lia’s in bloom

It wasn't any of those painful moments you wished you could selectively erase from your memory, even if it meant erasing the last memory you have of him. 

It was afterward, in the quiet, deafening silence. During the hollow moments that felt heavier than the weight of the world, left by the absence of him and the mourning of what could’ve been.  

Because for the past year, your mind has been nothing but a graveyard of your what-ifs; your mind entertained each one even when your heart begged for it to stop.

What if you had stayed as his friend instead?

What if you had chosen to simply remain as the girl who sat beside him during lunch as he discussed rocket engines as if they were his second nature?

What if you had chosen to be selfless instead of selfishly pushing your feelings onto him all those years ago in high school, merely because the silent act of loving him began to hurt? 

Perhaps then you wouldn’t have to bear the weight of losing him entirely—with nothing left of him for you to hold on besides the burning blend of memories that haunted you constantly.

Perhaps then you could’ve remained in his life alongside everyone else, even if that meant cheering and watching him from a distance instead of being right next to him.

If that had been the case, perhaps then the 4th of January wouldn’t feel like a funeral full of mourning, heavy with the reflections on what could have been and what was lost, hidden beneath the facade of a joyous celebration.

Had you truly understood Senku better than anyone else—or were you simply deluded by the fantasy of loving him meant understanding him? 

No. You did understand him. You understood that science would always come first among anything else, even when he repeatedly told you a relationship with him would feel like war against his love for science, after your stubborn acts of love. 

You understood that loving Senku meant a battle of sacrifices in their rawest, most merciless form. 

Though that may possibly have been the problem. Maybe you had spent years understanding him, that neither of you had noticed the cracks that began to form.

The calls were once a regular part of the routine you both shared, gradually reduced in length; conversations that were once flowing easily, depleted into quick exchanges as you fought for a space between rocket simulations and research deadlines. 

“You’re still awake?”

“I wanted to hear your voice, Sen.”

“It’s two in the morning there.”

“Yeah, and it’s the only time I can talk to you.”

At first, the distance felt survivable—it was nothing against the stubborn trait of yours that Senku loved the most about you. It was painful, yet manageable, for you thought love could prevail any distance as long as you were patient enough.

Because, despite being oceans apart, Senku still sounded like the Senku that made you fall victim to Cupid’s arrow. 

Still remembered to text you when deadlines changed. Still rambled absentmindedly about his aerospace engineering theories in ways for you to understand easily. Still made the effort to make it up to you after postponing dates, with a gesture as simple as ordering your favorite food or sending you a new invention or scientific solution of his.

And perhaps that was why you failed to notice the subtle shift that began to slowly kill you from within, like a silent poison seeping through your veins, eroding the strength you once had.

It happened slowly—cruelly slow as if you were stabbed and left to bleed out, alone.

“Sorry. The meeting about the research funding ran longer than expected.”

“Again, Sen?”

“...Yeah.”

Over time, plans became tentative and hung in the air, waiting to be fulfilled yet constantly postponed.

“Can we move tonight’s call?”

“You said that for the third time this week, Sen.”

“...Yeah. Got stuck running experiments.”

Conversations that once lasted through hours dwindled into less than ten-minute check-ins, slowly turning into something scheduled, then forgotten entirely as an argument surfaced instead.

“You’re making this a bigger deal than it already is.”

“That’s because it is a big deal, Sen. You said you’ll fly back in time for our anniversary— Do you even miss me?”

“That’s a stupid question to ask, of course I do.”

“...Then why can’t I feel like you do?”

Another month, another project, another delay. However, how much more could you take before you fell apart completely? 

The most painful part wasn’t the constant battle for his attention—no, it was the fact that you knew that he had never meant to hurt you. You knew that. You knew that better than anyone else. 

Yet you should’ve known that a battle where all you did was bleed while constantly trying to be the bravest soldier, was doomed to end before you could even reach the frontlines. Especially while he remained oceans away, chasing stars instead of wars.

The events of the last time you saw him, heard of him, and from him, replayed in your mind constantly; a thought you could never push down despite the numerous attempts. 

Because how could you possibly forget the last memory you shared with him? How, when it was the moment you wiped the joy on his face from finally seeing you after months spent oceans apart, with a simple, “Senku, I can’t do this anymore.”

The memory kept burning through your head throughout the whole morning and afternoon of January 4th. You thought it would eventually numb you by repeatedly playing, but no: each repeat felt worse than the last, as the memories of all the previous 4th of January bled through, offering an awfully painful combination that you didn’t ask for. 

“I should’ve bought a strong dose of melatonin and slept the whole day.” You groaned into your hands, body falling in defeat against the couch. 

Your energy had been completely drained after a whole day of distracting yourself from your thoughts—to which you failed miserably. Your bookshelf suddenly felt interesting to clean, a long afternoon walk suddenly felt productive, heck—even cleaning out your phone’s storage did. 

Though, of course, you avoided the locked album with a pin you were too familiar with, it became an instinct. 

Mustering the remaining energy you had, your hand reached out for your phone on the coffee table, fingers scrolling for a certain group chat:

You guys wanna crash at my place tonight? Please bring anything but alcohol. I need to stay sober, or else I’ll do something stupid. (╥_╥)

And that was exactly how Yuzuriha, Kohaku, and Nikki ended up in your apartment at 7 PM, with every food that could bring you comfort. 

“How long do you plan to pretend your phone doesn’t exist?” Nikki pointed out, her voice slicing through your self-destructing thoughts. 

You turned to her with a weak smile that tried to casually shrug off the weight of the question. “Hah? What are you talking about?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You aren’t exactly subtle about it.” 

Yuzuriha’s hands offered a glass of water after you emotionally went through a bag of chips on your own. “Right. We could see you trying not to check your phone every five minutes, y’know?’’

Kohaku sighed beside you. “I can’t imagine her and subtle in one sentence. It’s especially worse when it comes to Senku.” 

Your body froze, heart skipping a beat at the mention of his name. You tried to brush it off, really. “Who said it was about him?”

All three of them looked at you with faces that screamed: Are you hearing yourself right now?

There was a brief moment of silence before you raised your hands in the air, expressing your guilt. “Okay, okay, it’s about him. Please stop looking at me like that before I have the emotional breakdown I’ve been trying to hold in since I woke up today.”

The three of them exchanged looks before their gazes landed on you again. Not judgmental, not annoyed, just gazes that held a painful understanding of your situation. Which somehow made your chest hurt worse.

Yuzuriha was the first to soften, her hand already reaching out for your shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze in hopes of anchoring you down. “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”

A laugh escaped from your lips, shaky and barely steady as you tried to joke. “Yeah, well, I’ve been missing him for almost a year straight, so I’m kinda getting tired of it.”

There was another silence that filled the gloomy atmosphere. 

You pulled your knees closer to your chest as if you were trying to comfort yourself. Your eyes stared blankly at the now untouched food on your coffee table. 

Outside, the city lights glittered quietly through your apartment windows. And somewhere out there, Senku was celebrating his birthday— without you for the first time in over a decade. 

He never made birthdays a big deal before you forcefully waltzed into his life. Apparently, it was just a regular day except for the fact that he was a year older—his words, of course. 

Though the stubbornness in you refused to acknowledge the fact that birthdays were meaningless to him. Because to you, they were the total opposite. Hence, you made it your personal mission to always celebrate his birthday, to show him it wasn’t just a regular day.

Perhaps that is why January 4th lingered in your mind like a persistent whisper that refused to be silenced. You always went above and beyond to plan a celebration, no matter the distance between the two of you. 

Whether he was oceans away or just a short walk down the street, you always willingly greeted him at exactly midnight to ensure you were the first person he would receive a “Happy birthday!” from. 

You meticulously gathered the friends he merely “tolerated”, ensuring that their presence made him realize it was more than a regular day, and your hands would always be the ones to clutch the candlelit cake, standing proudly at the center of it all.

And despite the way Senku would always say you did too much, the warm smile on his face said otherwise as he gazed at you instead of the cake you held out. Because even when everyone’s gaze and attention were on him, his remained on you. 

You ran a hand across your face, eyes staring at your friends slightly. “Why didn’t you guys attend the party? I’m sure Ryusui planned one.”

Kohaku crossed her legs. “He did. With Gen, too, actually. We chose not to go.”

You tilted your head in confusion, though part of you was happy that they kept the celebrations going even when you, the person who made the biggest deal out of it, was no longer part of it. 

“Why? Knowing Ryusui, it must’ve been grand. Why would you guys skip potentially amazing food and alcohol?” You tried to joke. None of them laughed.

Nikki raised a brow and grinned. “You think we’ll leave you alone to drown in your own thoughts? Not a chance.”

You faked a frown. “Nooo, I wanted to ask you guys if I passed down the torch successfully.”

And for the first time since they’ve arrived at the comfort of your home, they actually laughed. 

“Ryusui and Chrome most likely posted everything on their insta stories by now,” Kohaku said, to which you all agreed without a fight. 

“We could check them if you’re so eager to find out if you succeeded,” Nikki suggested carefully. 

You turned to Nikki with a small laugh escaping your lips. “You know, if I were drunk, that would’ve sobered me up instantly.”

Everyone shared another laugh at your comment. It was the kind of laughter that existed only to keep heavier emotions from crumbling completely. 

The scent of takeout lingered warmly in your apartment living room, though none of you had touched the food in several minutes.

And despite your best efforts in dismissing Nikki’s idea, your mind wouldn’t let you. It felt pathetic, honestly. You weren’t even sure why you badly wanted to see whatever Ryusui or Chrome posted online. Were you seeking reassurance that Senku wasn’t celebrating alone? Or do you just want to see him again?

With a sigh, you heard Nikki’s voice slice through your reverie again. “Hey, if you wanna check the stories, you should.”

“That’s basically telling her to ruin her progress in moving on!” Kohaku argued, to which Nikki shook her head. 

“Maybe, but that wasn’t my intention. We all know she won’t stop thinking about it, and it will kill her for days after this if she doesn't check.”

You groaned into your knees, “I hate that you're absolutely right, Nikki.” 

She chuckled, hand already reaching out to unlock her phone. For a moment, she exchanged glances with Kohaku and Yuzuriha before returning to you. 

“Are you sure about this?” 

You paused, head slowly rising up from the comfort of your knees. “...Yeah, sure. Whatever makes me sleep tonight.” 

A few seconds passed with just the dialogue from a forgotten movie on your television screen, filtering the atmosphere. 

And then, you heard it. The loud, familiar voices singing— no, screaming happy birthday. Or so at least you could distinctly hear the loud voices of Taiju and Chrome singing their hearts out. 

“Wow, they're as loud as ever,” Kohaku commented as she peeked through from Nikki's shoulder.

Yuzuriha's laugh diluted the forgotten dialogues. “I heard from Taiju that they wanted to make the celebration extra loud and special since Senku had just returned from space today.” 

Nikki's eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Man is really making the distance from space look like he's just flying from America back to Japan, huh.” 

You laughed, something between genuine amusement and hurt. Perhaps you were proud too that he had finally achieved his dream, even if it was when you were no longer in his life. “It's Senku we're talking about. We really shouldn't be surprised.” 

Your eyes couldn't be taken off Nikki's phone screen despite your chest tightening painfully. It was the first time you saw his face in almost a year—except for the moments you found yourself scrolling through a gallery of what were once happy memories—Gosh, were you that hurt mentally that it started to hurt physically again?

Your mind was wandering how he somehow looked more mature in a span of a year, or perhaps it was the exhaustion that hid behind the facade of his eyes and the signature smirk of his. Yet you knew him long enough to know the truth. 

Then, you noticed something. “Hey, why isn't anyone holding out the cake?”

Their gazes lifted from the screen and landed on your questioning gaze. There was a brief pause before Yuzuriha spoke out. “Ryusui said it was out of respect for you since you always held out his birthday cake.” 

You blinked, body desperately fighting out the tears that threatened to surface. “Hah…I guess I really passed the torch down successfully.” 

There was a faint crack in your voice, as if you were gathering every last ounce of your strength and self-respect to avoid breaking down completely.

A year ago, you were the one holding the candlelit cake close to his face, smiling the widest among everyone else, promising a lifetime of birthdays to spend together. This year, you were just staring at the celebration from a digital screen, miles away. How quickly for the tides to turn and for promises to end. 

“Hm, Chrome mentioned something about Senku looking for a lot area to build a house while he was visiting Ruri. Apparently, he and Gen tagged along when Ryusui helped Senku in sourcing out for one.” Kohaku added, eyes drifting back to you. 

Nikki turned to her, confused. “Why would Senku want to purchase a lot? And to build a house? I thought he was an apartment type of guy.” 

Yuzuriha nodded. “Yeah…Senku never seemed like the type to live in a house. He's always traveling between continents for his research, too.” 

Their voices began to fade as the realization hit you like a speeding truck with broken brakes. ‘Lot area? House?’ 

Your heart stumbled painfully at the thought because deep down, you knew that there was only one possible reason—unless you were pooled by delusion instead of remembrance—that Senku Ishigami would ever consider purchasing land over a convenient apartment.

And suddenly, you were fresh out of university again, lying across Senku’s bed at nearly midnight while the soft glow of his desk lamp illuminated the dark room. 

The rhythmic scratching of his pencil against paper filled the quiet silence that settled in the room as a blueprint lay flat on his desk. 

“You should be asleep already. Is the light too bright?” He asked without looking away from the blueprint, yet he moved the lamp closer to him and farther from your eyes.

You shook your head, “No.”

“Tch. You’ve got work tomorrow, get some sleep.” 

You chose to lie flat on his bed instead, eyes staring directly at the ceiling with barely attached glow-in-the-dark stars. “But you’re working right now, and I want to watch.”

A soft click of his tongue followed, and even after years, the sound still made you feel warmth blooming stupidly without permission in your chest. 

You shifted again, legs nearly tangling with the soft blanket. Your chin rested atop a pillow as you watched him silently with nothing but love and admiration in your eyes. 

And truthfully speaking, you could spend hours doing this. Just silently existing beside him as he got lost in the field he was most passionate about. Because even when he worked, he never made silence feel lonely. 

“I just wanna spend time with you, Sen.” You mumbled sleepily, fighting the urge to close your eyes. “Even if it’s just watching you work.”

Finally, Senku’s eyes left the blueprint as he glanced at you. His expression softened faintly; it was brief yet enough. 

“What a sap.” Despite his insult, his hand reached out, sliding beneath the blanket to reach out for your hand, intertwining it with his as his gaze remained on the blueprint. 

You paused, blinking once, then twice, before a smile appeared on your face. Lazily, you traced shapes with your thumb against the back of his hand.

“Hey, Sen?”

He hummed, signaling you to continue, to which you did. “If you ever settle down one day, would you rather live in an apartment or a house?”

“Apartment.”

You blinked at the lack of hesitation in his voice. “That was way too fast. Did you even consider the other option?”

He nodded, scribbling something on the paper. “Less maintenance. More efficient and strategically better if I’m traveling constantly.”

Your eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Wow, that sounds incredibly romantic, Sen.”

He chuckled quietly, briefly glancing at you with a smirk on his face. “Should I become a poet and quit being a scientist then?”

You snorted at his joke, rolling your eyes playfully. But then, he said something with a voice softer than before. 

“But I’ll leave the decision to you.” 

Your heart skipped a beat almost instantly. “Wait— What?”

Senku hummed once more in response, making you pause as your mind gathered the next set of words you were going to say. “...You see me in your future?”

Finally, he looked at you properly. The blueprint and pencil momentarily forgotten as his chair turned to face you. And then, the fond gaze that settled in his eyes nearly melted you alive. 

“Of course I do.” His hand slipped out of your hold as he moved it higher to flick your forehead softly. “What made you even question that?”

Your chest felt embarrassingly warm right after. Yet despite that, a grin spread across your face easily. “Are you sure I’m the sappy one?” 

He didn’t answer. Instead, he clicked his tongue in annoyance, hand intertwining with yours again as he returned to his precious blueprint. 

However, you weren’t done. You sat up excitedly, more awake than ever, and the grin never left your face. “Okay then, I want a house with a huge living room with tall windows and really high ceilings.”

“And here I thought I was ambitious.” He mocked softly. 

You ignored his mocking response. “And a garden outside with all sorts of plants and flowers.”

“The maintenance would be hell.”

You ignored that as well. “And a library too,” you added with the biggest smile on your face. “Like one of those pretty libraries with ladders that slide across the shelves.”

He didn’t say anything this time, allowing you to ramble endlessly. 

“And obviously a huge lab for you with every equipment that you need, and an observatory so we could always stargaze together.”

“And you question who’s the sappy one?” He scoffed playfully in pretend disbelief. 

You laughed softly. Then, a sudden gasp escaped from your lips. “Can we have a weeping tree in the backyard?” 

Without even glancing at you, Senku replied immediately. “No. That’s a bad idea.”

You frowned, shifting closer to him. “Why?”

“Their root systems are highly invasive and seek ridiculous amounts of water constantly, which can destroy plumbing and septic lines, have a short lifespan, are pest and disease-prone—” 

You cut him off before he could list another issue, “Okay, okay, I get it, genius.”

He chuckled in victory, eyes briefly glancing at you. That was when he saw the look on your face, which clearly meant you were far from done. 

“Can’t you come up with one of your scientific solutions to fix those issues?”

Senku looked mildly offended at your question, and you heard him click his tongue. “Stubborn as ever, aren’t you? Obviously, but it would still be inefficient to plant one.”

“Fine,” You huffed dramatically. “A wisteria then. Or cherry blossoms.”

“Hm. Acceptable.”

You grinned triumphantly before squeezing his hand once. And despite Senku’s focus on his blueprint, he returned the gesture instantly. Soft, firm, and grounding. As if the future you had described had already become his to accomplish, too. 

The voices around you faded into nothing but muffled noises you couldn’t hear as your mind echoed violently with memories that resurfaced with cruel clarity. 

Your chest tightened painfully again, as if your ribs were one squeeze away from crushing your lungs and heart. Because you had genuinely thought that conversation had only mattered to you—that maybe Senku had forgotten it beneath the pile of rocket launches, research papers, and years spent chasing stars that made you feel he was beyond your reach. 

Yet no, he remembered. He remembered that he actually started looking for land. And that realization hollowed whatever was left from inside you. 

You could hear Kohaku’s voice sounding distant as she called out your name, though you didn’t reply. 

Your eyes remained fixed somewhere past your coffee table filled with untouched food, past the forgotten television, past the city lights that continued to glow outside of your apartment. 

You were physically present. Your body was there, yet it felt like you were mentally trapped years ago inside of Senku’s apartment as he held your hand while listening to you ramble about a future that wasn’t given a chance to exist. 

Back when loving him was as easy as breathing.

You could hear Nikki’s voice come closer as she tried to get your attention. Still, you barely reacted. 

Your breathing started feeling strangely uneven, as if your lungs had suddenly forgotten how to function properly. 

A hand touched your shoulder as Yuzuriha called out your name, louder and clearer. 

You blinked more than once as reality seeped through, all at once. The warm lights of your apartment, the untouched food scattered across the coffee table, and your friends staring at you with worried faces.

Yuzuriha’s brows furrowed as her hand remained on your shoulder. “You’ve been spacing out since Kohaku mentioned the lot.”

Silence. You remained silent. Your lips parted slightly, yet no words came out. And suddenly, as if the last line of defense had been breached, your vision blurred. 

‘No— not now out of all times—’

You tried to inhale sharply, yet it came out shaky instead. You instantly looked away while rubbing your eyes quickly before a tear could fall.

“Sorry,” even your laugh came out shaky. “I’m fine, just—”

Your voice cracked, and that was all it took before the dam broke completely. 

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, followed by another. Your hand flew to your mouth as if you could physically force all of the emotions that had escaped back inside of yourself again.

Except you couldn’t. You no longer could. The grief felt too unbearable as you mourned the future that almost existed— could’ve existed. 

Yuzuriha immediately moved closer, arms already reaching out to hug you tightly as if she could keep whatever remained intact. 

“I’m sorry—” you whispered shakily as you fought back a sob, shaking your head quickly. “I don’t even know why I’m crying this much. It’s been so long since I did. It’s stupid—”

“It’s not stupid,” Nikki said softly, eyes exchanging glances with the other two.

You wanted to stop, you really did. You didn’t want them to see you weak and crying again, as if the wound left by the breakup was still fresh. Perhaps it was, perhaps it had never been healed at all.

“I wish…” Your voice cracked badly. “I wish I could just hate him so moving on could’ve been easy—but no, it’s so hard to hate him at all.” You spoke out between heavy sobs. 

A shaky laugh escaped through your sobs. “I don’t know how to stop—Gosh, I still miss him.”

Nobody tried to interrupt, offering their silent presence as comfort. They didn’t try to fix it because they knew there was nothing fixable about loving someone correctly at the wrong time.

“I really don’t know how to stop missing him— or loving him,” you finally admitted the truth that you constantly buried beneath a facade of distractions. “I don’t know how to stop missing him or loving him just because I have to.”

You wiped your tears aggressively, something he would most likely scold you for. “He’s still the first person I want to call when something good or bad happens.”

“Gosh, I even tear up whenever I pass by stores selling instant ramen because I remember how messed up his eating habits are. It’s no wonder he stayed a twink during university.” Another shaky laugh slipped from between the tears and your cracked voice. 

Your weak attempt to insult Senku didn’t go unnoticed by them as they snorted slightly. 

Nikki was the first to snort. “Okay, calling a literal astronaut who happens to be the most sought-after scientist too, a twink sounds insane now that his training paid off.”

Kohaku crossed her arms with a smile of amusement. “At least his progress had started to show.”

Yuzuriha let out a soft laugh, arms still holding you tight. “I still remember him forgetting to eat unless you physically handed him food.”

A broken laugh escaped you again as the memory appeared in your mind.

“Why am I even laughing and crying over instant ramen? I’m going crazy, aren’t I?” You asked them with tears flowing down your face while laughing with a broken smile. 

Despite the situation, that managed to earn a genuine laugh from them as Yuzuriha hugged you tighter and Kohaku walked to your kitchen to grab some tissues.

“No, no, you aren’t going crazy,” she soothed quickly as one hand reached out to lean your head on her shoulder. “Definitely heartbroken, but not crazy.”

Nikki sat beside you, “Honestly, this is healthier than whatever you thought was better to do for the past year.” 

“Which was repressing everything,” she added. 

“I really wish I could just hate him, not because I want to, but because maybe it’d be easier if I did.” You buried your face in the palms of your hands. “But then I also remember how hard he worked, how excited he looked while talking about space and rocket engineering as if the universe had personally asked him to.” 

A tear slipped down your cheek, “But how could I hate him for that? How could I hate him for simply dreaming?”

Kohaku returned quietly with a box of tissues. Then, she turned to you. “If it makes a difference, Senku actually loved you.”

Nikki’s eyes widened, “Kohaku—”

Kohaku blinked, staring at all of you with a confused look. “What? It’s true.”

Your head snapped upward as Kohaku frowned slightly before she continued. “He’s terrible at expressing emotions and might be the most affectionately constipated jerk on the planet, but he loved you. We all saw it.”

Your eyes watered dangerously again as you stared at her with wobbly lips. “Kohaku, I love you, but why would you tell me that right now?!” 

Yuzuriha rubbed your shaking arms gently as she panic-laugh beside you. “Haha…though it’s the truth, we should’ve worked on the delivery .”

Kohaku nodded, faces already running with guilt as she apologized. “You’re right, I’m really sorry. I just wanted to help.”

You laughed through your tears, smiling at her attempt as Nikki rested her head lightly against yours. “You know, sometimes people can love each other and still not know how to grow together.”

Your eyes squeezed shut at her comment. Maybe that was exactly the fate you and Senku fell victim to. He kept reaching for the stars, and somewhere between the ocean and skies, you stopped being able to reach him completely.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Senku Ishigami had long accepted that his friends were both his greatest source of headache and one of the few things that kept him sane. Though he’d rather spend a lifetime with them than to admit it out loud.

According to the greediest man on the planet, Ryusui Nanami, every celebration deserved excess. Senku knew better that he just wanted another excuse to have all kinds of alcohol in one room for a night. 

Which could explain why Senku currently sat in a private lounge, owned by Ryusui, as his friends drowned themselves in expensive whiskey around him. 

The cake that was once glowing with a soft flame stared at him mockingly from across the table he was at. Nobody had dared to touch it, to hold it out for him as they sang happy birthday—and Senku didn’t need to calculate rocket science to figure out it was out of respect for you, the one who used to hold out the cake for him.

“Cheers!” Ryusui boomed loudly as he refilled everyone's drinks. 

Chrome was already tipsy along with Taiju as Ukyo tried to control their alcohol intake. 

Gen, however, remained close. His eyes observed the scientist in front of him, who nursed another glass of whiskey. At this point, the mentalist had lost count of how much Senku had drunk already. 

“Senku-chan, are you trying to break your record immediately after stepping into the Earth’s atmosphere?” Gen asked, wearing an expression of amusement and worry.

Senku, who had just drunk from his glass, raised a brow at him. “Hah? What are you talking about, mentalist?” 

Ryusui appeared again with a different bottle of alcohol in his hand as he offered Senku a lazy smirk. “Not to mention the constant checking of your phone, Senku. Waiting for someone, are we?”

Senku clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Tch. Shut up.”

Ryusui and Gen instantly shared a laugh as Senku muttered something along the lines of, “I should’ve stayed in outer space.”

For a moment, the sound of their snickering lingered in the air before Gen leaned forward with narrowed eyes at Senku. 

“You’re waiting for her birthday greeting, or even just a message from her, aren’t you?” 

A dangerous silence filled the atmosphere between the three of them. Then, Senku exhaled through his nose and took another sip. 

“...Yeah.” He gulped down another sip, and the burning feeling that ran through his throat began to numb. “It’s selfish considering how things ended.”

For a while, nobody spoke. Ryusui and Gen exchanged glances as the music in the bar suddenly sounded louder than before. The silence wasn’t awkward, just heavy with the regrets that constantly taunted Senku. 

Gen swirled the drink inside the glass he was holding; the intention of changing the topic appeared in his mind. “How’s the construction for the lot that you had recently bought, Senku-chan?”

Senku raised a brow, hand reaching out for the bottle near Ryusui to refill his glass. 

“The one near the outskirts,” Gen added. “Has construction started yet?”

“Nah.” Senku leaned back further into the cushion of the couch, an arm lazily draped over the backrest while the other held his whiskey glass. 

The familiar burning sensation met his throat again as he took another sip. “Still finalizing the design.”

Ryusui hummed, a brow raised as well. “Oh? I thought you had finished the draft weeks ago.”

“I did.”

“Then what’s the hold-up, Senku-chan?” Gen asked as he reached out for cola instead of whiskey.

“Had to revise the window structure,” Senku replied flatly.

“Window structure?” Ryusui repeated with a laugh of disbelief. “Since when did you start caring about aesthetics, Senku?”

“Natural lighting efficiency,” Senku answered instantly. “Large windows reduce daytime electricity usage.”

Ryusui hummed in response, though Senku knew from the grin on the sailor’s face that he knew more than he let on.

Gen blinked suspiciously, eyes shifting between the two before landing on Senku. “And the giant library? Why did you design a two-story library again?”

Senku didn’t answer, which enhanced Gen’s suspicion. Then, the mentalist’s expression transformed abruptly as realization slammed into him. 

“Oh.”

Senku clicked his tongue hard while Ryusui’s grin widened. The sailor even had the audacity to laugh behind his glass. 

“Have you finally figured it out, Gen?” He asked, eyes teasingly shifted towards Senku. 

Gen stared at Senku with an incredulous look on his face. “...The ideas for the house were never yours, were they, Senku-chan?”

Senku didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he chuckled bitterly as he stared quietly at the amber liquid swirling inside his glass before he downed it again. “...Yeah.”

Ryusui turned to Gen with another grin on his face. “You should’ve seen him compare land locations based on sunlight exposure, soil and terrain conditions, flood and hazard zones, distance from the city—”

“Yeah, yeah, no need to expose me further, Ryusui.” Senku cut him off in annoyance, though he didn’t deny anything.

Senku Ishigami—the man who dedicated his entire life to chasing the stars—had been planning a home permanent enough to always return to. And somehow, before construction could even start, he had already lost the part that made it feel like home.

“I want to call her. I want to apologize for being the biggest jerk on the planet— screw that, the whole of the Milky Way.” He admitted bluntly, making the other two stare at him in shock, though part of them already expected that Senku would say something like that. 

“Has the alcohol finally caught up with you, Senku-chan?” Gen teasingly asked. 

Senku shook his head. “Nah. I’m not stupid enough yet to act selfishly and ruin whatever progress she made in forgetting me.”

Ryusui leaned forward, hand placing his glass down. “But do you want to?”

Senku let out a laugh that sounded like a mix of honesty, bitterness, and disbelief. “Yeah, ten billion percent do.”

“Will you ask for Ryusui’s strongest bottle then, Senku?” Ukyo asked teasingly as he appeared out of nowhere and sat between Gen and Ryusui. His teasing tone earned a snort from both of them as they looked far too entertained at the situation bound to unfold in front of them.

Senku snickered behind his glass. “How much have you heard, Ukyo?”

“Enough to know that you could also be a love-sick fool.” He offered Senku a smile. 

Ukyo’s answer made the other two laugh out loudly as Senku playfully rolled his eyes before finishing the rest of his drink.

“Tch, you people are ten billion percent annoying.”

“And yet you’re here, Senku-chan.” Gen pointed out with a smug look on his face.

“Ryusui kidnapped me immediately after I landed. Didn’t even bother to say anything as he did.” Senku deadpanned.

Ryusui laughed loudly with a proud grin on his face. “Don’t ruin my reputation, Senku. I did what any other good friend should.”

Senku merely clicked his tongue, hand already reaching for the bottle before anyone could. 

“Oi,” Ryusui called out, a faint laugh hiding his concern. “Are you seriously trying to speedrun self-destruction immediately after returning from the ISS?” 

Gen chuckled nervously, “He already looks like he’s halfway there.” 

Ukyo sighed softly as he eyed the scientist with amusement and concern. “You do realize your alcohol tolerance isn’t infinite, right?”

Senku raised a brow. “Hah? Obviously.” 

“That’s not reassuring.” The other three said in unison.

Though Senku ignored them completely, quietly checking his smartphone for the hundredth time since he landed. And as if he didn’t hear Ukyo’s recent warning, his hand was already reaching out for an unopened bottle and opened it himself. The amber liquid reflected against the dim lights of the private lounge as silence eloped them briefly.

Gen leaned lazily against his palm before speaking. “For someone who claims that he doesn’t want to ruin her progress…Your actions say the opposite. How many times have you checked your notifications?”

Senku snickered before responding. “It’s called multi-tasking, Gen. Pretty basic skill.”

All three of them gave him a look that clearly said: Easy for you to say.

Ukyo leaned back, eyes studying Senku’s exhausted expression that he tried to hide. “You know, I think this is the most emotional we’ve ever seen you. Besides when your rocket first successfully launched into space, that is.”

“That was the happy type of emotional Senku; this one is the sad and regretful one.” Gen added beside Ukyo, earning a snort from Ryusui. 

“Must be the lowered gravity from space messing with my brain.” Senku reasoned casually. 

Ukyo and Gen sweat dropped visibly. “Sure, let’s all agree to blame NASA and JAXA for that.” 

Taiju suddenly appeared out of nowhere from behind Senku, voice suddenly serious as if he wasn’t drunk moments ago. “But do you still love her, Senku?”

Senku was faintly surprised— no, all of them were when Taiju suddenly joined the conversation. Yet a small smile appeared on Senku’s face, the softness, regret, and certainty hidden beneath the facade of his smugness. 

“That’s the dumbest question you could ever ask me, big-oaf.”

“Then why let her go if you still do, man?” Chrome asked out of nowhere as well, suddenly sober. Randomly appearing the same way Taiju did.

Senku blinked, eyes shifting between the two flatly. “Where the hell did you two even come from?”

“That’s not important right now!” Chrome shot back, climbing the couch from behind to sit next to Senku.

“It kinda is…” Ukyo sweat dropped.

“We heard everything, man!” Taiju added, far louder than chrome as he mimicked his actions.

Senku looked mildly annoyed as he downed a glass of whiskey. “Yeah? You two got Ukyo’s insane hearing now?”

The other three laughed instantly at the joke, looking far too amused at the growing crowd around Senku.

Chrome, however, wasn’t laughing. He had a frown on his face and looked too serious for someone who had been drunk minutes ago. “Honestly?” He glared at Senku. “That wasn’t a cool move from you at all, Senku.”

That made everyone glance at Chrome, and Senku looked at him with mild offense. “Hah?”

Chrome clicked his tongue out of frustration. His hand suddenly slammed his glass down, and a bit of whiskey splashed out. “You just let her go like that!”

The atmosphere shifted into silence instantly. Chrome rarely sounded angry at Senku. He was always admiring him. 

“I mean, c’mon,” Chrome continued roughly. “You’re literally one of the smartest guys on the planet— heck, the smartest.”  

“Tch, that's ten billion percent debatable.” Senku shot flatly.

“You’re the only guy on the planet who built a homemade rocket at the ripe age of ten!” Chrome snapped back. “How could you not come up with scientific solutions to keep her?!” 

A heavy silence followed Chrome’s frustrated outburst. The others remained silent as they watched his anger unfold. Because, despite how irrational Chrome sounded, he was logical in the language of love.

Chrome ran a hand through his hair. “If Ruri asked me to leave her someday, I won’t be able to do it. Even if she argues that it’s for the better— I just can’t do it.”

He looked genuinely devastated now, as if he was grieving a relationship that wasn’t even his. Then, he continued. “Because if you love someone, aren’t you supposed to fight for them?” 

Everyone saw how Senku’s expression faltered. It was barely noticeable, yet they saw it and knew that one hit him harder than his failed rocket launches.

For a moment, Senku remained silent as he looked at Chrome with an unreadable expression. With a voice that lacked his usual sarcasm, he admitted, “I did.”

Then, his gaze shifted towards his glass of whiskey. A bitter laugh followed right after. “You think I didn’t try?” 

“She genuinely looked so hurt and exhausted when she told me she couldn’t do it anymore.” He paused briefly. “I kept telling her and myself that things would calm down after every project.”

“I tried fixing it the same way I tried fixing everything else.” 

Everyone in the room knew that Senku expressed his care or love differently compared to others. He was never vocal about it; his actions always spoke out for him. Be it when you complained about winter being too cold, hence he modified thermal fabric and mailed it to Japan along with custom heatpacks. Or the time you told him you missed stargazing with him and his telescope, he custom-built a compact telescope to fit your apartment balcony and wrote a calendar of astronomical events for you. 

They were never just scientific solutions— no, that was just the way Senku Ishigami knew how to love. 

Gen, who was quietly listening the whole time, sighed softly as he had already decided to lend their dearest astronaut a hand. “In Senku-chan’s language, that was how he showed his version of devotion.”

Senku scoffed in annoyance. “Don’t make it sound weird, mentalist. Devotion is a strong word.”

“But it’s the truth, isn’t it?” Gen countered softly.

Then, he turned to the other scientist. “Chrome, most people would write poems or say ‘I love you’”, his gaze briefly returned to Senku. “But Senku-chan solved her problems as if it were rocket science.”

Ryusui snorted softly. “In other words, Senku modified science as a love language.” 

Gen dramatically pointed a finger at Senku. “He would rather rebuild modern civilization from scratch than to vocally express affection.” 

Somehow, that earned a laugh from everyone, even Senku himself. 

“The problem was,” he continued softly. “That she stopped needing solutions— she just wanted him.” 

Senku didn’t deny Gen’s conclusion; he knew he was right. He, himself, knew that the most. He could find a solution to anything as long as he dedicated himself to it.

But emotional reassurance? Senku could learn every complicated topic in the world, yet he would still lack the knowledge to give you what you needed the most.

It wasn’t the lack of love or effort that slowly made loving him hurt— no, it was the fact that two people were speaking different love languages. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆

The apartment was now occupied by silence again— except for the loud thoughts that refused to die down without a fight. 

Yuzuriha, Kohaku, and Nikki had returned home half an hour ago. You insisted they did despite their refusal. It was late, and you wanted to retire for the night, was the reason you gave them.

Yet you find yourself staring at your bedroom ceiling as if it could magically solve your problems. And of course, you didn’t need to be sober to realize it couldn’t. Though perhaps he could— no, scratch that, he was the problem you were currently facing. 

Sleep wasn’t coming around easily, nothing was really. You’ve tried about everything: a warm shower, walking around every corner of your apartment, wearing your comfiest pair of sleepwear, changing the temperature of your thermostat—yet nothing worked. 

Somehow, the sound of your clock on the bedside table was getting louder, as if it was personally mocking you as you resisted the urge that resurfaced countless times throughout the day. The urge to greet him happy birthday.

Your eyes shifted towards your phone that lay flat on the bedside table, next to your clock. If you weren’t spiraling, you would’ve laughed at the combination. 

There were exactly fifteen minutes left before January 4th ended. And for some reason, you couldn’t exactly tell if time was going by slowly or fast.

Your eyes shut close as you felt the pain in your chest start again. You repeatedly reminded yourself not to do it, not to ruin the progress you fought tooth and nail to build. 

Your fingers curled into the soft fabric of your blanket as your thoughts continued to clash against one another. Part of you didn’t want to, yet a bigger part of you wanted to. Because it’s his birthday. You had continuously greeted him for more than a decade, when you were merely a teenager who admired him, when he had yet to love you back. 

You used to stay awake until midnight just to ensure you were the first to greet him. And of course, Senku complained about it. Something along the lines of ruining your sleep schedule just to acknowledge that he was a year older. 

Yet he always sounded pleased despite it. 

And now, a year has passed without a single word from you or about you reaching him. Or perhaps there was, and you were just unaware. Gen and Taiju would’ve most likely informed him even if he didn’t ask.

Was it cruel of you to suddenly disappear after forcing yourself to be a constant in the equation of his life?

That seemed to have done it as your hand abruptly reached for your phone before a second thought could form. You opened your messages and scrolled till you reached his contact. 

Your throat felt dry as you hesitantly unlocked him, your last message mocking you silently.

Senku, where are you? 

Can we talk?

Your fingers trembled against your keyboard. Maybe it was selfish, selfish to suddenly appear after disappearing for so long. Maybe it was cruel to reopen wounds that barely healed at all. 

Then, more thoughts formed, far more cruel than the previous ones. What if he doesn’t reply? What if he does, yet he replies coldly? What if—

You quickly typed out “Happy birthday, Senku.” And clicked send before another thought could form. Then, you tossed your phone across the other side of your bed and buried your face flat against your pillow. 

Your pulse rose violently. You felt stupid, yet relieved and everything in between.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Senku was halfway through Ryusui’s strongest bottle, now fully aware he was starting to feel tipsy. He wasn’t the type to drink often, yet he had been exposed to numerous chemicals already that his body had slowly grown immune to them. Or perhaps he just had a high alcohol tolerance.

He usually tested his tolerance with Ryusui, who wanted to test out every available alcohol out of greed. That same Ryusui was currently refilling everyone’s glass as François appeared with a new tray of food. This time, it was sushi. 

Senku was about to swallow the sushi in his mouth when he heard a specific notification that nearly made him choke as everything around him seemed to halt, the chopsticks falling out of his hold. 

Taiju, who was next to him, heard it. “What was that, Senku? Are you choking?!” 

Ukyo didn’t need to be next to him to hear and recognize that specific sound, after all, it was he who pointed out before that Senku set a custom notification sound for your messages. The genius reasoned that it was efficient.

“Is that…?” Ukyo asked with wide eyes. 

Senku, however, didn’t answer as he swallowed the sushi in his mouth, hand already reaching out for his phone so quickly he nearly knocked over his drink. 

And there it was, a greeting from you. 

Funny how that was all he needed to sober up, or at least he thought he did. And before anyone else could say something, he was already standing and rushing out of the room.

Gen visibly perked up, everyone did. “Senku-chan—?” 

Senku was already out of the private lounge. 

His heart was beating loudly, drowning the worried calls of his companions. Yet for a moment, that didn’t matter as his thumb hovered over your message.

He blinked once, then twice as if he was waiting for the message to disappear. Though to his surprise, it didn’t. It was still there, waiting for a reply. 

Unfortunately, or fortunately—he couldn’t quite tell anymore—the alcohol made him reckless. Or maybe just honest. 

Because before any logic could catch up, he pressed call out of desperation. 

The phone rang more than once. And somewhere else in Tokyo, your stomach dropped painfully at the sound. 

You immediately sat up, hands reaching for your phone that rang violently. You stared in horror once you saw who was calling you. It was him. 

Your breathing became uneven, hands shook as they held the device with the little strength you had left. He wasn’t supposed to call. 

Your mind fell into a dilemma. Were you going to answer him or not? What were you even going to say to him? That you’ve been spiraling over greeting him the whole day? About reaching out?

And before you could come to a decision, the call ended. Then, a message appeared. 

Answer me.

Please.

Another call rang out a second after you read the messages from him. Once, twice, then you finally clicked the green button before you could rethink your decision. Perhaps it was out of instinct—the instinct to answer whenever he called. 

You were met with the muffled sound of music from somewhere far. Then it was heavy and uneven breathing mixed with disbelief. Like he had run somewhere despite his mind still processing. 

And finally, you heard his voice. “...You actually picked up.”

You felt your chest tighten physically, which made you lean against your headboard, eyes staring straight at the ceiling as if it could instruct you on what to say this time. 

His voice sounded lower and rougher than usual. And if you weren't hearing things, it sounded slightly slurred. 

You shut your eyes briefly, hand tightening around your phone. “You rarely say please…Are you drunk?” 

A faint snicker from him reached your ears, weak yet filled with amusement. “Hah, that's the first thing you chose to say to me after a year?” 

“You sound terrible. I'm assuming that's Ryusui's doing.” You remarked, already thinking of what to tell Ryusui for letting him drink that much. 

“Tch. Compared to earlier, I'm basically sober right now.” 

This time, your stomach twisted painfully. “Just how much did you drink?” 

You heard soft movements from the other side of the line, enough to make a guess that he was leaning against a wall. 

With a casual voice, he said, “Dunno, Ryusui kept bringing new bottles…The refilling part was on me.”

You felt your stomach drop as you frowned. Despite everything, you were still concerned about him. “Didn’t you just return from space and you're already trying to destroy your liver?” 

And you hated that you still are. Hated how naturally concern came to you when it was about him. Hated how even after everything, it was still your instinct to question if he was taking care of himself, if he was overworking himself again. 

He snickered. “Must’ve left 90% of my logic in outer space. The remaining 10% evaporated when you texted me.”

You sighed, hand running through your hair. “I shouldn't have messaged you—” 

“No,” He interrupted softly, voice suddenly sounding desperate. “Don't say that.”

Silence eloped the two of you as you didn't know how to reply to that. Your knees curled closer towards your chest as your mind fought to think of what to say. 

And before you could say anything, he beat you to it. Voice suddenly sounded low again. “...I was waiting for you.”

Your vision blurred right away at his words. Was it because he sounded so genuine? Was it because this was your first conversation in a year? Or was it because he said he was waiting for you when your relationship used to revolve around you waiting for him?

A soft chuckle escaped from his lips, stripped off from his usual confidence. “I kept checking my phone like an idiot all night. Gen and Ryusui noticed first and kept bothering me about it. Then Ukyo appeared, followed by Taiju and Chrome.” 

You felt a tear slip, hand instinctively rushing to cover your mouth before a sob came out. Gosh, must he tell you that?  

“...You shouldn't have waited for me.” 

“I know.” He murmured. “But you used to greet me constantly at midnight for over a decade. Couldn't help it.” 

You inhaled sharply through your nose. “That was before, Senku…Things changed.”

“I know,” he repeated quietly. “But I happened to be selfish tonight.” 

Now you were really wishing that you hadn’t called, because his response was telling you that he was thinking of you. How were you supposed to move on quietly after that? 

The noise from the bar began to fade further away, as if he was walking farther from everything else. 

“I screwed up.” 

Your eyes burned with tears as you clutched your phone tighter than before after it threatened to slip out of your hold after hearing his words. 

A sharp exhale from him followed after. “I really thought I had more time.” 

“After the next launch, research, experiment, conference, project— I assumed I'd have more time.” He continued, voice filled with the regret that had been piling up for a year. 

You laughed weakly despite the tears silently falling. “I never doubted your love for me, Sen.” 

“I knew you loved me; everyone knew you did, even if you were the most affectionately constipated person in the group.” You added before he could respond. 

You aggressively wiped away your tears with the back of your hand, a sniffle escaping through your defenses. “I saw that you loved differently. I saw it whenever you patiently taught me topics I found confusing, when you built things for my convenience, or when you fixed things without me having to ask.” 

Your voice and defenses had failed you completely halfway. Your sobs broke through your words, and that broke something in him as he had to listen to you cry because of him again.

“But eventually,” you sniffled again. “I stopped needing your inventions or scientific solutions.” 

A painful silence settled briefly. “...I just needed you, Sen.” 

The line grew terrifyingly quiet afterward that for a second, you considered the call had disconnected. 

Then finally, a shaky exhale came from the other side of the line. “...I know.” 

And the way he said it nearly destroyed you. There was no defensiveness behind it, no excuses or attempts to justify himself. It was just the raw truth of realization and understanding. 

“And that's what's been screwing me up for the past year,” he let out a weak laugh. “Building rockets was easier than when I kept thinking of that.” 

Your lips parted slightly, though nothing came out because of how stunned you were. How could you not be? What were you supposed to even answer to that? The Senku Ishigami sounded lost for the first time, as if he had run out of scientific solutions to use, defeated over love. 

“I kept thinking if I worked hard enough,” he admitted quietly as regret laced his voice. “Then eventually I could give you everything that you wanted.” 

“The house, your ridiculously hard-to-maintain garden, your two-story library— the future you wanted.” 

At Senku’s side, he stared beyond the city lights behind the window in the hallway of the building he was in. And for a moment, he could see the future that failed to occur: your laughter filling the silent hallways, the warmth that radiated from your smile making the house feel like home.

And now that he could finally start the future you asked for, you had already left his side.

His grip tightened as his gaze lowered. “Failed to realize you needed something way simpler that time.” 

The call went silent again right after he said that. You were nearly speechless, your tears halted. The heel of your palm pressed against your forehead as you managed to let out a weak laugh. 

“Senku,” you called out, voice weak with a painful amusement and disbelief. 

“I was willing to attend a hundred funerals of every version you would grow up to be if it meant I could stay by your side forever—” your breathing shook unevenly. “The high school student who launched a homemade rocket to space, the university student who tried to survive on instant ramen, the doctoral student pursuing a doctorate at MIT,” 

You continued on listing every version you saw of him, built on the ambition that made you fall for him, yet was the very same ambition that made loving him hurt. 

“...The scientist worldwide agencies and governments wanted, the astronaut in training. Somehow, between the listings, your tears found you again as you tried to choke back a sob. “But I didn't realize those versions of you would kill me too.” 

Another heavy silence settled, and it was suffocating. Afterward, he said the most unexpected thing you could hear from him. 

“... I'm sorry.” 

You blinked painfully, “Senku—” 

“No, I mean it.” He cut you off softly. 

His voice sounded rougher than before. “I'm sorry I kept making you wait.” 

“Stop.” You pleaded, the heel of your palm pressed harder on your forehead than before. 

“I'm sorry I made you feel alone—” 

You interrupted this time. “Senku, stop. You're making this harder for the both of us.” 

“That wasn't my intention,” his response was immediate and firm. “You spent years trying to understand me, least I could do is acknowledge how badly I screwed up.”

You paused, unaware of what to do now. If anything, how this conversation was leading felt like tearing open wounds that never truly healed in the first place. 

Because hearing him like that, apologizing with dangerous self-awareness, made a part of you want to stay. To try again. 

And that terrified you. The thought of how things ended, the thought of losing yourself while trying to love him, scared you. 

You tried to push every ounce of hesitation back down before speaking. “I think this should be our last conversation.”

You tried to say it properly, you really did. Yet your voice still decided to crack halfway through. 

The response came instantly after a sharp inhale from him, barely any hesitation in his voice, unlike yours. “No.” 

You inhaled sharply through your nose, eyes shutting once again. The situation was hard enough, and he was making it far harder. “Senku—” 

“You're saying that as if it's strategically the best outcome for the two of us.” 

His tone shifted into something quieter right after. “...Is that what you really want?”

You were speechless again. You could hear it, the dismay in his voice. 

“Will your life be better if I remain out of it?” He asked quietly. 

No. You thought immediately. It wouldn't. You weren't even sure if time could heal the wounds left by over a decade of loving him. 

You fought back a sob, yet your voice cracked again anyway. “Yes.”

Senku went physically still at your response, and you had to muster any remaining strength in your body. “I think our relationship fell the moment I started missing you even when you were right in front of me.”

“You would still be working even when you were home.” You added painfully. “At first, I was okay with it. But then the distance started to feel as if you were still thousands of miles away.” 

You pressed your lips into a thin line, fighting back a sob. “Loving you didn't feel as easy as breathing anymore…It felt like I was losing myself instead, while you were constantly going.” 

With a shaky breath, you concluded. “...And I don't think I can go through that again without completely losing myself.” 

A long silence followed your words, the longest one yet since he called. And you knew that he was calculating every possible variable that could somehow change your mind and the outcome you gave him. Yet he couldn't. 

“...I see.” He said quietly. You heard a faint sound of shifting, not out of agitation, but out of resignation. “Can't really argue about that, can't I?” 

That was the part that made him feel ill to his stomach. Because he knew that the old version of himself would've, he would've calculated something, debated against it. 

But the present Senku couldn't. Not when he heard you admit about losing yourself again, because of him, out of all people. 

You shook your head as if he could magically see it. “No, you can't.” 

Your hand clutched the soft fabric of your bedsheets, and the painful realization that this was really the end settled through. “Take care of yourself, Senku.” 

He gave you a chuckle as an attempt to hide his dismay. “I should be the one telling you that.” 

You smiled bitterly, a tear escaping silently. “Hah? I wasn't the one living on instant ramen throughout my undergraduate degree.” 

He snickered. “As if your eating habits were any better.” 

You laughed, genuinely this time. Afterward, you called out for him using the nickname you developed after establishing your relationship with him. 

“Sen,” 

He hummed, already knowing where it was leading to. 

You hesitated, suddenly feeling weak again. This was it, there will be nothing else left except grieving the future you could've had again.

“...Happy birthday, please don't call me again.”

Senku's eyes shut right after. He saw it coming, so why did it still hurt him so much? Far worse than the impact of a moving train with its highest velocity. 

“I really loved you, y’know?” You sniffled. “I really admired you, too. You were always so amazing in my eyes, and I knew you could achieve anything with that never-ending dedication of yours.” 

“...I hope space felt like everything you ever wanted.”

And with that, you ended the call with trembling hands. Your body completely shook right after, as you hugged your knees tighter again out of desperation, your phone slipping out of your hand. 

The tears fell continuously, and each sob was louder than the previous one. At first, it was a strangled sound, then you were fully sobbing before you knew it. 

You fell sideways on your bed, body curling instinctively as you wrapped your arms around yourself as if you could keep yourself together, but you couldn't. Everything came crashing down, and nothing stayed in place anymore. Not your breathing, not your thoughts, not your tears.

Your hand reached for your phone again, part of you hoping that Senku would magically take back his words and go against your decision; however, you knew how his mind and logic worked. You still hoped anyway.

Yet no new call appeared, and silence still remained. And perhaps that was the cruelest proof that he truly loved you.

The act of choosing to let you go, even when he desperately didn’t want to, simply because losing you hurt less than ruining you further. 

January 4th had come to an end, making way for January 5th. His birthday ended, and somewhere between midnight and the last call, the two of you did too. 

Bonus:

The call ended at exactly 12:15 AM. And if anything, Senku thought the universe was mocking him.

For a long while, he just stayed where he was. Eyes glued to the floor after a tear had escaped without his permission. His jaw was clenched, and so was his fist. 

His mind replayed the conversation, especially the last thing you told him before ending the call. 

“...I hope space felt like everything you ever wanted.”

He wanted to respond and tell you that it didn't, it didn't feel like everything he ever wanted. Not when the only constant variable in the equation of his life had completely disappeared in the process of achieving it. 

The conversation hollowed him completely. The alcohol he had consumed earlier no longer aided him. 

Then, he heard the familiar heavy footsteps of Ryusui come closer.

“There you are!” Ryusui announced loudly as he walked towards him. “We thought the alcohol had finally caught up, and you passed out somewhere.” 

Senku clicked his tongue automatically. “Tch, as if.” 

Ryusui noticed how it was all bark and no bite. Yet he didn't ask, as Senku just followed him back to the private lounge where everyone else was waiting. 

When they entered, Taiju was the first to ask. “Senku! How was—?!” 

Taiju wasn't even cut off by Senku vocally, no. He was interrupted by his astonishment as Senku strided into the room, hand reached out for the bottle of Ryusui's strongest whiskey as well as his glass, already downing a glass full before anyone could say anything else. 

Everyone stared in shock at what had just unfolded. 

Ukyo frowned immediately. “Senku, you've had enough.” 

He didn't answer. He simply ignored the warning as his body slid back to his initial place before the call, the hand that didn't hold the glass folded to cover his eyes. 

Then, he chuckled bitterly, with every ounce of regret and dismay. “I screwed up badly.” 

Across from him, Gen's expression shifted. “That bad, huh.” 

Senku laughed again, but it was humorless before he took another gulp. “Hah, she told me to never call her again.”

The table fell silent. There was nothing to argue about, just the acceptance of the two people who loved each other deeply, yet still failed to see each other till the end.

After a moment, Ukyo gently leaned to take the bottle away from Senku, and unlike earlier, he didn’t fight back. But that was mostly because something in his pocket felt unbearably heavy. 

That was when Chrome noticed something from the pocket of Senku’s pants, how come he had yet to notice it after hours of being in the same room?

“Senku, what’s that—” he halted, eyes went wide as his voice left him out of shock. 

That caught everyone’s attention as they shifted closer to have a look. Taiju was the first to see what it was since he was sitting next to him. 

“Is that?!” 

Senku snickered next to him, head falling back against the couch as if he was admitting defeat. “...Yeah, a ring box.”

The entire table froze, except for Ryusui, who looked at Senku with empathy, not bewilderment.

Chrome nearly choked, his hand flung up in the air. “The hell?!”

Everything suddenly made sense in a horrifying way. Why Senku was always overworking himself, the obsession over stability, projects, and the insane amount of pressure he placed on himself.

Ryusui sighed and finally decided to say something. “I told you waiting was a terrible strategy, Senku.”

Gen’s head whipped towards him instantly. “You knew?!” 

“Of course,” Ryusui’s eyes shifted from the shocked faces staring at him before they landed on Senku again. “Who do you think he dragged across three continents to look for the best lab that makes diamonds?”

Senku laughed in defeat, eyes meeting Ryusui’s. “Yeah, yeah, my calculations failed me on that one.”

Gen’s head returned back to him. “How long have you had the ring— and when were you planning to propose?!”

Senku sighed lazily, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. “Six months before she wanted to end things. I was planning to after my first trip to space, y’know, the sappy ‘I love you to the moon and back’ that she likes.”

Then he chuckled miserably. “Kept it with me ever since that night…It even made it to space.”

The first time you realized you were still in love with him, it wasn’t because you saw his face or heard his name.

It was because your chest ached at the sound of waves.

The ocean folded into itself again and again, white foam dissolving into darkening water, and something inside you folded with it, quiet, involuntary, bruised. The sound was the same as it had always been.

Unlike him.

You came to the beach every week.

You told yourself it was for the sunset. For the quiet. For the way the horizon swallowed the sun whole and bled color across the sky, bruised violets melting into molten gold, streaks of rose unraveling like torn silk. You told yourself it was therapeutic. That watching something end so beautifully made endings easier to accept.

That was a lie.

You came because this was the last place you had felt whole.

The wind brushed against your skin, cool and salted, tangling your hair and kissing your cheeks with a softness that felt almost intimate. The air smelled like brine and damp sand and fading warmth. The tide rolled in and out with a rhythm that felt almost cruel, consistent, dependable, never faltering.

Unlike everything else in your life.

You sat in the same spot you always did, as if the sand remembered the shape of you. Your toes buried themselves beneath the surface, grains slipping between them, cool at first and then gradually warming. You hugged your knees to your chest, arms wrapped tight as though you were trying to keep your own pieces from falling apart.

The sky was streaked with pink and orange, the sun hovering low like it was reluctant to leave.

It was beautiful.

It hurt.

Your throat tightened before you even realized why. The pain was subtle at first, a dull pressure beneath your ribs. Then it deepened, spreading like ink in water.

You didn’t notice you were crying at first.

You rarely did anymore.

The tears didn’t come in dramatic sobs. They slipped out silently, hot against your wind-chilled skin. One traced the curve of your cheek, then another. You blinked slowly, confused by the blur, until you tasted salt that wasn’t from the ocean.

It always started the same way.

A fragment of memory.

A laugh that wasn’t there.

The phantom feeling of arms wrapping around your waist from behind, warm, secure, familiar. The imagined brush of lips against your temple. A voice, low and teasing, calling you baby like it was the most natural word in the world.

And suddenly your vision would cloud.

Your breath would hitch.

Your fingers would curl desperately into the sand, nails digging in as if you could anchor yourself to something solid. As if you could grab onto the past and drag it back with you.

But the sand always slipped through.

Just like he did.

Because he wasn’t there.

There was no warmth pressed against your back. No steady heartbeat beneath your ear. No hand reaching to tuck your hair behind your ear when the wind got too bold.

Keonho wasn’t there.

And yet somehow, impossibly, he was everywhere.

In the way the water shimmered under the fading light, because you remembered how he used to grin at you with that same glow in his eyes.

In the way the wind wrapped around you, because it almost felt like his arms.

In the shared silence of the sunset, because this was where he once kissed you slow and sweet, like time was something the two of you owned.

The beach had moved on. The tide had moved on. The sky had moved on.

But you hadn’t.

You were still sitting in the ghost of his embrace, watching the sun sink below the horizon, waiting for something that had already left.

And every week, when the last sliver of light disappeared and the sky turned dark, it felt like losing him all over again.

You remembered the way he used to drag you into the ocean like it was his favorite game, like your protests were just part of the routine he adored.

“Come on, baby,” he would laugh, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist, warm and insistent as he tugged you toward the shoreline. His grip wasn’t rough, but it was impossible to escape, not that you really wanted to.

“Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not scared!” you would argue immediately, even as your steps slowed, even as your toes curled at the edge where the water lapped at the sand.

The first wave would rush forward, cold and sudden, splashing over your feet and ankles, and you’d gasp despite yourself.

He’d noticed.

And then he’d grin, that knowing, teasing grin, like he had every single one of your reactions memorized. Like he could read you better than you could read yourself.

“Not scared, huh?” he’d tease, raising a brow.

You’d glare at him, but there’d already be a smile tugging at your lips. “Shut up.”

Another wave would come, stronger this time, climbing higher, up your calves, your knees, soaking the hem of your clothes. You’d squeal, trying to pull back, but he’d only tighten his hold, laughing as he dragged you deeper with him.

The ocean would surge around you, rising to your thighs, your waist, your ribs, cold enough to steal your breath, but somehow never unbearable.

Not when he was there.

Not when his laughter filled the air, bright and unrestrained, blending with the crash of the waves.

Eventually, you’d stop resisting and give in

And then you’d both just be there, standing in the water, completely drenched, hair sticking to your cheeks and neck, clothes heavy and clinging, laughing like there was nothing else in the world that mattered.

You remembered how it felt.

Weightless, easy, alive.

He loved sneaking up behind you.

Even when you were expecting it, he’d still manage to catch you off guard.

You’d be distracted, watching the way the sunlight danced on the surface of the water, or trying to smooth your soaked hair back, when suddenly—

His arms would wrap around your waist from behind, strong and secure, lifting you just enough for your feet to leave the ground.

You’d shriek, the sound breaking into laughter almost instantly.

“Keonho!”

He’d laugh against your shoulder, the vibration of it sending warmth straight through you despite the cold water.

“Got you,” he’d say, like it was some kind of victory.

He’d spin you once, just once, before letting you drop back down, the water splashing up around you both.

“I’m gonna kill you!” you’d gasp, breathless, turning to shove at his chest.

He’d barely budge. Instead, he’d lean in, pressing a wet, lingering kiss to your cheek, warm despite everything, lips soft against your skin.

“But you love me,” he’d murmur, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

And you did.

God, you did.

It was in the way your heart would stutter when he looked at you like that.

In the way your hands would instinctively reach for him, gripping onto his shirt, his arms, anything, just to stay close.

It was in the quiet moments too.

The softer ones.

After the laughter faded and your energy dipped, when the sun began to lower and paint everything in gold, you’d both make your way back to shore.

You’d collapse onto the sand, exhausted, limbs heavy, breaths still uneven. The cool air would hit your damp skin, sending a shiver through you.

“Cold?” he’d ask softly, already reaching for the towel.

There was always only one.

There didn’t need to be more.

He’d drape it around both of you, tugging you closer until your sides pressed together, your thighs touching, your shoulders brushing.

His arm would slip around you naturally, like it belonged there, pulling you into his chest.

And you’d go without hesitation.

Your head resting against him, cheek pressed to the warmth of his skin, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

It was strong.

Grounding.

Real.

You used to think that sound would follow you forever.

His fingers would move gently, carefully, brushing your hair away from your face, untangling strands with a patience that made your chest ache even then.

His touch would soften after the chaos of the ocean, thumb tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your cheekbone, your temple, like he was memorizing every detail.

Like he didn’t trust the world to remember you properly, so he had to do it himself.

“Stay still,” he’d murmur quietly when you shifted.

“I am still,” you’d mumble back, eyes half-lidded.

“Mm,” he’d hum, unconvinced, but there’d be a smile in his voice.

The sky would deepen around you, gold slipping into orange, orange melting into pink, pink dissolving into something darker, richer.

And then, he’d tilt your chin up.

Always gently. Always with two fingers beneath your jaw, careful and deliberate, like even the slightest pressure might hurt you. Like you were something fragile in his hands, something rare he didn’t quite trust himself to hold, but couldn’t bear to let go of. His touch would be warm despite the ocean air, grounding in a way that made your breath hitch before you even realized why.

Your eyes would meet his.

And everything would slow.

Not just metaphorically, it truly felt like the world softened around you. The crashing waves dulled into a distant hush. The wind that had been tugging at your hair moments ago seemed to pause, like it didn’t want to interrupt. Even the fading light of the sun, slipping lower and lower behind the horizon, stretched itself thin, lingering just a little longer.

Like the universe was giving him time.

Giving you time.

It all blurred into the background.

Because in that moment, the only thing that existed was him.

The way his gaze softened when it landed on you, like you were something he could never quite believe was real. The way his thumb would brush lightly along your cheek, slow and absentminded, as if memorizing the exact shape of your face. As if committing you to memory without even realizing he was doing it.

His lips would find yours.

There was never any rush in the way he kissed you. Never any urgency to take more than what you were already giving. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t demanding.

It was certain.

Certain in a way that made your chest ache even then, though you didn’t understand why at the time. Like he knew you weren’t going anywhere. Like he believed, wholeheartedly, that this, you, him, the ocean, the sunsets, would always be there waiting.

Like he had all the time in the world to love you.

And you could feel it in every second of it.

In the way his lips pressed against yours, slow, lingering, just a fraction longer than necessary. Your fingers would curl into his shirt without thinking, holding onto him instinctively, like your body already understood something your mind didn’t,  that this was something worth keeping.

That this was something that mattered.

“Pretty,” he’d murmur against your mouth, his voice low and warm, breath fanning softly across your lips.

The word would melt into you, quiet and sincere.

You’d roll your eyes like it didn’t affect you. “You say that every time,” you’d mumble, your voice softer than you intended, your forehead brushing against his.

“Because it’s true every time,” he’d reply, without hesitation.

And then he’d kiss you again, but softer this time that felt slower, and deeper.

His hand would slide to the back of your neck, holding you there gently, his thumb tracing slow circles just beneath your ear.

You’d lean into him without thinking because being close to him felt natural 

You thought those moments were endless.

You thought there would always be another sunset. Another laugh. Another kiss waiting just around the corner. You thought time was something generous, something that would stretch for you because you wanted it to.

You thought the sunsets would keep coming, one after another, with him sitting beside you every single time. That no matter how many days passed, he’d always be there when the sky turned gold.

You thought the warmth of his arms would always find you. That his laughter would always fill the spaces between your thoughts. That his lips would always meet yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You thought all of it was permanent.

You didn’t realize you were memorizing it.

The exact weight of his hand against your cheek. The way his voice softened when he called you pretty. The rhythm of his breathing when you rested against him. The way the world felt quieter, kinder, when he was close.

You didn’t realize your heart was holding onto every detail because somewhere deep down, it knew.

It knew this wasn’t forever.

And by the time you understood that—

it was already gone.

That was the cruelest part, not the leaving, not the silence, not even the empty space he carved into your life.

It was the innocence of that morning. The way it felt ordinary. The way the sunlight filtered through your curtains like it always did, soft and golden, brushing across his face as he stood by your door with nervous excitement in his eyes.

There were no warning signs. No dramatic music swelling in the background. Just him, your boyfriend,  adjusting the strap of his bag and smiling at you like he’d be back in a few hours.

He told you he had an audition.

He said it casually at first, like it was something small. Like it didn’t carry the weight of a future behind it. He had always loved music. Always hummed under his breath, tapped rhythms on your thigh absentmindedly, sang into the ocean wind like it was his personal stage. But he said this was just a chance. Just a “what if.” Just a dream he wanted to test the waters with.

“I don’t even know if anything will happen,” he had shrugged, almost shy.

You believed him.

You wanted to believe him.

You supported him. Of course you did. You stood in front of him that morning and held his face in your hands, your palms warm against his cheeks, your thumbs brushing softly under his eyes like you were steadying him. You told him he was talented. That he was special. That they’d be stupid not to see it. You smiled so brightly he didn’t see the flicker of fear behind it.

You kissed him before he left.

You stood on your toes and pressed your lips to his. The kind of kiss you’d shared a hundred times before. No desperation. No finality. Just routine affection. He smiled against your mouth, hands resting comfortably at your waist.

“Bring me back a star,” you teased, grinning up at him.

His eyes crinkled in that way you loved, the way that made you feel like the only person in the world.

“I’ll bring you the whole sky.”

You laughed.

You thought he’d be back for dinner.

You even planned what you were going to say when he walked in, some dramatic gasp, maybe a playful bow if he failed. You pictured him shrugging it off, collapsing onto your couch, pulling you into his lap while complaining about nerves.

Instead, he came back with trembling hands and shining eyes.

You knew before he spoke.

There was something different in his posture. Something electric in the way he stepped inside. His breath was uneven, not from running, but from adrenaline. His fingers twitched like he didn’t know where to put them.

“I passed,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, like saying it too loudly might make it disappear.

Your heart stopped.

He was going to debut.

You remembered how your smile froze for half a second too long before stretching wider. You threw your arms around him immediately, because that’s what you were supposed to do. You hugged him tight, telling him you were proud. That you knew it. That you always knew.

And you meant it.

You were proud.

But beneath the pride, something else bloomed — something heavy and sinking and inevitable.

Because you knew.

You knew what that meant.

Training schedules that stretched past midnight. Dorm rooms filled with strangers. Managers. Cameras. Fans. Interviews. A life that demanded perfection and privacy and sacrifice.

A world that didn’t have space for you.

He held you that night on the beach.

The same beach.

The sand felt colder under you. The wind sharper. The sky burned in shades of red, not soft rose or gentle coral, but deep, violent crimson, like the horizon itself was splitting open. It felt like a warning. Like an omen neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered into your hair, his voice trembling in a way you had never heard before.

You wrapped your arms tighter around him immediately, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt like you could keep him anchored by force alone.

“Then don’t,” you said, the words breaking on the way out.

He didn’t answer right away.

And his silence was louder than any confession.

It stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You could feel the truth in it. The understanding that some dreams demand everything. That sometimes love is not enough to compete with destiny.

He kissed you like he was memorizing you.

His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t realized were falling. His lips moved against yours with a kind of aching tenderness that made your knees weak. Not rushed. Not careless. Every second deliberate. Every touch lingering.

Like he was trying to store the feeling, because he knew he’d need it later.

“You’re my home,” he murmured against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven.

And you believed him.

You believed that home was permanent. That it couldn’t be taken away. That if two people loved each other enough, the world would bend around them.

But homes can burn down.

And sometimes, people choose their dreams over the ones who love them, not because they love you less, but because they love the dream differently.

He left two weeks later.

There wasn’t a dramatic fight. No screaming. No shattered glass or slammed doors. No betrayal you could point at and blame.

Just distance.

It started small.

Texts that came a little later than usual. Replies that felt shorter. Phone calls cut off because he had practice. Because he was tired. Because he had schedules.

You told yourself it was temporary.

Late replies turned into missed calls. Missed calls turned into apologies. Apologies turned into exhaustion in his voice. And then, slowly, heartbreakingly, they turned into silence.

The last thing he sent you was a picture of a sunset.

A city skyline you didn’t recognize stretched across the bottom of the frame. The sky was fading into orange and gray behind tall buildings. It was beautiful, in a distant, unfamiliar way.

It wasn’t as pretty as yours.

It wasn’t as warm.

It didn’t have sand between your toes or his arm around your shoulders.

There was no caption.

No “I miss you.”

No “I love you.”

Just the image.

You stared at it for a long time.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, ready to type something, anything, to bridge the growing gap.

But what could you say?

That you felt him slipping away?

That every sunset without him felt like losing him again?

That you were scared he was already gone?

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The silence said everything.

And somewhere between the waves and the skyline, between the dream and the girl who loved him, he let go first.

You told everyone you were fine.

You perfected the smile. The casual shrug. The “we just grew apart” explanation delivered with a softness that made it sound mutual. You laughed at the right moments. You nodded when people said, “You’ll find someone better.” You pretended the ache in your chest was just nostalgia, harmless, distant, manageable.

At night, when your room was quiet and your phone screen stopped lighting up with distractions, you would lie on your back and stare at the ceiling, whispering to yourself that you were okay. That you were stronger than this. That love wasn’t supposed to feel like an amputation.

You told yourself you had moved on.

You repeated it so often it almost felt true. You deleted old photos, or at least moved them into a hidden folder you never stopped reopening. You stopped checking his name online. You forced yourself not to search for interviews, not to look for glimpses of him in crowds. You built a routine without him. You learned how to exist in the empty space he left behind.

You dated once. 

He was kind, patient, and chill.

You tried. You really did.

You let him take you to dinner. You let him hold your hand. You let him kiss you goodnight outside your door.

But when his lips touched yours, there was no earthquake. No familiar warmth that unraveled your spine. It was pleasant. Polite.

It wasn’t him.

He didn’t pull you into his chest like you were something he needed to protect. He didn’t whisper pet names like they were sacred secrets meant only for you. He didn’t look at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to earth.

No one wrapped a towel around you the same way. No one kissed you like you were something holy.

So you kept coming back here.

Every week.

Rain or shine. Cold or warm. You would sit in the same stretch of sand as if it were reserved for you, as if the beach itself recognized your grief and made room for it. You told yourself it was habit. Muscle memory. That your body just didn’t know where else to go when the sky started bleeding into evening.

But the truth was uglier.

You were waiting.

You told yourself you weren’t. You rolled your eyes at your own foolishness. “He’s not coming back,” you would whisper as the tide rolled in. “You’re being ridiculous.”

And yet.

Every time a silhouette appeared in the distance, your heart would jump violently in your chest before logic crushed it back down.

Every time you heard laughter behind you, you’d stiffen.

Every time the wind brushed against your neck just right, you’d swear it felt like him.

The sky was turning lavender now, soft purples blending into deepening blues. The sun dipped lower, painting the water in molten gold that shimmered and fractured across the waves. It was breathtaking.

It was unbearable.

Your chest tightened again, a slow, squeezing pressure that made it hard to breathe. You wiped your cheeks impatiently with the heel of your palm.

“Get over it,” you muttered to yourself, voice cracking. “It’s been years.”

Years.

He was probably famous now. Probably standing under blinding stage lights while thousands of people screamed his name. Probably smiling for cameras, signing albums, waving from airport gates.

Probably calling someone else baby.

The thought made your stomach twist so violently you had to press a hand against it.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Stop thinking like that.”

You hugged yourself tighter, arms wrapped around your own torso like you could hold your broken pieces together. The wind picked up suddenly, sharp and cool, carrying the scent of salt and something achingly familiar.

Your breath hitched.

You closed your eyes.

And for one fragile second, you let yourself pretend.

You could almost feel it, strong arms sliding around your waist from behind, pulling you into a familiar chest. You could almost feel the warmth of him at your back, the steady rise and fall of his breathing against your shoulder.

You could almost hear it, that low, quiet laugh he used to let out when you got dramatic. The one that vibrated softly against your ear.

Your throat tightened painfully.

“Stop,” you whispered to yourself again, shaking your head. “Stop pretending he’s here.”

“Y/N.”

Your heart stopped.

The sound didn’t feel imagined. It cut through the wind too clearly. Too solid.

You froze.

You had imagined it before. The voice. The footsteps. The presence behind you. Grief was cruel like that, it replayed memories so vividly they felt alive.

Sometimes you imagined him walking out of the ocean like some kind of miracle.

Sometimes you imagined him standing behind you, hesitant, unsure.

You didn’t turn around.

You were afraid that if you did, and no one was there, something inside you would finally snap for good.

“Y/N.”

Your breath caught so sharply it felt like something inside your chest tore.

For a second, you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t even blink.

Because if you turned around, if you looked, and he wasn’t there… you didn’t think you could survive that kind of disappointment again.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you turned your head.

And there he was.

Keonho.

Not softened by time. Not blurred by memory. Not a cruel trick your mind was playing on you.

Him. 

He’s real.

Standing a few feet away like he had just stepped out of every memory you’d been trying to bury.

His hair was darker now, shorter, styled but messy from the wind. His shoulders broader, posture straighter, like the world had shaped him into someone stronger, someone more put together.

But his eyes—

His eyes hadn’t changed at all.

Still soft and warm. Still looking at you like you were something he could lose again.

You stared at him like he might disappear if you blinked.

“You’re…” Your voice broke completely. Your throat tightened so painfully you couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He took a step closer. Like you were something fragile he didn’t have the right to touch anymore.

“I came back,” he said quietly.

And something inside you snapped.

“Why?” The word tore out of you, sharp and shaking. “Why now?” Your voice cracked, rising without your permission. “Why would you come back now, Keonho?”

He flinched. His hands trembled at his sides as he swallowed hard, eyes glossy.

“Because I kept looking at sunsets in other countries,” he said, voice uneven, breaking between words, “and they never looked right.”

A broken laugh ripped out of you.

“That’s not fair,” you said, shaking your head, tears spilling faster now. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to come back and say things like that like it fixes anything.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know I don’t.”

There were only a few steps between you. But it felt like years stretched across the sand.

“I thought leaving was the right thing,” he continued, voice cracking. “I thought if I made it… if I became someone… I could come back and deserve you.”

Something in your chest twisted violently.

“Deserve me?” you repeated, your voice rising again. “You think that’s what I needed?”

Your tears were falling uncontrollably now.

“You already did,” you choked out, your voice breaking apart. “You were already enough. You were everything.”

His face crumpled.

“I wasn’t,” he said, barely holding himself together. “I was scared. I thought I’d hold you back. I thought you deserved someone better—”

“I didn’t want better!” you cried, your voice echoing across the empty beach. “I didn’t want bigger, or stronger, or famous— I wanted you!”

The words ripped out of you like they’d been trapped for years.

“I waited for you,” you continued, sobbing now, your chest heaving. “Do you know how long I waited? Do you know how many nights I stared at my phone hoping you’d call me?”

He shook his head slightly, tears spilling down his own face now.

“I dated someone,” you said, your voice trembling harder. “I tried to move on. I really did. He was nice. He was everything a person is supposed to want—”

Your voice broke completely.

“But every time he touched me, it wasn’t you,” you whispered, shaking your head violently. “Every time he kissed me, I kept thinking about you. I kept wishing it was you.”

Keonho’s breathing hitched, his shoulders shaking.

“I couldn’t love him,” you sobbed. “Because I never stopped loving you.”

Silence shattered around you, filled only with your broken breathing and the sound of waves crashing too loudly against the shore.

“You left me,” you whispered, your voice smaller now but somehow more painful. “You left me here… and I didn’t know how to stop loving you.”

Tears streamed down his face freely now.

“I know,” he said, voice cracking completely. “I know, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I did that to you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was just—” his voice broke, “—I was just a coward.”

“You were,” you said, not even hesitating.

He nodded.

“I was,” he agreed, his voice shaking. “I was a coward who walked away from the only person who ever felt like home.”

Your chest tightened painfully at that.

“I never stopped loving you,” he said again, stepping closer despite the tears blurring his vision. “Not once. Not when I was on stage. Not when people screamed my name. Not when I was surrounded by everyone else.”

His voice dropped into something quieter. More fragile.

“I’d go back to empty rooms and wish you were there. I’d look at sunsets and think about you sitting here alone and it killed me.”

“You should’ve come back sooner,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said immediately, his voice breaking. “I should’ve.”

There was barely any space between you now.

“Can I…” His voice trembled. “Can I hold you? Please. Just—just once.”

You should’ve said no.

You should’ve turned away.

Instead, you broke.

You stepped forward and collided into him, your hands gripping his shirt as a sob tore out of your chest.

And the moment his arms wrapped around you—

everything shattered.

He held you like he was terrified you’d disappear, his grip tight, desperate, his face buried into your hair as his shoulders shook.

“I’m so sorry,” he kept whispering, over and over, his voice breaking each time. “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.”

You clung to him just as tightly, your fingers digging into his back as you cried into his chest.

“You hurt me,” you sobbed. “You hurt me so bad.”

“I know,” he cried. “I know, I know—I’m sorry—”

“I couldn’t breathe without you,” you choked out. “Everything reminded me of you. The beach, the sunsets, everything—”

“I know,” he repeated helplessly, his voice wrecked.

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

His face was soaked with tears.

So was yours.

He reached up instinctively, wiping your cheeks with trembling hands, just like he used to.

“Still crying at sunsets?” he tried, but his voice completely broke halfway through.

You let out a shattered laugh.

“Every week,” you whispered.

That destroyed him.

“God,” he sobbed softly, pressing his forehead against yours. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“You didn’t ask,” you whispered again.

“I know,” he said, closing his eyes tightly. “I know.”

He leaned down slowly, so slowly it almost hurt to watch, his movements hesitant, restrained, like every instinct in him was telling him to close the distance but fear was still holding him back by the collar.

His eyes flickered between yours, searching, asking, begging without words. Giving you an out. Giving you time to step back, to turn away, to protect yourself from him all over again.

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Not when he was right there. Not when he was real.

The second his lips touched yours, it shattered any illusion of control either of you had left.

It hit you like a wave breaking too hard against the shore, sudden, overwhelming, impossible to brace for. Years of suppressed longing unraveled in an instant, every unsent text, every sleepless night, every quiet “I miss you” whispered into empty space pouring into that single point of contact.

His mouth moved against yours like he was starving, like he’d been deprived of this for far too long and didn’t know how to take it slowly anymore.

His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading tightly into your hair, not rough, but firm, anchoring, like he needed to keep you there, needed to make sure you wouldn’t slip through his hands again. 

Your hands grabbed onto his shirt almost painfully, fists bunching the fabric, pulling him closer until there was no space left between your bodies, like you were trying to erase the years that had existed without him.

The kiss turned messy almost immediately.

Your breaths collided, uneven and desperate, breaking apart only for a second before crashing back together again. Your lips missed, found each other again, clung, over and over, like neither of you could get enough, like every second apart, even for air, felt wrong.

You could taste everything.

Salt from your tears.

Salt from his.

The faint, familiar warmth of him that hadn’t changed, even after all this time.

A broken sound escaped you, half sob, half gasp, and he swallowed it, kissing you deeper, more urgently, like he didn’t want to hear your pain, like he wanted to replace it with something else. His thumb pressed against your jaw, trembling slightly, and you realized—

He was shaking.

His lips faltered for just a second, not pulling away, just… weakening, like the weight of everything between you was catching up to him too. A quiet, wrecked sound left him against your mouth, something fragile and human that you’d never heard from him before.

“I—” he tried, but the word dissolved the second it left him, replaced by another kiss, deeper this time, more emotional than anything else, less about urgency, more about need. About holding on.

Your grip tightened instinctively, like your body was afraid he’d disappear mid-kiss, like this was all some cruel, fleeting moment you’d wake up from.

He kissed you like he couldn’t breathe without you.

Like he hadn’t been breathing without you.

Like every day he spent away had been something he survived, not lived.

And it poured out of him in the way his lips lingered too long, in the way he kept coming back even when he pulled away for air, in the way his forehead pressed briefly against yours before he dove back in again, unable to stop, unwilling to.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t because he wanted to.

It was because he had to.

Both of you were trembling, your bodies still pressed together, your foreheads resting against each other like that small point of contact was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your breaths came out uneven, mingling in the space between you, warm and shaky and completely out of sync.

His eyes didn’t open right away. When they did, they were glassy and overwhelmed. His nose brushed lightly against yours as he exhaled, a broken, unsteady breath leaving him like he’d been holding it in for years.

“Baby,” he whispered, voice trembling, completely wrecked. “I’m so sorry.”

You closed your eyes, tears slipping down again.

“I never stopped loving you,” he said, barely audible. “Not once. Not ever.”

Your chest heaved.

“You broke me,” you whispered.

“I know,” he cried softly. “And I’ve been broken without you too.”

The last bit of sunlight disappeared completely, leaving only twilight wrapped around both of you.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would look like. You didn’t know if he would stay. You didn’t know if your heart could survive this again.

But as he slipped his jacket over your shoulders and pulled you back into his arms, holding you like he never wanted to let go—

you let yourself lean into him.

“I’m here,” he whispered.

And this time—

he was crying just as hard as you were.

WEEK ONE, THURSDAY (9AM): CLASSROOM 530

“alright class, settle down,” professor kwon announces, his tablet glowing as he begins to shakily write words on the chalkboard - fighting with, against, and using telepathy and the likes, the thin piece of chalk too fragile within his claws, “from our last session, what are the three cardinal rules of telepathic combat?”

your hand shoots up immediately, but dongmin’s smug voice echoes in your head before you can speak.

don’t strain yourself, dummy. i’ll handle this one. he drawls as he raises his hand up as well.

i will end you. your mind voice seethes.

“mr han, since you seem so eager, please share with the class.”

dongmin leans back in his chair two rows behind you - you can feel his satisfaction and smugness radiating like heat from a stove, “maintain your shields, never force entry into a guarded mind, and always have an exit strategy.”

“perfect. good job, mr. han.”

you twist around in your seat to glare at him. he wiggles his fingers in a mocking wave. woonhak sweats between the two of you and pretends not to notice your obvious stare by staring down at the table.

“miss [l/n], please face forward,” professor kwon sighs, “it’s been two years, i swear, you two are still the same. you never learn.”

“professor! it’s not my fault he’s an irritating, grade-grubbing, unethic -”

“that was not an invitation to tell us about your personal and interrelational grievances,” professor kwon interrupts, tapping his chalk against his whiteboard. you clench your fists as you deflate in your seat.

beside you, chaewon scribbles furiously in her notebook and slides it over: you’re going to give yourself a mental aneurysm before finals.

yunjin leans over from your other side, whispering, “twenty bucks they make out by the winter ball.”

“what?!” you yelp out loud. your cheeks burn. you hadn’t been thinking about that. not exactly. maybe once - in a nightmare.

the entire classroom turns to stare at you.

professor kwon pulls down his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, “detention. both of you. next friday after combat training.”

“me?” dongmin points a finger at himself, clueless, “but i didn’t do anything? she was the one who yelled out loud.”

“no, you definitely did something,” professor kwon gives a knowing look and shakes his head, offering no further clarification or information, much to dongmin’s chagrin.

WEEK ONE, THURSDAY (12PM): THE QUAD

“i fucking hate han dongmin,” you fume, aggressively stabbing your pasta, “i can’t believe he got me detention.”

kazuha pats your shoulder sympathetically while eunchae tries not to giggle into her sandwich.

“to be fair,” chaewon says diplomatically, “you both kind of brought this on yourselves.”

“absolutely not” you whip your head around to stare at her, “he started it! he’s always in my mind, always one-upping me in class, always -”

“living rent-free in your head?” yunjin grins like a cat.

you launch a cherry tomato at her with your mind. she squeals and dodges.

across the quad, you can see dongmin’s squad lounging under their usual tree. donghyun is explaining something, the birds perched on his finger animatedly performing what seems like the world’s most dramatic reenactment of romeo and juliet while woonhak laughs so hard he nearly falls off the bench. dongmin, infuriatingly, is already looking directly at you.

he raises his juice box in a mock toast.

enjoy your lunch, partner, his voice purrs through your mental link. next time, don’t get us into detention?

it’s not like i wanted to, you mutter.

i think you just want to spend more one-on-one time with me, dongmin arches an eyebrow at you, tantalising smirk dancing on his face.

you slam your mental shields up.

kazuha shakes her head as you stab your fork through the container of your pasta, the aluminium no match for your rage.

eunchae snorts, “[y/n] so going to murder him by the winter ball.”

“the winter ball is in, like, a month,” chaewon points out.

“exactly.”

WEEK TWO, WEDNESDAY (2PM): DANGER ROOM

“alright, everyone,” sakura claps her hands, “today we’re doing something you all will be quite familiar with. individual assessment in the danger room. whack-a-mole scenario.”

the class groans collectively.

“and for anyone new or somehow forgot over the summer,” sakura continues, “this is a free-for-all simulation. the arena floor will randomly generate blocks that drop from above or shoot up from below. your job is simple: don’t get squished. last person standing wins.”

this is barbaric, kazuha mumbles through your mental link.

tell me about it, yunjin groans.

remember chaewon’s trip and flip? eunchae giggles.

hey! chaewon says indignantly. i thought we promised we weren’t going to bring that up ever again! that block was in my blind spot!

“in the field, threats come from everywhere,” sakura says diplomatically, like she heard your grievances through your telepathy, “you need to maintain constant awareness. use whatever abilities you have. adapt or get eliminated.”

“define eliminated?” woonhak asks nervously, fiddling with his fingers.

“the blocks are simply a simulation. they’ll stop a few centimeters from actual contact and register you as ‘out’. but they’re programmed to feel real, so i suggest not testing them,” sakura smiles mysteriously, “any questions?”

yunjin raises her hand, “are we allowed to sabotage each other?”

“of course,” sakura says, too breezily, “all’s fair in this game. this is about survival and tactics, after all.”

you can’t help but glance across the prep area. dongmin is already looking at you, and his smirk makes you want to put him through a paper shredder until he’s mush.

confident? his voice slides into your mind, smug as ever.

incredibly, you counter. remember when you said you’d like to see me try to get you?

vaguely, dongmin drawls, i don’t really remember such insignificant things.

you grit your teeth. watch yourself, han dongmin. today’s the day i destroy you. 

you’re welcome to try. but you might want to worry about your own survival first.

oh, i can multitask.

“everyone, the danger room is open!” sakura calls, “you have a minute to find your starting positions. once the simulation begins, blocks will begin spawning. they will get faster and more frequent as time goes on. good luck!”

the door hisses open. the arena is set up as a wide open space. no cover, nowhere to hide. just a flat expanse where blocks can spawn from any direction without warning.

twenty students fan out across the floor, eyeing each other warily.

you position yourself near the center - for maximum awareness of the space. dongmin, naturally, takes a position directly across from you. even from here, you can feel the subtle prod of his attention focused on you through the permanent mental link you and him somehow have.

you’re staring, you project.

just making sure i know where you are. for when the blocks start dropping, he replies casually.

thoughtful. you know - i’m really going to enjoy watching you get flattened. 

“begin!” sakura’s voice echoes through the chamber.

for exactly three seconds, nothing happens.

then the first block drops.

it’s massive, easily two meters across, and it falls from the ceiling with terrifying speed, aimed directly for a student near the east wall. they barely manage to roll away in time as the block slams into the floor with a loud, echoing, metallic clang before disappearing into pixels.

two more blocks shoot up from the floor simultaneously. one student gets clipped and vanishes in a flash of light - eliminated.

“nineteen left!” sakura announces.

the blocks start coming faster. drop from above. shoot from below. sometimes it gets quirky and does both at once. donghyun jogs after a dog that trots across the floor far too leisurely for the situation and gets nicked, disappearing into pixels. you telekinetically nudge a block away from you and scan the space with your mind, simultaneously juggling perspectives from a few select students. woonhak is yelling triumphantly in his mind about how his powers are suddenly in sync with what he needs. eunchae is standing in the corner and actively hacking the simulation with her technology manipulation so none of the blocks even dare touch her. chaewon is repeating don’t trip like a mantra in her mind. you learn to dodge left, sidestep right, and throw up a telekinetic shove if a block or person gets too close.

and out of the corner of your eye, you can always see han dongmin.

his reflexes are good - infuriatingly so. he’s always moving right before a block appears, like he can sense them coming. he hasn’t even broken a sweat.

tired? he projects mockingly, i can feel your mental signal around the entire room. 

he dodges three blocks in rapid succession, spinning into another corner.

not even close, you hiss.

well, i could do this all day, he drags out his vowels. really emphasising how much of a walk in the park this is. fucking loser.

ooh, touch a nerve? you can hear his grin through his taunt, scared you’ll lose first?

you elect to ignore his idiotic comments and watch his pattern instead. he favours moving to his right, and he’s cocky enough that he’s not paying attention to the students around him, just the blocks falling from the sky or blooming from below.

i’ve got you, han dongmin.

a block spawns to dongmin’s left. he moves right - exactly as you predicted. you reach out with your telekinesis and give the block a little extra push, changing its trajectory as it falls down. the block trails after him, moving horizontally in his direction.

hey! dongmin’s angry voice fills your mind as he ungracefully swerves and dives forward to avoid getting hit. that’s cheating!

it’s tactics! you shoot back gleefully.

students start to drop like flies.

“ten left!”

the blocks are spawning faster now, more unpredictably. you’re breathing harder now, and there’s less minds to see through. you’re splitting your focus between survival and sabotage - specifically just sabotaging dongmin. every time he dodges, you’re there. every time he telekinetically pushes a block away, you’re there. every time he telepathically tries to reach out, you’re there.

you’re really committed to this.

dongmin’s annoyance is palpable as he barely avoids two block you definitely redirected at him

i said i’d get you!

bad news then! you’re going to have to try harder!

he retaliates by telekinetically shoving you backwards towards a spawning block. you immediately throw up a telekinetic barrier and the block bounces off your shield, nearly hitting kazuha - who disintegrates it into ash just in time.

“sorry!” you yell.

“if you could stop flirting!” kazuha suggests before rolling away.

“i wasn’t -!” you gape, side stepping a block that solidly blocks kazuha from your view, effectively ending your attempt at a debate.

flirting? dongmin’s mental voice is amused, is this what this is? do you talk to your squadmates about us?

i’m going to kill you.

aw, is that our version of i love you?

another three students get eliminated in quick succession. woonhak gets eliminated with a dramatic noooooo as he finds himself stuck between two blocks. eunchae screams as someone bumps into her and distracts her long enough for a block to squarely fall onto the both of them. the arena is getting so crowded with blocks spawning so fast there’s barely room to move.

“seven left!”

you’re starting to tire. maintaining telekinetic control is draining your mental reserves faster than you’d like, even after giving up those telepathic connections. but you’re not stopping here, not when dongmin is still standing. you could come second, but it’s only if han dongmin isn’t first.

students get tagged one by one. chaewon gets shoved into a wall by another student and is immediately shot into the sky by a block and kazuha doesn’t manage to dodge a series of unfortunately timed blocks. meanwhile, dongmin is starting to look panicked too, eyes wide as he flips away from a block in the nick of time.

“three left!”

you. dongmin. yunjin.

you lock eyes with dongmin. he smirks at you. yunjin eyes dart between you two and she sighs in defeat.

“screw this. i hate you two.”

she steps directly into the trajectory of a falling block, eliminating herself from the competition.

“two left!” sakura calls.

looks like it’s just you and me, partner, he teases.

don’t ever call me that. it’s disgusting, you hiss.

a block drops directly above. you sense it fast enough and dodge it - straight into dongmin’s path. you smack into him, hard, and suddenly you’re both scrambling as blocks spawn around you in rapid succession.

move left! he projects urgently.

you move left! you yell back.

the two of you both dodge left in perfect synchronisation, narrowly avoiding two blocks that would’ve eliminated you both. for a moment, dongmin is pressed into your side, surrounded by falling blocks and rising squares.

this is all your fault, he notes.

screw you! you shove him into the trajectory of a falling block as you stand back up straight.

hey, that wasn’t very nice, he tuts as you wrench yourself away from him.

you spot your opening: three blocks about to spawn in sequence, creating a perfect trap if you time it just right. you wait until dongmin has a split moment of nonreaction and telekinetically implant a suggestion of a block spawning behind him - 

he jerks forward, right into the path of the actual blocks.

but he realises your trick far too quickly for your liking.

the first one drops, and he rolls smoothly under it.

the second one shoots up from the floor. he jumps, easily hurdling over it.

the third one descends, and he looks like he’s about to clear it until -

you push out a hand, and dongmin’s eyes widen as you telekinetically shove him back, straight into the shadow of the box. then, you feel his telekinesis wrap around you and suddenly you’re being yanked forward, straight into his -

ew, ew, ew! you mentally scream. get your filthy hands off me!

dongmin’s arms only tighten around you as the two of you tumble onto the floor. the block slams down with a force of a thousand suns, and you let out loud oof! as you feel dongmin’s entire weight and more crush down onto you, his arms braced around your head as the block disappears behind his head in a flash of light and the simulation powers down. his breath is warm against your neck. for a second, you didn’t move; for a second, neither did he.

“first place, [y/n] [l/n]. second, han dongmin. third, huh yunjin. good work, everyone,” sakura’s polite and carefully placid voice rings out from the intercom. you can hear yunjin gleefully scream kiss, kiss, kiss! through both your mental link and the background of the intercom. eunchae updates you with a quirk in her voice.

so glad i invested early in the poll. it’s at sixty-three percent now.

what poll? you say a little too quickly and harshly.

whether you and dongmin will get together by the end of the school term? eunchae says innocently.

what?!

i mean - if it helps, twenty one percent think you’ll kill each other, and the rest think somehow both will happen.

i voted for all three, yunjin sounds like she’s crying with how hard she’s laughing. i’m getting a cash out either way!

then there better be a poll on whether our squad will break up, too!

you throw dongmin off of you unceremoniously as you jump to your feet.

“a little thank you would be nice? i got you first place, you know? even though you cheated. which, by the way, is extremely typical for you.”

you look down at dongmin, red hair messy from the exercise as it droops down into his eyes. his chest heaves up and down in exhaustion.

“i didn’t ask for you to do that,” you hiss, “so i’m not going to thank you.”

what use was first place when you didn’t even beat dongmin on your own terms? you have to look into how to stop involuntary movement because of telekinesis after this.

you stomp away, hellbent on shutting down eunchae’s betting pool and getting to the library before dongmin can check out all the books you wanted and not return them for two weeks like he did last time.

see you friday, dongmin’s presence is still in your head, as it always is. detention, remember?

unfortunately.

you tap your foot against the floor as you wait for the danger room’s security protocol to power down so you can open the door and get out of this hell hole.

you love it. you love me.

in your dreams, han dongmin. i hate you.

must be a dream then, he replies far too cheerfully for your liking. because i think i heard you say in your head once how good-looking i -

you cut the connection before he could finish that sentence, cheeks burning, but your head still hums with the echo of his presence - like a song you couldn’t shake. annoying, persistent, ever-present.

WEEK TWO, FRIDAY (5PM): X-MANSION LIBRARY

“since you’re both telekinetics,” sungho raises an eyebrow, “you can start with organising all of these books.”

he points to the whole trolley of books before him. you nod - easy peasy, you’ll get them on the shelves and then get the hell out of here. a second longer spent with han dongmin is a second longer spent in hell.

you more or less snatch the list of books from sungho and gestures for dongmin to take the trolley.

“you push, i sort,” you bark, already scanning the list. someone seems to have taken out the entire history of the mutantkind section of the library.

“i’m not going to take orders from you,” dongmin crosses his arms.

“just do it,” you hiss.

“nope,” he has the gall to turn his head away and pretend he doesn’t hear you.

“han dongmin -!”

you surge forward and yank his collar towards you as he lets out a squeak at the sudden action. sungho’s polite cough stops you from chucking dongmin out the window of the 3rd floor library through sheer will and a little help from telekinesis.

“i would suggest starting soon if you want to be completed before nightfall,” sungho’s eyes shift between you two, “and a word of advice - keep romance out of professional relationships.”

“romance?” you splutter. dongmin’s collar is gripped in your fist as the two of you whip around to look at sungho.

“right, because this -” dongmin points between the two of you, “is the definition of romance.”

“i would rather die than consider dongmin a rom - roman - ugh, i can’t even say it!” you let dongmin fall to the ground as you release your hold on his collar. he lets out a soft ouch! when his bum hits the floor, and you step quickly away like he has the plague.

“besides, you’re one to talk about romance in working relationships,” dongmin raises an eyebrow at sungho, who chokes on air and coughs loudly into his fist.

“that’s different,” he argues weakly.

“you’ve been thinking about her ever since she arrived!” you accuse, “we’ve been listening to sungho: the sad emo playlist this entire week.”

“i’m just worried about her!” sungho defends, before his eyes widen, “stop distracting me! go do your work!”

he stomps away, the most flustered you’ve ever seen him, and settles into the corner of the library, book in hand. when you prod his mind you can hear him muttering about kids these days and touring and leaving -

“and keep out of my head,” sungho warns, mental shields slamming up so hard it gives you physical whiplash, jerking your head backwards. dongmin snickers and you glare at him.

“okay, fine,” you mutter, turning back to read the list - if only dongmin hadn’t pulled it out of your grasp before you can.

“i’m better at memorisation,” dongmin angles his chin up at you, “so i’ll do the list.”

“so does that mean you admit i’m the better telekinetic?” you raise an eyebrow at him.

“not exactly - i still think you suck,” dongmin snipes back, “just that your telekinesis is better than your goldfish memory.”

you snort, “says the person who can’t even remember our conversation from two days ago - hey!”

your conversation is interrupted by dongmin telekinetically shoving the trolley into your knees, you stumble and dongmin doubles over laughs, as if nearly crippling you was the funniest thing in the world.

“oh, come on. it was a light tap, don’t be so dramatic,” dongmin gives one last laugh as you shove the trolley away from you.

“congrats on learning an elementary skill,” you say, irritated.

“just get moving,” dongmin rolls up the list and smacks you on the head with it.

sungho shakes his head and mutters to himself, “kids these days. all they do is bicker.”

he watches you make a book whack dongmin in the back of his head before landing on a shelf.

“why does this damn library have so many shelves?”

you troop through the library, finally complete with the history section. 

dongmin raises an eyebrow, “you tired?”

“never,” you say snidely, even though the repetitive telekinetic movements are making you sleepy and the heater blasting doesn’t help.

“i can feel your mental signature going haywire,” dongmin points out, “and you put the last three books in the wrong order.”

you watch as the three books reshuffle themselves on the shelf behind dongmin and you frown.

“must’ve been your fault for reading the list wrong,” you grumble, folding your ankles over each other and leaning against the bookshelf.

“now, no need to lie to cover up your mistakes,” dongmin offers a wry smile, “but for the sake of your dignity, i will accept it as my fault.”

you watch as he scans the list again with his brown eyes.

“can you stop doing that?” you say, your sentence tinged with anger.

dongmin stops and sighs, “what is it?”

“you’re always letting me get away with things,” you count on your fingers, “last semester’s volleyball match, professor kwon’s internship, the whack-a-mole from this week, now.”

you grumble, “stop going easy on me. i want to feel the satisfaction of crushing you fair and square, like the crunch of a bug under my shoe.”

dongmin raises an eyebrow, “and here i thought you cared about me. you’ve picked a very weird thing to be angry about.”

“even if you were the last person on earth, han dongmin, i would not give a flying fuck about you!”

“that’s not what you said when we did the civilian saving simulation,” he raises the pitch of his voice, “you were all like ‘oh my god, dongmin, are you okay? do you need help? stay with me - dongmin!’”

you respond to him with a book to his forehead. the smack echoes between the shelves.

“shut up,” you hiss, cheeks burning, “i was acting - for the grade! you were a civilian - and a very bad one at that! couldn’t stop squirming.”

dongmin peels the book off his face, grinning like a cat that got the cream, “okay, little miss actress, you deserve an award or something. very convincing.”

“i’ll kill you, han dongmin,” you hiss.

“that’s my girl,” dongmin says, almost proudly.

you were going to do it. one day - you were really going to kill him.

WEEK TWO, SATURDAY (12PM): SQUAD HQ

“okay party people!”

all of you jump when chaewon suddenly slaps her ruler against the whiteboard, eunchae squeaks and nearly drops her phone.

“listen up! the intersquad comps are next week and we need to place at least top three,” chaewon bristles.

“but we’re seventh,” kazuha points out, “that’s like, second to last place.”

“i know,” chaewon emphasises, “which is why we need to put our best foot forward and beat everyone.”

“i don’t think we got this,” yunjin shakes her head.

“i had eunchae crunch some numbers, and all we need is to at least get into finals and avoid this,” she points her ruler at the word scribbled at the top of the whiteboard.

“losing?” you supply helpfully.

“exactly,” chaewon affirms with a satisfied nod.

“easier said than done,” yunjin mumbles.

“i had eunchae run a simulation -”

“did you make eunchae do everything?”

“not right now - [y/n],” chaewon glares at you, “what i was going to say - losing is bad. but there’s one thing worse than it.”

she tears away the paper from the whiteboard.

“enhypen?” yunjin gasps, slightly horrified.

“losing enhypen?” kazuha stops, “wait - we’re not killing them, are we?”

“no, no, no,” chaewon slaps her ruler against the whiteboard, “what i meant was - losing to enhypen.”

the marker makes a squeak when she hastily adds on the word.

“should’ve thought of adding that earlier,” eunchae quips.

“okay, let’s never speak of this again,” chaewon says gravely, “point is - enhypen is ranked first in squad rankings right now. if we can beat them, then we’ll gain enough points to at least secure a top five ranking. it’s not ideal, but it’s good.”

“eunchae, pull up the brackets,” chaewon nods at eunchae, who dutifully projects the bracket onto the whiteboard. you track your squad name - if all goes to plan, you would meet enhypen at the semi-finals.

you scan the brackets for team koz - seeded on the opposite side, so that means…

“we’re going to the finals,” you say abruptly, far too quickly and rushed.

“girl, what? do you know how hard - ohhh, you wanna beat dongmin, huh?” yunjin grins.

you cough, “no! yes? what i mean is - we need to get a good score!”

“it doesn’t matter!” chaewon interrupts, “everyone, we all need to be more [y/n]! eyes on prize! understood?”

kazuha parrots a yes while yunjin grins at you from across the circle.

you like him, admit it, she projects into your mind.

yunjin, you’re actually insane.

the people have spoken, eunchae cuts in. the kiss poll is at seventy two percent now. someone said they saw you kissing in the library during detention.

what? you say incredulously, nothing like that happened!

you can keep your secrets from us, yunjin says sagely, but we’ll find out eventually.

there’s nothing to keep secret! you fume.

“okay, people having a telepathic conversation while being in the same room!” chaewon flicks both of you in the forehead with her ruler and you wince, “before we think about crushing dongmin and team koz’s ass, we gotta deal with enhypen first.”

she points at the crude diagram she’s scribbled onto the whiteboard, “from eunchae and i’s analysis, their center is also their leader - heeseung. get rid of him and the rest of the team will crumble.”

“mostly from my analysis!” eunchae chimes.

“ignore her. point is, we need to get rid of him first - and fast.”

chaewon nods at eunchae again, and you watch as the projection flickers to a breakdown of team enhypen.

“he’s a level three telepath. not too strong, but their glue,” chaewon taps on heeseung’s profile and turns to look at you, “thankfully, we have a level five telepath. you’ll be able to take him down, right?”

"i can do that,” you crack your knuckles.

“good! always up for a challenge!” chaewon slaps her ruler against her palm and all if you jump again, "and that’s why [y/n] has the highest combat score out of all of us!”

"okay, question?” kazuha holds up a finger, "they’ve got, like, two whole years of experience on us. how are we supposed to deal with that?”

“it doesn’t matter, we’ll catch up,” chaewon pulls out her phone and your own buzzes, “eunchae and i have collected and analysed their previous plays. you all need to get familiar with them.”

you pull out your phone and - 

“this is a five hour long video?” kazuha says, incredulousness and amazement mixed into a question.

“i’ll watch all of it,” you say immediately.

“amazing! that’s why you’re my favourite!” chaewon turns her gaze onto the other members of the team as yunjin lets out a quiet i thought i was your favourite…?

“so here’s the deal, they seem to favour the jjj approach - opening with jake, jay, and jungwon. they’re strong because they work together, and the key to that is heeseung, so its impertinent we take him out first. yunjin, you’re in charge of teleporting [y/n] close enough to heeseung so she can work her magic. eunchae and i will work on breaking through the triple j formation and kazuha - go burn sunghoon to a crisp or something.”

"why does it sound like we’re going to kill them?” kazuha whispers.

"we’ll do whatever we need to win,” chaewon sighs and places a reassuring hand on kazuha’s shoulder, as if losing enhypen was some kind of necessary evil.

"we’re so screwed,” yunjin sighs.

WEEK THREE, TUESDAY (2PM): THE QUAD

you’re glued to the screen of your tablet, your salad drooping from your fork as you watch, for the twentieth time, the five hour compilation of enhypen when chaewon suddenly slams it down.

"hey! i was watching -” you protest, indignant.

it’s them! enhypen! chaewon hisses through your mental link.

speak of the devil, eunchae wryly adds.

you twist and see them saunter onto the quad. all seven of them move with this effortless coordination that’s honestly annoying. heeseung is at the front, saying something that makes sunoo laugh. they all look infuriatingly confident - extremely high and mighty. it makes you want to shove them through a car wash.

stop staring. i know you’ve got a thing for red-haired telepaths but now is not the time, chaewon tuts.

what? i’m analysing.

no, you’re totally glaring, yunjin correct, there’s a difference.

i’m engaging in tactical observation!

you’re doing something, kazuha finally says, ending the conversation effectively.

heeseung must have felt your gaze, because he glances over at you. for a second, your eyes meet, and he has the audacity to smirk and raise his fingers in a mock salute.

you crush kazuha’s fork with your telekinesis.

“i was using that,” kazuha whispers sadly, staring helplessly at her bowl of spaghetti.

you’re staring, dongmin’s voice suddenly appears in your head, and you realise he’s sitting three tables over with the rest of his squad, watching you with something indescribable in his eyes.

why is everyone saying that? you let out a frustrated groan. i’m analysing! observing!

you’ve been obsessing over heeseung this entire weekend. it was like listening to a radio that’s broken and won’t stop repeating.

i am not obsessing! he’s the key to beating enhypen!

sure he is.

what’s that supposed to mean?

nothing. just interesting you’re focusing on him specifically.

you turn around to glare at dongmin. he waves cheerfully, as he always does, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“staring at me?”

you nearly jump out of your skin when heeseung’s voice tickles your ear.

“how many times do i have to say it? i wasn’t!” you hiss, pushing yourself back into kazuha’s figure.

“sure, you weren’t,” heeseung straightens up, his red hair flopping into his eyes as he flashes a sweet smile at you, “but i’ve been watching you.”

you narrow your eyes.

“level 5 telepath. you’re good at what you do.” 

you don’t like how he sounds genuinely impressed.

“which is good -” jake cuts in, “because we prefer opponents who actually put up a fight. makes it more interesting when we win.”

“when?” you raise an eyebrow, “that’s pretty confident for someone who hasn’t even faced us yet.”

“we’ve faced plenty,” sunghoon snipes, “you’re not special.”

“what?” you stand up and all seven of them take a cautious, coordinated step backwards, “you know what? maybe we will be!”

heeseung leans slightly closer, breaking from formation, and you notice his eyes are actually quite striking up close - sharp and intense.

"what about this? you manage to stand for more than five minutes against us, i’ll save you a dance at the winter ball. call it a consolation prize.”

"resorting to extortion to get a date to the winter ball. no wonder no one wants to go with you!” you ball hands into fists at his smug smile, resisting the urge to fling him into the sun through sheer will and perfectly honed skill. chaewon and yunjin exchange glances from across the table.

should we stop them? you can hear them faintly converse at the back of your head.

nah, this is funny. yunjin replies.

“scared that you wouldn’t make it pass five?” jay raises an eyebrow, "besides, heeseung has plenty of people lining up to take him to the winter ball! he’s just likes -”

heeseung elbows jay in the stomach and shushes him.

“you people are ridiculous,” you sigh loudly and shake your head, “when we win, you all can apologise, right here in the cafeteria during lunch break - loudly - so everyone can hear.”

“deal,” heeseung’s smirk widens, “looking forward to it.”

then enhypen just moves on, leaving in synchronisation as they turn on a heel and stroll away, leaving your entire table staring at you.

you project, and faintly hear their conversation through their mental links.

are we really doing that if we lose though? sunghoon whispers.

we won’t, heeseung sounds as confident as he does when speaking.

heeseung just wants that date, jungwon teases, and you block out the rest of that conversation faster than eunchae can say hippopotamus.

“[y/n]? my darling? do we want to sit down?” chaewon says carefully, as if every word could trigger a landmine.

you sit down forcefully and the entire table shakes. kazuha shakes her head.

“this is what school is made for,” yunjin grins happily, looking between you and heeseung’s departing figure, “what a time to be alive.”

“i hate this school,” you mumble, picking up your fork.

“heeseung just totally bet on your failure and asked you out.” eunchae quips.

"he didn’t ask me out, he made a threat,” you grumble, "underestimated us. thought he could crush us easily. that five minutes was a mercy. i’m going to destroy them.”

“i don’t know - dongmin just exploded his juice box with his mind,” yunjin points a discreet finger over her shoulder.

you glance over at dongmin’s table, and for the first time in a while he’s very deliberately not looking at you. a juice box that looks like it’s been run over ten times by a tank lies abandoned on the table as he talks to donghyun and his pet mouse about something with exaggerated animation. 

“what did he do all that for?” you cock your head, and kazuha just sighs and shakes her head.

“hey,” yunjin interrupts cheerfully, “what’s the betting poll at now?”

“seventy eight percent for kiss,” eunchae announces, “and a new category just emerged - [y/n] and heeseung get together. that one has eight percent.”

“eight? everyone really has their thumb on the pulse,” kazuha makes a thoughtful observation, like she’s analysing stock prices instead of your literal fate.

“that’s crazy, i hate this school,” you stand up abruptly, “i hate everyone here. i’m going to the danger room - to train.”

“oooh, perhaps a training session with whomst?” yunjin calls after you. you flip her off without looking back.

“twenty dollars that dongmin runs after her in less than ten minutes?” yunjin suggests.

“make it twenty-five,” eunchae replies.

“done. let’s shake on it.”

all you can do is sigh.

you’ve been in the danger room for at least ten minutes by now. you know there are 2384 tiles on the ceiling and your feet slightly hurt from the massive amount of the pacing you’ve done. you’ve just activated a simulation of enhypen to practice against when you feel dongmin’s familiar presence at the edge of your mind.

you made jungwon too tall. his voice chimes in your head, and you turn around to see him casually standing at the doorway of the danger room, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

i hate you. you say half-heartedly - it might as well be your version of hello.

the insults are a little unenthusiastic today. he notes.

what are you doing here? you hate the danger room. you shoot back, says it’s too quiet yet loud at the same time. whatever that means.

maybe i’m branching out. personal growth and all that.

the door clicks quietly shut behind him as he steps into the danger room.

you scoff, “you can’t lie to me.”

you point to your temple, where dongmin’s thoughts are always a subtle background noise to your life - ever since you two accidentally linked up in the first class of introduction to telepathy.

“you’re here about the heeseung thing, aren’t you?”

“that’s just a concerning sideplot,” he holds up his tablet, littered with notes on his next opponents, “i also wanted to use the danger room.”

you walk towards him, “well. you’ll be glad to hear that there isn’t a heeseung thing.”

“but he asked you out - to the winter ball,” dongmin says flatly.

“he asked to get his ass kicked, that’s what,” you reply humourlessly.

“but you smiled at him,” dongmin falters, “and you never smile at anyone.”

“i did not smile at him! and i smile at a ton of people!”

“you smiled at him!” dongmin insists, “and you only smile at your friends! not at people you’re about to compete against.”

he steps closer, and you don't need telepathy to feel his frustration bleeding through, “why him?”

“dongmin - you’re acting a little insecure now,” you laugh nervously, “why do you even care?”

“because -” he stops and presses his hand over his face in that way he does when he’s stressed or agitated, hiding the way his nose scrunches up, “because you’re supposed to be focused on training. on the competition. not on lee heeseung.”

you fold your hands over your chest, “i was literally just studying his combat style!”

“you’re obsessed with him.”

“i’m not!”

the door rattles in its doorframe behind dongmin’s figure.

“really? because from where i’m standing, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. you’ve been mentioning him constantly these few days. you light up when someone says his name -”

“i do not light up!”

“your shields drop,” dongmin says quietly, “every time. like you keep forgetting to maintain them because you’re too busy thinking about him.”

“i -” you sigh loudly, of course you’ve been slipping - chaewon runs 6 am practice like it’s the army and lee heeseung’s name has become your own personal hell. you’ve barely gotten any sleep. all because you needed to beat… him.

“he’s the obstacle between me beating you,” you finally admit, “that’s why i’m focused on him so much. if i want to face you, i have to get rid of him. you’re my end goal.”

dongmin immediately shifts his eyes up to look at you, “i’m your end goal?”

“i want to beat you,” you mumble, “i know - you’re gonna crush the competition on your side. and i - i want to face you properly. not in practice or whatever - but in an actual competition.”

dongmin sniffs, “i don’t like you, [y/n] [l/n].”

“trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” you say bluntly.

“so i’ll beat you at the finals,” he says carefully, “which means you have to beat enhypen first. which means you need to take down heeseung.”

he nods - and then his whole expression shifts, like a lightbulb just went off.

“and does that mean -” he shifts on his feet, “you’ve been thinking about me this whole time?”

“because i’ve been thinking a lot about you too,” he adds quietly.

“i - i’m only thinking about you because i need to beat you!” you stutter through your excuse, cheeks burning up at his admission.

“beating me? we’ll see about that,” dongmin gives you a strained smile, a semblance of the ones he was used to giving you, “and if - if heeseung wants to take you to the winter ball or whatever. that’s fine - whatever, your choice.”

“are you je -”

“and no matter what happens,” he interrupts, growing louder, “i’m not going to go easy on you.”

“i wouldn’t want you to.”

“good,” he starts to pull away, then stops, “and for the record? i think you’re better than heeseung, and you should’ve asked him for something more embarrassing as his punishment. don’t let him get into your head.”

“you talk like we’re going to win.”

“i know you will,” he says wholeheartedly, like he’s seen your victory foretold in a prophecy that came to him in a dream.

“good. you better not mess up, too. if you lose, your punishment is taking me to the winter ball, and i know you’d hate that.”

dongmin shudders as he backs out of the danger room, “i would hate that.”

the door slides shut, and your phone buzzes in your pocket.

yunjin: eunchae owes me 25. he ran after you after nine minutes. i timed.

eunchae: this sucks :( i hate that loverboy

WEEK THREE, WEDNESDAY (3PM): DANGER ROOM

the room crackles with energy as your squad faces off against the first team. they’re new - inexperienced, and don't know each other well enough yet. you’re supposed to be focused on trying out your new formation, but your mind keeps drifting to whatever made you say all that to dongmin.

guys, yunjin chuckles nervously, reminder that our thoughts are still on mic here.

special reminder to [y/n]! chaewon pipes and you scrub every thought of dongmin from your mind.

i’m focused! you insist, dodging a laser beam from the opposing team. you grab a fallen down tree with your telekinesis and throw it in the general direction the shot came from - they go down with a squeak and the log splinters with more force than necessary.

“save the aggro for next monday!” kazuha calls out as she easily turns someone’s weapon into ash.

the rest of the match goes as expected - you down all the other members of the team without losing a single one of your own. chaewon allows approximately 5 seconds of celebration before snapping you all back into formation and running drill after drill. eunchae is analysing enhypen’s strategies frame by frame. kazuha perfects her disintegration timing. yunjin is practising her blinking down to the second. by sunday, you’re exhausted - but ready.

WEEK FOUR, MONDAY (10AM): DANGER ROOM

chaewon had you up bright and early, and that’s how all of you ended up tired, cranky, and ready to beat enhypen’s ass on the danger room floor.

“they brought their breakfast,” eunchae whispers, casting a look to where jake is chowing down on a grilled cheese ten minutes before the match starts, “i’m so freaking hungry, man.”

“guys,” you snap your fingers, “this is psychological warfare. we just need to stay strong and beat their asses - the faster we do it the earlier we break for lunch.”

“lunch? what are we having for lunch?” kazuha mumbles through a hunger-crazed daze.

“stop thinking about lunch!” chaewon slaps kazuha on the back and she startles, “[y/n]’s right - the faster we beat them, the sooner we can eat.”

you take a deep breath in. this was it. the semi-finals. dongmin and the rest of his squad had smashed through their side of the competition like it was as easy as breathing. now - you’re one step away from the finals - one step away from facing dongmin and the rest of team koz in the finals. the thought sent a flutter through your chest that you tried to ignore.

“focus, ladies,” you say as steady as you can. you’re unsure if you’re saying it more to you than the rest of your squad.

“i was born ready,” yunjin jumps to her feet and cracks her knuckles, "let’s show those losers what we’re made of.”

the doors to the arena open as the rest of the students file onto the observation deck. chaewon grabs your shoulder and the five of you huddle for chaewon’s most threatening pep talk yet.

“remember - heeseung first. take out their center and everything falls apart. we all know the formation, alright?”

all of you nod in understanding and chaewon smiles cheekily, “let’s go out there and crush them!”

you all cheer just as enhypen lets out their own - it sounds like a bark that chimes the beginning of your end.

guys, don’t be nervous, kazuha thinly laughs. 

you can feel dongmin’s stare even from the danger room floor, his presence pulses softly just outside of your mind’s space. you look up but all you can see behind the tinted glass is sungho, sakura, the professor, and indiscriminate faces.

you turn around and enhypen is already positioned, arranged in their signature jjj formation - as predicted, the three of them are planted up front like a living wall. heeseung stood behind them, calm and collected, a confident smile already in place.

you lock eyes with him across the arena and he tilts his head. you resist the urge to flip him off and have to physically clench your fists.

“welcome to the semi-finals! on the left - team le sserafim! on the right - team enhypen! whoever wins will be moving onto the finals, facing off team koz,” sakura leans into the mic, “fight to the death, last one standing wins for their entire team.”

the environment around you changes into quadrants - a lake, a forest, mountains, and just a plain open field.

sakura’s voice rings through the danger room - “best of luck to both teams! three, two, one - begin!”

all of you spring into action immediately. jungwon speeds past all of you in a flash but chaewon reacts quick enough to throw up a force field and jungwon smacks squarely into it, groaning as he stumbles. chaewon capitalises on it and engages with him in a battle of reaction and speed.

fan out! chaewon yells through the link. eunchae dodges a fireball from jake as kazuha returns her own, singeing the top of sunghoon’s hair just as they duck behind a boulder.

yunjin! you project urgently.

right beside you! she blinks in next to you, grabbing your arm and immediately blinking again. the two of you fall through space and time before suddenly reappearing in heeseung’s bubble. he stumbles back, shocked, but quickly regains his footing.

“hi!” you say cheerfully, you telekinetically pull a sizzling log (courtesy of either jake or kazuha, who knows) towards you and nearly taking out heeseung from behind. he, infuriating, evades and spins like he saw it coming from a mile away, the log smacking uselessly into the side of the arena.

“hey, you,” he replies, smiling as well.

you frown at his laissez faire attitude and direct a psi-blast towards him, which he parries easily with one of his own.

“impressive. dongmin did mention you were good.”

“he said what?” you slow for a second and heeseung uses that opportunity to launch himself into your mind.

you slam your shields up and he is immediately ejected from your head. frantically, you telekinetically send him backwards with a shove. he manages to catch himself before he touches the water, regaining his footing as he directs a psi-blast that hits you squarely in the middle of the temple. in your dizziness, you hear faintly about how sunoo has eunchae stuck on the ceiling; yunjin is laughing about how ni-ki can’t catch her; and chaewon has confined poor jungwon to an invisible box in a corner of the arena so it looks like he’s doing the world’s most realistic pantomime.

“distracted?” heeseung arches an eyebrow as he dusts himself off.

“you wish!” you yell.

"he said you were weak to force,” heeseung narrows his eyes, "let’s see if he was right.”

you feel all of heeseung’s telepathic strength smash into you. for a moment, his mind melds with yours. you can hear the shouted commands between his team - jumbled up with the yells of your own team. his own thoughts invade your own. but he’s predictable - you’ve studied how to break through such an attack easily. you concentrate your thoughts onto a singular thought - heeseung’s thinking about ramen somewhere in his mind, and you slam onto it. the temporary control he has over your mind breaks and the two of you break apart - each clutching at your heads.

"that - that was unprecedented," heeseung picks himself up.

"i’ve got a lot more where that came from,” you wipe your sweat from your face and dodge just in time to evade heeseung’s prod, his speed creating a breeze that flutters against your cheek.

you react quickly, bringing a boot down against his back as you round onto him. he catches it and easily tosses you into the sand. you’ve dealt with this in one of chaewon’s drills - roll and jump, hit them if you can.

you roll away from his approaching feet and jump to your feet, sending a psi-blast at the same time that catches heeseung by surprise and nicks him in the chin. 

rock incoming! yunjin projects urgently into your head.

you spin around and duck just in time as jay throws a rock at you with a yell. you telekinetically send it back and jay’s figure disappears behind it with an equally loud scream, landing with a splat against the wall.

“five minutes on the board!” sakura’s voice rings.

heeseung’s expression hardens. he’s moving faster now, more aggressive. you feel his telepathy signal wrap around your’s, searching for weaknesses and trying to worm his way in.

heeseung was strong, but he was also someone you could predict. he moved slower when thinking, overcommitted to his offenses, and relied on the rest of his teammates to feed him information from other perspectives.

maintain your shields, never force entry into a guarded mind, and always have an exit strategy.

heeseung was guarded, but his shields weren’t perfect. you slither in with a pinpointed strike, narrowing your eyes. heeseung startles as your signal suddenly floods in and overrides his own and he feels the world go silent.

you - you closed off my links! you can feel his telepathy trying to push through yours - but you’ve been trialed against dongmin, who has a battering ram in the form of telepathy (so unrefined, you always tutted). heeseung’s pushes feel more like feather kisses than the torment dongmin put you through. 

out of the corner of your eye, you see sunghoon look around for heeseung in confusion, hesitant enough for kazuha - wonderful, brilliant kazuha to immediately capitalise on the situation and launch him into the ceiling next to eunchae (still stuck) with a fire bolt.

i got him! kazuha yells triumphantly in your mind.

enhypen links down! you report back, just as heeseung manages to hit you in the jaw.

“hey!” you direct another psi-blast at him and he folds into himself from the pain as it lands against his forehead.

“you really don’t hold back,” he hisses through gritted teeth.

[y/n] - behind! chaewon urgently cuts through and you spin to see jake charging at you with a flaming fist. you jump backwards and immediately project yourself into his mind.

what dur? you hear his mental voice echo inside your brain as you rifle through his thoughts. methodical and precise. one strike and he’s over. you pick through his memories, rearranging the last few minutes in a different order. as you retreat back into your own body you see jake slow in his footsteps and turn around in confusion, his flames puckering out with a sigh.

“wait - what’s happening -?” he gets cut off by yunjin blinking in, delivering a swift punch that knocks him out for good.

heeseung tries to take your feet out from behind you but you see it coming - pivoting and dodging, grabbing him telekinetically and sending him straight into the air. the force sends him sprawling and he lands in the lake with a soft plop and sigh. his hair flops sadly as he emerges in the shallow end and spits out water.

the moment he hits the water, it was over.

“enhypen, eliminated!” sakura’s voice booms, “advancing to finals - squad le sserafim!”

your squad erupts into celebration. chaewon and kazuha grab you and the three of you go down, while yunjin manages to catch eunchae as she is freed from her gravitic prison, blinking to the floor as they join the rest of you in a pile on the floor. 

yunjin catches your eye and grins, squeezing your arm, “so, ready to beat dongmin?”

you feel your cheeks warm, “it’s not just him -”

“it’s the rest of team koz too!” chaewon whoops, “and we’ll beat their asses!”

“exactly!”

sakura’s announcement cuts off the next of yunjin’s teasing comments: “the final match will take place friday at 2pm. team le sserafim versus team koz.”

guess i owe you an apology. heeseung’s voice slides into your brain. you catch his eye over kazuha’s shoulder and he smiles at you.

you sure do, you project back, and remember to be loud.

you’ll hear it. he says off-handedly.

nice work - someone else rings inside your head. 

you gave heeseung info about me! you accuse. you can see dongmin’s innocent blinking in your head.

he was quite interested in you, dongmin says - a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice. i said i wouldn’t make it easy for you.

and that includes tipping off my enemy? 

an enemy of an enemy is a friend. dongmin retorts. but i wouldn’t call him one. i just wanted to make life more difficult for you.

i hate you.

do you?

yes! so you better be ready to take me to the winter ball. you bite.

only if you win. you can hear the smile in his voice.

WEEK FOUR, TUESDAY (1PM): DORM ROOM

you’re taking the best nap of your life after heeseung and crew loudly apologised in the form of a song and dance number when your local angsty soap opera on legs arrives.

i hate being back in this place - you hear her mumble in her head as she quite literally drifts past your door and into the library close by.

not again, you faintly hear dongmin groan through your mental link at the same time and you can’t help but prod further on what’s giving him so much woe.

sungho, you bastard. you can't keep your love life simple or your thoughts to yourself, you hear him tut.

must be in the library too, you think to yourself, settling against your pillows as you try out that new trick you learnt in telepathy class. you literally feel yourself detach from your body and float away, projecting your mind into the library.

“constantly," you manage to hear dongmin pop cheerfully to the singer, “especially -”

he suddenly locks eyes with your corporeal form and scowls.

“someone else is here,” he grumbles in annoyance, suddenly invested his ‘six ways to triumph in telepathy’ book that he’s cradling in his lap.

just because you can read doesn’t mean you can beat me and do this - you tease, and he shoots you a warning look.

at least i know how to use a psi-blast correctly, he snipes back.

popstar - in all her sparkly galore, looks around the library, straight through you.

"what?" she asks, confused. you don’t need telepathy to read her thoughts - it’s just us here.

“another telepath,” dongmin makes a sour face at you, “she can’t stop boasting about how she can project her mind into other spaces. it’s very annoying, because i can’t do that yet.”

you admit it! you say in delight.

oh, shut up. he replies grumpily.

he raises his voice intentionally, "i can feel you listening, you know? it’s very creepy - and annoying."

look at you, meddling in sungho’s love life because you don’t have one.

“no - you nosy little…”

i know donghyun has posters of her on his wall. oh my god, don’t tell me you do too. is this a secret crush?

“she’s not!”

oh, she sure is. does sungho know about this? poor sungho.

“can you stop being so annoying?”

mm, i don’t know. you’re the one who inserted yourself into their drama. i’d say you’re the annoying one here.

“no. you’re definitely the annoying one here -”

for someone who can’t project, you do have a lot of confidence. you say seriously and dongmin throws up his hands in defeat.

tell her to stop being dramatic and commit to something for once in her life.

“she says you need to ‘stop being dramatic and commit to something for once in your life’,” dongmin parrots after a slight pause.

"she said that?" she asks in disbelief.

"her words, not mine," dongmin holds up his hands in surrender as he shoots you a look, "you’re not being exactly subtle, you know?"

"does everyone in this mansion have an opinion on my relationship?" she grumbles.

"woonhak started a betting pool. but sungho busted it and said it was ‘inappropriate’," he grumbles before settling down in his armchair again.

ugh, don’t remind me. you cross your arms, sungho better close down all these betting pools. they have one for whether we’ll get together! gross.

i know, dongmin says, even though we hate each other.

exactly, you agree, i’m going to tell sungho after this.

you should, he says, flipping through the pages of his book. you look between him and the popstar, who - as per usual, is spiraling through a whirlwind of incoherent and melancholic thoughts.

she’s a mess, you shake your head.

no shit, dongmin grumbles.

tell her that being scared of saying something is just being scared of being known.

tell her yourself!

no, you!

no, you!

fine! you abruptly end your back and forth, maybe i will!

you whip around and stomp back through the walls to your dorm room a few rooms down, settling back in your body. it’s uncomfortable - no matter how many times you do it, it takes a million years to get used to your mind and body behind one again. it starts with a twitch of your fingers, then a numbness that overtakes your arm before a prickling sensation starts - your nerves firing again as you regain control over your limbs and muscles that leaves you slightly sore for a few minutes after.

except, that is what’s supposed to happen, but you suddenly register the power has gone out and an explosion rattles the walls so much it snaps you back into instant reunification and consciousness.

jesus christ - you nearly tip out of bed with the splitting headache you’re nursing as the walls shake again. 

the power is out. emergency lights flicker in a sickly red hue. alarms wail somewhere in the distance, muffled by the stone walls of your dorm room.

you wrench open the doors to the hallway and everyone is less panicked than you expected them to be, despite the pyjamas and mismatched shoes shoved on in a rush. 

west wing! safe room! you hear someone - sounds like heeseung, ring throughout your head - everyone head there!

“[y/n]!” you hear yunjin call, and you turn to see the rest of your team emerging from their rooms.

“what happened?” you demand to know, falling in step with them.

“not sure,” chaewon shakes her head and replies grimly, “the only info i have is that it’s an attack and we need to get to the safe room - they’ve got a power jammer and came in through the library.”

library. dongmin.

another explosion rocks the mansion - this one is close enough that dust starts to rain from the ceiling. you can hear the faint sound of gunfire and your blood runs cold.

“[y/n],” chaewon warns, “safe room, now.”

“but -”

“no buts,” chaewon cuts you off with the same authoritative tone she uses when calling plays during competitions - the one that means no negotiation.

but you’re already turning on your heel, you can feel something pulling at the edges of your mind - past the current drone of information shared by the telepathic network of the mansion.

dongmin!

without thinking, you reach out through your mental link. the response is almost immediate: a flash of urgency, determination, and something that reads like stay safe.

“[y/n]!” kazuha grabs your arm, but you telekinetically push her back - towards the west wing, and take off running down the hall.

i’ll catch up! you project urgently through your mental link before shutting it down immediately - before you hear chaewon’s screams for you to come back.

you round the corner and bump squarely in professor xavier and his gang of lost mutants.

“miss [l/n],” professor xavier inclines his head, “you should be in the safe room.”

“i have to find dongmin,” you say matter-of-factedly. you hear someone mutter in their thoughts that you’re crazy, and someone else clocks the fact for further proof for the poll.

“ah, mr. han,” the professor nods knowingly, “he is currently in the war room, accompanying sakura.”

“thank you,” you nod - he doesn’t even try to stop you, it’s like he can - well, he can read your thoughts.

professor xavier sighs and points down the corridor, “do try not to get yourself killed. it would be a shame to miss out on the finals tomorrow.”

you’re already moving before he finishes.

you swear you were trying to not get yourself killed.

“hands in the air!”

your arms shoot straight up when two soldiers happen upon you, guns trained to your chest as they draw in closer.

you narrow your eyes and feel around for their mental signal - guarded, but not incredibly so. unimpressive work from a shoddy telepath.

“telepath!” one of them realises as yells just as you charge in, shattering his shields - his grip on the gun falters as you force him to drop it, but the other presses a button on a small device in his hands that immediately ejects you from the soldier’s body.

they’ve got power jammers! you gasp, hoping hearing - anyone, could hear your thoughts through a weak mental link.

the soldier regains his senses and shakes his head - laser unwavering once again. 

“i’m not afraid to shoot,” he warns, “now take a step back and locate the popstar for us.”

[y/n]! dongmin’s voice floods your own, sounding more like static and broken up than his usually clear voice - where - you?

“i can’t really use my powers with the jammer you have on,” you say through gritted teeth and the two soldiers exchange glances.

“nice try, but you will do as we say,” the guards approach and your head spins as they near.

the cold barrel of the gun presses against your stomach as one of them nudges his rifle against it.

“hey,” you can’t hide the trembling in your voice as they force you into a wall, “this isn’t very nice.”

[y/n]! dongmin’s voice is barely a whisper in your head now, donghyun - over - help!

your brain is, for the first time since forever, silent, the only thing you can hear is dongmin’s faint pings and signals. you telekinetically reach for a piece of rubble behind the soldier but it barely moves, just vibrates slowly before stilling.

“that jammer of yours,” you try for calm - for prolonging the situation before they blow your guts out, “where d’ya get it?”

“wouldn’t you like to know,” the one holding it smirks and presents it proudly, “we’ve amassed quite the collection of mutants - including one that can put together any machine we ask. this baby? tailor made to react with the x-gene and dampen it.”

the other soldier elbows him in the stomach.

“stop talking, they’re just stalling!” they demand, before turning back to you in fury, pressing the barrel further into your flesh, “use your powers! i know you can! search for them -”

“buddy, i’ve never even met them before -” you interrupt, “how am i supposed to search for them? do you know how many people live in this damn mansion? one hundred and for -”

you’re cut off by a yell, then a dog that sails into your kerfuffle and cleanly bites the hand of the soldier holding the jammer. it clatters to the floor and bounces across the floor, before any of you can react, someone steps on it, heavily, and it cracks and shatters. you immediately feel what feels like thousands of voices flood back into your head as the jammer breaks and you take this split second of hesitation to telekinetically fling the soldier with his gun your stomach out the window.

“wha -” the other soldier wildly swinging his rifle as the dog latches onto it, playing the world’s most dangerous game of tug you’ve ever seen.

“down!” you hear someone yell, and the dog immediately lets go, sending the soldier stumbling with force of his own momentum. you see your saviour grab him by the shoulder, spin him around, and roundhouse kick him into the wall. the soldier crumples to the floor and goes limp, the rifle falling out of his hands.

“[y/n]?”

you can hear the worry lacing donghyun’s voice as he lowers his leg, clutching his fishbowl with a hand covered on top to prevent the dust from falling in and water from splashing.

“donghyun?” you choke out, “wha - what are you doing here?”

“dongmin sent me,” he shuffles on his feet, “are you okay?”

“i’m fine. you should be in the safe room, not listening to dongmin!”

“but - but i had to come to get my fish and my mouse,” he holds his fishbowl up gently and his pet mouse pops a furry snout out from his sleeve. you groan out loud.

“i don’t know who’s worse - you or your girlfriend!” you grumble.

“me, probably,” donghyun mumbles as his dog winds between his legs, urging him down the corridor.

“we should go before the east wing collapses,” he says, straightening up.

“but dongmin -”

[y/n]! dongmin’s voice is clear - and it’s laced with panic and terror, are you there?

i’m here. you confirm, donghyun found me.

good. dongmin sounds relieved.

were you worried about me?

you feel his hesitance over your mental link - … yes.

where are you? you demand.

war room. dongmin finally lets out.

stay there, i’m coming.

you turn to look at donghyun, who blinks at you.

“is something wrong?” he asks gently.

“yes, you,” you grumble.

professor, you tap into his mental signal, i found donghyun. i’m sending him your way.

understood - his reply is immediate, stay safe.

you let donghyun, in tow with his fishbowl and pet mouse and dog, down the corridor towards where you split up with the professor and proceed towards the war room.

the war room is a nest of monitors and flickering screens, most of them dark now that the power’s out. emergency generators hum in the background, casting everything in that same sickly red light. sakura stands at the center, tablet in hand as she surveys the conditions.

and then there’s dongmin, crouched near a monitor, head tilted slightly as he relays information through the mental link to other telepaths within the mansion.

both of them look up when you burst through the door.

“[y/n]?” sakura’s tablet lowers slightly and you can feel surprise flashing through dongmin’s mental connection.

“you should be in the safe room,” he hisses.

“so should you,” you grab him by the shoulders and pull him up - “let me help, dongmin’s a better telekinetic than he is a telepath.”

“i am not -” he stops himself, and sets his mouth into a thin line, “fine.”

“good,” you nod at sakura, “what’s the situation.”

“ten,” sakura taps her tablet, “from what dongmin has detected, three are after sungho - the rest are scattered throughout the mansion. we’ve mobilised teams but they will need backup.”

“understood,” you do a general sweep of the mansion, tagging onto the unfamiliar signals chasing sungho and his little situationship down a corridor. you try searching for the rest in a sea of panicked minds.

dongmin stands with pursed lips beside you, and you can feel the subtle hum of his presence in your shared mental space - a constant background radiation of his attention. you've gotten used to it over the years, though you'll never admit that out loud.

“two detected - east corridor, second floor,” dongmin relays and sakura quickly punches it into her tablet.

you follow his directions and feel a familiar signal pulsing there as well - “heeseung’s there - and his team.”

[y/n]? heeseung immediately responds when he feels your prod, are you okay? are you hurt?

i’m -

do you need support? dongmin butts into your conversation and you shoot him a look.

oh - um, heeseung chuckles awkwardly through the mental link, no. i think we have this under control.

his tone softens, stay safe [y/n].

wow, nothing for me? dongmin delivers dryly before you can respond.

heeseung laughs, and you too, dongmin.

i’m keeping them safe, don’t worry, dongmin says decisively before cutting your connection abruptly.

“the popstar,” he says quickly, before you can address the elephant in the room, “they’re still after her.”

“sungho won’t let them get her,” you say with more confidence than you feel.

“sungho’s in love with her,” dongmin replies flatly, “loves clouds judgment.”

“yeah?” you shoot him a look, “i guess you would have a lot of experience with that, based on how worried you were a few minutes ago.”

“that’s different,” dongmin snaps, his ears red.

“how is it different?”

“just focus on the intruders,” he turns pointedly away from you, pout evident on his face.

it doesn’t last for long as the doors to the war room rattle in their frames and sakura exchanges glances with the two of you - slamming her hand down on a few buttons just in time for two intruders to kick the door down, sending it flying into sakura’s frame. she parries it easily with a wave of her hand and ducks behind a console to evade the spray of bullets. dongmin pulls you down quickly and the two of you huddle behind the island console that usually displays a holographic map.

i’ve sealed the secondary exits! sakura’s voice fills both of minds simultaneously, i will take one, you two neutralise the others.

got it! you watch as sakura raises a hand and mist fills the room. red lasers sweep across the room as you and dongmin crawl closer to the door. one of the gunmen stumbles on his feet, tripping over an exposed wire as the wind around him picks up speed. out of the mist, sakura flies into him with fury, taking him out of the room and into the corridor.

the remaining soldier pivots around to scan the room - still smothered in mist by quickly thinning out. you exchange a glance at dongmin and he nods in understanding.

“hey, over here!” you shoot up to your feet and the rifle’s laser quickly swings in your direction. for a split moment, you freeze at the gun but dongmin acts a second after, using his telekinesis to pull the gun from his hands - it slams against the wall and clatters to the ground.

“you,” the soldier growls, voice distorted.

“who are you? what do you want?” you demand, trying to prod his mind, but he grins and pulls a dagger out from his belt, and you don’t have the time to pick it apart as he suddenly lunges at you - he’s faster than you imagined.

“[y/n] [l/n],” he recites your name slowly as he turns around, “telepath. telekinetic. level five. not bad. your abilities would be greatly appreciated with us.”

“how do you know my name?” you feint right just in time for dongmin to strike the soldier in the back of the temple with a stray piece of debris.

“that -” he cackles, “you don’t need to worry about - and you, han dongmin. yes - i know a lot of about you. you’re quite wanted by a few… investors.”

“oh, great. i hate being wanted,” dongmin grumbles, sidestepping as the soldier jumps at him, knife flashing his hand.

you narrow your eyes and throw out a hand to telekinetically pull the soldier away from him. the soldier stumbles as his body is torn between two directions and you take the moment to slam your entire telepathic power into his mind. the soldier’s grip on the knife loosens but he manages to shake your influence out of his head -

until dongmin’s own signal batters into his head too - his mental shields shatter and suddenly the two of you are sharing control over his body.

get out! dongmin whispers urgently.

you get out! you yell back, but oblige as you slither your way out of his psyche, catching dongmin’s limp body in your arms as he completely takes over the body of the soldier. you slowly lower yourself and him onto your knees as you watch the soldier convulse, drop the dagger, and crumple to the floor.

dongmin’s fingers twitch as he returns, and you smack his arm to help him get the numbness out.

“that hurts,” he whines.

“then it’s working!” you grin at him and he glares at you.

“you’re evil.”

he groans as he sits up from the floor, massaging his limbs as sakura flies back in, looking just as good as this morning - before the explosions, and dangling the soldier in between her hands.

“are you two alright?” she scans the two of you as she deposits the soldier next to his friend.

“fine,” you nod and dongmin echoes it.

sakura tilts her head, as if listening to something from further away, “sungho says all the soldiers have been apprehended. we are safe - for now.”

you let out a sigh of relief, just as dongmin scrambles to his feet and picks his way over to the soldiers.

“okay, but - they knew our names somehow, and our powers,” dongmin frowns.

sakura lands lightly on her feet, “i have observed that too. dongmin, [y/n], can you find out where they are receiving this information from?”

you and dongmin exchange looks.

“i’m bad cop, you’re good cop,” you crouch down beside dongmin as he flips them over so they’re lying on their backs.

“that’s not how it works,” dongmin grumbles as he places a palm on the forehead of a soldier. you do the same to the other and rifle through his memories.

strange, you frown. you go through his memories again. it starts from the corridors outside the war room, the first few explosions, them planning for the strike on the mansion, and then just… stops. there’s nothing beyond - like his memories have been wiped entirely clean.

you open your eyes and rub at them.

“there’s nothing,” you say quietly to sakura.

“what do you mean there’s nothing?” sakura kneels down as well.

“she’s right,” dongmin also pulls away his hand, “i looked - there’s nothing beyond this morning. but that doesn’t make sense, they don’t act like one day old babies - there must be - something must have happened between us taking them down and now.”

“that can’t have been more than five minutes,” you cross your arms, “is that possible?”

“someone professional, no doubt,” sakura places a hand on both your shoulders, “is there anything we can glean from the memories we do have, then?”

“they have a map,” dongmin says quietly, “of the entire mansion.”

you nod, “i saw a list - names, powers, other information. prices.”

“prices,” sakura taps her chin, “understood. we’ll look further into this - perhaps the other soldiers have more information they can provide.”

she stands up, “but for now, i ask for the two of you to pay a visit to the med bay.”

you let dongmin pull you up to your feet, “are we still doing the finals?”

sakura shoots you an incredulous look, “med bay. now.”

WEEK FOUR, TUESDAY (6PM): MED BAY

the aftermath of the attack has been chaotic. two soldiers neutralised in the war room. two more apprehended in the east corridor and one more soldier that woonhak accidentally sent to the arctic with kyujin’s help. the rest had been apprehended by a chaotic danger room command that included disco music and metal claws. sungho’s thoughts have been rattling around every telepath’s mind for the past few hours - worry and love tangled so thoroughly together that even you felt secondhand embarrassment.

the mansion has been secured by the next morning, with things quietening down. minds were wiped clean, soldiers were dropped off, and the danger room was restored, albeit with a few new scuffs on the walls.

professor xavier insisted that the tournament continue: “we cannot let fear disrupted our traditions”, he says. you just think they already wasted too much money on the decorations for the winter ball.

the attack left everyone on edge and more focused. for you and dongmin, the unspoken moment in the war room - the shared panic, the relief, hung between you, unaddressed. there was no time to talk. only to prepare.

WEEK FOUR, FRIDAY (2PM): DANGER ROOM

so the finals proceeded as scheduled, because the x mansion never lets a measly explosion get in the way of anything - including tournament finals and mid-terms. so here you are, standing in the danger room with your squad, just a little exhausted, but overridden with excitement to finally destroy dongmin and team koz once and for all.

dongmin stands directly across from you, and he looks scarily focused. serious. there’s no smirk, no teasing remarks floating through your mental link.

chaewon squeezes your shoulder, “let’s do this,” she says.

“let’s,” yunjin agrees - the three of you to make it fair, because two of team koz’s teammates have decided to take a break.

“begin!” sakura’s voice echoes.

it’s chaos from the first second. yunjin blinks toward woonhak, but he’s already moving, somehow manifesting exactly what he needs to evade her frustrated grabs. chaewon is currently debating the ethicalness of fighting donghyun’s animal friends and decides she can’t do it and instead settles for launching cautious orb force fields at him instead.

and then there’s you and dongmin.

you don’t exchange words. you don’t need to. you lunge, and he throws himself into action already. your telekinesis throws a rock in his direction and it clashes with a perfectly angled stick. it shatters into pieces and splinters fly everywhere. chaewon squeals and throws up an invisible barrier for the two of you, splinters bouncing off and falling to the floor. you keep advancing, gaining on him as you try for a physical strike - a punch aimed at his chest - but he quickly pushes it away and counters it with a low kick.

you leap over it and press down telekinetically, trying to pin him to the ground. he resists, his own power pushing back against yours. it feels like trying to hold back the tide with your bare hands.

“you got better,” he says through gritted teeth.

“so are you,” you admit, shifting your strategy.

you feint left, then right, testing his reflexes. he matches you move for move. it’s frustrating, annoying, and exhilarating. you’ve trained against him dozens of times, but it’s different this time - it’s the finals. this is everything you’ve been working towards.

you feel the moment the tide shifts. your mental link flares with clarity - years of training, of being connected to him, of knowing exactly how he thinks. you easily slip into his mind just slightly, and you feel the tinge of his thoughts. when he moves left, you’re already there. when he tries to telekinetically throw something at you, you’ve already moved the projectile.

dongmin realises quickly what you’re doing and his eyes widen just for a fraction of a second - and then he smiles.

he doesn’t back down. instead, he pushes harder. his telekinesis works faster, whipping up multiple things at once, and you’re forced to dodge everything that’s launching towards you head-on. the two of you stand locked in a battle of pure force, neither willing to give an inch.

around you, your teammates are winning. woonhak gets a stroke of bad luck and is currently begging for mercy from yunjin - unfortunately for him, yunjin is unforgiving. chaewon has cornered donghyun and tags him out in a perfectly timed hit.

team koz is crumbling, but you and dongmin are locked in a stalemate.

you change your approach. you wrap your telekinesis around him and yank dongmin towards you. he stumbles forward and you press your advantage, launching a psi-blast that he barely manages to deflect.

you’re tiring, he points out the mental link, i can feel it.

so are you, you counter.

he smirks - the familiar smirk you’ve come to know so well, “good.”

he suddenly grabs your arm and pulls, and you’re caught off-balance. before you can recover, he’s onto you, his physical strikes fast and precise. you respond in kind and suddenly you’re locked in hand-to-hand combat, movements flowing like a choreographed dance.

he spins and sweeps your legs out from under you. 

you fall, and for a moment you think this is it - he’s won. but you manage to roll backward, coming up in a crouch, but dongmin’s already advancing.

the arena is nearly empty now. donghyun has somehow avenged woonhak by tagging yunjin out and he and chaewon are circling around the two of you, ready to jump in whenever needed.

“eliminate one team member, and they are out,” sakura announces, her voice crackling with anticipation.

dongmin launches himself at you one final time. you meet him halfway, and this time - this time you know exactly what to do. you've studied him for years. you know his patterns, his tells, his habits. you know how he breathes before he strikes. you know how his eyes flicker just before he commits to a move.

you dodge his punch and grab his wrist, using his own momentum against him. you telekinetically lift him slightly off the ground, just enough to throw him off-balance, and drive your knee up. he blocks with his other arm, but the impact sends him back.

he lands hard, and you press your advantage. telekinesis converges on him from all sides, but he’s not done yet. his own power erupts outward, a shockwave of force that sends you flying backwards. 

you crash into the edge of the arena, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. for a moment, everything spins.

dongmin is getting to his feet, chest heaving. he’s close to his limit too.

you push yourself up on shaky legs and meet him in the center. your final gambit is different - no strategy, no planning. just pure instinct and will. you move. he counters. you adapt. he matches.

and then - there’s an opening.

dongmin’s guard drops just for a fraction of a second, exhaustion catching up with him. you don’t hesitate. you telekinetically shove him backward with everything you have left, putting your entire weight behind it.

he slides backward, toward the edge of the arena.

“shit!” he reaches out, trying to catch himself.

but there’s nothing to grab.

the two of you lock eyes and he scowls, and he crosses the line and disappears in a flash of light.

“team le sserafim wins!” sakura’s voice booms throughout the arena, “our champions, everyone!”

you squad erupts into celebrations behind you, and you let chaewon crush you under her weight as she tackles you to the ground. 

“tired,” you groan out as yunjin reappears and eunchae & kazuha run into the room, piling onto you like a weighted blanket.

dongmin reemerges soon after, looking frustrated and tired and handsome and -

he catches your eye and smirks.

you think i’m handsome?

shut up, you turn away pointedly, cheeks heating up. you’re thankful for woonhak’s loud distraction in the form of a wail, but you can still feel the gentle brush of his presence in your mind.

i told you i’d beat you.

he doesn’t respond, but you can feel something that feels like acceptance and pride through your mental link.

WEEK FOUR, SATURDAY (6PM): BALLROOM

“oh, oh my baby,” chaewon’s eyes are strangely misty.

“you look amazing,” kazuha says for the hundredth time, adjusting her earring.

“i feel ridiculous,” you mutter.

“that means you look good,” yunjin grins, already three sips deep into the punch eunchae swear is ‘definitely spiked, probably’.

the ballroom is decorated in silver and blue, with twinkling lights strung across the ceiling like captured stars. the band is playing something slow and romantic, and there are couples scattered across the dance floor.

you wouldn’t mind another explosion right now - anything to get you out of here.

“you’ll survive this,” chaewon says, her grip on your arm growing tighter by the second.

“i hope so too,” you groan, your feet already starting to hurt.

you scan the room and immediately find dongmin. he’s leaning against a wall, talking to donghyun and woonhak. his hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a suit that looks expensive.

"hey, [y/n].”

you jump at heeseung's soft-spoken greeting.

"heeseung - you scared the shit out of me,” you run a hand through your hair.

"guess you don’t really feel like dancing with me, huh?” heeseung follows your gaze to dongmin, whose own eyes narrow as he straightens up.

"maybe later,” you’re more than distracted to hear heeseung's question properly, that’s for sure.

heeseung laughs, "don’t let dongmin hear that.”

"yeah, i won't - wait. don't let dongmin hear what?"

heeseung just throws you a mysterious wink before sauntering off to join the rest of his six squadmates in a coordinated dance-off.

you look back at dongmin and his eyes meet yours, and your breath stutters.

he brushes off woonhak and starts walking towards you. 

“oh my god, he’s walking over here,” yunjin whispers urgently, “is he?”

“shut up,” you hiss. your heart did something extremely traitorous and loud in your chest. 

dongmin stops in front of you, and up close, you can see the exhaustion from yesterday’s finals still lingering in his eyes. but he smiles - a small, genuine smile that makes your stomach flip.

“hi,” he says.

“hello,” you reply, suddenly very aware of how dry your mouth is.

“so,” he shifts on his feet, “you won.”

“we won,” you look around to gesture at your team - until you realise they’ve all mysteriously and suddenly vanished.

“right, ‘course,” he nods, then takes a deep breath, “i believe i owe you something.”

“you do,” you say, “don’t be a sore loser, now.”

he pouts but holds out his hand, “dance with me?”

in your mind, you hear eunchae hiss, ninety-five percent. i’m getting so much money.

you ignore her - and yunjin’s barely suppressed giggle, and chaewon’s knowing smile from across the room, and the soft oh shit kazuha lets out.

you take his hand.

dongmin pulls you onto the dance floor with surprising gentleness. his other hand settles at your waist and you realise with a start that you’ve never been this close at him without first threatening to throw him across a room or something at him.

“you fought well,” he says as you begin to move with the music.

“so did you,” you reply.

“i let you win,” he says quietly.

you pull back slightly to look at him incredulously, “what?”

he shrugs non-committedly, “just saying.”

“but you said you weren’t going to go easy on me!” your voice raises slightly.

guys, stop fighting! you need to kiss! not kill each other! eunchae complains loudly in your head and you grit your teeth.

“why did you do that?” you lower down your voice.

“because,” his eyes search yours, “i wanted to see you smile. at me. like how you smile at your squadmates, not the aggressive grin you get before you try to kill me. a real smile.”

you don’t remember smiling after the finals, but apparently you did.

“that’s, like, the most pathetic reason for losing i’ve ever heard,” you say, but your voice is comparably softer.

“probably,” he agrees.

“you’re so stupid,” you tell him.

“maybe - for you,” he replies.

the music swells around you - and suddenly it feels like just you and dongmin, his hand warm on your waist.

“i still hate you,” you say, because that’s what you’ve always said.

“i know,” he says, and he’s smiling that small smile again, “and i still love you.”

your breath catches, “don’t - don’t just say things like that.”

“why not?” he asks, “it’s true. it’s been true for a while. maybe since you threw that table at me in telekinesis class.”

“i did not!”

“you did. i nearly lost my head,” he says, amused with a cat-like smile, “i knew right then that i was in trouble.”

“dongmin -” you don’t know what to say. all your carefully constructed arguments about hating him suddenly feel very flimsy. maybe they were in the first place.

“you’re insufferable,” you settle for.

“i know.”

“and conceited.”

“sure.”

“and you cheat off me in class!”

“guilty,” he admits.

“and i -” you falter, searching for the right words, “i’m probably going to regret this later, but i don’t hate you. i never did. i think - i think i might -”

dongmin closes the distance before you finish, but you react faster, slapping a hand over his lips.

not now! you whisper, they’ll win that stupid bet.

dongmin grins lazily as eunchae’s whine rings again - guys! guys! you’re supposed to kiss! k - i - s - s!

dongmin tilts his head, “you’re right. i need to teach woonhak that he shouldn’t count his chickens before they hatch.”

you laugh, and peck the corner of his mouth instead.

the room instantly explodes.

is that a kiss? that definitely counts as a kiss right? woonhak yells.

LIPS! ON THE LIPS! yunjin yells louder.

you can feel chaewon’s satisfied ‘i told you so’ radiating through the connection like she’s basking in the sun. 

guys, should we look away? kazuha’s concern draws a laugh out of you.

“this is so embarrassing,” you mumble, and dongmin’s grip on your waist just tightens.

“you brought this onto yourself,” he says cheerfully.

later that night, the two of you steal away on a balcony, even if it’s barely private with the way half of the student population is pressing their ears against the door and peeking through the gap.

“do you still want to destroy me?” dongmin leans against the railing, breath visualised in the winter air.

“absolutely.”

“good,” he smirks, “keep me on my toes.”

he drops his head onto your shoulder, already comfortable shoving himself into your space despite your earlier squabbles.

“dongmin?” you say after a while.

“yeah?”

“i think i love you too.”

he grins - that smug, infuriating grin that you’ve come to know so well - and kisses you (on the lips this time).

behind you, the ballroom doors rattle as eunchae bounces away, yelling about how ‘everyone owes her money now’.

some things, you think to yourself, are worth being embarrassed about.

you were going to kiss han dongmin, complain about it, and then kiss him again.

i went through like five writer blocks during this and it definitely isn't my favourite work ever... (hate writing e2l), but i hope everyone enjoyed regardless! donghyun's fic is next as the last installment of the series <33

♡ or ↻ if you enjoyed, support your writers, thank you!! what did you think? drop your thoughts in my inbox!

So when Jaehyun casually mentioned he was introducing him to someone from NewJeans, everyone expected the usual polite bow, awkward smile, and Woonhak retreating back into his shell.

And that part did happen.

He stood a little straighter when he first met you, hands clasped in front of him, nodding shyly as Jaehyun did the introductions. You were bright, eyes wide, smile easy, energy bouncing off you like a happy puppy who’d just been let outside.

“Nice to meet you!” you said, bowing a little too enthusiastically.

Woonhak smiled, small and careful. “N-Nice to meet you too.”

After that, somehow, being around you became… easy.

You talked a lot, filling silences so Woonhak didn’t have to. You laughed easily, reacted big, celebrated small things like they were achievements. And Woonhak found himself listening closely, smiling without realizing it.

Still, he kept his distance. Habit, really.

Until the first time it happened.

It was after a music show recording, everyone tired but buzzing with leftover adrenaline. Woonhak had just told you some good news, something about a chart ranking or a schedule confirmation, and you gasped.

“No way!” you exclaimed.

Before Woonhak could even process it, you stepped forward and hugged him.

It wasn’t long. Just a quick, instinctive squeeze. Warm, sudden, and full of joy.

Woonhak froze.

Not because it was uncomfortable, but because his brain short-circuited.

You pulled back almost immediately, eyes widening in panic. “Oh my gosh- sorry! I’m so sorry!” You bowed quickly, hands flailing a little. “I didn’t think- I know you don’t really like people in your personal space, I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s okay.”

You stopped.

Woonhak was red. Like, ears-to-cheeks red. He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes.

“I mean-” he cleared his throat, quieter now. “It’s fine. Really.”

You looked unsure. “Are you sure?”

He nodded, then added softly, almost like it was a secret meant only for you, “If it’s you… I don’t really mind.”

That was the moment.

After that, things changed.

You leaned closer when you talked. You tugged lightly on his sleeve to get his attention. Sometimes you’d rest your head against his shoulder when you laughed too hard, or bump into him playfully when walking side by side.

And Woonhak?

He let you.

No flinching. No complaints. No grumbling.

Which absolutely did not go unnoticed.

Sungho was the first to catch on. “Why does she get to stand that close?”

Jaehyun squinted suspiciously one day when you were practically glued to Woonhak’s side. “Hey, didn’t you push me away yesterday for doing that?”

Taesan gasped dramatically. “So this is favoritism.”

Woonhak denied everything, of course. “It’s not like that.”

But his ears betrayed him every time you smiled at him, every time you casually hooked your arm around his for balance, every time you called his name in that cheerful, excited tone.

You were younger than him by a year, but somehow you made him feel softer, lighter, like he didn’t have to guard himself so much.

Woonhak knew something was wrong the moment the dorm went too quiet.

It was the kind of silence that didn’t come naturally forced, expectant. The kind that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He sat cross-legged on the living room floor, phone in his hands, pretending to scroll while fully aware of the weight of multiple stares burning into the side of his face.

“…Why are you all looking at me like that?” he muttered.

No answer.

Sungho leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, lips twitching like he was fighting a smile. Riwoo sat on the couch, chin propped on his hand, eyes narrowed in exaggerated suspicion. Taesan was sprawled dramatically across the armrest, already grinning. Leehan stood next to the wall, phone in hand as if recording. Jaehyun, worst of all, was standing directly behind Woonhak, peering down at him like a detective about to drop a bomb.

Jaehyun broke the silence first.

“So,” he said casually, far too casually. “Since when?”

Woonhak stiffened. “Since when what?”

Taesan gasped. Loudly. “Oh wow. He’s pretending.”

“I’m not pretending,” Woonhak snapped, turning his head. “Pretending about what?”

Sungho finally laughed, pushing himself off the counter. “Relax. You’re gonna sprain something if you keep tensing up like that.”

“I’m relaxed,” Woonhak said immediately.

Jaehyun rested his hands on Woonhak’s shoulders.

Woonhak flinched, instinctively, shrugging him off. “Hyung. Space.”

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow but stepped back, unfazed. “See? That’s exactly what I mean.”

Riwoo leaned forward. “You pushed Jaehyun away in under two seconds.”

Leehan nodded solemnly. “New record.”

Woonhak frowned. “So?”

“So,” Sungho continued, tone light but eyes sharp, “why didn’t you do the same earlier today?”

Woonhak blinked. “…Do what?”

Taesan sat up straighter, practically vibrating with excitement. “When *she* hugged you.”

The room erupted.

“AH—there it is!” “Caught red-handed!” “Explain yourself!”

Woonhak’s brain short-circuited.

“Hugged- ” he spluttered. “It wasn’t- she just- It was fast!”

Jaehyun laughed, folding his arms. “Fast, yeah. But you didn’t flinch.”

“I always flinch,” Woonhak argued weakly.

“Liar,” Riwoo said flatly. “You flinch when I lean too close.”

“That’s different.”

“Oh?” Sungho tilted his head. “How so?”

Woonhak opened his mouth.

Closed it.

His ears burned.

Taesan slammed a hand over his heart. “He’s blushing. Yah. He’s BLUSHING.”

“I’m not!” Woonhak snapped, dragging the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands. “It’s just hot.”

“It’s literally raining outside,” Jaehyun said.

“And the aircon is on,” Riwoo added helpfully.

Woonhak groaned, dropping his forehead into his hands. “Can you all stop staring at me?”

Sungho stepped closer, squatting down in front of him. His tone softened, teasing but not cruel. “We’re just curious. You hate hugs. You hate sudden contact. You complain when we breathe too close to you.”

Leehan leaned in from the side. “But her?”

Jaehyun smiled knowingly. “You just stood there.”

Woonhak swallowed.

He remembered it too clearly—the way you’d hugged him without thinking, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The warmth. The quickness. The way you’d immediately pulled back, apologizing over and over, eyes wide with worry.

And how, without even planning to, he’d told you it was okay.

How he’d meant it.

“She said sorry,” Woonhak muttered, avoiding their eyes.

Sungho’s grin widened. “You reassured her.”

“I would’ve reassured anyone!”

Riwoo hummed. “But would you have said, ‘It’s fine, I don’t mind’ to anyone else?”

Silence.

Woonhak picked at a loose thread on his sleeve.

Taesan’s eyes sparkled. “Oh my god. You like her.”

“I don’t!” Woonhak protested instantly, too fast. “We’re just friends.”

Jaehyun chuckled. “Friends, huh?”

“Yes!”

“Then why,” Sungho asked gently, “do you let her do whatever she wants?”

Woonhak hesitated.

Because she feels safe, he almost said.

Because she’s bright and warm and doesn’t make him feel trapped.

Because when it’s you, it doesn’t feel like his space is being invaded—it feels like it’s being shared.

Instead, he mumbled, “She’s… different.”

The room went quiet again.

Then Jaehyun screamed into a pillow.

“DIFFERENT?! He said DIFFERENT!”

Taesan burst out laughing. “That’s it. It’s over. Our maknae is done for.”

Woonhak buried his face in his hands, mortified. “You’re all so annoying.”

Sungho stood, ruffling his hair, careful this time, light enough that Woonhak didn’t pull away. “Annoying, maybe. But we’re not wrong.”

Riwoo smiled softly. “You look happy around her.”

That made Woonhak pause.

Happy.

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed in his hand.

A notification lit up the screen.

You: Did you eat yet? :)

Woonhak froze.

Every hyung leaned in.

“Oh?” Leehan sang. “What’s that?”

Jaehyun peeked over his shoulder. “Is that her contact photo?”

Woonhak yelped, locking his phone and clutching it to his chest. “STOP LOOKING!”

Sungho laughed. “You didn’t even deny it.”

His ears burned again.

And somewhere deep down, Woonhak realized, with a mix of panic and warmth, that the teasing had only just begun.

As time passed, they started bumping into each other more often.

At first, Woonhak told himself it was just a coincidence.

HYBE was big, but not that big, shared floors, overlapping schedules, similar break times. It made sense that paths would cross. Once or twice was normal.

But when it kept happening?

That was when he started noticing.

The first time after the teasing incident, it was early morning. Woonhak was half-awake, hoodie pulled over his head, earphones in but no music playing. He was padding down the hallway toward the practice rooms, dragging his feet like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Then,

“Woonhak!”

Your voice cut through the quiet corridor.

He stopped so abruptly that the much shorter Riwoo, walking behind him, nearly crashed into his back.

“There you are!” you said, jogging up to him, eyes bright despite the early hour. “I thought I saw you from the elevator.”

Woonhak blinked, momentarily stunned, before pulling his hood down. “Oh. Hi.”

You smiled at him, wide, warm, familiar in a way that still made his chest feel funny. You were dressed casually, oversized jacket, hair pulled back messily. No stage makeup, no cameras. Just you.

Riwoo raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you.

“I’ll… go on ahead,” he said slowly, clearly amused.

Woonhak shot him a warning look, but Riwoo just smirked and walked off.

Silence settled in.

Not awkward. Just quiet.

“Are you going to practice?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Dance.”

“Same!” you said instantly. “Well- vocals first, then dance.”

“Oh.”

Another pause.

You rocked back on your heels, hands clasped behind your back. “Do you… mind if we walk together?”

Woonhak’s instinct was to overthink it—to worry about timing, cameras, what people might say.

But then he remembered what he’d told you.

If it’s you, I don’t really mind.

So he nodded. “I don’t mind.”

Your smile softened, like you’d been a little nervous too.

They walked side by side down the hallway, footsteps syncing naturally. You leaned closer as you talked, animatedly telling him about a choreography change, occasionally bumping his arm with yours without even noticing.

Woonhak noticed.

Every single time.

And every single time, he didn’t pull away.

After that, the “coincidences” multiplied.

Sometimes he’d turn a corner and nearly run straight into you, both of you stopping short, laughing awkwardly before bowing a little too much.

Sometimes you’d spot him first and wave enthusiastically, calling his name like it was the best part of your day.

Once, he stepped out of a practice room drenched in sweat, only to find you sitting on the floor outside with a sports drink in hand.

“You looked tired earlier,” you said, holding it out. “Thought you might want this.”

He stared at it for a second before taking it carefully. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” you replied simply.

Another time, *you* were the tired one—eyes drooping, shoulders slumped as you shuffled down the hallway. Without thinking, Woonhak slowed his pace to match yours.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You perked up immediately. “Yeah! Just sleepy.”

Then, quieter, “But it’s better now.”

He didn’t ask why.

The members noticed too, of course.

They always did.

“You’re leaving early again?” Sungho asked one afternoon, watching Woonhak tie his shoes.

Woonhak shrugged. “We finished faster today.”

Taesan leaned over the couch. “Hallway route or elevator route?”

Woonhak paused. “…Hallway.”

Jaehyun grinned. “Interesting.”

And sure enough, halfway down the corridor, there you were—walking toward him, phone in hand, nearly crashing into him because you were too busy texting.

“Oh!” You looked up, startled, then laughed. “Wow, we really keep running into each other.”

Woonhak smiled shyly. “Yeah.”

You hesitated, then reached out, lightly tugging his sleeve. “Do you wanna walk together again?”

He nodded, heart thumping a little faster than usual.

Behind them, from a distance, Taesan peeked around the corner.

“Oh, they’re totally doing this on purpose now,” he whispered.

Jaehyun sighed dramatically. “Our maknae doesn’t even realize he’s falling.”

Sungho smiled to himself.

And Woonhak, walking beside you, shoulder brushing yours, felt something warm settle in his chest.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t just coincidence anymore.

It was late.

Not officially late, no one was breaking curfew, but the building had that quiet, hollow feel that only came after most lights were off and schedules were done for the day. The hallway outside the practice rooms was dim, illuminated only by emergency lights and the glow spilling out from one open door.

Woonhak stepped out first, towel slung over his shoulder, hair damp, hoodie hanging loose on him. He was tired in a good way, muscles sore, mind calm.

And then he saw you.

You were sitting on the floor a few steps away, back against the wall, knees pulled to your chest. Your phone rested beside you, screen dark. When you noticed him, you straightened immediately, eyes lighting up like you’d been waiting.

“Done?” you asked.

He nodded. “You stayed.”

You shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “I wanted to say hi.”

Something warm curled in his chest.

He hesitated, then sat down beside you, leaving just enough space, out of habit more than anything. The hallway was quiet again, the kind that made small sounds feel louder. Your breathing. The rustle of his hoodie. The faint hum of the building.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then you leaned back against the wall, head tilting slightly toward him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” he said immediately.

You picked at the sleeve of your jacket. “Do I… bother you?”

He frowned. “What?”

“I mean-” You laughed softly, but it sounded unsure. “I’m kinda clingy. I talk a lot. I keep finding you in hallways like it’s on purpose.” You glanced at him. “If it’s annoying, you can tell me.”

Woonhak’s heart skipped.

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. He steadied himself. “You don’t bother me.”

You looked at him fully now, eyes searching. “Really?”

He nodded. “I actually…” He swallowed, fingers curling into his sleeve. “I look forward to seeing you.”

The words hung between them.

Your breath caught, just a little.

“Oh,” you murmured.

He felt bold, braver than usual, maybe because it was quiet, maybe because it was just the two of you. He turned toward you, meeting your gaze.

“I think I-”

Your phone rang.

Loud. Sudden. Jarring.

You jumped, fumbling for it. “Oh- sorry, it’s- ”

You glanced at the screen.

“Minji-unnie…”

Woonhak froze.

“Oh,” he echoed, the moment shattering like glass.

You hesitated, then answered. “Hello?”

Woonhak stared straight ahead, heart still racing, words stuck halfway up his throat. He felt foolish for even starting, embarrassed at how close he’d gotten to saying something he’d never said out loud before.

You ended the call quickly, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “She was just checking if I left yet.”

“Oh,” Woonhak said again, quieter this time.

The silence returned, but it was different now. Thicker. Heavy with what hadn’t been said.

You shifted closer, just a little. Your shoulder brushed his.

“…You were saying something,” you said softly.

Woonhak opened his mouth.

Closed it.

He shook his head, forcing a small smile. “It’s okay. You should go. It’s late.”

You looked like you wanted to argue. Instead, you nodded slowly. “Okay.”

You stood, then hesitated. “Goodnight, Woonhak.”

“Goodnight.”

As you walked away, Woonhak leaned his head back against the wall, heart pounding.

I think I-

He didn’t finish the sentence.

But he knew exactly how it ended.

The next day, you were especially clingy.

Not in an obvious way, no hand-holding, no dramatic gestures, but you hovered near him whenever schedules overlapped. You walked closer than usual. You tugged lightly at his sleeve when you laughed. You sat beside him during downtime without even asking.

And Woonhak let you.

Again.

Which immediately caught the hyungs’ attention.

Taesan noticed first, watching from across the waiting area. “She’s like… glued to him today.”

Riwoo nodded. “More than usual.”

Sungho glanced at Woonhak, at how relaxed he looked, how he leaned subtly toward you instead of away. “Something happened.”

Jaehyun narrowed his eyes.

Later, when you stepped away to talk to staff, Taesan wasted no time.

“Okay,” he said, dropping onto the couch beside Woonhak. “What was that last night?”

Woonhak stiffened. “What?”

“The hallway,” Sungho added calmly. “You looked like someone interrupted a confession.”

Woonhak’s ears burned. “It wasn’t- ”

Jaehyun cut in, grinning. “She’s been holding onto you all day.”

“I don’t mind,” Woonhak said before thinking.

The room went silent.

“…Oh?” Leehan said.

Woonhak realized too late what he’d admitted. He looked down, mumbling, “I mean- it’s not a problem.”

Jaehyun beamed. “HE SAID IT AGAIN.”

Just then, you came back, eyes immediately finding Woonhak, like you always did. You smiled and walked straight over, dropping down beside him, shoulder pressing into his comfortably.

Sungho watched closely. “Does she know?”

Woonhak shook his head, barely perceptible.

Jaehyun sighed. “Unbelievable.”

One of the staff members glanced over. “Hey, isn’t she a little close?”

Woonhak looked up.

Before anyone else could respond, he spoke, quiet, but firm.

“It’s fine,” he said. “She’s with me.”

You blinked, surprised, then smiled—soft and bright and just for him.

“Yeah,” you said easily. “I’m with him.”

The hyungs exchanged looks.

Leehan wiped imaginary tears. “Our maknae is whipped.”

Woonhak didn’t even deny it.

Because when you leaned into him again, warm and familiar, he thought

Next time, I will tell her…

thank you for reading to the end luvlies ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ) sorry for the open ending </3

the loml's (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶): @nanadreamies (thank you for the request babe ᢉ𐭩), @ivehan @mukieissukie @sese-blurbs @dj-ami | (permataglist is always open!)

It’s a little cruel to dislike your younger sister’s best friend, and Seonghyeon’s well aware of that. But there’s something just so incredibly infuriating about you, and he just can’t help it. You’re annoyingly clever — clearly, since you’ve skipped a grade. Seonghyeon’s always been top of his class every single year, but now that you’re going to be in his grade, he knows that very well may change. 

You’re far too smart, well-read and intellectual for someone your age. You read Plato and Aristotle for fun. For fun! Seonghyeon adores reading, but even he thinks that you’re insane. There’s no reason for someone’s ideal lounge-by-the-pool book to be The Republic. While he’s being sprayed with a water gun by Keonho, you’re sitting by the lounge chair learning about justice and the idea of a perfect society. 

It’s tiring for him to always be compared to you as well. Words like Seonghyeon, you’re so smart, just like Sera’s friend infuriates him to no end. He knows that it’s not your fault that other people are comparing the both of you, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. 

To say the least, you make Eom Seonghyeon feel stupid. And you don’t even intend to. 

Another thing that Seonghyeon dislikes about you is how effortlessly charming you are. Seonghyeon, for a lack of better words, could sometimes act like a complete dick to you. He gives you curt nods when he sees you at his house, tries to not roll his eyes at your tangents (which Seonghyeon sometimes agrees with, but he’d never let you know that), and silently scoffs when Sera reveals a new fact about you. 

And you? You always smile at him when you see him in the hallways. You always ask him if he’s eaten today. You even give him book recommendations sometimes when you notice what he’s been reading, and fuck, sometimes they’re really good. It’s infuriating. 

He also dislikes that you’re… pretty, or something. He sees you far too often, and there's also far too many times where he has to remind himself that you're his younger sister's annoyingly clever best friend. Especially when he sometimes catches himself staring for far too long in your direction. Seonghyeon tells himself there's just something interesting that catches his eye nearby, like the light switch or a fly. He'd never admit that it's you. 

Seonghyeon has shoved the thought of you being pretty to the back of his mind many times. He’s going to do that again right now. 

He’s completely lost in his own thoughts about you and he doesn’t even notice that his half-eaten toast has fallen onto his plate, and Sera’s calling out his name. “Hello? Earth to Seonghyeon?” 

He snaps out of it, picking up his toast again and taking a bite. “Yeah?” 

“I was asking you if you could take a bit of time to look out for (Name) this year.” Sera’s words don’t come out like a request, but rather like a command. “Obviously, she’s skipping a grade so she won’t have me there — poor girl — and she won’t know anyone. You’ve seen her so many times over the years, so… please? Just make sure she’s settling in well and everything. She was telling me that she wasn’t really sure if she should actually skip a grade, but you know. Too easy for her.” 

Seonghyeon nearly chokes on his toast for the second time today. His sister wants him to look after you. Seonghyeon would rather set himself on fire. 

He’s being dramatic. He doesn’t hate you that much. It’s just that Seonghyeon would much rather stay away from you if he had the chance to. 

“Please,” Sera said, as if she’s able to read his thoughts. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of her, but come on. She’s really nice, if you just got to know her. And she doesn’t even care about being top of the class.” Of course you don’t care, Seonghyeon thinks. It’s because you’re too humble for your own good. 

Seonghyeon sometimes wonders if he’s a bad person for disliking you when you’re basically morally perfect. 

“Oh, and make sure Keonho knows that she’s off limits. You and all of your friends are. If anything happens, just know I’m gonna get violent.” Sera says off-handedly.

“Won’t be a problem,” Seonghyeon replies, rolling his eyes.

“Is that a yes? To keep an eye out for her?” 

“Whatever.” Seonghyeon says, taking another bite out of his toast. He’s chewing angrily. 

He just has to agree, right? Does he have to actually do it? 

Five minutes later, Seonghyeon finds out that the answer is yes. 

Because you show up at his fucking doorstep, of course. 

You’re beaming brightly while Seonghyeon can barely hide the frown on his lips. You’re holding The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli — of course you are, Seonghyeon thinks — and there’s around 500 of those colourful plastic tabs that you use to mark where you’ve made a note sticking out of the book’s edge. You greet Sera, him, and his mom with such genuine politeness and warmth, and Seonghyeon hates that he can’t call this bullshit. 

Your uniform’s now the same as his, with the tartan on your tie being the same chequered pattern of green and beige. It’s an unpleasant reminder that you’re going to be in all of his classes, and that avoiding you will be far more difficult than it used to be. 

Sera greets you with a big hug, which you return. “I can’t believe you’re ditching me in Year 10.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, frowning. “You know I’ll always be around, though. And I’m never gonna bail on our after school study sessions anyways. I kind of focus better here.” 

Your eyes land on Seonghyeon, and you give him a small smile. It’s tentative, a little shy, but still has that warmth that makes him feel uneasy. “Hey! Did you like the book, by the way?” you ask. 

Seonghyeon’s puzzled for a second. “What book?” 

“The one I gave to you a couple weeks ago. Romance of the Three Kingdoms by Luo Guanzhong? I know you like history and everything, so…” you trail off. It’s like a lightbulb switches on in Seonghyeon’s brain — oh, right. That book. The book that he found so good he pulled an all-nighter to finish. Your brilliant book recommendation and the fact that you’re attentive to his interests stirs up this strange feeling in the pit of Seonghyeon’s stomach that he can’t quite explain. 

“It was… alright.” he says, feigning indifference. He shrugs before turning curtly to grab his backpack from his room. Behind him, he can hear Sera telling you to ignore him, and that he’s feeling moody today. Sera also recounts to you about how Seonghyeon choked on his toast this morning, and his face flushes pink with embarrassment. And contrary to what Sera was saying, he was not moody. He just… didn’t like you. 

When he grabs his backpack from his chair, Seonghyeon spots the copy of Romance of the Three Kingdoms that you gave to him just sitting on his desk. It’s a glaring reminder of you. 

He groans and shoves the book in his bag. 

This was going to be a long year. 

Everyone looks at you in bewilderment when they see you walk into the 11th grade math classroom. 

The stunned silence, their wide eyes and gaping mouths tell you everything. They’re all asking: why the fuck would you would be here?  They all know you as the genius from 9th grade — you left prizegiving last year with so many medals around your neck to the point where you'd nearly fallen over.

You’re a little late because you’d gone to the administrator’s office to grab your new schedule, since you’d been moved up a year. Your eyes scan the thin sheet of paper, mumbling to yourself the order of your classes and the teachers of each course, just so that you could get that information in your head. 

You look around the classroom for any familiar faces, and you don’t recognise anyone, except for Seonghyeon. He’s laughing with Keonho — you’ve seen Keonho multiple times at the Eom family’s house. You want to go up to them, simply because you don’t know anyone else. But a weird, tight feeling in your chest stops you from doing so, and you opt for a seat at the back of the classroom. Alone.

It’s next to the window, and sunlight spills through the curtains. It gives you a certain sense of warmth that you find you enjoy. You place your bag down on the floor, unzipping it to pull out your notebooks. 

They’re all organised meticulously and by colour — red for English, blue for math, purple for history, green for science, orange for Korean. You pull the blue math notebook out and set it on the left side of your desk.

Your pencil case is organised just as intentionally – blue pens to the left of the box, black pens to the right. Pens are stacked above your sticky notes. Only yellow sticky notes, never in one of the fun colours, because you found that it made your notes hard to read. You pull out one blue pen and one black pen and put it on the right side of your desk. 

You’re so engrossed in making sure that your table’s organised to your liking to the point where you don’t notice that everyone’s eyes are still on you. Seonghyeon and Keonho included. 

“I can’t believe she’s in our class,” Keonho whispers to Seonghyeon. “She must be crazy smart then.” 

Seonghyeon lets out a deep exhale. His shoulders are tense as he watches you with hawk-like concentration. “Sure. Something like that. You know how she was reading Plato at our pool party.” 

“Who the hell is Plato?”

Seonghyeon suppresses a sigh. Keonho was not exactly the studious type. As the school’s favourite student athlete, he spent more time at the pool than he did anywhere else, and won more medals for the school than anyone else. Training takes up most of his days, and it’s honestly a miracle that Keonho’s even here for first period. Seonghyeon would be surprised if Keonho even showed up to half the classes this year. 

“Ancient Greek philosopher. Don’t worry about it,” Seonghyeon replies, and Keonho nods. “But yeah. She’s smart smart.” 

“And you hate her for it?” Keonho asks. There’s a teasing smile on his lips, and Seonghyeon lets out another deep sigh to try and release the tension in his shoulders. It doesn’t work. 

Seonghyeon knows that you make him feel stupid. And he doesn’t like feeling stupid. But his feelings for you, specifically, are complicated, and Seonghyeon would rather die than focus on dissecting them, so he settles on dislike. 

He feels uneasy, on edge and there’s always that constant feeling of wanting to run away whenever you’re near. He must have some sort of aversion to you.

“Hate is a strong word,” Seonghyeon musters out. It's all he can come up with. “I don’t know. She’s just… never been someone I’ve vibed with.” 

Keonho suppresses an incredulous laugh. “You don’t hate her? You look like you want to bolt out of the room whenever she’s around, or even when she’s mentioned.” 

“I don’t know, man,” Seonghyeon replies. He doesn’t want to keep talking about this. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? We’ll have… I don’t know – the whole year to dissect whatever this is. We don’t need to get it over and done with in the first day.” 

Seonghyeon pulls out the book that he’s currently reading — No Longer Human by Ozamu Dazai — and flicks to the page where he’d left off on. He scans the words on the page, quickly engrossing himself in the novel. He doesn’t notice how Keonho’s eyeing him with a look that’s almost like he’s trying to crack open Seonghyeon’s skull to see what he thinks about you. 

As Seonghyeon’s best friend, Keonho knows of his aversion towards you. But there’s this odd feeling that’s telling Keonho that there’s more than Seonghyeon’s letting on, and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it. 

Keonho’s eyes flick from Seonghyeon, to you. Seonghyeon, to you. Seonghyeon, to you.

You’re a little freaked out. Keonho is looking at you like he’s trying to uncover your deepest secret, and for a boy you’ve only spoken to once at a pool party, you really don’t know why he’s eyeing you with the energy of Sherlock Holmes trying to solve a case. All you know about Ahn Keonho is that he’s Seonghyeon’s best friend, he’s a swimmer, and that he got a bruise after cannonballing into the Eom family pool. 

You turn away, a little too aware of Keonho’s scrutinising eyes on you. But then you’re surprised by the sight of an unfamiliar girl, who gives you a smile that you aren’t quite sure is genuine. “Hi. I’m Haeun.” she says, and you nod. 

“Hi. I’m (Name),” you say. Your voice is small — Seonghyeon, though his eyes never leave the pages of his book, notices. He realises that this is rare. He’s never heard you sound this shy, hesitant and unsure. 

“We heard you skipped a grade?” Haeun asks, and you nod. “So you must be really smart then.”

You’re not quite sure what to say. Agreeing would be cocky. Saying no would be a lie. You settle for saying ‘Yeah, I did skip a grade.’ You don’t make any reply to the last thing Haeun said to you. 

Her voice lowers, and she gives you this sickeningly sweet smile that makes you feel uneasy. “So… um… hypothetically. If I were to say – a friend of mine, that is – was unable to do her work due to some… circumstances, would you be able to maybe be so kind to… help out?” 

This is the strangest first day of school experience that you’ve ever had. What were you even supposed to say? Haeun clearly wanted you to do her homework, but you followed a strict moral code — no was obviously going to be the answer, but you didn’t really want to get ostracised by the entire class. Everyone was looking at you expectantly. First period hadn’t even started and you didn’t really want to be making enemies. 

You hear an exasperated sigh, followed by a voice that was all too familiar. 

“Haeun, stop trying to get people to do your homework.” 

Eom Seonghyeon was now standing in front of Haeun, and you think that things might’ve gotten even stranger. The last person you expected to even try and help you out was Seonghyeon – he’d always been cold and aloof to you. A stark contrast from the way you saw him act with Keonho. 

Seonghyeon had always been distant towards you — unreachable, even. You tried your best to hash out whatever issue there was between you two, but you really couldn’t even figure out what the issue was. You were Sera’s best friend, so you sort of expected to be able to get along with Seonghyeon, considering that you had much more in common with him than Sera. 

You both adored books. You both adored history (perhaps a little too much). You two even liked the same type of music, according to Sera. But Seonghyeon seemed adamant on keeping his distance. Even your book recommendations didn’t help. You thought you’d nailed it with Romance of the Three Kingdoms. You were a little disappointed when he told you that it was ‘alright’ this morning.

Haeun rolls her eyes before walking back to her seat. You’re sitting there in stunned silence. Seonghyeon’s about to walk back to his desk. Keonho’s looking at you two like he’s watching the greatest K-drama that’s ever been made. 

“Seonghyeon.” You say his name without thinking. Fuck, why’d I do that? you think.

And Seonghyeon’s thinking, fuck, why did I get up and tell Haeun off? Seonghyeon also finds something new that he dislikes about you right at this moment. He dislikes how his name rolls off your tongue so sweetly, like honey dripping off the comb. He doesn’t know why his breath catches in his throat because of it. It’s absurd. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” you tell him. 

“I kind of did. Sera told me to take care of you,” he shrugs, and you let out a small ‘oh’. The idea that it was more obligatory on Seonghyeon’s end makes you feel a little disappointed, but you’re really not surprised that Sera had asked. She was always looking out for you. “And honestly? If you do Haeun’s homework, you’re going to end up doing the entire class’ homework. Except for mine.” 

You look at him, tilting your head as you ponder on what to say. “So.. do I stay away from her?” you ask about Haeun, and Seonghyeon nods in response. He’s about to turn to leave again when you suddenly speak up. 

“Thanks for sticking up for me, Seonghyeon.” you reply, giving him a small smile. There it goes again, his name rolling off your tongue like it’s honey. Seonghyeon makes a small noise of acknowledgement that’s akin to a “don’t mention it” without actually saying the words. 

“I get it now,” Keonho says, voice teasing when Seonghyeon slides back into his own seat, picking up his book again. “You don’t hate her. You like her.” 

Keonho’s words are so insane to the point where Seonghyeon drops his book. Not even onto his desk, but onto the floor. 

“What?” Seonghyeon thinks that’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard in the world — so absurd that he thinks it makes him a little sick. Those three words land like an odd blow to his chest too. It contradicts everything that he’s told himself for the past ten years, and it’s honestly so ridiculous that it does make Seonghyeon question whether or not he likes you. 

“You like her.” Keonho repeats. 

“You’re ridiculous.” Seonghyeon retorts. 

“You’re not denying it.” 

“I don’t need to deny it when it’s that ridiculous. Your psychoanalysis of me is incredibly wrong.” 

“Whatever you say,” Keonho says, in that sing-song voice that makes Seonghyeon want to elbow him in the side. “You know it’s true. Plato would agree.” 

“You’ve never read Plato.” Seonghyeon replies, matter-of-factly. 

“Whatever. The Greeks had Plato, you have me.” Another ridiculous statement from Keonho, but Seonghyeon chooses to laugh at it a little, because of the sheer absurdity. The first thing he said was also absurd, but Seonghyeon found it to be no laughing matter. 

Seonghyeon’s going to ignore it. What does Ahn Keonho know about love anyways? 

Who cares that he was born on Valentine’s Day, right? 

So far, your first day as an 11th grader is nothing remarkable by your standards. 

You don’t really click with anyone — you chat with your deskmate Leean from history about the Cold War. Actually, you’re really the one talking, and she’s taking notes about what you’re saying. She calls you a lifesaver, because apparently Mr Jung is incompetent. You don’t think any proper friendship will come out of it. 

Seonghyeon, who’s sitting two tables in front of you, listens as you basically give an oversimplified lecture about the Cold War in the ten minutes that it takes for Mr Jung to show up to class. Seonghyeon knows that you know everything about the Cold War like the back of your hand — he does too. He makes a mental checklist in his head to make sure you’re mentioning all the things that he would’ve mentioned. You tick off every single box. 

You opt to sit with Sera and Nayeon at lunch like you always do. Seonghyeon’s table, where he sits with Keonho, Martin and Juhoon is just two tables down. Usually, Seonghyeon would avoid looking in your direction. Today, it’s the opposite. 

You’re talking with Sera, and you look a little less energetic than usual. You’re picking at your food — he’s never seen you do that before. You’re letting Sera and Nayeon talk much more, which is not too strange, but you’re not even interjecting with your own short remarks. You’re just picking at your food and listening. However, The Prince is next to your lunch box. Seonghyeon can tell you’re itching to open it and read it, because your fingers are tapping rhythmically against the fabric-bound cover of the book.

Seonghyeon doesn’t even realise he knew this much about your habits until now. 

“Thinking about something? Or… someone?” Keonho asks with that shit-eating grin on his lips. Seonghyeon rolls his eyes and stabs his salad with a little more aggressiveness, as if to tell Keonho to not provoke him. He’s got one hand holding his book, and every now and then his eyes flick towards your table. Martin notices, and he looks in your direction too. 

“Oh yeah, I heard (Name)’s in your grade now,” Martin says. Seonghyeon furrows his eyebrows – how does he know you by name? Martin never really talked to many of the younger students (he only clicked with Seonghyeon and Keonho because of the music committee). Seonghyeon also knew Martin would never join philosophy club. 

“How’d you know her?” 

Martin looks at Seonghyeon sheepishly, as if he was a little embarrassed. “She tutored me for ethics. For like… a month.” 

“She… tutored you?” Juhoon’s stifling a laugh, and Martin is not amused. “Bro, she’s like two years younger than you!” 

“Well, desperate times call for desperate measures, and she’s the only person in our entire school probably who actually reads stuff about it. Let’s be real, I’m pretty sure she knows more than Mr Hwang about stuff like… deontological ethics. Don’t quiz me on that, by the way. I purged all of that from my memory after the test.” Martin shrugs, and Seonghyeon fails to find any reason to disagree. 

Keonho nudges Seonghyeon, leaning in to ask a question. “Do we have to know deonto–” 

“You don’t need to know, bud. I don’t even think you’re enrolled in ethics.” 

Keonho flashes Seonghyeon a thumbs up and a wide grin before going back to scarf down his lunch. 

Two tables down, Sera’s asking you questions about your first day as an 11th grader. You shrug, picking at your lunch with your fork. “It’s been alright. Nothing too fancy. Maths got harder, I will say. Science… not horrible. History was fun. Did some stuff on the Cold War. I’m hoping that maybe we could venture into something like medieval history, but I don’t know if Mr Jung is really qualified to teach that. He’s not… great.” you say, and Nayeon laughs. 

“Tell me about it. He’s hopeless, honestly. We had him this morning too. You should just teach the class instead,” she quips, and you shake your head. You’ve been told that far too many times, but you fail to agree. You don’t really think you’d be the best history teacher — you find yourself going on and on and then venturing into areas of history that aren’t remotely relevant to the topic at hand. “But what about everything else? Made any new friends?” 

“Eh,” you reply. Your tone is dull, because your entire day has been underwhelming. Your first day’s been shaping up to be academically mediocre and socially lonely. At least in 10th grade it would be academically easy and socially vibrant — you’d have Sera and Nayeon to talk and joke around with. “I talked to Leean. Or well, I lectured Leean about the Cold War. And someone named Haeun tried to get me to do her homework for her before Seonghyeon stepped in.” 

Sera’s pleasantly surprised at the mention of her brother. “Seonghyeon stepped in?” 

“Yeah,” you say, taking a bite of your food. “Told her to go away. Nice of him.” 

You don’t have much to say about Seonghyeon. You never do, because he never really gives you anything to talk about, even if you see him every single day at school and after school. You’d think that after being friends with his sister for ten years, you’d be close with him already. But Seonghyeon seems to want to avoid you like the plague, and you’ve got no idea what you’ve done to cause him to have such an aversion towards you. Him interjecting into your conversation with Haeun was utterly shocking — perhaps it’s why it’s stayed in your mind all day. 

And you wouldn’t lie. Perhaps you had been harbouring a small crush on Seonghyeon ever since… forever. When you first became friends with Sera and headed over to the Eoms’ house, you’d always try and see what he was up to. You’d often find his nose in some history book, completely engrossed in it as if he was in his own little world. You’d actually started getting into history because of how interested Seonghyeon seemed in it. Perhaps he’d talk to you after you two had something in common. 

But then you realised how much you loved it too. You spent all your lunch breaks reading about historical events, figures, everything — while the other kids played in the playground, you kept your nose buried in a book just like Seonghyeon. When you started middle school, it was apparent to everyone that you’d be dux by the time 12th grade rolled around. 

Much to your disappointment, after you’d started reading more about the things that Seonghyeon liked as well, he only seemed to move further away. You tried to start conversations about historical topics that you knew he enjoyed, and he’d only give you a short response or a nod, before saying that he had homework to do and retreating into his room. 

Frankly, you’re not sure what you were expecting. Perhaps to Eom Seonghyeon, all you’d ever be was his little sister’s annoying best friend. Nothing more. 

You look at Seonghyeon, who’s sitting two tables down from you. The shitty cafeteria lighting is somehow making him look like a fucking Greek god. 

The light hits just right on certain parts of his hair to emphasise his blond highlights. He’s laughing at some random joke that Juhoon just made, and the way laughter bubbles past his lips is so beautiful, it makes your stomach flip. He comes up with some retort that makes the table erupt in laughter. Your best friend’s brother is smart, funny and beautiful. He’s perfect, but he hates you. 

Seonghyeon’s eyes wander around the cafeteria before they land on you. There’s a look in his eye. Soft, unrecognisable, nothing like you’ve ever seen before. Maybe he doesn’t hate you. 

But then his entire body stiffens, and the smile on his lips disappears. He coughs, and then looks away. You let out a dejected sigh before you tear your gaze away from him. That small glimmer of hope dissipates.

Eom Seonghyeon probably still hates you. 

It’s been a week since you started 11th grade, and you think you’re getting more used to it now. 

Leean actually makes for great company, and she ends up being the person you speak the most to in class. Through Leean, you’ve also befriended a girl named Hayoung. Keonho sometimes makes conversation with you when he’s here, but you can’t help but feel like he’s trying to psychoanalyse you or figure out your feelings for Seonghyeon. 

And as for Seonghyeon, things are just about the same. He still gives you short and clipped responses, he barely speaks to you in class, and when he sees you after school, he simply glances at you and makes a noise of acknowledgement before heading back to his room. You thought maybe being in the same grade would bring you two closer together. You were incredibly wrong. 

English is your last class of the day, and you’re more than ready to go home. You’re craving for a much-needed afternoon nap in your bed before you head to Sera’s house to do your homework. You don’t think you’ve done much schoolwork in your actual house, now that you think about it – you just seem to work better at the Eoms’ house.  

“Looks like Keonho’s not here. We’ll need to put you in a pair with someone else, Seonghyeon,” Ms Kim says as she scans the register. Seonghyeon nods – he knew Keonho had a swim meet today. Seonghyeon just prays to God that he won’t get a partner that’s not going to do any work for this class. He knows today's lesson is about poetry analysis, according to the Google Classroom. He’s not excited. 

You’re sitting alone again because Leean’s sick, and Ms Kim’s eyes land on you. You’re already highlighting a line in the poem that you found particularly intriguing, and you’re mid-grab for a sticky note when Ms Kim calls your name out. 

“(Name), could you go work with Seonghyeon for this? It’s a paired exercise.” Ms Kim says. You suddenly sit up straight, stiffening as you look at her. You then look at Seonghyeon, and he’s looking down at the poem. Anywhere but you, of course. It’s like another blow to your heart. He won’t even look at you. 

Seonghyeon’s hiding his face, because if anyone saw his expression right now – eyes blown wide in alarm, jaw slack and panic settling into his lungs – they’d think something was incredibly wrong. But firstly, Seonghyeon doesn’t really want to work with you, because he’s sure he dislikes you. You’re going to be making him feel stupid for the next 45 minutes. 

Secondly, Keonho’s words from a couple of weeks ago are still in the back of his mind, and he absolutely despises it. Seonghyeon oscillates between his own thoughts of what he assumes to be dislike towards you, and thoughts of Keonho’s claims stating that he actually likes you. 

However, he knows that he’s going to have to do it – Ms Kim is strict, and Seonghyeon thinks that 45 minutes can’t be that bad. You weren’t mean to him anyways. Seonghyeon just had to try and suppress those feelings of frustration that always bubbled up when it came to you.  

“Oh, um… it’s okay,” you say quietly, and Ms Kim raises an eyebrow at your words. 

“It’s okay as in… you’re going to go, or you’re not?” 

“Just come.” Seonghyeon says, patting the empty seat next to him. 

His eyes haven’t left the poem, and he’s highlighting with a bright yellow marker. Still not looking at you, always keeping a distance. Your heart is beating too fast. You hesitantly get up from your seat and walk towards Seonghyeon’s table, and even sitting down feels risky. 

“I don’t bite.” Seonghyeon pipes up, almost reading your mind. He’s still not looking at you. 

Well, you kind of hate me, you think. “No, I know. Um…” you trail off. You shake your head, and you think it’s best if you focus on the poem. You’re now the one that doesn’t dare to look at Seonghyeon, and you miss the way he’s looking at you somewhat expectantly, waiting for you to finish your sentence. “Never mind. Let’s just focus.” 

You and Seonghyeon work surprisingly well together. You’re bouncing ideas off of one another like you’ve done it a million times before. 

His analysis of the poem is incredibly insightful, like you expected. Seonghyeon’s always been brilliantly clever. He’s seeing these tiny, miniscule nuances and implications in the text that you don’t think you’d ever be able to notice. 

He points out a line that he finds intriguing with his finger. You’re too engrossed in the commentary you’re making about a separate line on a sticky note, and instead of waiting (why would he?) he reaches over to grab an blank sticky note so he can write down his own thoughts. 

The action brings Seonghyeon impossibly close to you. He’s never been this close before, and you can smell the lavender and birch from his cologne. Your breath catches in your throat, and you pause writing momentarily. Seonghyeon pretends not to notice. 

You clear your throat and you get back to writing. Neither of you speak about it. 

Seonghyeon twirls his pen in his hands as he watches you finish what you’ve been writing. Your handwriting is impossibly gorgeous, with letters that look too neat to the point where someone could say that it was typed. You stick your commentary next to the line that you’ve highlighted in purple. 

“Why’d you use purple instead of yellow here?” Seonghyeon asks, pointing at one line. 

“It’s the hinge of the poem,” you explain. “It’s the only line in the poem that’s short – it’s two words, after all. And then you realise that the rest of the poem is about the poet talking about the beauty of looking at their partner.” 

As you explain your interpretation of the line, Seonghyeon realises that your voice isn’t as small as it was that morning when Haeun had basically asked you to do your homework. You sound confident and assured – you always have, when speaking to him. He’s looking at the poem and nodding along to what you’re saying. He thinks you’re right – of course you would be, he’s never doubted your intellect – but for the first time Seonghyeon’s not compelled to roll his eyes at your tangents. 

“I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world,” you say, reading out the line. Seonghyeon’s eyes snap up to look at you, even though he knows that line’s in the poem. It’s also the one you’ve been talking about for the last two minutes. 

But there’s something about the way you’ve said the words, or perhaps maybe the way Seonghyeon’s interpreted the manner of your speech. You say it with a breezy cadence, not stating it with any intention or deliberation. It’s a line from the poem, after all – but for some reason, the words strike Seonghyeon's chest. It makes his heart twinge in the strangest possible way. 

“Yeah,” Seonghyeon breathes out. He shoves his thoughts to the back of his mind. “And then he mentions the Polish Rider right after. Perhaps he’s saying that painting is the only one comparable to his lover’s beauty?” 

Your eyes light up at his words. “That’s brilliant — write that down.”  

Seonghyeon doesn’t know why that weird twinge in his chest returns when he sees that look in your eyes. He nods, scribbling that thought out onto a sticky note before pressing it down next to the line that you’d highlighted for him. 

He looks at the paper — there’s annotations and highlighting on practically every page. Your effortlessly gorgeous handwriting in blue dances across the page and mixes with his slightly italicised handwriting in black. He reads every single annotation that you’ve put down on the paper, nodding along as he begins to understand your interpretation of each line. Your analysis and interpretation is brilliant, and Seonghyeon makes a mental note to actually learn a little bit from you. 

He also realises that for the first time in years, he hasn’t had to do most of the work in English. You two work together seamlessly, and Seonghyeon doesn’t think that he’s worked on a better literary analysis than this in a long time. 

“We did a good job,” he says, nodding approvingly. He puts his pen back into his pencil case before smoothing down the sticky notes on the page. “Ms Kim’s going to be really happy.” 

“You think?” you ask. You’ve never been taught by Ms Kim before, and you knew that she was notorious for being strict. English had always been one of your favourite subjects, but you knew that it got harder in 11th grade. It was a step up from anything that you’d had to do before, and you certainly didn’t expect this level of intensity early on in the year. 

“I know,” Seonghyeon says with assertiveness. “Don’t worry. You’re good at English. The class won’t be too difficult for you.” 

He’s still giving you these shorter, clipped responses, but you notice how his tone lacks that sort of iciness that you were accustomed to. It still doesn’t have that sort of melodic warmth that is evident when he speaks to his friends, however, you enjoy the slight change. It’s nice and gives you just enough hope that he doesn’t despise you as much as you think he does. 

“Thanks,” you reply. You give him a soft smile. The corner of his lips quirk up just enough that you take it as a return of your gesture. He then refocuses his attention to the poem, reading it from start to finish once again.  

The end of the poem sticks out to Seonghyeon. 

it seems they were all cheated of some marvellous experience which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I’m telling you about it 

It’s printed on the page with no capital letters, no punctuation in between, and there’s no period at the end. It reads like a tangent, breathless and a little rushed, but it’s ever so romantic. The words leave an enduring mark in Seonghyeon’s mind. He wonders if this sort of love — breathtaking, all-consuming and fervent — is even attainable. 

As these thoughts run rampant in his mind, there’s a strange, compelling urge for him to divert his eyes to you. Seonghyeon listens to that urge. 

That twinge in his heart returns. Maybe he’s just having casual heart palpitations at the young age of 16. That conclusion is completely illogical, but for the first time ever, Seonghyeon wants to believe in something that doesn’t make sense. 

His thoughts, the weird twinge, the ambivalent feelings he’s having towards you... Seonghyeon’s not going to tell you about it. 

The route to the Eoms’ place is something you know like the back of your hand. 

You’ve changed out of your uniform, opting for a hoodie and a pair of jeans. Your books, laptop and pens are in your bag, and you’ve brought a tub of acai that your mom had bought a couple days ago from the supermarket. Sera had been talking about how much she was craving it at lunch, and you figured that since you hadn’t opened the tub yet, you might as well share. You weren’t going to finish all of it anyways. 

You knock on the Eoms’ door, tapping your foot on the concrete as you wait for someone to open it. The door swings open, and it’s Seonghyeon who answers the door this time. He looks a little stunned to see you at his doorstep, but he quickly recovers. He’s no longer in his uniform too, and he’s got a striped t-shirt and dark-washed jeans on. 

The blond highlights frame his face a little too well, with a few strands falling just in front of his face. You muster up a smile at him so that you’re doing something to acknowledge his presence rather than just gawking at how perfect he looks. 

“Hey,” he replies, opening the door a little wider to let you in. “Sera’s asleep. I’ll go wake her up.” 

You kick your shoes off and place them neatly on the shoe rack while Seonghyeon closes the door. “Oh, it’s okay. I just woke up from a nap too,” you say, waving him off. “She can come study with me once she wakes up. ” 

Seonghyeon nods at your words. He hopes that you didn’t notice how he quite literally seemed to short-circuit when he saw you at the door. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised that it’s you, but he’d really never been the one to greet you first; it was always Sera. 

He’s about to head back into his room until he sees you pull a cooling bag out of your already overstuffed tote bag. He’s eyeing you with a certain sense of intrigue, and he plans to stay silent until you pull out a tub of something that looks like ice cream. 

“Did you bring ice cream? We have like, three tubs in the freezer already.” he pipes up, and you turn to look at him. 

“It’s not ice cream,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s acai. My mom bought it a couple of days ago from the supermarket, and Sera was talking about how she wanted acai at lunch, so I figured I’d bring it over. I’m not going to finish this anyways, and my parents don’t like acai, so…” 

“Oh, I see,” he says. Seonghyeon’s trying to hide his excitement over the fact that you’d brought acai. He doesn’t think you know how much he loves the stuff, but god, it’s taking everything in him right now to quite literally not devour the entire tub before Sera wakes up. “Thanks for that.” 

“Do you want some? I can just put it in the freezer later so it doesn’t turn into melted soup before Sera wakes up.” Your offer is exactly what Seonghyeon wants to hear right now, and he nods in response. 

“Yeah. I’d love some, actually. I haven’t really eaten.” he says, and you nod, opening the tub of acai. He heads towards the kitchen to grab two bowls, two spoons and an ice cream scooper, rinsing them with water before setting them on the table in front of you. 

“Do you want toppings, or anything?” he asks, opening the fridge. “We’ve got strawberries. And there’s cornflakes in the pantry if you want to put them on top of it, or something.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he hears you say. You’re busy scooping the acai out into a bowl, and you give Seonghyeon a generous amount considering that he told you he hadn’t eaten much. Seonghyeon takes out the strawberries and cornflakes for himself anyways. “Thanks for asking, though.” 

He returns to the table, sitting down on the chair next to you. You realise he’s never done that before, and you try and ignore how your stomach does a flip as you wrestle with the ice cream scoop to get more of the acai out of the tub. 

You push a bowl towards him. “Here, take this one. If you want more, just let me know.” 

“Thanks,” he replies. He opens the box of strawberries, placing them on top of the acai in a deliberate, artistic manner like he’s a staff member at the most popular shop in the city. He sprinkles just the right amount of cornflakes on top of it, and when you peer over to look at his bowl, it genuinely looks like something you would’ve bought at the store. 

“You’ve decorated it nicely,” you hum, and Seonghyeon’s eyes flick over to you. 

“Hmm?” he looks back down at his bowl. “Yeah, I suppose so. Thanks.” 

You put the lid back on the acai tub, placing it in the freezer next to the three different ice creams that they’ve got in there. There’s mint chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla – the vanilla one has a sticky note on top of the lid that’s got Seonghyeon’s name scrawled on it in big, bold capital letters along with three exclamation marks. You smile to yourself at the sight. 

You sit back down next to him, pulling out your math notebook from your bag before taking a bite of the acai. Seonghyeon sits there awkwardly, observing you as he takes another bite of his acai. 

He realises that he doesn’t exactly know how to act around you, after being cold and distant for ten years. English today made him realise that he didn’t really mind you that much. You were nice to work with as a study partner, you two got the work done in half the time it took everyone else to, and Ms Kim had said it was ‘the best analysis she’s read by 11th graders.’ 

“So…” he starts, scooping up more acai with his spoon and taking a bite. “How’s the first week been?” 

You’re surprised that Seonghyeon is making small talk with you. Eom Seonghyeon. Your best friend’s older brother who has been avoiding you for ten years like his life depends on it. You’re so stunned to the point where you momentarily forget to answer his question until you snap out of it. 

“Oh, um… it’s been chill,” you reply, shrugging. “It’s not great, not horrible.” 

Seonghyeon nods. “You’ll get used to our class. It’s just the first week,” he hums, taking another bite of the acai. You can hear the cornflakes crunch as he chews. “They’re all mostly nice people. I know you’ve been getting close to Leean and Hayoung.” 

He noticed. You thought Eom Seonghyeon wouldn’t even spare a glance at your direction. You nod, unsure of what to say. This time you’re the one giving shorter, clipped answers, and Seonghyeon’s actually talking to you more. His voice isn’t as monotonous as it used to be, it’s even a little warmer than it was in English, and you think – hope – the change in tone is signaling a change of heart. Regardless, today’s been incredibly confusing. 

There’s an awkward silence that falls between the two of you amidst bites of acai. You don’t know how to make conversation with him anymore – should you bring up history? Math? Science? You just want to talk to him. 

Seonghyeon’s almost finished, and you’ve barely gotten halfway. He clears his throat as if it’s a signal that he’ll be heading back to his room now, and you just get the sudden urge to say something so that maybe you’ll be able to talk to him for just a little longer. 

“Is the acai good?” you ask, and Seonghyeon nods. 

“Yeah, it’s really good. If you could, ask your mom where she bought it. Sera and I like the stuff a lot, so… would be good to have some at home all the time.” he says, getting up. He’s holding his now-empty bowl in one hand as he scratches the nape of his neck with the other. His eyes dart around the room, as if he’s unsure where to look. Seonghyeon thinks this might be the longest conversation he’s ever had with you, apart from in English today. 

You learn a new fact about Eom Seonghyeon today. He likes acai. You keep that fact safely tucked in the back of your mind. “Sure,” you reply. “It’s good to know that you — you guys — like it.” 

The quick correction of your words doesn’t go unnoticed by Seonghyeon, but he chooses not to say anything about it. Instead, he gives you a small smile, one that’s a little more obvious than the one he gave you in class. Your heart does a somersault. 

Seonghyeon washes his bowl in the sink before he walks back to his room, and you’re left reeling from the interaction. You don’t even know if he said goodbye – that’s how out of it you were. Your acai’s starting to melt, and you only jolt out of it when you hear Sera loudly announce her arrival and give you the tightest hug ever for bringing acai. 

And as you complete the worksheet Ms Seo had given to you today about integration, you still can’t get Seonghyeon out of your mind. 

Three weeks pass, and you and Seonghyeon fall into a strange sort of rhythm. 

He’s not as distant as he used to be, but he still keeps you at an arm’s length. He gives you a nod of acknowledgement when you pass by him in the hallways rather than ignoring you, accompanied by the faintest hint of a polite smile – even when Keonho’s blabbing his ear off about how ridiculous his swimming coach is. 

But then there’s also this strange sort of dynamic where you two are competing for the top of the class. Every now and then, you pull ahead after a quiz, but a week later Seonghyeon would snatch the top spot by just the slightest margin. You don’t pay too much attention to who’s leading – you just want to do your best, but it adds an extra awkward element to whatever you’ve got going on with Seonghyeon. 

Sometimes he’s a little colder, especially when there’s an upcoming test. You knew that Seonghyeon was competitive. You notice how his jaw tightens ever so slightly when Leean makes some off-hand comment about how Seonghyeon used to be the top of the class. Past tense. 

The math topic test is coming up next week, and you genuinely would rather gouge your eyes out than to try and solve another equation. You were a humanities student – maths and science never came easy to you, but you managed to get good grades purely out of sheer effort rather than natural intellect. 

But 11th grade math might actually kill you. You’re sitting at the Eoms’ dinner table, eyebrows knitted together in frustration as you try to figure out what went wrong in the last integration problem you’d solved. Your handwriting is neat and legible across the page, but there’s so many different answers that you’ve started and ditched to the point where it looks almost like a warzone by your standards. 

“I don’t get it,” you groan, and Sera’s so taken aback by your words to the point where she drops her pen. You? Not understanding something? That was completely unheard of. “The math in 11th grade is so difficult. Or maybe I’m just not doing it right – no, scratch that, I’m definitely not doing it right – but I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.” 

Sera peers at your paper, and her face contorts into one of confusion. “Yeah, I have no idea what that means,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you and Seonghyeon are doing this. I'm dreading next year already.” 

Seonghyeon somehow miraculously appears at the sound of his name. He bounds down the corridor holding his empty mug, smoothing down the creases in his hoodie as he heads towards the kitchen to refill his cup. 

He looks over at you and Sera as he pours more water into his mug. He spots you with your head in your hands, shaking your head. “Um…” Seonghyeon looks at Sera – he’s never seen you this distraught over academics before. He assumed that everything was a complete breeze for you, considering your intellect. 

“Maths. It’s killing her too.” Sera whispers, and Seonghyeon furrows his brows. 

It’s like his body moves before he can think. He sets his mug down on the table, sitting down on one of the empty chairs. And then without thinking, he says: “Can I see the question?” 

It’s too late, and Seonghyeon wants to slap his hand over his mouth. Why would he say that? He’s technically competing with you for the top spot in the class, and also, he thinks that he still doesn’t like you very much. The latter was slightly debatable after spending a whole month in the same class with you,  but still – Seonghyeon had no idea why he said that. 

You slide the paper towards him, hands still covering your face. You were so tired and you quite simply never wanted to see a question about integration ever again. Also, you didn’t really want Seonghyeon to see your embarrassing work. His eyes scan the paper and your working, trying to figure out what you’d done wrong. 

“Oh, I see,” he pipes up. He taps your shoulder ever so gently, and you’d be lying if you said that his touch didn’t linger. “There’s a concept here that you didn’t apply – that’s why you don’t get it. I’m pretty sure we learnt it last year, but… you skipped a grade, so you never learnt it.” 

He gestures towards the blue pen next to you. “May I?” 

You nod, handing him the pen wordlessly. Seonghyeon writes down the working and the answer on a blank piece of refill paper, and an explanation of the concept that you didn’t learn. He hands the pen, the worksheet and the explanation back to you. 

“Here,” he says. He still doesn’t know why he’s helping you. “Ask me if you have any other questions.” 

Fuck, he thinks. He’s speaking before he thinks again. He tries to hide a grimace before he gets up from the chair, ready to head back to his room to finish his book. He glances at Sera, who’s looking at him like she doesn’t recognise him. 

“When were you two chill?” she mouths at him, and Seonghyeon furrows his brows. He wants to know the answer to that question too. Were you and him chill, per se? 

He still had that uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw you, he still disliked how you always were able to seamlessly challenge him in everything, and seeing you all the time did not help out at all. That wouldn’t necessarily describe chill.

But then again, Seonghyeon sometimes works with you in English, and that tension between you two seems to dissipate. And now, he’s helping you with the very same math worksheet that he had complained about to Martin mere hours ago. So maybe… you were chill. 

You’re reading Seonghyeon’s explanation of the problem, and it all makes so much more sense now. He’s written the steps so clearly you think a child could understand it, and you’ve never been more grateful. “Oh,” you say, and Seonghyeon notices the excitement in your voice, how your eyes light up and how the corners of your lips pull upwards into a smile. “I get it now! Thanks, Seonghyeon.” 

He nods, gulping when you say his name. Your voice is smooth and mellifluous – Seonghyeon thinks he’s going insane. His thoughts about you contradict every other second. Seonghyeon thinks he dislikes you, but then you manage to captivate him in a way that he just quite can’t explain. Something inside him compels him to look out for you, care for you – why? 

“All good,” he chokes out. Sera looks at him with confusion plastered all over her face. Seonghyeon grabs his mug from the table, and turns around curtly to head back to his room. He closes the door and locks it. Then, Seonghyeon lets out a deep sigh that he didn’t know that he was holding back in the first place.

He’s so confused. He’s convinced himself that he doesn’t like you, but then his body, his words, his actions – all of it betrays his mind. He wasn’t this unsure and hesitant of his feelings when he was avoiding you like the plague, so should he start doing that again? 

But then he hears you laugh, and Seonghyeon knows that he can’t stay away. He hates himself for immediately thinking that it’s one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard. He knows you’re probably at some joke that Sera made — he just hopes it’s not at his expense — and that strange twinge in his heart that he’d dismissed as early onset heart palpitations returns. 

“Whatever,” Seonghyeon grumbles, trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care that much. He grabs the first book he sees lying on his desk before settling into bed. He checks the cover before he starts reading, and of course it’s Romance of the Three Kingdoms. It’s like the universe is either giving him a sign, or playing some sick prank that’s making Seonghyeon lose his damn mind.

There are glaring reminders of you everywhere. From you quite literally being outside, to the book that he’s holding in his hands right now. 

So, like always – Seonghyeon pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind, and tries to lose himself in the book.

Nobody likes exam week. 

Everyone’s stressed and running on four hours of sleep. The cafe line is packed, with students drinking an ungodly amount of caffeine to even be able to function. 

11th grade is taking a far bigger toll on you than you expected, or maybe it’s just because you feel like you really need to impress in the first round of exams this year. Sera tries to convince you to watch a movie with her just to take a break one Tuesday evening, but you reject her suggestion and opt to do another chemistry worksheet. You think the periodic table is going to be burned into your brain by the end of the week. 

The cafeteria is much quieter than usual, with most students deciding to study. Seonghyeon’s tapping his foot on the cafeteria floor as he tries to write a practice essay for English. He writes two or three sentences, takes a bite of his food, and then picks up his pen to start writing again. It’s a cycle that lasts for most of lunch.  

His eyes scan the cafeteria when he’s giving his hand a break from writing too much. The muscle of his hand hurts, and he winces a little as he massages it to try and ease the pain. He spots you two tables down. Sera’s talking to you, and you’re nodding at her words as you write. 

Seonghyeon notices how you’re tapping on the cover of the book that he’s seen you carry around all week –  Plato’s Symposium. The sheer presence of the book reminds him that you’re just that well-read for your age, but this time, Seonghyeon doesn’t grit his teeth in frustration when he sees it. 

Maybe his feelings towards you have changed, he thinks. The two of you talk much more now after he helped you with math, and he notices that you’re actually comfortable with him. You always have been, but you seem to be a little bit more upfront with it now – perhaps it’s because you two actually have an excuse to talk because of school, but Seonghyeon finds that he actually likes speaking to you. 

You're a great conversationalist, and you're somehow able to make even the most boring topics interesting. Seonghyeon has never enjoyed ethics class, but hearing you talk about morality in a class last week might've been one of the most interesting things he's ever heard.

Sometimes he’ll even be the one to start a conversation with you. Never in a million years would he have thought that would happen.

But Seonghyeon notices how your fingers are drumming on the cover quickly in a nervous manner, and your eyebrows are knitted together tightly. Your shoulders are tense, and he thinks you haven’t breathed in the last fifty seconds. He knows what you look like when you’re concentrating. But this was something different.

You were anxious. 

When you were concentrating, your eyes would never leave the paper. Your eyebrows would still be furrowed, but not knitted together this tightly. Your shoulders were also never this tense, and Seonghyeon doesn’t think that he’s ever seen you fidget this nervously before. 

He sees Sera say something to you before getting up, and he notices that you don’t really seem to register it – you just nod, but it’s in an absentminded manner. His eyes quickly flick back to his own paper when he sees that Sera’s walking up to him, and he would rather die than get caught staring at you by his own sister. 

“Hey, Hyeon,” Sera says, sitting down next to him. “Could you tell Mom that I’ll be home a little late today? The art committee is having a meeting today after school and Yeseo was saying that we’ve got a lot to go through.” 

“Yeah, sure,” he nods. “How late will you be? Do you need her to pick you up?” 

Sera shakes her head no. “I’ll probably be at home just before dinner. And it's fine – I’m gonna take the bus. I think (Name)’s still going to come over to study though. She says she focuses better at our place,” her eyes flick towards you, and you’re writing at an alarming pace. “Exam season’s not treating her well.” 

“Is she okay?” Seonghyeon asks. There’s a flash of surprise on Sera’s face – she didn’t expect Seonghyeon to ask. She knew that he wasn’t as distant as he used to be, but she also didn’t think that Seonghyeon would notice how stressed you were. 

“I mean, not that I care that much.” Those words make Sera look at him with an even stranger look on her face. “No, not like that. I’m just saying… tapping on that book that quickly is sure to shake a window nearby, or something,” he stammers. “And she just looks really tense. You should probably check up on her.” 

Sera eyes him suspiciously, and Seonghyeon’s eyes dart towards the first thing that isn’t her. They settle on Keonho’s lunch. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m gonna go do that. Or… you could. After school today.” 

Her voice is insinuating in that one way that Seonghyeon doesn’t particularly like. If they were at home right now, he knew that she was going to prod him for answers about how he feels about you. But with Martin, Juhoon and Keonho around, she knew better. Thank god for that. 

“Sure,” he says breezily – as if he’s not internally freaking out over the way Sera’s looking at him like she just knows his deepest secret. “Thanks for taking care of my best friend.” Seonghyeon doesn’t like the amount of emphasis she puts on the fact that you’re her best friend. He’s well aware of that. Far too aware. 

Sera walks away, and Seonghyeon lets out a small sigh of relief. Keonho notices, and he’s about to say something before Seonghyeon stops him by holding his hand out. 

“Not a word.” Seonghyeon says, and Keonho obliges, but that teasing smirk doesn’t leave his lips. 

When he’s home, it actually hits him that you’ll be coming over. He’s never had one-on-one time with you in his own house. It’s always been you, Sera and him. He jumps out of his bed, rummaging through his closet to find a better outfit to wear – he’s already felt enough embarrassment today after making it obvious to Sera that he was worried about you. 

The least he could do was look somewhat presentable and change out of his pyjamas. He opts for a band tee and changes into a clean pair of sweats. As he’s pulling his shirt on, Seonghyeon realises that he’s trying to impress you. The realisation really sinks in when he’s looking at his reflection in the mirror, tucking in his shirt in just the right way. He gives himself an approving nod when he thinks that he looks half-decent before walking out into the living room, his cheeks tinted pink already from that realisation.

He pours two cups of water, one for him, one for you, and sets it on the table. He makes sure to take out the mug that you always use whenever you come over – it’s pink, with doodles of cherry blossoms on it. He pulls his notebook and laptop out of his bag, placing it on his side of the table. Just then, he hears the doorbell ring. 

Seonghyeon heads to the door a little too quickly. 

He opens it, and there you are – Seonghyeon swears that those heart palpitations return just at the sight of you. 

You give him a bright smile, waving with your free hand. The other is holding a new book – Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil. 

“You finished Symposium?” he asks, and you’re stunned at his words. You never told Seonghyeon that you were reading it. “You’ve been carrying it around all week,” he quickly adds. “Was it good?”

“Yeah, it was,” you stammer. You didn’t know that Seonghyeon actually paid attention to you like that. “Have you read it?”

“No, not yet,” he says, gesturing for you to come on in. “Should I?”

“I think so,” you chuckle. “It’s one of my favourite books, actually. That was actually a reread. It’s a short one too, so you can get it finished quickly. Exam week’s just cut into a lot of my reading time, so I picked a shorter one.”

You put your bag down next to one of the chairs on the Eoms’ dining table, taking out your notebooks, laptop and pencil case. You notice how Seonghyeon’s seemingly filled the cup that you always use when you’re at his house with water. 

“Thanks for the water, by the way.” you beam, sliding into the chair. Seonghyeon sits down next to you, opening up his laptop.  

“Don’t worry,” he replies. “We’ve got soda in the fridge if you want some. And there’s tea. You know which cabinet it’s in.” The Eoms’ house is practically your second home, considering how often you’re there. You think you’ve spent more time at their house than your own, oddly. 

You thank him, taking a sip from the mug. The two of you make casual conversation as you both do your work – it’s remarkable how the two of you can still stay focused even while talking. 

You find that studying with Seonghyeon is comfortable. You’ve never really hung out with him alone, with the exception of working together in class. Whenever you’re at his house, Sera’s usually always there too. For someone who you thought had hated you for the longest time, getting along with Seonghyeon is unexpectedly easy, and you really enjoy his company. 

However, it really doesn’t help when it comes to the crush you have on him. The more you speak to him, the harder you fall. It’s hopeless, but you can only pray that you’re hiding it well enough from both him and Sera.

“I really hope Ms Kim’s nice enough to give us a good poem for the unfamiliar text paper,” you groan, highlighting a line in the poem that you’re analysing. “I looked at all the past papers that she gave the last year group – one of them was straight up evil.” 

“They’re all evil,” Seonghyeon sighs, shaking his head. “Honestly, the play that she gave us two days ago to analyse might’ve been worse. At least we can mention more language techniques in poems.” 

“True, but then I just feel like I’m rambling,” You’re quickly writing a note next to the line that you’ve highlighted so you remember what you want to mention in the essay. “Hopefully she won’t be so mean to give us something horribly difficult for the actual exam. We only have 45 minutes for each unfamiliar text, for god's sake.” 

“I don’t think she’s given us anything easy for weeks,” Seonghyeon sighs. “Maybe it’s good that we’re getting challenged before the exams? Like… she’s preparing us for harder content so maybe the exam will seem easier because we’ve already gone through hell.”

“Hopefully,” you chuckle. “I do remember one poem that I really liked though. The one she gave us in the first week that we had to work on together?” you hum, highlighting another line in the poem that you’re working on. “The one where he mentioned The Polish Rider.” 

“I liked that poem too,” Seonghyeon smiles. “Especially the last stanza – and the last line, actually. I thought it was really simple but also really romantic.” 

“Yeah, definitely!” you say, putting down your highlighter as you nod in agreement. “I also really liked that he mentioned The Polish Rider. I love Rembrandt’s paintings. They’re all so lifelike – we’ve got this visual arts assessment coming up, so I think I might do a commentary on a painting of his. I was thinking maybe I’d do the painting he did of Aristotle, kind of merge two of my interests into one.” 

“Sorry, I just realised I went off track from what we were originally talking about.” you chuckle.

“No, it’s okay. What do you like about the painting? Like the Aristotle one.” Seonghyeon genuinely seems interested in what you have to say – perhaps you never noticed it before, but you think this may be a first. 

As you go on about what you like about the painting, Seonghyeon takes in every single word. From the way you’re talking about the thick paint that Rembrandt always used, the colours that he’s chosen, how Rembrandt’s depicted Aristotle’s eyes — he listens to every bit you say intently, burning it into his brain. 

He also doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up in excitement, the way your hands are gesturing to describe it all, and how the corners of your lips turn upwards ever so slightly when you’re talking about something you’re so passionately interested in. It’s awfully endearing, and Seonghyeon’s heart skips a beat. 

He then realises that he hasn’t even seen the painting. He types the title into his search engine — Aristotle with a Bust of Homer — and it pops up on his screen. It’s exactly as you described it, just based on your memory. The thick paint highlighting the brushstrokes. The dark colours of the painting. How Aristotle’s eyes are concealed by deliberate shadows that you’ve interpreted as him being lost in thought. 

“Yeah, that one!” you say excitedly, pointing at the screen. “Isn’t it great? Now you get why the poet and I are so keen on Rembrandt’s work.” 

“It is great,” Seonghyeon says. He’s more so impressed by how amazingly well you’ve remembered the painting and how eloquently you’ve described and analysed it. Dare he say, it may be more impressive than the painting itself — but Seonghyeon was biased. “Have you ever seen it in person?” 

“No,” you reply, shaking your head. “I do want to, though. But it’s all the way at The Met, and I’m really not planning to go to New York any time soon.”

He clicks off the painting, typing up Rembrandt’s name instead. The first link — a paid ad, which Seonghyeon usually hates — is a link to an art gallery. 

“There’s going to be an exhibition of his work in here in a few weeks,” Seonghyeon pipes up. “You might wanna go.”

Your eyes snap towards his screen, and when you see the details of the exhibition, your eyes light up. “Oh my god. What a crazy coincidence – I have to get tickets,”

“You should come!” you blurt out. Seonghyeon looks at you, surprise evident on his features. “If you’re interested in this kind of stuff. I don’t think you take visual arts, but Rembrandt’s work is really, really nice.” you add hastily, to not make things awkward. It’s definitely not because you want to talk to him more and that you enjoy his company far too much. 

Seonghyeon lets your invitation hang in the air as he processes your words. Seonghyeon’s never been one to wander around art galleries willingly – he was far more fond of history museums, and could spend all day in them.

But Seonghyeon finds that he wants to go to this art gallery. With you.

“I’ll come,” he says, and the excited smile on your lips makes him all the more certain of his decision. “It sounds like fun.”

“It will be! I hope you don’t mind me rambling about the paintings, though. I’ll try and shut up about it.”

“No, it’s fine,” Seonghyeon says, giving you a soft smile. “I like hearing you talk.”

He wants to slap himself across the face for letting those words slip. He can see your stunned expression, and all he can do right now is hope he hasn’t freaked you out with his words. His cheeks heat up out of sheer embarrassment. 

Should he say something like ‘because you talk about really interesting things’, or ‘you’re a great storyteller’? Seonghyeon doesn’t know if he should add anything to alleviate the awkwardness and tension that his words had just inadvertently created. Gosh, think before you speak, he thinks. 

“Oh,” you stammer out before he can say anything new. Your cheeks are heating up at his words. “That’s kind of you.” You give him a soft smile as well, unsure of what to say next. 

Seonghyeon realises that he wants you to smile at him like this forever. It’s also then when he realises that he definitely doesn’t hate you at all. Nobody would feel butterflies in their stomach and a blooming warmth across the chest when they see their archnemesis smile. And after studying with you today, he doesn’t really think he even cares about being the top of the class anymore. 

Seonghyeon realises that logic needs to take precedence now. What he’s feeling is most definitely not early onset heart palpitations. He should never have believed in something so incredibly unrealistic and illogical. 

Fuck, he thinks. He might actually like you.  

Seonghyeon gets a violently sick feeling when he sees Sung Minjun walk up to your desk.

His jaw immediately tightens, eyes widening in the slightest hint of alarm. Sung Minjun is bad news, and everyone in the grade knows it. But you’re new to the year, and you haven’t been told about his reputation for messing with people’s feelings. 

“Hey, (Name).” Minjun’s voice is sickeningly sweet in a way that makes Seonghyeon want to throw up. It’s never been more obvious that this sweet guy act is just a facade of his. You’re definitely unaware of his reputation, and you simply smile at him. 

“Hi, Minjun. What’s up?” you ask. 

“I was just wondering if you were free this afternoon? I’ve got two tickets to this amusement park, and I wanted to go with someone who I find pretty cool,” he says, and Seonghyeon rolls his eyes at Minjun's feigned shyness. “Would you wanna come?”

“Oh,” your voice is hesitant. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ve already got plans.”

Minjun pouts, and Seonghyeon examines your face for any sort of reaction. He swears that he sees your eyebrow twitch in just the slightest way.

“Really?” Minjun asks, disbelief evident in his tone. “Come on, they can’t be that important. And the amusement park is fun — it’s one afternoon.”

You nod, sure of your decision. “I’m good, really. Thank you though.” Seonghyeon fails to hide the smile on his lips. 

“What’s got you so giddy?” Keonho asks, nudging Seonghyeon gently with his elbow. 

“Oh, nothing,” Seonghyeon replies breezily, eyes still fixated on your conversation with Minjun. Keonho’s eyes follow in the direction Seonghyeon’s looking at, and when his eyes land on you, he lets out a knowing ‘ah’.

“Admiring your girl?” Keonho quips, and Seonghyeon takes in a sharp breath. 

“Not my girl,” Seonghyeon mutters.

“Yeah, definitely not your girl if you don’t make a move soon. Look at Minjun.” Keonho says, and Seonghyeon groans. Minjun’s giving you that awfully fake smile, leaning in closer to perhaps make you try and feel something for him just because of proximity. Seonghyeon just hopes for your sake, Minjun didn’t spray that dreadful cologne that he uses all the time. 

“She’s not into it.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“I hate you.”

“You’re jealous of Minjun,” Keonho teases. “And it’s because you like (Name). Tell me I’m wrong all you want. You’ll never be able to convince me otherwise.”

“Minjun’s a dick anyways,” Seonghyeon says. “I’m just…”

“What?” Keonho interjects, an amused smile on his lips. “Looking out for her because your sister said so? Which excuse is it going to be today, our lovely Seonghyeon?”

Seonghyeon doesn’t reply, eyes fixed on you and Minjun. He’s still trying to get you to go to that damned amusement park with him – Seonghyeon saw the advertisement for it online and he distinctly remembers that it looked like shit. Or perhaps his distaste for Minjun spending one-on-one time with you was clouding his judgment at the moment. 

Oh. Oh. 

He really was jealous.

“What is it that you have to do then?” Minjun asks. “Could I join you?” 

Before he can even think, Seonghyeon’s already walking towards your desk. He interrupts your conversation with Minjun, and the boy looks almost offended. 

“Hey, (Name), Sera has another art committee thing that’s going to run late today. You’re still welcome to come study and stay for dinner like usual, though.”  Seonghyeon wasn’t lying, Sera had told him that this morning. But he’s shocked that he somehow came up with something so coherent and true when this was completely impromptu. 

Seonghyeon notices how you visibly relax in his presence. He smiles softly at you, and you return the gesture. “Hey, Seonghyeon. That’s okay – I’ve got plans later today, so don’t worry,” you beam. “I also don’t want to trouble your mom again.” 

“Nonsense,” Seonghyeon waves off your worries. “You know she loves having you around anyways.” 

Minjun’s watching you and Seonghyeon interact with a stunned expression on his face. His eyes darted from you, to Seonghyeon, and then back to you again. He didn’t know that you and Seonghyeon were close at all – but seeing how you smiled brightly when Seonghyeon showed up out of the blue, and how comfortable you seemed to be in conversation, Minjun knew that he stood no chance. 

“Alright, I’m gonna… go,” he announces. Seonghyeon lets him leave, not even bothering to look back. 

“He’s not got a great reputation in our year,” Seonghyeon says, when Minjun’s out of earshot. “You dodged a bullet.” 

“Well, you helped me dodge that bullet,” you reply, putting your books in your bag to pack up. “And I have heard murmurs, to be fair.” 

“Makes sense – word does spread fast around here. So… are you still coming today?” Seonghyeon asks as you put your last notebook in your bag. You shake your head as you zip it up, and he looks at you with furrowed brows, clearly confused. It was unusual for you to not be studying at his place in the afternoon. And Seonghyeon would never admit it out loud, but he really wanted to see you. 

“I’m going to a bookstore to pick up some books,” you hum, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I ordered them a while ago, and James is only opening up shop Thursday afternoon this week.” 

“Oh,” Seonghyeon didn’t know that you were on a first-name basis with the owner of the bookstore. “Is this like a small shop?” 

“Yeah, I found it a few years ago – James actually went to our school! He graduated two years ago. They’ve got a really good selection of philosophy and history books, so I go all the time. I really love it there. Once, I spent like… 6 hours just reading there. Time went by so fast,” you laugh.

“You’re more than welcome to join me, if you’re not busy. I think you’d like the place.” you add hastily. You’ve never brought anyone to James’ bookstore, but Seonghyeon seemed like the perfect person to bring. He loved reading, James’ bookstore had a fantastic history book collection, and you enjoyed his company. He was already coming to Rembrandt’s exhibition with you, but you did want to grasp at any opportunity that you may have to spend time with him. After all, you had been pining for basically 10 years now.

Seonghyeon’s somewhat stunned by your invitation. You want to spend time with him. Alone. It fills him with a sense of joy that makes him feel like he’s floating on cloud nine. Take that, Minjun, he thinks. A smile spreads across his lips before he nods. 

“Yeah, of course. I don’t have plans after school today, and I do need to look for some new books to read, actually.” he replies, and you smile at him. Seonghyeon’s heart flutters again. 

“Perfect! I’ll meet you after last period,” you beam. “It’s not far from here, so we can walk there.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” he says, and you bid him goodbye, saying that you’ve got to meet Sera now. Seonghyeon nods, waving at you before he walks back to his seat, a giddy smile on his lips.

“Look at that smile,” Keonho comments. “You’re in love.” 

For the first time, Seonghyeon doesn’t correct him.

The walk towards the bookstore that you love is quite short. 

Or perhaps time just flies when you’re having fun. 

You and Seonghyeon talk the entire way there. It first starts off with complaints about Mr Jung being an absolutely hopeless teacher, to the dreadful worksheet that Ms Seo had given for Math, and then into every other thing that somehow pops into the two of your minds. 

You find out a lot more about Seonghyeon on the walk there. He shares his favourite music with you, telling you which albums and artists that he likes. You download them, making a mental note to listen to them when you study next. He tells you that he hates mint chocolate, and that he always has to watch a movie before bed. 

“I watched Everything Everywhere All at Once last night,” he hums. Your eyes light up – it’s one of your favourite movies in the world. “Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” you reply. “I think I cried like three times. But to be fair, I am a crier when it comes to movies. I never leave the theatre without crying at least once. Unless it’s a comedy.” 

Seonghyeon’s eyes crinkle into crescents when he laughs. Your heart beats faster in your chest at the sight. “I’m going to have to see this for myself – we’re going to have to go and watch a movie together.” 

It slips out before he thinks (again), and his eyes widen slightly in alarm. He looks at you, and you simply nod happily. He lets out a sigh of relief – he was so worried that he’d embarrassed himself just then. 

Seonghyeon finds that this happens all too frequently with you. He prided himself on knowing exactly what to say at the right time and always thinking before speaking. But when it comes to you, all of that just goes straight out the window – he lets comments that he planned to leave in his head slip and he’s stammering and stumbling over his own words. Nerves, he claims. He thinks he has an inkling of an idea of where those nerves may come from. 

Meanwhile, all you can think about is how Seonghyeon wants to watch a movie with you. Now, you’re sure that he doesn’t mind your presence – rather, he seems to enjoy your company. You’ve never been happier – maybe you do have somewhat of a chance. 

“Here it is,” you say, pointing at the bookstore. It’s tucked away in the corner of a back street. You open the door, the windchimes hanging on the handle jingling as you gesture for him to enter. He does, thanking you politely as he takes everything in. 

He sees shelves and shelves of books, all organised by genre. The smell of books and bergamot infiltrates his senses, and the soft yellow light from the chandelier he sees hanging from the ceiling illuminates the entire room. There’s a record player in the corner that’s playing some music from the 80s’, and there’s a small corner with a table and a few chairs for people to read at. 

Seonghyeon knows why you love this place so much instantly. It’s so distinctly… you. 

“James!” you call out, and the boy working at the cashier turns to look at the two of you. His eyes light up, giving you a wave. Seonghyeon suddenly recognises James – they’ve never spoken, but he’s pretty sure James was the captain of the dance team. 

“(Name)! Thanks for coming today – I’ve got some of the books you’ve ordered here,” he says, gesturing to a pile in the corner. His eyes then land on Seonghyeon, and he looks at him with an intrigued smile. “You brought a friend!” 

“I did,” you beam. “Just gonna show him around the place and maybe pick out a few things before I come and pay for everything, if that’s cool.” 

James nods in response. “Take your time,” he replies. “I was just finishing up an essay for uni anyways. We’re open until 7, by the way, just in case you two wanted to stay and read a few things.”  

“Sounds good,” you reply. Your eyes land on the marigolds on the counter, perched in a porcelain vase. “Nice flower choice for the vase this week, by the way. Marigolds are my favourites.” 

You like marigolds. Seonghyeon makes sure to remember that. You then turn your attention to him, who’s looking around the store and bobbing his head to the music. 

“I’ll show you the history section, since I know you love the stuff. I’m pretty sure they just got some new books about the Cold War in.” 

“Perfect – that’s my favourite topic, by the way,” he says, eyes lighting up. 

“I know,” you laugh, and Seonghyeon’s surprised that you do. “You talk to Keonho about it all the time in history. It’s my favourite topic too, to be honest. Mr Jung does teach it horribly, though.” 

You lead him to the history section of the bookstore, and there’s three whole shelves dedicated to books about the Cold War. You look at how Seonghyeon’s eyes light up, immediately scanning the section to see what interests him. He notices a few that he’s already bought, but there’s also so many that he’s never heard of before – you were right. This place truly was a treasure trove of books, and Seonghyeon’s stunned that he’s never heard of this place. 

You watch as he pulls out books from the shelves, flicking through the pages with his brows furrowed in concentration. A soft smile makes its way to your lips before your eyes flick back to the shelves too, picking out your own books as you hum along to the music that James has picked. 

You’re mid-grab for a book about the Middle Ages when you hear Seonghyeon ask you if you’ve got any recommendations. You can see that he’s picked out three books about the Cold War, one of which you’ve read. 

“That one’s really good,” You tap your finger on the spine of the book, nodding approvingly. “I think you’ll like it. But recommendations… do you want them to be Cold War related or something else?” 

“Anything’s fine,” Seonghyeon shrugs. “You always seem to give me good recommendations anyways. Even before this year.” 

You’re somewhat shocked. You didn’t think that Seonghyeon actually liked your recommendations. You still remember when he said that Romance of the Three Kingdoms was just ‘alright’. You gulp, drumming your fingers on the edge of one of the shelves as you try and think of books that you think Seonghyeon might like. 

“Maybe The Art of War,” you hum, eyes scanning the shelves to see if you can spot it. Your eyes light up when you do, pulling it off the shelf and handing it to him. “Flick through it to see if you like it first, though.” 

“What’s the last book you really really liked?” you ask him, your eyes still fixated on the shelf in front of you. 

“Oh, um…” Seonghyeon is silent for a moment as he thinks about your question. He’s read so many good books this year – it was hard to really pick one. “ Probably No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai. I read it a while ago, though.” 

A book immediately pops into your head. It’s something you read recently as well. 

“Camus,” you mumble, trying to find the book that you’ve got in mind. Seonghyeon follows you as you wander off to the philosophy section. “Ah, this – The Myth of Sisyphus. It’s a little bit more on the philosophy side, if you don’t mind. I quite liked it though, obviously.”  

Seonghyeon stacks the book on top of the ones he’s picked out. You look at him, tilting your head at him quizzically. “You’re not gonna flick through it to see if it’s your taste?” 

He merely shrugs in response. “I trust your recommendations,” he says casually. “Plus, you’ve kind of made me develop an interest towards philosophy books.” 

The smile that graces your face is absolutely infectious. You’re overjoyed, and you immediately look for your favourite books on the shelf to recommend to him. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that, holy shit!” you say, and your excitement is evident in your tone. You’re pulling out books here and there from the shelf, and Seonghyeon can barely keep up. “Okay, Symposium is one of my absolute favourites, and it’s short. But you can just take my copy, to be honest.” 

You’re mumbling to yourself as you pick out all of your favourite books, stacking them on top of one another. When you’re done, you look at a pile of eight books – you didn’t realise that you’d picked out so many. 

“Oh. That’s way too many. We’re going to have to thin this herd,” you hum, eyeing the books you’ve selected. “Maybe The Prince. It’s quite short, like Symposium. So you can kind of get a taste of how these books usually are, and if you end up liking them, just let me know. We can always come back here.” 

Seonghyeon nods, taking the book from you and adding it to the pile that he’s holding. 

“I saw you reading The Prince on the first day,” Seonghyeon hums. “You had a lot of tabs in there.” 

“Oh, yeah,” You’re surprised he remembered, but you feel as if you shouldn't be. Seonghyeon was incredibly observant, as you've noticed throughout the year. It’s kind of why I figured that you should probably get your own copy, because I’ve written all over it. I think I had a lot of opinions on that book.” 

“We can talk about it when I’ve finished it then,” he smiles softly. “I think I’m gonna go put these on the counter and pay for them first, because my hands are starting to hurt. Do you wanna take the ones you’ve picked out and put them there as well?” 

You nod, following him to the counter where James is sitting. He’s engrossed in watching an anime, and you clear your throat. His eyes snap up, and James immediately changes his tab to his essay. 

“You saw nothing,” James hisses jokingly, and you raise an eyebrow. “I’m just procrastinating, okay? You and your friend here found some books you liked?” he asks, changing the topic. 

“He’s picked his out. I’m gonna go grab something else from the history section, and I’ll be right back.” you say, and James nods. You give Seonghyeon a smile before placing the books that you’ve chosen on the counter, and you run off. Seonghyeon’s eyes follow your figure before James clears his throat to catch his attention. 

“You like her, don’t you?” When you’re out of earshot, James looks at Seonghyeon with a teasing smile. He picks up a book from Seonghyeon’s pile, scanning the books that he’s planning to buy. Seonghyeon’s eyes widen, cheeks heating up as he’s caught off guard by James’ words. 

“What?” he stammers – if a stranger that he’d only met five minutes ago could tell, surely everyone else would know. He’s hoping that James is just excellent at reading people, because god – if anyone else knew, especially Sera, he was done for. His friends at school already knew enough, with Keonho incessantly teasing him about it whenever he’s around. 

“You like her,” James repeats. “It’s all in the eyes, man. And you’re buying all of her recommendations. I would’ve thought that you’d be buying Symposium too.” 

Seonghyeon furrows his brows – how did James manage to hear the entire conversation? He opens his mouth to speak before James stops him, seemingly reading his mind.

“Yes, I heard. This store is small enough for me to eavesdrop on everyone. And even though I was focused on the anime, I was also focused on listening to you two.” James places a sticker on one of the book that Seonghyeon’s buying before putting it into a paper bag.

“She’s giving me her copy to read,” Seonghyeon stammers. “And well, about the other thing, I wouldn’t… I’m not sure.” 

“No, deep down you’re sure.” James says, as if he’s some love expert. “I think you just don’t really want to admit it to yourself yet.” 

Damn, Seonghyeon thinks. James is really good at reading people. Too good to the point where it makes Seonghyeon a little uncomfortable. 

“She doesn’t just take anyone here, by the way. She’s been coming here for four years, and I’ve never seen her show up with anyone. Said it’s her secret spot, or something,” James adds breezily. 

Seonghyeon stiffens at his words. He may be saying this in a casual manner, but the fact that James is basically saying that Seonghyeon is special to you makes his heart stutter. “So maybe she likes you too – but she keeps going on about this one guy named S–!” 

“James!” you cut him off just as he’s about to reveal a name, and Seonghyeon winces at the missed opportunity to figure out who you’ve been raving about to James. “Did this just come in?” 

“Yeah,” James replies, taking the book out of your hands. “Dream of the Red Chamber. You’ll like this one, since you liked Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Speaking of that book – you bought two copies, right? Did the person you give it to like it as well?” 

Oh. Oh. 

You bought the book specifically for him. All along, Seonghyeon thought that it was your copy that you’d given him. He supposes that he should’ve guessed, considering how there weren’t any tabs sticking out the edges and the pristine condition of the book. He was going to give it back to you too, but he just found himself rereading it over and over and over again. 

But now he just feels guilty. You’ve been too kind to him for all these years, and it was only until a couple of months ago – weeks, even – that Seonghyeon was sure that he didn’t hate you. The feeling settles in his stomach, and he knows that he has to do something to make it up to you.

“I actually gave it to him,” you chuckle, gesturing towards Seonghyeon. You recall the words that he’d told you on the first day of school – that it was fine. “I don’t think he was a big fan.” Your voice is sheepish, and Seonghyeon shakes his head at your words. 

“No, no,” he hastily interjects. “I really liked it.”

You look at him, surprise evident on your features. “I thought you didn’t like it that much,” you say, puzzled. “You told me it was fine on the first day of school.” 

Seonghyeon scratches the nape of his neck, unsure what to say. He wasn’t going to straight up say that he had to hide how much he liked the book for the sake of his pride, but there really was no other logical explanation. 

“I… reread it,” he mumbles. “I liked it better the second time.” 

You nod, letting out a soft ‘oh’. Seonghyeon doesn’t think you’re actually convinced, but you don’t end up questioning it. James is much more obvious about how unconvinced he is, eyeing Seonghyeon suspiciously. The teasing smile on James’ lips is still there, as if he’s quite literally telling him to keep thinking about what he said earlier. 

“So… do you want this one?” James asks, holding up Dream of the Red Chamber.  

You nod without thinking, and James stacks it on the pile of books that you’re planning to buy. He looks at the large pile, and chuckles. “You’re going to be singlehandedly paying for my lunches for the next few weeks with this order. Thanks, (Name.)” 

“Glad that my allowance is going towards something good,” you say. “I think that’ll be all for today.”

Seonghyeon looks around the store quietly as James finally finishes scanning all of your books. “That’s 250,000 won with the discount,” he says. “Do you have enough?”

You count together the notes in your wallet. Shit. You’re about 5,000 won short. You hiss before shaking your head, looking through the titles of the books you’ve selected to see which one you’ll just have to get next time. It’s a difficult choice, though – all of them are books that you want to read really badly. 

“I can pay for her,” Seonghyeon pipes up. 

Your eyes snap up to look at him. “Seonghyeon, what? No – I couldn’t let you do that.” 

“It’s fine,” he fishes his wallet out of his pocket, taking out his card. “Think of it as a gift, or something I’m doing in return for the book that you gave me.” 

“Seonghyeon, that was one book!” you exclaim, holding up one finger. “There are eight books! You must let me pay you back if you’re going to pay.” 

“No, it’s okay,” he says, tapping his card on the reader before you can protest more. “I’m more than happy to pay for these – you’re going to read them anyway, and I know how much you like books.” 

James is watching the interaction between you two like it’s his favourite television show. The two of you are bickering like an old married couple as you frantically search through your wallet for 250,000 won so that you can pay Seonghyeon back. He’s trying to grab onto your wallet so he can shove it back into your bag so you don’t have to. 

Seonghyeon wins the battle, and you reach out to grab your wallet. “I’ll only give it back if you promise not to pay me back.” 

“Seonghyeon, I can’t do that! 250,000 won is an insane amount.” you say, and Seonghyeon shakes his head, holding your wallet even further away from you now. You groan as you try once again to grab it from him, but to no avail.

“I’ve been saving.” Seonghyeon shrugs. 

“Just let the man pay,” James interjects, and Seonghyeon smiles. 

“Thank you – see, (Name)?” he says, and you groan. 

“Okay, okay,” you sigh. “Thank you, Seonghyeon. That was really nice of you.” 

Seonghyeon nods, finally satisfied. He hands you back your wallet, albeit eyeing you with a certain sense of caution as if he’s worried you’ll try and shove money into his backpack. 

“You really didn’t have to do that.” you say, tucking your wallet back inside your bag, making a mental note to yourself that you have to get him something in return. 

“I wanted to.” 

Those three words carry far more weight than either of you expected.

A blush creeps up on Seonghyeon’s cheeks as he lets those words slip out without thinking. Your cheeks are hot as the gravity of those three little words sink in. James silently packs your books in a paper bag with an amused smile. 

James hands you your books, and you thank him gratefully. It’s incredibly heavy – to the point where it nearly knocks you off balance. A little ‘oomph’ escapes past your lips as you get used to the weight of the bag. You’re honestly more concerned that the bag is going to break. 

“I can carry it for you,” Seonghyeon says softly. “It looks heavy, and we’ve got to walk back home.”

“Yeah, that may be best,” you say, handing him the bag with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Seonghyeon.” 

Your heart is pounding in your chest right now. Every single interaction that you’ve had with him at the bookstore feels awfully romantic, but you don’t want to delude yourself into believing that Seonghyeon perhaps has feelings for you too. 

Maybe he’s just realised that he actually enjoys your company as a friend. Or maybe he just has an obligation to take care of you as his little sister’s best friend. The prospect of that makes your heart sink a little, because you’ve always wanted him to be something more. 

Even James knows that, considering how much you’ve talked about Seonghyeon to him. 

“Thanks for coming today, (Name) – sorry I had to get you to come after school, I know how much you value your study time. I hope it wasn’t a big hassle,” James’ voice cuts through your thoughts, and you wave his worries off. His eyes divert to Seonghyeon, and it’s then when James realises that he hasn’t asked for Seonghyeon’s name. 

“And you are…?” 

“Seonghyeon.” 

James’ eyes widen in a comically exaggerated manner. “You’re the Seonghyeon? Oh, no wonder you’re the first person she’s ever brought here. (Name)’s said so much about you–!”

“Okay, thanks James! See you next week!” you cut him off, practically pushing Seonghyeon towards the door. Your voice is panicky, and Seonghyeon barely has time to register everything until the two of you are outside the shop. 

“Please ignore him,” you say, cheeks hot from embarrassment. “He’s always pulling shit like that on me.” Seonghyeon looks at you, and he can tell that you don’t want him to pry about what you’ve been telling James. But oh, he is so curious. 

“I’m was just telling him that you’re in my class and how you’re Sera’s brother,” you lie through your teeth. You hope Seonghyeon thinks it’s an acceptable answer – James really didn’t have to air out all of your dirty laundry by basically implying that you had been going on and on and on about him. “It’s… not like he made it out to be.” 

Seonghyeon doesn’t know why he’s disappointed. 

“Oh, look, an ice cream shop!” You don’t give him time to ponder over why he’s disappointed, as you change the topic. His eyes flick over to look at where you’re pointing, and sure enough, there’s a quaint little ice cream shop across the road that’s neatly tucked away from all the hustle and bustle from the main street. “Let me treat you to ice cream – it’s really the least I can do after you paid for all of my books. And then we can head to your place to study, since we left James’ earlier than I expected.” 

Seonghyeon nods, thanking you as you lead him towards the shop. He opens the door for you, and you smile at him gratefully. It makes his heart flip. 

The two of you look at the ice cream case for what flavours the store’s got. Seonghyeon always gets vanilla – in a cup, never a cone – so he doesn’t really know why he even bothers. You hum in satisfaction when you’ve made your decision. 

“Hi,” you say, calling over to the girl who’s working the cashier. “Could I get one scoop of the chocolate?” 

He’s about to pipe up about what he wants until you say his exact order. “And a scoop of the vanilla?” you turn towards him, tilting your head questionably as if you’re asking him to confirm if you’re correct. He nods, and you turn back again to look at the girl. “Separately, please. Thank you.” 

He’s stunned. He doesn’t know how you know that he always gets vanilla. “How did you–” 

“You guys have three tubs of ice cream in your freezer, and the vanilla one has your name on it. With like three large exclamation points. I figured that it was your favourite – I’m glad I got it right.” 

Seonghyeon didn’t know how attentive you actually were to his interests. From his favourite history topics, to books, and even to ice cream. You noticed things about him too. 

You pay for the ice cream, handing Seonghyeon his cup. He takes a bite, and it’s really good. Much better than the tub that he bought from the supermarket, even if it is just plain vanilla. “Woah,” he says, taking the wooden spoon out of his mouth. “I’m surprised I’ve never been to this place.” 

You seem to be similarly shocked at how good the ice cream is. “Yeah, oh my god. I’ve been to James’ too many times to even remember and I’ve never even thought of coming here. I’m glad I did, though – we have to come back again.” 

We. It’s an invitation. You want to spend more time with him. 

“Yeah,” he beams. “I’d like that.” 

As you and Seonghyeon walk back to his house, making casual conversation as the two of you finish up your ice cream. Your shared laughter rings through the summer air, and his eyes flick over to look at you. 

There’s an undeniable feeling of being drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Warmth and all-consuming affection settles in his chest, and for the first time, he’s comfortable with letting it linger. 

Everything clicks into place.

Eom Seonghyeon is certain now. He does like you.

“Okay. I need your help.” 

Keonho, Martin and Juhoon’s ears immediately perk up. Seonghyeon asking for help? This was unprecedented. It was usually Seonghyeon running around to help the three of them.

“Well, not me,” he says, sliding into his seat next to Keonho. He opens his lunch box to buy him time on figuring out what he’s supposed to say. “I have a friend who needs help.” Seonghyeon’s voice is unconvincing, and Keonho raises an eyebrow. 

“So…” Seonghyeon starts, drumming his fingers on the table as he tries to articulate his thoughts properly. “My friend’s a little bit stuck on how they feel about someone, because they thought they hated them for the longest time. But I – sorry, my friend – thinks that they might actually like them now. Maybe a little too much and maybe as something more than friends. So… how should they go about it? Like should I – my friend – confess, or just… I don’t know. Wait it out?” Seonghyeon’s slip of the tongue makes Martin smile in amusement.

“I fucking knew it!” Keonho yells, pointing at Seonghyeon. The entire cafeteria goes quiet, and Seonghyeon’s eyes dart to you, sitting two tables down. You’re looking at Keonho with a confused look in your eye, clearly startled by his outburst. Your eyes then land on Seonghyeon, who feigns confusion too. You two share a small smile as you chuckle at Keonho’s antics, shaking your head before your eyes return to your book. Seonghyeon is absolutely mortified.

“Dude, be quiet,” Juhoon says to Keonho, before focusing his attention back onto Seonghyeon. “But yeah, we all fucking knew it. It was just a matter of time.” 

“What?” Seonghyeon sputters. “You don’t even know who this friend is.” 

Martin looks at him with a deadpan stare. “Come on, man. You clearly said ‘I’ before you changed it. It’s fine – we all thought you were gonna admit this at some point. I don’t really think you ever hated (Name).” 

“Or maybe the hatred was fueling that romantic tension,” Keonho says with a shit-eating grin. Seonghyeon regrets asking for advice now, and he buries his face in his hands to hide the blush that’s creeping up on his cheeks. Juhoon, ever so attentive, notices how the tips of Seonghyeon’s ears turn pink too. 

“You like (Name),” Keonho teases, and Seonghyeon groans, his hands never leaving his face. “I swear that weird feeling you always said you got when she was around was just you being nervous and not knowing how to act around her. And another thing – being annoyed that she was smart? Admiration. Maybe a bit of jealousy too. You’re just emotionally constipated and don’t know how to deal with your feelings.”

Fuck, Seonghyeon thinks. Why is Keonho’s psychoanalysis of him right? 

“Oh, and another thing!” Keonho pipes up. Seonghyeon just knows Keonho’s going to have 500 of these ‘another things’ to bring up. “You’ve always looked out for her this year. It’s so obvious. First, the Haeun situation. Then you’re helping her with math. And you were glaring at Minjun so hard that day I thought you were trying to make him explode.” 

“Oh my god,” Keonho’s eyes light up as if he’s had an epiphany. “You care about her. You’ve always cared too much about her. Maybe that’s why you didn’t like her. You care too much that she’s really smart, she’s really charming and she’s always around! And you also care about what she thinks of you – which is why you were so opposed to her being in our year. Because you don’t want to seem stupid in front of her.” 

Juhoon hums, pointing his finger at Keonho in agreement. “Also, don’t forget about the time where you told Sera to make sure she wasn’t feeling too anxious because you saw that she was tapping her fingers on the cover of her book too quickly. Only a lunatic or someone madly in love would notice that.”

Was he that obvious, or could his friends just read him that well? He stays silent as he digests everything that his friends are saying. But then he remembers James reading him like a book on the first time that they’d met. Fuck, maybe he was obvious, Seonghyeon thinks. Was he the only one oblivious to his own feelings? 

“Yoohoo, earth to Seonghyeon?” Martin asks, waving his hand in front of his face. “I know you’re daydreaming about (Name) again, but we were saying that you should probably do something about it.” 

“Like what, though?” Seonghyeon stammers. His voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t… you know I’ve never really liked anyone before. How am I supposed to go about this?” 

“He’s growing up,” Juhoon coos. 

“You and Martin have literally both never had a girlfriend — you can’t be saying that to me right now.” Seonghyeon says pointedly. Then he realises that none of his friends will be of help, because they’ve simply never confessed to anyone. 

“Woah!” Martin says, shocked by the sudden mention of his name. “What do I have to do with what Ju said?” 

“Nothing,” Seonghyeon replies, drumming his fingers on the table as he tries to think of what to say to you. Juhoon was awfully secretive of whoever he liked — Seonghyeon’s convinced he has a crush, he just wasn’t talking about it. Keonho, despite being the crush of far too many people in the year group, was too busy with swimming to even consider a relationship. Martin was a romantic, but he’d never found someone he actually liked enough to direct his affections to.

They’d been able to analyse him correctly because they knew him well. But they wouldn’t be able to help him devise a plan on how to confess. None of them knew you well — except maybe Martin, who you tutored. 

“I just… I don’t know if you guys will be able to help, actually. No offence — it’s just… you guys don’t know her at all.”

“I think you should just tell her how you feel,” Martin hums. “What’s the worst she could do? Reject you?” 

Seonghyeon looks at Martin like he’s crazy. “Yes? Obviously that’s the worst, and I don’t want that to happen. She’s Sera’s best friend, remember? If she rejects me, I’m still going to have to see her all the time.” 

“Well, your other option is to silently pine forever,” Keonho says, and his eyes dart over to Minjun, who’s sitting nearby your table. Seonghyeon looks in that direction, and that ugly feeling of jealousy creeps up his spine again. His jaw clenches, and Keonho doesn’t miss it. “And I know for a fact you’re not going to do that when Minjun could very well make another move.” 

Keonho’s right. Of course he is. 

Seonghyeon’s eyes land on you, and you’re laughing at something that Sera’s saying. The look of pure unadulterated joy on your face is infectious, and the corners of his lips quirk up into a smile.

You somehow catch his eye, and you beam at him, waving before returning to your conversation with Sera. Seonghyeon gently raises his hand to wave at you back.

“And you never know,” Martin hums, watching Seonghyeon’s expression with a knowing smile on his lips. “She might like you back.”

It’s another late night of studying for you and Seonghyeon. Sera complains that you’ve replaced her with her own older brother, but she’s the one who decides to sleep early while you and Seonghyeon make your way through the stack of practice papers that you’ve printed out.

But something tonight just feels a little different. The silence feels a little too loud, the scratching of your pencils is too unsettling, and the brushing of yours and Seonghyeon’s knees every now and then makes your stomach flip.

The room is dimly lit, with the only light on being the one from the kitchen. Seonghyeon’s eyes flicker towards you every now and then. He tries to talk to you a little bit, but there’s a certain sort of tension that he just can’t quite name that seems to stifle any conversation from continuing. 

His stomach grumbles, cutting through the silence. He looks at you, wondering if you heard. “Sorry,” he mumbles, getting up from his chair. “I’m gonna grab some of the acai – do you want some?” 

You stretch your arms, nodding. “Yeah, that would be nice. I’m also just going to take a little bit of a break too. I’ve been writing far too much.” You get up from your chair as well, grabbing two clean bowls from the cabinet and setting them on the counter. Seonghyeon grabs the tub of acai from the freezer and two spoons. 

“Here,” He scoops a generous portion into one bowl, and he hands it to you first, along with the spoon. “Eat first.” 

“Thank you,” you beam, taking a bite of the acai. It’s cold, and you wince as it hits your tongue. Seonghyeon chuckles gently at your expression – you know he doesn’t mean it mockingly. There’s a hint of affection that’s evident in the way he smiles afterwards. 

The tension between you two still remains, and you’re just not quite sure what to say. There’s something about the way the kitchen light illuminates his features that makes your heart flip, and you find yourself at a loss for words. You like Eom Seonghyeon far too much, but after 10 years, you’ve kind of become an expert at acting ‘normal’ around him. 

But right now, it was different. 

You don’t know how to act around him right now. 

At school, things were normal. It was only when you got to the Eoms’ house, something had seemingly changed. Perhaps it was how nice Seonghyeon looked in the gray striped shirt. Or how he’d fixed you a plate for dinner before making his own. Or how his touch had lingered when your hands had brushed while you were grabbing a sticky note. 

Either way, small little moments that you had initially deemed insignificant had snowballed into creating tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife. 

The two of you eat your acai quietly, but you can’t help but steal glances at Seonghyeon every now and then. It just so happens that he does the same too – only when you’re not looking at him. 

It’s driving him crazy. After realising his feelings for you, everything felt right. He finally had all the answers.

But having to act on them was making him go mental. Because Seonghyeon simply doesn’t think that he can bottle up all his feelings and wait – you were always there, and if you weren’t, reminders of you were everywhere. His mind, more often than not, is consumed with thoughts of you. 

You set your bowl on the counter, and you steal a glance at Seonghyeon again. This time, he’s already looking at you. Your eyes flick towards a smudge of acai on the corner of his lips. 

“You’ve got something there.” Without thinking, you reach up and swipe it away with the pads of your thumbs. Seonghyeon’s breath catches in his throat. 

You don’t know why you did that. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your face heats up. The tension between the two of you becomes even more intense – you didn’t even think that was possible – and you’re hesitant to even breathe. The two almost empty bowls of acai are left on the table, completely forgotten now. Your touch still lingers on the corner of Seonghyeon’s lip, and on instinct, he gently reaches up to touch where your thumb had been. 

Your eyes flick to Seonghyeon’s lips. You realise that you really, really want to kiss him right now. 

He notices. 

You don’t know when you and Seonghyeon’s faces inch even closer to one another – it just happens. You gravitate towards each other like two magnets, and suddenly your face is just mere inches away from his. 

It’s tonight when Eom Seonghyeon swallows his pride and finally admits it. He likes you far too much, and he has to do something about it before he drives himself mad. 

“Seonghyeon,” you whisper his name like you’re begging for him to close the distance. He can feel your breath on his lips, and exercising restraint right now is agonising torture. 

He hates you. He hates that you make his heart race, hates how you make him lose all clarity and self control, and he hates how much he wants to just press his lips to yours right now. But when your eyes flick to his lips once again, Seonghyeon just can’t hold back anymore. 

Self control be damned.

His lips find yours in a manner that you can only describe as desperate. He kisses you like he’s been wanting to do this forever – urgent, certain, determined. You kiss him back, and you don’t miss the soft, small sound that escapes past his throat when you do. It’s one that’s barely audible, like he’s surprised that you’re kissing him back with the same kind of certainty.

As your lips mold against his, you allow yourself to believe that maybe Eom Seonghyeon never hated you in the first place. Maybe he just didn’t know how to show it all along. Maybe he had always secretly longed for you, and everything just finally clicked. 

You can taste the acai that still lingers on his lips, and the smell of lavender and birch from his cologne envelopes you in a way that is maddeningly intoxicating. When Seonghyeon’s hands find your waist and pull you closer, pressing your body to his, you allow yourself to melt like putty in his hands. 

He whispers your name against your lips, and the low hum of his voice sends shivers up your spine. You press your mouth against his like you’re trying to memorise the outline of his lips, and his breath stutters. 

Seonghyeon is too aware of everything right now; from the smell of your shampoo, from the way you’re clutching onto his shirt like your life depends on it, and from the taste of your mint lip balm. 

He kisses you with more urgency, and Seonghyeon doesn’t know how he’s lived so long without having you like this. He can’t believe he had actually convinced himself that he despised you for 10 full years. Because with his lips on yours, all Seonghyeon knows is that he is maddeningly and absurdly addicted to you. The world melts away, and it’s like you and him are in your own little bubble. 

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles against your lips. You melt against him – every touch of his lingers, and you’ve waited 10 years for this moment. For Seonghyeon to finally see you as something more. 

She’s off limits. You and all your best friends are.

The bubble pops.

Fuck. Sera’s voice suddenly rings in his head, and Seonghyeon stops even if he doesn't want to. He pulls away momentarily, confusing you. You chase his lips again, but he puts the slightest bit of distance between you two.

“We can’t.” Seonghyeon mutters silently against your lips. But those words ring loudly in your ears. “You’re… you’re her best friend.” 

You’re stunned for a second. His words strike like a knife to your heart. Of course. To him, you were always his little sister’s annoying best friend. Why would it change, even after he kissed you like that?

“Right,” you gulp. Your heart is heavy. 

You slip away from his grasp, and Seonghyeon already misses having your lips on his. You hastily collect your things and put them in your bag. The air is thick with tension, and not the kind that filled the air before Seonghyeon kissed you like you actually meant something to him. You blink back tears — you feel stupid for leaving your heart right in the palm of his hands.

Eom Seonghyeon only kisses you once before he loses you. 

He watches you disappear past his front door without a word, and he realises:

He already wants you back. 

You’ve been avoiding both Seonghyeon and Sera like the plague.

You can’t get the kiss out of your mind. Seeing Seonghyeon hurts. Seeing Sera means that it’s only a matter of time before the dam breaks and you tell her everything.

Seonghyeon notices — you never show up to his house after school to study anymore. You pair up with Leean for English now. You don’t even look at him in class. Keonho catches him staring at you a little too much, but a gut feeling of his tells him not to pry. 

You know that he’s trying to come find you so you two can talk it out, but you’re somehow able to expertly dodge him for an entire week. It’s making him go insane. 

You make some lame excuse about needing to study in the library to Sera so you don’t need to sit with her at lunch. You notice the hurt that flashes across her face before she agrees, and you feel awful for lying to her. It gets worse when you tell her that you’re going to study at home for the next week or so.

It’s a Wednesday afternoon when Sera corners you in the history classroom. 

“Why are you avoiding me?” she asks you bluntly. You can’t even bear to look at her face. All you can see is that her arms are crossed over her chest, and after 10 years of friendship, you know that her eyebrows are likely tightly knit together in anger. If she was furious, you wouldn’t blame her.

“I’m not,” you lie through your teeth, shifting uncomfortably as you stare at the floor. She looks at you incredulously. “I’m just busy, Sera.”

“We’re best friends, (Name). I know when you’re lying to me. What happened?” Your stomach twists with guilt when you hear the hurt in her voice. Your eyes flick up to look at her, and you just can’t lie to her anymore.

The dam breaks. You let out a choked sob and Sera’s face immediately contorts into one of alarm. She quickly wraps her arms around you in a hug as you cry into her shoulder, your tears staining her uniform.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“It’s okay,” Sera gently pats your back in a move to comfort you, her voice soft and understanding. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You don’t say anything for a few seconds, taking deep breaths to compose yourself before you speak. The feeling of guilt, hurt and pain twists in your stomach when you think of Seonghyeon. You think of how he kissed you and how sparks flew, and then how he crushed all of that hope that you’ve been holding with just a few simple words.

“Seonghyeon and I kissed,” you confess. You can hear Sera take in a sharp breath. “A week ago.”

“You… and Seonghyeon?” 

You nod. “I thought maybe it could’ve been something. I thought maybe I… meant a little more to him. And then he said we shouldn’t.” 

Sera’s brows furrow in confusion. “What? Why?” 

“Because I’m your best friend,” you mumble. “I get it. I’ll just… always be his little sister’s annoying best friend, right?”

“Do you like him?” 

Of course you do. You like him a little too much, even. Even though he crushed your heart in his hands, you still can’t bring yourself to hate him.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do. I really, really do.”

“And I hate how much I do, actually,” your heart hurts as you pour out all the feelings that you’ve been keeping to yourself for the past week. “Fuck, Sera – I know he’s your brother and everything, but I’ve liked him ever since I can remember. I started reading these goddamn history books because I wanted to find something in common with him just so we could talk. Before this year, I didn’t even think anything would happen – he always tried to avoid me, hell – he barely could look at me even when we were in the same room. I don’t even know why I kept on yearning when it was obvious that he didn’t want me around.” 

“But then, this year,” you chuckle, thinking about how Seonghyeon’s entire demeanour had changed. “He cared. Maybe begrudgingly at first and at your request, but then I noticed that he actually cared about me. He noticed these things about me that I never even noticed about myself – like how I apparently tap on the covers of my books too quickly when I’m nervous.” 

“And then we started spending more time together, and I fell even harder. He was just so easy to talk to, so nice, and we had so much in common. Then he paid for my fucking books at the bookstore when it was ridiculously expensive. And he had no reason to!” you exclaim. “And after, I just started thinking that maybe I wasn’t crazy to have waited for so long, because it was going to pay off.”

“And then when he kissed me, I allowed myself to have that sort of hope. That something would actually come out of my years of yearning. That I meant something more than just being your best friend. That… he actually liked me.” 

“I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want to hear. Your best friend is in love with your brother,” you say, shaking your head. You know how awkward it is for Sera to hear this – she hated whenever anyone came up to her and asked her if Seonghyeon was single. It must be worse hearing it from her best friend. “This is all so stupid.”

There’s a moment of silence that falls between you and Sera. It’s incredibly nerve-wracking, and your heart sinks. You’ve already messed up your relationship with one of the Eom siblings. You can’t bear to lose the other one too.

“I always told myself that if I got to pick who Hyeon ended up with, I would want it to be you,” Sera confesses. You look at her through teary eyes, your face evidently shocked. “I mean… you two are too similar and too compatible. To me, it was just a matter of time until he realised that he didn’t dislike you, he just… never got to properly know you.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yeah, I’m dead serious. And for the record, I’m not mad at you, (Name),” Sera replies. You search her eyes to see if she’s being honest, and you’re certain she is. You let out a sigh of relief – the last thing you wanted was your friendship with Sera to be ruined. “I get why you were avoiding me, as much as I didn’t like it. And that somewhat explains why Hyeon has been so… weird this week.” 

“Look. I’m going to go talk some sense into him,” you gulp hearing her words. “I will most definitely yell at him and smack him over the head. I don’t want to promise anything, but… would you be okay to speak to him if he came up to you?” 

You take a deep breath. You’re not too sure how you can face Seonghyeon right now. But some sense of closure, some explanation to that night would be better than nothing. If things didn’t end up the way you wanted them to, at least you could move on. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll have to mentally prepare myself a bit, but yeah. Might as well get that conversation over and done with. I don’t want to avoid him forever.” 

Sera gives you a comforting smile before hugging you a little tighter. “Great. I love you, okay? And if it’s my loser brother who makes you happy… then of course I’m okay with it. I just wish you’d told me at first, so I could actually be a good wingwoman.” 

Her words lighten up the atmosphere, and you wipe the tears from your eyes. “I love you, Sera. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier – I just didn’t want to make things strange between us, you know?” 

“I know,” Sera nods. “You don’t have to justify yourself. Seonghyeon on the other hand though… he’s going to have a lot to explain.” 

“Go easy on him,” you say. Sera looks at you like you’re crazy. 

“I can’t believe he broke your heart and you’re telling me to go easy on him,” Sera groans. “You’re too kind for your own good.” 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, staring down at your shoes. “I think unfortunately, I’m just in love.” 

“Eom Seonghyeon!” 

He’s woken up to Sera hitting him with a pillow. He didn’t even realise that he fell asleep – his copy of Plato’s Symposium is now somewhere near the foot of his bed, and he realises that he’ll have to flick through the entire book again to pick up from where he left off. 

But right now, the more pressing matter is how his little sister is looking at him with a glare so intense he thinks she’s trying to shoot a laser through his skull. Her eyebrows are furrowed, anger evident on her face. Seonghyeon knows that he’s fucked up. He doesn’t need Sera to remind him.

“How fucking dare you?” she hisses at him. Her voice is laced with venom, and Seonghyeon has never been scared of his little sister before, but there’s a first time for everything. “You kiss my best friend and then you tell her that ‘you can’t’? Are you serious?” 

“Sera, I—”

“I’m not finished.”

“I told you at the beginning of the year to look out for her, and this is what you do? Fuck with her feelings? She’s been avoiding me for a whole week because of you!”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” Seonghyeon stammers. “I didn’t intend for it to.”

“No shit, Seonghyeon — couldn’t you have thought it through before you made a move like that?” 

“I didn’t intend to actually end up liking her, Sera!” Seonghyeon exclaims. “You don't think I feel guilty for saying that and pushing her away? Because it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past week.” 

“I replay that kiss in my mind every second. I hate how just mere moments later I pushed her away. I hate that I made her feel like she meant nothing to me, because she doesn’t — I… I… fuck.” Seonghyeon’s voice cracks. He clutches his head in his hands as he tries to fight back the tears threatening to spill past his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t know how it happened — it wasn’t supposed to. I thought I hated her, and then somewhere along the way I guess I started liking her. I don’t think I ever hated her, actually. I just… I just didn’t realise it.” 

Sera looks at him in stunned silence. She lowers the pillow, seemingly unwilling to attack Seonghyeon again now. 

There’s guilt, regret and desperation written all over Seonghyeon’s face. As Sera looks at him a little closer, she notices the eyebags and the dark circles from tossing and turning at night, losing sleep because Seonghyeon just can’t stop thinking about you. 

She looks at the book that’s at the foot of his bed — Plato’s Symposium. Seonghyeon had never shown remotely any interest in philosophy, and Sera’s shocked that he’s actually reading a book of that genre. But then she notices that there’s multiple plastic tabs sticking out of the book, and Sera knows only one person who does that when reading. 

It’s your copy.

“You’re in love with her,” she gasps. 

“Yeah,” Seonghyeon admits quietly. He thought it was just like initially, but when his heart physically hurts at the thought of losing you, it must be something more. It must be love.

He thinks he should feel some sense of relief at that realisation, but all he feels is guilt. How could he not when all he’s replaying in his head is kissing you like that before he just had to push you away? 

He sees you in class and all he notices is that you’re awfully quiet, you barely smile, and there’s a certain dullness in your eyes that wasn’t really there before. Seonghyeon hates knowing that he’s the reason why. 

“I am. And I fucked it all up.” 

“I didn’t want to make things weird with you and her. You told me at the beginning of the year that she was off limits to me and my friends,” Seonghyeon mumbles. 

“But this is killing me, Sera. I’m rereading this goddamn book like a madman.” he says, holding up Symposium. He really thinks that he might be going crazy without seeing your face. “I keep trying to find her and try to talk to her, but she won’t even look at me and avoids me every chance she gets. I think that even if she did want to talk to me, I wouldn't even be able to gather up the courage to say anything. That's how fucked I am."

“When I said that she was off limits… it wasn’t a definite thing. You should’ve just talked to me, Seonghyeon,” Sera’s voice is a little softer now, sitting down on the edge of Seonghyeon’s bed. “I want you both to be happy, and if you’re the one making her happy, why wouldn’t I be okay with that?”

“I don’t know,” Seonghyeon confesses. “I didn’t realise I didn’t hate her until a few months ago.” 

“Yeah, you’re pretty bad with emotions,” Sera replies bluntly. “Sorry. Like I told you earlier in the year, you didn’t hate her – you just never got to know her properly.”

“Look, I’m probably not supposed to be telling you this, but… she told me today she’s liked you ever since she can remember.” Sera jabs her finger at Seonghyeon’s chest. 

Seonghyeon's breath catches in his throat. You’ve liked him for that long. You’ve waited for him. 

“I, for one, can’t believe I was so blind. But seriously, Seonghyeon – I know my best friend, and she’s not going to stop liking you anytime soon. She really likes you and I’m more than willing to bet money on the fact that she’s going to give you another shot. But you really have to apologise and tell her how you feel, because I know you feel the same way.” 

“She told me to be nice to you,” Sera pipes up. “Even when you were a dick.” 

God. Seonghyeon had hurt you that badly, and you were still asking Sera to be nice when you really had no reason to even extend the slightest amount of kindness to him. The guilt is eating him alive, and he knows that he has to do something about it. He has to find the courage to actually tell you how he feels.

“Go fix things tomorrow. You have to talk to her.” 

“I will,” Seonghyeon sighs softly. “I just… don’t really know what to say.” 

Sera scoffs. “You don’t need to say something perfect, Seonghyeon.” 

“Just say something real.” 

You’re nowhere to be seen. 

Seonghyeon is freaking out. 

He’s been running around the school like a madman, sprinting across campus just to see if you’re around. Keonho notices how restless Seonghyeon is in class, tapping his foot anxiously on the floor and barely listening to the teacher. He’s never seen Seonghyeon act this way before. 

When the bell rings, Seonghyeon’s the first one out the door. Seonghyeon’s sheer speed as he runs out the door makes Keonho question whether or not he should try and convince him to try out for athletics. 

By third period, Seonghyeon’s nearly convinced himself that you’re dead. You never miss classes, let alone three of them. You also show up when you’re sick, so whatever your situation is – it must be dire.

He can’t find Sera because they’re in different grades, so he decides to go up to the person you’re closest to in class, besides himself. 

“Leean, I need your help.” Seonghyeon’s breathless as she approaches her desk — after all, he had been running around the entire school today to see where you were. It was unusual for you to not be in class at all.

“Is this about (Name)?” She doesn’t seem surprised, but there’s a certain coldness in her tone that’s never been there before. She must know, he thinks. 

Usually Seonghyeon would be embarrassed and flustered that for some reason his classmate knew that he was looking for you, but he didn’t care anymore — he had to make things right. 

“Yeah, yes — where is she?” 

Leean looks away, clearly hesitant to tell him. “Look, I don’t know if I should tell you,” she sighs. “She’s not… really doing well. You know why.”

“Please. I messed up,” He’s desperate. He doesn’t even care that Leean probably knows everything he’s done.  “I have to make it right.” 

She, too, notices the dark circles under his eyes and the urgency in his voice. His hair is unbelievably messy, probably from running his hands through them all day in frustration. She's never seen Seonghyeon — the boy known for looking too perfect and put-together — look this distressed and disheveled. 

Then it hits her. The desperation in his eyes, the worry in his tone, even how his hands are shaking slightly – Eom Seonghyeon is in love with you. 

She remembers how you were describing that night when you confided in her about everything. You couldn’t tell Sera, but you had to tell someone – bottling up your feelings simply felt awful. The hope that you had of him maybe liking you back, and then the heartache when he’d pushed you away. Leean knows that you’re in love with him, and you wouldn’t stop loving him anytime soon. 

She knows that she really shouldn’t tell him. But she also really couldn’t get in the way of what she now realised was real love. 

“Fine,” she exhales. “She’s not here today. She’s out all day at an art gallery for a visual arts assignment. I don’t know how you’re going to be able to find her, since there’s so many in the city.” 

Art gallery. Visual arts assignment. 

Rembrandt. 

Seonghyeon knows exactly where you are. 

“Okay,” he says, nodding. Leean notices the shift in his demeanour. “I’m gonna go. Please tell Ms Seo I’m not going to be here for math.” 

Leean thinks Seonghyeon’s crazy. Missing any other class without a valid reason was fine, but missing math with Ms Seo was a death sentence. “You’re missing math? For what?” she sputters.

“I have to find (Name),” he says, running his fingers through his hair. He takes his phone out of his pocket, searching for the art gallery that he knows you’re at. It’s a 15 minute drive away — he’s just going to have to call a car to pick him up. “Yeah. I’m not gonna make it back in time for class.”

“Seonghyeon, Ms Seo is literally going to kill you. I know you’re worried about (Name), but can it wait? Maybe until lunch?” 

“I’ve stalled for too long,” he shakes his head, clicking onto the rideshare app he rarely uses. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Seonghyeon has never felt this desperate. “It’s fine. I’ll take the detention and the six different worksheets she’ll give me. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t do this.”

The conviction in his voice is enough to tell Leean that nothing she’ll say is going to stop him. She sighs, nodding. “At least just head to admin and sign out? Say that you have some health appointment — I don't think (Name) would want you to face Ms Seo's wrath either.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Seonghyeon says absentmindedly. He looks at his phone, and he sees that the cab is almost here. “Okay, I’m gonna go.” He slings his backpack over one shoulder, thanking Leean hastily before he runs out the classroom. 

He runs right past the nurse’s office and the admin office – Seonghyeon really doesn’t care about the repercussions right now. Ms Seo is definitely going to kill him. His mother’s going to scold him when she finds out. Keonho, Martin and Juhoon are going to tease him about this mercilessly. 

But love makes people do crazy things, and Eom Seonghyeon thinks that this is going to be one of the craziest things he’s ever done.  

When Seonghyeon steps into the art gallery, he’s reminded about why he doesn’t go there willingly. 

He likens them to mazes. To him, there’s no logical direction like there is in a history museum. Seonghyeon also especially hates that the map that he was given at the door doesn’t tell him where a specific painting is.

He's stopped by a ridiculously overpriced flower shop right at the front of the gallery, and he doesn’t hesitate to buy a bouquet of marigolds – your favourites. The ticket is also insanely expensive, but it doesn’t really matter. He can justify it to his mother later. 

And considering that he has to find you in this maddeningly confusing place, Seonghyeon thinks that he’s really got his work cut out for him. He runs past every single painting, eyes flicking up to check if it’s the one that you mentioned. Much to his disappointment, the first few corridors that he runs down don’t have the painting displayed on the wall. 

The other people in the museum – tourists, artists and critics – all look at him disapprovingly as his footsteps clack loudly on the wooden floor, disrupting the quietness and serenity of the space. 

Seonghyeon grimaces when he spots someone glaring at him, muttering an apology for disrupting them. But he’s too preoccupied with finding you. 

The stupid map he’s holding is of no help, and Seonghyeon practically wants to rip it apart until he wanders into a corridor that he thinks he’s never been to before. He doesn’t know where he is at this point, and he’s clutching onto the flowers for dear life as if they’ll somehow keep him sane. He’s been running around for 15 minutes, and he hasn’t found you yet. He’s starting to think that perhaps he’d gotten it wrong – maybe you weren’t here. 

Seonghyeon turns the corner. His eyes flick up to the painting quickly, prepared to already groan in disappointment before he has to slink down another hallway that looks just about the same. But this time, he gasps. 

Aristotle with a Bust of Homer. 

Most people who go to art galleries would marvel at the painting for a few minutes before looking around the space. 

Seonghyeon’s eyes immediately go to the figure sitting on the bench in front of the painting. 

It’s you.

You’re writing something down in a notebook, one earphone in your ear with your brows furrowed in concentration. To Seonghyeon, you look unbelievably beautiful – you always do. His breath hitches in his throat, and suddenly all the words that he was preparing to say in the car are lost on him. 

He can’t even bring himself to speak just yet — he just stands there for a few seconds, admiring you. Is it bad that he doesn’t care much about the painting? 

Seonghyeon takes a deep breath before he clears his throat to catch your attention. You turn to look in the direction of the noise that had disrupted the silence, and you’re stunned when you see Seonghyeon standing there, with a bouquet of marigolds in his hands.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly. “I thought I’d find you here.”

You furrow your brows, setting your pen and notebook on the bench. “How’d you find me?” you ask in disbelief, taking out your earphones. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy to see him, but the ache from that night still stings a little. 

“Rembrandt. You told me about his paintings and how you wanted to make your assignment about this exact work once when we were studying. And…I had to come find you,” he says, taking a hesitant step towards you. “I messed up that night.” 

The mention of that night makes you grimace. “Seonghyeon, it’s fine — we really don’t have to talk about it. It was like a spur of the moment thing, or something. Just go back to class before Ms Seo literally kills you.”

“It wasn't,” The certainty in his voice surprises you. “I meant it. I wanted to.” 

You don’t say anything in response, and Seonghyeon takes it as a cue to continue talking. Sera’s words ring in his head – just say something real. 

“I always thought I disliked you,” he blurts out. Wow, bad start, he thinks. It couldn’t get any worse, could it? He sees your face fall slightly. “No, no, that came out wrong – um, let me finish. I don’t hate you. I’m just… really bad at realising my own feelings.” 

“I always felt nervous around you, I never knew what to say, and I suppose I jumped to conclusions and thought that I hated you. But then this year… I realised that it was actually the opposite. My nerves really just stemmed from the fact that I… I cared about you. Cared about how well you were doing in school, cared about how you were always around, and I really cared about what you thought of me. I didn’t want you to think I was stupid or anything or that I couldn’t match your intellect, as strange as it sounds.” 

“And then this year I realised that I just knew things about you, even though I – stupidly – never made any attempt to try and get to know you better earlier on. Like how you tap the cover of your books when you’re nervous, and how you only use purple sticky tabs for pages in your books with annotations, and that you only use blue pens for essay subjects and black pens for subjects with numbers. His throat burns as he rambles. “Juhoon said that only a lunatic or someone madly in love would notice these things, and I know I’m the latter.” Seonghyeon doesn’t miss the way your breath catches in your throat when you hear him say that he’s in love with you. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not good with emotions. I’m really stupid to only have realised it now. And I’m sorry that I pushed you away that night when I felt like… this. I got scared – everything got too real, I suppose, and thinking about what Sera said about you being her best friend and everything… I didn’t want everything to become strange.” 

“But this week made me realise that I don’t think I could possibly live with myself without telling you how I feel and giving this a shot. I keep reading Symposium over and over again because it just reminded me of you, and I just… yeah. I know they're kind of mostly talking about platonic love there, but this line stuck out to me and I think it works. It was something about love being the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole, and... yeah. You just make me feel whole.

"I don't even know if that makes a lot of sense," he sighs, but Seonghyeon could not care less about looking dumb right now. "But I’m so stupidly in love with you.”

“I love how passionate you are about the things you’re interested in. I love how much you chat my ear off about Plato and Aristotle and Rembrandt’s paintings. I love how much you care about everyone – and how you care about me, such as knowing what kind of books I like, or my favourite flavour of ice cream when I’ve never even mentioned it to anyone before. It was that day at the bookstore where everything clicked for me – that I really, really liked you. And after that realisation, everything just finally felt right.” 

“And I suppose what I’m trying to say here with all my rambling, is that if you’d still have me… I’d really want to be yours.” 

He lets out a deep exhale after he pours his heart out to you. He quickly looks back down at his shoes once he’s finished speaking. He’s hesitant to even look at you and witness your reaction to his words. He’s never said anything this raw, this genuine, this honest – especially not regarding his feelings. But saying it out loud feels right. He loves you. Seonghyeon has never been more sure of anything in his life. 

There's a beat of silence that falls between the two of you. Seonghyeon’s heart drops.

“Do you really mean all that?” you pipe up. You blink rapidly, as if you’re still trying to digest everything that he just said.

“Yeah,” He’s never said anything more real. “I do. Every word.” 

“You’re… you’re insane,” you finally breathe out. Seonghyeon looks at you, and there are tears in your eyes. But you don’t seem angry or repulsed, and you’re not running away. He wants nothing more than to reach out and wipe the tears from your eyes for you, but he doesn’t know if you’re willing to let him get that close. 

“I know,” he admits. His voice is low in a whisper, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. “But I love you.” 

He hopes it’s enough. 

You step closer towards him, and Seonghyeon slowly looks up at you. “I thought I’d be the one to say all that first,” you shake your head almost in disbelief. After pining for him for so long, Seonghyeon ended up being the one who had confessed. You don’t think you ever saw that coming. 

“So are you saying – you feel the same?” Seonghyeon stammers, panic evident in his tone. He doesn’t know why he’s actually asking that, considering that both Sera and Leean had confirmed it for him. He supposes that after that night, he didn’t know if you would actually still have feelings for him. “Like, I know it’s a lot to process, and I can wait–” 

Your hands grab the lapels of his uniform, pulling him closer to you and capturing his lips in a kiss. He’s slightly taken aback at first before he kisses you back. One hand cups your cheek as the other finds your waist like he’s done this a million times before, and Seonghyeon kisses you like you’re oxygen and he’s struggling to breathe. Finally, he thinks. Everything feels right. 

It was messy and desperate, but it couldn’t have been more perfect. It was the kind of kiss that conveyed every single emotion that the two of you felt for the last week after being separated for so long.

There couldn’t possibly be a more picturesque location for a first – well, second – kiss. The world crumbles away, and it’s only you and him. Seonghyeon doesn’t care that there’s other people in this damned art gallery that are acutely aware of their presence and what they’re doing. They’re no doubt either glancing at them oddly, or understanding that this is just young love. 

When you pull away, your lips quirk up in a wide grin. “I love you too. I have, for a really long time now.” you say, whispering against his lips. 

“I know,” he replies, remembering what Sera had told him. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“Did Sera tell you everything?" You don’t seem surprised, but you are slightly embarrassed that Seonghyeon knows how long you’ve been waiting for him to like you back. He nods in response, and you try to hide the flustered expression on your face. “I figured. God, I can’t believe you know that I started reading history books just because I wanted to talk to you more.” 

Seonghyeon now looks shocked. “You did?” 

Your eyes widen – great, you’d just tattled on yourself. You groan, embarrassed as you bury your face in your hands. Seonghyeon’s airy laughter rings through the gallery, his hand gently caressing your shoulder. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. That’s… really sweet of you, actually. But I’m sorry for pushing you away all these years. And for pushing you away that night. I was a massive idiot.” 

“I’m glad you know that,” you joke, but you’re still slightly embarrassed by revealing that small fact about yourself. “I really did want to speak to you, but I was just scared of getting rejected by a guy I’ve liked for a really long time. But I suppose this grand gesture does make up for most of it, though. I can’t believe you’re skipping Ms Seo’s class just for me.” 

“This was important. And I know all the content anyways,” Seonghyeon hums. He suddenly remembers that the bouquet of marigolds is still in his hands, and his eyes widen in alarm. He checks them to see if the arrangement is ruined, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when they’re not. He nervously hands them out to you, and you accept them with a bright smile. “Sorry, I forgot to give you these earlier.” 

“Marigolds,” you grin, admiring the flowers. You press a quick peck to his cheek and watch as his cheeks tint pink. “You remembered. They’re gorgeous.” 

“I’m happy that you like them.” he beams. You think about every word that Seonghyeon said in that confession, and your heart blooms with warmth. “But I hope I’m not distracting you too much from your assignment with my confession. You wouldn’t mind if I stayed here with you, right?” 

You shake your head. You’re more than happy he’s here, but you’re genuinely worried that Ms Seo’s going to kill him when she finds out that he’s skipped her class. “I’m kind of done, I think. I made my notes and everything, and I just have to put everything together when I get home. But I was planning to stay and walk around the gallery a little bit more, since I’m signed out for the whole day. I just don’t want Ms Seo to… you know… make you suffer for the rest of the year?” 

“I’ll tell my mom to maybe lie for me,” he replies, and you can tell that it’s sinking in for him that Ms Seo is not going to be easy on him unless he’s somehow able to pull an acceptable excuse out of his ass. “Surely my mom would understand. Sera would help me convince her too. Or maybe, Ms Seo would be totally okay with me saying that I had to pull off a grand gesture to get the girl I love back.” 

You laugh, shaking your head. “That would be lovely, but also… no chance.” 

“I’ll take the 15 worksheets she’ll give me. This was worth it,” he gives your hand a tight squeeze. “So… will you show me around the gallery? Just tell me everything about all of his paintings. We can start with this one?” 

“I kind of talked way too much about this during that study session, Hyeon,” you laugh. You called him Hyeon. A giddy smile creeps up on his lips. “Wouldn’t you get bored?”

“I’d never get bored of hearing you talk.” he replies. You chuckle before flicking open your notebook. You read out the commentary you’ve made on the painting, pointing up at the specific parts that you’re mentioning. Seonghyeon listens to every single word with your hand laced in his, putting in his own thoughts here and there.

The two of you wander around the entire museum, and miraculously, with you by his side, Seonghyeon doesn’t get lost at all. Suddenly, he thinks that he loves art galleries.

He sneaks in a couple of kisses here and there as you’re rambling. He smiles in amusement as you completely forget what you’ve been saying after he presses his lips to yours. 

The last painting the two of you see in the museum is The Polish Rider, and Seonghyeon finds it awfully fitting. The last painting he sees with you in this exhibit is the painting mentioned in the first poem that had in some ways, brought you two together. 

As you’re telling him about the painting, he allows his eyes to wander a little. They land on you, and instantly, a lovesick smile stretches across his lips. 

And it’s then when he just knows that the kind of love that had been described in the poem that you two had analysed together — breathtaking, all-consuming, fervent — was very much so attainable. 

Because he feels it.

Despite being surrounded by paintings revered by all, Eom Seonghyeon would much rather look at you than all the other portraits in the world.

who knew all he had to do was debut in a group of the same company?  

alright, there was a bit more to it than just that, but it was really all he could think about in the moment.  

he's been a fan of yours since your debut. when he first stumbled upon your music video 'magnetic', while searching for something to watch with his breakfast, he watched it on repeat about five times before remembering that he had a bowl of cereal in front of him.  

he was just enraptured by the specific sound your group had. but there was one part he always replayed, in every song you went on to release, he always searched for that distinct part in the track. your part.

you were illit's main vocalist, and god, wasn't it obvious?  

you were hypnotizing. it nearly felt siren-like, as if listening for too long would put him in a trance.  

ever since he heard you for the first time, he's been hooked. and not just to your incredible visuals and jaw-dropping performances, but to you. 

you have this undeniable charm, this radiant warmth. your humble tendencies to blush and deny praise. your professionalism yet easy-going nature in interviews. your elegance on stage, mistakes and mishaps barely affecting you.  

SEONGHYEON thought you were so cool.  

it sounds a bit silly, like a compliment from a kid to their favorite superhero. but you just were. you had this presence that he oh-so wanted to witness.  

a few months after his debut with cortis, his members found out about SEONGHYEON'S celebrity crush.  

he shouldn't have been smiling so wide at his phone. of course, they were going to snatch it from him. what they were expecting was probably text messages between a crush, but what they found was an edit of none other than you. it was relentless teasing after that. 

but SEONGHYEON was growing nervous. he was finally going to meet you. face to face. this worry was boiling inside of him, insatiable and heartless.  

god he was gonna fuck this up, wasn't he?  

‧₊˚♪𝄞ᝰ──

today was the day.  

cortis was in a practice room, waiting for illit to arrive for their small dance video collaboration. james was stretching, martin was laughing at his phone with juhoon, and keonho was beside SEONGHYEON, endlessly teasing.

"you excited?" keonho said with elongated vowels.

SEONGHYEON sighs, rubbing his temple. "I'm stressed out," he mutters, nearly sheepishly.

keonho laughs at his despair as he springs up from the floor.

"c'mon man, you're lovable!"

he plants his face into his hands, groaning with anguish.

"stop this!" keonho laughs, taking hold of SEONGHYEON'S hands, dragging him up with an unstable wobble. "just be cool, girls dig the mysterious type."

"how the hell am I supposed to act 'mysterious' when I'm her literal number one fan?"

keonho snorts, falling quiet as he doesn't seem to have a sensible answer.

"I'm being serious, did you see my spotify wrapped? number one in the world," SEONGHYEON states, emphasizing punctuation in between words.

the fact makes the rest of them laugh, hysterically at that, but it doesn't itch SEONGHYEON out of his misery.

"god, she'll think I'm such a weirdo!" he complains, tucking his face into his hands. SEONGHYEON has been stressing since this morning, much to everyone else's dismay.

"bro, don't tell her you're a die-hard fangirl," martin chimes in from across the floor. SEONGHYEON looks up from his hands. "just, act nonchalant."

james cackles, queuing SEONGHYEON to give him a squinted glare.

"nonchalant?" juhoon chuckles.

"well yeah!" martin agrees. "y'know: 'oh, I've never heard of you, but you seem cool.' that type of thing!"

"you're ridiculous-" james tries, but SEONGHYEON interjects with a newfound readiness.

"alright," he nods. "no, that might work."

"as if anything'll work," keonho snickers, earning an elbow to the rib by a blushing SEONGHYEON.

as keonho dramatically grabs his side with an exclamation, staff hurries over to collect the group.

"they'll be here any minute," their manager says.

SEONGHYEON is practically sweating at this point. how on earth is he supposed to keep his composure? it's insatiable, really; you're merely human. how bad can it be?

the door into the room opens slowly, and SEONGHYEON'S heart starts doing somersaults; he doesn't even want to begin thinking about how red he must be.

their manager steps in first. they're followed by moka, minju, wonhee, and then you.

oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

it's echoing, blaring in his head. he needs to get himself together. but you're there, and your eyes meet his, and oh lord, you smile at him. soft and genuine.

is this how people feel when their idols notice them in the crowd?

SEONGHYEON doesn't register when the rest of his group bows, the sound of their greetings echoing. james ─who's beside SEONGHYEON─ puts a hand on his back to guide him into a bow. he merely follows the movements.

their managers talk, martin talks, james and keonho do too. but it's all a bit blurry. voices are obvious, but the intention is unclear. they split into groups, two from illit and two from cortis, stepping off. another group steps off, one he didn't count properly.

"SEONGHYEON, right?"

the voice rings far too many bells in him, and a cruel warmth spreads up his neck. his head turns quickly to the nerve-inducing sound. you're smiling, and at him, and god, you're even prettier in person. dressed in baggy sweatpants and an off-the-shoulder t-shirt. it's grungy, yet you're wearing these cute star hairpins and handmade bracelets.

"that's me," SEONGHYEON says in a weird punctuation, far too long after you asked.

"cool," you nod, picking at a thread on one of your bracelets. "I'm-."

"yeah, I know," SEONGHYEON breathes out in a fell swoop. it has the intention of saving time, but when it leaves his mouth, all that it 'intends' is creepiness.

he closes his eyes tight, brows furrowing. one minute in, and you're already signing restraining orders. "that's not-," he tries to excuse, but you laugh, a soft chuckle that easliy gets his heart beating for other reasons. his eyes open to witness the easy smile on your face and the crinkle of your eyes.

"hm, you a fan or something?" you joke, but the comment burns a rocket-propelled grenade-sized hole in his abdomen.

he chuckles. "no, no, I guess I'm just-." okay, now he's just being rude. "I'm just well-educated, I guess." fuck that was cringe. but you utter another laugh.

"okay, SEONGHYEON," you nod as staff drag you to iroha to film. but you give him these eyes as you turn. this look that he can't place. but what he can place is the forest fire burning beneath his skin.

‧₊˚♪𝄞ᝰ──

"and then I said 'I'm just well-educated, I guess'," SEONGHYEON whispers. "what the hell is that?"

keonho snickers in their quiet discussion. the rest of them are filming the 'jellyous' choreography. "keonho, I'm stressing over here!"

"it's not that big of a deal-."

"we spoke for a matter of seconds, and I'm already fumbling."

"nah, you're good, you're good, just," keonho ponders for a few seconds. he claps his hands together quietly enough to not draw attention, as if he just found the perfect idea. "get in a group with her."

"what?-"

keonho continues: "y'know film with her. there's the dance to talk about! so you don't accidentally mention the fact that you fall asleep to edits of her."

SEONGHYEON smacks his arm. "that was one time." but ends up nodding to the idea. "yeah okay-."

"alright!" illit's manager calls out right as they finish the choreography. "let's do, leader with leader and maknae with maknae."

SEONGHYEON freezes for a split second. that's you and keonho. oh my lord-.

"I don't really feel comfortable as 'maknae.'"

SEONGHYEON practically stops breathing. what the hell is he doing.

"y'know, SEONGHYEON is just one month older, I don't think it's fair."

martin bites back a chuckle.

"and either way, SEONGHYEON is way more young-minded, I mean, he's practically a year younger than my mentally."

SEONGHYEON rubs a slow circle against his temple.

"he should do it, not me."

an awfully slow beat passes. he sighs into his palm, insatiably embarrassed to be sitting next to him.

"yeah, I agree," martin deadpans with a sly grin, mischief in his glance. SEONGHYEON wants to die where he sits. their manager looks down at their papers.

"hm, me too."

those bells start ringing again, aggressively at that. he looks up, meeting your steady gaze. "he can be maknae for half an hour, can't he?" you suggest to your manager, and with a sigh, they agree.

‧₊˚♪𝄞ᝰ──

okay, okay, okay.  

this is fine, completely fine.  

'you're cool,' SEONGHYEON kept repeating in his mind. but he really isn't; he's warmer than concrete on a hot summer day, practically radiating. you were going through the steps one by one for your newest release, 'not cute anymore.'  

it was fairly simple; SEONGHYEON nearly knows it by heart at this point, yet he couldn't quite grasp it fully. just not right now. he felt a bit too preoccupied, because despite your voice narrating your moves, he kept focusing on the wrong things.  

your mismatched nail polish, the words on the beads of your braclets, the soft shimmer of eyeshadow on your eyelids. he wanted to know what polish you buy, what pearls and thread you prefer working with, the name of the teal and pink colors on your eyes. 

“got it?” you asked, smile numbing.  

“yeah, absolutely.”  

“alright! we’ll go one time all the way through and then we’ll film, yeah?”  

SEONGHYEON nodded, smile careful. he felt tense. he really needed to loosen up; he was far too mechanical in his tone, far too stand-offish in his mannerisms. SEONGHYEON wants you to like him, for god's sake; he can’t be acting so strange. 

you count the two of you in, the song being naturally quite slow. with a soft exhale, SEONGHYEON focuses properly, eyes narrowed on his own reflection, mouth subconsciously mumbling the lyrics.  

alright, okay, absolutely.  

you ring like a siren in his head. because you were close, your elbow almost bumps into his more than once. your voice was soft in the whisper you held. your voice is just so remarkable, he could nearly hear the song in your tone. 

but he was going to have to set his focus on other things. he can’t expect you to see anything in him if he’s walking around with wide googly eyes, a zipped mouth, and an awkward stance. 

“you just must be a fan.” 

okay, yeah, sure, it’s fine.  

SEONGHYEON acts as if he’s been caught red-handed, cheeks blooming red and eyes growing wide.  

“you seem sure of yourself,” he tries to laugh off. but you continue, and god, it's as if you eat him alive. 

“hm yeah, I’m quite sure.” 

you’re grinning, and it’s killing him. he puts his hands in his back pockets, shoulders awkward.  

“you know the lyrics,” you state. 

“y’know, I’m just doing-.” he swallows. “just doing what you did, and you muttered the lyrics while you-, so yeah.” 

you chuckle, a full, real laugh, and it sends a soft strike of accomplishment beneath his ribs. 

“hm okay, sure.” 

SEONGHYEON swears he sees you step closer.

“but while I was doing what I did, you were a bit too busy staring to actually observe.” oh my lord he’s perished. “and then you just ─ poof ─ knew the entire thing perfectly.” 

it almost seems mean, but your tone, your body language, your breath-taker of a stare is nothing but teasing ─ admiring. 

"yeah uhm, yeah," he peeps, a nervous smile infecting his cheeks as his brows furrow.

SEONGHYEON'S red and hot to the touch; his throat feels clogged. here he was thinking he’d barely get a word in with you, yet you’re here bantering with him for crying out loud. it keeps this insatiable tension burning at his skin that he hates just as much as he loves.  

“it's okay,” you assure with a calm laugh, your hand coming in soft contact with his bicep, a form of compassion; a sign of comfort. either way, it pumps a palpitating rhythm into SEONGHYEON'S heart. “it’s flattering.”  

his heart stops for less than a second. flattering. did he do something right? did he compliment you? all he’s been doing is sputtering out the first thing that comes to mind and standing with tense shoulders. 

before he can think through the implications, their manager ushers the two of you to a camera. you’ve been going at it for twenty minutes now, it’s no wonder their urging. 

but okay, okay. filming. the next part, and it goes by awfully fast. it feels rushed despite the patience of their staff. because in reality, they spend a good five minutes filming and propping up properly. but his hair still manages to feel imperfect in the nonexistent rush, and his pants feel too saggy in his apparently fast movements.  

but he gets through it without too much trouble in the end, and of course, so do you. 

why was that so stressful? SEONGHYEON thinks to himself. and why was he breathing so hard?

he threads his hair back, an easy motion, but you step close, and he catches your perfume. soft and fluffy in his presence. it's subtle yet infinitely effective. so of course, his hand decides to hook onto a knot in his hair, and he ends up standing there with his arm up and awkward, wrestling with his hair. you chuckle as he unclasps himself.

"we did it!" you proclaim with a gentle glee, aiming for a high five.

he smiles, meeting your hand with an echoing slap. but as your hands fall to waist height, you linger, finger brushing. mismatched nail polish against humid skin. SEONGHYEON swears his heart implodes as you walk away with that far too real smile.

before he can process the warmth in his chest or the teasing brows that james shoots his way, their manager hoots. "alright guys, that was the last of it."

he sinks along with the pit in his stomach. his eyes land on you as if on autopilot, and you meet his gaze. and it's almost as if you're experiencing the same fall beneath your ribs. his brows grow too heavy, and he has to look away.

it all happens a bit too fast. you bow your goodbyes. voices in unison. it feels like something should happen; that something more was supposed to happen.

SEONGHYEON watches as you wave; you're the last to leave, and it damn near hurts watching. you give him a final glance paired with that easy smile, and then the door closes behind you.

a silence lingers in the thick air. SEONGHYEON chokes on a breathy chuckle. "I fumbled so fucking bad."

exhales and airy laughs are passed through the members.

"plenty of fish in the sea, twinski," martin assures with a tight, puckish smile.

SEONGHYEON scoffs. "what happened to 'oh, don't worry! you'll get her next time!'"

"bro after that fiasco, I don't really think I can."

SEONGHYEON wants to collapse onto the floor. but before he can turn to smack martin, the door opens in urgency.

"so sorry!"

just beat him with the bells, why don't you?

"god, I think I dropped a bracelet."

worn thread and thrifted beads.

"oh, we'll help you-."

"there!" you exclaim, running over to the ring of ribbon, right where the two of you practiced.

SEONGHYEON gets nudged in the shoulder by keonho. he turns his neck to give him a glare, but he's met by every one of his members practically staring him down. juhoon's mimicing a phone to his ear and then points to you across the floor. SEONGHYEON swallows, eyes squinting with nerves.

this could be one of the last times he meets you in person.

he's suddenly pushed by keonho. gliding him against the floor and ultimately, closer to you.

SEONGHYEON chokes out an imprecise calling of your name.

despite the crack in his voice and the heat on his tongue, it perks your attention, and you raise yourself off the floor, eyebrows high on your forehead as you put on your lost bracelet.

"hm?" you acknowledge, guiding him to continue. it catches in his throat, and an overwhelming silence spreads in the space between you two. SEONGHYEON hears how martin clears his throat, and it eases a smile out of him; it loosens his shoulders.

"okay, yeah, uhm," he blabs, and his mind blanks as you watch him with observant eyes.

"you're pretty," he states matter-of-factly, and despite the burn on his neck, it eases a flushed laugh out of you, a gentle smile settling on your lips.

it urges him to continue, so he does, along with the shake in his tone.

"and.." and now he's at a loss for words. he begs himself to find anything sensible inside his brain. but he's blank, and that manages to propel a spiel from his lips.

"and I really suck at this," he laughs as his head lowers.

SEONGHYEON hears the light chuckle that leaves your lips, and suddenly, his embarrassment is worth it.

"and with all this summarized," he gathers himself in a big breath. "I felt that maybe we could.. sometime-, I don't know, uhm."

he meets your gaze, and oh, aren't your eyes gentle. you're wearing this airy smile, like you already know the question, and you seem so glad to give your answer. and its all so easy in the end, isn't it?

SEONGHYEON exhales. "could I maybe get your number?"

it's subtle, but he notices how your eyes light up slightly. it makes a smile utter against his lips.

"of course you can, SEONGHYEON."

"cool," he peeps within his overpowering glee.

SEONGHYEON was insatiable after this. he flaunted your contact info to the other members as if it were a pile of gold. even their staff grew annoyed at him after a few days. oh well, he was happy, so who cares?

let's just hope he doesn't fumble as much on your first date.

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DIVIDER CR » @strangergraphics

After the sound that echoed in the silent lecture hall by your professor “Your semester project will be a critical analysis of Shakespeare’s work. And you gonna pair up into eleven group by me...” – it’s not the worst part for the one who hate doing group work. Statistically speaking, group projects are designed to fail. And you did not design for failure.

“…Group 4 ‘s topic is Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew through the lens of its modern adaptation: 10 Things I Hate About You...

… Members of group 4: ‘L/N Y/N’ and… Han Dongmin.”

Damn, group projects are designed to fail. But being paired with him wasn't just a failure; it was a calculation error by the universe.

You marched over to his desk, slamming you bag down. He didn't flinch, but looked up with those heavy, unbothered eyes.

"Let's get this straight," you started, voice sharp, ignoring his reaction "I don't do romance. It's illogical, chemical nonsense. So, if we're analyzing this movie, we're tearing it apart. We focus on the sociological flaws, not the... feelings."

He blinked. Once. Twice. Like a cat watching a human throw a tantrum. Then, he sighed, closed his book, and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms

"You're loud," he said simply. His voice was calm, deep, and annoyingly attractive. He took the earphone out of his left ear and let it dangle. "And you're wrong.".

"Excuse me?"

"The movie isn't about flaws. It's about how someone chaotic can find rhythm in someone else." He smirked—a faint, arrogant curve of his lips. "Just because you don't understand the melody doesn't mean it's noise, y/n."

He leaned forward, encroaching on your personal space with that nonchalant confidence. "You handle the plot summary. I'll handle the emotional analysis. Clearly, you’re not equipped for it."

Your jaw dropped. Did this ‘brooding, artistic definition of arrogance’ just call me emotional illiterate? Challenge accepted.

You claimed the table by the window in the main library, bathed in the quiet afternoon light. It was a strategic choice on your part to sit across from him, rather than next to him. You needed the width of the table as a safety zone—a guarantee that your elbows wouldn't brush, that your knees wouldn't accidentally touch under the desk.

Between you two lay a chaotic sprawl of literature. Stacks of The Taming of the Shrew, critical analyses, and thick biographies of Shakespeare formed a paper barricade separating your territory from his.

The silence was heavy, but not empty.

He was focused. Annoyingly so. He held a hardcover edition in his hands—a book you wouldn’t have touched with a ten-foot pole if your grade didn't depend on it. But there he was, eyes scanning the archaic text with a level of absorption that made the rest of the world disappear.

You mirrored him, busy with your own book to avoid looking at the way the sunlight hit his profile silently.

But the silence didn’t last... It couldn't. —Not within the sheer amount of nonsense written in Act 2.

"This is absurd," you muttered, slamming The Taming of the Shrew shut. The sound echoed slightly in the quiet zone. "Petruchio isn't a romantic lead. He's a gaslighter. He starves her into submission. That’s not 'taming,' that’s abuse."

Taesan didn't even look up from his book. He just turned a page, his movement slow and deliberate. "You're reading it literally again," he said, his voice low but cutting through the silence. "It’s a performance. A game. They're matching wits."

"Matching wits?" you hissed, leaning forward over the stack of books. "He treats her like a falcon to be trained! It’s illogical to call this a love story."

Finally, he looked up. That sleepy, nonchalant gaze was gone, replaced by a glint of challenge. "It's about breaking down the ego to find the real person underneath," he countered, leaning in until his face was inches from the book barricade. "Just because you're too stiff to understand the rhythm of their banter doesn't mean it's abuse."

"Excuse me? I am not stiff!" your voice rose an octave. "I am analytical. And statistically, relationships based on manipulation fail 100% of the time!"

"And statistically," he shot back, his volume rising to match yours, "people who over-analyze everything end up alone because they kill the vibe before it even starts."

"Vibe? You and your damn vibe! We are talking about literature, not a noisy concert—"

"SHHHHHH!"

The aggressive hiss came from the librarian’s desk like a whip crack. Every head in the library turned toward you two. The librarian adjusted her glasses, glaring daggers. "This is a place for study, not for lovers' quarrels. Get out or be quiet."

You both froze. Lovers' quarrels? The audacity.

You were about to retort, but Taesan always faster.

He snapped his book shut, stood up in one fluid motion, and grabbed his bag. He looked down at me, not with embarrassment, but with pure determination.

"We're not done," he stated, ignoring the librarian's glare completely. "Decide place. Now. We're finishing this."

You shoved your books into your tote bag, glaring right back at him. "Fine. My place. And I’m still right."

You stormed out of the library, not to make peace, but simply to find a battlefield where you could express your thoughts without interruption.

The drive to your apartment was suffocated by lingering irritation. Taesan didn’t touch his phone once; he remained fixated on that damn book—while you had mentally checked out the moment the plot mentioned a gaslighting male lead.

Shoes were scattered at the entrance, which meant your two roommates were home. The chaos inside confirmed it before you even saw their faces.

“Oh! Hi! That’s an unexpected combination.” It was Jaehyun—your roommate and the source of all that noise. He was also the reason you and Taesan knew each other in the first place, thanks to that hellish General Ed Law class freshman year.

Taesan simply raised a hand in greeting, silent as ever.

“Working on a pair project? Cool. I’ll head to my room then. You guys use the common area.”

 “We might be a bit loud.” you warned her.

“Go ahead.” Your other roommate walked past us, heading straight for her bedroom. She swept past Jaehyun, completely ignoring the homemade food he had been trying to push on her for the last hour. Cold as ice.

“Trying to poison her?” You asked.

“Respect my recipe, please” Jaehyun pouted, before shifting his attention to his best friend. “What subject?”

“Philosophical Literature.”

“Oh. That reminds me, my Social Philosophy paper isn’t done yet. You guys work. If you’re hungry, eat whatever I made.”

And with that, he left us alone.

The silent appeal again.

“Let me guess,” Taesan said, breaking the silence. “The last person at the TV table was you.”

It was a rhetorical question.

The table was exactly as you had left it this morning: organized chaos. Research papers scattered everywhere, scraps of paper with cryptic handwriting only you could decipher, an empty cup of ramyeon next to a half-drunk water bottle.

And on the floor—a pile of plushies, thick blankets, and fluffy pillows arranged like a fortress of solitude to cut off the outside world.

He walked past you without a hint of awkwardness, scanning the mess with those unreadable eyes, like an inspector assessing a disaster zone.

“Messy.” he commented. His voice was flat, monotone.

“It's an organized system” you snapped, rushing to grab the ramyeon cup and some trash to throw in the bin. “Sit anywhere. Just don't touch my—”

He didn’t wait for you to finish. He dropped onto the sofa, placed his bag in the empty space beside him, and swept your scattered papers into a neat pile with one hand. Then, he reached for the shelf behind the couch.

“What are you doing?” You demanded, voice sharp.

“Setting the vibe” he replied deadpan. He had grabbed Jaehyun’s Bluetooth speaker—which hadn’t been used in months—and pulled out his phone. “I don’t work in silence. Especially not with you. Just looking at your state right now is depressing enough.”

“It is not depressing! I prioritize efficiency! And I don’t need your—”

Click.

A slow, rhythmic R&B track filled the room. It was smooth, vintage, and annoyingly good. It was the kind of song that makes you want to lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling, not argue about Shakespeare or stupid red-flag fictional men.

Finally, he turned to look at you. He crossed his legs, arms folded, looking completely relaxed in your personal space—like a black cat that had just decided this territory now belonged to him.

“Alright,” he said, nodding toward the pile of softness on the rug opposite him, correctly guessing that was where you buried yourself to work on headaches like this all night.

“Prove me wrong. But try to do it without yelling. The acoustics in here are terrible. Honestly, I’m surprised your two roommates are used to this.”

Great. He never disappoints. Before you could even start to prove him wrong, he managed to prove you right—that hating him at first sight was the correct decision all along.

“Fine.” You accepted the challenge, dropping onto the rug amidst your fortress of pillows and pulling your laptop open.

“You want me to prove you wrong? Let’s start with your so-called ‘vibe’.”

You gestured aggressively at the speaker.

“You think this song is soulful? It’s just math, Han Dongmin. It’s a standard I-IV-V chord progression with a Major 7th added to manipulate the listener into feeling false nostalgia. And that beat? It’s exactly 80 BPM—the average human heart rate at rest. It’s calculated to lower your guard. It’s not ‘art,’ it’s a psychological hack.”

Taesan didn’t look impressed. He just drummed his fingers on his knee, perfect exactly in time with the beat you just analyzed without counting BPM that you used right now.

“You know the formula,” he said, his voice low and raspy, barely looking up from his phone.

“But you still tapped your foot. Your body likes it, even if your brain hates it.”

You froze. Your foot had been tapping against the carpet. Traitor.

“Reflex action,” you dismissed quickly, smashing the spacebar to play the movie file on your screen.

“Let’s focus on the project. Look at this.”

You didn't walk over to share your screen. You just signaled him with a slight jerk of your chin. Come here.

He lazily sits next to you after moved fluffy bunny plushies (that’s you didn’t realized it yours, maybe it’s your roommates’ stuff) to aside.

The scene on the screen showed Heath Ledger’s Patrick Verona charming Kat Stratford. You paused it immediately, freezing his face in a pixelated smirk.

“See that?” You pointed at the screen.

“That’s not romance. That’s predatory behavior. He’s encroaching on her personal space to assert dominance. He’s a classic gaslighter disguised as a bad boy.” You turned to glare at Taesan. “Kind of like what you’re doing. Invading my room, controlling the music, sitting on my sofa like you own it. It’s manipulation 101.”

Taesan slowly rested his chin on his hand, looking at you with lazy amusement. “If I wanted to manipulate you, Y/N...” he drawled, his eyes locking onto yours. “I wouldn't be sitting all the way over here. And I certainly wouldn't be letting you do all the talking.”

The air in the room suddenly felt thinner.

“It—It doesn't matter.”

you stammered, feeling the heat rise in your neck. You needed to regain control. Logic. You needed logic.

“My point is, what you call ‘chemistry’ in this movie is just a biological defect. Increased heart rate, sweaty palms... it’s just cortisol and adrenaline. It’s the body’s fight-or-flight response to a threat. It’s not love. It’s fear.”

“Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes! And I can prove it.”

Driven by pure stubbornness, you scrambled up from the rug and leaned in close to him—too close. You invaded his space this time, putting your face inches from his, challenging him to react.

“See?” you whispered, forcing your voice to be steady. “I’m in your space. Your heart rate might be up, your pupils might dilate, but it’s just biology. It’s just a survival instinct reacting to a sudden proximity. It means nothing.”

You waited for him to back away. To blink. To flush.

He didn't flinch. Not even a millimeter. Instead, his gaze dropped to your lips for a split second, then back to your eyes.

“Interesting theory,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a register that vibrated in your chest. He slowly reached out—not to touch you, but to point at your hand that was resting on the back of the plushie stack, right next to his head.

“But if it's just survival instinct...” he tilted his head, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “Why are your hands shaking?”

You hate him so much. You think

You snatched your hand back as if burned by fire. "Low blood sugar," you lied through your teeth, scrambling back to your side of the rug. "And caffeine overdose. Don't flatter yourself."

He didn't reply. He just smirked—that infuriating, knowing smirk—and turned his attention back to the screen.

The R&B playlist had looped twice. The aggressive debate had died down, replaced by the furious sound of typing and the scratching of a pen on paper.

The apartment was dead silent. Jaehyun, your self-proclaimed "peacekeeper" had popped his head out around 9 PM, promising to sit with us to prevent a homicide. But nature took its course; he had lost his battle against sleepiness and retreated to his room by 10. As for your other roommate? She hadn’t made a sound all night—classic behavior. She lived like a ghost, existing in the shadows to avoid social interaction, which, honestly, you envied right now.

So, it was just you and Taesan. Again.

You blinked, your eyes burning. The clock on your screen read 03:14 AM. You looked up. Taesan was still on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other. The "arrogant charming black cat" facade had slipped just a little—his hair was messy from running his hands through it, and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing veiny forearms that were... distracting.

He was reading your handwritten notes—the chaotic scribbles you were sure no human could decipher.

"You have terrible handwriting." he murmured, without looking up. The silence made his voice sound softer, less combative.

"Damn, it's encrypted for security." you mumbled, voice hoarse. You stretched your arms until your back popped. "Why are you reading that garbage? I haven't typed it up yet."

"It's not garbage." He finally looked at you.

"Your analysis on Katerina’s social isolation... it’s solid. Cold, but solid."

It was the first time he had agreed with you. You didn't know how to react. "Of course it is," you sniffed. "Logic wins."

"But" he continued, ignoring your victory, "you missed the point on the poem scene. She didn't cry because she was 'hormonal'. She cried because she realized she was seen."

He stood up and walked to the kitchenette (treating your room like his again). He pulled open the fridge.

"Hey! Private property!"

"Do you have anything edible?" he asked, peering inside. "Besides water and... is this Jaehyun’s fried rice?"

"Yeah. And I wouldn't touch it if I were you. He calls it 'Fusion Experiment No. 5'." that’s why it’s a cause of chaos noise from before you entrance your room early.

He stared at the Tupperware container for a second, sighed, and closed the fridge door. Clearly, he wasn't brave enough to risk food poisoning at 3 AM.

He walked back, not to the sofa, but to where you were sitting on the floor. He reached into his bag and dropped a protein bar onto your keyboard.

"Eat" he commanded. "Your 'low blood sugar' is making you cranky again. And we're not sleeping until this outline is done."

You glared at the protein bar, then at him, before tearing the wrapper open with aggressive force. "Fine. But I'm charging you for emotional labor."

He didn't answer. He just sat back down—not on the sofa this time, but on the floor next to you. He pulled his laptop closer, his shoulder brushing against yours.

You stiffened, but you didn't move away. You were too tired to fight the gravity pulling you two together.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of typing, quiet debates, and the shared rhythm of work. By the time the sun began to bleed through the blackout curtains, the outline was done.

He packed his bag in silence. At the door, he paused, looking at you one last time. You were disheveled, exhausted, and surrounded by papers.

"Get some sleep," he said, his hand lingering on the doorknob. "You're less annoying when you're unconscious."

"Get lost, Han Dongmin," you shot back, though it lacked your usual venom.

He smirked, and then he was gone. You thought that was it. Project done. Truce over. Back to being enemies in the lecture hall.

You were statistically, logically, and completely wrong.

Two days after "The Truce," your phone buzzed during a lecture. 

Notification: Han Dongmin shared a playlist with you: "Noise Control."

You frowned and opened it. No caption. No explanation. Just a link. It wasn't random. It was a curated list of 50 songs. Lo-fi, vintage R&B, and obscure jazz tracks—the exact genre you had secretly tapped your foot to in your apartment that night.

You typed back furiously: I didn't ask for this. Taesan: Read.

You looked at the playlist description. It read: "Because your brain is too loud. Listen to this when you work. Or don't. I don't care."

That evening, you were cooking dinner (or attempting to), with the playlist blasting from your phone. You told yourself it was just to analyze the BPM, nothing else.

"Woah," Jaehyun walked into the kitchen, sniffing the air for food but stopping when he heard the music. He leaned against the fridge, looking impressed. "Since when do you listen to vintage Jazz? This sounds exactly like Taesan’s car playlist."

You froze, nearly dropping the spatula. "It's just... random recommendations," you lied.

Jaehyun narrowed his eyes, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Right. Random. Just like how he 'randomly' stayed here until 6 AM the other night? You guys are weird." He grabbed an apple and walked away before you could throw the spatula at him.

The following week, outside the library. Taesan walked past you. He didn't say hello. He didn't stop. He simply shoved a heavy object against your chest as he breezed by.

"Take it," he said, not even looking back.

You fumbled to catch it. It was a book. Not just any book. It was a vintage, first-edition commentary on The Taming of the Shrew from the 1960s—the one you had complained was "impossible to find" and "too expensive" for a student budget.

You stood frozen on the sidewalk. "Wait!" You shouted after him. "This costs a fortune! Why?"

He stopped, turned around slowly, and shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked bored, as if buying rare collectibles was as casual as buying gum.

"Your citations were weak," he stated flatly. "I can't have my partner citing Wikipedia. It reflects poorly on me."

"But—"

"Keep it. Don't lose it." He turned back around and walked away, his black coat swaying with his stride.

It was the "Patrick Verona buying the Fender Stratocaster" move. But instead of a guitar, it was a dusty academic book. And instead of a smile, you got an insult about your citations. Why did your chest feel so tight?

Later that night. You sat at your desk, staring at the book he gave. The playlist "Noise Control" was playing in the background.

You grabbed your notebook—the one strictly for research—and flipped to a blank page. You needed to categorize this chaos. You needed to quantify your annoyance.

Your pen hit the paper. You didn't just write a list; you wrote a hypothesis.

TOPIC: HYPOTHESIS - 10 STATISTICAL VARIABLES FOR DISLIKING SUBJECT 'B' (HAN DONGMIN)

·     Variable 1: His 'God Complex' and the arrogant assumption that he is always the smartest person in the room.

·     Variable 2: His messy hair that looks calculatedly unkempt. (Note: Highly inefficient styling).

·     Variable 3: Auditory Manipulation (The Playlist). Why does he know my music taste better than I do?

·     Variable 4: The way he taps his fingers perfectly in time with any BPM. It’s annoying.

·     Variable 5: Unsolicited gifting of high-value assets (The Book). Specifically, the way he bought it just to insult my citations.

You paused, chewing on your pen cap. You were angry. You were definitely angry. So you kept writing.

·     Variable 6: His smirk. It’s predatory.

·     Variable 7: His eyes. They are... distracting. They ruin my focus during lectures.

·     Variable 8: The way he leans into my personal space to "check my screen."

·     Variable 9: Olfactory Trap. Why does his cologne smell so good? It’s illogical.

"He likes you."

You jumped so hard your knee hit the desk. You spun around. Your roommate was standing in your doorway holding a mug of tea. She rarely spoke at all, and when she did, it was usually to ask Jaehyun to get lost.

"What?" you squeaked, slamming the notebook shut (but not fast enough).

She nodded toward the vintage book on your desk, then at the phone playing his playlist. Her expression was completely blank, as usual. "The book. The music. He's courting you. It's obvious."

"Courting?!" You laughed nervously, a high-pitched, hysterical sound. "No, no. He's arrogant. He's controlling. He's just... trying to optimize our project grade. It's purely logical!"

She took a sip of her tea, unimpressed by your panic. "Logic doesn't buy first-edition books for people they hate, Y/N."

She turned and floated back into the darkness of the hallway.

You sat there in silence for a long time, the truth of her words sinking in. You looked back at your notebook. You had stopped at number 9.

Slowly, painfully, you opened it again. You pressed the pen down, your hand trembling slightly as you wrote the final variable—the one that defied all your logic.

·     Variable 10: The fact that despite variables 1 through 9... my hypothesis is failing. I don't hate him. Not even a little bit.

Three days before the final presentation. You booked a private study room in the library. Just the two of you. The air conditioner was freezing, but your palms were sweating.

"The transition between slide 4 and 5 is choppy," Taesan critiqued, leaning back in his chair, spinning a pen. "We need to link the sociological aspect to the modern adaptation better."

"I have notes on that," you said, distracted, typing furiously on your laptop. "I wrote down a connection between Petruchio’s bargaining and modern dating apps somewhere..."

"Where?"

"In my notebook. The black one."

You didn't look up. You were too busy fixing a typo on the slide. You heard the sound of a notebook sliding across the table. The sound of pages flipping.

"Found it," he said.

"Great. Read me the part about transactional relationships."

Silence.

"Y/N."

"What?"

"There is no section on transactional relationships."

"It's there. Page 12."

"I'm on page 12." His voice sounded different now. Laced with amusement. "But the header says... 'Hypothesis: 10 Statistical Variables for Disliking Subject B'."

Your heart didn't just stop; it evaporated. You slammed your laptop shut and lunged across the table. "GIVE IT BACK!"

You were fast, but Taesan was faster. He simply raised his arm high above his head, keeping the notebook out of reach. He smirked, his eyes scanning the list.

"Let's see the data," he teased, reading aloud.

"Variable 1: His 'God Complex' and the arrogant assumption that he is always the smartest person in the room." He hummed. "Valid. I usually am."

"Variable 2: His messy hair that looks calculatedly unkempt." He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. "It's natural, actually."

"Variable 5: Unsolicited gifting of high-value assets (The Book). Specifically, the way he bought it just to insult my citations."

You were clawing at his arm now, face burning. "Stop it! It’s private research!"

He ignored you, easily fending you off with one hand while reading the next points, his smirk fading into something softer, more intense.

"Variable 9: Olfactory Trap. Why does his cologne smell so good? It’s illogical."

He paused at number 9. The room went dead silent. He lowered his arm slowly. You could have snatched the book back, but you were frozen by the look in his eyes.

"And finally..." he whispered, his voice dropping to a husky register as he read the last point.

"Variable 10: The fact that despite variables 1 through 9... my hypothesis is failing. I don't hate him. Not even a little bit."

He closed the notebook gently and set it down on the table. You were trapped between the table and his body, your chest heaving, your secret completely exposed. It was exactly like the movie, but instead of crying in front of a class, you were about to have a heart attack in a private study room.

Taesan leaned in, trapping you. He wasn't looking at the book anymore. He was looking at your lips.

"Variable 9," he murmured, bringing the conversation back to the scent. He tilted his head, exposing his neck—a silent dare.

"We need to verify the data, Y/N. Does it still smell good up close?"

He moved in until his breath brushed your ear. "Or do you need a larger sample size?"

His breath was warm against your skin. The scent of wood and rain filled your lungs, clouding your judgment, scrambling your data.

You looked into his eyes—those arrogant, intelligent, infuriating eyes. And in that silence, suspended between a library table and the man who had tormented your semester, you realized the ultimate irony of your research.

You hated his God complex. You hated his perfect playlist. You hated that he bought you a rare book just to prove a point. You hated that he was right about everything.

But mostly... you hated him for making it impossible to hate him anymore. Not even close. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.

— bonus scene —

Freshman year. "Introduction to Legal Philosophy." An elective you chose because you thought it would be intellectually stimulating. You were wrong. It was 8:00 AM, and the small seminar room was deadly silent.

You sat next to Jaehyun, your new neighbor in the apartment complex. He was actively taking notes (or drawing cartoons, you weren't sure), radiating that golden-retriever energy even this early in the morning.

Slumped in the seat directly behind Jaehyun was... a lump in a black hoodie. You assumed it was a person, though they hadn't moved since the class started.

"Let's discuss the Heinz Dilemma," the professor said, pacing the room. "Is it moral to steal medicine to save a dying spouse? Who stands by Kantian ethics here? Duty above consequences?"

You shot your hand up. You were the only one. "I do," you stated firmly. "The act of stealing is inherently wrong. If we allow moral flexibility based on outcomes, the law loses its objective authority. We can't build a society on 'what ifs', we build it on principles."

You smiled. Textbook perfection.

"That," a deep, groggy voice rasped from behind you, "is the most naive thing I've heard all morning."

The black hoodie shifted. The guy leaned back in his chair, finally revealing his face. Dark hair falling over sleepy eyes, a sharp jawline, and an expression of pure boredom. Han Dongmin.

"Excuse me?" you turned around in your chair, offended.

Taesan didn't even blink. He spun a pen in his long fingers, looking at you like you were a particularly slow child. "Principles are a luxury for the privileged," he drawled. "In a survival scenario, 'duty' is irrelevant. The only moral imperative is the preservation of life. Your argument assumes a fair world. The law isn't about morality; it's about order. Don't confuse the two."

The professor pointed a finger. "Excellent counterpoint, Mr. Han. Order versus Morality. Let's discuss."

You sat there, mouth slightly open, face burning hot. He hadn't just disagreed; he had dismissed your entire logic as "privileged fantasy." And then, he just... went back to sleep.

When the class ended, you were aggressively packing your bag, ready to storm out.

"Y/N! Wait!" Jaehyun grabbed your arm, smiling brightly. He turned to the guy behind him. "Taesan, you're alive! I thought you died during the lecture."

Taesan stood up, stretching his arms. He was tall. Annoyingly tall. "Almost did," Taesan muttered. "The debate was... uninspiring."

Jaehyun laughed, oblivious to the tension. "Y/N, this is Taesan. My best friend. And Taesan, this is Y/N. My new roommate! She lives in 402."

Taesan froze mid-stretch. He looked at Jaehyun, then slowly lowered his gaze to you. "Roommate, huh?" he said, his voice low. "So, you're the one moving into the room next to Jaehyun's karaoke chamber."

"I can handle noise," you snapped, narrowing your eyes. "I just can't handle arrogance."

Taesan paused. For a second, he looked surprised. Then, a small, barely-there smirk touched his lips.

"Feisty," he commented to Jaehyun, ignoring you completely. Then he looked back at you one last time. "Smart, too. For a freshman who believes in fairy tales."

He walked past you towards the door, where a group of loud boys were waiting in the hallway, waving at him.

You stood there, fuming. "I hate him," you declared to Jaehyun, watching Taesan’s back disappear into the crowd.

Jaehyun just grinned, patting your shoulder sympathetically. "Give it time. He's an acquired taste. Like black coffee."

"I hate black coffee," you grumbled.

You turned away, opening your notebook to a fresh page to write down the date. But instead, you found yourself staring at the blank paper, your pen hovering. Without thinking, you wrote down your very first observation about him.

Hypothesis #1 Established: Subject B is an enemy.

(Sub-note from 3 years later: You were wrong. You ended up addicted to black coffee, and he wasn't the enemy... he was just the prologue to your favorite love story.)

Taesan glanced at you, the kind of look that lingered too long to be casual. Your cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, your breath fogging in the air as you laughed at nothing in particular. Snowflakes clung to your hair, melting slowly against the warmth of your skin. He didn't understand how you could be this happy about snow, lights and holidays that meant crowds, noise and forced cheer.

But he liked watching you be happy.

He liked it more than he'd ever admit out loud.

You turned to him suddenly, catching him mid-stare. "You're staring at me," you teased, bumping your shoulder against his.

His ears burned. "I'm not."

"You are." Your grin widened, eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's very obvious."

"I was just looking at the snow."

"Sure you were."

"I was."

"Uh-huh." You laughed, the sound bright and clear in the quiet street. "It's okay, you know. I don't mind."

He wanted to say he wasn't staring, that he was just observing, just taking in his surroundings like any normal person would. But the words caught in his throat, tangled up with all the other things he couldn't say yet. Things he kept locked away in the spaces between breaths, in the pauses before he spoke, in the moments when you weren't looking and he could let himself feel everything without fear of it showing on his face.

So instead, he just held your hand tighter and hoped you couldn't hear how fast his heart was beating.

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, your footsteps crunching softly against the snow. Occasionally, you'd point out holiday decorations in shop windows—a ceramic reindeer here, a string of silver bells there—and he'd nod along, committing every detail to memory. Not the decorations, but you. The flash of excitement in your eyes. The animated gestures you made with your free hand. The bounce in your step when you spotted a particularly elaborate window display.

He'd never been good at this—at being open, at showing affection in ways that were obvious and easy to read. But with you, he was trying. Holding your hand when you walked together. Texting you good morning even though he wasn't a morning person. Listening to you talk about your day and remembering the small details you mentioned in passing.

It felt like learning a new language. One where he stumbled over pronunciation and mixed up grammar, but you were patient enough to let him figure it out at his own pace.

When you reached your apartment building, you turned to face him, still holding his hand. The streetlamp above cast a warm glow across your features, and Taesan found himself memorizing the curve of your smile, the glint of snow in your hair, the gentle rise and fall of your breath in the cold air.

"Thanks for walking me home," you said.

"It's not far."

"Still." You squeezed his hand. "I like it when you do."

His throat felt tight. He wanted to say more, wanted to tell you that he'd walk you home every night if you'd let him, that these quiet moments at your doorstep had become his favourite part of the day, that leaving you here and going back to his empty apartment was getting harder each time.

But the words stayed locked in his chest.

Instead, he just nodded.

You stood there for a moment longer, and Taesan realized how near you were. His attention snagged on the details of your face, on the urge to lean forward and close the distance.

His heart hammered against his ribs.

“Do it,” a voice in his head urged. “Just close the distance. She's right there.”

But what if you weren't ready? What if he'd misread everything and you pulled away? What if he ruined this fragile, precious connection between you by moving too fast?

The fear paralyzed him, locking him in place, stealing movement and thought alike, leaving him suspended in the moment with no idea how to proceed.

"Goodnight, Taesan," you said softly, and there was a flicker of disappointment in your eyes that he didn't catch.

The moment broke, tension dissolving all at once, the fragile stillness giving way as reality pressed back in.

"Goodnight," he managed, voice rougher than he intended.

You gave him one last smile before disappearing into your building, and Taesan stood there in the falling snow, hands shoved deep in his pockets, wondering when he'd become such a coward.

He stayed there for longer than he should have, watching the light in your apartment window flicker on a few floors up. When your silhouette appeared briefly behind the curtains, he finally forced himself to turn and walk away.

The cold bit at his face, but all he could think about was how warm your hand had been in his.

 ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

The thing about Taesan was that he didn't do Christmas.

He never had.

Growing up, it felt like a holiday designed for people who thrived in chaos—endless family gatherings where relatives asked invasive questions, last-minute shopping trips through packed malls, the performative joy that everyone seemed obligated to display whether they felt it or not. He preferred quiet. He preferred routines that didn't get disrupted by red and green decorations, carols playing on repeat in every store, strangers wishing him happy holidays with forced enthusiasm.

December had always been a month to endure, not celebrate.

But then you came into his life, and suddenly Christmas wasn't just tolerable.

It was you.

You, who hung miniature ornaments from your bag that jingled softly when you walked. You, who hummed carols under your breath while waiting in line for coffee, unconsciously swaying to rhythms only you could hear. You, who talked about holiday plans with so much genuine excitement that he started looking forward to December just because it made you smile.

He'd never cared about mistletoe, snow or twinkling lights strung across buildings.

Now he noticed every single one.

He found himself paying attention when you pointed out decorated storefronts, when you dragged him to see the giant tree in the city square, when you made him try peppermint hot chocolate even though he insisted he wouldn't like it. (He did like it. He'd never tell you that. You already looked too smug about being right.)

The shift happened so gradually he didn't realize it at first. December stopped being an inconvenience and started being a countdown to moments with you. Each day brought new decorations you'd get excited about, new plans you'd make, new reasons for you to look at him with those bright, hopeful eyes that made his chest feel too small for his heart.

And Taesan, who'd spent years being indifferent to the holiday season, suddenly found himself wishing it would last longer.

 ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

"Taesan."

He blinked, pulled from his thoughts by the sound of your voice. You were standing in front of him in the campus library, hands on your hips, eyes narrowed in playful suspicion. Your scarf was slightly askew, and there was a dusting of snow on your shoulders from the walk over.

"You weren't listening," you accused.

"I was," he lied, closing his textbook. Chemistry could wait.

"Then what did I just say?"

He opened his mouth, closed it. His brows furrowed slightly as he tried to recall even a single word you'd spoken in the last thirty seconds.

Nothing.

You burst out laughing, the sound earning you a few annoyed glances from nearby students trying to study. You didn't seem to notice or care.

"You silly kitty," you said, shaking your head as you pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. "I said we should go Christmas shopping this weekend. I still need to get gifts for people, and you—" You leaned forward, poking his textbook for emphasis. "—you need to tell me what you want."