kokoa

- makes you cassette tapes inspired by anything about you: you in the morning, the time you first met, car drives with you…

- ceo of standing under your window with a boombox to serenade you: be it just because or after an argument

- plays “baby come back” after EVERY minor disagreement, and you just get embarrassed at how many times the neighbors must think you break up with your boyfriend

- because really… as annoying as he can get, you’ve never once come even close to breaking up

- drives a red dodge conquest

- has to squeeze in a little, but that’s just what you have to do if you want to drive a car that cool as a 6’3’’ guy

- a gentleman through and through, so he insists on driving you to and from school. if he’s honest he mostly does it for himself though because he can’t stand to be away from you for too long

- works at a local rock radio station; he’s the youngest by several decades but everyone trusts his taste so he chooses like 80% of the tracks played

- matching halloween costumes obviously

- doesn’t do a sport or any demanding extracurriculars himself, but puts his everything into supporting you if you do

- listens to the clash, the smiths and david bowie religiously

- outwardly judges you for being a madonna fan, internally can’t stop grooving to her songs everytime you put them on

- obviously it helps seeing how you’re always so happy listening to them!

- in that vein… always pulls you in for a clumsy little dance when a song you both love comes on

- will absolutely twirl you around and lean you down to place a loud peck on your lips and pull away with a stupidly cute grin

- obviously you two have song, like any respectable couple: drive by the cars

- fitting the title, the first time you heard it together was in his car: after a movie date, already parked back in front of your house, the radio humming low.

- you know you should’ve gotten out already, but there’s something in the air. you two are still talking, but keep sneaking glances at each other

- once the conversation dies down you’re just looking at each other smiling

- that’s when martin leans in

- when you don’t lean back and instead let your eyelids flutter shut, he gets the confidence he needed!

- your first kiss is short and sweet, but sooo soft and careful

- when it’s over way too fast, you lean in again and give him another one, a short peck

- he’s still so dazed he doesn’t completely register you say “goodbye, martin” and open the passenger door to walk to your front door

- manages a smiley and weak “bye”

- you don’t stop smiling on the way to your room, he doesn’t stop smiling on the drive home

- like the two idiots in love you are

- your parents love him: everytime he comes over for dinner or spends time with them he manages to wrap them around his finger

- brought your mom her favorite flowers when he first met her

- talks bands and cars with your dad and offers to help around the house without being asked

- plays games with your little siblings, always!

- if they only knew… how he sneaks through your window after curfew almost every weeknight

- after the first time he did this his ankle hurt for a week from jumping back down… he’s since learned from that, so don’t you worry!

- lays on your bed like it’s his own, feet dangling off the edge because he’s just so tall

- you’re usually sitting against your headboard, knees to your chest

- he thinks this is the best way he can be both comfortable and admire you

- you two are also the mom and dad of both his and your friend group

- and especially younger students at school dream of a highschool boyfriend like your martin

- because everyone can see how obsessed with you he is!

The stadium roared with a magnitude that felt almost otherworldly.

The deafening chorus of thousands reverberated through your entire body, vibrating beneath your feet and rattling the metal railing gripped tightly in your hands. Every corner of the arena pulsed with anticipation, emotion, and national pride.

A vast ocean of red and white stretched endlessly before you. Flags billowed dramatically in the evening air. Supporters leaped from their seats. Strangers embraced. Children sat atop their parents’ shoulders, waving banners larger than themselves.

The atmosphere was electric—so charged with excitement that even breathing felt difficult. This wasn’t simply a football match, this was history unfolding before your eyes.

The World Cup Final.

The culmination of years of sacrifice, relentless training sessions, devastating defeats, miraculous victories, and impossible dreams, and somewhere amidst the brilliant floodlights illuminating the pitch stood your boyfriend.

Kim Juhoon, wearing a Number 7 Jersey. Captain of South Korea. The man who carried the hopes of an entire nation upon his shoulders.

From your seat high in the stands, you could still pick him out immediately. There was something unmistakable about him. The quiet confidence in his posture, the sharp determination etched into his features, the captain’s armband wrapped securely around his bicep, the way he stood taller than everyone around him despite being surrounded by world-class athletes.

He looked composed, focused, ready. At least until his gaze wandered toward the crowd, toward you.

The moment his eyes landed on your figure, he visibly froze completely, utterly. For a brief second, the chaos of the stadium seemed to disappear from his perspective, because you were wearing his jersey.

Not merely a national team jersey, not a replica purchased from a merchandise stand. His jersey.

The exact one he had carefully folded and handed to you after practice months ago. The same jersey he’d insisted would look adorable on you. The same jersey he’d repeatedly begged you to wear, and the same jersey you had stubbornly refused every single time.

It had always felt embarrassing. Too obvious, too couple-like, too revealing of your relationship to the millions of people who watched him.

Yet today was different, today  was the biggest day of his career. The most important match he would ever play, and if there was ever a moment to support him without hesitation, it was now.

The oversized fabric draped over your frame, the sleeves extending nearly to your forearms. His surname stretched proudly across your back. His number adorned the front. A silent declaration that made your cheeks warm when ever you looked down.

Yet the reaction it provoked from Juhoon was far more dramatic than you’d anticipated. Even from across the enormous field, you could see the exact moment his brain stopped functioning.

His eyes widened noticeably, his lips parted. The confident captain who had moments earlier looked prepared to conquer the world suddenly resembled a teenager experiencing his first crush.

A delicate blush climbed steadily up his neck, then to his ears, then across his cheeks. You had never seen him turn red that quickly before.

The sight nearly made you laugh, and then it became worse, much worse.

One of his teammates noticed. The player followed Juhoon’s line of sight. His eyes landed on you, specifically on the jersey.

His expression transformed instantly. A grin spread across his face, and he smacked Juhoon’s shoulder hard.

Juhoon stumbled slightly. Another teammate noticed, then another, then another. Within seconds, half the starting lineup seemed aware of the situation.

Several players turned around to locate you in the crowd. The moment they spotted Juhoon’s name displayed proudly across your chest, their reactions became merciless.

One player doubled over laughing. Another wrapped an arm around Juhoon’s shoulders. A third pointed dramatically in your direction while shouting something that made the entire group erupt into laughter.

Juhoon looked absolutely mortified. You could practically see him debating whether to disappear into the grass. Unable to resist, you lifted your hand and offered him a small wave.

The worst possible decision. His expression somehow became even redder. A feat you hadn’t believed was physically achievable.

The captain of South Korea, the man trusted to lead an entire nation. Reduced to complete embarrassment by a single oversized jersey.

Cute, dangerously cute.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes softened. The overwhelming noise of the stadium faded into the background. The pressure, the cameras, the expectations. Everything seemed to disappear, there was only you, standing in the crowd.

His lips curled upward into the faintest smile. One reserved exclusively for you. Then the referee’s whistle pierced through the atmosphere.

The match had begun, and in the blink of an eye, the shy, flustered boyfriend vanished. What remained was Captain Juhoon.

A man determined to bring home a World Cup, and judging by the fire igniting behind his eyes as he sprinted across the pitch, you suddenly had a feeling that wearing his jersey had given him far more confidence than either of you had expected.

You had watched Juhoon play more times than you could possibly count.

From small youth tournaments where barely a hundred spectators filled the stands, to professional league matches broadcast across the country.

You had witnessed victories, heartbreaking defeats, championship celebrations. Moments where exhaustion nearly brought him to his knees.

You knew the rhythm of his movements better than anyone. The slight tilt of his head before making a pass. The determined set of his jaw whenever he became focused. The calculated precision behind every decision he made on the field.

But this?

This was entirely different. The man currently commanding the pitch barely resembled the boyfriend who spent his evenings curled up beside you on the couch.

Tonight, he looked extraordinary. There was an unmistakable ferocity radiating from him. An almost magnetic confidence that drew everyone’s attention whenever he touched the ball.

It was as though every ounce of pressure, expectation, and responsibility resting upon his shoulders had transformed into pure determination.

He wasn’t simply participating in the match, he was dominating it. Every movement appeared deliberate, every decision seemed flawless.

The ball obeyed him as if attached by an invisible thread. His passes sliced through defensive lines with surgical precision. His footwork was elegant yet devastatingly effective.

Each sprint down the field left defenders scrambling desperately in his wake, even the world’s best players struggled to keep pace with him.

The crowd reacted to his every touch, a collective gasp, a thunderous cheer, an eruption of applause. The stadium seemed to pulse in time with his performance.

And the commentators? They could hardly contain their admiration. His name echoed repeatedly through the speakers overhead, praise followed praise. 

They analyzed his leadership, his composure, his vision, his ability to elevate everyone around him. At some point, it felt less like a World Cup Final and more like a showcase of Captain Juhoon.

He was everywhere, directing teammates with sharp gestures, tracking back to recover possession, launching attacks, creating opportunities seemingly out of thin air. A true captain in every sense of the word. The embodiment of leadership, the heart of the team.

And when South Korea secured their second goal, the stadium nearly collapsed from the force of the celebration.

The ball struck the back of the net. The crowd exploded, a deafening roar surged through the arena. Flags waved wildly, fans leaped from their seats, some screamed, others cried. Complete strangers threw their arms around one another in celebration. 

The noise was indescribable, yet somehow, amidst all that chaos, Juhoon’s attention immediately sought only one thing.

You.

While his teammates rushed toward him in celebration, he turned, almost instinctively. His gaze swept across thousands upon thousands of spectators. Until he found you.

The moment his eyes locked onto yours, something softened in his expression, just for a second. Then a grin spread across his face, completely breathtaking. Before you could process what he was doing—He pointed directly at you. Your heart nearly stopped.

No… Absolutely not.

There were over eighty thousand people in attendance. Millions more watching from around the world. Surely he wasn’t—

The stadium cameras followed his gesture. Your stomach dropped. A collective murmur swept through the audience, then suddenly—Your face appeared on the colossal screen suspended above the field. Larger than life, impossible to miss.

The realization hit you all at once. The jersey, his jersey. His name displayed proudly across your chest. His number, his team, his unmistakable connection to you.

Thousands of people noticed instantly. The reaction was immediate. Entire sections of supporters erupted into cheers. Some pointed excitedly toward the screen, others laughed knowingly. A few fans even began chanting his name louder than before.

Your face burned with mortification. Heat flooded your cheeks so quickly you were convinced the entire stadium could see it. You briefly considered disappearing into your seat forever, or perhaps fleeing the country. Either option seemed reasonable.

Meanwhile, the source of your embarrassment stood proudly in the center of the field, completely unapologetic, completely shameless.

Juhoon looked downright pleased with himself. The grin stretching across his face was insufferably smug, the kind of grin that said he knew exactly what he had done, and as he jogged backward toward his position, still maintaining eye contact with you for one final second, his expression carried a silent message.

One that made your heart flutter despite your embarrassment.

Mine.

The cockiest man alive, and somehow, infuriatingly enough—The most lovable one too.

⸻

South Korea won.

3–2.

World Champions.

For a fraction of a second, the world seemed to fall silent. The referee’s final whistle sliced through the night air, sharp and unmistakable, signaling the conclusion of ninety minutes that would forever be etched into football history.

Everything stopped, as if time itself had hesitated. The players froze, the crowd held its breath, even you found yourself unable to move. Unable to think, unable to fully comprehend what had just happened.

Then reality crashed over the stadium like a tidal wave. Pandemonium erupted, the deafening roar that followed was unlike anything you had ever experienced. It wasn’t merely cheering, it was jubilation, relief, disbelief.

The collective release of decades worth of hopes, dreams, and prayers. The sound was so overwhelming it vibrated through your bones. It swallowed every other noise whole.

Around the pitch, emotions burst forth without restraint. Several players collapsed onto the grass, their legs finally giving out after carrying them through the most important match of their lives.

Others fell to their knees, hands covering tear-streaked faces. Some sprinted aimlessly across the field, screaming at the top of their lungs. A few simply stood motionless, staring at the scoreboard as if they needed visual confirmation that this wasn’t some elaborate dream.

The magnitude of the achievement was almost impossible to comprehend. South Korea… World Champions. The words felt surreal, unbelievable, historic.

Above the stadium, enormous confetti cannons detonated with thunderous force. Thousands upon thousands of crimson and silver fragments exploded into the night sky before drifting downward like shimmering snowfall.

The dazzling pieces caught beneath the floodlights, transforming the air into a glittering spectacle. Streams of color spiraled through the atmosphere. Fireworks illuminated the darkness overhead. Flags waved furiously from every section of the stands. Supporters embraced complete strangers.

Many openly wept, others laughed through their tears. The entire stadium had become a living, breathing celebration, yet amidst all the chaos surrounding you, your attention remained fixed on one person.

Juhoon.

Your vision blurred before you even realized tears had begun slipping down your cheeks. You hastily wiped at them. More appeared, then more.

The overwhelming emotion settled heavily in your chest, because this wasn’t merely a victory. It was the culmination of everything.

Every sacrifice.

Every setback, every impossible challenge he had endured. You remembered the countless mornings he woke before sunrise for training.

The exhausting schedules, the months spent away from home, the injuries that left him frustrated and unable to play, the nights where self-doubt crept into his mind despite his best efforts to hide it, the pressure placed upon him as captain, the expectations of teammates, the scrutiny of the media, the weight of an entire nation’s hopes resting upon his shoulders.

You had witnessed every chapter of the journey. The triumphant moments, the painful ones, the days where exhaustion clung to him so heavily he could barely keep his eyes open, the evenings where he sat beside you quietly, wondering if he was doing enough. If he was good enough, if all of it would eventually be worth it.

And now—You had your answer.

Standing in the center of the pitch, surrounded by flashing cameras and euphoric teammates, was the man who had refused to quit.

The man who had dedicated years of his life to chasing a dream that many deemed impossible. The captain who carried his team through the biggest tournament in the world. The boy who once practiced alone for hours after everyone else had gone home. The athlete who sacrificed comfort, sleep, and certainty for a chance at greatness.

And somehow, despite the confetti cascading around him and tens of thousands of supporters chanting his name, Juhoon’s gaze wandered toward the stands, toward you.

Even from a distance, you saw the exact moment he found you, his expression softened. The triumphant grin on his face faltered for just a second. His eyes glistened beneath the stadium lights.

Suddenly, he no longer looked like a global superstar, or a World Cup-winning captain, or the hero of an entire nation. He simply looked like Juhoon.

Your Juhoon.

Overwhelmed, emotional, happy beyond words. The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile so genuine it made your chest ache.

A smile that carried years of perseverance behind it. Years of resilience, years of unwavering determination, and as chants of his name reverberated throughout the stadium, one thought echoed louder than everything else.

He had done it against every obstacle. Against every expectation, against every doubt. Juhoon had reached the summit of the footballing world.

And now, beneath a sky filled with confetti and celebration, he stood exactly where he had always dreamed of being.

A World Cup champion.

The celebration seemed endless after, not that anyone was complaining. After all, moments like these didn’t happen every day.

History had just been written beneath the brilliant glow of stadium floodlights, and everyone wanted a piece of it.

The pitch had transformed into a whirlwind of activity, players moved from one obligation to another without a moment to breathe, broadcast crews swarmed every corner of the field.

Reporters fought for interviews, photographers captured thousands of images from every conceivable angle, television cameras followed the champions relentlessly, documenting each tearful embrace and triumphant smile.

The festivities unfolded in a dazzling blur. There were speeches, award presentations, medal ceremonies, team photographs, commemorative videos projected across enormous screens, corporate sponsors requesting appearances, officials offering congratulations, former players shaking hands, fans chanting from every section of the stadium.

The atmosphere remained euphoric long after the match had ended. At one point, you watched as Juhoon disappeared beneath a crowd of teammates celebrating around him.

A few minutes later, he reappeared holding the World Cup trophy high above his head while tens of thousands erupted into thunderous applause.

Then he vanished again, pulled away by reporters. Then by photographers, then by officials, then by another wave of teammates determined to celebrate all over again.

Every time you caught sight of him, he seemed to be somewhere new. Standing on a stage, posing for cameras, giving an interview, laughing with teammates, accepting congratulations.

The captain of the newly crowned world champions had suddenly become the most sought-after person in the stadium.

You understood. Of course you did, tonight wasn’t about you. It was his night, his team’s night, his country’s night. You figured it would be hours before you’d get a chance to speak to him properly.

Maybe after the press conference, maybe after the trophy presentation. Possibly not until everyone returned to the hotel. The thought made sense, disappointing, perhaps. But realistic.

So you remained in your seat, occasionally watching highlights replay across the giant screens while supporters continued singing throughout the arena.

The oversized jersey draped around your frame still carried his name across the back. A small smile tugged at your lips.

World Champion. 

The title still felt surreal.

Your gaze drifted toward the field once more. Somewhere amidst the sea of cameras and flashing lights was Juhoon. You wondered if he’d even had a moment to process everything.

Whether he’d managed to catch his breath, or reality had fully settled in for him yet.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sudden vibration of your phone. You glanced down absentmindedly. The screen illuminated your face, and immediately, your heart skipped.

Juhoon ♡

A smile appeared before you’d even opened the message.

Tunnel behind Section C.

A second notification appeared almost instantly.

Now.

You blinked once, then laughed softly to yourself. Of course. The entire world wanted a piece of him tonight, the media, the fans, the photographers. Yet somehow, the first chance he found to escape—He was looking for you. 

Your chest warmed instantly, because no matter how many cameras followed him…

The person he wanted to see first was still you, and judging by the urgency of those messages—Your boyfriend was getting impatient.

⸻

The tunnel behind Section C was astonishingly quiet compared to the spectacle unfolding elsewhere in the stadium.

The deafening celebrations that had consumed the arena moments earlier were now little more than distant echoes reverberating through concrete walls.

Muffled cheers drifted faintly from above. Occasional bursts of applause filtered through the corridors. Somewhere in the distance, supporters were still singing, still celebrating, still reveling in the fact that South Korea had become world champions.

Although down here, hidden beneath the stadium, everything felt strangely intimate, private, like a small sanctuary carved out from the chaos.

The fluorescent lights overhead cast a soft glow across the empty passageway as you followed the directions from Juhoon’s message.

Your footsteps echoed gently against the concrete floor. The oversized jersey shifted against your frame with every step. The realization still felt surreal.

World Champion.

Your boyfriend was a World Champion.

The thought hadn’t fully settled in your mind before a familiar voice suddenly cut through your thoughts. “Baby.”

The sound of it immediately made your heart flutter. You barely had enough time to look up. One moment the corridor was empty.

The next—Juhoon appeared from around the corner, and launched himself at you.

“Juhoon—!” A startled laugh escaped you as his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

The impact nearly sent you stumbling backward. Had he not tightened his grip immediately, you were fairly certain both of you would’ve ended up sprawled across the floor.

Not that he seemed concerned, not when he buried his face directly into the crook of your neck, or when he practically folded himself around you. He held onto you as though he hadn’t seen you in months rather than a few hours.

You felt the warmth radiating from him instantly. His skin was still heated from the match. His damp hair brushed softly against your jaw. The faint scent of grass, sweat, and expensive cologne lingered around him. Even now, long after the final whistle, his breathing remained uneven from adrenaline.

Then, you felt him laugh. The vibration travelled directly through your skin, warm, affectionate. “Hello, beautiful.” The words came out muffled against your neck.

You couldn’t help smiling. “Hello to you too.”

Juhoon only squeezed you tighter, if that was even possible. For several seconds he simply remained there, arms securely around your waist, seemingly unwilling to let go, as though the moment he released you, someone might drag him back toward another interview.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at you, and immediately froze again. His gaze dropped to the jersey, then slowly traveled upward, then back down.

A disbelieving smile spread across his face, “I still can’t believe you wore my jersey.” His voice carried an unmistakable sincerity.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just a jersey.”

The reaction you received was immediate. Juhoon’s hands rose to cradle your cheeks firmly.“No.” His eyebrows furrowed. “It is absolutely not just a jersey.”

You laughed. “Juhoon—”

“No, listen.” His dark eyes scanned over you with unwavering attention.

The oversized sleeves nearly covering your hands. The number stretched across your torso. His surname displayed proudly across the fabric. His expression softened with every passing second. “You have no idea what that did to me.”

Heat instantly rushed to your face. You hated how easily he could make you flustered. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Baby.” The corners of his lips twitched upward. “That time, I almost forgot how to breathe.”

You groaned. “Okay it’s not that serious.”

“I’m serious.” His thumbs brushed gently across your cheeks. “When I saw you in the stands wearing my name?” A smile tugged at his lips. “I genuinely thought my heart stopped.”

“That definitely didn’t happen.”

“It did.”

“It didn’t.”

“It absolutely did.”

You laughed despite yourself. The triumphant grin that appeared on his face suggested he considered that a victory, then, without hesitation, he pointed toward the field behind him.

“I scored because of you.”

Your jaw dropped. “Okay you’re just lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You trained for years for this.”

“Wrong.”

“Juhoon.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“You’ve been preparing for this tournament since you were a teenager.”

He shook his head, completely unconvinced. “Nope.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

The smile stretching across his face became increasingly insufferable. “The second I saw you wearing my jersey, I knew I was winning.”

You stared at him speechless. “That’s not how football works.”

“It is…” His hands slid from your cheeks to your waist. Pulling you closer until there was barely any distance separating the two of you. “When you have a motivation 

You snorted.n“Your big jersey was your motivation?”

“My beautiful girlfriend wearing my jersey was my motivation.”

His gaze softened, becoming infinitely more affectionate. He gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The cocky smile never fully disappeared, but there was something undeniably tender beneath it.

“I just wanted to make you proud.”

⸻

Juhoon’s arms found their way around your waist once more, as though he simply couldn’t help himself, after spending hours surrounded by reporters, cameras, and countless people demanding his attention, the only place he truly wanted to be was here, with you.

He gently tugged you forward, closer. Until scarcely any distance remained between the two of you.

Despite everything he had endured throughout the evening—the pressure, the expectations, the overwhelming celebrations—his eyes remained fixed entirely on you.

The triumphant energy that had carried him through ninety minutes on the pitch gradually faded. In its place came something softer.

His expression relaxed. The sharp determination that had defined him throughout the match disappeared completely, replaced by an almost unbearable fondness.

For a moment, he simply stared, taking his time, studying every detail. The oversized sleeves draped over your hands. The jersey hanging loosely against your frame. His surname stretched proudly across the fabric.

The sight seemed to render him momentarily speechless, a quiet laugh escaped him.

“God.” His thumb swept gently across your cheek. The gesture was absentminded, instinctive, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“So pretty.”

Heat immediately crept into your face. You rolled your eyes. “Stop.”

His smile only widened, the kind of smile that always meant trouble,  that appeared whenever he discovered something capable of making you flustered. “So pretty.”

“Juhoon.”

“My girl looked beautiful wearing my name.” The words were delivered with such sincerity that your stomach performed an embarrassing somersault.

You hated that reaction, especially because he noticed it immediately. His eyes brightened with amusement. The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.

There it was, that infuriatingly smug expression, self-satisfied. Entirely aware of the effect he had on you, the expression reserved exclusively for moments like this. “Aww.”

You groaned dramatically. “No.”

“Look at you.” His voice dropped lower, becoming teasingly gentle.” “So shy.”

You immediately shook your head. “I’m not shy.”

“Baby.” His eyebrows lifted. “You absolutely are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Stop being stubborn.”

“Just don’t hide yourself beautiful,”

Your hands instantly flew to your cheeks. Juhoon’s laugh echoed through the corridor, entirely too pleased with himself.

“You checked.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I was proving a point.”

“You proved mine.”

You groaned again, the grin on his face became almost unbearable.mWorld Champion, national hero, and somehow still the most annoying person you’d ever met.

Juhoon leaned forward slightly, reducing the distance between the two of you even further. His forehead came to rest lightly against yours.

The simple gesture immediately quieted the conversation. Everything slowed, the distant celebrations, the lingering excitement, the overwhelming chaos of the evening.

For a brief moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

His smile softened. “You’re so cute.”

You shoved his shoulder weakly. The motion lacked any real conviction, mostly because you were fighting your own smile, and partially because Juhoon didn’t move an inch.

If anything, he looked even more delighted. “My favorite girl.”

“Juhoon….”

“What? I just love showing off my girl.”

You immediately looked away, his  laughter followed almost instantly, entirely captivated.