,” he groaned against your skin—and it sent a jolt through you like a livewire. his breath was hot, mouth trailing lower, hand greedily mapping every inch of you. 

you hummed, grinding low and hard against him. “mm, i’m not, though?” you replied, feigning innocence. sunghoon glanced up at you before pulling his mouth away with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting your flushed nipple to his bottom lip. the end of his lip curled into a small smirk. “really?”

before you could blurt out a proper retort, sunghoon flipped you onto your back—your body lifting and bouncing slightly against the mattress. he hovered above you—so achingly hard and horny. “i want you so bad,” he whispered, leaning down to peck the corner of your lips as his fingers undo the ribbon on his sweats. “i can’t stop thinking about you all the time.”

you blushed, hard—”are you always this vocal?” you teased. sunghoon grinned, breath fanning over your cheek as now his fingers worked on unbuttoning your jeans. “only with you.” he murmured. pulling it down with ease, the two of you now were left in nothing but your underwear. 

looking down at the sight of your flushed face and marked chest, he planted his knees into the soft bedding, trapping you beneath and between him. heat coiled in your core as you rubbed your thighs against one another, trying to stay cool albeit you knew better. “i can’t wait any longer,” you’d wish to keep the foreplay going, but sunghoon’s touch was wearing it down—and there’s always next time, you hoped. 

“yeah—me either, love.” he groaned, pressing and squeezing his clothed eager cock down that was begging to be let out. as sunghoon pulled his boxer down, you couldn’t help but to let your eyes travel along his v–line, breath caught in your throat with each inch lowering. you swallowed the lump in your throat—it never crossed your mind that one day you would be experiencing sex for the first time—much less with a guy as attractive as your boyfriend.

sunghoon chuckled lowly as he caught you staring with your mouth slightly parted. “don’t be shy. i’ll be gentle.” he reassured. sunghoon was big. his cock was long, curving slightly towards his lean stomach with a clear string of pre–cum trailing from the tip. you tried to sit up for no reason, but he pressed you back on the bed. “hey—hey,” he taunted, his other hand wrapped around the base of his throbbing cock. “stay still for me, okay?”

nodding, you bit your bottom lip as you watched sunghoon hooked his finger along the waistband of your panties—then he paused. “penguin—?” he blinked, a breath of laughter escaping him. “oh my god, they are.” your face burned in embarrassment—but at least it should serve a clear answer that you didn’t come over just to have sex with him. “shhh,” you shushed him, trying to twist away but sunghoon caught your hips just before.

“no, no—wait, it’s cute!” he grinned, eyes crinkling. “you hid a whole antarctic expedition from me?” 

“sunghoon!” 

his smile widened as he shook his head, pulling down your panties and exposing your needy, wet, pretty little cunt free. how shameless of you, really. how ready you were to let sunghoon have his way for the first time with you. “wow,” he murmured as if it was his first time seeing it. you wanted to tease—to scold—but decided to save that for later. not when all you needed was to have him spread you open and claim you for himself. 

“‘m gonna make it less scary, okay?” sunghoon said, leaning to kiss your cheek. he cupped your pussy and started swirling the pad of his thumb on your clit, evoking a soft gasp out of you. “hngh!” you moaned, arching your back. his finger circled and tugged on your clit.

once he felt that you were wet enough, sunghoon slowly inserted his middle finger inside you, sinking into the knuckle with ease. it felt good—really good as he worked you over. sunghoon kept you occupied with his kisses and bites on your jugular and the crook of your neck. 

pumping his middle finger back and forth, he decided that you were ready for another one. sunghoon slipped his ring finger inside, pressing deeper as he messaged your walls with deliberate pressure. sunghoon lets your clit be played by his thumb—circling and coaxing soft melodies from your lips. 

“so perfect,” he murmured against your skin as he stretched your opening with his fingers—thrusting in and out, back and forth out of you. he felt the way your walls clenched around his digits and how easy it was for him to drag his fingers. that’s a good sign—you weren’t as tense anymore.

a breathy, meek squeak escaped you when sunghoon pressed his fingertips against your spongy g–spot, “oh, there she goes,” he groaned. you started bucking your hips into his palm, twitching. “feels so good, feels s’good,” you moaned with each pressure building up.

before you know it, you came in a rush of liquid over his hand—squirting and wetting sunghoon’s bedding. not like he cared. not when you squirted and came out of pleasure from his two fingers alone. “god,” he croaked in awe as he withdrew his fingers, bringing them up to his face and sucked them well. 

“hngh—” you whimpered, shuddering as your pussy twitched from the feeling of emptiness. sunghoon repositioned himself, pulling you against him by your hips. “god, should’ve known that a pretty girl like you would have such a pretty pussy, hm?” he murmured under his breath as he gathered spit in his mouth before letting it fall right on your cunt. 

you wondered where he learned to talk such things—but quickly reminded yourself that sunghoon’s a man. his palms spread your legs apart, then using his hand to stroke his swollen cock—almost like he was jerking off to the rhythm of your breathing alone. he liked seeing the way your chest rose up and down. but also—he just loved seeing your breasts there.

shying, sunghoon bit the bottom of his lip as he lined up the head of his flushed cock with your slit. you shivered at the contact. your boyfriend ran his bulging cock–head between your labia, smearing his saliva and your juices over your pussy. you’re so embarrassed you wished he’d just penetrated you already.

“hoonie, please,” you pleaded, bringing both hands up to cover your flushed face. you heard sunghoon chocked out a shy, small chuckle—and even without seeing, you could imagine him smiling with his eyes fixated on your cunt. “sorry cutie,” he murmured as he tapped his cock against your pussy. “you’re my first and last, so…” 

heart knocking at your ribs, you slowly spread apart your fingers to look at him. his gaze was heavy on you now—soft, awed. he said it like a promise—sinking deep into the quietest, insecure parts of you. “do you mean that?” your voice muffled beneath your palms.

“yeah,” he said, throat bobbing as he swallowed his saliva. “let me prove it to you. my first and last.” upon his words, sunghoon slowly slipped his tip past your entrance, seeing how your walls contracted and stretched around his size. he let out a low hiss and a soft groan, feeling your warmth consuming over. “oh, damn,”

you too—a sharp whine escaped you when he pressed in. it didn’t hurt, not at all. but that unfamiliar stretch, new feeling that made your thighs tense and your breath catch. your fingers curled into the sheets, heart hammering so loud it almost drowned out everything else.

sunghoon froze, he wasn’t even halfway inside. “hey, hey, look at me,” he whispered, his hand slid up to cup your cheek, thumb swiping gently. “tell me if it’s too much.” he reassured, sinking into you inch by inch until he couldn’t see the base anymore. 

giving you the time to adjust to him, you nodded your head with a small shy smile, lips curled over your teeth. “mhh, hoonie… so full,” you whimpered and god sunghoon wanted to eat you whole. he didn’t think you could get any cuter than this. sunghoon pulled his hips back before he rutted forward, holding you still with his hands on your hips. 

you didn’t hold back from the sensual, whiny moan either—”ah, shit.. god,” you breathed out as you felt him against your velvety walls. sunghoon’s cock was so… detailed to say, buried deep inside of your pussy it almost knocked your cervix. 

“feels so good, fuck…” he grunted, guttural sound deep in his chest as his shoulders dropped. sunghoon started to thrust his cock in and out of you—picking up his speed as he rocked into you with a steady rhythm. over and over. the initial sting had melted into something warmer. pleasure flooded you in waves, curling through your spine and pouring from your lips in soft, breathless whines. 

your fingers dug into his forearm, anchoring yourself to him as your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. “ah, more, feels s’nice—” you gasped, and he shushed you gently by burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“i know,” he panted, breath hot and shaky—taking advantage of your needy state to bury himself deep within you. sunghoon let it be for a while, kissing your cheek and your temple to soothe you. “you feel so good. so tight around me—fuck,” he sighed before withdrawing, only to slam his cock back into you. 

with a nibble on your neck, sunghoon grinded his cock in the deepest depth of you, balls pressed against your ass. your dug crescent moons on his flesh with your nails. “oh my god—you’re so deep, oh god i can feel you,” you cried out, choking on your own saliva.

his hand was quick to find your tit as he gave it a light squeeze, rolling your wet nipple around the pads of his fingers.  “can you take it, babe? so good for me, so so good for me.” sunghoon moaned against your ear, nibbling and licking along the shell. 

you couldn’t even bring yourself to reply with coherent words—mouth fell open in soundless gasps, brain short–circuiting from everything at once. your body was burning at every point of contract: his cock slamming inside you like it wanted to go deeper, the warmth of his hand on your tits, and the possessive way his canines grazed your earlobe—it was all too much. 

so intoxicating the way sensations bled into one another until all you could do was cling to him. sunghoon was thoroughly unraveling you. “oh mh, i—i, can’t hold it back,” you chocked out, gasping for air. sunghoon’s moans were hot against your skin. “yeah? you’re gonna cum for me?”

you nodded eagerly as he continued to thrust his hips forward, driving your body against the sheets. “wanna cum on your dick, ah—! please hoonie, please,” you begged, seeing stars in the back of your head when you rolled your eyes back. sunghoon acknowledged that—snapping his hips against yours and pressing down on the bulge of his cock through your belly with his abdomen. 

“my girl, fuck, just a second, hm?” he rasped, licking the side of your face before biting on your cheek. you gasped, pinching his back playfully. “god, sunghoon—be serious,” you whined, eliciting a laugh out of him. you’re so precious, so lovely, and his strokes only began to grow messy around your contracting walls.

“fuck, ‘m cumming, cutie,” sunghoon moaned. he lost his rhythm in fucking you, cock twitching in desperation. he let out a groan as he spurted inside you—thick, white ropes of cum just painted your insides warm. you buried your face into the crook of sunghoon’s neck as you whimpered pathetically—climax tore you through. 

sunghoon’s arms gave out, his chest collided against yours. you clung to his shoulders, body trembling as sunghoon plushed inside your flushed pussy. the two of you were breathing hard and panting, bodies slicked with sweat and sex. 

slowly, he eased himself out of you, his eyes never leaving the sight of his cock withdrawing out of your leaked pussy. his cum dripped and oozed out. “oh, fuck…” he murmured, swallowing the lump in his throat. his chest rose and fell, strands of hair clinging to his forehead. this was the first time that he’d cussed so much.

sunghoon looked down at you—your dazed eyes, flushed skin, the faint tremble in your thighs—and felt his heart stutter. he leaned down to kiss your temple, then your cheek, then your lips. “are you okay? you did so good.” he whispered against your mouth.

you nodded, smiling. voice caught somewhere between exhaustion and bliss. “mmhm,” you breathed. “‘m okay.” he exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to yours. “you’re so perfect,” he said, more to himself than to you. then, with the softest smile—”let me clean you up, yeah?”

——

from where you sat in the bleachers—hands tucked beneath your thighs, scarf on your lap—you watched your boyfriend glide effortlessly across the ice. his movements were as usual, sharp and clean. every twist of his body was so perfectly timed, so instinctual it was hard to believe how much effort went into it.

“okay—good job! let’s refine a few more spins,” his coach called out, clapping her hands once. sunghoon gave a small nod, skating to the edge of the rink to catch his breath. he glanced at you—and when he noticed you were already looking, he waved.

you waved back, but the smile on your face was minimum—more reflex than anything else. your body remembered what to do when someone looked at you with affection, but your heart hadn’t quite caught up.

you pulled your gaze away to blink down at your bundle of scarf on your lap. the familiar scent of the rink—crisp bites of cold air and ice spray—was almost too nostalgic. it used to be your world too. you were the one who insisted on coming and watching sunghoon practice; but now you weren’t sure if it was the right thing to do.

lately, yeri’s words have been echoing in your mind more often than you’d like.

just do whatever that makes you feel good.

but what did that even mean anymore? you’d buried those things so deep out of guilt that even thinking about what made you feel good felt selfish.

yet watching sunhoon now—seeing the glow in his face, the way he’s free—there was something in you that ached with want. eyes following the sound of his skates scraping—you realised how long it had been since you felt anything close to that.

you glanced at your ankle. it was better now, still aching when put under too much pressure, still sent those dull, pulsing reminders of what you lost but it definitely wasn’t as bad anymore. 

your fingers curled slightly on your lap.

fuck… fuck, skating. 

the thought came bitter and sharp like you swallowed a cup of acid. you hated how it still had that hold and grip on you. hated how even after all these months—still made your chest squeeze, jaw tighten, stomach knot. it wasn’t just the injury—but everything that came after. the silence from your mother, the emptiness that filled the space where it used to sit… hell, you noticed that sunghoon never even mentioned skating in front of you.

it had become like a taboo word. funny how back then, you wanted to quit so bad. now you had it, suddenly you wanted it back?

you had sacrificed everything. all your best years, your body, your breath, your adolescence. and when it was gone—when you had nothing else to offer—it left you behind.

and now here you were. watching sunghoon laughing with his coach, cheeks flushed and hair damp with cold sweat. you couldn’t hear him, but you could tell he was happy—doing something that actually made him happy.

you… you were starting to want to be too. 

was it silly to want to try again? even just a little? maybe you could try doing it for yourself—just to feel something again. just to have something to fill the void in your heart, and the time you have unspent. 

you glanced back down at your phone, typing—univerisity specialised in arts—in the search bar but hadn’t hit enter. your thumb hovered over it, contemplating. 

you don’t have to express solely through words, yeri had said. if painting feels right, then just do whatever that makes you feel good.

your eyes followed sunghoon—it was almost hypnotic and beautiful how he looked. he stopped at the far edge of the rink, hunched over slightly with exertion. when he looked up to you, he smiled. you smiled back, then—you pressed enter.

——

the weeks leading up to the championships blurred together in a haze of preparation—early morning practices, press obligations, tailoring appointments, diet monitoring, and choreo adjustments. you tried to be there for sunghoon through it all—in the rink, in his bedroom, during lunch and dinner—keeping him motivated and encouraged. you watched as he pushed himself harder than ever. it was as if the pressure energised him.

you tried your best to be present, even when guilt gnawed at the edges of your smile.

and still, in the middle of all that chaos—you ended up in his bed sometimes too.

it wasn’t planned and it never really initiated by him. usually you had come over after practice to share a simple dinner, but in that tenderness of the way he looked at you, something unguarded lull between conversations. 

just a few days before championships too—the sex wasn’t desperate or rushed. it was intimate, romantic. slow. he wanted to take his time with you because he knew he didn’t have to rush—because you weren’t going anywhere.

you clung to him, arms around his neck, and you tried not to cry. you didn’t want to ruin the moment with the rot that was festering inside you.

now, sitting in the stands at the national championships, your heart thudded behind your ribs—loud and uneven like a warning bell. the lights had dimmed slightly, the announcer’s voice beginning to echo across the arena with opening remarks, signaling the official start. the energy in the air was tense with anticipation, and just as sunghoon’s name flashed across the screen in recap—you stood up.

you couldn’t do it. 

they hadn’t announced the winner just yet, but the applause began to rise. through the aisles, past the clusters of excited families and coaches and press. someone’s shoulder bumped into you and you could only mutter a deafened apology. your steps quickened, almost frantic now, until you pushed through the bathroom door at the end of the hallway with a stumble and braced your hands on the sink.

you couldn’t breathe. 

your chest rose and fell too fast—too shallow, too sharp, like your lungs couldn’t keep up with the weight pressing down on them. you gripped the edge of the sink tighter, trying to ground yourself from passing out—to stop the trembling that had crept into your fingers. 

like grief—it pulsed through your bones like second nature. the ache still found you.

your reflection stared back at you. you turned on the faucet, not to wash your hands, but just to full the silence. to drown out the sound of dreams coming true—other people’s dreams. people that were still in it. still chasing. still winning.

fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

a quiet sob broke free before you could stop it—then another, and another, until your shoulder shook and your face crumpled into your palms. you sobbed. you tried to bite it down but it clawed its way up from your chest. the ugly sound echoed off the bathroom tiles as tears dripped between your fingers.

“ugh—fucking bitch! yn, you fucking loser!” you cried, hitting the top of your head with the heel of your palm. crying over a dream that had already been buried—crying over something that should’ve been yours too. could’ve been yours. “why do you have to—fuck! oh god, fuck this ankle—fuck skating, fuck everything!”

skating was one thing—but sunghoon was another.

sunghoon.

the cheer outside grew louder and you could only assume they’d announced the final scores. your fingers curled tighter.

the name alone sent a fresh wave of guilt spiraling down your spine. sunghoon had always looked at you like you hung the stars in the skies. but now sitting here, sobbing into your hands, you felt like the cruelest person alive.

staring at your reflection, you with your puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks and lips trembling—looked like someone who was about to break their own heart too. because walking away from sunghoon—letting go of the only good thing you had left—wasn’t going to be painless.

it was going to hurt like a bitch.

but you couldn’t keep holding him like this. couldn’t keep pretending that you were okay with everything that was going on. it was either prolonging the inevitable and letting the pain spread slow like infection, or slicing it clean now—before your rot seeped into the parts of him that were still untouched. still pure.

yeah—that’s right. it was better to end it now while you still could. before he loved you deeper. before any future plans could be made. the two of you were already slipping and drowning in what–ifs and could’ve–beens. sunghoon was already making plans on traveling all the way to busan to meet your father. he talked about going after graduation, gifts to bring, about how nervous he’d be but how it’d be worth it if it meant being with you with an initial blessing.

you didn’t leave the bathroom until almost the next forty–five minutes.

the closing ceremony had long ended by then. the rink light had dimmed slightly and swelled in golden hues, applause and confetti no longer echoing through the arena. you hadn’t heard the final announcement; hadn’t seen the flags waved or medals hung or bouquets given. you didn’t know who won officially—but you expected it.

sunghoon, of course. it had to be sunghoon.

and god—you wished, prayed it was him. 

because if he was going to lose you, the least the world could do was give him everything else in return. 

as you stepped out of the hallway, you rubbed your eyes with the end of your sleeves, dragging motions that did nothing to erase the puffiness. the skin beneath them was sore, tender from crying. your fingers lingered near your cheekbones. 

you inhaled, stopping in your tracks for a while. you didn’t want anyone to see you like this—all wrecked up like you lost when you didn’t even compete to begin with. 

“yn!” 

your heart seized at the voice before you even looked up. you froze. footsteps padded against the linoleum, rushing and uneven, until sunghoon was in front of you, still in his post–performance jacket, hair damp with sweat. his cheeks were flushed from the adrenaline and the celebration.

“oh my god,” he breathed, brows furrowing. “where did you go? i looked for you everywhere.”

you gaze dropped to the floor in guilt. “i was—” you cleared your throat, trying to steady your voice, “just in the bathroom.”

his hand hovered between you two for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he should reach for you. “are you okay? you… you weren’t there when they called the placements. i thought something happened—i looked for you in the crowds.” 

“i’m sorry,” you said quickly, forcing a small laugh as you tugged your sleeves over your wrists again out of habit. “i didn’t mean to miss it.” 

sunghoon’s expression softened, but his voice was still strained. “did you… did you at least hear? i—” he hesitated, breath catching. he felt blush crept over his cheeks once again recalling the moment. “i won.”

your breath hitched—eyes widened a little before you broke into a real smile this time, the kind that reached your eyes. you knew it—! you saw it coming, but hearing it directly from the winner himself—almost felt unreal. “you did?” you gasped, voice air with awe. “hoonie, you… oh my god, you actually did!” 

a laugh, teary and small, slipped past your lips. you took a shaky step closer—your body moved like second nature when it was about sunghoon. “i knew you world. i knew it.” your hands balled into your sleeves again, chest tight with a bittersweet warmth. “i’m so proud of you.” 

genuinely and seriously—you couldn’t even be more prouder for sunghoon. he had been working toward this for years. every early morning, every sore musckle, every taped–up ankle and knee; for all the times he stayed behind at the rink while you waited with a drink in hand. 

he deserved this more than no one else. 

sunghoon let out a soft chuckle in admiration at your reaction. he suppressed a shy smile as he fiddled with his fingers behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels. there was a hopeful flicker in his eyes, like he was waiting for something… anything.

a beat passed.

“aren’t you…” sunghoon started, voice gentle but teasing, “going to hug me? kiss me? i mean—national champion here…” he grinned, trying to keep the tone light, but there was that shyness in his voice he couldn’t fully hide. not from you.

your breath caught. 

“oh… uhm…” you looked away, panic prickling at your spine. the warmth that had filled your chest moments ago stuttered, flickering behind the sharp twist of guilt again. you could almost taste the salt of your earlier tears. 

you forced a smile, it barely reached your eyes. “right—! c’mere,” you said, stepping into him, arms slipping around his waist.

sunghoon hummed satisfactorily as he welcomed you instantly in his embrace, arms circling around your waist as he tucked you into the space under his chin as always. the fabric of his jacket was still cool from the arena, but his body was warm. sunghoon has always been warm, inside and out. 

for a moment, it was nice. it felt like nothing had changed.

you allow your eyes to slip shut. let yourself sink into the comfort of your boyfriend—for as long as you could call him that. you were safe in his arms.

“i was worried you left before—” sungchan murmured, his voice low and almost teasing—but then, he felt it. the way your body stiffened and the sudden hitch of your breath. a quiet sob slipped past your lips that you’d tried to keep it together but failed. 

sunghoon stilled. “hey—?” he started to pull back, concerned, but you only clung harder. your arms tightened around him, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, holding him in place. “don’t,” you whispered, voice trembling. “just a little longer, please.” 

his arms froze around you. and slowly, he dropped them back around your waist, rubbing small circles on your back to soothe you. you didn’t have the strength to look at him yet. your chest felt like it was being wrung out with guilt and grief and love all at once.

the two of you remained in that position for a couple of minutes—letting yourself indulge in his familiar scent and warmth. but the longer you stayed, the more suffocating it became. 

sunghoon shifted first, he didn’t pull away but his hand slid up your back, fingertips brushing the nape of your neck, gentle and concerned. “love…” he murmured, eyebrows furrowed not in anger but confusion. his voice barely above the hum of the lights buzzing in the distance. “what’s wrong?”

you gave a small shake of your head but your body against sunghoon said otherwise—shoulders shivering, breath trembling, and sunghoon felt his jacket grow damp with your tears. “you’re scaring me.” he whispered, voice shaking now too. if you weren’t so tension and contracting, you’d feel sunghoon’s heartbeat picking up its pace.

“i…” you choked out. “sunghoon, i’m so proud of you,” 

sunghoon’s brows knit together, the relief of hearing your voice again quickly vanished by the break in it. “... then why do you sound like that?” he asked gently. his voice cracked right in the middle and he hated it. “yn, seriously—”

but you cut him off, pressing your face deeper into his chest, voice muffled but trembling, “i love you so so much.”

his heart stilled. 

“i love you more than i’ve ever loved anything,” you murmured, fingers curling around his jacket. “i love you more than i love skating,” you said softly. “i love you more than my mother, and i love you more than i love myself.” 

each word came out soaked in truth and it scared both you and sunghoon. you sounded like you meant every and each one of them. had it been under different circumstances, sunghoon would be happy—he knew how much skating meant to you—but you were crying now, and you refused to let him see your face. 

“knowing and being with you has been the most beautiful part of my life.” your voice wavered. “i used to think that i wasn’t worthy of love because i couldn’t even give myself one. but then you came and you loved me in a way that made me believe i could be soft too.” 

sunghoon’s arms around you tightened. he buried his face into your hair. “you are soft,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “you’re already all the things i love—don’t talk like this.” 

but you only shook your head, a miserable smile curling at the corners of your lips. “and i really, really tried to be better for you. for the past two years you’ve made me the happiest girl alive and i couldn’t imagine a life where you didn’t come up to me when we were twelve—so thank you so much for doing so,” your voice cracked, breath catching painfully in your throat.

you felt the way sunghoon’s hands trembled slightly where they held you—did he know what was coming? 

“thank you for never getting mad at me. for always being patient with me,” you murmured. “thank you for every late–night call and every text that i didn’t know how to answer. you showed me the parts of myself i didn’t even know existed and i hoped i did the same to you too.” 

sunghoon was quiet, too quiet. his breath had grown shallow. 

“i love you so so so much, but,” you finally looked up at him—and the moment your eyes met, something inside both of you shattered. sunghoon’s eyes were red, tears pooling and brimming at the corners, his lips parted like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how to without begging. what was going on?—he wanted to ask. why were you saying all this?

“i can’t do this anymore.”

“what?” sunghoon blinked, and tears fell down his cheeks. his expression crumbled slowly. brows drew together and disbelief written all over his face. “no…” he breathed and shook his head like he didn’t hear you right. “no, no—what do you mean?” he let out a dry chuckle, voice cracked with tears spilling freely now down his cheeks. the sting of it felt like a slap across your face.

you tried to speak, but the second your lips parted, his eyes glossed over and filled fast—breath hitched, shaky and shallow. he didn’t wipe them. “no, no, don’t say that,” he whispered. “you don’t mean it, right? we can fix this—i can fix this—”

you shook your head, and he felt it in your silence—that awful one that told him it was real this time. “i’m losing myself, sunghoon,” you murmured. “and i kept holding on, because i didn’t want to lose you too. but now it feels like… like i already have.”  

his hand came up to cradle the side of your face—even now, when his world was caving in on him, he held you like you were delicate. sunghoon’s thumbs brushed your cheeks carefully, wiping at your tears even as his own slipped freely down his face. his breath stuttered, lower lip trembled. 

and like second nature, you melted into his warm palms. 

“yn…” he let out a soft, dry laugh through the tears. “you can’t make me feel loved, say you love me more than anything, then let me go.” his breathing turned uneven. he wasn’t sobbing—but right on the edge. his eyes never left yours, wide and desperate and glassy. “tell me what to do. i can do anything for you, just don’t say all these.”

but you only leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his chest again. his arms returned around you instinctively, but they didn’t feel real. 

“what do i do with all this love unspent?” sunghoon whispered, “they’re yours, you know?” 

your eyes fluttered shut. you felt him under your cheek—his heartbeat was drumming loud and unsteady. like if it could burst out of his ribcage, it would just to tell you that sunghoon didn’t know how to be without you.

in the illusion of being here without consequence—you wished you could stay in this moment. but reality pressed in sharp between each breath. each passing second too—reminded you that this was inevitable. 

“can you…” you began softly, “can you let me go, then?”

you didn’t feel the way his body tensed anymore, but you heard the silence that followed. sunghoon’s voice was hoarse, barely inaudible. “would it change anything… if i said no?” 

“no,” you said, barely able to say the word. it sounded like a verdict. like a decision made firm—even if you didn’t want to. “but it would’ve been easier, if you did.” 

sunghoon let out a shaky breath, and his smile—if it could be called that—was twisted in heartbreak. “can i kiss you?” 

you barely nodded. so slight it might’ve gone unnoticed if his eyes hadn’t been on you ever since the beginning. “mmhm,” you managed, bottom lip puckered out to suppress another wave of tears. sunghoon didn’t answer—he only leaned in, and you met him halfway.

it wasn’t like any of your other kisses. it wasn’t like the first kiss, nor the second, nor that night you lost your virginity to him… this one—it didn’t ask for anything. it didn’t reach for more. it stayed right there, reverent and trembling at the edges. a kiss shaped like a wound.

sunghoon’s hands cupped your jaw gently, thumbs brushing just beneath your ears like he was trying to memorise the curve of your face for the last time. the longer it lingered, the more your heart cracked. you felt the way his breath hitched as you deepened the kiss, shoulders stiff with the effort to hold himself together.

and above it all, he kept kissing you.

you pulled apart slightly—and quickly reattached your lips against his. neither of you wanted to pull apart. your noses brushed as he angled his face better, cupping your cheeks. the kiss was messier and desperate this time, salty tears touched your tongue—both his and yours. you were crying again as you curled around the fabric, clutching on him. 

it felt like drowning and breathing at the same time. heartbreak disguised with something sweet. you kissed him like you were in love, and he kissed you like he’d never stopped being.

when you pulled apart, it was unwilling. sunghoon pressed his forehead against yours, your eyes closed but his didn’t. his thumb traced beneath your eyes, catching tears before they fall ever further. 

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice raw. sunghoon shook his head, his hand grounding your cheeks—the only physical remaining when your heart had drifted away. “don’t be sorry,” he murmured, caught somewhere in his throat. “i love you so much, mhm? don’t you ever forget that,” he cried out, planting a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“come back to me whenever you feel like you can start again,” 

——

How A Jeja Live Between the Highlights, Yang Jungwon — By y/n, Feature Writer

“hey boss,” you said, voice light as you pushed the door open with two soft knocks. you didn’t bother waiting for her to let you in. “just letting you know i hit publish on the morning slot.” your editor didn’t look up right away, just hummed in acknowledgement with a small thumbs up as her eyes scanned something on–screen. you waited for nothing, pursed your lips before started stepping back—ready to retreat to your desk—but then:

“eh, wait, wait—y/n, hang on a sec.”

you paused mid–turn, fingers still on the doorknob. 

she looked up now, glasses halfway down her nose. you raised your brows. “thanks—i know you just wrapped up that Yang piece, but i’ve got something last–minute,” she said and you had to hold back a sigh. “the weekend skate championships—someone needs to be there, and beomgyu just called in sick.” 

your stomach turned. not because your partner skipped, again—but—

your editor just kept talking, like it was already settled. she wasn’t asking for your permission, she was giving you a task. “i remember you did that profile on that gymnast mina last year. good instincts. you’d be great for this,” she flashed you an innocent smile. “think you can head down, grab some interviews with the skaters, maybe a backstage perspective? you’d have full access.” 

you blinked, fingers drumming against the knob. “oh. uhm,” 

the pause hung there, long enough for your heart to stutter against your rubs. you hadn't seen a rink in years—not even on tv. not since— “you don’t have to attend the whole programme. just the ending. i mean, only if you’re okay with it,” she added, misreading your hesitation. nobody here knew of your past. you were just a student who graduated in journalism. “i know it’s a short notice, but the federation already signed off.”

it’s work. just… just get it done. be professional, you thought. swallowing, you wet your lips. “yeah,” you replied quietly. “i’ll take it. sure.”

“great!” she smiled, flashing you another thumbs up before turning back to her screen. “i’ll let the organiser know. it’s this weekend—yuna will give you the details later. dress warm!” 

you nodded once, lingered by her doorway for a few seconds before stepped out, pulled the door shut behind you with a soft thud.

warm. 

you hadn’t been to a cold place in a long, long time.

fingers hovering over the keyboard, you stared blankly at the screen. the document from earlier still blinked in front of you—curson waiting patiently at the end of your byline. but your mind was already somewhere else, obviously.

the image formed without a knock: sharp blades, roars of a crowd, the silence as you stood in the middle of the rink waiting for them to play your song. for an arena with so many people, your mind had never been so quiet.

“hey,” a voice brought you back.

it’s yuna—one of the interns. she hovered by your cubicle with a sheepish smile and a cupboard tucked under her arm. “busy?” she hummed, tip–toeing to glance at your screen. you let out a dry chuckle, “nah.” you smiled, exiting the document. 

she nodded. “i’ve got the event info,” she said. “figure i’d save you the email scroll.”

“aw, that’s thoughtful.” 

she handed you a few printed sheets. “women’s short starts saturday morning, but the grand finale’s sunday evening.  you don’t have to stay the whole time, if you’d rather just do a general recap or post–even profile. they’re offering press box passes both days.”

you hummed, glancing at the schedule. everything was neatly outlined—heats, interviews, break windows, names. and at the very bottom, scrawled in yuna’s messy handwriting: don’t forget your scarf and heatpack! <3 followed by a doodle of a snowflake.

did she think you weren’t going to notice it? 

“i’ll keep in mind,” you giggled, thumb brushing the corner of the page. yuna smiled, then tilted her head slightly. “are you okay? you look kinda… spaced…” 

you looked up and blinked fast, realising your grip on the paper had tightened that the end crumpled. “eh—i’m fine, i’m fine,” you replied quickly, flashing her a smile that you wished was convincing enough. “just… you know? thinking of what it's like going there.”

it didn’t work. now yuna was looking at you with pure curiosity. “going where? the arena?” 

momentarily, you went silent before opting to just nod to avoid more confusion. “yeah. like, it must be cold and all…..” upon her reaction, you could tell that she could tell there was more, but she didn’t press. “oh, totes,” she grinned. “i think you should bring gloves too. i made the mistake of wearing those little mesh ones last year.”

you laughed, relieved. “mm, then i’ll just write it down here.” you said, referring to her little note of scarf and heatpack.

“i mean, even if you’re not skating,” she added casually as she turned to leave, already half distracted by another colleague. “but still—keep warm!” then she disappeared.

the words stuck to you long after she left. even if you’re not skating. 

you glanced back down at the event sheet in your hand, at the way your fingers had left a crease by the corner. the logo of the competition stared back at you like an old memory resurfaced. how long had it been—? 9? 10 years now? nearly a decade… 

you were coming back, but not as the girl with blades laced to her feet, but as a girl with a notebook, a pen, a lanyard, and a byline. 

you wondered… if he’s going to be there too?

——

the journey took almost an hour and a half—longer than expected, thanks to the traffic and the heavy snow that had been falling relentlessly since morning. it was sunday, just the final day of the competition, and you hadn't been there for the opening ceremony, but you made the decision to come earlier for the closing.

just to… you know… look around.

the closer you got, the harder your heart thudded—like muscle memory, recognising the turn of each familiar street. and like muscle memory—it felt like you were getting ready for your performance itself. 

you stepped out with a soft thank you, pulling your cardigan tighter as a gust of cold wind slapped you. from where you stood, the arena hadn’t changed much since the last time you were here. the banners had changed, obviously. there were new sponsors and updated logos, but the building was still the same. 

“you’re not sixteen anymore,” you huffed, rubbing both your hands together, generating heat through friction. “grow out of it, already.” you scoffed to yourself, rolling your eyes as you approached the entrance. 

inside, the hum of the crowd greeted you almost instantly, along with the sound of skates slicing ice, announcers echoing, applause and muffled cheers. it was all so familiar… and it felt almost—nice.

“pass?” 

“oh, here.” you handed over your press pass to the security guard and he let you enter through the media corridor. your boots clacked against the concrete as you followed the signs toward the seating section for accredited press.

the rink was just as you remembered it. open, shining, and endless. 

you stood at the edge of the stairs, eyes fixed on the girl currently skating a clean sequence of jumps. the music swelled. you watched as the wind caught in her skin and hair, costume glinting beneath the lights. 

momentarily, your eyes couldn’t leave her. had your ankle never tore, would that be you—? you thought, the end of your lips curling before you even realised it, wistful. albeit it still hollowed you out a little.

you inhaled, then stepped down toward your seat. the notepad in your coat pocket pressed against your hip with every step, served as a quiet reminder why you were here in the first place. to write and to observe. 

what your boss had assigned was to cover the women.

women’s singles. finals. medalists’ post–competition press. you had their names, the info, notes, and their schedule neatly printed. the story was already half–drafted in your head. your badge even specified it—yn ln – feature writer (women’s event coverage)

so when you stepped into the press box a few hours after the main event, just early to beat the rush. the press room near the arena’s east wing was already almost full when you arrived, the row nearest the front reserved for major outlets. a few reporters murmured to one another, some were already typing notes, cameras resting by their feet. 

you took a seat at the far end of the second row and pulled out your notepad. the older man next to you was chewing on his gum and it took you everything to not slap his back that he’d choke it out. nonetheless, you kept checking the time, flipping through papers, mind wandering to the sound of chatterings and light murmurs. 

fifteen minutes passed. then twenty…

you assumed they were running late…

then—the door opened. the hush in the room shifted into attention. 

when you looked up, expecting the women’s gold medalist—your heart lurched instead.

it wasn’t any of the women.

it was park sunghoon.

he walked in, followed closely by his coach and a few officials from the national team. gold medal glinting against his chest, his black hair damp like he hadn’t gotten the chance to towel–dry fully after stepping off. sunghoon was still in his full white tracksuit—and he looked so handsome—smiling faintly as he offered polite bows and settled at the center table.

your heart dropped. heavy. if it was metal, it’d clang and echo in your stomach that the whole room could hear. your fingers froze around your pen, pulse thudding in your ears. 

you froze—blinked. once, twice. oh my god, what—your eyes darted down to your sheet. to your badge that obviously stated women’s coverage. back up to the banner taped loosely above the panel table: 

men’s singles — press briefing (gold medalist) 

oh god. 

you had over twenty minutes of doing nothing—and you were in the wrong room this whole time? you clutched your notepad tighter, shrinking just a little in your chair like you wanted to merge with it. leaving now would only draw attention. anyone standing up now would be noticed—especially you, in your little white cardigan (that matched sunghoon’s?) with the “women’s event coverage” badge clearly dangling from your lanyard. 

besides… he hadn’t seen you yet. in a room so full of people—yeah, no way. 

you turned your face slightly, angling away that your hair fell over your face. pretended to check your notes… playing with your pen. maybe if you kept quiet, scribbled something onto the page, stayed small, stayed invisible—screw the job, holy crap. 

don’t look over here, you thought. don’t notice, please—

but then—”we’ll begin in a few minutes,” one of the coordinators announced. “press may get ready for the gold medalist, sunghoon park.”

and right as she stepped away from the mic, his eyes—those same dark ones you fell so deeply in love with—lifted. 

and found yours. 

you almost let out a gasp—quickly fumbled with your pen so fast it clattered onto the floor, and the sound felt like a gunshot, right in your ears. shitshitshitshit, you ducked your head, hair falling over your face like a curtain, palms sweaty as you pretended to rifle through your tote bag with purpose. 

leave now, yn. just walk out, fuck being embarrassed—

but your legs weren’t moving. maybe it was fear. shame. or just everything at once, right now. the room buzzed with quiet anticipation—you weren’t even supposed to fucking be here!

you couldn’t risk a glance but you knew he was still looking. 

and he was. sunghoon was trying to get a peek of you through the other journalists’ shoulders and head. he had paused mid–conversation with his coach, eyes narrowing slightly like he wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him. 

no… not possible, sunghoon thought. was that really my ex girlfriend from—?

you kept your head now. jesus christ. ten years and he still had that same expression when he was confused. ten years and you still had that length of hair. ten years and sunghoon still looked so good—if not better. ten years and just with a glimpse, you still looked like the girl sunghoon was so in love with. 

he tilted his head, ever so slightly, gaze cutting past the crowd, lips parted in disbelief. the tip of his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, a nervous tell he still hadn’t shaken. you could feel it. the slow, suffocating crush of recognition. 

just then, the press started—and you couldn’t even be more grateful. for the barrier of voices between you and him.

“sunghoon, congratulations on your gold today,” one journalist said, voice bright and quick. “you’ve had a clean program across both short and free. did anything feel different this season?”

sunghoon cleared his throat gently before replying. he leaned slightly closer to the microphone. “thank you. uh—yeah. we made a lot of changes in the off–season. new team dynamics, new mindset… oh and i learned to sleep more than five hours. turns out that helps.”

laughter rippled around the room. the press loved that. you swallowed, still staring at your blank notepad. 

“how’s your knee holding up?” another voice chimed. “there were rumours last year that you’d re–aggravated it.”

his knee was in pain? you thought. that made you realise that you truly knew nothing about him anymore.

your heart tightened. 

“mm,” sunghoon nodded slowly, eyes scanning. “it’s holding up better now, thanks to rehab,” he nodded, raking his hair back through his fingers. “the injury wasn’t bad, but it’s the fear of it happening again that lingers.” 

some ooh’s and mmhm’s scattered across the room.

“what about your quad loop? it looked smoother than in past competitions,” someone commented. “are you planning to make it a regular element in your program?” sunghoon smiled faintly, tapping his fingers against the clothed table. “my coach says no… my knees say definitely no, but my ego says yes everytime. so… we’ll see.”

you could hear the quiet admiration and light chuckles across the room. a few people clapped too, the way people do when they’re half–impressed and hald–amused. not you though—you didn’t clap. you still hadn’t moved either.

the way he was now… this wasn’t how he used to talk. a lot has changed in the past ten years. now just you, but him, too. you weren’t sure what to feel about it. he was more colourful now. humour, even. he charmed the whole room effortlessly.

just as you were about to jot his reply down on your notepad, another journalist called.

“sunghoon—over here!” 

it was the guy next to you. the chewing gum dude. your eyes widened and you turned your head a fraction. he held up his arm with a grin on his face. the room shifted almost instantly; heads turned toward him. toward you, by proximity. 

you quickly ducked as if trying shoelace, staring at the red carpeted floor. 

great. thanks a lot, annoying.

“right, uh,” he started, clearing his throat. “you’ve been skating since you were nice, basically grown up in the spotlight. my question is that—do you ever get… tired of it? or sick of skating, even just a little?”

the room went quiet. wow, you thought. what a personal question.

sunghoon leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. he blinked. “that’s… a good question,” 

no it wasn’t, you thought bitterly. then quickly remind yourself to shut up before you accidentally say it out loud. 

sunghoon ran a hand through his hair before answering. “there were times… for sure. everyone hits a point where they wonder if it’s still worth it.” you pressed the tip of your pen to your notebook, drawing a slow, shaking distraction line. 

“there was a time i nearly quit after championships when i was 18,” he went on.

your heart dropped. that wasn’t just an answer. that was the year. the one—

right after you left. after you ended things. after you said you couldn’t keep being the anchor for both of you when you were sinking on your own. after he kissed you and let you go—he nearly quitted? sunghoon almost stopped skating? 

“i thought maybe i wasn’t built for it after all,” he said, voice even but quieter now. as quiet as the room. “i lost something more important than skating that year—because of skating,”

your fingers froze around your pen. the ink bled through the page behind.

“it was a really, really hard decision and time for me at that time. being so young and having to make a call like that,” sunghoon laughed, low and self–deprecating. “i mean i was eighteen. barely knew how to start a car, let alone process grief or heartbreak or whatever it was i was going through.”

“and this might sound corny but,” he added, scratching the back of his neck shyly. “i think everyone has the one thing that reminds them why they started.”

a pause.

“so i stayed,” sunghoon said again, softer. the end of his lips curled into a smile. “because skating was also the same reason i found it in the first place.”

a low hush passed through the room. the journalist beside you sucked on his gum thoughtfully, like preparing a follow–up that didn’t go through. that wasn’t about the sport.

sunghoon cleared his throat. “anyway, that year taught me a lot. even now, i’m still trying to live without it, one at a time.”

the press box shifted with scribbling pens and nodding heads. someone muttered “poetic” under their breath. but you just remained ducked there like an idiot, eyes locked on your notepad. ten years later, and he was still trying to move on from it?

you thought it was one sided. you thought he’d be doing well and easy. 

inhaling a deep breath, you straightened up and raised your arm—not even waiting for the coordinator to direct the attention to you, or even allow you to ask. 

“then,” you began, voice a little steadier than you expected. all eyes were on you—even sunghoon’s, who looked equally surprised. “do you think losing that… one thing made you a better person?”

the room stilled. someone’s fingers stopped clicking on their keyboard. 

sunghoon’s gaze softened on you. yeah—he confirmed it. it was you. the same face of the girl he fell in love with ten years ago. now wearing a press lanyard and holding a pen. normal looked good on you.

his throat bobbed as he swallowed. a flicker in his eyes as he paused. and then, slowly, he smiled. just for you.

“i think,” he said, “it made me a more patient one.” he leaned forward slightly in his chair, one hand curling loosely around the microphone. that smile was playing on his lips—smaller but genuine, edged with nostalgic. his eyes remained on you. 

“i’ve been skating even before i knew how to do multiplications,” he continued. “i loved it. it was fun, it gave me purpose. and somewhere along the way, it even brought me to that important thing.”

you sat perfectly still, fingers tightened around the pen grip. 

sunghoon’s fingers tapped lightly on the mic, sorting through his thoughts and answers. “when i lost her…” a breath. “everything started to fall apart. i lost a version of myself that i was comfortable being—loved being. i had to figure out who i was again and learn how to live that kind of loss,” he hummed, tilting his head slightly.

you felt like the entire room had faded out into just you and sunghoon. you couldn’t bring yourself to look up as much as you wanted to—in fear that he’d see the lingering hope and hesitation swirling in your orbs. 

the longer he spoke, the more his voice softened. sunghoon started sounding like how he did when he was eighteen. 

“that night i wanted to quit, i started thinking, ‘if skating was what brought her into my life’,” he hummed and gave a soft, almost embarrassed chuckle. “it was kind of delusional on my end but maybe it could also be the reason why she found her way back to me. or—” sunghoon paused, eyes flicking downward before returning to yours. he swallowed the nervous lump sitting in his throat. “—the reason our paths crossed again. i was willing to wait for it to happen,"

sunghoon swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers tightened around the microphone. “and my patience paid off.”

you blinked slowly. the ink on your page had already bled through from where you’d press too hard. you felt your eyes stung from the tears brimming. oh—your throat throbbed, heart lurched in your stomach. 

when you lifted your head just slightly to meet his eyes, sunghoon was smiling. that same boyish smile he’d always give you ten years back. that boy—now here he was. a man. speaking to a room full of strangers bravely. 

you weren’t sure if you wanted to cry, laugh, run towards him, or the hell out of there.

but you did none of those things. you just sat there and listened. you owed him that one. 

the night air was cool against your cheeks as you stepped out of the building, tugging your cardigan tighter around yourself. the cars streamed by as everyone was getting ready to leave the arena, the seoul city hummed with life with neon lights and couples spending the night together.

you stared at the kakao t. on your phone, watching the little icon of the car inch its way toward you.

eleven minutes. 

huh—you barely remembered getting out of the press room. everything after sunghoon’s answer to your question just blurred. four more questions probably were asked, then the coordinator declared press ended, thanking everyone for coming, and then your legs must have carried you out on autopilot. despite that, your mind was still sitting in that chair, ink bleeding through paper, heart bleeding through time. 

you shouldn’t have asked… shouldn’t have accepted the task. should’ve just given it over to yuna for her internship report soon. what were you supposed to do with all that now? it wasn’t even who you were supposed to write about.

“still soooo stupid, yn…” you murmured, boot scarping through snow–blanketed pavement as you kicked at a pebble, eyes fixed downward. you didn’t know. didn’t know he came that close to throwing it all away.

come to think of it, you didn’t know how sunghoon had been doing at all. not all, at least. you saw the medals on tv when one of your colleagues turned the channel on. sometimes they’d play clips of his routines that went viral every season. sometimes you see his name on other people’s desks—Park Sunghoon: Gold Again. 

but how was he really? how had he been when the ice melted and the lights cut out? this was going to keep you up all night.

“you’ll get frostbite if you keep rubbing your hands like that,”

his voice hit you from behind like muscle memory.

you didn’t turn around right away, but your heart jumped. of course sunghoon came. he always came. every time you wanted space and clarity—he found a way to slip through it, respectfully. slowly, you turned to him, arms wrapped around yourself.

“it’s cold…” you replied, breath fogged in the air between you.

sunghoon took a step closer. he wasn’t in his jacket anymore, but a nicer coat. “you should’ve brought gloves.” you managed a weak shrug. “i didn’t think i’d be out here this long.”

that earned a soft huff from him—half a laugh and something else. you didn’t look at his face with how your chest was still unraveling from the words he said before. for a moment, neither of you spoke. the snow was quiet around you. your taxi wasn’t here yet. 

maybe it was a sign.

“were you okay?” sunghoon added, quieter. the question came out like a breath he’d been holding in for years. you looked down at your shoes, toes nudging the edge of a crack in the pavement. “i don’t know. fine, i think.”

sunghoon nodded once, lips tightened like he didn’t really know how to reply. “mm, i see,” he hummed, eyes still on you. “what… did you think of today?” 

“it’s nice. i only managed to catch one girl’s routine though,” you said, brushing your hands together for warmth. “i came in late, but she was really good.” sunghoon raised an eyebrow, curious. “which one?”

“the one in the black dress. she had her hair braided. so graceful i thought i was watching the swan lake version of skating.”

“ah,” sunghoon smiled knowingly. “daeun?”

you blinked, it came out before you even knew it. “you know her?” sunghoon glanced at you, and the corner of his mouth quirked higher. “yeah. she trains at the same rink sometimes and asks for advice every now and then.”

your chest tightened ever so slightly. you hated how immediate his reaction was. “huh,” you huffed, doing your best to keep your voice neutral. “that’s… nice of you.” you murmured, looking away now. 

you wondered if sunghoon treated her the same way he did you in the ice rink. tied your laces up… had extra gloves in his bag just in case… held your hands as you glided through the ice…

sunghoon caught it. he didn’t push—but the smirk playing on his face said otherwise deepened with amusement. so you have that side to you too. “you sound jealous.” 

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “no i’m not.” 

“sureee,” sunghoon said, drawing the word out. you were always the kind to wear your heart on your sleeve anyway, so he didn’t buy it. “you’re just very passionate about figure skating critiques now, huh?” 

you glared up at him half–heartedly. “maybe i am.” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “if it makes you feel better, she’s seventeen.” your mouth opened. ‘that’s not the point.” 

“no?” sunghoon teased. “then what is?”

“you were smiling when you said her name.” 

sunghoon’s eyes widened slightly, then he laughed. he covered the lower half of his face, then the whole with his hand. “wow—” he chuckled. “you’re still so cute.” he breathed out, blush crept over his cheeks. they were flushed from both flusterment and the cold.

“you’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to hide the grin but was obvious. 

after a while, the laughter died but not the smile—sunghoon darted his tongue out to wet his lips, humming. his breath forming little clouds in the cold. “you don’t need to worry about anything,” he said, looking at you like he missed this. you looked at him in confusion. “worry about what?”

“another girl.” he tilted his head like the answer should’ve been obvious.

your heart shuddered, the wind picked up your cardigan a little. sunghoon’s voice was calm but certain when he continued. “it’s never been anyone else. even after we… ended,” he paused. the word still felt foreign and bitter on the tip of his tongue. a quiet puff of breath escaped his nose. “i don’t have it in me to forget you.”

you looked at him, really looked. older, yeah. maybe still quieter in some ways, but still the same boy who kissed your knee after you scraped it at practice. still the same boy who held your hand and pulled you up when you were drowning in your own thoughts.

still the same boy you met in the locker room at twelve.

your throat tightened, hand curled tighter inside your sleeve. you weren’t sure if it was the cold, or his words that made your fingers tremble. your eyes dropped to the snow at your feet, then flicked to the road. still no taxi.

sunghoon didn’t press, but you felt it in the air between you.

“i…” your voice came out smaller than expected. “i don’t have it in me to forget you either.” 

before sunghoon could muster up a reply, the slow rumble of tires crouched over snow. the taxi’s headlights broke through the corner of the street, yellow sign glowing dimly through the cold. sunghoon’s eyes flicked to it, then back to you. his shoulders rose slightly.

you glanced back over your shoulders too, feeling disappointment washed over you. a sigh passed your lips. of course, just as… you were about to have this conversation with your ex–boyfriend, something interrupted? talk about bad timing. life, in its usual rhythm, intervened. usually you’d take this as a sign, but… damn.

“oh, well…” you murmured, trying to muster a smile but falling short. you caught the way sunghoon’s expression faltered, his mouth was drawn in a tight line, muscles in his jaw tensed. you mirrored his gesture, lips pressing together. 

he wanted to curse the timing of it all.

the snow muffled the world around you. you could hear the hush of the engine and the thrum of your own heart. sunghoon stayed where he was, eyes trained on you, unreadable in the dim streetlight. and then he said it—

“don’t go home.”

the words weren’t desperate nor particularly loud. like an old song coming back in fragments, you stared at him, stunned not by the request, but by how easily your heart answered it. 

“okay,” you breathed, nodding. the taxi idled at the curb, its headlights carving shadow across the snow. 

you extended your hand toward him—trembling a little from the cold and from having no gloves on. sunghoon didn’t hesitate, he reached for you like it was instinct, like his hand was carved in heaven to hold yours. his fingers closed around yours, warm, certain.

ten long years.

then with your hand still in his, he glanced over at the waiting driver and gave an apologetic nod. “sorry,” he said, hiding the giddiness behind his voice. “she’s coming home with me tonight—” he glanced back over to you, eyes crinkling just slightly. “we have… a few years to make up for.” 

your eyes widened, and squeezed his hand playfully—a wordless, really?. that was enough for now—you saved the scolding for later, maybe over tangled sheets.

before the driver could even respond, sunghoon pulled out his wallet and stepped forward to pay the fare in cash. it was more than how it actually was—crisp bills passed his hand to the driver’s with almost a rush. “uh, if it’s not enough, just call the front desk at this arena. they’ll sort it out,” he said quickly, not even waiting for a reply before returning to you. 

the driver blinked, clearly baffled but with the money in hand, he gave a small shrug and a smile before driving off. 

then—left the two of you standing on the curb as snow continued to fall. sunghoon glanced down at your entwined hands, then up at you. “so,” he said, a hint of nervous humour in his voice. “are you hungry…?”

you gave him a look, soft but teasing. “depends. am i eating over at your house?”

sunghoon’s lips quirked into that boyish smile. “only if you want to,” he said, pretending to sound casual but failing to hide the anticipation in his eyes. “i mean—my house is close by and i have a car and good food in the fridge, so…”

he squeezed your hand in his. you huffed a quiet laugh, nudging your shoulder into his. “okay then. i wanna see what kind of culinary masterpiece we can make together."

“careful,” sunghoon grinned as you both started walking toward the carpark. “say stuff like that and i might never let you leave.” you looked over at him, flushed blooming in your chest. you felt like a teen again. “is that a promise?”

sunghoon looked at you like he hadn’t stopped loving you for a second. “yeah,” he said, giving your hand a light squeeze.

as you walked beside him through the quiet snow, something that had stayed curled up and cold for too long finally began to thaw again. maybe this could be something new for the two of you again. something better, softer, something… 

warmer.

“I’m being responsible,” he replied, completely unbothered.

“You’re bossy tonight,” you corrected.

“Never in a million years,” he shot back immediately.

That earned him a small smile from you, and a faint one from him too, like he didn’t mean to lose that round but did anyway.

You glanced down at your wrist to check the time — just past 10 PM on a Thursday night. The winter air was sharper than expected, slicing through the quiet streets and making you instantly grateful for the scarf you’d just been “assigned.”

Wonderful.

You were wandering through a small stretch of stalls near the Olympic Village, lights glowing warm against the cold night. You’d seen an Instagram reel of another athlete visiting and decided, on impulse, that you needed to see it for yourself. The only problem was your teammates were exhausted, and you didn’t want to bother them.

So who did you call?

Obviously, your best friend and fellow figure skater, Park Sunghoon.

Who, unfortunately for you, answered immediately and showed up even faster.

You had been friends with Sunghoon for what felt like forever.

Same sport, same age, same coach, same team, same high school even, and now the same Olympic national team.

The only thing missing from your massive list of “things you and Hoon share” was preschool, because back then you had been in entirely different provinces.

You still remember the first time you met him.

It was funny, actually, because you forgot a lot of things. School deadlines, assignments, routines, even that Duolingo streak you once insisted you would never break. But anything that involved Park Sunghoon stayed annoyingly clear in your memory.

It had been a breezy autumn morning when school was unexpectedly cancelled. The rink, however, was not. Your parents still dropped you off like usual, car heater blasting, breakfast still half-eaten in your hand. They came in with you at first, helped you get settled, then lingered for a moment longer than normal.

Then your mom crouched down and adjusted your gloves properly. Your dad checked your bag twice even though it was already packed.

“We won’t come in today,” your mom said gently.

You blinked at her. “Why?”

“Because you already know what to do,” she replied, smiling. “It is time you try on your own.”

You did not think much of it at the time. You had been watching them do everything for years anyway. You knew where things went, how things were supposed to look, what order everything came in.

What you did not know was how to properly tie your skates so they would actually stay tight.

You sat on the rink bench for a long time, one skate already on, the other half-laced. You pulled the laces tighter, checked them, loosened them again, tried once more. It never felt right.

Your brows stayed furrowed the entire time. Your tongue pressed lightly against the inside of your cheek as you concentrated. Every few seconds, a quiet “damn it” slipped out under your breath before you tried again like it might magically work the next time.

It did not.

That was when someone stopped in front of you.

A boy around your age, skating bag slung over one shoulder, hair slightly messy from the cold air outside. He looked like he had just finished warm-ups, like he belonged there without even trying.

He glanced down at your skates, then at your face.

“Uh, hey,” he said. His voice was calm, almost hesitant. “Do you need help?”

You looked up at him like he had just appeared out of nowhere. You hesitated for half a second, then nodded.

“Yes please.”

He crouched down without another word.

His fingers moved like he had done this a hundred times before. He loosened what you had done, reset the tension, and started lacing your skate properly from the bottom up. Not too tight, not too loose. Just right.

You watched him carefully, trying to memorize every step.

“You are new here?” he asked casually, not looking up yet.

You nodded again. “First season alone.”

“Mm.” He paused briefly, then tightened another section. “I am Sunghoon.”

You stared at him for a moment, then answered, “Y/N.”

He gave a small nod like that was enough information for now.

When he finished, he tapped the skate lightly like he was checking his own work.

“Try standing,” he said.

You did.

It actually held.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Oh.”

Sunghoon stood up after you, brushing his hands lightly as if nothing important had just happened.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said simply.

You looked up at him, still processing the fact that your problem had been solved in under a minute.

“Thank you.”

He paused like he was deciding whether to say something else, then gave a small shrug.

“See you around, Y/N.”

Then he skated off like he had not just permanently altered the trajectory of your entire life.

And somehow, that was it.

The beginning of everything.

You would be lying to yourself if you said you never developed romantic feelings for him at some point.

He was, or rather still is, an attractive person. Pale skin that always looked a little colder under rink lights, thick eyebrows that made his expressions sharper than they needed to be, tall enough that you always had to tilt your head slightly when talking to him. And a jawline that somehow made him look like he belonged in magazines even when he was just standing around in a training jacket.

Those feelings faded quickly though.

In your own words, he was always better as a friend.

At least, that is what you told yourself, and eventually, what you started to believe.

You never admitted to him that you had once liked him. It was brief anyway, some two-month thing in middle school that you conveniently buried under years of friendship and shared routines.

Right?

Because if you really thought about it, Sunghoon had always had that kind of attention.

Girls would crowd around him every Valentine’s season, laughing too loudly at his jokes, pretending they “just happened to pass by” his locker. During school events, there was always someone trying to snap a photo with him, standing just a little too close, lingering just a second too long.

He never seemed bothered by it. Just mildly confused most of the time, like he could not understand why people made such a big deal out of him.

You remember one Valentine’s Day in junior year especially clearly.

His desk had been filled with chocolates. Boxes stacked awkwardly, handwritten notes tucked between them, some even decorated with ribbons so bright they looked out of place in a classroom.

He stared at it for a long moment, then let out a tired groan.

“I’m going to contract diabetes,” he muttered, pushing one box slightly to the side like it had personally offended him.

You had been sitting beside him, already unpacking your things, watching the chaos with mild amusement.

“Just give them away,” you said casually. “Teammates during training. Coach Jang. Your parents. Your sister. Spread the love, Hoon!”

He turned his head toward you like you had just solved world hunger.

“Perfect idea,” he said immediately. “You’re a genius!”

Then he started sorting through the pile with surprising focus, ignoring the fancy boxes and neatly wrapped ones, until he paused.

He pulled out three plain milk chocolate bars.

Your favorite.

He turned slightly in his seat and held them out to you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“For you,” he said. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N.”

You took them without thinking too hard about it.

“Oh my gosh, thank you,” you said, trying to sound normal.

He went back to sorting through the rest like you had not just been singled out from an entire desk full of attention. To him, pulling out your favorite chocolate had been the most natural decision in the world.

Like it meant nothing, and everything.

Damn you, Park Sunghoon.

“Stay still, Y/N,” Sunghoon pleads as he adjusts the scarf around your neck again, fingers carefully looping the fabric like he’s trying to solve a problem that personally offended him.

“I am still!” you shoot back immediately, though your breath fogs slightly in the cold air as you speak.

He pauses for a second, looks at you, then at the scarf.

It has already loosened again.

For the third time in seven minutes.

Sunghoon exhales through his nose like he is trying very hard not to be dramatic about it, then steps closer. His hands come up again without hesitation, pulling the fabric tighter and tucking it in properly with the kind of focus he usually reserves for competitions.

“You’re literally just sabotaging yourself,” he mutters.

“I am standing perfectly still,” you insist.

“You keep moving.”

“I’m literally just breathing.”

“That is movement.”

“So do you want me to stop breathing or what?”

He glances at you then, just briefly, like he’s deciding whether to argue further or accept defeat. He chooses neither and just fixes the scarf again, this time looping it a little more securely.

The cold air around you is sharp enough that even small movements feel exaggerated. People pass by in thick jackets and steaming drinks, the plaza alive with soft chatter and distant music from the stalls.

Someone walks past a little too slowly, glancing between the two of you.

Then a group of European athletes trailing behind them catches sight of you both and immediately lights up, laughing like they’ve just spotted something entertaining mid-walk.

“Eyy, legendary lovers,” one of them calls out with an exaggerated grin. “You guys are hella cool on the ice. Keep it up!”

The comment lands so casually it almost feels like a joke they’ve made a hundred times before.

But it still hits.

Both of you react at the exact same time.

“We’re not—”

“We are not.”

The overlap is immediate and messy.

Sunghoon clears his throat right after, stepping back half a pace like distance can erase the last three seconds of existence. His hand drops from your scarf, hesitates in the air for a moment, then disappears into his pocket.

“People talk too much,” he mutters.

“You talk too much,” you fire back instantly.

He turns his head slightly toward you, eyes narrowing in that familiar way that always comes right before he says something unnecessarily confident.

Then he rolls them, slow and exaggerated, like the entire situation is mildly offensive to him.

Without asking, he reaches out toward the gray cat plush you’ve been holding tucked between your elbow and your waist, like you’ve already claimed it as part of your body.

“Give it,” he says simply.

You tighten your hold on it immediately.

“No.”

Sunghoon pauses, fingers still hovering mid-air.

“Fuck you mean, no?” he says, disbelief sharp in his voice, eyes flicking up from the plush to you like you’ve personally offended him.

“Silly, it’s mine now!”

“That is not how winning works.”

“Finders keepers, losers weepers.”

“I didn’t even lose it! I voluntarily gave it to you.”

He stares at you for a second longer, then leans in slightly as if proximity might change your mind. The Olympic plaza lights catch in his hair, soft and warm against the cold air, making him look unfairly composed for someone currently arguing over a stuffed animal in public.

You shift the plush behind you instinctively.

His gaze drops to where you’ve hidden it, then comes back up.

“I literally got that for you, Y/N,” he says.

“You technically won it,” you correct. “I physically secured it.”

“That is not a thing.”

“It is now,” you say, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you hold the plush a little closer, like daring him to argue further. 

A small group passes behind him, laughing and speaking too quickly in a mix of languages you don’t fully catch. One of them glances at you both, then at the plush, then smirks like they’ve already decided on a narrative.

Sunghoon notices the look but ignores it.

Mostly.

His jaw tightens just slightly before he exhales and tries again, softer this time.

“I’m holding it for a second,” he says. “You’re going to lose it in five minutes.”

“No, I won’t.”

“You will.”

“I won’t.”

“You literally always do this.”

“I take care of things! I take care of a lot of things, Mr. Park.”

“You forgot your water bottle yesterday and you had to look for mine and you consumed all my water,” he says, immediately.

“That was one time and I was thirsty,” you shoot back without missing a beat.

“That was Wednesday,” he mutters, like it’s the final piece of evidence in a case you’ve already lost. 

You open your mouth to argue, but he is already reaching again, this time more patient, less teasing. His hand brushes the edge of the plush, then lightly nudges it free from where you’ve wedged it against your side.

Right.

Earlier, Sunghoon had won you that cat plush without even thinking twice about it.

It had been after the ring toss stall, when the vendor laughed and called you a couple, and Sunghoon had gone completely still for half a second too long before pretending it meant nothing. After that, he had scanned the prize table like he needed something to do with his hands, picked out the gray cat without asking you, and handed it over like it was the most normal conclusion in the world.

No explanation.

No hesitation.

Just a quiet “pick one,” like he already knew what you’d choose before you did.

The plush now sits awkwardly between the two of you as he finally tugs it free, holding it up slightly like he is inspecting evidence.

The cat’s expression is permanently unimpressed.

Sunghoon looks at it, then at you.

“You two match,” he says.

You gasp immediately. “That is rude.”

“Observational if you ask me,” Sunghoon replies, but there’s no real bite to it.

“I’m taking it back, asshole.”

“You already lost custody.”

“Girl, I didn’t even sign anything!”

“Yeah, right,” he says, lightly sarcastic, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips anyway. 

That makes you pause for a second, then you huff a small laugh anyway, tightening your hold on the plush.

“That is not legally binding,” you say, softer this time.

Sunghoon looks at you for a moment longer than necessary, then shrugs like he’s trying to play it off.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says gently. “It’s still true.”

He ignores you, turning the plush slightly in his hand, thumb brushing over one ear absentmindedly. The gesture is small, almost thoughtless, but he doesn’t immediately give it back.

Instead, he holds it there between you both for a moment longer than necessary.

Like he is deciding something he doesn’t say out loud.

Then he just exhales, quiet.

“…It looks better with you anyway,” he mutters, and hands it back.

The words land softly in the cold air, casual enough that you almost don’t register them at first.

Almost is the keyword.

You hug the plush closer without thinking.

Sunghoon had always been like this, the type to quietly pester you without making it obvious that he was doing it, as if sticking around you was just part of his daily routine rather than a choice he kept making.

He was not loud about anything, not even friendship. Most people assumed that meant he was distant, or hard to approach, or simply not interested in people at all. In reality, he just did not see the point in filling silence with unnecessary words. If he was there, he was there. That was usually enough for him.

Somehow, that “there” always included you.

It showed up in small ways that never felt big enough to question. He would end training and end up walking beside you without saying much, matching your pace like it was natural. He would sit near you during team briefings even when there were better seats. He would linger just a little longer after everyone else left, pretending to adjust something in his bag while you finished packing.

At first, it did not register as anything unusual. He was literally just floating around. Sunghoon was like that with routines.

The late-night messages were the same.

They were never long. Never emotional in a way that made you stop and think. Just short check-ins that showed up at random hours like he had remembered you existed between everything else.

Hoon [8:17 PM]: heyy, home alr? Hoon [11:46 PM]: you still up? Hoon [9:23 PM]: ate already?

You never thought too deeply about them. It just felt like Sunghoon being Sunghoon, the same way he would remind you to stretch or tell you to fix your posture without any real buildup.

There was one night you were sick, though it still did not feel like something serious enough to turn into a memory at the time.

You had been lying in bed, half-aware of your phone buzzing on the side table. Training had been normal that day, or at least you thought it had been, until his name popped up.

Hoon [10:01 PM]: r u okay? you sounded off earlier 🫠

You stared at it for a second.

God.

You [10:01 PM]: yup, tired only

He replied almost immediately.

Hoon [10:02 PM]: you sure

Not a question that needed convincing, just a continuation of his observation.

You sighed, trying not to make it into a bigger thing than it was.

You [10:03 PM]: yeah just sleepy 🫩 dw

A pause followed. Longer than usual.

Then:

Hoon [10:06 PM]: drink water y/n

You remember staring at that message for a moment, not because it was strange, but because it wasn’t. It sounded exactly like something he would say in person too, flat and practical, like hydration was just another part of training discipline.

You did not really respond after that. There was no need to. The conversation didn’t end so much as settle.

He stayed online for a while longer, though he didn’t say anything else. You only knew because his name didn’t disappear.

That was another thing about Sunghoon. He didn’t really leave conversations abruptly. He just stayed in them quietly, like presence itself was enough.

The second kind of messages came when he was tired.

Those ones were rarer, usually after long training days when everything ran late and everyone was drained enough that even talking felt like effort.

He would send things like:

Hoon [6:18 PM]: training was rough today im gonna kms 🥀 Hoon [10:57 PM]: who tf got into coaches nerves again, so strict for what Hoon [9:31 PM]: y/n my legs hurt

Simple complaints. Nothing dramatic. The kind of things anyone on the team might say if they were sitting next to you in the locker room.

You always replied in the same way, half joking, half listening.

You [7:23 PM]: you survive every day somehow congrats You [12:07 AM]: you say this every week and then still skate perfectly, you’ll be fine sunghoon 😼 trust

He would usually respond with something short, sometimes nothing at all, sometimes just a “yeah” or a reaction that meant he had seen it and moved on.

There was one time he stayed longer in the conversation than usual.

It was late enough that you were already half asleep when his messages came through.

Hoon [11:17 PM]: ugh im so damn tired of training all the time

You blinked at your screen, trying to read it properly.

You [11:17 PM]: then take a break lol, no one’s pressuring u 😭

A pause.

Then another message came, slower.

Hoon [11:18 PM]: can’t really

You frowned slightly, still not fully awake.

You [11:18 PM]: yes tf you literally can

That was when he sent the one message that made you pause, but not in a way that changed how you saw him.

Hoon [11:18 PM]: if it weren’t for you i don’t think i’d still be on the team 🥲

What the hell was he on?

You remember exhaling a quiet laugh through your nose, mostly because it sounded like something Sunghoon would say when he was being overly dramatic after a long day. He had a habit of saying things too seriously when he was tired, then acting like it meant nothing the next morning.

Hoon [11:19 PM]: okay relax dramatic king

There was a short pause before he replied.

Just a dot.

Then nothing else.

The next day, he acted completely normal.

Training, small comments, occasional teasing when you missed something easy. No mention of the message. No awkwardness. Nothing that suggested it had meant anything beyond a tired thought he tossed into a chat window.

And you did not think much of it either.

Because Sunghoon was like that sometimes.

A little dramatic when exhausted, a little quiet when focused, a little too present in your space without ever making it feel intentional.

Just a friend who showed up a lot.

Texted a lot.

Stayed a lot.

Nothing more complicated than that.

The night stretches, quiet and honey-lit, and you walk beside Sunghoon in a silence that feels more like a shared breath than an absence of words. Your shoulder brushes his sleeve occasionally, a soft, accidental touch that neither of you corrects.

The gray cat plush is now wedged securely, a silent witness to the unspoken things hanging in the cold air between you.

The fabric of your national jackets rustles faintly every time you shift, zippers clicking in small, grounded sounds that feel strangely loud in the calm.

The pavement beneath your feet is still faintly damp, reflecting fragments of gold and white from the streetlights above. Every few steps, your breath clouds in front of you, dissolving almost immediately into the cold air like it was never there. 

Somewhere far behind, the plaza still hums with distant life, but it feels sealed off now, like you’ve stepped into a quieter version of the world that only the two of you occupy.

He’s been your constant for too damn long — the friend who understood the grind before dawn, the ache in your muscles after a bad fall, the specific, quiet madness of loving something that demands everything from you. 

In a world of fleeting friendships and competitive smiles, Sunghoon was the one who never felt like competition. He literally was just there. Your parallel line on the same impossible graph. Even when everything else shifted around you, teams changing, routines tightening, pressure building, he stayed in the same orbit, steady and familiar in a way you never questioned until now.

You feel him shift beside you, his hands still buried deep in his pockets. He clears his throat, a small, awkward sound that doesn’t belong to the effortless skater you know on the ice. 

The sound feels almost out of place against the quiet, like it belongs to a different version of him that only appears when things get too real to control.

“It’s strange,” he starts, voice low, almost swallowed by the mist. “Out here. Without the noise.”

You nod, not looking at him. “Mm, I agree. Less pressure.”

“Not less,” he says, and you finally glance up. He’s staring straight ahead, his profile sharp under the warm light. “Just… different, way more different than what we usually know. The pressure is just us now.” 

His breath comes out slower on the last word, like he didn’t mean to say it that clearly but couldn’t take it back once it formed.

The words hang, heavy and simple. You feel your pulse tap a quick, confused rhythm against your ribs. 

Us? Us.

It was always ‘us’, but never framed like this, like a closed circuit, a private universe. The kind of word that suddenly makes everything before it feel like it was leading somewhere without telling you.

He stops walking entirely, turning to face you under the widest streetlight, where the glow pools around you like a spotlight without an audience.

His expression is painfully earnest, the kind he only wears when he’s discussing a jump technique or a music choice, things he cares about with a terrifying, singular depth. 

The light softens the edges of his face, catching on his lashes, on the faint tension in his jaw, on the way his lips press together like he’s rehearsing silence.

“You know,” he says, and his voice cracks slightly. He frowns at himself, then continues, stubborn. “You know I don’t… say things. Good things. The right things, that’s for sure.” His fingers flex briefly inside his pockets like he’s resisting the urge to pull them out and gesture.

“You say factual things, Sunghoon,” you offer, trying to lighten the air that’s suddenly grown thick.

“This isn’t factual.” He shakes his head, a quick, frustrated motion. “This is… messy? Yeah, messy. And I don’t know how to say it without it sounding like a mistake.” The last word lands heavier than the rest, like he’s been circling it for a while before letting it slip.

You just stand there, holding your squished cat plush, feeling utterly oblivious and completely terrified. 

Your brain, usually sharp on the ice, feels like it’s skating on slush. 

Is this… what even is this?

What’s he trying to say? 

The silence between you stretches just long enough that you become hyper-aware of everything — the cold biting your fingertips, the way your scarf sits too tightly now, the sound of your own breathing suddenly too loud.

Sunghoon takes a step closer, closing the small distance until you can see the faint, nervous tremor in his jaw. 

“You’re my only friend,” he says, the words rushing out like a fall he can’t stop. “My only real one. Who gets it. Who gets… me? Yeah. Not the skater, just… me. And I think… I’ve maybe… loved you for too long to remember how to just be your friend.” 

His voice dips slightly on the last part, quieter, like it costs more to say than everything before it combined.

There it is. 

A confession, blunt and clumsy, delivered with the same intense focus he uses for a quadruple jump. It hangs in the cold, waiting for you to catch it.

And you, wonderfully, horribly oblivious, blink. “You… love me?”

He exhales, a sound full of exasperation and fondness.

“Yes. Too much. It’s inconvenient. It makes me do dumb things, like trying to tell you under a streetlight when I should have just kept fixing your scarf forever.”

There’s a faint, almost helpless laugh buried in the words, like he’s already aware of how ridiculous it sounds but can’t stop himself anymore.

The realization dawns, slow and warm, spreading through your chest like a thaw. 

He loves you. Sunghoon. Your friend. Your constant. He loves you, and he’s standing here, looking shy and a little dumb, waiting for you to say something. It feels almost surreal, like your brain is catching up to a scene that has already finished playing.

You, also shy and a little dumb, finally say, “Oh.”

He almost smiles. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” You nod, feeling your own awkwardness mirror his. “That… makes sense. I think I… love you too? Too much? Also inconveniently?” Your voice comes out smaller than expected, but steady enough to not take it back.

He doesn’t reply with words. 

Instead, he reaches out, his hands finally leaving his pockets. They are cold when they first touch your cheeks, but the warmth from his palms seeps through quickly.

He just holds your face, looking at you with an intensity that makes the distant fan zone music vanish entirely. His thumbs hover for a second like he’s checking if this is real before settling more firmly, grounding himself in the contact.

Then, he leans in and kisses your cheek — a soft, deliberate press against your cold skin. It’s not flashy, not dramatic. It’s a Sunghoon-thing, really: precise, meaningful, and quietly devastating. The kind of gesture that feels simple until it isn’t, until it lingers longer in your mind than the actual moment should allow.

Your breath stutters. Before you can even process it, his arms are around you, pulling you into a hug that feels like coming home after a long trip. Your jackets rustle, zippers clicking softly. You bury your face against his shoulder, the cat plush now crushed between you both. 

The fabric of his jacket smells faintly like cold air and detergent and something familiar that makes your chest tighten in a way you don’t fully understand yet.

One of his hands slips under your jacket, finding the small of your back, his cold fingers spreading warmth through your thin shirt. You mimic him, sliding your own hand under his team jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through his sweater. It’s an invasion of personal space so complete it feels like a merger. Neither of you pulls away from it.

You stay like that for a long time, wrapped up under the streetlight, two shy, dumb people who finally figured out the most important thing. The night feels no longer unreal, but hyper-real — every sensation amplified, every heartbeat shared. Even the air feels different now, surprisingly, it’s less empty, more occupied, like it finally has somewhere to settle.

Finally, he murmurs against your hair, “We’re going to be late for the team debrief tomorrow.”

“Factual,” you whisper back.

He laughs, a quiet, real sound you’ve rarely heard outside the rink. “Still factual.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are bright, relieved, endlessly fond. You lean in this time, kissing his cheek in return, a mirror of his gesture. Then, because you can, you rest your forehead against his, sharing the same air, the same warmth, the same quiet, honey-lit world you’ve accidentally built under the Milan sky.

Hands still under jackets, hearts finally aligned, you start walking again. 

The night stretches ahead, no longer just familiar, but explicitly, inconveniently, wonderfully yours.

⭐ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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💿 ࿐ . . kind of by faye webster

✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

At the age of 5, you thought that you had made a life-long friend in Park Sunghoon. At the age of 16, you found out that life-long meant 11 years before you decided he was going to be your life-long enemy. You meant it this time, you had told yourself in the mirror of the rink's female bathroom while your hands were gripping the sides of the sink so hard that your knuckles were turning white.

Since that moment that led you to stomping out of the rink while still wearing your skates (thankfully with the guards on) all the way home, you've seen Park Sunghoon a total of 3 times. You're 21 now, but every time you think back to that moment of your falling out, the dull ache lingering in your heart still explodes into a fireball and you have to remind yourself that you'll never let him hurt you the same again.

Your body is set aflame as the president of the ISU gestures with his arms in front of a sold-out crowd for you to skate towards him for the photographers to grab a shot. You're no stranger to pictures with President Kim, but he's also beckoning over the newly crowned 2023-2024 Grand Prix Final Men's champion in Park Sunghoon.

"Aw, my two favourites," Mr. Kim coos as he wraps an arm around each of your shoulders' and grins to the camera, "I always knew it was only a matter of time before I would have two Korean skaters at the top again."

You groan internally at the consequences of being in the same frame as Park Sunghoon. Ever since one of your former classmates anonymously shared to a huge figure skating fan account that you and Sunghoon used to be best friends, you've been receiving demands to share stories about each other, not knowing your current relationship. Well, they must know from the fact that you two don't even follow each other on Instagram. On the flip side, you've also amassed unfathomable hate from his crazy, obsessed fans to stay away. There's always those people.

You paid no mind to them anyway, since being near Park Sunghoon voluntarily was the last thing on your wish list.

Sunghoon keeps the fake smile plastered on his face but snarks out through his teeth, "She doesn't skate for our country anymore. She hasn't in 5 years."

Mr. Kim chortles as if he believed Sunghoon's words to just be banter, "Don't be so unwelcoming, Sunghoon. Y/N is still part of our family."

You held back a scoff, letting out a sigh instead when the photographer finally turned his attention away from the three of you, "Mr President, don't you think you should root for all countries? You're no longer just the president of the Korean Skating Union."

He laughs obliviously, "I know, I know. I guess I should. I love my country of course, but I'll always cheer for you too Y/N. You broke all of our hearts when you switched nationalities."

You refuse to turn your head to your former acquaintance who makes a sound crossed between a scoff and a pained laugh, "Yeah, she sure did. Goodbye, Mr. Kim." Sunghoon bows his body completely at a right angle, pressing the bouquet of flowers he was holding for his win up to his chest before skating away without another glance at you.

Mr. Kim looks at you sheepishly, "You guys are still not on good terms?"

"I don't think we ever will be," you subtly roll your eyes at the hostility from Sunghoon, "I'm sorry he's like that."

"It wasn't all that long ago that you would race each other around the rink at junior nationals after the gala would end," he reminisces fondly, "It would be such a shame for you to have to look back on your friendship with regret."

"The damage is done, Sir," you tap your blade repeatedly on the ice to distract yourself from the pain you felt every time you thought about your friendship, "I hope to see you here again next year."

"Congratulations on your win, my dear," he smiles graciously and lets you skate away after bowing goodbye.

While you were ecstatic about winning your second Grand Prix Final gold medal in a row, you were also happy to share the podium with two friends that you have gotten close and closer to as you spent more time on the circuit. You glided back towards them as they took selfies with their flowers and their medals, trying to ignore the burning feeling on your back as if someone was looking at you from afar.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You liked to limit your interaction with Park Sunghoon to seeing him from afar once a year at the exhibition gala of the grand prix final or world's. It's only been two years that he's made the final, but you enjoyed another two without his villainous aura before that. Whatever deity you believed in had blessed you for the past 5 years; you hadn't been seeded to a single assignment with him through the seasons. There was definitely a force trying to keep you apart for the greater good of peace. You definitely took it as a sign that he wasn't meant to be back in your life anyway.

You thought that you had filled your quota this year with that little interaction with the president. You thought that you were finally in the clear for another year and you could move on with your life again without this god-awful memory weighing down on your chest every time you were in the same vicinity as him.

But Park Sunghoon stands before you, or more like crouches, as he tries to get a cola lollipop from the machine in the arcade of the hotel. It's not even been 24 hours since you last saw him.

When you spot him on the floor, you immediately turn on your heel to flee without being noticed. He has other plans, it seems.

"Did you know that you stomp like an elephant? For a figure skater, you're not very elegant on normal floors," Sunghoon doesn't take his eyes off the machine, watching as the conveyor belt trying to capture a lollipop turned and turned.

"Eat my ass, Park," you snipe back.

An amused smirk forms on his face as he turns his chin towards you, "Who knew you'd grow up so vulgar? That's quite unbecoming of you, Y/N."

"Don't say my name," you grunt, looking around for someone you know so you could exit this interaction, "In fact, don't even talk to me."

"As if you're the one who should be hurt. You moved continents and changed nationalities without a word," he scoffs, standing up and unwrapping the cola lollipop he had finally acquired, "Moving training locations, fine. But changing nationalities and not even warning your friends?"

If cartoon effects were real, there would be smoke coming out of your ears. You ball your fists tight and keep them glued to your side, "You were the one who broke my heart."

Sunghoon furrows his thick eyebrows together, halting the way he was moving the sweet between his lips. He takes it out and lets out an exasperated sound, "You never let me explai-"

You raise a hand to his face, "Save the bullshit, Park."

As much as a part of you wants to hear what he has to say, it still feels like the wound he inflected 5 years ago opens up anytime you hear his voice. All you could think about was that moment on the ice and the words he said that were sharper than his blades enough to cut deep into your heart. Honestly, you've tried to forgive him, or at least forget, but meeting his eyes now- you want to just run.

There's no longer any amusement in his expression, just frustration. You're satisfied with this, lunging forward to grab an unwrapped orange lollipop from his hand and walking away before he could register what you said or did.

You're breathing heavy; you hadn't let him affect you this way in years, but the anger is rising and the pain is overflowing out of the tiny box you kept it in and stored in the back of your heart. You sort of wish he'd run after you, grab your wrist and call your name, but you know that if you turn around right now, he'd still be in the same position.

It's been 5 years since you spoke to him, nearly 1 since you last saw him at the exhibition gala at the last World's. You don't intend to make a habit of Park Sunghoon again.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Your best friend Chaehyun twizzles around you in what you think is the shape of a heart. She's been trying out fun tricks to go along with the new go-pro that her coach bought for monitoring her training. It flies above the two of you with a prominent buzz that you've learned to tune out. You're standing in the middle of the rink, looking up and visualising the crowd you'll face tomorrow when you start the competition.

"Excited? Nervous?" Chaehyun's voice is naturally sing-songy but it vibrates as she moves at lightning speed around you.

"The same," your breath condenses into a cloud in front of you, "Just getting bored, a bit."

"Yeah, must be boring winning gold every single year for the past 4 years," Chaehyun snides, but not unkindly, "Do me a favour and fall on your axel tomorrow? I wouldn't mind having a world's medal."

"I would, but," you trail off and follow her with your eyes, "I want to go out with a bang."

Chaehyun immediately comes to a stop and rushes over to you, "What? What did you say?"

"I don't know if I should retire at the end of this season," you admit gingerly, gnawing on your bottom lip, "I'm just kind of exhausted."

Chaehyun gives you a weary look, "This doesn't have anything to do with seeing Sunghoon again in Beijing right?"

Your eyes widen at the mention of his name, "Chae, what? No! Why would it be?"

"Well, you cried all night after seeing him in the hotel," she reminded you, "And your coach wants to move back to Korea again."

"She does and I don't want to have to switch coaches. She's been with me since I was a junior, but I really can't move back to Seoul again," you tell her, "It's partly because of Sunghoon; all the memories would just hurt me over and over again the second I step foot in the country. Other than that, I've built a life on this side of the world."

Chaehyun scoffs at you, "Built a life? Your family is still in Korea and me, your best friend, is too. Your parents are getting older and you make them fly out to you every occasion. You shouldn't let Sunghoon dictate your life like this. You literally told me that you want an Olympic gold."

Your memories flash back to August, when you were vacationing with your best friend and drinking margaritas by the seaside, "2026 is really far away."

She gives you a strong side eye, "We can talk about this over dinner. You're literally the best female skater right now; you can't just retire at 21!"

"Alysa Liu retired at 16," you mumble.

Chaehyun smirks vindictively, "And Alysa Liu just announced her return at 19. Look, take a break, do what you need, but please don't give up on your dream so early."

Before you could say another word, a voice echoes in the arena, "Hey, it's our turn to practice."

Both of your heads whip around to the tunnel, where a few tall figures came into the light. Your head moves to the sudden movement of your coach, beckoning you to come off the ice after the end of the senior women's practice. You had wondered why there was no one kicking you off after your slot had finished.

"Heeseung," you grin at the sight of the cherry-haired boy, skating over to him and ignoring the presence of one ex-best friend beside him, "I haven't seen you in forever."

You clasp the boards tightly, swinging the gate open and sliding the guards over your skates. Heeseung is 3, 2, 1 step away from you and he takes you into a warm hug.

"I know," he coos into your hair, "It's a shame that Sunoo got injured and had to withdraw, but here I am in his place!"

You had known Heeseung nearly as long as you knew the boy beside him. When you and Sunghoon joined your skating club, Heeseung had been there for a year already. Through the years, he grew into a sort of older brother figure for the both of you and you never lost contact with him. The past season, he had been struggling with an injury and took off time to heal, but he recovered in time for nationals and placed 4th. Sunghoon had won the gold, Sunoo the silver and Jungwon the bronze. As Sunoo fell victim to an injury in practice in between nationals and World's, Heeseung had been invited to fill the country's berth at the championships.

In the middle of your conversation with Heeseung, you notice Sunghoon stalk away behind you to step onto the rink. You hear him greet Chaehyun happily as he passed by.

"I heard you might be moving back to Korea," Heeseung mumbles lowly under his breath.

"How do you know that?" you furrow your eyebrows at him. Had he overheard you? Did Sunghoon overhear too?

Heeseung shakes his head, his bangs falling into his eyes, "Our coaches used to be partners, remember?"

You flick your gaze to your coach, who was happily catching up with her ex-pairs skating partner of nearly 2 decades. They used to coach at the same rink, but when your coach fancied a change of scenery and was offered a role she couldn't turn down, you followed her across the world. Of course she couldn't keep a secret from her very best friend despite you begging her not to tell anyone yet.

"Does Sunghoon know?" Thankfully, Sunghoon's coach was different and not very close to your coach as Heeseung's coach is.

Heeseung denies this again, "I wanted to talk to you first. What's up with that?"

"Taeyeon's missing home and she feels like she's learned all she could have from head coach," you sigh, "I miss home too, but I don't really want to move. I also think I might take a break for a season instead; I'm feeling burnt out."

5 years ago, your coach was offered to be mentored by the most successful coach in the world of figure skating. While you trusted her already with your life, you both agreed that being under a 2x Olympic winning coach would be beneficial, so you didn't hesitate packing your bags despite the distance it put between your home and your family.

Heeseung looks at you with sincere empathy, wrapping you up again in his arms, "I'm sorry you're feeling that way. Have you spoken to your coach about it?"

"Kind-of. She's going to take on more students when she moves back home so she won't suffer in that regard and she said if I do follow her, I can help coach and maybe get a certificate," you nod, plonking your face straight into his chest, "I don't know what to do, Heeseung."

"I'm not very good at giving pep talks or advice, but I trust you'll make the decision that's best for you," Heeseung murmurs, "Just follow your heart, I guess. Wherever your heart is being pulled to, there must be a reason."

"Hey! You're wasting time!" a sharp, deep voice resonates behind you, causing you to turn your head to watch Sunghoon glaring at the two of you like you just sabotaged Heeseung's career keeping him at the sideline.

"I'll be there in a sec, Hoon," Heeseung remains calm, knowing that his best friend always gets in a mood whenever you're around or you're mentioned near him. He turns back to you, "Are you busy? Do you want to watch us practise?"

To the side of you, Chaehyun is hunching over an iPad with her coach, deep in monitoring. Your coach waves your own device at you when you catch her eye.

"I guess we can monitor here," you tell him reluctantly, to which he smiles, "But if he says anything, let me know so I can leave. I don't want to deal with him right now."

Heeseung squeezes your shoulders and moves past you to reach the gate. Still unsure if you were making the right decision by staying when Sunghoon was under the same room, you make your way gingerly to your coach.

"What a lovely reunion," Taeyeon exhales happily, "Kibum's pretending he's not overjoyed I'm moving back to Seoul."

Kibum is standing shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the rink with Junho, Sunghoon's coach, and they chat animatedly while the boys warm up.

"That's nice," you mumble, fiddling with the iPad to get up your practice run.

Taeyeon continues beside you, "I think you should make up with Sunghoon if you're going to move back home. It'll just be a better atmosphere in the rink."

"I don't know if I will go back," you remind her, "And what's wrong with the atmosphere? We're not affecting anyone."

Your coach lets out the most dramatic scoff you think has ever been produced, "Y/N, sweetheart. The freaking glare that Sunghoon was giving you and Heeseung when you were talking and hugging could have evaporated all the ice in this building. I was scared and he wasn't even looking at me!"

Your eyes dart to him on the ice, slowly speeding up his camel spin. You get that he didn't like you, but what reason did he have for glaring at you when you weren't even looking his way? Unprofessional, you thought to yourself.

"That's his problem, not mine," you jeer, "Can we review?"

Taeyeon giggles at your attitude, "Okay, feisty. Look, all I'm saying is that I watched the two of you grow up together. You had such a special bond and yeah, 5 years is a long time to not be friends from your point right now, but when you're older, that's not gonna be anything if you make up now."

"It's not my choice, Taeyeon," you tap your fingers against the glass screen, "I really hate talking about this."

"One day I'll get it out of you what happened when you fell out," Taeyeon hums off-handedly, "Okay, monitoring. Your spins were great, but you were a bit wobbly on the-"

Despite being the one to encourage focus, you begin to tune her out when you notice in the corner of your eye that Sunghoon was warming up his jumps. You watch him breathe deeply and the way he keeps his eyes up and on the ice to visualise the jump he was going to do. You can't take your eyes off him as he takes off and you hold your breath watching him rotate so quickly in the air. The breath only escapes when his blade collides with the ice and he lands the quad lutz perfectly.

It takes you back to when you were 16 and he was struggling so hard to land this exact jump- one that even Heeseung was yet to master. You remember him falling over and over and over again, training it into the late hours of the evening when you were supposed to be at home and resting. You remember him kicking up ice with his blades in frustration, on the verge of giving up. You remember cooing a pep talk into his ear until he was motivated enough to try again for the last time and finally land it in your presence.

"Y/N," Taeyeon snaps in your ear, "You're actually a walking oxymoron."

"I may dislike him, but I never said he's a bad skater. If there's a good jump about to happen in front of me, I wouldn't ignore it," you fight back, "Okay, sorry, sorry. Focus."

"I'm getting dinner tonight with Kibum and Junho," she tells you suddenly, "Do you want me to not talk about moving back? In case Junho says anything to Sunghoon?"

You let your eyes flutter close as your head spins with all the decisions you had to make soon. Sometimes, you have no idea where you were going next or what event you're training for. It's times like those that you're desperate for the world to freeze at your command.

"I just need some time to think before I make any decisions."

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You don't know where it all went wrong, to be honest. It probably started with the gold medal hanging around your neck and the hundreds of pairs of eyes peering up at you with their hands typing at the speed of lightning on their computers.

The journalist chosen to ask the next question has these sharp, inquisitive eyes.

"Your former nation, the Korean Skating Union has just published their congratulations on your gold medal and celebrating the return of coach Lee Taeyeon to Taereung National Training Center."

Your world stops and even the flashes don't affect your eyes anymore. You'll probably see these photos of you from the press conference all over figure skating twitter in a few minutes. Peripherally, you see Taeyeon's face contort into true horror as she scrambles to the mic.

"How is this going to affect your training? Are you relocating back to Korea with your coach?" the journalist finished up with a smile, as if she didn't just drop the biggest bomb with no warning. You guess it's not her fault; the KSU had spoiled the news too early.

In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter much. Skaters move locations and change coaches frequently; you'd done it once already. The only problem is you haven't told your family just yet... or Sunghoon, who still trained at Taereung with Heeseung and Chaehyun.

"We don't have any comments on that question as of now," Taeyeon pressed her lips together in a tense half-smile and motions for them to choose the next question.

You haven't moved since the question was asked, palms gripping the gold medal around your neck tightly. You don't remember answering many more questions actually and the next thing you know, you're sitting at the end of your hotel bed still in your national team tracksuit.

A rapid knocking begins at your door.

It takes you a few seconds to compose yourself and trudge over, but you sigh in relief when you see it's Chaehyun through the peephole.

"Chae, I'm so glad you're here," you exhale as you unlock the latches and open the door.

She gives you the most painful puppy dog eyes you've ever seen, "I'm so sorry."

"About what?"

Your heart stops again when Park Sunghoon steps into view from where he was hidden from the peephole. Immediately, your instinct is to close the door on both of them, but Sunghoon is quick to wedge his foot where the door is about to slam.

"Shit, shit, that hurts. I fucking have free skate tomorrow," Sunghoon curses under his breath with a hiss.

"I'm sorry, he's really convincing," Chaehyun tries to plead as you give her menacing looks.

Sunghoon crosses his arm and scoffs, still keeping his foot between the door and the frame, "All I asked was where her room was and you came up with the plan of pretending it was just you."

Chaehyun flushes pale and she pinches his arm, "Shut up! You said you wouldn't say!"

"Whatever this is-" you interrupt them harshly, "I don't care for it. So please leave."

Sunghoon rolls his brown eyes, finally using all of his muscle to push on the door and then on your shoulder to move you out of the way. He walks into your hotel room like it's his and gives you a smug look as he stands in the middle.

"Look, I think you two should talk," Chaehyun huffs finally, grabbing on the door handle from her side and pulling it shut, "Sorry, forgive me!"

The electronic door handle plays a quiet jingle as it locks and you're left in the room with your former best friend.

"I don't know what delusion is going through your head to make you think I'm going to stay in this room with you," you sneer, hurriedly budging past him to grab your phone, a hat and a jacket.

"Y/N-"

"Sunghoon, please," you yelp as his fingers clasp around your wrist, "What do you want from me?"

"I just want to talk," his voice is shaky, unsure, hesitant, but his grip is firm and his eyes search yours desperately.

"You want to talk? After 5 years of radio silence you want to talk?" you're frustrated as you snatch your arm back and shove him lightly on his shoulder, "I could have forgiven you if it was six months- a year, even. But 5? We're nothing more than strangers, Park Sunghoon."

Sunghoon winces visibly at your words, shutting his eyes for a second before giving you a pitiful expression, "Are you really moving back to Korea?"

You throw your hands up in the air and laugh dryly, "Are you being serious? You only care about me and want to be friends if I'm close by? As if you have no use for me if I'm somewhere else?"

"Y/N, don't put words in my mouth," Sunghoon begs. Every time he tries to step closer to you, you take a leap back. At this point, you're nearly pressed against the hotel room door, "I've always cared about you-"

"That's bullshit," you spit at him, "How can you say you've always cared about me when you're snappy at best whenever we see each other? How can you say you've always cared about me when you never called, not once, in 5 years?"

You can see his usual ice-cold, nonchalant front cracking in front of you, "I wanted to."

Hot tears sweltered on your water line, just a second away from escaping. They start streaming down your face when you begin to shove at him repeatedly, "You wanted to? Then why didn't you? Why didn't you fucking call, Sunghoon?"

Sunghoon's resolve shatters as he halts your wrist with his own and crushes you in a tight embrace that you try to fight your way out of, "I was angry, okay? I was angry that my first love practically left without warning before I could even tell her what she meant to me. I was angry that you only told me the day before you were leaving. I was angry that there was nothing I could do or say to make you stay. I was angry at the fact that you were going to be thousands of miles away from me, in a different time zone when I'd never known what life was like without you and suddenly I felt like I was being abandoned. I was angry because in all of my conscious memory up until then, you and skating were the only constant things in my life that made me happy. I didn't know what to do with myself without you."

You stop squirming against his body nearly immediately at the revelation, listening to his speech in near medical shock.

"W- what?" your voice is muffled into the material of his Team Korea fleece.

"That's all I wanted to say all these years," Sunghoon exhales like a weight is lifted off his shoulder, "I didn't know how to tell you."

"And if I don't move back to Korea, what are you going to do?" you're still crying, but you regain enough strength to pull away from his warm grip and look into his eyes that begin to flood identically, "How do you think that's going to fix anything?"

You're less than metre away from Sunghoon, but to him, you couldn't be any further apart with a rift in between you. He looks at you and you almost look exactly the same as five years ago. He knows that you're a much different person after the way he hurt you.

"I want to make it up to you, Y/N," he whispers unsurely, "I just-"

"Why did it take you 5 years and me potentially moving home to realise that?"

"I overheard Heeseung and Chaehyun talking about how you were considering retirement or a break," Sunghoon admits guiltily, "I didn't want to ruin anything for you trying to come back into your life when it all seemed so great in America. You've won nearly every medal there is to win. But I had no idea you've been struggling and it's killing me that I wasn't by your side and was adding to your hurt instead."

You make a mental note to bang your two friends' heads together the next time you see them.

"And what makes you think I want you to be by my side?" Sunghoon is the one squirming now, probably not expecting you to be relentless in your grilling. You're a different person than you were 5 years ago; you learned not to give in so easily when even those closest to you had the potential to hurt you.

"Just give me a chance to make it up to you," Sunghoon looks down at you with eyes full of sorrow. His lips are pulled downwards, and in another time, you would have been tugging on his hand to take him to the arcade, or the rink, or the park, or the river- to anywhere that would make him forget whatever was causing him woe, "Whether you're home or not."

You cross your arms and tilt your head to look away from him. You catch sight of the clock on your wall and see that it's nearing 11pm.

You manoeuvre around Sunghoon and begin to push him in the direction of the door, "You have your free skate tomorrow. This conversation isn't going to be the reason you lose; please go back to your hotel room and get some rest. Junho would kill me if he found out you were here this late."

Sunghoon is more than willing to comply with you now, "You're not gonna give me an answer tonight?"

"I can't, Sunghoon," you tell him honestly, "I need to think about this; I need to think about so many things. It feels like my head's not even screwed on the right way right now."

"I'm sorry," he whispers as he turns the handle and opens the door wide, "Good night, Y/N. Thanks for listening to me even though I didn't give you a choice and congratulations on the gold."

Sunghoon makes it three steps away before you call out his name softly.

"Hm?" he turns around to see you half hidden by the door, chewing on your lip as you decide whether to spew out what you were going to say.

"You were my first love too. Anyway, good luck tomorrow."

The door handle jingles and Sunghoon is left alone in the hallway of the hotel, feeling as if his life had just turned around again. At the centre of it, there was always you.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

"You should go home and rest first," Taeyeon pretends to scold you as she reverses into the parking space. She's been giving the same spiel over and over again since she picked you up from the airport, but you knew she didn't mean it from the way she was still driving you to your desired destination.

"I got plenty of rest on the plane and my parents aren't back from work until later," you retort again and then smile, "The KSU gave you a big raise, huh?"

Taeyeon laughs airily and the grin doesn't fade from her face, "I want only the best for my favourite skater."

You nudge her softly when she puts the car into park, "Thank you for paying for my flight. You really didn't have to."

"I get it, you're richer than me," she rolls her eyes, "Let a coach do a nice thing for her student, okay?"

Technically, you're not Taeyeon's student right now, but as her very first and most successful one, you'll always be her favourite. In reality, the fact that the two of you lived alone together and took care of each other in America made you more like family. She was a cross between a mother and an older sister to you and Taeyeon doted on you so that you never felt alone in America. Well, mostly.

She beckons you out of the car and you take the elevator up to the ground floor from the underground car park. There's a bunch of checks that you have to pass upstairs and it feels foreign to you to have a lanyard with the words 'GUEST' printed on them repeatedly. Once upon a time, you ruled this place.

"They're gonna come back from lunch soon. I made Kibum tell them all to come for an announcement after lunch," Taeyeon giggles to herself as she explains her own conspiring.

You chuckle along with her, "You're more of a sucker for this kind of stuff than I am! Telling me to go home and rest when you've been working behind the scenes without me..."

Taeyeon slides her arm around your waist and squeezes you against her side. You pass the double doors into the rink that takes your breath away.

"I'm just glad you're home, Y/N."

Strangely, it looks pretty much exactly the same as when you last saw it. Sure, the seats are getting a little worn and the floors have new scratches from dropped skates or dragging equipment, but the ice is as pristine as ever. It's sparkling white and perfectly surfaced- though you note that's probably due to ahjussi and his zamboni that you see disappearing into the tunnel on the other side of the rink. Chaehyun updates you that your favourite caretaker who's been working at Taereung since you joined is still there and you hope it's him. It would be nice to say hello in person again after nearly 6 years of occasional hello's when you video call your best friend at her training.

Kibum spots you first and jogs around to give you a big hug, "Welcome back to Korea, Y/N. I'm so happy you're here."

"Thanks Kibum," you smile sincerely at him. Since all the coaches at Taereung were so close, having been partners or friends since their own professional days, their students naturally got to know the other coaches too. While Taeyeon excelled at guiding you on techniques, spins and jumps, Kibum used to help fill out and polish your program with flair, charisma and poise. There was a reason that Heeseung always had some of the highest grade of execution scores in every competition. You had definitely missed his input while you were away.

"They should be here soon. I think I can hear Chaehyun," Kibum points to the direction you came in from, "Are you gonna hide or-"

"Shut up. Shut up!"

You spin to see your best friend frozen at the entrance of the rink, her hands over her gaping mouth, "I think it's too late for that."

"Y/N!" Chaehyun breaks out into a sprint and throws her arms around you, knocking you nearly off balance and having to take a few steps back, "What are you doing here?"

"Surprise?" you laugh weakly into her hair, "Aren't you happy I'm here?"

"I'm so happy! How long are you staying? There's so much to do now!" she pulls away from you excitedly and looks at the two coaches, "Where's coach? Do you think she'll let me take a week off?"

"Chae," you stop her bouncing by pressing down on her shoulders, "Relax. I'm moving here. Until the end of this upcoming season, at least."

Chaehyun gasps in delight and embraces you again, "Oh my God, this is the best news ever!"

"We're here too, by the way," Heeseung coughs behind Chaehyun, "We're also happy to see her, so can you share?"

Chaehyun spins and sticks her tongue out at Heeseung, but moves anyway. His hair is black again and longer than the last time you saw him. Despite that, his hug is familiar and you're always comfortable in his presence.

"I knew you'd come sooner than later after Taeyeon came back," Heeseung teases you, "I'm happy to have you around again, sweets."

"Sweets was my nickname for her," Sunghoon's deep voice called out behind the two of you. He's standing kind of awkwardly- leaning against the side of the stands as to act casual.

You remember when you started getting pocket money from your parents. Instead of saving it to buy a new plush or makeup from the mall, you would instead use it to smuggle vending machine sweets to practice. You would secretly slip some to your best friend here and there, and you were always getting scolded by your coach for your incessant sweet tooth despite needing to keep fit and healthy as an athlete.

"Hi Sunghoon," you greet him simply, a soft half-smile pulling on your lips. You immediately notice the change in his appearance, "Love the blonde."

He's a few metres away from you and you can feel all your audience's eyes on you. His own eyes widen slightly at the compliment and he shyly runs his fingers through the platinum locks, "Thanks, Y/N. I'm glad that you're back."

Chaehyun seals her hand over her mouth, but you can still hear the, "aw!" that escaped through the cracks. You spin your head so fast to glare at her that it nearly gives you whiplash.

"Coach, can we at least have the rest of the day off and catch up with Y/N?" Heeseung turns to face Kibum and then at you, "You're not busy, right?"

"You can finish practice now, but Y/N literally just got off the plane, so let her rest if she's tired," Kibum warns the three skaters, "And tomorrow, business as usual, unfortunately."

Chaehyun claps her hands together and drags you with her, calling over her shoulder that she was going to change and they should too. The locker room is still as sterile as you remember it to be- your old locker now devoid of the stickers you used to plaster all over the front.

"So?" Chaehyun quirks an eyebrow expectantly at you as she removed all of her training gear.

"So what, Chaehyun?" you roll your eyes at the girl, tapping at your cheek with your chin in your hand.

"Please, you saw the way Sunghoon was looking at you," Chaehyun laughs in glee, "Oh, I've been waiting for this moment forever."

You ignore the blush creeping up your cheeks, "This is moving too fast. I can't be hating him the last time I saw him to now being buddy-buddy. We talked a bit, yeah, but he still hurt me a lot and we're not in the clear yet. Of course, our relationship will probably never be the same."

"It's been 4 months since World's," Chaehyun notes, "You haven't thought about what you want to happen since then?"

You cock your head and hum in thought, "A little, but I've been distracting myself with the ice shows and every time I think about the situation, it just hurts, so I prefer not to."

"Hoon seems more repentant these days, to be honest. He's kinda sulky every time he sees Taeyeon and you're not by her side. He keeps asking her if you're going to come too," she stifles a laugh in remembrance of his antics.

"Taeyeon never told me that," you raise your eyebrows in surprise.

Chaehyun zips up her training bag as she finishes changing into more summer-appropriate clothes, "All I can tell you is that I'm sure Sunghoon wants to reconcile."

You ponder on it thoughtfully, trying to consider the implications of making up and how you were to go about doing that. It's never as simple as saying sorry and hugging it out; you've been living with the hurt and resentment for 5 years now. It was more second nature to ache whenever you thought of him than to smile. Undoing that is never going to be easy, no matter how much you want to forget the past in an instant and move forward.

"Come on, let's go get drinks," Chaehyun interrupts your thoughts by locking her arm with yours and tugging to exit the locker room.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

When the news came out that you were going to take a break in the next figure skating season, it was safe to say that the whole industry was shocked. You just finished the best run of your career and showed no signs of slowing down. You hadn't even had to withdraw from any events for injury in 2 seasons!

Everyone was asking why- were you injured? Were you depressed? Were you pregnant? That one made you kick your fellow countryman Eric's heel from behind.

The press conference wasn't easy- how were you supposed to just say that you were exhausted and needed a break? Every skater was exhausted, right? There was even more speculation that you were going to switch nationalities again as your coach moved back to Korea and this break was just to hide the fact that you were riding out ISU's one year waiting period. You were glad to quickly shut that down.

For the past four months, you occupied yourself by participating in every ice show and tour imaginable; you loved skating just for the fans and their entertainment when there wasn't judges critiquing every inch of your movement. It took you a long, long time to make up your mind on what to do during your break. While it was so tempting to just stay in America and ignore everything waiting for you on this side of the world, your best friends and family were able to convince you that 5 years was a long time to be away from home. Another option was to just keep pushing on with a different coach at your rink, but you couldn't bring yourself to trust anyone else other than Taeyeon and the team you had already built and just thinking about facing the next season alone left a bad taste in your mouth.

You never informed Chaehyun of your final decision because you knew seeing her reaction in person would be worth it.

Chaehyun had been there to pick up all the pieces after your fallout with Sunghoon. The two of you had known each other for a while since you both skated at the National Training Center since you were juniors, but she was the only one from the rink that reached out after you moved. When you felt isolated in the US after you first moved, Chaehyun had been the one to call you every day despite the time difference to make sure you didn't feel so alone. While you were friends before, Chaehyun became a sister to you thereafter.

It's weird to see all the people you considered best friends or once best friends all around you at the same table.

"Where are you staying?" Heeseung sips on his iced tea casually. He's sitting in front of you, with Sunghoon next to him.

You shrug, "Probably with my parents. It's easier and free."

Chaehyun pouts, "I wish I had a spare room for you!" and then she looks at Heeseung and Sunghoon, "If you two sleep together in the same bed, Y/N can take the other room!"

Heeseung reaches over to flick Chaehyun's forehead, "Why don't you give up your bed then? Plus Hoon snores."

"And you sleep talk," Sunghoon scoffs at his house mate. It's the first words he's said since he sat down at the table.

"You should get an apartment in our building, Y/N," Chaehyun suggests.

"I don't know what I'm going to be doing tomorrow, let alone a year's time, so getting tied down to a lease sounds irresponsible," you admit, "Realistically, I need to go back to America to train cause I don't think the KSU would be very happy about me training at their risk for national team members."

"Oh come on, you know the KSU still loves you!" Heeseung counters.

"That's all fine for appearances, but I don't make them any money so using their facilities is a different ball game," you say, "There's other rinks, of course. I just don't know what to do yet."

"There's no rush," Sunghoon offers hesitantly, "You're on your break to relax, so don't worry about what comes next just yet."

You're taken aback by his contribution; his words are much more comforting than you thought they would be considering where your relationship stood. A few months ago, you and Sunghoon were on opposite sides of a plate with a rift between you that you thought was getting larger and pulling apart as the years went by. Now, it feels like you're both hanging in the air in limbo, waiting for the next move to determine what comes next.

"Thanks Sunghoon," you nod simply, taking a sip of your drink. You don't fail to notice the unsure look that Chaehyun and Heeseung give each other before Chaehyun scrambles to change the topic of conversation.

"Y/N, you haven't seen your parents right? Can I come with you when you go home?" Chaehyun coughs, "It's been a while since I saw them too and I miss your mom's cooking."

Despite Chaehyun's greatest effort to tread into a more neutral conversation, Sunghoon's stomach turns in longing. He too misses your mom's cooking. He misses you too.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You thought that being Taeyeon's assistant coach-in-training was going to be light work. After all, you'd been on the receiving end of it for many years, so being on the other side should be a breeze, right?

You were terribly, terribly mistaken. And you think that you should give Taeyeon an even bigger raise once the season after this one starts again.

Look, you've always known how hard your coach works. You genuinely do owe your entire career to her and you can't imagine where you would have ended up if it wasn't for her. You just didn't know how much she did behind the scenes in addition to everything she did for you on the ice.

The two of you are sitting in her office at Taereung, crowded around two computer screens side by side. Her office is narrow and small- just a desk, a chair and a few cabinets to keep papers, but the window stretching from the ceiling to the floor overlooking the mountains and hills of Seoul makes it feel much bigger. A few of her medals from her professional career are framed and hung on the wall opposite the desk, and there's picture frames of the two of you, as well as of her and Key when they won their first World's of many, interspersed with her medals.

"What's wrong with her form in this one?" Taeyeon quizzes you, tapping her pen on the freeze frame blown up on one of the screens. It's a still of her oldest student Boeun in the air. At 16 years old, Boeun's already achieved many great things for her country. The upcoming season was around the corner and it was Boeun's first year competing in the senior division, so her training was getting even more intense.

"Her arms aren't tucked in enough," you note slowly, "That's gonna creat resistance and slow her spin, so she might land wobbly or under-rotate."

"Good," Taeyeon nods in satisfaction. The two of you have been at this for hours and you're barely halfway through her free skate. Taeyeon's mostly been explaining to you her own thought processes, but whenever she senses you zoning out or getting bored, she's quick to fire questions at you, "Okay, you can go now."

You do a double take at your coach, "Huh, what? An I really bothering you that much? We're only halfway through the program!"

Taeyeon chuckles dismissively, "You're amazing, Y/N. It's just that it's 3pm and you should be enjoying your season off. I know that you want to gain experience coaching, but it's only the start of the year and we have a long time."

You pout at her request, but end up nodding hesitantly, "Okay, if you say so."

Spinning casually in her chair, Taeyeon murmurs off handedly, "You should catch Sunghoon downstairs; he finishes around this time. Maybe ask him to get some coffee."

Narrowing your eyes at her, you packed up your things, "Is this you meddling?"

"Maybe," she smirked, drumming her pen on the table, "It's not my fault I know the skaters' schedules."

"Stop rewatching Our Beloved Summer. Not every one gets a second chance," she'd been talking your ear off all week about the K-drama she watches every time summer rolled around despite knowing the plot line by heart.

A ghost of a smile flutters on her face, "Maybe, but I think you do. There must be a reason you ended up back in Seoul all this time."

You quirk your eyebrow at her, "And the reason is you moving back here. Whatever, I guess I can see if I can find him, but if he left already, it's not my issue."

You say goodbye to your coach, tugging on your jacket and slipping out of the door. You completely miss the way she scrambled to her phone to text one particular Lee Junho.

Racing down the stairs, you prepare yourself to face Sunghoon alone for the first time since he came to your hotel room. You're somewhat glad that he didn't pester you all these months, instead choosing to use your mutual friends to keep up on you. On the other hand, there's a selfish part of you that wished he would keep chasing.

There's a gaggle of juniors that are on the youngest side all propped up on the boards and watching Sunghoon finish some jump training when you walk into the rink. They're all peering up at him with wide, sparkly, awe-filled eyes as he traverses through the air with a grace you know that's only reserved by him. You used to look at your seniors the same way too; you and Sunghoon would come in early for your shared conditioning training and just perch on the stands watching whoever was on the ice. It was a way to learn, but it was mostly just a way you kept your love for skating alive among all the hardships.

There was never anything better than watching someone you aspired to be, knowing one day, you'll be the one inspiring the next generation. As long as you worked hard, of course.

"Y/N Y/L/N?" a tiny girl with her hair slicked back into a neat bun catches sight of you, gasping in amazement.

Sunghoon pauses on the ice, head snapping around to find you. You give him a small wave and a subtle smile, motioning for him to carry on as you addressed the kids that were one by one realising who you were.

"Hi, how's it going?" you smile genuinely, "What are you guys doing here?"

"We're working in the gym, but we're on a break right now. Coach said that Sunghoon-oppa was on the ice, so we came to watch," the three girls giggle with each other, but there's a soft smile resting on the two boys's flushed cheeks. The one that noticed you steps up against the rest, "I'm a really big fan of you. Coach said that you used to train here and came back, so I've been waiting to meet you. Do you think I could get an autograph?"

She's playing with the hem of her pastel pink training top, but you can tell that she's trying to keep her voice stable. The kids aren't carrying anything themselves, so you take out a notebook and pen from the front pocket of your bag.

"What's your name?" they're all a bit shorter than you, so you bend at the knees to meet her gaze. She grins at you with her brace-adorned teeth and tells you her name.

You sign quickly, leaving an encouraging message of well-wishes, tearing off the paper and handing it to her. The other kids have formed a queue behind her and are looking at you expectantly and so shyly that your heart bursts with happiness. You didn't have many juniors around at your old rink and certainly not ones who truly knew who you were and where you came from.

"I'll be around all season," you tell them as you sign the last piece of paper, "Don't be shy to talk to me, okay? It's my job after all to make sure you guys all become the best skaters you can be. No one knows this life better than your seniors, so make use of us."

Their grins are splitting their faces as they nod excitedly and run off to wherever their coach had appeared from. She gives you a grateful nod for entertaining them and by this time, you notice Sunghoon walking over to you, skates already off.

"You sure have a fanclub here," Sunghoon muses lightly.

"Ha, I didn't mean to conduct my very own meet and greet, but they're all so adorable," you say fondly.

Sunghoon mirrors your expression as nostalgia clouds his eyes, "Remember when we saw Jaejoong-sunbae in our first week here and snuck out of lesson to find him in the building?"

You clap your hands together at the forgotten memory being pulled to the forefront of your brain, "Oh my gosh and our coaches scolded us so much when they hunted us down and found us making him sign our skates and our bags!"

"Junho was just salty that Jaejoong was the face of figure skating at their time and not him," Sunghoon watches his coach disappear into a tunnel on the other side of the rink, "I bet they did that to their seniors whenever they came to Taereung!"

"Yeah," you agree, "Have they already got your signature?"

His eyes twinkle, "Yeah, the girls always watch whenever they're here."

"Sounds like they have a crush," you fold your arms and chuckle, "Let them down gently, yeah?"

"Ah, don't want a reputation as a heart breaker around here now, do I?" Sunghoon laughs easily, but then he realises the words that slip out and he slaps a hand to his mouth, "Wait. Um."

"It's cool," you giggle, "Taeyeon told me you were about to finish training for the day. I thought that maybe we could get a drink somewhere?"

Sunghoon's eyes widen in surprise, "Really?" you nod, "Oh yeah, of course. Wait here; I'll grab my stuff from the locker room and we can go."

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Something you never really thought about much was the fact that you and Sunghoon fell apart as teenagers. It was silly to say, but you had never considered the fact that now you're adults, your lives were very different.

Sunghoon was cruising down the highway with one hand on the wheel and the other propped up onto the door. His car is modern and shiny and his side profile from your view is exquisite- wait, what?

"When did you learn to drive?" you ask quietly, trying to keep your eyes on the road in front. There wasn't that much to do around the training centre, so Sunghoon suggested to go into the city and find a nice café in Hongdae to explore.

"It's been a couple of years. It was kind of necessary to get to Taereung when I moved out of the dorms," Sunghoon hums, "Do you know how to drive in the US?"

"I got my license, but I never really drove. Taeyeon and I lived together, so she would just drive the two of us everywhere," you recount, "She made me get my license cause it's easy over there. I'm not sure how well my skills will translate over here."

Sunghoon runs his free fingers through the platinum strands of his hair, "Let me know if you wanna go for a drive to learn. I can help you."

Trying to ignore the flush in your cheeks, you scoff playfully, "You would trust me with your nice car?"

Sunghoon meets your eyes and it burns through you so intensely that you immediately look away. Internally, you're beating yourself up for acting so pathetic around him.

He lets out a sound that's a cross between a laugh and an exhale, "I used to trust you with my life."

Dumbstruck, you keep quiet and chew on your bottom lip. Sunghoon doesn't press any further and the two of you just listen to the smooth r&b playing on the radio. Until you get to the parking space, it's silent, but you don't know what else to say to act casual around him. You stopped being casual with him 5 years ago.

By the time that you wrestle your seatbelt off and collect your bags from the floor of his car, Sunghoon has jumped out and raced around to open the door for you. It takes everything in you to not crumble.

"Thanks," you smile slightly. Sunghoon's stare remains intense and piercing.

He directs you into the café and the two of you awe and marvel at the array of cakes and pastries all decorated to look like animals or objects. He doesn't fight you when you breach the topic of paying for your own drink and confectionary, but he does carry the tray with both of your items over to a table by a window.

"Thanks for coming to see me and inviting me out," Sunghoon purses his lips hesitantly, not knowing whether to dive so deep so quickly.

You jam a fork into the chocolate cake dressed up as a bear, "I've made you wait long enough since World's. And I think nearly 6 years is a long enough time of enduring all this angst."

"You're right," Sunghoon utters, sighing deeply, "I just- I just don't even know where to start."

"The very start, I guess," you say sheepishly, "I never meant to wait until the day before to tell you I was leaving. The whole time that Taeyeon was convincing me to go with her, I was completely in denial about leaving. I think that I didn't want to tell you, because if I did, it would seem real that I was leaving you. You were the hardest thing I was leaving behind."

"Wonder what your parents would say to that," Sunghoon tried to joke, but he sounds more sad than anything as you delve back into the past, "I heard rumours about it, but I didn't want to confront you about leaving either. I just thought that there was really no way that we could ever be apart. I mean, our coaches had to schedule all of our training back to back because we were just so attached at the hip."

When you were young, everywhere you went, Sunghoon would be right beside you. School, the rink, the mall, the playground, the gym, the cafeteria- everywhere. You were like each other's lifeline.

"I was going to ask you to call, to keep in touch-"

Sunghoon's eyelids flutter close in regret, "And then I called you selfish before you could even say that. And I said so many words that I definitely did not mean. I'm sorry for that, Y/N. Please know that I really am."

Your eyes brim with stinging tears, so you crane your neck down and sip at your milkshake to calm down.

The hardest thing through the years was whenever you were left alone with your thoughts. Somehow, everything always led back to the boy that was now sitting in front of you. But for years, you couldn't escape the heartbreaking feeling every time you remembered the look of betrayal on his face when you told him you were leaving, and then the anger that seeped into his features.

"We were just kids," you bite your lip and swipe at your lash-line, "I wish I could go back in time and say goodbye properly."

Sunghoon pushed a piece of his cake around with his fork on the plate, "I was angry that you were leaving because I was going to confess to you that week."

Your gaze snaps up to his, "Really?"

"Mhm, I had been planning it and trying to work up the courage for so long at that point," he chuckles bitterly, "The fairground was opening up for the summer that week, if I remember correctly. I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go and I was gonna try and confess then. You leaving so abruptly just broke my heart. I know it's not your fault though."

Your own heart cracks at the revelation, "I'm sorry, Hoon."

"And then I found out through Chaehyun that you were switching nationalities and it felt like we were two worlds apart," Sunghoon admits reluctantly.

You think back to when you were 17, being lured in by the country you held dual citizenship for and knowing that the deadline to choose a nationality was looming close, "There was so much depth in the Korean senior women's field. Taeyeon encouraged me to switch to increase the likelihood of winning national titles and getting spots at the Olympics. And they were willing to pump so much money into my training and paying Taeyeon that I couldn't say no."

"I know," Hoon nods affirmatively, "You don't have to explain yourself for that. You made the right choice and you're an Olympic silver medalist for it."

You smile weakly.

He continues, "The training centre felt so empty without you. For the first time, I actually had to make an effort to talk to the other athletes and none of them could measure up to you."

"I was really lonely in America," you confess in a small voice, "There were so many days that I almost called even though we left on such bad terms. I just wanted to hear your voice sometimes."

Sunghoon's eyes soften and his eyebrows pull together in regret, "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I missed you so much and I'm willing to do anything and everything to fix this- to fix us."

"And if I have to leave after this season?"

Sunghoon reaches over suddenly and wipes his thumb at the corner of your mouth. His finger ghosts over your lips for a second and your heart skips a beat and then begins to race.

"Sorry, you had some cake there," Sunghoon murmurs, "If you end up on the moon next season, I'll personally build a rocket to get to you."

Unconsciously, you let out a full laugh that causes a smile to invade his face. You bat at his arm, "Now, come on. That's too cheesy."

Sunghoon waits for you to stop laughing when he connects your eyes together, "But I mean it, Y/N. I need you in my life."

The steady, but quick thrum of your heartbeat pulses against your chest wall. All you can focus on is the adoring look that Park Sunghoon is directing at you. It feels like that's all you need.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

For someone who spent their whole life on frozen water, you certainly didn't spend much time with it... unfrozen. But Seoul in the peak of summer is something akin to hell on earth- you couldn't walk more than a few blocks without having to duck into a convenience store or any shop that had air conditioning. As much as you wanted to wear as little as possible to avoid soaked fabrics sticking to your skin, you recognised that you weren't in America anymore and the looks you'd get from the sweaty grannies was frankly guilt-tripping. Even hanging around the rink on those hottest days wasn't any fun- the ice was more temperamental than usual and the shock you felt the second you step outside after spending time somewhere relatively cool just intensifies.

On your day off, Chaehyun magically appears at your familial home, giving you a mischievous smile.

"Heeseung has a friend of a friend of a friend-"

You give her a pointed look, "You want us to crash a stranger's house party just so we can use their pool?"

Chaehyun humphs, "No! We're invited. Heeseung and Sunghoon are already on their way there, so get your ass in a bikini so we can go!"

"Sunghoon's coming?" your heart began to race a little faster at the thought, but Chaehyun throws a pillow at you before you can even collect yourself.

"You lovesick loser."

You catapult the pillow back, "Am not! I don't like him like that anymore."

"Tell that to the heart eyes you get anytime he's around. Since the two of you made up, you've both been insufferable dancing around each other," Chaehyun's voice takes on a mocking tone as she mimics you, "'Oh Chae, his triple axel is so pretty today!' or 'oh Chae his training top fits him so well! or 'oh Chae, he brought me coffee today!'"

You ignore the giggling girl behind you in favour of packing some towels and a change of clothes into your bag. Over the past few weeks since you resolved things with Sunghoon in the café, he's made it a mission to make your life hell- well, he doesn't know that.

You thought that there was no way you could ever like-like him again after all the hurt that you grew to associate with him, but recently, your head and your heart have been all over the place. It's been hard to see each other super often since your schedules didn't overlap much, but he went out of his way to do nice things for you, such as getting you drinks after he finished training and you were still working or dropping by little snacks with encouraging notes to the office for you to encounter once you came in.

There was also the glaringly obvious change in your dynamics in the fact that he grew up hot. Sunghoon had always been handsome even when you were kids (it's one of the reasons you developed a raging crush on him), but it's different now that you're adults. Your brain worked differently now and his appearance and the way he commanded the ice all while making training gear look like designer had you feeling some kind of way.

"Hurry up," your best friend whined from your bed. You humph noisily and speed up shoving random items that you think you'll need into the bag until she has enough and starts tugging on your arm. I mean, it's her fault she only gave you a few minute's notice from when she turned up at your door.

Chaehyun drives like a mad-man all the way to this elusive friend of a friend of a friend's house that you start thinking you might need to get your own car to get you to places in this city. But then you remember how pretty Sunghoon's profile looked from the passenger seat-

"Why are you smiling like that?" Chaehyun laughs, "You look like an idiot."

You roll your eyes, "I'm just happy to be going to a pool party."

"You're happy to go to a pool party so you can see Sunghoon shirtless-" you reach over and she yelps, "Yah! Don't hit the driver! I'm gonna drive us off this cliff!"

You retract your arm away from her, "Don't say stupid shit, Chaehyun."

"I better not see you staring later then," she murmurs under her breath as she pulls into a parking space near the house. You text Heeseung to come and get the two of you outside because you didn't want to walk straight into this guy's garden without the ones who invited you.

He meets you promptly, a cup of something in hand and sunglasses hanging on the tip of his nose, "Urgh, finally. Hoon and I were waiting until you two got here so we could swim. It's so hot!"

You've only been outside of the car for a couple of minutes, but there's sweat forming in beads on your hairline already. You follow Heeseung through the side gate towards the direction of blaring music and the smell of barbecue. It truly was a party, because you couldn't even locate Sunghoon once you stepped into the clearing.

There were people crowded on loungers and people hovering by the barbecue and even more surrounding a ping pong table that was being used for beer pong. The pool wasn't super crowded, mainly for the fact that this guy lived in a mansion and his pool was practically Olympic sized.

"Jay!" Heeseung calls over a tall man with slick back hair and a sharp jawline, who smiles kindly to the two of you, "These are my friends Y/N and Chaehyun. Guys, this is Jay's house."

"You have an amazing house," Chaehyun gawks, "What do you do?

"He's a model," Heeseung answers for him hurriedly, "Y/N, Sunghoon's over there, go get him."

Heeseung points to the opposite corner of the garden where you could make out a group of people sat on outdoor couches around an unlit fire-pit. You squint and try to focus, seeing Sunghoon conversing with a girl that was leaning her whole body into him.

You pull a sour face, "I think he's busy."

"Get him," Chaehyun nudges you encouragingly, "He doesn't even look happy to be there."

You huff loudly, already sensing their meddling from a million miles away. What could you do though? It was basically law that best friends would tease two ex friends who had feelings for each other in the past to get together.

Quickly muttering a goodbye to the host, who flashes you a charming grin, you stalk all the way over to fire-pit. As you get closer, you begin to hear their conversation.

"Your arms are really big," this girl runs the tips of her fingers along his arm that was stretched out on the couch behind this girl, but Sunghoon visibly recoils from her touch, "Aw, am I making you shy?"

You nearly puke at her sugar sweet tone and halt your steps instead to watch how Sunghoon would react. You didn't want to cock-block the guy if he was actually interested and you were reading the situation wrong.

"Um, thanks?" his voice is awkward and he takes  a swig of the liquid in his cup.

"What are you doing tomorrow? My friends and I are hosting a party at my house if you wanna come," she continues on, "It'll be really fun!"

"Ah, I'm not really into parties."

The girl pouts her glossy lips, "Really? How about we hangout alone then?"

"I told you that I-"

Annoyed at the thought of having to hear any more of this conversation, you clear your throat, causing Sunghoon's head to fly in the direction of the sound. He does a quick double take, but his face lights up all the way to his crinkled eyes once he realises it's you. You don't think you've ever seen a man stand up so quickly and this girl jumps back on the couch, clearly offended.

"Y/N, baby, you're here!" your eyes bulge out of socket when Sunghoon wraps his defined arms around your waist, making contact with the skin exposed by your cropped shirt. He nuzzles his head into your neck and leans up to whisper into your ear, "Play along, please?"

The girl on the couch scoffs at Sunghoon, "I thought you were just trying to brush me off when you said you had a girlfriend."

You narrow your eyes at her as Hoon settles beside you, keeping one hand squeezing your waist, "Then why didn't you get the hint? Do you wanna be a homewrecker?"

The girl stands up and rolls her eyes at you, "Whatever," she stomps away, stopping at a group of girls that are all staring at you menacingly.

"What was that?" you mumble to Sunghoon, who is smiling at you sheepishly and taking his arm off you.

He scratches the back of his neck, "Ah, sorry Y/N. She wouldn't leave me alone so I said I had a girlfriend."

"That didn't seem to work anyway," you retort in amusement, "And you were letting her get awfully close and touchy for someone who had a so-called girlfriend."

Sunghoon opens his mouth to apologise again, but a glimmer appears in his eyes that causes him to hold back and smirk, "Ah, why- were you jealous, Y/N?"

You grit your teeth and smack his chest, "In your dreams, Park. Let's go in the pool- it's so hot."

Mercifully, Sunghoon decides not to say anything else as he watches you put down your bag on the couch he was occupying and tug at your clothes.

"Look away," you murmur, causing Sunghoon's cheeks to redden. Thankfully, he could use the alcohol he was sipping on as an excuse as to why his face was so flushed as he turns around and pulls his own shirt over his head. He hears you unzip your skirt and drop it onto the couch, and then the pitter patter of your flip flops towards the pool, "Come on!"

Sunghoon only turns in time to see you slide into the pool off the side, so he quickly ducks down and follows. The heat is absolutely battering your skin, so you briefly plunge your entire body and resurface to find him smiling goofily at you.

"What?" you interrogate curiously.

Sunghoon shakes his head and splashes water up to his face, "Nothing, nothing. Aren't you glad that you came?"

"Well, I was forced to," you grin, splashing cheekily at him.

Sumghoon pouts and splashes back at you, "Are we playing this game?"

Cocking your head to the side in fake innocence, you peer up at him, "What game?" you scoop with your cupped palms and flick the amassed water over his body.

A mischievous look creeps up on his features and he smirks at you, "You don't know what you're getting into, Y/N."

You turn as quickly as you can in the water, launching off in a random direction in a pathetic paddle/waddle considering the fact you're not a great swimmer. His laugh echoes in the air as he dives and chases after you, and before you realise, his arms snake around your exposed waist and he drags and dunks you under the water. Thrashing, you kick against him, but Sunghoon's hold is too strong on your body even after you surface. You splutter the water out and rub at your eyes to get the chlorine water and your sticking hair away.

When you open your eyes, you realise that your bodies are pressed up against each other, him clinging to you, with your faces just mere centimetres apart. You're breathing heavy from your underwater struggle, lips parted and exhaling. Intently, you watch as Sunghoon's eyes peer into yours and then flash down to your lips before he cracks a grin.

"I guess I win?"

You grunt, pushing him away, "You have 5 seconds to run, Park."

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Summer ceases for another year in the blink of an eye and autumn creeps in slowly, and then all at once. The leaves on the trees surrounding Taereung have long changed colours, now making their home on the ground in piles of yellows, oranges and reds. You're both eagerly anticipating and dreading the snow, mindful of the fact you haven't lived through a Korean winter in a long, long time.

You try to appreciate the chilly breeze with clear skies, but it's hard when you had gotten used to the same mild or scorching temperature year around.

Sunghoon sighs as he steps in front of you, watching you tug your gloved hands on the neck of your jacket, "You've forgotten all about our autumn and winter, haven't you?" He unwraps the wool scarf that was adorning his neck and places it around your own. You hope that he'll put down the flush on your cheeks to the weather.

"Hoon, it's fine. We're not even going to be walking far," you insist, moving to take it off, but he places a hand over yours and gives you a sharp look that has you backing down.

He takes the handle of the suitcase away from your grip and walks in front of you. You huff and chase after him, "Seriously, Sunghoon. What if you get sick? I'm not the one competing."

He flashes you a prince-like smile, "Then you'll just have to take care of me- ow!" he flinches as you swat at him, "It's fine, Y/N. This weather is nothing to me and I mainly brought it for you. I knew you wouldn't be prepared."

You quieten down and ponder on his words. You shouldn't be surprised- even when you were young, Sunghoon was always attentive to your needs. Not much had changed since and you feel like you've fallen into the routine of your old friendship again, with a hint of flirtatious remarks from him then and now.

It's a nice feeling to be getting along with him again. It's filled up and healed a crack in your heart that appeared when you left and was never mended until now. Even though it was hard at first to be open with him, he's doing a diligent job breaking down your walls and occupying the space beside you like he once did.

The walk from the airport drop-off to the entrance is decently long, but Sunghoon rolls the two carry-on suitcases beside him, while you just haul your handbag. You're meeting the rest of Team Korea seeded to this competition at the airport, which makes you nervous. There's one other women's skater and a pair of ice dancers travelling to America with their coaches and staff and they're so young that you don't know them from your junior days. As much as Sunghoon, your friends and your coach try to convince you otherwise, you're not a part of their country's staff and a lot of them are likely reluctant to talk to you about strategy and programs- especially the skater that you would compete against on the circuit.

Lee Yunah fakes a smile at you when the two of you join the team at the check in desk. She grins over at your companion and tells him that they're sitting next to each other in business class. You're preparing yourself for a near 13 hour flight in economy next to Junho, Sunghoon's coach. It was definitely nice of Team Korea to fly out their skaters in business class on the way to competitions- something you were also used to with your federation.

You don't really know why Lee Yunah isn't fond of you. Of course, she's never mean or outwardly vicious, but you get the feeling through her pointed looks and tight-lipped smiles that you weren't her favourite person. Most girls you know in the circuit are so sweet- they always congratulate you and make conversation whenever they see you, but you've never had a full on chat with her despite sharing a language. You know that she's a couple years younger than you, but only came to Taereung 2 years ago after training someplace abroad.

You're heading to Skate America with the team because you figured you could watch and then travel to your home to get some things you left behind and check on your apartment. It was currently left half-empty after Taeyeon moved all of her things out, but your belongings were still there. You had a cleaner come every month to make sure the apartment was still standing and wasn't being infested while you were gone, but you thought it wouldn't hurt to come and see it for yourself and maybe see a few friends.

You and Sunghoon mostly just sit in silence at the gate after you pass security, texting your families your whereabouts and telling anyone relevant that you were going to be off your phones for the duration of the flight. You queue up your playlist and try to search online the movies available on the flight to save some time picking on the plane.

At one point, he excuses himself to the bathroom and returns with your favourite drink in his hand.

"Saw it in the vending machine by the toilets," he shrugs casually, to which you thank him profusely. You're a big fan of airplane food, much to everyone's chagrin, but you absolutely loathe the small selection of drinks they have to offer. The iced tea will definitely carry you through the flight.

When you finally get onto the aircraft, you're delighted to find that only you and Junho are in the row of 4 seats, so he shuffles to the other end to give the two of you space in the middle. While it's not the window seat where you could rest your head on the side, you and Junho can definitely take turns stretching out across the unoccupied seats and having a better sleep. It's a night flight, so you're definitely going to be exhausted in a few hours.

Before you turn your phone to airplane mode, Sunghoon texts you a selfie from his seat, looking sad with an exaggerated pout despite the fact that he's in a lie-flat seat with a screen twice the size of yours. You send him multiple eye roll emojis before telling him to get some good rest on the flight.

It takes around 40 minutes for the plane to taxi, take off and climb before the seatbelt sign turns off and the plane reaches a constant altitude. The plot of the movie you chose is dragging on a bit, causing your eyes to droop already, when a figure appears from Junho's side and leans down next to him. You watch curiously as Junho stands up from his seat into the aisle and as Sunghoon crosses two other seats to plop down next to you.

"Hi," he breathes out.

"What are you doing here?" you pause the movie and quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Yunah wouldn't stop talking my ear off!" he grumbles, settling into the seat, "Even when I put the partition up, she put it down after 5 minutes."

"So what?" you muse, "Are you giving up your lavish life in business class to be uncomfortable in economy?"

"I don't wanna sit next to her," Sunghoon whines, "Her crush on me is suffocating. I thought she would have moved on by now."

Ah, there it was. It was pretty obvious to anyone that had eyes that Yunah had a big, fat crush on your friend. You also knew that Sunghoon was pretty oblivious when it came to things like this- or he was when you were younger. That's why it came as a surprise that he already knew.

"She confessed?"

Sunghoon lets his eyes flutter closed, his long lashes kissing the tip of his cheeks, "Mhm, maybe a couple weeks before you came to Seoul? I rejected her then, but she hasn't given up, it seems."

You tear your eyes away from him, afraid you'll do something stupid like brush the fallen lash that sits on his cheekbone with your thumb, "Why did you reject her? She seems like a nice enough girl to you."

"She's not who I want," Sunghoon murmurs without missing a beat. He doesn't even let you ponder on his words before he opens his eyes and turns to his coach, poking him with his finger, "Hyung, can you take my seat? I wanna lie down here."

Junho gives him a funny look and they exchange a few words that you tune out as you think about what Sunghoon means. Does that mean there's someone in his head that he's decided on? Someone he's crushing on?

As Junho happily waddles out of economy to occupy his newly upgraded seat, Sunghoon stretches out across the seats. You notice that his feet ever so slightly dangle to the side into the footwell, so you grab a pillow and place it on your lap.

"Sunghoon, put your head here," you pat the squishy fabric.

He looks up at you with big, shiny eyes that had the ice in your heart melting, "Are you sure?"

You give him an affirmative nod and watch as he shuffles his head up to your lap and nuzzles to get comfortable. There's a light, resting smile on his lips and you softly brush the hair out of his eyes.

"Goodnigh, Y/N. Wake me up when you wanna swap," he breathes out, eyes already squeezed shut.

"Goodnight, Hoonie."

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The gold medal hanging around Sunghoon's neck compliments the beam on his face as he poses for photos on the podium. Your heart squeezes in pride; you've been noticing how he's getting more and more consistent with his wins over the past two seasons and it's starting to look like he's going to dominate the male field single handedly. This was all you ever dreamed of when you were young and aspiring; winning and winning some more and being by each other's side. There were some bumps on the road with that, such as Sunghoon's run in with a bad form early on of his senior career, while you were experiencing the opposite. You sigh contently at the universe's plan to move everything around you as everything fell into place.

"Gold looks good on you, Park," Sunghoon is grinning at you as he walks over to you after the press conference, a while later.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" Sungjoon holds up the medal hanging around his neck delicately like it's a baby and the most precious thing he's laid his eyes on.

You nudge his arm with your elbow, "Don't act like this is your first; you're not that far behind me."

While you exploded on the scene as soon as you made your transition to seniors, Sunghoon's growth was gradual and more sustainable. He worked hard and steadily over the years, waiting patiently to reap his rewards. Now, he was decorated with nearly every medal in quick succession.

"Nah, you're miles ahead, sweets," he drops the term so casually you almost don't react, but by the time you realise, Junho is telling him it's almost time to warm up and run through his exhibition gala routine.

Sunghoon turns to you as he pulls the medal off his body and drops it around your shoulders, "Can you keep this safe for me? I'll see you after the gala, yeah?" his left eye drops into a wink before he takes off on a jog back into the direction of the rink.

You're stood there dumbfounded, fingers clasping the fabric of the medal. Junho stifles a laugh at you, making a note in his head to tell Taeyeon how your relationship has progressed in just a short time from the airport to now.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

"Welcome to my home sweet home," you breathe out as you step foot in your apartment for the first time in months.

It's a little chilly and the air is a bit stagnant, but otherwise, the apartment has been maintained well by your caretaker. You quickly turn on the heating and A/C to circulate the air while Sunghoon rolls his small suitcase in and takes off his shoes by the door. It's the first time you've seen shoes that weren't Taeyeon's next to yours in this apartment and it endears you to see it's Sunghoon's beat up shoes from when you were younger.

"You need new shoes, Hoon," you mumble pointedly at the raggedy pair.

He pouts cutely, "They're my favourite! They're perfectly moulded to my feet and we bought them together at the department store on my 16th birthday, remember?"

"And you are 21 now, Park Sunghoon," you crinkle your nose at him, "I think you can afford to part ways with them."

"It's not about affording, it's about our emotional bond!" he protests while he taps his sock-covered feet on the leather that was about to peel.

"Whatever. That is Taeyeon's old room. Put your stuff in there and I'll find some bed sheets," you point at the door on one side of the living room. You cross the shared area to reach your own bedroom and the linen closet.

By the time that you managed to pair up two sets of everything to adorn your stripped beds, you find Sunghoon in the kitchen, snooping through your cupboards. You doubt that he would find anything; fresh food hasn't crossed the threshold since you left and you did a freezer clear-out of most things too.

"Are you hungry? There's not gonna be any food, so we can order in," you pass by behind him as you go to drop the sheets in the room.

The two of you had breakfast in the hotel buffet in the morning with the rest of Team Korea, but after that, you were busy packing your bags and stressing about making it to the airport in time to eat between Texas and your home. It's creeping up on dinner time, so as athletes, you were starving.

"Can we order Korean food?" Sunghoon's tone has a cheeky lilt to it, which you don't understand until he turns around and you find green bottles in his grasp.

You gasp, "I left soju here? I thought I drank them all when I had a goodbye get together with my friends. What a nice surprise, but should we be drinking?"

Sunghoon shrugs and places three bottles on the dining room table, "Why not? I just won Skate America so we can celebrate, I guess. And we don't have any schedules or training for the next few days."

You always planned to visit your apartment after the competition even if it required a short plane ride to a different state. What you hadn't initially decided was whether you would invite Sunghoon or not. In your head, it was going to be a bit awkward inviting Sunghoon to a trip just alone straight off the bat without any of your friends first, but Chaehyun convinced you that there was nothing wrong inviting your friend. At one point, you considered each other best friends and you wouldn't have hesitated in the past, even when you did have a crush on him.

Convincing Heeseung and Chaehyun to fly to the States and make it a group treat came to no avail as they were both going to Skate Canada just a few days after Skate America and therefore would need to be using this time intensely training. You considered taking a trip over to Halifax and watching your other best friends too, and then trying to convince them to come back with you, but going coast to coast back and forth was tiring and time-wasting. You don't think that Taeyeon would appreciate you skipping out on more days of work back in Korea just because you couldn't stomach the thought of being alone with Sunghoon in a private place.

In the months you've been in Korea, you've definitely been alone with Sunghoon- you eat together often, you work out together often, you walk around shopping districts and café hunt together often, but you haven't been alone with him with nowhere to run to yet. This is your apartment after all.

After you order the food, you convince Sunghoon to go and set up the bed and unpack his belongings a little, while you did the same in your room. Apart from the stripped bed, the room seemed largely untouched and a little empty. Still, you left behind some memorabilia such as some of your competition gifts (all the medals and trophies were in the living room, as they were celebrating both you and your coach), pictures with your friends and team on this side of the world and a heap of plushies that you couldn't justify hauling with you all the way to Korea.

You took most of your clothes to Korea, but you left behind your competition dresses that were displayed on a rail. Fondly, you inspected each of them and let the warmth of the memory fill your heart. While you were missing competing already, you know in your heart that this break is what you need so you don't burn out too fast; you want to be with the sport for as long as possible, even if you did foolishly contemplate retiring at first.

After intense and thought-provoking conversations with your coach and your best friends, you came to the decision that taking a break was a much easier and less-permanent step than announcing you were retiring off the bat. You know you made the right decision when the thought of coming back on the ice made you feel excited, instead of dread.

Your door was ajar, but you still get shocked when Sunghoon knocks on the wood to let you know of his presence, "The food came, Y/N."

"Oh, really? Sorry, I didn't hear it but thanks for getting it," you furrow your eyebrows at how you spaced out.

Sunghoon steps further into your bedroom, which has you training your eyes on him carefully as he perches on the end of your bed, "It's weird not knowing what your bedroom looks like now, when I used to have them all memorised."

Your heart clenches at the thought. When you still lived at home with your parents, Sunghoon lived nearby and was always around for play dates in your room or house. As you grew up, the two of you would study together on your large desk side by side with the chair that he stole out of your parents' office. When you both moved into the dorms briefly, you would find ways to sneak him into your room even when boys weren't allowed in the girls' dormitory. He spent a lot of time in your dorm room napping while you did online school before the two of you would head over to the rinks for training.

You hang your costume from the last Olympics back onto the white rail, "Well, now you know."

Sunghoon takes this as an invitation to inspect more purposefully. There's a printed picture of you, Chaehyun and Heeseung on the pin board above your desk. From Heeseung's hair colour, Sunghoon could tell it was from a couple of years ago. There's a few newspaper clippings up about your victories and a few childhood photos of you on the ice. When he finds that there's nothing to indicate his previous presence in your life, he feels a little guilt, even though he expected it.

He was such a big part of your life once- and you to his- but misunderstandings had forced the two of you apart, mainly due to his own angst. If he wasn't so stupid and young, maybe his face would appear on your pinboard too to signify his importance.

"I can feel you thinking over there," you chuckle and sit next to him, "What's up?"

Sunghoon's eyebrows are knitted together in some kind of frustration, "I missed so much of your life because I was so up my own ass. You achieved all the things we talked and dreamed about for so long and I couldn't even celebrate with you or tell you how proud I am of you. I'm sorry, Y/N."

His words take you aback and you instinctively lean into his body, "Stop saying sorry, Hoon. We agreed to move past it, remember?"

He kisses his teeth, "I know, but I'm still so angry at myself for doing that to us and pushing us apart when it was the exact opposite of what I really wanted."

Your heart begins to race as it so often does when you're faced with Park Sunghoon. You turn your head towards him to find him already looking at you with parted lips. You fight with your might to keep your eyes up as your fingers grasp the bedsheets.

His words nearly echo what he said on the plane about Yunah not being the one he wants.

"What did you really want?" your voice drops to a whisper, reluctant to ask in fear of having to face his answer.

There's a moment when his eyes scan down your face and land somewhere lower, but he's meeting your gaze again quickly as a knowing smile stretches across his lips, "Are you sure you wanna hear it?"

There's a churning in your stomach as you examine his expression. It's so unreadable and unfamiliar to you that something inside you snaps and you jump up, "The food is gonna go cold. And the soju's gonna go warm," you speed walk out of the room and leave behind a chuckling Sunghoon.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Spending your teen years in America where you just barely became legal to drink meant that you didn't get a chance to build up your alcohol tolerance the same way Korean teens did. While you vehemently do not condone drinking if Taeyeon asks, you still know that in Korea's heavy-drinking culture, teens were able to access alcohol much earlier and easier and drank a lot more than you and your same-aged friends you made in America. At the same time, you didn't go to a physical college to be able to engage in questionable behaviours like underage drinking at parties or with college friends since most of your friends were fellow athletes who had it drilled in them to take care of their bodies. While in Korea, it was practically a rite of passage to sneak in alcohol for special occasions and not so special occasions to the dormitories once the lights went out and the adults went to sleep.

You're a testament of that cultural and social gap as your head lulls heavily in the air, while Sunghoon watches you in half amusement, half concern. You seemed okay for a while, matching his pace with shots as you talked casually and ate the takeout and then suddenly it seemed to hit you all at once and you were slurring and giggling at nothing and dropping your head. Although you protested, he managed to cut off your alcohol and even poured down the remaining liquid down the sink so there was no chance of you getting any further gone.

Sunghoon was definitely buzzed too, to the point that risky decisions seemed appealing to him now, but his concern for you overtook any feeling.

"We should get you to bed now, Y/N-ie," Sunghoon hums as he pats your head flopped on the table, "Let's get up."

"No!" you bang your fist on the table softly, "I don't wanna. I wanna spend time with you!"

Sunghoon's heart leaps out of his chest hearing those words, "We have all day tomorrow and the day after and then we have the whole ride back to Korea. Plus, we practically work together."

You murmur something incoherent into the table and Sunghoon has to urge you to lift your head up.

"I said that we barely see each other at the rink," you mumble again, peering up at him adorably.

Since the season kicked off, your schedules were busier, but it endears Sunghoon to know that you were thinking about him, "I'll make more of an effort to see you more often then. But we should get your drunk ass to bed now."

"I'm not drunk," you hiccup cutely as your face scrunches up and then relaxes as you examine his features, "Has anyone ever told you that your moles are really pretty?"

Sunghoon is struck silent by you so suddenly and he thinks he's forgotten how to breathe when your hands reach up to cup his face. Your expression is so soft yet determined as your fingers ghost over the placement of the marks- over his nose, under his eyes and then the pad of your thumb presses gently into his skin just a few centimetres away from the corner of his lips.

Your touch on him is kickstarting his heart into gear and his heart is beating out of his chest. It's almost like all at once, you've completely undone all his resolve when this whole time, he's been trying to push his feelings away in order to restore and rekindle his previous friendship with you.

But let's face it, Sunghoon doesn't want to be your friend.

Or at least he doesn't want to be just your friend anymore.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" his own hands find their way up to cup your hands, which makes your fingers press deeper into his skin.

"You're so handsome, Hoonie. You grew up so well," your voice is so dreamy that Sunghoon becomes hyper aware that you might not say these things when you're sober. He tries to pull your hands off him, but you just bat away at his grasp, "So, so pretty. Makes me want you all to myself."

Your table is abnormally narrow, or so it feels like. With the way that you're leaning up to him, he only needs to move a little to meet you and maybe press his lips into yours-

Sunghoon shakes away his tipsy thoughts as he forcefully removes himself from your caress and walks around the table to hoist you up, "Let's get you to bed, Y/N. Seriously."

The walk to your room is precarious. Sunghoon feels like he's getting more drunk with every step he takes trying to manoeuvre your unwilling body. You're clinging onto him for life, groaning and complaining about not wanting the night to end, but he tunes you out to prioritise taking care of you. You both got changed into pyjamas after your second shot, foreseeing the night to end a bit tipsy and therefore likely disinhibited from normal tasks. All Sunghoon has to do is peel back the covers and coax you into lying down.

He brushes the hair out of your shining eyes once he gets you to settle on the bed, "I'm gonna get you some water, okay? Stay here."

Your hands clutch at his bicep, not even going all the way around, "Hoonie, I missed you."

He smiles fondly at you, "I missed you too, Y/N. I really did."

When you let your heavy eyelids fall, you also let a smile grace your face. Sunghoon captures this moment in his mind to store in the part of his brain that you've made home in and he decides that no matter what and if it is up to him, he'll never leave your side again.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

"Sunghoon, this is Eric," you gesture between the blonde haired guy beside you and the pink haired one in front of you, "Have you guys met before?"

"In passing when I would give him dirty looks on behalf of you," Eric snorts, "And we've met a few times on the podium, right?"

Sunghoon nods stiffly, "Yeah, a few."

Eric quirks his eyebrow, "Well, anyway, it's good to finally meet the elusive Park Sunghoon. I've heard lots about you, not good things as you imagine."

You reach over to smack Eric's arm with a scalding expression, "Eric, behave."

He lets out a boisterous laugh that has introverted Sunghoon squirming in his seat, "Relax, i'm just playing. Really. I'm glad that you two are on good terms again. Y/N-ie always talked about you and while it was out of anger mostly, I could tell that behind it all, she missed you."

"This is not behaving either," you mutter with a glare at your friend.

Eric was a fellow skater at your club. He joined the year after you came from a different club in the city to work with your coach's mentor. The two of you became fast friends despite him being a couple years older than you and he was one of the friends you were missing since moving back home.

Over the years, you grew more comfortable in confiding in Eric about your friends back home and specifically about Sunghoon after he witnessed a little spat between you a few World's ago.

Sunghoon has always been the shy and quiet type, which is one of the reasons why he struggled so much without you- you were practically his only friend then. Eric, on the other hand, is too extroverted and talkative for his own good. You like to think you're a happy medium in between them both. However, you know that this meeting won't go off without a hitch.

"Y/N-ie, do you know yet if you're gonna come back next season?" Eric takes a sip out of his cocktail. The three of you are sitting on a shaded table on the porch of a brunch spot, basking in the slight warmth of the October sun. It's a stark contrast to what you'll come home to, "We all miss you so much over here."

You feel Sunghoon stiffen up beside you and you cast a quick glance at him. He's trying to play it cool by mixing around the mojito he ordered with the straw.

"I'm not sure yet. It feels like I just got to Korea, to be honest," you skirt around the question to avoid making Sunghoon uncomfortable. In all honesty, it was the truth. You wanted to focus on enjoying your time there without worrying too much about the future. Then again, you had to make sure that your team was ready for you wherever you were going to end up in the world. While Taeyeon was arguably the most important part of the team, there were so many more people behind the scenes that shaped your career.

"We really love having Y/N around," Sunghoon adds on nonchalantly. You can tell that he's trying to avoid voicing out his real opinion in favour of supporting whatever decision you'll come to make.

"So do we," Eric grins, "I miss having my partner in crime around."

Sunghoon resists the urge to roll his eyes out of his head. You were his partner in crime first. Plus, you never even mention Eric much around him. How close were the two of you really?

"The staff are probably so happy that we're separated," you giggle in acknowledgement, "Who are you stealing the Zamboni with now?"

A memory flashes through the forefront of Sunghoon's mind when you first broke into the Zamboni cupboard and stole the keys. You two were practically punished for days when you were caught lapping the rink in circles at the age of 14 and subsequently ruining the work of the driver. Thankfully, you did learn over the years at your new rink how to operate the machine, so stealing it with Eric was mostly just for the thrill.

If emotions could manifest in real life, Sunghoon was green with envy. He would never accuse you of replacing him when the fall out was his fault anyway, but the thought that you did things with Eric that you used to do with him made him feel so sick.

The way that Eric addressed you with soft nicknames and a teasing tone had Sunghoon's stomach churning. He practically sat through the brunch seething in silence, only speaking when you addressed him and asked him a question.

What was even worse was that you hadn't talked about the events of the previous night at all. By the time that Sunghoon returned to your room after fetching your glass of water and trying to calm himself down in the kitchen, you were already fast asleep in dreamland. In the other room, Sunghoon seemingly couldn't sleep a wink until the next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by you frantically telling him to get up as you were gonna be late to meeting Eric.

So here you all were, nursing your hangovers with even more alcohol and a whole lot of carbs.

Eventually, Eric had to run for his final fitting for his costume that he was debuting at the Grand Prix de France in a few weeks, leaving you and Sunghoon to stroll along the streets lined with brunch spots and themed cafés.

"How'd you find Eric? I know he's kind of a lot at first..." you chuckled awkwardly, sensing only halfway through the meeting that it was probably not a good idea to have them meet just yet.

"I'm just glad that you had some friends over here," Sunghoon said sincerely.

"It was hard at first, but once Eric came, he dragged many people into our little group of friends," you agree quietly. Sunghoon is walking tensely beside you, fingers clasped behind his back instead of swinging by your side like usual.

"Mhm."

"You're not jealous, are you?" you ask hesitantly, looking straight ahead at the strip in front of you.

"A little," his confession takes you by surprise. You halt your step and catch his arm.

"Eric is flirty but he doesn't actually mean anything by it."

Sunghoon lets out a deep sigh and gestures for the two of you to sit on a nearby bench. It's a weekday morning, so there's not that many people hanging around the streets. People were mainly just walking past with a purpose to reach a certain shop instead of walking casually like the two of you were.

"After last night, I don't know where we stand," Sunghoon gnaws at his lip nervously. As much as he'd love to pretend nothing was changing between the two of you to preserve the good terms you were on, he feels like he can't carry on any longer.

The memories of the previous night come rushing back to you, not having been able to think about it beforehand due to your rush to meet Eric. You fold into yourself in embarrassment and move away from Sunghoon. You're not even internalising the meaning to his words, too preoccupied with cringing internally at your actions- there was a reason why you didn't drink much.

"Y/N," Sunghoon scoots closer to you, "Did you hear what I said?"

You peak at him through your hands covering your face in shame, "Hm?"

Sunghoon laughs softly at you as he moves your hands away from your face gently, "I said I don't know where we stand."

You cock your head at him, "Are you asking me what are we?"

Sunghoon's face heats up, "I'm just as nervous and embarrassed as you are about this, Y/N. Just give me a straight answer."

His candour inspires a bout of bravery in you as you give him a confident smile, "As I said last night, I want you all to myself."

You can practically see the moment a glimmer of hope sparkles in his eyes as he shuffles even closer to you. Your thighs are touching at this point, body twisted towards one another.

"Really? In what way?" he presses on.

You try to look away, intending to evade the conversation and point out something irrelevant, but Sunghoon reaches up to your cheeks and keeps your face straight at him. His expression tells you everything you need to know.

He's been waiting for your answer for practically 6 years.

"In the way that I'm in love with you," you confess.

When you spent countless nights pondering on what exactly your feelings were for Park Sunghoon, you always imagined that telling him would be hard. When you were young teens, confessing to your best friend was something that had you panicked and flustered, not even once entertaining the idea in fear of ruining your friendship over a crush.

But looking up at him now with that pleading and hopeful look on his face had the words falling out of your mouth.

It felt so natural to tell him, the same way that breathing came easy to any human. You used to always tell each other that you loved each other, but telling him you're in love with him? It was as automatic as your heart beating.

"Okay, good," Sunghoon is completely drowning in you, but is trying to keep his composure, "Cause I definitely want you all to myself in the way that I've been in love with you for years and years and I don't intend in sharing."

You chuckle at him, "We're going to have to work on that, I think."

Sunghoon scoffs and suddenly lunges forward on the bench. His nose bumps against yours, "You're mine, Y/N. And I'm yours too."

His breath fans over your lips and you're so desperate to push your face forward and connect your mouths together, but he places a teasing thumb between your lips.

"Sunghoon," you grumble.

"Yes, sweets?"

"Can you just kiss me now?"

A smirk envelops his facade as he moves his thumb out of the way, "My pleasure."

Your lips slot together so naturally that you don't know how you've gone this long without connecting the other piece of the puzzle. You're thankful that the street is deserted as Sunghoon presses his lips on yours gently at first, but then more purposeful and deeper as you reciprocate and move your lips against his.

Kissing Sunghoon feels like fireworks exploding, butterflies in your stomach and the comforting  feeling of home all at once. One hand is caressing his cheeks, moving over the mole just under his eye on top of his cheek bone and the other is running through his hair. Sunghoon's hands are clasping your cheeks like he's afraid you're going to run or disappear as he deepens the kiss and slides his tongue into your mouth.

You whimper into his hold and let him take the lead. Everything has been leading up to this moment. You knew that time when you took him to a café to talk that this was going to be inevitable. Your heart was always going to be pulled to Sunghoon's and there was no use fighting it.

The famous saying that there's a very fine line between love and hate was all too true. The changes in your relationship over the years were always just sides on the same coin. At the end of the day, you completed each other.

"I love you, Y/N. You don't know how long I've been wanting to tell you that," Sunghoon mutters against your lips.

"Likewise, Hoonie," you press a soft and fleeting kiss on his swollen lips before you pull away properly, "But we should go somewhere more private."

Sunghoon coughs in surprise and begins to splutter, "O-oh? Damn, take me out on a date first!"

You rise to your feet and give him a disgusted expression, "Shit, Hoon. Not like that! Urgh, I'm taking it back."

Sunghoon chases after you in glee as you stomp away, "Wait, Y/N! Come back! You still haven't answered- what are we?"

"Back to enemies," you turn your upper body to glare at him, flipping him off with your middle fingers, "Boyfriend privileges revoked before they even started!"

You're practically sprinting away from him at this point and Sunghoon has never been happier running after someone as he feels his heart leaping out from his chest, "Boyfriend? Y/N, come back!"

"No!"

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You watch from the stands as Sunghoon finishes up another run through of his free program after a small tweak to one of his elements. As he hits the final pose, you explode into claps and cheers.

"That was so clean," you praise beside Junho who was nodding approvingly.

Sunghoon skates over to the gate and sighs contently. Junho claps him on the back, "You're all done for the day, then. Good job, Sunghoon."

"Thanks, hyung," Sunghoon grins, "Is there anyone using the rink after me?"

"Hm, I don't think so? Usually it'd be Heeseung but they're not back yet from Canada," Junho ponders the question, "Are you gonna keep practising? Don't overwork yourself."

"No, I just thought I'd drag Y/N onto the ice today," he looks over at you, your expression turning into surprise, "You have your blades on you?"

Junho bids the two of you goodbye, reminding Sunghoon that he had some schedule tomorrow with a sponsor. You eye Sunghoon nervously, "Why do you wanna skate together?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, "It's been a while since we've properly shared the ice. I thought it'd be fun."

You leave him skating laps around the oval as you fetch your shoes from the locker room. Since you arrived in Seoul all those months ago, you've barely been skating- maybe twice a week when helping some of the younger girls you've been coaching. You're definitely out of practice, but you figure that you still have a little time left before you had to start getting used to skating all day, every day again ahead of the new season.

The shoes are a second skin to you and it will never feel foreign slipping them on no matter how long it's been. Your first steps on the ice are still confident - you haven't lost touch at all.

"Do you think we could have been a good pairs team?" you ask Sunghoon in amusement as he reached out a hand to you skating towards him. You crash into his body with a big 'oof!' as he envelops you into a warm hug. Thankfully, you're pretty appropriately dressed for the ice today.

"We probably could've been the best," Sunghoon nods along, "We trusted each other so much."

His past tense has your face falling in a frown that he quickly catches, "And I still trust you with my life. I'm working to make sure you will trust me again too."

Sunghoon's voice is soft as he releases you, but slides his fingers in between yours. He starts pulling you along side him slowly, just gliding beside each other.

"I love you, Sunghoon," you tell him suddenly, feeling so overjoyed at being by his side again on the ice at the second rink you called home together, "Thank you for trying with me again."

"No, thank you for letting me come back into your life," Sunghoon bounces back, sending you into a spin and then capturing your grip again, "Being with you makes me want to be better every day for you."

You feel so warm inside despite the temperature of the indoor arena as you move together in tandem. If you close your eyes, you can picture your 15 year old selves holding hands and leisurely skating around like couples at pop-up Christmas-time ice skating rinks. Instead, you were just two kids with the weight of the figure skating world's expectations on you, holding onto each other for support. 

"I don't think I want to leave at the end of this season," you admit quietly to him, "Everyone I love is here and I don't have any reasons to go back. I'll do my best to convince my federation and team, but I'm sure Taeyeon will find a rink for me in Seoul or lobby to have me here if there's space."

Sunghoon squeezes your hands assuringly, "Whatever decision that you make, I'll support you. If you're not allowed or it will take another season to sort everything, don't stress or worry about it. I'll be by your side."

You give him an appreciative look and nuzzle your head into his neck. Sunghoon twists to drop a searing kiss on your temple.

Time passes quickly as the two of you skate- at one point, you were playing a game of tag chasing each other all around the rink and pulling out your best tricks. Sunghoon was then curious on trying to pull off some pairs skating stunts, which you indulged for a bit like that couple's yoga challenge, but quickly had to shut down when he was getting too ambitious. Maybe you'll ask Taeyeon and Kibum to show you guys a few tricks one day.

As you were also done for the day, Sunghoon convinces you to come over to his apartment to watch a movie and have some dinner. Heeseung and Chaehyun were coming back later in the evening from Canada, so he proposed that you would tell your two best friends then the new update in your relationship. It's been a week since you got back from the states, but you had just missed your other best friends going to their own competition and they were far too preoccupied to talk.

"If you're gonna stay in Seoul, do you think you'll want to move out?" Sunghoon asks you as he prepares the food on the stove. Apparently, Sunghoon has been attempting to learn how to cook, but you'll be the judge of that since he used to be wary of going near the kitchen after a tragic ramen fire.

You're sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar, watching him work from the side. You volunteered to help, but Sunghoon was determined to cook for you himself, "Maybe Chae and I could move in together if her lease is up soon. We've always talked about doing that one day."

Your childhood home wasn't horrifically far, but anything closer to the rink and to your friends would always be more convenient. You've enjoyed spending time with your family again after all that lost time, but you think that it wouldn't hurt to move out again if you were going to stay in the city. It was just something you had to discuss with Taeyeon once you thought about it some more.

"Mhm, you two could move into a 2 bed in the building if there's one available," Sunghoon agrees, "Or maybe the 4 of us could get a house somewhere or something."

You raise an eyebrow at him, "Woah, take me out on a date first!"

Sunghoon groans at your teasing tone as he stirs the stew on the pot, "Speaking of, will you let me finally take you out this weekend?"

After you got back from the States, the two of you had been swarmed with work and haven't been able to fully explore the relationship that blossomed between you while you were away. You saw each other daily at Taereung, but you hadn't had time to go out together on an official date.

"Looking forward to it, Park," you chirp, "Is it gonna be a surprise?"

He nods knowingly and turns around to bring the pot of kimchi-jjigae over to the pot holder in front of you. The smell is inviting, warm and comforting, perfect for a chilly evening as it was outside. It smells like home and watching Sunghoon buzz around the kitchen collecting the cutlery and bowls feels all the more domestic. You could definitely get used to this.

"I really hope it tastes good," Sunghoon exhales as he takes the bar stool beside you and scoops out a portion of soup and rice for you, "Eat up, my Y/N."

You take the first scoop tentatively, still a bit unsure of how good his cooking will actually be, but when the flavours melt in your mouth and tingle your tastebuds, you squeeze your eyes shut in glee, "Urgh, Hoon, it's good. I'm surprised."

Sunghoon claps joyfully and begins to portion out his food too, "I can't wait for you to see all the tricks I have up my sleeve. I've had to learn a few things about life."

You watch him eat fondly, thinking about how exciting it is to learn about each other again and how you grew as people in the time apart. Knowing everything about a person isn't as exciting as the adventure of slowly discovering new things about each other that makes the person who they are now. The fall out isn't something you'd ever wish for again, but it's time to consider the positives instead of dwelling in sorrow.

"Do you want to stay over tonight?" Sunghoon presents casually as he slurps some broth.

His question has you choking on a piece of kimchi. Sunghoon simply laughs at you and pats your back almost teasingly. When you were in America, you maintained your boundaries in separate rooms as you didn't want to rush into anything, but you must've told Sunghoon that you had a late start the following morning and so did he.

You used to hold sleepovers as kids all the time until you hit puberty and your parents had to pull back on that. When you were in the dorms, you were spending so much time with each other anyway that it didn't feel necessary to have sleep overs. Why cram in one room when Sunghoon could just sneak back a few minutes to his own bed whenever you finished what you were doing?

"Nevermind," Sunghoon giggles melodiously as you eye him.

"No, no- I do. It's just that I've never stayed around a guy's place before," you're likely blushing as Sunghoon squeezes your cheeks.

"You're so cute, Y/N-ah," he coos at you, "But this is the kind of stuff we do while dating, right?"

"Us dating still seems so foreign," you wrinkle your face tight, "It makes me happy, but it's so strange."

Thankfully, Sunghoon doesn't take offence, "I know what you mean; it's definitely going to be a transition, but it's all I ever wanted so we're just gonna have to fight the awkwardness. We can start by overcoming cuddling tonight."

The way he phrases his words has you chortling along with him and he just rolls his eyes and urges you to eat up so you could get ready for the evening ahead. Once you finished your bowl,  packed up the leftovers in the fridge for Heeseung and washed the dishes while he dried, Sunghoon was rummaging through his room to find spares of everything to lend you since you were unprepared.

He had better skincare than you, so that wasn't a problem and his scents in his toiletries weren't so musky and masculine that it hurt your nose when you used them in the shower. Sunghoon was glad to remember that he bought his toothbrush in a pack previously, so you brushed your teeth together bumping hips and competing with each other to see who would spit first. He picked out a baggy shirt for you and some joggers that had a drawstring so you could be comfortable.

Eventually, you found yourselves with your legs tangled together on the couch after he dragged his duvet out to the living room. They had one of those modular couches that was L-shaped in the day, but could be moved around to create a sort-of bed situation that was perfect for movie nights. He had put on the latest Spider-Man film, remembering how you used to watch Andrew Garfield's franchise back when you were younger and you used to think he was so cute.

"Do you still think he's the best Spider-Man?" Sunghoon hums as he appears on the screen in what was once one of the exciting appearances in cinema.

"Yeah, but Tom Holland has played his version in so many movies now and he's really good," you reply after some thought, turning to find him incredibly close to your face, "Woah."

Sunghoon's arms were wrapped around your middle, but he pulled you closer to snuggle tighter, "You're so cold, baby."

You hide your face into his chest and muffle your voice against his shirt, "You're making me shy."

His body begins to vibrate as he breaks out in fits of giggles, "Trust me, I feel shy around you too. You honestly make my heart do crazy things without even trying."

You pound your fist against him, "Hoon, stop!"

"What?" he whines defensively, moving his hand up to your chin to guide you out of hiding, "Look at me."

Your cheeks are permanently red around your best friend as he gazes down at you with all the fondness in the world in his eyes, "Stop it or I'll leave!"

Sunghoon rolls his gleaming eyes playfully and nudges his nose against yours- something you quickly learned he loved to do before kissing you, "Nah, you love me too much to leave."

Instead of answering him, you just connect your lips together again, letting his natural warmth spread to your cold body. His arms tighten around you, pressing you up against him as he pressed rougher. He tasted like the sharp mint from your toothpaste, combined with his cherry lip balm that he had applied after, but there was also his own very distinct taste that you were growing more addicted to.

You feel him smile into the kiss before he squeezes at your waist and moves so that he was more hovering over you instead of beside you. Your heartbeat was thudding rapidly in your chest as he pulled away but then immediately attached his lips onto your neck in a spot that had you breathing out his name like it was sacred.

You must have been so preoccupied in Sunghoon that both of you missed the beeping of the keypad and the sound of the handle turning.

"Oh shit," Heeseung gasps as the front door swings open to give him a perfect view of the two of you.

You and Sunghoon let out a yelp that was more surprised from you but frustrated from him. He shoots the fellow skater a menacing glare, "Do you know how to knock?"

Heeseung scoffs at the two of you, "Well, yes. Except that you're in the living room and this is also my apartment. So happy you guys made up but can you keep making out in your room, please?"

At this point, you've shuffled so far away from Sunghoon and are hiding your face in the comforter in embarrassment. You wanted to tell them you were together, but that didn't mean you wanted Heeseung to catch you two.

"Who's making out?" you hear a familiar voice fade in behind Heeseung, "You left your passport with me, Heeseung-"

Chaehyun stops in her tracks when her eyes land on you on the couch, looking all bashful with Sunghoon emitting an annoyed aura. She presses Heeseung's passport into his chest without breaking eye contact with you as she approaches you menacingly.

"Y/N, Sunghoon. Do you have something to tell us?"

"Yes, but Hee walked in before we could get a warning that you were back," you sheepishly say.

"I actually texted the groupchat when we pulled up to the parking garage," Heeseung interjects, but Sunghoon just flips him off.

"This-" she points between you and Sunghoon, "Must have happened in America, right?"

"Yeah, we just wanted to wait until you two got back," Sunghoon shrugs, "Speaking of which, congrats on bringing home two golds guys."

Your eyes widen in remembrance as you leap up to crush your best friend in a hug, "Oh my God, yeah! I'm so happy for you Chae. And you, Hee."

Chaehyun rubs your back and nuzzles herself into you, "I guess there's much to celebrate tonight. Do you guys wanna drink? I'm really happy for the two of you as well."

You pull back from Chaehyun and direct your sparkling eyes over to your boyfriend, "Yeah, me too."

Your eyes dart over to Heeseung as well, who was on a sudden mission to find any and all alcoholic beverages he had in the apartment. Sunghoon springs up from his position, already scolding his elder for the mess he was making in the cupboards trying to investigate. Chaehyun is beaming at you and you feel the sincerity in her expression. Having seen you at the lowest points in your life, it's a happy departure to where you are now.

She can feel you start to get emotional and reminiscent, so Chaehyun simply pulls you back into a warm embrace. The happiness you feel is so new, just like your relationship with Sunghoon, but you would never trade it for the whole world.

The road to this moment was rocky and it felt never-ending at times. There were so many moments you felt so lost on your place in the world, but as Sunghoon returns to you and pulls you into his body, your heartbeats syncing together slowly, you feel that your way back home was worth it. 

It’s a little cruel to dislike your younger sister’s best friend, and Seonghyeon’s well aware of that. But there’s something just so incredibly infuriating about you, and he just can’t help it. You’re annoyingly clever — clearly, since you’ve skipped a grade. Seonghyeon’s always been top of his class every single year, but now that you’re going to be in his grade, he knows that very well may change. 

You’re far too smart, well-read and intellectual for someone your age. You read Plato and Aristotle for fun. For fun! Seonghyeon adores reading, but even he thinks that you’re insane. There’s no reason for someone’s ideal lounge-by-the-pool book to be The Republic. While he’s being sprayed with a water gun by Keonho, you’re sitting by the lounge chair learning about justice and the idea of a perfect society. 

It’s tiring for him to always be compared to you as well. Words like Seonghyeon, you’re so smart, just like Sera’s friend infuriates him to no end. He knows that it’s not your fault that other people are comparing the both of you, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. 

To say the least, you make Eom Seonghyeon feel stupid. And you don’t even intend to. 

Another thing that Seonghyeon dislikes about you is how effortlessly charming you are. Seonghyeon, for a lack of better words, could sometimes act like a complete dick to you. He gives you curt nods when he sees you at his house, tries to not roll his eyes at your tangents (which Seonghyeon sometimes agrees with, but he’d never let you know that), and silently scoffs when Sera reveals a new fact about you. 

And you? You always smile at him when you see him in the hallways. You always ask him if he’s eaten today. You even give him book recommendations sometimes when you notice what he’s been reading, and fuck, sometimes they’re really good. It’s infuriating. 

He also dislikes that you’re… pretty, or something. He sees you far too often, and there's also far too many times where he has to remind himself that you're his younger sister's annoyingly clever best friend. Especially when he sometimes catches himself staring for far too long in your direction. Seonghyeon tells himself there's just something interesting that catches his eye nearby, like the light switch or a fly. He'd never admit that it's you. 

Seonghyeon has shoved the thought of you being pretty to the back of his mind many times. He’s going to do that again right now. 

He’s completely lost in his own thoughts about you and he doesn’t even notice that his half-eaten toast has fallen onto his plate, and Sera’s calling out his name. “Hello? Earth to Seonghyeon?” 

He snaps out of it, picking up his toast again and taking a bite. “Yeah?” 

“I was asking you if you could take a bit of time to look out for (Name) this year.” Sera’s words don’t come out like a request, but rather like a command. “Obviously, she’s skipping a grade so she won’t have me there — poor girl — and she won’t know anyone. You’ve seen her so many times over the years, so… please? Just make sure she’s settling in well and everything. She was telling me that she wasn’t really sure if she should actually skip a grade, but you know. Too easy for her.” 

Seonghyeon nearly chokes on his toast for the second time today. His sister wants him to look after you. Seonghyeon would rather set himself on fire. 

He’s being dramatic. He doesn’t hate you that much. It’s just that Seonghyeon would much rather stay away from you if he had the chance to. 

“Please,” Sera said, as if she’s able to read his thoughts. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of her, but come on. She’s really nice, if you just got to know her. And she doesn’t even care about being top of the class.” Of course you don’t care, Seonghyeon thinks. It’s because you’re too humble for your own good. 

Seonghyeon sometimes wonders if he’s a bad person for disliking you when you’re basically morally perfect. 

“Oh, and make sure Keonho knows that she’s off limits. You and all of your friends are. If anything happens, just know I’m gonna get violent.” Sera says off-handedly.

“Won’t be a problem,” Seonghyeon replies, rolling his eyes.

“Is that a yes? To keep an eye out for her?” 

“Whatever.” Seonghyeon says, taking another bite out of his toast. He’s chewing angrily. 

He just has to agree, right? Does he have to actually do it? 

Five minutes later, Seonghyeon finds out that the answer is yes. 

Because you show up at his fucking doorstep, of course. 

You’re beaming brightly while Seonghyeon can barely hide the frown on his lips. You’re holding The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli — of course you are, Seonghyeon thinks — and there’s around 500 of those colourful plastic tabs that you use to mark where you’ve made a note sticking out of the book’s edge. You greet Sera, him, and his mom with such genuine politeness and warmth, and Seonghyeon hates that he can’t call this bullshit. 

Your uniform’s now the same as his, with the tartan on your tie being the same chequered pattern of green and beige. It’s an unpleasant reminder that you’re going to be in all of his classes, and that avoiding you will be far more difficult than it used to be. 

Sera greets you with a big hug, which you return. “I can’t believe you’re ditching me in Year 10.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, frowning. “You know I’ll always be around, though. And I’m never gonna bail on our after school study sessions anyways. I kind of focus better here.” 

Your eyes land on Seonghyeon, and you give him a small smile. It’s tentative, a little shy, but still has that warmth that makes him feel uneasy. “Hey! Did you like the book, by the way?” you ask. 

Seonghyeon’s puzzled for a second. “What book?” 

“The one I gave to you a couple weeks ago. Romance of the Three Kingdoms by Luo Guanzhong? I know you like history and everything, so…” you trail off. It’s like a lightbulb switches on in Seonghyeon’s brain — oh, right. That book. The book that he found so good he pulled an all-nighter to finish. Your brilliant book recommendation and the fact that you’re attentive to his interests stirs up this strange feeling in the pit of Seonghyeon’s stomach that he can’t quite explain. 

“It was… alright.” he says, feigning indifference. He shrugs before turning curtly to grab his backpack from his room. Behind him, he can hear Sera telling you to ignore him, and that he’s feeling moody today. Sera also recounts to you about how Seonghyeon choked on his toast this morning, and his face flushes pink with embarrassment. And contrary to what Sera was saying, he was not moody. He just… didn’t like you. 

When he grabs his backpack from his chair, Seonghyeon spots the copy of Romance of the Three Kingdoms that you gave to him just sitting on his desk. It’s a glaring reminder of you. 

He groans and shoves the book in his bag. 

This was going to be a long year. 

Everyone looks at you in bewilderment when they see you walk into the 11th grade math classroom. 

The stunned silence, their wide eyes and gaping mouths tell you everything. They’re all asking: why the fuck would you would be here?  They all know you as the genius from 9th grade — you left prizegiving last year with so many medals around your neck to the point where you'd nearly fallen over.

You’re a little late because you’d gone to the administrator’s office to grab your new schedule, since you’d been moved up a year. Your eyes scan the thin sheet of paper, mumbling to yourself the order of your classes and the teachers of each course, just so that you could get that information in your head. 

You look around the classroom for any familiar faces, and you don’t recognise anyone, except for Seonghyeon. He’s laughing with Keonho — you’ve seen Keonho multiple times at the Eom family’s house. You want to go up to them, simply because you don’t know anyone else. But a weird, tight feeling in your chest stops you from doing so, and you opt for a seat at the back of the classroom. Alone.

It’s next to the window, and sunlight spills through the curtains. It gives you a certain sense of warmth that you find you enjoy. You place your bag down on the floor, unzipping it to pull out your notebooks. 

They’re all organised meticulously and by colour — red for English, blue for math, purple for history, green for science, orange for Korean. You pull the blue math notebook out and set it on the left side of your desk.

Your pencil case is organised just as intentionally – blue pens to the left of the box, black pens to the right. Pens are stacked above your sticky notes. Only yellow sticky notes, never in one of the fun colours, because you found that it made your notes hard to read. You pull out one blue pen and one black pen and put it on the right side of your desk. 

You’re so engrossed in making sure that your table’s organised to your liking to the point where you don’t notice that everyone’s eyes are still on you. Seonghyeon and Keonho included. 

“I can’t believe she’s in our class,” Keonho whispers to Seonghyeon. “She must be crazy smart then.” 

Seonghyeon lets out a deep exhale. His shoulders are tense as he watches you with hawk-like concentration. “Sure. Something like that. You know how she was reading Plato at our pool party.” 

“Who the hell is Plato?”

Seonghyeon suppresses a sigh. Keonho was not exactly the studious type. As the school’s favourite student athlete, he spent more time at the pool than he did anywhere else, and won more medals for the school than anyone else. Training takes up most of his days, and it’s honestly a miracle that Keonho’s even here for first period. Seonghyeon would be surprised if Keonho even showed up to half the classes this year. 

“Ancient Greek philosopher. Don’t worry about it,” Seonghyeon replies, and Keonho nods. “But yeah. She’s smart smart.” 

“And you hate her for it?” Keonho asks. There’s a teasing smile on his lips, and Seonghyeon lets out another deep sigh to try and release the tension in his shoulders. It doesn’t work. 

Seonghyeon knows that you make him feel stupid. And he doesn’t like feeling stupid. But his feelings for you, specifically, are complicated, and Seonghyeon would rather die than focus on dissecting them, so he settles on dislike. 

He feels uneasy, on edge and there’s always that constant feeling of wanting to run away whenever you’re near. He must have some sort of aversion to you.

“Hate is a strong word,” Seonghyeon musters out. It's all he can come up with. “I don’t know. She’s just… never been someone I’ve vibed with.” 

Keonho suppresses an incredulous laugh. “You don’t hate her? You look like you want to bolt out of the room whenever she’s around, or even when she’s mentioned.” 

“I don’t know, man,” Seonghyeon replies. He doesn’t want to keep talking about this. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? We’ll have… I don’t know – the whole year to dissect whatever this is. We don’t need to get it over and done with in the first day.” 

Seonghyeon pulls out the book that he’s currently reading — No Longer Human by Ozamu Dazai — and flicks to the page where he’d left off on. He scans the words on the page, quickly engrossing himself in the novel. He doesn’t notice how Keonho’s eyeing him with a look that’s almost like he’s trying to crack open Seonghyeon’s skull to see what he thinks about you. 

As Seonghyeon’s best friend, Keonho knows of his aversion towards you. But there’s this odd feeling that’s telling Keonho that there’s more than Seonghyeon’s letting on, and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it. 

Keonho’s eyes flick from Seonghyeon, to you. Seonghyeon, to you. Seonghyeon, to you.

You’re a little freaked out. Keonho is looking at you like he’s trying to uncover your deepest secret, and for a boy you’ve only spoken to once at a pool party, you really don’t know why he’s eyeing you with the energy of Sherlock Holmes trying to solve a case. All you know about Ahn Keonho is that he’s Seonghyeon’s best friend, he’s a swimmer, and that he got a bruise after cannonballing into the Eom family pool. 

You turn away, a little too aware of Keonho’s scrutinising eyes on you. But then you’re surprised by the sight of an unfamiliar girl, who gives you a smile that you aren’t quite sure is genuine. “Hi. I’m Haeun.” she says, and you nod. 

“Hi. I’m (Name),” you say. Your voice is small — Seonghyeon, though his eyes never leave the pages of his book, notices. He realises that this is rare. He’s never heard you sound this shy, hesitant and unsure. 

“We heard you skipped a grade?” Haeun asks, and you nod. “So you must be really smart then.”

You’re not quite sure what to say. Agreeing would be cocky. Saying no would be a lie. You settle for saying ‘Yeah, I did skip a grade.’ You don’t make any reply to the last thing Haeun said to you. 

Her voice lowers, and she gives you this sickeningly sweet smile that makes you feel uneasy. “So… um… hypothetically. If I were to say – a friend of mine, that is – was unable to do her work due to some… circumstances, would you be able to maybe be so kind to… help out?” 

This is the strangest first day of school experience that you’ve ever had. What were you even supposed to say? Haeun clearly wanted you to do her homework, but you followed a strict moral code — no was obviously going to be the answer, but you didn’t really want to get ostracised by the entire class. Everyone was looking at you expectantly. First period hadn’t even started and you didn’t really want to be making enemies. 

You hear an exasperated sigh, followed by a voice that was all too familiar. 

“Haeun, stop trying to get people to do your homework.” 

Eom Seonghyeon was now standing in front of Haeun, and you think that things might’ve gotten even stranger. The last person you expected to even try and help you out was Seonghyeon – he’d always been cold and aloof to you. A stark contrast from the way you saw him act with Keonho. 

Seonghyeon had always been distant towards you — unreachable, even. You tried your best to hash out whatever issue there was between you two, but you really couldn’t even figure out what the issue was. You were Sera’s best friend, so you sort of expected to be able to get along with Seonghyeon, considering that you had much more in common with him than Sera. 

You both adored books. You both adored history (perhaps a little too much). You two even liked the same type of music, according to Sera. But Seonghyeon seemed adamant on keeping his distance. Even your book recommendations didn’t help. You thought you’d nailed it with Romance of the Three Kingdoms. You were a little disappointed when he told you that it was ‘alright’ this morning.

Haeun rolls her eyes before walking back to her seat. You’re sitting there in stunned silence. Seonghyeon’s about to walk back to his desk. Keonho’s looking at you two like he’s watching the greatest K-drama that’s ever been made. 

“Seonghyeon.” You say his name without thinking. Fuck, why’d I do that? you think.

And Seonghyeon’s thinking, fuck, why did I get up and tell Haeun off? Seonghyeon also finds something new that he dislikes about you right at this moment. He dislikes how his name rolls off your tongue so sweetly, like honey dripping off the comb. He doesn’t know why his breath catches in his throat because of it. It’s absurd. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” you tell him. 

“I kind of did. Sera told me to take care of you,” he shrugs, and you let out a small ‘oh’. The idea that it was more obligatory on Seonghyeon’s end makes you feel a little disappointed, but you’re really not surprised that Sera had asked. She was always looking out for you. “And honestly? If you do Haeun’s homework, you’re going to end up doing the entire class’ homework. Except for mine.” 

You look at him, tilting your head as you ponder on what to say. “So.. do I stay away from her?” you ask about Haeun, and Seonghyeon nods in response. He’s about to turn to leave again when you suddenly speak up. 

“Thanks for sticking up for me, Seonghyeon.” you reply, giving him a small smile. There it goes again, his name rolling off your tongue like it’s honey. Seonghyeon makes a small noise of acknowledgement that’s akin to a “don’t mention it” without actually saying the words. 

“I get it now,” Keonho says, voice teasing when Seonghyeon slides back into his own seat, picking up his book again. “You don’t hate her. You like her.” 

Keonho’s words are so insane to the point where Seonghyeon drops his book. Not even onto his desk, but onto the floor. 

“What?” Seonghyeon thinks that’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard in the world — so absurd that he thinks it makes him a little sick. Those three words land like an odd blow to his chest too. It contradicts everything that he’s told himself for the past ten years, and it’s honestly so ridiculous that it does make Seonghyeon question whether or not he likes you. 

“You like her.” Keonho repeats. 

“You’re ridiculous.” Seonghyeon retorts. 

“You’re not denying it.” 

“I don’t need to deny it when it’s that ridiculous. Your psychoanalysis of me is incredibly wrong.” 

“Whatever you say,” Keonho says, in that sing-song voice that makes Seonghyeon want to elbow him in the side. “You know it’s true. Plato would agree.” 

“You’ve never read Plato.” Seonghyeon replies, matter-of-factly. 

“Whatever. The Greeks had Plato, you have me.” Another ridiculous statement from Keonho, but Seonghyeon chooses to laugh at it a little, because of the sheer absurdity. The first thing he said was also absurd, but Seonghyeon found it to be no laughing matter. 

Seonghyeon’s going to ignore it. What does Ahn Keonho know about love anyways? 

Who cares that he was born on Valentine’s Day, right? 

So far, your first day as an 11th grader is nothing remarkable by your standards. 

You don’t really click with anyone — you chat with your deskmate Leean from history about the Cold War. Actually, you’re really the one talking, and she’s taking notes about what you’re saying. She calls you a lifesaver, because apparently Mr Jung is incompetent. You don’t think any proper friendship will come out of it. 

Seonghyeon, who’s sitting two tables in front of you, listens as you basically give an oversimplified lecture about the Cold War in the ten minutes that it takes for Mr Jung to show up to class. Seonghyeon knows that you know everything about the Cold War like the back of your hand — he does too. He makes a mental checklist in his head to make sure you’re mentioning all the things that he would’ve mentioned. You tick off every single box. 

You opt to sit with Sera and Nayeon at lunch like you always do. Seonghyeon’s table, where he sits with Keonho, Martin and Juhoon is just two tables down. Usually, Seonghyeon would avoid looking in your direction. Today, it’s the opposite. 

You’re talking with Sera, and you look a little less energetic than usual. You’re picking at your food — he’s never seen you do that before. You’re letting Sera and Nayeon talk much more, which is not too strange, but you’re not even interjecting with your own short remarks. You’re just picking at your food and listening. However, The Prince is next to your lunch box. Seonghyeon can tell you’re itching to open it and read it, because your fingers are tapping rhythmically against the fabric-bound cover of the book.

Seonghyeon doesn’t even realise he knew this much about your habits until now. 

“Thinking about something? Or… someone?” Keonho asks with that shit-eating grin on his lips. Seonghyeon rolls his eyes and stabs his salad with a little more aggressiveness, as if to tell Keonho to not provoke him. He’s got one hand holding his book, and every now and then his eyes flick towards your table. Martin notices, and he looks in your direction too. 

“Oh yeah, I heard (Name)’s in your grade now,” Martin says. Seonghyeon furrows his eyebrows – how does he know you by name? Martin never really talked to many of the younger students (he only clicked with Seonghyeon and Keonho because of the music committee). Seonghyeon also knew Martin would never join philosophy club. 

“How’d you know her?” 

Martin looks at Seonghyeon sheepishly, as if he was a little embarrassed. “She tutored me for ethics. For like… a month.” 

“She… tutored you?” Juhoon’s stifling a laugh, and Martin is not amused. “Bro, she’s like two years younger than you!” 

“Well, desperate times call for desperate measures, and she’s the only person in our entire school probably who actually reads stuff about it. Let’s be real, I’m pretty sure she knows more than Mr Hwang about stuff like… deontological ethics. Don’t quiz me on that, by the way. I purged all of that from my memory after the test.” Martin shrugs, and Seonghyeon fails to find any reason to disagree. 

Keonho nudges Seonghyeon, leaning in to ask a question. “Do we have to know deonto–” 

“You don’t need to know, bud. I don’t even think you’re enrolled in ethics.” 

Keonho flashes Seonghyeon a thumbs up and a wide grin before going back to scarf down his lunch. 

Two tables down, Sera’s asking you questions about your first day as an 11th grader. You shrug, picking at your lunch with your fork. “It’s been alright. Nothing too fancy. Maths got harder, I will say. Science… not horrible. History was fun. Did some stuff on the Cold War. I’m hoping that maybe we could venture into something like medieval history, but I don’t know if Mr Jung is really qualified to teach that. He’s not… great.” you say, and Nayeon laughs. 

“Tell me about it. He’s hopeless, honestly. We had him this morning too. You should just teach the class instead,” she quips, and you shake your head. You’ve been told that far too many times, but you fail to agree. You don’t really think you’d be the best history teacher — you find yourself going on and on and then venturing into areas of history that aren’t remotely relevant to the topic at hand. “But what about everything else? Made any new friends?” 

“Eh,” you reply. Your tone is dull, because your entire day has been underwhelming. Your first day’s been shaping up to be academically mediocre and socially lonely. At least in 10th grade it would be academically easy and socially vibrant — you’d have Sera and Nayeon to talk and joke around with. “I talked to Leean. Or well, I lectured Leean about the Cold War. And someone named Haeun tried to get me to do her homework for her before Seonghyeon stepped in.” 

Sera’s pleasantly surprised at the mention of her brother. “Seonghyeon stepped in?” 

“Yeah,” you say, taking a bite of your food. “Told her to go away. Nice of him.” 

You don’t have much to say about Seonghyeon. You never do, because he never really gives you anything to talk about, even if you see him every single day at school and after school. You’d think that after being friends with his sister for ten years, you’d be close with him already. But Seonghyeon seems to want to avoid you like the plague, and you’ve got no idea what you’ve done to cause him to have such an aversion towards you. Him interjecting into your conversation with Haeun was utterly shocking — perhaps it’s why it’s stayed in your mind all day. 

And you wouldn’t lie. Perhaps you had been harbouring a small crush on Seonghyeon ever since… forever. When you first became friends with Sera and headed over to the Eoms’ house, you’d always try and see what he was up to. You’d often find his nose in some history book, completely engrossed in it as if he was in his own little world. You’d actually started getting into history because of how interested Seonghyeon seemed in it. Perhaps he’d talk to you after you two had something in common. 

But then you realised how much you loved it too. You spent all your lunch breaks reading about historical events, figures, everything — while the other kids played in the playground, you kept your nose buried in a book just like Seonghyeon. When you started middle school, it was apparent to everyone that you’d be dux by the time 12th grade rolled around. 

Much to your disappointment, after you’d started reading more about the things that Seonghyeon liked as well, he only seemed to move further away. You tried to start conversations about historical topics that you knew he enjoyed, and he’d only give you a short response or a nod, before saying that he had homework to do and retreating into his room. 

Frankly, you’re not sure what you were expecting. Perhaps to Eom Seonghyeon, all you’d ever be was his little sister’s annoying best friend. Nothing more. 

You look at Seonghyeon, who’s sitting two tables down from you. The shitty cafeteria lighting is somehow making him look like a fucking Greek god. 

The light hits just right on certain parts of his hair to emphasise his blond highlights. He’s laughing at some random joke that Juhoon just made, and the way laughter bubbles past his lips is so beautiful, it makes your stomach flip. He comes up with some retort that makes the table erupt in laughter. Your best friend’s brother is smart, funny and beautiful. He’s perfect, but he hates you. 

Seonghyeon’s eyes wander around the cafeteria before they land on you. There’s a look in his eye. Soft, unrecognisable, nothing like you’ve ever seen before. Maybe he doesn’t hate you. 

But then his entire body stiffens, and the smile on his lips disappears. He coughs, and then looks away. You let out a dejected sigh before you tear your gaze away from him. That small glimmer of hope dissipates.

Eom Seonghyeon probably still hates you. 

It’s been a week since you started 11th grade, and you think you’re getting more used to it now. 

Leean actually makes for great company, and she ends up being the person you speak the most to in class. Through Leean, you’ve also befriended a girl named Hayoung. Keonho sometimes makes conversation with you when he’s here, but you can’t help but feel like he’s trying to psychoanalyse you or figure out your feelings for Seonghyeon. 

And as for Seonghyeon, things are just about the same. He still gives you short and clipped responses, he barely speaks to you in class, and when he sees you after school, he simply glances at you and makes a noise of acknowledgement before heading back to his room. You thought maybe being in the same grade would bring you two closer together. You were incredibly wrong. 

English is your last class of the day, and you’re more than ready to go home. You’re craving for a much-needed afternoon nap in your bed before you head to Sera’s house to do your homework. You don’t think you’ve done much schoolwork in your actual house, now that you think about it – you just seem to work better at the Eoms’ house.  

“Looks like Keonho’s not here. We’ll need to put you in a pair with someone else, Seonghyeon,” Ms Kim says as she scans the register. Seonghyeon nods – he knew Keonho had a swim meet today. Seonghyeon just prays to God that he won’t get a partner that’s not going to do any work for this class. He knows today's lesson is about poetry analysis, according to the Google Classroom. He’s not excited. 

You’re sitting alone again because Leean’s sick, and Ms Kim’s eyes land on you. You’re already highlighting a line in the poem that you found particularly intriguing, and you’re mid-grab for a sticky note when Ms Kim calls your name out. 

“(Name), could you go work with Seonghyeon for this? It’s a paired exercise.” Ms Kim says. You suddenly sit up straight, stiffening as you look at her. You then look at Seonghyeon, and he’s looking down at the poem. Anywhere but you, of course. It’s like another blow to your heart. He won’t even look at you. 

Seonghyeon’s hiding his face, because if anyone saw his expression right now – eyes blown wide in alarm, jaw slack and panic settling into his lungs – they’d think something was incredibly wrong. But firstly, Seonghyeon doesn’t really want to work with you, because he’s sure he dislikes you. You’re going to be making him feel stupid for the next 45 minutes. 

Secondly, Keonho’s words from a couple of weeks ago are still in the back of his mind, and he absolutely despises it. Seonghyeon oscillates between his own thoughts of what he assumes to be dislike towards you, and thoughts of Keonho’s claims stating that he actually likes you. 

However, he knows that he’s going to have to do it – Ms Kim is strict, and Seonghyeon thinks that 45 minutes can’t be that bad. You weren’t mean to him anyways. Seonghyeon just had to try and suppress those feelings of frustration that always bubbled up when it came to you.  

“Oh, um… it’s okay,” you say quietly, and Ms Kim raises an eyebrow at your words. 

“It’s okay as in… you’re going to go, or you’re not?” 

“Just come.” Seonghyeon says, patting the empty seat next to him. 

His eyes haven’t left the poem, and he’s highlighting with a bright yellow marker. Still not looking at you, always keeping a distance. Your heart is beating too fast. You hesitantly get up from your seat and walk towards Seonghyeon’s table, and even sitting down feels risky. 

“I don’t bite.” Seonghyeon pipes up, almost reading your mind. He’s still not looking at you. 

Well, you kind of hate me, you think. “No, I know. Um…” you trail off. You shake your head, and you think it’s best if you focus on the poem. You’re now the one that doesn’t dare to look at Seonghyeon, and you miss the way he’s looking at you somewhat expectantly, waiting for you to finish your sentence. “Never mind. Let’s just focus.” 

You and Seonghyeon work surprisingly well together. You’re bouncing ideas off of one another like you’ve done it a million times before. 

His analysis of the poem is incredibly insightful, like you expected. Seonghyeon’s always been brilliantly clever. He’s seeing these tiny, miniscule nuances and implications in the text that you don’t think you’d ever be able to notice. 

He points out a line that he finds intriguing with his finger. You’re too engrossed in the commentary you’re making about a separate line on a sticky note, and instead of waiting (why would he?) he reaches over to grab an blank sticky note so he can write down his own thoughts. 

The action brings Seonghyeon impossibly close to you. He’s never been this close before, and you can smell the lavender and birch from his cologne. Your breath catches in your throat, and you pause writing momentarily. Seonghyeon pretends not to notice. 

You clear your throat and you get back to writing. Neither of you speak about it. 

Seonghyeon twirls his pen in his hands as he watches you finish what you’ve been writing. Your handwriting is impossibly gorgeous, with letters that look too neat to the point where someone could say that it was typed. You stick your commentary next to the line that you’ve highlighted in purple. 

“Why’d you use purple instead of yellow here?” Seonghyeon asks, pointing at one line. 

“It’s the hinge of the poem,” you explain. “It’s the only line in the poem that’s short – it’s two words, after all. And then you realise that the rest of the poem is about the poet talking about the beauty of looking at their partner.” 

As you explain your interpretation of the line, Seonghyeon realises that your voice isn’t as small as it was that morning when Haeun had basically asked you to do your homework. You sound confident and assured – you always have, when speaking to him. He’s looking at the poem and nodding along to what you’re saying. He thinks you’re right – of course you would be, he’s never doubted your intellect – but for the first time Seonghyeon’s not compelled to roll his eyes at your tangents. 

“I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world,” you say, reading out the line. Seonghyeon’s eyes snap up to look at you, even though he knows that line’s in the poem. It’s also the one you’ve been talking about for the last two minutes. 

But there’s something about the way you’ve said the words, or perhaps maybe the way Seonghyeon’s interpreted the manner of your speech. You say it with a breezy cadence, not stating it with any intention or deliberation. It’s a line from the poem, after all – but for some reason, the words strike Seonghyeon's chest. It makes his heart twinge in the strangest possible way. 

“Yeah,” Seonghyeon breathes out. He shoves his thoughts to the back of his mind. “And then he mentions the Polish Rider right after. Perhaps he’s saying that painting is the only one comparable to his lover’s beauty?” 

Your eyes light up at his words. “That’s brilliant — write that down.”  

Seonghyeon doesn’t know why that weird twinge in his chest returns when he sees that look in your eyes. He nods, scribbling that thought out onto a sticky note before pressing it down next to the line that you’d highlighted for him. 

He looks at the paper — there’s annotations and highlighting on practically every page. Your effortlessly gorgeous handwriting in blue dances across the page and mixes with his slightly italicised handwriting in black. He reads every single annotation that you’ve put down on the paper, nodding along as he begins to understand your interpretation of each line. Your analysis and interpretation is brilliant, and Seonghyeon makes a mental note to actually learn a little bit from you. 

He also realises that for the first time in years, he hasn’t had to do most of the work in English. You two work together seamlessly, and Seonghyeon doesn’t think that he’s worked on a better literary analysis than this in a long time. 

“We did a good job,” he says, nodding approvingly. He puts his pen back into his pencil case before smoothing down the sticky notes on the page. “Ms Kim’s going to be really happy.” 

“You think?” you ask. You’ve never been taught by Ms Kim before, and you knew that she was notorious for being strict. English had always been one of your favourite subjects, but you knew that it got harder in 11th grade. It was a step up from anything that you’d had to do before, and you certainly didn’t expect this level of intensity early on in the year. 

“I know,” Seonghyeon says with assertiveness. “Don’t worry. You’re good at English. The class won’t be too difficult for you.” 

He’s still giving you these shorter, clipped responses, but you notice how his tone lacks that sort of iciness that you were accustomed to. It still doesn’t have that sort of melodic warmth that is evident when he speaks to his friends, however, you enjoy the slight change. It’s nice and gives you just enough hope that he doesn’t despise you as much as you think he does. 

“Thanks,” you reply. You give him a soft smile. The corner of his lips quirk up just enough that you take it as a return of your gesture. He then refocuses his attention to the poem, reading it from start to finish once again.  

The end of the poem sticks out to Seonghyeon. 

it seems they were all cheated of some marvellous experience which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I’m telling you about it 

It’s printed on the page with no capital letters, no punctuation in between, and there’s no period at the end. It reads like a tangent, breathless and a little rushed, but it’s ever so romantic. The words leave an enduring mark in Seonghyeon’s mind. He wonders if this sort of love — breathtaking, all-consuming and fervent — is even attainable. 

As these thoughts run rampant in his mind, there’s a strange, compelling urge for him to divert his eyes to you. Seonghyeon listens to that urge. 

That twinge in his heart returns. Maybe he’s just having casual heart palpitations at the young age of 16. That conclusion is completely illogical, but for the first time ever, Seonghyeon wants to believe in something that doesn’t make sense. 

His thoughts, the weird twinge, the ambivalent feelings he’s having towards you... Seonghyeon’s not going to tell you about it. 

The route to the Eoms’ place is something you know like the back of your hand. 

You’ve changed out of your uniform, opting for a hoodie and a pair of jeans. Your books, laptop and pens are in your bag, and you’ve brought a tub of acai that your mom had bought a couple days ago from the supermarket. Sera had been talking about how much she was craving it at lunch, and you figured that since you hadn’t opened the tub yet, you might as well share. You weren’t going to finish all of it anyways. 

You knock on the Eoms’ door, tapping your foot on the concrete as you wait for someone to open it. The door swings open, and it’s Seonghyeon who answers the door this time. He looks a little stunned to see you at his doorstep, but he quickly recovers. He’s no longer in his uniform too, and he’s got a striped t-shirt and dark-washed jeans on. 

The blond highlights frame his face a little too well, with a few strands falling just in front of his face. You muster up a smile at him so that you’re doing something to acknowledge his presence rather than just gawking at how perfect he looks. 

“Hey,” he replies, opening the door a little wider to let you in. “Sera’s asleep. I’ll go wake her up.” 

You kick your shoes off and place them neatly on the shoe rack while Seonghyeon closes the door. “Oh, it’s okay. I just woke up from a nap too,” you say, waving him off. “She can come study with me once she wakes up. ” 

Seonghyeon nods at your words. He hopes that you didn’t notice how he quite literally seemed to short-circuit when he saw you at the door. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised that it’s you, but he’d really never been the one to greet you first; it was always Sera. 

He’s about to head back into his room until he sees you pull a cooling bag out of your already overstuffed tote bag. He’s eyeing you with a certain sense of intrigue, and he plans to stay silent until you pull out a tub of something that looks like ice cream. 

“Did you bring ice cream? We have like, three tubs in the freezer already.” he pipes up, and you turn to look at him. 

“It’s not ice cream,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s acai. My mom bought it a couple of days ago from the supermarket, and Sera was talking about how she wanted acai at lunch, so I figured I’d bring it over. I’m not going to finish this anyways, and my parents don’t like acai, so…” 

“Oh, I see,” he says. Seonghyeon’s trying to hide his excitement over the fact that you’d brought acai. He doesn’t think you know how much he loves the stuff, but god, it’s taking everything in him right now to quite literally not devour the entire tub before Sera wakes up. “Thanks for that.” 

“Do you want some? I can just put it in the freezer later so it doesn’t turn into melted soup before Sera wakes up.” Your offer is exactly what Seonghyeon wants to hear right now, and he nods in response. 

“Yeah. I’d love some, actually. I haven’t really eaten.” he says, and you nod, opening the tub of acai. He heads towards the kitchen to grab two bowls, two spoons and an ice cream scooper, rinsing them with water before setting them on the table in front of you. 

“Do you want toppings, or anything?” he asks, opening the fridge. “We’ve got strawberries. And there’s cornflakes in the pantry if you want to put them on top of it, or something.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he hears you say. You’re busy scooping the acai out into a bowl, and you give Seonghyeon a generous amount considering that he told you he hadn’t eaten much. Seonghyeon takes out the strawberries and cornflakes for himself anyways. “Thanks for asking, though.” 

He returns to the table, sitting down on the chair next to you. You realise he’s never done that before, and you try and ignore how your stomach does a flip as you wrestle with the ice cream scoop to get more of the acai out of the tub. 

You push a bowl towards him. “Here, take this one. If you want more, just let me know.” 

“Thanks,” he replies. He opens the box of strawberries, placing them on top of the acai in a deliberate, artistic manner like he’s a staff member at the most popular shop in the city. He sprinkles just the right amount of cornflakes on top of it, and when you peer over to look at his bowl, it genuinely looks like something you would’ve bought at the store. 

“You’ve decorated it nicely,” you hum, and Seonghyeon’s eyes flick over to you. 

“Hmm?” he looks back down at his bowl. “Yeah, I suppose so. Thanks.” 

You put the lid back on the acai tub, placing it in the freezer next to the three different ice creams that they’ve got in there. There’s mint chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla – the vanilla one has a sticky note on top of the lid that’s got Seonghyeon’s name scrawled on it in big, bold capital letters along with three exclamation marks. You smile to yourself at the sight. 

You sit back down next to him, pulling out your math notebook from your bag before taking a bite of the acai. Seonghyeon sits there awkwardly, observing you as he takes another bite of his acai. 

He realises that he doesn’t exactly know how to act around you, after being cold and distant for ten years. English today made him realise that he didn’t really mind you that much. You were nice to work with as a study partner, you two got the work done in half the time it took everyone else to, and Ms Kim had said it was ‘the best analysis she’s read by 11th graders.’ 

“So…” he starts, scooping up more acai with his spoon and taking a bite. “How’s the first week been?” 

You’re surprised that Seonghyeon is making small talk with you. Eom Seonghyeon. Your best friend’s older brother who has been avoiding you for ten years like his life depends on it. You’re so stunned to the point where you momentarily forget to answer his question until you snap out of it. 

“Oh, um… it’s been chill,” you reply, shrugging. “It’s not great, not horrible.” 

Seonghyeon nods. “You’ll get used to our class. It’s just the first week,” he hums, taking another bite of the acai. You can hear the cornflakes crunch as he chews. “They’re all mostly nice people. I know you’ve been getting close to Leean and Hayoung.” 

He noticed. You thought Eom Seonghyeon wouldn’t even spare a glance at your direction. You nod, unsure of what to say. This time you’re the one giving shorter, clipped answers, and Seonghyeon’s actually talking to you more. His voice isn’t as monotonous as it used to be, it’s even a little warmer than it was in English, and you think – hope – the change in tone is signaling a change of heart. Regardless, today’s been incredibly confusing. 

There’s an awkward silence that falls between the two of you amidst bites of acai. You don’t know how to make conversation with him anymore – should you bring up history? Math? Science? You just want to talk to him. 

Seonghyeon’s almost finished, and you’ve barely gotten halfway. He clears his throat as if it’s a signal that he’ll be heading back to his room now, and you just get the sudden urge to say something so that maybe you’ll be able to talk to him for just a little longer. 

“Is the acai good?” you ask, and Seonghyeon nods. 

“Yeah, it’s really good. If you could, ask your mom where she bought it. Sera and I like the stuff a lot, so… would be good to have some at home all the time.” he says, getting up. He’s holding his now-empty bowl in one hand as he scratches the nape of his neck with the other. His eyes dart around the room, as if he’s unsure where to look. Seonghyeon thinks this might be the longest conversation he’s ever had with you, apart from in English today. 

You learn a new fact about Eom Seonghyeon today. He likes acai. You keep that fact safely tucked in the back of your mind. “Sure,” you reply. “It’s good to know that you — you guys — like it.” 

The quick correction of your words doesn’t go unnoticed by Seonghyeon, but he chooses not to say anything about it. Instead, he gives you a small smile, one that’s a little more obvious than the one he gave you in class. Your heart does a somersault. 

Seonghyeon washes his bowl in the sink before he walks back to his room, and you’re left reeling from the interaction. You don’t even know if he said goodbye – that’s how out of it you were. Your acai’s starting to melt, and you only jolt out of it when you hear Sera loudly announce her arrival and give you the tightest hug ever for bringing acai. 

And as you complete the worksheet Ms Seo had given to you today about integration, you still can’t get Seonghyeon out of your mind. 

Three weeks pass, and you and Seonghyeon fall into a strange sort of rhythm. 

He’s not as distant as he used to be, but he still keeps you at an arm’s length. He gives you a nod of acknowledgement when you pass by him in the hallways rather than ignoring you, accompanied by the faintest hint of a polite smile – even when Keonho’s blabbing his ear off about how ridiculous his swimming coach is. 

But then there’s also this strange sort of dynamic where you two are competing for the top of the class. Every now and then, you pull ahead after a quiz, but a week later Seonghyeon would snatch the top spot by just the slightest margin. You don’t pay too much attention to who’s leading – you just want to do your best, but it adds an extra awkward element to whatever you’ve got going on with Seonghyeon. 

Sometimes he’s a little colder, especially when there’s an upcoming test. You knew that Seonghyeon was competitive. You notice how his jaw tightens ever so slightly when Leean makes some off-hand comment about how Seonghyeon used to be the top of the class. Past tense. 

The math topic test is coming up next week, and you genuinely would rather gouge your eyes out than to try and solve another equation. You were a humanities student – maths and science never came easy to you, but you managed to get good grades purely out of sheer effort rather than natural intellect. 

But 11th grade math might actually kill you. You’re sitting at the Eoms’ dinner table, eyebrows knitted together in frustration as you try to figure out what went wrong in the last integration problem you’d solved. Your handwriting is neat and legible across the page, but there’s so many different answers that you’ve started and ditched to the point where it looks almost like a warzone by your standards. 

“I don’t get it,” you groan, and Sera’s so taken aback by your words to the point where she drops her pen. You? Not understanding something? That was completely unheard of. “The math in 11th grade is so difficult. Or maybe I’m just not doing it right – no, scratch that, I’m definitely not doing it right – but I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.” 

Sera peers at your paper, and her face contorts into one of confusion. “Yeah, I have no idea what that means,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you and Seonghyeon are doing this. I'm dreading next year already.” 

Seonghyeon somehow miraculously appears at the sound of his name. He bounds down the corridor holding his empty mug, smoothing down the creases in his hoodie as he heads towards the kitchen to refill his cup. 

He looks over at you and Sera as he pours more water into his mug. He spots you with your head in your hands, shaking your head. “Um…” Seonghyeon looks at Sera – he’s never seen you this distraught over academics before. He assumed that everything was a complete breeze for you, considering your intellect. 

“Maths. It’s killing her too.” Sera whispers, and Seonghyeon furrows his brows. 

It’s like his body moves before he can think. He sets his mug down on the table, sitting down on one of the empty chairs. And then without thinking, he says: “Can I see the question?” 

It’s too late, and Seonghyeon wants to slap his hand over his mouth. Why would he say that? He’s technically competing with you for the top spot in the class, and also, he thinks that he still doesn’t like you very much. The latter was slightly debatable after spending a whole month in the same class with you,  but still – Seonghyeon had no idea why he said that. 

You slide the paper towards him, hands still covering your face. You were so tired and you quite simply never wanted to see a question about integration ever again. Also, you didn’t really want Seonghyeon to see your embarrassing work. His eyes scan the paper and your working, trying to figure out what you’d done wrong. 

“Oh, I see,” he pipes up. He taps your shoulder ever so gently, and you’d be lying if you said that his touch didn’t linger. “There’s a concept here that you didn’t apply – that’s why you don’t get it. I’m pretty sure we learnt it last year, but… you skipped a grade, so you never learnt it.” 

He gestures towards the blue pen next to you. “May I?” 

You nod, handing him the pen wordlessly. Seonghyeon writes down the working and the answer on a blank piece of refill paper, and an explanation of the concept that you didn’t learn. He hands the pen, the worksheet and the explanation back to you. 

“Here,” he says. He still doesn’t know why he’s helping you. “Ask me if you have any other questions.” 

Fuck, he thinks. He’s speaking before he thinks again. He tries to hide a grimace before he gets up from the chair, ready to head back to his room to finish his book. He glances at Sera, who’s looking at him like she doesn’t recognise him. 

“When were you two chill?” she mouths at him, and Seonghyeon furrows his brows. He wants to know the answer to that question too. Were you and him chill, per se? 

He still had that uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw you, he still disliked how you always were able to seamlessly challenge him in everything, and seeing you all the time did not help out at all. That wouldn’t necessarily describe chill.

But then again, Seonghyeon sometimes works with you in English, and that tension between you two seems to dissipate. And now, he’s helping you with the very same math worksheet that he had complained about to Martin mere hours ago. So maybe… you were chill. 

You’re reading Seonghyeon’s explanation of the problem, and it all makes so much more sense now. He’s written the steps so clearly you think a child could understand it, and you’ve never been more grateful. “Oh,” you say, and Seonghyeon notices the excitement in your voice, how your eyes light up and how the corners of your lips pull upwards into a smile. “I get it now! Thanks, Seonghyeon.” 

He nods, gulping when you say his name. Your voice is smooth and mellifluous – Seonghyeon thinks he’s going insane. His thoughts about you contradict every other second. Seonghyeon thinks he dislikes you, but then you manage to captivate him in a way that he just quite can’t explain. Something inside him compels him to look out for you, care for you – why? 

“All good,” he chokes out. Sera looks at him with confusion plastered all over her face. Seonghyeon grabs his mug from the table, and turns around curtly to head back to his room. He closes the door and locks it. Then, Seonghyeon lets out a deep sigh that he didn’t know that he was holding back in the first place.

He’s so confused. He’s convinced himself that he doesn’t like you, but then his body, his words, his actions – all of it betrays his mind. He wasn’t this unsure and hesitant of his feelings when he was avoiding you like the plague, so should he start doing that again? 

But then he hears you laugh, and Seonghyeon knows that he can’t stay away. He hates himself for immediately thinking that it’s one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard. He knows you’re probably at some joke that Sera made — he just hopes it’s not at his expense — and that strange twinge in his heart that he’d dismissed as early onset heart palpitations returns. 

“Whatever,” Seonghyeon grumbles, trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care that much. He grabs the first book he sees lying on his desk before settling into bed. He checks the cover before he starts reading, and of course it’s Romance of the Three Kingdoms. It’s like the universe is either giving him a sign, or playing some sick prank that’s making Seonghyeon lose his damn mind.

There are glaring reminders of you everywhere. From you quite literally being outside, to the book that he’s holding in his hands right now. 

So, like always – Seonghyeon pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind, and tries to lose himself in the book.

Nobody likes exam week. 

Everyone’s stressed and running on four hours of sleep. The cafe line is packed, with students drinking an ungodly amount of caffeine to even be able to function. 

11th grade is taking a far bigger toll on you than you expected, or maybe it’s just because you feel like you really need to impress in the first round of exams this year. Sera tries to convince you to watch a movie with her just to take a break one Tuesday evening, but you reject her suggestion and opt to do another chemistry worksheet. You think the periodic table is going to be burned into your brain by the end of the week. 

The cafeteria is much quieter than usual, with most students deciding to study. Seonghyeon’s tapping his foot on the cafeteria floor as he tries to write a practice essay for English. He writes two or three sentences, takes a bite of his food, and then picks up his pen to start writing again. It’s a cycle that lasts for most of lunch.  

His eyes scan the cafeteria when he’s giving his hand a break from writing too much. The muscle of his hand hurts, and he winces a little as he massages it to try and ease the pain. He spots you two tables down. Sera’s talking to you, and you’re nodding at her words as you write. 

Seonghyeon notices how you’re tapping on the cover of the book that he’s seen you carry around all week –  Plato’s Symposium. The sheer presence of the book reminds him that you’re just that well-read for your age, but this time, Seonghyeon doesn’t grit his teeth in frustration when he sees it. 

Maybe his feelings towards you have changed, he thinks. The two of you talk much more now after he helped you with math, and he notices that you’re actually comfortable with him. You always have been, but you seem to be a little bit more upfront with it now – perhaps it’s because you two actually have an excuse to talk because of school, but Seonghyeon finds that he actually likes speaking to you. 

You're a great conversationalist, and you're somehow able to make even the most boring topics interesting. Seonghyeon has never enjoyed ethics class, but hearing you talk about morality in a class last week might've been one of the most interesting things he's ever heard.

Sometimes he’ll even be the one to start a conversation with you. Never in a million years would he have thought that would happen.

But Seonghyeon notices how your fingers are drumming on the cover quickly in a nervous manner, and your eyebrows are knitted together tightly. Your shoulders are tense, and he thinks you haven’t breathed in the last fifty seconds. He knows what you look like when you’re concentrating. But this was something different.

You were anxious. 

When you were concentrating, your eyes would never leave the paper. Your eyebrows would still be furrowed, but not knitted together this tightly. Your shoulders were also never this tense, and Seonghyeon doesn’t think that he’s ever seen you fidget this nervously before. 

He sees Sera say something to you before getting up, and he notices that you don’t really seem to register it – you just nod, but it’s in an absentminded manner. His eyes quickly flick back to his own paper when he sees that Sera’s walking up to him, and he would rather die than get caught staring at you by his own sister. 

“Hey, Hyeon,” Sera says, sitting down next to him. “Could you tell Mom that I’ll be home a little late today? The art committee is having a meeting today after school and Yeseo was saying that we’ve got a lot to go through.” 

“Yeah, sure,” he nods. “How late will you be? Do you need her to pick you up?” 

Sera shakes her head no. “I’ll probably be at home just before dinner. And it's fine – I’m gonna take the bus. I think (Name)’s still going to come over to study though. She says she focuses better at our place,” her eyes flick towards you, and you’re writing at an alarming pace. “Exam season’s not treating her well.” 

“Is she okay?” Seonghyeon asks. There’s a flash of surprise on Sera’s face – she didn’t expect Seonghyeon to ask. She knew that he wasn’t as distant as he used to be, but she also didn’t think that Seonghyeon would notice how stressed you were. 

“I mean, not that I care that much.” Those words make Sera look at him with an even stranger look on her face. “No, not like that. I’m just saying… tapping on that book that quickly is sure to shake a window nearby, or something,” he stammers. “And she just looks really tense. You should probably check up on her.” 

Sera eyes him suspiciously, and Seonghyeon’s eyes dart towards the first thing that isn’t her. They settle on Keonho’s lunch. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m gonna go do that. Or… you could. After school today.” 

Her voice is insinuating in that one way that Seonghyeon doesn’t particularly like. If they were at home right now, he knew that she was going to prod him for answers about how he feels about you. But with Martin, Juhoon and Keonho around, she knew better. Thank god for that. 

“Sure,” he says breezily – as if he’s not internally freaking out over the way Sera’s looking at him like she just knows his deepest secret. “Thanks for taking care of my best friend.” Seonghyeon doesn’t like the amount of emphasis she puts on the fact that you’re her best friend. He’s well aware of that. Far too aware. 

Sera walks away, and Seonghyeon lets out a small sigh of relief. Keonho notices, and he’s about to say something before Seonghyeon stops him by holding his hand out. 

“Not a word.” Seonghyeon says, and Keonho obliges, but that teasing smirk doesn’t leave his lips. 

When he’s home, it actually hits him that you’ll be coming over. He’s never had one-on-one time with you in his own house. It’s always been you, Sera and him. He jumps out of his bed, rummaging through his closet to find a better outfit to wear – he’s already felt enough embarrassment today after making it obvious to Sera that he was worried about you. 

The least he could do was look somewhat presentable and change out of his pyjamas. He opts for a band tee and changes into a clean pair of sweats. As he’s pulling his shirt on, Seonghyeon realises that he’s trying to impress you. The realisation really sinks in when he’s looking at his reflection in the mirror, tucking in his shirt in just the right way. He gives himself an approving nod when he thinks that he looks half-decent before walking out into the living room, his cheeks tinted pink already from that realisation.

He pours two cups of water, one for him, one for you, and sets it on the table. He makes sure to take out the mug that you always use whenever you come over – it’s pink, with doodles of cherry blossoms on it. He pulls his notebook and laptop out of his bag, placing it on his side of the table. Just then, he hears the doorbell ring. 

Seonghyeon heads to the door a little too quickly. 

He opens it, and there you are – Seonghyeon swears that those heart palpitations return just at the sight of you. 

You give him a bright smile, waving with your free hand. The other is holding a new book – Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil. 

“You finished Symposium?” he asks, and you’re stunned at his words. You never told Seonghyeon that you were reading it. “You’ve been carrying it around all week,” he quickly adds. “Was it good?”

“Yeah, it was,” you stammer. You didn’t know that Seonghyeon actually paid attention to you like that. “Have you read it?”

“No, not yet,” he says, gesturing for you to come on in. “Should I?”

“I think so,” you chuckle. “It’s one of my favourite books, actually. That was actually a reread. It’s a short one too, so you can get it finished quickly. Exam week’s just cut into a lot of my reading time, so I picked a shorter one.”

You put your bag down next to one of the chairs on the Eoms’ dining table, taking out your notebooks, laptop and pencil case. You notice how Seonghyeon’s seemingly filled the cup that you always use when you’re at his house with water. 

“Thanks for the water, by the way.” you beam, sliding into the chair. Seonghyeon sits down next to you, opening up his laptop.  

“Don’t worry,” he replies. “We’ve got soda in the fridge if you want some. And there’s tea. You know which cabinet it’s in.” The Eoms’ house is practically your second home, considering how often you’re there. You think you’ve spent more time at their house than your own, oddly. 

You thank him, taking a sip from the mug. The two of you make casual conversation as you both do your work – it’s remarkable how the two of you can still stay focused even while talking. 

You find that studying with Seonghyeon is comfortable. You’ve never really hung out with him alone, with the exception of working together in class. Whenever you’re at his house, Sera’s usually always there too. For someone who you thought had hated you for the longest time, getting along with Seonghyeon is unexpectedly easy, and you really enjoy his company. 

However, it really doesn’t help when it comes to the crush you have on him. The more you speak to him, the harder you fall. It’s hopeless, but you can only pray that you’re hiding it well enough from both him and Sera.

“I really hope Ms Kim’s nice enough to give us a good poem for the unfamiliar text paper,” you groan, highlighting a line in the poem that you’re analysing. “I looked at all the past papers that she gave the last year group – one of them was straight up evil.” 

“They’re all evil,” Seonghyeon sighs, shaking his head. “Honestly, the play that she gave us two days ago to analyse might’ve been worse. At least we can mention more language techniques in poems.” 

“True, but then I just feel like I’m rambling,” You’re quickly writing a note next to the line that you’ve highlighted so you remember what you want to mention in the essay. “Hopefully she won’t be so mean to give us something horribly difficult for the actual exam. We only have 45 minutes for each unfamiliar text, for god's sake.” 

“I don’t think she’s given us anything easy for weeks,” Seonghyeon sighs. “Maybe it’s good that we’re getting challenged before the exams? Like… she’s preparing us for harder content so maybe the exam will seem easier because we’ve already gone through hell.”

“Hopefully,” you chuckle. “I do remember one poem that I really liked though. The one she gave us in the first week that we had to work on together?” you hum, highlighting another line in the poem that you’re working on. “The one where he mentioned The Polish Rider.” 

“I liked that poem too,” Seonghyeon smiles. “Especially the last stanza – and the last line, actually. I thought it was really simple but also really romantic.” 

“Yeah, definitely!” you say, putting down your highlighter as you nod in agreement. “I also really liked that he mentioned The Polish Rider. I love Rembrandt’s paintings. They’re all so lifelike – we’ve got this visual arts assessment coming up, so I think I might do a commentary on a painting of his. I was thinking maybe I’d do the painting he did of Aristotle, kind of merge two of my interests into one.” 

“Sorry, I just realised I went off track from what we were originally talking about.” you chuckle.

“No, it’s okay. What do you like about the painting? Like the Aristotle one.” Seonghyeon genuinely seems interested in what you have to say – perhaps you never noticed it before, but you think this may be a first. 

As you go on about what you like about the painting, Seonghyeon takes in every single word. From the way you’re talking about the thick paint that Rembrandt always used, the colours that he’s chosen, how Rembrandt’s depicted Aristotle’s eyes — he listens to every bit you say intently, burning it into his brain. 

He also doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up in excitement, the way your hands are gesturing to describe it all, and how the corners of your lips turn upwards ever so slightly when you’re talking about something you’re so passionately interested in. It’s awfully endearing, and Seonghyeon’s heart skips a beat. 

He then realises that he hasn’t even seen the painting. He types the title into his search engine — Aristotle with a Bust of Homer — and it pops up on his screen. It’s exactly as you described it, just based on your memory. The thick paint highlighting the brushstrokes. The dark colours of the painting. How Aristotle’s eyes are concealed by deliberate shadows that you’ve interpreted as him being lost in thought. 

“Yeah, that one!” you say excitedly, pointing at the screen. “Isn’t it great? Now you get why the poet and I are so keen on Rembrandt’s work.” 

“It is great,” Seonghyeon says. He’s more so impressed by how amazingly well you’ve remembered the painting and how eloquently you’ve described and analysed it. Dare he say, it may be more impressive than the painting itself — but Seonghyeon was biased. “Have you ever seen it in person?” 

“No,” you reply, shaking your head. “I do want to, though. But it’s all the way at The Met, and I’m really not planning to go to New York any time soon.”

He clicks off the painting, typing up Rembrandt’s name instead. The first link — a paid ad, which Seonghyeon usually hates — is a link to an art gallery. 

“There’s going to be an exhibition of his work in here in a few weeks,” Seonghyeon pipes up. “You might wanna go.”

Your eyes snap towards his screen, and when you see the details of the exhibition, your eyes light up. “Oh my god. What a crazy coincidence – I have to get tickets,”

“You should come!” you blurt out. Seonghyeon looks at you, surprise evident on his features. “If you’re interested in this kind of stuff. I don’t think you take visual arts, but Rembrandt’s work is really, really nice.” you add hastily, to not make things awkward. It’s definitely not because you want to talk to him more and that you enjoy his company far too much. 

Seonghyeon lets your invitation hang in the air as he processes your words. Seonghyeon’s never been one to wander around art galleries willingly – he was far more fond of history museums, and could spend all day in them.

But Seonghyeon finds that he wants to go to this art gallery. With you.

“I’ll come,” he says, and the excited smile on your lips makes him all the more certain of his decision. “It sounds like fun.”

“It will be! I hope you don’t mind me rambling about the paintings, though. I’ll try and shut up about it.”

“No, it’s fine,” Seonghyeon says, giving you a soft smile. “I like hearing you talk.”

He wants to slap himself across the face for letting those words slip. He can see your stunned expression, and all he can do right now is hope he hasn’t freaked you out with his words. His cheeks heat up out of sheer embarrassment. 

Should he say something like ‘because you talk about really interesting things’, or ‘you’re a great storyteller’? Seonghyeon doesn’t know if he should add anything to alleviate the awkwardness and tension that his words had just inadvertently created. Gosh, think before you speak, he thinks. 

“Oh,” you stammer out before he can say anything new. Your cheeks are heating up at his words. “That’s kind of you.” You give him a soft smile as well, unsure of what to say next. 

Seonghyeon realises that he wants you to smile at him like this forever. It’s also then when he realises that he definitely doesn’t hate you at all. Nobody would feel butterflies in their stomach and a blooming warmth across the chest when they see their archnemesis smile. And after studying with you today, he doesn’t really think he even cares about being the top of the class anymore. 

Seonghyeon realises that logic needs to take precedence now. What he’s feeling is most definitely not early onset heart palpitations. He should never have believed in something so incredibly unrealistic and illogical. 

Fuck, he thinks. He might actually like you.  

Seonghyeon gets a violently sick feeling when he sees Sung Minjun walk up to your desk.

His jaw immediately tightens, eyes widening in the slightest hint of alarm. Sung Minjun is bad news, and everyone in the grade knows it. But you’re new to the year, and you haven’t been told about his reputation for messing with people’s feelings. 

“Hey, (Name).” Minjun’s voice is sickeningly sweet in a way that makes Seonghyeon want to throw up. It’s never been more obvious that this sweet guy act is just a facade of his. You’re definitely unaware of his reputation, and you simply smile at him. 

“Hi, Minjun. What’s up?” you ask. 

“I was just wondering if you were free this afternoon? I’ve got two tickets to this amusement park, and I wanted to go with someone who I find pretty cool,” he says, and Seonghyeon rolls his eyes at Minjun's feigned shyness. “Would you wanna come?”

“Oh,” your voice is hesitant. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ve already got plans.”

Minjun pouts, and Seonghyeon examines your face for any sort of reaction. He swears that he sees your eyebrow twitch in just the slightest way.

“Really?” Minjun asks, disbelief evident in his tone. “Come on, they can’t be that important. And the amusement park is fun — it’s one afternoon.”

You nod, sure of your decision. “I’m good, really. Thank you though.” Seonghyeon fails to hide the smile on his lips. 

“What’s got you so giddy?” Keonho asks, nudging Seonghyeon gently with his elbow. 

“Oh, nothing,” Seonghyeon replies breezily, eyes still fixated on your conversation with Minjun. Keonho’s eyes follow in the direction Seonghyeon’s looking at, and when his eyes land on you, he lets out a knowing ‘ah’.

“Admiring your girl?” Keonho quips, and Seonghyeon takes in a sharp breath. 

“Not my girl,” Seonghyeon mutters.

“Yeah, definitely not your girl if you don’t make a move soon. Look at Minjun.” Keonho says, and Seonghyeon groans. Minjun’s giving you that awfully fake smile, leaning in closer to perhaps make you try and feel something for him just because of proximity. Seonghyeon just hopes for your sake, Minjun didn’t spray that dreadful cologne that he uses all the time. 

“She’s not into it.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“I hate you.”

“You’re jealous of Minjun,” Keonho teases. “And it’s because you like (Name). Tell me I’m wrong all you want. You’ll never be able to convince me otherwise.”

“Minjun’s a dick anyways,” Seonghyeon says. “I’m just…”

“What?” Keonho interjects, an amused smile on his lips. “Looking out for her because your sister said so? Which excuse is it going to be today, our lovely Seonghyeon?”

Seonghyeon doesn’t reply, eyes fixed on you and Minjun. He’s still trying to get you to go to that damned amusement park with him – Seonghyeon saw the advertisement for it online and he distinctly remembers that it looked like shit. Or perhaps his distaste for Minjun spending one-on-one time with you was clouding his judgment at the moment. 

Oh. Oh. 

He really was jealous.

“What is it that you have to do then?” Minjun asks. “Could I join you?” 

Before he can even think, Seonghyeon’s already walking towards your desk. He interrupts your conversation with Minjun, and the boy looks almost offended. 

“Hey, (Name), Sera has another art committee thing that’s going to run late today. You’re still welcome to come study and stay for dinner like usual, though.”  Seonghyeon wasn’t lying, Sera had told him that this morning. But he’s shocked that he somehow came up with something so coherent and true when this was completely impromptu. 

Seonghyeon notices how you visibly relax in his presence. He smiles softly at you, and you return the gesture. “Hey, Seonghyeon. That’s okay – I’ve got plans later today, so don’t worry,” you beam. “I also don’t want to trouble your mom again.” 

“Nonsense,” Seonghyeon waves off your worries. “You know she loves having you around anyways.” 

Minjun’s watching you and Seonghyeon interact with a stunned expression on his face. His eyes darted from you, to Seonghyeon, and then back to you again. He didn’t know that you and Seonghyeon were close at all – but seeing how you smiled brightly when Seonghyeon showed up out of the blue, and how comfortable you seemed to be in conversation, Minjun knew that he stood no chance. 

“Alright, I’m gonna… go,” he announces. Seonghyeon lets him leave, not even bothering to look back. 

“He’s not got a great reputation in our year,” Seonghyeon says, when Minjun’s out of earshot. “You dodged a bullet.” 

“Well, you helped me dodge that bullet,” you reply, putting your books in your bag to pack up. “And I have heard murmurs, to be fair.” 

“Makes sense – word does spread fast around here. So… are you still coming today?” Seonghyeon asks as you put your last notebook in your bag. You shake your head as you zip it up, and he looks at you with furrowed brows, clearly confused. It was unusual for you to not be studying at his place in the afternoon. And Seonghyeon would never admit it out loud, but he really wanted to see you. 

“I’m going to a bookstore to pick up some books,” you hum, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I ordered them a while ago, and James is only opening up shop Thursday afternoon this week.” 

“Oh,” Seonghyeon didn’t know that you were on a first-name basis with the owner of the bookstore. “Is this like a small shop?” 

“Yeah, I found it a few years ago – James actually went to our school! He graduated two years ago. They’ve got a really good selection of philosophy and history books, so I go all the time. I really love it there. Once, I spent like… 6 hours just reading there. Time went by so fast,” you laugh.

“You’re more than welcome to join me, if you’re not busy. I think you’d like the place.” you add hastily. You’ve never brought anyone to James’ bookstore, but Seonghyeon seemed like the perfect person to bring. He loved reading, James’ bookstore had a fantastic history book collection, and you enjoyed his company. He was already coming to Rembrandt’s exhibition with you, but you did want to grasp at any opportunity that you may have to spend time with him. After all, you had been pining for basically 10 years now.

Seonghyeon’s somewhat stunned by your invitation. You want to spend time with him. Alone. It fills him with a sense of joy that makes him feel like he’s floating on cloud nine. Take that, Minjun, he thinks. A smile spreads across his lips before he nods. 

“Yeah, of course. I don’t have plans after school today, and I do need to look for some new books to read, actually.” he replies, and you smile at him. Seonghyeon’s heart flutters again. 

“Perfect! I’ll meet you after last period,” you beam. “It’s not far from here, so we can walk there.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” he says, and you bid him goodbye, saying that you’ve got to meet Sera now. Seonghyeon nods, waving at you before he walks back to his seat, a giddy smile on his lips.

“Look at that smile,” Keonho comments. “You’re in love.” 

For the first time, Seonghyeon doesn’t correct him.

The walk towards the bookstore that you love is quite short. 

Or perhaps time just flies when you’re having fun. 

You and Seonghyeon talk the entire way there. It first starts off with complaints about Mr Jung being an absolutely hopeless teacher, to the dreadful worksheet that Ms Seo had given for Math, and then into every other thing that somehow pops into the two of your minds. 

You find out a lot more about Seonghyeon on the walk there. He shares his favourite music with you, telling you which albums and artists that he likes. You download them, making a mental note to listen to them when you study next. He tells you that he hates mint chocolate, and that he always has to watch a movie before bed. 

“I watched Everything Everywhere All at Once last night,” he hums. Your eyes light up – it’s one of your favourite movies in the world. “Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” you reply. “I think I cried like three times. But to be fair, I am a crier when it comes to movies. I never leave the theatre without crying at least once. Unless it’s a comedy.” 

Seonghyeon’s eyes crinkle into crescents when he laughs. Your heart beats faster in your chest at the sight. “I’m going to have to see this for myself – we’re going to have to go and watch a movie together.” 

It slips out before he thinks (again), and his eyes widen slightly in alarm. He looks at you, and you simply nod happily. He lets out a sigh of relief – he was so worried that he’d embarrassed himself just then. 

Seonghyeon finds that this happens all too frequently with you. He prided himself on knowing exactly what to say at the right time and always thinking before speaking. But when it comes to you, all of that just goes straight out the window – he lets comments that he planned to leave in his head slip and he’s stammering and stumbling over his own words. Nerves, he claims. He thinks he has an inkling of an idea of where those nerves may come from. 

Meanwhile, all you can think about is how Seonghyeon wants to watch a movie with you. Now, you’re sure that he doesn’t mind your presence – rather, he seems to enjoy your company. You’ve never been happier – maybe you do have somewhat of a chance. 

“Here it is,” you say, pointing at the bookstore. It’s tucked away in the corner of a back street. You open the door, the windchimes hanging on the handle jingling as you gesture for him to enter. He does, thanking you politely as he takes everything in. 

He sees shelves and shelves of books, all organised by genre. The smell of books and bergamot infiltrates his senses, and the soft yellow light from the chandelier he sees hanging from the ceiling illuminates the entire room. There’s a record player in the corner that’s playing some music from the 80s’, and there’s a small corner with a table and a few chairs for people to read at. 

Seonghyeon knows why you love this place so much instantly. It’s so distinctly… you. 

“James!” you call out, and the boy working at the cashier turns to look at the two of you. His eyes light up, giving you a wave. Seonghyeon suddenly recognises James – they’ve never spoken, but he’s pretty sure James was the captain of the dance team. 

“(Name)! Thanks for coming today – I’ve got some of the books you’ve ordered here,” he says, gesturing to a pile in the corner. His eyes then land on Seonghyeon, and he looks at him with an intrigued smile. “You brought a friend!” 

“I did,” you beam. “Just gonna show him around the place and maybe pick out a few things before I come and pay for everything, if that’s cool.” 

James nods in response. “Take your time,” he replies. “I was just finishing up an essay for uni anyways. We’re open until 7, by the way, just in case you two wanted to stay and read a few things.”  

“Sounds good,” you reply. Your eyes land on the marigolds on the counter, perched in a porcelain vase. “Nice flower choice for the vase this week, by the way. Marigolds are my favourites.” 

You like marigolds. Seonghyeon makes sure to remember that. You then turn your attention to him, who’s looking around the store and bobbing his head to the music. 

“I’ll show you the history section, since I know you love the stuff. I’m pretty sure they just got some new books about the Cold War in.” 

“Perfect – that’s my favourite topic, by the way,” he says, eyes lighting up. 

“I know,” you laugh, and Seonghyeon’s surprised that you do. “You talk to Keonho about it all the time in history. It’s my favourite topic too, to be honest. Mr Jung does teach it horribly, though.” 

You lead him to the history section of the bookstore, and there’s three whole shelves dedicated to books about the Cold War. You look at how Seonghyeon’s eyes light up, immediately scanning the section to see what interests him. He notices a few that he’s already bought, but there’s also so many that he’s never heard of before – you were right. This place truly was a treasure trove of books, and Seonghyeon’s stunned that he’s never heard of this place. 

You watch as he pulls out books from the shelves, flicking through the pages with his brows furrowed in concentration. A soft smile makes its way to your lips before your eyes flick back to the shelves too, picking out your own books as you hum along to the music that James has picked. 

You’re mid-grab for a book about the Middle Ages when you hear Seonghyeon ask you if you’ve got any recommendations. You can see that he’s picked out three books about the Cold War, one of which you’ve read. 

“That one’s really good,” You tap your finger on the spine of the book, nodding approvingly. “I think you’ll like it. But recommendations… do you want them to be Cold War related or something else?” 

“Anything’s fine,” Seonghyeon shrugs. “You always seem to give me good recommendations anyways. Even before this year.” 

You’re somewhat shocked. You didn’t think that Seonghyeon actually liked your recommendations. You still remember when he said that Romance of the Three Kingdoms was just ‘alright’. You gulp, drumming your fingers on the edge of one of the shelves as you try and think of books that you think Seonghyeon might like. 

“Maybe The Art of War,” you hum, eyes scanning the shelves to see if you can spot it. Your eyes light up when you do, pulling it off the shelf and handing it to him. “Flick through it to see if you like it first, though.” 

“What’s the last book you really really liked?” you ask him, your eyes still fixated on the shelf in front of you. 

“Oh, um…” Seonghyeon is silent for a moment as he thinks about your question. He’s read so many good books this year – it was hard to really pick one. “ Probably No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai. I read it a while ago, though.” 

A book immediately pops into your head. It’s something you read recently as well. 

“Camus,” you mumble, trying to find the book that you’ve got in mind. Seonghyeon follows you as you wander off to the philosophy section. “Ah, this – The Myth of Sisyphus. It’s a little bit more on the philosophy side, if you don’t mind. I quite liked it though, obviously.”  

Seonghyeon stacks the book on top of the ones he’s picked out. You look at him, tilting your head at him quizzically. “You’re not gonna flick through it to see if it’s your taste?” 

He merely shrugs in response. “I trust your recommendations,” he says casually. “Plus, you’ve kind of made me develop an interest towards philosophy books.” 

The smile that graces your face is absolutely infectious. You’re overjoyed, and you immediately look for your favourite books on the shelf to recommend to him. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that, holy shit!” you say, and your excitement is evident in your tone. You’re pulling out books here and there from the shelf, and Seonghyeon can barely keep up. “Okay, Symposium is one of my absolute favourites, and it’s short. But you can just take my copy, to be honest.” 

You’re mumbling to yourself as you pick out all of your favourite books, stacking them on top of one another. When you’re done, you look at a pile of eight books – you didn’t realise that you’d picked out so many. 

“Oh. That’s way too many. We’re going to have to thin this herd,” you hum, eyeing the books you’ve selected. “Maybe The Prince. It’s quite short, like Symposium. So you can kind of get a taste of how these books usually are, and if you end up liking them, just let me know. We can always come back here.” 

Seonghyeon nods, taking the book from you and adding it to the pile that he’s holding. 

“I saw you reading The Prince on the first day,” Seonghyeon hums. “You had a lot of tabs in there.” 

“Oh, yeah,” You’re surprised he remembered, but you feel as if you shouldn't be. Seonghyeon was incredibly observant, as you've noticed throughout the year. It’s kind of why I figured that you should probably get your own copy, because I’ve written all over it. I think I had a lot of opinions on that book.” 

“We can talk about it when I’ve finished it then,” he smiles softly. “I think I’m gonna go put these on the counter and pay for them first, because my hands are starting to hurt. Do you wanna take the ones you’ve picked out and put them there as well?” 

You nod, following him to the counter where James is sitting. He’s engrossed in watching an anime, and you clear your throat. His eyes snap up, and James immediately changes his tab to his essay. 

“You saw nothing,” James hisses jokingly, and you raise an eyebrow. “I’m just procrastinating, okay? You and your friend here found some books you liked?” he asks, changing the topic. 

“He’s picked his out. I’m gonna go grab something else from the history section, and I’ll be right back.” you say, and James nods. You give Seonghyeon a smile before placing the books that you’ve chosen on the counter, and you run off. Seonghyeon’s eyes follow your figure before James clears his throat to catch his attention. 

“You like her, don’t you?” When you’re out of earshot, James looks at Seonghyeon with a teasing smile. He picks up a book from Seonghyeon’s pile, scanning the books that he’s planning to buy. Seonghyeon’s eyes widen, cheeks heating up as he’s caught off guard by James’ words. 

“What?” he stammers – if a stranger that he’d only met five minutes ago could tell, surely everyone else would know. He’s hoping that James is just excellent at reading people, because god – if anyone else knew, especially Sera, he was done for. His friends at school already knew enough, with Keonho incessantly teasing him about it whenever he’s around. 

“You like her,” James repeats. “It’s all in the eyes, man. And you’re buying all of her recommendations. I would’ve thought that you’d be buying Symposium too.” 

Seonghyeon furrows his brows – how did James manage to hear the entire conversation? He opens his mouth to speak before James stops him, seemingly reading his mind.

“Yes, I heard. This store is small enough for me to eavesdrop on everyone. And even though I was focused on the anime, I was also focused on listening to you two.” James places a sticker on one of the book that Seonghyeon’s buying before putting it into a paper bag.

“She’s giving me her copy to read,” Seonghyeon stammers. “And well, about the other thing, I wouldn’t… I’m not sure.” 

“No, deep down you’re sure.” James says, as if he’s some love expert. “I think you just don’t really want to admit it to yourself yet.” 

Damn, Seonghyeon thinks. James is really good at reading people. Too good to the point where it makes Seonghyeon a little uncomfortable. 

“She doesn’t just take anyone here, by the way. She’s been coming here for four years, and I’ve never seen her show up with anyone. Said it’s her secret spot, or something,” James adds breezily. 

Seonghyeon stiffens at his words. He may be saying this in a casual manner, but the fact that James is basically saying that Seonghyeon is special to you makes his heart stutter. “So maybe she likes you too – but she keeps going on about this one guy named S–!” 

“James!” you cut him off just as he’s about to reveal a name, and Seonghyeon winces at the missed opportunity to figure out who you’ve been raving about to James. “Did this just come in?” 

“Yeah,” James replies, taking the book out of your hands. “Dream of the Red Chamber. You’ll like this one, since you liked Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Speaking of that book – you bought two copies, right? Did the person you give it to like it as well?” 

Oh. Oh. 

You bought the book specifically for him. All along, Seonghyeon thought that it was your copy that you’d given him. He supposes that he should’ve guessed, considering how there weren’t any tabs sticking out the edges and the pristine condition of the book. He was going to give it back to you too, but he just found himself rereading it over and over and over again. 

But now he just feels guilty. You’ve been too kind to him for all these years, and it was only until a couple of months ago – weeks, even – that Seonghyeon was sure that he didn’t hate you. The feeling settles in his stomach, and he knows that he has to do something to make it up to you.

“I actually gave it to him,” you chuckle, gesturing towards Seonghyeon. You recall the words that he’d told you on the first day of school – that it was fine. “I don’t think he was a big fan.” Your voice is sheepish, and Seonghyeon shakes his head at your words. 

“No, no,” he hastily interjects. “I really liked it.”

You look at him, surprise evident on your features. “I thought you didn’t like it that much,” you say, puzzled. “You told me it was fine on the first day of school.” 

Seonghyeon scratches the nape of his neck, unsure what to say. He wasn’t going to straight up say that he had to hide how much he liked the book for the sake of his pride, but there really was no other logical explanation. 

“I… reread it,” he mumbles. “I liked it better the second time.” 

You nod, letting out a soft ‘oh’. Seonghyeon doesn’t think you’re actually convinced, but you don’t end up questioning it. James is much more obvious about how unconvinced he is, eyeing Seonghyeon suspiciously. The teasing smile on James’ lips is still there, as if he’s quite literally telling him to keep thinking about what he said earlier. 

“So… do you want this one?” James asks, holding up Dream of the Red Chamber.  

You nod without thinking, and James stacks it on the pile of books that you’re planning to buy. He looks at the large pile, and chuckles. “You’re going to be singlehandedly paying for my lunches for the next few weeks with this order. Thanks, (Name.)” 

“Glad that my allowance is going towards something good,” you say. “I think that’ll be all for today.”

Seonghyeon looks around the store quietly as James finally finishes scanning all of your books. “That’s 250,000 won with the discount,” he says. “Do you have enough?”

You count together the notes in your wallet. Shit. You’re about 5,000 won short. You hiss before shaking your head, looking through the titles of the books you’ve selected to see which one you’ll just have to get next time. It’s a difficult choice, though – all of them are books that you want to read really badly. 

“I can pay for her,” Seonghyeon pipes up. 

Your eyes snap up to look at him. “Seonghyeon, what? No – I couldn’t let you do that.” 

“It’s fine,” he fishes his wallet out of his pocket, taking out his card. “Think of it as a gift, or something I’m doing in return for the book that you gave me.” 

“Seonghyeon, that was one book!” you exclaim, holding up one finger. “There are eight books! You must let me pay you back if you’re going to pay.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he says, tapping his card on the reader before you can protest more. “I’m more than happy to pay for these – you’re going to read them anyway, and I know how much you like books.” 

James is watching the interaction between you two like it’s his favourite television show. The two of you are bickering like an old married couple as you frantically search through your wallet for 250,000 won so that you can pay Seonghyeon back. He’s trying to grab onto your wallet so he can shove it back into your bag so you don’t have to. 

Seonghyeon wins the battle, and you reach out to grab your wallet. “I’ll only give it back if you promise not to pay me back.” 

“Seonghyeon, I can’t do that! 250,000 won is an insane amount.” you say, and Seonghyeon shakes his head, holding your wallet even further away from you now. You groan as you try once again to grab it from him, but to no avail.

“I’ve been saving.” Seonghyeon shrugs. 

“Just let the man pay,” James interjects, and Seonghyeon smiles. 

“Thank you – see, (Name)?” he says, and you groan. 

“Okay, okay,” you sigh. “Thank you, Seonghyeon. That was really nice of you.” 

Seonghyeon nods, finally satisfied. He hands you back your wallet, albeit eyeing you with a certain sense of caution as if he’s worried you’ll try and shove money into his backpack. 

“You really didn’t have to do that.” you say, tucking your wallet back inside your bag, making a mental note to yourself that you have to get him something in return. 

“I wanted to.” 

Those three words carry far more weight than either of you expected.

A blush creeps up on Seonghyeon’s cheeks as he lets those words slip out without thinking. Your cheeks are hot as the gravity of those three little words sink in. James silently packs your books in a paper bag with an amused smile. 

James hands you your books, and you thank him gratefully. It’s incredibly heavy – to the point where it nearly knocks you off balance. A little ‘oomph’ escapes past your lips as you get used to the weight of the bag. You’re honestly more concerned that the bag is going to break. 

“I can carry it for you,” Seonghyeon says softly. “It looks heavy, and we’ve got to walk back home.”

“Yeah, that may be best,” you say, handing him the bag with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Seonghyeon.” 

Your heart is pounding in your chest right now. Every single interaction that you’ve had with him at the bookstore feels awfully romantic, but you don’t want to delude yourself into believing that Seonghyeon perhaps has feelings for you too. 

Maybe he’s just realised that he actually enjoys your company as a friend. Or maybe he just has an obligation to take care of you as his little sister’s best friend. The prospect of that makes your heart sink a little, because you’ve always wanted him to be something more. 

Even James knows that, considering how much you’ve talked about Seonghyeon to him. 

“Thanks for coming today, (Name) – sorry I had to get you to come after school, I know how much you value your study time. I hope it wasn’t a big hassle,” James’ voice cuts through your thoughts, and you wave his worries off. His eyes divert to Seonghyeon, and it’s then when James realises that he hasn’t asked for Seonghyeon’s name. 

“And you are…?” 

“Seonghyeon.” 

James’ eyes widen in a comically exaggerated manner. “You’re the Seonghyeon? Oh, no wonder you’re the first person she’s ever brought here. (Name)’s said so much about you–!”

“Okay, thanks James! See you next week!” you cut him off, practically pushing Seonghyeon towards the door. Your voice is panicky, and Seonghyeon barely has time to register everything until the two of you are outside the shop. 

“Please ignore him,” you say, cheeks hot from embarrassment. “He’s always pulling shit like that on me.” Seonghyeon looks at you, and he can tell that you don’t want him to pry about what you’ve been telling James. But oh, he is so curious. 

“I’m was just telling him that you’re in my class and how you’re Sera’s brother,” you lie through your teeth. You hope Seonghyeon thinks it’s an acceptable answer – James really didn’t have to air out all of your dirty laundry by basically implying that you had been going on and on and on about him. “It’s… not like he made it out to be.” 

Seonghyeon doesn’t know why he’s disappointed. 

“Oh, look, an ice cream shop!” You don’t give him time to ponder over why he’s disappointed, as you change the topic. His eyes flick over to look at where you’re pointing, and sure enough, there’s a quaint little ice cream shop across the road that’s neatly tucked away from all the hustle and bustle from the main street. “Let me treat you to ice cream – it’s really the least I can do after you paid for all of my books. And then we can head to your place to study, since we left James’ earlier than I expected.” 

Seonghyeon nods, thanking you as you lead him towards the shop. He opens the door for you, and you smile at him gratefully. It makes his heart flip. 

The two of you look at the ice cream case for what flavours the store’s got. Seonghyeon always gets vanilla – in a cup, never a cone – so he doesn’t really know why he even bothers. You hum in satisfaction when you’ve made your decision. 

“Hi,” you say, calling over to the girl who’s working the cashier. “Could I get one scoop of the chocolate?” 

He’s about to pipe up about what he wants until you say his exact order. “And a scoop of the vanilla?” you turn towards him, tilting your head questionably as if you’re asking him to confirm if you’re correct. He nods, and you turn back again to look at the girl. “Separately, please. Thank you.” 

He’s stunned. He doesn’t know how you know that he always gets vanilla. “How did you–” 

“You guys have three tubs of ice cream in your freezer, and the vanilla one has your name on it. With like three large exclamation points. I figured that it was your favourite – I’m glad I got it right.” 

Seonghyeon didn’t know how attentive you actually were to his interests. From his favourite history topics, to books, and even to ice cream. You noticed things about him too. 

You pay for the ice cream, handing Seonghyeon his cup. He takes a bite, and it’s really good. Much better than the tub that he bought from the supermarket, even if it is just plain vanilla. “Woah,” he says, taking the wooden spoon out of his mouth. “I’m surprised I’ve never been to this place.” 

You seem to be similarly shocked at how good the ice cream is. “Yeah, oh my god. I’ve been to James’ too many times to even remember and I’ve never even thought of coming here. I’m glad I did, though – we have to come back again.” 

We. It’s an invitation. You want to spend more time with him. 

“Yeah,” he beams. “I’d like that.” 

As you and Seonghyeon walk back to his house, making casual conversation as the two of you finish up your ice cream. Your shared laughter rings through the summer air, and his eyes flick over to look at you. 

There’s an undeniable feeling of being drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Warmth and all-consuming affection settles in his chest, and for the first time, he’s comfortable with letting it linger. 

Everything clicks into place.

Eom Seonghyeon is certain now. He does like you.

“Okay. I need your help.” 

Keonho, Martin and Juhoon’s ears immediately perk up. Seonghyeon asking for help? This was unprecedented. It was usually Seonghyeon running around to help the three of them.

“Well, not me,” he says, sliding into his seat next to Keonho. He opens his lunch box to buy him time on figuring out what he’s supposed to say. “I have a friend who needs help.” Seonghyeon’s voice is unconvincing, and Keonho raises an eyebrow. 

“So…” Seonghyeon starts, drumming his fingers on the table as he tries to articulate his thoughts properly. “My friend’s a little bit stuck on how they feel about someone, because they thought they hated them for the longest time. But I – sorry, my friend – thinks that they might actually like them now. Maybe a little too much and maybe as something more than friends. So… how should they go about it? Like should I – my friend – confess, or just… I don’t know. Wait it out?” Seonghyeon’s slip of the tongue makes Martin smile in amusement.

“I fucking knew it!” Keonho yells, pointing at Seonghyeon. The entire cafeteria goes quiet, and Seonghyeon’s eyes dart to you, sitting two tables down. You’re looking at Keonho with a confused look in your eye, clearly startled by his outburst. Your eyes then land on Seonghyeon, who feigns confusion too. You two share a small smile as you chuckle at Keonho’s antics, shaking your head before your eyes return to your book. Seonghyeon is absolutely mortified.

“Dude, be quiet,” Juhoon says to Keonho, before focusing his attention back onto Seonghyeon. “But yeah, we all fucking knew it. It was just a matter of time.” 

“What?” Seonghyeon sputters. “You don’t even know who this friend is.” 

Martin looks at him with a deadpan stare. “Come on, man. You clearly said ‘I’ before you changed it. It’s fine – we all thought you were gonna admit this at some point. I don’t really think you ever hated (Name).” 

“Or maybe the hatred was fueling that romantic tension,” Keonho says with a shit-eating grin. Seonghyeon regrets asking for advice now, and he buries his face in his hands to hide the blush that’s creeping up on his cheeks. Juhoon, ever so attentive, notices how the tips of Seonghyeon’s ears turn pink too. 

“You like (Name),” Keonho teases, and Seonghyeon groans, his hands never leaving his face. “I swear that weird feeling you always said you got when she was around was just you being nervous and not knowing how to act around her. And another thing – being annoyed that she was smart? Admiration. Maybe a bit of jealousy too. You’re just emotionally constipated and don’t know how to deal with your feelings.”

Fuck, Seonghyeon thinks. Why is Keonho’s psychoanalysis of him right? 

“Oh, and another thing!” Keonho pipes up. Seonghyeon just knows Keonho’s going to have 500 of these ‘another things’ to bring up. “You’ve always looked out for her this year. It’s so obvious. First, the Haeun situation. Then you’re helping her with math. And you were glaring at Minjun so hard that day I thought you were trying to make him explode.” 

“Oh my god,” Keonho’s eyes light up as if he’s had an epiphany. “You care about her. You’ve always cared too much about her. Maybe that’s why you didn’t like her. You care too much that she’s really smart, she’s really charming and she’s always around! And you also care about what she thinks of you – which is why you were so opposed to her being in our year. Because you don’t want to seem stupid in front of her.” 

Juhoon hums, pointing his finger at Keonho in agreement. “Also, don’t forget about the time where you told Sera to make sure she wasn’t feeling too anxious because you saw that she was tapping her fingers on the cover of her book too quickly. Only a lunatic or someone madly in love would notice that.”

Was he that obvious, or could his friends just read him that well? He stays silent as he digests everything that his friends are saying. But then he remembers James reading him like a book on the first time that they’d met. Fuck, maybe he was obvious, Seonghyeon thinks. Was he the only one oblivious to his own feelings? 

“Yoohoo, earth to Seonghyeon?” Martin asks, waving his hand in front of his face. “I know you’re daydreaming about (Name) again, but we were saying that you should probably do something about it.” 

“Like what, though?” Seonghyeon stammers. His voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t… you know I’ve never really liked anyone before. How am I supposed to go about this?” 

“He’s growing up,” Juhoon coos. 

“You and Martin have literally both never had a girlfriend — you can’t be saying that to me right now.” Seonghyeon says pointedly. Then he realises that none of his friends will be of help, because they’ve simply never confessed to anyone. 

“Woah!” Martin says, shocked by the sudden mention of his name. “What do I have to do with what Ju said?” 

“Nothing,” Seonghyeon replies, drumming his fingers on the table as he tries to think of what to say to you. Juhoon was awfully secretive of whoever he liked — Seonghyeon’s convinced he has a crush, he just wasn’t talking about it. Keonho, despite being the crush of far too many people in the year group, was too busy with swimming to even consider a relationship. Martin was a romantic, but he’d never found someone he actually liked enough to direct his affections to.

They’d been able to analyse him correctly because they knew him well. But they wouldn’t be able to help him devise a plan on how to confess. None of them knew you well — except maybe Martin, who you tutored. 

“I just… I don’t know if you guys will be able to help, actually. No offence — it’s just… you guys don’t know her at all.”

“I think you should just tell her how you feel,” Martin hums. “What’s the worst she could do? Reject you?” 

Seonghyeon looks at Martin like he’s crazy. “Yes? Obviously that’s the worst, and I don’t want that to happen. She’s Sera’s best friend, remember? If she rejects me, I’m still going to have to see her all the time.” 

“Well, your other option is to silently pine forever,” Keonho says, and his eyes dart over to Minjun, who’s sitting nearby your table. Seonghyeon looks in that direction, and that ugly feeling of jealousy creeps up his spine again. His jaw clenches, and Keonho doesn’t miss it. “And I know for a fact you’re not going to do that when Minjun could very well make another move.” 

Keonho’s right. Of course he is. 

Seonghyeon’s eyes land on you, and you’re laughing at something that Sera’s saying. The look of pure unadulterated joy on your face is infectious, and the corners of his lips quirk up into a smile.

You somehow catch his eye, and you beam at him, waving before returning to your conversation with Sera. Seonghyeon gently raises his hand to wave at you back.

“And you never know,” Martin hums, watching Seonghyeon’s expression with a knowing smile on his lips. “She might like you back.”

It’s another late night of studying for you and Seonghyeon. Sera complains that you’ve replaced her with her own older brother, but she’s the one who decides to sleep early while you and Seonghyeon make your way through the stack of practice papers that you’ve printed out.

But something tonight just feels a little different. The silence feels a little too loud, the scratching of your pencils is too unsettling, and the brushing of yours and Seonghyeon’s knees every now and then makes your stomach flip.

The room is dimly lit, with the only light on being the one from the kitchen. Seonghyeon’s eyes flicker towards you every now and then. He tries to talk to you a little bit, but there’s a certain sort of tension that he just can’t quite name that seems to stifle any conversation from continuing. 

His stomach grumbles, cutting through the silence. He looks at you, wondering if you heard. “Sorry,” he mumbles, getting up from his chair. “I’m gonna grab some of the acai – do you want some?” 

You stretch your arms, nodding. “Yeah, that would be nice. I’m also just going to take a little bit of a break too. I’ve been writing far too much.” You get up from your chair as well, grabbing two clean bowls from the cabinet and setting them on the counter. Seonghyeon grabs the tub of acai from the freezer and two spoons. 

“Here,” He scoops a generous portion into one bowl, and he hands it to you first, along with the spoon. “Eat first.” 

“Thank you,” you beam, taking a bite of the acai. It’s cold, and you wince as it hits your tongue. Seonghyeon chuckles gently at your expression – you know he doesn’t mean it mockingly. There’s a hint of affection that’s evident in the way he smiles afterwards. 

The tension between you two still remains, and you’re just not quite sure what to say. There’s something about the way the kitchen light illuminates his features that makes your heart flip, and you find yourself at a loss for words. You like Eom Seonghyeon far too much, but after 10 years, you’ve kind of become an expert at acting ‘normal’ around him. 

But right now, it was different. 

You don’t know how to act around him right now. 

At school, things were normal. It was only when you got to the Eoms’ house, something had seemingly changed. Perhaps it was how nice Seonghyeon looked in the gray striped shirt. Or how he’d fixed you a plate for dinner before making his own. Or how his touch had lingered when your hands had brushed while you were grabbing a sticky note. 

Either way, small little moments that you had initially deemed insignificant had snowballed into creating tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife. 

The two of you eat your acai quietly, but you can’t help but steal glances at Seonghyeon every now and then. It just so happens that he does the same too – only when you’re not looking at him. 

It’s driving him crazy. After realising his feelings for you, everything felt right. He finally had all the answers.

But having to act on them was making him go mental. Because Seonghyeon simply doesn’t think that he can bottle up all his feelings and wait – you were always there, and if you weren’t, reminders of you were everywhere. His mind, more often than not, is consumed with thoughts of you. 

You set your bowl on the counter, and you steal a glance at Seonghyeon again. This time, he’s already looking at you. Your eyes flick towards a smudge of acai on the corner of his lips. 

“You’ve got something there.” Without thinking, you reach up and swipe it away with the pads of your thumbs. Seonghyeon’s breath catches in his throat. 

You don’t know why you did that. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your face heats up. The tension between the two of you becomes even more intense – you didn’t even think that was possible – and you’re hesitant to even breathe. The two almost empty bowls of acai are left on the table, completely forgotten now. Your touch still lingers on the corner of Seonghyeon’s lip, and on instinct, he gently reaches up to touch where your thumb had been. 

Your eyes flick to Seonghyeon’s lips. You realise that you really, really want to kiss him right now. 

He notices. 

You don’t know when you and Seonghyeon’s faces inch even closer to one another – it just happens. You gravitate towards each other like two magnets, and suddenly your face is just mere inches away from his. 

It’s tonight when Eom Seonghyeon swallows his pride and finally admits it. He likes you far too much, and he has to do something about it before he drives himself mad. 

“Seonghyeon,” you whisper his name like you’re begging for him to close the distance. He can feel your breath on his lips, and exercising restraint right now is agonising torture. 

He hates you. He hates that you make his heart race, hates how you make him lose all clarity and self control, and he hates how much he wants to just press his lips to yours right now. But when your eyes flick to his lips once again, Seonghyeon just can’t hold back anymore. 

Self control be damned.

His lips find yours in a manner that you can only describe as desperate. He kisses you like he’s been wanting to do this forever – urgent, certain, determined. You kiss him back, and you don’t miss the soft, small sound that escapes past his throat when you do. It’s one that’s barely audible, like he’s surprised that you’re kissing him back with the same kind of certainty.

As your lips mold against his, you allow yourself to believe that maybe Eom Seonghyeon never hated you in the first place. Maybe he just didn’t know how to show it all along. Maybe he had always secretly longed for you, and everything just finally clicked. 

You can taste the acai that still lingers on his lips, and the smell of lavender and birch from his cologne envelopes you in a way that is maddeningly intoxicating. When Seonghyeon’s hands find your waist and pull you closer, pressing your body to his, you allow yourself to melt like putty in his hands. 

He whispers your name against your lips, and the low hum of his voice sends shivers up your spine. You press your mouth against his like you’re trying to memorise the outline of his lips, and his breath stutters. 

Seonghyeon is too aware of everything right now; from the smell of your shampoo, from the way you’re clutching onto his shirt like your life depends on it, and from the taste of your mint lip balm. 

He kisses you with more urgency, and Seonghyeon doesn’t know how he’s lived so long without having you like this. He can’t believe he had actually convinced himself that he despised you for 10 full years. Because with his lips on yours, all Seonghyeon knows is that he is maddeningly and absurdly addicted to you. The world melts away, and it’s like you and him are in your own little bubble. 

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles against your lips. You melt against him – every touch of his lingers, and you’ve waited 10 years for this moment. For Seonghyeon to finally see you as something more. 

She’s off limits. You and all your best friends are.

The bubble pops.

Fuck. Sera’s voice suddenly rings in his head, and Seonghyeon stops even if he doesn't want to. He pulls away momentarily, confusing you. You chase his lips again, but he puts the slightest bit of distance between you two.

“We can’t.” Seonghyeon mutters silently against your lips. But those words ring loudly in your ears. “You’re… you’re her best friend.” 

You’re stunned for a second. His words strike like a knife to your heart. Of course. To him, you were always his little sister’s annoying best friend. Why would it change, even after he kissed you like that?

“Right,” you gulp. Your heart is heavy. 

You slip away from his grasp, and Seonghyeon already misses having your lips on his. You hastily collect your things and put them in your bag. The air is thick with tension, and not the kind that filled the air before Seonghyeon kissed you like you actually meant something to him. You blink back tears — you feel stupid for leaving your heart right in the palm of his hands.

Eom Seonghyeon only kisses you once before he loses you. 

He watches you disappear past his front door without a word, and he realises:

He already wants you back. 

You’ve been avoiding both Seonghyeon and Sera like the plague.

You can’t get the kiss out of your mind. Seeing Seonghyeon hurts. Seeing Sera means that it’s only a matter of time before the dam breaks and you tell her everything.

Seonghyeon notices — you never show up to his house after school to study anymore. You pair up with Leean for English now. You don’t even look at him in class. Keonho catches him staring at you a little too much, but a gut feeling of his tells him not to pry. 

You know that he’s trying to come find you so you two can talk it out, but you’re somehow able to expertly dodge him for an entire week. It’s making him go insane. 

You make some lame excuse about needing to study in the library to Sera so you don’t need to sit with her at lunch. You notice the hurt that flashes across her face before she agrees, and you feel awful for lying to her. It gets worse when you tell her that you’re going to study at home for the next week or so.

It’s a Wednesday afternoon when Sera corners you in the history classroom. 

“Why are you avoiding me?” she asks you bluntly. You can’t even bear to look at her face. All you can see is that her arms are crossed over her chest, and after 10 years of friendship, you know that her eyebrows are likely tightly knit together in anger. If she was furious, you wouldn’t blame her.

“I’m not,” you lie through your teeth, shifting uncomfortably as you stare at the floor. She looks at you incredulously. “I’m just busy, Sera.”

“We’re best friends, (Name). I know when you’re lying to me. What happened?” Your stomach twists with guilt when you hear the hurt in her voice. Your eyes flick up to look at her, and you just can’t lie to her anymore.

The dam breaks. You let out a choked sob and Sera’s face immediately contorts into one of alarm. She quickly wraps her arms around you in a hug as you cry into her shoulder, your tears staining her uniform.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“It’s okay,” Sera gently pats your back in a move to comfort you, her voice soft and understanding. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You don’t say anything for a few seconds, taking deep breaths to compose yourself before you speak. The feeling of guilt, hurt and pain twists in your stomach when you think of Seonghyeon. You think of how he kissed you and how sparks flew, and then how he crushed all of that hope that you’ve been holding with just a few simple words.

“Seonghyeon and I kissed,” you confess. You can hear Sera take in a sharp breath. “A week ago.”

“You… and Seonghyeon?” 

You nod. “I thought maybe it could’ve been something. I thought maybe I… meant a little more to him. And then he said we shouldn’t.” 

Sera’s brows furrow in confusion. “What? Why?” 

“Because I’m your best friend,” you mumble. “I get it. I’ll just… always be his little sister’s annoying best friend, right?”

“Do you like him?” 

Of course you do. You like him a little too much, even. Even though he crushed your heart in his hands, you still can’t bring yourself to hate him.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do. I really, really do.”

“And I hate how much I do, actually,” your heart hurts as you pour out all the feelings that you’ve been keeping to yourself for the past week. “Fuck, Sera – I know he’s your brother and everything, but I’ve liked him ever since I can remember. I started reading these goddamn history books because I wanted to find something in common with him just so we could talk. Before this year, I didn’t even think anything would happen – he always tried to avoid me, hell – he barely could look at me even when we were in the same room. I don’t even know why I kept on yearning when it was obvious that he didn’t want me around.” 

“But then, this year,” you chuckle, thinking about how Seonghyeon’s entire demeanour had changed. “He cared. Maybe begrudgingly at first and at your request, but then I noticed that he actually cared about me. He noticed these things about me that I never even noticed about myself – like how I apparently tap on the covers of my books too quickly when I’m nervous.” 

“And then we started spending more time together, and I fell even harder. He was just so easy to talk to, so nice, and we had so much in common. Then he paid for my fucking books at the bookstore when it was ridiculously expensive. And he had no reason to!” you exclaim. “And after, I just started thinking that maybe I wasn’t crazy to have waited for so long, because it was going to pay off.”

“And then when he kissed me, I allowed myself to have that sort of hope. That something would actually come out of my years of yearning. That I meant something more than just being your best friend. That… he actually liked me.” 

“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want to hear. Your best friend is in love with your brother,” you say, shaking your head. You know how awkward it is for Sera to hear this – she hated whenever anyone came up to her and asked her if Seonghyeon was single. It must be worse hearing it from her best friend. “This is all so stupid.”

There’s a moment of silence that falls between you and Sera. It’s incredibly nerve-wracking, and your heart sinks. You’ve already messed up your relationship with one of the Eom siblings. You can’t bear to lose the other one too.

“I always told myself that if I got to pick who Hyeon ended up with, I would want it to be you,” Sera confesses. You look at her through teary eyes, your face evidently shocked. “I mean… you two are too similar and too compatible. To me, it was just a matter of time until he realised that he didn’t dislike you, he just… never got to properly know you.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yeah, I’m dead serious. And for the record, I’m not mad at you, (Name),” Sera replies. You search her eyes to see if she’s being honest, and you’re certain she is. You let out a sigh of relief – the last thing you wanted was your friendship with Sera to be ruined. “I get why you were avoiding me, as much as I didn’t like it. And that somewhat explains why Hyeon has been so… weird this week.” 

“Look. I’m going to go talk some sense into him,” you gulp hearing her words. “I will most definitely yell at him and smack him over the head. I don’t want to promise anything, but… would you be okay to speak to him if he came up to you?” 

You take a deep breath. You’re not too sure how you can face Seonghyeon right now. But some sense of closure, some explanation to that night would be better than nothing. If things didn’t end up the way you wanted them to, at least you could move on. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll have to mentally prepare myself a bit, but yeah. Might as well get that conversation over and done with. I don’t want to avoid him forever.” 

Sera gives you a comforting smile before hugging you a little tighter. “Great. I love you, okay? And if it’s my loser brother who makes you happy… then of course I’m okay with it. I just wish you’d told me at first, so I could actually be a good wingwoman.” 

Her words lighten up the atmosphere, and you wipe the tears from your eyes. “I love you, Sera. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier – I just didn’t want to make things strange between us, you know?” 

“I know,” Sera nods. “You don’t have to justify yourself. Seonghyeon on the other hand though… he’s going to have a lot to explain.” 

“Go easy on him,” you say. Sera looks at you like you’re crazy. 

“I can’t believe he broke your heart and you’re telling me to go easy on him,” Sera groans. “You’re too kind for your own good.” 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, staring down at your shoes. “I think unfortunately, I’m just in love.” 

“Eom Seonghyeon!” 

He’s woken up to Sera hitting him with a pillow. He didn’t even realise that he fell asleep – his copy of Plato’s Symposium is now somewhere near the foot of his bed, and he realises that he’ll have to flick through the entire book again to pick up from where he left off. 

But right now, the more pressing matter is how his little sister is looking at him with a glare so intense he thinks she’s trying to shoot a laser through his skull. Her eyebrows are furrowed, anger evident on her face. Seonghyeon knows that he’s fucked up. He doesn’t need Sera to remind him.

“How fucking dare you?” she hisses at him. Her voice is laced with venom, and Seonghyeon has never been scared of his little sister before, but there’s a first time for everything. “You kiss my best friend and then you tell her that ‘you can’t’? Are you serious?” 

“Sera, I—”

“I’m not finished.”

“I told you at the beginning of the year to look out for her, and this is what you do? Fuck with her feelings? She’s been avoiding me for a whole week because of you!”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” Seonghyeon stammers. “I didn’t intend for it to.”

“No shit, Seonghyeon — couldn’t you have thought it through before you made a move like that?” 

“I didn’t intend to actually end up liking her, Sera!” Seonghyeon exclaims. “You don't think I feel guilty for saying that and pushing her away? Because it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past week.” 

“I replay that kiss in my mind every second. I hate how just mere moments later I pushed her away. I hate that I made her feel like she meant nothing to me, because she doesn’t — I… I… fuck.” Seonghyeon’s voice cracks. He clutches his head in his hands as he tries to fight back the tears threatening to spill past his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t know how it happened — it wasn’t supposed to. I thought I hated her, and then somewhere along the way I guess I started liking her. I don’t think I ever hated her, actually. I just… I just didn’t realise it.” 

Sera looks at him in stunned silence. She lowers the pillow, seemingly unwilling to attack Seonghyeon again now. 

There’s guilt, regret and desperation written all over Seonghyeon’s face. As Sera looks at him a little closer, she notices the eyebags and the dark circles from tossing and turning at night, losing sleep because Seonghyeon just can’t stop thinking about you. 

She looks at the book that’s at the foot of his bed — Plato’s Symposium. Seonghyeon had never shown remotely any interest in philosophy, and Sera’s shocked that he’s actually reading a book of that genre. But then she notices that there’s multiple plastic tabs sticking out of the book, and Sera knows only one person who does that when reading. 

It’s your copy.

“You’re in love with her,” she gasps. 

“Yeah,” Seonghyeon admits quietly. He thought it was just like initially, but when his heart physically hurts at the thought of losing you, it must be something more. It must be love.

He thinks he should feel some sense of relief at that realisation, but all he feels is guilt. How could he not when all he’s replaying in his head is kissing you like that before he just had to push you away? 

He sees you in class and all he notices is that you’re awfully quiet, you barely smile, and there’s a certain dullness in your eyes that wasn’t really there before. Seonghyeon hates knowing that he’s the reason why. 

“I am. And I fucked it all up.” 

“I didn’t want to make things weird with you and her. You told me at the beginning of the year that she was off limits to me and my friends,” Seonghyeon mumbles. 

“But this is killing me, Sera. I’m rereading this goddamn book like a madman.” he says, holding up Symposium. He really thinks that he might be going crazy without seeing your face. “I keep trying to find her and try to talk to her, but she won’t even look at me and avoids me every chance she gets. I think that even if she did want to talk to me, I wouldn't even be able to gather up the courage to say anything. That's how fucked I am."

“When I said that she was off limits… it wasn’t a definite thing. You should’ve just talked to me, Seonghyeon,” Sera’s voice is a little softer now, sitting down on the edge of Seonghyeon’s bed. “I want you both to be happy, and if you’re the one making her happy, why wouldn’t I be okay with that?”

“I don’t know,” Seonghyeon confesses. “I didn’t realise I didn’t hate her until a few months ago.” 

“Yeah, you’re pretty bad with emotions,” Sera replies bluntly. “Sorry. Like I told you earlier in the year, you didn’t hate her – you just never got to know her properly.”

“Look, I’m probably not supposed to be telling you this, but… she told me today she’s liked you ever since she can remember.” Sera jabs her finger at Seonghyeon’s chest. 

Seonghyeon's breath catches in his throat. You’ve liked him for that long. You’ve waited for him. 

“I, for one, can’t believe I was so blind. But seriously, Seonghyeon – I know my best friend, and she’s not going to stop liking you anytime soon. She really likes you and I’m more than willing to bet money on the fact that she’s going to give you another shot. But you really have to apologise and tell her how you feel, because I know you feel the same way.” 

“She told me to be nice to you,” Sera pipes up. “Even when you were a dick.” 

God. Seonghyeon had hurt you that badly, and you were still asking Sera to be nice when you really had no reason to even extend the slightest amount of kindness to him. The guilt is eating him alive, and he knows that he has to do something about it. He has to find the courage to actually tell you how he feels.

“Go fix things tomorrow. You have to talk to her.” 

“I will,” Seonghyeon sighs softly. “I just… don’t really know what to say.” 

Sera scoffs. “You don’t need to say something perfect, Seonghyeon.” 

“Just say something real.” 

You’re nowhere to be seen. 

Seonghyeon is freaking out. 

He’s been running around the school like a madman, sprinting across campus just to see if you’re around. Keonho notices how restless Seonghyeon is in class, tapping his foot anxiously on the floor and barely listening to the teacher. He’s never seen Seonghyeon act this way before. 

When the bell rings, Seonghyeon’s the first one out the door. Seonghyeon’s sheer speed as he runs out the door makes Keonho question whether or not he should try and convince him to try out for athletics. 

By third period, Seonghyeon’s nearly convinced himself that you’re dead. You never miss classes, let alone three of them. You also show up when you’re sick, so whatever your situation is – it must be dire.

He can’t find Sera because they’re in different grades, so he decides to go up to the person you’re closest to in class, besides himself. 

“Leean, I need your help.” Seonghyeon’s breathless as she approaches her desk — after all, he had been running around the entire school today to see where you were. It was unusual for you to not be in class at all.

“Is this about (Name)?” She doesn’t seem surprised, but there’s a certain coldness in her tone that’s never been there before. She must know, he thinks. 

Usually Seonghyeon would be embarrassed and flustered that for some reason his classmate knew that he was looking for you, but he didn’t care anymore — he had to make things right. 

“Yeah, yes — where is she?” 

Leean looks away, clearly hesitant to tell him. “Look, I don’t know if I should tell you,” she sighs. “She’s not… really doing well. You know why.”

“Please. I messed up,” He’s desperate. He doesn’t even care that Leean probably knows everything he’s done.  “I have to make it right.” 

She, too, notices the dark circles under his eyes and the urgency in his voice. His hair is unbelievably messy, probably from running his hands through them all day in frustration. She's never seen Seonghyeon — the boy known for looking too perfect and put-together — look this distressed and disheveled. 

Then it hits her. The desperation in his eyes, the worry in his tone, even how his hands are shaking slightly – Eom Seonghyeon is in love with you. 

She remembers how you were describing that night when you confided in her about everything. You couldn’t tell Sera, but you had to tell someone – bottling up your feelings simply felt awful. The hope that you had of him maybe liking you back, and then the heartache when he’d pushed you away. Leean knows that you’re in love with him, and you wouldn’t stop loving him anytime soon. 

She knows that she really shouldn’t tell him. But she also really couldn’t get in the way of what she now realised was real love. 

“Fine,” she exhales. “She’s not here today. She’s out all day at an art gallery for a visual arts assignment. I don’t know how you’re going to be able to find her, since there’s so many in the city.” 

Art gallery. Visual arts assignment. 

Rembrandt. 

Seonghyeon knows exactly where you are. 

“Okay,” he says, nodding. Leean notices the shift in his demeanour. “I’m gonna go. Please tell Ms Seo I’m not going to be here for math.” 

Leean thinks Seonghyeon’s crazy. Missing any other class without a valid reason was fine, but missing math with Ms Seo was a death sentence. “You’re missing math? For what?” she sputters.

“I have to find (Name),” he says, running his fingers through his hair. He takes his phone out of his pocket, searching for the art gallery that he knows you’re at. It’s a 15 minute drive away — he’s just going to have to call a car to pick him up. “Yeah. I’m not gonna make it back in time for class.”

“Seonghyeon, Ms Seo is literally going to kill you. I know you’re worried about (Name), but can it wait? Maybe until lunch?” 

“I’ve stalled for too long,” he shakes his head, clicking onto the rideshare app he rarely uses. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Seonghyeon has never felt this desperate. “It’s fine. I’ll take the detention and the six different worksheets she’ll give me. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t do this.”

The conviction in his voice is enough to tell Leean that nothing she’ll say is going to stop him. She sighs, nodding. “At least just head to admin and sign out? Say that you have some health appointment — I don't think (Name) would want you to face Ms Seo's wrath either.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Seonghyeon says absentmindedly. He looks at his phone, and he sees that the cab is almost here. “Okay, I’m gonna go.” He slings his backpack over one shoulder, thanking Leean hastily before he runs out the classroom. 

He runs right past the nurse’s office and the admin office – Seonghyeon really doesn’t care about the repercussions right now. Ms Seo is definitely going to kill him. His mother’s going to scold him when she finds out. Keonho, Martin and Juhoon are going to tease him about this mercilessly. 

But love makes people do crazy things, and Eom Seonghyeon thinks that this is going to be one of the craziest things he’s ever done.  

When Seonghyeon steps into the art gallery, he’s reminded about why he doesn’t go there willingly. 

He likens them to mazes. To him, there’s no logical direction like there is in a history museum. Seonghyeon also especially hates that the map that he was given at the door doesn’t tell him where a specific painting is.

He's stopped by a ridiculously overpriced flower shop right at the front of the gallery, and he doesn’t hesitate to buy a bouquet of marigolds – your favourites. The ticket is also insanely expensive, but it doesn’t really matter. He can justify it to his mother later. 

And considering that he has to find you in this maddeningly confusing place, Seonghyeon thinks that he’s really got his work cut out for him. He runs past every single painting, eyes flicking up to check if it’s the one that you mentioned. Much to his disappointment, the first few corridors that he runs down don’t have the painting displayed on the wall. 

The other people in the museum – tourists, artists and critics – all look at him disapprovingly as his footsteps clack loudly on the wooden floor, disrupting the quietness and serenity of the space. 

Seonghyeon grimaces when he spots someone glaring at him, muttering an apology for disrupting them. But he’s too preoccupied with finding you. 

The stupid map he’s holding is of no help, and Seonghyeon practically wants to rip it apart until he wanders into a corridor that he thinks he’s never been to before. He doesn’t know where he is at this point, and he’s clutching onto the flowers for dear life as if they’ll somehow keep him sane. He’s been running around for 15 minutes, and he hasn’t found you yet. He’s starting to think that perhaps he’d gotten it wrong – maybe you weren’t here. 

Seonghyeon turns the corner. His eyes flick up to the painting quickly, prepared to already groan in disappointment before he has to slink down another hallway that looks just about the same. But this time, he gasps. 

Aristotle with a Bust of Homer. 

Most people who go to art galleries would marvel at the painting for a few minutes before looking around the space. 

Seonghyeon’s eyes immediately go to the figure sitting on the bench in front of the painting. 

It’s you.

You’re writing something down in a notebook, one earphone in your ear with your brows furrowed in concentration. To Seonghyeon, you look unbelievably beautiful – you always do. His breath hitches in his throat, and suddenly all the words that he was preparing to say in the car are lost on him. 

He can’t even bring himself to speak just yet — he just stands there for a few seconds, admiring you. Is it bad that he doesn’t care much about the painting? 

Seonghyeon takes a deep breath before he clears his throat to catch your attention. You turn to look in the direction of the noise that had disrupted the silence, and you’re stunned when you see Seonghyeon standing there, with a bouquet of marigolds in his hands.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly. “I thought I’d find you here.”

You furrow your brows, setting your pen and notebook on the bench. “How’d you find me?” you ask in disbelief, taking out your earphones. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy to see him, but the ache from that night still stings a little. 

“Rembrandt. You told me about his paintings and how you wanted to make your assignment about this exact work once when we were studying. And…I had to come find you,” he says, taking a hesitant step towards you. “I messed up that night.” 

The mention of that night makes you grimace. “Seonghyeon, it’s fine — we really don’t have to talk about it. It was like a spur of the moment thing, or something. Just go back to class before Ms Seo literally kills you.”

“It wasn't,” The certainty in his voice surprises you. “I meant it. I wanted to.” 

You don’t say anything in response, and Seonghyeon takes it as a cue to continue talking. Sera’s words ring in his head – just say something real. 

“I always thought I disliked you,” he blurts out. Wow, bad start, he thinks. It couldn’t get any worse, could it? He sees your face fall slightly. “No, no, that came out wrong – um, let me finish. I don’t hate you. I’m just… really bad at realising my own feelings.” 

“I always felt nervous around you, I never knew what to say, and I suppose I jumped to conclusions and thought that I hated you. But then this year… I realised that it was actually the opposite. My nerves really just stemmed from the fact that I… I cared about you. Cared about how well you were doing in school, cared about how you were always around, and I really cared about what you thought of me. I didn’t want you to think I was stupid or anything or that I couldn’t match your intellect, as strange as it sounds.” 

“And then this year I realised that I just knew things about you, even though I – stupidly – never made any attempt to try and get to know you better earlier on. Like how you tap the cover of your books when you’re nervous, and how you only use purple sticky tabs for pages in your books with annotations, and that you only use blue pens for essay subjects and black pens for subjects with numbers. His throat burns as he rambles. “Juhoon said that only a lunatic or someone madly in love would notice these things, and I know I’m the latter.” Seonghyeon doesn’t miss the way your breath catches in your throat when you hear him say that he’s in love with you. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not good with emotions. I’m really stupid to only have realised it now. And I’m sorry that I pushed you away that night when I felt like… this. I got scared – everything got too real, I suppose, and thinking about what Sera said about you being her best friend and everything… I didn’t want everything to become strange.” 

“But this week made me realise that I don’t think I could possibly live with myself without telling you how I feel and giving this a shot. I keep reading Symposium over and over again because it just reminded me of you, and I just… yeah. I know they're kind of mostly talking about platonic love there, but this line stuck out to me and I think it works. It was something about love being the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole, and... yeah. You just make me feel whole.

"I don't even know if that makes a lot of sense," he sighs, but Seonghyeon could not care less about looking dumb right now. "But I’m so stupidly in love with you.”

“I love how passionate you are about the things you’re interested in. I love how much you chat my ear off about Plato and Aristotle and Rembrandt’s paintings. I love how much you care about everyone – and how you care about me, such as knowing what kind of books I like, or my favourite flavour of ice cream when I’ve never even mentioned it to anyone before. It was that day at the bookstore where everything clicked for me – that I really, really liked you. And after that realisation, everything just finally felt right.” 

“And I suppose what I’m trying to say here with all my rambling, is that if you’d still have me… I’d really want to be yours.” 

He lets out a deep exhale after he pours his heart out to you. He quickly looks back down at his shoes once he’s finished speaking. He’s hesitant to even look at you and witness your reaction to his words. He’s never said anything this raw, this genuine, this honest – especially not regarding his feelings. But saying it out loud feels right. He loves you. Seonghyeon has never been more sure of anything in his life. 

There's a beat of silence that falls between the two of you. Seonghyeon’s heart drops.

“Do you really mean all that?” you pipe up. You blink rapidly, as if you’re still trying to digest everything that he just said.

“Yeah,” He’s never said anything more real. “I do. Every word.” 

“You’re… you’re insane,” you finally breathe out. Seonghyeon looks at you, and there are tears in your eyes. But you don’t seem angry or repulsed, and you’re not running away. He wants nothing more than to reach out and wipe the tears from your eyes for you, but he doesn’t know if you’re willing to let him get that close. 

“I know,” he admits. His voice is low in a whisper, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. “But I love you.” 

He hopes it’s enough. 

You step closer towards him, and Seonghyeon slowly looks up at you. “I thought I’d be the one to say all that first,” you shake your head almost in disbelief. After pining for him for so long, Seonghyeon ended up being the one who had confessed. You don’t think you ever saw that coming. 

“So are you saying – you feel the same?” Seonghyeon stammers, panic evident in his tone. He doesn’t know why he’s actually asking that, considering that both Sera and Leean had confirmed it for him. He supposes that after that night, he didn’t know if you would actually still have feelings for him. “Like, I know it’s a lot to process, and I can wait–” 

Your hands grab the lapels of his uniform, pulling him closer to you and capturing his lips in a kiss. He’s slightly taken aback at first before he kisses you back. One hand cups your cheek as the other finds your waist like he’s done this a million times before, and Seonghyeon kisses you like you’re oxygen and he’s struggling to breathe. Finally, he thinks. Everything feels right. 

It was messy and desperate, but it couldn’t have been more perfect. It was the kind of kiss that conveyed every single emotion that the two of you felt for the last week after being separated for so long.

There couldn’t possibly be a more picturesque location for a first – well, second – kiss. The world crumbles away, and it’s only you and him. Seonghyeon doesn’t care that there’s other people in this damned art gallery that are acutely aware of their presence and what they’re doing. They’re no doubt either glancing at them oddly, or understanding that this is just young love. 

When you pull away, your lips quirk up in a wide grin. “I love you too. I have, for a really long time now.” you say, whispering against his lips. 

“I know,” he replies, remembering what Sera had told him. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“Did Sera tell you everything?" You don’t seem surprised, but you are slightly embarrassed that Seonghyeon knows how long you’ve been waiting for him to like you back. He nods in response, and you try to hide the flustered expression on your face. “I figured. God, I can’t believe you know that I started reading history books just because I wanted to talk to you more.” 

Seonghyeon now looks shocked. “You did?” 

Your eyes widen – great, you’d just tattled on yourself. You groan, embarrassed as you bury your face in your hands. Seonghyeon’s airy laughter rings through the gallery, his hand gently caressing your shoulder. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. That’s… really sweet of you, actually. But I’m sorry for pushing you away all these years. And for pushing you away that night. I was a massive idiot.” 

“I’m glad you know that,” you joke, but you’re still slightly embarrassed by revealing that small fact about yourself. “I really did want to speak to you, but I was just scared of getting rejected by a guy I’ve liked for a really long time. But I suppose this grand gesture does make up for most of it, though. I can’t believe you’re skipping Ms Seo’s class just for me.” 

“This was important. And I know all the content anyways,” Seonghyeon hums. He suddenly remembers that the bouquet of marigolds is still in his hands, and his eyes widen in alarm. He checks them to see if the arrangement is ruined, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when they’re not. He nervously hands them out to you, and you accept them with a bright smile. “Sorry, I forgot to give you these earlier.” 

“Marigolds,” you grin, admiring the flowers. You press a quick peck to his cheek and watch as his cheeks tint pink. “You remembered. They’re gorgeous.” 

“I’m happy that you like them.” he beams. You think about every word that Seonghyeon said in that confession, and your heart blooms with warmth. “But I hope I’m not distracting you too much from your assignment with my confession. You wouldn’t mind if I stayed here with you, right?” 

You shake your head. You’re more than happy he’s here, but you’re genuinely worried that Ms Seo’s going to kill him when she finds out that he’s skipped her class. “I’m kind of done, I think. I made my notes and everything, and I just have to put everything together when I get home. But I was planning to stay and walk around the gallery a little bit more, since I’m signed out for the whole day. I just don’t want Ms Seo to… you know… make you suffer for the rest of the year?” 

“I’ll tell my mom to maybe lie for me,” he replies, and you can tell that it’s sinking in for him that Ms Seo is not going to be easy on him unless he’s somehow able to pull an acceptable excuse out of his ass. “Surely my mom would understand. Sera would help me convince her too. Or maybe, Ms Seo would be totally okay with me saying that I had to pull off a grand gesture to get the girl I love back.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “That would be lovely, but also… no chance.” 

“I’ll take the 15 worksheets she’ll give me. This was worth it,” he gives your hand a tight squeeze. “So… will you show me around the gallery? Just tell me everything about all of his paintings. We can start with this one?” 

“I kind of talked way too much about this during that study session, Hyeon,” you laugh. You called him Hyeon. A giddy smile creeps up on his lips. “Wouldn’t you get bored?”

“I’d never get bored of hearing you talk.” he replies. You chuckle before flicking open your notebook. You read out the commentary you’ve made on the painting, pointing up at the specific parts that you’re mentioning. Seonghyeon listens to every single word with your hand laced in his, putting in his own thoughts here and there.

The two of you wander around the entire museum, and miraculously, with you by his side, Seonghyeon doesn’t get lost at all. Suddenly, he thinks that he loves art galleries.

He sneaks in a couple of kisses here and there as you’re rambling. He smiles in amusement as you completely forget what you’ve been saying after he presses his lips to yours. 

The last painting the two of you see in the museum is The Polish Rider, and Seonghyeon finds it awfully fitting. The last painting he sees with you in this exhibit is the painting mentioned in the first poem that had in some ways, brought you two together. 

As you’re telling him about the painting, he allows his eyes to wander a little. They land on you, and instantly, a lovesick smile stretches across his lips. 

And it’s then when he just knows that the kind of love that had been described in the poem that you two had analysed together — breathtaking, all-consuming, fervent — was very much so attainable. 

Because he feels it.

Despite being surrounded by paintings revered by all, Eom Seonghyeon would much rather look at you than all the other portraits in the world.

Yunjae stood in front of you, his pink bottom lip jutted out as he watched you patiently pull out a beanie to complete his look. The toddler had woken you up before the sun had even risen, mumbling about playing in the snow with Layla.

So here you were, dressing your four year old son for the cold winter weather. You gently placed the beanie over his head, making sure it covered even his little ears. Yunjae only stared at you before shifting his gaze over your shoulder, landing on the figure still buried beneath the thick blankets.

"Will dada come with?" he asked softly, biting his bottom lip the same way Jake did whenever he wasn't sure if what he was saying was right.

You glanced back at your still sleeping husband, who had come home late last night due to his packed schedule. Turning back to your son, you gently brushed the bangs peeking out from his beanie.

"When he wakes up, darling," you said softly. "Dad's very tired."

Yunjae merely nodded, solemn, as if having fun in the snow was somehow wrong without his father. You stood up with a soft grunt, extending your hand toward your toddler.

"Let's go, buddy."

Yunjae hesitated for a second before slipping his tiny hand into yours, his fingers curling around yours like he was anchoring himself. His grip was warm despite the cold creeping in from the windows.

"Okay.." he murmured, though his eyes flickered back to the bed one last time.

You noticed it, of course you did. Yunjae adored his father—everything felt a little less exciting if Jake wasn't there to witness it.

-

Outside, in front of the house, Yunjae ran around in the snow with Layla, his soft giggles echoing through the quiet neighborhood, accompanied only by the occasional whisper of the wind and the dog's panting.

You sat on the porch steps, a mug of hot chocolate clutched in your freezing hands as you watched your son fondly. When Layla suddenly tackled the toddler into the snow, you felt a presence settle beside you—your husband, dressed in nothing but a shirt and sweatpants, curling up next to you.

"It's snowing, Jake. What the hell are you wearing?" you muttered, setting your mug down before taking his hand in yours. He stayed silent, only leaning closer, curling further into you for warmth.

Jake's eyes remained on Yunjae, who was laughing as he tried to push Layla away, the dog jumped back and barked in glee. Yunjae sat up, snow dusting his beanie, his nose—identical to Jake's—red from the cold.

"Dada!"

Yunjae shot up, running straight toward his father and throwing his snow covered arms around him. Jake let out a soft groan, laughing sleepily as he hugged his son back despite the cold seeping through his clothes.

You tutted softly, brushing the snow off Yunjae's eyelashes.

"I'll make a snowman, watch me!" Yunjae beamed, pulling away before either of you could respond, already rolling a small mound of snow across the ground.

Taking the chance, Jake scooted closer, slipping his arms beneath your blanket before burying his face into the crook of your neck. You let out a small flinch at the cold but quickly relaxed, welcoming him into your warmth.

"You'll catch a cold," you whispered, your voice gentle as the two of you watched your son fondly, now focused on rolling the snow for his snowman's torso.

"'M lazy," he drawled, a quiet laugh escaping him when Layla suddenly jumped onto the snow Yunjae was rolling, the toddler squealing in surprise before bursting into giggles.

"You know," you began, gently rubbing circles over Jake's arm wrapped around you.

He hummed softly.

"I have the prettiest son, thanks to you."

Jake huffed out a quiet laugh against your skin, his breath still cold as it brushed your neck.

"Yeah?" he murmured, voice low and still a little rough from sleep. His arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you closer beneath the blanket.

"I think he gets that from you."

He shifted just enough to glance at Yunjae, a soft smile forming.

"Sure, he's got my genes," he added, voice quieter now, "but he's all you." His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your arm. "Carried him for nine months, raised him.. that's you."

He pressed a lazy kiss to your neck, lingering.

"Pretty things usually come from you anyway."

"Dada! Mama! Look!" Yunjae's voice rang out through the cold air as he waved, bouncing in place beside his snowman like he could barely contain himself. His cheeks were flushed pink, beanie slightly crooked, and his little gloved hands dusted with snow. All while Layla sat beside the snowman like she had contributed to it as well.

You and Jake both looked up at the same time.

Jake let out a soft chuckle, tightening his arms around you. "He's loud," he murmured, though there was nothing but fondness in his voice.

"He gets that from you," you whispered back.

"Yeah?" Jake hummed sleepily, nuzzling closer into your shoulder. "Is that a compliment, baby?"

Yunjae didn't wait any longer—he was already running toward you both, nearly slipping in the snow before catching himself with a proud little gasp.

"I made it all by myself!" he announced, pointing dramatically at the lopsided snowman like it was the greatest thing in the world.

You leaned forward slightly from the porch step, brushing snow off his sleeve. "It's really good, baby."

Jake stayed seated beside you, still half-curled in his shirt and sweatpants, eyes squinting slightly at the snowman like he was critically inspecting it. "Hmm," he murmured after a beat. "Pretty solid construction. Might survive the winter."

Yunjae gasped. "Really?!"

Jake nodded once, a soft smile on his face. "Very impressive work, buddy. Good job."

That was all it took for Yunjae to light up, bouncing on on his heels in glee before suddenly freezing mid-celebration. He placed his hands over his covered stomach.

Then he looked at you with the most serious expression a four year old could muster.

"I'm hungry," he declared.

You blinked, stunned at the sudden switch. "Already?"

"I want breakfast," he added matter-of-factly, already trudging back toward the porch like the snowman had been completed and emotionally filed away.

Jake stared after him for a second, then let out a quiet laugh against your neck.

"He just abandoned his life's work."

"He's four," you said, trying not to laugh.

"Mama, I want pancakes," he added, like it was the most urgent matter in the world, sending a longing look towards your way.

You laughed softly, standing up to follow your son inside, but before Yunjae could even reach the door, Jake shifted.

In one smooth motion, he stood from the porch, stepped forward, and scooped Yunjae up under his arms.

"Dada!" Yunjae squealed instantly, legs kicking mid-air as he was lifted like it was nothing.

Jake adjusted him easily onto his hip, holding him snug against his side despite still being in his shirt and sweatpants. "No walking away mid-ceremony," he muttered, pressing a clumsy peck on his son's red cheek.

Yunjae giggled wildly, clinging to him. "Put me down!"

"Nope."

You watched them both, shaking your head with a smile as Jake carried him toward the door anyway.

"Pancakes first," Jake said, glancing at you over his shoulder.

Yunjae nodded quickly, still laughing. "Pancakes first!"

And just like that, the snowman was forgotten—standing alone in front of the house—while your little family headed inside, warm laughter trailing behind them.

You really couldn't ask for anything more.

“Out of the way!” Mila’s manager held an arm around her shoulder, keeping her as close as possible to avoid the hands that reached out to her. And yet, it was fruitless — she could feel them on her clothes, on her hair, any part of her that they could touch. She jolted when one of them landed dangerously low on her back, and she resisted the urge to cry as another managed to grab her arm with a death grip, before her manager was able to pull her away.

There was no room to breathe. The parking lot felt no bigger than an elevator, with people crowding her and her staff in from all sides. A flash of a camera caused her to flinch, and the sounds of people screaming her name overlapped each other and became loud ringing in her ears. The heat of her body was not cooled by the perspiration that slid down the skin of her neck and face, but instead served to suffocate her more as it dampened her clothes. Her limbs felt like lead weighing her down and even breathing became difficult to do.

Mila could feel her eyelids start to drop. Her manager’s arm tightened around her as her legs became weak, threatening to buckle under her weight.

How ironic, she thought. She came to the doctor’s to get better, but it looked like doing so was only going to make her health worse.

“Move out of the way! Get away!”

Mila stumbled as fans pushed into each other, before tripping over each other’s limbs and falling to the asphalt. There was more screaming and flashing cameras, but at least this time Mila was able to see the company van through the mob, just a few feet away. She could make it. She just had to hold on a little bit longer.

But she could feel herself slipping away, black spots covering her vision, her breaths short and shallow. She could vaguely hear the sound of her manager was opening the door, covering her back as she stepped into the vehicle and telling her something. But she couldn’t quite make out the words, his voice muffled like she was underwater and water was filling her ears. It took everything in her just to make the step into the backseat, before she was collapsing onto the leather seat.

The last thing Mila saw before she let her eyes fall shut was the sight of flashing cameras, against the tinted windows, and the screams of her name.

By the time Mila woke up, it was to the sound of muffled voices and the feeling of someone softly caressing her hair.

“What did the doctor say?” came Kiara’s voice.

A sigh that Mila recognised as her manager’s followed his question. “She’s feeling weak from over exertion. She has a Vitamin C deficiency, which is why she’s alway getting tired recently…”

Heeseung exhaled deeply through his nose. “And what about those people who crowded her at the doctor’s building? What happened to them?”

There was a pause. “You know we can’t do anything about them.”

“What sort of bullsh—”

Mila chose that moment to let her eyes flutter open to see Jongseong’s gentle eyes as they regarded her awakened state. “Hi, Angel.”

Mila groaned, unable to form words. Before she could say anything, Jongseong was being nudged aside by Heeseung, who took his place by her bedside, eyes full of worry as his hand gently cradled her face. In another situation. “How are you feeling? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Mila furrowed her eyebrows. Ah, Mila thought. Right. She had been mobbed by a group of fans at her doctor’s appointment, which the public should have even been aware of. She took a second to gather her surroundings: she was in her room and lying in bed, meaning she must have been carried inside. She still felt heavy, but at least the migraine from when she was being surrounded by manic fans had subsided. She could acutely feel pain in her limbs, but she brushed it off as being a side effect of overexerting herself.

She shook her head, smiling gently at the older male. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Heeseung sighed in relief, before bidding his head. “Okay. Then gets me sleep, okay? I’ll be here with Jongseong if you need anything.”

Mila hummed. But she couldn’t muster the strength to reply. It didn’t even take a second after she closed her eyes before she fell into darkness again. But even then, she could still recognise the voices of her boyfriends and her eonnie as they spoke to each other.

“I should have gone with her…”

“You couldn’t have known what was going to happen, Heeseung-ah. Don’t blame yourself.”

Mila wanted to agree, to reassure him and let him know that he wasn’t to blame — that Mila was simply having a bad day. But she couldn’t. She was already fading into deep slumber before she could utter a word.

Mila was alone when she opened her eyes again. But she couldn’t feel upset about it — not when pain shot up her limbs when she tried to sit up, an ache spreading through her body. She winced, clutching her side, only to flinch back when the pressure caused another age of pain to shoot up her body.

“What even?” Mila cursed as she lifted her top, only to spot a large purple bruise blooming across her ribs. Figures. Her Vitamin C deficiency would have made her vulnerable to bruising, and the fan mobbing from earlier was more than enough stimulus to cause injury — what, with all the limbs falling everywhere as she tried to make her way through the crowd, barely conscious.

She pulled up her pyjama sleeve. More bruises. She pulled up the leg of her pants — and of course, there were even more. And when she looked at the spots, she could still feel the phantom touches lingering on her — especially the ones that had gotten too close for comfort. It was like there wasn’t a single part of her body that remained unaffected by the wondering hands of total strangers that were doing everything in their power to get as close as physically possible.

And for what? What could they have possibly gained from it? (She shuddered to think about what would happen if there was someone there with evil intentions.)

Mila sighed. She thought she would have been more frustrated… But she couldn’t even find the strength to do so. All she could do was lie back down on her pillows, staring up at the ceiling as she pondered her situation.

It seemed like nothing was going her way these past few days. She had back to back promotions to attend to, including filming for a variety show and a radio talk show, followed immediately by an opening event, and then another photoshoot for her brand endorsements. She barely managed to make it through the past week, but now the exhaustion she felt from constantly working, day in and day out, caught up to her, and she found herself unable to even lift a spoon without faltering.

It was frustrating. Not being able to do what she usually did, feeling helpless as she watched her boyfriends run around and attempt to assist her with duties that she should have been able to do on her own. But it was even more annoying after today, hearing Heeseung blame himself for something that was never his fault.

She wished that she hadn’t gotten sick in the first place. She wished that she’d have been more resilient. But now she was causing everyone to worry about her, and she didn’t even want to think about what would happen if they found out about the bruises that were littered across her skin.

“Who is it?” Mila squinted her eyes. She woke up in the middle of the night when she felt another figure slip into her bed, before arms wrapped around her. She smiled when she realised who it was. “It’s just me.”

“It’s just me,” Riki whispered. “The hyungs said not to disturb you but I missed you.”

Mila hummed as she reached up and caressed the top of the younger male’s head, doing her best to make sure his arms didn’t come into contact with her bruises. It had been a while since she was able to cuddle, and she admitted that she missed the warmth that the tall boy provided.

“Are you doing okay?”

Mila nodded, biting back a wince when Riki hugged her closer to him. “I’m fine.”

But it wasn’t. Not really. And there was only so long before it became obvious.

“Yah, what’s this?” Mila was jolted out of her thoughts when a hand grabbed her wrist, pulling up the sleeve of her jumper to reveal spots of blue littered across the length of her pale skin. Sunghoon’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes snapping to Mila’s for an explanation. “Where did this come from?”

Mila had been careful not to let anyone see the injuries that she discovered on herself, and she had thought she would at least be able to keep up the act until they faded. But as it happened, it hadn’t even been a day. And really, she should have expected as much — nothing escaped her boyfriend’s notice when it came to her. It only took her flinching slightly when Sunghoon gently squeezed her bicep before his eyes had narrowed in suspicion.

Mila opened her mouth to explain, not wanting him to worry, but instead, she ended up getting cut off by someone else.

“What’s wrong?” Jungwon peered over Sunghoon’s shoulder, before gasping, his eyes widening in shock. They scanned over her skin before landing on Mila’s face. Voice shaking, he asked, “Noona, what are these?”

“I just got them from bumping into people,” Mila said hurriedly, recognising the tone in his voice. “It’s nothing serious.”

“‘Nothing serious?’” Sunghoon repeated incredulously as he joined the others. By now, the others had crowded around Mila to get a look at what was happening, and all had been in shock to see the bruises on Mila’s arm, before it then shifted into worry… and perhaps, maybe even fear.

Heeseung had a stern expression. He lifted her arm slightly, though still careful not to pull too hard or for his fingers to accidentally apply pressure to the purple spots. “This doesn’t seem ‘serious’ to you?” His eyes bore into Mila with a desperation evident in his gaze, serving as a thin veil to his anger. (Not towards her, though — and that was honestly more worrisome.) “Answer me properly: who did this?”

Mila opened her mouth and closed it again. She didn’t sense any anger in his voice or his tone, instead all she could find was panic — and the look made something in her gut drop with guilt. She could briefly see Riki’s conflicted expression from where he stood behind Heeseung, and Sunoo looked as if he had seen a ghost.

She felt hands on her face, bringing her attention back to Jongseong. “Please,” he said, “don’t hide this from us.”

Mila sighed. “I don’t know… There were just too many people there, and I didn’t know who was who…” The boys were silent as the words sunk in. “But it wouldn’t have been this bad if it weren’t for my Vitamin C deficit. It wasn’t that anyone intentionally hurt me or anything… I just happen to bruise easily these days.”

There was a pause. For a second, Mila thought she was going to be scolded, but instead, she was pulled into a firm chest, as a large palm cradled the back of her head. Jaeyun was careful not to hold her too tightly, but still firmly enough that Mila was engulfed in his warmth. “Damn it, don’t scare us like that.”

Heeseung sighed, reaching up to hold a hand against his forehead. Jungwon glanced at him before looking back at Mila. “Next time, please don’t hide this from us,” he said with a frown. “I honestly thought my heart stopped for a second.”

Sunoo furrowed his eyebrows, his worried eyes skimming over Mila’s revealed skin. There weren’t any words to describe how much his heart hurt seeing Mila’s sickened state these past few days, but seeing those bruises had caused his heart to drop in his stomach in fear — a fear he recognised on the day they got the news of the mob who crowded her on her way back from her doctor’s appointment.

He wasn’t the only one, either. They had all reached a similar conclusion: What if someone really got their hands her that day? What if they hurt her? What if — goodness forbid — she had been alone that day and didn’t have anyone by her side? No bodyguards, no manager, no members… Just her against a mob of crazed “fans” who would do anything to be close to her, no matter the lengths they had to take?

For a second, Jongseong really thought he was going to lose all control of his sanity. He couldn’t even imagine Heeseung or Sunghoon’s feelings; just the news alone of the fan mob was enough to make them clench his fists in anger, as if ready to strike — but if something were to actually happen? If things turned out worse than they did?

Jongseong didn’t want to think about it.

“Still, how could it be this bad?” Sunoo asked. “You look like someone…”

It looked like someone had hit her. And that thought alone made him sick to the stomach, and his eyes sting with tear.

“I promise that wasn’t the case. Really. The worse that happened was someone grabbing onto my arm, but manager pulled me away before anything happened.” Mila raised her arms, and he fell into them immediately. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Don’t apologise.” Riki placed a hand on Mila’s head like he was too scared that she might break with the slightest touch. “We just want you to be okay.”

Mila nodded. She looked around at her boyfriends, a sense of heaviness in her chest. It hurt more seeing them this heartbroken, than it did to be bruised, and she really wished they never had to experience sadness in their lives. But it was only natural that these things happened. At the very least, they were together.

“Group hug?” Mila asked, opened her arms to the rest of them. They looked sceptical at first, clearly wondering over the severity of her injuries, but Mila reassured them with a smile. “I promise I’ll tell you if it hurts.”

That seems to ease their worries, because next thing Mila knew, she was being held in the centre of seven boys. She only wished Kiara was with them, to complete the Enhypen group huddle, but the older female was filling in for a schedule that Mila had to miss because of her illness. (She would have to inform the older girl later of what happened, if only to prevent her for panicking if she got the report from anyone else.)

“It won’t happen again,” Heeseung whispered into her ears. “I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you, okay?”

Mila smiled. “I know.”

“None of us will,” Sunghoon said. “That’s a promise.”

It was impossible for her to live as an idol, and to be safe. This was the first or last time she would find herself in a situation like this. But somehow, she felt like she could believe them when they said it with so much conviction. And if she could, she would do her best to protect them as well.

“We’ll look after each other,” she said. Just as they always did.

By the time they pulled away from the hug, she was already being ‘treated’, watching with a small smile as their young leader blew on her bruises, placing gentle kisses along them. “So they get better,” Jungwon said with a cute smile, and Mila felt her heart melt.

“Let me, too!” Riki said, before repeating the same actions. His hyungs simply chuckled, watching with fond smiles as their maknaes took turns playing nurse.

Mila couldn’t say that the past few days were good ones. But at times like this, things didn’t seem so bad after all.

ONE. ❝ I DON’T LIKE THE WAY HE’S LOOKING AT YOU … ❞

JAY DIDN’T THINK OF HIMSELF AS PARTICULARLY POSSESSIVE. Among the hyung line of Enhypen, he saw himself as the least easy to revert to what he considered to be ‘primal instinct’ — also known as caveman behaviour. No, Jay was above that. He was a refined, well-mannered, elegant gentleman.

So then why was his blood boiling so much right now?

It was after their Music Bank stage for ‘Bite Me’. Jay had accompanied Mila to go on a walk the boyfriend like the good boyfriend he was. At that moment, Jay couldn’t help but notice the pair of young-looking males behind her, their heads craning and mouths slightly agape as  they watched her walk past. There was no reason why Jay should be getting this riled up over someone looking at his girlfriend — after all, Jay knew she looked beautiful, and it wasn’t the first time she had turned heads by merely walking.

But there was just something about their gazes that rubbed him the wrong way. Something about how their eyes seemed to linger a little too long at her glowing face, illuminated by the smile that she wore upon seeing Jay; how those same eyes burned with familiar emotions as they caught the way Mila’s hips swayed with every step, the length of her legs accentuated from the shorts and long boots she wore. In her all-white outfit, she looked like an angel — just as Jay always said.

Jay tongued the inside of his cheek as he watched them nudging each other before they looked behind them again for more.

Nor was it the last time, either.

If Jay thought it would be over as soon as they left the vicinity of those shameless eyeballers, then he was completely wrong. Because before he even got the chance to bring Mila back to the safety of the changing rooms, he had already spotted several dangerous gazes on Mila as they walked past, looking her up and down with an appreciation for her attractiveness that Jay was familiar with. Having enough, he decided to pull her into an empty room along the way, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Ah, I can’t do this anymore…”

Mila looked up at Jay in confusion. “Do what?”

Jay didn’t say another word as he took off his jacket, draping it over Mila’s shoulder like a cape. Mila looked down at it, before returning her gaze back to Jay’s eyes. Upon looking closely, she could see a familiar fire stirring in his eyes, so intense and heated that anyone that looked into them might get burnt.

“Oppa, are you okay?” Mila whispered, lowering her voice as she took a step closer to him. “What’s wrong?”

Jay sighed. His hands snuck up beneath the blazer he draped over and and rubbed Mila’s arms. He stepped forward, backing Mila against the wall before pressing his forehead against hers. He sighed before closing eyes to avoid looking into Mila’s eyes.

“They’re annoying me.”

Mila blinked. “Who? Why?”

Jay laughed, despite himself. “Those guys who keep looking at you… they’re annoying me.”

It was silent. Jay wondered if Mila was silently judging him for having such a reaction to something as simple as people looking at her. But instead, Mila giggled, causing Jay to open his eyes.

“Why are you laughing?” Jay asked, trying to be serious, only to fail miserably when a smile made its way on his gestures. He placed his hands on her waist and dug his fingers into her sides to tickle her, causing her to squeal in surprise. “Is it funny to you?”

“No!” Mila laughed, trying in vain to tear his hands from her sides. “It’s cute, cute!”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “‘Cute’?”

Mila giggled. “Eung. You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Without another word, she pressed her lips against his. He responded immediately, his hand cupping her cheek to bring her face as close to him as was physically possible. His kiss was possessive in the way it escalated from soft, to demanding, his mouth so desperate to meld against hers it was almost bruising. His tongue flicked out for a second to taste an explosion of cherry and peach from her lips, a flare of desire in his chest when she hummed softly against him. However, to his dismay, she put her hands on his chest, before gently pushing him away.

“As much as I would love to makeout with you, I don’t think we should be doing it when everyone is waiting for us to go back.”

Jay laughed, nodding his head sensibly as he caressed Mila’s cheek. “Later?”

Mila smiled. “Later.” Mila pecked his cheek. “I love you.”

Jay chuckled, his previous feeling overwhelmed by warmth and adoration for the girl in front of him. “I love you too.”

(Maybe, just maybe, Jay would admit that he was a little more possessive than he thought.)

TWO. ❝ I’M STARTING TO THINK YOU WANT HIM TOO… AM I CRAZY? HAVE I LOST YOU? ❞

SUNGHOON LIKED TO CONSIDER HIMSELF A CALM PERSON. Even when he was angry, he rarely raised his voice, settling instead for a cold sort of anger, that was — while intimidating — not as heated as Jay (just as an example). It was something he learned from his years as a figure skater, and he had learned to pride himself in his ability to keep his feelings under control.

But of course, that all flew out the window whenever Mila was involved.

Sunghoon glared as Mila squealed at the television screen, where she was watching the new season of her newest drama obsession. Which wasn’t a bad thing at all — except she couldn’t seem to stop fangirling over one of the leads. 

“WAH!” Mila jumped up from her seat, almost toppling the box of chocolates on her lap, when the lead came onto the screen, in an action scene that apparently blew her mind. “Yah, why is he so cool?”

Mila had her hands over her mouth, her eyes conveying intense concentration. Sunghoon continued to stare at her, a familiar feeling settling in his gut as he watched her admire the male lead with poorly concealed awe. He crossed his arms and turned his eyes to the screen. How could she fangirl so much over an actor when her boyfriend was sitting right there? Sunghoon couldn’t comprehend it.

He sat like that for a while, choosing not to say anything about it. But at the end of the episode, when Mila decided to call it a night (lest she get scolded by her manager for waking up late for their music stage performance the next day), she had taken the initiative to strike up a conversation first.

“Oppa, are you okay?” Mila asked, scooting closer to his side of the couch. He kept his arms crossed over his chest, looking at her with a stare so intense it could turn any other person to stone. “Sorry, I got a bit carried away, didn’t I?”

Sunghoon continued to stare. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this  — he really wasn’t, considering that he was going to simply cool off his unwanted feelings of jealousy — but it had happened without him even meaning to: as soon as Mila was within arm’s length, he wrapped a wrist around her wrist and pulled her towards him, so that she fell onto his chest.

Mila’s eyes widened a fraction, her lips parting in shock at the sudden movement.

“I must not be your boyfriend,” Sunghoon said quietly, his eyes travelling down at Mila’s face, which further displayed signs of shock. They lingered on her lips, before flicking back up to her wide eyes. “Because you seemed to like that actor better.”

Mila shook her head vigorously. “No, I like you better.” The certainty in Mila’s voice left no room for questioning, her eyes burning with sincerity. “I like the actor as a fan. But I love you as a lover. It’s different.”

Despite himself, a small smirk made its way across Sunghoon’s face. “Really?” Mila nodded, causing a surge of pride to flare in his chest. He licked his teeth, before leaning into Mila’s face, his breath fanning across her plump lips. “Then prove it.”

Mila smiled and let out a small scoff, the puff of air hot on Sunghoon’s face. Without another second wasted, she surged forward to join her lips with hers. Chocolate was the first thing he tasted, when his tongue darted out across her lower lip, claiming the flesh as his own. He hummed in approval when she allowed him entrance, his hands roaming up her hoodie, where he traced shapes into her bare skin beneath it. They stayed like that for moments too long for their lungs to bear, but too short for their desires to be appeased.

When the two finally separated for air, Mila was the first to speak. 

“Is that proof enough?” she asked, panting softly.

Sunghoon’s eyes took in her dazed eyes, her flushed cheeks, and her swollen cheeks. Then he thought back to the way those eyes had sparkles with admiration, those cheeks strained from smiling, and those lips that sang praises for another man. And yes, his brain was telling him Mila was his — but something else, something more primal, told him no. That the short taste he had of her was far from enough.

He rested his forehead against hers. “You can do better than that, Princess.”

Mila’s eyes lit up at the challenge. And not even seconds after the words left Sunghoon’s mouth, they were being swallowed by Mila’s.

(And the rest that followed was definitely far from ‘calm’.) 

THREE. ❝ EVEN THOUGH I KNOW YOU LOVE ME, CAN’T HELP IT … ❞

JUNGWON WAS A LOGICAL PERSON. He was, after all, a ‘T’. And not to mention, a leader as well. So even if he was younger than Mila (by only a year), she had never been one to treat him as a child —occasional babying aside.

But sometimes, he found it was very hard to control his feelings. 

Especially to whoever it was that kept making Mila giggle as she typed away on her screen. Jungwon chewed on the inside of his cheek while his eyes bore into the side of Mila’s face, hoping that his intense stare would catch her attention. But it didn’t. Instead, she continued to smile girlishly at her phone —  just as she had been the past half an hour.

That was the last straw for him.

Jungwon was logical yes — but right now, he was going to make his next moves based on pure emotion. Because that was the only logical reaction to having your girlfriend ignore you for someone else during your hangout time.

“Who’s that?” Jungwon asked, his voice deeper than he expected it to be.

Mila raised her eyebrows, most likely noticing the same thing. And Jungwon’s inner angel beamed at finally having her attention — while his inner devil was still unsatisfied, wanting more of it, until it was completely his. Not… whoever it was she was talking to.

“Oh, it’s Jaehyun!” Mila replied, sounding extremely happy. “He was texting me about what’s happening at the BND dorms. It was so funny.”

With that, Mila turned her head back to her phone, giggling at something else Jaehyun had said. Ever since Mila met him to do a ‘One and Only’ challenge, they hit it off like a house on fire. And Jungwon didn’t mind that they were close — although this time was a different story. He glared at her phone, wondering why Jaehyun had to be bothering his girlfriend right now of all times. And why couldn’t Mila pay him anny attention? This was supposed to be his time with her.

Jungwon huffed. Fine then. If that was how it was going to be…

Jungwon had been lying down on Mila’s pillows, waiting for her to join him to cuddle, but since that wasn’t happening anytime soon — with the way she was sitting upright against the wall, holding a plushie to her chest — he took matters into his own hands. Abandoning the black cat plushie in his arms (that had been dubbed ‘Mini-Jay’ by its owner), Jungwon licked his lips and crawled over to Mila, like a predator approaching its prey.

He pressed his nose against her neck, before whispering, “Are you done yet?” 

Mila froze in place at the sound of his husky voice. She stopped typing on his phone, looking down at Jungwon as best she could, his hair tickling her cheek and nose. “Wonnie? Are you okay—?”

Mila was cut off when she suddenly felt his lips press against her bare neck, the feeling sending tingles down her spine. Her breath was caught in her throat. Jungwon smirked against her skin when he heard her gasp as he pressed his lips against her neck firmly, a little too pleased at the effect he had on her.

His lips travelled down slightly, before he placed another wet kiss to her skin, making a slight smacking sound as his lips disconnected and reconnected. He travelled down once again, and when he noticed that his lips became drier, he licked them once again, his tongue flicking slightly against Mila’s ticklish spot.

Mila let out a shaky breath, her fingers tangling themselves in Jungwon’s locks. And that was when Jungwon noticed her phone, abandoned at her side.

“Darling,” he purred against her skin, as his hand slyly reached out to her phone.

“Y-yeah?” Mila replied.

Jungwon chuckled at the clear weakness in her voice, before pressing another kiss to her neck that had her sighing dreamily. His fingers wrapped around her phone, before putting it into his back pocket before Mila could notice — not that she even could, with the way he had made her brain melt inside her head.

Jungwon removed his lips from her neck to look up at her, smiling when he saw her flushed cheeks and dazed eyes.

“Don’t ignore me again, okay?”

Mila nodded. Perhaps she was a bit too mean, texting while he was waiting to cuddle — and she would have felt worse about it, if it didn’t bring out this side of Jungwon. “Okay…”

Jungwon chuckled. “Good.”

With that, he dove in for a proper kiss on the lips. Mouths moving sensually against each other — slow, but passionate in their ministrations — Jungwon pushed Mila onto her back as he hovered over her, arms bracketing either side of her head while he devoured her mouth, her hands pulling his body closer to her by the drawstrings of his sweatpants until they were pressed against each other in a way that left their minds with no room for anything except the thought of each other.

Needless to say, Mila forgot all about her phone from the onwards. Poor Jaehyun was left on delivered until he received a text an hour later with Mila apologising, saying she had to ‘play with the cat’, followed by several crying emoticons.

Jaehyun didn’t even know they had a cat.

(They didn’t. But with how cunning Jungwon was, he might as well be one.)

FOUR. ❝ I TURN MY CHEER MUSIC ON, AND I’M PUFFING MY CHEST … ❞

SUNOO WASN’T VERY TYPICALLY MASCULINE. And he knew it. He wasn’t interested in going to the gym like his hyungs, nor did he have the same dominant aura. But he wasn’t weak because of it — and if there was one person he didn’t want to think that, it was Mila. Not that she ever would — but of course, Sunoo had his own pride to protect, however good he was at hiding it.

So when he had to arm wrestle Sunghoon during their comeback live and lost, he couldn’t help but feel dejected that Mila needed to comfort him afterwards.

‘It’s okay!’ she said to him, as he went back to his seat. ‘Next time!’

Sunoo didn’t want to admit it, but he felt like this was a recurring theme — him losing to the other members when it came to his strength. So when Mila had smiled at Sunghoon and praised him for winning, he felt that he needed to prove himself somehow as well.

“Do you think I’m manly?”

Mila turned to Sunoo with a shocked face. She had been removing her makeup in the bathroom mirror when Sunoo suddenly intruded, wrapping his arms behind her in a hug. He wasn’t smiling or pouting as he usually did, making his fox-shaped eyes all the more sultry as he eyed her through the mirror.

“Of course you are,” Mila replied instantly. They had had conversations about this before, where Sunoo had been too insecure about whether or not he was actually her type. And she promised she would do whatever she could to reassure him.

“You’re not bothered that I’m cute, too?” he asked.

Mila shook her head vigorously. “You know me, I like cute things a lot. Besides — you have cute charm and manly charm. And I like both sides equally, because they’re sides of YOU.”

The corners of Sunoo’s lips slowly lifted into a soft smile, his eyes brightening as Mila’s words comforted him. They stared into each other’s eyes for a while, before a mischievous gleam appeared in his eyes. Without a word, he grabbed Mila’s hips and hauled her up, easily lifting her onto the bench as he stood in between her legs.

Mila’s eyes widened at the sudden movements, cheeks falling with heat when Sunoo placed his face close to hers, his hands travelling down to her thighs — exposed by her shorts — which his hands gently massaged.

“Just so you know,” he said lowly. “I might have lost to Sunghoonie-hyung today, but I can still lift you like this if you want me to.”

“O-okay,” Mila said, her brain muddled in both confusion and flusteredness. Sunoo smiled in satisfaction when she saw her features like that, and remembered that tonight was Sunghoon’s turn to cuddle with her in her bed.

He slowly inched forward, his lips brushing against hers ever so gently. “When you cuddle with Sunghoonie-hyung tonight, tell him I said I win this time.”

Before Mila could ask what Sunoo meant, he was already kissing her, his warm hands rubbing her thighs up and down in comforting motions. Mila melted against his lips, her arms instinctually looping around his neck to pull him closer to her. Mila, being so lost in Sunoo’s gentle touch and kisses, didn’t even hear the knock on the bathroom door.

But Sunoo did. And he smiled when he heard the voice that followed it.

“Princess, are you done washing your face yet?” Sunghoon asked from the other side of the door.

Mila gasped as she parted from Sunoo’s lips, realising that she hadn’t even gotten the chance to wash her face or of her skincare seeing as she was distracted by Sunoo. Before she could even open her mouth, Sunoo beat her to the chase.

“Sorry, hyung, she’ll be done soon,” Sunoo called out, smirking as he grabbed the bottle of Mila’s face wash.

There was a small silence before Sunghoon finally registered the voice that replied to him. In shock, he asked, “Sunoo? What are you doing in there?”

Sunoo laughed.

Before Mila could say anything, Sunoo kissed her again. He kissed her a lot of times that night, actually, and by the time Mila finally went to her room to cuddle Sunghoon, he was glaring at her unhappily for being late because she was kissing another boyfriend instead.

(But Mila made it up easily with sweet kisses and extra cuddly cuddles, so Sunghoon pretended not to see the hickey on her neck.)

FIVE. ❝ I’M GETTING RED IN THE FACE, YOU CAN CALL ME OBSESSED … ❞

HEESEUNG DIDN’T THINK HE WAS A CLINGY BOYFRIEND.  He would admit he suffered from a severe case of cute aggression when it came to his girlfriend — as seen from his constant urges to squeeze her in tight embraces and quote-on-quote “gobble her up” — but he didn’t suffocate her in constant affection. He did know to give her space every now and then.

Except for right at this moment, where he had wrapped his arms around Mila after she got out of the shower, before continuously biting and kissing up and down between her neck and her cheeks.

He wouldn’t have been this clingy if it weren’t for a situation earlier, where they had bumped into Soobin at the company building. It was no secret that he and Mila were close — and yet, it still made Heeseung’s stomach sink when the older male had pinched Mila’s cheeks while cooing at her.

Heeseung had stood there like a background character while someone else doted on his girlfriend, unable to comprehend what was happening in front of his eyes. Because, since when did someone else do the things to Mila that usually only Heeseung (and Mila’s other boyfriends, of course) did?

Mila giggled as Heeseung placed yet another kiss on her cheek. “Oppa, is something wrong? You’ve been all over me since we bumped into Soobinnie-oppa earlier.”

Heeseung hummed. He supposed it was no use trying to hide it.

“You let him touch your cheeks…”

Heeseung pouted as he cupped Mila’s face, his thumb gently caressing Mila’s cheeks as she stared up at him. He leant down and nuzzled his nose into it, before placing a soft peck there.

“It was just one time, Oppa,” Mila said while laughing.

Heeseung hummed. “Still… I thought I was the only one who got to pinch your cheeks like that.” Heeseung frowned. He leant away from Mila, his forehead against her. He was now looking down at her with his wide Bambi eyes. “Couldn’t you have just let him pat your head instead?”

Mila laughed. “So you’re fine if another man pats my head, but not when he pinches my cheeks?”

“Well, not really.” Heeseung rested his cheek against the top of her head, nuzzling it softly. “That would annoy me too.”

Mila smiled. “You do realise that you get to do it all the time, right? This was just a one-time thing.”

“So?” Heeseung asked, pouting as he nuzzled his nose against hers endearingly. It was at times like this that Mila realised just how weak he was for her, since he could never go more than a few seconds without showering her with affection. “Pinching your cheeks was supposed to be my thing with you — and sometimes the members, I guess. But now someone else did it… so what if it’s not as special anymore?”

Mila laughed. “Of course it’s special. And it’s still your thing. See?” Mila placed her hands on top of Heeseung’s before nuzzling her face into his palm. “If it really upsets you that much, I’ll ask him not to do it again.”

Heeseung’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“I promise.” Mila scrunched her nose up at him. “But why are you so excited by that? Oppa, you’re weird.”

“No,” Heeseung said, “I’m in love.”

“And jealous.”

Heeseung hummed, this time, a large smile spreading across his face. “That too.”

(But it was okay, because at least he got to kiss Mila’s cheeks as much as he wanted afterwards.)

SIX. ❝ IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT THAT THEY HOVER … ❞

JAKE WASN’T A VERY JEALOUS PERSON. Or so, he liked to think. In his own humble opinion, he was the definition of a ‘chill’ boyfriend — in fact, he could confidently say he was the least jealous of all of Mila’s boyfriends. It took quite a lot to get a ride out of him, and he was proud of that.

But sometimes (‘sometimes’ being the key word) there would be something that grated on his nerves so much, he couldn’t help but feel mildly — just a tiny bit — miffed.

Jake licked the inside of his cheek as he scrolled through the comments on her recent post, a feeling of annoyance as he read through them. He knew it was just fanservice, and that with their jobs, they couldn’t really help having to appeal to their fans in ways that went beyond just admiration of an idol — hell, he himself had flirted with countless Engenes online for that reason. 

It was at times like this where he realised he probably shouldn’t have made fun of Mila whenever she got worked up over him flirting with Engenes, because he somehow always got the worst doses of karma.

An Engene had asked her to be his girlfriend, and her (unfortunately very smooth, though Jake wouldn’t admit it) reply was, ‘How about I be your wife instead?’ And now, Weverse Engenes were going feral asking for her hand in marriage. (Which wasn’t far from what usually happened — but that was besides the point!)

What made it worse was that Mila then uploaded a very flirty photo of her lying down on her bed, hair splayed out around her head like a halo, while wearing a robe that exposed her collarbone and pale neck. The caption was: ‘My honeymoon with you’ with a red heart. Not pink. Red.

It didn’t make sense that Jake was this bothered by mere fanservice — but, well, according to his logic, love was far from logical. And even if he knew there was no weight behind her words, there were thousands of people out there who didn’t, and were now calling his girlfriend their wife. And that did not sit well with him.

“You okay there?” Mila said as she walked into the living room, where Jake was currently having a crisis on the couch.

Jake turned to her with a weak glare. “Come here for a second.”

Mila raised her eyebrows but didn’t question it, sensing that there was something bothering him. She padded over, and Jake internally preened when he realised she was wearing his shirt. But he didn’t show it, maintaining a stoic facade as Mila came to stand in front of him.

“What is it?” she asked, eyes glimmering with worry. “Are you okay?”

Jake huffed, before wordlessly patting his lap. Mila blinked before doing as he wanted, seating herself on his lap, allowing him to wrap his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. Before she could say anything, he pouted and grabbed her hand.

“Do you see this?” Jake pointed to the silver band on her ring finger — the ring Jake and Sunghoon had gotten her during their Tiffany and Co. promotions. Mila wore it all the time (well, as often as she was allowed to, anyway) and Jake was secretly happy that she did, because it would make his next point more relevant. “Do you remember why we bought it for you?”

Mila blinked in confusion. “Because I like it.”

Jake scoffed. “The other reason.”

Mila tilted her head in thought. She shook her head. “What was the other reason?”

Jake clicked his tongue, before pressing a kiss to her hand, his eyes trained on her as she shifted on his lap to look at his face. The kiss lasted a few seconds before he lifted his head, his nose brushing against hers.

“So that someone else doesn’t do the same.” Mila’s eyes widened, a blush creeping up to her cheeks. Jake smiled at her reaction, biting his lip in satisfaction. “So don’t go marrying anyone, okay? Not until we put a real ring on your finger.”

Jake was a little too proud of himself for that one, but Mila wouldn’t know, seeing as he distracted her with a kiss right afterwards.

(And later, when Mila asked if Jake was jealous, he simply kissed her again.)

SEVEN. ❝ I MEAN NO DISRESPECT, IT’S MY RIGHT TO FEEL HELLISH … ❞

RIKI WAS A MATURE YOUNG MAN. He may be the youngest member of Enhypen, but he was in no means a child — he did not throw fits, and he most definitely did not sulk. And no matter what anyone said, he did not like it when people babied him. His girlfriend included. Not one bit.

But just this once, he supposed, he found himself the tiniest bit in want of her coddling.

“What’s that?” Riki crossed his arms over his chest as he walked into Mila’s room.

Mila was out on a schedule as a substitute Music Bank MC with Chaemin (in place of Eunchae, who couldn’t make it to today’s schedule), and got back home fairly late at night. Which was fine, as long as she was safe — and she had assured as much, so the boys didn’t worry too much. But when she got back, Riki — whose turn it was to cuddle her — had narrowed his eyes suspiciously at a new plush in her arms. One that she shouldn’t have had time to but with how busy she was, and as such could have only come from someone else.

“It’s a plush!” Mila said happily, fluffing the bear in front of his face. “Isn’t it cute?”

Riki pouted as he looked at it. He supposed it was kind of cute…

“Chaemin-oppa got it for me to celebrate our last day as MCs together,” Mila said with a small smile. “He said it’s so that I can remember all the memories we made together.” Mila cuddled the bear to her chest. “Wasn’t that sweet of him?”

Riki took it back — the plush was not cute at all! Especially when Mila started towards the bed with it in her arms.

“Ah— what do you think you’re doing?” Riki said, stopping Mila from lying down by placing a hand on her stomach. “You’re not bringing that THING into our bed.”

Mila scrunched her nose. “Why not?”

Riki scoffed in disbelief. Did Mila really see nothing wrong with the fact that she was going to bring a plush — that was bought by another man, no less — into her bed, which was supposed to be reserved for all the representative plushies of her boyfriends instead? Riki would rather have Mila’s duck plush (‘Mini-Ki’, as she had dubbed it) sleep on the couch than have that bear on their sacred shrine.

“You just can’t,” Riki said, crossing his arms over his chest. He huffed as he laid down on the bed so that he was taking up all the space. “Look. There’s no room for it.”

Mila laughed before slapping Riki’s arm. “Of course there’s room. In my arms.”

“No!” Riki shouted. Without another word, Riki grabbed the bear plush and flung it across the room, onto Kiara’s empty bed, before pulling Mila down on top of him. Mila laughed as he wrapped his body around her, pinning her limbs down so she couldn’t move. “There. Now you can’t bring it.”

Mila laughed. “I was never going to bring it, you cute idiot.”

Riki furrowed his eyebrows. “You weren’t?”

Mila hummed. “I wasn’t. I was going to put it on my shelf with my other gifts from friends. So don’t be jealous, okay?”

Riki scrunched his nose. “I wasn’t jealous.”

Mila didn’t say anything. She simply smiled, before placing a sweet kiss on the younger’s lips. Riki immediately melted, the crease in his brows smoothing out as a warm feeling spread across his chest. He loosened his suffocating hold on Mila, instead opting to softly caress her cheek, his tenderness a contrast to his aggressiveness from mere seconds ago.

At times like this, he really did feel a little childish. He got riled up so easily, and yet Mila’s kisses cooled him down just as fast.

(Only he would know that he was her baby, just as much as he claimed she was his.)

EIGHT. ❝ WE STILL GET JEALOUS ! ❞

MILA’S BOYFRIENDS WEREN’T THE TYPE TO TAKE THINGS TOO PERSONALLY. In fact, most of the time, it was difficult to make them take things seriously — the Enhypen staff knew this better than anyone. But in case someone needed them to do something with utmost sincerity, with all their heart and soul put into it, then all you needed to do was…

Put your number in Mila’s Inkigayo sandwich?

“Is that what I think it is?”

Mila was frozen in place, a nervous smile on her face when the room to the dressing room swung open just in time to spot her with an Inkigayo sandwich in one hand and a slip of paper in the other. The boys were less than impressed by the sight before them, and it showed with their reactions

“No!” Riki yelled before running over to snatch the paper from Mila. However, she was quicker, and crumpled the piece of paper, before tossing it into the trash.

Sunoo frowned. “What was that for?”

Mila tilted her head, blinking innocently. “Why would I keep the number? I don’t need it.”

“Well, if you chuck it away, we don’t know who sent it,” Jake replied, a serious look on his face. “Then we won’t be able to tell them that you’re in a relationship already.”

Mila laughed as the others nodded in agreement. She couldn’t help but think they were adorable when they were like this — as if they were ready to become Sherlock incarnate just to solve the mystery of Mila’s secret admirer.

“If they ever come up to me in person, I’ll tell them then,” she said.

Jungwon hummed before wrapping his arms around Mila’s waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “That’s right,” he said with a smirk. “And I can fight if I need to.”

Mila burst out laughing. “Please don’t.”

“Why not?” Sunghoon said. “We don’t mind.”

The boys were already rather protective to begin with, but they only grew more so over time. After all, they knew most of all how much Mila had grown and matured this comeback, both in appearance and in skills — it was no wonder that even more people were starting to feel attracted to them.

“Still, I’m kind of curious whose number it was,” Jay said, tilting his head in thought. After a few seconds, he shrugged. “Oh well.”

Mila smiled as the boys came to pile her in a group hug, squeezing her in the centre. Whoever it was that slipped their number in Mila’s sandwich, they might never found out. But that didn’t matter. Not really. All that mattered was that she was theirs.

“You know, it’s times like this where I wish we didn’t have to hide,” Heeseung suddenly said. “I wish we could just make the world know to back off.”

Mila smiled softly. “Hopefully one day…”

The boys sure hoped so. Everything considered normal was so much harder as idols — especially as idols in a relationship. When you were an idol, you had lovers all over the world, fans who adored you without knowing who you were, and who fantasised over the chance of being yours. And if you happened to be Mila? Everyone wanted a taste.

That’s why, the boys still get jealous.

B O N U S S C E N E

SEVEN AND A HALF. ❝ I GET EXCITED WHEN YOU GET JEALOUS TOO. ❞

“What the hell is this?”

Mila furrowed her eyebrows in complete shock and distaste at the piece of paper in her hands.

Only mere minutes before the boys had found a piece of paper with someone’s number in ‘Mila’s’ sandwich, Mila had been alone in the dressing rooms waiting for everyone to arrive. Bored out of her mind, she tapped her fingernails against the makeup desk, her eyes absently scanning the room. At that moment, she found herself looking at the sandwiches on the table in the middle of the room.

Feeling a little playful, she decided to be a little petty — for no reason at all except she could. She grabbed one of the random sandwiches on the table and started to unwrap it, before heading over to the makeup desk where there was a pile of scrap paper and a pen. She giggled to herself as she formulated a plan to write a random phone number on it, before putting it into the sandwich in her hands for Kiara to find.

I should take a photo and send it to Yeonjun-oppa, too, she thought.

Imagine her surprise when the sandwich in her hand already had one. Mila frowned as she took note of a slip of paper in the wrapping of the sandwich, with a phone number on one side — and the name of a female idol on the other. What jade if worse was that they had clearly written the name of the recipient, which happened to be one of the boys.

Mila gasped, her blood rushing through her body as a familiar feeling filled her gut. She glared at the paper in her hand. Someone was trying to give her boyfriends their number? Not on her watch. Mila didn’t need to think twice about throwing it away.

However, before she could, the door swung open, and standing there were her seven boyfriends — who had already noticed the paper in her hands. There was silence. And then…

“Is that what I think it is?”

To this day, the boys didn’t know the real recipient of the phone number. But Mila could live with that.

After all — she got jealous too.