josgirl

"'Cause, I need your help." He whispers, voice dropping the smallest bit to something more deep.

Your cheeks flush the smallest bit before you push yourself off the rolling chair and step towards the booth. You open the door and walk to Martin. He immediately wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.

See, the thing is, no one knew about Martin and you. Being the co-producer for CORTIS, you knew to keep a professional attitude. Though, Martin had found a way to slide through those barriers. With reluctance, you melted into his grasp and rested your head down on him.

Martin slides the headphones off his head and down onto his neck instead, this way he could hear you better.

"You look so pretty today," He whispers and you slap his arm, telling him to shut up.

"You're so annoying, the boys will be coming in here in literally ten minutes." You grumble.

Martin laughs at that and reaches to your chin, tilting your head up so his eyes can meet yours properly. His eyes drift down to your lips and his face sobers.

"No, Martin, not now." You scold him as his gaze comes back up to your eyes.

"Just one, c'mon, I couldn't earlier because we were too busy on the new song." His lips form a small pout, and you can't pretend you don't want this too anymore.

You huff, "Fine. But just one!"

Martin immediately shoots forward, connecting your lips with eager. The kiss is soft, one with an underlying emotion fizzing between both of your lips. His mouth quickens against yours and you start to pull back.

"Not yet," he whispers against your mouth as he pulls you back in.

You soften, letting the kiss take you in and bask in his presence. Your hand comes up and cups his cheek. His one hand that was on your shoulder drifts down to your waist while the other leaves your chin.

After a moment, you feel his hand leave your waist too. You then feel a tune playing and pressure on both sides of your head. The realization dawns when you recognize the beat to be the one that you had just finished working on.

He hums quietly into your mouth when he feels your kiss falter for a second as you lose focus from being distracted. After what feels like only a minute, he pulls back, chuckling after you chase his lips.

"Thought you didn't want to kiss?" He teases.

"Shut up.." You mumble back, hiding your face in his neck.

Martin lets out another laugh, but then quickly steps back when he sees the door handle of the studio room twisting.

"Shit, they're here" He mumbles.

Your eyes widen and hands lift up to yank the headphones off. You step back as well just as the other four boys enter the room. James brows furrow when he sees you and Martin in the booth by yourselves.

Martin steps out of the booth and you follow. Seonghyeon and Keonho crash down onto the couch and Juhoon stands with James, giving us weird looks.

"Just came in early to help create the beat." Martin explains as both boys suspicious nod.

You and Martin both make eye contact after the boys walk away, he leans down and whisper in your ear, "What they don't know won't hurt them."

You smirk and start explaining the parts to the boys. In the corner of your eye you see Martin standing with them, but he's wiping some light pink gloss from his lips as he stares right at you.

You blush, wondering how many times you'll see the action moving forward since secret studio kisses have now been added to your relationship.

“Things About Y/N”

It was just his little…journal. Keeping a physical diary would be way too dangerous considering he roomed with Martin at the dormitory. The first entry was embarrassingly simple.

January 14

I finally learned her name today.

Then came another. Then another. Then another. Not paragraphs, but like small little snippets of when he notices or learns something about you. The things he didn't want to forget.

♡ 

It had been months since this started. Today's entry though, had been short.

April 2

She bites her lip when she’s thinking or before answering questions.

He smiled to himself, locked his phone, and slid it back into his pocket just as Martin dropped into the seat beside him.

"What're you smiling at?"

James didn't even blink.

"...Nothing."

Martin narrowed his eyes.

"Hm."

James calmly uncapped his pen. The conversation moved on, and his secret remained exactly that. A secret.

For now.

♡ 

The following Tuesday your professor walked into class carrying a stack of folders.

Immediately, the room filled with a chorus of groans.

"Oh no."

"Please don't say project."

"I can't do another presentation."

The professor smiled.

"It is, in fact, another presentation."

Collective suffering. You quietly looked down at your notebook. Group projects always made your stomach hurt. The work wasn’t that problem though. Frankly, you enjoyed researching. It was because of the people…and the talking…

"I've already assigned partners. This will be a semester long project, so get to know them well."

You swallowed. Great. You were hoping on the fact that maybe you could work by yourself. 

The professor adjusted his glasses before beginning to read. One pair after another, people slowly moved across the room. You waited for your name to be called, and across the room, James barely listened.

Until-

"...James." He looked up. "...Y/N."

Time...actually stopped. Like James felt like genuinely throwing his hands in the air and screaming. On the outside...

"...Alright."

On the inside?

OH MY GOODNESS I FEEL SO GIDDY I SERIOUSLY GET TO WORK WITH Y/N HOLY COW.

Across the room, you froze too. Of course. Of course you'd been paired with him. Out of everyone.

Someone near the back let out a low whistle.

"Dang."

Another laughed.

"Bro got the quiet one."

A couple people chuckled. Heat immediately rushed to your face. You hated that. Being reduced to...”The quiet one." You instinctively tightened your grip around your notebook.

Before you could convince yourself to apologize for existing, James looked over his shoulder. 

"I'm pretty sure she's carrying me."

Nobody had anything to say after that. You slowly looked up at him.

"...Thank you."

The words came out so softly you weren't sure he'd even heard them. You were okay with that though. But…he had. 

He smiled.

"No problem."

And just like that, he walked over to the empty desk beside yours and sat down. You stared at him for a second longer than you probably should have. Maybe he wasn't just being polite. Or maybe...he was.

You still couldn't quite tell. UGH.

♡ 

The classroom slowly emptied around the two of you. Backpacks zipped, chairs scraped against the floor, and conversations drifted farther down the hallway until only a handful of students remained gathering their things. You happened to be one of them. James adjusted the strap of his backpack before glancing toward your desk. You were still standing there, notebook hugged tightly against your chest. It looked almost as if… you were waiting for everyone else to leave first.

He smiled to himself before mustering up all his courage and walking over.

"Hey."

Your shoulders jumped almost imperceptibly before you looked up.

"...Hai."

For a moment, silence enveloped the both of you. You stared at each other like you were both waiting for the other person to say something. James started by clearing his throat.

"So...our project."

You nodded quickly.

"...Right."

Another tiny pause.

"I was thinking we could maybe meet after school tomorrow?" he suggested. “If...that works for you."

You nodded almost immediately.

"Okay."

"Library?"

"...Mhm."

"Four?"

"...That works."

James smiled.

"Awesome."

You gave a tiny nod before quietly turning toward the door.

"...See you tomorrow."

"You too."

He watched you disappear into the hallway as he stood there…

…grinning. Like an idiot.

♡ 

The library was almost completely silent the following afternoon. Well, I guess that’s how it’s supposed to be. Late sunlight spilled through the tall windows, warming the wooden tables that had become unofficial territory for students trying to survive classes and NOT claw their eyeballs out.

James arrived ten minutes early. Mostly because he absolutely refused to be the one making you wait. He'd barely sat down before he heard the soft sound of footsteps. You were right on time. Actually, one minute early.

"...Hi."

You carefully pulled out the chair across from him.

"Hai.”

Your backpack slid gently onto the floor before you sat down.

"...Um..."

Not wasting any time, you opened your laptop, clicked a folder, and opened a Google Doc. Then, you quietly turned the screen toward him.

"...I...I wasn't sure how you'd want to organize everything. So...I made..." Your voice grew quieter. "...A few ideas."

James looked down. The loading circle spun. And spun. And...kept spinning. His eyebrows slowly lifted.

"...Twelve pages?"

Your face immediately warmed.

"I-I know. It probably looks like too much. I just…you don't have to use all of it." You sighed, looking down. “I just thought if we had different options then maybe-"

"You did all of this..." James glanced at the timestamp. "...Since yesterday?"

You looked down at your hands.

"...yes."

Silence. James slowly scrolled. An introduction, a second introduction, an alternate introduction, research notes, reference links, charts, a timeline, a- what?! A color-coded sections?! James glanced up briefly before continuing. There was also a page titled Possible Questions Our Professor Might Ask…and another titled Backup Information If We Finish Early.

He looked back up at you properly.

"...You're incredible."

You blinked.

"...Thank you."

Your cheeks pinkened immediately afterward. You ducked your head, pretending to straighten papers that were already perfectly aligned. James couldn't stop smiling.

"I mean it. It’s…wow. I was going to make one tonight."

"...Oh."

"I thought...maybe you already had. But I figured it'd be easier if-"

He laughed softly.

"You've basically already carried the project."

Immediately, you shook your head.

"No. I don't...I don't want to do it by myself."

The words surprised even you. You fiddled nervously with the edge of your notebook.

"I just...I get nervous presenting…So…I wanted...to make sure we'd both know everything."

James's smile softened. It wasn't about getting a good grade, you were trying to make sure he felt prepared too. That made the twelve pages even sweeter to him. 

He leaned forward slightly.

"Okay. Then let's do this together."

You finally looked up again.

"...Okay."

"Yeah."

"I'll actually read all twelve pages." 

Your eyes widened.

"...All of them?"

"Every single one."

A tiny laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Barely louder than a whisper. James felt something in his chest jump. There it was. Your laugh. The first one he'd ever heard.

In that moment, he knew without question that he'd happily read another hundred pages if it meant hearing it again.

♡ 

From that day on, the library became your routine. Every Tuesday and Thursday, same table, same seats, and same two drinks. James always showed up with an iced americano since he believed coffee was the only thing pumping through his veins. You on the other hand, always had a carton of strawberry milk beside your notebook before opening your laptop. Somewhere between color-coded outlines, shared textbooks, and whispered conversations...James stopped looking forward to finishing the project. Because when the project would end, he wouldn’t have an excuse to see you.

…And he wasn't entirely sure he was ready for that.

♡ 

Three study sessions later, James had discovered something. Actually, several things.

One, you always arrived three minutes early.

Two, you preferred sitting by the windows because "the lighting's nicer." And three, the quiet girl who barely spoke in class, completely nerded OUT the second someone mentioned science.

♡ 

"...So," James began carefully, looking down at one of the articles you'd sent him, "I actually had a question."

You looked up from your notebook almost immediately.

"...Okay."

He tapped a paragraph with the end of his pencil.

"I understand why the molecules are polar. So...why does that actually matter?"

Your pencil stopped moving.

"...Wait. You...read this?"

James smiled.

"I told you I would."

"...Yeah, but...you actually read it."

"I highlighted stuff."

He turned the page of the textbook to show you his tiny yellow streaks decorating the margins and a few sticky notes poking out from the top. You stared for a second.

"...You highlighted."

"I thought that's what people who know what they're doing do."

A tiny smile escaped you.

"No...I thought that's just…what I do."

"Oh." He looked down at the pages. "...Have I accidentally become you?"

Your shoulders shook with a quiet laugh.

"I don't think so."

"Good. I don't think I could color-coordinate notes as well as you."

You hid another smile behind your strawberry milk.

♡ 

A little while later, you reached across the table and pulled the article a little closer.

"Okay. So...you remember how we talked about electronegativity?"

James nodded.

"...Kind of."

"It's alright. I'll explain it differently." 

You grabbed one of your highlighters and started drawing little circles, arrows, and tiny diagrams. As you explained, your voice gradually became steadier. And even…louder. Your hands moved naturally across the page.

"...So if this atom pulls harder...then the electrons spend more time over here. And because they aren't shared equally...that's what creates polarity."

James wasn't even looking at the paper anymore. He was looking at you and how your eyes had completely changed. They weren't nervous. If anything, they were bright and excited. Like you'd forgotten to be shy in the moment.

"...Then," you continued, "that's why water behaves differently from..." You paused since James hadn't answered. "...James?"

He blinked.

"Hm?"

"...Did...did that make sense?"

He realized he'd been staring.

"Oh. Yeah. It made perfect sense." A beat. "...You're really pretty when you explain things." 

Silence. James froze.

“…”

"...I meant passionate."

"..."

"...Not that you aren't pretty."

"..."

"...Forget I spoke."

Your face turned pink so quickly it looked painful. You quickly went back to your shy self and slowly looked down at your notebook.

"...Thank…you."

James covered his face with one hand.

Great. Smooth. Real fucking smooth.

♡ 

That night, James sat cross-legged on his bed. His textbook lay open in front of him completely untouched. Instead, his Notes app was open.

Things About Y/N

He scrolled to the bottom before adding a new entry.

April 14

She gets excited talking about science. She uses her hands when she's explaining something. I also accidentally called her pretty but for some reason she didn't run away.

He stared at the last sentence. Then sighed dramatically.

"...I'm unbelievable."

He locked his phone. Only for it to buzz almost immediately. Martin.

Martinnie 🤓 : 

You alive?

Hyung Jam: 

Yeah.

Three dots appeared instantly.

Martinnie 🤓: 

Weird question.

Martinnie 🤓: 

You dating anybody?

James frowned.

Hyung Jam:

No?

Another bubble.

Martinnie 🤓: 

Hm. Okay.

James stared at the screen. That was…oddly suspicious.

♡ 

The next afternoon, Martin wandered into the kitchen carrying a bowl of half-eaten cereal. James sat at the island with his phone in one hand…smiling. He wasn’t even typing anything, he was just…smiling.

Martin slowed.

"...You dating somebody?"

James looked up immediately.

"What?"

"You've been smiling at your phone for like...thirty seconds."

James instinctively locked the screen.

"...No."

Martin narrowed his eyes.

"What were you looking at?"

James internally panicked, but before his brain had any chance to stop it, his mouth blurted out-

"...The weather."

Martin blinked once.

"...Pardon?"

James froze.

"...I mean..."

He looked toward the window as if inspiration might be floating outside.

"...It's supposed to be...around sixty tomorrow. So…we got some nice weather coming..."

Martin simply stared.

"...You're smiling at the fact it will be sixty degrees?"

James nodded far too confidently.

"...Love a good forecast."

Another long silence. Martin slowly picked up his cereal bowl.

"...You're so messed up, man."

He walked out of the kitchen still looking over his shoulder. James waited until he disappeared around the corner before quietly unlocking his phone again to open his Notes app.

The newest entry stared back at him.

He smiled.

"...Definitely the weather."

♡ 

The rest of the semester seemed to settle into a rhythm. Tuesday and Thursday at 4:00 you’d meet at the library. It became less of an appointment and more of an expectation between the two of you. James never had to text to ask if you were coming, and you never had to wonder if he'd already be there. Somehow...he always was though.

♡ 

Some afternoons were incredibly productive. Others... 

"...We've been staring at the same paragraph for six minutes."

James looked up from his textbook.

"...Have we?"

You nodded once.

"...You haven't turned the page."

"...Right." He looked down. "...I was...thinking."

"...About our presentation?"

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"...Sure."

You weren't entirely convinced, but you let it go.

♡ 

Another Tuesday, James arrived balancing two drinks. One iced americano and one strawberry milk. You blinked.

"...You didn’t have to get that..."

He looked down at the little carton before setting it beside your notebook.

"I figured if we're going to spend three hours talking about molecules, we should probably stay hydrated."

Your fingers gently wrapped around it.

"...Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me."

“I still will…”

He laughed.

"Of course."

♡ 

Eventually, the studying became interrupted by conversations that had absolutely nothing to do with science anymore. Or your presentation. 

"...You organize your playlists alphabetically?"

You nodded.

"...It's easier."

James stared.

"...I don't even think my playlists have names."

"...Then...how do you find songs?"

"I don't."

"...Oh."

"I just skip until I accidentally discover one."

You looked genuinely horrified.

"...That sounds...stressful."

"I think it's exciting."

"I think it's chaos."

"It can be both."

♡ 

One afternoon, rain tapped softly against the library windows. The two of you had finished reviewing nearly an hour earlier but neither of you packed up. James absentmindedly spun his pencil between his fingers.

"...Can I ask you something?"

You looked up.

"...Mhm."

"Why science?"

Your eyes drifted toward the rain outside.

"...I don't know.” A tiny pause. "...I like that...there's usually an answer."

James listened quietly.

"...People are complicated too." You smiled faintly. "...Atoms are a little easier. To me at least."

He nodded slowly.

"...That makes sense."

"...What about you?"

"Hm?"

"Why did you take this science class?"

James leaned back in his chair.

"I honestly thought it'd make me sound smarter."

You stared at him.

"...You're joking."

"I am not unfortunately."

Another tiny laugh escaped you and James smiled while leaning back.

♡ 

Over time, little things became familiar between the two of you. James learned that you tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear a lot since your bangs were at that in between length. You learned that James always tapped his pencil against the table whenever he was trying to remember something, almost as if it was a memory recall habit. He also stopped pretending he didn't enjoy strawberry milk, and you admitted iced americanos "...weren't completely terrible."

The project slowly transformed from twelve pages...to eighteen…and then twenty-three. By the end, everything written was so detailed that you both thought it would be nearly impossibly to create explanatory presentation slides about it. But it had to be done…so you guys powered through.

♡ 

The afternoon before your presentation arrived much sooner than either of you wanted. James was already sitting at your usual table when you walked into the library.

"...Hey."

"Hai." You smiled a little more easily these days. "...Ready?"

He dramatically dropped his forehead onto the table.

"...Absolutely not."

A tiny giggle escaped you.

"I don't think that's a very good presentation posture."

"I'm practicing for when I pass out in the middle of the presentation."

"You won't."

"You seem awfully confident."

"I am." You opened your laptop. “...Because I know you'll do well."

James looked up.

"...You really think so?"

You blinked.

"...Yeah."

"As in...you're not just saying that?"

You shook your head.

"...You've worked really hard."

James felt like the world just got brighter and he could fly right now from happiness. 

"...Thanks."

Your cheeks warmed.

"...You're welcome."

The two of you spent the next hour rehearsing. Transitions, describing statistics, and showing the diagrams. During the fifth run-through, James had accidentally skipped an entire section from nerves. You immediately looked up.

"...James."

"Hm?"

"...You skipped slide seven."

"...Did I?"

"You did."

"...Maybe nobody will notice."

"That’s the slide with the most information."

"...uhh."

You covered your mouth, trying to hide another laugh.

"I knew you'd catch it."

"You did that on purpose?"

He grinned.

"I wanted to make sure you were paying attention."

You stared at him for a moment before softly shaking your head.

"...You're unbelievable."

"So I've been told."

The library night lights flickered on as evening settled outside. You'd stayed nearly an hour longer than usual. 

Eventually, you closed your laptop.

"...I think...we're ready."

James nodded.

"...Yeah."

Neither of you stood for a moment, staring at each other a little longer. Finally, you slipped your notebook into your backpack, standing up.

"...I'll see you tomorrow."

"...Tomorrow." He smiled. "...We'll do okay."

James watched you disappear between the bookshelves before quietly looking down at the now-empty table. Tomorrow would be the last reason he'd have to sit across from you.

...Unless he found another one. 

♡ 

The next morning, the classroom buzzed with the usual nervous energy. Laptops clicked open, note cards shuffled between shaky hands, and your classmate near the back, Anton, quietly muttered-

"I'm actually going to throw up."

James glanced over at what he said and looked back at you. 

"...Honestly? Same."

You looked at him.

"...Really?"

He nodded once.

"Absolutely."

You tilted your head.

"...You don't seem nervous."

"I'm an excellent actor, I’ll have you know."

Your professor swung the door open and walked to the front of the room.

"Good morning, everyone." The conversations slowly faded. "We have our seven groups presenting today."

Your stomach immediately tightened, and James noticed. Quietly, he gently nudged your elbow with his own, causing you to look over.

"We've got this."

"...Mhm."

"You don't believe me."

"...I'm trying to."

He smiled.

"That's enough for now. If you believe it, it’s true."

♡ 

One group presented after another, and each time your professor called a new pair of names, your heartbeat climbed a little higher. James quietly leaned over.

"...We're last I believe."

You blinked.

"...Really?"

"Looks like it."

You let out the tiniest sigh.

"...That gives me more time to panic."

"I was hoping you'd say 'prepare.'"

"...No."

He laughed quietly.

"...Fair enough."

♡ 

By the time the sixth group finished, the classroom had grown noticeably quieter.

Everyone looked exhausted and beat down, rightfully so. 

Your professor glanced down at the roster.

"And finally..." He looked up. "James and Y/N."

Your fingers tightened around the presentation remote that the previous group just handed you. James stood first before quietly looking back toward you.

"You ready?"

You slowly stood.

"...Not really."

He smiled.

"...Good."

You blinked.

"...Why good? That’s not good."

"Because neither am I."

Something about that made your shoulders relax just a little. Together, the two of you walked toward the front of the room.

♡ 

The first slide appeared on the screen and you swallowed. James glanced over almost slightly and gave one tiny nod. Almost like...

“You're okay.”

You took a slow breath.

"...Good morning, everyone."

Your voice came out quieter than you intended, but it was steady. By the second slide, it was stronger. James spoke effortlessly, just as you expected, but what surprised you was how naturally he included you. Instead of taking over and controlling the presentation whenever you hesitated, he waited. And when someone asked a question, he'd glance toward you first. Almost as if he was letting you take the lead and saying, “Go ahead.”

And every single time, you answered.

Halfway through the presentation, your professor raised a hand.

"Actually..." He leaned forward slightly. "Could you explain why that reaction behaves differently under those conditions?"

You immediately recognized the question. It had been on page eleven. The page you'd spent almost twenty minutes explaining to James during one of your study sessions. You smiled ever so slightly, eyes sparkling brighter.

"...Of course."

Without looking at your notes, you began explaining. Electron movement, polarity, intermolecular forces…you even found yourself using the tiny hand motions you'd always made while studying. When you finished, the room stayed quiet for a second. You were exactly sure if it was because they were tired, what you said was boring, or what…but your professor smiled.

"Excellent explanation Y/N."

You blinked.

"...Thank you."

The presentation continued without a single stumble. The two of you were doing great, and it seemed as if you had memorized not only your own parts, but each other's as well.

♡ 

"...And that concludes our presentation." James smiled toward the class. "Thank you for listening, do you have any questions?”

There was a pause of silent, but suddenly…several classmates actually applauded. Enough to make both of you look up in surprise. Your professor smiled warmly.

"Excellent work." He looked between the two of you. "Very organized, very well researched, and both of you demonstrated an excellent understanding of the material." He glanced back toward the class. "I'd actually encourage everyone to take another look at how they handled transitions between speakers. They were seamless."

You looked over at James, but he was already looking at you. A grin slowly spread across his face, and you couldn't help smiling back.

"...We did it." He whispered toward you.

"We did."

♡ 

As everyone began packing their bags, James stayed behind to unplug the laptop from the projector. Quickly he took out his phone and started typing something.

You knelt beside your backpack, carefully organizing your papers into neat stacks before sliding them into a folder.

"I'll...wait outside for you." 

James looked over his shoulder.

"Oh." He smiled. "No, it’s okay you go! I have some stuff to take care of."

"...a-alright. Bye James, good job today."

You gave him one last small smile before slipping out into the hallway. James watched the classroom door quietly swing shut behind you, and he turned back toward the podium.

"Alright..." He gathered the HDMI cable into a loose loop. "Laptop..." Click. "Pointer..." Into the bag. "Cable..." Untangled. 

Behind him, another pair of footsteps approached.

"...Need a hand?"

James looked up.

"Oh." He laughed. "Sure, thanks."

Martin walked over, reaching for the projector remote lying on the podium.

"No problem."

James continued packing everything away while Martin absentmindedly straightened a few papers that had been left behind. Then, his eyes landed on an unlocked phone with the…Notes app open?

Martin frowned.

"...Huh."

He reached down, intending to hand the phone back before James even noticed he'd left it behind.

"...You forgot your-"

His words caught in his throat. The screen was still awake. The Notes app filled the display, and at the very top sat a folder title.

Things About Y/N

Martin blinked.

"...Huh??" His eyebrows slowly climbed higher as he repeated the word. "No way..."

Curiosity won. Just a tiny peek…right? Surely it couldn't be what he thought it was. It was probablyyyy about some other random Y/N. 

He tapped the folder. Immediately, a list of dated entries filled the screen.

April 18

She still says "Hai" every single time she sees me and I don't think she'll ever realize it makes my entire day oh my gosh

Martin's mouth slowly fell open.

"...Hyung."

Across the room, James was still trying to untangle one stubborn projector cable.

"Hm?"

"You should...come here."

James didn't look up.

"...Give me one second."

Martin stared at the phone again. Oh my gosh, there was an entire list of entries. He couldn't help himself but to just…

April 15

She laughed four times today. Yes, I counted. I’m so happy I’ve seen the way her eyes sparkle when she’s laughing

Martin inhaled sharply through his nose. 

“Sparkle…?” He mumbled to himself. "...Hyung."

This time, there was something in his voice that made James finally look over.

"...Yeah?"

Martin slowly turned the phone around so the screen faced him. James's eyes landed on it, and at the moment his soul physically left his body. 

fuck.

"...Martin."

"Oh my gosh."

"Martin."

"What is this a diary??"

"Martin."

"You've been DOCUMENTING HER?!"

James abandoned the cables immediately.

"Give me my phone."

Martin instinctively took one giant step backward.

"...No."

"Martin."

"’I learned her name today’?!"

"PLEASE STOP READING THEM."

"I'm trying!"

"YOU ARE NOT TRYING!"

James lunged at him, but Martin sidestepped him effortlessly.

"Oh my gosh!"

James nearly crashed into the podium before spinning back around.

"Give it back!"

Martin lifted the phone above his head.

"...Hyung. You are literally writing a romance novel."

James jumped again and Martin simply raised his arm higher.

"You are unfairly tall."

"I've been telling you that for years."

"Martin!"

"You wrote-" He squinted at another entry. "'She accidentally fell asleep while reading and there was a highlighter mark on her cheek.'" He looked up. "...WHY ARE YOU STARING AT HER CHEEK?"

James buried his face in both hands, cheeks growing warmer and pinker.

"...Please."

Martin looked back at the phone.

"'She smiled at me before class today.', 'She likes sitting by the windows because the lighting's nicer.', 'She gave me strawberry milk.'…”He slowly lowered the phone. "...Dude."

James stood frozen a few feet away, cheeks burning so brightly he was convinced he'd probably just have to die in that very moment to escape the feelings that were overwhelming him.

"...I know."

"No..." Martin looked at him with an expression James couldn't quite read. "...You've liked her for months."

James swallowed hard and was silent for a moment. Eventually, he quietly nodded.

"...Yeah." He said softly, almost to the point Martin couldn’t hear him.

Martin glanced down at the phone one last time before locking it and finally holding it out. James snatched it back so quickly it almost fell out of Martin’s hands. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Martin shoved both hands into his pockets.

"...You know what's funny?"

James groaned.

"I don't think I want to know what you find funny right now.”

"I thought you legit were smiling at weather forecasts the other day."

James closed his eyes.

"...Don't."

"I thought you were just insanely passionate about a sixty-degree weather prediction."

"...Martin."

"Or maybe clouds were your type."

Despite himself, James let out one defeated laugh.

"...yeah I’m…not living that down."

"Nope!"

Another quiet silence settled between them, and Martin's smile softened.

"...Seriously though." James looked up. "...Go tell her."

"What?"

"You already wrote..." He gestured vaguely toward the phone in James's hand. "...All of this cringe stuff."

He shrugged.

"Now all you have to do is say one sentence."

James looked down at the phone as his thumb brushed against the edge of the case.

"...What if she says no?"

Martin smiled.

"Then you'll survive. You know the boys and I will help you." A beat. "But..." He nudged James's shoulder. "...After reading all of that?" He nodded toward the classroom door where you'd disappeared only a few minutes earlier. "I think it'd be pretty crazy if she did."

James stared at the door for a long moment before quietly slipping his phone back into his pocket.

"...Maybe."

Martin grinned.

"Not maybe." He started walking toward the exit before looking back over his shoulder. "...Tomorrow."

James blinked.

"...Tomorrow?"

"You've spent three months writing about her.” Martin pointed toward him. "I'm giving you exactly one day to stop writing..." A smile spread across his face. "...and start talking."

♡ 

James slept terribly.

It wasn’t the lingering adrenaline of the presentation or…upcoming finals…or Martin graciously humming wedding music the entire walk back to the dorm every time he looked in his direction.

No. It was because of the “one sentence” he was supposed to say to you.

Would you perhaps want to grab a coffee with me?

Too formal oh my gosh this isn’t the Victorian era.

You wanna grab coffee sometime?

Too casual that makes me sound like a fuck boy. 

I've actually liked you for months now. Way before the project.

Yeah that sounds great. Serenade her by sounding like I’ve been stalking her since the dawn of time.

James buried his face in his pillow. What if coffee isn’t even the right move?!

"...I'm fuckeddddd."

From across the room, Martin didn't even look up from his textbook.

"Talking to your pillow again?"

"I'm thinking."

"No." Martin turned a page. "You're panicking. I can smell the fear radiating off of you."

"...Maybe."

Martin huffed out a breath.

"No, definitely."

♡ 

The following afternoon, your feet carried you toward the library before your brain really had time to think about it. It was like a habit that couldn’t be broken.

Halfway there, you slowed. The project was over. You didn't actually need to be here anymore.

"...Huh." You looked toward the familiar entrance before quietly smiling to yourself. "...Maybe I'll just...read for a little while."

♡ 

James arrived less than a minute later. Mostly because his feet had apparently made the exact same decision as yours. He stopped just outside the entrance.

"...Why am I here?" A beat. "...Right." He sighed. "...Because today’s the day my life crumbles."

Taking one last steadying breath, he stepped inside. The library was just as quiet as always. Sunlight stretching across the wooden tables while students whispered over open textbooks. 

He took a deep breath as his eyes landed on the table by the windows. The table that you guys had been working at for the past semester. 

You…were already sitting there with book laying open in front of you and a strawberry milk rested beside it. James smiled before he even realized he was doing it.

"...Of course."

♡ 

You looked up at the familiar sound of footsteps.

"...Hi there Y/N."

There it was. James felt every practiced sentence he'd rehearsed the night before immediately disappear from the face of the earth.

"H-Hai." James said a little bit loud, lifting his hand to greet you.

Some students from other tables glanced over, a little confused by the sudden loudness.

‘Super smooth James why don’t we bring in a mariachi band and confess our love in song form next time.’ He thought while internally beating himself up.

He walked a little closer anyway, being mindful of speaking softer despite his nerves skyrocketing through the roof.

"...Mind if I sit?"

You blinked.

"...You don't have to ask."

"...Right." He laughed awkwardly. “I guess I don't."

He pulled out the chair across from you. For a few moments, you just stared at each other. Since the project concluded, there were no laptops, no textbooks, and no diagrams. It felt strangely...different. You were the first to break the silence.

"...It feels weird."

James looked up.

"...Yeah."

"...I keep thinking we forgot something."

"I know." He smiled. "I almost brought our presentation folder."

Your lips curved into a small smile.

"...Really?"

“Yeah…”

Another quiet silence settled between the two of you. James glanced toward the window before looking back at you. He could hear Martin's voice echoing in his head.

I'm giving you exactly one day.

His palms felt warm as his body started to get nervous.

"...Actually..."

You looked up.

"...Mhm?"

"I..."

He felt that in his moment he wanted to just crash through the window and try again another day. Why was this so…hard? He took a deep breath before continuing.

"I had a question."

You instinctively reached for your notebook.

"Oh." You opened it. "...Which chapter?"

James couldn't help huffing out a small laugh.

"No."

"...No?"

"It isn't about science."

You paused, slowly closing your notebook again before sliding it away. 

"...Okay."

James rubbed the back of his neck.

"So..." He took a deep breath. "I know the project's over."

"...Mhm."

"And...I was wondering..." His heartbeat was so loud he was convinced everybody under the sun could hear how anxious he was. "...Would you maybe..." He smiled nervously, grabbing a fistful of his pants as encouragement. "...Want to get some coffee with me sometime?" 

A tiny pause.

"...Like..." He looked down at the table before quietly finishing. "...As a date."

Silence filled the space between the two of you. More than the atmosphere of the library already had. James mentally began planning where he would transfer colleges before tomorrow morning.

Then-

"...I..." 

Your voice came out barely above a whisper. He looked back up at the sound, and he could tell you looked almost as nervous as he felt.

"...I don't actually…like coffee all that much..."

James blinked.

"...Oh." He nodded once. "That's okay. We can uh-."

Your smile grew just a little.

"...I'd still like to go."

He stared at you for a moment, caught off guard by your response.

"...Really?"

You nodded.

"...Really."

His shoulders visibly relaxed.

"...Okay."

A tiny laugh escaped you.

"...Okay."

"...So..." James smiled. “...Hot chocolate?"

"...I like hot chocolate."

"Soda?”

"...I like soda."

"Smoothies?"

"...Very much."

He grinned.

"...Perfect."

You smiled back, shyly looking down at your hands.

"...Can I tell you something?"

James nodded immediately.

"Always."

You took a tiny breath.

"...I thought..." You smiled to yourself. "...You were just being nice to everyone."

James blinked.

"...What?"

"...When you smiled at me."

He couldn't help laughing.

"I definitely wasn't."

"...You weren't?"

He shook his head.

"No." A warm blush spread across his cheeks. "I just..." He smiled. "...Really liked seeing you."

Your face immediately turned pink.

"...Oh."

Neither of you noticed the two students a few tables over smiling to themselves as they listened to your conversation, or the librarian pretending very hard not to watch. 

…or even outside where a familiar figure happened to walk past the library windows. It was Martin. He glanced inside to see James smiling across the table at you…and you smiling back. He quietly pumped his fist in success.

"...Let's go."

Then kept walking without interrupting. Some victories…were better watched from a distance.

♡ 

EPILOGUE - THREE MONTHS LATER

Dating James, you'd discovered, came with a few unavoidable side effects.

One, he somehow always knew when you were cold. You'd barely rub your hands together before his hoodie was already being pulled over his head.

"...James." 

He held it out.

"What?"

"...You're wearing a T-shirt."

"I'll survive."

"...You'll be cold."

"I'll survive."

"…”

"...Y/N."

Slowly, you accepted it.

"...Thank you."

"You look cuter in it anyway."

Your face immediately warmed.

"...James."

"What?"

"...N…nothing."

Two, you had unintentionally accumulated a small collection of his hoodies. Mostly because he kept forgetting to take them back. Or…maybe he wasn't forgetting. You were beginning to suspect that.

And three, his friends had somehow…adopted you. In a way. 

Well...they were certainly trying.

"Morning, Y/N!"

You smiled shyly from beside James.

"...Hai…Martin."

Martin beamed.

"Look!" He pointed triumphantly toward James. "She said hi to me finally!”

"...Martin."

"What?"

James sighed.

"You're scaring her."

"I'm celebrating!"

"I can feel her hiding behind me."

Sure enough, you had quietly taken one tiny step closer to James until your shoulder bumped against his arm. Martin dramatically placed a hand over his heart.

"...She's like a frightened baby deer."

James pinched the bridge of his nose, but he couldn't help huffing out a small laugh.

"Give her time."

"I am giving her time!" Martin protested. "I've known her for three months!"

"...Exactly."

"...That's a long time."

"For you, maybe."

Martin looked at you.

"...Do I look scary?"

You immediately shook your head.

"...No."

"...Do I act scary?"

You hesitated for a bit before another tiny shake.

"...No."

"...Then why do you keep standing behind James?"

You looked down at your shoes for a while as you hooked your finger onto James’ hand.

"...Habit."

Martin blinked.

"...Honestly?"

"...Mhm."

He sighed dramatically.

"I'll take it."

James smiled to himself. He knew the truth. You weren't afraid of any of the guys, but you just felt safest beside him at the moment. I mean Martin could be a little frightening sometimes…and it did take a while for you to even warm up to him in the first place. …And if he was being completely honest, he was okay with that for right now.

♡ 

A few days later, the two of you found yourselves back where everything had started. The library. Same table and seats…but a different reason. You sat curled slightly toward him, absentmindedly reading while wearing one of his oversized gray hoodies. Your head rested comfortably against his shoulder and James had an arm loosely wrapped around you, gently tracing little circles against your sleeve.

It was peaceful and comfortable. Home.

"...Y/N?"

"...Mhm?"

"I..." He hesitated. "...Can I show you something?"

You looked up, grabbing your bookmark and closing the book once saving your place.

"...Of course."

James suddenly wasn't sure this had been a good idea. His ears were already turning pink.

"...Promise you won't think I'm like…weird?"

You smiled.

"I don't think you're weird."

"...You haven't seen it yet."

"I still don't."

He laughed quietly.

"...Okay."

Maybe this’ll go okay? He thought.

Very slowly, he unlocked his phone and opened the Notes app. He navigated to the folder before simply handing it to you.

"...What's this?"

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"...Just...read it."

Curious, you looked down.

Things About Y/N

You blinked once before opening it. The first entry you landed on made your eyebrows lift.

She still says "Hai" every single time she sees me and I don't think she'll ever realize it makes my entire day.

A tiny smile tugged at your lips. You scrolled.

She’s so pretty when she’s focused.

Another scroll.

She thinks Calibri looks sad.

Another.

She accidentally fell asleep while reading and there was a highlighter mark on her cheek.

Another.

She gave me strawberry milk today. I like it a lot, but it might’ve been because she gave it to me.

Another.

She gets excited talking about science…and is really pretty when she forgets to be shy. 

…but I mean. She’s always pretty.

You stopped. Your eyes lingered on that one a little longer than the others.

"...James."

He couldn't quite bring himself to look at you.

"...Yeah?"

"...You've been writing these...for a while." You looked up tentatively. "...How long?"

He quietly pointed upward.

"...Keep scrolling."

You did. The entries became older. Some were shorter and less frequent, some were tiny observations, and some were little moments that most people would've forgotten by now. He hadn't though. You kept scrolling.

February. January. Your thumb slowed…and then finally stopped at the very first note that sat alone at the top of the screen. 

You read it once, and then again. Your eyes softened. Without saying a word, you locked his phone and gently placed it on the table.

James finally looked over.

"...So...Am I weird yet?"

Instead of answering, you reached over and wrapped both arms around him.

"...No." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "...I think..." A tiny smile found its way onto your face. "...I think it's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

James let out the breath he'd apparently been holding for months now.

"...Really?"

You nodded against his shoulder.

"...Really."

He smiled into your hair.

"...Good. Because I was sweating buckets the entire time you were reading those notes."

You looked up at him.

"…James..."

You looked up at him before laying it back on his chest. With his hoodie wrapped around you and your hand quietly finding his beneath the table, you picked up his phone and scrolled back to the beginning. You smiled while reading it again.

January 14

I finally learned her name today.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 

A/N: This surprisingly took me a while to write!! I hope it answers this request enough…I realized after I finished writing it that I genuinely didn’t include most of the stuff you asked for I’m so sorry @thisismepls. 😭 Anyways, thank you so much for reading my loves and being so patient with my posting! 🤍

"Hold still," you said flatly, trying to pull free. "I'm not done."

"Pretty girl, I think you're trying to finish me off yourself."

"Don't call me that when you're bleeding on my bathroom counter."

He loosened his grip just enough for you to resume dabbing at the wound. His jaw tightened, a sharp hiss escaping through his teeth, but he didn't attempt to pull away again. He let you work, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, tracking every flicker of concentration and worried crease between your brows.

"I won, you know," he finally spoke, the words slightly garbled as you pressed the cotton against his split lip.

You pulled back, examining your work. The cut was deep but clean now, you'd done this enough times to know the difference between a wound that needed stitches and one that could be managed with butterfly bandages and a prayer.

"Sure, baby, sure," you said flatly, reaching for the bandages whilst barely sparing him a glance.

"I'm serious." His hands dropped from your wrists to your waist, settling there like they'd been made to fit. "You should have seen the state of him, big guy, thought he was tough."

"Mmhm."

"He's probably still trying to figure out which way is up."

You pressed a fresh cotton ball to the gash above his eyebrow, and he hissed through his teeth, eyes snapping shut.

“Warn me next time.” He grumbled as his head shifted back in an attempt to escape the pain, but you only pressed the gauze harder onto the wound, hand winding round to the back of his head to keep him in place.

“Maybe if you stopped getting hit in the face it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

His eyes finally open and instantly lock on yours, a playful glint in them as he spoke. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, simply choosing to narrow your eyes before bringing your free hand back around, palm cupping his chin and tilting his head to allow a better angle for you to mend the eyebrow wound. He went pliant under your touch, even allowing his cheek to nuzzle slightly into your thumb whilst his eyes never left your face.

The bathroom was small, and the proximity was inevitable. You stood between his legs, his knees bracketing your hips, his hands warm and heavy on your waist. You could feel every breath he took, could smell the blood and sweat and something uniquely him beneath it all.

“You’re so cute.” He mumbled, more to himself than for you to hear but you just about caught it.

“Am not.” You answer, trying to fight the smile that was creeping onto your lips.

"Are too," he insisted, his voice soft and almost drowsy despite the adrenaline that must have still been coursing through him. "Your nose is all scrunched up and worried, it’s cute."

"Shut up or I'll make this hurt more."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

He laughed, then immediately regretted it as you began to press firmly again. "Ow—okay, not laughing."

You finished the eyebrow, pressing a butterfly bandage over the cut before then stepping back to survey your work. His lip was patched, the bandage above his eye was secure, and you'd wiped away most of the blood from his face. He still looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a truck, but at least now he looked like a clean person who'd gone ten rounds with a truck.

"There," you said, dropping the supplies back into the first aid kit and positioning yourself to step away. "You'll live."

"That's it? No bedside manner? No sweet nothings?" His hands on your waist tightened just a fraction, a whisper of him not wanting you to leave just yet.

"You're on my bathroom counter—that's not a bed, and I don't do sweet nothings."

"Liar." His hands tugged you closer, his thumbs tracing circles against your hip bones. "You're the sweetest person I know, you just pretend to be tough."

"I'm not pretending."

"If that’s what you say, baby."

You glared at him. He beamed back, split lip and all.

"Kiss it better?" He asked, tilting his chin up, his eyes going soft and hopeful.

"Absolutely not. You have an open wound on your lip."

"So?"

"So I'm not kissing you while you're leaking blood."

“But you fixed me up!” James whined like a child, attempting to pull you even closer with his hands.

“Baby, it will do you no good. In fact, it will probably make it hurt more.”

Your reasoning fell on deaf ears

He tugged you forward until you stumbled against him, your palms bracing against his chest to keep yousrelf from crushing his ribs. The heat of his skin seeped through his shirt onto your fingers, and you could feel his heart hammering beneath your touch. He was still running on adrenaline—you realised, still wired from the fight that ended only an hour ago. 

"James—"

"Please?" His voice dropped, all the playfulness bleeding out of it. "Just one. I don't care if it hurts."

Your eyes scanned his face, your internal battle holding little power over how he was gazing so desperately at you. You noticed the butterfly bandage above his eyebrow was already starting to curl at the edges from the sweat on his skin, and you reached your thumb up to gently press it back onto his skin.

"You're such a doofus," you whispered.

"I know."

"You're reckless and stupid and you just appear at my place all bashed up like it's nothing."

"I know."

"And you think you can just—bat your eyelashes and get whatever you want."

"Is it working?"

You hated that it was.

"Close your eyes," you said and he instantly followed your orders, a slight smirk appearing as he did so.

You leaned in, so close that your lips were barely a breath away from his. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the smell of the antiseptic mingling with the copper of his blood flooding your senses. He stayed perfectly still, waiting, his eyelashes fanned against his bruised cheeks.

Then gradually you pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth, right where the skin was still intact. A soft, featherlight kiss that barely lasted a second before you pulled back.

He exhaled shakily.

"Was that supposed to be the kiss?" He asked, eyes still closed and lips beginning to form a grumpy pout.

"You asked for one kiss, I gave you one."

"That was a cheek kiss."

"Technically, it was the corner of your mouth. That's close enough."

He opened his eyes, and the look he gave you was equal parts exasperated and adoring. "Baby, you're killing me."

"Good. Maybe next time you'll think twice before getting your face punched in."

"Not a chance."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling, and James used that moment when you were slightly distracted to loop his arm around your back and pull you straight into him.

You let out a small yelp as your body collided with his, your hands flying up to brace against his shoulders. His grip was firm around your waist, anchoring you in place between his thighs, and his face was suddenly right there, inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips.

"James—"

"Shh." His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and there was something intense flickering beneath the usual playful bravado. "Just let me have this."

"Have what?"

"You here, patching me up and looking at me like I'm worth fixing."

Your throat tightened at his words. "You are worth fixing."

"Am I?"

"You're an idiot, James. A reckless, stupid, beautiful idiot who shows up at my door bleeding and expects me to kiss it better." You cupped his jaw, your thumb brushing over his uninjured cheek. "But you're my idiot, and I'll always patch you up—I'll always be here."

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours like he was looking for the lie.

"Pretty girl," he breathed after a moment.

"Shut up and kiss me."

"But my lip—"

"You wanted it, now you've got it."

His grin was wolfish, even with the split lip. "Yes, ma'am."

He leaned forward just slightly and his lips were quick to meet yours.

It was soft at first, mindful of the wound, his lips gentle against yours. But then you melted into him, your fingers threading into his hair with your weight shifting onto him gently, and something in him seemed to break. He kissed you deeper, one hand sliding up your back to cradle your head, the other pressing you flush against him whilst tracing the very curve of your spine.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed, a stupid, dopey grin on his face.

“Did it hurt?” You finally ask, eyes scanning his features for any hint of pain.

"Mhmm," he answered, not even bothering to open his eyes, that lovesick smile still resting on his lips.

You smacked his arm in response.

"Ow—ow!" His eyes flew open, his hand coming up to rub the spot you'd hit. "What was that for?!"

"You said it hurt! I was leaning on your ribs!"

"Not like that!" He pouted, looking genuinely offended. "I meant the kiss, pretty girl. But the kiss was worth the pain. Not worth—" he gestured vaguely at his arm, "—whatever that was."

"Consider it payback for scaring me half to death showing up like this."

"Payback?" He gaped at you. "I'm injured! I'm a wounded man! And you just—" he made a smacking motion with his hand, "—assaulted me!"

"You're fine."

"I am not fine. I'm fragile, delicate, bruised and battered—"

"James."

"—and my own girlfriend is attacking me—"

"I'm not your girlfriend."

He paused mid-whine, his head tilting in mild confusion. "You're not?"

"We've never talked about it."

"Well, I'm talking about it now." He grabbed your hips and pulled you flush against him again, his grin returning full force despite the split lip. "You're my girlfriend. You patch me up, you kiss me better, you let me sleep in your bed—"

"You invite yourself."

"—and you smack me when I'm being annoying. That's girlfriend behaviour."

"That's exasperated behaviour."

"Same thing." He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your nose, then the corner of your mouth. "Girlfriend."

"James—"

"Girlfriend." Another kiss, this one to your forehead. "My pretty girl."

"Stop—"

"Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend—"

You smacked his arm again, causing him to immediately halt his movements.

"Ow! Okay, okay!" He laughed, wincing as the movement pulled at his ribs. "I'll stop. For now."

"Thank you."

"But only because you're my girlfriend now, and I'm a gentleman."

You sighed, shaking your head. "You're impossible."

"Whatever you say." He grinned, utterly unrepentant. "Girlfriend."

"James."

"What? I'm just stating facts." He pressed another kiss to your cheek, quick and playful. "You're my girlfriend. I'm your boyfriend. We're a thing. A couple. An item. Partners in crime—"

"We're not partners in crime. I don't commit crimes."

"You patch up a criminal, that's accessory after the fact."

You stared at him. "Did you just—"

"Legal jargon." He winked. "I'm full of surprises."

"You're full of something, that's for sure."

"Romance. I'm full of romance." He pulled you closer, his hands sliding down to rest on your lower back. "And you love it."

"I tolerate it."

"Same thing."

"It's really not."

"Sure, baby, sure."

You glared at him, and that seemed to only make his grin widen further before you stepped out from between his legs, moving to stand in front of the counter beside him as you organised your first aid box.

"You can ask me to be your girlfriend when you're not bleeding onto my bathroom floor," you said, not looking at him as you neatly arranged the bandages and antiseptic.

The silence that followed was unusual. You glanced briefly over to find him staring at you, his expression caught somewhere between surprised and hopeful.

"Wait," he said slowly. "Really?"

You shrugged, snapping your eyes back to the first aid kit. "Maybe if you ask nicely, and if you're not covered in blood."

"And bruises?"

"You'll always have bruises."

"Fair point." He was quiet for a moment, and you could practically feel him scheming behind you. "So you're saying there's a chance?"

"I'm saying you should probably focus on healing first."

"I can multitask."

"James."

“Fine, fine.” He grumbled, but his eyes fell back onto your figure and you failed to notice how they softened before he mumbled to himself.

“Pretty girl. Gonna make you mine.”

“Did you just say something?” Your gaze fell back on him as he just shook his head innocently, feigning surprise and absolute confusion, not realising that you had in fact heard him and it was taking everything in you to suppress the blush that was creeping up your cheeks

You returned back to organising the first aid kit, fingers fumbling with the bandages as you tried to compose yourself. Behind you, you could hear him shifting on the counter, the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusted his position.

You could feel his eyes on you. They always found you, no matter where you were in the room: tracking your movements, cataloguing every small gesture, and even though you refused to turn around, you knew exactly what expression he was wearing. That soft, adoring look that made your stomach flip and your heart stutter.

Your fingers brushed against the antiseptic bottle, and you found yourself smiling despite everything that had happened tonight: the blood on his knuckles, the bruises blooming across his ribs that he had managed to keep hidden from you, the fact that he'd shown up at your door at midnight, broken and reckless and so achingly him.

He was going to ask you eventually, properly, with no blood involved, and likely partnered with flowers and a dinner because he was dramatic like that.

And you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were going to say yes.

You pressed your lips together, fighting the grin threatening to break across your face. The blush had reached your cheeks now, warm and undeniable, and you knew he could see it and was probably grinning like an idiot behind you.

You finally turned, a retort ready on your lips, but the words died in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you so softly, like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing. His hand reached out, catching yours and bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You moved to step back between his legs, and his hands found your waist immediately, pulling you close. You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart, feeling its steady rhythm beneath your lips, his hand moving to cup the back of your head once more whilst he gently pulled you into a hug.

"she's my girlfriend," ryul repeated, looking mildly offended that even he had to explain himself.

the slight furrow between his brows made it obvious that having an album of his girlfriend's pictures is simply reasonable.

"that's not helping," woojin immediately replied.

"hyung, normal people don't have that many pictures."

"i'm literally normal," ryul casually replied.

"hyung... you have screenshots." woojin stated.

"literally screenshots of y/n noona's instagram post before you even knew her. that's creepy."

after that, ryul had stopped participating in the conversation entirely.

which was how he ended up sitting alone, phone in hand, on one end of the couch several hours later with a very obvious frown on his face.

the moment you stepped into the room, you noticed immediately.

honestly, it would've been difficult not to.

ryul wasn't even trying to hide it.

he was sitting there with his jaw resting against his fist, staring blankly at his phone while everyone else talked around him. every now and then he'd sigh dramatically for absolutely no reason before shifting positions and looking mildly offended by life itself.

you already knew what happened, because louis had texted you.

im louis 🐘

noona

i think your boyfriend is mad

he's making a frowny face

please come and get him quickly

you 🩰

what did ya'll do to him 😭

im louis 🐘

noona

he has an album full of ur pictures

u wanna know how many of them?

there are 703 pictures

in total

isn't that quite excessive?

you 🩰

HAHAH, istg he's so cute

just leave him be

i'll be there in a minute

bye lou 👋🏻

im louis 🐘

ok ok

take care noona!

you almost laughed, then you walked over. and ryul noticed instantly.

of course he did.

his eyes followed you from the moment you entered the room, though he quickly looked away the second you glanced in his direction.

without saying a word, you sat beside him. close, not touching. but close enough that your shoulders almost brushed.

ryul immediately shifted. away from you.

"...did you just move away from me?"

"no."

he absolutely had. you bit back a smile.

"ryul, are you sulking?"

"no."

he answered far too quickly.

"right."

silence. a few seconds passed, then another.

eventually, you leaned over slightly and rested your head against his shoulder.

immediately—you felt him freeze.

for a moment, he didn't move at all. didn't say anything. didn't even look at you.

then, very slowly, his shoulders relaxed beneath your weight.

and after another second, he tilted his head just enough for it to rest lightly against yours.

we're making some progress.

"you know," you said softly, "i think it's cute."

ryul narrowed his eyes.

"what is?"

"the photo album."

"...they told you?"

"louis sent me some screenshots."

his expression immediately became horrified. which finally made you laugh.

"baby, that's private."

"seven hundred pictures, huh?"

"it's not even that much."

you burst out laughing.

and just like that, the pout deepened.

"stop."

before he could complain again, you reached over and gently grabbed his face with both hands. completely trapping him.

ryul blinked. once. twice. all thoughts immediately gone.

"ryul."

you smiled.

"what?"

"you're cute."

ryul stayed silent. for a second, he just stared at you. like his brain had completely short-circuited.

then the corners of his mouth slightly twitched like he was trying very hard not to smile, while whatever remained of his bad mood visibly struggled to survive.

it was such a small reaction that most people probably wouldn't have noticed it. but you did.

because unfortunately, you knew exactly what calling ryul cute did to him.

"don't do that."

"do what?"

"that thing."

"what thing?"

"where you say something nice and suddenly i'm not allowed to be mad anymore."

you laughed again.

because honestly? that was exactly what happened.

the second your thumbs brushed across his cheeks, whatever was left of his bad mood immediately started crumbling. you could practically watch it happen. the tension in his shoulders disappeared. the tiny pout he'd been holding onto for the last three hours weakened considerably.

and when you leaned forward to press a quick kiss on his cheek, it practically vanished altogether.

all because you were looking at him like that.

"i'm serious." your voice softened slightly.

"i think it's sweet."

ryul stared at you. like really stared.

then he groaned.

a long. suffering. dramatic groan.

before suddenly leaning forward and burying his face directly into your shoulder.

you laughed so hard you nearly fell over.

"ryul."

"leave me alone."

his arms wrapped around your waist anyway. pulling you closer until there wasn't even a sliver of space left between you.

unable to resist, you tilted his chin up again.

"one more?"

ryul eyed you suspiciously.

"...what."

instead of answering, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. soft and sweet.

when you pulled back, his expression had completely short-circuited.

"..."

"see?" you grinned.

"all better!"

ryul immediately buried his face back into your shoulder.

"i hate you."

"no, you don't."

"yeah. i really don't." his voice came out muffled.

"you're literally hugging me."

"i'm suffering."

"mhm."

"terribly."

"obviously."

by now, he was practically folded into your side, cheek pressed against your shoulder while his arms stayed securely around your waist. every trace of the earlier pout had disappeared. every now and then, he'd nuzzle a little closer, as if making sure you weren't going anywhere. honestly, if anyone looked over right now, they'd immediately know he'd lost the battle.

which, to be fair—he never really stood a chance.

─────────────────────────────────

HIIIII, MY LOVELY BABYGALS!! 💕 i am so sorry for ghosting y'all like thattt 😔

my final exams and assignments have been absolutely beating my ass lately, so i genuinely haven't had much time to sit down and write more ryul fluff for you guys 😭💔

since so many of you have been asking for more ryul fluff, here's my little redemption hehe 🤭💕

i really hope you all enjoy it, my lovessss <33

alsooo, i tried out a new header style this time HAHAH. and i think i actually like this one a lot better 👀✨

as always, thank you so much for reading and supporting my stories. it genuinely means the world to mee 🥹💗

Seonghyeon thought he was exceptionally skilled at concealing things. Years of carefully manufactured nonchalance had turned secrecy into second nature.

He concealed fatigue behind indolent, crooked smiles after grueling basketball practices. Buried frustration beneath sarcastic remarks sharp enough to provoke laughter from his teammates. Even the bruises mottling his knuckles disappeared beneath oversized hoodie sleeves, hidden alongside burdens he never verbalized aloud.

No one ever looked closely enough to notice, and Seonghyeon preferred it that way.

He preferred remaining untouchable, easygoing, unserious, effortlessly admired. The kind of boy everyone thought they understood despite never truly knowing him at all.

So when he realized he liked you—truly liked you—he assumed this would remain hidden too. A transient infatuation, something fleeting.

He was so wrong, because somehow, against all logic, his attention gravitated toward you with humiliating consistency.

It began subtly enough for him to dismiss it. A passing observation during class, nothing more.

You sat near the window two rows ahead of him, perpetually arriving several minutes before the bell rang. Morning sunlight filtered through the glass behind you, spilling molten gold across your desk until it looked almost cinematic. Your earbuds were usually tucked beneath your hair, expression serene and unreadable while pages turned beneath your fingertips.

You rarely spoke voluntarily, yet when teachers called upon you, your voice emerged soft but unwavering, composed with an intelligence that never sounded rehearsed. Simply quiet in a way that felt intentional.

There was an immeasurable distinction between silence born from insecurity and silence born from self-possession.

You embodied the latter effortlessly. Seonghyeon noticed things others overlooked entirely.

The rhythmic tap of your pen against the desk whenever concentration overtook you. The slight furrow between your brows during difficult equations, as though mathematical concepts had personally offended you. The way your lips moved faintly while reading paragraphs beneath your breath.

Small details, but somehow they embedded themselves inside his memory with alarming permanence, and that was the problem. Seonghyeon kept looking, far longer than necessary. Long enough for it to become dangerous.

“Dude.” Keonho’s voice shattered his trance one sluggish afternoon.

The classroom buzzed faintly with post-lecture conversation, chairs scraping against the floor while students packed belongings into bags. Seonghyeon blinked slowly, dragged back into reality.

“What?” he muttered.

Keonho didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze followed Seonghyeon’s line of sight toward the front of the classroom—toward you.

You were laughing softly at something your friend had whispered, shoulders relaxing in a way Seonghyeon rarely witnessed during lessons. Sunlight illuminated the curve of your smile, warm and effortless enough to make his chest tighten unexpectedly.

Keonho turned back toward him with dawning realization. “Oh,” he said.

Seonghyeon’s stomach dropped unpleasantly. “Oh what?”

“That’s what’s been wrong with you lately.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Keonho looked unconvinced. “You’ve been staring at the same girl for ten minutes straight.”

“I was not.”

“You absolutely were.”

Seonghyeon scoffed, leaning back lazily in his chair despite the sudden tension coiling beneath his ribs. “You’re imagining things.”

“No,” Keonho replied slowly, amusement beginning to creep into his expression, “I’m definitely not.”

Seonghyeon reached for his notebook too quickly, shoving it into his bag with unnecessary force.

Keonho’s grin widened immediately. “Oh my god.”

“Shut up.”

“You literally smiled at her out of nowhere.”

That silenced him instantly, because apparently he had,  and judging from the sheer disbelief written across Keonho’s face, it must have looked devastatingly obvious.

Seonghyeon felt heat crawl uncomfortably up the back of his neck. Impossible. He was careful, always careful.

Keonho stared at him like he’d uncovered classified information. “Seonghyeon,” he whispered dramatically, leaning across the desk, “you like someone, a girl in our class specifically.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I really don’t.”

“You looked at her like she personally descended from the heavens.”

“Okay so that’s not even-.”

“Don’t even lie bro.”

Seonghyeon rolled his eyes instinctively, but the reaction lacked its usual sharpness. His gaze betrayed him again, flickering unconsciously toward you. Still smiling, still talking. Completely unaware of the catastrophe unfolding several rows behind you.

An unbearable fondness settled heavily inside his chest, and suddenly he understood why poets wrote insufferable things about yearning, because liking you felt strangely catastrophic.

The terrifying realization that his attention sought you instinctively in every crowded room. That his mood inexplicably improved whenever your laughter drifted through hallways. That even mundane moments became memorable solely because you occupied them.

Keonho watched his expression transform in real time. Then he groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “Dude, you’re actually gone gone oh my fucking god.”

“I hate you.”

“No this is amazing.” Keonho laughed quietly. “The great Seonghyeon finally losing his mind over a girl who probably doesn’t even know he exists.”

At that, Seonghyeon’s jaw tightened slightly, because that was the cruelest part. You probably didn’t.

To you, he was merely another familiar face in overcrowded hallways. Another student passing by between classes. Another athlete surrounded perpetually by noise and admiration and effortless attention.

Meanwhile, Seonghyeon noticed everything about you with terrifying precision. The sweaters you wore repeatedly when exhausted. The books tucked beneath your arm. The infinitesimal lift of your lips whenever someone held the door open for you.

You existed quietly, but somehow you occupied his thoughts with deafening intensity, and no matter how desperately he attempted to suppress it. Wherever you were, his eyes followed instinctively, as though drawn by something far beyond his control.

You confused him, not in the exasperating, incomprehensible way people often described attraction. No—this was far more insidious.

You bewildered him in the sort of way that cultivated curiosity so profound it bordered on obsession. The kind that compelled him to memorize trivial details without intention. The kind that made him wonder what songs played through your earbuds every morning, what thoughts occupied your mind during long silences, what kind of life existed beyond the quiet exterior you presented to everyone else.

Seonghyeon had encountered beautiful girls before. Plenty of them.

Girls who lingered after basketball games beneath fluorescent gymnasium lights, offering compliments laced with practiced flirtation. Girls who laughed too loudly at mediocre jokes and touched his arm too frequently during conversations. Girls who competed shamelessly for his attention because attention from Seonghyeon had somehow become valuable currency within the school.

But you, you never pursued him, never hovered nearby hoping to be acknowledged.

Half the time, Seonghyeon wasn’t even certain you recognized the effect you had on people around you, and perhaps that was precisely what rendered you so impossible to ignore.

Your indifference unsettled him. Not because it bruised his ego, but because it felt authentic in a world saturated with performance. You existed without demanding to be perceived.

There was something almost ethereal about that quiet self-assurance, something infinitely more captivating than loud charisma could ever hope to achieve.

Then one afternoon, he witnessed a version of you he had never seen before, and it ruined him completely.

Classes had just ended, releasing students into the golden haze of late afternoon. Warm spring air drifted lazily through the school courtyard, carrying fragments of conversation and distant traffic beyond the gates. Leaves rustled overhead in soft murmurs while clusters of students flooded the sidewalks in restless currents.

Seonghyeon stood near the entrance with Keonho, absentmindedly spinning a basketball against his palm while only half-listening to whatever story Keonho was animatedly telling beside him.

Something about practice schedules, or a teacher, or food. He couldn’t remember afterward, because then he heard it.

Your laughter.

Not the restrained, polite smile you wore during lectures. Not the soft exhale of amusement he occasionally caught when friends whispered comments beside you in class.

This was entirely different. It rang through the air unexpectedly bright—clear and effervescent enough to slice cleanly through the surrounding noise. Genuine amusement illuminated every syllable, unguarded and vibrant in a way that made his pulse falter instinctively.

Seonghyeon’s head turned before he consciously processed the movement, and there you were.

Across the street near the convenience store, surrounded by three friends beneath shifting sunlight filtering through tree branches overhead. A cold drink rested loosely against your chest while laughter bent your body forward slightly, shoulders trembling beneath the force of it.

Your eyes crinkled beautifully at the corners. Your smile lingered radiant and unrestrained. You looked alive. Not that you hadn’t before, but this was different.

In class, your quietness resembled still water: composed, elegant, difficult to read. Yet standing among people you trusted, you transformed entirely. Every movement became animated with warmth. Your expressions softened openly; your gestures carried effortless affection as you nudged one friend teasingly while another nearly doubled over laughing beside you.

It was astonishing, like watching sunlight suddenly break through heavy clouds.

Seonghyeon forgot how to breathe properly for a moment. Forgot Keonho’s voice. Forgot the basketball rotating lazily against his fingertips. Forgot the entire world surrounding him.

His attention narrowed with humiliating precision until all he could perceive was you. You, smiling so brightly it physically ached to witness. You, tilting your head back while laughter spilled freely into the open air.

You, looking lighter somehow—as though whatever burdens weighed upon you during quiet classroom hours vanished completely beside the people you loved.

Beautiful.

The word surfaced instinctively within his mind, but even that felt insufficiently devastating, because beauty implied something distant. Something merely admired.

This felt infinitely more dangerous. Something warm unfurled slowly inside his chest, spreading with frightening inevitability. Not sudden or explosive, but gradual—like sunlight creeping across frozen skin after enduring winter too long.

And Seonghyeon realized, with startling clarity, that he wanted to become someone capable of making you laugh like that.

He wanted to exist within the orbit of your happiness. Wanted to know which jokes dissolved you into helpless laughter. Wanted to learn the stories hidden behind your smiles. Wanted to witness every version of you concealed beneath the composed silence you carried through hallways each morning.

The realization struck him with terrifying force, given that this wasn’t superficial attraction anymore. This had surpassed that long ago.

“You’re staring again,” Keonho muttered knowingly beside him.

Seonghyeon barely registered the comment. His gaze remained fixed across the street as though magnetized beyond his control.

You reached forward suddenly, brushing crumbs from your friend’s sleeve while grinning at something else being said. The gesture was absentmindedly affectionate, so natural and tender that it tightened something unbearably delicate within his ribcage.

God.

You were gentle, even your happiness looked gentle.

Keonho followed his line of sight before exhaling dramatically. “This is getting embarrassing.”

Still, Seonghyeon said nothing, because how could he possibly explain this feeling?

How could he articulate the strange ache blooming beneath his sternum simply from witnessing you happy? It made no rational sense.

Yet there he stood beneath amber sunlight and rustling trees, surrounded by noise and conversation and movement. 

Completely undone by the sight of your smile lingering long after the laughter itself had faded away, and perhaps that should have frightened him more than it did.

Since Seonghyeon finally understood something dangerous then. He could spend hours watching you exist and never grow tired of it.

After that, Seonghyeon began encountering you everywhere, or perhaps encountering wasn’t the correct word.

Noticing felt more accurate, because you had likely always existed within those spaces long before he started paying attention; he had simply become incapable of overlooking you anymore.

At least, that was the excuse he repeated to himself whenever his gaze sought you instinctively in crowded corridors or across bustling streets.

It wasn’t intentional, it couldn’t be. But, somehow you materialized constantly within the edge of his existence, appearing so frequently it began to feel almost cruel.

He saw you in hallways between classes, weaving gracefully through congested crowds with textbooks pressed protectively against your chest. Students flowed chaotically around you in loud clusters and hurried conversations, yet you moved with quiet composure untouched by the surrounding disorder.

He noticed you in the library too.

Curled cross-legged on the floor beside low bookshelves because every table had already been occupied, papers spread carefully around you while soft music leaked faintly from your earbuds. Fluorescent lighting cast pale illumination across your features as you highlighted passages with meticulous concentration, occasionally pausing to rub tired eyes before continuing again.

And during rainy mornings, he spotted you at the bus stop outside campus, shoulders tucked inward against the cold while sleep still lingered visibly across your expression. Sometimes you yawned softly into your sleeve. Sometimes your head tilted back toward the grey sky as though mentally preparing yourself for the exhaustion awaiting you inside the school building.

Each sighting embedded itself inside his memory with alarming permanence, like fragments of a life he desperately wanted access to.

Then one evening, entirely by accident, he discovered where you worked. The convenience store near the gym, and suddenly Seonghyeon understood why fate was dangerous.

The realization struck him immediately upon entering. He froze so abruptly near the automatic doors that one of his teammates nearly collided into his shoulder from behind.

“What’s wrong with you?” someone muttered.

But Seonghyeon barely heard them, because there you were.

Standing behind the register beneath sterile fluorescent lighting, wearing an oversized store uniform that swallowed your frame slightly. Your nametag hung crookedly near the collar of your sweater as though you’d pinned it on hastily before your shift began. A few strands of hair had escaped whatever weak attempt you’d made to tidy it earlier, leaving them scattered messily around your face.

You looked exhausted. There were faint shadows beneath your eyes, subtle evidence of accumulated fatigue no amount of polite professionalism could entirely conceal.

But somehow you still looked devastatingly beautiful. Not in the polished, intimidating way magazines portrayed beauty. Yours felt softer than that, human. Real enough to ache over.

Seonghyeon’s chest constricted painfully. His teammates continued deeper into the store, loud voices echoing carelessly between aisles, but he remained rooted near the entrance like an idiot.

Then you looked up. Your expression shifted instantly into polite customer-service warmth. “Welcome.”

The single word obliterated him. It wasn’t special, logically, he knew that.

You probably greeted dozens of customers exactly the same way every shift, offering identical smiles and identical politeness until closing hours exhausted you completely.

But hearing your voice directed specifically toward him made something malfunction catastrophically inside his brain. His heartbeat stumbled hard enough to feel physically disorienting.

“Seonghyeon?” One teammate frowned from the snack aisle. “You planning on standing there all night?”

“Yeah,” he answered immediately, or attempted to. His voice emerged rougher than intended, startling even himself. Humiliation crawled beneath his skin.

He forced himself to move forward, trying desperately to resemble a normal human being rather than someone seconds away from cardiac arrest over a girl scanning convenience store items.

Unfortunately, proximity only worsened everything, suddenly he became acutely aware of details he should not have been noticing so intensely.

The absentminded way you tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear while operating the register. The faint sheen of lip balm catching harsh fluorescent light whenever you spoke. The exhaustion softening your features whenever no customers required your attention. The tiny crease forming between your brows while counting change.

Seonghyeon felt insane, completely and utterly insane. He purchased an energy drink first.

Then he lingered near the refrigerators pretending to contemplate additional options before returning with chips. By the time he approached the register a third time holding gum he didn’t even like, his teammates had stopped pretending not to notice.

One of them snorted loudly from nearby shelves. Another looked seconds away from tears from trying not to laugh.

You, meanwhile, stared at him with growing suspicion. “…Did you forget something?” you asked carefully.

Seonghyeon wanted the floor to split open beneath him. “I just—”

Then his mind blanked entirely, because you were looking directly at him. Patiently, quietly.

Your eyes reflecting pale convenience store lighting while waiting for his answer. Pretty, dangerously pretty. Every coherent thought abandoned him instantaneously. 

“I like gum,” he finished weakly.

Silence.

Then one teammate nearly collapsed against the counter laughing.

“Shut up,” Seonghyeon muttered through gritted teeth without looking away from you.

And then—Your lips twitched, not fully. Just the slightest upward curve threatening briefly at the corners of your mouth before disappearing again.

But Seonghyeon noticed it immediately.

Of course he did.

He noticed everything involving you. That tiny almost-smile replayed inside his mind for the rest of the evening with devastating clarity, and somehow, impossibly, his feelings only deepened afterward.

Day after day, like warmth gradually permeating cold skin until eventually you realized you no longer remembered what freezing felt like.

Liking you became interwoven with the fabric of his routine so seamlessly he stopped recognizing where ordinary observation ended and yearning began. 

Without intending to, he memorized your habits. You always purchased strawberry milk on Thursdays after your longest lecture.

Before examinations, you remained inside the library later than everyone else, surrounded by color-coded notes and exhaustion.

Whenever concentration overtook you completely, you chewed lightly against the inside of your cheek.

And every Friday evening after your shift ended, you sat alone outside the convenience store for exactly ten minutes before leaving.

Those ten minutes became sacred to him. Not because he spoke to you, usually he didn’t. He simply liked witnessing you without the careful composure you carried during school hours.

You sat beneath flickering streetlights with your bag resting beside your feet, shoulders finally relaxed after hours of work. Sometimes you stared absently at passing cars. Sometimes you closed your eyes briefly like you were savoring the silence after an exhausting day.

Seonghyeon found those moments unbearably tender. There was something intimate about being allowed to observe another person existing quietly when they believed no one was paying attention.

Then came the rain, violent and sudden.

One Friday evening, dark clouds ruptured overhead without warning, releasing sheets of rain heavy enough to drench sidewalks within seconds. Water battered against pavement mercilessly while neon reflections shimmered across puddles gathering near the curb.

Seonghyeon had been across the street with Keonho when he noticed you standing beneath the store’s narrow awning.

Your cardigan looked pitifully thin against the cold. You hugged your arms closer around yourself while staring unhappily toward the storm.

Something inside him reacted before logic intervened.

“Where are you going?” Keonho called after him.

Seonghyeon ignored him completely. Rain soaked through his hoodie almost immediately as he crossed the street quickly, shoes splashing through shallow puddles accumulating along the pavement.

You looked startled when he appeared beside you beneath the awning. “Hi,” you said softly.

And somehow that single syllable tightened his chest embarrassingly fast. “Hi.”

For several moments, neither of you spoke. Rain hammered relentlessly around the small shelter, cool air carrying the scent of wet asphalt and distant traffic lights reflecting against slick streets. Thunder murmured faintly somewhere far away.

Seonghyeon glanced upward toward the darkened sky. “You waiting for someone?”

You shook your head gently. “I forgot my umbrella.”

Without hesitation, he extended his toward you.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Take it.”

“You need it too.”

“I live close.” A complete lie, his apartment was nearly twenty minutes away.

You frowned slightly. “But you’ll get soaked.”

Seonghyeon almost laughed at the concern in your voice, because if you asked him to stand beneath freezing rain for hours just to keep you company, he probably would have done it willingly.

“It’s fine,” he murmured.

Then you looked at him—really looked at him, and suddenly the atmosphere beneath that tiny awning shifted unbearably.

You were standing far too close. Close enough for him to notice droplets of rain clinging delicately to your lashes. Close enough to smell your shampoo beneath petrichor and damp fabric. Close enough to see exhaustion lingering faintly beneath your eyes despite your gentle expression.

His heartbeat became erratic. Unsteady enough to embarrass him.

“You’re nice,” you said quietly after a long pause. The statement sounded almost astonished. As though kindness directed toward you was something unfamiliar.

Seonghyeon swallowed hard against the sudden tightness in his throat. “You make it easy.”

The words escaped before he could restrain them. Immediately, panic surged through him. Too honest—far too honest.

Your eyes widened slightly.

So did his.

For one horrible second he considered throwing himself directly into traffic, but then your expression softened. Warmth unfolded slowly across your features until it settled there so gently it physically ached to witness.

“…Thank you,” you whispered.

And Seonghyeon realized with terrifying certainty that he was already far beyond saving. He had fallen hopelessly in love with you.

After that, things between you and Seonghyeon shifted. There was no singular, cinematic moment where the atmosphere transformed overnight, no abrupt confession unraveling beneath moonlight or reckless declaration shouted across crowded hallways.

Instead, the change emerged gradually, like dawn seeping through curtains before anyone consciously realizes darkness has disappeared.

You began waving at him whenever your paths crossed between classes. Small gestures, brief moments. Yet they altered him embarrassingly fast.

At first, your waves were tentative—slight lifts of your hand accompanied by soft smiles that appeared almost instinctive whenever your eyes found him in crowded corridors. But eventually those moments became natural, woven seamlessly into the fabric of daily routine.

And every single time it happened, Seonghyeon felt something warm unfurl beneath his ribs. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic.

Keonho noticed immediately, of course. “You smile like an idiot whenever she looks at you,” he remarked one afternoon while walking toward practice.

Seonghyeon shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious. It’s disgusting.”

Yet despite the ridicule, Seonghyeon couldn’t stop himself, there was something devastating about being acknowledged by you so effortlessly.

You looked for him now. That realization alone nearly ruined him. Sometimes you paused beside his desk before class to ask harmless questions about assignments. Other times you stopped him near stairwells just to complain quietly about upcoming exams or difficult professors.

The conversations themselves were insignificant, However, Seonghyeon replayed every single one afterward with humiliating precision.

Your voice lingered in his head long after you walked away. He remembered specific inflections. Particular expressions. The exact cadence of your laughter whenever he said something unexpectedly funny.

And god, your humor. No one warned him about that. You weren’t loud about it. Your jokes arrived subtly, concealed beneath soft observations and perfectly timed comments delivered with an almost absentminded sincerity that caught him entirely off guard.

The first time you made him laugh hard enough to bend forward slightly, he stared at you afterward in disbelief. You looked startled too, then pleased. The sight nearly stopped his heart. 

He liked hearing you talk. Not because you filled silence constantly, but because you chose your words carefully. Thoughtfully. There was intention behind everything you said, as though conversations mattered to you in ways most people overlooked.

Perhaps what unsettled Seonghyeon most was the realization that you saw him differently too.

Not as the basketball captain. Not as the effortlessly popular boy everyone else seemed determined to reduce him into. You looked at him like he was simply Seonghyeon.

A boy who got tired after practice. A boy who liked stupid convenience store snacks and terrible music. A boy whose sarcasm concealed softness more often than not.

The simplicity of that recognition affected him more profoundly than applause after games or admiration from strangers ever could. With you, he never felt like he needed to perform.

One evening after practice, exhaustion clung heavily to his body as he wandered toward the library in search of quiet.

The campus had begun settling into dusk, golden sunlight stretching languidly through tall windows while shadows lengthened slowly across polished floors. The library itself remained nearly empty, hushed silence interrupted only by the occasional turning of pages somewhere deeper inside.

Then he saw you, and immediately forgot how exhausted he’d been.

You sat tucked into a secluded corner near the back shelves, surrounded by open textbooks and loose papers scattered chaotically across the table. Highlighters rested uncapped beside notebooks overflowing with meticulous handwriting.

Somewhere amidst studying, sleep had overtaken you completely. Your head rested against folded arms, pencil still loosely secured between relaxed fingers. Strands of hair spilled carelessly across your face while the setting sun enveloped everything around you in molten amber light.

Beautiful.

The word struck him with painful force, not because of polished perfection, not because of aesthetics. But, there was something unbearably tender about the sight before him.

You looked exhausted, real in a way that made his chest ache violently.

Seonghyeon stopped walking, then stayed there far longer than he should have. Simply watching, admiring. He expected nothing from you. Didn’t require your attention or affection to justify the intensity of his feelings.

Looking at you had simply become his favorite thing in the world. The realization should have terrified him more than it did.

Warm sunset light illuminated the curve of your cheekbones softly, dust particles drifting lazily through the air around you like fragments of gold suspended in time. The library’s silence wrapped around the moment delicately, intimate enough to make his heartbeat slow.

You stirred slightly in your sleep. Your brows furrowed faintly as the oversized sweater hanging from one shoulder slipped lower.

Before thinking, Seonghyeon moved closer carefully, almost reverently. His fingertips brushed the fabric gently as he adjusted it back into place, movements slow enough to avoid waking you, like touching something infinitely precious.

The contact lasted barely seconds, yet his pulse reacted catastrophically anyway.

Then your eyes opened. Sleep lingered visibly within them as your gaze lifted immediately toward his face, unfocused for half a second before recognition softened your expression entirely.

And then you smiled.

God.

That smile would destroy him someday.

“Practice ended?” you asked quietly, voice roughened by sleep and exhaustion.

The sound settled directly beneath his ribs. “Yeah,” he answered softly.

You pushed yourself upright almost immediately, embarrassment flickering across your face as you glanced at the mess of notes surrounding you. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You looked cute.”

Silence.

Seonghyeon froze, he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

Your eyes widened slightly. Heat rushed violently across your cheeks, and judging from the warmth burning beneath his own skin, he probably looked equally horrified.

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, gaze darting anywhere except your face. “I mean—not cute like—I just meant—”

You laughed quietly. Affectionate enough to unravel him instantly.

Seonghyeon looked up automatically, and there it was again. That brightness, that impossible warmth existing only for him in moments like these.

You studied him silently for several seconds, expression gentler than he’d ever seen before. Then, almost shyly, you spoke. “I like when you look at me like that.”

His breath caught immediately. “What?”

“You always look at me like I’m…” You hesitated briefly, fingers tightening slightly around your pencil. “Important.”

The confession struck him harder than any impact he’d ever endured on the court, you sounded genuinely uncertain, as though the possibility had never occurred to you before.

Seonghyeon stared at you helplessly, completely, devastatingly helpless.

You were important, more important than basketball. More important than popularity, expectations, victories, reputation. More important than anything occupying his life lately.

You had woven yourself into every corner of his thoughts without permission. Into mundane routines and fleeting moments and quiet evenings he once navigated without noticing how lonely they were beforehand.

He stepped closer before fear could stop him. The fading sunlight between you turned everything softer somehow.

“You are,” he admitted quietly.

Your expression transformed instantly. Something fragile appeared there. Tender enough to make his chest tighten painfully.

He loved the sound of your laughter drifting unexpectedly through crowded hallways.

Loved the concentrated crease forming between your brows while studying. Loved your quietness, your kindness, your subtle humor hidden beneath soft-spoken words. Loved the way every room shifted whenever you entered it, as though his entire body recognized your presence before his mind could process it.

He loved discovering you everywhere. Loved memorizing details no one else considered significant. Loved every fleeting interaction you offered him so casually, unaware of how precious he considered each one.

He loved you entirely.

Also, judging from the way you were looking at him now—with warmth unfolding slowly across your features like sunlight after endless rain 

martin insists on walking on the outer side of the sidewalk the entire way there, one hand lightly hovering near your back whenever the crowd thickens around you both.

he keeps pointing at random things to make you laugh, stopping mid sentence whenever he notices you're carrying too much and immediately taking it from you without asking.

the restaurant he picks is small and warm, dim yellow lights and old songs humming softly through the speakers. he pulls your chair out before sitting beside you instead of across from you, saying it feels weird to talk from so far away.

you almost say yes right then just because of how naturally he makes room for you in everything he does.

"you've been quiet today," he says while pouring water into your glass first before touching his own.

you shake your head quickly and mumble that you're only hungry, which earns you a suspicious little smile from him.

"that serious?" he asks, leaning closer with his elbow against the table. "should i be worried?"

you laugh softly, telling him he's dramatic, but your fingers tighten around the napkin resting on your lap.

he spends most of dinner making sure you eat before him, pushing the better looking pieces of food onto your plate without even noticing he's doing it.

"try this one," he says, holding his fork near your mouth before pausing. "wait, sorry, was that too much?"

you stare at him for a second before taking the bite anyway, pretending not to notice how pink his ears become afterward. "you always do things before thinking."

he grins immediately, shrugging. "only around you."

the entire time, you keep rehearsing the words inside your head while he talks about smaller things, like a dog he saw earlier or how he almost missed the train trying to buy your favorite drink. every few minutes he glances at you with that same careful expression, constantly checking whether you're comfortable.

"are you cold?" he asks after noticing you rubbing your hands together once. before you can answer, he's already taking off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

"martin," you sigh quietly, and he blinks at you.

"yeah?" he asks innocently, genuinely unaware he's making this harder for you.

when dessert arrives, he slides the prettier slice toward you automatically. "have the strawberry one. you looked at it longer."

you stare at the plate for a moment before finally laughing under your breath. "you notice everything."

he takes a sip from his drink. "only the things that matter to me."

that makes your chest ache badly enough that you almost lose your nerve again. you watch him wipe a bit of cream off the corner of your mouth with a napkin without teasing you even once about it.

"sorry," he says softly afterward, like he's done something embarrassing instead of something unbearably sweet. your heart has been saying yes for weeks already. you just need your mouth to catch up.

"hey," you call quietly once the plates have been cleared away.

he turns toward you immediately with that same open expression he always has whenever you speak, patient and attentive all at once. "hm? you're scaring me a little. what's with the staring?" he admits with a small laugh.

you look down at your hands before speaking. "if you ask me again," you say slowly, "i think i'll say yes this time."

he simply stares at you for a second, almost blank, the words refusing to settle properly in his head. "wait," he breathes. "deada— seriously?"

you nod once and martin immediately sits up straighter beside you.

"you mean— like officially?" he asks, pointing between the two of you in disbelief.

"okay, you're kind of ruining the moment."

"no, wait, sorry," he rushes out, suddenly smiling so hard he has to cover part of his face with one hand. "i just thought maybe you still needed time." his voice softens near the end of the sentence. "i was willing to wait longer."

you feel something twist painfully sweet in your chest hearing that. "i know."

martin looks at you carefully before hesitantly reaching for your hand on top of the table, giving you room to pull away. when you intertwine your fingers with his first, his entire expression changes.

he stares at your joined hands for three whole seconds then abruptly stands up.

you blink at him in confusion while he points at you with wide eyes. "wait here," he says urgently before speed walking away toward the other side of the restaurant.

"martin?" you call out, completely lost.

he ignores you, crouches beside a nearby wall, pumps both fists silently in the air, then aggressively whispers, yes! let's go! to absolutely nobody. one waiter watches the entire thing happen while carrying drinks.

he fixes his expression before calmly walking back to the table like nothing happened. he sits down, clears his throat once, then reaches for your hand again with forced composure.

"sorry about that," he says smoothly. "i just needed a private moment."

you stare at him in disbelief before laughing so hard your stomach hurts.

martin immediately breaks character and starts laughing too, burying his face into your shoulder while muttering, "i thought i was being subtle."

you're still laughing when he suddenly goes very quiet beside you. at first you think he's embarrassed from getting caught doing whatever that victory celebration near the wall was supposed to be.

"you're actually insane," you tell him through another laugh while slowly turning toward him. martin immediately straightens up the second your eyes land on him, pressing his lips together so hard it almost looks painful. "are you . . . crying?"

"no!" he answers instantly in a voice so obviously choked that it makes the situation worse.

you lean closer, trying to look at his face properly while he actively avoids eye contact with you for the first time all night.

"i'm not crying, i swear," he insists, blinking rapidly. "my eyes are just—" his voice cracks horribly halfway through the sentence.

you stare at him for one long second before bursting into laughter again. "you actually are crying."

"i'm trying not to!" he whisper-yells, grabbing a napkin and wiping under his eyes quickly before anyone else can notice, except the waiter from earlier definitely notices because he slows down while walking past your table.

martin sees him looking and immediately drops his head into his hands. "this is awful," he groans. "i look like i just got proposed to."

"you kind of did," you point out.

that only makes him laugh harder, which unfortunately makes the tears worse too. "stop making me laugh," he says between sniffles. "you don't understand, i've been emotionally preparing for rejection this entire month."

he takes a shaky breath and looks at you again with watery eyes. "do you know how many speeches i rehearsed in case you said no?"

"you rehearsed rejection speeches? you practiced?"

"three," he admits. "one mature version, one respectful version, and one where i mysteriously disappear and join the mountains."

he watches you laugh with the softest expression imaginable, eyes still red while he smiles helplessly at you. "see? this is exactly why i like you so much."

"you're not flirting your way out of this one."

"i'm just really happy," he says defensively while dabbing at his eyes again. "leave me alone. i'm delicate right now."