nene

but, before he met you, sunghoon was stuck in that loop of almosts and maybes and "it’s not you, it’s me" texts sent at 2 a.m. he had a tendency to turn background characters into main characters in his head. if someone asked for directions on the subway, he’d spend the next hour wondering if he should’ve asked for her number. maybe she liked coffee shops. maybe they could’ve gone to the one on 8th street. maybe they would’ve fallen in love over cappuccinos and sarcasm. maybe he ruined it.

he was, in short, delusional in the most innocent way. and weirdly proud of it, like it was his thing. like being a hopeless romantic was just part of the package, along with his obsession with vintage sneakers, his habit of alphabetizing his dvds, pokémon go and his belief that fate always showed up fashionably late.

he had no idea that the reason would be you.

sunghoon and jay had been living together for a little over a year now. the apartment wasn’t big, and it definitely wasn’t quiet (mostly because it sat right above a bar that played the same six songs on loop every night) but it had decent water pressure, a couch that technically belonged to jungwon, and a fridge that made an odd noise every time someone closed the bathroom door. but they made it work. jay was the cleaner one, sunghoon was the one who always left his hoodie on the kitchen chair, and somehow they found a balance.

they didn’t talk about feelings much, not directly. but every now and then, usually when one of them was eating something straight from the bag or halfway through a bad tv rerun, the topic would come up. on this particular night, sunghoon was lying on the couch with his legs stretched out and one hand buried in an open bag of cereal. he hadn’t even bothered with milk. the tv was on, volume too low to follow, but he wasn’t really paying attention anyway.

“i think i’m gonna die alone,” he said, like he was talking about the weather.

jay, sitting on the floor next to the coffee table with his laptop open, didn’t look up. “what happened now?”

“nothing happened. that’s the problem. i haven’t been on a date in, like, four months. maybe five.”

jay looked at him, unimpressed. “you say that like it’s a medical emergency.”

“it kind of is,” sunghoon said, sitting up just enough to gesture with the cereal bag. 

jay snorted. “what happened to that girl from the climbing gym? the one who asked for your number after you slipped off the wall?”

sunghoon stared at the ceiling. “we went out once. she spent the entire time telling me about her ex who lives in canada and how he doesn’t believe in monogamy but they’re spiritually married anyway.”

jay blinked. “okay. next. what about the girl from the bookstore?” jay added, trying again.

“oh, right,” sunghoon said, already regretting the memory. “we had a good first date. coffee, conversation, the whole thing. second date, she brought her roommate. didn’t warn me or anything.”

“why?”

“she said she wanted a second opinion on me.”

jay closed his laptop. “man.”

“i know.” there was a short pause. sunghoon leaned his head back against the couch and let out a slow breath through his nose. he wasn’t trying to be dramatic, he was just tired of the effort it took to get halfway close to something that never turned out to be anything at all. “maybe i peaked romantically at seventeen,” he muttered.

“no one peaks at seventeen,” jay said.

“you did.”

“that’s different,” jay shrugged. “i’m hot.”

jay had been in a relationship for years, since he was 17. like proper long-term, holiday-travel-planning, toothbrush-in-the-bathroom relationship. it was steady, and sunghoon respected that, even if sometimes it made his own track record feel like a string of blurry first dates and weird storytimes.

sunghoon shifted on the couch, grabbing another handful of cereal from the open bag on his lap. “you know what’s sad? the only consistent interaction i’ve had with a woman lately is with some random pokémon go user who keeps stealing the gym at the end of our street.”

jay glanced over, already amused. “what?”

“i’ve been holding it down for team valor since, like, last year. and every night—every single night—this person comes and knocks me out. same user. snoopygirl_98. blue team, obviously. i think she hates me.”

jay raised an eyebrow. “maybe she’s flirting.”

“by humiliating me in front of a 7-eleven?”

“some people flirt differently.”

sunghoon let out a tired sigh, leaning back against the couch. “i just want to feel something again.”

jay reached for the remote. “you wanna go downstairs later? to the bar? maybe someone down there has a thing for emotionally exhausted guys.”

“you think it’s my moment?”

“statistically, you’re due.”

sunghoon didn’t answer right away. he didn’t believe in statistics, he believed in luck. and that night, for the first time in a while, he was about to have some. because you were downstairs. 

sunghoon went to the bar with jay mostly out of stubbornness. he said he didn’t feel like going, said it was a weeknight, said the chances of anything interesting happening were basically zero, but still changed out of his old hoodie and put on one that didn’t smell like takeout. the bar was familiar, and warm in the way places start to feel when you’ve been going for long enough that the guy behind the counter knows your usual.

they found jake by the pool table, already halfway through his drink. he turned before they even said anything and grinned like he’d been expecting them. sunghoon gave jay a look and followed them toward one of the tables near the back, where a few other familiar faces from college were already sitting, people they didn’t see that often anymore but still shared enough history with to make small talk easy.

and that’s when he saw you.

you were sitting to the left of jake, stirring your drink with a straw and laughing at something someone had just said. it wasn’t loud or dramatic or exaggerated, but it caught his attention anyway. there was something about how comfortable you looked at the table, how you weren’t trying too hard to be part of the conversation and still somehow felt like the center of it.

he stopped walking for half a second before jay gave him a light push on the shoulder to keep moving. jake started introducing people in his usual scattered way, pointing quickly and not really giving anyone time to react. “this is y/n—she’s a friend from my econ class back in the day—and this is sunghoon, he used to live with me first year. you two haven’t met, right?”

sunghoon nodded once and said a quick “hey,” followed by a smile that he hoped looked normal. you replied with a polite “hey” back, and that was it. a few seconds, not much, but enough for him to realize he was already too aware of how close you were sitting to jake, how often you looked at him when you laughed, how your hand moved when you adjusted your glass.

he sat across the table next to jay, didn’t say much for a while. mostly listened, nodded, laughed when it made sense. but every few minutes his eyes would flick back to you, casually, like he wasn’t really paying attention, even though he absolutely was. there was something about you that made him feel quieter than usual. not nervous, but just unsure of what to do with himself.

about fifteen minutes later, heeseung showed up. he walked in already smiling, already halfway into the group and he greeted you with a hug (longer than a casual one) and slid into the seat next to you without asking. you two started talking right away, and it didn’t look like small talk. sunghoon watched for a few seconds longer than he meant to, then looked away and focused on his drink. he didn’t know your story, maybe you and heeseung were just close, maybe it was something else. he wasn’t going to ask, of course. but he was already wondering if he’d missed his window.

the next few days after that night were... something else. jay didn’t let it go. at least twice a day, he’d throw a casual question over from the other room or while making coffee, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “so, you liked her, didn’t you?” 

and sunghoon would roll his eyes and try to sound way too cool for someone who’d clearly been thinking about you more than he wanted to admit. “what, no. she seemed nice. and i mean, she’s cute. i have eyes, i am aware.” 

but jay wasn’t buying it. he pushed harder, always the annoying friend who actually cares. “okay, but did you ask jake for her number yet?” sunghoon tried to laugh it off, but the answer was always no. 

“i didn’t. she’s way too pretty for me to just go asking like it’s no big deal. and besides, from what i saw, she’s definitely not single. heeseung was all over her, talking like they had some history or something.” 

sunghoon tried to convince jay (and himself) that he wasn’t jealous, just realistic. he reminded himself he wasn’t some guy who just jumped into things blindly, especially not when the other guy was heeseung, who’d been friends with them both for years. so instead of asking for her number, he did what he does best: replayed the whole night in his head. every laugh you gave, every way you leaned in when heeseung was talking, the little things he couldn’t quite figure out. 

he thought about how quiet he’d been, how stupid he probably looked trying to play it cool when all he wanted was to ask you questions about everything. but most of all, he wondered if there’d ever be a moment where he could just be the guy sitting next to you, not some awkward stranger watching from across the table.

sunghoon was in one of those moods where it felt like nothing ever went his way. you know, the kind of streak where every little thing seemed to slip through his fingers. dates that fizzled out before they even got started, conversations that ended awkwardly, moments that should’ve felt right but somehow didn’t. by the time he met you, he was almost done with all the usual nonsense. he wasn’t expecting fireworks or some perfect romcom scene. he was just trying not to mess things up this time. so when you showed up, he kept his guard up, quiet, careful not to get too invested too fast. he told himself he was being smart, protecting himself from another round of whatever it was that had been happening before.

so on the next week, sunghoon found himself at jake’s place again for another gathering, the kind that felt like a regular thing now even though he was still figuring out what he actually wanted from all this. when he walked in, the first thing that caught his eye was you, sitting in the corner with a group of friends. he tried to act casual as he made his way over, but inside, every step felt like a careful calculation. 

his mind raced through possible ways to start the conversation without sounding awkward or, worse, desperate. “don’t mess this up,” he told himself quietly, repeating it like a mantra as he got closer. when he finally reached you, he caught a glimpse of your t-shirt, a band he knew well, mcfly. it was kind of a guilty pleasure for him. back in high school, he’d picked up their songs mostly because a lot of girls liked them, and it had been his secret move to catch their attention. but somewhere along the way, he realized he actually liked the music, even if he’d never admit it out loud. it was one of those small things, but for sunghoon, it was like a secret handshake, a sign that maybe you two weren’t completely from different planets.

he cleared his throat and said, “hey, nice shirt. didn’t expect to see someone else wearing mcfly around here.”

you glanced up, a bit surprised, then smiled. “yeah, i guess it’s not super common these days.”

sunghoon nodded, trying to sound casual but feeling a bit weird admitting it. “i mean, i used to listen to them all the time back in high school. don’t tell anyone, but tom’s songwriting always stuck with me.”

you raised your eyebrows, clearly surprised. “wait, really? you actually like mcfly?”

he laughed quietly, running a hand through his hair. “yeah, i picked up their songs ‘cause a lot of girls were into them, but then i kind of got hooked. it’s like... guilty pleasure, but also genuine.”

you smirked, “guilty pleasure is the best kind, honestly.”

sunghoon felt a little relieved she wasn’t making fun of him. “exactly.”

you both laughed softly, and for a moment, sunghoon forgot to overthink everything. it was just two people, talking about a band, and somehow that felt a lot easier than he expected. sunghoon found himself just wanting to listen to you talk. the way you casually shared stories about concerts and favorite songs felt different from the usual small talk he was used to. it wasn’t like he was trying to impress you or be someone he wasn’t, it was just two people connecting over something simple.

he tried to keep the conversation going, so he asked, “so, do you come to these hangouts often, or is this just a one-time thing?”

you smiled again, “pretty often. it’s nice to see familiar faces and meet new ones.”

sunghoon nodded, feeling a warmth in his chest that wasn’t just from the beer he’d had earlier. inside, he was thinking, yeah, it’s nice to meet you too. but he kept that to himself. for now, he was happy just being there, talking, and maybe, just maybe, hoping there would be more moments like this.

the conversation flowed better than he expected. you talked about concerts you’d been to, favorite songs, weird stories about how you got into the band. sunghoon was surprised at how easy it was to laugh and just be yourself around you. but then, as the night went on, he realized the familiar sinking feeling, the one that hit every time before: the friendzone. you were funny, smart, and clearly someone he wanted to be more than friends with, but the way you joked and leaned into the group, it was clear you saw him like the guy who always had a good playlist, not the one who was secretly hoping for more.

and after that night, things started to slip into something that sunghoon didn’t quite expect. you two began to follow each other on social media. just the usual likes and comments that somehow made his day a little better whenever his phone buzzed. at first, he told himself it was just casual. friends catching up, sharing bits of their lives.

but slowly, he realized it wasn’t so casual anymore. he found himself scrolling through your photos longer than he meant to, replaying your messages in his head, wondering what your smile looked like when you weren’t looking. jay noticed too, because sunghoon was not subtle about it at all. every few days, he’d throw the question at sunghoon like it was some kind of game. “so, are you into her?”

and every time, sunghoon would laugh it off. “nah, man, just friends. nothing like that.”

but inside, he was tangled up in a mess of what ifs and maybe-nots. he told himself he was fine just being friends, that getting too close wasn’t worth the risk. he was tired of things going sideways, of hoping for something that never quite stuck. but the more he tried to convince himself, the harder it became to ignore the way his chest tightened when you popped up on his screen or the way his mind wandered to what it’d be like if things actually went right.

he wasn’t ready to say it out loud, not yet. but the truth was, he was falling, probably faster than he wanted to admit. and every time jay asked, he’d just smile and shake his head, pretending he didn’t feel a thing. pretending was easier, at least for now.

it was a saturday afternoon, and sunghoon had been outside for a solid twenty minutes trying (once again) to reclaim the gym down the street. it had become a bit of an obsession at that point. snoopygirl_98 had taken it over again, and this time, she’d stacked it with an annoyingly strong blissey that just wouldn’t budge. he was pacing in front of the bakery on the corner, furiously tapping his screen, muttering under his breath like it was personal. because, honestly, it kinda was. whoever snoopygirl_98 was, she had been tormenting his team valor pride for weeks, and he was convinced she was doing it on purpose now.

right as he was about to give up and switch to a different gym, a notification popped up on his screen, not from the game, but a message. from you.

[y/n:] hey hoon!! are you busy?

his thumb hovered over the screen for a second, stomach doing that little flip it always did when your name showed up. he stared at it, then at the game, then back at the message. screw the gym.

[sunghoon:] Not really, what’s up?

the reply came fast, like you’d already had it typed and ready to send.

[y/n:] i’m at the mart near your place and i got way too many bags… like an embarrassing amount… and i couldn’t think of anyone else to ask. would you be a hero and help me carry these to my building? 🥺

sunghoon blinked at the screen. and then again. and then stood there, in the middle of the sidewalk, processing what just happened. you couldn’t think of anyone else to ask. now, logically, he knew that meant nothing. you were friends, this was a friend thing. helping someone carry groceries was classic friend behavior. textbook friendzone. but still, his chest did a weird fluttery thing, and he could already hear jay’s voice in his head saying something smug like, “not into her, huh?”

he texted back: 

[sunghoon:] On my way! Don’t move. Be there in five

he slipped his phone into his jacket pocket and took off in the direction of the store, telling himself it wasn’t a big deal. it’s just a nice thing to do. good karma. neighbors helping neighbors, nothing more. but deep down, as he walked a little too fast and adjusted his hair in the reflection of a parked car, sunghoon knew exactly what he was doing. and he knew exactly why he was doing it.

because, yeah, maybe he was in the friendzone. but he was in the friendzone with you. and that still felt a lot better than being anywhere else.

when he got to the store, there you were, standing on the curb with three overstuffed tote bags and two plastic ones hanging from your wrists, trying to balance them without toppling over. you looked up, caught sight of him, and smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world to call sunghoon out of the blue and make him carry your groceries like some kind of personal delivery boy. and the worst part is that he didn’t even mind.

“you weren’t kidding,” he said, eyeing the bags as he took most of them from you without hesitation.

“i was being modest,” you replied, a little out of breath. “there were two more bags but the guy at the checkout told me to stop.”

“glad someone had the courage to say it,” he joked, and you nudged him with your elbow as the two of you started walking.

at first, it was all easy conversation, nothing new there. you talked about how the store rearranged the snack aisle again, how you couldn’t find your favorite granola, and how the cashier gave you a coupon for cat food even though you didn’t have a cat. he listened, laughed in all the right places, and added his own running commentary. it was the kind of rhythm you two had settled into without ever really trying.

but somewhere between the store and your apartment building, as he adjusted the bags in his arms and looked at you rambling about frozen waffles, something quietly clicked in his chest. he didn’t know when it had started, maybe back at the bar, maybe during some other moment he didn’t register properly, but it was there now, and it was loud.

he liked you.

like, actually liked you. not the fake-crush-you-get-on-a-friend thing. not the maybe i’m just lonely thing. a real, actual crush that made his hands sweat and his thoughts spiral and his pulse skip a little every time you looked at him too long. and he had been telling himself it wasn’t that, because it was easier and because it was safer. but yeah, it was that.

you held the door to your building open with your hip and motioned for him to follow you. “don’t judge the mess,” you said casually.

sunghoon didn’t say anything, just smiled, still mildly stunned by the realization swirling in his head. when you opened the door to your apartment and he stepped inside, it was like stepping into a personality, your personality. there were string lights that didn’t match but somehow made sense together. mugs with little quotes on them. a record player in the corner next to a stack of vinyls that included both taylor swift and metallica. polaroids on the fridge. a half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. a plant that was definitely dying but still hanging in there. it was so you, in every way.

and sunghoon stood there holding your bags, pretending he wasn’t staring.

“you can drop them by the kitchen,” you said, already pulling off your coat and tossing it on the couch.

he did, and then paused, glancing around again. “your place is…” he trailed off, not sure how to say weirdly perfect without sounding creepy.

you looked over your shoulder. “chaotic?”

“adorable,” he said, before he could stop himself.

you raised an eyebrow, amused. “really?”

“uh. i mean, yeah. in a—like—it’s very you.”

he wanted to slap himself. but you just smiled again and started unpacking your bags like it wasn’t a big deal.

and over the next few weeks, things kind of continued. sunghoon found himself falling into this strange rhythm with you. not in a we’re clearly falling for each other kind of way, but in a i’m clearly in love and you keep sending me memes at 2am like that means nothing kind of way. and he didn’t even know how it happened. it was like one minute he was helping you carry groceries and the next he was learning your coffee order, your go-to karaoke song, and the name of the stuffed penguin you’d had since you were six. so the friendzone? yeah, it was thriving. stable. deeply rooted in reality.

“she called me dude today,” sunghoon said one night, flopping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.

jay didn’t look up from his phone. “right. and?”

“no, but, like. she said it in the friendly way. like a bro way. like a ‘dude, you have to see this video of a cat falling off a table’ kind of way.”

jay glanced over. “so… you’re mad she’s comfortable with you?” sunghoon tossed a pillow at him but couldn’t deny the accuracy.

he was at that stage where he’d memorized your laugh patterns, saved photos from your story by accident, and started recognizing songs from your spotify playlists. he’d accidentally started saying some of your catchphrases. he was, in short, doomed.

you, meanwhile, were obliviously warm and kind and effortlessly funny, the kind of funny that didn’t try too hard, which made it worse. you’d text him stuff like “is this a normal dinner?” with a photo of cereal and pickles, and sunghoon would still stare at his phone for ten minutes smiling like a loser. he hated it. no, he loved it. no, actually, he hated that he loved it.

once, you called him at midnight just to ask if frogs had teeth (they do, sort of), and he answered like that was a perfectly normal thing for a person to do. it was around then that jay gave up even pretending to be surprised.

“just tell her you like her,” he said, halfway through a bowl of cereal.

sunghoon groaned. “i’d rather eat glass.”

“then stop looking at your phone like it’s a shrine.”

“i’m not.”

“you’re literally on her instagram zooming in on her bookshelf.”

“she has good taste in books, jay.”

“sure. tell the bookshelf how you feel.”

sunghoon ignored him, of course. he was committed to the bit now. committed to being your very helpful, very available, very emotionally tortured friend. it was pathetic, but it was also the best he’d felt in months.

jungwon’s birthday was on a saturday, and somehow the group decided that the best way to celebrate turning twenty-something was to put on rented shoes and throw heavy balls down a lane under disco lights. sunghoon hadn’t been to a bowling alley in years, but he wasn’t about to admit that. especially not when you showed up in jeans, a ponytail, and a hyper-specific competitiveness in your eyes that made him slightly nervous.

“you any good?” you asked, grabbing a bowling ball way too confidently.

sunghoon shrugged like it was nothing. “decent.”

“hm. cocky.”

“you scared?”

you raised an eyebrow. “you wish.”

and that was it: challenge accepted. sunghoon spent the next hour entirely too focused on beating you, despite the fact that it was literally jungwon’s birthday and he had no reason to be acting like it was the bowling olympics. but there was something about the way you teased him every time he got a spare, or the smug way you celebrated your strikes like you’d just ended world hunger, that gave him this ridiculous flutter in his chest he didn’t know what to do with.

you stuck your tongue out at him after your third strike in a row. “might wanna switch to the kiddie lane.”

“i’m just letting you win,” he said, deadpan.

“oh? how generous.”

he rolled his eyes, grinning despite himself. he hated how easy it was to like you. he hated how every little joke made him want to high-five his past self for deciding to help carry your groceries that one time. he also hated how that warm, stupid feeling in his chest immediately froze when he saw heeseung walk in.

you spotted heeseung almost instantly and lit up in that way people only do when they see someone they’re extremely fond of. you waved, borderline giddy, and rushed over to hug him like you hadn’t seen him in years, even though sunghoon was pretty sure you’d just posted a story with him the weekend before.

sunghoon watched from the far side of the seating area, trying to act normal. casual. unbothered. he adjusted his grip on his bowling ball even though he wasn’t playing that round and stared at the score screen like it had personally offended him. right. heeseung. the heeseung. the possible thing that he kept forgetting might exist. because you didn’t really talk about it. maybe there was nothing, since you have never mentioned it. and that only made it worse, because it left sunghoon’s brain wide open for theories and assumptions and a quiet, unspoken jealousy that he refused to acknowledge out loud.

jay leaned over. “you good?”

“yup.”

“you look like you’re about to throw that ball at someone’s head.”

sunghoon glanced down at the ball in his hands. “just focused.”

“focused on…?”

“winning.”

“you’re literally not up next.”

sunghoon ignored him. instead, he sat back down, pretended he wasn’t looking over at you and heeseung talking like you were in your own little world, and reminded himself that he was your friend. your helpful, emotionally-stable, always-up-for-carrying-heavy-things friend. he could handle that. probably.

and the bowling alley closed at midnight, but the group was still buzzing with leftover adrenaline and just enough alcohol to make walking in a straight line optional. naturally, that meant the next stop was the bar downstairs from sunghoon and jay’s apartment, their usual post-everything spot. jay had jungwon slung over his back in a chaotic piggyback ride situation, spinning him in slow, clumsy circles as jungwon yelled, “this is the best birthday ever!” with his arms out like a drunk airplane.

sunghoon stood at the bar, balancing on the balls of his feet, waiting for the bartender to finish pouring their next round. his hoodie sleeves were rolled up, and he was doing mental math trying to figure out if they’d ordered six or seven beers when someone stepped up beside him.

“hey,” heeseung said, casual, nodding toward the cluster of friends behind them. “you having fun?”

sunghoon smiled politely. “yeah, i am. it’s alright.”

“i’m glad you and y/n got close,” heeseung said, tone sincere. “she’s mentioned it a few times. says you’re easy to talk to.” sunghoon blinked and heeseung chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. “i mean it. she doesn’t say stuff like that about just anyone. i think she really appreciates your friendship.”

sunghoon nodded slowly, a small smile forming on his lips. part of him warmed at the idea that you talked about him at all, that maybe he wasn’t just another background character in your life. maybe you actually noticed him, his jokes, his presence, his friendship. but then again, that was the word. friendship. and hearing that from heeseung — heeseung, who might very well be the guy you curled up with at the end of the night inside sunghoon’s head — made it land like a compliment wrapped in a punch. 

so sunghoon gave a small nod, grabbed the tray, and turned back toward the table with a practiced smile, careful not to drop anything or show too much on his face.

the night had mellowed into that sleepy, blurry stage where everyone was too tired to keep the party going, but not quite ready to say goodbye. the staircase outside sunghoon and jay’s condo was full of muffled laughter and shuffling feet. jay was half-carrying, half-dragging jungwon toward the entrance, mumbling something about him always passing out like a toddler on holidays. 

sunghoon trailed a few steps behind them, eyes on the floor, brain already shifting into autopilot. he was thinking about how he’d need to find an extra blanket for jungwon, and how the couch springs were going to wreck his back by morning, and how weird it was that every night with you ended the same: him pretending he didn’t want to stay longer.

“sunghoon?”

your voice cut through the entrance. he turned around to find you a few steps down on the staircase, looking up at him. your makeup was a little smudged from the night, and your hair was a bit messy from the wind, but you looked so relaxed. like you’d had a good time, like you didn’t want it to end just yet.

“hey,” he said, walking back toward you.

you smiled, warm and sleepy. “i had so much fun tonight. like, actual fun. not just polite fun.”

he chuckled. “me too.”

“we still haven’t settled the bowling score though,” you added, a teasing glint in your eyes. “we’re technically tied, and i don’t like leaving things unresolved.”

sunghoon blinked. “so you’re challenging me to a rematch?”

“obviously,” you grinned. “i want a proper win next time.”

he nodded, a little slower than he meant to. “yeah. okay. i’m in.”

and you just smiled at him like that answer had been a given. like you knew he’d say yes, like this was easy. normal, friendly. but as he turned back toward the apartment, your words kept echoing in his head. “i had so much fun tonight.”, “i want a proper win next time.”

it wasn’t just what you said, it was how you said it, the way you looked at him, like the night wasn’t fully over until you said goodnight to him specifically. it sent his thoughts spiraling in that annoyingly hopeful way he tried so hard to avoid. maybe he wasn’t imagining things. maybe it wasn’t just him, falling into another crush he couldn’t manage. maybe there was something… there.

and yet, as he followed jay inside, stepped over jungwon’s half-unconscious body sprawled on the rug, and shut the door behind him, he still couldn’t tell if he was being seen the way he wanted to be seen. he was getting whiplash from hoping too much and pretending not to. and somewhere between getting a glass of water and setting up a pillow for jungwon, he realized he was completely, hopelessly, predictably into you. as if that wasn’t obvious already.

over the next few weeks, sunghoon slowly started to realize just how tangled up he was in his feelings for you. he found himself checking his phone a little more often, hoping for a message, and when you did invite him out, he tried to play it cool even though his stomach was doing flips.

most of the times you hung out, it was at gatherings with friends, the kind of casual, loud hangouts where it was hard to have a serious conversation. you would appear in the middle of a group, laughing and teasing someone, and sunghoon would catch himself watching you more than the game or the conversation. he kept guessing, quietly, that maybe there was something going on between you and heeseung, especially since you seemed close, comfortable around each other in a way that made sunghoon’s stomach tighten a little. but he never brought it up. not to you, not to jake, not even to himself out loud. it was easier to assume something was there than to face the uncertainty.

then, one evening, jake mentioned an ex of yours during a conversation, like a name dropped in passing. heeseung’s reaction caught sunghoon off guard. “that guy was such a jerk,” heeseung said, his voice low and almost protective. “you deserve so much better. you deserve someone who actually is, at least, not a jerk.”

that moment clicked something in sunghoon’s head. if heeseung was talking like that, maybe there wasn’t anything going on between you two after all. and that thought was both a relief and a reason to panic. because it meant the way was clear, but it also meant time was running out. you were amazing, and he was pretty sure there were plenty of other guys out there, sliding into your dms, trying to get your attention.

he started to feel a weird mix of excitement and anxiety, like a kid realizing he was finally allowed to play the game but also realizing how fast the clock was ticking. he wasn’t sure what to do with all those feelings, so most of the time, he just tried to keep calm on the outside while his mind raced ahead, imagining how to not mess it up.

one evening, sitting on the couch with jay scrolling through his phone, sunghoon finally decided to open up. he talked about how seeing you made him feel like he was stuck in this weird in-between, wanting more but not knowing how to get there without messing everything up. jay looked up, gave him that familiar sideways grin, and said something simple but solid: “bro, you just gotta be patient. wait for the right moment. don’t go jumping in all dramatic like you usually do.”

sunghoon rolled his eyes but knew jay was right. “yeah, i get it. no mugs with her face on it, no mixtapes, no playlist called ‘songs that remind me of you.’”

“exactly,” jay said, deadpan. “try being normal for once.”

sunghoon leaned back and closed his eyes, but his brain immediately went into overdrive. his mind was something like: okay, no mugs, got it. but what about a poem? no, that’s way too much. maybe a funny meme? too lame. what about baking cookies? wait, does she even like sweets? maybe she’s gluten-free. no clue. okay, no mixtapes, but what if i make a playlist? subtle though, not like ‘this is for you.’ maybe call it ‘songs i listen to when i’m feeling chill’? no, too vague. or maybe a mug but just plain, with a small quote? nah, still weird. what if i write her a note? no, i’m not a middle schooler. or just ask her out straight up? no, no, no. gotta wait for the moment. but when?

he sighed and looked over at jay, who was now smirking. “guess being normal is harder than it sounds.”

and a few weeks later, there was this party, and it was loud, crowded, and exactly the kind of chaos sunghoon didn’t really like. but there you were, halfway through your third drink, giggling at something nobody else had said, and instantly becoming the center of attention. you were funny, charming, and a little bit tipsy, the perfect combination for making everyone laugh without even trying. sunghoon, of course, was watching you with that panicked, how do i handle this look that only his closest friends knew too well.

somehow, the whole group decided that keeping an eye on you was his responsibility. no one said it out loud, but it was like an unspoken rule. maybe it was because he looked like the most responsible one, or maybe because you kept drifting toward him like a magnet, waving your arms dramatically while telling stories with way too much enthusiasm.

“sunghoon, you’re not going to believe what happened to me today,” you slurred slightly, swaying on your feet but managing to stay upright. “this guy at the coffee shop said i looked like a celebrity.” you wiggled your eyebrows and smiled at him, waiting for his reaction.

sunghoon blinked, trying to hide the part of his brain that was screaming she’s drunk and adorable and how do i even respond to this? “uh, that’s… great,” he said carefully, hoping it sounded casual. “you told him you’re famous now?”

you laughed, a little too loudly. “no, i said i’m just famous in my own head. get it?”

“yeah,” he smiled softly, already feeling like he’d lost the ability to say anything clever. “definitely famous.”

you reached out and grabbed his arm, leaning closer. “you’re no fun tonight, sunghoon. loosen up.” your eyes were sparkling mischievously, and sunghoon’s heart did a stupid little flip that he did not want anyone else to notice.

inside, he was running through every possible reaction: play it cool, be chill, don’t stare like a lovesick puppy. smile, laugh when she laughs, don’t mention the fact that her breath smells like cheap vodka. okay, offer her water? no, she’ll think i’m momming her. maybe just get another drink for myself to stay steady? nah, that’s just an excuse to drink too.

while he was debating this internal chaos, you suddenly burst out laughing at your own joke about the coffee shop guy, and sunghoon couldn’t help but smile, feeling himself falling deeper into whatever this was between you two. “you know,” you said, suddenly serious for a second, “i’m glad you’re here. it’s kinda nice having someone look out for me.”

sunghoon’s breath caught. “yeah, well, someone’s gotta do it.” he tried to sound casual, but there was no hiding the softness in his voice.

later, when you were wobbling a little too much to stand by yourself, sunghoon was immediately there to steady you. “i got you,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist as you leaned on him. everyone else just watched and smiled, like this was all part of the plan.

on the way out, you stumbled a bit and he tightened his grip. “thanks for being my human crutch tonight,” you joked.

“anytime,” he replied, feeling like he should say something deeper but all he could think was please don’t fall, please don’t fall.

walking you home was quiet but comforting. you kept mumbling random things about the party and some wild idea for a band you wanted to start. sunghoon just listened, his mind half on your words and half on how lucky he felt to be the one walking by your side. and when you finally reached your apartment, you turned and gave him a sleepy smile. “thanks for tonight, hoon. you’re a good friend.”

he nodded, smiling back, but inside, the familiar mix of hope and panic swirled again. good friend was a start, but maybe he wanted to be more than that. for now, though, he was happy to just get you home safe, and try not to mess up the next time you got this adorably drunk.

you paused at the door of your apartment, a little wobbly and smiling, looking at sunghoon with eyes that were definitely feeling the weight of the night. “hey, you don’t have to walk all the way home alone, you know,” you said, leaning against the wall for balance. “why don’t you just come in for a bit? it’s late, and honestly, i’d be worried about you.”

sunghoon gave a nervous smile, trying to look confident. “nah, i’m good. i’m a big boy, i can handle it.”

he felt your gaze, half intense, half sweet, half amused, as if silently asking, really? so you laughed softly, a little tipsy but sincere. “i’m gonna stay up all night worried if you don’t come in. and my couch is super comfortable, like, really. i could sleep there, and you’ll take the bed.”

sunghoon stopped for a second, his brain trying to decode the innocent but kinda tempting offer. wait, she wants me to sleep on her bed? he thought, feeling his heart speed up just a little. okay, maybe more than a little.

“never,” he said with a playful grin, “i’m never gonna let you sleep on the couch. you sleep on the bed, and i’ll take the couch.”

you widened your eyes like “aha, so you’re saying you’ll stay?” with a mischievous smile, clearly enjoying seeing him flustered.

sunghoon tried to play it cool, but inside his head it was total chaos. okay, breathe. don’t do anything dumb. but damn, this is really nice. “yeah,” he said, “guess that’s the deal.”

you laughed, flopping back on the couch like it was your personal bed already. “good. now i won’t have to worry. and you’ll be close if i need you to save me from any weird noises or monsters.”

sunghoon chuckled. “don’t worry. i’m way scarier than any monster.”

you were already sprawled out on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, that sleepy, slightly goofy smile playing on your lips. sunghoon stood there for a moment, just watching you, feeling that weird mix of wanting to be helpful but not quite sure how. finally, he cleared his throat, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

“no no no, you should go change and sleep in your bed. don’t stay on the couch,” he said, his voice softer than he intended. inside, his brain was racing — okay, act normal. don’t make this weird. but also, don’t mess it up.

you scrunched your nose, crossing your arms like a kid who just got told to eat their vegetables. “ah, but i don’t wanna get up. it’s warm here,” you complained in that playful, stubborn tone that made sunghoon smile without even realizing it.

he laughed quietly but didn’t back down. instead, he just went over to you, and before you could argue more, he scooped you up effortlessly, just enough to carry you off the couch and start the slow walk to your room. in that moment, his heart was beating way faster than it should, and he caught himself thinking, wow, this is actually kinda nice. 

when he laid you gently on your bed, he took a second to adjust the pillow behind your head, smoothing the blanket over you carefully, as if you were something fragile he wanted to protect. he stood there a moment longer, just watching your face, so peaceful now, and it hit him how much he actually cared about you, more than just friends, that was pretty obvious already, but not quite sure how to say that out loud yet.

then, leaning down slowly, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, a quiet little promise that he was there and that you mattered. he pulled back a little and said, “i’m gonna close the door, okay? you change, then go to sleep. if you need anything, just call me.”

as he reached for a blanket on the chair, ready to head back to the couch, his mind was a mess of silly thoughts— is this what people mean by 'caring'? man, why does this feel so complicated? i just want her to be comfortable, but now i’m thinking about how nice it is to be close like this… okay, calm down, sunghoon.

he smiled to himself, shook his head lightly, and settled in for the night on the couch, feeling oddly happy and a little bit hopeless all at once.

the next morning sunghoon woke up with a start, his heart still racing from a half-remembered dream. your place was quiet, but there was something different. something warm and inviting that pulled him out of the couch. as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, a comforting smell drifted toward him: the rich aroma of coffee mixed with the sweet scent of pancakes. curious, he stood up, following the smell to the kitchen.

there you were, standing by the stove in a soft, oversized pajama shirt that looked impossibly cozy. the sight of you moving around the kitchen, focused yet relaxed, hit him with a sudden wave of tenderness he wasn’t ready for. his chest tightened, a gentle ache from the simple, quiet moment unfolding in front of him. you turned and caught him watching, a shy smile spreading across your face. “good morning,” you said softly, the casual warmth in your voice making everything feel right. “i thought i’d make us some breakfast. thanks for taking care of me last night.”

sunghoon’s eyes softened as he stepped closer, his heart swelling with something like pride and affection all tangled together. without thinking, you reached out and wrapped your arms around him in a hug. the scent of your shampoo, fresh and slightly sweet, filled his senses, and for a moment he just held onto you, feeling a calm happiness settle deep inside.

“you’re welcome,” he said quietly, voice low and a little breathless. “i’m just glad you’re okay.”

you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your smile gentle but full of something more, something unspoken. the world outside the kitchen seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that soft morning light.

so after that morning, sunghoon’s brain basically went on permanent loop mode. and not the cool, chill kind of loop, but the one where your brain is stuck on a hamster wheel powered by a caffeine-addicted squirrel, because he couldn’t stop thinking about you. every little thing reminded him of you: the smell of coffee, the way you smiled, that ridiculous oversized pajama shirt that somehow made you look like both a cozy bear and a secret heartbreaker at the same time.

he started doing these totally unplanned mental movie scenes of you both, like some rom-com that he had zero control over. in his head, there were slow-motion moments, awkward laughs, and a lot of him trying not to trip over his own words — spoiler alert: he always did. and the tragic part was that he knew he was acting like a total dork, but he couldn’t care less. he was deep in the hopeless crush zone, and the sad, funny part was he didn’t even mind being there.

sunghoon even caught himself practicing casual greetings in the mirror, whispering, “hey, what’s up?” but sounding more like, “heyyyy, whassssuuup,” which definitely was not the vibe he wanted to give off.

and sunghoon never really knew how to play the guitar. like, he could barely hold the thing properly without feeling like he was about to break it or accidentally snap a string. but then there was this song, “falling in love” by mcfly, that somehow stuck in his head. it wasn’t even a cool song to brag about knowing, but it had this weird charm, and more importantly, he thought, maybe, just maybe, he could play it for you one day.

so, he went to jay and asked to borrow his guitar. jay raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting sunghoon to give up in like five minutes. but sunghoon was serious, he wanted this. the first few days were pure disaster. his fingers hurt, and every chord change sounded like a dying cat. he fumbled, he muttered swear words under his breath, and jay occasionally peeked in, half-amused, half-worried.

after what felt like forever, with his fingers all raw and sore, he finally managed to play the whole song without collapsing into a coughing fit or breaking a string. victorious but exhausted, he sent you a message: Hey, i learned falling in love on the guitar!

you replied instantly: i want to see you play it someday :)))

sunghoon stared at his phone, heart racing like he’d run a marathon. then, of course, his brain went into overdrive. what if i mess up? what if my fingers slip? what if i sound terrible even after all this practice? but at the same time, there was this tiny spark of excitement that maybe this was a step closer to something more than just friends.

one day, sunghoon was finally doing something with jay that didn’t involve him thinking about you nonstop, which was a true miracle, really. they were just messing around, playing some dumb game on jay’s phone, cracking jokes, and for a moment, sunghoon’s brain was somewhere other than you. then his phone buzzed with that annoying notification again: someone was attacking the pokemon gym right across the street, the one he had claimed like two days ago after a fierce battle.

he glanced at the screen, and sure enough, it was snoopygirl_98, the same mysterious pokémon go player who had been stealing that gym from him every other day. the rivalry was basically legendary in his mind: the fierce battle of sunghoon vs snoopygirl_98. he never actually knew who she was, but he was determined to keep his turf.

without a second thought, sunghoon slipped his phone into his pocket, grabbed his slipper (the one goofy soft slipper he always wore around the house) and said, “jay, hold on. i gotta settle this.” jay just raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, knowing sunghoon’s competitive streak was about to kick into overdrive. so there he was, tiptoeing out of the apartment, half slipping on the soft slipper but trying to look cool anyway. as he crossed the street, he was already imagining the showdown. “okay, snoopygirl_98,” he whispered, “time to see who’s the real champion.”

as he turned the corner onto the street where the gym always stood, sunghoon was already preparing his battle stance, phone in one hand, thumb poised like a dramatic swordsman, ready to reclaim his gym with the same urgency people usually reserved for, like, national emergencies. he was muttering strategies under his breath, rehearsing which pokémon to use first (always charizard, never blissey — blissey was a coward’s choice) when he noticed a familiar shape a few steps ahead, someone standing by the 7-eleven sign, head tilted down, clearly battling on their phone with the kind of concentration that only came from either playing pokémon go or trying to transfer money while your banking app crashes.

he squinted, slowed down, adjusted his slipper, because something about the silhouette made his brain do that annoying thing where it starts connecting dots he didn’t ask it to connect. the hoodie was oversized. the socks were mismatched. the hair was pulled up the way he always secretly thought looked really good on you even though he never said anything because what kind of guy compliments hair logistics? and then you looked up. and it was you. and sunghoon’s brain just stopped.

you didn’t see him right away, too focused on whatever attack you were tapping out on your screen and for a second, he just stood there, frozen, phone hanging limply in his hand like he'd forgotten what apps were, trying to process the fact that snoopygirl_98 — the elusive enemy who had single-handedly ruined his gym stats for months, the digital nemesis he had cursed under his breath more times than he could count — was you. you. as in, the person who still didn’t know he practiced saying “hi” in the mirror before group hangouts, just in case you were there. the person he may or may not have secretly written a list about titled “things she’s said that made me feel weird in a good way.”

and now here you were, standing across from him, completely unaware, committing virtual violence against his snorlax like it was just another tuesday. because it was, in fact, just another tuesday.

he blinked once, then again, then checked his phone, like maybe the app had glitched, like maybe this was some alternate universe where you just happened to have the exact same username as his sworn digital rival. but there it was: snoopygirl_98. blue team. level 37. the destroyer of dreams and the reason he once rage-deleted the app at 2am and reinstalled it ten minutes later because he couldn’t sleep without knowing if the gym was still his.

and somehow, somehow, it was you.

he didn’t know what to do. he couldn’t just walk up and say “hey, remember that gym you’ve been taking over every night for six months? surprise! it’s me, your accidental pokémon nemesis and also the guy who may or may not be in love with you depending on how much eye contact we’ve made in the last week.” no. absolutely not. he had dignity. barely. but he had it. kind of.

instead, he took a cautious step back like a spy retreating from an unexpected recon mission, trying not to make noise as he slid his slipper against the pavement, which unfortunately made a cartoonish squeak that echoed louder than it should have in the open air. you turned, looked up, and your face lit up the exact way it always did when you saw him, like it was just a nice surprise to run into your friend, like nothing weird was happening, like you weren’t holding his gym hostage right now with a smug-looking vaporeon.

“sunghoon?” you said, smiling, completely normal, as if this wasn’t some betrayal of trust that would go down in pokémon go history forums if he ever decided to tell the story.

he opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “hey,” he finally said, voice much higher than usual, like someone had turned the pitch knob on his entire social confidence.

you tilted your head, confused for a second, then pointed at your screen. “you play too?”

and that was it. the unraveling. the full comedic collapse of sunghoon’s internal monologue. because play too? girl. play too? you’ve been personally destroying his soul one blissey at a time and now you were standing there acting like you were new to the whole thing, like you weren’t the blue team villain of his red team nightmares. he wanted to laugh. or cry. or possibly propose. he wasn’t sure anymore.

he forced a smile. “yeah… i dabble.”

you laughed, completely unaware of the hurricane inside his skull. “i’ve been stealing this gym for weeks. i don’t know who keeps taking it back, but it’s kind of my nightly routine now.”

he nodded slowly, like someone who’s just realized they’ve been in a romcom subplot this entire time and everyone forgot to tell them. “yeah. weird. wonder who that could be.”

you grinned. “whoever it is, they’re relentless.”

he blinked. smiled. swallowed the dramatic gasp he wanted to let out. “yeah,” he said again, staring at your phone like it had personally insulted his family. “totally relentless.”

and in that moment, as you turned your attention back to your screen and started strategizing your next move with a seriousness that honestly impressed him, sunghoon realized something that both horrified and thrilled him in equal measure: he didn’t want to win the gym anymore. not tonight. maybe not ever. because losing to you? weirdly… kind of felt like winning.

so the weeks that followed the great snoopygirl_98 2025 revelation were, to sunghoon’s brain, a chaotic montage of unprocessed emotions, late-night gym takeovers, and entirely too many internal monologues that began with “okay but what does it mean” and ended with him staring at the ceiling like always. because now that he knew you were, well, you, he couldn’t un-know it. everything felt different, except literally nothing had changed. you still sent him memes at weird hours. you still texted him “tell me something random” out of nowhere and then rated his answers out of ten. you still walked into rooms like you were casually auditioning for the lead in the sitcom of his life.

and sunghoon, for his part, was trying to be normal. keyword: trying. which mostly meant overthinking every single interaction while nodding like an emotionally competent adult. a simple “hey, what are you doing tonight?” from you became an existential riddle he could only solve through three hours of pacing and a playlist of acoustic sad songs.

he had started categorizing your texts into very serious folders in his brain, like:

folder a: possibly flirty but could be friendly if you squint.

folder b: definitely friendly but still makes his stomach feel weird.

folder c: completely neutral but somehow he read it five times anyway.

folder d: emergency. called him “dude.” instant damage. snorlax lost 400 HP.

and then, as if fate hadn’t already made things complicated enough, you started talking about how i met your mother. at first it was casual. you mentioned you’d been rewatching some episodes and sunghoon, of course, latched on immediately like a drowning man clinging to a life raft labeled shared interests. he texted back something way too enthusiastic, like “WAIT I LOVE THAT SHOW,” and then instantly regretted the all caps but it was too late.

from there, it spiraled in the best possible way. suddenly you were sending each other voice notes about barney’s worst outfits (trick question: barney is always wearing a suit), arguing over whether ted was just misunderstood or annoying (sunghoon was team both), and quoting lines back and forth. and it became a routine, you’d agree on which episodes to watch, then text throughout like you were sitting on opposite ends of the same couch, reacting in real time. and sure, sometimes the timing was off and someone got spoiled by an accidental “OMG LILY JUST SAID THAT” two minutes before the scene actually happened, but it didn’t matter. it was fun. it felt like something, like a shared little world.

and then when you were talking about season two, something about how marshall and lily’s relationship made you feel weirdly emotional in a way you hadn’t expected, and sunghoon had just typed out a Very Deep Message about love and growing up when you interrupted with:

[y/n:] why don’t you just come over and we watch together?

[y/n:] we could watch and order something like real, greasy, perfect food

sunghoon stared at the message like it was a prophecy. he reread it, twice. then a third time, just in case it turned into “actually nvm lol” when he blinked. it didn’t. it stayed there, glowing softly on his screen. and his brain, poor sunghoon’s brain, absolutely exploded.

one part of him went: she invited you over. this is it. this is the crossover episode. but what if it’s just, like, a chill friend hangout? what if she makes you watch the pineapple episode and asks if you relate to ted. and then the final part, the dramatic romantic core of his soul, just whispered: go. wear your good hoodie. the one that doesn’t smell like doritos.

he took a deep breath, typed back something that he hoped sounded effortlessly cool — probably something tragically boring like “Yeah, sounds fun :)” — and then threw his phone across the room like it had personally attacked him with joy.

because yeah, it was happening. he was going to your apartment, again, not for drinking reasons and sleeping at your couch this time, no. you were going to watch how i met your mother together. with food, and possibly blankets. and if the universe was in any way fair, maybe you’d laugh at something he said and nudge his arm and he would not panic.

sunghoon arrived five minutes early, which, for him, was an act of immense restraint considering he’d spent the last twenty debating which snacks made him look more chill. he had one hand clutching a crinkly plastic bag full of sodium and intention, and the other mentally prepared to knock even though you’d already told him, twice, to just come in when he got there. still, he hovered in front of your door for a second, wondering if the zero-calorie soda made him look like someone trying too hard not to care.

you opened the door in a big hoodie and patterned socks, looking like you hadn’t overthought a single thing today, which made him immediately regret every decision he’d made in the past hour, starting with ironing his t-shirt. you glanced at the bag in his hand, raised an eyebrow, and grinned. “you brought the entire snack aisle.”

“i wanted to make sure we don’t need to get up for at least three episodes,” he said, holding it out like a peace offering.

you peeked inside, spotted a rainbow of crunchy nonsense and two sodas, and smiled again, this one softer, and then said, with no sarcasm and no dramatic pause, “that’s actually really cute.”

sunghoon felt the sentence hit somewhere between his ribcage and his ability to behave like a normal human. “cute” wasn’t usually something he processed well. especially not when it came from you, in that tone. he gave a little laugh that wasn’t really a laugh and followed you into the apartment. the living room looked lived-in in the best way. blanket on the couch, half-melted candle on the coffee table, tv already queued up. you tossed a couple of pillows to the floor, sat cross-legged on the couch, and patted the spot next to you with zero hesitation, like this was the most natural thing in the world. he sat, careful not to take up too much space, careful not to do something weird with his hands.

you started the episode, some early season of how i met your mother, and the familiar opening theme filled the room. sunghoon tried to focus on the screen but your knee had already brushed his twice, and you were sitting close enough that he could smell your shampoo, which he refused to think about too long.

you had just grabbed a blanket and casually tossed half of it across his lap like that was completely fine. you shifted your weight, leaning slightly into him, and he told himself it was normal. you were comfortable. this was comfort. comfort wasn’t dangerous. except it kind of was, because now you were sharing a blanket, and the warmth wasn’t just from the polyester.

somewhere around the middle of the episode, you rested your hand on his arm for a second while laughing, just a quick touch, and then didn’t really move it, letting it stay there as you turned to say something about how ted reminded you of a guy you dated in college “but like, if that guy was worse at metaphors.” sunghoon nodded, mostly to cover up the fact that his brain had gone suspiciously quiet, like it was holding its breath.

you shifted again, pulled your legs up, and now your knee was leaning against his in a way that didn’t feel accidental. you didn’t apologize, or move, you just stayed like that, narrating bits of the episode, making comments, stealing a few chips from the bag he’d opened on his lap like you always did, but now it felt different, closer. intentional in a way that made sunghoon’s hands go kind of weird and tingly.

he tried to focus on the episode. really, he did. he watched barney fail another pick-up attempt, watched ted give one of his long-winded love speeches, and watched lily roll her eyes in that way she always did when she knew something before the rest of the group did. and through all of that, you kept your hand on his arm. and sometimes, your thumb moved slightly, like it was drawing little circles. he couldn’t tell if that was on purpose, and he wasn’t about to ask.

“ted tries too hard,” you said eventually, still watching the screen. “like… if he just stopped declaring things every five minutes, he’d probably be fine.”

“yeah,” sunghoon said, trying not to think too hard about how many things he’d rehearsed in the mirror just in case you ever brought up relationships. “relatable.”

you laughed lightly, looked at him sideways. “you’re not like ted, though.”

“is that a good thing?”

“it’s a good thing,” you said. and then, just like that, you leaned your head against his shoulder. not in rom-com way. just a quiet shift, like it made sense.

sunghoon blinked at the tv, which he now couldn’t see properly because your head was in the way, and decided that was perfectly fine. he didn’t need to see the episode. he’d seen it before anyway. probably twice, maybe three times. and you didn’t say anything after that, and he didn’t either. you stayed there, quiet but not awkward, and the blanket warmed up between you. he was very aware of how still he was sitting, as if moving even slightly would ruin the balance of the moment. your hand slipped down from his arm and onto his knee, not like a grand romantic gesture, more like you forgot where your hand was supposed to go and decided it was his knee now. he didn’t know what to do with that. so he let it be.

when the episode ended, you didn’t move right away. the next one auto-started, the theme song rolling in again, and you let out a soft hum, like maybe you were thinking, or maybe you were just full of snacks.

then you said, not looking at him, “we should make this our thing.”

sunghoon turned his head slightly. “what thing?”

“this,” you said. “watching how i met your mother together.”

he nodded slowly, trying not to seem too eager. “yeah. i’m good with that.”

you finally looked at him, that same easy smile on your face, and then you bumped his knee with yours, not hard, just enough to make sure he was still paying attention. he smiled back, heart doing things he would later try to explain to jay using weird metaphors involving elevators and jelly beans. and just like that, he knew he wasn’t imagining things anymore. or maybe he still was. but either way, it felt kind of real. real enough to sit quietly and let the next episode start, your head on his shoulder, your hand on his knee, and the thought in his head that maybe, finally, this wasn’t just another almost.

after that first night, watching how i met your mother together became a thing, not officially, not scheduled, not even discussed really, but it kept happening. every couple of days, one of you would text and the other would know exactly what it meant. snacks were expected, drinks too, sometimes takeout, sometimes just popcorn and half a leftover soda, but always the same couch, always the same routine.

it didn’t start out that physical, but over time, the way you sat next to each other got… closer. more relaxed. you got comfortable first, you always did. you’d throw your legs across his lap like it meant nothing, lean your head on his shoulder when you were too lazy to sit straight, or curl into his side like it was the most natural place to be. and sunghoon would freeze every time, nod like he was fine, then immediately go into full internal system reboot. he’d sit there pretending to be unaffected, nodding at the tv with the intensity of someone watching a government briefing, while you poked his knee or played with the drawstring of his hoodie like it was just a fidget toy. and he never stopped you. not once. not even when you fell asleep on his arm and drooled slightly on his hoodie sleeve. (he washed it the next day but also kind of wanted to keep it that way. he didn't tell anyone that.)

you were always the one to touch first. he was always the one to overthink it. but then one night, it was raining a little outside, and the apartment was warm, and you'd made tea for both of you for some reason, even though neither of you usually drank tea during sitcom reruns. the lights were low, the episode was one of those emotional ones where ted was being dramatic about someone leaving, and you were curled up right next to him, knee pressed to his thigh, blanket half over your lap and half over his. you looked like you might fall asleep again, but you weren’t. you were just quiet and calm, and sunghoon, in a moment of bravery that he didn’t plan and definitely didn’t rehearse, lifted his arm and rested it around your shoulders, not awkwardly, not halfway, but all the way around. solid, like he meant it.

you didn’t react for a second, then shifted under his arm and leaned your head onto his chest without saying anything. you didn’t joke, you didn’t make it weird. you just rested there like you’d been waiting for him to do that for a while. because, well, you were.

he stared at the tv, heart going approximately 800 beats per minute, trying very hard not to mess anything up by existing too loudly.

“this is comfortable,” you mumbled after a moment, voice low.

“yeah,” he said, somehow managing to sound calm even though his brain was short-circuiting. “you have a surprisingly heavy head, by the way.”

you snorted. “excuse me?”

“it’s not an insult,” he said, trying not to laugh. “it’s just. structurally. very dense.”

“maybe it’s full of all the times you’ve secretly checked me out and thought i didn’t notice.”

he blinked. actually blinked. then coughed, because his throat forgot how to function. “what— i— that’s—”

you laughed. you were clearly not taking it that seriously. you were just being you, casually flirty in a way that felt like breathing. and he could have just let it go, he could’ve rolled his eyes and changed the subject and moved on like he always did. but for some reason, this time, he didn’t.

“if i was checking you out,” he said, still looking at the screen, “i wouldn’t do it secretly.”

you looked up at him a little, one eyebrow raised, that half-smile forming on your face, the one you used when you caught him saying something he clearly hadn’t meant to say out loud. “oh?” you said. simple and amused. a bit dangerous.

sunghoon realized what he’d just said about five seconds too late, and he wanted to disappear into the couch, but it was too late now. the sentence was out there, floating in the air. you didn’t say anything for a moment. just shifted again, a little closer this time, your arm settling across his stomach casually, like this was fine, like this was good, and maybe it was. he didn’t say anything else. neither did you. the episode kept playing.

but the energy had shifted just slightly, like something had tilted in the right direction. and for once, sunghoon didn’t try to fix it or overthink it or joke it away. he just sat there, with your head on his chest, your arm across him, and the feeling that maybe, somehow, he’d just started something without even meaning to. and the best part was that you didn’t seem to mind at all.

and it was after that night on the couch that sunghoon started getting a little braver. not confident movie character braver, just small steps. like brushing your hair out of your face without immediately apologizing for it. or letting his hand stay on your knee when you sat close. or making comments that maybe sounded flirty but were delivered in such a deadpan voice that it took you a second to realize he was being serious.

he started leaning in more when you talked. he started answering your texts faster without pretending to wait five minutes like he used to. he made playlists and shared them without labeling them something obvious like songs that make me think of your face (he wanted to, but he didn’t). he was still himself, still sunghoon, still deeply confused most of the time, but there was something about that night that made him feel like maybe you wouldn’t run if he actually tried.

a few weeks later, there was a night out. the bar under the apartment again. the usual crew, some people from college, a couple new friends no one really remembered inviting. sunghoon had no idea what they were celebrating. he asked twice. jay said something about a work promotion, jake said it was just friday, and someone else said it was heeseung’s cousin’s birthday. none of it felt convincing.

but it didn’t matter. everyone was drinking, someone had ordered two baskets of fries “for the table,” and you were sitting next to sunghoon, laughing at something he’d said that wasn’t even a joke, and your hand was on his thigh like it belonged there. and sunghoon, for once, didn’t freeze. he leaned toward you, nudged your shoulder with his, and made some dumb comment about the song playing, but you laughed anyway, then leaned your head briefly on his shoulder and left it there just long enough to make his brain forget how to function for a bit.

everyone else was shouting over each other. jay was trying to convince jake to join him in some tequila shot competition that wasn’t a real thing. jungwon was filming something on his phone that would definitely not make sense in the morning. and sunghoon was sitting there thinking about how your fingers kept tracing circles on his knee, very casually, very slowly, like you weren’t even thinking about it.

and then (of course, because the universe has a sense of humor), some guy appeared, tall. friendly-looking, clearly a few drinks in. not part of your group. he walked up and said something to you. sunghoon didn’t catch the first part, just the tone: the slightly too smooth, trying-too-hard kind of tone. you laughed politely, the way people do when they’re trying not to encourage. the guy leaned in closer, asked your name. said something else that sunghoon couldn’t fully hear but saw you shift a little in response. and something in his stomach tightened. 

he wasn’t mad. he wasn’t even surprised. people liked you, obviously. you were warm and funny and way too pretty for him to be sitting next to you in the first place. it wasn’t the guy’s fault, he didn’t know anything. sunghoon should’ve done this months ago, if he had the courage to do it. still, he went quiet. he looked down at his drink, then at you, then back at the guy. he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to do something. you weren’t his, there were no rules.

the guy kept talking. not aggressive, just persistent. you were still smiling, but it looked tighter now. less amused, more tired. and then, suddenly, you turned slightly, reached over, and rested your hand on sunghoon’s arm.

“hey,” you said, looking right at the guy. “sorry, my boyfriend gets kinda jealous.”

and you said it so calmly, so casually. like it was the truth. like this was normal. like sunghoon was your boyfriend and not just the guy who once forgot how to speak when you tied your hair up in front of him. the guy blinked, looked at sunghoon, who was now frozen mid-sip of his drink, cup halfway to his mouth.

sunghoon nodded once. not too fast, just enough to sell it. “yeah,” he said, voice steady. “super jealous. very possessive. not proud of it.”

you gave him the smallest side glance, clearly trying not to laugh, and squeezed his arm like you’re doing great, keep going, oscar-worthy stuff. the guy held up his hands like no worries, totally cool, and backed off without drama. he disappeared into the crowd.

the second he was gone, you looked at sunghoon and grinned. “thanks for playing along.”

he blinked. “yeah. of course.”

“you did the jealous boyfriend voice really well.”

“it’s just my regular voice,” he muttered, eyes still on his drink.

you leaned your chin on his shoulder for a second. “maybe you should use it more often.”

he didn’t say anything. mostly because his entire internal system was shutting down again. but this time, he wasn’t panicking, not really. his heart was definitely doing some weird rhythmic gymnastics and his brain had already started drafting a completely unnecessary analysis titled "what does it mean when she fake-calls you her boyfriend but then also holds your arm and looks at you like that," but he wasn’t spiraling. not in the usual sense.

so he just sat there, letting the noise of the bar blur around him, while you sipped the rest of your drink like nothing happened. and maybe for you, nothing had. maybe it was just a line, a joke. a way to get rid of an annoying guy without a scene. or maybe it was something else. something between the lines. something you weren’t saying out loud yet either.

“i want a terrible burger,” you said suddenly, finishing the last of your soda and setting the cup down with dramatic finality. “like, a bad one. like, i want to regret it in the morning.”

sunghoon blinked, pulled back into reality. “what, like… fast food bad?”

“exactly,” you said, eyes lighting up. “like wendy’s. i want to see a sad lettuce leaf in my sandwich.”

he snorted. “that’s oddly specific.”

you stood up and grabbed your jacket. “come on, boyfriend. let’s go to wendy’s.”

he didn’t correct you. he just followed you out, tossing a quick goodbye to the group still half-yelling about tequila, and stepped into the night air that felt colder than it should’ve after all that body heat and bar lighting. you walked a few blocks, mostly in silence, still a little buzzed but in that sleepy, satisfied way that made everything feel slower. then, right as you were crossing an empty street, you reached out and grabbed his hand. not in a performative way, you just took it, like it was there and you felt like holding it. like you remembered the fake-boyfriend story and decided to keep the bit going. or maybe not, maybe you just wanted to.

“you’re doing great, by the way,” you said, fingers laced through his like it meant nothing. “very convincing. the protective arm thing? ten out of ten.”

he glanced down at your hands still together. he nodded slowly. “i studied for the role.”

you grinned. “you’re a natural.”

he tried not to think too hard about it, but of course he did anyway. because holding hands wasn’t a big deal. except it was, except it was a big deal when it was you. but he kept walking next to you, hand in hand, and his brain just quietly melted. you were still holding his hand. you pointed at the wendy’s sign ahead like it was a beacon of hope. “we feast,” you declared.

he laughed under his breath, mostly because he didn’t know what else to do with all the emotions bouncing around in his chest. he didn’t know where this was going, he didn’t know what this meant. but he knew he wanted more of this — your hand, your jokes, your version of terrible food decisions. and maybe that was enough for now.

the wendy’s was almost empty, just a sleepy guy mopping the floor in the corner and a cashier humming quietly behind the counter. you walked straight to the self-ordering kiosk with the confidence of someone who had done this many times before, tapping the screen. sunghoon stood behind you, close enough that he could read the menu too, but mostly because the screen was small and the space was narrow. it wasn’t like he planned it, he just stepped forward once and then didn’t step back.

you didn’t seem to mind. you were scrolling through the combo options, talking to yourself. “okay, nuggets are too risky. fries, obviously. double cheeseburger, or do you want the one with the weird barbecue sauce again?” you didn’t turn around, just asked, still facing the screen, “what do you want?”

and he wasn’t thinking. not in a conscious way. he was just staring at the back of your head, at the way your shirt was falling off one shoulder slightly, at how close you were, at how warm his chest felt from where you were just standing in front of it like it was nothing.

so he said it. like it wasn’t anything at all.

“you.”

you laughed immediately. the kind of laugh that came out of your nose and mouth at the same time, short and surprised and familiar. you kept tapping the screen like you hadn’t heard him properly, or like he was joking. but sunghoon didn’t laugh, he didn’t say anything else. and you paused.

you turned around slowly, still half-grinning, clearly ready to tease him, but then you looked up and saw that he wasn’t grinning back. he was just looking down at you, like this wasn’t a joke. like he didn’t care that it was happening next to a laminated poster of a frosty.

and something in your expression shifted too. the smile faded, but not in a bad way, just softened, slowed down. like whatever you’d been holding back was now impossible to keep behind the usual banter. so you stared at him for a second, head tilted slightly, like you were trying to decide if you were allowed to do what you were about to do.

and then you did it anyway. you reached up, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and pulled him down toward you. not roughly, not urgently, just with purpose, and he didn’t hesitate, didn’t question it, didn’t even breathe before his mouth was on yours.

he didn’t stop to think about it, didn’t hesitate, didn’t calculate angles or worry about logistics, which was rare for him. he just moved. his heart was doing something that felt like a cross between a drum solo and a panic attack. he could feel the heat rising up the back of his neck, which was annoying because that always happened when he was nervous, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now because your face was right there and your lips were already on his and he was kissing you.

he was kissing you. okay. okay. this was happening.

his first thought was that your lips were soft, which was so cliché and unoriginal he immediately scolded himself internally, but then he had no time to think of anything better because your hands were still on his hoodie, still holding him close, and his own hands had instinctively gone to your waist and stayed there like they knew what to do even though his brain absolutely did not. 

it was warm. not just physically, but in that weird way where everything around him felt quiet all of a sudden, even though there was still the distant hum of the soda machine and the soft squeak of the mop across the tile floor. the kiss wasn’t perfect, his nose got in the way a little. he turned his head too far at first and had to readjust, which made him silently panic for a second like wait did i ruin it did she notice oh my god i bumped her tooth, but you didn’t pull back, you just leaned in more.

your mouth tasted like sprite and some other food vaguely artificial and it should’ve been gross but somehow it wasn’t. somehow it just felt real and simple. like this was something you did, apparently. kissed each other now. this was now part of the routine.

his hands gripped your sides gently like he was making sure you didn’t vanish. he didn’t know how long the kiss lasted. three seconds? ten? a full minute? he couldn’t tell. time had stopped cooperating with him. all he knew was that you were kissing him like you meant it, like this wasn’t an accident or a joke or a weird side quest in a long friendship. like this was on purpose.

his brain tried to catch up the entire time. there were at least four full thoughts bouncing around at once, all useless:

1. what if this is a dream and i wake up and i’m still on the couch with chips on my chest.

2. i don’t know what to do with my thumbs. why do thumbs exist?

3. i can’t believe she just kissed me next to a wendy’s totem.

4. i don’t want this to stop.

and then, eventually, it did stop.

you pulled back just slightly, enough to breathe, enough to look up at him. but you didn’t move away. you stayed close, like you weren’t done, like you just needed a second. so he stood there, hands still on your waist, completely unsure of what his face was doing. his mouth might’ve been slightly open, he didn’t know. his thoughts were still lagging a full minute behind his body.

you looked at him and said, “so that’s how we’re doing this now.”

his brain was still stuck on the kiss, but he blinked, nodded once, and somehow said, “apparently.” you tilted your head just a little, searching his face for something, and he realized he probably looked like a deer that had wandered into traffic and liked it. he cleared his throat, but his voice still came out low and uneven when he said, “i’m not complaining.”

you exhaled slowly, and then you smiled again, this time real and unguarded and a little too big. “first kiss next to a wendy’s kiosk. this is what dreams are made of.”

“honestly,” he said, “it’s probably the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me in a fast food place.”

you laughed, resting your forehead briefly against his chest. “mine too. tragically.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy again, but it wasn’t the bad kind of shy. it was the kind that made him want to say things he’d been sitting on for weeks. “so,” he started, “there’s something else i should probably admit.”

you looked up. “okay?”

he hesitated. “you know that gym across my street? the one you’ve been defending for months?”

you narrowed your eyes. “yeah…”

he cleared his throat. “so. uh. i was the one taking it back every time. team valor. red guy with the dragonite.”

your mouth dropped open slightly. “you’re shadyhoon420?”

he winced. “in my defense, i made that username in like 2018. it was funny then.”

“it’s still funny now,” you said, shaking your head. “i thought shadyhoon420 was some twelve-year-old with too much free time.”

“nope,” he said. “twenty-something with unresolved competitive issues.”

you laughed again, full-body this time, like you couldn’t believe it. “you were trolling me for months.”

“i was trying to win,” he said. “you were annoyingly good.”

“you were annoying in general.”

“and yet here we are,” he said, glancing down at you, still tucked into his chest. “making out in a wendy’s.”

you rolled your eyes, but not in the real way. more like you were trying not to grin again. your hands were still holding onto the front of his hoodie, like letting go didn’t feel necessary yet. and he didn’t want you to. his hands hadn’t moved either, they were still resting on your waist, warm and steady, like his body knew what his brain was still trying to accept, that this wasn’t hypothetical anymore, it was real. it had happened. you kissed him, and he kissed you back.

he didn’t say anything else right away. not because he didn’t have anything to say, but because he was still sorting through the fact that for weeks, maybe longer, he’d been inching closer to you in little ways — a leg under the blanket, a hand brushing yours, a text that was maybe too honest — and now suddenly there was no more guessing. you’d pulled him in. you kissed him. you’d looked him in the face like you were just as tired of waiting.

and somehow it wasn’t weird, it wasn’t awkward. it didn’t feel like something they’d both laugh off tomorrow and pretend didn’t happen. it felt like something that had been quietly building in the background, so slowly neither of them had wanted to be the one to name it out loud, until you just did.

and now he was standing there, still in your arms, still close enough to feel the warmth of your breath on his neck, realizing that something had already started. not five minutes ago. not in the middle of the kiss, but way earlier. maybe on that first night on the couch. maybe the first time you texted him about something dumb at 2 a.m. or maybe the first time you knocked his leg with yours and didn’t move it away. and whatever it was, it wasn’t a maybe anymore.

and honestly, standing there in front of a glowing touchscreen that still said “order now” in giant, red font, that felt exactly right. because of course it would be like this, not planned, not perfect. just stupidly casual and somehow kind of perfect anyway.

you pulled away first, but only a little, and said, “okay, romantic moment over. i’m starving.”

“yeah,” sunghoon said, blinking back into functionality. “same.”

you turned back to the kiosk, finally placing the order, laughing again when he insisted on extra fries “because i feel emotionally vulnerable and carbs help.” you didn’t make fun of him. you just nodded like, yeah, that tracks. and when the food came out, you grabbed the tray and headed to the corner booth, the one you two always sat in when the place was empty, which it still was. it felt like your booth now, like it had seen things, like it knew too much.

you sat down first, immediately curling one leg under yourself and holding the burger with two hands like it was sacred. sunghoon sat next to you, not across, not leaving space, but right beside you like always, except this time, his arm went around your shoulders the second he sat down, no hesitation, no awkward pause. and you didn’t just lean into him like before. you really leaned.

your head dropped to his shoulder for a second before you took your first bite, and he felt your whole body relax against his like this was exactly where you wanted to be, and it wasn’t like before. it wasn’t just a friendly lean or a casual touch, it was closer. it felt like something that had been waiting to happen and now finally had.

you both ate in silence for a minute, the kind of silence that wasn’t empty. it was full of whatever this new thing was between you. you passed fries back and forth like it was muscle memory. he picked the pickles off your sandwich without being asked. you stole his soda without warning. and he didn’t flinch when your hand found his leg under the table and stayed there. you’d done this before. sat like this, shared food, leaned into each other, stayed late until the lights started flickering. but tonight it felt different, for very kissy obvious reasons.

sunghoon looked over at you once, mid-bite, and you caught him staring. you smiled with your mouth full and said, “don’t get all sappy on me.”

he shrugged. “too late.”

you shook your head and leaned into him again, chewing quietly, like it was no big deal. but he knew it was, and he knew this was only the beginning. and he also knew — later, when you were walking home and holding hands again like it was completely natural — that he was fully, entirely, probably hopelessly into you. and he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore.

the weeks after that night at wendy’s were weird in the least dramatic way possible. nothing major changed. you were still texting dumb questions to each other and you were still stealing his fries like they were community property. but now you kissed him, now he could hold your hand without pretending he was reaching for something else. now he could rest his chin on top of your head when you were sitting on the couch and no one would say anything sarcastic about it. it was new, but it also felt like it had already been there the whole time, just waiting for someone to label it.

sunghoon had fully expected to be awkward about it. and to be fair, sometimes he was. he still got weirdly quiet when you called him “babe” for the first time, and he once accidentally called you “dude” right after kissing you and spent the next two hours apologizing. but mostly, things were good, comfortable and fun.

you started doing more couple-y stuff without needing to make it A Thing. you grocery shopped together, you did laundry at the same time, folded each other’s hoodies like an old married couple, and argued over the right way to hang dry t-shirts. you went to a mini golf place that was weirdly intense about rules, and sunghoon realized you were more competitive than him, which was saying something.

he started to show you more of the things he usually kept to himself. like his half-written playlist ideas. like the folder of blurry phone videos he took of you without meaning to. like the fact that he still had a high score on fruit ninja and was proud of it. and one night, after you’d been watching some random youtube rabbit hole of early 2000s pop rock videos and you said, “ugh i forgot how much i loved mcfly,” sunghoon sat there in silence for a second before quietly saying, “i need to play falling in love for you.”

he played it slowly, a little shakily. he forgot a chord halfway through and mumbled something that wasn’t a word, but you didn’t laugh. you didn’t make fun of him. you just sat there listening like it was your favorite thing he’d ever done. and when he finished, you kissed his cheek and said, “you’re disgusting. i love it.”

after that, he stopped holding back so much. he let himself be more flirty, more open, more ridiculous. and to his surprise, you were just as bad, maybe worse. you texted him things like “miss ur dumb face” even if you’d seen him three hours ago. you’d randomly send voice notes where you just said “hi” in different tones and asked him to rate them.

and that’s when sunghoon realized something big: you were just as emotionally reckless as him.

you made plans too early. you got soft too fast. you saved pictures of things that reminded you of him and showed them later like it was nothing. and he was so used to being the one who caught feelings first that it completely broke his brain a little. so he started noticing it in small things. like how you’d always scoot closer to him even if there was already zero space left on the couch. or how you remembered random things he said in passing and brought them up a week later like they were important. or how your entire face changed when he walked into a room, even if you were pretending to be cool about it.

and then one night, when you were sitting cross-legged on the floor of his apartment, he blurted something out without meaning to. “did you and heeseung ever date?”

you looked up, blinked. “what?”

“i mean,” he said quickly, “not that it matters now. i just. i always kinda thought there was something there. like before.” you chewed slowly, still staring at him. “like,” he continued, clearly panicking now, “not in a jealous way. i just thought maybe you two had a thing. the way you talked. i don’t know. i used to overthink it. a lot. i almost stopped talking to you once because of it. which is dumb. very dumb.”

you swallowed, still looking at him like he’d just admitted he once ate a shoe. then you said, “sunghoon. heeseung and i bonded over the fact that we both had a crush on the same person.”

he blinked. “wait. what?”

“it was you.” he stared at you, spoon halfway to his mouth, not moving. “i’m kidding,” you said, snorting. “he had a crush on someone else. i just liked you. he used to give me pep talks about it.”

sunghoon’s brain did not know what to do with that information. “so… you liked me back then?”

“yeah,” you said, chewing again. “obviously.”

he was quiet for a long second. then: “cool.”

you smiled at him, mouth full, and kicked his foot under the table. he kicked you back. and that was that.

the first time you and sunghoon went out with everyone again, it was a thursday night. which already made it feel less official, like no one could accuse anyone of being too romantic if it was a weeknight. you and sunghoon had been in your thing for a few weeks now, whatever it was. there still wasn’t a label. no one had said “we’re dating” or “we’re together.”

but he kissed you when he saw you. he held your hand while you scrolled through takeout menus. he stayed up late with you watching videos of frogs in tiny hats. you were his. i mean, probably. almost definitely. he just hadn’t said it out loud yet and neither had you. and now, somehow, you were going to a bar together like that wasn’t the most emotionally dangerous setting in the world.

sunghoon wasn’t nervous, exactly. but he also had no idea how he was supposed to act. was he supposed to sit next to you or leave a one-person buffer zone? was he allowed to have a hand on your back when you walked in, or was that too much? could he kiss your cheek in public? would that be weird? was not doing it weirder?

you, of course, didn’t seem to be thinking about any of this. you wore that skirt he liked. you stole one of his rings before you left the apartment and didn’t even say anything about it. you walked next to him like nothing was different. and for you, maybe it wasn’t. maybe this was all normal. maybe you were normal. sunghoon, meanwhile, was just trying not to look suspicious.

they got there a little late. jay and jungwon were already posted up at the booth like they'd been born there. jake was at the bar talking to someone who may or may not have been his date, or just someone he was bothering. heeseung was somewhere, probably emotionally observing the room from the shadows like he always did. and as soon as sunghoon and you walked in together, everyone looked up. they all did the same thing: that casual glance, followed by the silent smirk, followed by the overly casual “oh hey, you made it” that clearly meant oh hey, we know what’s going on here.

sunghoon didn’t react, just nodded once, tried to be cool. completely missed the chair when he went to sit down and had to pretend he meant to lean sideways.

jay knew. of course jay knew. jay had known before sunghoon even knew. jungwon knew because jay knew. jake knew because heeseung knew, and heeseung knew because heeseung knew everything. and now all of them knew. all of them were being polite about it, but they knew. the only people who didn’t know that everyone knew were you and sunghoon.

you sat next to him, thigh against his, arm slung casually over the back of the booth, like it was no big deal. like you did this all the time. and maybe you did, now. maybe this was your thing. but sunghoon still didn’t know where to put his hand. he settled for resting it on his leg, then moved it, then put it back. he wanted to put his arm around you. he just didn’t want to make it A Thing.

jay raised an eyebrow across the table, very subtle. sunghoon glared at him. you leaned over and whispered something about the drinks being overpriced and then rested your head against his shoulder for half a second like it was nothing. sunghoon felt every cell in his body shift three degrees to the left. he didn’t even hear what jay was saying. he was too busy pretending to be normal. jungwon looked like he wanted to say something. jake looked like he was writing fanfiction in his head.

someone made a toast. someone spilled something. someone brought fries to the table and you immediately took three and fed one to sunghoon without thinking about it, and that’s when he saw the look on jake’s face. pure glee. jake mouthed awww like a traitor. sunghoon blinked and looked at you. looked at the group and realized: they all knew. they were all just pretending not to know.

he looked down at his fry, chewed slowly. whispered, “we’re not being subtle, are we.”

you looked at him, smiled, and said, “do you want to be?”

he blinked again. “not really.”

you leaned in and kissed his cheek. sunghoon thought he might combust, but in a good way. and across the table, jay, jungwon, and jake all gave each other the most painfully smug looks sunghoon had ever seen. it didn’t matter, he didn’t care. you were still close, your hand was in his lap now. you were talking to heeseung like nothing was happening. sunghoon was still alive (probably). and whatever this thing was between you two, it wasn’t labeled yet. but it was something, and maybe that was enough for now.

you left the bar a little past midnight, not totally sober but not out of it either, that sweet spot where everything was a little funnier and a little louder and no one was ready to admit they were already tired. it wasn’t freezing out, but you still tugged on sunghoon’s sleeve like your arms didn’t work and said, “i’m cold. fix it.” so he handed you his jacket without hesitation, which you immediately put on and did not zip up, because apparently the rules of temperature didn’t apply to you. the sleeves covered your hands and the shoulders were too big and you looked stupidly good in it, which made sunghoon feel something deep in his chest he chose not to name.

you walked in silence for a few steps, close but not touching, until you bumped your hand into his once, twice, and then just took it like it was yours. which, at this point, it basically was. “so,” you said, casual, like you hadn’t already been curled up next to him in a booth for the last three hours, “you wanna come over?”

sunghoon blinked. “like… now?”

you raised an eyebrow. “no, next tuesday.”

he blinked again, because his brain had chosen violence and was now playing a full powerpoint presentation of possible meanings behind that sentence. he was trying very hard to be normal, to just smile and nod and say something charming, but instead he said, “uh-huh. okay. sure. i mean, unless you were just being polite and i—”

“sunghoon.”

“yep.”

“do you wanna come over?”

he nodded, fast. “yeah. yes. definitely.”

you grinned like you knew exactly what he was doing: spiraling, overanalyzing, trying to decide if “come over” meant snacks and a rerun or if it meant come over come over.

your place was a ten-minute walk, but it felt like thirty-five because sunghoon’s brain would not shut up. he wasn’t panicking, not really, but he also couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that this wasn’t just another hangout. something about the way you asked felt different. something about the way your hand kept tightening around his, like you were already thinking about where it would be once you got upstairs.

by the time you were at your door, you were still holding his hand and sunghoon’s heart was going fast enough that he had to pretend he wasn’t out of breath just from standing there. you unlocked the door and looked at him over your shoulder. “you coming in or are you just gonna stand there looking like you’re being peer pressured by a ghost.”

he stepped inside. “i’ve never been peer pressured by a ghost, for the record.”

you tossed your keys on the counter and kicked off your shoes. “there’s a first time for everything.”

he toed off his sneakers slower, trying to figure out where to stand, what to say, how to breathe like a functioning adult. you pulled off his jacket, handed it back to him, and then did that thing where you walked past him, brushing your hand across his lower back like it didn’t mean anything, even though it absolutely did.

he stared at the floor. then at the fridge. then at you, who was now grabbing two glasses and saying something about trying a new wine that tasted like “grape juice with peach” and he had no idea what it meant or what to do with his hands, or his mouth, or his entire existence. because the truth was: he liked you. he really really really liked you. and he’d been pretending not to want more, not to think about what it’d be like to stay over, to fall asleep next to you and wake up next to you and maybe never go home again. he’d been pretending it was casual. because pretending was safer, pretending didn’t risk messing anything up.

and now here you were, in your apartment, handing him a glass of bad wine and looking at him like you were waiting to see if he’d finally catch up. “you okay?” you asked, leaning against the counter, glass in hand, looking a little too pretty for someone under yellow kitchen lighting.

he cleared his throat. “me? yeah. totally fine. great. really calm.”

you tilted your head. “you sure?”

“yep.”

you walked over slowly, standing in front of him now, wine still in one hand, the other reaching up to brush the hair off his forehead. “you’re freaking out.”

“i’m not,” he said, eyes wide.

“you are.”

“i’m— okay, i’m slightly freaking out.”

you smiled and leaned in, close enough that your breath hit his neck. “wanna know a secret?”

“always,” he said, voice lower than he meant it to be, because everything about this moment was doing something strange to his brain.

you leaned in just a little more, like you were going to whisper something, and he instinctively tilted his head toward you, breath caught, waiting. “i’ve been thinking about kissing you all night,” you said, soft but direct, like you were telling him something about the weather. “like, not just kissing. you know.”

sunghoon froze for a second. not cartoon-style. just momentarily lost control of every muscle in his body. his first instinct was to deflect, make a joke, say something stupid. throw himself out the window, maybe. but he didn’t, not this time. because his second instinct — the real one, the one under all the fake calm — was to kiss you right now. fully and properly, like he hadn’t been holding back for weeks.

you raised an eyebrow, watching him short-circuit, and said, “too much?”

he shook his head. “no. i just. wow. okay.”

“you okay?” you asked again, but this time there was a small smile on your lips, and it was very clear you knew the answer.

he nodded. “yeah. i just wasn’t ready to hear that sentence. and now it’s all i’m hearing.”

you laughed a little and stepped even closer, your body brushing up against his. “do you want me to say it again?”

he swallowed hard. “maybe later.”

you bit your lip, not in a calculated way, just like it was a reflex, and something about that made something snap a little inside him. he set his glass down on the counter, gently, like he needed both hands for whatever was about to happen. then he looked at you and said, “i don’t really want to keep pretending i’m not into you in a completely embarrassing way.”

“good,” you said, fingers grazing the hem of his shirt now, slow, testing. “because i was getting kinda tired of pretending not to notice.”

he leaned in finally, mouth close to yours but not quite there yet, and asked, “so we’re not pretending anymore?”

“nah,” you whispered. “let’s be very real.”

and that’s when he kissed you. not like before, not soft or quick or questioning. this one was different. his hands were on your waist, pulling you in like he was done pretending you weren’t all he’d been thinking about. your hands slid up his chest and curled behind his neck, like you were grounding yourself. like you’d been waiting for this, too.

at some point, you mumbled something against his mouth — maybe his name, maybe just a sound — and he breathed out a quiet “god, you make me crazy” before he could even think about it.

you pulled back just slightly, eyes a little dazed, and said, “you’re gonna say stuff like that and then expect me to behave?”

“no,” he said, already leaning in again. “definitely not.”

you were backing him toward the hallway now, hand still tangled in his hair, mouth still on his, and every nerve in his body was firing off in every direction at once, but none of it felt panicked anymore. it just felt like finally. like this was where all of it had been leading: the late nights, the inside jokes, the pretending-not-to-care casual touches that had never really been casual at all.

sunghoon's back bumped softly into the wall and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. your body was pressed to his now, fully, and your mouth moved down to his jaw, then to the side of his neck, slow and unhurried, like you were trying to memorize the way he felt. his hands were on your waist, thumbs sliding under the hem of your shirt without meaning to, like they’d decided on their own that they wanted more. and the thing was, so did he. he wanted more. not just physically, though that was part of it. but everything, all of it. the way you looked at him like he was worth undivided attention, the way you touched him like you weren’t scared of what it meant, the way you weren’t hesitating now.

he had no idea what he was doing, not really. but it didn’t matter, not with the way your fingers had found their way under his shirt now too, trailing up his ribs like you were checking if he was real. he was starting to think he wasn’t. you leaned back just enough to look at him, your face close, breathing uneven. “you good?” you asked, voice low, teasing, but still somehow gentle.

he nodded, barely. “yeah. i just…” you waited, eyes flicking to his lips again, like you already knew what he was about to say. “i really want you,” he said, quiet but steady, “and i’m trying not to freak out about it.”

you smiled, something softer now, less teasing, and leaned in again, your mouth brushing his as you said, “then don’t.”

and he didn’t. he kissed you again, deeper this time, one hand sliding up your back, the other staying low on your waist, anchoring you to him. you pulled him away from the wall slowly, guiding him back toward your room with nothing but your body pressed into his and the way you kissed him like you’d been waiting just as long. his hands were shaking a little, but not in a bad way. in the way that came from finally letting go of all the restraint he didn’t even realize he’d been carrying.

you turned around once, just before stepping through the door, and looked at him, not playful this time, not challenging, just full of whatever this was between you. then you pulled him in by the front of his shirt, and he followed, heart pounding, completely undone by how easy it felt to say yes to you.

he followed you into the room, one of his hands went straight to your waist, pulling you in again, and the other slid into your hair like he was finally done pretending he didn’t want to touch you like this. you looked up at him, mouth parted, breathing a little uneven now, like maybe you weren’t expecting him to get like this, not this sure of himself. “you okay?” he asked, echoing your earlier words, voice low now and just barely smug. “you’re looking a little... distracted.”

you blinked at him, caught off guard for half a second. “you think you’re funny now?”

“no,” he said, fingers slipping under the back of your shirt as he leaned in, “i think i’m winning.”

you didn’t say anything. just kissed him again, rougher this time, like you were challenging him to keep up, and he did. he moved with you, pressed into you, kissed you back like he finally knew he could. he walked you backward without breaking the kiss, hands firm on your waist, pushing you gently until your legs hit the edge of the bed. you sat first, pulling him down with you, and he smiled against your mouth as you tugged at his shirt like you were losing patience.

“you’ve been thinking about this too, huh?” he murmured against your throat, voice dark and teasing, lips brushing that spot right under your jaw that made your knees weak. you didn’t answer, just mouthed at his neck in retaliation. he chuckled. “yeah,” he whispered. “me too. been losing my mind over you.”

“shut up,” you said, though your hands were already sliding under the hem of his shirt.

“make me,” he said, and you actually laughed, this breathless, surprised sound that turned into a half-moan when his mouth found that spot below your jaw you didn’t even know was there. he pulled back for a second, just long enough to look at you. your hair was a little messy, your lips were red, your hands were still on him, and he couldn’t believe he’d spent so many nights trying to act casual about you.

and sunghoon — who had once nearly passed out just from you holding his hand at wendy’s — now had you under him, fingers teasing at your waistband, mouth trailing along your collarbone, fully lost in the way you were looking at him like you wanted everything at once.

you shifted under him, hips tilting up slightly. his hands were more confident now, not just hovering or tracing but gripping, like he didn’t want to miss any part of you. one hand slid up under your shirt, palm warm against your stomach, and he felt you tense just a little, then relax into it completely.

you tugged him closer, thighs parting so he could fit between them, and he fit there like he belonged, grinding down slowly, testing. your breath hitched, nails digging into his shoulders, and that did something to him. he groaned quietly, not on purpose, and you caught it. your fingers were in his hair again, tugging a little now, and he swore under his breath when your teeth grazed his bottom lip. your shirt was pushed up now, not off yet, but enough for his hands to explore, and his mouth followed the trail — slow kisses down your neck, then across your chest, lingering just long enough to make you arch into him. your breath hitched again, and he looked up at you, completely gone.

“tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, serious for a second, low and right against your skin.

you shook your head. “don’t.”

​​your hands were under his shirt now, greedy and warm, and he let out a shaky breath as you slid them up his back. “fuck,” he muttered. “you feel so good—better than i ever imagined.” he kissed you again, hungrier this time, like he wanted to memorize your mouth. “you’re so fucking pretty, y/n. can’t believe i get to touch you.”

your shirt was off now, just tugged over your head and dropped somewhere behind you, and sunghoon stared for maybe a second longer than he meant to. not out of shock, but because he couldn’t believe you were real. that this was real. that this was actually happening. and then you reached for the hem of his shirt, fingers cool against his stomach, and that was it, he was done pretending he had a single functioning thought left in his head.

he let you pull it over his head, arms moving clumsily, breath already shallow. your hands were on his skin before the fabric even hit the floor, sliding up over his chest, across his shoulders, and he had to physically stop himself from just collapsing into you. you bit your lip when his hips rolled into yours again, slower this time, like he was testing the friction. your breath caught, and you arched into him without thinking. “hoon…”

his whole body shuddered when you said his name like that. “god, you sound so good,” he breathed. “you don’t even know what you do to me.” his hands were back on your waist now, warm and grounding, and he kissed you again, slower, sweeter, like he wanted to savor the taste of you. “you’re not gonna get rid of me after this, you know,” he whispered into your mouth. “not after i’ve had you like this.”

you smiled a little, breathless. “who said i wanted to get rid of you?”

that made him pause for a second, just to look at you again, like he couldn’t believe this was really happening. “jesus,” he muttered. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

you pulled him down for another kiss, hands slipping lower, dragging your fingers across the waistband of his pants. he groaned when your palm brushed over him through the fabric, hips twitching like he couldn’t help it. “fuck, baby,” he hissed, “you’re making it really hard to be gentle.”

“then don’t be.”

he let out this low, disbelieving laugh like you’d just told him the best secret in the world. tugging your skirt and panties down, he kissed his way along your hips and lower, dragging his mouth over your skin like he was savoring you already. “every part of you… perfect,” he whispered, eyes flicking up just once to see your chest rising, lips parted. “i wanna touch you everywhere.”

and he meant it. ​​his hands were warm and steady, spreading over your thighs, your waist, your stomach, exploring you like you were something rare. he took his time, like he’d waited too long to rush now, brushing his fingers gently along your inner thigh, coaxing goosebumps to rise under his touch. you were already shivering with anticipation when he kissed the inside of your knee, then higher, then higher again.

you whimpered, hips lifting involuntarily, and he kissed down your stomach slowly, lips dragging over your skin like a promise. his hands settled on your thighs, thumbs stroking gently over the soft skin there. then he paused, and his eyes flicked up to yours, darker now, but still so soft. 

“can i taste you?” he asked, voice quiet but low with need. “please, baby. i need it.” your breath caught. your fingers threaded through his hair almost instinctively as you nodded, thighs parting just a little in silent answer. “yeah?” he breathed, kissing the inside of your thigh. “you’ll let me take care of you?”

“yes,” you whispered, already trembling. “sunghoon, please.”

he groaned, like that was all he needed to hear. “thank you,” he murmured, kissing higher. “gonna make you feel so good, pretty girl.”

and then his mouth was on you, tongue sliding between your folds with that slow, deliberate stroke, and your whole body jolted under him.

“fuck—so sweet,” he groaned, his voice muffled against you. his fingers came up to part you gently, spreading you open so he could really taste you. “you’re unreal, baby. can you feel how wet you are for me?”

you gasped, back arching, one hand gripping the sheets while the other tangled in his hair like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. he groaned again when you tugged, clearly enjoying every reaction he pulled from you. he licked into you like he was starved for it, slow at first, methodical, dragging his tongue in long strokes and humming low when your thighs tensed around his shoulders. then, when he sucked your clit into his mouth, you cried out, hips bucking off the bed, and he held you down firmly, not letting up for a second.

“that’s it,” he said against you, his breath hot and his tone ragged. “so fucking good for me.”

you couldn’t even speak, just moaned and gasped, feeling your whole body coil tighter and tighter as he kept working you over with that perfect mouth. your thighs were trembling now, breath shaky, every nerve strung taut. he reached up, lacing your fingers with his, grounding you just as the pressure tipped over into something explosive. “come for me,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing. “let me have it.”

and you did. you shattered beneath him, shaking, your body clenching and curling in on itself as the orgasm crashed over you, white-hot and overwhelming. you called his name, half gasp, half cry, pulling at his hair with one hand and squeezing his hand tight with the other. your body stuttered, hips twitching, thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t stop until your whimpers turned desperate, overstimulated and wrecked.

“okay,” you panted, tugging weakly at his shoulder. “okay—hoon—please…”

he finally pulled back, lips shiny, cheeks flushed, and eyes completely wild with awe. he looked like he’d just seen god, and maybe he had. you. unraveling for him, only for him. “you’re…” he started, voice rough as he crawled back up your body, kissing your stomach, your chest, your throat, your jaw. “you’re fucking perfect. i’ve never—never wanted someone like this.”

you cupped his face as he hovered over you, and he leaned into your touch instantly, forehead pressed to yours, his breathing still ragged, like he couldn’t believe any of this was real. “you don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispered, voice hoarse and low. “i’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long.”

you kissed him again, slower this time, your fingers brushing through his hair, and he deepened it with a quiet groan, like he needed to taste you to keep himself grounded. when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes were wild and soft all at once, like he was overwhelmed by you. “feel that?” he murmured, pressing his hips down against yours. “you make me this fucking desperate, baby.”

you gasped when he rolled his hips again, perfectly slow, perfectly cruel. “can still taste you on my lips,” he said, kissing you once more. “i want you to taste it too.” the kiss this time was messier and you could feel yourself melting into it. he kissed you like he wanted you ruined, like he needed you wrecked and shaking and breathless. and you were close already, so close again from just that, from the way he said your name like a secret prayer.

“turn over for me,” he whispered suddenly, voice dipped in reverence. you did, your body trembling a little with anticipation as you shifted onto your stomach, heart racing. he traced your spine with his fingers, slow and deliberate, until both hands settled at your waist. “you’re unreal,” he whispered, and he meant it. “do you know that? the way you sound, the way you feel… i could lose my mind just looking at you.”

he leaned down then, mouth brushing the back of your shoulder, trailing kisses down your spine as his hands slid down, thumbs spreading gently over your hips like he was committing every inch of you to memory. “you drive me crazy,” he murmured. “every time you look at me, every time you laugh… fuck, i’m so gone for you.”

and when he kissed the back of your thigh, slow and lingering, you felt it everywhere, like heat blooming under your skin. “let me take my time with you,” he said, kissing his way back up. “wanna make you feel good. wanna make you remember this.”

you could only nod, breath caught in your throat, hands fisting the sheets beneath you. because sunghoon didn’t just want to touch you, he wanted to worship you. ​​his hands smoothed over your hips, firm but reverent, as he bent down, pressing a kiss to the base of your spine. “you’re shaking,” he murmured, voice laced with awe. “still so sensitive, aren’t you?” you nodded, cheek pressed to the sheets, body already reacting to the weight of his touch. “but you’re taking it so well,” he whispered, one hand sliding between your thighs, coaxing them apart again. “you’re such a good girl for me.”

you gasped when his fingers found you, already soaked, still fluttering from the last time. “look at this,” he groaned, dragging his fingers through the slick mess he left behind. “this pretty little pussy just begging for more.”

you whined, pressing back against his hand without even meaning to, and he chuckled low behind you. “you want it again?” he asked, voice almost gentle. “need me to make you feel good, baby?”

“yes,” you breathed. “please.”

that was all he needed. he leaned down again, kissing the swell of your ass before spreading you open with both hands. and then he dipped his head, tongue sliding between your folds. you cried out, hips jolting, the sudden pleasure overwhelming. he groaned, licking you from behind like he was starving for it. you buried your face into the mattress, fingers clawing at the sheets, the stretch of your body making every sensation sharper.

his hands gripped your thighs as his mouth worked you open all over again, licking and sucking with the kind of desperation that made your knees weak. and then his hand slid under you, fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit as his mouth stayed on you, wet and relentless. 

“that fucking pussy tastes so good,” he praised, voice breathless. “give it to me again. wanna feel you come on my tongue, baby.”

you were already spiraling, the pressure building fast and hot, your whole body wound so tight you could barely breathe. “fuck, sunghoon—i’m—”

and you did, again. shaking, crying out, your body going completely still before collapsing into tremors, overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth and the soft, dirty praise spilling from his lips. he didn’t stop until you were whimpering, twitching under him, begging him to stop, begging him to keep going, you couldn’t even tell anymore.

when he finally pulled back, panting, mouth glistening, he kissed your lower back and whispered: “you’re fucking perfect. i’m not done with you yet.”

he watches you as you turn over slowly, still catching your breath, your skin flushed and glowing, hair sticking to your forehead in messy strands. you’re a vision, wrecked and beautiful, lips swollen, eyes glassy, your chest rising and falling like you’ve just survived something holy. his gaze drags over you, slow, reverent, like he doesn’t know where to look first. like he wants to worship everything.

“fuck,” he breathes. “look at you…” you blink up at him, dazed and buzzing, legs still trembling from the last time he pulled you apart. his hands settle on your waist, grounding you. his thumb rubs soft circles into your skin like he’s easing you back into your body, not rushing, just feeling you.

“can i?” he asks, voice low and hoarse. there’s something almost shy in the way he says it, like he’s trying not to ruin the moment, like despite everything, he still needs to be sure you want this too.

you nod once, still breathless. “yeah,” you whisper. “please.”

his pupils darken, breath stuttering in his chest. the way you say please, oh, he could fall to his knees again just from that. he kisses you, slow at first, deep, aching, his tongue brushing yours like he’s trying to memorize your taste. and then it turns hungry, hands gripping your face like he can’t believe he gets to touch you, like he doesn’t want to come up for air. “you’re everything,” he murmurs against your lips, voice shaky. “i mean it—everything. i wanna make you feel so fucking good again.”

you let out the softest whimper, and that’s all he needs. he kisses down your jaw, your neck, between your breasts, leaves open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, taking his time. he’s not in a rush, he wants to savor you. his hand trails down, fingers brushing your inner thigh, and you part your legs for him instinctively. you’re still so sensitive, every little touch making you twitch, your hips lifting up to meet him. “this pretty pussy’s still so wet,” he groans, almost in disbelief. “you’re unreal, baby.”

his fingers slip between your folds again, dragging through the mess he made earlier, and you let out a gasp, hand flying to his wrist. “shh,” he soothes, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “i got you. just wanna make you feel good. let me take care of you, yeah?”

you nod, lips parted, already melting under his touch. he kisses you again, messy and hot, and then without warning he slides two fingers in deep, curling them just right. your mouth falls open in a silent cry, hips jerking. “that’s it,” he praises. “fuck, i love how you take me. your pussy is clinching around my fingers, baby.”

his fingers keep working you open, his mouth back on your neck, sucking dark marks into your skin like he wants to leave proof that he was here. and just when you think you’re going to fall apart again, he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. “you’re mine, right?” he asks, voice like gravel. “please say it, baby”

“i’m yours,” you breathe, and it comes out shaky, desperate.

he groans like he’s losing his mind. “good girl.”

his body hovered over yours, warm and steady, and when your eyes met, something shifted, like the air grew heavier, thick with everything you both had been holding back. he kissed you like a thank you, like a silent prayer, like he couldn’t believe you were real and his all at once. then he leaned back on his knees, eyes locked on yours as he brought his hands down to the waistband of his jeans. he popped the button open with a quiet click, dragging the zipper down slow, teasing, but there was a kind of quiet urgency in his movements too, like he couldn’t wait another second to feel you again.

when he pushed his jeans and boxers down, your breath caught. he was big. thick and flushed and perfect, tip already leaking, heavy against his stomach. your mouth went dry, heat curling low in your belly as you stared, he was so pretty it almost hurt, like every inch of him was made to ruin you.

his eyes watched your face carefully, catching the shift in your expression. “yeah?” he rasped, cock twitching under your gaze. “you like what you see, baby?”

you nodded before you could think, heart hammering, thighs already pressing together. “you’re perfect,” you whispered, almost breathless.

his lips parted at that, something dark and tender flickering behind his eyes. he leaned in, hand wrapping around himself as he hovered over you again, dragging his tip through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, teasing your entrance. “fuck,” he murmured, voice ragged. “say you want me, please.”

“i want you,” you breathed, hips lifting. “hoon—i need you.”

he groaned like the sound of your voice broke something in him. and when he finally sank into you, slow, deliberate, like he wanted to feel every inch of you claiming him back, it stole the air from your lungs. he bottomed out with a shudder, forehead pressed against yours, hand cupping your jaw like he needed the grounding just as much as you did.

his tip presses in first, thick and hot, and even though your body is already soaked and aching for him, the stretch is still overwhelming. your walls flutter around him, trying to pull him deeper, but he takes his time. his hands grip your hips, grounding you as he inches in further, every slow push making your body arch and your breath catch. “fuck—baby,” he chokes, eyes fluttering shut as he feels the way you clench around him. “you feel so good… so tight. taking me so perfectly.”

you can barely hold still. your fingers grip his lower back, your mouth falls open, and a moan tears from your throat, raw, needy, helpless. he leans down, chest brushing yours, and presses soft kisses along your collarbone, whispering into your skin between every word like a prayer. “you’re unreal. unreal, baby. fuck—”

your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, pulling him in further, and he groans deep and guttural, like he’s losing control. the last inch pushes in slow, your bodies finally fully connected, the heat between you almost unbearable. you both go still for a second, breath mingling, your hearts racing in sync. your walls flutter around him again, adjusting, and his forehead drops to yours. “you okay?” he breathes, voice wrecked, like it’s taking everything in him not to move.

you nod, eyes glazed. “so full,” you whisper. “feels so good.”

he groans softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “yeah? i’m gonna take care of you, pretty girl. i promise.”

and when he finally starts to move slowly, with deep thrusts that drag against your most sensitive spots, you swear you see stars. his hips roll into yours with precision, his body fitting against you like he was built for this, for you. every stroke hits just right, every whispered praise against your cheek making you melt further into the mattress.

“you’re doing so good,” he pants. “taking me so well. your fucking pussy feels so fucking good around my cock, baby.”

you reached for him with shaking hands, fingers sliding into his hair, pulling him up to meet your mouth in a hungry kiss. he groaned when your tongue slid against his, his body still trembling from the last time you came undone under him. but this time, you weren’t just going to take. you wanted to give back, to feel him fall apart for you too.

“lay back, hoon,” you whispered against his lips, voice still wrecked and sweet. “let me ride you.”

his eyes widened slightly, dark and heavy with heat, but he nodded, eager, desperate, completely at your mercy. he sank into the pillows, breath stuttering when you straddled his hips and reached between your bodies to guide him in. you both gasped at the stretch, the slick slide of him filling you again. but now it was your rhythm, your pace. slow at first, grounding yourself on his chest as you rocked your hips forward, letting him feel all of you. his hands gripped your thighs, mouth open in a silent moan as he looked up at you like he was watching something holy.

“fuck, baby,” he breathed. “you feel—jesus, you feel perfect.”

you rolled your hips again, a little faster, loving the way his voice cracked, the way his fingers dug deeper into your skin. his head fell back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut, and you leaned down to kiss along his throat, his collarbone, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. “look at me, hoon,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “wanna see your face when you fall apart.”

he did, eyes locking with yours, glassy and wild and reverent all at once. “keep going,” he begged, barely coherent. “just like that. you’re so good. keep riding me, baby. i’m not gonna last.”

you smiled, breathless, sweat-slicked skin sticking to his as you kept moving, kept grinding, kept giving him everything. and when his hips bucked up and he cried out your name like it was the only word he remembered, you knew you had him, ruined and wrecked and completely yours. “please, baby, i need,” he begged, barely coherent. “let me cum inside you, fuck— i need to fill you up, princess.”

you smiled and nodded, breathless, sweat-slicked skin sticking to his as you kept moving, grinding down on him with a rhythm that had both of you teetering on the edge. his hands roamed your body like he couldn’t get enough, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing over your ribs. like he needed to memorize you. “fuck, look at you,” he groaned, eyes locked on where your bodies met. “riding me so good. taking me so deep. this pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

you nodded, dazed, moaning as you bounced harder, chasing the high that was coiling tight in your belly again. and he didn’t stop talking, not for a second. “you feel that, baby? how tight you are around me? fuck, i’m losing it,” he breathed, voice rough and reverent. “you’re gonna make me cum inside you, such a good girl, fuck!”

you leaned down, kissed him hard, swallowing the broken sounds spilling from his mouth. he kissed you back like he needed it to breathe, tongue desperate, hands sliding up to cup your face. you were already there, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, body shaking from how deep he was hitting, how full he made you feel. and when you clenched around him again, when your orgasm hit with dizzying force, he lost it with you, hips stuttering, hands gripping your ass as he came with a strangled moan, burying his face in your neck while he filled you up.

you held each other, trembling, hearts racing. you were still catching your breath, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat, when he slid out of you, slow and careful, like he didn’t want to let you go just yet. you barely had time to whimper at the sudden emptiness before he was shifting, lying back against the pillows with a look in his eyes that made your stomach flip.

“come here,” he murmured, voice hoarse, one hand trailing down your spine. you blinked at him, legs weak, but then he grinned, lazy and wicked, and pulled you up gently by the hips. “wanna taste you like this,” he said, guiding you forward until your thighs were straddling his face. “wanna feel the mess you made all over me.”

your breath caught. “sunghoon—”

“shh,” he whispered, eyes dark and blown wide. “you’ve been so good for me. let me be good for you now.”

he didn’t wait for permission this time. his hands gripped your thighs and pulled you down onto his mouth like he’d been starving for it. his tongue was filthy, flat and firm and everywhere, licking you clean, then messy again, kissing and sucking and moaning against your skin like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

you cried out, hips rolling without thought, thighs trembling around his head. and he took it, wanted it, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you steady. “fuck—sunghoon,” you gasped, one hand in his hair, the other braced on the headboard.

he groaned into you, the sound vibrating through your core. “that’s it, baby. ride my face. come on—fuckin’ use me.” 

your thighs shook harder with every swipe of his tongue, every slick, obscene noise echoing in the room, and when he closed his mouth around your clit and sucked just right, your whole body went rigid. and when he pressed his nose around your clit and held your hips and made you grind around his face, oh god, you lost it. “that’s it,” he murmured, breathless and soaked, licking you through it. “come all over my face, baby. let me feel you fall apart again.”

and you did again. and again. until your body gave out, and you collapsed into him, trembling, boneless, his arms around your waist, kissing your thighs like they were sacred.

“you’re unreal,” he whispered, voice thick with awe. “how the fuck did i get so lucky?”

his grip softened as he felt you tremble above him, and when you finally started to come down, your thighs still quivering around his face, he slowed. but his mouth didn’t stop. he kept kissing you with soft, kitten licks, gentle, rhythmic, like he was savoring every last drop of you. little hums vibrated against your skin as he pressed sweet, worshipful kisses between your folds, almost lazy now, like he was calming you down with his tongue.

you gasped softly, too sensitive, your hips twitching with every warm, delicate lick. “can’t get enough of you,” he whispered against your heat, nuzzling between your thighs. “you taste like heaven, baby.”

he let go of your waist just enough to guide you off him, helping you lie down on the mattress with shaky limbs. and then, slow, almost reverent, he climbed over you. he kissed your inner thighs first, lips soft and warm and open. then the swell of your hips, your stomach, your ribs. each kiss was slow and full of something deeper, like he was memorizing you now, not just your body but you, soaking in every inch.

“my pretty girl,” he murmured against your skin. “my favorite thing in the world.”

his mouth reached your chest, kissing over your heart, then up the column of your throat, slow and smiling. by the time he reached your lips again, your eyes were already fluttering shut, your body humming with warmth. he kissed you sweetly, lovingly. no rush. just the kind of kiss that said you’re mine, i’ve got you, i’m still here. and when you sighed into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair again, he whispered, “i want to make you so happy.”

you were both lying there, still breathing a little unevenly, not quite ready to move. the room was warm in that quiet, post-everything way. your leg was draped over his without thinking, one of his hands resting on your stomach, steady now, grounding. the other hovered in the space between your ribs and your hip, like he wanted to touch more of you but didn’t want to push anything too far than he already did. 

and sunghoon wasn’t staring on purpose, he just couldn’t stop looking at you. your hair was messy. your skin was warm. you had that look on your face like you were pretending to be calm but weren’t. and he couldn’t stop replaying the last hour in his head, not even the specifics, just the fact that it happened. it happened, you happened, with him.

you wanted him. he couldn’t believe it. because this wasn’t some almost. this wasn’t a flirty text or a maybe-lingered hug or a “did that mean something?” moment. this was real, it happened. you were here in his arms. naked. smiling. breathing slow. and the truth was — it was the best thing that had happened to him in a long, long time.

not just the sex. that was insane, amazing. unfair, honestly. but it was more than that. it was how close you let him be. it was the way you looked at him like he wasn’t just some guy. like you’d been waiting for him just as much as he’d been waiting for you. and he was trying to memorize it all. the heat of your skin under his hand. the curve of your smile when you caught him staring. the weight of your leg over his, like you weren’t planning to go anywhere.

you turned your head toward him, cheek pressed into the pillow, eyes still lazy and soft. “you’re staring.”

he blinked. “no i’m not.”

“you literally are.”

he swallowed, trying not to smile. “okay. yeah. but respectfully.”

you raised an eyebrow. “what does that even mean?”

“means i’m just... taking it all in,” he said, quieter now. “i don’t know. trying to make sure this wasn’t a dream or something.”

you didn’t laugh at that. you didn’t roll your eyes or change the subject. you just looked at him, and he looked at you, and for once, he didn’t say anything else. because for the first time in a long time, everything he wanted was already here. and he wasn’t gonna miss a single second of it.

so he shrugged, face somehow more relaxed than you’d ever seen it. “just means i’m admiring you without being weird about it.”

“you just called me your favorite thing in the world like five minutes ago.”

“and i meant it,” he said, no hesitation. “top tier. no notes.”

you smiled, then looked up at the ceiling. “this is weird.”

sunghoon blinked. “like... weird in a good way or weird like we should never do this again and i should move to another country?”

“no, dumbass.” you laughed. “like weird that this actually happened,” you said. “we’ve been circling each other forever and now we’ve crossed into, like, very naked territory.”

he turned onto his side to look at you properly, propping himself up on one elbow. “you say that like i wasn’t already fully in love with you the second you stole my last fry that one night.”

you laughed, soft and tired, and scooted closer. “you’re such a dumbass.”

“i contain multitudes,” he said, smiling.

you leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, just because it was there. just because you could now. after a few quiet seconds, he added, “i also might’ve... rehearsed stuff. in my head. like this. this whole night. not, like, in a creepy way. just. i thought about it a lot.”

“how much is ‘a lot’?”

“you don’t wanna know.”

you looked at him, eyes narrowing. “sunghoon.”

“like... entire imaginary scenarios,” he said, face slightly red now, voice muffled as he dropped back onto the pillow. “dialogue included. you said very flattering things in my head, by the way.” you started laughing, trying to muffle it into his shoulder, and he groaned. “this is the worst post-sex confession in history.”

“no, this is peak you,” you said. “romantic and slightly unhinged.”

“you make me unhinged,” he muttered, then covered his face with one hand. “i’m never speaking again.”

you reached over, peeled his hand away, and kissed his cheek. “don’t worry. you already said everything right.” he went quiet after that, just looking at you again, softer now. less flirty. more like he couldn’t believe you were real. you held the look for a second, then nudged him again. “also, i still can’t believe your pokémon username is shadyhoon420.”

“why would you bring that up now,” he whispered, betrayed.

“because you just made me see god and now i’m ready enough to bully you again.”

he groaned again, dragging the blanket up over his face. you laughed and curled into his side anyway, and even though he was pretending to be dramatic, his arm pulled you in without hesitation. and that was how you stayed. warm, tangled, slightly wrecked, and fully, unapologetically into each other.

the week after was weird. not in a bad way, just different. like, sunghoon hadn’t really planned what came after sleeping with you. his brain had mostly stopped at oh my god it’s happening, and never got around to figuring out what do i do now that it did. turns out: what he did was text you every morning like he hadn’t just seen you eight hours ago. send you playlists like he hadn’t already made three for you. randomly show up with coffee and snacks like he wasn’t trying to see you again that night anyway.

he was down bad. and he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.

he came over two days later with your favorite ice cream. not because you asked, not even because you hinted. just because he passed a convenience store and thought, she likes that one with the caramel stuff, i should get that. you answered the door in pajama shorts and one sock, took the ice cream, kissed his cheek, and said “you’re so obsessed with me” like it was a joke, but he just said “yeah” and followed you inside like it was true. because it was.

he slept over again that night. and the night after that. and the one after that. and by monday, all his stuff was still technically at his place, but his phone charger, his cologne, and three pairs of socks had somehow migrated to your apartment. you made fun of him for the socks, and he said it was “for emergency purposes,” which didn’t even make sense, but you let it slide.

you, on the other hand, got more chaotic just in a very you way. you started kissing him in the middle of sentences. reaching under his hoodie in the middle of a movie. you’d say stuff like “should we go to bed?” with your hand already halfway down his back, and when he asked “to sleep?” you’d just grin and walk off like you’ll see.

you also started calling him ridiculous things in front of other people. “my man,” “baby,” “loverboy.” jay almost choked on his drink when you casually said “sunghoonie, pass me that” in the middle of a group hang. sunghoon blinked three times in a row and handed you the drink without speaking.

you were reckless with it. you sat in his lap at his apartment like it was a chair. held his hand in public. bit his earlobe once while he was trying to explain something about pokémon raids and ruined his entire train of thought. he was spiraling, but, like, happily.

he said “i like you” at least twice a day, sometimes for no reason. he told you your hair looked nice even when it didn’t. he got quieter whenever you wore his clothes but didn’t take them back. once, when you said “you’re kinda clingy now, huh,” he just said “yeah. sorry. can’t stop.”

you didn’t mind. you teased him constantly but kissed him just as much. called him ridiculous but curled into him every night. and when he said “i think i like this version of us,” you said “me too,” and kissed the corner of his mouth like you planned to stay that close for a while. maybe longer.

sunghoon had been thinking about asking you to be his proper girlfriend for, like, a week and a half. well, technically longer. emotionally since day one. but officially? yeah, one and a half weeks of pure, uninterrupted chaos in his brain. the problem wasn’t that he didn’t want to ask you. the problem was that he wanted it too much. he wanted to do it right. he wanted it to be special, but not cringe. romantic, but not too much. surprising, but not out of nowhere. he didn’t want to scare you. but he also didn’t want you to think he was casual about this. he wasn’t. he was emotionally unwell about it, actually.

so, naturally, he did the worst possible thing: he asked jay for advice.

they were at their place, sitting on the floor, jay had just beaten him at mario kart for the third time and was in his usual post-victory smug mode when sunghoon blurted out, “do you think now’s too soon to ask her to be my girlfriend?”

jay blinked. “you literally sleep over at her place more than your own.”

“i know, but, like... we haven’t said anything. there’s been no official label. it’s like... unofficially official.”

jay stared. “sunghoon. you watched her floss her teeth while you sat on the counter eating cereal and telling her she looked cute. it’s not unofficial.”

“yeah, but what if she thinks it’s too soon?”

“too soon for what? be so fucking for real, bro.”

sunghoon groaned and flopped backwards onto the floor. “i can’t just casually be like ‘hey do you wanna be my girlfriend’ while we’re ordering chicken nuggets or something.”

“why not?”

“because this is the most important relationship of my life and i want it to sound like i’m not twelve.”

jay, full of support and zero delicacy, said, “then don’t say it while you’re ordering chicken nuggets.”

sunghoon glared at the ceiling. “useless.”

still, he spent the next few days trying to figure it out. he made a mental list of possible locations. cafes were too noisy. your apartment was too... your apartment. the bar had too many witnesses. he considered writing it down. he considered saying it in a whisper and pretending it slipped out. he considered doing nothing and just dying instead.

then it happened on a wednesday. you were walking out of a little local bookstore you dragged him into, laughing at something he said, your hand linked with his like it belonged there. the woman behind the counter, older, smiley, had said, “you two are cute. your boyfriend’s so patient.”

you laughed, still flipping through the book you bought. “i know, right?”

you didn’t correct her. you did not correct her. sunghoon short-circuited for a solid five seconds. he tried to keep walking like a normal person, but his grip on your hand got a little tighter, and his brain was already in full meltdown mode.

boyfriend. she said boyfriend. and you didn’t say oh no, we’re not dating, or oh, we’re just hanging out, or he just follows me around like a sad dog. you agreed, you claimed him. it counts. it totally counts.

he waited a whole five minutes before blurting out, “so. about that boyfriend comment.”

you glanced up. “what about it?”

“you didn’t, like... correct her.”

you tilted your head. “should i have?”

he blinked. “i mean... no. no, not if you didn’t want to.”

“i didn’t,” you said simply.

sunghoon’s brain made a sound like dial-up internet for a second. he swallowed. “cool. yeah. just checking.”

you stopped walking and looked at him. “wait. is that— were you trying to ask me something just now?”

“what? no.” he paused. “yes. maybe.”

you smiled. “sunghoon.”

“okay, yes. yes,” he said, running a hand through his hair and suddenly regretting everything he’d ever said to jay. “i’ve been trying to ask you if you wanted to be my girlfriend for, like, ten business days. but i kept spiraling. and then you didn’t correct that lady and i had a full-body reaction.”

you laughed, leaning into him slightly. “you could’ve just asked me.”

“i know, but i like you so much that my brain stopped working and i didn’t want to mess it up.”

“you think calling me your ‘favorite thing in the world’ before asking me to date you wasn’t already kind of intense?”

“i blacked out that night. i don’t remember saying that.”

“you did.”

“okay. good. just making sure i’m consistent.”

you leaned in and kissed his cheek, still smiling. “sunghoon, obviously i want to be your girlfriend.”

he blinked. “really?”

“yes.”

he hesitated, eyes narrowing like he’d just remembered something haunting. “even after finding out that i was your sworn enemy on pokémon go for, like, four months?”

you started laughing immediately. “you mean when you admitted you were shadyhoon420, the gremlin who stole my gym every tuesday at 3 a.m.?”

“i was fighting for my honor,” he said, dead serious.

you grinned. “and now we’re dating. weird plot twist.”

he smiled, a little crooked. “great plot twist.”

you squeezed his hand again, leaned your head on his shoulder as you walked, and said, “don’t worry, boyfriend. i forgive your crimes.”

sunghoon was never recovering from being called “boyfriend” out loud. he almost tripped on the sidewalk. he grinned, slightly dazed, like someone who just won the lottery but doesn’t know where to cash it in. you grabbed his hand again and kept walking, like it was already decided. and honestly, it kind of was.

you ended up at his place that night. neither of you really said it out loud, but that was kind of the routine now. he still pretended he needed to “grab something” from his apartment just to have an excuse to follow you around his kitchen while you made popcorn. you still pretended to ask if you were staying over when you both knew your toothbrush had lived there for two weeks. he let you steal his hoodie again. you let him kiss you every time he walked past you, which was often, because he kept “forgetting things” in the living room. at some point you both crashed on the couch with your legs over his and his head resting against yours, some episode of how i met your mother playing in the background.

he was barely listening. you weren’t either. it was just there, familiar and comfortable. then, somewhere between the episode where ted steals the blue french horn and barney pretending to have a fake job at a bank, you turned to him and said, “you know what the best part of this is?”

“the popcorn?”

“okay, second best.”

“me?”

“third best.”

he laughed, nudged your knee with his. “okay, what’s the best part?”

you turned to face him fully, your chin resting on your hand now, your expression weirdly serious but also like you were holding back a laugh. “one day,” you said, “i’m gonna tell our kids this whole story. the gyms. the snacks. the pokémon betrayal. all of it.”

he blinked. “kids?”

“future,” you added quickly. “far future. relax. no one’s getting pregnant during a rerun of season three.”

“okay. just making sure.”

you grinned. “and when i tell them, i’m gonna look them in the eyes and say: and that, kids, is how i met sunghoon.”

he stared at you, then he burst out laughing, then he kissed you. and when he pulled back, smiling like he couldn’t help it, hoodie half falling off your shoulder, popcorn completely forgotten on the floor, he said, “you’re so annoying.”

you leaned into his side. “you’re obsessed with me.”

he kissed your forehead. “yeah,” he said. “i really, really am.”

and that was that. no big speech. no sweeping declarations. no fireworks or dramatic music or anything you’d write into a script. just two slightly ridiculous people, curled up on a too-small couch, limbs tangled in the kind of way that only happens when you’ve stopped pretending to need personal space, one of them wearing a hoodie that never belonged to them in the first place, both of them halfway through a rewatch of a sitcom about love and fate and timing, while very quietly, and maybe without fully realizing it, living proof of all those things was sitting right there beside them.

and that, kids… is how you met sunghoon.

author’s note: okayyyyy i wrote this as a little gift for my best friend aka my sister, and it’s actually the first time i’ve written for sunghoon since nicest guy (which feels kinda wild) andddd i’ve always loved how i met your mother!!! my fav show everrrr nd i wanted to write something that felt like that yk just full of funny warm happy momentssssss nothing too heavy, just soft and slow-burn feelings hehe i hope you enjoyed it as much as i loved writing it ♡

my masterlist // perma taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @saeris-world @jayparked @solonenova @izzyy-stuff

꒰ genres ꒱⠀⠀college!au, classmates!au, slow burn-ish, strangers to lovers, lowkey loser!sunghoon, romance, very fluffy, light angst, but a whole lot more comfort, a bit of jealousy, sunghoon is a stupid dumb idiot lover boy. ✮ featuring: enhypen's 02z + heeseung, ive's gaeul and liz, and seventeen's jeonghan. ꒰ warning! ꒱⠀⠀suggestive content, making out, swearing, pet names, alcohol consumption, parties, brief mentions of blood, unintentional self injury, poor attempts at humor, sunghoon is kind of emotionally constipated but in a good way. sunghoon's taller than reader. lmk if i missed anything!

꒰ word count ꒱⠀⠀18.3k words.┆read the teaser here.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀my first written work !! i normally write smaus so writing a full oneshot has been daunting. this is my literal brain child so i hope you guys love it as much as i do. i would love to get feedback via asks/replies !! (pls be nice) ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏  ✾  𝙍𝙀𝘽𝙇𝙊𝙂𝙎 are appreciated.

TODAY MARKED THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR FOUR YEARS IN COLLEGE. you walked past your university’s gates, chin tipped up and proud with a book held close to your chest, thin silver glasses framing your face, and a smile that you spent an entire hour practicing in the mirror yesterday. 

you wore the best outfit you could, but not in a trying-hard overdressed kind of way, just enough effort to make you memorable. you wanted to make a good impression, after all. 

if you could look lost enough, maybe a senior would notice you. maybe he’d ask for your schedule, walk you to class, make light gossip about the professors you have and in a few years, he’d propose to you in the same spot by the gates, and you’d say i do, and live a happy married lif—

clank!

you get snapped out of your sweet little daydream as pain shoots through your shoulder, down your left arm. “fuck.” you whisper, head snapping up to shoot a frustrated glare at the thick pole in front as if it’s the one who bumped into you.

the impact was hard enough to have your book and glasses falling to the floor with a thud, and definitely hard enough to leave a bruise tomorrow because even merely moving your arm makes you wince. 

thankfully, the area was mostly empty— which meant your dream of being a college cool girl was still in play —save for a tall guy just a foot beside you. 

shit. 

he’s already kneeling down to pick your things up and before you could even bend over to help, he just looks up and gestures to you to stay still by pointing to your outfit. “skirt.” is all he says, his voice deep and quiet.

you’d normally blush at the gentlemanly gesture but instead, you do it out of pure embarrassment. 

god, this wasn’t the meet-cute you imagined. 

he hands you back your book and your glasses, freshly wiped of dirt from the hem of his faded black hoodie. you slip it on your face again and bow your head out of shame, stepping aside to escape this nightmare of an embarrassment, but before you could even attempt to, he tugs on the sleeve of your cardigan, showing you his open palm like he's telling you to stop.

and against your better judgement, you do. 

the stranger slips one of his backpack’s straps off his shoulder, fishing a box out of it and begins scribbling away with a pen cap trapped between his teeth.

you took this time to look at him— really look at him. tall, lean physique, sharp features, fair skin. he wore a pair of black thick-rimmed glasses that framed his kind-looking eyes really well. he’s stylish, no question about that.

and painfully handsome, too.

the pen is closed with a faint click and he slips it back into his hoodie’s pocket and you take that as a sign to stop checking him out lest you embarrass yourself further.

his lips purse into a straight line and his thick eyebrows furrow closer as he gives the box an intense stare, the soft eyes from a while ago turning more serious and stressed as it turns to you, back to the box, and back to you again.

the suffocating silence is shattered by two men shouting from a distance, the shorter one of them comically jumping and waving his hands in the air.

he turns to look at the source of the noise and lets out a small grunt, handing you the box and before jogging away without another word.

you stand there dumbstruck, watching the three boys interact for a while before turning on your heels, slipping the box between your chest and the book. that was odd. 

you walk to class with a sore shoulder and cheeks that still feel warm from the whole ordeal. upon finding your room, new faces give you polite smiles or nods of acknowledgement and you do the same. once you're seated and settled, you put the book down on top of your desk.

the forgotten box falls on your lap, urging you to take a closer look at it. 

menthol pain relief patches. 

you flip the box around and you're greeted by a pastel yellow post-it note stuck on the back.

“for your shoulder. please be careful next time.” 

he probably thinks you're a loser with no depth perception. and he wouldn't be wrong for thinking that, but it doesn't stop your cheeks from heating up for the nth time this morning.

you convince yourself it's okay. that your university is big, and you surely you won't meet him again. the fact disappoints you a little bit, but at least you're saved from having to face him after what happened.

you press your fingers against your forehead in stress.

first day in and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of a man. not just any man but a handsome one. a very important distinction. 

developing a crush feels on him feels pathetic. he just gave you muscle relief patches, an act of kindness that was just a little bit above the bare minimum. and he only said one word to you, for gods’ sake. but you’ve never been one to think logically, so while your lecture starts, your head starts drifting off and it’s already incorporating the good-looking, tall stranger in your romantic fantasies.

turns out, the man in your dreams wouldn’t be a senior, nor would he be gossiping with you about your professors.

instead, you’d be sharing them. 

during your third class of the day, the handsome stranger walks in the lecture hall with his two friends in tow and you immediately recognize him because of the glasses. his hands are stuffed into his hoodie as he settles on a seat a couple of rows in front of you, still as intimidating as he looked like when he gave you the box.

you learned of his name when the professor called him to read a passage in the book. 

park sunghoon. 

you think it’s a pretty name— fitting for a pretty boy like him.

sunghoon’s voice was steady while he read, smoothly pronouncing every word, clearing his throat after a mistake and resuming with the same composure. the speed at which he spoke was just right, slow enough to enunciate every syllable but not too much to bore whoever chose to listen.

"mr. park, care to share your thoughts on what you just read?"

sunghoon only stood straighter, his natural confidence in his voice making you swoon in your seat.

“i don't believe the fable's moral lesson to necessarily be applicable in real life where businesses and industries have become fast-paced. should the readers need to have a takeaway, they should focus on what the hare lacked— humility. his over-confidence is the ultimate reason for his downfall, being a creature that has already been given natural talent and an advantage on the terrain—” 

just like that, your small happy crush turned into full-blown attraction. his voice? his eloquence? damn. it’s like he’s trying (and succeeding) to make you want him.

you wish you had sat in front so you could look at him more. you could only imagine how stern he’d look, how his thick brows would meet together making him look even more gorgeous when he’s focused. but for now, you could settle for the view of his back while trying your best to listen to your professor, and not to the voice that suspiciously resembles sunghoon's playing in a constant loop inside your head. 

he’s in the rest of your classes today too, which makes the task of focusing twice as hard. you feel like a creep with the way your eyes naturally gravitate to him every time you hear his voice, or when you see a tiny bit of movement from the corner of your eye. 

so when it’s almost time to go home, you do the most un-creepy thing you can think of: wait outside the door. 

a student, and another, they all step out one by one. then he finally walks out, laughing at something his friend said before freezing mid-sentence as he catches sight of you standing with a familiar box laid out on your palm.

he looked surprised for a moment, before gripping on the single strap hanging on his shoulder, shifting uncomfortably before raising a brow like he was waiting for you to speak. 

“oh! i, uh.. i already put some on my shoulder and on my arm a while ago. there’s too much in the pack and i figured i could give it back to you since i don’t really have any use for it.” you explain, pushing it towards him. 

one of his friends gasps at the sight, quickly throwing a punch to sunghoon’s shoulder which he receives with a quiet hiss.

“what the fuck, hoon? i was looking for that! you know i have try-outs later!” the boy shouts, his australian accent thick and evident as he snatches the pack from your palm. “tch, can’t believe you lied to me.”

sunghoon gives him a cold stare, taking the patches away again before whispering something to the other boy which resulted in the rowdy blonde getting dragged away by his collar. he flipped the box over once, twice, and raised an eyebrow, seeming to notice that the post-it note was not there anymore. 

“is this what you’re looking for?” taking the neatly folded paper from your pocket, you place it on top of the box. “i’m sorry for taking it. i thought it was for me. unless you also have other friends who regularly bump into poles while actively daydreaming and you actually meant to give that to someone els—” 

sunghoon cuts you off with his index finger pressed on his own lips. he gives both back to you before flashing you a small smile, one that causes your poor little heart to thump faster.

“for you. keep it.” his words are clipped but you can feel the kindness behind them. 

say something, anything, to keep the conversation going. 

“i’m y/n, by the way.” you hold your hand out.

“i know. i’m sunghoon.” he murmurs, looking at the hand extended towards him before shaking it.

you sense the slight hesitation but the contact makes you giddy nonetheless. it’s as sweet as it is short lived because sunghoon quickly lets go, hands returning to the safety of his hoodie’s pocket. 

“huh? how’d you know? i don’t remember the professor calling me. wait- did he take attendance? shit, i forgot to say present—” 

the chuckle he lets out is low and breathy, making the words halt in your mouth. sunghoon shakes his head and his eyes do a quick scan of you before pointing to the small sticker that reads 'yoon y/n's!' on the book you've been holding.

"oh."

another beat of awkward silence.

“uh.. what’s your schedule?” you ask with a kind smile, following sunghoon as he starts walking towards your building's exit, trying not to dwell on how he started walking slower, at the perfect pace for you to keep up with his long strides. 

he fishes for his phone to show you the picture and you do the same, eyes looking at your screen then his. “we share most classes! all the ones in the afternoon.” you smile victoriously, and sunghoon releases another quiet chuckle, nodding along.

before you know it, you’ve reached the gate where his friends are waiting. he pauses, squinting his eyes at the duo who suddenly stopped talking to look between you and him, teasing grins plastered on their faces which just made sunghoon rub his temple.

“oh? who is this? a new friend?” the black-haired friend asks, a smirk on his lips while raising an eyebrow at sunghoon. 

“y/n.” sunghoon says, pointing to you. “jake.” he points to the blonde boy with an aussie accent, before turning to the tanner friend with a jawline so sharp you’re convinced you’d need more than menthol patches if you touched it. “jay.” 

sunghoon must have told them about what happened this morning because they looked at you, eyes scanning you up and down with anflash of amusement showing in their eyes. 

“hi.” you give them a shy wave and they return it with a welcoming smile, their hands gently shaking yours.

jake pulls sunghoon away, huddling on one side while whispering, their heads occasionally turning to you every now and then with synchronicity.

“what do you mean that’s her?”

“jake, pipe the fuck down!”

“are they… talking about me?” you turn to jay with raised eyebrows and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's grown familiar to this scenario. “looks like it. please forgive jake. he’s normally more… discreet when he’s curious about someone.” 

yeah, there’s nothing discreet about jake pointing his finger at you with a wide smile. sunghoon, on the other hand, is insistent on pushing jake's hand down with a pretty pink flush on his cheeks, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. very cute.

“do you guys share all your classes?” 

“yeah, we share an apartment so we were together when we chose our classes.”

“so i’d take it that you guys are close?” 

jay gives you a nod, eyes fond while he looks at his best friends. “met in middle school— and we’ve unfortunately been inseparable since then.”

“that's cute. must be nice to have people you can rely on already. college is kinda scary.” 

“you have us!” jake whispers from beside you, making you scream in surprise at his sudden presence. sunghoon shoots him a sharp glare, tugging on your cardigan for the second time today to pull you by his side.

the golden retriever looking boy presses his palms together, whispering a small apology before handing you his phone.

“sunghoon told me you have afternoon classes with us! so you can give me your number and just reach us whenever. not to brag but i’m the most popular in this trio. i'll text you whenever there’s a party. i'll getcha connected to people in no time.” he adds with a wink, pulling a laugh out of you.

“i think i’ll stick to texting you for home work.” you reply with a roll of your eyes, punching your number in jake’s phone nonetheless. 

a few more friendly words are exchanged before they wave you goodbye because jay and jake are going to your college’s basketball try-outs. sunghoon isn’t interested but is supposedly "required by law" to go because he’s their moral support.

you laugh and give both of them a fist bump for good luck before walking away, failing to catch sunghoon’s lingering stare as he watches your figure disappear.

that night, you buried yourself under your duvet, congratulating yourself for surviving your first day of freshman year and making three new friends on top of that.

just then, your phone vibrated.

💬 from: unknown number — this is sunghoon. :)

your friendship with park sunghoon slowly blossomed from that day onward. though your first meeting was full of chaos, the following months were anything but.

much like him, it was calm. respectful, even.

you would give each other a smile when you passed by one another in the mornings, he’d shoot you a text to let you know he reserved the seat next to him when you were running ten minutes late in the afternoon, or you'd remind him of tasks due the next day.

he even offer to accompany you to the university’s library when your friends weren't available, headphones on and only taking it off to tap on your shoulder when he notices you dozing off. 

one day, you asked him to grab lunch with you under the pretense of not having anyone to eat with, and then it became routine.

usually it would be just you and sunghoon but the boys would tag along every now and then. he would be noisier during those lunches, and you relished it because that’s the only time you get to see him be so comfortable and rowdy. 

you pondered what the cause could be, and eventually landed on a theory during one of your sociology classes. 

deindividuation, as your professor called it.

she said being part of a larger group can lead to a sense of reduced personal responsibility and accountability which then causes individuals to feel less inhibited and more likely to engage in behaviors they might not otherwise, including speaking loudly or interrupting.

she basically described sunghoon to a perfect t. 

because your friendship with him is quiet. his half of the friendship, to be specific.

you mostly got to know him through mere observation– his habits, things he enjoyed and things he disliked. if you didn’t discover things yourself, his friends would be the one offering sunghoon's information to you like when jay told you he has a younger sister he adored, or when jake told you that he once wanted to go to antarctica, a dream that he left behind after he took an interest in photography. 

if you were to type out every word he's said to you for the entirety of your friendship in a continuous line, you’d probably be able to fill four pages of a document in arial 11. maybe five.

if you remember correctly, his longest running sentence is “please walk on the inside part of the sidewalk next time, angel— it’s dangerous.” a yet-to-be defeated record of fourteen words. it was also the first time he called you by a pet name and it had you screaming into your pillow as soon as you got home. 

initially, you thought it’d be better to converse with him through text. and it was an improvement, yes– but only by a few notches. you’d be able to make twenty pages with the words he said through the phone, but there were still days where he’d just reply with one word.

or a single emoji. 

but sunghoon isn’t nonchalant. far from it, actually.

he laughs at your jokes— he even giggles when it's done to his type of humor. if he sees you stressing out during a pop quiz, he’d slyly push his paper towards you to let you copy his answers. and he already knows to take his sweater off and hand it to you before history class because the heater doesn’t work well in that classroom. 

almost always, he’d walk out of the classroom with his bag slung on one of his shoulders and yours on the other with the finesse of someone who's used to being reliable. you’ve never had to open your own water bottles or push through doors either because sunghoon would be the one doing it for you. all of that while wearing a proud smile.

and barely any noise.

when you ask him questions, he’d either hum to affirm, shake his head no, or shrug if he didn’t know the answer. if he’s the one asking you questions, he just gestures with his hands or fingers to get his message across.

one morning when you went to class in a new hairstyle, he pointed to it with raised brows. “ah, just wanted to try something new.” you explained. his reply was a smile and a measly thumbs up.

all that to say, he's an acts-of-service rather than a words-of-affirmation type of guy.

you always try to fill that awful silence between the both of you with endless rambles, and like the reliable person he is, he always listens with a hum here and there to let you know that he was still following your story about how your neighbor scared you shitless by trying to open your door in the middle of the night.

"—he shook the knob so hard i had to call an emergency locksmith. it’s literally the second time he did that this week! and he doesn’t even have the decency to pay me back for the fee!”

by the time you end your tirade, you’re slumped over the café’s table, cheeks squished flat on the smooth surface. he just chuckles and taps on your head with a finger and you raise it slightly. sunghoon places a sheet of tissue down and leans back, allowing you to press your face against the table again, but hygienically this time around.

“you care for my skin more than i do.” you grumble, blowing the stray hairs away from your face. 

he does it like it’s routine— because it is. 

the first time you did it, he shook his head in slight disappointment. “you’ll get acne.” he said, voice flat while pointing to his cheeks. so after months of it happening, he learned to always have tissues in his bag just in case you decided you wanted to have another ranting session.

a few minutes pass and you hear him groan before reaching over to show you his watch. two thirty-seven pm. “man. fuck history class.” you sigh, starting to pack up your things while sunghoon's already a few steps past the cafe door.

“hoonie, wait for me!” you whine, running to catch up and he pauses, looking at you over his shoulder.

he only resumes his strides when he hears the familiar taps of your footstep beside him, making him smile to himself as he shoves his hands in his pocket, walking back to class with the cold autumn wind that pushes leaves of gold and orange past his feet. 

this is what he does. if he wanted to go somewhere, he’d guide you to the destination by walking instead of telling. sometimes, because you moved at the pace of a snail, he would need to tug on your shirt or on the end of your jacket to help you keep up.

he never actually touches you. not intentionally. the usual skinship he’d initiate is a tap on your shoulder, or on the back of your hand. if he was feeling extra touchy, the most he’d give is an affectionate pat to your head. 

if you remember correctly, that has only happened seven times so far.

there was also that one time he touched your cheeks for a brief moment, but you don’t think that counts because he only did it to push your head away when jake jokingly leaned towards you with a kissy face. 

“sunghoon!” 

two heads turn around to see heeseung, a sophomore, approaching with a basketball pinned between his hand and hip. he’s a good friend of jake and jay, and by association, sunghoon’s.

“mind if i take him away for a bit?” heeseung asks you, the usual charming smile on his face as he taps on sunghoon’s shoulder. you nod and shoo them away, but not without sunghoon pointing to an empty bench first.

you head over there, one leg crossed over the other as you observe the bright smile on sunghoon’s face. words like “girls” and “after party” are thrown, and you already know it has something to do with the boys’ basketball match this weekend. 

but their words translate more like faint buzzing because you’re too busy dwelling on the way sunghoon interacts with heeseung. it’s something that has been bothering you for a good while— the way he becomes much more animated when he talks to someone. the way sentences don’t sound strained leaving his mouth.

it’s like everyone has access to a button that activates talkative sunghoon. 

everyone else but you. 

the theory of deindividuation didn’t apply to him anymore. maybe it never did.

he wasn’t technically popular, no. he was still an introvert who preferred staying on the sidelines but from what you’ve seen, anyone who was brave enough to go up to him and make friends, he accepted without protest.

weren’t you already friends with him? so why can’t he be like that with you?

your mind reels back to the time you caught him talking to a senior on the way to your next class. they were having a conversation about the cameras he liked and his history with photography, and it made you wonder for a second whether he had an identical twin his friends forgot to tell you about. you could hear the childlike fascination as he talked, voice practically dripping with enthusiasm.  

so when you asked him about cameras later that same day and all you got was a simple 'i like them', it simply broke your heart.

you've spent days thinking about why he couldn’t open up to you the same way he did with others. you’d scroll through your texts with sunghoon and it's always polite. always curt. always “how’s your weekend?” but when you ask him the same question, he’d reply with “just okay.” before turning the conversation to something about you again.

maybe he wasn’t interested in you. not in that way, at least. because why would he? he, who would make people stare whenever you walked the hallways together. he, who made every student in class stop whatever they were doing just to listen to him whenever he recited.

he, who hugged acquaintances yet can’t seem to stand the thought of his hand grazing you, his friend.

it made you overthink whether you truly were a friend to him or just another overzealous classmate forcing your unwanted presence.

you don’t even realize you’ve started tearing up until you see sunghoon kneeling in front of you, eyes full of worry as he looks into your glassy ones.

“angel? w-what’s wrong?” he asks, a hand reaching up but he bites his lips and brings it back down to his side. 

you turn your head to the side and force out a laugh. “where’s heeseung?”

“he left. tell me what’s wrong.” he says, placing a hand on your knee. he doesn’t need to tell you, because you could tell how uncomfortable he was from initiating that simple touch.

“it’s nothing. just… i think some dust got into my eyes.” you rub your eyes with your curled fist, exaggerating a few blinks before you gently push his hand off your knee. not even a second passes and you already miss the warmth of his touch. it's pathetic.

“there. it’s gone now.” you hum, pulling him up by his bag’s strap. “let’s go? mr. shin will kill us if we’re late.”

he looks like he wants to say something. but he doesn’t.

he never does.

instead, he strips off his white hoodie and hands it to you, looking at you with expectant eyes. he just stands there, your bag in his hand with the same expression until you relent and throw his hoodie over your head while rolling your eyes. 

you walk to your history class warm and smelling like a pleasant mix of sunghoon’s cologne and laundry detergent.

your exit plan hasn’t even started yet and you’re already failing. 

three weeks. 

three cruel and agonizing weeks of sunghoon missing your presence. 

he thinks it started that weekend. like heeseung suggested, he texted you an invite to the frat party to celebrate the boys’ win. he never really got a reply but he did see you arrive safely which put him a little more at ease. 

you greeted him with a breathtaking smile and the same little wave he started looking forward to receiving everyday— his biggest motivator to attend and do well in class despite the hell that it is.

you wore a short ivory white dress, blessing him with far more skin than he usually saw within the confines of yours classrooms, your hair done up to show the smooth curves of your neck and the sharp angle of your shoulders.

all he could think about is dirtying your exposed skin with marks so the annoying boys in your class would get the hint to stay away from what's his, and he hated it. you don't even know it but you make something deeply covetous stir inside him.

you’re already beautiful in his eyes, but that night you truly looked like an angel, and he wanted nothing more than to kneel and follow you towards the light. 

jiwon and gaeul snapped him out of his trance by dragging you away to the other side of the house before he can even get a word in, and all sunghoon could do is pray that you don't leave with someone else.

the after party went on. drunk people leaning against the kitchen counter, a random couple sucking each others’ faces off on the recliner by the entrance, and jay crying “foul” when he lost another round of beer pong. for the sixth time. 

sunghoon looked at his phone, brows almost meeting together as he stared at your conversation. still left on read, still no reply, but he decided to send you another one anyway. 

💬 to: angel y/n. — your dress looks nice. :)

“why’s my y/n-ie not here?” jake approached him, red solo cup in hand. 

“first of all: she’s not yours. second: you’re already slurring your words, jaeyun. sober up before we get to the car, i beg. i don’t want my car to smell like vomit again.” sunghoon grunted, trying to push the boy off as jake leaned against him for support, face pressed on his shoulder while whining about how much he wanted to see you. 

“why? you gonna try to kiss her again?”

“if it’ll annoy you. like it always does.” jake snaps back, a drunken smirk on his face. 

sunghoon rolled his eyes, taking jake’s cup and pushing him with enough force to make him land on the couch.

“you didn’t even get to kiss her sober. what makes you think your wasted ass can do it this time?” the laugh he let out is light, yet traced with a bit of venom. 

looking at jake all sprawled out on the couch and giggling like a man without a care in the world made sunghoon sneer. even thinking about that memory makes him want to knock jake out. but he knows his best friend’s teasing is only done to get a reaction out of him, to press on a particularly sensitive bruise— the bruise being his feelings for you. 

“hoon!” he turned, seeing jay from the kitchen pointing to a girl. he approached them with ease, flashing the stranger a smile. “he’s my friend who wanted to get something done.” jay said, charming as ever, palm pointed to sunghoon. 

“this is the minha, the artist i told you about. let me know when you guys agree on something, yeah?” he pat both their backs and made his exit, probably to tend to jake who was wasted and still trying to dance.

the girl turned to him with a gasp, excitedly showing the jewelry on her hand and fingers. they talked about the bracelet he wanted to be made, noting colors he did and didn’t want to include, even passionately showing her reference pictures.

in the middle of his conversation, he raised his head to look for jay but caught you instead, unreadable eyes moving from him to his new-found friend. he took a step back from her and one towards you but you vehemently shook your head, raising a hand to make him stay in place.

you gave him a smile, one that looked a little forced, a little too disingenuous and foreign in a kind face like yours. 

you mouthed ‘i’m heading home', thumb pointing to the door before waving goodbye. “wait. i— i’ll be back.” he says to minha, running and pushing his way through the crowd of bodies. when he stepped out of the front door, gaeul's car had already sped off, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of dust.

💬 to: angel y/n. — i didn’t get to say goodbye. :(

the three bubbles popped up on his screen. after a few minutes of watching it appear and disappear, you replied.

💬 from: angel y/n. — it’s okay, sunghoon. enjoy the party! 👍

and so ensued the twenty one days of sunghoon’s torture. 

the absence wasn’t loud. it wasn’t immediate. it was a gradual pull, like flowers in a vase slowly losing their petals and vibrant color to their unnatural environment.

you were gone, but not entirely.

though a part of him thinks it would have been more merciful if you just left outright, because the moment he starts noticing things, it’s like he can’t stop. it's the type of cruelty only you could do to him.

you didn’t sit beside him anymore, opting to return to your previous spot behind him during classes. no more loud cheering by his side when he attended the boys’ basketball practices after class. and just to rub salt to his open wound, you made gaeul and jiwon replace him in your usual lunch spot.

that was the final straw— the thing that let him knew he somehow, some way, truly fucked up.

now he can’t even use classes as an excuse to see you because of course, of course, it had to happen right before the holiday break. not only was there an emotional distance, but a physical one, too. he can’t text you either— not without looking stupid or desperate. the last message he sent read “okay. good night, y/n.” which was a reply to your dry “i think i'll sleep, sunghoon. night! :)” 

no more lunches, no more affectionate reminders of homework deadlines, and no more nicknames. things changed. and the shift, though unnoticeable to others, was strong enough for his best friends to speak up. 

“i swear to god if you sigh one more time, i’ll actually mix bleach in your coffee to put you out of whatever misery you’re in.” jay grunts, throwing the couch pillow to sunghoon, unfazed and still busy fiddling with his phone despite getting hit square on his arm.

jake takes a peek from behind the couch, a plate of their shared dinner in hand, laughing as he sees sunghoon pathetically typing and deleting different variations of 'how was your day?' into his phone without actually sending anything.

“is our y/n-ie still not talking to you?” he teases, moving to the sit on the floor, right between his best friend’s legs. the nickname rolling off jake's tongue makes sunghoon's brow twitch in irritation.

“still? i thought they were okay? didn’t she visit us during a game?”

sunghoon’s head snaps up to look at jay. “she did?” 

they nod. “the one we did before break.” 

“without me?” he says this time, voice pitched up in disbelief. 

they give him another nod.

“said she just wanted to drop by and watch us. sat with a long-haired blonde guy.” jay mumbles, giving him a shrug. 

“yeah. he seemed awfully close to her if you ask me. arm around her everything. i’m surprised they weren’t making out.” jake adds, making the other laugh as he creates horrible slurping sounds with arms wrapped around himself.

sunghoon takes the pillow from earlier and smashes it across the side of jake’s head. “you’re disgusting.” he huffs, storming to his room, feeling his heart drop lower and lower with each stomp of his feet.

he hears nothing but static, clouded eyes burning holes on the framed photo atop his bedside table: a candid shot he took using his favorite film camera of you laughing so brightly that your eyes turned into crescents.

the mere thought of someone else seeing you in that light has dinner rushing back out his mouth.

you’ve made peace with your friendship with sunghoon.

you've long accepted that it won’t turn into anything more. at some point, you were able to tune out the girls that hang around him, not caring whether they'd confess. he rejected every single one of them anyway, and you know you wouldn't be any different than those pretty crying faces if you tried.

you only cared when people approached him to have a friendly conversation because sunghoon would happily give them a memorable one. that's what made you jealous.

hell, he even got your friends. gaeul mentioned natto once and sunghoon yapped about the delicacy like a day-one fan. he shared his favorite fashion brands with jiwon too– complete with a detailed explanation on his preferences and favorite collections. 

granted, he wasn’t on the best terms with them right now because they were the ones who had to pick up the pieces of your heart when you started crying halfway through the drive back to your apartment after that cursed party.

you stood there long enough to see him laugh and giggle in amazement at whatever amazing thing the amazing girl was showing him on her phone, stood long enough to see how casually he held her hand and raised it to his face to look at her accessories. your eyes read his lips, 'you’re so cool', right before he saw you.

gaeul held you in her arms as soon as you curled up in your bed, jiwon on the other side shushing you while stroking your head. “i just— i don’t get it.” you grunted, brashly wiping your wet cheeks with the back of your hand, the mascara-stained tears staining your bedsheets as they dropped freely.

“why he’s– why doesn't he doesn’t talk to me like that? but.. he looks at me like he likes me and— and he does things for me he doesn’t do with other people!”  

you were inconsolable, hiccuping in between sobs and screaming more words that your friends don’t understand anymore because you’re crying too much. they just exchanged tired looks while rubbing on your arm until you were exhausted enough to sleep. 

the morning after, while pressing frozen spoons on your swollen eyelids, you were determined to treat him as he did you— sweet and kind, but from a safe distance. close enough to keep your friendship with him together, but far enough so you wouldn’t have to feel your heart get stomped on when you hear him ramble about his passions to someone else. 

he still attempted to ask about you through texts, tried to talk about the weather, or your progress on a project. he never brought up the topic of this weird drift in your relationship and neither did you.

at first, you replied within the same hour, then the same day, then after three days and so on. 

ignoring him became easier when you went back home because you couldn’t see him, couldn't feel the hairs on your nape stand straight whenever his inspecting gaze was stuck on you. you could put your notifications on mute and pretend you fell asleep when he shoots you another text to ask what's keeping you so busy.

half-way through the holiday, the ringtone you set specifically for sunghoon stopped ringing and you knew he stopped trying to reach you.

were you sad? were you relieved? you didn't know.

but what you do know is that you have to keep up this act. so even after the second semester started, you diligently stuck to your new routine. nods in the hallway, civil hi’s and ‘hello’s in the classroom, hoping and praying that your feelings would slip away the same way you were slipping from him.

you marked today’s date with another x — thirty six days since the rift, twenty nine days since the texts stopped.

ten days since random letters started appearing.

you didn’t think he was trying to hide it. and if he did, he was doing a shit job because you were able to recognize his penmanship with just a glance— sunghoon had an odd way of writing the letter y, after all. a different kind of neat with a little flick at the end. 

some days, the letters would be slipped in through your locker, and on busier days, it would be on your desk accompanied with food. the drinks varied, but the pastry stayed the same. an almond croissant from your favorite café— the one you used to hangout with him. 

“i don’t know what i did, but i hope you know i’m sorry.” 

that’s the first letter he wrote. written in a plain piece of yellow pad, contrasting the way it’s elegantly wrapped — in an ivory envelope with a small heart sticker sealing it. you made your friends read it, too. and gaeul cackled loudly, teasing you for immediately turning soft and wanting to run back into sunghoon's arms.

“you’re seriously folding as quick as he folded that half-assed letter.” she said in amusement, chopsticks roughly poking through the seaweed roll on jiwon’s lunch box. the blonde just rubbed your shoulder in understanding, shooting the older girl a glare. “don’t blame our y/n! she’s just a girl in love.”

"hopeless romantics, the two of you." the other girl replied with a shake of her head.

since that day, the letters have improved. still in the same off-white envelope, the same red heart-shaped sticker. the content was different each time, but they made your heart race all the same.

“your hoodie today looks comfortable. i hope you’re staying warm.” “i’ve been thinking about how you're the only one that who understands me even when i don’t say a lot. i'm grateful for that.” “i saw you crying today behind the bleachers. you said it was just from a yawn. it must have hurt a lot if you couldn’t tell anyone. next time you want to yawn again, just call for me, okay?” “i look at you a lot, but i think of you even more. what do i do with you?”

you push the small calendar inside your locker and sigh softly as you peel the heart sticker off, eyes reading through today’s letter. 

“it was drizzling today and i felt so much more sullen. it made me realize how much i keep searching for the voice, the presence that made everyday brighter. i miss you, y/n.”

you hate how your first instinct is to look around. to check if you’ll see the same annoyingly handsome, glasses-wearing face that’s been haunting you for the past month. but of course, he isn’t there. so you fold the letter again.

another one added to the collection of the letters that you keep safely in your room so you can read it again later tonight.

away from the crowd of students flocking to their lockers, sunghoon stands with a soft smile on his face as he watches you slip the envelope in your bag. when you close the metal door shut, he takes it as a sign to walk back to jay and jake, hands in his pocket, grinning in victory. 

“she didn’t throw your corny letter away this time?” jake howls and sunghoon’s smug expression falls into one of panic, making him smack the boy in the back of his head.

“she never did, idiot. and keep your voice down.” 

jay raises his eyebrow. “i don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her. surely it’s easier to just do that rather than… writing all this extra shit every night. who are you? shakespeare?”

sunghoon just sighs and shakes his head, his thumb reaching up to scratch his adam’s apple. “you don’t understand, and pray that you never do. because this shit? it ain’t easy.” 

too much projects still left in your to-do list, too many passive-aggressive comments from useless group mates that you chose to ignore for the sake of keeping the peace, and one-too-many snide remark from a stranger in the women’s bathroom about how ‘interesting’ your shoes are.

needless to say, it's been a rough week.

most of the students have gone home by now. your girlfriends bid you goodbye an hour ago and you stayed behind, opting to work on your essay in an empty classroom because your head wouldn't work if tried to finish it at home. the fact that you'd have a meaningful rest tomorrow gave you the last push you needed to press submit.

tired footsteps echo down the empty hallway as you use your remaining energy to trudge towards your locker. it opens with a bleary rattle and you find a square box laid atop an envelope. 

it’s been a while since sunghoon left you one.

you push the heavy books inside before reaching for the black suede box, the fuzzy material tickling your fingertip as you push the top open.

inside, a bracelet. fine silver chains alternating with four round glass beads– pink and green blooming from the center like ink dropped in still water. a flat silver rectangle hangs in the center with the corners of it smoothly rounded out, and embellished with detailed carvings of flowers around the edges. on the back, an engraving of your name.

why would he do this? 

you carefully return the bracelet inside its case and reach for the envelope with pursed lips. you close your eyes and let out a shaky exhale.

you need to prepare yourself for what you're about to read. if this one's as sweet as his past letters, your resolve— the tiny amount left of it —wouldn't be able to hold you back, especially considering how worn out you are.

"you must have been having a hard time lately— the y/n who’s precious to sunghoon. i hope we can talk again because i want you to tell me that today was tough. i want to be the one you lean on— and the one who tells you that you’re doing a good job regardless. i know you’ve been suffering through a lot, and i want you to know that i’m here.”

the corner of the paper crumples in your tightening fist as you tilt your head up to keep your tears from smudging more of the black ink. you stand in place, trying your best to control your breathing, teeth biting down on your chapped lips as your eyes run over the last words.

“you’ve worked hard, angel. i'm proud of you.”

your shaky hands close the locker door, forehead leaning against it as you hold the letter close to your chest, quietly sniffling with your head hung low, hot tears falling directly on the dirty tiles. “he saw me. he always sees me.” you whisper to yourself, shoulders shaking as your pained cries begin to overtake your body.

there's a faint warmth radiating on your back and your nose picks up notes of sandalwood and leather cutting through the sterile scent of alcohol mixed with floor cleaners.

sunghoon.

he towers over you, body trapped in between his and the cool metal of the lockers as if to hide you from invisible prying eyes. his sturdy arms flip you around, one hand moving to your head to carefully guide it towards his chest, and the other wrapping around you to give your back gentle soothing pats. 

as always, he doesn’t say anything. just wraps you in his arms while his fingers comb through the ends of your hair. 

the two of you stand there until your loud cries are replaced with small hiccups. 

there's a small, shameful whine that leaves your lips when sunghoon pulls away from the hug, but he leans in again, long legs slightly folding to match your height until his face is just a couple of inches away from yours. behind the thick black glasses, his dark orbs gaze into you with worry written all over his face.

you can’t help but feel irritated at how good he looks despite the cheap fluorescent lights hanging overhead.

still as handsome as the first day you saw him— just a little rugged this time around. he looks tired. frazzled. perhaps just as exhausted as you. the dilated vessels turned the whites of his eyes pink, and there’s a faint blue tint on his under eyes that make him look like he’s been losing sleep. 

a selfish part of you hopes you’re the reason for it. 

“i wanted to comfort you, and yet i still managed to make you cry.” he says with a sad smile, both hands cupping your cheek while his thumb brushed away the tears clinging to your lashes. “i’m sorry, angel.” he whispers before hugging you again, making you sigh in comfort. 

you missed hearing that nickname. you missed his voice, his face, his scent, even his stupid glasses.

you just missed sunghoon in general. 

the days you stayed apart drove him crazy too. it gave him the courage to hug you tighter, foregoing his fears and anxieties as he squeezes you in his arms. “i missed you. i think i still do, even now.” he whispers, lips brushing on the crown of your head.

sunghoon held your wrist as he walked outside your department's building to an empty bench.

the pink and peach tones in the sky have disappeared, replaced by the artificial neon orange from the street lamps. the trees are starting to grow their leaves back too, but the cool breeze still nipped at your skin like leftover air from winter trying to leave.

it was cold, but not painful nor unbearable. just enough to keep you alert, aware of how warm your side is from how close sunghoon is sitting beside you. aware of how he made more room by throwing an arm behind and casually resting it on the bench’s backrest so he could cuddle closer.

it feels like whiplash, the way he can’t keep himself from playing with your fingers when a month and a half ago, his obvious choice would be to hold the ends of your shirt like touching your skin would burn him. 

and it does. it still does. 

but who could blame sunghoon? he was an addicted man who got a taste of your touch and firmly decided he’d rather get simultaneously run over, stabbed multiple times, and be set on fire than spend another moment without him holding you or vice versa. kick him too while you’re at it. 

he doesn’t care as long as he can feel you.

“i’m sorry.” he says again, voice as gentle as the way he’s squeezing your index fingers’ knuckles, both pairs of eyes looking at everything else but each other.

you let out a bemused laugh. “do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

he's stays mum, tongue running across his lower lip and you catch the faint pink color tinting the shell of his ears.

“i don’t. b-but… i do know that whatever i did was enough to push you away from me." he says eventually. "i hope you know it was never intentional. i— i wouldn’t ever ever do anything to hurt you. i understand if you don’t want to tell me what... wrong i did, but i can promise that if you do, i’ll do my best not to do it again.”

his shy mumbles contrast the way he bravely pushes his fingers between yours, the now-interlocked hands resting on his thigh moving up and down as he anxiously bounces his leg.

laughter shatters the solemn atmosphere, causing his head to snap to its source, the evident frown on his face growing deeper. “are you— did you just laugh at my apology?” sunghoon asks with an incredulous expression, making you laugh even harder. still, he can’t help his lips from quirking up at the sight. 

he likes this. he likes holding your hand and hearing you laugh. 

“it’s just— 'm sorry.” you pause, trying to swallow down another fit of giggles trying to burst out. “i just think it’s funny. that’s a new record.”

“what record?”

“the record of most words you’ve said to me at once. the previous one’s fourteen words, i think.”

sunghoon stares, head tilted to one side in confusion. 

“think about it, sunghoon. classes and group lunches aside, you’ve never actually spoken to me properly. it’s never a conversation, it’s almost always just single words.” you let go of his hand only to lay yours on top of his and giving it a couple taps. “or stuff like this.” 

“—it’s like... like you have a word limit. but only when it comes to me.” 

the muscle on his jaw twitches as he sees the little smile on your visage falter, the slight crack in your voice mirroring the one growing in his heart. he wants to object, to defend himself but he knows he wouldn’t have anything proper to say.

“at first i thought it was just because you were shy— but i’ve seen the way you talk to your friends, to my friends.. everyone. everyone loved talking to you, and you seemed to have fun talking with them too. i just don't get why you treat me so different."

sunghoon's hand grips on his own thigh to execute a punishment upon himself. until it hurts, until it stings. but he bears it because he knows it's too light compared to the hurt you've had to silently carry throughout your time with him.

"it sucks that you don’t like me enough to share your hobbies with me, sunghoon. that i have to know you through our mutual friends rather than getting to know you from what you say to me. i—” a pause. “i just gave up because i knew i’m not worth your time, or your effort to speak. that's why i stayed away.”

“y/n… angel, it’s— it’s not like that. i swear.” he cups your cheek to make you look at him. you were still smiling, and yet he saw the sadness in your eyes. the uncertainty.

he hates himself for being the cause of it. 

“then what is it, sunghoon? why don’t you talk to me?” 

“because—” sunghoon takes a deep inhale and purses his lips before finally confessing. “because i don’t know how to.” 

just as the weight is lifted from his shoulders, he feels an even heavier one get dropped back down. he knows there’s no going back. not when you’re looking at him with dissatisfaction in your eyes.

“there’s a reason why i resorted to writing letters instead, y/n. it’s just that…  just— y-you— i’m— fuck!” exasperated, he pulls his hand away from you, using it to rub on his temples instead.

then one travels down and you see as his fingers starts to scratch the base of his neck, nails digging deep into his skin. 

it's one of sunghoon’s habits you’ve noted— an ugly one. the first few times it happened, you tried to talk him out of it, told him how scared you were that he’d hurt himself, but he told you it was to help ground him when he feels frustrated.

like the stubborn man that he is, sunghoon continues to scratch harder and harder, half of his face scrunched up irritation. and true to your fear, he lets out a wince when a thin red gash on the space between his collarbones started to bleed red.

“sunghoon, stop.” you sigh, his wrists tightly trapped in your hold. 

when he turns his head to look at you, he looks like his world has collapsed in itself. he's devastated. broken. 

“i.. i want to explain. i swear, i just—” he closes his eyes tight, hands curling into tight fists under your hold as his chest puffs from how heavy he's breathing. you gently pry each finger open to see deep crescents on his palms. a frown is etched on your lips at the sight, and you know sunghoon’s not faring any better with the way he slumps against you, head rested on your shoulder. 

“they won’t come out..” he finally says after prolonged silence, his voice thin and raspy.

“what won’t, hoon?” 

“... nothing. please let me—” his breaths are trembling, and though you don’t see it, you could feel him holding back from scratching at his neck again.

“whatever it is can wait. just.. don’t. don't do that again.” you mumble, letting go of one of his hands so you could wrap your arms around his shoulder, your palm running up and down his tensed arm while he messily wipes the bleeding scar with his sleeve.

he waits until his breathing turns even before he speaks again.

“are you.. doing anything tomorrow, angel?” 

“hm. no. why?” 

“i… missed you. it’s been so long since i last talked to you.”

“that’s weird. i clearly remember that i was the only one doing all the talking.” you reply with a nudge to his shoulder, hoping your teasing voice is enough to lighten the atmosphere.

“hey! don’t be a smart-ass. you know what i mean. it’s been.. what? like, forty one? maybe forty two days since we hung out properly.”

you lean away from his side.

“you’ve been counting too?” 

“too? so you also did it?” he raises his brow, the previous frown growing into a teasing smile as soon as he sees your expression, like you're glitching between the choice of fight or flight.

“would you look at that. seems like the misery over winter break was mutual.” he says, tone a little too proud for your liking, so you choose fight. you take the soft skin of his cheeks in between your fingers, pinching and stretching it with a whiny sunghoon trying to push your hand away. 

you succumb to his pained pleads to stop.

you lean in closer to soothe the skin with your thumb while laughing under your breath and sunghoon’s eyes slowly flutter close at the touch, head tilting closer to your hand as if to encourage you to continue.

“this is nice.” he whispers, raising his hand and laying it on top of yours to keep it there. 

you want to ask him what stopped him from asking for your touch because it wouldn't even take a heartbeat for you to say yes. you wanted to know why you weren’t given the privilege of seeing him this needy, this vulnerable and bare. yet you kept your mouth shut.

“the university is a place for learning, kids. not dating.”

the sweet little moment is interrupted by an older man, a security guard, pointing his plastic baton at the two of you. “and it doesn’t look like you’re in grad school either, which means you’re not allowed to loiter in university grounds.” he adds, making sunghoon stand straight, head tilted forward to give him an apologetic bow.

“we’re sorry, sir! w-we didn’t notice the time. we’ll be heading home. i promise.” his taller body instinctively steps once to the side, covering you like shield.

the guard tilts his head, brows raised at the odd couple in front of him but his eyes soften as soon he sees the dopey smile on sunghoon’s face when his hands blindly reach out behind him in search of yours. “i better not catch you staying here after-hours again, alright? now go. scram!” 

sunghoon turns around and smoothly slings your bag over his other shoulder like he always used to, your hand held firmly in his as the both of you run to the exit gates giggling like children.

“girls. he just texted me. said he’ll pick me up in an hour.”

you set your phone screen-down on your vanity. jiwon’s behind you, scrolling through pinterest in search for a proper hairstyle inspo and gaeul’s lying on her stomach on top of your bed, busily typing away as she tries to cram her essay. 

thank god you had the foresight to finish it yesterday because one, that meant you got to reunite with sunghoon— who apparently waited for you by the lockers that day —and two, because he was serious about hanging out today.

he double, no, triple checked that you actually wanted to go with him while he walked you to the bus stop, refusing to let go of your hand until you safely got in. 

“i can’t believe that doofus finally got the courage to ask you out. we were wondering how long he’d take.” gaeul chirps up, fingers still busy tapping on her keyboard. 

“finally? what do you mean finally? and what you do mean we?” your hands pause from applying your blush, head craning towards your bed to stare at your dear friend who just stares back with a straight face.

“oh, y/n. don’t be dumb."

"i'm serious!"

"jake and jay? us? we’ve all seen it since we started hanging out. you’re the only one who gets mister congeniality all nervous and speechless. now look in the mirror before i accidentally burn your cheek.” jiwon says, carefully taking your curling wand and a section of your hair. 

“it’s so cute, it’s almost pathetic. but i’m still mad at him for making you cry like that, you know. he better make it up to you today, or else i’m gonna drag his stupid ass through the school field. by his ears.” gaeul says with a face that let you know she intends to follow up on her words.

jiwon continues to hum whilst curling your hair and you try your best to keep your hands from shaking as you apply your gloss.

when you look in the mirror, you can't help but ponder how much your body knew you needed sunghoon because you’re glowing. you look well-rested despite only catching three hours of sleep because of how badly you anticipated this date.

meanwhile sunghoon, alone in his car, is practically vibrating in excitement. or nervousness. he doesn’t know, really. he thinks he stopped being able to differentiate which feeling is which since he saw you that day.

he spent those thirty minutes routinely checking his rearview mirror: is something stuck between the gaps of his teeth? he flossed again just in case. is his hair styled correctly? didn't prevent him from running his fingers through it a few more times. should he put on his coat or would that look too much? fuck, what if he over dressed and you think he’s cringe? 

god, he wasn't even this jittery with his exes.

it's different because he's never actually hung out with you without the excuse of classes or other university-related events. it's different because he's never actually seen you outside the usual café you spend free periods in or under the flashing strobes of the college frat house.

it's different because it's his first date with you, and he's adamant not to make this the last.

ding.

💬 from: my angel. — hoonieeeeee ! i’m almost done. :D 

he glanced at his watch.

fifteen minutes left.

enough time for him to drive once around your block, get out of the car, walk to the passenger’s side and coolly lean against it while pretending he wasn’t an inch away from having a mental breakdown a few moments earlier. 

and when sunghoon finally sees you walk out in a satin dress, he’s convinced he might actually have one. 

“hey there, big guy. you look handsome today. well.. you always do. but today especially! i really like your fit!” you say, adorning that bright smile that sunghoon found so captivating.

the plan to look cool immediately got crushed.

he tried to stand up straight, he did. but he ended up leaning again on his car— not to look charismatic. rather, he needed to, because he was barely feeling his knees. his heart was racing, his breathing turned short, and he began feeling the all-too-familiar prickling sensation in his throat. 

“don’t go quiet on me again, or i’ll ignore you. forever this time.”

he looks more made-up, different from the usual hoodie and jeans combo you always saw. still knee-buckling attractive, but clean. khaki trousers adorning his long legs, thin black belt around his hips and a loose blue-colored polo with thin stripes, the sleeves folded to accentuate his forearms. 

there’s a small sense of satisfaction that comes to you when you realize your outfits make you look like a couple. it seems gaeul made the lucky choice of getting you to wear a baby blue today, but you’ll just thank her for that later. 

“your hair’s.. n-nice.” sunghoon says, a bashful smile growing on his face. “o-oh! and– and i have this!” he opens the rear door of his car, and you hear it slam again before he turns around to present you with a bouquet of flowers.

white petals with vivid yellow blooming from the center, wrapped in crumpled iridescent foil and pastel blue paper.

“daffodils. the lady at the flower shop said it symbolizes new beginnings. and— a-and i want that. a new beginning. with you.” he stammers awkwardly, nibbling on his lower lip as his hands push the bouquet towards you. 

you can only coo at his words, fawning over how cute and small he looked right now despite his height. so fucking adorable, this one.

pushing past the bouquet, your arms find purchase around his torso and you squeeze him in your arms. it takes him a second to return it and you feel him release a sigh, one done out of relief and longing, before leaving a gentle kiss on your hair as he lets you go. 

sunghoon opens the passenger seat of his car for you with his signature shy smile, tipping his head to the side.

“get in, angel. i have a lot of making up to do.” 

he takes you driving around first, wanting to spend a little more time together with you in the privacy of his car before he shares you with other people. one hand on the wheel and the other keeping yours warm, he aimlessly drove around while narrating how he spent his winter break with his family.

his dad took him and his two honorary siblings, jay and jake, to a skiing resort. his mom bought him a new camera as his holiday present, and he casually slipped in wanting to test it out next time with you.

in between those stories, sunghoon admitted that his younger sister was the one to suggest the idea of leaving you letters. the confession leaves his lips in between sheepish laughter, resulting in both your cheeks turning pink. 

your heart felt full listening him be so engrossed in his stories, at one point even letting go of the steering wheel to imitate how jake wobbled in his snowboard. sure he still stuttered every now and then, still held himself back from cussing too much on the off chance you’d get turned off, but those are tiny details you’re determined to work through with him. 

he asked about you too, and you talked about the boring train ride back to your old little town, how the place looked like it was frozen in time with the same faces, same remarks about how you look like a carbon copy of your mom. sunghoon just listens intently, a smile on his face as he steals glances of your face from time to time.

you also talked about how you spent a week trying to get dye stains off your hands when your older brother painstakingly made you dye his blonde hair to black in preparation for the new season.

sunghoon’s hand tighten around yours. blonde. 

“what about.. uh.. dates? did you go out with anyone while we weren’t in contact with each other?” 

“hm. not that i recall? there were a few boys in my town, but i know they’re just messing with me.”

sunghoon’s right hand leaves yours to grip on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white and lips turning into a straight line as he stares at the road ahead.

perhaps he’d been mistaken. maybe this is just how you get when you’ve grown closer to someone. maybe the hand holding or the comforting touches you gave him were ones you also gave to other people. maybe you had taken his invitation as a hang out rather than a date and that’s why you agreed despite having someone else waiting on you.

“the boys saw him, you know. if— if you’re still talking to him then… t-then what are we doing right now?”

the change in his tone isn’t lost on you, nor the hardened expression he wears. from the side of his eye, he catches the befuddled look on your face like you genuinely cannot remember the accusation being true. 

“him? who? i— hoon, what are you talking about?”

the mere memory of his friends’ words, of that man, urges sunghoon to pull over to the side of the road so he can face you because when call him an presumptuous loser and friend-zone him, he at least wants to see your pretty face do it.

“jay said he saw you come to their game with a guy. long hair. blonde. said he was clinging on you like a damn shirt.” 

when you laughed at his confession yesterday, he’ll admit he found it cute. but when you do it today, it does nothing else but make his scowl look more sour.

“is this little laughing-at-sunghoon thing a habit you’ve developed over winter break? because this isn’t funny to me.” he glowers, brows furrowing as your laughter increases in pitch, palms repeatedly slapping against your knee. 

“you—” your fingers point to him with a snicker, face looking pained as you try your darndest to hold back a laugh but it comes out anyway.

sunghoon crosses his arms over his chest, thick eyebrow cocked up while gazing at you with an unamused expression. “y/n. i’m serious. if you have a guy back home, you can tell me. it’ll break my heart, yes, but i don’t want to take part in whatever open relationship you guys hav—” 

“sunghoon, that was my brother.” 

“what?”

“tall guy. long hair. blonde. my brother.”

“that was... jeonghan hyung?”

“yes, dummy. jeonghan just wanted to take see at how the basketball team was keeping up now after he graduated. he’s an alumni, remember? you know he had blonde hair. you even hogged my phone all to yourself when he facetimed me that one time.”

it’s your turn to have your arms folded on your chest, tilting your head with a little sass, lips curled in a smirk. wordlessly, his body snaps to the front and he attempts to start the engine again, but you clutch his wrist just in time.

“no— you can’t just say that and ditch the conversation. you’re gonna explain yourself right now, park sunghoon.” 

the sound of his full name said in such a stern voice makes him squirm in his seat.

“i– i was jealous, okay? what more do you want me to say?” he grumbles, looking out the window while weakly attempting to shake your hold off of him, letting out a grunt that barely sounds like your name as you refuse to back down. 

he sighs in defeat, and you can see the sharp tic of his jaw tensing up.

“you weren’t talking to me. barely even looked my way. of course i was worried when my friends started talking about how you went to their practice without me. with a new guy, at that. it just.. the thought didn’t make me feel good. c-can we leave it now? this is embarrassing.”

a satisfied smile pushes your cheekbones up as you turn the keys, giving his shoulder a pat. 

“drive, big guy.” 

sunghoon made a reservation for the restaurant you mentioned months ago in passing. it’s nothing upscale or expensive. no wines or steaks. just the regular korean food you’re used to, but elevated just a little bit to make it taste more contemporary rather than home-made.

but you didn’t really care for that. the sole reason you wanted to go was their aesthetic: the dining area looked like the inside of a greenhouse with its sunroof ceiling, leaves and flowers hanging from wooden beams, and the lighting was just warm enough to set the ambience. 

a hand on the small of your back courteously guided you towards your seat, and you’re too enamored by the interior to notice sunghoon staring at you with eyes full of admiration, his elbow resting on the table so he could comfortably continue to look at you in silence while you take in every detail of your surroundings. 

true to his words, sunghoon makes up for his shortcomings.

he refills your drinks, debones the meat for you, constantly fills your plate before your food even runs out, and he apparently even paid for the meal in advance.

throughout the meal, sunghoon indulges you in short stories, letting you take on the role of the listener rather than the yapper this time around. he's telling you about penguins in antarctica and you hum, taking a sip of your drink when you notice one tiny, yet very clear difference in him today. 

he wasn’t wearing his glasses. 

you know he has a collection of them, and he switches things up every now and then. from thick boxy clear glasses, to the trendy ones you’ve seen models rock on social media.

your favorite pair would have to be the rimless silver ones he wore during your department’s post-exam party because they make him look unreal— like a real-life manhwa character. but he usually wore the good ol’ reliable thick black ones to lectures. 

the glasses had their charm but without them, he’s a different kind of handsome. his features look sharper, especially with the warm lighting casting shadows from his tall, unobstructed nose bridge. his eyes look clearer and more expressive too.

on the side of his chin, a tiny mole. and then another one. black dots mapped out across his fair skin, all varying in size and but your eyes lock on the distinct one under his eye, and one on the side of his nose, right below where his glasses’ nose pad would sit.

no wonder you didn’t see it.

“you’re checking me out? so blatantly?” sunghoon pipes up, and you notice how the mole under his eye moves when he raises an eyebrow at you. it makes you giggle, reaching forward to poking the round dot under his eye.

“i didn’t know you had moles.” you mumble, rubbing on the skin with extra gentleness before leaning back. “kind of reminds me of someone i met when i was a kid.”

“hm? do tell.” 

“ah, it’s nothing. there used to be this kid in my hometown who had moles like yours. god, that was years ago. i was really young— around eight or nine years old, i think. i met him at a playground where older boys were making fun of him for it.” 

“let me guess. you defended him from the big bad bullies and he fell in love with you?” 

“defended him, yeah. jesus, they were assholes. the memory is hazy, but i tried to comfort him by chasing him around and stuff. i tried to go back to the playground again the next day after my classes, but he never came back.” you poke at your left overs with your fork, the distant memory making a grin dance on your lips.

“but falling in love? highly doubt it. told him my name but i never got his back. all i remember's his cute moles. he might as well have been an imaginary friend.” 

“i say defending a kid like that can definitely make them fall for you.”

“are you speaking from experience, mister?”

"partly."

you smile, cupping your hands behind your ear, making sunghoon chuckle as he wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

“when i was a kid, i used to be so timid— waaaaay way worse than i was with you.” he says, and the way his eyes widen when he extends his words make you giggle.

“never talked to my classmates, always stayed at home. even my cousins who visited can’t get a word out of me. my parents tried making me do hobbies to get me out of my shell. you name it, i did it. and it helped, but only by a little. then they thought maybe going to the city might help my introversion. my little sister was growing up, too, so they started looking for a place here in seoul.” 

your elbows perch on the table, chin resting above your interlocked fingers as you give him a dreamy nod. “mhm. and then?” 

“and then the day before we moved, i decided i’m gonna try playing with the kids from my town. just to give it a last shot. except they teased me a lot because i wasn’t talking. they made fun of my moles, too. but then—” sunghoon pauses.

“this strange girl came shouting. i’ve never seen her before. think she went to a different elementary school, but she fought the boys off even though they were taller than her. she threatened to throw rocks at their heads and pull their hair out. and you know what? they looked scared. i think that was the first time i saw genuine fear.” he says, breaking out in a fit of giggles.

“picture this: i was half a foot taller than her but she was reprimanding me and pushing me to stand up straighter, saying i should learn how to speak up and fight back. that no one would fight my battles for me but me. since then, i started doing it— practicing my speech skills and self confidence. eventually, i stopped cowering whenever strangers approached me and i learned how to speak without my voice shaking. it's all thanks to her.” 

when his monologue is over, sunghoon just grins at you like reminiscing alone was enough to comfort him. you feel a little irritated, jealous of the way he speaks so affectionately of her memory.

but at the same time, you can’t help but smile back. that's how you feel about your own little friend after all.

“so you fell in love?"

"i wouldn't be so hasty to call it love. perhaps admiration. deep admiration."

"don’t tell me you never told her your name like my old friend?”

his chuckle is mirthful as he shakes his head. “oh believe me, i did. swear on it. either she didn’t hear me, or she’s deaf because she just started calling me ‘pengoo’ instead of my name.”

pengoo. 

it’s familiar. 

you squint your eyes once more as you see the dimple on his cheek appear, the indentation becoming deeper as he flashes you a knowing smile.

pengoo, pengoo, pengoo. 

wait.

“his shirt. that was the shirt he was wearing...” you trail off in a whisper, the words barely audible as you point your hands at sunghoon, and he just smiles even wider, nodding his head slowly. 

you sit there in stunned silence, hands crossed over your mouth as you stare at the sunghoon whose look of pride turned into concern, nervous of the crystal clear shock on your face. he's cautious as he offers his open palm on the table, skittish and biting his lip when you still refuse to hold his hand.

he calls out your name with such gentleness that you’re transported back to that day— to the little, but still taller boy who had tears in his eyes, looking ridiculous and snotty while sporting a white shirt with a penguin patch.

the one who you affectionately called 'cookies and cream' for the specks of black splattered across his face, whose tears you wiped using your special barbie handkerchief, whose arm you scribbled your name on with your glittery purple pen that he wanted to taste because it smelled like grape juice.

though the memory isn’t as clear as it was to you years ago, he was a constant in your life. whenever you encountered people who leaned more towards timidity, it's him who appeared in the back of your mind. the nameless friend who you never saw again after his worried mom fetched him from the playground.

except he's not nameless anymore, and he's sitting right in front of you.

the salty tears burn when you try to hold them back, but they're insistent on coming out so you hang your head low and attempt to contain your sniffles. panicked, sunghoon gently holds on your arm and guides you outside of the restaurant to a more secluded spot in the front lawn. 

“y/n.” he calls out again, pale hands gently squeezing on your hips as he bends down, trying to take a peek of your face that you insist to cover. “angel… did i make you cry again?” he sighs and you shake your head, quickly taking him in your arms, hugging him like how a mother would her child who’s come back from war. 

“my pengoo.. my pengoo.” you choke out in between stifled sobs, stroking his head. his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you off of the ground for a moment as his face settles on the crook of your neck, nose brushing against the skin as he whispers back.

“it’s me. pengoo’s here. you're okay. i'm not leaving.” his words do nothing but make you cry harder, tears staining his shirt and fists crumpling the fabric on his back. 

“i can’t believe it’s you. i–”

"do you want to talk about this somewhere else, angel?” sunghoon asks in a soft voice, a tone he reserved only for you, carefully wiping your damp under eyes.

a nod is all he needs.

the travel is silent aside from the small little sniffles you do and the faint melody from the car’s speaker. your eyes blankly stare outside, the view of the buildings just as blurry as the thoughts and memories running in your head. meanwhile sunghoon’s trying his best to console you, his thumb lazily rubbing the skin on the back of your hand while stealing glances every now and then.

“where are we?” you croak out when the car comes to a halt. sunghoon opens the car door, his fingers nimble as they take your seatbelt off for you. “a park near my neighborhood. in one of my favorite spots to rest my head which you need to do.”

his hand return to yours so he can pull you towards the picnic area.

sits down on a bench and you elect to sit on the wooden table itself, head craning as you take in the new environment. the place is beautiful. quiet, serene and full of trees that it looks like a modern glitch in the middle of a forest.

“you’re not gonna kill me for knowing your secret, are you?” you sniffle, feet gently nudging the side of his thigh with a soft chuckle.

“no people, no witness. i’m sorry, y/n. can’t have people knowing i was a loser back in the day.” he says in a gurgled voice after looking around, playfully pinching your arm which makes you squeal and swat his hands away. 

in the middle of play fighting, your eyes catch the swing set nearby and you remember him again. pengoo.

the flashback is so clear you could almost see a younger version of yourselves: you, pushing him on the swing, and him using his voice properly for the first time to scream ‘stop!’ when his seated body lifts too high off the ground.

you turn to sunghoon, the real, grown sunghoon, and he’s already looking up at you with one hand resting on your covered knee, giving it languid strokes with his thumb. 

"penny for your thoughts?"

“why, hoon? i mean.. if you knew all along, why didn’t you tell me?” you reach for his cheek and his eyes close at the contact, letting out a soft sigh of comfort. he holds it in place, tilting his head to leave a light kiss on your palm.

“i’m sorry. if you want me to be honest, i had no plans to let you know. i wasn’t even aware you remembered that day. for all i knew, i was just one of the strangers who got bright little y/n’s help.”

“you… you grew up so well.” salty tears blur your vision again as you lean down to press your lips against his forehead.

“i couldn’t have done it without you. that was a significant event in my formative years— i seriously can’t imagine what kind of life i’d live if i hadn’t met you that day.” he stands up so he can tower over you, looking down to wipe the wetness from your eyes. 

“you're my savior. my angel in every sense of the word.” 

you walk around the area holding each other’s hand, going over your first meeting— the actual one — the one you had before you met again as grown ups.

he tried talking his parents out of moving, and though they were surprised at his sudden enthusiasm, they ultimately refused because the new house in seoul was already paid for. he waited for you that morning, until the last second— until his parents were yelling at him from the car. 'i think i left a piece of my heart in that playground.' are his exact words.

his search didn't stop there. night and day he bothered his parents to contact anyone they could from their previous town, to ask if anyone had a child with your name. but because his parents were like him— aloof and private, nothing really turned up.

but he was a kid determined to keep you alive and present in his mind so when he met you again that fortunate morning in university, he immediately knew it was you without even hearing your voice.

every day he stayed by your side was spent in awe, marveling at the woman you’ve become. 

there wasn’t much difference, physically nor emotionally. obviously you’ve matured and grown into your features— but you still talked in the same cadence, spoke your mind with just as much enthusiasm, and still cared for people the same way you did to the young boy in the playground.

still the same girl who’d get him too flustered to talk properly.

“so jay and jake knew about me the whole time too?” you ask after arriving at the parking area and sunghoon lifts you up to sit on the hood of his car. he nods, comfortably settling between your parted legs as his hands rest on your thighs. 

“of course. they were the first to know about my childhood crush after all.” 

“childhood crush, huh. what about now? am i still a crush?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him and he rolls his eyes, the cute little dip on his cheek becoming more evident.

“you know the answer to that already, angel.” he replies, pulling you closer to him by your hips and your arms naturally loop around his neck like they were always meant to be there.

you don’t know whether it’s the long day you’ve had, or the insane revelation of who sunghoon has been this whole time, but your head’s starting to spin.

perhaps it’s his cologne, how it’s starting to smell is stronger and stronger as his body leans closer to yours. or maybe it’s the way you feel too warm in your own skin whenever his eyes drop to your lips, and how he his sharp fangs poke out when he bites his in return.

it’s like the air turned heavy in a matter of a few seconds and the cool breeze is doing nothing to thin out the tension in the wide empty space.

from this close, you could hear his breath get slower, thicker, eyes never leaving your mouth. he brings a hand up to cup your cheek and your breath hitches when his thumb brushes over your lower lip.

sunghoon closes the distance first. 

the kiss is sweet and gentle but filled with yearning and just a little bit of hesitation. your lips are the softest too, practically erasing any memory left over from the other irrelevant girls he’s kissed before. and you’re so damn sweet.

despite every inch of his body wanting to have more, he does the gentlemanly thing to do and breaks the kiss but not without biting on your plump lower lip first. when his eyes finally focus, your cheeks are flushed, tinted a rosey color like your slightly swollen lips that reflect the distant street lights.

sunghoon's grip on you is as tight— just a hair above bruising. it’s taking everything to hold on his self-control, to not take you for himself right then and there.

he just had you back. he doesn’t want to scare you away by being so forward with his need and indecency. 

but it’s so, so hard to behave when you’re like this, so small and flustered, looking up at him with half lidded eyes and your lower lip trapped between your teeth.

so when he feels you attempt to press your thighs close, his instinct tells him to pull you even closer to keep them open, the movement making your dress ride up, the slit on its side exposing more of your skin. 

and you whine—either from his touch or from the cold air— but sunghoon doesn’t care. not anymore.

the noise you make is more than enough to snap whatever’s left of his restraint and he leans down to capture your lips again. but it isn't soft this time.

it's sure.

it's hungry and handsy.

still full of yearning, but mixed with the raw, physical need to be closer to one another.

your heads tilt to opposite sides, lips weaved together while letting out small whispers of sweet nothings in between.

sunghoon takes your lower lip in between his again, sucking on the flesh while his hand slip underneath the slit of your dress, palm rubbing up and down the skin of your upper thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

while his lips keep your mind fuzzy, he busies his hand by trailing it higher and higher beneath the loose fabric of your dress until you feel his thumb graze your bare hips, just a fraction of an inch below where your panties are resting, making you gasp against his mouth. 

a chance opens up for sunghoon to snake his tongue past your lips, and he greedily takes it, determined to explore every possible inch. you taste like decadence. like the coffee ice cream you had for dessert combined with something celestial.

it's fucking heavenly. 

you try to fight him back with your tongue, and for a while, he lets you. convinces you that you’re winning when you try to push your tongue against his, pink muscles twirling together in a dance full of lust and wanting, but sunghoon eventually grows tired of it and he gives your thigh a reprimanding squeeze, making you moan again, providing him the perfect opportunity to take over the messy liplock. 

you take the small bit of revenge you can by threading your fingers through the jet black locks on the back of his head, tugging on it once, twice, until he’s growling your name against your open mouth.

his lips wrap around yours, your tongue graze on the sharp end of his canines, his fingers wander near the plump of your ass, and you kiss until both of you are literally seeing stars.

you part, heaving oxygen back in your deprived lungs and your foreheads meet with eyes still in steady contact as your heavy breathing mingles.

sunghoon’s hands never leave your thigh or your cheek. rather, he gives them a final brush with his thumb before stealing a quick peck, damp lips brushing against your skin until it reaches your jaw, giving the spot a kiss as well.

“perv.” you say, raising your thigh a little just so you could push sunghoon’s hand away. “first kiss and you’re already feeling me up?” 

“okay, y/n. let’s pretend your eyes weren’t my arms the entire time i was driving. i know you like how veiny they look.” he replies after leaning back, the same canines that were grazing on your tongue a while ago now in full display as he flashes you a cocky grin.

“i.. you noticed that?” 

“i did. i notice a lot of things about you.” 

“like what?” 

he's quiet for a moment.

“like how you’re starting to shiver.” his muscular arms lift you up and safely bring you back down to the ground.

“i think it’s time to get you home, angel.” 

a cacophony of cheers erupt in your classroom as the announcement blares from the speaker. an early dismissal due to seniors needing several classrooms to prepare for something you didn’t care enough to pay attention to. 

all you knew was you needed to get out as soon as possible so you can see sunghoon again. 

from: pengoo. 🐧— heard the announcement yet? :)  to: pengoo. 🐧 — yep!! i'll just grab a few things from my locker and head there. see u! ♡ from: pengoo. 🐧 — see you, angel. :) 

the two of you made the university garden your official hang-out spot. specifically the one near the big ginkgo tree where the both of you have spent hours under either people-watching, eating or reviewing.

and stealing kisses from each other, of course.

so when sunghoon asked to meet you there this morning, the answer was an automatic yes.

just as you sit down on the picnic mat, you see him appear from behind a tall shrub, bag slung over his shoulder and a big plastic bag hanging from his hand.

“did i take too long? i'm sorry, angel. it was lunch rush and there was a line in the restaurant and jake was arguing with a girl and—” 

“hoon. i just got here. it’s okay.” you say, chuckling at his never-changing nervous demeanor.

he leans forward to give your lips a chaste peck, an apology leaving his lips again before he busies himself by taking your lunch out of the plastic and making sure your bottle is uncapped and your utensils are cleaned before tending to his own food. 

a fond smile creeps on your lips as watch him try to talk about his morning in between bites. he really has improved since that date. gone is the boy who shied away from your touches, and replaced by one who openly asks for a hug and whines when he doesn’t feel your hands on his whenever you walk together. 

his hand is always in yours when he drives both of you to school (despite the fact that he has to drive 20 minutes earlier to do so.) his arm consistently curled around your shoulder or your waist when you walk to class together. you always tease him for it too, but he just takes it with a smile because he knows it’s true.

he’s whipped for you. 

after you eat and clean up, you offer to keep the picnic mat in your locker but sunghoon mentions he wants to stay for a bit more, and you appease him, letting him lie down with his head comfortably laying on your plush thighs while you lean back, palms pressed on the mat to support yourself.

silence envelops the both of you, but it doesn’t make your head run through a million thoughts anymore. it isn’t tense this time. 

your eyes wander to him again— your not-quite-boyfriend boyfriend.

your finger pokes at the mole at the side of his nose out of habit, the glass beads in your bracelet reflecting bright spots on his smooth skin. you go from one mole to the next, moving it down the sharp bridge of his nose, then to his jaw, and you giggle upon feeling sunghoon shiver under your featherlight touch. 

you move your middle finger down his neck, choosing to poke at the peak of his adam’s apple before noticing the pink lines on his neck.

again?

before you can even point it out, sunghoon’s voice cuts through the silence. 

“i feel like pengoo whenever i’m with you.”

you sit up properly. “pengoo?” 

he gives you a nod and you stare, giving him a look that spells ‘i don’t know what you mean’, making him smile. 

“whenever you’re around… it’s like i become that kid again. the one that can’t speak or think properly. i don’t know, it’s weird. the same girl that gave me the confidence to talk being the same one i can’t be around without making a fool of myself? i can’t even give you a proper compliment for god’s sake.” 

that’s true. he always compliments your outfits, or your accessories, or compliments you through implications. things like “you’re making everyone stare.” or “that cute puppy looks just like you.” but nothing that’s actually a straight forward compliment. 

you never had the courage to bring it up to him, partly because you’re afraid he might find you too needy, but also because deep down, you know the words he did say already took a lot of courage from him.

“i don’t.. really mind. not that much.” 

“don’t lie to me, angel.” 

“i’m serious!” you laugh, fingers forcibly pushing the edges of his frowned lips upward. “i do have a question though.”

“what is it?” 

your fingers ghost over the exposed skin on the base of his neck, fingers gently pressing on the spot between his clavicles, tracing over the faint red scratches over it.

“have you been scratching your neck again? why do you do it when you know i don’t like it?” 

“angel… i just—” he sighs softly, reaching for your hand. “i get frustrated.” 

“you always say that. but there has to be a way for you to release your frustrations without scratching? the scar from last time isn’t even healed yet.” 

below you, sunghoon releases a soft sigh and raises a hand to poke at the same spot on your neck. “what is this?” he asks.

“my neck…?” you reply cluelessly, to which he just shakes his head, poking at the skin again flinch from the ticklishness of his touch. "what's inside here?"

“my throat?” 

he finally nods, pointing to his own. “they get stuck here.” he opens his mouth, tongue sticking out and points to it as well. “and here.” 

“they? hoon, you have to stop talking in riddles. you know i’m stupid.”

sunghoon runs a hand over his face and sits up, moving behind you until you're settled between his legs, back comfortably leaned against his firm chest.

“okay. i’m doing this.” he whispers mostly to himself before squeezing you in his arms as if to reassure himself. “don’t interrupt me, okay? because if i don’t get this out completely, i might not be able to say it at all.”

you press your palms on the arms wrapped around your waist and nod.

“you see those those?” sunghoon asks, and your eyes follow the direction of his finger pointing at the different florae.

the green leaves of the bushes look even brighter next to different bundles of spring-born tulips— colors of white, red and vibrant yellow scattered throughout the garden. 

you're unsure of where this conversation is headed, but nod anyway.

“it’s like i have that inside me. a garden— of words.” he says slowly, taking pauses between every words.

“at least that’s what i started telling myself after i left years ago to aid me in my quietness and it helped. a lot. i realized that i don’t really have to give people anything of value, and it made talking easier. if i don’t like someone, i can give them dead leaves or even weeds. but if i do, i can give them grass or the most common roses and it’ll do. maybe even an arrangement of better flowers for the people i want to keep in my life.” 

he stays quiet for a beat, and you can feel his nose poke on your skin as his lips press on the exposed skin of your shoulder. “but you… you know you mean a lot to me, right?”

you reply with a hum, eyes glued to the leaves and petals swaying in the wind.

“i'm slow to speak because i take so long walking through the garden. because it's so difficult to choose what to give to you. because i want to pick and gather only the prettiest flowers— the prettiest, kindest words —for you. i want them to be neatly arranged and looking just as beautiful as the way you appear to me. because you’re precious to me... and you deserve nothing less.”

the words tug on your heartstrings in a way you’ve never felt before. to be adored and admired so much to the point of speechlessness wasn’t something you’ve ever experienced, or frankly, ever expected.

so when he speaks of you in such a way, it overwhelms your chest with a sense of safety— of knowing your heart is safe with him. 

and the way he says it too: voice low, shaky, and starkly different from the composed sunghoon you usually hear in classes.

it's then that you realize the apprehension you saw you wasn't done out of malice.

sunghoon only did it because he wanted to protect something dear to him.

he shifts and pulls his hands away from your waist only to sit cross legged in front of you. it seems like you aren’t the only one feeling vulnerable because when you see him, he looks just as flustered.

his cheeks are rosy and his ears are in an even deeper shade, almost matching the petals floating above the grass.

“don’t laugh at me for this, okay?” a defeated chuckle leaves his lips and he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours before looking you in the eye. "jake and jay know about how much i've been rehearsing."

"hm?"

“i’ve dreamt of meeting you again, you know? so when i saw you on our first day, i told myself that i’ll do it. i’ll show you my gratitude. i’ll show you i’ve changed. that i’ve grown. that i’m not the sickly and shy kid in the park anymore.” sunghoon pauses. “so every night in front of my mirror, i rehearse the different ways i could talk to you— and it worked. it always goes smoothly.”

“but i’ll see you again in the morning and it’s like the hours i spent practicing rush out the window— because.. b-because i’ll hear your voice, and you’ll laugh, and you'll smile. and you’ll look at me the way you are right now… and it’s like all the bouquet of flowers get stuck here.” sunghoon explains, finger accusatorily pointing to the still-healing scar on the skin above his throat.

“it feels like their thorns are piercing me from the inside, angel. it sucks and it’s frustrating. and the only way to relieve it is to scratch, but they won’t come out even if i do. and then i’ll beat myself up over it, go home, and the cycle will repeat itself. and— you’re doing that smile again. s-stop it!” he stammers, finger now angrily pointed to you. 

you chuckle because you don’t even know what kind of smile he means and sunghoon just sighs, reaching for his neck again, palm over his throat like he’s trying to relieve the itch without scratching.

he looks annoyed and irritated, nose scrunched up as he clears his throat one, two times.

“i— i love you, y/n.”

the three words he’s been itching to confess for months, now breaking free from the tip of his tongue.

both of you freeze in your spots.

you can’t believe the words he just said, and he looks like can’t believe it either. 

“i love you.” sunghoon repeats, gnawing on the flesh on the inside of his lip while his hands squeeze on the base of his neck as if physically forcing the words out. “i think you’re so cool. and you’re pretty. but even that isn’t enough. beautiful is the closest i can get, but i hope you get what i mean a-and… fuck, i should’ve just written a letter.”

an intense battle of eye contact ensues, his free hand curled tightly atop his lap as he takes a deep breath in.

“i— i’ve admired you since i was a clueless kid in the playground. liked you s-since you talked to me on our first day. and i’ve loved you since our first kiss, but i was too much of a pussy to say it then because i didn’t want you to think i only loved you because of it.” he grunts, knuckles pressing on his temple. “and i’m sorry that i don’t talk much because every time i do, it just makes you cry and i don’t want to see you crying because it breaks my heart too—”

the speed at which his words come out begins to pick up, making it barely understandable so you call out his name in an attempt to slow him down but he just looks at you with determination in his eyes.

“no! listen to me. i know i’ve had my moments, and i’ll probably keep having them, but i want you to know that i love you. sincerely. you’re precious to me, y/n. and i don’t want you to doubt what i feel any longer so believe me when i say i’m trying my best right now, even though i’m babbling.”

he pauses just to take another inhale, and when he finally speaks again, both his voice and his eyes turn softer. so soft you can't hear his words.

"i'm sorry, hoon. i didn't quite catch that."

"y/n. will you please be my girlfriend? you can say no, o-of course. i'm just throwing the idea out there but if you think i haven't proved myself yet then i'll be fine just waiting, i swear i c—” 

you swallow the rest of his words in your mouth as you press your lips against his, eyes closed while you grab sunghoon’s hand by his wrist and guide it to your nape.

he lets out a meek sound of surprise but you can immediately feel him melt into you, fingers tightly holding on the neckline of your shirt as his soft, pillow-soft lips locked against yours in a slow but passionate kiss. 

when you pull away, sunghoon’s eyes are glassy and you can see love pouring out from the way the beautiful chocolate brown orbs gaze into yours.

you leave a gentle peck on the mole under his eye— a thing you’ve picked up after multiple make out sessions —and lean back to appreciate the full view of a flustered sunghoon. 

“i love you too.” you finally reply with an elated smile. “and i’d love to be your girlfriend.”

if humans had the chance to have heart-shaped eyes, you’re convinced sunghoon would have it at this moment.

his cheekbones are pushed all the way up, pearly whites flashed at you before he tackles you down into the picnic mat with a tight bear hug making you giggle loudly as he rolls the both of you from side to side while pressing kisses all over your face. 

“hoon!” you squeal while wriggling in his hold and he relents, standing up to run in a wide circle around the garden, arms spread out wide while yelling.

“she said yes! y/n’s mine! my girlfriend!”

thankfully, the few people meters away only flash the two of you confused looks before going about their business.

"can't believe you're my girlfriend now." he giggles breathlessly as he ends his run in front of you, only to wrap his arms around your figure once more, lifting you off the ground and spinning in place while professing his love at the top of his lungs.

it’s dizzying to be his, literally and figuratively. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. you're his, and he's yours.

you love park sunghoon.

from the thorns, to the long stems and rough leaves, up until the prettiest petals that are finally able to leave his soft lips.

but sunghoon is determined to spend the rest of life growing his garden until he can find the words that'll convince you that he loves you more. 

BONUS SCENE:

"let me get this straight. you're telling me that you got jealous of me.. so you made my little y/n cry three times?" jeonghan's voice is low, face void of any emotion as his arms cross over his chest across the both of you.

"technically it's seven, if we count the times i cried over winter break too." you mumble, meekly raising seven fingers.

sunghoon turn to you with wide eyes in disbelief. why would you throw your boyfriend under the bus? during his first time personally meeting your brother, no less.

"y/n, what the hell?"

jeonghan's hand slammed on the table, making the both of you flinch. "don't look at her. look at me. i was asking you a question, and now you're going to explain."

he thought jeonghan was cool— and he still does— but he reminded sunghoon so much of you whenever you get stern, and it's like deja vu of the time you got serious with him during your first date.

"no, i— it wasn't necessarily because of that, hyung. i just so happen to have made her cry after i got jealous so it isn't really a cause-and-effect scenario—"

"love, you're getting a little off track..."

"he said he wanted me to explain—"

your brother's giggles echo throughout your family home's dining area and he shakes his head, leaning over to tap on sunghoon's shoulder. "nah, man. i'm just fucking with you. but you knew i had blonde hair so you really should've known better."

"i.. y-yes, sir! i mean hyung! sir— i.. i mean... yeah." he sighs in defeat, head hanging low in an apologetic bow while jeonghan just nodded in acknowledgement.

"but if you make my little y/n cry again, i'll make sure you really won't be able to use that throat of your ever again, got it?" the way your brother's able to make those words sound sweet make even your heart race, your hand finding sunghoon's underneath the table to give it comforting pats.

"and you're sleeping in my room. no nicknames or pda as long as you're under the yoon household."

your boyfriend's eyes travel between you and your brother and he only grips your hand, nodding.

he can't wait to go back to seoul.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀aaaaaaaaaaa!! it's finally done. i'm gonna cry. ૮₍˶ ╥ ‸ ╥ ⑅₎ა i saw the video of i-lander sunghoon dancing to pretty u again and i just had to. if you can't already tell, this is heavily inspired by the song and the confession part is heavily inspired by it! i'm thinking of writing shorter drabbles of other members so just shoot me an ask if you have an idea. < 3

⌗ taglist — @neozon3nha @zerocoded @firstclassjaylee @yuyita-rosier @chiiyuuvv