nineoooo

SWISHHH—!!

You hear a thick branch swipe against the wind and thump onto the ground, feeling the tremor of it under your feet. At once, you and Taesan spring apart, feeling more scorched than interrupted.

A deep flush creeps up your neck, ears hot as fire.

"I—"

"Um," he gulps, eyes darting away in awkwardness. "Just the wind."

"Yeah… Just the wind." You nod—slow at first, then more feverishly to emphasise the point. It does more to convince yourself than him.

"Oh, we're at the tree," Taesan changes course, nudging his chin towards the map in your limp hand, afraid to touch. "He should be somewhere close by. Check."

Your eyes begin to trace for Mr. Ribbit's name, but your mind is all smoke and heat, the imprinted memory of Taesan's half-lidded eyes and parted lips at the forefront.

You'd almost kissed.

Kissed!

Not even an hour ago, you'd been convinced he had kidnapped your beloved toad and here you were now, about to make the grave mistake of pressing your lips to his admidst the haze of fear and dread.

"He's underneath it," Taesan says suddenly, clearly less distracted than you are. His fingers point at a spot on the map. "Under the Whomping Willow… Oh…"

The wind whistles louder as if to punctuate the point. Your hand feels colder without Taesan's holding it, and the very thought of that makes you almost fumble over a crook in the dirt.

"Roots," he points out, steadying you by the robes and tapping down with his shoes. "We're close by, so we need to be careful not to fa—"

Whoooshhhh—!!!

"Fuck… Fall."

One of the aggravated branches had aimed for your heads, forcing Taesan to think on his feet and push you down with him, ending up with the both of you now crouching low. He heaves, catching his breath as you realise what's just happened.

"T-thanks," you murmur in reply, aware that your heart thundering has less to do with the the thought that you had almost perished by the hands of a violent tree and more to do with the fact that Taeaan is so so close. The heat of his palm is still fresh on your scalp.

Before another wave of shame can make you jump away from him, you feel a quiver against your eardrum, a low growl that grows into noisy barks. Something is here, and its about to attack—that's the only thing you know before you move.

"Wait, Y/N, no—"

Taesan doesn't finish his sentence before you've thrown yourself over his body in an attempt to cover him, shield him from the angry, bloodthirsty werewolf that was about to eat—

"Y/N?"

You blink your eyes open, fingers shaking where they've clutched his back, your entire frame attempting to cover him. When you come to it, Taesan's eyes are startled open, and the invisibility cloak has slipped off your heads.

And then the bark resounds again—too excited to be scary.

"Huh?" You twist your head to look, perplexed.

A dog stands there, greeting joyfully, tail wagging a mile a minute as it spots the two of you. Before you can turn to question Taesan, he's already speaking.

"You shouldn't be out without telling me." Except it isn't directed to you—it's for the dog.

The dog obediently hangs his head, whining as thought in apology. You remain clueless as to why Han Taesan seems to be talking to a dog…and why the dog seems to understand.

To make things even more bizarre, you hear low howls from within the willow, and a couple croaks follow.

What is going on??

"Taesan?"

"I can explain…"

Whether he actually means to or not is never made clear, because at that very moment, thick strands of curly roots of the tree begin to unravel, creating a slim opening—wide enough for Mr. Ribbit to leap out.

And out follows reddish mane accompanied by faded black paws.

"A… A fox!" The scream escapes your body as you crowd back into Taesan, instinctively trying to protect him from impending harm. "My wand—I need my wand, where is it!?"

"Wait don't—"

Too late because you've already managed to loosen it out of your robes, forehead creased in nervous terror, wand pointed straight at the fox. The hound takes several steps back too, coming to stand in front of the other animal. They look… confused, but not scared enough to back off entirely.

They could bite. They could hurt Mr. Ribbit—Or Taesan! You're about to throw the first thing you think of—a body binding spell—when you feel Taesan attempt to squirm out of your hold.

That idiot; if he moved, he could get seriously hurt!

You push back against him harder to hold him down, the words Petrificus Totalus almost out your tongue when the strangest, most absurd thing happens next.

Something pounces from behind you to shield the two animals in front, throwing itself in front of the wand instead. Two green orbs stare, prickles of black camouflaged by the night.

It's…

Mr. Meow..?

"Mr. Meow, what are you doing—"

Then it occurs to you that there's a missing weight underneath you; you're no longer touching Taesan. In fact… Taesan isn't there anymore.

"W-what? What's going on—Taesan?" You scramble backwards, feeling dirt under your fingernails, eyes blown wide in fear. "Who are you?"

Before you, the scene shifts, a slow morphing of limbs and hair—slower than it is in reality.

Instead of the familiar cat, Taesan stands there—breaths rugged, hair falling haphazardly into his face, sweaty palms on his knees as he slowly raises his head to meet your eyes.

"I can," he begins, voice gruff under wear, "explain."

It comes like a roll of film unravelling, memories and words coming back to you. The cat that had slunk into your dorm, that you had befriended and spilled your heart to. Taesan's sudden change. Him bringing you things, trying to be better, to be not himself…

An animagus is a witch or a wizard who can willingly transform into an animal. It's a learnt skill—not genetically passed on like metamorphmagi. You hear it in Taesan's own voice from the Defence class. The puzzle pieces itself together—it's unwelcoming and nauseating.

"You're an animagus," you say, a statement, not a question.

"I am," Taesan nods, a painful gulp travelling down his throat. He looks like he could choke on the truth. "I can explain."

When you open your mouth to speak, nothing comes out. Just hot, slithering shame.

And the pricking feeling of betrayal.

"It's—they're—" Taesan helplessly motions to the animals; the fox quirks his head, and the dog continues to look like its owner had kicked it to the curb. Mr. Ribbit watches the scene, chowing down on something crunchy. "I didn't tell you earlier but they're both animagi. It was supposed to be a silly experiment, okay? They kept asking me how I'd done it in third year and I couldn't say no and… No, that's not the point. Uh…

They were…" He turns to the animals, wordlessly begging for some help.

Dutifully enough, they too transform back to their wizard forms.

Two boys stand in their place instead, both sporting Slytherin uniforms, one with innocent doe eyes and a pout, and the other with sharper features, bumping shoulders as they obediently murmur a sorry to Taesan.

Keonho and Seonghyeon.

"Taesan hyung didn't know," Seonghyeon says to you, not as abashed as the other boy. "He didn't hurt your frog. We didn't either, obviously."

"We're sorry," Keonho speaks through a sniffle. "Your toad, he's been hungry every time we see him and he came to us, not the other way around. Told us he feels sick from eating just Produce all day, and…"

"And we had to help. So we told him to sneak out and we'd find him some fresh bugs."

"We didn't mean to scare you."

Your mind reels from the sheer bulk of new information—from the surprise of their identities which should have been obvious to you, if you were just a little more observant, and from the terrible feeling of being made a fool of for so long.

Mr. Ribbit leaps into your arms, perhaps having sensed your inner turmoil, in his own way of comforting you. A pretty apathetic moral support—but you can't even feel thankful at the moment from everything else you have to process.

"I'm sor—" Taesan barely finishes before you've turned around, face hot and red, legs beginning to move at record speed and all you feel is the whip of air around your ears as you sprint.

Away from shame; away from Taesan.

It's all horrible: tears pool underneath your eyes when you recollect the past couple months, the cold of the night making every step harsher. Your jaw hurts from biting your teeth together too hard, your heart a breaking mess.

You remember reading out the pages of your diary to Mr. Meow—to Han Taesan—spilling your guts out to him. About your mom, about your worries, about your fears. All the while it had all been just a ploy for him to ruin your life again.

Had he laughed about it afterwards with his friends? Had he felt happy every time you vented about your qualms to him?

And after everything, you had almost kissed him.

How stupid you were for thinking he could change…. For cementing yourself as the biggest, most naive coward in all of the wizarding world. In all of Gryffindor.

How stupid you were for believing, just for a split second, that you could ever like Han Taesan.

And now, everything is ruined.

Hogwarts grounds - past midnight

Everything is ruined.

Taesan might be the biggest idiot in all of the wizarding world—in all of history, actually. He's had you for barely a night, maybe a couple days if he counts your slowly bridging trust in him, but here he goes—making a blunder and losing you the same night.

Fucking moron, he berates himself, forehead creased in stress, feet faster than it has ever been. Taesan is used to running away from things—from you; towards is new for him.

But he's gone and fucked up marvellously now. True that he could sit this one out and come back after the break, slowly try to worm his way back into your life again. But it doesn't feel like a temporary thing this time. It feels like you're thoroughly and eternally done with him.

Taesan doesn't think he can do it again—the period you had ignored him after he'd wrecked your Gobstones match… Worst fucking week of his life. Taesan refuses to suffer through that again.

It's all racing heart and burning soles when he skids through the grass, and then over the pavement of the open corridor, faster, faster, faster until he spots a silhouette in the middle of it and pushes harder until he's right in front of you.

Taesan almost collapses from the run.

"Wait, don't —" He panics. "Don't leave, please. Anything but that. Please, just—yell at me, or set my hair on fire, or..oh, you can punch me in the face if you like!"

…

You blink at him, lips a passive line. Then begin to curve around him without a single word or reaction.

Taesan's adrenaline courses again—pure, unadulterated fear.

He springs to clasp the hem of your robe's arm. You turn, eyes flicking slowly from his hands to his pathetic expression. Taesan gets the message and removes his hands at once, resorting to a more pitiful measure; he's at his wit's end, okay?

"I'm…so sorry." He falls to his knees, head bowed deeply, hands together as though in prayer, pleading. "It was my fault, all of it. I messed up—kept messing up, even when you gave me so many chances. I'm such an idiot. The biggest ever idiot to exist… Have been for six years. I'm sorry for the pranks, and for pissing you off and for ruining your days… For… For making you cry." His voice cracks around the edge of the word.

You just look at the sight, not saying anything.

Taesan attempts again, all his pride and resolve breaking into dust. "If you want to cuss me out, just do it. I won't mind."

"I—" you begin, squeezing your eyes shut, making Taesan look up with a dreg of hope. "I can't."

"Y/N," he sounds strained. "I just wanted to make things right… I just…"

"…"

"I just wanted to be closer to you, okay?" It comes out like it pains him to admit the truth, a deep red climbing up his cheeks and ears. "I didn't like how you were right. And you were—about everything. I am vile and despicable and I ruin good things. And you were right about me wanting your…." His jaw is tight, shame blatant. "Attention."

"So you lied to me."

Taesan's pulse raises again. He feels like he's sinking.

"None of it was a lie, okay? Please just believe me."

"How can I—" You stutter on the word, previous apathy now replaced by a gulp, everything you try to hide making its way past the surface. You look like you're about to break down crying; Taesan is scared stiff that you might. "How can I trust you."

"Let me make it up to you, okay?" He attempts again. "Anything you want—I'll feed your toad for you every day, I'll bring you candy before every patrol; I'll even quit pranking forever."

You just stare at him, lips quivering.

"Okay, maybe not forever."

"I'm going to bed." You make for the common room again, desperate to get out of his face. Taesan hates how it makes him feel, how there's an ugly, frothing monster clawing its way up his sternum. Fear.

"Wait," he makes one last attempt, betting his all into four not-so-simple words. "Come home with me."

It's shocking enough of a request to make you slowly turn around and meet his eyes, your brows furrowed. "What?"

"You said you were staying at school over the break because of your—" Mom. He's too scared to say it, knowing how it goes back to his time as Mr. Meow and you talking about her with him. "Leave with me tomorrow morning. My folks will be more than happy to have you and, and I can just convince Professor Jeon… Yeah…"

Taesan thinks you might agree. That you'd hate to be alone at Hogwarts enough for you to choose a warm house and some company—even if it is with him. He dearly hopes you have space for one more act of forgiveness left in you.

"I…" You wipe your runny nose, hugging the toad closer for comfort. Then you take a deep, ragged breath before saying, "Good night Taesan."

It's the last he gets from you before you're walking off, turning into nothing but a shadow under the high arch of the hallway, leaving Taesan on the freezing floor.

Nothing more happens. Taesan hears Keonho and Seonghyeon shuffling over on their paws from behind, evidently to check up on him. He ignores the concerned whimper and a bark that's an attempt to cheer him up in favour of curling up into a shameful ball and accepting the cold hard truth.

Everything is ruined.

── ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

Hogwarts - first day of winter break

It's a bright and sunny dawn—antithetical to Taesan's insides. He's all bleak in there.

He wishes he could blame the upset stomach he has when he wakes up on just nerves, on the prospect of going home and having to deal with his family's antics. Or the lack of appetite on how early it is. But Taesan knows he's not usually the scared type, and he knows he can eat through a breakfast no matter what the time is.

His world is off balance just because you exist.

It had started way before all of this. Six years ago to be precise. This magnetic hold you have on him—one that makes it impossible for him to resist teasing you. All those tiny reactions of his effect on you: the pout, the way you threaten to take points from Slytherin instead of just retaliating with brute force, the way your face skews into frustration and your eyes get glassy when you're on the verge on weeping… Taesan could never look away.

And yeah, it's kind of twisted, and messy, but it's not entirely his fault that you look so cute when you cry. He'd never lied about that. And it was you that had fastened your hook on him on that fateful day in September—the first ever time he had stepped foot into Hogwarts.

Ugh… He does not want to think about that. Thinking means remembering, which means feeling, and he's not the best in that department. So he shoves it aside and locks it up in his mental box to be reopened later when he has the time—probably when he's in the quiet of his childhood room, late into the night when regrets start making their presence known.

Not now, later.

He skips breakfast, throws in the basic necessities into his duffel bag, decides that if he needs anything more he'll just borrow (steal) from his younger siblings later. Trudging to the station isn't much of a task when his brain is floaty enough to forget the walk—but it's the letter in his pocket that weighs him down more than the luggage in his hand.

"Taesan hyung, please give this to Y/N," Keonho had stood their with his sparkly eyes, having ran to interject Taesan a minute ago. Seonghyeon was there too, slightly less impressed. "It's an apology for last night—for feeding her frog without asking first. There's a packet of dried crickets in there too… for Mr. Ribbit."

"He's a toad," Taesan corrects. "And she'll have a heart attack if she sees a bug." He pockets in any way, and the two third-years part for their ride with another sorry (and Seonghyeon's discreet "Good luck with Y/N, hyung. You need it.")

Taesan had just grumbled in response and let them leave.

The letter will stay and rot in there, he's sure of it. You did not look like you wanted to see any part of him last night; you're probably holed up in your room, pouring your heart out into your diary, making sure that Mr. Ribbit knew how much of a shitty person Taesan had really been. Or maybe you're burning your diary to crisp now that you know he's read its contents…

Either way, he's fucked up big time—

"Why are you spacing out in front of the train?"

Taesan thinks he's hallucinating when he hears your voice. Had he been that sleep deprived?

But one tilt is all it takes for his assumption to be disproven—because you're standing there, drowning in a giant padded jacket, judging the heck out of his state of reverie, Mr. Ribbit snoring away happily in his travel bag in one of your hands, and wheeling a suitcase in the other.

Huh..?

"You said I could stay with you," you say, looking him right in the eye. "Or was that an empty offer?"

Taesan wants to say something—anything—but he's two steps behind the conversation at hand. You're standing here, next to him, in the flesh. He only believes it's not a dream because you smell like your dorm room, and a whiff of the sachet he'd sewn together for you.

"Okay," is the dumb response his dumb brain comes up with. Nothing witty like his usual self.

You take it at face value, stepping into the Hogwarts Express as it gets ready for departure. Before you vanish behind a compartment door, you turn back with a flat voice.

"Don't think I've forgiven you by the way," you say, sparing him a single glance and walking off towards an empty cabin.

Taesan follows dumbly, only partly understanding this progression of events. He ends up shuffling into the seat opposite yours, afraid to offend you by sitting next to you. You don't look at him, just place your luggage under your seat and lean your head against the wall, staring out the frosty window as the wheels begin to move.

The journey itself isn't long—a little cold, a little shaky, but the trolley comes by an hour later carrying sweet-smelling delicacies and Taesan makes it a point to purchase two sugar quills, placing one by your side when you'd fallen asleep. Soon after, he too slips into slumber, and by the time he's woken up, the quill has disappeared from your vicinity. He assumes that's a good sign, that you haven't sworn off touching anything and everything that he offers.

Fields and mountains flurry by out the window, blanketed by heavy mist. When you finally arrive at the station, Taesan has entirely knocked out cold, only twitching slightly when he feels something soft prob at his shoulder.

"Wake up."

"Hmnn."

"We've arrived. Wake up."

"Ugh," he groans, rubbing at his eyes. "Oh—Y/N?"

"You're drooling."

Your face materialises like smoke, but its gone just as fast with you turning around to gather your luggage. Taesan shamefully wipes his mouth, ignoring the heat creeping up his neck in favour of getting his own stuff.

Not ten minutes later, the two of you are standing side by side at a quaint little bus stop. You've got your snow cap pulled low, hair falling around your face, and Taesan is trying very hard not to stare. He sends a thankful prayer up to the heavens when the bus eventually arrives and he is spared of that excruciating task.

"Letter," he manages to slip in between a blow of the horn, half hoping you don't hear it, for the sake of his dwindling shame. "From the boys."

It seems that you do hear after all because you take it from his hand without protest.

Taesan only remembers the unfortunate packet of crickets after.

"Wait—I—" he scrambles to retrieve it, but you've already pocketed the thing, shooting him with a questioning look.

"What?"

"Uh…" He's scared to ask for it back. What if you consider it impolite? Or that he's playing a trick on you again. He doubts he'd even be through the word 'cricket' before you panic and pull out your wand, or worse yet, start bawling. Taesan only knows what to predict because he's done his fair share of tormenting you with bugs already.

Looking back, he isn't sure why he was so proud of himself for doing all that. Dumb, dumb brain, he chastises younger him.

"Nothing," he mumbles, saving the consequences for a day where he's better equipped.

Taesan has enough embarrassment to carry after the way he went on his knees last night, crying and pleading like a fucking idiot. He'd said sorry, for god's sake—he does not say sorry. You probably think he's a pathetic coward too, not someone worth an ounce of respect.

There's a big hole in his chest where his pride should be.

The bus screeches to a halt as he's deep in his overthinking, making him almost smash his face into the railing in front. Thankfully, you manage to brace your elbow and jolt him back into place before he can. Taesan doesn't even get to thank you before you're standing up, ushering him out.

Right…the stop.

His stop.

The roads are familiar as his own face: long trails of tire-tracks on snow, the morning sun making her mark on it, streets aligned with little cafes and stores that were just opening up for business, their wooden beams framed with Christmas decoration. The town had always been early and eager in getting into the festive season.

Taesan doesn't even realise his feet has taken the two of you to his place until the house comes into view, his body having moved on autopilot from years of practice.

"Oh, we're here," he announces awkwardly, motioning you to follow.

He hesitatingly walks up to the front door, takes a deep breath, and brings his fist to knock—

"San-ah! You're here!" The door is barely open before his mom takes both his cheeks in her hand, cooing at him and rambling about how sallow his face have gotten from school.

Taesan grumbles out a, "Mommmm." but lets himself be pet into oblivion anyway. She doesn't let him get many more words in as she goes on and on about needing to feed him and how he's gotten too tall for her to reach without hurting her back now. It isn't until a second or two later when her eyes flicker to the figure behind him.

"Oh…" Her initial surprise soon turns into bright excitement, eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. "You brought a friend!"

Taesan looks at you, trying to figure out how he was going to lay down this whole situation, but you make the first move by bowing respectfully and greeting his mom. "Hi Mrs. Han… I'm Y/N."

"Y/N…" She blinks as the name registers. "Oh My God! You're L/N Y/N! Our Sannie has told us all about you—what a pretty girl you are! Come in, come in; you must be freezing!"

Taesan wants to combust right then and there; he's thankful for the commotion that erupts as soon as you're both ushered past the door and into the house.

"Sannieeee!!" comes a squeal from the staircase, and a pair of ecstatic feet barrel down and right into Taesan's unready arms; he still somehow manages to catch her somehow.

"Taeri! How has my munchkin been!? Wow, you've gotten so tall, I can't even carry you anymore." Taesan pretends to drop the giggling girl, catching her right before she can fall and making her laugh even louder.

"She hasn't slept all night waiting up for you," his mother says, addressing you more than she does him.

"Is that your sister?" you ask in a polite voice, but your eyes betray the curiosity beneath them.

Taesan nods, offering a small smile. "This one—" He pokes his baby sister's cheek to make her give you a mostly toothless smile. "—is Han Taeri. She's the youngest."

"There's…more?" You sound almost like you'd never imagined a house with more than a single sibling. It makes Taesan chuckle fondly despite himself.

"Loads more. You'll see," he promises. And on cue, comes Taesan's father and brother and several other intermixed voices through the living room doorway.

"My boy," his father approaches with a hearty laughter. "Uncle Kang and I were just talking about you. We'll need a third hand to help with moving the dining table—oh," he stops when he notices you in the corner, nervously biting the inside of your cheek. "Who is the girl?"

"This is Y/N," Taesan's mom says brightly, placing an encouraging hand at your shoulder. "You know…that Y/N."

She raises her brow like she's attempting to send a secret message and it takes many pointed blinks for his father to receive it.

"Oh!" he says when he finally gets it. "The Y/N. Taesan doesn't shut up about you."

"He's right," says Taesan's brother. And another few teeny heads gather around his knees, attentping to sneak a peak at you.

Taesan wants to die. Right there. In front of his entire family and you, because it has to be better than the absolute mortification of his business being aired out for you to hear.

"Mom!" he whines, his shame amplified by Taeri's amused giggles.

"Oh now, shush." His mom remains unfazed, simply helping you take off your cap and jacket, dusting the snow off of it, to hang it on the coat rack. "Now go help this poor girl up to the guest bedroom—I'm so sorry that we didn't have enough of a notice to clean it before you came." She sends Taesan a scolding glare, making him gulp. "This guy didn't even carry your suitcase?"

"I'm…I could manage it myself," you answer sheepishly, but she's quick with handing it into Taesan's free arm.

"That is not how we raised you. Her room better be spotless by the time we're up." His mother chides him and Taesan is forced to drag the bag up the stairs, all the while making sure Taeri doesn't slip out of his hold when she's trying very hard to clamber onto his head instead.

When he's back down after have a wrestling match with the bedsheet and his sister's rendition of 'Three little monkeys jumping on the bed', Taesan regrets ever having left you alone with his nosy family.

"You're a Gryffindor? Wow! Our Taeri wants to be one—the rest of us have always been Hufflepuffs. Taeho wants to follow his hyung into Slytherin next year when he goes to school though—"

"Always been so fascinated with muggle customs… You call through a pheletone, was it?"

"Taesan isn't too shy is he? That boy used to hang by my sleeves when he was as small as a pea—

You're practically being interrogated on the couch, squeezed between his mother and aunt, a cup of cocoa in your hand and your eyes wide as saucers as you struggle to answer one person at a time. Taesan needs to intervene before his mom says something that could ruin his finely constructed reputation.

"Mom, the bed is done," Taesan announces, clearing his throat, promptly avoiding your eyes. "Can I borrow Y/N for a bit?"

He doesn't miss the coy look exchanged between the older women, nor the way Taesan's dad passes by with an encouraging pat on his back, nor the way his uncle mouths a "Keep the door unlocked." His sister is having a one-sided staring contest with Mr. Ribbit on the windowsill, and his little cousins keep running around, chasing each other with paper swords.

Taesan lets out the loudest sigh of relief once their teasing giggles die down and he's alone inside the guest bedroom.

Well…not alone, he realises eventually.

"Umm…" You stand at the curb, awkwardly looking around.

"Bed." He points at the corner of the room, where the ajar window lets in a cold breeze. "It's yours."

"Thanks."

"You should—" Taesan clears his throat, moving aside to let you in, fiddling with his fingers behind his back the whole time he speaks. "You should rest up for now. I'll call you down for lunch… Is that… Is that okay?"

You give a small nod and he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Once Taesan is outside, he uses the newfound privacy to take in a deep inhale, leaning his head back against the wooden door, almost sliding down to the carpet in agony.

He wonders if he'd made a mistake by asking you to come along, after all.

Han household - Mid-December

You wonder if you've made a mistake by coming along.

It took you almost an hour to slip into slumber, washing up and changing out of your clothes, making sure Mr. Ribbit was comfortably snoring away in his favourite bundle of blankets, and then spending the next ten minutes staring out your window.

Taesan's house has an apple tree planted right outside it—bulbs of red against snow-dusted branches, sparse specks of green in-between them. It makes sense that he smells like it, that Mr. Meow used to too. You almost regret making yourself remember.

It was an impulsive decision, made out of a night of unforgiving sleeplessness and lingering resentment. Well… not resentment. Something closer to hurt. Taesan had known your innermost thoughts all along, without you ever having meant for it to be for him. He knew about your friends, your family, you fears. And you… You had barely known him.

It's unfair and it's humiliating.

You thought of just rotting in bed until spring would break in and drag you out for classes, eventually. But even that didn't sound like a promising plan.

Then it happened—an idea. Something that made more sense than all the other possible paths you could take.

Take Taesan's offer, figure out why the heck he is the way he is, get on equal terms by peeling back his family dynamics, make him feel sorry for ever thinking you'd be so easily manipulated.

Because why should you be the only one who's scared of being known? He should fear the same.

He should.

Except, his house has nothing to hide at all. His mom and dad are warm, his aunt smells like roses and kindness, and his little sister makes your heart melt with her innocent grin. You should feel miserable and jealous that Han Taesan comes from a loving family, but… But you don't. You just feel out of place here—like you're the only feeble thing in this house full of life.

Thoughts pile up on top of one another, your brain collapses from the exhaustion of it all, and the sunlight is spilling over your face when you finally feel the world slowly blear back into vision.

"She talks in her sleep," comes a girl's voice.

The a boy chimes in after, "Better than hyung's drooling. Or dad's snoring—"

The another. "Sannie said not to disturb her. What if he gets mad at us…"

"He can't get mad at you. You're his favourite."

"Sannie," babbles a smaller child's voice when he catches the familiar name in the conversation.

You blink several times to adjust your sight, and the first clear look almost makes you faint onto the pillow.

Instead of the ceiling that you swear seeing right before knocking out an hour back, there are instead six pairs of curious eyes staring down at you. And you're surrounded—trapped—on both sides too.

You have nowhere to escape to.

"Where—What the heck are you guys doing in here!? You're going to freak her out," Taesan's voice comes like a saviour.

He's balancing a tray of food in one hand, the other on his hip like a scolding mother. The kids scatter at once, giving you space to sit up.

"We were just making sure she hadn't died," Taeho says easily; Taesan remains unimpressed by the jest.

"I wanted to show Jiwoo unnie your girlfriend," says Taeri, and this makes Taesan's face turn as red as an apple.

"She's not my girlfriend." he protests, almost dropping the metal tray on the floor.

"But she's a girl, and mom said she was your friend," the younger girl bats her innocent eyes.

Taesan just sighs in defeat and places the tray on the bedside table.

"They're." He waves to the crowd of six around him, a small bunch that on average barely reaches past his knees. "These are my siblings and cousins," he tells you, hoping you're not offended by their behaviour.

"Hi," you greet them with a small wave, still awkward, maybe shy.

"I'm Han Taeho!" Taesan brother extends a hand and you shake it amicably. His sister attempts to do the same, giggling as you entertain her whims.

"This one," Taesan ruffles the hair of a slightly taller girl. She has short black hair like Chaewon's and a polite smile, "is Jiwoo. She's ten like Taeho. They'll both be heading to Hogwarts next year—if they behave and the Grinch doesn't steal them away this Christmas, that is."

Taeho shoots him a grumpy frown and Taesan matches it by sticking out his tongue to tease him.

"Well, I've been perfectly good," Jiwoo announces to you. "I helped Dad and Uncle Han clean the chimney."

"Is that why you have soot on your cheek?" you ask, and she nods with a bright grin. The sight is so adorable; it kind of reminds you of Eunchae when you met her for the first time.

"These—" Taesan motions towards the three almost identical toddlers blinking like curious kittens up at you, hanging off the mattress. "—Are the Kang triplets. Jiwoo's younger brothers—Jaemin, Jaeha, and Jongin. Don't worry about getting the names right, even I mess it up at times, but they'll also answer to duckling one, two, and three." He counts by softly mussing up each of their bowlcuts.

"They're…" Adorable. You want to squish them, but you're too scared to hurt them; you've never even held a baby. "Cute."

"Only when you're new to meeting them. Once you get to know them—they're little rascals, trust me."

Taesan is met with a barrage of oppositions and, "He's lying!" at that, and he responds to every one of them by doubling down on the teasing. You find it ironic that he has the galls to call them rascals when he was never far off from the title himself.

"Oh wait, you've got me all distracted," he pauses in the middle of tackling one of the triplets—Jaeha, you think—onto the fluffy duvet, "I was supposed to tell you to eat your lunch. You slept through it so Mom send up a tray."

"Ah, thanks."

"And you guys," He turns to the kids. "Dad needs you to help him pick out a tree. Better run and get changed before he leaves without you."

Apparently that's all it takes for them to sprint out the door and leave you with some quiet.

Taesan turns to you once they've all vacated. "Sorry for that. They're nosy like the rest of my family."

"It's okay." You realise you mean it. "I—I don't mind. It was nice to see everyone."

He smiles, watching your expression for a second, a sense of relief evident on his face. Then he places the tray on your lap. "Stir fry and rice. Mom makes it a lot when I'm home—but there's no eggplant if you like those—"

"It's okay. This is…more than enough."

The bowl is warm between your hands, the right amount of spice and salt. You can already tell Mrs. Han is a wonderful cook—almost as good as your own mom.

"You've told her about me?" you ask before you take the first bite.

Taesan is too focused on making sure you're eating, waiting at the side of your bed. "Hm?"

"Your Mom. She knew about me."

His face turns beet red once more, lips forming a small 'o'. "Oh… Uh… That's…"

"Don't lie to me." Again, is implied.

Taesan sighs, perhaps knowing that this is entirely his fault. He takes a seat down at the edge of the bed, a significant distance between the two of you.

"I…Yeah, I talked about you," he admits. "Have for a long time, I think. Since first year."

"Oh."

"Are we going to talk about everything? …Now?"

It's a good day outside, he should be spending it talking about happy thinks—amongst family, eating together, going tree-shopping together. But there will never be another time as comfortable as now. Bite the bullet, as they say.

"If you want to." You stop playing around with the spoon, setting it down to look at the back of Taesan's head. "But I do. There's still things I don't understand."

"Right," he nods, but his face remains turned away from yours as he continues. You don't miss the red on his nape, however. "So the things I said that night—you remember right?"

You nod. Then remembering he can't see, you say, "Yeah. I remember."

"The gist is, yeah, I'm an animagus. Managed to transform back in third year on a whim. I just… I guess I wasn't fond of company all that much and it was a surefire way to get out of small-talks and stuff. No one else knows by the way—except for Keonho and Seonghyeon, and—you." He dips his head lower, rubbing rough circles into his palm. "Backfired on me when I started using it to get out of detention and Jeon signed me up for the Quidditch team for 'discipline building'."

"It didn't work," you say out loud without thinking of it—not that you regret it.

Taesan still for a second, then chuckles lightly. "Guess not."

"And then you changed… After Gobstones."

You remember the day as clear as glass: the fireworks, the dungbomb, your hands around his shoulders, the way you had finally snapped when you realised how far he'd gone. And you remember everything after as well: the patrols, the staring, the gifts. His attempts at fixing the mess he'd caused.

"Because I realised you might truly hate me for once."

Taesan whispers the admission so softly, like a secret he hates to believe. You've never seen him look so small. He was supposed to be all teasing cackles and mischief—now he's just…scared.

You don't hate him. Of course there's the annoyance of having been the victim of his pranks for an eternity, and the sting you feel when you think about how easy it is for him to get under your skin, because he knows you, in and out like something he's studied for so long.

Instead of voicing those thoughts out, you settle for, "You said you'd do anything to make up for it, no?"

"Huh?"

"No?"

Taesan braves a look at you, curious more than confused. "I…Yeah, I did. Do you want something?"

"Help me get over my fears. Can you do that?"

He takes a second, which then melts into a silent minute, and then he's asking, "Pardon?"

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, or change the entire topic and crawl into a hole now that your initial courage starts to wear off. Instead, you cough lightly, ignoring the heat of embarrassment to say, "Help me with my phobias… Like… Exposure therapy, y'know?"

"Did Professor Jeon finally get to you? You do know that guy has the worst methods, right?"

"It's not him!" you huff. "I wanted it. I've thought about for a long time, okay? When I get back to school after winter break, I want to be a better Gryffindor. It's stupid if I'm still crying about spiders once I'm a seventh year."

"It's not stupid," he replies, but you don't trust the guy's word one bit.

"Will you help me or not? I'm yet to forgive you for your…mistakes, by the way."

He grows sheepish at that, lowering his head obediently. You take that as a yes.

Before he heads out, Taesan offers to take you to the town if you needed to buy any necessities or send a post to your mom. There's a hesitant edge to his tread, when he stops at the door-frame, waiting like he wants to say something but his throat just won't let him get it out—like a hairball stuck in a cat's mouth, you think in morbid amusement.

"Lock the door if you don't want the kids to snoop through your things, by the way. My door is the one opposite yours… in case you need m—something." He coughs at the accidental slip of tongue. "And—"

"…"

It's plain as day that he has more to say. Maybe a missing piece in his revelations from earlier; you don't pry, and Taesan dismisses it with a grunt.

"Just—just come down when you're ready."

Then he's gone, his footsteps disappearing down the carpeted stairs, leaving you to mull over how exactly you were supposed to dissect into everything unsaid.

//

THE TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS OF OVERCOMING YOUR FEARS

"Jiwoo, get me the batter—Jaemin, do not dip your fist into that bowl—!"

The house is at its noisiest on mornings, the welcome mat powdered with snow from the men having carried it in after a 5 AM fishing trip, an enchanted broom dusting away at the the wooden floorboards, the cuckoo taking a round around the room as the clock strikes the hour, tweeting away.

Everything seems to run on magic—including the lone whisk twirling around in the cookie batter. It's so different from your home.

"I can get it," you offer, gently removing the toddler off the high stool that has begun to wobble dangerously.

"Nonsense! We can't have a guest do work, that's Taesan's job. Sannie!" she calls him over as he's hanging his scarf by the door.

Taesan bounds over without complaint, the most obedient you've ever seen him. "What should I do?" he asks her.

"Lay the batter out on the tray and make sure the children don't get their hands on it before I've baked it." Suddenly she seems to get a bright idea—a lightbulb moment. "You know what, maybe Y/N should join in after all! You can help Sannie with the oven. His aunt and I wanted to pop by town to get some groceries for dinner; we'll take Jiwoo with us since she's been needing to get a new toothbrush."

You nod politely, missing the pointed look she shoots at her son, and the way Taesan mouths an indignant 'Mom!'. But she's already off with a smirk and a wave.

Taesan turns to you with a shameful smile. "Sorry for her. She's…uh…"

"She's sweet," you reply with genuine affection for the woman. She had been kind enough to give you her best quilt for the night, take your letter to the local Owlery since your phone kept dying every time you tried to call your mom (must be the buzzing magic in the air blocking the signal), and even got you a basketful of fresh apples the last day when you mentioned you'd never had one straight off the tree.

The rest of his family were of similar temperament: Mr. Han had taken to bringing you jam drops ever since he'd noticed you take an extra over tea, and one entire cabinet had now been dedicated to just that. And both his uncle and aunt got excited every time you mentioned anything remotely muggle-made. There's also Grandma Han who'd mostly just stayed in her room unless it was for calling over Taesan to come read to her, or chide him for not offering to take you around the town until told to.

The children though… You didn't know how to talk to them without the fear of them asking too many questions about you and Taesan, and your not-quite-friendship. And it's not like you had siblings to know what other scenarios may arise from just taking a chance.

"What are you thinking so hard about? About to pop a vein over there." Taesan points at your temple whole you're pouting at the empty oven.

"What we talked about before…remember?"

Taesan assesses your expression, making sense of it. "The deal?"

You nod.

"You've thought of something already?"

"I'm kinda scared of kids," you just bite the bullet—not like you haven't tarnished your reputation in front of him already. He might as well as know a little more; it can't hurt.

"Oh… Yeah, that was obvious."

"Wait, what do you mean obvious—"

"Jaemin-ie, up!" Taesan interrupts to gather one of the ball-sized triplet into his arm, balancing him on the hip. "You carry him now," he says to you.

You flail almost immediately.

"Carry!? I can't—Taesan, I haven't even seen a child since I was one myself. I'll drop him!"

"No you won't."

"I will! Can't we start with something simpler…like uh…"

"You had no issue putting him down from the stool, just do the opposite—see, down," he says as he places the giggling toddler back on the floor, then takes him back."—Aaaand up. Easy as pie."

"I might accidentally kill your cousin," you almost sob.

He seems amused by your overreaction, but any fondness he may have, he hides it beneath a roll of an eye. "It's fine—we've got two more of the same," he quips, and Jaemin, although too small to understand fully, giggles at how Taesan makes a funny face at him. "See, he says he's cool with it too."

"Taesan—"

"Just hold the damn baby, jeez." Before you can continue to protest, he shoves the kid into your unprepared arms. You immediately go rigid on contact.

There are a pair of big brown eyes blinking up at you. You feel as though put at gunpoint by a baby rabbit. He looks like he's waiting for you to do something, and you feel like you should be on the other end instead.

"Loosen up; he's confused because you're so stiff," Taesan supplies, adjusting your arms. "There. Now do a funny face."

"What!?"

"Like this." He demonstrates by pulling at the corner of his lips, teeth tight, and going cross-eyed on purpose. It makes Jaemin burst out into a fit of laughter, excitedly bouncing as he repeats, 'Again, again!'.

Taesan urges you to copy him, and braving a try, you squeeze your face together and stick out your tongue, hoping your dwindling shame is enough to coax a giggle out of the kid.

Thankfully, he gives you a bright reaction, even clapping his little hands together to ask for a replay. It makes your heart ease up. "You like that?" you ask hopefully and he nods.

Seems that your rendition reaches as far as the first floor bedrooms, because out comes barrelling Jaemin's brothers, along with a still yawning Taeri who goes straight into Taesan's arms.

By the time Mrs. Han arrives back, you've miserably failed your task of making sure to keep the batter out of the sneaky little hands. However, one good thing comes out of the whole ordeal—you find that you're no longer afraid of kids.

Who knew that all it would take were some silly expressions and Taesan's simple advice.

//

"Are you sure about this…what if they bite?"

"They're dead." Taesan's deadpans. "Even if not, I doubt crickets bite people."

You're crouched on your bedroom floor, gingerly pinching a spindly green bug between your fingers. Taeri is too busy having a staring contest with Mr. Ribbit again, and Jiwoo's off to the side reading her storybook.

Taesan had convinced you to finally let the poor thing let go of his diet of just greens and feed him some real food ("My toad is vegetarian", you had grumbled in excuse, but he had somehow found information on how toads needed the protein to thrive and how you'd be doing a huge disservice by ignoring his advice). In the end, you conceded wearily.

You squeeze your eyes shut and bring it to Mr. Ribbit's mouth, not looking when the insect disappears off your hand and right onto his tongue.

The crunching noise is disgusting, but the way Taesan and the girls clap for you is beyond satisfying. He even looks proud of you.

Another fear conquered, hooray!

Your winning streak doesn't end there—starting with the small stuff.

Jiwoo handles the task of spooking everyone out one night, with the entire family gathered around the fireplace, animatedly narrating a ghost story. It even makes Taeri cower behind Taesan's shoulder, and one of the triplets burst into tears. You find that its not as scary when you're too busy wiping his cheek and telling him that ghosts were just silly old people who liked to float between the Hogwarts walls and make small-talk with unwilling students. Turns out the more you calm him down, the more calm you become as well.

Spiders and snakes seem to be a bigger hurdle, but you somehow manage.

Taesan takes you out into the frosty garden and transforms a rock into a non-poisonous species (he swears on his dungbombs that it is). You almost squeal when it wraps around your wrist—almost—but Taesan says, "See, he likes you," and you look down at the creature tilting its head in curiosity.

"He's not hurting me," you whisper in awe.

"Duh," Taesan chuckles. "He's made of my magic, why would he hurt you?"

The casual statement does more than enough to ease your thundering heart.

The experiments keep coming: lighting a match, sleeping with the nightlight off (you almost pull out a Lumos until you remember Taesan's disapproving stare), even testing out the dusty old Boggart his mom had found in the shoe cabinet.

Things are still scary, but you have the courage to at least take a leap of faith and face them.

It gets colder outside, and warmer within the house. Christmas ticks closer and in tandem, the excitement buzzing through the place grows threefold.

"Brooms up!" commands Taesan from the middle of the snow-filled yard. "Cheaters have to shovel the entire driveway before sundown."

"But I'm too small for that!" whines Taeri, pouting behind her kid-sized broomstick. Taeho makes a face at her from the other side and she starts to complain louder.

You're watching the scene unfold from the front-steps of the house, cheeks in your hands as you bask under the orange sky. The kids are either on either teams of the impromptu Quidditch match, or rolling around in the snow, making teeny angels.

"Winner gets a life-time supply of dungbombs, how's that?"

Both of Taesan's siblings seem eager to acquire that prize, and you wonder if this affinity for joke-items was a family trait. As soon as he releases the flittering golden Snitch, they're both off zooming after it. The brooms don't lift them beyond just a few feet overhead, so it's still safe in case they fall and you have to shoot a slowing charm at them.

In the end, Taeri wins by cleverly pretending to have been injured, then using the distraction to snatch the ball (there is no way that girl isn't going to be in Slytherin, you think).

"Y/N," Taesan calls after, dangling his giggling little sister upside down by the legs for her entertainment. "Come fly with us!"

Your heart drops to your stomach.

No way you could fly.

"I'm good over here, thanks," you feign nonchalance, but Taesan has never been a stranger to your fear-induced ticks.

"You're scared of heights," he says knowingly, setting Taeri down. She runs off at once to go make her snowman.

"It's just comfortable over here. Plus, I can't keep a watch on everyone if I—Ack!"

Before you know it, he's hauled you upward by the elbow, having quickly made his way to you.

Curse his long limbs and abnormally large steps!

There's no protest left on your tongue before he's helped you over his broom, and you're somehow floating tens of feet up in the air with Taesan grinning in front of you.

"Isn't the sunset gorgeous?" he whoops, feeling the cold wind card through his hair. "Dontcha feel invincible? Accomplished??"

"I feel nauseous!"

Taesan just giggles, yes giggles, in response at your pain, and does a loop in the air before letting go off his grip from the broom.

"Look at me! I can do a feint with no hands!"

You lurch forward to grab his sweater, voice rising in pitch. "Taesan, please, fuck—please!! Oh god, we're so high up… Don't crash, oh my god—!!!"

Miraculously, you land just fine. Taesan is grinning ear to ear as he watches you stumble away, hair in windswept tangles, looking like you'd just lost a battle.

"Next time, we'll get you your own broomstick," he quips with a teasing smile, jogging to catch up to you. "One with training wheels," he says—whatever that means.

It turns out he hasn't changed all that much after all. There's still a lot of teasing left in him reserved just for you.

There are other things about Taesan that you make note of too—insignificant details that start to fill up a page in your diary:

1. He sleeps like a cat.

The first time you notice is when you're both too full on apples while trying to paint Christmas ornaments, and you wake up to Taesan curled up on the floor right under where the sunlight spills onto his cheeks. Like a flower bending towards the sun, he's nuzzling into the warmth instead of away from it.

Textbook feline behaviour. It's not that crazy given he was your—ahem—since he was Mr. Meow after all. You wonder if the trait came after he turned into an animagus or if it had been the other way round…

2. He seems to have the permanent itch to tease someone or something at all times.

It's in the way his fingers twitch at an opportunity, the way his grin grows more devious when his mom asks to pass her a tea towel and Taesan's entire hand comes off in the process, fake blood spurting from the sleeves.

Mrs. Han explodes at him in an instant, chasing him out the kitchen as he giggles and runs away like a three year old. You don't miss the fond smile she gives him once he's out of view though.

He'll come tickle Taeho when he least expects it, followed by another round of run and chase that grows into a whole game involving all the kids and you. The house is never quiet—always carrying the sound of laughs and petulant shrieks and sometimes toddler tantrums.

You find that you don't mind any of it.

3. He's easy as pie to piss off.

This one comes as a gift wrapped in a surprise.

"Y/N, pssss."

You've just woken up, getting yourself a cereal bowl when you hear someone beckon you over from behind the wall. You think its probably Taesan with one of his new exposure therapy item, so you trudge over, blinking leftover sleep from your eyes.

"What—Mrs. Han!?"

"Come here, and tiptoe," she whispers, holding a bucket in her hand for whatever reason. Taesan's younger brother is there too, wearing an evil smirk that gives you terrible deja vu.

Somehow, for some reason, the three of you end up cooped inside the upstairs bathroom.

"Mrs. Han, why do you have a rope and a bucket?" Your danger alarms begin to go off, wondering if she was secretly a serial killer or something. The grin she sends you in response does nothing but heighten your suspicions.

"You see, my son—" she says as she ties one end of the rope to the bucket and Taeho starts to get it filled with water. "—thinks he can get away with using fake blood to scare his poor mother."

"And his poor brother; don't forget me," Taeho pipes up.

"I blame his uncle for buying him that muggle magic book when he was younger—haven't had a day of peace since then, ugh." She doesn't sound as exasperated, more so just doting.

"Oh," you reply uselessly. It happens often these days when someone drops an anecdote or detail about about a version of Taesan you aren't familiar with yet. "Why am I here?"

"Surely you have something to get back at that boy for?" his mom chuckles as if that was obvious. "There isn't a single person he likes that he won't bother."

Oh…

OH!

"No! Uh, he doesn't like—" you begin to trip over your words, face burning at the word 'like'. "He isn't…"

His mom just smiles without prodding. "This will be the perfect opportunity for you to deflate his head a little, dontcha think so?"

In the end, you're helping them levitate the bucket over the door, setting up an elaborate mechanism at the crack of dawn. Then Mrs. Han brings over Taeri and asks her to go wake her big brother up, which she's more than happy to do—jumping on top of his groaning blanket-covered form until he begrudgingly opens his eyes.

Taesan is barely over the bathroom threshold before a bucket of freezing cold water plops right over his head.

"I—" He gapes, water drip drip dripping from his chin, and ears, and lips, and maybe out through his ears too. "Who the heck!?"

"Language," Taeri scolds, probably something she's heard her mom say once.

Taesan turns to see a bright flash go off, almost blinding him.

"Aw, Sannie, you look adorable," His mom coos, showing you Taesan's pathetic face on the magic camera. "We're definitely getting this framed for the living room."

"Mom!!" he groans in response. Then he seems to spot your amused chuckle from behind her, and at once, he suddenly grows bashful under the attention.

His neck is blooming pink, and his voice is shaky when he turns to Taeho instead to huff at. Taesan scowls, nose crinkling when he starts to complain.

He's obviously pissed off—it's kind of…cute.

Fuck.

No way did you just think that.

You're berating yourself for that insane lapse in judgement when the kids giggle and scatter away from Taesan's threat to tickle them all into oblivion; his mom also jogs away, eager to show her husband the picture of their son.

Which leaves the two of you alone in the bathroom.

"Uh—she made me," you supply without thinking.

"…Right," he gulps, too aware of the space between the two of you.

You think this is it, that you may have invited another wave of revenge from him. But soon, the edge in his voice turns…shy?

"Impressive… I didn't know you had it in you."

"Oh."

"I mean," he attempts to clear his throat, softer than he'd been a second ago with Taeho. "I'm proud of you for taking an interest in pranks. It's…unexpected. Good unexpected."

It's a little stupid how your heart swoops at that. And Taesan is right—it had been fun to be mischievous and let loose, not to mention how rewarding the look on his face had been when he'd fallen into the trap.

Cute, you think.

This time it doesn't feel as hard to accept.

── ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

In two days, it'll be Christmas. In the days leading up to it, Taesan's family doubles their cookie baking endeavours and triples this little prank war they've got going on.

First, its Taesan putting Hiccough Sweet into his mom's morning coffee, which then his dad drinks on accident and causes him to burst into a fit of hiccups. It takes several mugs of water, and finally a curing spell to get him to stop. In retaliation, Mr. Han wages war against his son, and recruits the younger kids with him—spiralling into a two-sided prank war between Taesan and the rest of them. His uncle and aunt stay out of the mess unless its to make bets or aid with water-gun supply. Even his grandma chuckles at the sight of a drenched Taesan (fair; he looked like a wet cat, in your opinion).

Between everything, you also learn that Taesan is quite serious about his hobby.

"Why are we in your shed…?"

Taesan is rummaging around under a bunch of boxes, sunlight filtering through the crack in the wooden ceiling, spilling gold on his raven hair. He's wearing a white cable-knit, looking far too innocent for the no-good antics he seems to be up to.

"This is my work station," he says like it should be obvious. "I can't believe you teamed up with my mom over me, hmff"

His pout looks too cute to ignore.

You kneel down next to him. "Your mom tempted me with a very nice incentive."

"What was it?"

"She said it would deflate your head a little."

Taesan puffs out his cheeks indignantly and you wonder why you'd never tried teasing him before—the results are just so fun. Like how his ears flush hot when he found out you'd been the one to set a dungbomb under his bed as a wake-up alarm, albeit on request from Mr. Han. Its funny. And nice to have an effect of him for a change.

On the list of Han Taesan trivia in your diary, you end up adding a, 4. He's really fun to tease.

But he's also downright menacing when it comes to plotting warfare.

Taesan has an elaborate set-up of novelty items tucked away in the shed, often accompanied by pages and pages of notes of his experiments. You learn that the hole in the ceiling was product of a spell gone wrong some years back—instead of using an amplifying charm on his extendable ears, he'd ended up using a blasting one by accident.

Currently, he's crouched down on a stack of cushions, jinxing each of the snowballs he's asked you to mould and hand to him.

"Why are we doing this again?" you ask.

"Stupid question, next."

"You're not imbuing them with dungbombs or anything are you?"

Taesan stops his activity to look at you in mild awe. "Wait…why didn't I think of that? Y/N, you genius."

"Woah, you're actually going to?? Won't that scare the kids?"

He scoffs at your concern. "Kinda the point, no? They decided to betray me for my dad and mom. I'm their big brother—I practically raised those little rascals. Look at how they're repaying me," he shakes his head dramatically, then sighs. "What have I ever done to deserve such an ill fate?"

It's your turn to scoff now, staring at his audacity. "Really? You think you're such a saint huh?"

Taesan has the decency to look ashamed when he clears his throat "Lets leave the past behind for a second… We're friends after all."

"Friends?" You raise your brow.

"Well…" He contemplates how to put it. "We're…partners? All that patrolling together must have counted for something, I hope. And look at us now, building evil snowballs together—if this isn't friendship, then what is?"

You can't argue with that foolproof logic.

Turns out that you no longer fear touching a dungbomb, and they aren't all that scary unless you count the foul smell they released once set off. Otherwise, its just a silly stink bomb that could harm you no less than an ant count. Things are scarier when they remain unknown, you realise.

Taesan pokes his tongue out as he works with a devious level of concentration, only looking up whenever you're done with shaping out another snowball from the giant bucket of snow next to you. His hair falls perfectly to frame his face, eyes sparkling with the kind of quiet passion you have never seen from him.

And for a crazy moment, your first thought is, why is he so hot when he's scheming?

"Fuck no!" you snap out of it with a not-so-quiet yelp, accidentally crushing the snow in your hand.

Taesan jolts up in concern. "Y/N? You okay?"

You blink several times, hoping someone will barge in through the door and save you from this moment. Alas! No one arrives.

"Peachy. I just saw a mouse is all." you grumble out.

It seems to satisfy Taesan. "We should work on that next then. Good think the house has loads of them."

"What–!??"

"I'm kidding," he chuckles at how you jump out of your skin for real this time. "I'll just transform some rocks in the garden and you can try with those, yeah?"

"…Fine."

Not an hour later, you're hiding behind a stump of log, hurling merciless snowballs at the kids. They run around half giggling, half howling for their lives, pink-cheeked and foggy-breathed. Taesan is so in his element as he runs after them, making snow explode into smithereens in the air—it kind of looks like a crystal firework show. You aid him by covering for his blind spots, melting Jiwoo and Taeho's snowballs before it reaches Taesan's body.

Despite yourself, you find yourself enjoying every part of it. And when Taesan finds you in the middle of the game, he squats down next to you. "See, told you we make a good team. Don't you regret picking them over me before?"

You grin into your scarf. It feels right to entertain his quip. "Guess you're right," you say. "I should have picked you a long time ago."

At once, he turns into a blushing mess, sputtering for words. His eyes are wide as saucers, cheeks redder than the apples hanging on the trees nearby. A gulp makes its way down his throat. Before you can giggle at his reaction and ease the tension, Jiwoo decides to do you both a favour and sends a hard sphere of snow right into the back of his neck.

"FUCK!" he yelps, turning to the perpetrator. It ensues into him chasing after her, threatening to drop snow down her collar. They stomp around through yard, bright laughter filling the evening as you watch with a pleasant buzz in your chest.

Teasing Taesan is really, really fun. Flustering him is pure joy.

//

THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS

It's possibly the busiest day of the year. You had taken a family trip to Hogsmeade in preparation for the following day—Mrs. Han counting heads until every one was accounted for. (Taeri was almost left behind because she'd been too busy finding a hat for Mr. Ribbit—until Taesan informed her you'd have to leave the toad behind for his own safety.)

The women split up to the fabric shop, and the men bounded off Honeydukes to placate the children. That left Taesan and you to wander about the cobblestone streets, conifers lining the storefronts, kids pressing their sticky hands to the windowpanes at delicacies. Carols drift out from the pubs, and Taesan hums along to it, drumming his wand on his thigh as you walk.

"Where to now?"

"Hmm… Ever been to Zonko's?"

You shake your head. The Joke shop had never been somewhere you braved to visit—too loud and crowded for your liking. You were also scared of said jokes; that was the main reason.

But once you're inside, the sight is a thing of dreams.

"It's…" Your voice comes out as a hush of awe. "Beautiful."

Taesan chuckles, nodding. "Have your pick; I specially recommend the Sneakoscopes—super helpful if you want to keep nosy losers out of your business."

"Would have been helpful a couple months back when you were terrorising me," you quip back. He has enough respect to agree with a shameful nod.

In the end, you take his suggestion, swinging a bag of trinkets that caught your eye. There had been a lot—rows and rows of silly potions and mystery cans, fake wands that were set up to burst feathers out of them, so many goofy tricks that made you giggle and Taesan to watch in fondness. After Zonko's, you head to the post office to pick up a package from your mom, sending a letter back to her. (you'd already sent a nice satin scarf a few days back, along with pastries for the nursing home inhabitants; it should have arrived in time for Christmas.)

The rest of the day is eventful with baking, cooking, and carol singing. Everyone starts to retire early for bed once Grandma Han starts to yawn, the kids ushered to their bedrooms despite their whines of protest.

"Santa doesn't like kids who don't sleep," Taesan spooks them, and they run off at once.

The house lulls into a soft silence. The fireplace crackles, the couch warm beneath your thick woollen clothes, and your tongue is sweet under the creamy hot chocolate. Taesan looks just as cosy next to you.

"Did you open the package yet?" he asks, stretching as he finally feels the rush of the day die down. He's been busy wrangling everyone together, making sure his mother didn't stress herself into fainting, and that his uncle didn't accidentally set the driveway on fire with a melting spell.

"Not yet; was waiting for you to get free." It's a slip of a tongue when you say it, but his softening features makes you not regret it one bit.

Honesty feels good. Not holding back feels good.

You take the rectangular package off the table and bring it back, untying the little string. Taesan peeks over in curiosity.

"It's—" you smile at the stack in your lap. "Movies."

"Huh?"

"DVDs… Mom and I used to watch a lot on Christmas eve. Oh… there's a letter too," you say, picking up the card from inside. "… She's bought a lot of new ones too! Apparently the Grandmas and Grandpas in her nursing home had a lot to recommend."

Taesan's eyes light up. "Woah! I've never watched a movie… Uncle bought a TV because he was nuts about muggle tech, but then the signal's so wonky, it won't show anything but static."

"Lets try this out… Maybe it'll work? Since you don't need reception to work a DVD, I'm pretty sure."

In no time are you and Taesan planted on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between you, and your shoulders slinking into the material from sheer fear.

"Why did we pick this one again?" You peek from behind the gap between your fingers, jolting at the jump-scare on the screen. "Oh fuck! What the fuck!"

"Exposure therapy, duh," Taesan supplies easily, throwing a popcorn into his mouth, amusedly watching you more than the movie. "This is fun."

By the end of the movie, you're sobbing from having been scared one too many times, clinging onto a chuckling Taesan.

"That was. The worst hour of my life," you gasp, wiping your eyes on his sweater. He pokes your head in retaliation.

"Overdramatic as always. And here I thought you'd put all the crying behind you."

"It's a biological reaction and it's out of my control!"

"Excuses." Taesan grins around a cheekful of popcorn. He easily dodges when you try to wrangle the bowl from him, using his long arms as an advantage. "Wait—listen, what if we just fix it with a happy movie?"

"Huh?"

"So it cancels out," he says like it's a bright idea. "You can pick this time."

You narrow your gaze, thinking of how exactly you could get him back for torturing you with every trigger warning known to mankind playing out before you. Then a lightbulb sparks above your head, making you smile.

45 minutes in, and Taesan is the one sobbing now.

"Why would you—" he chokes, biting into his fist. "Why would you show me this, you wretched woman…"

You would respond with something clever—if you weren't also trying your hardest to bite down a whimper. "Because…cancels out the horror movie, right?"

"Right.."

His eyes are puffy and red, nose the same shade. The two of you have instinctively travelled closer, shoulders pressing into each other's warmth, your head resting against his chest, his hand around you. You can feel every tremor of his chest when he inhales a sharp breath.

It's nowhere as torturous as the movie playing out.

"Why would they separate them!?" Taesan is hysterical, cheeks all wet with tears. "They were best friends. Best friends, Y/N!"

"They'll always be friends," you sniffle, hiccuping. "Always."

The plan was to make fun of Taesan by putting on the most bittersweet movie you knew in the collection. It was your lapse in judgement for thinking that The Fox and the Hound was a good choice for you to not cry to.

Taesan wipes his nose, catches his breath, and then stutters. "They—they remind me of the boys."

You turn to him with glassy eyes. "Hm?"

"T-they look like Keonho and S-Seonghyeon… T-their animagus forms."

Your eyes soften through tears, and Taesan's begin to stream. He's more sensitive than you thought he would be—and you're far too empathetic than you hoped for. Seeing him cry just makes you wail harder.

"Do you miss them?"

"Nope," he lies, then cries again.

Its comical how you somehow manage to calm each other down and make it upstairs to your respective bedrooms. Taesan looks like he doesn't want to be alone at all, and you're still shivering from the horror movie from before.

But its too risky to sneak into rooms… What if someone came by and found out?

Found out what exactly? Another coy voice asks in your mind.

"Goodbye!" you squeak out before shutting your door in his face before he can respond.

Oh my god, Y/N, get a grip! you scold yourself.

Sneak into rooms!? Stop imagining weird things! You are going to sleep and wake up early and forget all about thinking of wanting company for a split second of fear.

You crawl into bed, banishing unsanitary thoughts out of your mind.

Now that you're comfortably under the blankets, you should be less flustered, less scared. But the room is far too dark for your liking. And you feel so exposed in here, alone.

The shadow on the wall looks like claws, the ticking of the clock sounds like a death march. A sharp wind causes the apple tree outside to shake, dragging its branches across the glass window and sounding all too like a shriek.

You are terrified.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you begin to try and expel your nightmares of monsters and ghouls. The door creaks, you shudder when it does, and bury yourself lower in your blanket, too scared to check. But then you feel it—something crawling over your legs, inching closer, and closer, and closer—

"AAAHHHHHHH—!!!" You let out a bloodcurdling scream, about to hyperventilate before you hear it—

"Meow."

….

Two green eyes stare up at you, glassy, and soft black paws pad at your arms for attention.

"Mr. Meow??" You rub your eyes. "Wh—Taesan!?"

He prods you to shove aside before transforming back to himself. Soon, its watery brown eyes gazing at you, one side of his face squished against half of your pillow.

"What are you doing here?" you question, letting him get comfortable until he's laying under the blanket as well.

"Making sure you aren't peeing yourself from nightmares, duh." His attempt at sounding mean is softened by the fact that he's rubbing at his eyes, still sniffling.

"I liked you better when you were a cat." You frown.

It's obvious that he needed company just as much as you did. You don't protest when having him at your side makes the otherwise eerie room so much easier to be in—more easy to breath in.

"Talk to me," he says after what feels like a long time of just gazing at each other.

"About what?"

"Anything."

"Hmmmm…." You think; what could you say that would preserve the sanctity of this moment forever. "You're scared of feelings, aren't you?"

Taesan is immediately flustered at tactless declaration. "I am not scared of anything." He rolls his eyes, grumpy. "Just…bad at it."

"You gotta be scared of something. It's only human."

"Well…" He considers it, how much he wants to say, perhaps. "I don't love feelings I can't place, or act on without embarrassing myself. Or…"

"Control," you provide.

He pauses, then nods. "Yeah…control. It feels too complicated to make sense of, and too big to deal with…"

Maybe its the night-time that makes him so honest, or the drained ache of a busy day. Or maybe it's that it feels almost too familiar, like deja vu from when you would vent to Mr. Meow in the comfort of your dorm. When he'd listen attentively, chiming in with a purr or a mewl at appropriate intervals…and maybe it's time for you to do the same for him.

So you do.

"I wasn't exactly the easiest to handle as a kid. Mom always talks about it too," Taesan is saying. "Like, if I got too uncomfortable, I'd start to act out. She got the worst end of it…my tantrums, refusing to eat for days, crying until I was sick with a fever."

The thought of Taesan crying should warrant a tease, but his voice is so genuine, you feel a pinch of fondness there instead.

"And," he continues. "Every time she'd leave me alone, I'd just start to freak out."

"Freak out?"

"Ugh, I guess I was a little bit of a mama's boy," he chuckles, and his voice is raspy from crying. "I'd never left her side until school, and when I did find out I'd be living away from home for most part of the year, it just scared the living daylight out of me. I'm surprised you don't remember."

You knit your brows, slightly confused. "Remember what?"

Taesan assesses your expression, perhaps checking if you were feigning oblivion. "First year… The day we met."

That just makes you even more perplexed. First year? What had happened of significance in first year? The flying class incident when he set your robe on fire?

"I don't understand," you pout, burrowing out of the blanket to get closer to him.

"You taped your diary together—of course you don't remember," he sighs lightly. Taesan doesn't sound exasperated, there's only a vague sense of tired acceptance there. "Before the sorting ceremony. You found me in a broom cupboard."

Oh…

There is a blurry image where there used to be a hole in your memory, something far away and old. A small boy crouching against the tall shelf, curled up into a ball, bawling his eyes out.

"You were crying," you remember. Taesan nods.

"It was right after we'd arrived. Hogwarts was just so…big, and everyone seemed to know each other. Even if they didn't, they looked so excited and I felt like I was the only one scared to bits. Homesickness didn't help either.

"Then you came, out of nowhere, like some superhero," he confesses quietly, eyes crinkling as they meet yours. The moment is tender. "You came, and you told me that there was nothing to be scared of, then you offered to be my friend."

"I…did."

"Yeah. You wiped my tears with your tie and everything." Taesan smiles at the memory. "And then…then you kissed me."

Oh.

You remember now—how you'd reached over with your small hands and planted a soft peck to his tear-stained cheek, promising him that it would expel all his fears away like magic—something your mom had done for you to help you go to sleep without nightmares. You remember how he'd stopped crying at once, how pink his ears had gotten, how you'd told him that he was brave and cool and would totally get into the coolest house even when you yourself had been internally worrying about your own.

It might have been just you parroting things you heard at home, but somehow, you wonder if it had left that big of an impression on Taesan.

"You didn't forget," you say to him. Moonlight breaks through your window, and there is the urge to reach out and trace his cheeks.

Taesan's own finger twitches where it lay on his side.

"How could I? You were the bravest person I knew then. You were my first…friend." He hesitates on the word like he wishes he could replace it with another, if he were just slightly more brave.

You wish he would.

"Hey, Taesan?"

"Hmm?"

"Remember what you said to me after patrol," you say. "You said that a love potion was the last thing you'd try on me. What did you mean by that?"

It had been weighing down on your mind since back then. Initially you thought he had said that you'd be the last person he'd want to feel anything remotely romantic for.

But now… Somehow, you doubt that's it.

'I—" Taesan gulps, chest caught in a breath. "It was…"

Please say it, you hope, please say it meant something else. That there's something sweeter there, something kinder.

Before Taesan can spill the truth, he's rudely interrupted by the chime of the clock.

Midnight.

"Oh." He notices the time, how the snow has started to spiral even more faster now. "It's Christmas," he whispers.

It's a shame that the tender moment is broken, but the second you hear excited squeals from downstairs (evidently, the kids had not fallen asleep like they should have), your disappointment is replaced by gratitude.

You're happy that it's Taesan with you here—that he has a family that loves so loudly, that you get to be part of it.

"Thank you," you say instead of a Merry Christmas. "For asking me to come with."

Your hands lay a hair's breadth apart—you could reach out now, and he could too, but you don't need to touch to feel his warmth. It's in the way he holds your gaze.

"Thank you for staying," Taesan says back.

Christmas begins quietly, with the contentment of having braved ghosts of the past, and the longing to hold onto this feeling for a little longer.

//

Christmas day is eventful.

Taesan sneaks out before the sun's up, and you wake up to the younger kids jumping on your bed, eager to drag you down to open up presents. There's an entire feast laid out on the dining table when you arrive: roasted meat and vegetables, toffee pudding, gingerbread cookies, eggnog, and things you've never seen before that had been taken from Grandma Han's secret recipe book.

Gift exchange is a ruckus as expected. They sit around the tree and unwrap presents, squealing and hugging each other. Taesan gets you a little snow-globe with a frog inside it, and mini earmuffs for Mr. Ribbit (he croaks happily when you put it on him).

When the family retires to the living room to watch a two-woman play put on by the girls, you take the chance to get Taesan alone in the kitchen.

"Here," you say, thrusting a box into his hand. "Merry Christmas."

Taesan looks down curiously, deft fingers cracking the package open. His face lights up like a bulb when he sees its contents. "Pocket Dragon!?"

"For old times sake." You giggle at his reaction. Since when did Taesan get so cute? "And because I saw you looking at it when we were at Zonko's."

If he had been happy before, he's downright overjoyed now. "You noticed… I've been wanting to stock up, but… I thought maybe you'd be mad about it."

"As long as you don't keep using it on me," you warn.

He grins. "Promise I won't. Can I at least throw one into the first year dorm?"

"That's a ten point violation, so no."

Taesan pouts, then smiles again at his next bright idea. "How about Jeon's office?"

"…" You consider it for a second, then, "Sure. He doesn't count as student body, I guess."

"Yay! And since we're on that topic, can I keep selling my stuff at school or are you banning me from doing that again?"

The conversation should be silly, but you know for a fact that Taesan is dead serious when it comes to his buisness endeavours.

"Umm… What if we meet in the middle and you stop selling to anyone below fourth year?"

"Third," he attempts to negotiate.

"Fifth."

"Fourth it is!" He graces you with a salute, quick to concede as not to test your patience. "Thanks to you, I won't be left without a career."

"There are prospects for this career?"

"Hey, don't sound so doubtful," he pouts in feigned offense. "I'll have you know that the boys and I run a tight network. We get orders too now! The newspaper club is the biggest buyer of our extendable ears, by the way. They say it helps with eliciting information."

"Isn't that some sort of violation of privacy?" You lean over as the marble-sized dragon hops out of the box, blowing fake fire on the counter. It isn't even scary any more; it's just adorable.

"Yeah," he waves it away without a care. "But business is business, and our policy states that we do not pry."

"Right…"

"Also their head reporter is kind of scary… She won't stop talking once she starts, and I'm always worried she's about to somehow figure out all my secrets and put me on blast in a column or something."

"Wow, I didn't think there would be more things that scared the Han Taesan," you giggle. "Now there's more than one."

"Don't you dare tell anyone," he hushes you, leaning in across the counter. "I've got a rock-solid reputation going on, alright? It's a carefully built house of cards—one topple, and my entire position as the school jokester crumbles, and then my business."

"You've put a lot of thought about this. Can't believe your career rides on whether I keep my mouth shut now." You're far too smug for someone who used to be at the receiving end of his whims, but you just can't help teasing when he looks so nice when he pouts. "Who knew you'd be so easy to affect."

Taesan is so close now, your faces inches away, lips bare millimetres from each other. You've got an uncharacteristic glint of glee in your eye, and Taesan is the timid one for a change.

"Y/N," he whispers, eyes flickering down to lips on accident. But it stays there, lingering.

He's considering it, closing the distance and sealing this tension with a kiss. Closer, closer, closer, until—

"Sannie, Y/N-ie, we're can't start the play without you!" Taeri has barrelled over to stomp her feet, urging the two of you to hurry up.

Thankfully, she doesn't question why you've sprung apart so far that Taesan is now planted against the kitchen wall, and you're leaning against the fridge on the opposite side.

"Be there soon," he grumbles, coughing awkwardly.

"Nowwww," she whines, and you're forced to placate her by following after.

You send Taesan a apologetic look behind your shoulder, but the last you see is of him murmuring expletives into the wall for some reason.

THE TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS OF CONFESSING YOUR FEELINGS

Spring Term

Taesan has been plagued with the strange feeling that he is a grade-A, textbook coward, as of late.

It may have something to do with how everything has somehow changed over December. You looked so at home with his family, the version of you he had never thought he'd get to see without stealing glances—when you're giggling away with your friends, or talking your toad's ears off.

But there you were, louder than he has ever seen you. Happy and bright.

When you eventually had to leave back to school, Taesan thinks his family misses you more than they'd miss him.

"Will you come back?" Jiwoo had been frowning, fat globes of tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. A sad Taeri stands holding her hand and nodding along.

"Promise I will," you say, linking your pinky with theirs.

It's Taesan that pockets the promise though, silently making one of his own that he would bring you back again.

But now that he's back at Hogwarts, the fear of it all comes rushing back. When you pass by him in the hallways between classes, his heart thunders out of his chest—so loud that he thinks he may pass out on the spot. When you giggle at his Pocket Dragon burning a hole through his necktie, he almost actually does faint. Watching you take points off rule-breakers makes him infatuated. Patrols are excruciating.

You're just so omnipresent in his life; before, he used to look for you in crowds, now it seems like he can't escape you if you tried.

"Knock it out with the staring," Yeonjun comes to wack him on the arm with his broomstick. The captain had come back with double the ferocity after the last defeat. "I will personally see to it that you never graduate if we lose against Hufflepuff."

Taesan huffs, physically shaking off the thoughts of your smile.

For now, he'll just chalk up the squirming feeling in his chest to match nerves.

January passes like that—easy and slow, with stolen glances and late night strolls and the feeling of something big blooming in his chest. It has been for years now, ever since the first kiss on the cheek on that fateful day in first year. But its obvious to Taesan now.

He's terrible at pining.

"And Mom said that I should send Mrs. Han some of her cheesecake as a thanks for having me over. I still don't know what Mr. Han would like…Maybe some muggle trinkets for your uncle though, that would be—are you listening?"

"Hm?" Taesan is too lost in your eyes to process the words.

You wave a hand in front of until he snaps out of it with a jolt.

"Oh–Ah," he stutters, suddenly abashed, scrambling for an excuse. "Sorry, I just…I was…dreaming about dungbombs."

Fuck you dumb brain, he curses inwardly.

"Dungbombs…" You aren't hesitant to judge him, but it soon settles into understanding. "Is it for Professor Jeon's office again?"

"Hm… Maybe Yeonjun hyung's dorm too. He's been overworking me."

"Maybe you shouldn't zone out between matches then."

"Ugh," he groans. "That was one time. And I was distracted."

"By what?" You blink curiously. For a second, Taesan thinks you're testing him, being coy about getting him to spill his heart. But he can never tell with you anymore… People think you're naive, but he knows there's more to you.

"By…"

He could say it now, get it over with. The hallway is practically empty, just trills of birds to keep company. Taesan sees the hope in your eyes. He takes a deep inhale, ready to be brave and just say it regardless of the outcome, opening his mouth to—

"Hyung–! Taesan hyung!" comes the ridiculous interruption in the form of two frantic figures.

Keonho and Seonghyeon run up to him from the back, looking like they'd been chased to hell and back, hair dishevelled, face smeared with soot.

"What the heck happened to the to of you?" Taesan questions.

"Professor—" Keonho coughs. "Professor Park got us. You need to help."

"What he means is," Seonghyeon clarifies, rubbing ash out of his eye sockets. "We were testing out firecrackers in the Potions classroom and sort of, kind of, accidentally, uh…. set it on fire." He grins right after to soothe the blow.

"Please cover for us," Keonho pleads.

It's pure impulse when Taesan responds with a, "Ten points from Slytherin. You guys should know better."

The world stops spinning then.

Keonho gasps; Seonghyeon gapes.

You look at Taesan in concern, a hand coming up to his temple. "You don't have a fever… Are you… Okay?"

It's as thought Taesan's soul has been switched with someone else's—someone who cared for rules and doled out punishments. Usually he'd be high-fiving them for their antics, so it's earth shattering when Han Taesan of all people starts to act like a model prefect.

Fuck, is he turning into a narc!?

He stays up all night suffering in the dilemma, tossing and turning and groaning into his pillow until he's sick of it. Then he just transforms into his cat form and chooses to sneak into your dorm to cuddle with you instead—and you're more than happy to accommodate for him, letting him take the space between your elbow and the pillow.

Taesan might be the weirdest wizard alive; he can nuzzle into your warmth without shame, embarrass himself by putting on magic shows to impress you during boring patrols, bring you sugar quills until you tell to stop lest you get a cavity—he can do everything but tell you the simple fact of what you make him feel.

The victory against Hufflepuff doesn't even feel good until you rush to him to congratulate him. (He had only stared at the stands for five seconds this time—a record breaking number.)

And he starts falling harder, faster than ever when you've figured out the singular surefire way to his heart.

Pranks.

"Say cheese!" You click the camera in your hand, grinning at a shell-shocked Taesan who had walked into your trap—a doorway webbed with Spellotape. "You look like a grumpy cat right now," you chuckle at the sight.

Except you're wrong.

Taesan isn't grumpy; he's beyond enamoured.

And it's starting to become a problem.

He melts every time you tease him unprompted, when you're no longer afraid of all the things that could render you immobile with fear in the past (Taesan won't lie that he kind of misses those days too), when you get enthusiastic about new Zonko's products that you will inevitably use against him later.

It's the greatest honour anyone could give a joke-lover. But Merlin's beard does is he terrified of this monster he's created on accident—because one misstep and he's done for—completely, absolutely, irrevocably in love.

Which he realises, may have already happened without him knowing.

"Hyung, are you sure you're not coming down with something? Madam Kang may have a cure for it, y'know," Keonho asks at the end of such a day.

Taesan lay flopped over the leather couch, rippling blue light spilling across his visage, courtesy of the Slytherin common's direct view into the bottom of the Great Lake. Any passerby would take him for a dead man, he is sure of that.

"Hyung is down with lovesickness. He's just dramatic about it," Seonghyeon supplies from where he's trying to forge Professor Park's signature, not even bothering to look up.

"Hyung likes someone!?" Keonho screeches, and Taesan has to shoot up from his comfortable position to press a palm to his loud mouth.

"Shush! People will hear!" Taesan hisses. "And you—" he turns to the other boy. "Stay out of my love life; I don't need to suffer any more than I already do."

"Then just confess to her, duh," Seonghyeon states the obvious.

Taesan frowns.

Seonghyeon sighs like he's being forced to explain Arithmancy to a five-year-old. "Clearly your attempts at wooing her with tricks aren't working, you just look like a bird trying to court during mating season. Or a clown. No offence."

"Wait, what—"

"I think Y/N's the type to prefer honesty anyways," he says seriously, gracing Taesan with a look this time. "She's probably going crazy with confusion the more roundabout you try to go about it. Just tell her straight up."

"Hyeon is right… She does seem like the type," Keonho adds innocently.

Their advice rings in Taesan's head for the days to come.

Just confess to her—easier said than done, he thinks.

Winter begins to wear off, only a few showers here and there. Patrols thin the closer he gets to semi-finals, thanks to Yeonjun's strict regimen he'd curated specially to guarantee a winning spot this year. But that also means Taesan gets to see less and less of you these days—barely an hour before he has to slink back to his dorm and retire for the night before Yeonjun comes to check on his players (he is insane, has Taesan mentioned?).

But it also gives him ample time to ponder. He thinks about it during lectures, he mulls it over during showers, he even contemplates as he's tens of feet high in the air and chasing after Quaffles.

Just confess to her. Right… He should do that.

Soon, he tells himself. Soon, he'll lay it all down, and dearly hope you feel an ounce of what he feels for you.

It's a promise he means for himself.

//

Morning of Finals: Slytherin vs Gryffindor

Deep breaths. Count from one to ten, and be mindful.

One.

Two.

Thr—

Fuck it, he can't do this. The nerves are eating him alive, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he should be on a broomstick in less than an hour, and his performance in the game determines whether or not Choi Yeonjun will go to Azkaban for murdering him afterwards.

That's a minor inconvenience. But the more pressing matter at hand is that Taesan had woken up with the determination to split his heart right open and offer it to you. He grabbed onto it like a lifeline, hoping that the courage didn't die out before he could act on it.

But now, he realises that he's still scared shit of the possibilities.

What if you don't feel the same?

Maybe he just hallucinated the past few months, maybe he's being reckless thinking that's there is something between the two of you.

What if…

What if you still hate him, even just a little…

He knows he deserves it, for being immature and channelling his need for your attention in the worst ways possible. For staying eleven and stupid in his head without seeing how terrible of a person he was turning into.

He can only hope you see past it all, into his heart.

//

Taesan doesn't remember getting down the stairs—his feet moves on autopilot, the map in his hand tracing its way to you, his green Quidditch robes flying behind him. When he arrives, you're humming merrily, chattering on and on with your friends on either side of you.

He bites the bullet before he can regret it. "Hey, can I—can I borrow Y/N for a second."

Chaewon's eyes narrow, and Eunchae's dart between him and you. They look like they're about to throw themselves in front of you like your personal bodyguards. (Taesan would not blame them for that reaction.)

But you step in before they can. "It's fine guys. I can handle it myself." You give them a self assured smile.

It takes a bit of convincing from your part, but the two of them leave eventually, disappearing past the large wooden doors into the dining hall, Chaewon making sure to leave him with neck-slice motion just in case. (He does not blame that either.)

"You wanted to talk?" you ask now that you're finally alone.

Taesan gulps. The voice in his brain yells at him to just go for it.

"I have a match today," he says instead.

You chuckle, and it sounds like windchimes to his broken brain. "I know you do. I'll come down to watch. Don't tell anyone I'm rooting for you over my own house though."

He blushes at your easy confession. It might not mean much to you, but he feels like he's just won the lottery.

Yeah, he's capital D doomed.

"There's something else too, that I wanted to say."

"Oh," when you say it, the hope in your tone is unmistakable. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, your brows earnest. "Yeah. Anything you want."

"I—"

Out with it—Taesan's head screams at him. Just tell her how you feel; it's simple. Say three easy words and deal with the rest later. A leap of faith—that's all it takes to lay this torturous affliction to rest.

Except, he starts to feel it—the acidic, putrid feeling of fear bubbling in his gut.

And it mixes with the regret of treating you like shit for so long, with the anger he feels at himself for being childish, for ever wanting to see you cry.

If he was better at regulating his emotions, this wouldn't have happened. You could have been friends for a long time now.

And maybe, maybe you're just better off without him after all. Taesan doesn't even know for sure if he's truly changed or not, if whether deep down he's still the insecure, cowardly eleven year old he'd always been.

"It's nothing," Taesan finally says, heart sinking at the admission.

"Taesan…"

"Just forget it alright? it's nothing serious." Taesan makes light of the situation, diffusing the tension with a weary smile. "I'm gonna get some food now."

He begins to move out of your way, ignoring how you call after him when he speedily walks into the Great Hall in the direction of his house table.

But he's barely two steps in when the door slams open behind him, rattling against the walls on either side. He doesn't dare to look.

"Taesan."

"Later, Y/N."

"HAN TAESAN, DON'T YOU DARE WALK AWAY FROM ME RIGHT NOW!"

Taesan's eyes widen in surprise. When he turns back, he's beyond shocked to find you standing on top of some poor kid's seat, with your wand to your throat to amplify the volume.

"What are you—"

"I'm sorry but I've waited too long," you huff, taking a big swallow of air, psyching yourself up. "It's time for me to get over my stage fright anyways."

Students stop eating to look over. Someone definitely pulls out a camera to record the whole thing—it's the most interesting thing that has happened at breakfast in a long time. Chaewon and Eunchae, who was mid-meal, gapes at the sight of their supposedly cowardly friend willingly make a fool of herself in front of the entire breakfast hall.

But you continue, undeterred, "Han Taesan, you're insufferable."

Oh.

"You play games instead of saying words. You trick and you tease and you taunt and you make me cry until all I think about is you."

Your voice stutters. But you stare right ahead at him, ignoring the stares and gapes.

"I never understood it to be honest, why you would do any of that to get my attention. But then… But then you apologised. And you listened. And you keep trying to fix things, and the trying mattered to me more than the fixing did. A lot, actually," you're rambling now, earnest. Taesan's heart clenches. "I kissed you when I was eleven and I thought maybe that's the biggest mistake I made because you wouldn't have chased after me for this long if not, but guess what? I don't regret it one bit," you half laugh, half cry, like this is something you'd thought about for a long time.

"And I was a coward through it all. I-I was too scared to believe that you could be better, that you could ever feel anything more than spite for me."

Taesan can see your hand shiver where it holds the wand. This isn't easy for you—not by any means. You look like you could faint any second now actually, but you're pushing through on sheer adrenaline alone.

And for him, it's the fear that it might be the last chance her ever gets to tell you.

"L/N Y/N," he follows suit, scrambling up onto the nearest empty spot on the Slytherin desk as well. The two of your are practically screaming at each other from across the Great Hall now.

"You're wrong," he begins. "You're wrong about being a coward. Because that's me, not you—in fact, I think you're the bravest person I know."

Your eyes are glazed over, but they're warm on him.

"You may have been scared of snakes and spiders, but none of that stopped you from standing up for people. You do things despite it all. You even held my hand even when you were scared yourself, even when you were eleven yourself.

"And the kiss…" Taesan remembers the day like the back of his own hand. How it felt, how one act of kindness had entrapped him forever. "I'm glad it was you that found me in the broom cupboard. It can't be anyone but you."

He feels his heart thundering as the truth breaks past his lips. His palms are sweaty, his throat dry, but it's now or never.

"I hate it when you don't pay attention to me, and I hate it when you look away. It's childish but that's the truth," he admits. "I hate how I can't go a day without knowing I affect you some way or another. And I poked and proded instead of just being a decent person, because there wasn't a world where you'd be friends with me for real. Or that's…what I believed. Until now.

"When you threaten to take points from me, it's the best fucking part of my day." Taesan sounds absurd to himself. But his heart feels relieved. "When you called me out, I fell headfirst—and it terrified me. When you smile at me, I just want to explode a little," he says earnestly. "And your pranks…god, when you started to join in? I knew I was a goner since then. Maybe even before that. Maybe I knew when I was eleven but I was just too cowardly to admit it to myself."

Deep breath. Count one, two, three…

"I like you." A loud whisper. Someone's spoon falls to clang onto a plate. "No, that isn't it. I…I'm in love with you; I'm sure I am."

"Taesan," you begin but he's quick to swoop back in.

"You asked me what I meant back then. When I said a love potion was the last thing I'd try on you," he says. "I never thought you'd feel the same but I still… I wanted it to be real if it did ever happen. Not one of my tricks. Not a potion or a prank; I wanted you to like me for me."

"I do," you say, finally stepping down from the desk to inch closer. "I like every version of you—even the parts I used to be scared of."

Taesan feels your hand in his, coaxing him to step down and meet your eyes. You're standing at the dead centre of the hall now, all eyes on the pair of you, but nothing is scary when you've got his hand in yours, Taesan realises—not even public humiliation, apparently.

"You're brash and you're mean and a menace to boot," you smile sweetly, a little longingly. "But you're also soft, and fun to tease, and attentive and sweet. And you're so, so loved."

Taesan could almost cry from how earnest your words are; he wonders what he'd ever been so scared of. "I'm sorry for—" he begins but it seems that you're done with listening to apologies, because the words get stolen out of his mouth and right into yours.

You're kissing him.

It's messy and it's desperate and Taesan melts into it. There could be claps resounding around, but he isn't too sure—nor does he really care at the moment.

All that matters is that your palms are on his cheeks, and your lips taste like apples. They taste like him.

You whimper into his mouth and Taesan decides that's enough public service for the day; he parts, ignoring the desperation to attach himself back to you, and grabs your hand to lead you out of the hall and into the first empty alcove he finds.

"Taesan," your words cut off with a fierce kiss, years of pent up longing poured into it. Taesan can only hope it reaches you.

Now it's his turn to hold you between his palms, to litter kisses at the corner of your lips, and one on the side of your cheek—which elicits the sweetest giggle he's ever heard in his lifetime—and back on your lips until he's rudely interrupted by someone yelling at him from the back.

"Oi! Match in ten minutes, if you don't get your ass over here—" Yeonjun's loud mouth reaches his ears.

But Taesan does not give two shits right now. He continues to kiss, offering the captain a middle finger behind his shoulder. Yeonjun almost throws his broomstick at Taesan in annoyance, but Sakura drags him back by the scruff of his neck.

"Be there in five or I'm letting this guy lose," she deadpans, leaving once Taesan graces them with an agreeing wave of his hand.

He's too busy memorising you to care about silly things like Quidditch or his potential death. Too busy kissing you like this is the end of the world.

"You—" you gasp between one of those kisses. "You'll be late for the match."

"Hmmm… Don't care."

It pulls out a giggle from your mouth. "I care. I'm not about to lose my boyfriend before I've even gotten to go on a date with him."

"Oh?" He smirks, coy. "Look at you being all brave. Boyfriend, huh?"

You blush deep, but maintain your dignity without backing down. "Keep pushing and I'll go find another boyfriend."

"You would never. You like me too much."

Taesan is confident now, no longer afraid of possibilities and futures—you're it for him, and him for you.

"Guess I do," you whisper before landing a peck to his lips. You pull back before he can deepen it, and Taesan huffs grumpily. "After the match. Promise."

"What if I lose?" he asks.

"Even then. I promise."

It's only then he finally steps back, and he tries to hold onto your hand until the very last moment, pinkies interlinked. Taesan looks at you—your bright grin, the way you hold yourself higher now, more self assured, yet still unapologetically yourself. Still the same person he'd been taken with all those years back. The sun spills across just the two of you, and he can't help but drink in the sight.

"Don't stare too hard," you say before letting him go, a placeholder for good luck, Taesan knows.

"No promises," he replies, grinning.

ᗢ₊˚✧ . fin.

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

perm tl: @/pupillary @ilysungho @lovehakie @leehanaholic @ivehan @ramizluv @moesthinking @gentiliana @athenaisonlinee @wnouzi @amarecerasus @defnotsanni @cl4ir0l0v3r @knrejj @fayepz @nemoihan @ruuroom @woonbabie @i-am-not-dal @tenshi-sama @mwotgata @kazukazukiiii @qeeun-didi @izhypen @bee-the-loser @beomtomie @snoopymyung @dj-ami @itsmooniebaby @sycamoretree222 @yesongi @w3willris3 @nineooooo @nichozzystuffs @f-a-t-e-l-e-s-s @renvrr @mirouie @aer1z @velvetmae ── ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. thank you for the support, ily ♡⸝⸝

div cred: @strangergraphics

You tilted your head back until a sharp crack echoed through the quiet room, followed by a low, satisfied groan slipping out of your mouth. 

“Ugh, fuck.” You whispered below your breath. That stretch felt like heaven. A relief spreading across your body. The kind that you have forgotten after being chained and locked up inside your art studio by your unfinished art assignments. You decided to be an art major because ever since you were teenager, this hobby helped you to cope and relieve some stress on whatever fuckery life kept putting you through. But now, it seems like you'd rather chase Michael Myers instead to end your misery. 

The fading sunlight soiled throughout your art studio windows, then painted everything in a gleaming gold. Not a big fan of it though. The sun and its light. How it's always too much; squinting your eyes just to see clearly when you're in its presence, hiding in a shade when its warmth touches your skin. 

While putting finishing touches, you suddenly snapped back into reality and looked around. It finally dimmed into dusk without you realizing. The timely burial of the sun reminded you that it's time to step out of your art cave to touch some grass. And in your little world, it meant heading to a local underground gig to lose yourself in the chaos of never-ending metal riffs and a mosh pit filled with people who knew talent. 

Looking down, you saw dark charcoal dust and brushstrokes of dried paint clinging to your skin like stubborn adhesive. You squinted your eyes and saw black powder that worked its way beneath your nails.

A quiet cuss came out of you. 

You mentally reminded yourself to just buy some new nail polish, while your fingers desperately excavate the dirt pooled underground your nails. You hate it whenever this happens. Which is always. It is so bad that you acknowledge the established routine wherein washing it off takes three to five tries. 

Your hand reached for the nearby cigarette and lighter. 

Watching the flame spread over the end of the stick between your hands, you couldn't resist yourself to take a long drag— your lungs were waiting to be fully filled. 

You let out a long sigh and began peeling off your art clothes until you were left in just your red lace panties. You're not really the type to be bothered wearing a bra inside. Especially when days after days of your life are spent heavily hunched over plates, your cruel art professor demanding impossible deadlines? If letting your girls out is a damn sin, then you'll gladly be a sinner. You know that this is the only mercy and payment the world could offer to you. 

Well, it’s either that, or a night fucking someone senseless, would probably do the trick just as well. 

“I swear to fucking god, I need to get laid,” you muttered, half to yourself and half to whoever's down to do it. 

The whole studio then started to get filled with too much smoke, which made you finally stand up and open the windows. The sudden cold breeze touching your skin made you slightly shiver. Crossing your free arm to your body to bring some heat. 

It had been a while… two months maybe— since your last hook-up. Your previous fuck buddy had finally settled down, leaving you with art, deadlines, and your fingers that had seen better days. Well, you had hookups with a friend before, but since both of you are in the same art program, getting some action is really off the table. He's definitely too tired from squishing creative juice as well to even think about doing you. 

You raked your fingers through your hair, frustration starting to settle in. This rut had lasted longer than any art block you'd ever had, which was saying something. Something that defies how you view yourself. 

You turned toward the mirror. Could it be how you look? 

Your makeup still looked decent, your piercings gleamed under the dying light, and your breasts sat perfectly together with your nipple piercing. You looked good— intimidating, like how most people said. Maybe it was the way you dressed, or maybe how rarely you smiled. Either way, you didn't mind. It only added to the image. 

You guess you being the reason is off the list, cause you look fucking amazing. Men definitely would kiss the floor you'd walk on. They usually do. 

You finally took your final drag before pinching it down to your ashtray. 

The piece in front of you was the fourth one you've finished this week. And despite the exhaustion from churning out pieces just to satisfy your sadistic professor, this one felt right the most. It looked like you.

The thematic topic given by your instructor is about finding beauty in things usually seen as disturbing and unpleasant. When you receive the instructions, your artistic instincts go feral. This thematic topic is your forte. You knew exactly what you wanted to capture in your piece: a performer’s soul mid-show, lying down suggestively. The way they let the music swallow them whole— their back arching, hair sticking all over their exposed skin, hands gripping the mic, which were unplugged, as if it could save them from the high of performing what they're passionate about. 

Their head was tilted back as far as it goes, light washing over their face until it vanished into brightness, leaving the mouth erased. Unfinished. Every stroke was raw and imperfect, yet deliberate. Those imperfections were what made your art yours: personal, human, vulgar. 

From the easel you turned into some makeshift hanger out of laziness, you grabbed your Linkin Park tee and some cool bottoms. You watched yourself wear it in the mirror. It was full of smudges, but it was clear enough to guide you where to tightline your eyes with practiced precision. Satisfied, you grabbed your sketchbook, slipped your drawing tools inside your bag. You put on your headphones and played She Burned Me Down by Type O Negative.

The night air hit you immediately as soon as you entered the society once again, cool and sharp, sending shivers down your spine. Your pace started to pick up a bit, enduring the chill instead of running back down to your studio. While you’re on your way, you remembered to check KnotLips’ program for tonight. That was the gig venue you’re comfortable to call your second home since it’s inherently a nearby vacation site for your metalhead ass.

Scrolling through your phone, you checked their socials for tonight's lineup: Madmans Esprit, METHOD, and Lanalogue. Then your eyes caught something in the small text below. 

[ “Special guest: Xdinary Heroes” ]

You scoffed. 

“Who the fuck names their band Xdinary Heroes?” 

It sounded like they all huddled in somebody’s living room, word generator on hand, and a fucking dream. Are they aiming for Edgar Allan Poe level of deep and profound or that Gabbie Hannah woah song? 

You bit back a grin. 

You went to the search bar, typed their band name, and clicked their profile. Curiosity wasn't new to you. Especially when it came to mocking these kinds of rock-wannabe posers. With their stupid name. With their forced uwu-faces. 

You believe they are not built for this scene.

And you’re right, like always, their feed was exactly what you expected: the over-edited gig photo, fanservice shots of their hands all over their instrument, and the overly filtered photos of their faces that they’re all washed out. It was too clean for a band claiming to be in a “raw” and an “underground” band. The last thing the underground scene needed was another group of pretty boys trying to look rockstar enough.

 You squinted at the caption below one of the posts. 

“Ordinary is a crime.”

#XdinaryHeroes #WeAreAllHeroes

You are actually gagged. 

“Oh my fucking days,” you cackled.. 

‘You ARE the ordinary’, you thought while your laugh echoed through the streets.

People around you started glancing your way, but you couldn't care less. You did not even pay any mind to the group of five men staring at you the whole time. 

“Who's behind this? An eleven-year-old poet on a Jungkook self-insert binge?”

Your shoulders shook as you scrolled further, trying and continuously failing to contain your laughter.

Then one photo made you pause. 

You blinked and leaned closer. 

The bassist… 

It was a live shot mid-performance— his head tilted back, eyes half-lidded, veins visible along his neck with strands of blonde hair on the side. 

You unconsciously gulped. 

This deserves to be that photographer’s signature shot. The way the lighting illuminated the sharpness of his features. And the way his nose stands tall, that could motivate Doja Cat to release another level of the Planet Her album. Your eyes followed the visual flow of the photo. And when your gaze went lower, it got stuck. It lingered on the sculpted long column of this guy’s throat. 

That Adam’s apple is staring back at you.

You closed your eyes. “Adam, thank you for swallowing that fucking apple.”

God, what is wrong with you? Just earlier, you were shitting on them, then now you’re thirsting for one of the members from a recent band you despise.

“Well, maybe the photographer just deserves a raise,” you said, pretending that was the reason as your thumb tapped the save button. 

Just to be exactly clear, there was no meaning behind that. It was purely for reference. Artistic inspiration. Composition study. Lighting analysis. Anything but “the bassist is hot”. 

Artists recognize art. Artists recognize talent. Artists recognize… insane anatomy.

And as one, you'll admit, artists like you won't get tired of drawing this guy. 

You turned off your phone and shook your head, muttering, “Weirdo.”

When you reached KnotLips, you walked over to sit on your usual spot, the corner of the bartender’s side. Inside, everything was colored by the LED lights, a completely different place in comparison to the world outside. A world wherein it seems like life has taken its heart away. Even the people walking felt like an NPC, no other movements other than their feet moving forward. 

Your eyes moved to the stage when buzz echoed in the place from their amplifier, a band was preparing their instruments for tonight's performance. The people tonight were wearing their band tees and enjoying each other's company. They're still scattered in the middle, but everyone knows when to leave space for an upcoming mosh pit when the performance starts. Looking at this place, this is where you believe life is real. It's a place where passionate people in the scene showcase everything they got, and they have these people to experience it. 

For you, though, you're not an observer; you're a capturer. So you placed your bag on the table and took out your sketchbook and some pencils. 

“Look who's back,” you slightly smiled at the bartender when you looked up, her black hair in a messy bun. She’s drying off her hands and placing 3 glasses in front of her, preparing an order. “How are your art pieces, darling?” 

“Thank God I finished them first before they get to me.”

She laughed at your reply while pouring drinks. “Is there anything you’d like to have some good time with?”

“Guinness. Tall glass.” You then took out your phone and paused the song currently playing. The headphones were left on your ear, a habit you've been practicing whenever you go to these gigs ever since you experienced your first tinnitus. It was absolutely hell that you couldn’t listen to any music for months. You do not wish for it to happen to you again, but you do wish it for those who infuriate you.

Tapping on your Instagram, you went to your saved posts and started drawing the bassist. You started with a few guide shapes and slowly built on that. Every stroke you’ve made carefully captures the bassist’s emotion during the performance. And when you finally worked your way back through the neck, you went a bit wild with it. Already in the final process, heavily detailed with cross-hatches, while the other parts are just outlines.

For the whole duration of the first band’s performance, all you did was carry out what you just escaped from. Drawing like there’s no tomorrow. You nibble on your bottom lip as you try to capture how the loose checkered long sleeve was hanging on his broad shoulders, leading down the tension of his veined hands against the string. 

The bartender’s place then had gotten too crowded for comfort after the last song from the first band. You could only sit there. Half-trapped between somebody’s guitar case and a guy who clearly didn’t believe in deodorant. You looked down at your sketchbook and compared the reference on your phone. 

“Huh?”

It doesn't look right. The bassist's Adam's apple looked even sharper under the stage lights. You zoomed in to his neck, analyzing closely. You tilted your head, your eyes inches away french kissing your phone. 

Maybe you overdid the shadow in your sketching. 

“You know,” a voice appeared behind you, light and curious, “most people come here to watch bands, not… zoom in on someone's neck.”

“Shit—.”

Your shoulders jumped at the sudden closeness, eyes widening. You turned and were ready to curse him off. A tall figure stood there, the light behind him burning too bright to see his face. You can't see him but you already hated him. The nerve to stand that near to you? 

“Too close. Can you move?” You snapped at him. 

There was a pause. His body stiffened, before his mouth let out an airy and sharp “... Oh.”. You caught it, the hint of surprise and amusement in his voice. 

But you didn't wait for more. 

“I said move.”

Another pause, then a light awkward chuckle echoed over the music. “You're scary.” he mumbled, leaning back just enough to give you space. 

Your mouth twitched by his side comment. You couldn't see a smirk on his face but you know it's there, and you definitely want to punch it off of him. 

You crossed your arms, keeping your glare fixed on him, trying to instill that you clearly dislike his existence. Then something hit you. Like an uppercut from Muhammad Ali that will send you to a coma. The creeping sense of dread started pooling in your stomach. 

You just got caught zooming in on someone's neck… like a total creep. 

A neck. Zoomed in. With intense eye contact with it. A neck… zoomed in… with intense eye contact with it. Your other hand jorking it feels like a missing puzzle piece to complete this random guy's experience at this point. 

You straightened your spine. Forcing your glare to deepen. To look meaner. Like it could make him forget he ever saw something. Man… you'd rather piss off Muhammad Ali in his prime to get violently knocked out. 

“What do you want?” You forced out a question before even deciding if it was worth asking. The way you asked it came out a little harsher than you should. 

His face was still hidden in the harsh party light, but you caught it. The slightest stiffening in his posture when you spoke. The playful confidence that quickly got under your skin seemed to fade a little. It was replaced by a pause. Like he's weighing how to approach someone who'd just call him out to speak up.

“I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. I just— uh, saw my face. Or, more like my throat actually. Zoomed in and everything.” 

You raised a brow at him. You hear him. Loud and clear, even through the noise drowning the room. But your brain hasn’t caught up yet. You refuse to let it. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. 

But… fuck. 

If this day couldn't get any worse. 

You squinted your eyes at his face. Trying to confirm if it's the same person like a two step verification. Then it went lower. 

You stared. Then blinked. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Thrice. 

Jesus Christ. 

It's the fucking throat. 

He reached the back of his neck, scratching lightly. His eyes darted away for a fraction of a second. Trying to escape the feeling of confronting a stranger. 

“It’s, uh, kind of weird, honestly.”

Your breath started to hitch. You need to punch something. Maybe the table. Or, definitely, yourself first. You want it to be strong enough to eliminate yourself, consequently taking your whole bloodline with you. 

Wait. 

Another good idea. 

What about him instead? Just a jab on his throat specifically. Like, enough to take him out so then he won't be able to talk about this to anyone, but not the kind you'll get detained for years.

“I'm sketching.” You blurted, throwing your sketchbook in front of him. 

He held onto the side of your sketchbook and bent over, looking closely. You sighed, at ease. Thank heavens you're smart to come up with that excuse that fast. 

You watched his slow movement as he stood straight, towering over you once more. The light tracing his outline. 

“That looks really amazing.” 

His voice was calm this time, no awkwardness. It's just steady. It made you pause. Is this guy genuinely in awe after seeing someone zooming in at his throat before even having a context? You couldn't clearly see his face, but you noticed a subtle smile from his mouth. 

“You should be an artist.”

You blinked, scanning the blur of him just to be sure if he really meant it. Your eyes softened, it was unusual for you to receive this kind of comment with such… tenderness. 

Being an unorthodox painter whose style is labeled lewd and borderline pornographic by others, “artist” would be the last thing they'll brand you as. It's a recurring event already. Hearing your blockmates name you as the call girl artist. You don't really care. You just roll your eyes and go on about your day. But it was nice to hear something new once in a while. 

“Thanks,” you said, “I am actually an artist.” You bowed slightly before turning your back against him, ending the conversation. That was nice of him, yeah, but there's nothing else to talk about so you carried on with your activity. 

But when people had finally left the bartender, he slid into the seat beside you like he'd been invited. He wasn't. Clearly he wasn't. You thought people would leave once you turned your back on them. But nope. This guy cannot read the room. 

Your legs brushed for a brief moment when he sat down, then your shoulder. He squinted at the page you're outlining like some art critic who couldn't resist deprecating everything. 

You tried to ignore it, dragging your pencil for another line along the curve of his neck, but the closer he got, the more you realized how near he was. 

“I actually thought you're a creep.” He softly laughed. 

“Yeah, can't imagine that...”

He suddenly chuckled. It was so low that you almost did not catch it. 

Your eyes stole a glance at him and caught a tiny silver glint on his slitted eyebrow now. A flash of surprise crossed your eyes. It is an eyebrow piercing you somehow missed when you're trolling on their photos. 

And, you wouldn't lie, it suits him. 

“Cool piercing,” you said flatly. The compliment came out just the right blend: a pump of lack of enthusiasm and an extra shot of dryness. Perfectly served by your highness.

“You think? Thanks.” he said, absentmindedly running a hand through his blonde hair after with a shy smile. 

Up close, with the light finally reaching his face, you can clearly see how he looks. Jooyeon's features were sharp in a soft, unfair kind of way… his dark eyes carried this glint of warmth that radiated in his whole aura, a nose that had absolutely no right to be that straight, and lips curved into a lazy grin. His blonde hair fell slightly over his forehead, and the neon lights from the venue traced the edges of his jawline perfectly— the kind of jawline that is only a clay away to drive a sculptor into a hyperfixation spiral to make twenty versions of it. 

His eyes flicked to you. “Is that how you flirt with people?” he asked randomly. 

“What? By giving a dry ass comment?” You raised your brow. 

“No,” he shook his head. “I mean… like that.”

“Like what?”

“I've never met anyone who looks at me that… intensely.”

“Don't think of it too deeply. I'm studying anatomy stuff.” You clarified. 

He stared at you again, a small cheeky smile forming at the side of his mouth. “I don't mind it, though.”

“Mind what?” 

“You looking at me like that. Your eyes are pretty. ” He said it casually— too casually. 

You snorted. “Is that how you flirt with people?” 

He perked up, blatantly mocking your tone “What? By giving a dry ass comment?” 

The smirk he added at the end made it obvious he was copying you. A silent chuckle escaped from your mouth, while rolling your eyes at him. You can't believe you just got a taste of your own sarcastic comment. He looks like he has won the Miss Universe title by how triumphant he looks after pulling it off. 

Silence finally settled between you two, giving you a chance to finally concentrate. But since your peace is not in his nature, he has to open his mouth again. You don't even know what set him off, but apparently every neuron in his brain insists on linking with yours. 

“Whoa, hey—that’s my shoulder! And my arms? Why do they look—ohhh shading. Okay. You're good at this. But my fingers? They’re not that slender… wait. Can you look at my hands? Just to, y’know, double-check before you make me look hot hot?”

Is this dude ever going to shut up? 

You tilted your sketchbook from your lap away from him, hoping he'd get the hint. He didn't. God, of course he wouldn't. It's not that he can't read the room... he doesn't read the room. 

And guess what? All it did was make him move closer to you than before. Too close you could feel your shoulders brushing. Too close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin as he tilted his head again to see better. 

You're starting to feel overstimulated by the unwelcomed propinquity. 

You stopped mid-stroke, irritation bubbling up inside. You had enough of him.

“Have you ever heard of personal spa—”

You turned to him, ready to scold. 

But he was right there. Just inches away. Close enough for your breath to bounce right back at you. His eyes met yours, wide and soft, as if he had no idea what kind of proximity violation he just committed. 

“...ce,” you finished, your voice dropping. 

He blinked once, his lips twitching into that boyish half-smile and sent his eyebrow all the way up. “Space?”

“Yes,” you said quickly, leaning back a little. “Personal space. It's a real concept. You should look into it some time.”

“Oh. Got it.” He nodded, pretending to understand but clearly not giving you what you want. “Did you know, I also have a friend who's an artist. You might know him.” He said, quickly changing the topic.

 You squinted at his little TMI. How scarce does he think artists are? 

“What made you think I would even know?” Your lips pressed into a thin line. “Also, I'm not your friend.” 

“We could be.”

“Find someone else.”

“But I want it to be you.”

You paused your action and breathing. Is this guy messing or flirting with you? You shoot him a glance, deciphering his expression. But he got you first. His big expectant eyes locked with yours, waiting for your approval to be each other’s “bestie”. A smile so innocent that it feels like you have to dive inside his brain to get his real intention. 

“You're still in my space.” You replied, avoiding his eyes. “Do you not have bandmates to annoy?” 

He simpered at how you tried to change the topic this time, nose scrunching up in that annoying way he does. “But I'm watching.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Watching what? My patience running thin?”

His expression didn't falter, no longer surprised by your bluntness. He's only anticipating more of it now. He leaned back slowly, still grinning, waiting for what you'd do next. You didn't give him another reaction though. You only kept your pen moving, sketching lines over and over without looking up at him again. 

“You draw really fast, by the way.” 

“Yeah,” you muttered, your whole attention on your paper placed on top of the bar table. “I enjoy it more than talking to a stranger all over my personal space.”

The corner of his cheeky smirk twitched just slightly, but he said nothing, letting the silence hang. You didn’t need him to. You prefer it this way. This is where you thrive. And, unfortunately for you, this guy knew he'll wither in it. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, while not sounding even remotely sorry at the same time. “No one should interrupt an artist while work is in progress.”

You sighed, leaned in, and grabbed his shoulder—not too hard, just enough to make him blink in surprise. “Come here,” you muttered.

He tilted his head, amused, and obediently leaned closer until you could feel his breath near your cheek. “Yeah?”

You reached for his ear, fingers brushing lightly against his hair. “You,” you said, low and dry, “are the interruption.”

For a beat, he just looked at you, smile widening like he thought you were being cute instead of threatening. Which, unfortunately, made it even worse.

“Well, correction, madame,” he said, tapping on your sketchbook, “I am the subject.” He leaned his elbow on the counter, casual and smug. 

You immediately pulled your sketchbook from your lap, hiding it away from his optical range. “Temporary subject at that. You just have an interesting neck, stop getting too full of yourself.” 

He laughed. “That's the weirdest compliment I've ever gotten.”

“It wasn't even a compliment.” 

“Still sounds like one.”

Your eyes looked up in exasperation and tried to focus on your sketch instead, pressing the pencil against the page like you could erase his existence through sheer concentration. But no matter how hard you bit your lip or furrowed your brows, your hand just wouldn’t cooperate. He was still watching—eyes darting between your face and the paper. You could feel it. And you absolutely hated that. 

“Stop watching me before I skewer those.” you muttered, not lifting your eyes from the paper.

“You know, I'm just curious…”

“Keep it to yourself.” You took a slow sip of your stout, sending a glare over the rim of the glass. 

“Do you always draw people this intensely?” he asked anyway, ignoring the glare you batted.

“Gosh. Why are you still talking?”

“Sorry. Should I pose instead?” he teased, clearly not sorry. “Looks like you’re more interested in my body.”

His lower lip pushed out into an exaggerated pout, trying to appear pitiful. He then pressed a hand over his chest like you had wounded him so deeply. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Of course he had to say that.

“Please don't.” 

His mouth turned back into a grin. Much wider than before. Then he casually reached beneath the stool you were sitting on and turned it so you were facing him.

“I could tilt my head back again just for you. I'll do anything you want, you know—”

“Don’t even—”

“—for accuracy.”

He tugged the neckline of his 5SOS sleeveless shirt downwards, exposing his collarbones. “Is this what you wanted? Like this?” Adam's apple bobbed as he laughed, and you could feel your soul leave your body for a second.

You mentally fought yourself not to look at it. What is this? His mating call? Because, you hate to admit it, but it's kind of working. Especially with your current condition, of course. Which is lack of fucking and dick inside deficiency. You can feel your face turning hot. 

Genetics is really such a randomizer, because why would they give this annoying motherfucker a body you won't mind having a one-night stand with then a personality you'd rather sit through a 24-hour Hugh Jackman concert— sober, no bathroom breaks. 

If this man just only knows how to shut up… 

“Stop whoring yourself up, damn.” You set your pencil down and glared. “Do you enjoy making people uncomfortable?”

He tilted his head, pretending innocence, though that stupid cheeky smirk didn’t budge. “Well, it's not like you didn't just stare at my throat for, like, two minutes when we just met… even after staring at a picture of it.”

Your eye twitched. 

“Stop exaggerating to feed your ego—it was barely a second.”

“Still stared, though.”

You opened your mouth for a comeback but came up empty. 

He leaned on his palm, not breaking the gaze between you two. His eyebrow borderline touching his hairline, wearing that stupid mocking grin. 

“You want to say something, hmm?”

You don't want him to feel good with your silence so you just muttered, “I made your Adam’s apple bigger so you have something to feel good about by the way.”

“Wait— really? I thought it was the same.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Dead serious,” he replied, eyes sparkling like his neck was his family's pride and joy. “It actually gets me more compliments than my solos.”

You squinted at him. “You are terrifyingly confident for someone who agreed to name their band Xdinary Heroes—”

“It’s you!” 

He gasped dramatically. “You’re that girl who doesn’t like our name on the streets.”

“You overheard that?” You groaned.

“It's really not hard to catch when someone laughs at their phone like she’s giving her best Heath Ledger impression.” 

“Why would y'all even name it like it's waiting to be ridiculed?”

“It's meaningful to us, though...” he replied, looking down. “Our drummer got really pissed too by the way.”

You shrugged, unbothered. “Not my fault, your band name sounds like what my friends and I would’ve called ourselves before, like, we hit grade school.”

He laughed, the sound overpowering the band in the background. “Better than something like…” He reached out and lightly tugged at your Linkin Park top, just enough to read the print. “Definitely better than the band who forgot their apostrophe back in middle school.”

Your brows shot up. You might’ve forgotten how close he got—almost brushing your collarbone—if you weren’t busy being offended. Because this came from someone wearing a 5SOS tee.

“Well, that apostrophe-less band is the foundation of teenage rage and emotional depth ,” you said, crossing your arms. “Then yours are— what? A band whose name and listenable songs are both seasonal?”

He threw his head back and cackled at your reply. “You probably have said more than once that you could write pages of essays about Somewhere I Belong alone.”

“Yeah, right. Like the way you believed She Looks So Perfect was ‘so peak’ it changed your life,” you deadpanned.

He chuckled, shaking his head. 

“You’re fun.”

“And you’re loud.”

“You speak in daggers, though.” 

“We're just honest around here.” You picked up your phone and checked if you had any messages. 

“So…” he started, testing the waters if you'd bite him for speaking once more. You glanced at him, waiting. 

“You into rock?”

You gave him a funny look. “You’re seriously asking that in a metal gig?” You giggled. 

“Was that… a laugh?” He sneered. 

You snorted before you could stop yourself, eyes rolling the second it slipped out. “No.”

“Pretty sure it was,” he said, sneering like it was his mission to annoy you into confession. 

“Get your eyes checked.”

“But I heard it too.”

“Then get a psychiatric evaluation.” 

He tittered at your reply. Another upturn was happening again at the corner of his mouth. You also noticed that whenever someone waved at him, he would smile and greet them back. Showing off that “effortless charm” like it was coded into his automation. And somehow, seems like pivoting back to you after is part of it, his wide eyes glistening whenever it returns to you. Like the noise and lights and crowd meant nothing compared to whatever weird back-and-forth was happening here.

You hated that. Or… you told yourself you did.

Then, like it was nothing, he gestured toward your empty glass. “Can I get you another one? Looks like you drink strong beer, no foam type.”

You raised a brow. “What are you, a bartender now?”

He shrugged, grinning. “Nah. Just observant.”

“Okay, Mr. Observant, if you really observed, Guinness is foam.” You smirked when he blinked, caught off guard. “And what? You also ‘observe’ random girls staring at your neck?”

“Only when they’re cute.” He didn’t even hesitate to let those words spill out of his mouth.

“Excuse me? Cute?” You blinked. It was a complete wonder how this man could pick that word after meeting you— piercings, dark makeup, and that whole caliginous getup. 

He tilted his head, his head only filled with confusion and, apparently, air. 

“What?”

“Are you seriously calling me cute?”

“Well… yeah? You are.” He blinked, completely puzzled. 

“You have got to be kidding me.” You let out a short, incredulous laugh while shaking your head. “Cute? Really? You saw this and chose something to describe cats?”

“Just like you said— we're just honest around here.” he argued. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose again. “You’re unreal.”

He chuckled softly, leaning his chin on his hand. “I get that a lot.”

“Never a compliment when it's used on you.” You flipped through your sketchbook, pretending to focus. 

“And,” you gave him a side eye, “don’t you have a band to prepare for?”

“We’re not up yet,” he replied. “Our synthesizer's probably out flirting with the sound tech again.”

“Great. A band filled with Romeos.” You sighed. “Reconsider your band name and change it to Xdinary Hoes or something.”

He laughed under his breath. “Nah, I'm just being friendly. People just… think I’m flirting when I’m talking.”

“Right. Because calling strangers cute and buying them drinks is completely platonic.”

“Hold on— that's flirting?” 

“Yeah… like you don't know what you're doing.” 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

“That's exactly how men act when they want to get laid.”

“I didn't mean it like that, though.”

Your hand stopped moving mid-movement. Eyes squinted at him, lips pressed into a thin line. “So… you didn’t actually mean I’m cute?”

“No—” he blurted. “You’re definitely cute. I just didn’t mean it, you know… flirty-flirty.”

The bartender slid another glass toward you. You stared at it.

Talk about timing...

“Courtship of sunshine boy,” the bartender said, with her smile reaching both her ears, winking at you, before walking off. Your mouth slightly parted by the teasing. 

You turned to him. “Did you seriously—”

He raised his hands like he was innocent. “Art commission payment."

You reached for your wallet anyway. Being indebted to anybody is not your thing. You don't need their kindness. And for you, it's much worse if it's out of pity. 

His hand reached for yours. The back of your hand warmed immediately when his palm rested on it, stopping your motion. 

“What are you doing?” You asked. 

“Just don’t draw me ugly.” 

“Remove the damn hands.” You raised your brow. “And no promises.”

“Guess I’ll just dedicate a song to you then.” He mock-sighs.

You blink. “You what?”

“Just kidding,” he says with a playful lift of his lips. 

That answer and face did not reassure you at all. 

You stare at him, trying to decide if he’s just messing with you or if he’s actually serious. At this point, you don't need to choose, he surely means both. 

“You’d like it though. The setlist.” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice, not wanting others to hear. “We’ve got one that’s practically screaming your taste.”

“What would you know about my taste?”

“Hey, I’m trying to get your approval here.”

“Yep, and it’s showing. Painfully.”

He laughs again—loud, genuine, and a little too carefree like the people dancing on the mosh pit right now. You turned away, sipping on your drink. “Go warm up or something.”

“Soon,” he said, “but I’m having a good conversation.”

“With me?”

“Yeah.”

You didn't give a reply, but he smiled like it was the most obvious thing you've ever said that night. Which is ironic because he seems completely clueless with your direct, snarky comments earlier. 

“I feel like you'd listen to my playlist.” His head is tilting, attentively watching every microexpression you'll make. How your furrowed eyebrows tighten. Or how your tongue swiftly licks your lips after sipping your stout. And your mouth forming an amused grimace following his assumption… 

You still didn't like it. But you could only avoid his gaze. 

“I sure would,” you shrugged, “but only when I'm visiting the rage room.”

His face got all scrunched up. You wondered if the brain up there finally started to activate. 

“Are you saying that because it'll make you mad or it's mad good?”

“What do you think?”

“That it's mad good.”

You scoffed. “Having ego doesn't mean being delusional.”

“It is mad good though… I have some Killswitch Engage here. Deftones? Type O Negative? Beyond Creation?”

You paused. 

Maybe he still could be salvaged. 

“Fire.” 

“Do you approve?” He asked, hope in his eyes. 

You gave him a light nod, which made him clench his fist in triumph. 

That random emote made you let out a small huff. 

“Don’t get too comfortable. I still think your band’s a bunch of posers.” 

He smiled. “Then maybe I’ll make you eat your words.”

“Try me.”

“Gladly.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the stage lights shifted. The crowd roared loudly as the MC’s voice echoed through the venue, anticipating the next band's performance. 

He stood up. “That’s us.”

You crossed your legs and leaned back, trying not to show your interest. “Break a string, then.”

“What?” His voice almost got muffled by how loud the cheers were for the next act. 

You sighed. You do not want to say it multiple times until he finally decides to move closer, so your body moves on its own. 

“I said—” you hooked a finger at the back of his neck without thinking, pulling him in until your breath touched his ear. “Break a fucking string.”

He laughed under his breath. 

It's low and shows how entertained he was. Then he tilted his head, mouth brushing dangerously close to your skin. 

“Draw me again while I'm performing, ” he said, his mouth dangerously close, which made you immediately regret leaning in first.  “If it's good, I’ll save you our band tee.”

You didn’t even get to roll your eyes before he pulled away. 

His smile was crooked, and his eyes held yours for a beat longer than necessary, not bothering how his bandmates called on him just to stay here for a bit longer. 

Your eyes hold onto his. 

The way those eyes stare at you feels… familiar. Which was weird because it feels like it came from the distant future. Like how one day, it would look back at you, carrying a grief you inadvertently carved into it. 

He then turned and disappeared into the noise of the venue. 

The feedback from the speakers cuts through the air as the lights dim and the crowd starts moving closer to the stage. You blinked as he walked away, the crowd parting for him to let him through. How they did it subtly gave you a postulation that he wasn’t just some guy, but someone everyone somehow recognized. 

Jooyeon stood tall on the center of the stage, then wore his bass in one smooth motion, that same easy grin still plastered on his face.

“I hate this fucking guy,” you mumbled. 

But frankly, you hate it more that you actually can’t wait to be proven wrong.

The stage lights started to dim, then a smoke suddenly hissed from the side vents. Someone shouted into the mic, testing it. 

You took your pencil and turned your sketchbook to a blank page. A part of you was wondering why you're preparing to take a request from someone, especially if it came from a guy who enjoys getting under your skin. 

Wait a damn second. 

Do you even care? 

Something about that snapped you back to reality.  You don't even know this dude nor do you care about his band. Because, again, you literally labeled them as a poser an hour ago. 

So you stood up, and started packing your things. 

But the bass suddenly hits, making you stop and turn. 

It wasn't subtle at all. The people started rumbling ever since it growled. Your brow furrowed. A certain ring it made somehow drew distinction from the other instruments, leading the song. 

And there he was.

Your muse tonight.

His fingers then dragged itself along the neck of his bass. It was slow— sensual even. 

He's wearing his same pesty face default that's plaguing your good time earlier, but now more clearly. The blue and red strobe lights are directly shining over him now that you can see more intricate details of him. His long hair was damp from the heat, jaws flexing slightly as he focused on his bass. His body is moving naturally with the rhythm, like he truly knew what he was doing. 

You leaned on your other elbow, trying to look unimpressed — like this was nothing new. That is a lie though. As much as you hate being wrong, you know that what you're witnessing before your eyes right now is a rise in the making. 

Your hands grabbed the glass and took another sip, drowning the pride stuck on your throat. It's unusual for some, but you take some pride in your opinions on certain things, especially those you're passionate about. Despite that, a small smile was forming on your lips. You're enjoying your time. 

His hands got your attention. You're following the manners of its slenderness on the strings. They're sliding along the strings effortlessly and smoothly. The gaze slowly followed his figure to his neck that exposes how his Adam's apple are bopping up and down. After singing his part, he throws his head back, and then— tongue out. 

You coughed. The shiny thing taking you by surprise. 

You see that. You saw that. 

There's silver on it catching the stage lights. Too familiar. 

On his tongue... 

“What the… fuck?”

Is that a— ?

You blinked. What else could you do? You're too mesmerized to see this guy with a tongue piercing. 

Your chest thumped a sudden beat like it was the drummer’s fault. Where's your bag? The sketchbook? And the pencils? You rummaged through your bag, chasing that inspiration-high. It was so so clear. The image you wanted to draw. 

So you start. Without a single hesitation. 

Your brain is still not working properly though. It's buffering. All it's processing is that damn piercing on him. 

Fully rendered. 8K Resolution. 

You closed your eyes. Apologizing to your ancestors, meticulously, for the side-effects of your so-called sexual deficiency that cannot be tamed by any self labor in bed.

It's odd seeing yourself like this; you're like a virgin who's excited for her first time. Because seeing piercings on people wasn’t new to you, like— hell, your whole body was covered in them that it’s basically a shrine. Most of the people you hang around with had them too. At this point, self-expression was normal, while conformists were the “weirdos”.

But this guy… a tongue piercing? On someone who acts like he’d apologize to a cashier if the fries were slightly soggy? He got an amorous profile and framework too, of course, but you have no right to be honest right now after apologizing to the ancient grandmas-and-pas. 

You tried to focus. You really did. So you supervised yourself: drag the pencil, eyes on the damn sketch. Just finish the damn drawing.

You cursed him silently under your breath, but it's blaring inside you. Your mind should not be this invested at all. He was just a subject afterall. A body to be replicated by your hands. And his piercing is part of that subject. 

When their third song was almost over, a girl beside you screamed something that sounded like “Jooyeon!” 

You took a deep breath, and stole a glance at the stage, adding background details. But then he looked up. 

He's looking straight at you. Your hands stop moving as he stares back at you while his head is carelessly tilted back, and his lips are pulled back into a grin. 

Then, unsurprisingly, he had to ruin it by talking.

“Alright. For our last song for tonight: this next one’s for anyone, or someone, who called us posers tonight.”

You nearly choked.

The crowd booed, screaming their disagreement. He laughed while you could only glare at the stage. 

“Little shit.”

The drummer then immediately counted off with his drumsticks. Tak, tak, tak.

The next song bombarded each corner the soundwaves could reach. It was completely different from their previous song. The kind that you like. You could physically feel the heaviness of each note, each rhythm, each scream. The crowd jumped, wilding on the mosh pit they saved for themselves.

You held your pencil and sketchbook tightly, eyes furrowed and sighed in defeat.

At this point, you're only doing the deal for their band tee, especially not after that diss. Gotta keep the self respect at top, you know? And while you're busy rushing the unfinished parts like your crammed assignments, the phone inside your bag vibrates.

♪Moments by MOIO

A contact was ringing you. Your fingers declined the phone call and checked the messages. The white light flashed your face and made you peer lightly.

After reading the message, you immediately packed up. Without looking back, you swung the door open and left.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Jooyeon swept a hand through his hair. The attempt was unsuccessful though. Most of the light strands were stuck to his cheeks and neck. No matter how hard he tries, it’ll just end up pushing only a few. He squinted his eyes through the heat, chest rising up and down heavily. His head was tilted all the way back, calming himself since the potent shot of adrenaline still visible in each sweat dripping down on him.

Their final song just ended, a light echo still playing through the speakers. Everyone was dead silent. But as soon as the final frequency ended, the crowd practically exploded. Looking down, people were jumping and chanting “XDIZ” over and over again. His eyes were wide and bright, genuinely surprised at how loud they were. 

There’s a part of him that softens inside, because based on how alive the whole place felt– yeah, he guess they did pretty great. 

Maybe he did too.

He walked towards the back of the stage and picked up the final tee inside their box. At the rear, he scanned the whole place, then finally glanced at the part where you should be. Where you’re leaning against the bar like before.

But… there’s nothing. 

A frown was forming on his forehead. You’d been right there— scribbling furiously in your sketchbook like you’re murdering somebody, a pair of eyes that seems like they have noticed things most people missed and memorized every crease on him— and now… just gone? Like you went poof after he dedicated a song. 

His hand gripped on the tee, the grin he’d worn all night started to falter. 

“Where did she go?” he muttered under his breath.

The eyes started to wander everywhere. Left corner? Right corner? Adjacent corner? No matter how carefully he scanned and searched, it was like you rapidly vanished from a single snap. You weren’t hiding. He’d easily recognize you. He knows it. 

But there’s no you.

His feet started moving, leading him to the bartender. He flashed that bright smile once again and greeted her over the chaos in the background. “Have you seen the one with the sketchbook? At the corner? All piercings and frowns.” 

The bartender raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Was it the one that glares at you like she got your funeral planned out?” 

Jooyeon laughed. It came out soft and nervous while scratching the back of his neck. 

“Yeah… that’s her.” He brightened a little, both shoulders lifts into an optimistic shrug. ‘But she’ll warm up eventually. People usually do.”

He added a small giggle. “I mean… I try to be nice. That counts for something, right?” He asked; not bragging, just hopeful. 

The bartender’s smile softened, replying that you suddenly packed up and left after checking your phone. It was not unusual for you to disappear though, at least on the KnotLips.

A smile surfaces on his face, a little disappointed. “Ah, I see. Thank you. Have a good night.”

Jooyeon gave one last scan of the crowd. There was a hint of hope he’ll catch you, but that won't happen though.

He turned toward the spot where you’d been sitting earlier and noticed a slip of sketch paper weighed down by a few bills. Wandering over, he picked it up.

It was your sketch of him.

After seeing what you made, a mischievous grin was plastered across his face. It was not cocky at all, just his dorky little pride he can’t hide because it came from you. You, the sole person he’s fully convinced despises his whole being. He believed he should take a little pride in that. He deserves it.

He traced the outlines of a sketch of him with his thumb, then stopped when he noticed where your message was scribbled.

Not bad for a poser. Don’t ever come back here.

A warm laugh slipped out of him as he read it.

Well… guess too bad for you— he likes you around.

𓇢𓆸𓍯𓂃🖌 an. Thank you for trying the whole thing! I hope it was worth your time. It took me too long to fully commit in finishing this chapter since I'm too anxious it'll disappoint buttt I had fun writing the banters. For the next chapter, it'll be a little faster-paced. I just like to take the first chapter slowly. A little fun fact too, last night, when I saw Joo crying at their recent concert, it reminded me of the hurt/comfort scene I had in mind that I'm stokeedddd, about so I was like "fuck it" and started to lock in.

it surprised the rest of your employees, who constantly played quiet games of rock-paper-scissors to decide who would enter your office when projects went wrong. it wasn't that you were mean, but you had long perfected the type of stare that made people question if they deserved to be in the same room as you.

woonhak spent his first day trailing behind you like a lost puppy, struggling to keep up with your powerful strut while simultaneously taking notes on everything you said.

at the end of the work day, you ask him to stay late while you finish up reports for the day. he does, sitting at a chair by your desk and asking if there's anything he can do to help the process go by quicker.

"do you have plans, mr.kim?" you'd ask as your fingers dance across your keyboard with practiced precision.

woonhak instantly perks up at the sound of his name, "n-no, ma'am, i just- i-" his stammering amuses you, making the corner of your lips curl up. "...i just like being helpful," he finally gets out, face flushed with embarrassment as he looks up from the floor to find you were staring at him the entire time.

your eyes light up at that, and its the first time in awhile you've felt anything other than boredom at this desk, "oh really?"

woonhak nods confirmation, "just tell me what to do! a-and i'll do my best sunbaenim!"

your heart would flutter with something you haven't felt in ages, thighs instinctively clenching before you begin typing on your keyboard once again to calm your elevating interest.

not yet, not now, not until you know.

"then sit there." your words had a different air of confidence about them —it wasn't the same tone you used during meetings; it was something new... something that made woonhak straighten his posture.

"and do what?" woonhak asked with naive curiosity, tilting his head in a way that made you struggle to stay focused on the email in front of you.

"just sit, stay quiet." you shrugged, eyelashes batting as you looked up from your screen-- "can you do that for me?"

woonhaks eyes widened, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red before he obeys. sitting with perfect posture, silently taken up space in the chair in front of you.

it took an hour for you to wrap up various different emails and reports.

once you gathered your things and turned off the light to your office, woonhak stood up and scampered after you, barely squeezing into the elevator before the doors closed.

"so, mr.kim, how did you enjoy your first day?" you asked, turning towards the man. woonhak blinked, heart thumping against his ribcage-- "i enjoyed it a lot,"

"good, that's good." you nodded, heels clicking against the tile floor as you began to walk towards the employee parking garage while woonhak began towards the front door-- hope he can still catch the late-night bus. you stop for a second, turning and clearing your throat right before your intern slips outside.

"you did a really good job today, mr.kim." woonhak's eyes dilate at the praise, a toothy smile spreading across his face. "let's try and replicate that behavior again tomorrow, 'kay?" your head tilts to the side and for a second woonhak wonders if your tone could be considered as flirty.

logically you know you'll see the boy again tomorrow... but you can't help but get one last look before walking away.

at home, woonhak ignores when his roommates ask him, locking his bedroom door before he falls onto his bed and tries desperately to ignore the aching boner between his legs as he imagines you ordering him around in a more... private setting.

Three more weeks until winter break. Oh please, let it come faster.

Not only were you completely stoked that you could finally have a few months doing absolutely nothing but be a lazy butt around the house and sleep on your bed twenty-four seven. But you were dreading the assignment for you and your year group; a teacher's assistant.

Oh dear. Of course, you're grateful with how many points that's going to your report card if you follow your assignment's rubric to a T. Last year, you were assigned to look over the year sevens (AKA, the wannabe gangsters), and nearly twenty points were taken off of your grade because you almost screamed your head off at the -- very annoying -- poor children.

The year before that, you actually did lose ten points because you were paying little to no attention at the teacher. This only made you clam up when you had to sum up the lesson at the end of the day. Well, maybe if the subject wasn't so boring then you could've actually paid attention. But that's all in the past.

This year, the stakes were really, really high. You totally flunked your final exams. Well-- the grades hadn't gone out yet, not until the start of winter break. But you just had this feeling. A very intense intuition that you hoped to whatever God was out there that was wrong. The amount of times you set your pen down just to bang your head (lightly) on the table was unfathomable. You could physically feel the hair on your head fall off with the amount of stress you were going through.

You really need to get luck for this assignment. A good class, a good subject, and a good teacher. That's all you're asking for. You're not even that bad at a lot of subjects, it's a very small pool that you're asking here, and you're not really asking for much. Obviously, you were in denial of any and all variables that will ruin your lucky chances of getting your grades up. There were very little good teachers and oh, don't even get me started on the juniors.

There aren't a lot of juniors that you didn't want to punch right smack in the face. The only ones you could tolerate was a small group, probably six people in there that weren't arrogant, rich, self-entitled kids that think the world revolves around them and everyone has to get down on their knees and kiss their feet.

As you sat at your desk. Hands in a prayer position, head bowed down, the top of your forehead touching the wood. Please oh please, don't fuck this up for me. A mantra in your mind as your homeroom teacher assigned everyone their classes. You crossed off all the unlucky draws in your mind.

"James Kim, you are assigned to Ms. Reina in class 3-B: modern history."

"Damnit!"

That's another shitty teacher down. There are only five students left until it's my turn. And there are only three more teachers that I would rather die than assist.

The five students' names went by agonisingly slow. Each pause that passed only made you sweat harder. "Minji Oh, you are assigned to Mr. Ha in class 1-C: homeroom."

"Oh come on!"

"Y/n L/n." Here we go.

"You are assigned to Mr. Park.." Okay, Mr. Park could definitely need some therapy, but he wasn't the worst of the bunch. You shook your leg nervously under your desk as you clutched you friend's elbow in anticipation.

".. in class 5-A" wait, 5-A.. that's--

".. music." Oh thank. Fucking. Goddd.

You got a good gamble on this one. An amazing gamble, actually. The best gamble you've ever won in years.

See, music has been a very big interest of yours. Ever since the very first time your dad put on Green Day on the family speakers, you fell in love. Not only did you fall in love with the very amazing Billie Joe Armstrong, but you fell in love with the way the band carried their instruments. You saw the multiple tapings of the concerts that your parents went to. And the tapings that your dad bought off of a piracy market but, that's neither here nor there.

You started learning the guitar when you were younger. You saw the collection in the family garage and decided to pester your parent in teaching you how to play. You remembered all of it; the mini guitar that you absolutely refused to call a ukelele. The CDs that you would steal just to play on your toy stereo that you didn't even know actually worked.

The very first time you listened to a Spice Girls song and decided you wanted to dress in full glam, glitter, and gems. The first time you listened to Avril Lavigne and decided that you wanted to completely ditch the entire Spice Girls look and go skater boy-esque. When you saw Paramore's music videos and felt a weird jealousy for Hailey Williams because she's a pretty girl starting a band with pretty boys.

You begged to get singing lessons when you were, what? Ten? "Just in case I get in a band." You'd say.

The concerts that you never went to because you couldn't quite afford it, so you opted to pirating it much like your parents did. Everything about the music that you've listened to from when you were just a toddler hypnotised at the way those colourful weirdos in High-five danced and sung-- to now, when you're in a high school, grateful for the extensive knowledge of multiple instruments, all because little you wanted to become just like the cool people on TV.

The only thing you couldn't do was actually start a band. But that's not something you focused too much on these days. Not when your schedule was just jam packed full of studying and revising and reviewing. You barely even had any time to just play a little piece on your violin, or a couple of beats on your drums that were gathering dust at the corner of your room.

And you could only hope that this assignment will rekindle your love for music again.

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"Good morning, Y/n." Mr. Park greeted you as you made your way through the school corridors. To say you were exhausted was an understatement. For starters, you had forgotten to check your school E-mail last night, you just remembered to do so this morning, where they had asked you to bring the music book you forgot about when you were, what? Thirteen? You spent way too much time flipping your entire closet upside down just to find it.

You practically ran your ass to the gates, sneaking past the strict teacher lady who would absolutely kill you if she found out you were thirty minutes late. Though, you did make it just in time for first period to start. Well, at least what was supposed to be first period. You didn't have any subjects for the rest of the school month. Your days would consist of assisting that godforsaken teacher.

Mr. Park was waiting outside of his classroom. The fifth floor. The highest floor. Some say that floor s haunted. The locked attic of the school held all the dead bodies that had been dug up on top of the cemetery the school was built on. Of course, it was just a rumour. But the way the class 5-A was at the very end of the corridor was certainly not helping.

You entered the classroom. It was fairly empty. Your year group arrived earlier than the others, giving yourself more time to help set up the class and study the syllabus. You were hit with a strange familiarity-- nostalgia. This room was where you spent most of your days in junior high school. Which was not too long ago. Yet the faint scent of wooden instruments and rosin was still there. Obviously so-- it's a music room, what else would you expect?-- there was just something different to when you were experiencing it, than when you're reliving it years later.

The guitar racks were full, different sizes on each slot. A few had missing strings, some had various cracks and doohickeys scattered around. Three grand pianos and three keyboards. In the corner; the brass instruments. Another corner had the classical stringed instruments; violin, viola, cello, the whole package. Much like how you remembered it.

"The syllabus is on the desk over there." You directed your eyes to where your teacher was pointing. "Class starts in an hour. Usually I'd tell my TA's to revise it three times." He picks up the folder from the desk, making his way to hand it to you. "But I don't think you should worry too much, you did excel in music for three years straight, correct?"

You nodded. Did. You did. You still excel in music. At least that's what you'd like to believe. If only you didn't spend like, half a year disregarding the multiple instruments in your room.

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Music theory wasn't something you could be trusted on. It was one of the many things you could never get a hold of. You could read notes, really well, of course. But when you had to write down what the specific rhythm for a song was, your mind would go blank. Yes, you knew how to play the Eighth note, two sixteenth notes, but you could not, for the life of you, identify and name it as such if you were to see it.

You asked if you could focus on the practical lessons. Something Mr. Park gracefully granted you with. He would deal with all the boring writing stuff. And you get to show off your skills.

The clock hit first period for the juniors. You waited patiently on your makeshift desk opposite to where Mr. Park was sitting. The back of the class. Two smaller tables combined to give you a bigger space. You waited, glancing at the clack to your right. The footsteps at the hallway were faint. Not a lot of people were in this class. Not a lot of people shared the same level of passion for music like you do.

The door opened, and you prepared for your first day as a teacher's assistant. Mr. Park had to go to the front office to collect and share some paperwork. He left you to your own devices, trusting you enough that you'd let the class know that he'd be late once they get there. Standing up in front of your chair, both hands politely placed on your lap. A tight, practiced smile on your face.

That smile grew wider when you saw who just walked through the door.

"Han Hyeongjun!"

He seemed taken aback, shocked that you were even here in the first place.

"Oh-- Y/n.. hi." His voice was small. He's a quiet person. Not necessarily shy or socially anxious per se. He's naturally a reserved person. An introvert. Someone who would prefer being alone, rarely ever going out, and if so, would much rather want to contribute less in conversations. Nothing wrong with that, nothing personal either. Just who he is.

"... Are you doing your TA assignment here?" He asked, eyes lightening only slightly. You nodded, "pure, freakin' luck." Smiling.

"I get music, Mr. Park who, isn't that good but he's not that bad either. And then I see you walk in? Man, the universe is being kind to me today." You called him over to the front of your desk. Hitting his shoulder lightly.

"I thought you couldn't play anymore? You just suddenly stopped going to band camp so y'know.. I thought.." he trailed off, hoping you would get the memo without him having to voice it out. Once again, you nodded. "Nah, I just got really busy with finals."

"Speaking of, how have your grades been?"

You watch him walk to the corner of the back of the classroom, not too far from where you were sitting. "It's been okay." He sets his bag down, "bit stressful, but I can manage." He stood there for a second, hesitating to make the next move, glancing at the clock ever so often, counting down the seconds until the class flooded with students.

"You uh.. you ready to help with this class?" He facepalmed mentally, aware of how condescending that might have sounded. Like he was telling you to prepare yourself for the worst. Though, how bad could this bunch be?

"Pretty bad."

Oops, you didn't mean to say that part out loud.

"They aren't bad people by any means." His gaze adverted to the floor when he saw your shocked expression. Tone of voice still small like you remembered. "They're just.. louder than I am."

You smiled, laughing lightly at his comment. You weren't aware of the people in this class. You weren't handed a list of names by your teacher. Which you now realise would make it difficult for you to mark the roll, but that's neither here nor there. A problem you'd deal with some other time.

"That's all fine. I expected that coming in." You waved your hand in dismissal. He nods, waiting for the rest of the class to come in. You stared at him for a while, the now awkward silence engulfing the both of you. He stood there for a little while longer. Before he heard the shuffling of footsteps a few feet outside the door. He nodded once more, before making his way back to his seat.

You stayed standing. Politely bowing for each student that came in the room.

You took note of each student that came in, some of them you knew very well. Some you've heard of but never met. There was a total of fifteen students including Hyeongjun. A small class. Ridiculously so. Your best guess was that there were indeed a few students interested in the topic, but they didn't want to go through the trouble of starting from scratch.

The beauty of music was that it was an accumulation of years of hard work and dedication. It most definitely could be viewed as just a hobby -- another activity to pass time. But music that has been made from somebody's hands has that person's heart and soul within. You believed that people wanted to make music. Especially those who were much younger, they need a way to let out all those difficult emotions and thoughts, and just plain poetry did very little to satiate that hunger.

Though it seemed that people didn't have the desire to spend their better days learning. They would prefer to skip straight to producing. You couldn't blame them. The learning stages were the most difficult. It mostly becomes fun when you have the hang of it, which could take a really long time.

If you had to take a guess, you'd say all these people shared the same passion as you did. Aside from the usual student that was forced into it present in every class because all of the other ones were full.

You sat down, watching as everyone took their seat. A few glances your way followed by whispers to one another. A louder voice from the bunch echoed through the classroom.

"I thought Mr. Park was supposed to be here?" A girl leaned to her friend.

"Yo! they're pretty." Much like someone who was still learning how to whisper.

"Shut the fuck up Jooyeon."

"Are they just going to stand there?"

"I'll take them over Mr. Park any day." You don't say.

Taking a breath, you stood up, and plastered a smile on your face. "Good morning everyone," you got a few 'good morning's back. "Uhm.. I'm Y/n L/n, I'm from the year above you, and I will be assisting Mr. Park as a TA for my end of year assignment." You bowed. Earning a few bows in return.

Mr. Park came in just in the nick of time. A small stack of papers in his hands. The groans of annoyance from the students filled the room the moment they saw him. To which he only rolled his eyes. "I assume you have already met Y/n. They will be helping me deal with all of you and hopefully make my job much easier."

You laughed along the rest of the kids. Your gaze slowly drifted to Hyeongjun. Junhan as his friends called him. Met with his own gaze, already looking at you, just as quick, the both of you averted your eyes away. You laughed softly to yourself. This was going to be a fun three weeks.

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The entire day went by quickly, nothing eventful really happened. Mr. Park thought it would be better for you to start off easy with some paperwork. Filing some data on his computer and helping some students when he himself was busy with another.

He wanted to move on to the next subject, but the class hadn't finished their final test yet. Their test would be held on Monday of the second last week of school. So the class had a little over a week to prepare.

They had to play an instrumental of a piece from either their or the teacher's choice. But they had to play on an instrument that they were unfamiliar with.

The class dispersed into groups with their friends. You made your way through each group. You were met with mostly friendly banter, sometimes the occasional shy person, but everyone was nice to you so far.

You walked towards the bunch that Junhan was sitting with, a pep in your step since you couldn't wait to talk to a dear friend. "Everything okay over here?" You asked them.

He was sitting with around five other guys. You recognised only some of them; Kwak Jiseok, he would perform sometimes in the school's band. You guessed he was the person the teachers would find when the main guitarist was absent. Goo Gunil, the guy that volunteered to the help the Library lady every other Wednesday. You only exchanged hello's and goodbye's.

And of course, Junhan. You met him during year eight, he was in year seven. You participated in the school's big sister and big brother program. Where the year sevens -- new to the school and still clueless as to where to go -- would follow their big sibling. Someone from the class above them to help them navigate through the school year.

To say he was quiet would be an understatement. He was reserved, kept to himself and only spoke when he really needed to, or when you asked him a question. The reason the two of you grew close to each other was because you didn't give up on him. You didn't think he was weird, and you didn't even dare thing to push his boundaries. He was quiet, and you accepted that. You observed his pace and you adjusted your own to make him comfortable. Naturally, you grew closer.

The six of them nodded. They sat in a circle, Gunil held a flute. Jiseok was struggling to keep his cello from falling down to the floor. Junhan held an bass on his lap. And the three other men, which you didn't know, had their own instruments.

"Uhhhh, actually, I kinda need some help here." You looked to boy in front of you. He had blonde hair that seemed to reach his shoulders. A silly smile on his face, you noticed the violin held between a tight grip. His fingers were on the violin bow, though, he seemed to have difficulty holding it.

You smiled, pulling up a chair and setting it beside him. The rest of the group went back to practicing on their own instruments. You focused on the boy next to you. "I'm Lee Jooyeon, I kinda need help on how to hold this." He dangled the bow in front of his face. "And how to play it."

You nodded. "Okay," you took the bow form his hands, "so, what I like to do, is connect the tip of my thumb with the tip of my two middle finger." You said as you did what you described. "See the hole it made? Put the bow through here. And then... your pinky and pointer finger should be placed right.. here." You moved the bow around a bit, giving him time to understand. You took the bow away from your hand, handing it back to him. "Try it out."

He tried to do what you just did. It was awkward and stiff, but that's why you were here. You adjusted his fingers with your own. "You need to space them out a bit. So that it won't cramp up." You told him as he nodded to every word.

You didn't notice the guy staring. Burning hold through your head. Junhan had his regular look on his face as he looked at you. Guitar left on his lap as he mindlessly fiddled with the strings. Lee Jooyeon, the complete opposite of who he is. Did you prefer men who were more outgoing? Who was he kidding, you probably prefer men who weren't him.

Because yes, Junhan likes you. He has ever since seventh grade, when you met him with unbelievable kindness. When you could actually tell that he was more of a listener rather than a talker. He didn't get the chance to see you for a long while, he was busy, you were busy. And you gradually drifted apart. He really thought he was over you. Of course he wasn't. Not when you were in front of him, giving you time to his friend rather than him.

Oh but, who is he to be jealous? You barely spoke to each other. The most you do is wave. He tried to swallow down the jealousy that was building up in the pits of his stomach. He turned back to meddling with the strings, trying her best to focus on the notes in front of him.

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He's squinting. Absolutely seething in jealousy. In complete envy as he glares daggers to the back of Jooyeon's head as he hogs your attention yet again.

Junhan goes to class early. Something you found out when you'd see him bright and early, thirty minutes before class would start. You smiled to yourself, thankful for the company, it gets pretty lonely, being on the fifth floor, in the empty classroom at the very end of the hall. You're glad the days won't be so lonely all because of his work ethic.

Junhan wasn't early just because of his work ethic. He's early because he wants to see you. Even if all the both of you do is sit in silence, or if you talk your mind off while he just listens. In his head, him spending more time with you gives him more brownie points. The childish belief that if you see him more then you'd fall for him, rather than that loud Jooyeon.

Stupidly, he spent each morning with you. Funnily enough, simply sitting in silence with you does nothing compared to actually speaking to each other.

Junhan never considered himself to be the jealous type. But when he wants something (or someone), then his mind locks in on that. Sure, he might never have the confidence to actually ask you out, but he values every second you spend with each other.

He has his own way of winning people over. Granted, he's barely ever successful at it, but he's clinging onto the hope that you're different. And maybe you are. He just has a feeling. He's hopeful.

"But the hair of the bow always makes a scratchy noise." Jooyeon moves his elbow to demonstrate said scratchy noise that would play on the violin that he was holding. "That's because you're putting too much tension on it." You gently manoeuvre your hand to hold onto his forearm, lifting it just a tad. Enough so that the pressure was light enough.

This really put a wrench in his heart. Junhan rolled his eyes in annoyance. How hard is it to hold a violin bow? It's so simple, and it's been half a week for god's sake. Learning to hold it takes, like, two days to figure out--

"Learning how to hold it is fairly easy. Have you learned your piece yet?" You asked Jooyeon, moving his arm further from the instrument, resulting in a pleasant sound.

"Yep," Jooyeon smiled unabashedly, "notes are all down, I just have trouble holding it."

Junhan scoffs ever so lightly. How hard is it to hold a violin? It's way easier than a guitar twice your size. And it took him barely a week to learn the entire piece! And you're telling him that he still can't hold it properly? Yeah right.

You looked up from the troubled student in your care. Jooyeon decided to make the sudden shift from guitar to violin, as in, a hard instrument, to an even worse instrument (subjectively, of course). You make brief eye contact with Junhan, who seemed particularly pissed off. You stood up, making your way to his side.

"Hey, how's the progress with you?" You smiled. Pointing to the bass on his lap. You noticed the way he clutched it tightly. Almost like it was about to snap in between his fingers. He blinked rapidly, heat creeping up his neck after realising how you caught him staring at the both of you.

"Uhm--" he stammered, trying to come up with an excuse. "Oh I just..- I just needed a bit of help." He looked up at your standing figure, an awkward chuckle coming out of his throat. Scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.

You nodded understandingly, "oh, next time you need help, just call me away." You smiled, taking a seat next to him. Not missing the way he shifted uncomfortably away from you. Something you've tried to make yourself get used to.

He'd do this well after you became his friend. Whenever you were a bit too close to him, he'd try his best to keep a good distance between you. You always respected it, sometimes you'd forget it. It still made you frown, he's comfortable enough to spend time with you, but you guessed not enough to be in close proximity. Oh well.

"Yeah.." his voice trailed off as he looked down at his lap. Fidgeting his fingers on the strings. Before looking up at you once again, "uhm, I was just wondering if... uhm.." he pondered his head on an excuse to use. "If.. the tuning on this sounds a bit off?"

"Play the first string for me."

The tuning was not off, not in the slightest. He knew that, you didn't though.

He plucks the first string, moving onto the next one when you nodded. Until the fourth and last one. "Sounds good to me." You turned to him with an eyebrow raised. Suspicious as to how he didn't notice.

He caught on, drifting his eyes around the room as he tries to come up with something. "I guess I've just been listening to it for a while." He laughs nervously.

You nodded, chuckling softly. "I get that." You turned your body to face toward to him, "I had to take a break from playing the piano because I thought I was hearing the F key being played over and over again." You sighed out.

He nodded, like he always does. "Yeah." He smiled. He felt his heart warm up at the familiar sound of you and him having one of your conversations like you did ages ago. Or when you'd speak, and he'd listen.

"Just take a break and sleep it --"

"Y/nnn!" A cry for help from Jiseok, his cello on the floor. Beside him was Jungsu, trying his best to lift up the big instrument off of his foot.

Your attention was pulled away from Junhan. You looked back at him apologetically. "Hold on." You stood up and walked to the boys who called you.

Junhan sighed, slouching back to his chair as he stared off to nothing in particular. Deep in thought. He didn't even notice the guy sliding to the seat next to him. Not until he felt an arm slither around his shoulders.

"Soo.." Jooyeon's voice was full of.. menace. A devilish smirk on his face. "What's going on with you and Y/n?" His grin cracks wider when he saw Junhan roll his eyes.

"Literally shut up." He pushed Jooyeon's arm off of him. Huffing out an exasperated grunt.

"I am so not shutting up," Jooyeon laughed out, "I can tell that something's going on." He taps his fingers together, stifling his laughter.

"Nothing's going on." Junhan crossed his arms across his chest. Praying that the red on his cheeks wasn't too obvious.

"Nothing my ass." Jooyeon lifts a leg over his other, "I can literally feel your need to shoot me in the head whenever I take her away from you." He snickered, a hand over his mouth.

Junhan turned his head to him in horror, his eyes as wide as ever. He could only stutter out a disgruntled noise. This made Jooyeon actually laugh out loud, his head pushed back, with the happiest smile on his face.

Junhan smacked a hand on Jooyeon's mouth when he noticed that your eyes darted to the both of them.

His hand lets go of his mouth. "Shut the fuck up!" He whisper shouted.

"Okay okay, damn." Jooyeon said in between laughs. "But seriously though, anyone with eyes can tell that you're into her." He nudged him with his elbow.

"You know.. maybe you should try to.. I don't know, ask her out?" He says matter of factly. Junhan practically snapped his neck at how fast he turned to look at Jooyeon. His gaze then slowly drifted to you.

It wasn't too bad of an idea -- telling you how he feels about you.

"You're thinking about it, aren't ya?" Jooyeon smiles. He looked at Junhan with the most expecting look he could manage.

Junhan kept his eyes on you. On how sweetly you smiled at Jiseok when he struggled to keep his instrument at balance.

You weren't the exact opposite of him, but you weren't like him either. You were a good balance of both. You were social enough to be able to speak to other people without having the need to escape.

"Yeah, you're definitely thinking about it."

Junhan sighs quietly, slumping down even further. "I guess."

He felt a smack on his arm. "Atta boy!"

"I don't know how to go about doing that, though."

They stayed silent for a while, Jooyeon racking his brain on how someone as reserved as Junhan could come up to you and tell you how he feels.

Someone as quiet as him, needed to go on his own pace.

He snaps his two fingers together, making Junhan hold his head in his hands. Knowing all too well that whatever idea he has brewing up in his own mind is something acceptable only in an alternate universe.

"You serenade her."

"No."

"You show up at her house with a bunch of roses."

"No."

"You send her a text and then ghost her."

"No."

"You get her in a quiet place and lock the both of you in."

"No, gross."

"You wait until after school and share your honest feelings --"

"... that might work.."

"-- in song."

"No!"

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"I'm telling you man, the only reason he gets straight A's is because his daddy has to bribe the shit out of the principal." You slumped back to your seat, the half-full cup of coffee in between your hands as you felt your anger bubbling over.

"Dude, I really hope you surpass him in that test." Jungsu Smiled, flashing his teeth around the table.

"Oh hell nah, if she does then he'd definitely hire a hitman to go after her ass." Jiseok taps on the table, grabbing Gunil's cup of coffee, a resounding hey! from beside him.

You were in the school's canteen. Your pile of work on the table in front of you. Forgotten. You were much more interested in the gossip session that was happening anyway.

"You think he's actually hired a hitman before?" Jooyeon's smile was as wide as ever, finding way too much satisfaction in the conversation.

"The last time I interacted with him was when I accidentally stepped on his foot." Seungmin rolled his eyes. "Oh my god, he was practically killing me with that stare. If he were to ever hire a hitman, it would definitely be for me."

"So, everyone here has been a victim to him?" Gunil joked. Resulting in enthusiastic nods from the table.

You instinctively looked to your side. Feeling the way Junhan was uncomfortably shifting by you. "You okay?" You whispered, smile still plastered on your face.

He nodded, "just a bit tired." He looked up from his lap, only to be met with Jooyeon's annoying, smug stare. A grin.

He mouthed something. Something Junhan obviously couldn't understand.

"What?" He mouthed back.

Jooyeon was moving his head, pointing towards you with his chin. His eyebrows raising every second, with every movement of his mouth.

"What??" Junhan moved his head closer. As if being closer would make him understand better.

Jooyeon rolled his eyes, giving up on trying to communicate. With his mouthing at least. His eyebrows were still raised. His eyes darted from you, to him, to you, and to him again. Before sending him a wink.

Junhan grimaced in disgust, kicking the foot of the boy in front of him with his own.

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"I'll help you clean up." He awkwardly made his way towards you, you were picking up some trash from the floor. You were forced to do your usual after school clean up. "Thank you," you sighed, lifting yourself up from the floor. You gathered the crumpled up pieces of paper in your palm. Throwing it out in the trash bin.

"Ugh, why do juniors always leave so much litter." You grumbled in annoyance, before slowly turning around to meet his face, where his lips stretched into an awkward fold.

"But not you!" You frantically waved your hands while he smiled softly.

"No, I agree." He picked up the few pieces of trash that you missed. "You should see how they treat their hangout spots. They act like there aren't any trash bins three feet away."

"I know! It's like they leave all the plastic wrappers and chewed gum to the birds to eat." The both of you shared a laugh. It's been a while since you've had a conversation as pleasant as this.

With him at least.

Even though you believed to have gotten close with him in his earlier years, you definitely noticed the drift. You chalked it up to him finding his own gang of friends. His own circle. You didn't mind, you understood the natural process of moving schools and meeting new people.

What bothered you was how someone like him was so, so difficult to find. How you treasured him as a dear friend of yours and there was no one like him. No one as handsome as him as well but that's besides the point..

You're glad you were lucky enough to meet him once again. And you were fortunate enough to have him as a friend of yours. Though, he sees you as more than a friend, much, much more.

Junhan timidly went up to you, fiddling his fingers together. "Would uhm-- would you want to go and get some drinks? There's this cafe that just opened.." You accepted the invite. Obviously. There's no way in hell would you ever refuse to hang out with him.

"You go ahead, I'll meet you there."

"No." He says rather bluntly. Only stammering out a follow up after you looked at him in surprise.

"I- I mean, it's more convenient if we go together, like, might as well." He scratches the back of his neck.

You nodded, "You okay with that? This'll take a while."

"Of course." He moves to grab the sponge you were holding, "I'll help you with the desks, you can focus on the whiteboards."

You felt your body warm up. Flustered at his initiative. He wasn't any better either. His heart beating rapidly in his chest with how randomly his confidence came from.

"Uhm," and just like that, his confidence dissipated, and he's back to the Junhan he knows. "But yeah."

You chuckled behind the palm of your hand. "You're a really nice person, Junhan."

You're really going to make his heart explode now.

You know, it's not nice to lead people on.

That is, if you were leading him on, but that's only between you and yourself.

For now at least.

It took much longer than you would've thought. Somehow, there was a big soda stain on the carpeted floor. You debated asking the janitor to help clean up, but you decided against it, not wanting to bother anyone else.

"Ugh, this is disgusting." You looked at the bottom of your shoe, grimacing at the way you could feel the stickiness of the sugar on your soles. You looked at the basket with numerous amounts of cleaning supplies.

Junhan observed the entire time, he felt his fingers twitch. With three quick strides, he was already picking up the entire basket, placing it on the table next to him. You looked up at him in shock, once again. He noticed the way you were practically gawking at him. Trying his best to ignore the flush he hoped wasn't evident in his face.

You watch him take the detergent from the basket and pour it on the stain.

"Your music assessment's tomorrow. You sure you don't want to go home and practice?" You asked him, "I mean, I don't have much to do tomorrow so I can just clean it up."

He shook his head, "it's alright." He took the sponge once again, "and besides..." he trailed off, wondering if it was worth it to out himself like this.

"I really like spending time with you."

And oh god, he didn't know if it was.

The deafening silence mixed in with the embarrassment of the situation made his entire body warm up. It felt like he was sweating bullets yet insanely cold. A nauseating feeling crawling from his stomach to his throat.

"I really like spending time with you too. You're a cool guy" You smiled, trying your best to sound like you were waving it off. Hoping that you were thinking too deep into it. You've misread a good amount of your interactions with people you were into. Resulted in quite a lot of falling outs, funnily enough.

You wouldn't want to risk anything when it came to Junhan.

But him, he was getting a tad impatient. He didn't want to risk anything either. But he's drifted apart from you once, and he wouldn't want that to happen again.

"No I mean--" he cut himself off. "I mean like--" he sighed, frustrated.

You slowly stepped closer to him. The hues of the sunset shined nicely on his face. It made your heart thump! thump! thump! a lot faster against your chest. The way the shadows accentuated his features. The nice point of his nose right between those beautiful, fucking almond shaped eyes.

"You mean..?" You asked, letting him go on his own pace.

"I mean--" he cuts himself off once again, his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck once again. The frustration of him being unable to physically tell you how he feels made him huff out a sigh.

"I mean as in I'd like to spend time with you a lot longer." He cringed at his own words. He had absolutely no time at all to prepare what he was planning to tell you. He didn't even think he was capable to talk to you like this. It wasn't like what he said was out of a romance novel, but if he had time to write it down, then maybe it would've been.

"Well.. me too." You nodded.

He did the opposite, shaking his head. Lolling it side to side. "No, I meant, romantically."

Straight to the point. No room for interpretation. Something he was known for -- speaking his mind-- but he never would have thought he'd gain the confidence to speak this out of his mind.

You felt your heart stutter for a split second. Your mouth agape. Any and all attempt at saying anything came out strained. Stuck between your vocal cords.

"And--" he pauses. "Yeah.. yeah, I really like you." He said with certainty. Not much else to say. Not much to explain, he likes you.

He looked around at the irony of the situation. Jooyeon's words echoed through his ears. A soft confession late at night. Sure, it was evening right now, but it was dark enough to confuse it with night.

"Why.. so sudden?" You let out an awkward laugh, not that you were uncomfortable. Your body just.. wasn't sure how to react.

"Because, because I don't like how often you spend time with the others." He explained. Blush creeping up his neck at how weird he thought he sounded.

"Made me uh, remember my feelings for you again."

He saw the confused look on your face. "I mean, I want your attention too." He slouched back, wanting so bad to retreat back into the collar of his shirt. Much like a turtle.

"Well it--" you tucked a hair behind your ear. "You know, 'cause you're really good at the bass. You learn fast." You explained.

"Then maybe I should've played dumb, huh?" He cracked a smile. He blinked. Before clearing his throat. "But, you know, I don't mind if you just see me as a friend. I won't force you to reciprocate. But I would really like it if we still remained as friends." He did not like it if you remained as friends. All he's ever wanted was to be much more than.

"Junhan, hold on." You stop his ramblings, laughing a bit at how cute he was acting. You walked closer, lessening the space between the both of you. He stood in his place, feeling himself tense up in anticipation.

"I meant, I don't want to come off as too overbearing or anything, and I'm certainly not saying that you can't teach the other students. Absolutely not. I'm just saying that I get a bit jealous when I see you laughing a bit too loud--"

You cut him off.

With a kiss.

He was taken aback. So shocked he felt his legs falter. Weaken at the way your mouth slid perfectly into his. It was sweet, kind. Your lips felt soft against his. The kiss wasn't messy, it wasn't wet. It was beautiful. Was how he could describe it.

He could already imagine each specific song he would correlate to you, placing it into a playlist. Tailored specifically for you. His vision of you turning into a beautiful piece of art.

For a long time, you were like a song that he kept deep in his playlist, refusing to listen back to it in fear of all the memories he associated with you to come flooding back. He loves those memories. It's just the sickening feeling of being unable to to go back to the exact moment in time where he listened.

Right now, you were like a melody. That he couldn't get enough of. A perfect mix of the softest chords, and the sweetest wave of harmony. To him, you were like a music sheet that flowed perfectly to another page.

The kiss felt like something that would play during a scene with two characters in front of a firework. Absolutely beautiful.

He pulled away first. His hands instinctively landing on your hips. Hovering, actually. Worried that he'll make the wrong move.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

"I really, really like you too." You could practically feel the way his face lit up.

"I'll give you as much attention as you want, pretty boy."

Tagy list

Whenever I make longer fics I worry that it feels like I lose steam halfway. Hope u guys know that that is def not the case, I had a lot of fun writing this!!!