the busiest dog

When you step onto the ice, you think it might really be over.

It’s Nationals, which means that this is your last chance to make it. To prove, to everyone in the figure skating community, that you still have what it takes.

The pressure is on, especially since your childhood friend, Sunghoon, is dubbed the favorite within the men's program. You surpassed all expectations and are coming off an incredibly strong short program, which makes you the last one to leave it all on the ice.

You cross one skate over the other, gliding toward center ice. You lift your arms as you hear your name announced over the speakers. Through your nerves, like you’ve done a hundred times before, you flash a bright smile at the crowd. The only face you somehow manage to catch is Sunghoon’s that’s nearly pressed up against the glass. The rest are a blur, but it gives you some comfort to know there’s at least one person still rooting for you out there.

The first half of your program is hands down your favorite, as it features enough technical difficulty while allowing you to lean into your artistry. You hit your jump combinations flawlessly and execute the elements just the way you want. For the first time in years, your competitive spirit is confident. Unhindered.

Your fire carries you through the first half, until you feel a familiar fatigue pulling at your right hip.

Leading up to this season, almost all skating forums, live commentators, and journalists always positioned your narrative over one central detail: the fact that this is your first season back on the ice after an almost career-ending hip tear.

That was enough reason for you to skip over articles and most social media commentary—reliving your surgery, post-op, and shaky comeback through the eyes of other spectators was too much. You remembered the heartache and depression that manifested when you were injured as an Olympic hopeful, and you’d be damned if you let skeptics drag you back into that mindset. You deserve to be here. You are here to prove that you deserve to move forward.

You grit your teeth, fighting through your spins and pushing into each jump. It’s working until you realize what’s next.

An element highly contested by yourself and your coach was your last jump combination: the double axel, double toe, single loop jump wedged into the second half of your program for maximum point potential. It’s something you’d struggled to execute in the past, but it was a stretch for your recovering body post-injury.

Your coach is probably off to the side praying that you opt for an easier version of this combination, but you decide to press on.

Watch me, you think as you take off. Your entire face scrunches with the effort, but it pays off. You hit the double axel, and the adrenaline rush carries your momentum to hit the double toe as well. As you’re continuing into the last jump, your hip muscles pinch in sharp pain. You flinch, and the falter causes you to underrotate the last jump completely and land on two feet. At this point, it’s a miracle that you don’t fully eat shit in the process.

The crowd gasps. You recover your bearings just enough to finish out the program with somewhat convincing artistry. Your hip burns at the scar site, the muscle underneath fatigued and tender. When the crowd applauds, you skate off to the kiss and cry, trying to keep a smile steady as you hug your coach.

“At least you left it all out there,” he says. That’s his way of saying Not perfect, but it might do.

You force a neutral expression on your face as the camera focuses on your reaction. It’ll be close, especially since a good amount of the women had skated clean. To podium, you need a score close to your season’s best, so the question is obvious: did your mistake ruin your chances?

You fidget with the pink bunny plush from your childhood in your usual kiss and cry tradition. The audience pauses in anticipation, and you feel like you’re going to vomit. Then, you hear your total score.

You’ve done it by two measly points. By the skin of your teeth, you’re making it to the podium. You cry in front of the cameras, too shocked to hold in the sobs heaving from your chest.

❅˚

In your daze and general shock at medaling, you’re hyped up into attending an afterparty before you even know it. It’s hosted by the main sponsor of today’s competition, and you typically never like to go to things like this. Of all people, it’s Sunghoon who ultimately convinces you to go.

“We should celebrate both of our comebacks,” he says with a smile. “Plus, only other skaters will be there.”

It’s enough to get you out the door in the black dress you’d managed to pack in your carry on just in case.

You’re regretting it an hour in as Sunghoon’s pulled into conversation after conversation. He’s always had the larger network between the two of you, which leaves you sipping your drink in the corner as you avoid dragging down his conversations.

You’re feeling buzzed when you feel a tap on your shoulder and hear a familiar voice speak your name.

Your jaw drops to the floor. “Jaemin?”

For the first time in a year, Na Jaemin stands in front of you. He wears a suit that’s a little too formal for this event, but it somehow makes him even more handsome than you remember.

“It’s me,” he laughs.

“I thought this was for skaters only.”

“Ouch,” he pretends to be hurt. “Are you saying I’m not a skater?”

You roll your eyes. “A skater that actually competed today, Jaemin.”

“I know some people. Come on,” he grins. “Are you really that unhappy to see me?”

Along with Sunghoon, you’d grown up attending the same rink as Jaemin. Your trio had been three peas in a pod throughout skating school; you’d even trained as an ice dance pair together for a year until Jaemin and his family decided to specialize him into speed skating. From then on, to your dismay, interactions with him had been few and far in between with your conflicting schedules. The distance only grew as you moved from juniors to then seniors in your respective disciplines.

If Sunghoon was like your brother, Jaemin was the schoolyard crush that never quite faded away. Sure, you’d dated some guys here and there over the years, but any whispers of Jaemin dating sent you scrolling on Instagram in full investigation mode. Considering that he was considered an athlete-turned-influencer with his own fan base, you saw these rumors often.

Even so, you try to play it cool by taking a long sip of your drink. “Of course I’m glad to see you, but when was the last time you even laced up your skates?”

“Ah,” Jaemin shoots you a bright smile, although you can see the nerves peek through his facade as he hesitates. “Well…last week?”

“Last week?” You raise an eyebrow. “As in…you’re thinking about coming back?”

“It’s a work in progress,” he says with a wink.

“Hmm.” Your heart beats wildly in your chest.

He seizes your sarcasm to change the subject. “You look like you’re fully back out there, though.”

“Something like that.”

“Well, you podiumed, which is more than something.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “you looked really good out there.”

The knowledge of Jaemin watching your near-disastrous free skate sends hot embarrassment crawling up your neck.

“My lead from the short program saved my ass. It would’ve looked better if this,” you point to your bad hip, “would behave the way I want it to.”

He frowns. “It’s not fully recovered?”

“It is, but it’s not. Since I spent so much time off, the muscles on my right are weaker than my left, which sucks since my right is my landing leg.” You force a smile. “The road to full-strength recovery is long.”

“As always, you need to be nicer to yourself,” he sighs. “At least you kept Mr. Hops to comfort you in the kiss and cry.”

Your face burns even hotter. “I didn’t think you would remember him.”

Mr. Hops had been Jaemin’s gift to you for your tenth birthday. You’d taken the pink plushie for your first serious competition as a junior, and you’d continued taking him well into adulthood as a good luck charm. Your hip tear had occurred during a competition where you’d left Mr. Hops sitting in your hotel room, which, in your eyes, verified your long-standing superstition.

“Of course I remember,” he smiles wide. “I’m just glad you’ve gotten a bunch of mileage out of him.”

If the earth could open under your feet and swallow you whole, now would be the time. Not only does your childhood crush remember your pink bunny’s name, but he also knows that you’ve been hauling it around everywhere for at least the past decade.

“Well,” you clear your throat. “I think Mr. Hops and his well-traveled wisdom at least reduces the odds of me having a full mental breakdown.”

“You really didn’t need to worry about anything,” he insists. “Out of everyone, I think you were the most bea–”

“Jaemin!” Sunghoon calls. His face is flushed and his breath carries the trace smell of alcohol. “Guys! Everyone wants to drink!!”

You look at Jaemin wildly for help, but he shrugs in a way that conveys what am I supposed to do about it?

You’re pulled into the main group of fellow skaters that are much too drunk; one look at the three of you together has them hollering and forcing drinks into your hands in the name of reunion. You’re not used to partying, and you’re sure as hell not used to being the center of attention among your peers. Even during your prime, you’d preferred to hang around only a couple close friends after any competition.

The spotlight puts you in a vulnerable position to accept any and all drinks. You stay much later than expected, even when Jaemin offers to help you make a quick exit. You’re the most drunk you’ve ever been, both on the physical drinks as well as the atmosphere. Once you're dancing on a table with someone who you think is Cha Jun-hwan, the night is long gone.

The next morning you wake up to banging on the door of your hotel room. Running to the entrance, you peek through the peephole first, which reveals the livid face of your PR manager, Mei.

“God!” Thunk. “Wake up, already!” Thunk thunk.

Mei isn’t the most level headed person, but, even for her, it’s way too early to be this aggressive. Whatever it is, it’s serious.

You take a deep breath, trying to will away the hangover pounding in your head as you swing the door open. “Hey, Mei–”

“Don’t hey me.” She growls. Mei stalks around your room, sticking her head into your bathroom and closet. She only hesitates when peeking around the corner toward your bed then exhales in relief.

“What on earth is going on?” You ask in bewilderment, and your gut twists. The first thing that crosses your mind is that there must be some sort of serious scandal—a failed test for a controlled substance, maybe. You don't know what else would warrant this level of panic.

“Did you have anyone over last night?”

The question catches you so off guard that you nearly trip over your own feet as you follow her erratic path around your room. “What? No!”

Mei searches behind the curtains and even bends down to look under your bed. “Just reminding you that, as your PR manager, it’s to both of our advantages if you’re forthright about any indiscretions…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” You shriek. You didn’t need to hear this from someone who’s known you since your teen years.

Finally registering your genuine confusion, she squints at you. “...I thought you were ignoring me, but have you really not checked your phone at all today?”

Numbness cascades down your nerves. Your phone currently sits charging on your nightstand. “No?”

Your manager shakes her head and fishes out her laptop from her bag, placing it on the hotel dining table. The display immediately brightens into a gossip article published an hour ago.

ICE ROYALTY TO PARTY ANIMALS: A WILD NIGHT FOR THE NATION’S SWEETHEARTS

Your heart sinks low into your chest as you scroll through the contents of the article. It’s you, alright, down to last night’s little black dress while arm-in-arm with both Sunghoon and Jaemin. It’s you, leaving the car disheveled and dangerously close to a wardrobe malfunction. It’s unfortunately you, previous child prodigy, downing shots and dancing on the front page of one of the most popular gossip sites.

Shit, you think. Sunghoon must be freaking out. Jaemin, too.

While both men had gathered the nickname of Ice Prince, it was for entirely different reasons. Sunghoon carried the name for his public aloofness, while Jaemin's persona fulfilled the image of charismatic royalty.

While you’d long accepted the unfair scrutiny of being labeled a “controversial” female athlete, both Sunghoon and Jaemin ruled their private lives with an iron fist. Every post and press release was curated and picked through in order to protect their squeaky clean Ice Prince images–especially with the rising cult following of girls.

And you had messed it all up in one night.

“Was it worth it?” Mei snaps. “Did you have fun? Because it sure looks like it.”

Opening the full slideshow, almost every attendee from last night has been captured. However, the most prominent features are still yourself, Jaemin, and Sunghoon.

Wordlessly, Mei pulls up multiple social media sites, where all commentary centers on the three of you. Most old skating fans remember your friendship as a trio, but many new ones—particularly Jaemin’s new legion of followers—fixate on your presence.

did he fly out just to see her? they’re so together y’all

that picture of her on both of their arms makes me sick THAT SHOULD BE ME

embarrassing that her boyfriend had to witness such a mid program, she should retire already

You nudge the laptop so that you can no longer read the words on the screen. “I was not aware of this.”

“I see.” Mei thinks before gathering all of her things back into her bag. “Take some time to process this. Don’t make any statements to anyone yet. If you’re smart, you’ll turn off your social media notifications. We’ll talk.”

“Okay.” You’ve learned not to question her. She’s gotten you out of enough sticky situations. “I’m sorry, Mei.”

“This is just the beginning, kid,” Mei shoots you a pitying smile as she lets herself out. “Just get yourself ready for the storm that’s coming.”

❅˚

Mei gives you two days.

When she requests your presence at her office, you don’t protest. You get there ten minutes ahead of time and wait politely.

“I’m not going to yell at you,” she sighs when she sees your too-straight posture.

“Wouldn’t be unwarranted,” you mutter. “I shouldn’t have gotten swept up in the atmosphere.”

“As your manager, I agree.” Mei shoots you a look. “As someone who’s always telling you to enjoy your life—I’m glad you finally stopped punishing yourself.”

You tug with your sleeve without commenting.

Mei continues. “Obviously, you already posted the official statement that we sent over yesterday. Nothing else public on social media, aside from the official pictures we got from Nationals. After that—no posting for a while.”

You nod. It’s fair enough. You’d already gotten too many unsolicited comments from strangers. Notifications were decidedly turned off, and only the bravest of souls could field your direct messages.

“There’s been something else I’ve considered for this season,” Mei hesitates. “If you’re open to it.”

Alarm bells go off in your head. “Interviews? Variety content?”

“The ice show,” Mei says.

“Classics on Ice?” You frown. “Sunghoon and I were already planning on skating.”

“You’ll skate there, sure,” Mei says, “but now it’s more.”

“More as in…promotions? Volunteering?”

Your manager shakes her head. “Yes, benefit shows usually yield good coverage. It’s also an opportunity to showcase your relationships within the skating community. During and leading up to the event. Public perception and opinions are unavoidable, but I think if you’re seen out and about being friendly with respected athletes…”

You cringe at the implication: you are simply an athlete—not a respected one. “That’s a fine idea and all, but wouldn’t that harm those athletes? I’m friends with a lot of skaters, but those friendships are away from the cameras. Except Sunghoon.”

“Right. It would be out of the blue to suddenly hang out with skaters you’ve been training and competing against for years, especially with no public history.” She leans forward. “But if there was suddenly an old friend re-entering the community—maybe that would be believable?”

Your blood chills. You recall what Jaemin told you: it’s a work in progress.

“Jaemin?” You fight to push the words out. “Jaemin’s actually returning to skating?”

Mei nods. Her shoulders relax, perhaps relieved that she didn’t have to directly break the news. “His team is making the announcement at the end of the week.”

You’re happy for him—really, you are—but disappointment tugs at your gut. Why hadn’t he told you when you asked?

“So you want me to skate in this ice show and prove that I have at least two friends. Got it. I can do that.”

Mei’s expression twists. “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“With Jaemin coming back into the skating world, and the rumors already circulating between the two of you…” Mei bites her lip. “His management reached out to discuss, and we came to the conclusion that showcasing a…closer relationship would likely be beneficial for both parties.”

It’s her pleading expression to not freak out that makes the last puzzle piece fall into place. “A PR romance? With Jaemin? How on earth would that benefit either of us? He’ll get angry fans, and I’ll get the angry fans’ death threats!”

“You don’t need to be over the top with it,” Mei’s waving both hands, which could be her attempt to calm you down or to enact a physical barrier from you. Maybe both. “Nothing crazy or formal—people already think you're dating! Just lean into the rumors. Hang out with or without Sunghoon. Jaemin is popular, but it’s common knowledge that you all were rink rats together. You’ll get some fan hate, but we see people overall getting really into it.”

You’re speechless. You run through the impending possibilities in your mind. Jaemin, back in your hometown. Seeing him in passing. Existing in the same sphere for the first time in years.

“I still don’t understand how that would benefit him,” you say.

Mei hums. “His team can explain it more.”

“His team?” Your stomach drops. “They’re coming here? Today?”

“Oh, no,” Mei says. “We’re grabbing lunch with them.”

–

Mei whisks you away in her car. You barely process that you're heading somewhere at all. When the car pulls up in front of the nicest restaurant in the city, you think, briefly, that you must be hallucinating this entire ordeal.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she scoffs as you stumble out of the passenger’s side.

You follow her lead, baffled at the long roman-style columns at the entrance and dim, ambient lighting. Inside, you can’t even tell that it’s daytime, let alone high noon.

You’ve walked through the interior for minutes before you make a sudden left turn into a more private section of the restaurant. There, at a table around the corner, sits Jaemin with his manager.

His manager rises to shake both your and Mei’s hands. “Jeff.”

“Nice to meet you,” you manage to say, although your throat scratches like sandpaper while speaking.

When Jaemin stands up to face you, your brain glitches on the protocol. Is it proper to shake hands with a childhood best friend, especially when you’re both portrayed on the front cover of tabloids together? When you just saw him a few nights ago, and he only hinted at a comeback? When his team is proposing a PR arrangement? Is a hug too casual for this heavy atmosphere?

“Hi.” You shoot him a pained smile and sit down to avoid confronting the issue entirely. Confusion flickers across his face, but he lowers back down into his seat.

Jeff immediately transitions into business. “Thank you for meeting us today. I hope Mei was able to explain our current situation, especially since the headlines have complicated things.”

Mei nods. “She’s aware. Obviously, we’ll have to be very intentional moving forward.”

Your gaze bounces between the two as they discuss details such as social media use and public outings. You try to catch Jaemin’s eye, but he pokes around at an appetizer on his plate.

You try to listen to their brainstorming of strategies, but you can only take so much before your curiosity gets the best of you. You blurt out to Jaemin directly. “What do you get out of this deal?”

Jaemin’s eyes widen, but he still jumps to speak, as if he’s been waiting for your permission to talk. “Well, I—”

“Jaemin wants to re-enter the skating world,” Jeff interjects. “This…relationship could renew interest in his previous success, since you’re very deeply linked with that time period.”

You frown, but you’re starting to get the picture. You’re sure that this morning’s article alone has most likely sent fans hunting for old skating footage. There’s even some old trio pictures still visible on both your and Sunghoon’s Instagram profiles.

You’ve also seen enough fragments of Jaemin’s fanbase online to know that a public girlfriend would likely alienate the most unhealthily attached fans.

Maybe that’s what someone like him needed to be taken seriously in the athletic world again, just like how you wish people would speak about your current skating and instead of the old.

“Anything else I should know? Any stipulations before I offer myself up as bait for one of the most viral athletes known for having crazy fans?”

Jaemin’s gaze shoots up at you in the corner of your eye. You ignore it as you glare down Mei and Jeff.

“There’s one thing our team is thinking of,” Jeff starts. He side eyes you as if you’re a wild animal ready to pounce. “The charity ice show you’re skating in.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, they’re having a speed skating demo?”

Your sarcasm falls on deaf ears; if he picks up on it, Jeff doesn’t even flinch. “We’ve been told that both you and Jaemin trained together in ice dance before settling in your respective sports.”

Your jaw tightens. “No. I’m not committing to an ice dance routine. It’s way too late to be practicing for that.”

Mei says nothing, but she nods her head.

“As you wish.” Jeff seems unfazed. “We’ll find something else for Jaemin. If you change your mind, please let us know.”

“I won’t. I mean, I don’t foresee that changing, but we’ll let you know,” you hastily add after sensing Mei’s disapproval. “Thank you.”

Mei and Jeff dominate the discussion throughout lunch, and they’re still chatting as you all rise to leave your table. You find yourself in stride with Jaemin, who seems to be looking everywhere but you.

“So. You're moving back,” you say.

He turns towards you, surprised. “I am. I’m moving out of my old place next Monday.”

“So it was a work in progress, after all.” You try to keep your tone light, but it doesn’t prevent the sour edge in your voice from seeping through.

His expression twists with guilt. “I was going to tell you, but then things started moving too fast. I lost the opportunity. This relationship—PR situation—was not my idea.”

You don’t respond. Your ego stings; you’d asked him so many questions out of a genuine interest to catch up, and the whole while he'd held you at arm's length. Your teams concocted this plan, rather than talk it through first with you as a friend.

Jaemin searches your face. “What do you think of all of this?”

You think that you want to delete Instagram altogether, retire from skating, and tell everyone to stuff their clout-chasing proposals up their—

Really, you should calm down. You have to admit that you could benefit from this arrangement. Sure, there would be hate and an uptick in public interest in your private life, but Mei is right. After these headlines, you’re bound to receive more criticism anyway—maybe returning the focus to your oldest friends would remind the world of your younger self. Before all of the hardship. Nostalgia as a vehicle of empathy.

As for Jaemin, you’re not sure what to make of his sudden re-appearance in your life. Any giddiness is now tempered by the jaded realism of your position. Maybe knowing his true intentions is better for your working relationship, since, moving forward, you should be treating this as a professional arrangement.

“Let’s do it,” your laugh sounds harsh and flat. “What more do I have to lose, right?”

❅˚

Upon returning home, you’re allowed one day of sweet radio silence from any obligations. You mute almost all notifications and lose yourself in your favorite shows.

Then, Jaemin’s announcement drops, and all hell breaks loose.

The overall response shows widespread support for Jaemin’s return to speed skating. The speculation of his move, however, has everyone up in a flurry trying to figure out why. Technically, his city’s rink is superior in all of their facilities and amenities. His coach was based mainly in your rink, but he was so close to retirement and was open about only coaching Jaemin.

You’re not sure why he’s chosen to return here, either. From what you know, a large portion of speed skating training isn’t always in the rink, anyway.

Everyone online, however, is staunchly convinced that you must be the reason. You scroll past everything from pregnancy rumors to social media accounts posting threads surrounding the early “evidence” to prove the existence of this secret relationship. As far as your social media feed is concerned, you're practically married.

Half of it seems to be in good fun—a lot of supportive fans make jokes about finally glimpsing into Jaemin’s notoriously private life. The other half of it is not so fun, manifesting in hate comments and threatening direct messages that trigger you to crack down on your account privacy.

Hey, Jaemin texts you after you temporarily set your Instagram to private. You okay?

You don’t respond. Something stubborn and petty wants to double down . So what if you got photographed drinking with friends? Was society really so fucked up that you had to put in work to protect your peace while both of the ice princes got off scot-free?

When you pull your car into the rink parking lot to a couple of flashing cameras, you know that the answer is undoubtedly yes. You’d hoped for a serene first practice back, but you anticipate Jaemin’s presence before you even open the door.

In fact, he’s literally on the other side, sitting at one of the benches between the back entrance and the ice.

Jaemin stands when he sees you. “Hey, good morning—”

You cut to the chase. “What do you want, Jaem?”

“I just thought I’d say hi before your practice,” he says. He seems encouraged by your use of his old nickname; you make a mental note to avoid using it again.

“You got up at the ass crack of dawn to send me off to practice?”

“Uh—no?” Jaemin points over his shoulder. “I’m doing some strength training first in the gym, then I’ll take over the ice for some light stuff after you.”

“Alright then,” you say. You step past him and continue on. “See you.”

“Will I?”

You turn around. “Will you what?”

“Will I see you soon?” Jaemin studies you. “You’re not answering my texts.”

“There’s nothing in our contractthat requires me to text you back,” you point out. You’re all too familiar with the terms and conditions, as you reviewed and signed the paperwork in the days prior. “I can talk to Mei to put a staged outing on the calendar.”

“No.” He exhales and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to say that we should actually do something together. No calendars, no managers. Definitely no cameras.”

You frown. “Why would we do that?”

“Because we’re friends?” There’s a slight gravel to Jaemin's voice. He’s losing his patience with you, and you’re relishing in it.

“We were friends,” you say. Your grip on your duffel bag tightens. “I thought we were still friends up until Nationals. Before you wanted to use our friendship for notoriety.”

“We can still be friends through this,” he says. “It’s not one or the other. And I told you, this wasn’t my idea.”

You sigh. If he’s going to be so persistent about this, you might as well be direct. “Let me be clear. I hate this arrangement. I’m only doing it because Mei thinks it’s a good idea, I trust her, and for once I’d love for people to stop betting against my skating. That’s it. I’m not doing this because we’re friends. That was pretty much ruined once the paperwork was signed.”

Jaemin opens his mouth to argue, but he’s cut off by a voice from the other side of the rink.

“Hey!” Your coach shouts. “That’s a whole lot of talking and not a lot of warming up.”

You give Jaemin your fakest smile. “You heard the man. Have a good work out, Jaemin.”

You put your all into practice to clear your mind. It’s hard, but the determination to stand on your words keeps your focus razor sharp.

When you’re wiping your blades down and stowing away your things, you think that’s the end of it. Then, you hear the sound of the doors to the ice shutting. You straighten your back and peek through the glass.

Jaemin’s already set up a series of small cones that you assume must be to simulate the short track path. He skates around in long, fluid circles.

Your throat catches. He’s always been so beautiful on the ice. Sure, speed and power were par for the course with speed skating, but his edge control and maneuvers are so finely tuned that you're impressed. Even after all these years, Jaemin still looks like a top athlete.

Jaemin’s skates scrape across the ice as he stops. As if he has a sixth sense for your presence, he turns his gaze towards you. He nods, then, after a moment, raises his hand in a wave.

You turn away and stuff your last remaining item into your duffel. You don’t look back as you leave.

Over the next few weeks, your encounters with Jaemin go more or less the same. He waits to greet you in the morning, and you shut him down every time. You’re not sure what he aims to achieve by waiting it out— you’ve made yourself quite clear—but nevertheless he seems to show up day after day, morning after morning.

Until one day, he doesn’t. When you march through the rink one morning, you’re not met with Jaemin but by an old man that you haven’t seen in a very long time.

You start and nearly drop your bag. “Coach Brown?”

Coach Brown’s smile lines spread over his entire face. While he’s gotten older, you haven’t forgotten the kindness that your childhood coach exudes. “I had to come by now that the three musketeers are back under this roof.”

You laugh, but it’s held taut by guilt. “It’s definitely an unexpected development.”

The old man’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Although the three of you are in a bit of a rut, aren’t you?”

Your palms sweat. “You saw Jaemin this morning?”

“Just ten minutes ago,” Coach Brown shrugs. Then, his expression darkens. “You know, the worst thing you could do is turn your back on your past.”

You blink. “Sorry? What did Jaemin—”

“Sunghoon,” he waves you off before continuing. “It’s been explained to me that you are…less than enthused about the situation, but you still should treat your peers with respect. Carving out a path for yourself doesn’t mean you need to block out the others.”

“Coach—” You can’t even fully process his sentence before he cuts you off again.

“You’ve always had the worst temper of the three,” Coach Brown wags his finger in your face. “Calm yourself down and face it like an adult.”

As fast as he came around, he marches away and disappears through the doors leading up to management’s office.

You stare after him long after the doors close, dazed. You feel twelve-years-old again, getting nagged at to be nice to the boys.

After your training ends a bit early, you happen to catch Jaemin as he puts on his skates. “Morning,” you say.

Jaemin’s head whips up so fast that he swings too far back and bumps his head against the back of the boards. “Oh shit—hey?”

“I saw Coach Brown this morning,” you say.

He brightens. “Me too. I hope I’m half as active as him when I’m that age.”

You don’t respond, instead searching his features and body language for any dishonesty. It’s a stare-off—you, chewing on your lip and Jaemin, confused and massaging the back of his head.

That’s it, you admit to yourself. He didn’t tell Coach Brown anything.

And admittedly—both from the open hope in Jaemin’s expression and your shame from being nagged at—perhaps the old man was right about some things, after all.

“Would you be free to grab lunch tomorrow?” You ask before you change your mind. “There’s a new ramen place that opened up last weekend—”

“Yes!” He answers before you’ve fully finished your sentence. “I know which one you’re talking about. I can pick you up?”

“Oh—uh—that’s okay, I think.”

Jaemin shakes his head. “You’re on the way, let me do it.”

Your jaw tightens, but you swallow your pride. “Sure. Noon?”

He nods without saying anything. The two of you stare at each other.

“Well,” you break the awkward silence first. “Have a good practice.”

“You too.” Jaemin cringes. “I mean, shit, have a good day. See you tomorrow.”

At that, you turn away.

Take that, Coach Brown, you think. Look whose temper is adequately controlled.

❅˚

Twenty minutes before noon, you nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock at the door.

You rake over your appearance in the mirror and make desperate last-minute touch-ups. Sure, it's just lunch, but you were never sure when a rogue camera might snap pictures of you in public. The paparazzi had ceased showing up outside of the rink after the first two days, but the initial onslaught had left you paranoid of any flash or loud chatter.

“You’re early,” you say as you open the door, a little breathless.

Sunghoon blinks back at you. “I am?”

It’s your turn to stare. “Sunghoon. Why are you here?”

Regardless of your confusion, you step aside to let him in. As always, Sunghoon makes himself comfortable on your living room couch. “I was bored. Wanna get lunch?”

“About that.” You cross your arms. “Jaemin is picking me up in fifteen minutes.”

Sunghoon’s eyebrows raise. “You finally decided to stop hating him?”

“I don’t hate him—” you fume. “I still disagree with how he went about things, but I might have just gotten a little too mad.”

Your friend snorts and mumbles something under his breath.

“What?” You punch his arm.

“Ow!” Sunghoon swats away your swings. “I said big surprise—clearly you’re the most hotheaded one out of all of us.

“Brown said the same thing,” you mutter.

Sunghoon pauses. “Isn’t it a little crazy that people are just letting him go right back to work? Right after his surgery, too.”

You shrug. “He seemed healthy enough to lecture me about Jaemin. He said I had the worst temper out of us three.”

He smirks. “Wow. The old man needed to get involved to get your head out of your ass.”

“And who tipped him off in the first place?”

“And who with the worst temper gave me this red mark on my arm just now?”

Touche. “Anyways,” you change the subject. “Wanna go with us?”

“Um,” Sunghoon grimaces. “Not if it’s going to be awkward.”

“It won’t be,” you insist. You shoot out a quick text to Jaemin: Sunghoon randomly showed up at my place. Mind if he comes?

Within thirty seconds, your phone vibrates again. Of course. The more the merrier, it says.

“See,” you hand your phone to him. “Jaemin doesn’t care.”

“He’s not in the position to object,” Sunghoon laughs. “From that wall of text? This is clearly the first time you’ve texted him in weeks. He’s probably just saying yes so that you don’t change your mind and run away.”

You roll your eyes. “So you’re not coming?”

“I didn’t say that,” Sunghoon says. "I'm hungry."

You would’ve been more nervous about merging the group if you’d known about Sunghoon’s intrusion beforehand, but it works out well for the car ride over. Jaemin and Sunghoon seem to pick up right where they put their friendship down.

Their conversation goes from topic to topic, but your mind is reeling. It’s too easy, riding as a passenger in Jaemin’s old car, to feel like you’re a teenager again.

The new ramen place is tucked away in a plaza constructed in the last two years. It’s still finding its niche—the only other businesses in the center are a pharmacy and a dollar store—and the ramen place is the most exciting thing to have happened to it.

“Oof,” Sunghoon says as you approach the shop. From the outside, you can see that there’s only a handful of people inside. “Is that too awkward?”

Jaemin steps forward. “It’s not empty.” He swings the door open before any of you can think about it further.

Jaemin and Sunghoon are full steam ahead with their conversations. You’re jealous, in a way. Both of them have so much natural charisma that it overflows into all their interactions. On the other hand, you feel like you always have to work for it.

You all end up ordering different things from the menu. You’re halfway through observing the interior decor when you realize the rest of the table has gone silent.

“So…” Jaemin says. He leans his head into his hand. “How’s it been?”

“How’s it been?” You repeat.

“Since Nationals,” Jaemin clarifies.

Sunghoon stiffens in the corner of your vision. You try to level your facial expression.

“I mean,” you can’t help the wry smile rising to your face. “I deleted social media from my phone. Mei’s posting for me so I don’t have to see the hate. I’m avoiding the news outlets for the same exact reason."

Jaemin swallows. “Right.”

“What about you?” It’s as much as a way to change the topic as it is genuine curiosity. “How are your fans taking the return announcement?”

“Mostly well,” he admits. “Older fans are excited. Younger fans are confused but trying to be supportive, which I appreciate.”

The elephant in the room goes unaddressed. You saw the comments before officially deciding to hand the reins over to Mei. You know for a fact that there were rumors on top of rumors swirling around your connection to both Jaemin and Sunghoon.

“I delete all of the hate comments,” Sunghoon says as if reading your mind. “Just for my own peace of mind, really. I can’t stand seeing that shit on my page.”

“You should try filtering words,” Jaemin suggests. “That’s helped diffuse some of it for me.”

You frown. While you can tell that both have good intentions, it doesn’t make you feel any better. In fact, it’s worse—you feel like a taboo to hide from the world, despite your status as a well-known figure in the skating world.

“You don’t have to delete or filter anything.” You feel a deep sense of resoluteness. “Let them talk.”

The guys exchange glances. “Sure, people will talk,” Jaemin says. “Doesn’t mean you need to entertain seeing it.”

You shrug, looking between the two as your bowls of ramen are placed in the table space in front of you. “Filtering out words won’t stop them. We’ll just give them something to talk about before they move on.”

Jaemin’s smile curls. A hint of his teeth pokes through. “What do you suggest we do to make them talk?”

You think for a moment before holding your phone in the air with a shake of your hand. “Pose for me?”

❅˚

After that first lunch, talking to Jaemin gets easier. You chat briefly whenever you run into each other at the rink, and sometimes you grab a post-practice coffee if your schedules line up. You don’t text, but Jaemin sends a few skating memes after you log back into Instagram—a cautious way to test the water.

“What’s your goal with coming back?” You ask during one brunch after training.

Jaemin’s eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t lose his easy smile. “My goal?”

“I mean—” you scramble to find the right words. Hell, you should think before speaking sometimes. “Why decide to come back now? You have so many opportunities outside of skating.”

Skaters who would kill for his following. Not many people would intentionally halt their own momentum, let alone actively endanger it with a fake relationship.

Jaemin leans back in his chair. “Why did you come back? After your injury?”

“Rude. I asked first.” Regardless, you think out loud. “No one’s actually asked me why. Everyone just assumed that I would try to come back after I was ready.”

“Would you have, even if they hadn’t assumed?” He asks.

“Yes,” you say without hesitating.

“Why?”

“It’s not what people would expect from me,” you start. “I knew it was going to be a long road to any sort of podium, and I didn’t even expect to get there at all. I came back…to see if I could, I guess. Skating has just been such a big part of my life; I wasn't ready to give it up.”

Jaemin’s smile brightens. “That’s my answer too.”

“Uh…” You bite your lip. “It’s not that I don’t admire you for coming back, but you weren’t injured. You left first.”

“I did.” Jaemin thinks for a moment. “When I quit, I genuinely thought that skating had nothing more to offer me. But the more time passed, the more I realized that something was missing.”

This is the most you’ve ever heard him talk about his choice to leave. He had never spoken about it outside of the initial press statement, and he’d all but disappeared from the community after. “What made you realize something was missing?”

“Ah, you know.” Jaemin scratches the back of his head. “Just intuition.”

You stare at him. “You came back after years based on some magical intuition? Right out of thin air?”

His cheeks turn pink. “What’s wrong with trusting your intuition?”

“Just seems too good to be true, I guess.” You take a long sip of your drink. “Ignore me. I’m a pessimist nowadays.”

Silence. Then, Jaemin speaks up again. “If you have to know, I saw some old footage. I got the urge to get on the ice, so I did. Casually skating didn’t feel like it was enough. I felt the pull to do everything—compete the right way, by coming home and reconnecting with everyone.”

It’s like his dark eyes are looking through you and your thoughts.

You think back to the months following your injury. In the darkest moments when you considered giving up skating for good, it always led to reminiscing via old videos. Everything from old competition footage to videos of you messing around with the other kids—sometimes it was your last anchor to hope. More than the nostalgia interwoven in the past, you craved to perform again.

“I know exactly what you mean,” you smile, then hesitate. “I’m glad you’re back.”

The seriousness melts away. He wiggles his eyebrows. “Mean it?”

You snort. “Forget it.”

“Too late,” Jaemin points to his temples. “It’s already saved here. No camera needed.”

❅˚

You push on your bike, fighting for your life to pedal to the music while trying to follow the spin instructor’s directions. Beads of sweat roll down your skin, and your throat feels dry.

You sneak a glance at Jaemin. The bastard looks like he’s barely breaking a sweat. In fact, if it he wasn't right next to you, anyone could easily mistake him as the instructor.

He leans toward your bike. “Are you doing okay?”

“I have decent cardio!” You pant over the bass-loaded music. “I’m fine!”

You sound so not fine that Jaemin throws his head back in laughter.

“You two in the back!” The instructor calls out. “Less talking, more pedaling!”

There were only so many cafes close to the rink to try, so working out together is your most recent attempt at activities together. Jaemin insisted that it’s valuable cross-training for your respective sports—you’re not sure that you agree with the sentiment for your discipline, but it’s a nice supplement to your training schedule.

“What did you think about that instructor?” Jaemin asks as he holds the door open for you.

You snort. “Too intense and too much bass boosting.”

Your phone vibrates with texts and phone calls. You don’t even flinch as you start blocking and reporting the unknown callers.

“Wow, you’re popular,” Jaemin jokes while he backs out of his parking spot.

You don’t say anything. There’s no use in dragging Jaemin into it; not when there’s nothing to be done. At the very least, you appreciate that Jaemin always offers to drive.

“Can I ask you something?” Jaemin asks as he pulls up to your place.

“No,” you laugh before registering the nervousness creeping in on his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Well,” Jaemin clears his throat. “Remember when my team brought up performing an ice dance together at that benefit show?”

“I do.”

“I know that it wasn’t brought up in a very good way.” Jaemin’s eyes flit around your face. “But do you think there’s any part of you that would be open to reconsidering that decision?”

The question makes you freeze. “Why?”

“My team won’t let up about it. I keep telling them that there’s really no need for me to participate…”

He’s continuing into some sort of explanation, but you’re hung up on the first part of his sentence. Sure, Mei and Jeff had been the catalyst for your reunion, but something about the mention of my team douses you as a cold reminder. In the midst of early morning rides and deep conversations over brunch, you’d forgotten that this was all manufactured.

“Our agreement ends right after the ice show, right?” You ask.

He nods. “But it’s just the official clause—of course, I want to—”

“Can you please tell your team that I will not be entertaining this notion again?” You reach for the door.

“Wait, stop. What did I say?” Jaemin’s climbing out of the car too, and a high pitch beeps over and over as he abandons the driver’s seat.

“Maybe I’m just tired,” you huff. “I see you almost every day, and I’m still training. Am I supposed to be all happy-go-lucky all the time? It’s not like we’re friends.”

Jaemin physically recoils. “This again? We are friends.”

“I hadn’t talked to you in years before you decided to come back,” you state matter-of-factly. “We’re bound by a contract. We’re not friends, Jaemin. We’re coworkers.”

You turn on your heel and walk towards your place.

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” Jaemin calls after you. “You just get to say your piece and storm off?”

You face him. “Go on, then. What do you want to say?”

He stands there for a minute, and his face flashes through a chain of expressions. Jaemin opens his mouth to speak but then closes it again. He shakes his head before shutting himself back in his car. The tires squeak against the asphalt as he drives away.

You pace around your house in angry circles. You should feel better, but instead you generate new reasons to be mad at him. Aside from the contractual nature of your arrangement, didn’t he understand that interfering with your art was an entirely different matter? You could go on a million fake dates and post content on social media, but your time on the ice is the only thing that’s truly yours.

You’re halfway through rage-cleaning your kitchen when your screen lights up with Jaemin’s name. You ignore it, but then Sunghoon calls second, then Mei calls next.

You choose to call Sunghoon back, ready to defend your outburst, but your stomach plummets when you pick up the phone to Sunghoon sniffling.

All your anger dissipates into fear. “What happened?”

“Coach Brown collapsed today,” he rasps. “They're not sure if he's going to make it.”

❅˚

Mei and Jeff sit at the front of the conference room. Mei openly observes you and Jaemin. Jaemin sits scrolling on his phone with the hood of his jacket pulled over his head. You cross your arms and try to look anywhere else.

Mei and Jeff review the last month in social media posts and general media coverage. You nod to yourself without listening—they always say the same things anyway: good reception, decent reach, more posting if possible. Today’s presentation is much shorter than expected, with no concrete dates to post strategic content.

You take it as a sign to leave and grab your bag. Jaemin moves as well, putting his phone into his pocket.

“I’m sure you both are worried about Coach Brown,” Mei says suddenly.

You both freeze in place. Your eyes dart to Jaemin, to gauge his reaction, but he’s already looking at you.

You had thought about texting Jaemin a million times since the news broke. You’d checked in on Sunghoon, but he was the type of person to hold things in until later down the line. You didn’t want to push him too hard, since you’re sure that he’s hurting just as much as you.

Looking at the glassiness of Jaemin’s eyes, you’re certain that he’s thought about reaching out to you, too.

“He'll fight through it,” your voice croaks against the silence. “He was a great man.”

“The greatest,” Jaemin says without taking his eyes off of you.

“This may feel a little premature, but the foundation reached out,” Mei prefaces. “They’re having part of the ice show's proceeds go directly to Coach Brown’s family. They asked to confirm if both of you—and Sunghoon, of course—are still planning on participating?”

“Of course,” you answer.

“Are they sure they still want all of us?” Jaemin asks. “I’m not competing in figure skating or ice dance.”

Mei shrugs. “You were in talks before, but I’m guessing it’s because the three of you are his most prominent students. Of course, you went to speed skating eventually, but you were still under him for the entirety of your juniors career.”

Jaemin nods to himself. “It’s relatively short, right?”

Mei hesitates. “Well, I’m not quite sure of the hard details—”

Jaemin shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter. I’m in. I’ll figure it out.”

“We can skate together.”

It’s like the entire room has forgotten about your attendance; all three heads snap toward you, eyes wide.

“You want to?” Mei’s eyebrows climb to her hairline. “Now?”

That’s not exactly a great vote of confidence, but you persist nonetheless. “It’s going to help Coach Brown and his family. It’s as simple as that.”

“Will that be okay to prepare for?” Jaemin blurts out. “While you’re training for everything else, I mean.”

You shrug. “Sunghoon’s also competing.”

“It’s just a lot to balance.”

You stare at him. You’re flush with irritation, but you manage to keep your voice level as you respond. “I’ll manage.”

“Well,” Jeff interjects. He clears his throat loudly and moves to disconnect his computer from the room's screen. “That should be more than enough for today. We’ll both be in touch for details on the exhibition, but our next meeting should be in two weeks as usual.”

“Thanks, Jeff,” you drone as you gather your bag and exit.

You’re not even halfway down the stairwell when a hand latches onto your elbow.

“Wait,” Jaemin rasps. “Talk to me. Five minutes. Please.”

He’s panting like he’s run a mile. You nod. “What is it?”

“You don’t need to say yes, you know.” Jaemin says. “I wouldn’t blame you if you just wanted to work on your own program right now.”

You bristle. “Are you going to ask Sunghoon the same question?”

Jaemin leans his weight against the stairwell railing. “One day we’re laughing and talking about anything and everything, and then the next day you’re telling me that we’re not friends. One day you draw the hard boundary that we will never perform together, and then now you’re willing to. Why are you so upset with me?”

“I’m willing only for the sake of Coach Brown.” Your restrained and rational side snaps. You talk a step forward into Jaemin’s personal space. “I’ve been mad, Jaem. I’ve been pissed since you made your stupid announcement to come back to our rink—some of your crazy fans have found my real phone number, did you know that?”

He's speechless.

You continue. “Ever since coming back from my injury, I can’t do anything right. If I talk about my mental health as an athlete, I’m seen as complaining. If I can’t land a jump? I’m washed up. If my makeup is looking a little off on competition day? My age is showing, and I should feel lucky that someone so old can still compete. People hate me so much that it’s my best PR strategy to become someone’s hated girlfriend, because the new hate is considered an improvement from my old hate.”

“I didn’t know you were being harassed on your personal number,” he mutters.

“And why would you?” You scoff. “It doesn’t matter that we used to know each other, okay? Even though everyone down to Coach Brown wants us to be so close—”

“Coach Brown said something to you before?” Jaemin leans in, which makes you take a step back.

“Well, kinda—”

“Please,” he begs. Desperation lines his eyes. “Tell me what you talked about. I could barely catch him here because of my odd hours, let alone talk to him. I regret that more than anything.”

Your anger wanes. You feel a flash of pity followed by a stark reminder of your surroundings—what were you doing, yelling at Jaemin in a stairwell?

You wrack your brain for a white lie, but nothing comes up on the spot. You’ve already exposed it anyway, so you might as well tell the truth. “He told me to control my temper and stop being mad at you for nothing.”

You expect something like a snarky comment, but Jaemin just looks surprised. “He knew it’s fake?”

You shrug. “I didn’t tell him anything. He either knows us too well or heard something through the grapevine. Or he heard me yelling at you and put two and two together.”

Jaemin snorts, but he doesn’t respond.

You shift uncomfortably. “That was pretty much it. He said the worst thing I could do was turn my back on my past.”

Jaemin pauses for a long time before speaking. “Can I say something to you? No Mei, no Jeff, no social media?”

Your heart feels stuck in your throat. You swallow thickly. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” His gaze burns through you. “I should’ve talked to you more during and after Nationals. I definitely should’ve warned you about the batshit plan our agents were making—I know that probably made you lose trust in me instantly.”

Jaemin glances at you, no doubt expecting some sort of correction or flash of emotion, but you remain silent. He continues: “I know it’s stupid, but they presented me with possible options for a PR relationship — it was going to happen regardless to acclimate the public to my return to skating. They suggested you last, but I think I agreed too fast. I should’ve talked to you before my team made contact with yours.”

Your mind swims with the new information. A laugh slips from your throat without realizing it. “I think I might’ve been the worst choice possible.”

He reddens. “Coach Brown gave me the idea, if I’m being honest.”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

“I ran into him here while practicing. Before everything, and before I officially planned to come back.” He admits. “I was venting to him about the concept of a PR relationship—I promise you I didn’t want to—and he started to rehash his past troubles with the media.”

“He got mad when Sunghoon got coverage about his real high school girlfriend,” you recall. “He would’ve lost his mind at a fake one.”

“He didn’t say anything weird,” Jaemin shrugs. “Just a hypothetical: ‘wouldn’t it be nice if someone you feel comfortable with could stand in, instead of doing something like that with a stranger.’”

What was it that Coach Brown had said to you? You should be grateful that he’s someone you feel comfortable around.

The edges of your mouth curl into a bittersweet smile. “That bastard.”

Jaemin smiles back, and your heart flips.

Coach Brown had essentially influenced this entire production. The realization causes tears to prick at the corners of your eyes. “Jaemin—”

“I should've talked to him more.” His eye grow misty. “I fucked up. I should’ve spent time with him, instead of focusing on all of the drama.”

You twitch forward, but you stop yourself short of hugging him. You pat his back in slow taps while holding back your own tears. “It’s not your fault. None of us knew that this would happen.”

He stiffens at your touch. “You don’t need to comfort me, you know. I know you hate me.”

Your stomach drops. “I never hated you, Jaemin. I was just hurt—it felt like you were using me.”

Once you speak it, you know it to be the truth. Try as you might, you could never hate Jaemin. Even if given away ten years ago, you know that he will always hold part of your heart.

“That was never my intention,” he whispers. “I know it’s hard to believe.”

“I see that now,” you acknowledge. “I’ve been an asshole, Jaem. I want to start over. ”

Jaemin sniffs back his remaining tears. He offers you a weak smile. “I’d like that.”

You reach towards him with your hand. “Friends?”

His hand closes over yours, only to pull you forward into a big hug. “Friends. Always.”

Your hands rise from your sides and travel up his back. You squeeze him tight. “Always. I’m sorry it took me so long to remember.”

“One, two, three, turn, two, three—” your choreographer, Maci, counts your steps with a patient tone.

You focus on your footwork. You’re still practicing without music; it’s just Maci’s voice mixed with your shoes squeaking against the floor. You extend your right arm behind you in a soft sweep, and you imagine it making a perfect line with your posture.

Instead, your tricep sticks against something soft yet clammy.

“Mmph—” Jaemin grunts behind you. “That’s my face.”

You stop and wipe your arm. “Sweaty.”

In sync, you both walk to the edge of the room to chug your water.

Practice for the ice show was truly underway, and you all had spent the last week learning choreography off ice. You and Sunghoon had quickly picked up on your routines for your individual portions. Sunghoon would do his routine completely by himself, as he would for any normal exhibition. You, however, would split yours into two: one minute by yourself, then one minute with Jaemin.

It wasn’t a complete disaster, but you were picking it up together slower than either of you anticipated. Jaemin struggled to lead, while you would misjudge your distance and step on his foot—or, in this case, slap him with your tricep.

“I might as well not be there,” Jaemin jokes with you during water breaks. “What happened to all of our training?”

“Our ice dance training from nearly ten years ago?”

“I think you legitimately forget that Jaemin is there if you don’t see him,” Sunghoon observes from the back. Although he almost always finishes before you, he tends to stick around. “You should skate with a rearview mirror.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Actually…” Maci looks lost in thought before nodding her head. “You have a point.”

You gape at her. “You think I need a rearview mirror?”

“Of course not,” she says. Noticeably, Sunghoon deflates slightly in his corner. “I just meant that he has a point…somewhere in there. You guys are taking up completely different spaces”

You both blink at her.

She rolls her eyes, then taps through her phone. A classic waltz plays over the small speakers overhead. “Dance in hold. Just a basic waltz, please.”

Jaemin grins and bows deeply. He extends a hand toward you. “May I have this dance?”

“Corny,” you groan while taking his hand with your right. You straighten your posture and bring your other hand to hold onto his bicep. Likewise, his right hand tucks over your shoulder blade. You’re both glistening with sweat, but you feel goosebumps raise where his hand glides over your skin.

The music continues to play overhead, but neither of you move. Jaemin waits another two measures before leading you across the floor. It’s a simple waltz, but you feel hyperaware of every movement, big and small. You swear Jaemin’s fingers tighten where your hands are clasped together.

“There you go!” Maci calls out.

Right when you’re thinking that’s a green light to call it, she shouts out again. “Now hold eye contact!”

You look up, ready to break the silence with a joke, but your smile drops when you see Jaemin's eyes. They’re dark and captivating—that much hasn’t changed—but there’s an undercurrent of something else that leaves you paralyzed. You nearly forget to breathe, as you have to focus all of your attention on matching his steps.

“How does this pace feel?” He asks while holding eye contact. There’s a ghost of a smirk.

Your heart races so fast that you can’t hear the music over your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “It’s a great pace. Feels good.”

You only realize the innuendo after it’s too late. Your face heats as he laughs at you.

“Alright!” Maci shouts out. “First run through of the partner section with the music! I’ll count you off.”

You start alone in the center of the floor with your arms extended, since that’ll be your position on the ice once your solo wraps up. Similar to how it will be on the ice, you don’t see Jaemin as he approaches; his hands rest on your waist first.

Your heartbeat instantly spikes; you’re unsure if it’s due to the contact or the adrenaline.

You brace your core as he lifts you and turns the two of you in a slight spin.

We’re really doing this, you realize as you extend through the lift. It’s a little wobbly—both of your faults, you think—but you get through it. Jaemin lowers you back onto your feet. Even though the landing is a little rough, a lift is a lift.

You turn out to face each other. Jaemin extends his arm toward you. His features are bright and confident, as if teasing you to come closer. For a split second, it reminds you of the easy stage presence he always carried as a performer.

You take his hand and continue with the rest of the routine. As this is an exhibition show and your dance together is an homage to Coach Brown, all of the elements within this showcase are mostly basic in nature. Sure, you both can tackle the various step sequences with a languid artistry not intuitive to non-skaters, but it’s nowhere close enough in difficulty to a competition program.

“You’re thinking too much,” Jaemin murmurs through a spin.

“I’m worried we’ll look silly,” you say as you part.

“No worrying when we’re dancing,” he says. “Just think about me.”

You do. You hold eye contact throughout the remainder of the step sequence, and all your thoughts revolve around him. His positioning—should you adjust a bit so you’re a little closer? You even focus on how your lines are extending towards him. Mostly technical things, but above all—Jaemin is like the sun, pulling everything towards him, and you can’t help but be swept into his orbit.

Your last element is a stationary lift where Jaemin anchors you by your waist and legs to hold you horizontally. Your entrance works, his hand grips your waist, but you flinch the second his other hand grabs your inner thigh.

“Oof—” your lower half drops to the ground, although Jaemin’s hold on your torso is enough to prevent full impact. “Thanks.”

For the first time, you glance around at your audience. Sunghoon looks away and scratches the back of his neck. Maci’s cheeks tinge with pink as she frantically reaches to stop the music.

“What’s wrong?” You ask with a frown as Jaemin pulls you to your feet. “Did it look bad?”

“No, uh—” Maci claps her hands together in light, awkward taps. She clears her throat. “It’s like you never left, Jaemin.”

“You guys are going to get questions about this routine for the rest of your lives,” Sunghoon snorts. “But it’ll get the donations going.”

Jaemin releases his hold on your hand. You flex it thoughtfully; you hadn’t realized that you hadn’t let go.

You look at your dance partner, but Jaemin’s expression tightens into something unreadable. “Yup, great for charity.”

Your day continues as usual—more individual runthroughs, a snack after practice, and mindless chats with your little group. But when you sleep that night, parsing through your day, you can’t shake the phantom feeling of his hand in yours.

❅˚

“I have to ask you a question,” Sunghoon says before you even have the chance to shut the passenger door.

You blink at him through sleepy eyes. “Right now? It’s 5am.”

Sunghoon puts the car into drive and heads in the direction of Jaemin’s apartment.

“So?” Your crankiness asks. “What’s your question—?”

“Do you have feelings for Jaemin?”

“Uh,” you’re genuinely at a loss for words. “Are we talking about currently, or when we were in middle school?”

He doesn’t respond. There’s not even any music playing in the car, so you squirm in your seat against the silence.

You clear your throat. “Why are you asking?”

“Because the two of you look like you’re ready to jump each other at any moment.”

“Ew, Hoon.”

"You're also acting different." Sunghoon gives you a look. “You would’ve already told me if it was anyone else.”

You break eye contact. Dancing with Jaemin again had asserted one thing: you could not deny your physical attraction to him. The chemistry overflowed, even when you watched practice footage back. Sure, he’s always been your type, but his face had grown more handsome and his body more chiseled into adulthood.

When it came to your emotional connection to him, however, your feelings are a big, jumbled mess. Becoming close again has been easy, but something in the air lingers between you two. It's difficult to differentiate the layers of physical attraction, nostalgia, and genuine fondness. How could you explain the complexities to Sunghoon when you barely understood them yourself?

“It’s just partner chemistry and the tone of our routine.” You groan. “Calm down.”

Sunghoon glares at you as he pulls into Jaemin’s apartment complex. He doesn’t respond, but his expression is crystal clear: I’m going to ask you about this again.

“Good morning,” Jaemin sings as he enters the car. “You guys are grumpier than usual.”

You and Sunghoon exchange a look; when he pointedly looks back at the road without a word, you figure he’s leaving any explanation to you.

You cross your arms. “You’re five minutes late.”

Jaemin snorts. “Touche.”

The rest of the drive is quiet. The heater in Sunghoon’s car fights against the cold air outside, but you pull your jacket around you nonetheless.

Starting today, the two of you are practicing your routine for the show on the actual ice. While the cast was just formally announced last week, the post had generated buzz almost immediately. All the marketing team had to do was put the list of names in their caption, and the internet did the rest. After all, what other opportunity would there be to watch the Na Jaemin skate outside of his discipline?

You’re happy that the show guaranteed to have a sold out audience and likely record breaking fundraising. It’s the whole reason why you both chose to participate in the first place, but you’d underestimated the pressure that came with it.

“You’ll finish your section with a spin,” Maci says as she walks you through the last of your solo steps. “And that is where Jaemin will come in.”

“Finally! I’m here!” Jaemin chimes in.

Both you and Sunghoon roll your eyes.

“Let’s see how many of the skills you remember,” you say as you catch your breath.

“I’ll tell the instructors to save a spot for you in Basic 1,” Sunghoon adds on. "You can learn how to skate with those new ice dance boots you bought."

Jaemin flips both of you off.

You step onto the bench while Sunghoon skates away to run through his third of the program.

You scroll through your phone as Sunghoon starts his routine. It’s not as if you don’t respect his skating; on the contrary, you never miss a performance. You just tune in for the big moments, which means that you don’t have to be as alert for these initial sessions.

While you’re nonchalant, Jaemin can’t tear his eyes away.

“If you told me ten years ago that he would be this graceful, I wouldn’t believe you,” the words fall out half under his breath.

You laugh. “Feed that line to the press.”

Jaemin’s eyes flit to yours. “You wouldn’t.”

You raise your hands into the air. “Kidding. I know exactly what you mean.”

From the beginning, Sunghoon had taken the most time to progress. All three of you had been considered advanced for your age group, but you and Jaemin had always been ahead of the curve.

Now, your friend was known for his focus on artistic elements; in many ways, you felt like he truly embodied the emotions of the characters he was portraying. You’d found that element of skating more difficult after your injury—you’d never been that good of an actor in the first place, and post-accident you didn’t find yourself that invested in pretending to be someone else.

“Do you ever regret not sticking with figure skating or ice dance?” You find yourself asking.

He shrugs. “Hard to say since we’ll never know my real potential. Although I did like the acting aspect of portraying a character.”

“So speed skating still has your heart,” you laugh. “Has it at least been worth diving back into it for a little bit? The theatrics of it all?”

Jaemin turns to you. He doesn’t smile at all, and his tone is dead serious. “It is. I wouldn’t trade this experience for the world.”

Your body hums in response from your heart down to your stomach. “Why’s that?”

He pauses. Then, without breaking eye contact, he smiles and leans in toward you. “What do you think?”

Jaemin smells faintly of oranges. Your head spins at the proximity. You can’t come up with something witty, even if you wanted to. “I–”

At the same time, Sunghoon loses his footing and falls to the ice with an oof. Both of your heads whip towards your friend, who rises and wipes the ice off of his clothes.

“You good?” You half-shout toward your friend.

He shoots you a thumbs up in response before continuing.

Jaemin gazes at you, but you’ve lost your nerve.

“It’s nice to be here with both of you again,” you say as you unlock your phone and sit back down. “It’s as if you never left.”

“Me too,” Jaemin says softly. “It’s just like old times.”

❅˚

It’s three weeks before the show. You rush to the rink alone this time to fit a makeup practice into your and Jaemin’s busy schedules. You groan internally knowing that it falls on your rest day, but the practice is needed. Between both of your training schedules, you had to take the free moments when they come.

You pick up coffees on the way. It’s the first time you’ve driven to practice by yourself in a week, and your nerves rise as you drive closer and closer.

There shouldn’t be anything to be nervous about. Sure, you and Jaemin still have parts of your routine to work on, but progress has been smooth up to this point.

You’re unable to shake off the feeling as you arrive thirty minutes early. You turn off your car and linger in the driver’s seat. You have two options: scroll on your phone in the car or head in early. The latter wouldn’t make sense under normal circumstances—if Jaemin wasn’t practicing.

You glance at the two drinks sitting in your cupholders. Surely there’s no harm in peeking?

You exit the car, both drinks in hand, before you can change your mind. You enter the rink with a sheepish energy, although you’re doing absolutely nothing wrong.

Jaemin’s alternating through basic circle skills. His coach watches at the sideline with a stopwatch in one hand and a phone recording the drill in its entirety from a stand.

More than the difficulty of speed skating itself, you can’t believe that Jaemin has been balancing it alongside the training for the gala. Not only are the skates completely different, but the main mechanics require raw power and endurance. Much different from the slower, technical precision of ice dance.

Despite no spins or jumps, he makes it look graceful. You make a mental note to attend his first competition. You could watch him skate forever, regardless of discipline.

Jaemin’s coach calls him in, reviewing the footage and giving feedback. His expression is neutral, and Jaemin merely nods and repeats the drill each time. It goes on that way until the end of his practice time.

You wave as Jaemin exits off the ice and down the ramp toward you. He blinks, and his steps stutter for a moment before he continues.

“Morning,” you avoid eye contact as you hold out his iced coffee. He hadn’t noticed you during his practice, but you feel shy nonetheless. “Got here a little early.”

“Oh,” Jaemin grimaces. “So you saw all that?”

“What do you mean?” You ask. “I thought you looked great.”

He scoffs. He focuses on something distant over your shoulder. “I don’t know if I would describe it as great.”

You’re at a loss for words. The scenario feels familiar—hell, you’d gotten this way during practice for your solo exhibition—but you don’t have enough technical knowledge of speed skating to immediately understand what happened. Beyond that, it’s rare to see Jaemin so quiet.

Your expression must be comically transparent, because you watch his eyes lock to yours and register your wide stare.

“Sorry, you just caught me at a weird practice,” he clears his throat. “I’ll be ready in fifteen?”

The gesture does little to settle you, but you manage your own uneasy smile. “Take your time. I’ll warm up.”

You’ve never been more grateful for the familiarity of center ice. You run through a quick warmup routine and even squeeze in a couple rough rehearsals of your solo routine for the show.

“Looks good,” Jaemin says as he finally steps onto the ice. “I almost feel bad to make you split your program in half.”

“You’re not making me do anything.” You frown. After everything the two of you have been through to get to this point, his sudden minimization makes you worry.

“Well, you know,” he says, alternating between the inner and outer edges of his blades in small swizzles.

“No, I don’t know,” you shake your head stubbornly. You glide in front of him without breaking eye contact. “I’m doing this because I want to. I want to skate with you.”

It’s the most forward you’ve been, but his expression doesn’t budge. Instead, he just nods. “Shall we?”

The two of you run through the routine a few times, but it’s as though the last few weeks have been for nothing. No matter how many times you restart or run through the counts slowly, the two of you struggle to sync. Rather—you know you’re hitting your movements, but Jaemin merely seems to be going through the motions.

When his hold on you wobbles on the ending pose, you snap yourself out of his arms and huff. “Okay, seriously. We’re done for today. Let’s go.”

Of all things, that seems to wake Jaemin from his daze. He skates after you. “Wait, I’m just off today—”

You ignore him, stepping off of the ice and into your skate guards. You briefly turn around to catch his eye.

Jaemin’s hovering on the ice by the door, watching you. His eyes plead.

You wave your arm towards you in a come here gesture. His face brightens, and he hurriedly follows after you.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out when he’s close to you.

You shake your head. “Wanna get lunch?”

-

You stare at each other from across the table.

“You first,” you point to Jaemin’s burger, which has arrived at your table first. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m excited to eat, but,” Jaemin crosses his arms. “Do you have to stare at me?”

You say nothing even as the server brings your own food over.

Jaemin sighs but starts eating nonetheless. “Happy?”

“Yes,” you say as you pick at your fries.

“If this is a way to make sure I’m eating, I don’t have issues with dieting while competing,” he mutters between bites. “Luckily.”

“Trust me, it’s not about that,” you laugh. “I know you can eat.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So then…?”

“You were just super out of it today,” you shrug. “You’ve been training pretty intensely this week, right?”

He frowns. “I have, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Compared to the work schedule I was doing before coming back to skating, it’s more or less the same.”

You point a fry at him accusingly. “There. That’s the issue.”

“That I work?”

“That you’re not taking time to not work.”

“No offense,” the words come out slowly, “but aren’t you, like, famously known for never taking breaks?”

You shake your head. “That was pre-injury me. Current me takes breaks. I have hobbies.”

“I have hobbies,” he insists.

“That you’ve invested in recently?” You ask. "Actively?"

He hesitates. “So what, burger eating is supposed to be my next hobby? I don’t struggle with diets, but that one might be hard.”

“Ha ha,” you say flatly. “I just wanted to get you away from training. You love burgers.”

Jaemin looks down at his burger, as if the sandwich itself has betrayed him. “I do,” he sighs. “You don’t need to baby me. I’m a grown man.”

“I know,” you say, looking away. “I just wanted to get your mind off of everything. You’re doing a lot.”

A small silence stretches between you. You can feel Jaemin’s gaze probing over your side profile, but you pretend to look around the restaurant.

“Do you still like bingsu?”

“I–” Jaemin’s smile is bright as day, and, more importantly, it’s genuine. You relax“I do.”

“Wanna go to the cafe near Sunghoon’s place?”

You exhale a relieved breath. “That sounds amazing.”

❅˚

“Quick break?” Jaemin pants after a full run through of your routine.

You simply nod, trying to catch your own breath. The two of you skate to the side without a word.

You pull out your phone. Mei’s sent you three images over text with a short question—Received all the photos for promo. You sure you’re okay with the team using these?

As a part of promotional material for the ice show, all three of you—Sunghoon, Jaemin, and yourself—had submitted throwback pictures to be posted by the official account.

Your picture depicted five-year-old you at your very first skating lesson—pink puffer and helmet in full display. It’s one of your favorites.

Sunghoon’s picture, to your surprise, has both of you in it. It must be from middle school, since you’re dressed in costuming from your first and final pairs competition together.

“What the hell?” Your jaw drops as you inspect the image. Jaemin glances over your shoulder, and you turn your phone to show him. “This is the last thing I would’ve expected him to send. I don’t think I even have any pictures of us from that era.”

Jaemin laughs. “Maybe since they asked Sunghoon for something from middle school? He was complaining about it. They asked me for elementary school pictures, so I had it easy.”

Sure enough, the last picture shows the three of you after a group private lesson together. Jaemin’s in the center smiling wide and bright. Sunghoon’s smile is reserved and slightly awkward to Jaemin’s right. You, on the opposite side, cling to Jaemin’s side in a big hug with an even bigger smile.

There it is. A wave of shyness. “I don’t think I have this one either.”

“It’s my favorite.”

“It feels like forever ago.” Your throat constricts as you speak.

“It’s certainly been a long time since then,” Jaemin says. His eyes are glued to the picture of the three of you. His lips soften into a smile.

“I can’t believe Sunghoon and I thought we could be partners,” you cough and wrinkle your nose. “I don’t think his arm strength would’ve kept up. And we would’ve killed each other.”

It’s as if Jaemin doesn’t hear you. “Do you wanna hear something funny?”

“Does it involve that one time Sunghoon dropped me on the ice, your mom took me to urgent care, and then that incident single-handedly made me quit pairs?”

“No, but that’s good.” Jaemin’s smile still floats on his face with a hint of mischievousness, like he’s keeping a secret.

“What is it, then?”

“I used to be so jealous of Sunghoon,” he laughs. “And look at us now, practicing the choreography for an exhibition performance as partners.”

Your mind goes blank. “Jealous? Why?”

He seems to snap out of his reverie at your question, expression growing a little shy. He shrugs “Well, you know.”

“Um, no, I don’t know.”

“Well, childhood crushes and all that,” he says quickly. He queues up the music on his phone. “So jealous over random things. Anyway, ready to practice the second half?”

He skates away to put his phone down on the ledge and start the music before you can respond. What he hasn’t calculated is that he will need to skate right back to you to practice the step sequence. Two can play at this game.

“Funny you say that,” you mutter as he takes your hand. “Considering my childhood self would’ve killed to be paired with you.”

He swallows thickly. You can tell he’s trying to tune into the music, but his steps are half a beat off. “Meaning?”

You’re not going to make it that easy for him. “Same thing that you meant.”

The step sequence is naturally push-and-pull as Jaemin leads you through each stroke and turn, but today it feels like something more: a balance of power.

“We were partners before,” he murmurs before his hands anchor on your hips to guide you into a synchronized spin.

“Briefly,” you say once you complete it. “But I was devastated when you quit altogether. I would’ve done anything to keep skating with you.”

You maintain eye contact through the remainder of this practice. There’s a charged feeling in every movement, every touch. Even when the steps call for distance, you feel the inevitable pull to come back together. In fact, it never feels close enough.

The two of you slide into a stop at the end of your choreography, but you keep staring at each other long after the song has ended. Jaemin’s brown eyes roam your features hungrily, until his gaze settles on your lips.

Jaemin's going to kiss you.

Time slows. The rink lights overhead make your eyes water, and your mind resurfaces into a complete blank. There's not much choice otherwise—not with his lips nearing yours.

You close your eyes, trembling from your head to your blades as your heart rattles against your ribcage.

Lips graze against your cheek. Gentle hands drift onto your cheeks after.

Your eyelids flutter open. Jaemin's face hovers in front of yours. His features flush in a soft pink, but his eyes seem to droop. The corners of his lips quiver up in a sad half-smile.

"Not now," he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Sorry."

You come to your senses as he skates away, blinking around at your surroundings, as if you've woken up from a long sleep.

No words are exchanged as you both grab your things and exit. It's hardly mumbles of goodbye before going your separate ways.

You slam the car door closed and exist in the silence.

Although it just occurred, you're already winding back the events and weighing what could've been done differently.

You should've demanded answers; pushed him away and left in a storm. Or, maybe, you should've done the opposite—allowed all of your real emotions to sweep and pull at your face.

In actuality, you have no real confidence in the efficacy of either. You just hate the way it ended: neutral, as if you're two strangers rather than friends pushing at something more—not that you had the faintest idea of what. Just…something.

Even later that night, the exact details blur together, feeling more like a hallucination more than a memory. Had you made it up in your head? No, Jaemin was definitely flirting with you. Again. But Jaemin flirted with everyone—well, no, it does feel different when Jaemin flirts with you. Tender.

The moment replays over and over again, trapped within your thoughts. You try to sleep, but your mind is too busy fixing itself on the minute details: how his hands felt around you, the soft brush of Jaemin's lips against your skin.

All of your previous confidence feels like it evaporated from your body. All that filled your mind at the time was the near-aching urge to unleash your pent-up feelings. There had been absolutely no regard for the meaning afterwards, not that it mattered—he pulled away anyway. A wisp of a rejection.

If it happened, would it have even meant anything? You muse to yourself as you trace the lines of your ceiling. It could totally have just been harmless flirting.

For yourself, you know there's only one answer. You're well beyond dismissing your behavior with Jaemin as remnants of an old crush. Still, you wonder when they turned into more, as you can't pinpoint when they intensified. It's as if these new feelings could consume the old ones in their entirety.

You wonder if this newfound hunger will ever be satiated. This is more time than you could've imagined spending with Na Jaemin, but it never feels like enough.

You wonder if Jaemin is thinking of you half as much as you're thinking of him right now.

The thought barely fades when, like a sick, cosmic joke, your phone vibrates on your nightstand. Na Jaemin flashes on the screen.

You lunge for it and straighten your posture, clearing your throat and sliding a finger across the screen to answer. "Hey. What's up?"

"Hey," Jaemin says. "Did you see the group chat? What do you think?"

"Uh, no. I didn't see it," you admit. "What's up?"

"Coach Brown's wife asked if we want to visit him. Since he was cleared to finish his recovery at home."

"Oh—yeah, of course." The words come out rushed. It's as if you're speaking with a mouth filled with cotton balls. "I'm down."

"Cool."

"Are…are we all going?" You ask, then immediately regret it.

"Yes, of course." A pause. "I can take you tomorrow. Since we'll be going after the team meeting."

"Team meeting—?" Ah. The meeting with Mei and Jeff. "Right—yeah, we can carpool. If you don't mind."

"I don't," he says. "I'll pick you up at 1:30?"

"Sounds good."

"About today," Jaemin blurts out. "I'm sorry."

You slouch and close your eyes. "Sorry for what exactly, Jaem?"

"Well—we almost—you know." It's the most you've ever heard him stumble over his words. You would kill to see what flustered looks like brushed over his face. "Right?"

"So you're sorry that we almost kissed." The words flatten as you speak.

"God—can we talk? After our meeting? Or after we visit Coach Brown?"

Stress laces through his tone. Your heart sinks. "Of course."

Jaemin waits for a beat, but you refuse to give in. You don't want to have this conversation over the phone either, and he already offered.

"Good night, Jaemin," you offer.

"…Good night," he murmurs. "Sleep well."

You toss your phone back on the nightstand and cover yourself with the blankets. After that, you're in for the most restless sleep of your life.

"Last alignment meeting," Jaemin says on the way in. "Ready to do this thing?"

You force a smile. Not only are you reeling after a grand total of four hours of sleep, but the car ride over had been little more than dull niceties. "Something along those lines."

He frowns, but you pick up your pace and barrel inside.

Jaemin ends up drifting towards Jeff, although he looks over his shoulder at you.

You shrug and sit at the other end of the table, waiting for Mei to arrive.

Jaemin and Jeff huddle at the front of the table, gesturing and whispering among themselves. They only snap to attention when Mei strides in and shuts the door closed with extra force.

"Good afternoon," Jeff greets with his usual professionalism.

Mei and Jeff jump into reviewing the analytics from the last month. It lives up to your expectations; ever since the ice show announcements and promos ran, it was like someone hit a switch. You—according to sources, since you still avoided social media like the plague—were showing up less in search inquiries. If you were, then content leaned more supportive.

Still, looking at the cold hard numbers, it's clear that Jaemin's growth is unstoppable. Your followers grew by nearly triple, sure, but his total follower count still runs laps around yours.

"I think fans are just grateful to see you so active," Mei explains.

You steal a glance at Jaemin. His face gives away nothing. He looks like a statue, his expression carved in fierce stoicism.

By all metrics, both of your social media profiles look healthier than ever. Buzz has calmed down, and, by some miracle, your "relationship" appears to be accepted by the general public.

"In my opinion—we'll wrap with the ice show, both parties can post the photos from the event, and I think the performance will speak for itself!" For someone so corporate, Jeff looks downright giddy.

You and Mei meet his enthusiasm with tempered applause. Jaemin doesn't even look up.

"Well, there is one matter we should discuss, now that we're at the tail end of things." Jeff's voice turns into the poised tone you're familiar with. "When to announce the breakup."

It shouldn't have this much of an effect on you—it's a fake relationship, after all!—but your body stiffens on its own. You cross your arms over your chest.

You expect Jeff to defer to Mei, but he clears his throat to continue.

"A development that we will not be officially announcing anytime soon…Jaemin is planning on moving back to his old rink."

Your eyes snap to Jaemin. He's already looking at you, assessing your every minute reaction.

"His current coach divulged that he's moving up his retirement timeline. Jaemin's going to add his new coach onto his official team as support for now, then he'll make the hard switch next season."

The same sad glimmer from yesterday shines in his eyes. You understand in an instant—he knew it, even then.

"We're thinking, to leverage the speed skating season, we'll have Jaemin withdraw significantly from posting on social media. That way, breakup rumors and potential fallout can be addressed outside of the season for both sports."

"So no official announcement," Mei muses. "Just a fizzle out."

Jeff nods. "Just a fizzle."

"We'll discuss." Mei glances at you in the corner of her eye, so quick you almost miss it. "For now, we'll just aim to keep social media normal following the show."

You don't want to discuss it. You want to eject yourself from this meeting and dash under the covers, but today is not an option. Not when you, Jaemin, and Sunghoon have a scheduled visit with Coach Brown.

"Ready?" Jaemin asks after the meeting wraps.

You nod without a word and follow him to his car.

"I know you're mad," Jaemin rushes through his words right when your door closes. "Let me explain."

"No need," you say while pulling the seatbelt tight across your torso. "I think Jeff gave us the appropriate context. You're switching coaches, so you already decided to leave."

He runs a hand through his hair. "It's really not my choice. I didn't expect this at all."

You shrug. "Things happen."

Jaemin glances at you, but you train your gaze ahead. "Are you mad because—"

You cut him off. "This isn't a guessing game. It's either you have something to say, or you say nothing."

Jaemin's temper is rarely put to the test, but today you come very close: clenched jaw, sharp brows.

"You know what?" He says. "We'll just talk after we see Coach Brown."

"Fine by me."

Jaemin starts the ignition and snaps the gears into reverse. As both of you have decided there's nothing to say, you spend the entire car ride in pointed silence.

"It's so sweet of you kids to come out here and visit him," Mrs. Brown leaves a bowl of fruit on the center of the table. Not even thirty seconds later, she's back with pretzels. Thirty seconds after that, cookies.

"That's all right, Cynthia," Coach Brown chuckles. "You're going to scare the poor things off."

You, Jaemin, and Sunghoon sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the coach with small smiles. Sunghoon, with his endless generosity, insisted that Jaemin sit in the middle. You initially wanted to strangle Sunghoon, but you also can't help but be hyperaware of Jaemin's muscles pressing into your own.

Despite the current weirdness between two-thirds of you, this was something that didn't need to be discussed at all. Although, sitting here, you and Sunghoon fiddle with your hands and squirm a little in the heavy atmosphere. In situations like this, it's difficult to know the right things to say.

Jaemin leans forward, stands up, and shuffles over to Coach Brown's bedside. "You gotta look at this, coach," he laughs.

While you and Sunghoon sit glued to the couch, the whispers of what you want to say lodged firmly in your throats, Jaemin chatters on like it's just another day.

You feel a flash of pride. Then hurt.

How was it so easy for him to go about and act as though nothing affected him?

You shake the thoughts from your head. This isn't about you.

The three of you relax more through the visit, although Mrs. Brown gently cuts it short to allow Coach Brown to rest.

You all wave goodbye and promise to come again, then you're standing in the parking lot, hovering by your cars.

You're about to ask Sunghoon to drive you when he speaks first. "Jaemin, you can take her back, right? I have something else after this that I already committed to."

The bastard is lying; you know for a fact he's playing nothing but video games tonight. He meets your eyes and grins.

Your welcome, he mouths, none the wiser.

You roll your eyes.

"Yeah, I was going to take her anyway," Jaemin says, shooting you a suspicious side glance.

The two of you say bye to Sunghoon and step back into Jaemin's car. Instead of saying anything, he turns the music up until the bass reverberates the entire car. You spend the drive listening to bass boosted music and wonder if he's lost his mind. Still, you tolerate it—until he takes a couple wrong turns.

"What the hell are you doing?" You try to shout, but the music drowns out your words.

He doesn't even glance at you. You realize, scanning the horizon, that he's driving you to the park nearest to your house. Jaemin pulls into a spot, turning to you when he turns off the engine.

"Want to go on a walk and talk?"

You've often driven past your local park on weekends, swarming with families and soccer games, but today, on a random weekend evening, it's peaceful. The sunset just barely kisses the horizon, blending shades of orange and pink across the sky.

Jaemin walks at your side in shorts and a gray sweatshirt. His hoodie's pulled up, and you're wearing one of his baseball caps over your head.

You walk side-by-side for a while, kicking rocks down the pavement.

After a while, he finally speaks first. "I'm sorry for not telling you directly about the move."

You stiffen. Your legs are still in motion, but your movements feel robotic. Yeah, you'd wanted him to figure it out on his own, but you weren't expecting him to actually know so fast.

Your surprise must show, because Jaemin then clicks his tongue and exhales. "Whew. That must've really pissed you off, if you're that surprised that I got it right."

You find your voice. "Yeah. I didn't love hearing about it through your team. Again."

He winces. "I know. I told him not to mention it, but he kinda went a little rogue there."

"No." You shake your head. "It's not just that aspect of it."

Confusion. "Then…?"

You shrug and throw your arms up. "I wish you told me yourself, Jaemin. No team. Not because you need to tell me in the name of the contract. I wanted you to tell me, face to face, friend to friend."

His jaw drops. "I—"

"I thought we've grown since the start." You hate how your voice trembles. "You knew how upset I was when this started, but you went ahead and did the same exact thing. No mention of these deliberations, even when I see you every day. It's like I mean nothing—"

A shadow crosses his face. "Don't finish that sentence," he snaps.

The two of you are stopped in the furthermost part of the path by a cluster of trees, hidden in the corner from the rest of the park-goers.

You poke a finger into his chest with each word. "I. Mean. Nothing. To—"

It all happens in one swift motion. Jaemin grabs your wrist before you can poke him again, then he tugs you wholly into his chest. His eyes flash before he crashes his lips onto yours.

Your first kiss with Jaemin is the opposite of your near-kiss; from the beginning, you collide, rough and wild, pushing against the other.

This is what you missed out on; it could've just been like this at the rink, too. The realization fuels another flash of irritation paired with a slight thrill. Kissing Jaemin gives you the same rush as competing. Pure adrenaline and dopamine override your senses.

All you can think about is his lips on yours. From the way he pulls you close, hands firmly placed on your back and hips, you know he's equally as lost.

More, you think. The urge completes the thought you've pushed back for months: regardless of the extensive time you've spent together, it will never feel like enough. Down to the level of comfort, the silent understanding, and now the physicality—in this moment, you never want to let Jaemin go.

Probing, you swipe your tongue across his lower lip. He hesitates, easing the pace into slow rhythms. It's not an outright denial—you try again, this time lightly nibbling.

"Alright," he pulls away and presses his forehead to yours as you both catch your breath. "That's enough."

"You started it," you huff with a laugh.

He laughs, then scans around your surroundings. It's not the smartest thing, but there's no one around now, at least.

You lean back in, but he shakes his head. "Can we just…talk?"

He sits down on the closest bench and gestures next to him. You follow.

"I'm sorry for not telling you. It was true though—I wanted you to hear it from me."

You bite your lip. "I believe you."

"I'm sorry for…doing that, too. Just now," he adds.

The relief evaporates immediately. "And you're sorry about…what, exactly?" You ask coolly.

He pales. "I—"

"No more beating around the bush, or going through our teams," you say. "Just tell me what you're thinking please. I think I deserve the truth."

Jaemin thinks for a minute, then grins. "I have feelings for you."

"Jesus, Jaem—" Your whole body feels like it's burning up and smoking into the evening sky.

"What?" He shrugs. "I wanted to just get that out in the open, before you start getting ideas that you don't mean anything to me."

He gives you a pointed look. You stick your tongue out at him.

"I'll say that too. You mean a lot to me."

"I get it," you grumble. His charm has completely disarmed you. "You mean a lot to me too."

His smile shines bright and blinding, even against dusk. "I'll be here for this season before moving, then I'll be three hours away. I still want to give us a try. We can try to make it work even through our schedules."

Even through the warmth of his confession, a cold dose of reality hits you when reminded of your own impending training. "Jaemin…that might get a little crazy, don't you think? Training schedules are one thing, but competition and travel are another."

"I want to go to your competitions," he declares. "At least a good amount of them. I want people to see me supporting you."

You should be happy—after all, Jaemin's discarding his notorious privacy—but the thought of the general public remaining permanent witnesses to your private life makes your stomach coil. Your mind leaps to the worst possibility—what if you flopped next season? Would you retire, disgraced? Would they talk about you online—Na Jaemin's girlfriend, a washed-up skater anchored to him by memories?

"Even if your girlfriend doesn't reach the same legend status?" You ask with a bitter smile.

Jaemin deflates. "You've had a great career."

There it is: had.

You sigh. "Can I think about it?"

"Why?" He demands.

"I just—I want to think about it Jaemin, jeez! One day you don't want to kiss me, the next day you're kissing me and telling me that you want to be together—it's a lot."

"You wanted me to be open and honest," he says quietly. "So I'm leaving it all out there."

He's right. You're being a massive hypocrite, and he's presenting everything that you've wanted right there.

Even with the perfect man offering you everything, you can't shake the rotten doubt that it's too good to be true. You'll ruin what you have, just like you've ruined everything else.

"I mean, I've said it before, but I still think that my image benefited from this arrangement more than yours."

"Come on," he says, hugging you from behind. "You know I don't care about that stuff. "

"I know." You lean back into his chest. It's almost easier to speak openly when you're not looking directly at him. "It's just…when I think about it—really try to think about it—I don't know how everything's supposed to fit together. Once we both go back to training full-time."

His hug on you loosens a little, although you feel his shoulders tighten. "Like…you don't know where I fit into your life after this?"

"No," you respond, then hesitate. "It's like…"

That was the thing—for all of the time you'd spent out of the other's orbit, it was now hard to picture your life without Jaemin's presence. You could see the possibilities laid out clearly: going to his competitions or watching them online if you were out of town. Calling him before your events to calm your nerves, then calling him again after to debrief.

Undoubtedly, Jaemin brought the levity into your life that had been missing for years. But when you tried to conjure your role in his life, your mind drew a big, looming blank.

"I just don't know how I'm going to fit in your life, Jaem," you admit, your voice low and quiet. "We're so different. You're a success that's able to just climb and climb, and I've been struggling for the past five years. I don't know if I belong in your world."

His voice drops. "It's the same world."

"You know I don't mean literally." You untangle your limbs and turn to face him.

Jaemin's lips tighten into a straight line that's neither a smile nor a frown. There's the slightest crease bending between his eyebrows.

Your chest constricts at the sight, and you struggle to breathe. More than the sadness pooling in his features, there's something worse under the surface: disappointment.

You open and close your mouth, forgetting your words, but Jaemin speaks first.

"Do you know you have a tell when you jump?" He says.

"I—excuse me?"

"It has nothing to do with your speed, or even your technique right as you load into it," his eyes turn fiery. "I can tell if you're going to land it based on your expression alone. When you're about to land it, you get this cute, determined scrunch across your whole face. When you're about to pop it or mess up the landing, you get this scared look in your eyes. Like you're about to cry, even before you take off."

"So what?" You manage to choke up. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You're giving me the same face right now, babe." Jaemin looks tired. "You look like you don't believe in this at all."

"I just need time."

"Then you can have it."

Silence stretches and expands between you. You hate this. You want to grab his hand and tell him that everything is going to be okay, but you can't make promises that you're not sure you can keep. You're hurting both of you in the process, but you can't stop.

"I just need time," you repeat, a broken record. "After the show?"

"Okay. We'll talk about it then." You see it cross his face again. Disappointment, disappointment, disappointment. "Let me take you home."

You finish the final touches of your makeup. You take a deep breath.

You're wearing the same dress from your Nationals free program. The ice blue fabric clings to your torso before flowing down your legs in sweeping waves.

You'd selected this dress for the show shortly after Nationals concluded—it was one of your favorites, and you hadn't been in the mindset to pursue a new look on a tight timeline, anyway—but you feel a brief flash of regret.

Dressed like this, it's impossible to not think about the last time you wore this dress. What started as yet another sad stamp in your fractured career pivoted to so much more. Your near-catastrophic failure of a program turned comeback, followed by the return of Jaemin into your personal life.

You pick up your phone, thinking to text Jaemin your revelation, only to remember and put it back down again. You'd left for the rink without checking whether he'd extend an offer to carpool or, at minimum, reach out at all to clear the air. He didn't—now, your first time seeing him today would be within the next thirty minutes, right before your show together.

A deep urge digs at your gut. You want to march right into the room you're mostly sure Jaemin's getting ready in with Sunghoon, drag him out, and demand answers. That, despite everything, he hasn't given up on you.

It's just an instinct. You lean back in your chair and close your eyes. A deep breath.

As you are choosing to handle this maturely (which rules out marching into his dressing room), you brace yourself for what's bound to be your first encounter: your off-ice warm up.

You've shown up ten minutes early. You're cycling through your second round of dynamic movements—light jogs, lunges, leg swings—until the remaining skaters begin to turn the corner.

You hear the slight lapse in chatter, but you ignore it. You're only looking for one face in the crowd.

A hand grabs your bicep. Sunghoon. "Hey, what's going on?" He hisses low into your ear. "Jaemin's pissed."

You swallow. "How pissed?"

"Pissed." His eyes narrow. "You don't seem surprised."

"Well, I…" A familiar figure rises in your peripheral. You free yourself from Sunghoon's grip. "I'm handling it. Promise."

Worry crosses his face. "Is that…good timing right now? Right before everything?"

Your confidence droops a little, but you push through it. "The timing is shit, but it has to be now."

Sunghoon releases your arm. You step forward toward the corner of the space, where Jaemin warms up with a small group of skaters.

He's wearing full-length black trousers that elongate his legs. His long-sleeved top echoes yours in shades of white blending into ice blue. A perfect pair.

You haven't seen him in days. It's like observing him through the lens of a stranger as he enraptures the attention of all around him with endless charm.

For the first time, it occurs to you; if you truly step away, this could be your new reality. Rooting for him from a distance rather than working through each struggle together. Polite yet restrained smiles of acknowledgement that refuse to reopen old wounds. The thought makes you ache.

You know it, then. You can't bear the thought of becoming strangers to one another again. As much as it stings to face your fears, the possibility of losing Jaemin hurts you more.

Rationally, you know that you can only blame yourself for this current situation—after all, it was your insecurities that had pushed him away.

Time after time, Jaemin had proven his genuine feelings and intentions toward you. This time, it was your duty to do the same.

Despite your reassurance to Sunghoon, you're scared to confront him. You're scared, but you push through anyway. You know, deep down, that going on the ice with Jaemin without addressing anything first will crack something deep in your foundation. You don't know how he'll react, and you don't want to find out.

"Hi," you breathe out from a slight distance.

Jaemin steps away from the group. His expression controls itself in an even neutrality, but he scans over your costume and over the details of your makeup.

"Hi," he responds.

A pause. There's a million things you want to say—what you know you should say, but you have no idea where to start.

"Are you ready?" You ask weakly.

"Yes." Then, he adds. "You don't need to worry. We'll give them a good show."

A good show. They're innocent words by themselves, but the accompanied tone leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

"Performance," you can't help but correct. "We'll give them a good genuine performance."

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that not what I just said?"

He's messing with you. The cold shoulder sends hot desperation down your spine.

"Please don't be like this," you plead with him. "Can we just talk?"

"We are talking." He doesn't even look up at you.

"Come on, Jaemin. You know what I mean."

He leans down to retie the laces on his skate. He pulls so tight that the fibers creak against the boot. "I have been talking to you. Ever since we crossed paths again—I think I've been more than clear about where I stand. You're the one that needs more time."

"I don't need any more time." You admit. Your throat is raw. "I don't."

He stops.

This is it, you think.

Except, it's the opposite. Jaemin finishes lacing up his skates in a flash of panic and darts away.

"Jaemin," you call after him. You double back, grabbing your bag before taking off after him.

He weaves past the other skaters, who look at the pair of you with either curiosity or confusion. You're sure that some sort of account of this will end up on some sort of gossip blog or forum later on.

It's not hard to catch up to Jaemin, given that he's hobbling on top of blades covered by blocky skate guards. You end up cornering him in his own dressing room.

"Are you done?" You ask, exasperated. "We don't have time for this. I'm on in fifteen, then you're on with me right after."

"Yeah," he mutters, eyes darting around the room to and fro. "Let's not do this now. Let's wait."

"No way." You're blocking the door now. "God, just—listen to me, Jaem."

Realization dawns on his face, and an uneasy smile stretches completely across his features. "I'm listening."

"Thank you," you cough. Your face feels hot enough to melt ice. "I messed up yesterday."

He nods and waits for you to continue.

"Ever since you came back into my life, it's just felt like everything spiraled out of my control. Having you back and supporting me wholeheartedly while I've been struggling for so many years…" You frown while trying to find the words. "I guess I didn't believe it. I didn't feel like me or any of the work I've done for the past few years was worth that sort of blind optimism."

"It's not blind," he offers.

You ignore him. "You're perfect in, like, everything you do. I had you up on this crazy high pedestal, and I thought I would never be able to actually meet you there."

You look at Jaemin. His gaze is soft.

"You show everyone the best sides of you, but I want to see all of it. Whether you're excited or irritated at how training went, if you're annoyed at your fanbase." You draw in a breath. "I want to see all of you. I want to be with you, after this. Away from the cameras, and just for us."

Jaemin's eyes roam over your face. Then, he exhales loudly and hangs his head on top of his thighs. His shoulders shake as he laughs to himself. "Good god…"

Everything burns. "What?"

He rises to his feet and stands above you. His hands cradle your chin, their touch cool yet gentle. "I shouldn't have lost my temper at you. I'm sorry."

Your throat is dry. "Then…?"

"I got carried away even letting myself think that an idea of us would be possible." Jaemin admits. "I wasn't thinking enough about how you felt."

You nod your head wordlessly, transfixed by his words.

"You don't give yourself enough credit. Your work ethic, your charisma…you don't have to prove anything to anyone." He pauses. "It's not like anyone's perception of us will change, since I guess we're already publicly dating, but I'm ready to love you out loud. Whenever you're ready."

"Love."Your head spins. "Jaemin—"

"Jaemin, you don't know that you love me. Wrong." he anticipates your words with a shit-eating grin. His thumbs caress your cheeks. "I didn't realize it at the time because I'm such a dumbass, but I think I've loved you my whole life."

You press the backs of your hands to your cheeks, which slightly overlaps with his hands lining the sides of your face. "You have?"

"Yup." He takes one of your hands in his and presses a soft kiss to your skin. "No pressure to say it back, though. Take your time."

You don't need time; you've always known it deep down. Regardless of location, age, or circumstances, Jaemin's always reserved a space within your heart.

"One minute," you murmur, reaching for your bag. A pink bunny plushie slides out, and you hand it into the hands of the original gift-giver.

"Mr. Hops?" Jaemin tilts his head.

"I don't compete without him," you lower your gaze shyly. "So I guess you'll be in charge of making sure I have it at competitions."

Jaemin hugs him tight. "I—"

"What I'm trying to say is," you take a step towards him. "I love you too."

Jaemin closes the gap between you. The kiss carries all of your conflicting emotions and promises that you're still a little scared to say out loud. All you know for sure are two things: first, you love Jaemin, and second, to love Jaemin, you're determined to be more comfortable with the unknown.

"Jaemin, I've been knocking, you're on—" Sunghoon lingers in the threshold, jaw dropped. "What the hell?"

The room falls into wide stares. You jump away with your arms raised in surrender, Jaemin squeezes Mr. Hops to his chest, and Sunghoon points a silent, accusatory finger around the room.

"I've been looking for you, Jaemin," his finger moves to you. "You're on in like, five minutes." Finally, it lands at Jaemin's arms. "Why is Mr. Hops here?"

"We can explain," you blurt out.

Sunghoon glares at you. "You're going to explain, you dirty liar. After. You guys have to get your asses out there first."

The corners of Jaemin's eyes crinkle as he looks at you. You feel a warm swell of affection in your chest.

There's so much more you want to say to him, but the show must go on. For now, you press a quick peck to his lips and interlace your fingers together. "Ready?"

Jaemin's smile is so wide that it looks like he might explode with happiness. "For you? Anytime."

Sunghoon fake gags but holds the door open for you.

You hold hands the entire way to the ice. The crowd loses it. You faintly perceive the screams and camera flashes, but all you focus on is the feeling of Jaemin's hand in yours.

*.❤︎₊ ⊹

If there’s anything you hated the most about college (aside from the ever surmounting tuition fees), it would be mandated group projects. It was a lose-lose situation; a group of strangers almost never divided the work fairly, and you’d found that even working with friends often strained the relationship until the dust settled. The most offensive group projects of them all, in your opinion, always included randomized group members that you’d be stuck with for the entire term. 

So when you walk into the second session for your Intro to Material Science class and see group project spread across each week’s coursework plan, you feel like crying. Even worse, you see that group selection occurred during the last class period, which you missed due to a doctor’s appointment. At the time you’d thought that missing syllabus day wouldn’t hurt, but for once that had been the worst timing possible. 

Professor Jang lectures for half of the class period before flipping to a slide that just reads Group Time!

“Now,” your professor says with a clap of his hands. “I am giving you the rare but useful opportunity to work on your group project in class with your groupmates. Remember—if you haven’t already exchanged contact information, please do so. While these groups will also be your small groups for in-class discussions and problems, I will probably not be giving you a lot of chances to work on your actual project during class.” 

You slink up to your TA as the other students shuffle themselves into their groups. 

“Hi,” you say with a nervous laugh. “I was gone last class, could I have some help finding my group?” 

“Sure!” Your TA says with a smile. When you’ve given her your name, she scrolls through a list on her laptop. “So it says right here that your partners are Jeong Jaehyun, Lee Mark, and–”

You hear a familiar voice shout your name, and all the hairs on your neck stand on end. You turn around slowly, and sure enough—

It’s Jungwoo waving you down to his table at the far corner of the room. His energy far exceeds the enthusiasm of the other two group members, who tap through their phones in bored scrolls. 

You’d first encountered Kim Jungwoo on the very first day of college. You’d stumbled into your first Intro to Engineering class scared of your impending course load and nervous to meet new people. You’d claimed a safe enough seat—not too close to the front, but also not in the dead back—and been caught off guard when your seat partner immediately turned to introduce himself. At the time Jungwoo had been a welcome source of social relief, especially when you ended up being paired in a group project together in that same class. 

It wasn’t that Jungwoo had a bad work ethic or couldn’t grasp the concerts. He was simply too smart and involved for his own good. Among a wave of socially awkward engineering students, he was quick to take charge and transform the atmosphere into something more comfortable. Guys loved him, and you could see girls developing crushes on him in real time. 

While his charisma was something you’d usually appreciate in the midst of meeting random people, he always seemed to enjoy messing with you in particular. He looped you in as the butt of the joke constantly with the guys. When you had to split into pairs and girls would turn to him with a hopeful sheen in their eyes, you would see their hope transform into hatred when he would turn to trap you as his partner. In your small bubble that was desperate to make friends in your own major, Kim Jungwoo was the reason why the girls hated you and the guys couldn’t take you seriously. As if it wasn’t bad enough, he outperformed you on nearly every single quiz, homework assignment, and exam possible. 

On top of it all, you’d been paired with him in at least one group project every term since that very first class together. In your third year, this most recent project would now tally into a grand total of nine projects together. Nine projects and zero new friends.

Jungwoo continues waving until you’ve reached the group’s spot. “I’m surprised you didn’t see me earlier. I was trying to wave you down before you walked up to the TA.” 

You shrug. “I was too focused, I guess.”

The other two group mates at the table look up from their phones when they hear your voice.

“My name’s Mark,” the first guy says while extending his hand. He has a slight baby face that makes you pause. 

“You’re a third year?” You ask, the shock protruding through your voice. 

He slouches. “First year.”

“He already took all of the early math requirements before enrolling, so he’s taking all the classes with no prerequisites,” Jungwoo explains. Intro to Material Science was one of the few engineering classes with no prerequisites, but most people took it in their last two years since there weren’t many upper division classes that required it either.

“You must be smart, then,” you smile.

Mark mumbles something under his breath that you don’t catch.

You’re about to ask him to repeat when the second guy at the table extends his hand. “Jaehyun. In my last year.” 

You gulp. Jaehyun is what you would typically describe as your type, down to his deep voice and strong features. You stammer through your name and year before opening your laptop in the desperate hope of concealing your brain short circuiting. 

You feel Jungwoo’s stare as you stumble through your introduction. His eyes don’t leave your face, even as you’re pulling up the project description from the course website. When it starts to make it difficult for you to focus on what you’re reading at all, you whip your gaze over to meet his.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” You hiss at him as Mark and Jaehyun are engaged in some sort of conversation about music. “Do I have something on my face?” 

“No.” His face is uncharacteristically blank.

“Then what?” 

“Nothing,” he says, turning away. 

It’s the most terse he’s ever been with you. Of all the times you’ve wished he would stop talking,  of course he ignores you when you actually want him to speak on something.

For once, you’re the one taking hold of the conversation with your other two groupmates. You find out the three of them are actually old friends and that both Jaehyun and Mark are taking the class as part of a minor.

“Ah, I was wondering how I’d never met either of you before,” you say as you lean back in your chair. “Although, now that I think about it, I somehow haven’t met any of your friends outside of our engineering major—right, Jungwoo?”

“Yeah,” Jungwoo replies without glancing up. He’s typing on a slide titled Busy Dog Incorporated, which is supposedly the fake company name your group mates had settled on for the project. “Weird.” 

Mark and Jaehyun exchange a look. 

“He probably knows that we’d make him look bad in front of his engineering friends,” Jaehyun jokes.

You’re grateful to Jaehyun for saving you from a completely awkward atmosphere yet too intimidated to maintain eye contact with him. You look back down at your laptop with a nervous laugh. When you work up the courage to peek around at the group again, Jungwoo’s gaze is lasered back in on you. 

His stare is so unexpectedly intense that it makes your heart jump in your chest. You’d always seen Jungwoo as a guy too chatty and goofy for his own good, but you’re taken aback by the seriousness in his eyes. Had you done something wrong? 

You’re relieved when you hear the sound of zipping and shuffling as people start to leave, and you quickly follow suit. It’s only when you pack up your things that you realize your next class is specific to mechanical engineering students, which means you and Jungwoo will in fact be heading to the same destination.

Not wanting to be rude, you face Jaehyun and Mark. “It was nice meeting you both,” you say with a polite smile. “I’ll see you guys again next class?”

Jaehyun opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted as something hooks onto the top handle loop of your backpack. Your torso is lifted up and turned around in the complete opposite direction.

“Let’s go.” The tone in Jungwoo’s voice is back to normal in its casualness, but his grip on your bag is ironclad. “We’re gonna be late. See you guys!” 

You barely have time to turn around with a final wave before Jungwoo marches you out of the lecture hall like a puppy being dragged by its scruff. 

Outside of the room’s double doors, you tug yourself free. “Jeez, chill out. I can walk by myself, you know.” 

“I was just making sure we left on time.” He shrugs. “You missed the first lecture for this class too, but he announced that we have a quiz for attendance at the beginning of class today.”

Your eye twitches in irritation. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

The two of you are sprinting across campus in the next instant. 

He’s laughing and shouting absurdities into the wind, and you’re staring at him like he’s a crazed wild animal. Your mind struggles to compare his current hyperactiveness with the intensity from earlier. Did something happen? Why on earth was he being so weird today? 

*.❤︎₊ ⊹

You look forward to your materials class with a cautious optimism about the possibility of developing new class friendships. Jaehyun had spoken to you easily, after all, and Mark seemed friendly enough. There was a lower chance of the conversation being swept away by Jungwoo’s charm, since they seemed to know each other well already. 

When you scan the seats in the lecture hall and only find one empty seat next to Jungwoo himself, you feel your heart sink. 

“Your friends couldn’t make it today?” You ask as casually as possible.

Jungwoo shrugs. “Mark had to study for another class, and Jaehyun had work.”

“He scheduled work during class?” Jaehyun seemed relatively laid back, but not that relaxed.

“This class is just for their minors, and attendance isn’t mandatory.” His eyes slide to yours. “Why? Did you need to talk to him?”

“I–no.” You trip on your own words. You were not about to admit that you had gotten excited about the mere prospect of class friends. “I was just curious.”

You figure their absences will vary like any other busy college student, but you’re proven wrong the next class when neither show face yet again. Or the next week. 

It’s the strangest project dynamic yet. Sure, you hate randomly assigned group projects, but you also prefer that your groupmates show up. Both guys complete all their work on time and respond almost instantaneously in the group chat, which perplexes you even more. Since they were at your every beck and call virtually, they could very well just come to class.

You try to go around the attendance issue by using the group chat to schedule a casual project meetup outside of class. It’s giving them the benefit of the doubt, really. You’re outside the doors of the meeting place–your favorite cafe on campus–when your phone vibrates three times. 

Jungwoo’s first. Just sat down :)

Mark’s message pops up next: Can’t make it today guys, I have to go back home this weekend :( Sorry about the last minute cancellation, lmk if I need to update anything on my side! 

Jaehyun follows within the same minute: can’t make it either, had to pick up someone’s shift as a favor. 

You throw the cafe door open and march inside. When Jungwoo waves from a table in the far corner, you change direction and stomp towards him.

“Did I do something to piss off your friends?” 

“Uh, hi to you too—” 

Your nostrils flare as you release your temper. “I’m being serious! Why are they being so flaky?”

“Hey, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He throws his hands up. “Are they not coming anymore?”

You flip your phone around to display the group chat, too impatient to wait for him to take out his own phone. 

He reads the messages before sighing. “I promise I didn’t know.” 

“You really promise?”

“I didn’t!”

You glare and scan him for any trace of dishonesty. Nearly three years of group work together had exposed you to most of Jungwoo’s mannerisms, down to the minute changes in his facial expressions and body language. In this case, his wide eyes and frozen shoulders speak for themselves—he genuinely had no idea that they would cancel. 

“Fine,” you sigh. “We can still go over what we need to. Let me order my drink first.” 

“Oh,” Jungwoo gestures at the two drinks on the table. “I already got yours.” 

You place your things down across from him and take a careful sip of the drink. The taste is familiar and pleasant—your favorite. “This is my order?” 

His lips twitch upwards. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I ordered it.” 

“How did you know which one to get?” 

“Most of our group project meetings have been here or at other cafes across campus.” Jungwoo types away on his computer without looking up, but the tips of his ears redden at the line of questioning. “You get the same thing every time regardless of the place.” 

He’s right. You typically don’t deviate away from your usual order, unless there’s a promotion that really catches your eye. 

“Why didn’t you order any for Mark or Jaehyun?” You ask. “Before you knew they weren’t coming.”

“I’ve never gotten coffee with them,” he shrugs. “I don’t know their orders.” 

You think out loud. “Do I know yours?” 

He lowers his drink out of sight so that you can’t peek. “I don’t know, do you?” 

Even though you posed the question, the answer comes out of your mouth naturally. “Iced Americano?” 

Jungwoo smiles and raises the dark drink from below the table up to his lips. “I would’ve left if you got that wrong. You would’ve been the only group member left.” 

You roll your eyes and call his bluff. “Liar. You don’t have the resolve to do something like that.” You open your own laptop and start clicking through the course website. “I’m telling you, all of this is a sign that we spend too much time together.” 

A brief pause. When you glance upwards from your work, Jungwoo’s lips are curled upwards in a slight pout. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” he says.

“I don’t think there’s been a single semester that we haven’t been paired together in some form,” you point out. 

“Yeah, but it’s not like we see each other that much outside of class stuff,” he mutters. “So I wouldn’t say it’s too much time.”

His words make you pause. Being in the same major and projects had ingrained Jungwoo’s presence in your classes as a constant, but it’s only now that you realize how intertwined Jungwoo is in your daily life. You don’t remember when you had unconsciously memorized his drink order—let alone when you’d picked up the ability to read him so well based on the smallest habits and expressions. 

On that topic, from the way he pouts and slouches in his seat, he’s clearly upset with you. When you think about it, he has been sulking much more than usual.

Despite his childish and borderline annoying behavior, you find yourself resisting the urge to lean across the table and smooth out the crinkle between his brows. His transparency is almost cute.

You shake yourself from the sudden thought. It must be the lack of sleep—you only slept three hours last night while cramming for tomorrow’s exam. You can begrudgingly accept that Jungwoo is the closest thing you have to a class friend, but seeing him as cute is so startling that you push it to the back of your mind. 

Willing yourself to focus, you’re able to easily redirect the conversation toward the group project. Jungwoo participates with ease, but he never quite loses the slight pout in his expression. He’s like a deflating balloon, losing energy as the time moves on. 

When you’re satisfied with your progress, you shut your laptop closed and stretch your arms overhead. “Looks good for now.” 

“Nice,” Jungwoo yawns and mirrors your stretching. “Any other plans for today?”

“Probably just gonna go home, nap, then study more for our statics test tomorrow.” You feel a slight pang of guilt at not offering to study together, so you add, “I think that’s the plan, anyway. It’s also my roommate’s birthday, so I’m not sure if she wants to celebrate today or tomorrow.” 

“Sheesh, glad I’m not you. You’re packed.” 

The feeling of guilt dissipates immediately. Your eye twitches. “Thanks. I am well aware.” 

He shrugs. “You’re smart, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Uh, thanks?” Your heart jumps a little at the unexpected praise. Did he always compliment you this easily? It’s been a while since you’ve spent one-on-one time together outside of small partner work in class; you can’t remember what the dynamic is usually like with just the two of you. 

If he senses your confusion, he doesn’t show it. “Don’t forget that we have that mini presentation Friday morning for Fluids. Should be easy, but I think we all still need to prep our slides.” 

You wave him off as you’re both packing up your things. “Should be fine. Once I sit down and do it, I should be alright.” 

Your chatter continues out of the coffee shop and towards the nearest bus stop. It’s a continuous train of thought between the two of you—upcoming events, complaining about professors, the whole works—and you’re still chatting until the campus bus passes on the opposite side of the street, signifying that it’ll make its final U-turn in a few minutes toward your stop.

You unzip your bag pocket to take out your transit card mid-vent. “That’s why I can’t stand working with Cathy on projects anymore. She’s so—wait, are you not getting on?”

Jungwoo looks amused. He reaches into his pocket and dangles his keys in front of you. “I drive myself now, remember?” 

“What? You never told me that!” In previous years, you’d oftentimes run into him on the same bus line leaving campus. Depending on the timing of overlapped classes in your schedules, there were some semesters where the two of you would walk to the bus stop straight after class and sit together on the way home. 

“I definitely did. Two weeks ago, when you were making googly eyes at Jaehyun–” 

“I was not—wait,” you squint at him. “If you’re driving, why did you walk here with me?” 

Jungwoo shrugs, sticking his hands back in his pockets. “It’s getting late.” 

“So?” NCIT and its surrounding area was known as one of the safest college campuses.

“So, I didn’t want to make you walk and wait alone in the dark?” 

“Very chivalrous,” you tease, “but not a very white knight thing for you to wait at the bus stop with me and then flex your new car without offering a ride.” 

“And would you have let me give you a ride if I offered?”

“No.” You hated the feeling of being in debt to someone else’s good deeds.

 “Right.” He rolls his eyes. “But yeah, I actually only walked you here just to brag about my car.”

“Obviously.” 

The bus finally turns back around the corner, and there’s a sparkle in Jungwoo’s eyes that you don’t understand until a mischievous smirk spreads across his face. 

“Well, for the record,” his voice lowers, “just text me if you need a lift. You can take a ride anytime.”

Your jaw drops, and you’re about to ask what the hell that means when you hear the bus doors open. The bus driver glares at the both of you.

“See ya!” Jungwoo’s voice is back to its chipper tone as you rush onto your bus. 

You swipe through random apps on your phone in an attempt to look unaffected, but you still can’t resist peeking at Jungwoo’s waving figure until it disappears in the distance. 

*.❤︎₊ ⊹

“He wants you so bad it’s embarrassing,” your roommate Lucy calls from the bathroom as she does her makeup. 

“But I’ve never felt these…vibes from him before,” you frown from your place on the couch. You’ve put effort into tonight’s look, but Lucy always takes longer to get ready. 

“Um, that’s wrong.” You can hear her eyes rolling from here. “I’ve been telling you that he’s been interested for years!” 

“Okay, but your intuition sucks. You were wrong about that one barista, that guy from my writing class, Daniel–” 

“I’m not immune to making mistakes, but you’d have to be blind to not see this one.” 

“We’re not like that,” you insist as Lucy walks out into your shared living room.

“Yeah, yeah,” she rolls her eyes as she pours a round of four shots. “A socialable and cute guy in engineering gives you his undivided attention and bends to your every will? His one bad trait is that he's sometimes smarter than you? How horrible.”

You open your mouth to double down, unwilling to let the subject go, but the topic is cut short as there’s a knock at your door.

Lucy’s previous birthday celebrations had included tame activities such as group dinners or game nights. Drinking was never out of the question, exactly, but it was almost never the main focal point of the night. Lucy had decided to change course for this year, specifically requesting to go out to bars with her other close friends. You’d carpool with Marie and Jenny since they lived in the same apartment building, but the rest of the main group planned to meet up later. 

“Is this your first time at college night?” Jenny asks with a smile during the Uber ride over. 

“Unfortunately,” you grumble as Lucy whips around to glare at you. You’d successfully evaded attending college nights at your local bar—in general, you dislike running into people you know during nights out—and Lucy had taken it upon herself to weaponize her birthday as a way for you to break your soft boycott.

“You just hate drinking in public because you’re a drunk crier,” Lucy says with a smug smirk.

Jenny’s eyes widen. “You are?”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that,” Marie echoes. 

“I’m not!” You insist.

“You’ll be fine,” Lucy says over the music. “There’s nothing happening at the bar that could possibly be tear-inducing anyway.” 

Walking into the bar, the atmosphere itself immediately reminds you of why you generally stopped going out in the first place. The speakers are blasting with loud, bass-boosted music, you can barely see anything in the darkness, and, even if you could see anything, there’s so many people that it’s nearly impossible to move around. 

“First round?” You manage to hear Lucy’s voice to your right.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you sigh as she tugs you along towards the bar. 

Before you know it, the birthday girl herself has convinced you to take drink after drink until your head feels light and warm. You’re giggling and dancing with your girls without any pretenses, and your carefreeness relaxes even more when groups start to trickle out of the building. You can’t remember the last time you’d gone out and not felt any rush of social or academic anxiety ambush you. 

When someone’s put it through your head that jello shots are somehow the next move, it’s your turn to wait at the bar until you can catch the bartender’s attention. 

“I can help who’s next.” A familiar voice asks from just outside your field of vision. “What can I get you?”

You turn your head to lock eyes with a face you haven’t seen since the first week of classes. “Jaehyun?”

Jaehyun looks equal parts shocked and guilty. To his credit, he recovers quickly with a smile. “Been a while. Are you out with friends?” 

 Emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your system, you cross your arms over your chest. “Um, yeah, it’s been a while—since you stopped showing up to all in-class and out-of-class group meetups.” 

“Right.” He swallows, his smile turning more sheepish.

“I thought you picked up shifts during class? Unless this bar is open in the morning, too?” 

That seems to give him more confidence. “Would you believe me if I said this is my second job?” 

“I’ll believe you a little more if you give me a round on the house as an apology.” 

Four free jello shots later, you return to your group with a victorious spring in your step. You’re feeling considerably less on top of the world, however, when the jello shot sends you just over the side of being too drunk. Lucy and the rest of the group have been there, as they’re overall more lightweight than yourself, leaving you to remain reliable through your own haze.

You’re not doing a great job, as you lose the other two after the DJ plays Gasolina, which leaves you to manage an incredibly intoxicated Lucy. 

“Let’s get you water, then I’m calling the Uber. With or without those two,” you command as you try to lead Lucy from a table and back toward the bar. It’s an empty threat to try and get her to behave–you’d never leave them out to dry like that–but it has the opposite effect.

“I don’t wanna,” she whines as she refuses to budge. “We all have to go together.” 

You use all of your restraint to refrain from shaking her by her shoulders. “If I promise to find them, will you stay here without moving?”

She nods wordlessly. 

You take off towards the bar while swearing under your breath. You take a quick look around for the other two to no avail.

Luckily, Jaehyun’s the next available bartender again. You show a group picture to him on your phone. “Have you seen either of these girls?” 

He squints at the screen. “They were here maybe a few minutes ago? Went back that way?” He points from the direction you came. 

You groan. Of course you barely missed them. “Two waters, please.” 

“Coming up,” he laughs. Jaehyun slides the two cups across the counter, but not before his eyes flicker to something over your shoulder. He grins. “Here to close out your tab?”

A voice sounds right near your ear. “Very funny, Jaehyun.”

Your neck snaps around so fast you think you may have given yourself whiplash. Sure enough, Jungwoo stands right behind you, his shocked expression mirroring your own. 

“Hey?” He blinks, and his brown eyes roam over your face as if you’re an illusion that could disappear at any moment. He’s wearing jeans paired with a simple t-shirt and black jacket over the top. His hair is slicked back in a hairstyle that you’ve never seen on him before. In fact, under the dim bar lighting, Jungwoo looks like a completely different person. 

It’s so different that your mind blanks, and out comes the first thing that your drunk brain thinks of. 

“Are you stalking me?!” 

He freezes, and you realize that, for once, you’ve rendered Kim Jungwoo speechless. 

“That—that was supposed to be a joke. I meant,” you try to recover, “that I wasn’t expecting to see you here. It’s as if you were stalking me.” 

Jaehyun doubles over with a deep roar of laughter, which makes your face heat in embarrassment. 

Jungwoo clears his throat. “Jaehyun’s car is in the shop, so I’m picking him up from work. We live together. I know you said you might go out for your friend’s birthday on Thursday, but I didn’t realize it would be here. So no, I’m not stalking you.” Even in the low lights, a dusting of red is visible on his cheeks. “Are you drunk?” 

“No,” you snap. You remember the two water cups on the bar and try to snatch at them, but you almost knock them both over in the process. 

Jungwoo reaches over your arms and plucks up the cups before you can try again. “Where’s your group?” 

“Over there,” you say with a small jerk of your head, “but I’m fine. I’m the most sober one, actually.” 

That draws a laugh out of him. “I’m sure you are,” his smile warms your entire body. He nods to Jaehyun, who you’ve completely forgotten is behind the counter. “Does she have an open tab?”

“No. She blackmailed me for free drinks.” 

“Free jello shots,” you can’t help but correct. 

“She blackmailed me for free jello shots,” Jaehyun echoes with a pointed look at Jungwoo. The two seem to be having a silent conversation that you’re not privy to, which makes you all the more impatient.

You pry the water cups from Jungwoo’s hands while he’s distracted. “I can hold these, thanks.” Your drunk strength squeezes too much force on the right cup, causing some of the liquid to dribble over the edge. 

“Good lord,” Jungwoo mutters. His hand moves to steady your elbows to support the drinks in your hands as he gently guides you back to your table. “Are you sure you don’t want to drink one for yourself? I think you should.”

“Nuh uh,” you say as you power through the crowd. “Not drunk.”

Miraculously, Lucy is sitting down obediently at the same place you’d left her, and the twins have magically popped up next to her. Lucy’s posture straightens immediately when she sees the two of you.

“Jungwoo’s here!” She points at him while shouting.

You nod, but the expression you shoot her screams For the love of god, please shut up.

Jungwoo pauses. “Have we met?” 

Just through word of mouth. And your public instagram page, you think.

“Jungwoo, this is my roommate, Lucy.” You shove one cup of water into her hands and slide the other to be split by the twins. “Please drink these.” 

Thankfully, she does as she’s told. It’s all going smoothly, and you’re one confirmation of payment away from calling the Uber when a waitress comes around with four shots on a tray.

“Happy birthday!” She sings with a dazzling smile. 

You accept the drinks graciously to her face, only to whip around and unleash your fury on the group. “Who the hell ordered these?”

They all look away. 

The beginnings of a headache thump behind your eyes. Despite the heat pooling in your cheeks and the slight dizziness buzzing around your head, you know what has to be done. 

“Happy birthday,” you glare at Lucy as you place one shot in front of her. 

Considering that you suspect at least one if not both twins just threw up in the bathroom, you don’t even consider giving either a shot. You are not willing to risk an Uber disaster tonight. Instead, you turn to Jungwoo with a stone cold expression.

“I need a favor.” 

As if reading your mind, Jungwoo nods and slides a shot in front of himself. “I got you.” 

That leaves the third. You want to take the last one—if anything, just to be courteous to Jungwoo, since he’s helping you out anyway—but your stomach lurches when you catch another whiff of alcohol. In the end, you and Jungwoo opt to split the last one in half. The first shot goes down smooth enough—or you’re so out of it that your sense of taste has completely checked out.

“Cheers,” you grimace as you pinch your nose and take half of the remaining shot. When you reach out to directly hand the shot glass over, Jungwoo pauses, his eyes darting between your lips and the rim of the glass.

“What is it?” You shout over the music, but your voice is too loud even to your own ears. “Take it!”

A faint pink flushes into his cheeks, but he does as you say. His nose wrinkles as he tilts his head back and drinks the remaining liquor. “It’ll be fun to feel the consequences of this during our presentation.” 

“I doubt a shot and a half will affect you at all—” you cut yourself off as you process what he said.

Our presentation. Meaning, tomorrow morning's presentation. The same Friday presentation, you’re realizing, that you’ve completely forgotten to finish your designated slide for. Your heart drops to your ass.

It’s stupid. Logically, you know that one short presentation won’t tank your grade. However, coupled with your less than optimal first quiz score, it does make you feel like shit. You feel so terrible for leaving your group out to dry—what if they needed a good score to keep them from dropping down a grade? 

“Don’t hate me,” you say sullenly, tears pricking at your eyes.

Jungwoo’s brow furrows. “Huh?”

You know you’re too drunk right now and you should think twice before airing out your insecurities, especially when you’d be airing them out to the classmate that consistently outperforms you. Even so, you can’t stop the single tear that betrays you by slipping down your face.

“Shit,” Jungwoo scrambles for a napkin, but your tears are too fast. He shifts to performing immediate damage control by wiping away at the tears with the pads of his thumbs instead. “Shh, no, everything’s okay. I could never hate you. Why are you crying?” 

“I forgot to do my presentation slide for fluids,” you sob. “I totally forgot and now I’m gonna be too drunk to do it when I get home. I might still be drunk by the time I need to leave for class.”

A pause.

“Pfft.” He turns his head away and tries to cover his mouth so you can’t see him shaking with laughter. “Nerd.”

You shove at his arm. “Don’t laugh at me!” 

“I’m not,” he deadpans, even as the lines of his face look considerably more relaxed. He dabs at your drying tears with his sleeve. “It’s almost three in the morning anyway, so it would’ve been pretty ambitious for you to try and sober up in time to actually complete it.” 

That makes the tears come back in full force. “I’m sorry that I’m a bad group member!” Without thinking, you bury your face into Jungwoo’s shoulder as you cry.

You feel the muscles on his shoulder stiffen before they relax. One hand comes out to stroke the back of your head, while the other rubs small circles on your back. 

“You’re not. You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

“You already said that the other day,” you hiccup.

You feel his chest rise and fall with a huff of laughter. “I wouldn’t just say that if I didn’t mean it, dummy. This presentation isn’t even a big deal. Your part is like two slides. You’re smart and a hard worker, so stop calling yourself a bad group member. I wouldn’t like…working with you so much otherwise.”

That’s enough to make your crying subside. When you finally pull away, he wipes again at the smeared makeup on your face. 

“Don’t worry about your section of the presentation tomorrow. I’ll do it. Just stay home and I’ll tell our professor that you’re sick–which I have a feeling it won’t be a lie, so don’t argue with me right now. Does all of that sound okay?”

You nod with a sniffle. “Thank you. Really.” 

The corners of his eyes soften. He reaches his hand to smooth out a rogue hair; this time, you catch his outstretched hand and lean your head into this open palm.

“Ah,” He turns his gaze away suddenly with a strangled cough. His face glows a bright red. “It looks like your friend’s Uber is here.”

Lucy stands at the bar entrance with a knowing smile on her face. The twins are sitting on the curb a few feet away outside of the bar, looking away. You hadn’t even noticed that the three had snuck out sometime during your conversation with Jungwoo. 

Jungwoo still walks the short distance with you to meet her. Lucy holds back laughter as you both hover around the entryway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say shyly.

“I better not—well, I mean that in the sense that you shouldn’t come to class in the morning.” His arm reaches to scratch the back of his head. “You know what I mean. Text me when you get home.” 

“I will,” you laugh as Lucy tugs you away.

“I told you,” she brags with a smug grin plastered across her face. “You’re a drunk crier, and he’s down bad.”

*.❤︎₊ ⊹

When you wake up, the time on your alarm flashes back at you: 11:27am. Two and a half hours past your normal Friday morning class.

You squint and ignore the pounding in your head ignited by the light flooding from your phone’s display. 

Your phone is flooded with message notifications, the oldest starting from Lucy at 2am last night and the most recent being seven messages from Jungwoo (intro to eng).

Heart racing, you click on Jungwoo’s chat first. 

[8:15am]: morning :) hope you’re feeling ok

[8:16am]: in case you forgot, do NOT come to class today 

[8:16am]: I already made ur slide

[8:16am]: so coming would just make it awkward for both of us 

[9:15am]: presentation went well, I convinced prof to not require a makeup assignment for u  

[9:25am]: lmk when you’re alive 

[9:36am]: don’t forget to drink water :)

His messages draw a sleepy snort of laughter from you. He knew you so well — if you had the physical capability to wake up on time this morning, you probably would’ve tried to fill out your slide in a panic and charge over to lecture. Too bad you’d snoozed your alarm in your sleep. It was nice to know that he still had your back, even after drunk you had lowkey terrorized him.

I drank water when I got home, you text back, but someone should’ve told me to drink some at the bar.

The response is almost immediate. I did. You’re stubborn when you want to be.

You roll your eyes. And this is new?

Guess not. Are u planning on coming to materials lecture?

Your head pulses as you sit up in bed. For all intents and purposes, there’s no reason to push yourself to attend your Intro to Material Science lecture today. Jaehyun and Mark don’t show up anyway, and you know Jungwoo would cover you in case it was an issue.

Still, it’s the inexplicable giddiness in your chest that causes you to reply yep, see ya later. 

A heart reaction appears over your message, leaving you humming as you tap on your chat with Lucy. 

Immediately, your fingers freeze in place over the screen. Two images capture the latter half of last night. The first shows you walking toward the table with water cups in hand, Jungwoo spotting your back. All of that feels familiar; what does not is Jungwoo’s hands guiding you along, one hand on your right elbow and the other hovering close to your waist. 

You’re sure that he didn’t touch your waist at all, but the angle of the camera misleads your eyes and makes your skin prickle as if he did. It sure looks like it.

The next picture captures your crying session at the tail end of the night. Jungwoo’s hands cradle your face to wipe away your tears. What you hadn’t been able to see through your waterworks, however, was his face as he looked at you. Startlingly, it’s an expression that you recognize on him — mouth curved upwards, eyes warm, and attention rapt on you. Even so, the softness lining his features triggers your heart to leap. If you were an outsider looking in, you’d describe it as tender. 

Down bad, Lucy’s text says below the text.

You’re so shocked that you forget to dislike her message. You text back: what the fuck? 

I’m talking about both of you btw, she replies, and you’re about to press her further when her last picture pops into the chat. 

It’s still your crying session, mere moments after the first picture, but one glaring thing is different. Not only is Jungwoo’s back to the camera, but you’re the focal point of the lens. Your head leans into Jungwoo’s open palm, and you gaze up at him through thick lashes that look almost siren-like. 

You nearly launch your phone across the room. You immediately exit out of the messages. 

You refuse to allow yourself to dwell or over analyze it. You go through the motions of getting ready as usual and dart out of the apartment before Lucy can goad you further. 

At materials lecture, Jungwoo keeps the seat next to him open for you, as always. 

“Hey,” you say as you slide into the seat.

“Ah, hey,” Jungwoo ruffles through his bag and holds out a water bottle.  “Need it?” 

“Oh–I have one. Thanks, though.” 

He slides it over anyway. “Eh, take it for later.” 

“Are you sure?” 

His eyes crinkle at the edges, and there’s a warmth in his eyes as he grins mischievously. “I think the odds of you needing it over me are higher.”

“Whatever.” Your voice sounds cool enough, but your heart betrays you by thundering away in your chest. The look in his eyes exactly mirrors his expression from Lucy’s photo last night. 

He doesn’t pick up on your stiffness, instead leaning back in his chair and tapping the edge of his pen against his desk. “Professor Jang is pretty late today, no?”

As if on cue, other students collectively groan and start muttering amongst themselves. A few people get up first before the rest of the class begins to follow.

Jungwoo straightens in his seat. “Whoa, what’s happening?” 

On intuition, you check your email. Sure enough, there’s a recent message from Professor Jang: 

Hi MAT101,

Class will be cancelled today, as my kid is throwing up everywhere. 

Thanks, 

Jang

Sent From My iPhone. 

“Ugh, we were all already here,” you groan, flashing the message over to Jungwoo. “And we have our next class after this.” 

He nods and puts his things in his bag. “Want to check out some of the pop-ups around campus while we wait?”

“Sure,” you shrug. “There’s an event today?” 

“Seemed like it, but no idea what it’s for,” he shrugs back. “Should be chill enough, I think.” 

When the two of you stroll outside and turn towards the rows of booths, it immediately becomes apparent that things are not chill. The booths are covered with colors of pink, red, and white. Heart and cupid designs sprinkle the front of at least half. 

“Uh, Jungwoo? What day is it?”

He taps his phone to turn on the display, and the resulting date confirms your suspicions: February 14th.

“How did I not even realize it’s Valentine’s day?” You ask yourself, massaging your temples. 

“Well, you were in a pretty rough state last night,” Jungwoo offers. 

You glare at him. “Gee, thanks.” 

He nudges your shoulder. “Come on, let’s check it out anyway. It’s just a theme.” 

He strolls towards each booth without a care in the world. You trail behind him, incredibly self-conscious. You wonder if, to the average passerby, the two of you look just like any other browsing couple. 

And would you hate that? 

You can’t think further into it, as Jungwoo calls out your name from the other end of a vendor tent. “Come look at these candles.” 

The candles all look the same physically: pink wax within a heart shaped ceramic. It’s cute enough to pique your interest, and you hold one titled Slow Burn. 

“Whoa,” you sniff again. The main scent is a light citrus, with other fruity notes that you can’t quite discern. 

You hold the candle up to Jungwoo. “I’m smelling citrus and…mango?”

He leans in. “Definitely mango? Potentially passionfruit?” 

You’re sold. You wait in the line, ready to purchase your candle, until you rustle through your bag and realize that you’ve forgotten your wallet at home. 

“Ah shit,” you mutter. “I have to put this back.” 

Jungwoo cocks his head. “Why? I thought you liked it.”

“I forgot my wallet,” you sigh. You’re one step out of the line when Jungwoo tugs at your arm. 

“I’ll spot you,” he says while prying the item out of your hands. 

You shake your head. “Please don’t, you’ve been too nice to me lately. I’m already too far deep in debt with all the favors you’ve done for me.” 

“Well…” He ignores you, handing the candle back to the cashier. It ends up wrapped in a dainty white bag, which he holds out to you. “What’s another one?” 

The cashier smiles at you both. “Please also feel free to take advantage of our photobooth over there. It’s free with the purchase.” 

It’s one of those electronic photobooth cameras that sends the image to you directly; currently, there’s no takers, and all of the nearby props are still neatly organized on the display. Clearly, no one’s used it.

“Let’s go,” you whisper, but Jungwoo’s already at the display table rifling through the accessories. 

He settles on a puppy ear headband before glancing over at where you’re standing with your mouth wide open. “Pick a prop!” 

After overcoming your initial reluctance, you settle for a headband with hearts on it as well as a classic candy heart cutout that says Be Mine.

He’s already setting up the photobooth to send a copy to each of your emails. You fidget in the frame, trying not to look as awkward as you feel. 

“Alright, let me start it…oh wait,” he leans back to the table to also grab a candy heart cutout. “Okay, now.” 

Thankfully, it’s only set up for one picture; the camera flashes and you immediately receive an email notification: Access your Cupid Candle Photos Here.

You click the link as you both make your way to the main walkway. As expected, you’re both smiling at the camera with your headbands on. 

What you don’t anticipate is that, next to your Be Mine cutout, Jungwoo’s reads I’m Yours.

Your feet ground in place. 

You’re not an idiot completely unaware of your own feelings – you’re simply just good at ignoring and pushing them away for later – but no amount of compartmentalization can obscure the truth from these images literally staring you in the face and the butterflies frenzying within your stomach. 

You have feelings for Kim Jungwoo. 

In truth, you can’t even pinpoint exactly when they started. You know him so well that it doesn’t feel like a sudden fall head-over-heels. Like him, it’s steady and supported by a deep sense of respect and fondness.

That doesn’t make admitting it to yourself any easier. You’d fallen for him now, of all times, years later? 

“Hey,” you feel a tug on your arm. Jungwoo’s eyes scan you with concern. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just felt a little dizzy.” 

He frowns. “Give me your bag.” 

He takes it before you can reply and doesn’t stop there. He pulls your arm so it loops into his, and the two of you continue towards your next lecture linked. 

The close proximity does make you dizzy, and you cling to his arm in earnest. 

You may not be able to say when you fell for him, but god are you in deep. 

*.❤︎₊ ⊹

Something shifts. Your next few days are all filled with Jungwoo–walking to class together, grabbing meals, and texting during the times you’re not together. It almost alarms you to realize how easy it is with him. 

You’re separated for what feels like the first time in days during one of your classes, where you’re randomly paired up with your classmate, Mina, to work together on an in-class problem. It goes by easily enough, although you can see Jungwoo sneaking peeks at you mid-assignment. He really has nothing to worry about, as both of you have been paired with smart people. 

You and Mina end up being one of the first pairs to finish, turning in your papers and waiting at your desk for others to finish. You spin a pen around in your hand in boredom.

“Waiting for Jungwoo?” She asks. 

You nod. “He’ll probably throw a fit if I leave before he’s done.”

“I meant to ask,” Mina whispers as if sharing a secret. “Are you and Jungwoo dating?”

“What?” Your pen spins out of your hand and over your shoulder. “No, we’re not dating!” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Talking, then?”

Your mind races. Sure, in the literal sense, you see him during and after nearly every class, study together on the weekends, call him when you struggle with problem sets, and text him random things in the interim. But all that isn’t talking talking—right? Something definitely has felt different this week, but your newfound awareness of your own feelings muddle any objective clarity you had before. 

“No,” you manage to rasp out. “We’re not.”

“Ah, damn.” Mina rests her head in her hands. “Some of us have been waiting for you guys to get together since first year.”

“Really?” Your voice comes out shrill.

“Yeah, you guys just seem to really get along and work together the best. Natural chemistry and all that.”

You laugh. “Oh, that’s interesting.” 

“Would you, though?”

“Would I what?” 

“Be interested in him at all,” she clarifies, leaning in.

You should laugh it off, lie, and leave it at that. You definitely don’t owe any of your classmates any information about your love life, but your nerves make you start blabbering whatever comes to mind.

“Yeah, that’s funny you say that, I really couldn’t stand Jungwoo for a while. In fact, he was picking on me so much that I was basically cursing his name every class because we always get matched to work together.”

“Uh…” Mina’s eyes widen.

“It probably seems like chemistry since I’m used to him being a weirdo around me all the time. So no, we’re not dating, and good luck to his future girlfriend, I guess—ow!” You cry as Mina kicks your shin. 

“Shh,” she hisses. 

You hear a cough behind you. 

“You dropped your pen,” Jungwoo says with absolutely no trace of emotion on his face. He drops the pen onto the desk in front of you and turns to leave. 

You’re out of your seat and running after him in a split second. When you catch up to him, you grab at his sweatshirt sleeve. “Jungwoo—!” 

“Don’t,” he says as he tugs his sleeve out of your hands. “It’s fine. Really.”

“No, really–” 

“Leave me alone, okay? Maybe I don’t want you around me all the time either, if we’re stuck together so much.” 

You let him go. Later, you try to text and call him, but all of your messages bounce back. He’s absent from all of your shared classes despite the fact that he’s barely missed a single class within the entire time that you know him.

When you show up to your materials class the following Monday, Jaehyun and Mark are sitting in your usual spot. Jungwoo is nowhere to be found.

“Wow, look at who finally showed up in person. Welcome back,” you say flatly. 

The two exchange a look that you don’t even care to interpret. You plop your bag on the ground next to Mark’s seat and start taking notes without another word. 

When Professor Jang reaches the end of his powerpoint early and announces time for group work, you’re already packing your things up. There was no reason for you to be there; your project presentation was almost completely done, and Jungwoo was definitely ignoring you. You’d lost access to the shared docs last night anyway, so you can’t work on anything even if you tried. You don’t even know why the other two had finally bothered to show up.

“Wait,” Jaehyun says.

You turn to him in surprise – more for the fact that this is one of the few times you’ve heard him initiate, well, anything. “Yes?” 

Jaehyun thinks for a moment before answering slowly. “Just give Jungwoo time. He just needs to sulk about it.”

That comment does little more than stoke the flames of your building irritation. He’d been talking to his friends about you?

“Well maybe I don’t want to talk to him either,” you spit out without caring about how childish you sound. “It’s fine, since we’re both sick of being paired together time after time.”

Jaehyun exhales in what you think is a laugh. “I don’t know what he said to you, but he definitely isn’t sick of that.” 

Mark elbows Jaehyun in the ribs. “Dude!” 

“Um.” Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean?” 

“He’s just saying random stuff,” Mark babbles, but Jaehyun’s already talking over him. 

“Do you know the odds of being randomly paired with the same person over and over again?” 

“Uh, low?” 

“For this class alone, you had a 3/199 chance, which would be around 1.5 percent likelihood. To calculate the probability of a second project in a similarly sized class and project group you would multiply 3/199 by 3/199, which would give you…” He types the numbers into a calculator. “...a 0.023 percent chance of being paired together in 2 independent projects.” 

“...And?” You aren’t sure why Jaehyun is flexing his statistics skills right in front of you. Respectfully, you didn’t know he could do math like that.

“If the likelihood of being paired together in only one class is 1.5 percent, and the probability of being paired together in project after project only lowers each time…” He stares at you. “Do you really think that’s completely random?” 

In the midst of his awkward delivery, that’s when you finally get it. There’s a flutter of hope in your chest that makes your heart race. 

“How were groups chosen for this class?” You ask while barely containing your smile.

“Choose your own groups,” Jaehyun grins. “There was an uneven number since you were gone, so Professor Jang said there would need to be one group of three to take the missing person–” 

“–and Jungwoo fought off anyone else trying to join our group!” Mark finally bursts in, unable to keep himself out of the conversation. “He told everyone else that your spot was already reserved.”

The verbal confirmation sends a wave of heat climbing up your neck. You clear your throat. “And how long am I supposed to wait for him to stop sulking?” 

There’s a long pause as Jaehyun thinks. “Probably a week.” A mischievous grin spreads across his face. “But I have a way for you to speak with him sooner.” 

*.❤︎₊ ⊹

Sooner turns out to be the following Wednesday. You pause in front of the door of the address Jaehyun sent you. Your hand shakes as you knock three times in succession.

The music inside goes silent, and there’s some shuffling on the other side for a few minutes before Mark pokes his head out of the doorway. His face relaxes when he sees you. 

“Hey!” He swings the door open for you. “Sorry for the sudden silence. We thought you were Jungwoo at first.”

“All good,” you fake a smile and hope it’s convincing. “How have you been?”

You don’t really listen as Mark leads you through the house, and you fail to retain any names when he introduces you to new people here and there. You could figure it out later when you’re much less nervous. 

Jaehyun turned out to be more conniving than you expected—he’d concocted this plan in lecture with you, detail-by-detail, although you were starting to get the sneaking suspicion that he had this in mind all along. 

The main setting central to his plan: the surprise party. As his housemate, Jaehyun had already planned a surprise birthday party for Jungwoo with the rest of their friend group. What he hadn’t prefaced in advance was how overly male their friend group was, and you stick out like a sore thumb. 

“He’s turning into the neighborhood,” a voice announces from the other side of the house. 

”He’s gonna know immediately,” you hiss to Jaehyun as people start finding their hiding spots.

He gestures to the back of the room with a nod of his head. ”Follow me.”

There’s a couch toward the back of the room that faces away from the entrance. You plop down on the cushions. “I fail to see how this helps.” 

“I’ll hide next to you, pop out, then leave. You’ll stay.”

”Okay?”

”I’m willing to bet that he won’t even think to walk over here,” Jaehyun explains, ever patient. “Let alone look at who’s sitting on the couch.” 

It seems utterly ridiculous, but you’re not in a position to be arguing. This is his house and his plan, after all, and you didn’t have any other bright ideas of your own to begin with. Jungwoo’s made himself impossible to reach, and you’re desperate. 

You hug your knees into your chest and press your back into the cushion. Jaehyun settles next to you facing the opposite direction.

The house is completely still as the lock jiggles and the door swings open. Everyone keeps their cool until you hear Jungwoo switch on the lights to the kitchen. Click. 

“Surprise!” Everyone except you jumps up from their respective hiding places. You stay in place from your seat on the couch as Jaehyun floats back toward the front of the room. 

Some of the other partygoers drift over to your side of the room and startle, shooting the occasional confused glance in your direction, but you don’t care. The ultimate goal is to catch him off guard after his inhibitions have been lowered. 

The first step of Jaehyun’s plan unfolds: you hear someone yell “Shot!” accompanied by the mass pouring of cups followed by a group of cheers. The lights turn back off after the group shot, which makes it difficult to discern what happens next without potentially breaking your cover. You’re hiding out on the couch for at least twenty more minutes until you feel a tap on your shoulder. 

“It’s been done,” Jaehyun plops down on the cushions next to you. “I think someone else might have roped him into a third and potentially fourth shot, though.” 

Your head tilts. “He seems like he can hold his liquor decently enough, right?”

Jaehyun bursts out into a fit of deep laughter. “God, no. He was probably just trying to look cool in front of you. He ended up bugging me at the bar for at least an hour until he sobered up at the very end of my shift, and then I still ended up driving his car home–”

“Jaehyun!” You hear Jungwoo’s voice drawling over the crowd.

“Look, I should probably warn you…” Jaehyun ducks so that his head isn’t visible from behind the couch and lowers his tone so the music drowns out his words. “Jungwoo’s always funny, but when he drinks he gets a little–”

“Jaeeeehyuun!” A pair of arms fling from behind the couch to engulf Jaehyun into a loose hug. Jungwoo’s forehead buries into Jaehyun’s left shoulder. “Why are you hiding from me? Who are you talking to?”

Jungwoo’s head spins around to peek at you, his position on Jaehyun’s shoulder so close to you that your noses nearly brush each other. At point blank eye contact, you witness his brown eyes widen with recognition.

“Oh,” you whisper, afraid to break the tension. “Surprise?”

He jerks away, head bobbing between the two of you on the couch. “You brought her?”

Too late, you and Jaehyun both realize the assumption firing through his brain. 

“Wait–” you start. 

“Woos–” Jaehyun sighs as he stands up, but Jungwoo has already fled somewhere deep into the house.

The two of you shake your head at each other and move in unison without exchanging a single word. Jaehyun leads the way, knocking and peeking into rooms for signs of Jungwoo. The other attendees in the main room are relatively useless in the search, as they’re currently engaged in some sort of drinking game.

When you finally open the final bedroom door, Jungwoo looks up from the edge of the bed with a wide, shocked expression. 

“Found you,” you joke softly as you let yourself inside.

You look at Jaehyun with raised eyebrows. You’ll take his word for whatever he says, at this point–after all, he seems much more familiar with the mannerisms of drunk Jungwoo when compared to you, but he simply shrugs and flashes a thumbs up at you. 

“You got this,” he says before slipping out of the room.

Thanks a lot, Jaehyun, you think. 

“Hey,” you say as you step forward. It’s ridiculous, the way you approach carefully like he’s a feral dog that might run away at any moment. Regardless, you’re able to slink up and settle next to him on the edge of the bed. “You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.” He avoids eye contact. “Why are you here?”

You know that he’s been openly avoiding you, but the blunt question stings you nonetheless. “I was invited to your surprise party.” 

“Jaehyun brought you as his date for my surprise birthday party,” he grumbles. 

You shake your head. “Jaehyun invited me because you won’t show up to class, text me back, or answer my calls.” 

Brief silence. “I’ve been busy.”

“Jungwoo, you blocked me on gmail. I can’t even access or edit our group presentation because you’re the owner.” 

“I didn’t want you to see my cursor active on the shared doc,” he mutters.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Of course you’d end up falling for a guy who could match your pettiness up to a T.  With him, the best approach is to be as direct as possible. 

“Jungwoo, please let me apologize.” You struggle to squeeze the words out. “I know why you’re ignoring me, and I definitely deserve it, but I miss you.” 

That seems to catch him off guard enough that he forgets to evade eye contact. His gaze squints at you in open caution, but a glint of curiosity lies behind it. “…I’m not going to run away or anything.”

Doubtful, but you resist the urge to comment.

“I shouldn’t have said all of that to Mina,” you start, “and I didn’t really mean it in the first place.” 

“...That’s kind of hard to believe, when you were willing to say all that to someone you don’t know as well,” he responds. The discomfort in his face makes your chest squeeze. You’re really feeling the worst, to be the one making him so obviously uneasy. 

“I know, and I’m really sorry.” You fidget uncomfortably with the fabric of your clothes. “Look, in the past–I thought you were messing with me, like, all of the time. I was having a really hard time making friends, so I just redirected my frustration at you.” 

He frowns. “I always considered you my friend.” 

“I know.” 

“I always tried to include you in conversations because I could tell you get nervous meeting new people.” 

“God, I–yes, I realize that now,” you groan. “I didn’t even believe it anymore when I said that to her.”

“If you didn’t feel that way anymore, then why did you still say it?” 

It’s a more than valid question, but he doesn’t realize the slippery slope it’s leading you down. “Well…she was asking a lot of nosy questions?”

His brows furrow. “About what? Our friendship?”

“About…” It’s so difficult to say what you want to–it’s like the words are caught in your chest, suspended in place. However, he deserves honesty from you, after everything you’ve said. “...whether or not we’re dating?” 

“Oh,” his voice flattens. “And the idea is so ridiculous that you had to reassure her that you’d never date such an annoying guy?”

“No!”

“Then what?” 

“God – can you let me speak for two sentences without interrupting?”

“I’m not interrupting! Just tell me what she said!”

“You just interrupted me again!” You shriek. “She asked me if I was interested in you, and I didn’t want Mina from ENG 150 to be the first one to find out I was!” 

Jungwoo’s about to interrupt with another comeback when he finally processes your words. He freezes in place, eyes wide, and the tips of his ears turn a bright shade of red. “You’re what?” 

“Interested in you,” you say unflinchingly, even though you can feel the heat rising to your own face. “I like you, Jungwoo. A lot.”

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. “Oh.” 

You take the opportunity to scoot closer to him. Your hand grabs his. “I’m sorry that I said all of that to Mina. I didn’t mean it. I’ve only just been figuring out my feelings, and I didn’t know what to do with them. I totally freaked out.” 

You’re patient as you let him sit through his thoughts. The expression on his face stays in shock, relaxes into slight confusion, and then eventually, to your surprise, twists into a smile.

“You like me,” he grins.

Your face burns. “I do.” 

His smile widens. “Enough to crash my birthday party.”

“Ugh–yes.” You hide your face in your hands. “Telling you this today wasn’t in the plan, by the way.” 

“Liking me was just that irresistible?”

You scoff. “Well, at least I wasn’t the one rigging all of the group project assignments.”

He jumps to his feet. “I’m going to kill Jaehyun–” 

“Hey,” you yank him back down on the floor next to you. “Can you at least say it back to me before you fight your best friend?”

He looks away, but his thumb rubs absentmindedly at the top of your hand. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“By the way you trapped me as your project partner for three years? Yes,” you smile, “but I still want to hear it from you.”

“I just wanted an excuse to be close to you,” he pouts. There’s a slight pause as his eyes connect with yours. “I’ve liked you since the day we met. I thought my feelings would go away since you weren’t interested, but they never did. If anything, they got stronger.” 

His vulnerability makes the mood shift. There’s something about his parted lips and the flush across his face that kicks your soft affection into sudden desire. You swallow thickly as your eyes slide down the length of his neck and on the exposed collarbone peeking through his disheveled shirt.

He whispers your name, which sends another volt of electricity down your spine. “What’s wrong?”

It’s the small, lingering trace of alcohol on his breath that snaps you back to your senses. You feel like a complete and utter pervert; the possibly most lightweight person you’ve ever met was clearly in a vulnerable position, and all you could think about was kissing him? 

“Let’s get you back in the main room for some water,” you say gently as you begin to rise from the end of the bed. 

His arms envelop you, slamming you both down on the bed. “Don’t go,” he whines. 

The force of his hug alone has you laying on your back with Jungwoo’s arms around your waist, effectively anchored in place with his head resting on your stomach. You press your hands to your face, which feels flaming hot to the touch. 

Despite your racing heartbeat, you manage to laugh. “I thought you were the one avoiding me.” 

“We both know it wasn’t going to last long,” he mumbles. His mouth lies mere inches away from your stomach, his hot breath warming your skin through the fabric of your shirt. It sends a wave of heat through your body. “I just thought you hated me. And maybe liked Jaehyun more than me.” 

You laugh again, but your heart melts. It takes all of your willpower to not get lost in the atmosphere. You allow yourself to run your hand through his hair, which is just as soft as you thought it would be. “Jungwoo?”

“Mmm?” His eyes close at your touch.

“Get up.” 

He’s confused but finally follows your directions to sit up. Long lashes blink up at you expectantly.

“I don’t hate you,” you say through a suppressed grin. “And I certainly don’t like Jaehyun more than you.” 

He grabs your hand from its position in his hair, holding it over his heart. “Promise?” 

“Promise.” Knowing there’s a chance his memory might be muddled tomorrow, you add, “I wouldn’t remember just anyone’s coffee order, you know.”

Jungwoo lifts your hand and presses a kiss to the back. Then, his eyes lock onto yours, and suddenly he’s leaning in closer and closer–

You turn your face at the last minute so that he kisses your cheek instead. 

“Not now,” you say firmly as you finally rise to your feet. “I don’t want our first kiss to be like this.” 

“I don’t mind,” he grumbles, but he pulls his hands back into his lap. 

“Well, you’re drunk. Off of maybe three shots of soju, may I add?”

“It was four, but I see your point.” 

You pause. His pouting face is so endearing that you can’t fully resist; you lean forward and cup under his chin with both hands, pressing one kiss to his right cheek, left cheek, and finally his forehead. 

“Happy birthday, Jungwoo,” you whisper against his skin. “Now let’s go.” 

You lead Jungwoo by the hand out of the bedroom and through the main area of the house until you spot Jaehyun; you launch your drunk crush into his arms on sight. “Please take him.”

Jaehyun raises his eyebrows. “Went well?” 

“We’re perfectly fine. He’s just a clingy monster when drunk.”

“Tell me about it.” 

“Hey,” Jungwoo murmurs from Jaehyun’s shoulder. “Don’t get too friendly with her.”

Your face warms. 

“I won’t.” Jaehyun smirks. “But don’t worry, Woos. I’m sure you’ll be very happy tomorrow.”

*.❤︎₊ ⊹

You wake up the next morning to a single text: Good morning

You laugh to yourself and repeat the sentiment back.

I want to see you, Jungwoo texts. Wanna get coffee? 

An hour later you’re walking towards one of your favorite cafes on campus. Your heart quickens when you see Jungwoo waiting for you at the entrance.

Before you can even think about what to say, he interrupts first while holding a drink out to you. “Your usual.”

You crack a smile. “What if I wanted something different today?”

”You don’t.” 

“Yeah, I don’t.”

His shoulders relax. “Would you be okay with just walking around?”

You nod and follow his lead. The two of you stroll down one of the many walkways, the rest of campus serene and still. 

You break the silence first. “Not too hungover?”

”Well,” he grimaces. “I’ve had better days, but it could be worse.”

”I’m surprised you’re doing okay in the brightness, then.” 

“Well, like I said, I wanted to see you.”

The honesty causes your face to feel hot. “I see.”

There’s another stretch of quiet. The two of you are in the engineering area of campus now, and you see a familiar building on your right. 

“That’s where we had Intro to Engineering, right?” You ask.

He nods. “Sure is.”

You can’t bear beating around the bush anymore. “You actually liked me from the first day? This class?” 

“This class.”

“You’re kidding.” You stiffen despite yourself. It feels like an entirely new thing to hear it again from sober Jungwoo’s mouth.

“Not kidding. I remember thinking you were the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground as he kicks a pebble down the trail. “I couldn’t believe my luck that we got paired together. Then I found out you were beautiful, smart, and funny.” 

You find your gaze drawn to the ground now too. “It’s just a little hard to believe.”

From that first day of college, you’d never been the most secure in your identity, whether it be your looks, personality, or abilities. It always seemed like there was another student with better grades or better internships. Even three years later, you’ve never been able to fully shake off the desire to prove yourself. It’s almost too much to know that, this whole time, there had been someone seeing you and believing in your best potential.

You swallow thickly. How were you supposed to explain that, while he’d been seeing the best in you, you had returned the favor with a one sided grudge. “Jungwoo, I—“

“Don’t apologize.” His head raises sharply. “I know you thought I was annoying.”

“…a bit. And overachieving.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “‘A bit’ doesn’t seem like it would cover cursing my name every class.”

Hot shame flushes to your face. “I thought I believed that for a long time, but I was just jealous. Everything just came so easily to you—grades, friends, even our professors always liked you instantly. I felt like I worked my ass off just to barely have the grades to show for this entire program.” You take a deep breath. “So seeing you all the time just rubbed it in my face.”

 “And I’m sure it helped to have me request you for almost every project?”

Your throat dries. “So you did do that.”

He shoots you a pointed look. “You said Jaehyun already told you.”

“Well, he alluded to it, but he wasn’t that specific. He kinda just guided me to put two and two together.” You don’t mention Mark exposing him for this semester’s class. You’re sure that the kid deals with enough from that friend group. 

“I did.” The tips of his ears turn bright red, but he pushes through his embarrassment. “At first it was to catch your attention. When I realized you weren’t interested, I kept doing it because of your work ethic.”

That leaves you nearly speechless. “What?”

“Well,” he sniffs, “unlike some people here, I thought we were friends.” 

“My work ethic,” you echo. “No other reason?”

He rubs the back of his head. “I guess I always told myself that I would go for it if you ever seemed interested, but that was it. I didn’t think you’d actually look at me like that, but–” he stops abruptly. 

“...but?” You prompt him.

“And then you looked so starry eyed with Jaehyun that it pissed me off enough to start aggressively flirting with you.” 

“I wasn’t—ugh, whatever. You won’t believe me.”

”I won’t.” He smiles, but it’s genuine.

“I’m glad you did, though,” you admit, “or else I probably never would’ve gotten my head out of my ass.” 

”When did you realize that you liked me?”

”I honestly don’t know,” you admit. “You crept up on me.” 

He hums, but it doesn’t seem to surprise him.

You turn back around suddenly, walking down the path until you’re in front of the building of your first ever class. The same lecture hall that you met in.

This will look so stupid if the door isn’t unlocked, you think, but the door slides open without resistance.

The lights turn on from your movement. Jungwoo slips in behind you. “What are you doing?”

You spot your unassigned assigned seat, right on the end of one of the middle aisles. You climb up the steps until you reach it and seat yourself. 

Jungwoo stares at you from the bottom of the steps before catching the hint and settling next to you. “Feeling nostalgic?” 

“Yeah,” you say, resting your elbows on the surface. “It’s just crazy that the first day started everything with us.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. 

You hold his gaze and smile, leaning forward, but he stays fixed in place looking at you.

”Um,” you say finally. “Are you going to kiss me now?”

“Here?” Conflict crosses his face. “Isn’t it a little…”

“Sentimental?” 

“Musty.” 

You roll your eyes. “Fine, we don’t have to—"

You’re cut off as Jungwoo tilts your chin with this hand and leans forward to press his lips to yours. Your lips push and pull in slow, languid motions; even through his lips and hand cradling your face, he touches you with intention. 

“I wanted to kiss you somewhere romantic,” he huffs when you pull away. “On a real date.”

One of these days, friendzone be damned, you were going to get Kim Doyoung to notice you.

Although tonight, at Doyoung’s birthday party surrounded by his entire friend group, it’s going to be nearly impossible. While you know Doyoung, Johnny, and Yuta well due to your club’s mentorship program, you were much less acquainted with their friends outside of the club itself.

“Remind me,” one of Doyoung’s friends–you forgot his name within the first five minutes–leans over as he takes a swig of his beer. “How do you know Doyoung again?” 

“Same club as those guys,” you nod to Johnny and Yuta at the other end of the table. You see a flicker of confusion on the guy’s face, probably since you don’t look like a senior, so you add: “Doyoung’s my mentor.”

“Ah, I got it,” he leans back with a grin. “‘Big bro’ type of situation. That’s sweet of him to include you, still.”

“Yeah,” you say through gritted teeth. You take a long swig of your drink to mask your awkwardness. “Really sweet.”

As if on cue, Doyoung rescues you from the conversation. “Hey mentee, I actually have someone I want you to meet,” he gestures towards the other side of the room while tugging you along. “Over here.” 

“Great,” you mutter, but you offer no resistance. The mere touch of his hands warming your skin is enough to send your heart cartwheeling. At least any change in your expression is mostly masked by the dim lights of the karaoke room.

“Nice to meet you,” a voice says. A hand extends out towards you. “My name is Jungwoo.” 

You tear your attention away from Doyoung and blink at the guy in front of you. From what you can tell, he’s definitely younger than Doyoung and the others–probably around your age. He’s tall, and even under his baseball cap you can tell that he has a cute face framed by dark hair.

You meet his hand with yours and say your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“Jungwoo’s your year,” Doyoung chirps. “He’s Yuta’s mentee.” 

“Oh!” You relax. You trust Yuta’s taste in people. “He always talks about you.” 

“Oh, really?” Jungwoo’s voice is relaxed, but his ears flush red. 

You smile as you hold back laughter. “Yeah. He mentioned that his mentees are too busy nowadays, which is why we hadn’t met yet.” 

“Right.” Jungwoo rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I can probably carve out more time this semester, since it seems like there’s more reason for me to go.” 

You’re about to ask him what reasons he has–this semester has been the slowest ever–but you glance to the now-open space next to you and frown. “Doyoung ditched us already?”

You both do a quick scan about the room; Doyoung is now in an intense duet with Johnny. You roll your eyes. At least Jungwoo seems social enough.

As you chat with him more, you realize that your assessment of him is correct. Jungwoo’s not just social – he’s chatty and funny. You’re much better off than you were before, since he seems to know almost everyone in the room.

“Thank god,” you say to him aside from the others. “I only know people from the club, and they’re all over there. I was in trouble for a while.” 

“Happy to help,” Jungwoo’s smile is warm. “Doyoung and I went to the same high school, so it’s no big deal.” 

That detail makes your ears perk up. Your inhibitions lowered entirely, you can’t resist nor reign back the eagerness in your voice. “Really? What was he like?” 

He hesitates; Jungwoo’s eyes roam over your face. For a moment, he looks like he’s at a loss for words. Then, he shakes himself out of it. “The same, really. Nice to all while being completely dense to his secret admirers.”

 Your face feels red-hot. “I didn’t mean it like that–”

“Jungwoo!” Doyoung calls out, shoving a microphone in his hands. “You haven’t gone yet. Pick a song!”

Jungwoo obliges and picks a song. 

You gasp as the title displays on the screen. “Sunday Morning? I was going to sing that!” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Wanna see who can do it better?”

It’s the start of a long karaoke battle – you and Jungwoo choose song after song in an attempt to score higher than the other. It gets so competitive that you start keeping track via the notes app in your phone, and people start betting on the overall winner.

It’s intense, incredibly childish, and fueled by the others pumping you with drinks. By the time you reach the final song selection of the challenge, you’re singing with your eyes completely closed – not for the purpose of an extra challenge, but simply because you can’t keep them open anymore.

You belt out the last note with gusto. Panting, you open your eyes, and the bright screen lights make your eyes water. 

Score: 100

“Take that!” You yell with a laugh while spinning. You stop in your tracks just as quickly.

The first issue: Jungwoo’s body spreads out over the couch, his head rolled back and body rising up and down as he lightly snores.

The second issue: Aside from Jungwoo dozing off, there is nobody else in the room. You take a look around – no phones, wallets, or purses in sight. There’s a signed receipt at the front of the room timestamped for thirty minutes ago. 

You crawl to Jungwoo’s side, shaking him. “Jungwoo! Wake up!” 

He groans before blinking up at you, confused. “What? Where are we?” He sits up quickly. “How long have we been here?!”

You put all of your focus into keeping your words coherent. “Uh–they left us. I think. The receipt is in the front.” 

He squints through the party lights. “Any texts?”

You unlock your phone. There is in fact one text each from both Johnny and Doyoung. 

“Johnny says Sorry. Doyoung insisted,” you read aloud.

“Anything from Doyoung?” 

“Use this time to get to know Jungwoo. He’s a nice guy.” You sink down and cradle your head in your hands. “This is so embarrassing.” 

Jungwoo hiccups. “It’s so embarrassing because I’m a nice guy?” 

“Not that. He’s totally setting us up!” Your mind races. All of the gestures and signals you thought you’ve been sending him, and that results in him trying to set you up with a stranger? Was he just dense, or do you really have no appeal to him at all?  

“So…” Jungwoo says after watching your expression twist amidst your silent spiral. “You like him, don’t you?” 

You look away, humiliated. “I might.” 

He releases a sharp laugh. “This is pretty embarrassing for both of us, then. Let’s go.” 

He says it as a firm command, but he immediately stumbles over after standing. Jungwoo tries again, only to sway and lean most of his weight on the couch.

“Jungwoo…” you say, shocked. “Are you a lightweight?” 

“They gave us a lot!” He protests. 

“Sure, but they gave me a lot more since I got here before you,” you point out. “I feel like you’re more drunk than I am.” 

“I’m not drunk. Watch.” Jungwoo stands up and walks towards the door, but he trips over part of the couch and topples to the floor. 

“Shit!” You rush to his side. “Are you okay?” 

“I would’ve made it if the door wasn’t spinning,” he says from the floor. 

You help him to his feet. “Alright, we have to improvise. Get on my back.” 

“Excuse me?” He says. “There’s no way you can carry me home.” 

“I’ll carry you just to the taxi, dummy,” you say, draping Jungwoo arm over your shoulder to take some of his weight. “You’ll have to take it from there.” 

“Do you know me well enough to call me a dummy?” Jungwoo grumbles in your ear. 

“I do now,” you laugh. Despite your frustration at Doyoung’s actions, you feel surprisingly light.  “For the purposes of tonight, we’re now stuck together.”

༝ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ☾ ⋆ ｡ ˚ ༝

What you hadn’t anticipated, that night, was that you and Jungwoo would quickly become inseparable friends, trauma bonded by that night out together. You were sworn to secrecy about his lack of tolerance for alcohol, and he was sworn to secrecy about your crush on Doyoung. The two of you were always together in and outside of club activities–which he did end up coming to more, for reasons still unknown.

Which is why, the week before Doyoung’s graduation, you decide to tell him first. 

"It's time," you announce to Jungwoo. "I'm going to get over Doyoung."

Jungwoo chokes mid-sip of his iced coffee. You pat his back as he falls into a coughing fit. 

“Warn me next time!” He says through a teary glare. 

“Sorry,” you shrug, only a little sheepish. “I couldn’t keep it in anymore.” 

He eyes you up and down. “Did something happen? What’s with the sudden decision?” 

“I think it’s just…time,” you say.

“Is there someone else?” Jungwoo seems uncertain even as he asks it, and he doesn’t quite look you in the eye. 

“No. It’s just time,” your smile is sad. “He’s about to graduate, and I need to move on with my life.”

Jungwoo takes a long sip of his coffee before speaking again. “Are you going to tell him?”

You shake your head. “There’s no use. I know he just doesn’t see me like that, so telling him would just make things awkward. It’s better for both of us if I just move on quietly. After tonight.”

Somewhere past your words, deep down, it does devastate you to know that you’re better off not telling him. The same reasons why you like Doyoung in the first place – his kindness, consideration of others, and insistence on protecting you – would be the same reasons why your confession would upset the delicate balance of your relationship forever. 

Jungwoo watches the emotions pass over your face without comment. “Whatever you want to do,” he says. “I’ll be there for you, no matter what you end up choosing.”

༝ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ☾ ⋆ ｡ ˚ ༝

“I brought some more beer!” You call out as you walk through the door.

“Oh shit—hey!” Johnny’s standing on a chair holding one end of a banner that says CONGRATS GRAD in gold lettering. “Put them on the counter. I’ll find a place for them later.” 

You do as you’re told, passing by your friends towards the kitchen. 

“You didn’t have to come this early,” Jungwoo says from his place at the other end of the banner. He raises an eyebrow at you.

You know that look, and you choose to pointedly ignore it. “I am doing my part as a friend that’s not graduating this year, thank you. Johnny shouldn’t even be setting up—isn’t this a surprise party for all the seniors?”

“I’m graduating a semester after everyone, so technically this is just for Yuta and Doyoung,” Johnny shrugs. “I doubt anyone will mind getting together again in six months to celebrate mine.”

“Fair enough,” you say as you start clearing their dining table.

When Johnny takes a minute in his room and is finally out of earshot, Jungwoo leans his chin into the palm of his hand as he stares at you. “Doing your part as Doyoung’s dedicated friend, huh? What happened to getting over him?”

“After tonight I’m getting over him,” you correct. “Therefore, I have approximately eight more hours until it’s really over.”

He looks at you for a long moment before sighing. “Fine. Just be careful.”

"It’s just our friend group.” You tilt your head. “What's there to be careful of?”

-

“They’re here!” Johnny hisses. Everyone dives behind the first piece of furniture they can find or duck behind walls.

You hide behind the kitchen counter next to Jungwoo. He pokes your shoulder playfully, which prompts you to swat at him like a bug. 

The lock on the front door clicks, and there’s a creak followed by shuffled footsteps as the two guests of honor presumably step in. 

You hear Doyoung first: “Whoa—so dark.” 

Everyone takes the instant as their cue, jumping out of their hiding spots. You and Jungwoo leap up as if synchronized.

“SURPRISE!” Everyone yells in unison.

Yuta flinches in surprise, but Doyoung’s reaction is by far the funniest; his eyes widen and his jaw drops completely open.

Everyone laughs as they take videos of their reactions. You follow suit, pulling out your phone to take a few pics. You smile as you get a perfect picture of Doyoung in the frame.

You pocket your phone, only to catch Jungwoo looking away while shaking his head.

It only takes an hour for things to devolve into chaos. The mission for tonight is clear for all attendees: get Doyoung and Yuta as drunk as possible. Yuta’s able to fend off most requests by stepping out to smoke with Johnny and some others, but Doyoung’s left to pick up the remaining slack.

All of that is somewhat expected. What you didn’t anticipate, however, is that Doyoung would assign you as his unofficial drinking buddy. 

“Mentee!” Doyoung drapes an arm around you. “Take this drink for me!”

You gingerly remove his arm from your shoulders. “I think people are intending these drinks for you. You know, for your graduation.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Take a drink with me then? Please, so I’m not alone?”

It’s his proximity and the lingering scent of his cologne–crisp like fresh linens–that scrambles your thoughts and elicits the kneejerk response of “Sure!”

It doesn’t stop at one. Soon, Doyoung has you downing shot after shot on the basis of friendship. Thankfully, you’d lost Doyoung after the last shot, granting you a small reprieve from the drinking.

Your cheeks flush, and your head feels so heavy that you find a place to sit on the floor and hang your head forward. When did it get so hot in here?

“Hey,” a voice says above you.

You ignore it, figuring it’s intended for someone else.

“Hey,” it says again. This time, something cold presses into the back of your neck. You flinch and whip your head upwards to look at the offender.

“That’s cold, Woos,” you glare up at him.

“Just checking for proof of life,” he shrugs before handing you a water bottle. “Drink this.”

The cold water provides such a relief that you gulp it down greedily. You gasp for air when you finish. “Thanks.”

Jungwoo stares at you. “…Alright then. I’ll get you another one?”

“Yes, please.”

“You got it.” He pauses. “No more drinking, okay? Say no if Doyoung asks you again.”

You don’t know how Jungwoo knows about Doyoung’s peer pressure, but it’s probably for the best. “Okay.”

“Like, I really don’t think you should drink anything else.”

You shoot him a thumbs up for good measure. “I won’t.”

Despite his good intentions, you feel a flash of irritation. Sometimes Jungwoo’s check-ins lean on the side of being too much — sure, you have terrible luck, but you’re an adult, not a child to be doted on.

As if on cue, your luck runs out. You linger in your spot too long without noticing the cups being set up, and before you know it hands are lifting you up onto your feet.

“Rage cage,” Johnny explains with an apologetic smile. “Your presence has been requested.” 

Your head spins, and you clutch onto Johnny’s hand. You’re sure your grip must be crushing his bones, but you’re incapable of steadying yourself otherwise. 

“Jungwoo isn’t going to like this,” you mumble under your breath.

Johnny tilts his head closer to listen. “What was that?” 

“Jungwoo said I shouldn’t drink anymore,” you say louder. 

“Oh?” He asks with raised eyebrows. “Sure, doesn’t make a difference to me. You should probably tell Doyoung you aren’t playing though; he hasn’t shut up about getting all of his mentees there.”

Your chest constricts. Of course he wasn’t asking for you, specifically. 

As it turns out, there’s no way for you to really talk to Doyoung about backing out. By the time you and Johnny approach the table, the rules are being explained to the entire group. Doyoung is at the opposite end of the table, and he’s too busy messing around with his friends immediately next to him.

“Guess I’m playing at least one game,” you exhale. 

 “I’ll be nice and go to your left,” Johnny says as he slides to your other side. “You’re welcome.”

You roll your eyes. At the same time, the cups start moving on each side of the table. The group quickly devolves into yelling and shouting as people are missing the shot, making the shot, and stacking on their neighbor when they outpace them. It’s a game that you always merely survive in–really, you never fully remember the rules until halfway through the game–but you’re doing pretty decently this time around. 

“Huh,” you say to Johnny as you watch the cups travel to the other side. “I’m doing way better than usual.” 

The next day, you’d be convinced those words are what doomed the rest of your night.

The first misfortune begins when Jaehyun, who’d been playing half-heartedly with his phone in his hand, leaves the game with a shrug. That leaves Ten to your right hand side. 

“You’ll go easy on me, right, Ten?” You ask nervously.

“Nope,” Ten says, popping the p sound. “You have to keep up.”

In Ten’s typical fashion, he means what he says. His competitive nature leaves no prisoners.

You’re sure everyone in the game is thinking the same thing as you: I don’t want the bitch cup. You’ve never felt more determined and focused.

“Where the hell did this skill come from?” Johnny laughs after both of you pass your turns with ease. “I’ve never seen you play so well.” 

“I am not drinking whatever the hell is in that,” you say as you point to the bitch cup. 

“I think it’s beer, seltzer, and maybe whisky this time,” he muses. “But it looks like you’re off the hook today. They got Doyoung.”

You glance up. Not only is just the bitch cup left, but Doyoung’s currently struggling to bounce the ball into the taller stack of twenty red solo cups. The guy to Doyoung’s right sinks his ball into a single cup easily, and he slams his cup into Doyoung’s stack with a roar. 

You sigh in relief. Then, you and Johnny wince while watching Doyoung chug the bitch cup with his eyes closed. It’s painful to watch, but he does it.

As soon as he drops the cup, he begins to sway back and forth slowly. You and Johnny rush to his side in an instant, both of you taking an arm to hold him up.

“It’s hot in here,” Doyoung complains. His cheeks are flushed in a deep red.

“We can step outside,” Johnny says, taking the lead toward the back of the living room. The couch is positioned in front of a large curtain covering the sliding glass door to the outside balcony–a precaution for whenever they throw parties–but Johnny simply tugs the couch outwards and pulls the curtain back to open the door. 

The cold air from outside wooshes against your skin, which makes you shudder. Regardless, you press on and follow your friends outside. 

Johnny sits Doyoung in one of the chairs outside. You settle in the chair next to him. 

“Feel better out here?” Johnny asks.

Doyoung grunts in something that sounds close enough to assent. His head slumps back as he closes his eyes. 

“Hmm,” Johnny rises to his feet. “Hold on, I’ll be right back–can you just watch him for a bit?”

You jump. “Me?”

“Who else?” He snorts. “Think you got it?”

Your own head still feels light and dizzy. Despite not being the victim of the bitch cup (thanks, Doyoung), Ten’s lack of mercy had still left you worse for wear. 

Even so, you want to be helpful. You straighten your posture and harness all your focus into looking directly into Johnny’s eyes with a reassuring smile. “Right. I got it, don’t worry.” 

He nods and steps back inside. 

Doyoung groans and peeks with one eye. “Where’d Johnny go?”

“Inside for a little. He’ll be back.” 

“Nice.” He shoots a tired smile at you. His voice comes out a little bit hoarse. “Thanks for staying out here with me. And coming tonight, in general.”

In the moonlight, Doyoung’s smooth skin and slightly tousled hair look almost otherworldly. He leans completely back in his chair, hand pushing back his hair from his forehead as his breaths come out a little heavy.

“Uh.” Your breath catches. “It’s no problem, really. It’s your graduation, so of course I came.”

He looks at you through half-lidded eyes as he processes your words. Then, he smiles. “Of course.” 

Despite the lack of contact, your nerves feel like they’re on fire. You’re on the edge of your seat, trying to keep yourself from fidgeting too much. 

Doyoung doesn’t seem to notice your restlessness; on the contrary, he leans his head back again and closes his eyes. “I’m just going to rest my eyes,” he mumbles. 

You watch in fond amusement as his “rest” extends for minutes.

“Cute,” you say to yourself, but then you cover your own mouth. You search Doyoung’s face for any sign of consciousness, but he looks the same. 

Thank god, you think.

Really, there’s a part of you that almost wishes that he was awake to hear it. As much as your fear of ruining your friendship has held you back from any confession, sometimes it’s too much to bear. 

You look at his face. Doyoung’s features are completely relaxed. Serene and beautiful. 

You sigh. This is precisely why you’d planned to get over him. You can’t afford to let your feelings for Doyoung consume you any longer. You have no reason to believe that he would ever see you as anything more than a friend. In some ways, it’s worse–you’re his mentee. Someone that he sees as needing his care and guidance, rather than an equal.

You know that you decided to simply move on without possibility of conflict, but the alcohol in your system spurs you to take your action, however small. Sure, you’d planned not to tell him at all, but would this really count? 

You lean forward in your seat, examining his breathing. It’s steady and deep–he must be asleep. You’d better do this soon before Johnny comes back.

“I never thought I’d tell you this,” you say into the open air. Despite your lack of active audience, your voice shakes. “I like you, Doyoung. I’ve liked you ever since I met you.”

To your own surprise, tears prick at the corner of your eyes. You blink until the urge passes. “I’ve never seen you as just my mentor. I’ve always wanted to be something more, and I like you so much that it hurts.” 

The release hurts more than you expected. It’s a deep ache in your chest, but you smile in spite of the bittersweetness. “That’s all. Thank you for teaching me that I could feel this way about someone.”

I should probably find Johnny, you think. You exhale deeply and rise, tiptoeing in front of Doyoung’s chair to get to the door. 

“Wait.” A hand grabs your wrist. 

You freeze, and a chill drops through your body. You turn slowly toward Doyoung, who’s holding your wrist in his grip. His eyes are wide and resolute–completely alert.

“I–what–” your words come out in disconnected chokes. “You were sleeping.” 

“I wasn’t.” He winces. “I was really just resting my eyes.”

“Oh.” 

Time passes impossibly slow. The silence is so deafening that you can hear a mosquito buzzing around your head along with the faint bass bumping inside. Neither of you move.

Doyoung starts by saying your name. “I–” 

“Can you pretend you didn’t hear any of that?”

“What?” Doyoung’s taken aback. “But I did.” 

You refuse to turn your body to face him. “You could pretend you didn’t.” 

“You know I can’t do that.” His voice is so soft that your heart pangs. He tugs at your wrist again. “Please sit back down.” 

This time, you move. You tear your wrist from his grip and sit facing him. Your body feels numb, but you don’t know whether that’s due to the cold, the alcohol still coursing through your system, or the shock alone.

“Well, you heard me.” You shoot him a sad smile. “I like you.”

Doyoung processes your words all over again. He rakes a hand through his hair and rubs it across his face until it settles over his mouth. Finally, he says: “I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” The corner of your mouth twitches upward. “You don’t really have to explain why. I know you don’t see me that way.“

“It’s not you, though,” he insists. “It’s just me–I see all of my mentees like my little siblings. It’s weird to think of you as anything different. I don’t want to hurt you by giving you any false hope.” 

“Yeah.” The echoes of his words ring in your head. Wouldn’t work out. Weird. “Trust me, I didn’t want to tell you. I know my feelings for you are weird.” 

“God, that’s not what I meant.” He rubs his hand over his eyes. “I’m glad you told me. Because you deserve to know that there’s someone who’s actually going to see you and treat you the way you should be.”

Your gaze snaps to him. You scowl. “You’re one of the kindest people I know. You can do it – for the right person. I’m just not the one for you. You don’t have to let me down easy and pretend it’s some failure of yours. That’s bullshit.” 

It’s objectively the meanest you’ve ever been to him; your temper sometimes snaps at the others, but never Doyoung. He looks like you physically slapped him across the face. 

You hate that you hurt him, but you hate that he had to hurt you first. All because you couldn’t keep your stupid mouth shut.

“Thanks for telling me honestly,” you mutter. “See you later.”

You take the step towards the sliding glass door only to notice one thing: the door is completely open.

Your stomach drops, but you reach forward to draw back the curtain regardless. There, standing in front of you with matching guilty expressions, is Johnny and Jungwoo.

“We weren’t here the whole time,” Johnny says with his hands up.

Jungwoo opens his mouth to say something, but you speak first. 

“One if not both of you need to leave me alone,” you say, pushing past them. “And for god’s sake, someone take care of Doyoung.”

༝ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ☾ ⋆ ｡ ˚ ༝

After an hour of giving you space, Johnny finds you wallowing in your sorrows with Yuta.

"Johnny, I don't know why I said it," you sob. "I don't know what came over me! I thought he was asleep!"

Johnny pats your back in slow taps. "It's going to be okay. We've all had our moments."

You raise your head, your tear-filled eyes brimmed red. "Moments meaning that you were brutally rejected in front of your friends?"

"Well, no," Johnny's eyes dart to the door as someone enters. "Jungwoo! Just who we want to see!"

Sure enough, Jungwoo's frozen in the doorway with a water bottle in each hand. "Am I interrupting something? Do you need more space?"

"Not at all." Johnny pats the space next to him. "Actually, I think you should be the escort home. We're around two crying fits away from passing out here. Or yakking. Or both."

You hiccup from your spot against the wall.

"Why does it have to be me?" Jungwoo says, exasperated.

Johnny raises his eyebrows and smirks. "You know why."

"I don't," your best friend responds, crossing his arms. His eyes flit to you nervously.

"Relax. I'm just messing." Johnny glances at the water bottles with a smug smile. "Although, if you'd like to share, who are those waters for?"

"Shut up," Jungwoo scoffs as he kneels at your side. He uncaps the water and holds it up to your lips. "Drink."

You grab at the bottle and take long gulps. The cold water is a welcome relief to the dryness in your throat from crying and talking. "Thanks, Woos."

"No problem. Want to go home?" He glares at Johnny, who shakes with laughter.

You squint at your best friend like he's not real. In all honesty, you feel like he might not be. Everything began to blend together after you'd taken a drink followed by a hit of something from Yuta thirty minutes ago. It's like you and everyone else are floating in a fever dream.

Jungwoo says your name. "Hello? Do you want to go home?"

You nod. "Would like to sleep."

"You got it," he says, pulling you to your feet. He gives a half-assed goodbye to a smirking Johnny before escorting you out of the house.

"I haven't said bye to everyone yet," you insist as you tug your shoes on.

"The others are just as bad as you, if not worse," Jungwoo says. "Trust me."

You do. You follow Jungwoo out of the front door and down the first few stairs, shuddering as the breeze brushes your face. The full moon shines brightly in the sky, free and unobstructed.

"Cold," you state. "And bright."

"Are you sure you can walk by yourself?" Jungwoo asks. His arms outstretch half-open, ready to catch you if need be.

"Mmm..I'm okay," you mumble. You're gripping the railing for dear life, and you hope that you look cognizant enough as he stares into your eyes. "Really, Woos, I'm okay."

"Alright." The serious drop in tone is enough for his arms to relax and drop to his sides. Jungwoo turns around, albeit hesitantly. He takes each step carefully so that he's right in front of you at all times.

Walking down these stairs commands all of your remaining focus. You remain steady enough, somehow, as your shoes resound soft thunk noises against the wooden steps. You exhale in relief as you reach the bottom and turn the corner to the sidewalk. It's just a long stretch to your place now; freshly dried concrete alongside round bushes placed meticulously by the school.

Jungwoo's voice breaks into the crisp night air. "And it's okay, you know. If you're not okay."

Your defenses kick back in, and you're about to lie again when you lose your balance. You try to catch yourself, but it only makes matters worse. Before you know it, you fall to your right and into the nearest bush.

Luckily, due to the thick nature of the bush, you haven't fallen through the branches and leaves; they simply poke at your skin as you lay on top of it. You want to stand up, but the world spinning above you is far too disorienting.

Jungwoo's face pops into your vision. "Okay my ass," you hear him mutter.

You cover your eyes with the palms of your hands, sighing at the relief the cool compress gives you. "I've been through a lot tonight, alright?" You groan into the night. "Are you happy now?"

As your dynamic is founded on teasing each other approximately seventy percent of the time, you brace yourself for the worst. Instead, he frowns. "Not really. Can you stand?"

"As there are currently two Jungwoos spinning above me—no. I can't," you admit.

"Want some help?"

You feel like an absolute child as you raise both arms toward the sky. "Yes, please."

One hand intertwines with yours, while the other wraps around your waist to steady you. "On three. One…two…three!"

You're back on your feet, but the sudden movement causes your head to feel light. You stumble on your feet a little, but Jungwoo steadies you with the same hold.

His eyebrows furrow even as he plucks leaves from your hair. "This isn't going to work."

"Funny, Doyoung pretty much just said those same words to me—"

He shushes you and squeezes your hand. "I meant you walking on your own. Don't think about Doyoung."

"I wasn't," you lie.

There's a short silence as Jungwoo checks something on his phone with his free hand. You look down at where his other hand holds yours.

A thought bubbles up. He really does have nice hands…

"…So warm and soft," you finish the thought out loud as you squeeze his hand.

Jungwoo's face turns bright red. He clears his throat. "Thanks, I think. Warm and soft aren't going to get you home, though."

You shrug. The warm touch has you feeling extra sleepy—what time is it anyway? You sway at the thought of being in your bed.

Before you know it, Jungwoo drops your hand and faces away from you. Then, he squats down and holds his arms out backwards. "Piggyback?"

You squint in suspicion, hovering near him. "Are you sure you’re strong enough to carry me all the way back?"

"Ugh. So mean to me even when you're drunk." He flaps his arms impatiently. "You know I've been working out, you jerk.”

“Well one of us always complains about carrying their backpack from class to class. Let alone a whole person on their back.” 

“Whatever. I think I know my own body. Just hop on before I let you sleep in a bush for real this time."

"Fine," you scoff as you climb onto his back and loop your arms around his neck. "Don't blame me if you wake up sore tomorrow, though."

Jungwoo ignores your words and readjusts you on his back before resuming the walk. "I think you should be more concerned about your hangover tomorrow."

A steady and comfortable quiet builds between you. You can feel the warmth of his hands on the backs of your thighs; a stark contrast to the cool night air.

"Jungwoo?" You say after a short distance.

"What's up?" He responds.

"Did I ruin everything?"

Silence. Your thoughts spiral as you relive all of your regrets from tonight.

"What do you mean by everything? The friend group? Doyoung and you?"

You lean forward so that your cheek is pressed up against his back. A few tears creep from your eyes and absorb into the back of his shirt. "I should've just kept quiet. Doyoung was nice about it, but we'll never be the same."

After a moment, he speaks. "If it makes you feel better, I doubt it'll change anything with the others. I think they all suspected as much."

You groan. "God, I wish you didn't tell me that."

"Well, it's the truth," he sighs. "And honestly, would you want things to stay the same? You holding onto and hiding feelings for that clueless guy? The only person that would benefit is him. You're better off finally knowing."

You know he's right. No one else knows how long you've held a flame for your mentor except Jungwoo—he'd seen all of it, from your admission to liking Doyoung down to tonight's rejection.

The facts don't make it hurt any less. You cry quietly on Jungwoo's back. You cry for the past you, blinded by naive and devoted infatuation to what could’ve been. You cry for the present you, heartbroken by the time and effort wasted. You try to move so that the tears avoid Jungwoo as much as possible, but some tears still seep onto his clothes and the nape of his neck.

To his credit, he doesn't comment. He lets you cry even as your tears roll down his own skin and your sniffles hang close to his ear.

When you blink away the last of your tears from swollen eyes, you swallow thickly. "Are we there yet?"

A huff of laughter; you feel his shoulders twitch from the sudden movement. "Almost. You would know that better than me, I think."

"Nope. No clue." You lean your face onto the crook of his neck with a sigh. "Never let me drink this much ever again, Woos. I hope I don't remember any of this."

"With how you've been acting? There's no way you'll remember any of this," he snorts. "You've blacked out before with way less to drink."

"Always the honest one," you roll your eyes. "Sometimes I think it would've been easier if I fell for someone like you instead. Brutally honest, but at least I always know where we stand. You would've figured it out and rejected me from the beginning."

Jungwoo stops. His muscles stiffen, and his grip on your thighs tightens.

You don't notice. It's just a loose thought unlodged from the deep abyss of your subconscious. With how much people pried into the nature of your friendship, how could you have not thought about it? Usually kept controlled, there's little standing between your mouth and most inner thoughts.

"I wouldn't have rejected you," Jungwoo says finally.

There's an initial flip of your stomach, but it's quickly replaced by confusion. Unable to see his expression, you slap his shoulder softly. "Stop messing around," you scold him with a nervous laugh.

The contact seems to shake Jungwoo back to his senses. He continues toward your apartment.

"Sure, I'm messing around," he says, but there's a note of something in his voice that your drunk mind can't dissect at the present moment. "Humor me, though. Have you ever thought of me that way?"

You genuinely think about it. "Not seriously," you think aloud. "By the time I met you, Doyoung was all I saw already. There wasn't room for anyone else."

"Figures," Jungwoo murmurs, more to himself than you. Suddenly, his grip loosens on you, and you’re lowered until your feet touch down on the ground. "We're here. Need help still?"

You nod and fumble with your keys until the lock turns. You tiptoe through your apartment. Jungwoo stabilizes your balance and illuminates the space with his phone flashlight.

"You're lucky that you don't share a room with anyone," he mutters behind you. "Most roommates would really freak out to see a random dude fumbling around your apartment like this."

You don't disagree, but you're too focused on making it to your room to respond. Your door creaks open, revealing your neatly folded pajamas on the bed.

"I love myself," you sigh happily. You step into the bathroom in the hallway for a moment to change clothes and brush your teeth.

"Your shirt's backwards," Jungwoo states when you emerge, sitting on the edge of your bed.

"Don't care," you slur back as you crawl under the covers.

You feel the bed shift as Jungwoo lifts his weight off the mattress. "Alright, I'm heading out now—"

"Woos." You reach your hand out and grasp his wrist. "I really am sorry. I ruined everything."

He gently shakes your grip and pats the top of your head. "I already told you. It's all going to be okay. Just different."

"Is it going to be different between us?” Your voice comes out small. “Are you going to have to choose between me and Doyoung?"

A pause. Jungwoo exhales. "It's not going to be different. I'd choose you over Doyoung anyway, dummy. Not that either of you would want me to choose."

"I would," you breathe out, half asleep as your eyes struggle to stay open. "You're not allowed to leave me."

Your eyes peek open with the last of your strength. Jungwoo's expression flickers with something between affection and hurt; the sight of it confuses you. Have you said something wrong?

He smiles when he sees you looking at him, although it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "That's it, then. You're officially stuck with me."

You relax at the reassurance. You can't hold it anymore; your eyes flutter shut. "It goes both ways. You can't get rid of me, either."

"Wouldn't dream of it." You feel something warm press against your temple. "I just hope that someday, you might consider leaving some room for me, too."

Your brow wrinkles. You don't know what he means, but in your haze you're barely able to register that he's leaving. "Thank you, Woos. You're the best."

"Just pathetic, as always, but it's worth it." You hear the creak of the door as it closes. "Good night."

༝ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ☾ ⋆ ｡ ˚ ༝

"I just need you to tell me what else happened after I blacked out," you beg over coffee days later. "Did I make even more of a fool out of myself?"

"You didn't," Jungwoo says from the other side of the table. "I would tell you. I just walked you home."

"Okay, then tell me what we talked about!" You huff.

"No can do." He takes a long sip of his coffee with a smirk. "It was just some stupid stuff, as always."

You’d woken up the next morning recalling nothing after your post-rejection rampage. The remainder of your day had been spent under the covers with a throbbing headache accompanied by the sense of forgetting something that you talked about with Jungwoo. Something important.

It’s that nagging feeling that makes you doubt him, but you know your best friend well enough to know Jungwoo won't change his mind. As much as you suspect something happened, you resign yourself to never finding out.

"Fine," you surrender. "Just promise me–if something did happen–that you won't tell anyone else."