🗒️ NOTE — sooo who is going to tell them the chances are VERY likely...?

The anesthesia had hit him hard.

Like hard hard.

His eyes were half-open, his hoodie was crooked, and he kept blinking at the world like it personally offended him.

The second the nurse wheeled him out and pointed at you, his eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion.

“Who’s that?”

You snorted quietly.

The nurse smiled patiently. “That’s your girlfriend, sweetheart.”

Riwoo’s head whipped toward you so fast you were genuinely worried he was going to give himself another medical issue.

His mouth fell open.

“That pretty girl?” he whispered dramatically.

The nurse nodded.

Riwoo looked back at you with the most devastated expression imaginable, like he had just discovered the meaning of life.

“THAT pretty girl is my girlfriend?!”

You burst out laughing immediately.

He slapped a weak hand over his chest. “Holy shit,” he gasped. “I bagged a baddie.”

“Riwoo!” you wheezed.

“No, wait—” He pointed at you with all the seriousness of a man delivering a speech at an awards ceremony. “Look at her. She’s gorgeous. How did I even pull that off?”

“You’re literally drooling right now.”

He gasped again, scandalized. “Don’t expose me in front of my girl.”

“I am your girl.”

He stared at you for a long moment before his expression softened into the dopiest smile ever.

“Oh,” he mumbled dreamily. “Nice.”

The ride home was even worse. Every thirty seconds he’d look at you like he’d never seen you before.

“You’re really pretty.”

“Thank you, baby.”

“No but like—” He leaned closer, squinting at you. “Are you famous?”

You nearly swerved the car.

“What?!”

“You look expensive.”

“Oh my god.”

By the time you got him home, he was basically attached to your side. The moment you tried helping him sit properly on the bed, his face turned pink all over again.

“Careful,” you laughed, fixing his hoodie. “Sit upright for me.”

Riwoo stared at you like you’d personally hung the stars.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he whispered.

“You just had surgery.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“You’ve BEEN in love with me.”

“Oh.” He blinked slowly. “Good decision honestly.”

You actually had to sit down because your stomach hurt from laughing. Meanwhile Riwoo was still staring at you with pure wonder written all over his face.

“Can you believe,” he said softly, “that out of every person in the world—”

You smiled. “Yeah?”

“—you picked me?”

“Aww.”

He pointed lazily toward himself. “This guy.”

You couldn’t even answer because you were too busy giggling while recording him.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you filming me?”

“Maybe.”

“Make sure you get my good angle.”

“You don’t have a good angle right now.”

He gasped loudly, clutching at his nonexistent pearls. “My own girlfriend bullying me after surgery. This is sick.”

“You literally called yourself a baddie collector an hour ago.”

“Because I am.” He nodded seriously. “Look at you.”

Then, completely out of nowhere, he grabbed your hand with both of his and kissed your knuckles with ridiculous concentration.

“I gotta marry you,” he mumbled.

Your face immediately warmed.

“Riwoo—”

“No seriously.” His eyelids were already drooping again. “Prettiest girl ever. Funny too. And she helps me not fall over.” He sighed happily. “That’s wife material.”

You stared at him for a second before quietly brushing his messy hair back.

“Go to sleep, loverboy.”

He smiled sleepily.

“Only if you stay.”

And honestly?

Hazy, clingy, absolutely-gone-on-anesthesia Riwoo might’ve been your favorite version of him yet.

© All rights reserved @gigisnextdoor 2026.

The town is quiet. The stores that used to be a walking distance for Taesan are nowhere near close now. It’s a bit of a drive. There are no sirens where he stays. No dogs barking or strangers yelling out of anger. If anything, the only shouts that he hears are joyful ones—greetings. Everyone knows each other in this town, nobody is a stranger. 

Not even Taesan who only moved here two months ago. 

It’s different. It’s comforting.

He can actually hear the raindrops that splash against his window on gloomy days. He can hear the birds chirping every morning and uses it as a wake up call. The tractor that runs over the patches of grass near the place he stays. 

It’s different and refreshing.

However, there’s one thing in particular that makes him love the small town lifestyle even more. It’s you. You’re the reason he’s bothered. He’s fine with the fact nobody gawks at his looks anymore, but not when it comes to you.

He wants you to look at him. When he walks in your area, he’s only reminded of his first ever interaction with your mother. She was amazed by his looks—something about it being uncommon for new citizens to be so ‘handsome’. She even insisted that he’d be introduced to a girl in town. After landing eyes on you, the girl who walked out of their house with a bowl of fruits, he really hoped that she was talking about you. 

That only explains why he’s walking down the same path he did two months ago. Hands in his pockets as he strolls down the rugged walkway. He’s greeting neighbors with a cheeky smile on his face. Yes, he’s happy to see them, but even more excited to see you. 

The excitement bubbling within him only doubles when he sees the roof of your flat come into view. To be honest, he comes here often. The main reason to see you, but he always gets warped into a task by your parents. They took a liking to him. Perhaps, even a loving. He’s not that far from getting their blessings, right?

“Taesan!” Your mother cheers from the porch. A smile appears on his face as he walks through the gates of your home into the arms of your mom. He gives her a tight hug while she rubs up and down his back.

“Good morning,” the boy greets, his smile never faltering. He can’t fight the way his eyes switch to the open door that leads to the hallway of your house, and back at your mother. It’s a common occurrence. Maybe you’ll come out like you did the first time he saw you. Ever since then, you’ve been on his mind. Not once have you ever left it. 

“How are you?” She’s rubbing his back with a hand, rustling his clothes in the process. Though, he doesn’t care. A few new lines in his freshly ironed white top won’t hurt him. 

“I’m fine, what about you?”  

“That’s so sweet of you to ask.” She gawks at his thoughtfulness and reassures him that she’s doing okay. The offer to have breakfast with them doesn’t fall deaf on Taesan’s ears. In his head, he’s quick to say yes, but in reality he’s laid back. He gives your mom a nod with a hand on his heart to show his gratitude. He wouldn’t be able to express his thankfulness in words because, honestly, it’s out of the roof.  As he walks down the hallway he was continuously glancing at, he’s biting down on his lip.

This was never the plan. He only came to see you and work with whatever random task your parents give him. Things managed to go south with how he’s sitting at their family dining table. It’s his first time, but he's not complaining. He could do this many more other times.

“By the way,” Taesan starts as he settles down even further. “The fruits you gave us the other day were sweet. It was a nice feeling.” He informs her, a slight smile present on his face at the faint taste on his tastebuds. 

“Really? I’m glad!” Her voice raises an octave as she prepares the boy's meal. He hums in response with his fingers fiddling with one another. He’s not lying to satisfy your mother. The fruits were truly as good as he said they were. 

“There are still some left. When you leave, you can take a few.” She offers. 

The ends of his lips curl upward. “That would be nice, yeah.” 

“Taesan?” Someone says from down the hall. His head turns at the familiar voice as he locks eyes with a familiar face. It’s your father. His walking pace increases when Taesan gives the man a wave. As happy as he is to see your parents… he still wants to see you. 

The you who appears at the doorway momentarily after your dad does. You’re holding two bags of soil, one over the other, when a sigh leaves your mouth. Your dad is squeezing Taesan’s shoulder and he feels it, but he isn’t paying attention to it. His head is still turned to the entrance of your home as you kick the door shut with the back of your foot, hands too busy to do anything about it. 

Your eyes are closed when you inhale. You’re exhausted from the trip your father put you on.

“Dad, where should I put these—” You pause, finally taking note of Taesan’s presence. “—Why is he here?” 

“Don’t be like that. You can put them over there, I’ll use them later anyway.” He scolds you then points at the empty spot near the door as your mother ushers you to come eat. 

It’s as if they have a plan up their sleeves with the way you’re forced to sit beside Taesan, the boy who randomly showed up in town around two months ago. He doesn’t know it, but that was the only thing everyone spoke about that week—a family from the city moving to this sad town. Why would anyone give up city life for a life like this? 

You don’t get it. You don’t like him either—okay, you don’t like anyone from the city. From what you’ve seen online or through movies, they are snobby and full of themselves. You hate it. You hate him. Well, not that much. You aren’t sure if he’s putting up a front, but from what you’ve seen within the two months he’s been here… he’s different. 

To you, he’s not the same person you’ve seen in movies. He doesn’t have an attitude or a high ego. He’s offering to help your family and citizens whenever there’s an opening. It’s refreshing to see, yet you can’t help but feel suspicious of him. Like he’s up to something. You have a feeling he is—a feeling that you can’t prove the truth to.

“This tastes amazing,” Taesan boasts as he goes in for another bite of your mother’s cooking. You’re looking at him through your peripheral vision as you spoon another bite of rice while your parents smile at his reaction.

He’s not wrong, your mother cooking is one of the best you’ve ever had. There’s no way he’s faking that, right?

“It’s way different than the food from the city.” He says. There’s a genuine tone laced in his words, leaving you unsure of your suspicious feeling. Unless he’s a really good actor, it’s hard to not believe that he’s being serious.

“Oh right.” Your father grabs a napkin and wipes at his mouth. “How is your life on the west end? Do you ever miss the city?” 

Taesan looks up at the question. He ponders before answering. This is something that you want to hear. You’re mentally cheering, eyes focused on the bowl of food in front of you. Taesan clears his throat and shakes his head.

“Not at all. I like it here better… it’s more… quiet. There aren't people looking at you wherever you go, expectations that you have to keep up. The roads aren’t as overstimulating due to the vast number of people who walk on them. Everyone isn’t a stranger and are the sweetest people you’ll ever meet.” He pauses.

“It’s refreshing, really.” 

When you look over at the boy, he’s smiling. He really means everything he says. Maybe you were wrong. He’s nothing like the city people you’ve seen growing up. Actually, he’s far from that. With how he describes the differences, it’s like he feels at home here. In the small town that is.

And truthfully, as much as it pains you to say it after keeping up a front for the last two months, his vibe does suit the town you live in. 

TWO — FLOUR, SEEDS, MILK, AND EGGS.

Taesan doesn’t know how the two of you ended up here, but he isn’t complaining. One moment he was having breakfast with you and your family, and now he’s holding a list of groceries to buy as he walks beside you. The walk isn’t long, but it feels long because of how quiet the two of you are. He’s rereading the grocery list to distract himself from the deading silence. 

At times like these, Taesan would speak up and try to get your attention. 

He can’t do it.

“What’s on the list?” You ask, breaking the unbearable silence. His head perks up at your sudden question. It caught him off guard.

“There’s…” He pauses, fumbling over the words in his head. The ones he’s been reading over for the last seven minutes, yet, he’s struggling to say them aloud.

Taesan clears his throat as you both come to a stop in front of the local grocery store. “There’s flour, seeds, milk, and eggs.” It’s a weird combination of things, but there’s no surprise that you’re running short on them. There’s not a day where your parents aren’t using either of the items. You nod at Taesan’s words and enter the store with him following shortly after.

“I’ll go get the seeds since there’s quite a few of them.” The boy points down the aisle they are located in and you send him off. Honestly, he needed a moment to calm down. He’s embarrassed from how he nearly tripped over his words in front of you. 

What happened to the Taesan from the city who had no trouble talking to people? The one who held a constant reputation and lived a pretty social life. Where’d he go and why did he disappear into thin air the moment he met you? It’s unfortunate, really. You had him wrapped around your finger and had no clue of it. 

Taesan eyes the seeds on the shelves. There are ones for flowers, vegetables, and fruits. He takes his time with matching the names of the needed seeds to the ones on the shelves, reaching and grabbing them in a swift motion every time. Your father loves to tend to the garden and the farm near your home. He wouldn’t be shocked if he asks the boy to assist him when you two return home. He’s always glad to help him anyway. 

After grabbing the last seed, Taesan sets out on his way to find you. Hopefully you’ve gathered the last three items while he worked alone. His hands are full with how he carries the six seed packets in one hand and the list in the other. He really should’ve grabbed a basket before disappearing down the aisles of the store. 

“Hey, I’m done.” Taesan starts while going over the seeds on the list once more. Just to double check with the ones in his hold. When he reaches your side, he’s looking over at you and the way you’re reaching the bag of flour. Well, trying to. You’d usually ask the cashier for assistance because of how high it was, but he’s busy. It’s on the last shelf… There are many levels to it. Could you really blame yourself? 

“Do you need help?” Taesan asks as he drops the seed packets into the basket next to your foot. From a quick glance, he’s able to tell that you’ve gotten the other two ingredients while he was gone. You work fast, that’s for sure. 

“A little.” You say and back away from the stocked shelves as he takes over. You watch as he reaches for the sack of flour. You don’t know why they are in sacks. It’s not like they’re a bag of soil. A small quantity could have been completely fine too. You also don’t know why you can’t peel your eyes away when his white t-shirt slightly riles up, revealing the lower portion of his back. 

You hate Taesan. 

Well, your reasoning behind it isn’t enough to back up your hatred anymore. 

You hated Taesan. Despite that, you couldn’t deny the fact that you don't find him even a little attractive. 

He turns around with the sack in his hold. “Only one, right?” He asks. He’s carrying it without an issue. You nod and pick up the shopping basket by the handles before walking away from him. He’s confused, but doesn’t question your quick movements. Maybe the two of you are under a time limit he isn’t aware of.

You’re already placing the items in the basket onto the front desk when Taesan catches up to you. You move out of the way, giving him an opening to slip through with the sack of flour, and enough space to keep your distance from the boy. 

He doesn’t pay much attention to it. 

Taesan shoves his hands into his back pocket as you converse with the cashier. Although he’s been in this town for two months now, he doesn’t know that many people. He stays in contact with your family and a few of his neighbours. That’s pretty much it. Even if he doesn’t know that many townspeople, he still gives everyone a smile followed by a greeting. It’s a common thing here—nothing like the city he used to live in. 

“Let’s go.” You say, grabbing the bagged items. He picks up the sack of flour and follows you out of the door. He whispers a soft ‘thank you’ at the way you hold the door open for him. It’s nothing much, but it still makes him smile. He’s getting there.

The walk is quiet. Once again. This time, he’s eyeing the scenery around you two as you walk your way home. There are so many differences between a small town and a city. The city is loud with cars everywhere you look. In this small town, the roads aren’t as stable. There are a few cars, but not enough to disrupt your walk in the middle of the road. It’s much safer.

The scenery is green—like a really vibrant green. Everything is well kept and healthy unlike the dead grass patches and browned leaves on branches where he used to live. It’s where he grew up, he was used to it. So, moving here and seeing the brighter greenery was quite shocking to him. 

Taesan lets out a sigh. It isn’t a sigh of distress, more so relief. He loves it here. The air lifts off any weight on his shoulders. He’s more free than he was back then—in the area where he had to keep a lifestyle. 

Posting things on social media to keep up with the algorithm. To keep up with the image he put for himself. It felt draining, really. His friends were too immersed with social media too. Not one day did they not post anything, leaving him to do the same. Every hangout, there was an image being taken. There wasn’t one moment where the flash wasn’t going off. It briefly blinded him, but felt like eternity. 

He hated it.

He still does. He doesn’t like anything to do with cameras. Even if he doesn’t have social media anymore, it’s not like he isn’t reminded of it. He wants a break—to break free, even. Luckily, moving away from that toxic life of his is a good start to what he wants. 

You gasp, causing the boy’s head to whip over at you almost instantly. He’s startled by the sudden sound. Worried that you might’ve seen something you shouldn’t have. You point and he follows. It’s an unfamiliar sight to Taesan. He doesn’t know what he’s looking at nor reading. He squints. A sign that says two words he’s familiar with on their own. Not together.

“Banana pudding?” He questions and you’re turning to look at him with wide eyes. Why are his words in a questioning tone? 

“You’ve never heard of it?” 

He shakes his head and you blink. 

What?

“Not even at a dessert place in the city?” You question. Taesan briefly flinches at the mention. It’s so subtle that you would miss it even if you only blink. 

“I haven’t.” 

That’s the last thing Taesan says before you’re grabbing his forearm. It’s soft enough to not disrupt the sack of flour in his hold and harsh enough to have a firm grip onto him. 

“You’ll try it today. It’s so good. Seriously, you’re missing out.” The words rush out of your mouth. You’re excited to have a portion of your favourite dessert ever and surprised that he’s never heard of it in the first place. When you two arrive, Taesan’s standing in silence as you order. It’s rare to see pop-up stands like these. Especially ones selling your all-time favourite dessert. 

You turn, two cups of banana pudding in your hands, and he takes it as a sign to put the flour down. It rests at his feet as he takes a cup into his own hands. Once your hand is free, you’re quick to grab your spoon and take a bite of your portion. It still hits the same as it would in your childhood. 

Taesan lifts his spoon, scooping a bit of the pudding. You focus on him, waiting to see the changes in his facial features. You aren’t sure if he has a sweet tooth. Honestly, you should’ve asked before. If he doesn’t like it, it’s not like it would offend you… you’d still be a little disappointed.

He takes his bite in silence. With the way it rests on his tongue, melting in the process, it reminds him of Tiramisu. That’s a dessert he knows about. However, it’s different. It’s less rich in flavour, but more fun. It feels like a burst of colours in a bite. It’s lighter, smoother, and sweet. There’s even a tiny hint of vanilla that appears once in a while. 

It reminds him of the town in comparison to the city. It’s ten times better. 

He swallows, then bites his lip. “I like it.” 

You smile at his words as the boy goes in for another bite. You’re glad he likes it. With the way his eyes sparkle at the sudden burst of flavour and he bites his lip every single time, you can’t take your eyes off of him. He’s nowhere near anything you made him out to be. He’s not full of himself. He’s not ungrateful for things he’s given. He’s not a spoiled brat. He’s none of that. He’s cute. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of banana pudding before.” You say, swinging the plastic bag back and forth as the two of you continue your walk home. The cups you ate out of are now lying in a trash can with whatever residue was left behind. It was very tasty. 

“Yeah… I wasn’t one to go to dessert places like that.” He informs while readjusting the way the sack of flour rests in his arms. It’s true. Dessert places wasn’t an area you’d find him in. He only ate whatever his parents brought home. That was it. He didn’t go out of his way to try them himself either. Why? Well—It wasn’t really part of the lifestyle he had out there…and it doesn’t really help that he too wasn’t given much privilege to live out of that image freely.

“That’s a shame…” You mumble. “I always wanted to try the dessert places out there.” That’s really the only thing you liked to hear about the city. They had a variety of desserts compared to the ones you grew up with. Of course, someone with a sweet tooth would feel jealousy in a way. 

Taesan makes a mental note of everything you say. You like pastries? Okay. Perchance, he could use that as opening to your heart, right?

Right…

THREE — YES, BEING SHIRTLESS!

Obviously not. Taesan has no clue how to bake. He’s done it a few times with pre-made batter, but that was it. It’s not like you could call that baking. It’s bright and early on a new day and Taesan finds himself in his kitchen. Not to make himself breakfast, instead to bake your favourite dessert—banana pudding. 

The ingredients sit in front of him on the counter as he stares them down. He believes he has the taste remembered. It can't be that hard. It can’t be and yet he’s struggling. The recipe itself says that it's as easy as reading a book. He can protest against that. It’s nowhere near the level of reading a book. 

His struggle only continues to grow as he nears the end of the recipe. He has no clue if he’s doing any of this right. He can only hope that he is. There’s a three day chill time… if he can’t succeed with his own charms within the next few days, hopefully the banana pudding can do it for him. 

The boy shakes his head at the memory of his baking attempt. It’s still fresh on his mind even if this happened a few hours ago. Hours before he appeared at your home like always. 

He picks up the shovel from the shed and returns to his spot beside you. You’re patting the soil around a new planted seed when he joins your side. He’s been helping you with the garden since he arrived an hour ago, but disappeared to grab something else from the shed. It’s your parents’ fault. Taesan showed up at your home as part of his daily routine, then got winded up into doing tasks with you.

He likes to think that they are playing matchmaker for him. Maybe they support the idea of the two of you ending up together. The idea Taesan yearns to see come true. It’s only been twenty-four hours, but from his constant observation from the past… your distaste for him is slowly going away. Today you didn’t protest against their words. When they told you to let him help with the garden, you didn’t say anything bad. 

It was plain and simple. Just a basic ‘okay, come on’. Nothing more and nothing less. Either way, he followed you without any questions in his head. 

You’re unaware that he’s back, too busy humming along to whatever song faintly plays in your ears. When he takes a seat beside you, you’re grabbing the bag of soil nearby. The sudden shadow that covers the soil patch causes you to pause. It’s too dark. You can’t see it. 

Slowly, you turn your head around, wondering where the sudden darkness came from. Are you afraid? Obviously. It might be Taesan, but the walk to the shed and back shouldn’t be that quick. He’s only been gone for a minute or two. No way he would’ve ran, right?

Wrong. 

Taesan’s face appears in a blur as you flinch before your vision is covered by the colour brown, and the bag of soil in your hand lessens in weight. It lessens in weight. Then it’s revealed—a soil-covered Taesan who has his eyes closed and yours are widening. 

“Oh my gosh.” You gasp. In haste, you harshly place the sack of soil aside and reach out towards Taesan’s clothes. Using your gloves, you try dusting off the patches of soil hoping that it will lessen the mess, but nothing happens. Instead, it gets worse.

Taesan grips your wrist, halting your movements. He brings your hand to his face and uses your glove to wipe off soil that landed on it. There’s no way you’d save his t-shirt with the enormous amount that landed on him. It’s better to work with what you can and not with what you can’t. 

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize. This isn’t the first. There were many as you tried wiping at his shirt and then his face. A smile appears on his lips. He has the audacity to smile in such a state. 

“It’s fine, really,” he sighs. “I should’ve made my presence more known.” He stands up, reaching for the hem of his shirt. You lean back, thinking he’s going to shake the soil particles off, but no. Your guess isn’t even close to being right. He’s taking off his shirt. Fully taking off his shirt. 

He shakes the piece of clothing, creating a pile of soil underneath, as you look away. There’s a beat—you can’t tell if it’s your heartbeat or a still in the air. Maybe it’s a mix of both?

“You can go clean yourself… I’ll continue here.” You insist. 

“Are you sure? I’ll be fine, I don’t need this anyways. It’s hot.” 

“I’m sure. Please, borrow a shirt from my dad.” To you, your words are more of a plea than an offering. Taesan looks you up and down, analyzing your state. He purses his lips and turns on his heel. As he walks away he shakes his head, leaving a trail of soil which falls from his hair. God, it was way worse than you thought it was.

You feel terrible. 

Taesan runs a hand through his hair as he walks down the hallway of your home—cheeks red. He’s embarrassed and flustered. He acted out of reflex when he took off his shirt. The soil feeling through the thin lining of his top against his skin was unbearable. He couldn’t help it. He screwed up. Most likely, he made you uncomfortable. That’s not what he wanted to do. Hell, that’s the last thing he would ever want to do. 

With Taesan gone and the area around you silent, it gives you an opening to think. To overthink. These last two days with Taesan felt different. They were more comforting than you expected. They only made you think: did you truly ever hate Taesan? You never liked him because he was from the city. You never denied that he was attractive. You didn’t like his company only because you thought he was a spoiled stuck-up brat. You never denied that he was helpful to your tasks. Once all your suspicions were refuted, there wasn’t a reason to not like him (in both ways, fortunately). 

You let out a harsh sigh, dropping the tools in your hand. They plop against the soil and you’re ripping your gardening gloves off of your hands. They feel suffocating—even worse than the guilt that swallows you whole. 

(Literally) within a blink of your eyes, you’re standing in the hallway of your home, a few steps away from the bathroom. Maybe you’re worrying too much about this. Maybe Taesan doesn’t need your help at all. Hell, he’s the one who said he’d be fine either way. 

You’re the one who overreacted… too flustered by the sight of his bare skin. The urge to turn back is creeping up your neck the longer you hesitate. You’re unsure. Are you going to regret helping him? Things have already changed between the two of you, the only other option is for things to change even further. Reaching the point of liking one another. 

With how much u suppressed such a thought over the last two months, you wouldn’t be shocked to reach that point anytime now. Maybe it was finally time for you to accept the truth.

“(Name)?” Taesan says, closing the bathroom door behind him. You struggle to look up from your soil-covered sneakers, too afraid to face the boy. Taesan ruffles his hair with the small towel in his hold with a puzzled expression on his face.

“What’re you doing? Did you finish planting the seeds?” 

“No.” The word leaves your lips in a broken yet stern tone. So much for trying to keep your composure together. There he is effortlessly walking about while your nails dig into the palms of your hands, turning pale in the process. 

Your hatred for the boy is returning, well, your so-called hatred. 

Taesan raises a brow at your stiffness. “Why are you just standing there? We should get back to work.” He lowers the towel from his hair, his focus now on you.

“(Name)?” He calls as he approaches you, concerned. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m okay!” You blurt out, head shooting up in a hurry. You can feel your face heating up, you really can’t face him anymore. This is bad. You need help—wait, that’s what you came here for in the first place. To help him clean up. 

Right.

“Taesan,” you say, followed by the clearing of your throat. He hums in response, still questioning your reactions. 

“Do you need help? You look like you could use some. Let me help you dry your hair!” You ramble, rushing over to the boy before he could even get the chance to respond. You’re quick to grab onto the towel in his hand and drag him by the wrist, heading off to a different room within your home. 

If you’re not looking at his front then you should be okay. You can’t deny and say that he isn’t attractive. He’s fit and toned. It’s a great balance. The sight of his dampened torso makes you flustered. 

You must remain calm. 

You gulp while taking a seat on the sofa, ushering him to sit on the spot below. It’s all going according to your plan—the sight of him being turned away, your heartbeat calming down, and nothing to make you feel flustered, right?

Wrong… again. 

Unfortunately (but fortunately), his back isn’t any better. The droplets that take their time to fall from his dark strands and make themselves at home on his back leaves you feeling worse than before. In haste, you slam the towel on his head, causing the poor boy to flinch.

“Ow!” He exclaims and whips his head around. “What was that for?” 

Your face is hot. Your heart is beating against your chest. It’s the loudest it's ever been. At this rate, you’re not sure if your heart could tell the difference between being chased and presenting in front of a class. Hell, more like standing in front of a shirtless and damp Taesan. 

“(Name)?” Taesan says in the same confusing tone as earlier. So much for feeling déjà vu. “If you’re feeling unwell then go rest. I can do this on my own.” He’s adjusting his seating, kneeling as he reaches for the towel on his head. 

You lean back at the sudden movements. “No!” You swallow. “I’m okay.”

You’ve been acting weird. This whole time, there wasn’t one moment where he didn’t feel confused by your reactions. He believes the two of you have finally gotten on good terms, but it feels as if it didn’t last long—as if he has done something to bring the two of you back to square one.

There’s a shift in his expression as his features soften. “Did I do something?” Taesan questions, an upsetting tone lingering in his voice. 

Yes, being shirtless! 

Is what you want to say, but you can’t. Neither do you know why you’re reacting in such a way. As weird as it sounds, you’ve seen many shirtless boys in town. There’s no reason for you to be feeling this with Taesan. It’s not like you at all.

“I’m sorry.” You exhale. “You didn’t do anything, sorry.” You apologize again, removing the towel from his hand softer than before. You motion for him to turn back around and he does just that. Regaining your composure once more, you place the towel on his head and begin your attempt to dry his hair.

All of this is a fluke. Of course, it’s out of character for you to act in such a way, but it’s just a fluke. You don’t like Taesan. You don’t hate him but, you don’t like him—romantically. 

That’s that. 

And it’ll always be that way. 

“There. I’m done.” He stands up while feeling his hair. 

“Thanks.” Taesan says with a slight smile.

“About the gardening, I can finish it up.” You need something to clear your mind with anyway. This will be enough of a distraction. 

“I can help—”

“No!” You blurt. “I mean, it’s okay. There’s not much left… I can manage it.” You give him an awkward but convincing smile. 

“Take the rest of the day off. My parents might need help with dinner later anyway.” 

He hesitates but nods. Maybe you’ll really be okay on your own. You have more experience than he does anyway, if he continues to help he’ll probably get in your way. Thank God he agreed. You don’t know how you would’ve survived if that incident happened again. Taesan walks out of the living room as you turn away from his back. You can’t bear to see it again. 

Hopefully he puts on a shirt soon.

FOUR — NEVER, NEVER, NEVER!

You lied. Forget everything you said about never liking Taesan romantically. Today has to be the weirdest day of them all. Honestly, these last few days were weird.

The whole shirtless incident, him giving you homemade banana pudding the day after (you felt flustered all over again), and right now. Dinner around the campfire with your parents… and Taesan. 

“So?” Your father asks, waiting for your answer to his question from earlier. He wasted no time asking such a question the moment Taesan left for a brief second. All he did was leave to rinse his mug that fell on the sandy spot in front of his seat. There’s no saying he wouldn’t be back in less than twenty seconds. 

It’s been five seconds of silence. The question your dad asked still remains unanswered. “I don’t get what you’re trying to say…” You say as an excuse. You know exactly what he was hinting at saying ‘what about Taesan’. He’s always been the one to ask about your love life. 

“Have you ever thought about dating him?” 

Taesan pauses, his foot almost colliding with a rock. His heart sinks. His stomach flips after overhearing the confession. It’s your dad’s voice, he knows that it is after spending so much time with the said man. But who is ‘him’? 

“No, I haven’t.” You reply. 

Taesan swallows hard. The reason why you’ve never batted an eye the same way he did with you has to be because of this. There’s definitely another boy that you like and it’s not him. After all his attempts in making you view him the same way and never knowing if they worked or not, it’s clear that they didn’t. 

Not if your eyes were still on another boy in town. 

“If I’m being honest, I feel flustered around him. It’s weird. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before despite being around so many different boys my age growing up.” You explain, taking a sip of your beverage. “It’s not like me at all...” 

What a lucky guy he must be. He’s able to make your heart skip a beat unlike Taesan. Hell, he probably does it effortlessly too. 

Unlike Taesan.

He’s tired with an aching heart. 

He doesn’t wanna hear anything else you have to say. This is enough for him to understand that he has never been an option in your eyes. He wants to walk away with his heart dragging behind him. He’s never felt this heartbroken before. 

He was so used to the many eyes that darted his way as he walked down his local streets in the city. The constant people who came up to him, asking for his socials or phone number. That (unfortunately) was his lifestyle. He grew up to fit such social and beauty standards living in the city.

The moment his family decided to move to a small town his life didn’t change slightly. It was completely different with no similarities. 

He felt misplaced and like the odd one out. In the city, there’s a ton of people. It’s easy to blend in and hard to stick out unless you draw attention easily—for example, Taesan and his friends. In the small town, there’s nothing to blend into. He sticks out like a sore thumb. His flashy outfits, his way of speaking, and meals that he enjoys to eat or has knowledge of. 

There’s too many differences and he hated it when he first arrived. Always waking up and believing that he would never fit in nor would he ever feel like himself again. 

Luckily, that changed after he met you. 

You helped him get familiar with the small town life. You’re the only one he’s ever felt so connected to within a small span of knowing each other. He even managed to fall for you quite fast too. 

It’s not fair.

He bites down on his bottom lip, as jealousy settles within him. He’s ready to wreck the conversation with his ‘sudden’ appearance. He’s been gone longer than he intended to be. 

“Taesan.” You pause and he pauses too. He’s frozen in his tracks at the sound of his name. Were you able to see him this whole time? Has he been caught eavesdropping? That can’t be the case. He’s hidden quite well behind the pillar near your back door. 

“I like him.” Your words catch the boy off guard. It’s almost as if you’re talking to him without him even being there. There’s no way you’re talking about him.

“I like Taesan.” You say again, making things clearer for your parents who sit near you. 

Taesan feels his legs go weak. Too weak to the point where he stumbles and falls down onto his knees. The rustling against the rocky sandy path sounds, making your head whip over. It’s probably another crow, a fox, or a rabbit making its way to gnaw away at the field of crops. 

You stand up in a hurry, rushing over to the spot where the sound came from. You won’t let them get away this easily. You’re tired of waking up to the sight of your half-eaten and wrecked crops. Despite your passion to catch the crop-eating culprit, you aren’t met with the sight you expected. Instead, it’s a dazed Taesan on his knees and his freshly washed mug all dirty again. 

“Taesan,” you breathe, still in shock. With the sight of his current state, there’s no way he didn’t overhear everything you said. You knew it. Washing a mug and returning doesn’t take longer than thirty seconds.

You wanted to convince yourself that maybe he stopped to use the bathroom or grab something extra for the rest of the family. Anything to possibly buy you more time like he knew something like this would happen. 

Possibly even stall his return. 

Embarrassed, you run past him and head back into the house. The sound of your footsteps against the gravel is only continuously eating you alive. You hated Taesan. You’re sure that you made it obvious too. It’s embarrassing to admit that you now like him. It’s even more embarrassing to admit that with him listening in on everything. 

You’re never living this down. You’re never leaving your room. You’re never facing Taesan ever again. 

Never. 

Not after that.

Never, never, never!

“What just happened?” Your father asks, looking at your mother and she shrugs. 

“He must’ve overheard everything she said and now she’s embarrassed.” She sighs. 

It’s a canon event. 

Taesan’s footsteps are heard shortly after their conversation. After regaining strength in his legs, he leaves the mug behind before taking off to follow behind you. He knows he’s too late with the way you’re nowhere to be found in the trail he goes down. There’s only one possible place you’d be. 

Your room. 

It’s not the first time he’s seen you go there. In the earlier stages of meeting you and the two of you would get off on the wrong foot, you would escape to your room and slam your door in the process. You’d go there when you were annoyed, upset, and well, embarrassed. 

The moment he arrives (after almost tripping up the stairs), he knocks. There's silence. He knocks again. Still silent. You don’t want to open the door. You know it’s him. He’s the last person you’d like to face right now, especially with your pounding heart.

“(Name).”

“Don’t call my name.” You reply from the other side of the closed door. 

Are you that mad that he was eavesdropping? It was honestly an accident. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation.” He apologizes. 

“Please open the door. I have something I want to ask.” Taesan wonders if everything you said is true. All the days he spent struggling with his feelings and the many moments of thinking of ways to make you feel the same. 

Have they really all paid off? 

“Listen, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve liked you for two months now, almost three with the way summer break is about to end.” Taesan begins. “The city was filled to the brim with people. Everywhere I went I had to make sure I looked the best. I had to make sure I walked correctly. There were too many things I had to be conscious about to the point where walking around in public felt like I was walking on literal eggshells. If you were anywhere near ordinary or weird, you were easily singled out and judged. All eyes were on you. It was terrible.” 

“I hated it. I hated it so much. I even hated the thought of moving to a small town the moment my parents brought it up. I thought it would be worse. There’s not that many people around, so I thought it would make me stand out even more. Obviously, I still felt that way when I first moved here. I even had thoughts of where I missed the city more than ever.”

He lets out a shaky breath from being reminded of the first few nights here. 

“Then I met you, and everything felt fine. Your family was so welcoming I actually looked forward to waking up every morning and spending the day here. It was definitely the first time I went to sleep without having such drowning thoughts.”

“I’ve always wanted to thank you for that. So I tried to spend more time with you until the time was right. You constantly shut me out, yet I never walked away. It made me want to be around you even more—to get you to be fond of me so that I can say thank you without it going unappreciated. Then soon enough, I realized I started to like you.” 

Taesan remembers the day clearly. It was the time he looked into a nearby mirror to fix his hair after spending a day around you. That’s when he saw it. The faint red on his cheeks. At first, he believed it was because of the hot weather. Then he found out that wasn’t the case. It continued to occur even if the two of you were in a cool area. His heartbeat even started to increase when the two of you were too close. 

The moment he couldn’t make up any other excuses for himself to believe, it was obvious he liked you. So then, he accepted the truth, and now here he is confessing his feelings to you behind the closed door of your room. That’s definitely not the way he expected things to happen.

“(Name)—”

“I said don’t call my name.” You open the door with your face hotter than ever. This time, you’re completely sure he can see everything, your reddening ears and face, the way your breathing is faster than normal, the movement of your chest as your heart rams against it. 

Everything. 

You give up trying to hide it in front of him.

He looks you up and down. You are already embarrassed enough. Him looking you up and down isn’t making you feel any better. 

“What did you want to ask?” You question, hoping that will make him stop his gazing, to your surprise, it does. 

“Oh—right.” He mumbles, fixing himself straight. “Was everything you said back there true?”

There’s a brief pause between his question and your answer, but you still give him a nod. The answer he’s been waiting for all along. The tense feeling Taesan felt earlier washes away in a hurry. He feels relieved—at ease. 

“I do like you. Although I only came to terms with it recently, I’m still sure of it.” 

Silence.

You’re embarrassed. Honestly, you never stopped being embarrassed, if anything, the feeling only intensified. You’re avoiding eye contact with him and he notices it. Of course he does, his senses are on a high right now.

He hooks his finger under your chin, redirecting your gaze onto him. “You shouldn’t look away during such a time. I’d think you’re lying if you do that.” Taesan explains. 

He’s not wrong. It’s part of the studied body language when someone lies. 

Despite that, the whole finger under your chin was not necessary! He’s definitely doing this to see you flustered. 

Lucky him, it’s working.

“I’m not lying.” You reply, locking eyes with him. 

He sighs, hand dropping to his side as he falls forward, landing his head in the crook of your neck. You catch a glimpse of the red on the tips of his ears. That surely affected him more than it affected you. 

“Cute.” You whispered.

FIVE — DEATH OF HIM

It’s been around a week since the whole confession. Taesan has asked for you to be his girlfriend, leaving your parents livid. Almost as if they’ve been waiting for this moment since they first saw him. Spoiler alert—they have.

The boy you previously disliked is nowhere like the ones from the movies. He’s humble and kind, not spoiled or snobby. 

He’s perfect in your eyes. 

After being in this town for a while now, he’s definitely learned the ropes. He’s good at many things: cooking, cleaning weeds out of the garden, purchasing certain items, and even tending to the yards of the townspeople. He’s able to do a lot of things, such as making your heart flutter, making sure that you’re always okay, and giving you leg-weakening kisses. 

Taesan backs away with dazed eyes as he catches his breath. He’s been eyeing you for the whole morning, including the walk to the grocery store, unloading the items into their correct spots at home, even on the way to your bedroom. In the end, he obviously got what he wanted—a kiss. 

Which happened to lead into something more.

He smiles while gazing down at you. You’re sprawled out on your bed beneath him, chest moving up and down from the way your breathing quickens. 

“Are you okay?” He questions before the two of you continue. You nod, not able to catch your breath in time to formulate any words. The moment his smile falters he’s already leaning in to kiss you again. Your eyes closed, waiting for the touch of his lips on yours, but it never comes. Instead, you’re surprised by the sudden warmth against your neck. 

Your breath hitches and your back slightly arches off the soft surface of your bed. It tickles, however, you don’t push him off like you usually would if something tickled. Taesan takes your hands into his own as the traces of kisses continue up your neck, pausing once he nears your lips. You can feel the tip of his nose on your cheek. 

The way his small breaths tickle from the short laugh he lets out. 

He’s teasing you. 

Luckily, it isn’t long before he’s kissing you again. You can feel him smiling through it all, as if he’s enjoying the effect he has on you. You squirm underneath him in an attempt to gain his attention. 

“Take—” You breathe. “Take this off.” 

You’re tugging at his shirt as his brows raise. He’s surprised. The last time he had his shirt off around you, you seemed like you didn’t even want to see him shirtless ever again. The constant tugging brings him back to reality. You’re looking at him through hooded eyes. He can’t go against your request if you look at him like that. 

He pulls his shirt off over his head in haste, then crashes his lips back into yours. There was no pause in between—no time wasted. With the way your hands began running down his back, he knew it was over for him.

As long as the two of you are together, you’ll definitely be the death of him. 

© RIUMORI

Not a “maybe later tonight” week. Not a “I’ll do it after dinner” week. A full seven days of postponing. Of “just one more game.” Of “I promise tomorrow.” Of the unopened box sitting in the corner of your room like a silent accusation.

And today—of course today—your new stack of books arrives.

You carry them inside like precious cargo, heart fluttering because you’ve been waiting for these for ages. Fresh pages. Crisp covers. Stories you’ve been dying to dive into.

You set them down on your desk and then your eyes drift to the corner.

The box.

Still sealed.

Still judging you.

Your eye twitches.

From down the hallway, faint but unmistakable, comes the rapid clicking of a keyboard. The muffled sound of gunfire and victory music. Woonhak’s laughter through his headset as he talks to his friends.

Oblivious.

Completely, blissfully oblivious.

You huff.

Fine.

If he won’t build it, you will.

You march over to the box like it personally offended you and tear into the packaging. The cardboard rips louder than necessary. You yank out the instruction pamphlet and smooth it out on the floor.

How hard can it be?

It’s a bookshelf. Four walls and some planks. You passed high school physics. Probably.

Before starting, you stomp off to the toolbox in the laundry cupboard. You open it and immediately regret your confidence.

There are too many screwdrivers.

Flat ones. Cross ones. Weird star-shaped ones. Why are there so many shapes? Why is that one tiny? Why is that one gigantic? Is this even a screwdriver or a medieval weapon?

You stare at them for a solid ten seconds.

Then, stubborn pride flaring, you grab the entire toolbox.

If you don’t know which one you need, you’ll just take all of them.

It’s heavier than you expected. Of course it is. Of course nothing about today is easy.

You drag it down the hallway with exaggerated huffs, refusing to call for help. Your irritation fuels you. The box thumps against your knee. You ignore it. You make it to the bedroom and drop the toolbox beside the wooden panels with a loud clunk.

You sit cross-legged on the floor and actually read the instructions this time.

Step one: Insert peg A into slot B.

Step two: Secure with screw C.

The diagrams look manageable. Almost cute.

You nod.

You can do this.

You start.

Five minutes in, you realize the instructions are lying liars who lie.

The pegs don’t “simply slide in.” They resist like you’ve personally offended them. The screws don’t align with the holes. The little metal locking thing refuses to turn the way the picture shows.

You squint at the pamphlet.

“Dumb fucking instructions,” you mutter. “Just as useless.”

You try again.

The hammer makes a sharp knock. Then another. Then several louder, increasingly aggressive ones.

Your face grows warm from effort and frustration. You kneel, bend, shift, wrestle with a plank that refuses to cooperate. Your hair falls into your face. You blow it away dramatically.

You are absolutely not asking him for help.

Another loud bang echoes down the hallway.

The keyboard clicking stops.

Silence.

Then the sound of a chair scraping back.

A few seconds later, Woonhak appears in the doorway.

He takes in the scene: wood scattered across the floor, toolbox open like a treasure chest, you bent over trying to force two pieces together, cheeks flushed, muttering under your breath.

He leans against the doorframe.

And whistles.

“What a nice view,” he says casually. “Bend a little more.”

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn your head and glare at him.

If looks could kill, he’d be a ghost.

“Woah,” he says, raising his hands. “Someone’s angry.”

“Mmh. I wonder why that is?” You straighten up, hair slightly frizzy from battle. “Maybe because a week ago I asked you to do this and you still haven’t. Hung up on that stupid game of yours. I asked you so nicely.”

You punctuate your words by slamming the hammer down harder than necessary.

He winces. “Okay, okay. Violence isn’t the answer.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

He walks toward you slowly, like approaching a feral cat. “Come on, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I forgot. Let me do it.”

You scoff. “You forgot for seven days?”

He crouches behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “Time flies when I’m—”

“If you say ‘having fun,’ I swear.”

He laughs softly against your skin. “Okay. Not having fun.”

You’re still irritated. Why did it take you struggling for him to notice? Why did he only remember when it became inconveniently loud?

He senses the tension because his teasing melts away.

“I really am sorry,” he murmurs, squeezing you gently. “I should’ve done it earlier.”

You don’t answer immediately.

He presses a soft kiss just behind your ear. “You were excited about it.”

That makes you pause.

Because yes. You were.

You’d talked about rearranging the room. About finally having space for your growing collection. About how you wanted to alphabetize them or maybe color-code them.

He’d nodded. He’d smiled.

And then he’d gotten distracted.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like it didn’t matter,” he adds quietly.

That takes some of the wind out of your anger.

You sigh, shoulders deflating. “It’s just, I was looking forward to it.”

“I know.” He loosens his hold and turns you gently so you’re facing him. His expression is softer now. No teasing. Just guilt and warmth. “You should’ve yelled at me sooner.”

“I shouldn’t have to yell.”

“True.” He nods solemnly. “I’m an idiot.”

You try not to smile.

He notices anyway. “There it is.”

“Don’t.”

He cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Let me fix it?”

You hesitate.

Then you nod once.

His grin returns, but softer. “Okay. But you’re my assistant.”

“I don’t want to be your assistant.”

“Too late. You already brought the toolbox.”

You roll your eyes but scoot aside.

He cracks his knuckles dramatically and picks up the instruction pamphlet. “Alright. Step one: Insert peg A into slot B.”

You glare at the paper. “It doesn’t simply slide in.”

“Ah,” he says knowingly. “That’s because you’re using peg D.”

You blink.

“What?”

He picks up a tiny wooden piece and holds it next to another nearly identical one. “See? Slightly different size.”

They look the same.

“They are not the same,” he insists.

You narrow your eyes at them like they personally betrayed you.

He laughs and gently nudges your knee with his. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“I am not.”

“You’re a little storm cloud.”

You try not to melt.

He works efficiently, sliding pieces together with surprising ease. Every now and then he asks you to hand him something, and you do—begrudgingly at first, then more naturally.

“Phillips screwdriver,” he says.

You scan the toolbox. “Which one is that?”

“The one shaped like a plus.”

You hand him one triumphantly.

“That’s a flathead.”

You stare at it. “It’s pointy.”

“It’s flat.”

“It has a head.”

He laughs so hard he nearly drops the shelf.

The irritation slowly dissolves into something warmer. The two of you sit on the floor, knees bumping, shoulders brushing. He hums under his breath while tightening screws. You hold pieces steady when he asks. Sometimes your hands overlap and he lingers for half a second longer than necessary.

At one point he looks up and finds you staring at him.

“What?” he asks.

“You could’ve just done this last week.”

He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah.”

“But I guess this is kind of nice.”

His eyes soften. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He leans forward and presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “Next time I procrastinate, just threaten to build it yourself.”

“I will.”

“You’re scary when determined.”

“Good.”

An hour later, the bookshelf stands upright.

It’s sturdy. Straight. Real.

You both sit back on your heels and admire it like proud parents.

“You did good,” you admit.

“We did good,” he corrects.

You hum.

He stands and offers you his hands. “Come on. Let’s make it pretty.”

You light up despite yourself.

Together, you carry the stack of new books over. He hands them to you one by one while you arrange them carefully. Hardcovers on the bottom. Favorites at eye level. The new arrivals get their own special section.

At some point he stops handing you books and just watches.

“What?” you ask again.

“You look really happy.”

You glance at the shelf.

“I am.”

He steps closer behind you and wraps his arms around your waist again, but this time there’s no guilt. No teasing. Just warmth.

“I like making you happy,” he says softly.

You lean back into him. “Then do what I ask the first time.”

He snorts. “Fair.”

You turn in his arms and rest your hands on his chest. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For building it. For helping. For noticing.”

His expression turns gentle again. “I always notice. Sometimes I’m just stupid about it.”

You smile.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face. “You deserve your own little library.”

You glance over his shoulder at the finished shelf, now filled with color and stories and tiny pieces of you.

“It feels like ours,” you say quietly.

He looks back at it too.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It does.”

There’s something ridiculously domestic about standing there together, surrounded by wood shavings and cardboard scraps, admiring a piece of furniture you assembled as a team.

It shouldn’t feel this big.

But it does.

He suddenly dips down and lifts you up slightly, spinning you once.

You squeal. “Woonhak!”

“What?” he grins. “Victory celebration.”

You laugh, the last remnants of annoyance completely gone.

He sets you down gently but doesn’t let go. Instead, he rests his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like it didn’t matter,” he says again, more seriously this time.

You wrap your arms around his neck. “Just don’t make me wait a week again.”

“Deal.”

“And maybe spend slightly less time gaming.”

He gasps dramatically. “You wound me.”

“Consider it payback.”

He kisses you then—soft, slow, sweet. Not rushed. Not teasing. Just warm and steady and full of something that feels like home.

When he pulls away, he bumps his nose against yours.

“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “we could add fairy lights.”

Your eyes widen. “Around the shelf?”

“Yeah. Make it cozy.”

You grin so wide your cheeks hurt. “Yes. Oh my god, yes.”

He laughs at your enthusiasm and presses another quick kiss to your lips. “Anything for my little librarian.”

You swat his chest lightly. “I’m not little.”

“You were literally struggling with peg A.”

“Shut up.”

He laughs again, bright and fond, and pulls you back into his chest.

The room feels different now.

Warmer.

The shelf stands proudly against the wall, filled with your stories. The floor is messy. The toolbox still open. The instructions crumpled and defeated.

But your irritation has long since melted into something soft and glowing.

You rest your head over his heart and listen to its steady rhythm.

“I like building things with you,” he murmurs into your hair.

“Even when I’m mad?”

“Especially when you’re mad.”

You smile against his shirt.

Because maybe it wasn’t really about the bookshelf.

Maybe it was about feeling heard.

And maybe love isn’t always grand gestures or dramatic apologies.

Maybe sometimes it’s just sitting on the floor together, arguing about screwdrivers, laughing over mismatched pegs, and ending the day with a shelf full of stories and a promise to do better next time.

He squeezes you gently.

“Next project?” he asks.

You glance at the room thoughtfully.

“Maybe a reading nook.”

His eyes sparkle. “I call building the blanket fort.”

You laugh, bright and unrestrained.

And somewhere between the scattered screws, the soft kisses, and the newly built bookshelf standing proud against your wall, your irritation fades into something almost embarrassingly sweet.

Because at the end of the day, you didn’t just get a bookshelf.

You got him—hands covered in sawdust, heart wide open, ready to build whatever life you dream up next.

Together.

© All rights reserved @gigisnextdoor 2026.

treats your inexperience like something precious — joshua, jun, dokyeom, minghao

he doesn’t find it weird at all. if anything, he finds it endearing. when you shyly admit you’ve never dated before, his first instinct isn’t surprise, it’s awe and so much love. “then i get to be your first everything,” [AHJAHAHHAVAHAJABGAUJANHU] he says lovingly like it’s a privilege for him. he takes his time with you e.g., handholding, hugging, the occasional stolen kiss and always making sure you’re comfortable before every small step. you’ll never feel rushed; only cherished and loved.

patient and reassuring — seungcheol, wonwoo, woozi, vernon, dino

he notices how you hesitate sometimes like how you overthink saying “i love you” or freeze up when things get a little intimate. he never teases about it and just squeezes your hand and says, “hey, we’ll go at your pace.” when you apologize for being ‘awkward,’ he gives you that small fond smile and says, “you’re not. you’re learning, and i love that i get to learn with you.” he makes you feel safe because love, to him, is patience, care, respect, comfort. you could have zero experience or ten and it wouldn’t matter. what matters to him is that it’s you and that’s all he needs.

turns it into the sweetest typa of teasing — mingyu, seungkwan

not in a mean way tho. it's more like, “you’re so cute i might eat wall” way [definitely not inspired by my occasional crashout]. the first time you hold his hand and your palms are all sweaty, he just looks at you and laughs and intertwines your fingers tighter [pls imagine this and tell me this is not the most butterfly inducing thing skshkajj]. when you kiss him and then hide your face, he grins and goes, “you’re doing great, babe. 10/10 technique.” it’s all laughter and ease with him; he’ll never let you feel embarrassed about learning love for the first time.

low-key nice about it but internally high-key losing his mind — jeonghan, hoshi

“Let the poor boy rest, Miss L/N,” Madam Kang approaches with a tray of vials, each steaming a different neon colour. “He’s been asleep for an entire day, it’ll be a while before he can regain strength.”

The matron places it on the side-table, pushing his precious Thunderbolt VII out of the way, letting the broomstick fall to the floor ungracefully. Jaehyun feels the urge to protest, or at least reach for it—but the matron is already fussing over his injuries, tipping a healing potion into his mouth and patting him back onto the sheets, propping his casted leg up on a pillow.

She narrows her eyes as she makes sure he drinks every one of the vials, making him gulp down the awful liquid in nervous obedience. It goes down more painfully than the sharp throb in his leg.

“Make sure he doesn’t wander off, this boy has a habit of ignoring medical advice,” she says to you before sauntering off towards the room adjacent to the hospital wing. 

Jaehyun sighs, watching her disappear behind the door. 

“You’re not dead.”

He cranes his neck to see you stare at him—arm in a sling, sitting upright on the bed opposite him. 

“...Yeah.”

“You broke your leg,” you say, voice pinched, “Might hurt while the Skele-Grow takes effect… “

“Oh,” Jaehyun purses his lips, eyes drawn to your injured arm. “What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“Your—” He tilts his jaw to point at your sling. “Your arm… is it hurt?”

He doesn’t realise the stupidity of his words immediately. Of course you’re hurt, why else would it be wrapped up and slung around your neck. Jaehyun expects you to blow up in his face, to call him an idiot and march off to the furthest bed you could. 

But you don’t.

Instead, you just say, “Nothing too bad, should be fine soon enough.” 

He’s never been this awkward around you. To say the atmosphere was civil would be the understatement of the century; instead, it’s tense in a way different from your in-game rivalry. 

The sound of the clock ticking by feels like his insides being wrung like a towel; the lights feel too bright, his leg feels too heavy, and his breaths way too loud. Every time he glances sideways, you’re either twiddling with your uninjured hand like you don’t know what to do with it, or you’re staring longingly out the window.

Jaehyun feels it too—the itch to get back to practice. 

At first, it’s a couple of hours. Then, a whole night—you toss and turn, grumbling in your sleep like you were having nightmares. He’s no better, staring straight up at the ceiling as though it could swallow him whole.

He even ponders jumping out the window on his broom and heading straight for Quidditch pitch.

There’s not much to look at other than four white walls, an unremarkable wooden door, and a couple holiday decorations that seems to have been magicked into places: a festive wreath in front of Madam Kang’s quarters, a little christmas tree hung with painted pinecones and shiny baubles, and streams of tinsel strewn here and there. 

Neither of you converse unless it’s to remind each other to take your healing potions, or sometimes when he needs help with sitting up against the bed. There are no visitors other than the matron’s occasional inspections—just Jaehyun, you, and the soft snowfall out through the frosty windowpanes. 

“How much longer did she say?” he whispers out on one chilly evening, head squished against a fluffy white pillow. 

You barely spare him a glance, trying to flip the page of your book over your tucked-in knees. “A week at least. You broke a lot in there.” You gesture vaguely at his body.

“Right,” Jaehyun grumbles. “I’m gonna lose so much muscle mass after this.”

You scoff on instinct. “Not like you had any to begin with.” 

It doesn’t mean to come out as an insult, not after days of uncomfortable silence. 

But surprisingly, something inside of Jaehyun settles in relief at the familiarity. “You say that and then gawk at my legs during a game. No wonder you don’t hit straight.”

The response is immediate—your eyes flash open, lips curling downward into an angry frown, hands gripping at your worn out copy of Quidditch Through the Ages as though you were about to swing it at his face. 

Jaehyun can’t help but smile at how less intimidating you look when you’re not thirty feet up in the air and sporting all four working limbs. Like a baby bird attempting to peck but without any real aggression. 

“You wouldn’t waste your precious book on me of all people.” He quips knowingly, managing to sound cocky even with a pathetic cast on his leg. 

And he’s right on the nose; you narrow your eyes, click your tongue in disapproval, and then lower your book back to your lap. 

It’s the first taste of normalcy he’s had in days.

Jaehyun sleeps with ease that night, quietly admitting to himself that maybe, being stuck with you in the hospital wing during the holidays wasn't the worst thing to happen to him after all. 

── 𓇢𓆸 

“Hold still,” you reprimand unintelligibly, leaning over his cast to slide the marker across it, the cap hanging between your teeth. 

“I can’t even move, dude,” Jaehyun sighs, watching the way you doodle a wonky lion on him, adding tiny horns and a moustache for flair. “That is the ugliest thing I’ve ever had the misfortune to see…” He grimaces. “—and I’ve seen you on your bad days.”

You sneer at him, looking every bit as comical as he hopes you do when he makes you mad on purpose. 

“You’re not exactly Picasso to be talking a big game,” You spit the cap out and lift your sling—decorated with tweety birds, and a very elaborate, structurally accurate diagram of a Firebolt. “Can’t believe we’re stuck here during Christmas, drawing on each other’s broken limbs.”

“Did you have other plans?” He raises a brow.

“Quidditch, duh,” you state the obvious, watching him nod in agreement. “Match is in two months and I’m not even allowed to use a bat yet.”

“Well,” Jaehyun motions for you to pass the marker to him and scooch closer. “It could be worse. We could have been muggles and have had to get our bones mended their way—and that could take ages.”

“What do you know about muggle medicine?”

“More than you,” He starts to draw stars and snowflakes onto the fabric over your arm. “My mom’s a doctor—a muggle healer. I used to break my bones all the time.”

“...Doing what? Crawling?”

“Playing,” he corrects with a roll of his eye, tongue peeking out as he concentrates on his doodles. “She says I could never sit still as a kid. So she put me into every sport out there—little league baseball, football, archery—”

“They gave you a bow and arrow?”

“I quit after a week because I accidentally pricked my instructor with it.”

“Ah, that’s more like the Myung Jaehyun I know.” You snicker. 

The room has started to smell less like polyester and detergent, and more like Christmas. There’re two cups of cocoa on the side-table—courtesy of Madam Kang—balanced atop a mountain of Quidditch guides and biographies. The tinsel on the tree has multiplied somehow; there’s snow capping the windowsills, wrens and doves making the occasional visit. 

You miss playing Quidditch. But to make up for it, you’ve resorted to transferring your personal library to the hospital wing, the stack of books building by the day. 

At some point, Jaehyun lets out a bored sigh, and you non-verbally pass him a copy of Flying with the Cannons, if only to shut him up. 

“How did you know I’m going to join the Chudley Cannons!?” His face lights up like the tree in the corner of the room. “Don’t tell me you’re a prophet…?”

“Myung…you and I both almost failed Divination in our fifth year.”

“Oh, yeah.” He grins wistfully at the memory. “Honestly, I thought she failed us because you kept attacking me with your teacup.”

“Like you didn’t keep predicting my imminent doom on your crystal ball.” You squint at your book, confused at a particular sentence. “What does this mean—’bristles aid wind direction; the more streamlined the better’ ?”

“Hmm…think of it like birds’ feathers—” Jaehyun lays his own book flat on his chest, bookmarking his page. “—they basically smoothen the path of wind. The more lightweight, the better for flight. Seekers need to maneuver a lot, so we’d avoid heavier woods, like oak.”

“Oh… Beaters prefer the heavier kind. But it sucks when you have to speed after targets.”

“Your speed is fine,” he offers without a hint of deceit, “It’s the hesitance you need to focus on. You do this thing where you just…stop.”

Your brows knit together. “Huh?” 

“It’s like you’re trying to recollect what you’ve read…I can see it in your eye before you swing your bat—you waste so much time on thinking.”

“...” You feel like you’ve been peeled open and cut into two perfect cross-sections. “I don’t—” 

The rest never make it past your lips; you know you’d be lying if it did. 

“You worry too much too,” he continues, “makes you lose momentum. And, you don’t get to show off how skilled of a player you actually are.”

The compliment is thrown so casually as though he is merely commenting on the weather. Not like it’s a monumental milestone in your, mostly sour, age-old relationship.

“...Thanks,” you finally say, still a bit dubious. “You’re…uh… You fly well, I guess.”

Jaehyun snorts at your poor attempt at praise. “Thanks? That’s nice of you… I guess.”

“You don’t think enough up in the air or on the ground,” you huff, “but your muscle memory is impeccable. I can tell you to work hard at it.”

This time, he smiles, meaning it. 

When you let yourself sink into the comfort of simply being next to him— without the biting remarks or scalding anger to burn you—you find that it’s not as strange as you’d imagine it to be.

“Hey,” Jaehyun whispers, eyes tracking the blinking Christmas lights in the distance, the smile still etched onto his lips—as though he’s dipping his toes into uncharted waters. 

You turn your head, sneaking a peak at his face. He’s quiet, eyes soft around the corners, gaze unfocussed. 

“You know…” he begins teasingly, “you don’t need to stay. I heard the matron saying she dismissed you last week.”

Your stomach does a swoop—fluttering, squeezing around itself like you just ate something bad. You feel sick.

“I… She—” A gulp travels down your dry throat. “...I just needed to make sure I’m fully recovered.”

Jaehyun turns his head, lips stretching.

“Did I make you cry when I was knocked out?” He tosses you a lopsided grin, tilting his head playfully. “You know you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You suck in a sharp breath, heart squeezing in a way you didn’t think hearts could. Jaehyun has that glint in his eyes—not unlike the one he wore when he quipped between practices, or circled around you like a menacing cat. But there’s something else there too…

A curiosity. 

“I—” You clear your throat, sinking deeper into your scarf in a foolish attempt to tame the heat on your cheeks. “I wasn’t worried.”

“Not what I asked.” He smiles, softer this time. “I heard you, you know—saying my name.”

Your cheeks are now scalding hot to the touch, every inch of you aflame in mortification. 

It had been a mistake. You weren’t thinking… You certainly weren’t worried about the loser. Why would you be? He’s brash, he has horrible manners, he teases you, he embarrasses you, he… 

He did save you.

Before you can come up with a justification to why you didn’t outright hate him for a split second while he was out like a light, Jaehyun is already changing the topic, complaining about the annotations you’ve filled into the book in his hand. “Such a nerd,” he murmurs, but still keeps reading—an annoying smirk plastered onto his face. 

You groan. But in the private crevices of your mind, you can admit the relief you feel when he doesn’t bring up the subject again. 

“Why is your common room so far away, ugh,” you grunt, testing out your newly healed arm with a roll of the bones.  

“Sweetheart, if you stopped complaining for one second, we’d already be here.” 

Jaehyun has a slight limp to his steps, but Madam Kang had reluctantly let him leave the hospital wing—after several shameless bats of his lashes, and a long speech you’d prepared, listing all the reasons why the white walls would only slow down his recovery and how much more infuriating he had been getting in bed confinement. 

After all, it was Christmas eve tonight.   

“This is ridiculous,” you say as you follow after him, stepping through the hole behind the painting on the wall. 

He snickers at your whining, and stops abruptly so that he purposely makes you bump your head right into his back. 

“God, you are so—”

“Charming?” He swivels around.

“—Pesky.” You poke his forehead to push him out of the way. “Why did you even bring me to his hellhole?”

“Because it’s almost Christmas, and also because you haven’t let me show you my blueprints in exchange for me listening to you go on and on and on about the history of Quidd—”

“Shut it.” 

The first thing you smell when you move forward is the fire—inviting and gentle on your nose. The first thing you see is red; it almost sends you into a panic-induced coma. 

But your eyes adjust to the red in increments, slowly turning less aggressive in your mind.  

And you can acknowledge one thing: Gryffindor tower is the right opposite of yours; almost everything is gold or crimson, rustic in a way it makes you feel warm all over. Cosy. 

Jaehyun wastes no time before he flops onto the couch, stretching as though he was making a snow angel against the fabric. 

The place looks lived-in—evidence of friendship and family stretching from wall to wall: half finished board games, party hats strewn under the table, a festive poster someone has stuck to the bulletin. There’s a tree beside the window, glittering in reds and yellows—snowflakes spiralling down outside.

You linger at the scarlet tapestries on the wall, the lion motifs adorning the sides—then you trace your hands over the bookcase in reverent awe. 

It’s…beautiful.

Of course, you’d be lying to say it isn’t. It’s not home to you—not like the Ravenclaw common room—but you can imagine Jaehyun growing up here, spending his days lazing around and surrounded by his friends. There’s love lingering in every corner.  

“Come here,” Jaehyun waves you over, having planted himself on the carpet near the coffee table at some point along your assessment of the room. “This is a Nimbus 1000; you’re already familiar with it—” He smoothes out a large glossy blue diagram, with chalk and scales overlaying it. 

Of course you were familiar; it was your first-ever broomstick your dad bought you.

You sit next to him, leaning over as he pushes it towards you. 

“See the handle and how it's curved over here—that’s to reduce air drag,” he points out, bringing your finger to the drawing. 

It’s slightly smudged, as though he had pressed his fist across it while sketching it down—or fallen asleep late into the night, cheeks against the paper. It’s a surprisingly fond image.

“And,” he continues, delving into the intricacies of broom aerodynamics. “see this—that’s to help with turning 360 degrees mid-flight. An old but reliable model.”

“Who knew you could read, Myung?” You quip, an insult too shallow to hurt. “So this is what you’re off doing instead of completing your Charms homework.”

“Says the girl who spends the class taking down Quidditch notes instead of practicing spells.”

“Thought you didn’t see me as a girl,” you wiggle your eyebrows, finding yourself relaxing a little. 

He pauses to look at you—then grunts away a response. 

For the first time in a very long time, you don’t worry. When he finishes showing you his collection of blueprints and miniature broom models, you settle into comfortable company; you read out loud your favourite passages from Quidditch Through the Ages as he works on another sketch—nodding along to your words with a question here and there.

Time quietly slips away; the world hangs its head as the hour hand walks its way to twelve. A cuckoo pops out to announce Christmas day.  

Jaehyun’s eyes are half open, head tossed back against the couch cushion. You’ve accidentally come to rest your side against his, fingertips a hair’s breadth away from his. 

“Y/N,” he murmurs, dazed.

You aren’t any better. “Hmm?”

“Merry… Merry Christmas." 

Maybe it registers in your mind, maybe it doesn’t. Nonetheless, a smile shows itself.

“Merry Christmas,” You don’t even hear your own voice, eyes drooping closed, “Jaehyun.”

Christmas arrives, and you aren’t alone for the night. 

── 𓇢𓆸 

Gryffindor common room - Christmas 

“When I said let’s get food—” you huff, teetering on your heels. “—I didn’t mean the entire kitchen, Myung.”

“God forbid a man likes pastry,” he pouts through a cheekful of tart, barely balancing a mountain of plates in his hand, almost dropping an entire bowl of mini candy canes onto the plush red carpet. 

“The man needs to stop talking while he eats,” you frown in disgust, swerving out of the way before he sprays crumbs onto you. 

Morning light spills through the open window. It’s chilly, but the roaring fire and woollen clothes keep you warm. There’s a light trill of birds over someone humming carols from the grounds below. 

You and Jaehyun spend the entire morning and afternoon digging into as many delicacies as you can, and as quickly as your tummy allows. Being athletes called for a strict control over overindulgence—or at least for those of you who actually kept to it.

But today is an exception—you get to stuff yourself to your heart’s content.

Cupcake wrappers litter the coffee table, pavlova cream smeared at plate edges. The jars of what used to contain eggnog sits empty. The fruit cake is demolished. 

Jaehyun lies spread-eagle on the floor, patting his belly.

You would chide him for being so ungraceful—had you not been in the exact same situation. 

“I regret everything, ugh. Why didn’t you stop me?” You can barely speak through the pain in your chest, eggnog swirling dangerously within your tummy. 

“I did try,” Jaehyun grumbles. “You told me to go take a swan-dive off the Astronomy tower.”

You don’t refute.

It’s another minute before a lightbulb sparks alive on the top of your head—and he seems to have the same idea. 

What better way to work out the kinks in your muscles, to let off steam and to truly enjoy Christmas to its maximum?

“Broomride?” you ask.

“Broomride.” he nods.

The sun is only beginning to descend—making the Great Lake shimmer at the surface. Jaehyun swoops above the water, grinning as the cold air nips at his skin, his red scarf whipping behind him as he speeds up.

You join him with the same enthusiasm, not hiding the smile that escapes you. Hogwarts feels so small from up here—nothing but one of Jaehyun’s miniature models, an ant among giants. It’s breathtaking. To fly after ages feels like having your first inhale of a breath after holding it in for so long. 

When you finally come back down to earth, feet skidding against the gravel, the rush of flight hasn’t worn off yet.

“This is where you pushed me off from,” Jaehyun leans over the pier, looking down into the bottomless blue, where merpeople and squids resided in their own pockets of life. 

“‘Push’ is a strong word,” you refute. “I prefer…‘gave you the nudge you needed.’”

“No wonder I choose to run before you can get me now,” he chuckles, skipping a stone over the gently cascading water. 

You follow suit, trying to outdo him, but come up two steps too short. “You don’t run when it matters though…that’s the important bit.”

Jaehyun remains silent; he knows you’re hovering over things you want to say—too afraid to acknowledge the elephant in the room, wary of breathing things into existence where they need not be. 

It must be the sunset softening your edges—because the words roll off your tongue as you watch the light bathe over the lake.

“You… saved me. You didn’t even think before you dived.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen at your words.

Honestly, he never thought you’d mention it again. You aren’t the type to linger on guilt or pity—someone who worked through feelings with a book and a quill. And occasionally, a blackboard. He isn’t equipped to handle such a straightforward sentence out your mouth.

Jaehyun’s mouth is parted, words teetering between honesty and fear. 

“Seeker’s instinct,” he finally says. 

He’s not sure if he even believes it himself. There’s a truth there, but it’s not the entirety of it. 

For a Gryffindor, he was every bit a coward as you regarded him to be, Jaehyun thinks.

You, however, nod—taking what he’s willing to offer, not demanding anything more. 

Jaehyun wonders if you feel guilty for his broken leg. He nudges your shoulder with his own, keeping you rooted when you meet his eyes—with something more than just delicacy swimming underneath those brown flecks. 

“It’s not your fault. I was the one who jumped before thinking,” he says softly, a hint of self-blame dancing around his assurance. “Don’t worry that head of yours, alright?” For good measure, he gently flicks your temple, earning a shove into his ribs.

Before he can fall off into the water once again, in a perfect replication of the incident from three years ago—you pull him back onto solid ground by the neck of his sweater, letting him lean his weight against you, his still weak leg swaying.

“Thanks,” you say.

‘For saving me, for the anonymous tips,...for being here, for going into a food coma with me, for flying with me all day,’ goes unsaid, but the warmth in your gaze conveys it all. He doesn’t pull away; you don’t let him.

For the first time in years, you can admit you may enjoy Myung Jaehyun’s company.

It turns out to be one of the nicest Christmases you’ve ever had.

Great hall - first day of Spring Term

”Park Gunwook, stop eating the chocolate! That’s for Y/N!” Liz smacks the taller boy’s hands, making him drop a handful of bonbons back into the silver case. 

“Y/N-ie!!” She veers around him to throw herself against you—her own version of a hug. “I missed you!!”

“She did,” Gaeul appears behind her, grinning. “Wouldn’t shut up about it. My deaf Grandma had the worst three hours of her life trying to understand why she kept crying over home-made cookies.”

“The wonky one reminded me of Y/N,” Liz pouts, and you swing your hand back to punch her in the arm. 

But you’re interrupted by the barrage of the rest of the Ravenclaws flooding in through the main doors—Ricky, Leeseo, and Kazuha all mid-chatter and heading straight for you. You take turns hugging them, letting Kazuha ruffle your hair.

“Had a good holiday? Or should I ask—had a good Quidditch vacay?” She pinches your cheeks.

“You could say that,” you mumble, but don’t elaborate when she throws you a questioning look.

It’s a miracle that you’re saved from Liz’s nosy interrogation—thankfully, she’s too distracted by Gunwook now choking on what should have been your present. 

You watch them play around—returning to the welcoming dynamics of your friend-group—everyone settling comfortably back into the routine of awaiting classes, taking in the ceiling that was charmed to swirl snow onto the four long tables, watching as the other houses began to trickle in one after another. 

Then you wonder if one of those red scarves is Jaehyun’s. 

After Christmas, you had found a new sense of rhythm with him; more broomrides at night, a lot of discussions-turned-debates over flight moves and strategies… You even ended up showing him your most prized possession—your Quidditch notebook where you scratched down every fleeting thought and every observation you’ve ever made since the third year. 

In return, he’d practiced day and night with you—helping you act quicker without thinking too hard, reminding you not to strain your arm when you swung with too much force.

New year’s rolled around, and nothing changed for the worse. 

In fact, you even let yourself indulge in the gift-giving festivities: he now held onto your annotated copy of Flying with the Cannons—a note with his name and a haphazardly written ‘happy new year’ slipped into it.  And you… You were now the (not) proud owner of a miniature model of Tweety bird on a broomstick. 

“It’s a bird… Why the fuck does it need a broom?” You had asked, squinting at it in your palm.

Jaehyun had been undeterred, simply giggling when he’d said, “Can’t I be a little poetic, L/N?”

The memory is fond, feeling like an old story than from only a couple days ago. You’re trying to recollect your exact feeling of that moment when—

“Ah, stuffing your face as usual, I see,” Seok Matthew struts into view with a smirk, arms hidden in the depths of his trouser-pockets. 

Gunwook sneers around his chocolate, “Fuck you, Seok.”

“Fuck me yourself, coward.” The Gryffindor taunts, his smirk only growing.

“Jerk!” Gunwook squeezes his fists, flaring his nostrils in what is supposed to be intimidation.

It’s three seconds away from what could be anything between a food fight and a fist fight, when a steady hand pulls Matthew back before Gunwook can ambush him.  

“Hwan-” begins Kazuha, but she doesn’t finish when she realises that it isn’t the reliable vice captain that’s keeping them from decking each other. It’s—

“Myung,” you greet—softer than you should. 

“L/N,” he responds, likewise. 

“Y/N, let me at him,” Gunwook punches the air, trying to push past Kazuha. But you interject.

“Save that brawl for finals, we still need to get through one more match.” You say it casually, without dwelling on the meaning—but seven pairs of incredulous eyes whip around to stare at you. 

“What?” You blink at them. 

“...You’re…” Gunwook scrunches his brows together. “...stopping me from hitting him?”

You open your mouth, realise you have nothing fruitful to say—then close it at once. 

To make matters worse, Jaehyun doesn’t jump in at the convenient gap with one of his usual taunts. Instead, he’s looking past everyone, straight at you—with an expression that toes the line between tenderness, and like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do next.

“I—” You gulp. “We’ll only lose house points if you injure him,” you say, turning towards Gunwook. “And I want you in perfect condition so we can beat these idiots.”

It seems to do the job—albeit just barely; Gunwook brightens up with newfound vigour, throwing a condescending look at Matthew for good measure. Liz joins in with a smirk and a covert middle finger pulled out of her robe’s pocket. 

Jaehyun just…smiles. 

“Alright,” he says simply—no malice, no hidden undertones. 

His relaxed tone sends a shiver down everyone’s spine, including your own—Ricky prickling up like a frightened cat, Gunwook’s eyes going wide. 

But Jaehyun is already walking off to the Gryffindor table with his arm around Matthew, who also seems to be just as confused at his captain’s sudden change in personality. 

“Is he trying to scare us?!” Liz gasps, “What the actual fuck was that?”

“He’s just—” You grasp at the clay model inside your pocket—the bird on the broom. “—being infuriating again. Don’t mind it.”

Gunwook starts to refute, but you cut in before he can start digging your grave—

“We have a match to practice for, and we’re already behind compared to those Hufflepuffs. I better see a huge improvement in the next two months, or it's back to the drawing board.”

Everyone zips their lips at once, slowly deflecting back to conversations about homework and professors. 

While the chatter builds and you begin to leave for your first class of the day, something new gnaws at your brain—not just the usual buzz of caffeine and Quidditch jargon. 

Because now, you have another thorn in your side: the near-impossible task of keeping up appearances with your supposed enemy, Myung Jaehyun—who, you realise, you don’t seem to hate as much anymore. 

── 𓇢𓆸 

“I almost got that point,” Gyuvin complains, stopping in front of the Ravenclaw hoops.

”Not my fault you move like a snail,” Gaeul says simply, her nonchalance more cutting than any bite the rest of your team could manage.

It’s yet another joint practice—blue and red robes billowing in the damp January air, snowcapped towers and grounds existing beneath like the inside of a snow globe. 

You’re tracking the movements of your team, mentally jotting down any details you might want to record for later. Kazuha is flying parallel to Ricky, receiving the Quaffle from him, cutting past Hanbin’s tricky ambush to head for the Gryffindor base. 

She swings it into the central hoop, scoring another ten points.

At the next play, you aim your Bludger at Intak before he can do the same to Ricky, managing the strength to knock it into his torso and make him lose his grasp. The novelty of getting the six-foot player to concede fills your heart with satisfaction. 

As though on instinct, you look for him—and find that Jaehyun is looking back at you, sporting a smile that clearly meant he was proud of you for not hesitating. 

It becomes a routine—stolen glances, the accidental mid-air bumps that were less than unfriendly, the way he circles around you for absolutely no reason when he should be looking for the Snitch…

The routine, for lack of better words, carries into your daily lives.

Jaehyun quietly saves you a seat when you come in late for Charms—away from the prying eyes of your teams, private and safe. You talk—over a growing bundle of Quidditch books and blueprints, in the tucked-away corners of the lake where few wandered, over your carefully aligned trips to Professor Jeon’s office when he calls for the captains. Over nothing and everything. 

“I’m telling you, let your Beaters aim for the knee if it’s Park Sunghoon—he loses balance every single time,” You tap the page of your play plan. “And if it’s Taesan, well…”

“I swear he’s got a thing for our Gryffindor prefect, dude,” Jaehyun insists.

The two of you sit side by side on a makeshift seat over the rocks overlooking the Great Lake, a shared notebook between you.

You respond in similar fervour, “Wait seriously? …that explains all the… staring.”

“He’s always bothering her with his pranks, though. She probably hates his guts.”

“Can you blame her? Childish pigtail-pulling only gets you so far.” You shake your head, disappointed in general at the male species. “Ugh, men.”

“Yeah?” Jaehyun’s voice is teasing, but slightly soft. “What would you suggest then?”

“Hmm?”

“If not pigtail pulling—” He waits for you to look his way before he finishes. “What would you suggest works?”

Your heart speeds without warning.

He’s wearing that look again—a hint of a lingering smile, the brown flecks in his dark eyes evident under the backdrop of sunlight hitting the snow—unguarded—his heart right on his sleeve, waiting to slip off into your hands if you offer them to him…

“I—” You lose breath from just looking at him—him and his stupid, earnest eyes… ”So Hufflepuff, ahem!”

Jaehyun all but groans. 

However, he has the self-respect to right himself, brushing off the slight pinch to his ego, and giving way to your digression.

“Their Captain might look all sweet but that guy’s a monster. Keep on his heels when you’re up there,” Jaehyun offers.

“Hao? The guy that stank up the entire Great Hall because he had to just eat his durian out in the open?” 

“Same one. Wolf in a sheep’s clothing, I swear, their whole lot.”

“Rich coming from you,” you scoff, rolling your eyes for him to see.

He ignores it.

“Hao prefers his right side too much, it was so obvious from our last match,” Jaehyun takes the quill from you to add his own little note to the margins. “And I think he’s into our Chaser.”

“Hanbin? Oh yeah, saw it from a mile away. I knew they were giving each other eyes in your last match.”

“Knew you came to spy on us.” He grins, and you pull his cheeks down so it turns into a pained frown.

“I wasn’t spying.”

“Ogling, then.”

“Ew…who would I ogle at…you?”

“Awww, is my Y/N-ie shy?” He coos, lightly grazing the nib of the quill against your nose, leaving a tiny blue mark there. “You weren’t like this when we were in the Hospital Wing and you were all like, ‘Jae-Jaehyun!’” he says in mock sorrow—an embarrassing imitation of your voice.

“WELL, SORRY FOR THINKING YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN DEAD—” you huff, jumping off the rock and beginning to stomp away, but he drags you back to your spot by your wrist. 

“Okay, okay—truce!” He puts both arms up in surrender. “Back to tactics, c’mon.”

You still pout but let him coax you back into strategising. 

“Sakura sticks to a pattern—it’s always, begin on the left, zig-zag across, then she goes right,” you explain as you point at your notes, “You can basically predict her next move before she even starts.”

“That should make it easy then—she’s faster than me as a Seeker, so I have trouble when we need to dive for the Snitch sometimes.”

You offer him advice based on your experience from playing against Slytherin, and he in turn, does the same for your eventual match against Hufflepuff. 

In Charms, the two of you pass notes—little tidbits that you might have not remembered to tell each other the day before. Then he’s slipping scraps of paper into your robe as he passes by you across the Quidditch field—nimble and deft with his hands—you make sure to tell him that he’d make an excellent pickpocket if being an athlete doesn’t work out in the future. 

And then…he stops with the niceties altogether. 

“Good game, partner.” Jaehyun extends his hand out to you after one of your joint practice matches.

You hesitate before taking it, too self-conscious of whether people see. “Hm, yeah.” You avert your eyes.

But he shamelessly lingers on your palm, gently tugging it closer. The pulse under your wrists speeds up dangerously, heart thudding when you look up to see him move your hand closer to his lips—you gulp, thinking he might press a kiss to it—

Jaehyun winks, a smirk appearing before he softly returns your hand back to you.

You almost combust.

//

“What the fuck, Myung? You can’t just—”

“Just?”

“—Flirt in front of my team!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “They can’t know that we’re—”

“That we’re..?” Jaehyun’s eyebrows raise; he’s smiling—not a bit concerned about you stressing out. “That we’re what, Sweetheart?”

Your temple throbs again. It’s infuriating—how easily he drives you up the wall, how he knows the exact buttons to push to elicit the exact reactions from you—how he knows you inside out like his own mind. 

“Don’t call me that.” You pout, plopping down on the bleachers. “You flirt like it’s your life blood.”

“Only with you, I’ve already told you this,” He puts his cheeks in his palms, leaning in. “I can stop if you hate it.”

You don’t respond. 

You can’t… There’s no way to know if you truly do hate it. Your body seemed to react to his sweet-talking with the same alertness it reserved for an active threat situation—heart racing, adrenaline coursing… but you can’t even say some part of you hasn’t started to look forward to the symptoms now.

Instead of acknowledging his words, you end up asking— 

“Why do you keep helping me?” 

The thought has been weighing you down like a head on a pillow—steadily, maybe even comfortably. There are so many answers he could give you, each one just as tender. 

But what he says knocks the air out of your lungs, and perhaps your heart just falls out and gives itself to the boy in front of you… 

“Maybe I want to make sure my last match here will be with you.” Jaehyun’s voice is a whisper. 

Snow softly drifts—melting atop his inky locks—and then you actually look at him. 

He is no longer the same thirteen year old boy that flew circles around you, or taunted you with his natural talent. He’s older now, his features sharper, shoulders broader—more reliable. 

But his eyes…they’re still as soft, still playful like a kid’s.

You wonder if you just never saw him before, or if you just refused to admit that you did. 

“...I,” you begin, but he’s already pulling you up with him.

“Play a 1 v 1 with me?” he asks, cheeks pink, and smile soft. 

When you finally nod, he’s turning away, leading you down to the broom stands.

Oh.

You watch his back, the way he turns around to look at you—and the world freezes for a second.

Oh, you think.

You’re fucked.

── 𓇢𓆸 

You’re thoroughly, absolutely fucked.

Jaehyun, when left unstopped, is a force to be reckoned with.

He flirts with a newfound passion now—in-between classes, during broomrides, up in the astronomy tower where you once take him to try out a nosedive—on the Quidditch pitch, twenty feet up in the air. 

The location is a second thought to him—all that matters is that he gets to say the word ‘Sweetheart’ to you, minimum three times a day.

“Sweetheart, you forgot to sleep today, didn’t you?”

“Sweetheart, do you think I should start shaving? I think it gives me a rugged look though, no?”

“Sweetheart, why aren’t you wearing your scarf, it’s freezing cold—here, take mine—”

“Myung Jaehyun, shut the fuck up,” You slam a hand to your forehead as he stares quizzically. “Why aren’t you celebrating your win with your team?”

The two of you stand crammed together in a tiny nook behind one of the stairs; Jaehyun is sweaty from his match against Slytherin, face flushed and chest still heaving. You had come to watch, but somehow, in a turn of events that was simultaneously strange and predictable—he had found you right after.

“It’s your win just as it is mine,” he says giddily, “I couldn’t have made that dive if you hadn’t practiced with me.”

“Lies. You didn’t need me for that.”

“I always need you.”

“God, ugh,” You drag your palms down your face, ready to pound your head against the wall. “You are so annoying!”

“Aw, did I make Tweety bird mad?”

“What the fuck, Myung? Why do you keep calling me stuff like that!?”

“Because,” He shrugs. “You look like a Tweety Bird.”

When you just stare incredulously back at him, mouth agape, he elaborates, “Innocent and cute…and fun to chase around.”

“You can’t,” you sigh, ignoring the warmth pulsating inside your chest. “You can’t just keep doing this. Our teams hate each other, and…we can’t disappoint them.” The last sentence breaks out before you can think it through.

“And that’s the only reason?” he asks, coy.

You gulp, looking away. 

“Alright,” Jaehyun just nods, giving no indication that he intended to do as told, “I’ll hold back on the flirting.”

It’s an ominous statement, you think. The paranoia that claws its way up your body makes you stiffen when he ruffles your hair, saying nothing more after. 

He walks off to where his team waits for him—probably wondering where their Captain had gone off to—leaving you alone with your thoughts in a shadowy spot under the stairs. 

You wonder if you’ve awakened some sort of monster. 

Myung Jaehyun is no longer acting like Myung Jaehyun.

At least not the same one you’ve come to be familiar with—the obnoxious jerk who had somehow melted into a softer version of himself—a teasing, hyperactive puppy-dog of a human that kept following you around.

He takes what you had demanded of him and adds his own flair to it. 

You start to regret that you’d ever said those words. 

“Good game,” he says, without stringing a nickname at the end. “You did well.”

His words are still genuine, but you can tell he’s burying so much he would rather just say.

“Thanks,” you respond stiffly, the hair on your nape standing up. 

But a sly smile shows itself on his face. “What about me, did I do well?”

“Huh?” you sputter.

“I asked,” He leans in to whisper, his breath way too close to your lips. “Did I do well, Captain?”

You pray to the heavens above to swallow you whole, in case one of your teammates has heard it. 

Thankfully, they’re off to the sides, caught up in their own shenanigans—Gunwook seems to be attempting to break Matthews arm in what outwardly looks like a handshake, and Liz’s yells aimed at Gyuvin echoes as far as the distant mountains. 

Jaehyun is undeterred. “What?” he says again, in a pitch deep enough to send a shiver through you. “You said not to call you Sweetheart.” 

Before you can say anything intelligent in response, he walks off with a final squeeze to your palms. 

Then there’s your private strategy meet-ups: he shows up, talks just as enthusiastically about Quidditch with you, and every time the word ‘Sweetheart’ threatens to escape his mouth, he’ll replace it with something more dangerous.

Then there are his touches …

“Can you pass me that blueprint over there?” Jaehyun asks, pointing at the rolled-up paper next to you.

When you hand it to him, your fingertips accidentally brush against his, and the two of you look up to meet each other’s eyes. 

He smiles; you stutter. 

Or you’ll lean in too close without thinking, too caught up in recounting some historic match out of a guide, and when you look up, he’ll already be staring at you—shamelessly, with an attention he does not even offer to his school subjects. 

And it makes you have to dig your fingernails into your skin to keep yourself tethered to the material world.

In a twist you didn’t think the universe was cruel enough to pull on you, Myung Jaehyun proves to hold the capacity to be even more infuriating than you thought he could ever be.

And you are nothing but a victim of his perilous tenacity. 

Your paranoia spikes to an all time high when he approaches you from behind—making you jump in your own skin with just a casual greeting. You start to fear for your life lest he say something too sultry in front of your friends. You start watching your back, treating him like a threat to your life—a time-bomb about to explode that you need to run away from.

But he always finds you.

And you realise that you can’t take it anymore. 

His stupid face is in your head 24/7, his stupid voice now the narrator of your brain. He’s everywhere—physically, spiritually, in all the ways that suck the soul out of your body. 

Myung Jaehyun has cemented himself as the true bane of your existence.

After the nth time you catch yourself staring at his mouth while he rambled on about the Oakshaft 79, you decide you have had enough.

Jaheyun is on his way back from one of his classes, clueless as ever, caught up in his mental world of fast-going broomsticks when—

“Huh, what!—” He feels more than sees: the harsh tug of his necktie, the broom cupboard doors slamming shut behind him, drowning him in dancing shadows—and then you—and your mouth on his.

Your mouth…on…his?

“Y/N—”

“Shut up,” you whisper, pulling him back down. Your hands tug at his nape, at his hair—tight enough to break, and eager enough to electrocute him. 

Jaehyun is stupidly giddy when any comment he might have attempted to make gets smothered by your kiss, fiery and deep. His hands come to find your waist, a desperate attempt to ground himself. It doesn’t work—his soul might as well be floating away with the way you kiss him breathlessly, in a rhythm that’s entirely primal.

When he dares to sneak a look at you, right as you part your mouth for him, he feels his heart skip several beats—your eyes are half-lidded, kiss-drunk, and Jaehyun feels himself lose all inhibition at once. 

He takes control, pushing you up against a wall, curling a hand around both your wrists when they come loose from his neck. Warmth prods at the seams of your lips, and you surrender to it. 

Jaehyun feels the same way he does twenty feet up in the sky, chasing headfirst after a Snitch, when the adrenaline rushes through him—purely chemical. 

Maybe it’s because he knows you so well, knows exactly what to predict from you, all the right buttons to push to coax a soft gasp out of your mouth. You might have been good at observing other players, but Jaehyun was the best when it came to studying you.

You let him kiss you with everything he’s got, as though he was making up for lost time—for all his wasted ‘Sweetheart’s and all the times he should have just given into his impulse. You think of how you used to hate him—and the memory only feeds your need to remind him that it’s different now—that the line between hate and love was want, and you’d been toeing it for a long time now. 

When you finally part, his hands are still where they were five minutes ago, his lips shiny, eyes dropped down to your mouth—he’s already thinking of a second round. 

But before Jaehyun’s about to dive down again, you press your palm against his mouth. 

He frowns behind it, like a kicked puppy.

“Not now,” you say—it comes out as a promise for later. His frustrated whine gets blanketed by your hand, and you shoot him a stern look.

You then peel back, adjust your uniform back into place, and poke a finger into his chest as a threatening reminder. “We never speak of this again, deal?”

He nods, dazed, mind still floating in the memory of your taste. 

“Good.” You leave him there, looking downright intoxicated—knees weak, tie askew, mouth parted, eyes in a slow-blinking haze, hair resembling a bird’s nest—disheveled from head to toe. 

When the door closes, Jaehyun leans his forehead against the wall and lets out a long and pleased sigh. 

You were going to be the death of him. 

“We did it, Y/N,” Kazuha’s hug is fierce as it is warm. “We won!”

“They didn’t stand a chance!” Leeseo bounces, punching her broom in the air, earning a round of ‘hooray’s from the stands. 

The entire Ravenclaw house roars from the crowd, blazing posters of blue and silver, chanting your names when you win them the last match before finals.

Finals.

You’ll be playing against Gryffindor.

Ricky and Gunwook pull everyone into a group hug, the latter close to tears at your hard-earned victory. There’s a light drizzle in the air, making everything look foggy beyond a distance; your hair is slightly damp, your skin buzzes with sweat and moisture, and your body is still stuck on the high of winning.

“Maybe I want to make sure my last match here will be with you.” Jaehyun’s voice echoes in your mind.

You don’t waste any time before seeking him out the first opportunity you find to free yourself from your team. He’s, as predicted, lingering somewhere behind the stands—bundled up in warm clothes, a cable knit sweater instead of his uniform, a thick scarf over it, and fuzzy gloves over his fingers. 

“Y/N, Congrat—” The rest turns into a yelp when you drag him by the collar, to a secluded recess behind the wooden planks. 

You lean up to press a single kiss to his lips.

Jaehyun doesn’t need to be told twice—he discards his gloves somewhere so that he can feel your cheeks underneath his palm without a barrier, thumbing away at the rain-kissed skin there. Then he pulls you back in, deepening it—his fingers coming to rest behind your head, freeing your hair from the confines of your tight ponytail. 

Maybe it's the adrenaline from the match, but you push back just as desperately—swallowing any and all sounds that escape him. Your teeth accidentally graze against his bottom lip, and he shivers against you, then squeezes your waist in response. 

“Congrats,” he ends up whispering into another kiss.

“Thanks,” you huff, too impatient for breaks. “It was—fuck,” Another kiss. “You helped.”

“Yeah?” He smiles against your kiss.

“Yeah.” You nod, eyes only half open. 

And just like that, yet another thing gets added into your routine—stolen kisses behind stairwells, more broom cupboard rendezvous, some softer, some heated, but always the same pattern—by the end, you have his mouth perfectly memorised like the insides of your Quidditch guides. 

Sometimes you want to kiss him because he’s being a gentleman to you on the pitch—offering his scarf when you accidentally shiver, or slipping a candy-bar into your pockets on days you’ve forgotten to eat. 

Other times, it’s when he’s being an absolute shit.

“You’re fucking annoying,” you complain, but your actions contradict the words when you’re shoving him against a wall to kiss the smirk off of his face.

“And you, Miss Captain,” he giggles, “have a potty mouth.”

“And what about it?” You raise one brow threateningly. 

“Oh nothing,” Jaehyun smoothens the knot between them with his thumb. “I like it, actually. You’re kinda hot when you’re mean.”

All you can respond with is a flustered cough, a grunt, and then another attempt to shut him up—with your mouth on his. 

Days bleed into weeks, and before you know it, your life has condensed into half-attended classes, a growing list of diagrams on your soon-to-finish notebook, more Quidditch practices with the Gryffindor team, and kisses that taste like fire and chocolate. 

The best part? Nobody but you and him knows—the thrill of a secret and the comfort of something hidden, it keeps you moving. On days when your stress threatens to break you, its his lips and heat that helps you let off steam. 

You start to look forward to seeing Jaehyun every day. And the dread of finals turns into a promise to be kept—you would beat him before you graduate Hogwarts, and you’ll do it with the assurance that he’ll come find you afterwards no matter what. 

And you’ll kiss all the animosity away, leaving behind only giddy warmth to replace it. 

//

A dent in your plan comes in the shape of one cat-like Chaser.

“Why aren’t you aiming at Myung anymore?” Ricky questions one day after practice, as you’re walking off the field, peeling off your gear.

“Huh?”

“You didn’t throw the Bludger at him even once today.”

You freeze; the chill that runs down your body is not from the cold.

He isn’t entirely wrong. You aim at every other Gryffindor on the team, but when it comes to a certain fluffy-haired boy… Your hand just happens to re-evaluate where you want to hit the ball, and it’s almost never at him.

“...Umm…”

“Is he threatening you, Y/N? ”Ricky asks seriously; it’s a little comedic—how earnest he seems about the concept of you potentially being blackmailed by the hyperactive Seeker of a boy.

You could do two things to worm your way out of his question—you could brush it off and change the topic to today’s weather and distract Ricky easily—he was as easy to bait as a cat is. Or, you could choose the slightly more deranged alternative and say:

“Ye-ah.”

“He is!?” Ricky is all ears—and eyes, from how large they grow. “I knew it, that asshole!”

It doesn’t take too long before the entire team is convinced that Myung Jaehyun was no longer just a headache in your life, but now also an active threat to their dearest captain. 

“We’ll avenge you, Y/N-ie.” Gunwook says, and Liz nods along vigorously over her bowl of warm popcorn. “We’ll beat them dead at finals… 

“Get it?” He turns to Liz. “Cuz I’m a beater…”

Liz stuffs some popcorn into his mouth to keep it shut before he can start guffawing at his own lame joke.

“Will you at least say what dirt he’s got on you?” Leeseo pipes up, curious.

The team is spread out around the common room—Gunwook, Liz and Kazuha on the baby blue couch, Ricky is off at the open window, having a staring contest with a black cat, and Leeseo hangs onto you over your shoulder as you scribble annotations into a guide-book over the short table. 

Gaeul paces around the room as she tries to memorise her Ancient Ruins vocabulary. 

“Secret,” you say before dipping your quill back into the ink bottle. 

Liz boos to express her discontentment, and Leeseo deflates with a pout.

“What we need to focus on,” you continue, “is the match against Gryffindor next month. And making sure we study their last one so we’re ready for finals.”

The room freezes collectively.

Gaeul stops walking, Gunwook’s popcorn falls out of his open mouth, Liz gapes, Ricky does a slow, dramatic turn of his head—Kazuha asks, “What did you just say..?”

You blink, confused—scared, “Huh?”

“You just said,” Gaeul repeats, her hand falling limp at her side. “Gryffindor.”

The gulp that runs down your throat is a painful one. “I-I didn’t… I wasn’t—”

“You’re not even gagging after Gaeul unnie said their name.” Leeseo is in complete shock. “Are you sick?”

“I’m—” You touch Jaheyun’s new year’s gift inside your pocket, tightening your fist around to stop your anxiety from spiking.

Ricky, however, has his absurd theory. “Did Myung Jaehyun hex you? Oh my god, did he obliviate your memorie—”

“No! What?”

“It must be a fever then,” Leeseo places her hand on your forehead to check for a temperature. “You shouldn’t stress out over the finals too much. It might make you sick.”

You can’t do anything but nod, letting the girls coax you back under your bedsheets, laying a cold towel on your head, and forcefully detaching your notebook from your grasp.

You’re pretending to be a bedridden victim, when it was the last thing you were in reality.

The rest of them leave after more chiding, and stacking several healing potions near your bed for easy reach; Kazuha, however, stays behind.

“So…” she begins, careful. Your eyes trail up to hers, fear ballooning. 

Then, she grins like the devil.

“You sly dog,” Kazuha smirks. “You’re with Myung Jaehyun.”

Everything you thought you didn’t need to be prepared for comes to bite you in the rear with a single, terrifying truth. She knows.

“What?” You attempt, feigning confusion. “Pfft, no…pffft …fuck no!”

She’s having none of it. “Y/N-ie, my dearest, you made the entire team bathe in salt the last time Leeseo accidentally said the G-word. I had salt in my ear for days.” 

You open your mouth to protest, but she won’t let you. “We have to touch wood every time you see the colour red…You made Gaeul look up devil-warding talismans before last year’s match against them.

“And,” Her sneaky eyes trail down, a finger moving your collar out of the way, “That there, my friend, is no mosquito bite.”

Your entire face turns scarlet—too close to resembling the Gryffindor red, as though in mockery. 

“It’s not what you think!” You spring up, the wet towel flopping down onto your lap as you grab Kazuha by the shoulders, clutching it for dear life. “Listen! He and I—we’re…It’s—”

“My dearest Y/N,” She combs away the fray hair on your cheek, tucking it behind your ear. “You are a terrible liar.”

“Ricky believed me!” You give up trying to defend yourself, simply falling forward to place your forehead onto her shoulder. 

“Ricky’s an idiot,” she supplies, “And so are the rest of our team, thankfully. For a bunch of Ravenclaws, we’re pretty dumb when it comes to things like this.”

You sniffle dramatically, groaning as you realise what’s happened. Kazuha knows of you and Myung Jaehyun—the asshole you’re supposed to hate. The idiot you might be betraying your house for. 

“You guys are cute together,” She smiles. “I always thought his fighting was too superficial to be anything real—he always looks like he’s two steps away from flirting.”

“You’re not…mad?” You come up for air, blinking.

She just grins, taking your hands in her’s. “Of course, not. You’ve been looking happier these days…more energetic. And oh my god, your skin is glowing—”

“Oh shut up.” You roll your eyes, but the smile that escapes you is real. “Thanks…for being a good friend.”

“Only the best.” She winks.

“Yeah, you’re right,” You let her drag you into a hug, “Only the best.”

“Shush, don’t let Liz here that.” 

The weight on your chest elevates, just a little bit. 

Now if only the rest of your team was gauranteed to react the same way…

//

“So, any Ravenclaw inside scoop I can cash in on with a kiss?” Jaehyun wiggles his eyebrows, already pulling you flush against him, leaning closer with one hand braced on the wall next to your head. The staircase is quiet except for your whispers.

You push him away by the tip of your wand; he winces in confusion. “Kazhuha knows,” you say with a sigh.

“Hmm? Nakamura?...your Chaser?” He quirks his head.

“My best friend,” you correct, “We fucked up big time.”

“Oh, c’mon, who cares?” Jaehyun leans back in again, too eager to keep his hands to himself. 

“Me,” you say, stopping him again. He pouts. “Stop making that face. We need to be more careful from now on. My reputation is going to the sewers if they realise I’m with the likes of you.”

“Hey, that’s mean.”

“You said you like me mean.”

“That—” he pauses, then nods with a sigh. “That is very true. You have great memory.”

“We need a game plan—so we don’t get caught by Ricky of all people again… God, I should have just swung that Bludger at your head, then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Uh… come again?” 

“They think I’m going soft!” you huff, crossing your arms. “Me! Soft! Can you believe it?”

“You are soft.” Jaehyun manages to pry your arms apart, pulling you close to his chest. You can hear his heart thud in a gentle rhythm against yourself. “Soft over here,” He pokes your cheeks. “Soft over here too.” He points to where your heart should be. “I blame them for realising too late.”

“Yeah?” You roll your eyes, albeit with all intention of entertaining his whims. “And you, Myung? When did you realise it?”

His eyes soften and he swallows nervously, an action not befitting the cocky Seeker you knew most of the time. “That time you called my name in the Hospital Wing. You sounded so…like you cared. Like beneath all that ice, I still somehow mattered to you somehow…”

“Oh… “ 

Jaehyun’s eyes are in their most vulnerable—soul bared as a stream of gentle colours spills over his cheeks from the stained glass window above. 

“Can you say it again?” he asks; it sounds like a spell. “My name.”

You answer with a kiss to his cheek, then another that lands at the corner of his lips—before he rights you and guides you to his mouth, letting you draw out something sweet. At the next press, you whisper against him, “Jaehyun.”

He smiles—just as sweet as he tastes. 

“Again?”

“Jaehyun…” Another peck. 

“Again,” he demands.

“Okay, you jerk—”

“Y/N,” he giggles, “L/N Y/N,… How am I ever gonna stay away from you?”

“Just until we graduate. Then you’ll join the Chudley Cannons—”

“And you’ll be with the Harpies.”

“—And we’ll have all the freedom in the world.”

“Promise me a broomride when this is all over.” It’s not a question.

“Promise.” You nod anyway. 

Staying away from Jaehyun proves to be harder than you expect it to be.

You’ve been attuned to tracking his figure at all times of day. It’s become second nature to find him, or for him to find you—lingering outside classrooms before you head off towards the lake, holding the seat beside yours in Charms for him, waiting all night to share a new piece of Quidditch news with him the next chance you get to. 

But now, you have to actively remind yourself to do the opposite. 

“You look tired,” Kazuha comments as you curl up into the couch, eyes burning from reading for too long. “Had dinner?”

You shake your head.

“Had lunch?”

You shake your head again.

“Did you fight with Myung—”

“Can you be quiet!?” You slap your hand across her mouth. “And no!”

Her response is muffled. “What’s going on then?”

“Nuffin.”

“Y/N—”

“I haven’t seen him, alright?” you groan in shame, hiding behind the crook of your elbow. “I..I..”

“Yes?... You…?”

“I…umm..”

“Almost there…”

“I miss him, okay!?” you whine, face the shade of a beetroot, pride crumbling down. “I hate that I miss him.”

It’s been weeks since you’ve shared any real contact with Jaehyun—no kisses awaiting a draining practice, no home to go to for warmth when you begin to feel the weight of pressure.

The worst part is, you don’t get to seek out his voice, to talk to him when it’s all you want to do—ramble about strategies, watch him doodle little broomsticks to help you take your mind off of championships, any passing moment that you can steal away from him—none of those exist anymore.

Your frustration amplifies when he still greets you with the contained happiness he needed to keep your… this thing, whatever it was, between you—a secret. 

When Jaehyun swoops past the Chasers and straight towards you, grazing your fingers as he reaches for the Snitch—your heart stutters; you can see Kazuha smirking coyly from behind him, and Ricky gritting his teeth like a hissing cat—still under the assumption that Myung Jaehyun had some sort of deep-running bad blood with you. 

It’s stupidly funny, and nightmarishly vexing, at the same time.

You miss him when he’s near you, touching barely but not enough. You miss him when he’s away—manifesting in your dreams that were usually about night rides on your beloved Firebolt—his phantom now on a broom right next to yours, on days where you’ll look at your Tweety bird model and think of him; he’s a permanent itch in your brain.

Each day that draws you closer to the finals heightens the buzz in your chest, turning dread into raw desperation—to win, and to finally meet him at eye-length, in the ultimate clash of your high-school Quidditch career.

You were so close to keeping your vow. 

You would prove to him that you were worthy of being his rival—of being the one who gets to stand alongside him in the last ever match you’d ever play at Hogwarts—his fated enemy, the best Beater he’d ever bear witness to. 

You would not let him, or yourself, down now.

── 𓇢𓆸 

Hogwarts Quidditch pitch - Finals: Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw 

It’s the day you’ve been waiting for—the day all your sleepless nights, every second you’ve spent on this same field to perfect yourself will be put to the test.

The last ever match you’ll have at Hogwarts.

“Brooms up!” Professor Jeon’s voice echoes from the mid-field. 

Jaehyun and you meet each other’s eyes—the rest of the world all but a blur. 

He grins, you grin back. Electricity crackles between you.

You mount your broom, and a sharp whistle blasts through the summer weather, the four enchanted balls whizzing out of their containment. Cold gave into heat, skins sticky from the weightless air. 

Kazuha, Liz, and Ricky fly parallel to each other, spanning across the pitch before they spread out in different directions.  

Tensions are high twenty feet up in the air—figures in blue and red whooshing by like ants from a distance. The crowd roars below you, cheering for either team as they attempt to outdo the other, both houses pumped with adrenaline—players and audience alike.

Liz narrowly avoids a Bludger from Intak, maneuvering around it to make the first goal.

“Ten points to Ravenclaw!” booms the commentator’s voice.

No time to waste; it’s a dive right back into the game without stopping to breathe. Kazuha’s next shot is kicked away by the Gryffindor Keeper, Woonhak. He grins as he waits for Intak to send him a thumbs-up. 

Your brain buzzes with the mantra you’ve been teaching yourself during the past four years of rigorous training: Do not mess up your last game, do not start on the wrong foot, and do not ruin everything.

Do not waste time on thinking.  

Bracing yourself, you swing your bat against the hard iron of the Bludger flying past you, sending it whizzing at Jaehyun’s back. 

But he sees you from the corner of his eye, sensing your presence from just a huff of your beath. He swivels on his broom to dodge, ending up upside down—his hair flopping down in a fluffy mess. 

“You’re cute,” he manages to say through a proud chuckle.

“You’re aggravating.” You smile.

In the midst of the heart-pounding game—at the dead centre of the mass of flying bodies, echoes of hollers and house chants beyond the boundary of what held just you and him—sparks fly between your narrowed eyes. 

I missed you, his say.

I’m gonna win, yours reply.

Hanbin passes the Quaffle to Yujin, right as Gunwook attempts to knock him off his broom. They streak past your Chasers, heading for Gaeul at the hoops.

“Ten points—to Gryffindor!” 

You’re at a draw.

Slowly, the margin narrows—Matthew successfully manages to knock the Quaffle out of Ricky’s hands, but Liz swoops underneath to catch it. She heads for the Gryffindor goal with a one-track mind, barely swinging it through the right hoop before Woonhak stretches to swat it away.

Liz huffs, “Don’t smile too wide now.” Her threat has the younger Keeper begin to sweat.

When your teammates are caught up in their own flurry of competition, you see it—a glint of gold—the Snitch.

Jaehyun’s keen attention to your line of sight has him immediately launching himself at it. 

“Leeseo!” you yell for your Seeker, calling her up from her perch beside Gunwook’s defence. 

She zooms towards you in no time.

You follow at Jaehyun’s heel, chasing after him like a moth to a flame, Leeseo hounding him from the other side closest to the Snitch. When you speed up to fly parallel to his broom, he glances sideways—a satisfying smile etched on his face.

This is everything he imagined it to be—you can tell. 

You break against the wind, swinging your bat backward as you see a Bludger fly your way, extending it in one graceful arc behind your shoulder—and you slam against it— a sharp, resounding thwack reaching your eardrum.

It hits Jaehyun; at the exact second, Leeseo dives down for the Snitch, her hand curling around the golden ball.

The whistle breaks, somewhere far, far away. Someone says something through the loudspeaker.

You don’t hear it through the muffle of wind in your ears, the broom underneath you plummeting after the red spot—sight tunnel visioning on Jaehyun’s falling body. 

Not again, please, no.

There are cheers from the crowd; you can’t tell which house it belongs to. Just that your hands extend for him, your body suspended above his—the Firebolt accelerating faster and faster until it curves like an umbrella—

“Jae—”

You catch him, right in front of you, exactly as your broom thuds softly against the plush grass. 

“Y/N,” He grins, dazed. 

There are no visible injuries on him; no blood to be seen, to bruises to worry you.

His hand finds your cheek, thumbing away a tear that threatens to fall. 

“Jaehyun,” You whisper cracks as you’re throwing your body onto him, pulling him into a devastating hug. “You’re okay.”

“I am,” he assures with a chuckle. “You caught m—” mmff!

You swallow his words with a bruising kiss—uncaring of the hoots around you slowly dying, a confused murmur replacing it before the crowd once more erupts into excitement—students exclaiming amongst themselves.

“That’s Y/N, oh my god! She’s with Myung Jaehyun!?”

“I thought they hated each other! Damn!”

“Y/N, WE WON—Oh… ” Ricky stops in his tracks. Liz bumps into him, and when she looks past his shoulder to see you and Jaheyun’s intertwined figures on the grass—her mouth drops incredulously, 

“Hyung…” Woonhak is approaching from the other end, prepared to get berated by his captain when he too realises that said captain was kissing the opponent in front of the entire school. 

You and Jaehyun finally gasp for air, coming apart red and dizzy.

“Congrats, you two!” Kazuha winks, offering a pleased nod, and Intak agrees with a thumbs up—like he'd known all along. 

Gyuvin looks two seconds away from throwing up—either from the nausea of having lost the game, or from having to witness the shameless sight in front of him, no one will ever know. 

As a cherry on top of the absurd situation, Professor Jeon enters the scene with a dramatic cough, saying, “This is not what I meant by inter-house fraternising,” His chide disperses into a proud smile, “But, Oh well. Good luck, both of you—I expect great things.”

You blush profusely while Jaehyun rubs the back of his head in embarrassment. 

“Are we in hell?” Gunwook grimaces, having forgotten the past hour of playing, and any memory of winning the Inter-House Quidditch Cup. 

“Hey, it’s not like you and I don’t make out either,” Matthew smirks, bringing forth another tide of gasps and groans. “Occasionally,” he adds, like that made anything better. 

“It's…we were just letting off steam!” Gunwook flubbers in his attempt to explain to a betrayed-looking Ricky. 

Liz’s mouth is still comically agape. “What…When…How—WHAT!?” She's maniacal. “Is there anything more I don’t know!?”

Gyuvin swoops in at the chance, “Yeah, Woonhak has that thing with his Slytherin girl."

“Wait, what? Hyung, it’s not a thing—!” Woonhak tries to yell, but no one listens as all eyes snap toward Liz’s ear-splitting shriek.

“Is anyone here dating within their own house or???”

Several shakes of head return her way, but Kazuha leans in with a greasy tone.

“We could,” She wiggles her eyebrows.

While the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor teams continue to argue, the world around you and Jaehyun spins to a stop—to a space where only the two of you exist, your friends’ chatter a comfortable background noise. 

“You saved me,” he’s saying, leaning forward with his hands braced on the grass behind him. Your broomsticks lay abandoned beside you, dirt and grime coating your fingernails and skin. It doesn’t matter—only he does. 

“I saved you back,” You lightly bump your forehead against his, affectionate. “We’re even now.” 

“Y/N,” he nuzzles into you.

“Yes, Jae?”

“Be my rival till I die?” He says it with the conviction of a marriage proposal.

You grin, leaving a kiss on his cheek. “I thought you’d never ask, Sweetheart.”

“So…” Ricky quirks his head in innocent confusion, making everyone turn their heads towards him. “He wasn't blackmailing you?” 

His words are met with a collective set of groans. 

You laugh into Jaehyun’s shoulder, body humming pleasantly, and when you look around at the Quidditch pitch that’s served as your home for the past several years—you recollect every stumble you’ve made here, every new move you’d been proud to learn. Where you grew as a team and as friends—a group of young Ravenclaws that had grown into family.

And, this is where you first met Jaehyun—where you swore you’d beat him one day. Where you finally kept your promise.

When you look at him, you see your past, your present, and then, the future that awaits you. 

One thing remains true even with all the inevitable changes to come: Myung Jaehyun would always be your sworn enemy, your most beloved person, and most of all—your biggest fan. 

You kiss him once more to make sure he knows it’s the same for you.

𓂃𓈒𓇢𓆸 fin

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── .✦ for more hogwarts! aus, check out the signed, sealed, spellbound series!

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a/n: thank you to everyone who left a kind comment on my last rant post and also anyone that sent me an ask afterwards. I was only able to finish writing this without pushing myself too hard bcs of the enthusiasm i've received from you guys. it means a lot to me 💙 thnx to juney @mwotgata for bearing with my rambles and for always being there to bounce off my ideas. and ofc my lovely hana dul set @nemoihan who edits my terrible grammar and checks up on me exactly when i need her. katikins @ilysungho and moemoe @moesthinking who has kept me sane and going for the past week or so. and thank you gill @astrae4 for being so reassuring and the coolest of moots! @yuuvini, @dj-ami, and @tenshi-sama ily for your wonderful asks that made me very very happy. and ofc to my dearest, levy @pupillary, who i miss a lot. i hope you guys enjoyed this fic, ily guys a lot! p.s. sorry for being sappy lol

++ im thinking of opening an interview style ask for the hp series since im done with 3/6 fics now! it'll be any questions u might want to ask the already introduced characters in sungho, riwoo, and jaehyun's fics! if you think i should do this, do lmk!

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inbox always open!

1.

"mph! taesan-" he cut you off with a kiss, his hands snaking around to settle on your waist.

"taesan!" you hissed quietly, "they're right there—" you backed away from him a bit, one hand on his shoulder and the other holding the edge of the kitchen counter behind you.

taesan sighed, peeking over to the living room, seeing all his members focused on the movie playing on the screen.

"no one's looking," he murmured, leaning in again, voice low, "and no one will if you just stop talking." he brought his body closer to yours. "I hate sitting away from you around them."

"I know, sanie," your resolve starting to falter, "but we have to."

he rolled his eyes, closing the distance between you two again, as if he couldn't bear to be away from you for another second.

everything around you two felt as if it all vanished, both of your eyes closed as wet sounds and faint moans enveloped the kitchen.

"taesan! y/n!"

you shoved his shoulder softly, heart jumping at the sudden voice. but he shook his head, his hand sliding under your shirt.

"guys! you're missing the whole thing!" it was woonhaks voice, he was the only one who would've cared enough to call you two. considering the movie night was his idea.

you managed to get him off of you, quickly moving to the fridge, pretending to look for something inside. taesan caught on, opening the cupboard to grab a cup.

"there you guys are. come on, the best part's coming up!" woonhak huffed, walking over to you and pulling you to follow him by your arm.

"sorry, woon." you smiled at him, praying that he doesn't notice your kiss bitten lips.

2.

you can stop by the practice room, the guys went to shower :))

you smiled down at your phone, walking into the building with two iced coffees.

pushing open the doors of the practice room, you spotted your boyfriend leaning against the wall, his head tucked in his knees.

"sanie," you called out, voice light and sing-song.

he smiled even before he looked up, stretching his legs down on the ground. "hey, baby."

you placed the drinks on a table nearby, settling on his lap when you reached him, hands instinctively rubbing his shoulders soothingly.

his head dropped to rest on your chest, sighing out. "I'm so tired, y/n." he whined, arms wrapping around you loosely. "thank you for coming, babe. you really didn't have to." he looked up at you, placing a kiss on your collarbone.

you shook your head, "I'll always come over." fingers slipping into his slightly damp hair.

the two of you stayed like that for a moment, in a comfortable silence. he was too tired to speak and you knew he'd prefer to just hold you quietly.

"you wanna stop by that restaurant before you go home? we can eat in my car." your fingers never stopping, he lazily nodded his head in response.

after a second, he placed a gentle kiss on your lips before the two of you stood up.

once you did, you went to pick up the two drinks, handing one to him before reaching for the door knob.

but even before your hand could touch it, the door swung open, nearly hitting you in the face.

"y/n?" riwoo said, confusion laced in his voice.

"uh, hey?" you responded back, mirroring his tone.

"what are you doing here?" he asked, slipping past you to walk to the corner of the room.

"i thought you guys left already..." riwoo laughed at your response. "that doesn't answer my question."

"it does," taesan cut in smoothly, "I thought you guys had left so I asked her to come pick me up."

the other boy nodded his head, seeming to take the excuse. "oh, alright. we haven't left yet, if you still wanna come with us. you shouldn't have bothered her." riwoo looked at you now, "sorry, y/n. he doesn't use his head sometimes."

you laughed it off, "it's alright, I was already out anyway."

taesan couldn't ask to leave with you now, it'd raise suspicion. and the last thing he'd want is him questioning him, whether privately or around the other members.

"sorry, y/n. I'll see you around." taesan mustered up the best smile he keep, fighting the urge to give you one last kiss before parting ways.

you caught the string from his hoodie between your fingers, twisting it playfully, "yeah" you smiled. "you too."

3.

you couldn't help but feel like the boys were catching on.

they were asking you too many questions, their eyes lingering on you for far too long whenever you were in the same room as taesan.

"so—y/n," jaehyun plopped down on the couch beside you, close enough your knees touched occasionally.

you turned your phone off, turning to him. "hey, jae. what's up?"

he shook his head, "not much, but, uh," he looked across the room for a moment, a smile fighting itself off his face.

"I was wondering if you'd wanna take a walk. you know, just hang out today. maybe grab something to eat."

you tilted your head, "just us?"

he nodded his head, "yeah, I feel like we don't really hang out much and," his gaze dropped to his lap, "I wanna get to know you better." he smiled shyly, doing his best to contain himself.

"I-" you furrowed your brows, thinking of the right way to put your thoughts into words.

"jaehyun," you started gently, "that's really sweet and I do care about you, really," he looked up at you, "but I don't see you like that."

he sighed, his eyes darting over to the hallway for half a second.

"give me a chance," he said quietly, his hand hovering over yours, "I could be something more to you."

you shook your head, "jaehyun, I'm sorry..."

"do you have a reason? did I do something? or," he took his hand off of yours, "do you like someone else?"

before you could answer—

"she said no, jaehyun."

both of you turned.

taesan stood in the hallway, he must've heard everything.

jaehyun, on the other hand, looked amused

"taesan, no offense but this has nothing to do with you."

taesan scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, "it has everything to do with me."

your heart skipped a beat. anxious to see what he's going to say, but eager for him to just speak.

"really?" jaehyun laughed airily, "why? are you two dating or something?"

taesan just nodded. quiet and collected.

"yeah, we are."

before any of you three spoke another word, the rest of the members suddenly spilled out from the hallway.

"I knew it! I knew it ever since the other night!" woonhak screamed, pointing between you two.

"you knew?" riwoo said sarcastically, "woonhak, I knew since the other night. I literally caught them in the practice room alone."

the two argued back and forth, completely in their own zone.

taesan rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks flushed, "are you guys serious right now?" they all nodded their heads.

"well I wasn't, no offense y/n but I don't like you in that way either." jaehyun gave you an apologetic smile, leaning in for a side hug.

you let out a laugh, walking over to your now public boyfriend.

you tiptoed, pressing a kiss to his lips. you could hear the surprise loudly from the boys, one of them even saying "they're actually dating!"

suddenly, taesan pulled away. his eyes avoiding yours, his neck was flushed a crimson red.

"not in front of them, y/n," he said quietly, hands fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "please?"