On Passive Terms With You Űśŕ§
Twoshot 11.3k
Author's Note:
Here is the Part 2. If you haven't seen the Part 1 here you go.
Includes:
- cold detached bf
- lowkey relationship
- chill couple
- slow burn
- slice-of-life
- a sprinkle of fluff?
ââââââââš â -Ëŕ¨ŕ§Ë- â âšâââââââ
The next day, you're getting ready for school so is Keonho. Oddly enough, you have the same habit of waking up early for school.
Morning light filters through both of their windowsâsoft, golden, the kind that comes before 7 AM.
You wake up first.
Natural early riser. You never sleeps in unless you're sick.
You stretch quietly under your covers, then sits up and checks the time: 6:45 AM.
No rush.
But routine is strong with youâyou like having time to do things right.
First: wash face.
Second: brush teeth.
Third: pick out uniformâthe pleated skirt perfectly pressed yesterday by mom (your stylist mother insists on perfection).
MeanwhileâŚ
Across townâŚ
Keonho wakes at exactly 7 oâclockâno alarm needed again. Body clock precision from years of school schedule discipline (he hates being late more than anything).
Keonho gets up the moment his eyes openâno grogginess, no lying in bed scrolling.
He pulls on a fresh uniform: white shirt buttoned neatly (he hates wrinkles), navy blazer, black tie loosened just slightly at the collar like always. His hair is already perfectâjust a quick run of fingers through it to fix sleep mess.
Downstairs, house is quiet.
Momâs out for morning coffee with friends again.
Dadâs in study reviewing business reports.
No breakfast talk. No "good morning" exchange.
Keonho grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and heads straight for door,
sneakers laced up fast.
Car keys? Not today.
He walks to schoolâalways does unless raining hard or he's late.
(And even then⌠walking)
School bag slung over one shoulder as he steps outside into crisp autumn air.
The walk to school is quietâjust the sound of his sneakers on pavement, the occasional rustle of trees in early morning breeze.
Keonho keeps a steady pace, hands tucked into his blazer pockets. Apple half-eaten by nowâhe took one last bite before tossing the core into a public trash bin near school gates.
Uniform perfectly worn.
Hair untouched since leaving home (still flawless).
No one has spoken to him yetânot even Minho who usually appears at least five minutes late with messy hair and coffee breath.
He walks through front entrance aloneâŚ
through crowded hallwayâŚ
and heads straight for classroom 3Bâtheir literature class first period.
No eye contact with anyone as he passes
Just move.
Arrive.
The classroom is already fillingâchatter, backpacks being dropped, a few girls giggling by the windows.
Keonho walks in like he owns the space: calm stride, no hurry. Everyone notices him automaticallyânot because he says anything dramatic or loudâbut because heâs there, and that means something.
Minho spots him first from across the room and lifts his chin in greetingâtheir version of a "hey."
Keonho responds with nothing.
Just nods slightly as he passes Minho's desk on his way to his seat: back row by window. Always.
He sits down quietly.
Places school bag at feet.
Takes out notebook (still untouched since yesterday).
No pen clicking yet.
No phone outâjust staring ahead at empty teacherâs desk
Waiting for class to start.
You arrive right on timeâyour steps light, your uniform immaculate.
Hair neatly tied into a sleek ponytail with a thin black ribbon, some fringe framing your face, makeup minimal but enhancing your natural features.
You walk through the school gates just as Keonho disappears into Classroom 3B down the hall.
No rush in your pace.
But not slow eitherâyou're punctual by nature. A modelâs discipline: be early, look perfect, donât cause attention unless intended.
You head straight for your classroomâArt 2Câwhich is next door to Literature.
As you passes by 3BâŚ
Keonho doesn't see you.
Too busy sitting stiffly at his desk,
staring blankly ahead like he always does before class starts.
But Minho does notice you walk by through the open classroom doorâand nudges Keonho slightly with his elbow.
Keonho barely reacts to Minhoâs nudge.
He glances toward the doorâjust a flicker of his eyes, not turning his head fullyâand sees you passing by in your crisp uniform, backpack slung neatly over one shoulder.
You look⌠polished. Put-together. Like you didnât just roll out of bed ten minutes ago (unlike half the class who clearly slept in their uniforms).
For half a secondâmaybe lessâyour eyes meet through the doorway.
No smile from him.
No wave or call-out.
Just quiet recognition: Oh. She's here.
Then he looks away first, returning to staring at nothing on the teacherâs desk like it holds all life's answers.
Minho watches this exchange silentlyâamused but saying nothing yet.
You keep walking down hallway without pausing either.
At lunch time, you're in the canteen, wearing earphones as you watches a specific kdrama on your phone.
The canteen is loudâstudents everywhere, chatting, laughing, clattering trays.
You sit alone at a small corner table near the window. Your lunch: neatly packed bento with garlic butter shrimp (your favorite), rice balls shaped like bunnies (mom's doing), and a small container of mango slices on the side.
Earphones in.
Volume up.
Phone propped slightly against your water bottle so you can watch comfortably.
On screen: a dramatic K-drama sceneâa couple confessing love under cherry blossoms while soft piano music plays. The kind of moment that makes you sigh quietly to yourself.
You eat slowly between episodesânot rushing through meals or skipping for boysâ attention like some girls do.
Just enjoying your food⌠and getting lost in romance.
Then here comes Keonho spotting you.
Keonho enters the canteen with his usual detached demeanorâhands in pockets, no lunchbox or tray. He never brings food; either buys something on the spot or eats nothing at all.
He scans the room out of habitânot looking for anyone, just assessing where to sit.
Then he sees you.
Y/N. Alone.
Earphones in.
Watching something on your phone with quiet focusâthe soft glow lighting up your face slightly from below.
For a second, Keonho pauses mid-step.
Not because he wants to approach⌠but because seeing you like thisâpeaceful, absorbed in your own worldâis unfamiliar compared to how most people act around him: loud greetings or stares
Without thinking too hard (because if he does? He might walk away),
he starts walking toward your table
Keonho approaches silentlyâno sound, no greeting.
He stops right beside your table.
Tall frame casting a shadow over your phone screen for half a second.
You don't notice immediatelyâtoo engrossed in the drama scene where the male lead is about to kiss her.
The piano music swells on your earphones.
You're leaning slightly forward, eyes wide with anticipationâŚ
Until you feel presence next to you.
Slowly⌠you turn your headâand there he is: Keonho. Just standing there like a quiet storm that appeared out of nowhere.
You blink once. Then twice. "Keon?"
Keonho doesnât answer right away.
He just staresâat your face, at the phone screen where a dramatic K-drama kiss is still playing (you hadnât paused it), at the half-eaten garlic butter shrimp beside your bento.
No judgment. No reaction to the romance scene.
Just⌠presence.
Then, finallyâafter that long pauseâhe nods once.
A tiny movement. Not friendly, not cold either. Just acknowledging: Yes, I'm here.
He doesn't say anything.
Doesn't ask if he can sit.
But his body language says everything:
I'm staying.
You move to make space for him, allowing him to sit beside you or not.
The space beside you is smallâjust enough for one person.
You quietly scoots your bento and water bottle to the side, making room. Not too wide, not too obvious⌠just a clear invitation: You can sit if you want.
No words.
Just action.
Keonho hesitates for half a secondânot because he doesnât want to sit (he does), but because sitting with someone at lunch? Thatâs social. Intentional.
And Keonho avoids intentional social moments like this unless forced or it's Minho dragging him in.
But thenâ
He pulls out the chair across from yours (not right next) and sits down.
Not beside you⌠but facing you across the table.
His movements are calm, quietâno greeting again.
Just sits there as if nothing unusual is happening.
You're used to it by now. You pick up a shrimp and offers it to him silently, letting him decide whether he take it or not, you don't mind either way.
Keonho looks at the shrimp.
Not in a dramatic wayâno wide eyes or surprise. Just a slow, quiet glance from the food to your face and back again.
You're offering him a bite of your lunch.
Something you made (or your mom did). Your favorite dish.
And you're just⌠holding it out like it's normal.
For someone who rarely shares meals with othersâwho doesnât eat off anyone elseâs plate or accept homemade foodâthis is oddly intimate.
A beat passes.
Then, without speakingâŚ
without making eye contactâŚ
he leans forward slightlyâŚ
And takes the shrimp from your chopsticks with his own fingers.
No thanks.
No smile.
But he eats it.
Your lips curve up just slightly, your little smile barely noticeable as he accept the shrimp, before you returns to eating your food.
Keonho chews slowlyâjust once, twiceâthen swallows.
The garlic butter shrimp is good. Rich. Warm.
Not something he eats often; his mom never cooks this at home, and convenience store food isnât the same.
He doesnât say anything about it.
No âthanksâ or âitâs tasty.â
But the fact that he finished eating it without pushing the plate away says enough.
You keep eating quietly beside himâthe kdrama still playing on your phone between bites of rice balls and mango slices. The soft romantic music contrasts sharply with canteen noise around them.
Occasionally, you glances upânot checking on Keonho⌠just naturally looking in his direction as part of being next to someone.
But then quickly back to your show.
Keonho watches you.
Not in a creepy wayâjust subtly as you focuses on the drama playing on your phone.
Your lips part slightly when you take a bite.
A small frown forms when something sad happens in the scene.
Then that tiny smile againâalmost invisibleâas they kiss under cherry blossoms.
He doesnât get it.
Why people cry over fictional couples? Why this is so important?
But⌠he finds himself watching you more than anything elseâthe way your lashes flutter, how gently you chews, how peaceful you looks even with noise all around.
No one ever sits quietly with him like this at lunch.
Most would talk or text or make jokes to fill silenceâŚ
You just exists. And somehow⌠that feels right.
The lunch bell ringsâsharp and sudden, cutting through the chatter.
You immediately pause your drama.
No dramatic sigh or "just one more minute." You're responsibleâalways on time for class.
You close the K-drama app, locks your phone, and starts packing up: placing chopsticks neatly in container, sealing bento lid tight (your mom would scold if food got messy), zipping backpack shut.
All movements precise.
Efficient.
Like a well-practiced routine you've done every day since middle school.
Keonho watches this tooâthe quiet way you tidies up without rushing or being messy like other girls who leave wrappers everywhere.
He doesnât move yetâstill sitting as students start getting up around them.
You stand first, your movements gracefulâno rush, but no dawdling either.
You sling your backpack over one shoulder and adjusts the strap slightly. Your earphones are now tucked neatly in a small pouch on the side of your bag.
No lingering.
No checking if Keonho is coming with or going to class too.
You just turn toward the doorâready to leave for Art 2C like you always does.
The canteen empties fast around them. Tables fill with crumbs and abandoned trays as students pour out into hallways for next period.
Keonho finally pushes his chair back slowlyâŚ
Stands up quietlyâŚ
And followsânot beside you, not close enough to walk with youâŚ
But he walks after.
Keonho keeps a slight distance behind youâtwo to three steps back, hands in his blazer pockets again.
You donât walk side by side.
Donât talk.
Donât even glance at each other as you move through the crowded hallway.
But itâs not awkward.
It feels⌠normal for you. Like this is how it always is: him trailing slightly, you leading without realizing he's following.
Students pass between themâlaughing groups, couples holding hands, teachers calling out names for club sign-ups.
You turn left toward Art 2Câthe classroom door already open with a few early students inside sketching or chatting quietly.
You walk in and finds an empty seat near the windowâthe one you prefers because of good lighting.
You sit by the window, backpack placed neatly on the floor beside your desk. You takes out a small sketchbookâthin, hardcover with tulip stickers on itâand flips to a fresh page.
No one pays attention. Art class is always relaxed; students work quietly or talk in hushed tones about projects and grades.
Outside, autumn sunlight filters through glass panelsâwarm golden streaks lighting up your face as you starts sketching something: maybe another flower⌠or just doodling idly while waiting for teacher.
Your pencil move softly across paper.
Focusing.
Calm.
Behind youâstill unnoticedâthe classroom door opens again.
Keonho appears silently in doorway.
Keonho steps into Art 2C.
The room is quietâartistic, soft lighting from windows, a few students sketching or painting quietly. The air smells faintly of watercolors and graphite.
He doesnât have class here.
Literature ended ten minutes agoâbut Keonho always walks past this classroom on his way to next period: Physical Education in the gym across campus.
But today⌠he slows down as he passes the open door.
And there you areâY/Nâsitting by the window, sketchbook open, pencil moving gently like a heartbeat. Fully absorbed. Peaceful.
No earphones now.
Just you and art.
Without meaning toâŚ
he stops just inside doorway
and watches for a second
Keonho lingers in the doorwayâunseen, uninvited.
His tall frame blocks a sliver of light from entering.
But he doesnât step fully inside. Just⌠stands there, observing.
You're not posing or performing for anyone. You're just drawingâyour brow slightly furrowed in concentration, lips parted ever so slightly as you focuses on each line.
The sketch taking shape: delicate petals? A flower stem?
Not finished yetâbut it looks soft. Feminine. Like you.
No one else notices him.
The teacher is at their desk grading papers quietly.
Two other students chat softly about an upcoming painting assignment.
It's calm.
Quietly beautifulâa scene that feels too private for someone like Keonho to be watching.
Keonho stays frozen in the doorway for a long momentâmaybe ten seconds, maybe twenty.
No one says anything to him.
No teacher greets him.
Art isn't his subject, and he's not enrolled here⌠so his presence is odd but not disruptive.
He could keep walking.
Thatâs what he should doâhe has PE next period, and Coach hates tardiness.
ButâŚ
His eyes stay locked on youâthe way your dark brown hair falls over one shoulder as you leans slightly toward the light, how your hand moves with quiet precision across paper.
Something about it pulls at himânot romantically (he doesnât feel things like that easily)âbut curiosity.
A quiet want to know: What is she drawing?
Without thinkingâŚ
without announcing himselfâŚ
Keonho takes a slow step forward
You're sketching the cat you met from yesterday.
The sketch is softâpencil strokes gentle, not sharp.
Itâs the stray cat from last night: small, gray fur with white paws. You captured its quiet essenceâthe round eyes full of cautious curiosity, the tiny folded ears, even a little whisker curl on one side.
You drew it sittingânot begging or runningâbut just existing like it did when Keonho first saw it nudge his shoe.
A peaceful moment frozen in your art.
No dramatic background.
Just simple shading around the cat to show fur texture and light source coming from aboveâlike sunlight filtering through alley walls.
You add delicate eyelashes now⌠then starts lightly shading under its chin where shadow would fall.
Completely unaware that someone is standing behind you.
Keonho takes another stepâquieter this time, sneaker barely making sound on the classroom floor.
Heâs close now.
Close enough to see details in your sketchbook: the careful shading, how you added tiny whisker hairs with precision.
And then it clicks.
That cat.
The one from yesterday eveningâthe stray that approached him first⌠before you pet itâŚ
Now here it is. Drawn by you. With love and patience he can feel, even if he doesnât understand art well.
His expression doesn't changeâbut something shifts internally.
A quiet surprise? Appreciation? Not jealousy or annoyance⌠just a soft realization:
You remembered.
Not some grand moment or dateâŚ
but a random street cat encounter.
And you drew it.
Keonho stares at the sketch.
Not judging. Not smirking or thinking it's childishâhe doesnât see that.
He sees youâthe way you remembers small, gentle things.
How something as simple as a stray cat meant enough for you to draw it with this much care.
No one ever pays attention to little moments like that.
But you do.
A beat passes⌠then anotherâŚ
Without announcing himselfâwithout clearing his throat or saying "hello"âKeonho slowly leans down and looks over your shoulder, peering directly at the sketchbook in your hands.
His face is inches from yours now.
Close enough that if you turned even slightly⌠your cheeks might brush.
You feel the warmth firstâclose, sudden.
You turn your head slowly⌠and there he is.
Keonho.
Right behind you.
Way too close for a normal interaction.
Your faces are mere inches apartâso near that you can see the faint smudge of eyeliner on his upper lid (rare for him to wear makeup), smell the light trace of his cologne mixed with morning air.
For a second, neither speaks.
Your eyes widen just slightlyânot in fear or anger, but surprise.
He never gets this close.
No greeting.
No explanation why heâs here in Art class.
Just⌠him, standing over your sketchbook like it's something sacred.
The silence between them stretchesâthin, fragile.
You don't pull away.
Doesnât scold him for being so close.
You just⌠looks at himâthose brown eyes soft, searching his face like you're trying to read what he wants.
Keonho says nothing either.
But his gaze drops immediately from your eyes to the sketchbookâthe cat drawing still open in front of you.
He studies it again up close: the delicate shading around its paws, how you even added tiny freckles on its nose (details most people wouldn't notice).
Something about this moment feelsâŚ
intimate? Not romanticâbut emotionally charged in a quiet way.
Two people who rarely talk directly⌠side by side, your art between you.
Keonhoâs eyes linger on the cat sketch.
He doesnât reach out to touch it.
Doesnât point or say, "That's the one from yesterday."
But his expressionâcold by defaultâsoftens just a fraction. Like something in him recognizes this moment⌠and your attention to detail.
You slowly turn back toward your sketchbook, still feeling his presence beside you. Without speakingâŚ
You lift your pencil again.
And quietly adds one last tiny strokeâa single white whisker on the catâs cheek.
No fanfare.
Just finishing what you started.
The classroom remains hushed around themâthe teacher grading papers, other students workingâbut no one interrupts or questions why Keonho is there.
Keonho watches you finish the whisker.
The tiny addition changes nothing about the sketchâobjectively, itâs still just a cat.
But subjectively? It feels complete now. Like you didnât miss anything.
You lower your pencil, satisfied. You stares at it for a second⌠then gently closes the sketchbook and places it beside your backpack.
No dramatic moment.
No turning to face him or speaking first.
Just quiet acceptance that he was thereâand maybe an unspoken question: What are you doing here?
But you don't ask aloud.
Keonho finally breaks the silence.
Not with wordsâbut with action.
He reaches out, slowly⌠and picks up your sketchbook.
Itâs not aggressive. Not demanding. Just calm, deliberateâlike he has permission to look at it properly now that you closed it.
He flips it open again to the cat drawing page.
Studies every line more carefully this timeâthe shading under its belly, how you drew its ears slightly lowered (maybe from shyness?)
No comment.
No praise.
But his eyes show something rare: quiet interest
You watch him quietlyâcurious but not nervous.
You don't stop him or ask what he thinks.
Keonho keeps flipping pages.
Not aggressivelyâjust turning one by one, slow and methodical. Each page reveals more of your art: tulips in watercolor, a half-finished landscape with mountains, a few fashion sketches (probably for modeling reference), and another stray cat drawingâdifferent from the first.
Theyâre all soft.
Gentle.
Full of detail that shows you cares about what you drawsânot just copying something⌠but seeing beauty in quiet things.
The sketchbook is well-usedâthe corners slightly bent from frequent opening, edges smoothed by time.
He doesnât say âwowâ or âyouâre good.â
But he pauses on each new drawing⌠lingers slightly longer on the ones with more emotion
After a few quiet moments, Keonho reaches the last page.
Itâs not a finished sketchâjust rough pencil outlines.
A silhouette of him.
Not detailed. Not romantic or dramatic. Just⌠his profile: sharp jawline, dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, the shape of his eyes.
You mustâve been sketching him from memory.
Or maybe you'd seen him in class and started it without realizing.
Keonho freezes.
For onceâŚ
he is speechless.
No smirk.
No sarcasm.
Just pure stillnessâas if he canât process that you drew him, even this vaguely.
Keonho stares at the sketch.
Not with anger. Not embarrassment.
But something deeperâsurprise, mixed with a quiet, unfamiliar weight.
He hadnât known you'd been looking at him enough to draw his face.
Hadnât noticed you glancing his way in class or during breaksâŚ
And yet here it is: a simple pencil outlineâbut him.
The shape of his features captured by your hand.
You suddenly feel self-conscious.
Your breath hitches slightlyâyou hadn't planned for him to see that page.
That was supposed to be private⌠maybe even erased later.
You reach out slowlyânot grabbing the sketchbook, but hovering your hand like you want it back.
Keonho doesn't move.
He holds the sketchbook firmlyânot aggressively, but with quiet possession. Like he's protecting something fragile.
Your hand hover in the airâhesitant, uncertain.
You don't demand it back.
Doesnât say âGive that to me.â
Just waits⌠for his reaction.
The classroom is still peaceful around themâthe teacher now speaking softly to a student about their painting project, others quietly working.
But here?
Between Keonho and Y/N?
The silence feels heavier than before. Charged. Full of unspoken things
Your voice is softâbarely above a whisper.
Fragile, like you're offering something precious and isn't sure if it'll be accepted.
"Do you want it...?"
You don't specify whatâbut you both know.
The sketch of him.
Your eyes are downcast now, not meeting his gaze.
Not because you regret drawing him⌠but because vulnerability scares youâespecially with Keonho, who never reacts the way normal people do.
It feels too intimate to ask: Do you like that I drew your face?
So instead: "Want it?"â meaning the page, maybe even a copy.
Keonho finally looks up from the sketchbook.
His expression is unreadableâstill calm, still composed. But his eyes⌠theyâre different now. Softer than usual, like something in them shifted when he saw his face on paper.
Your question lingers in the air.
He doesnât answer right away.
Instead, he slowly turns the sketchbook around and shows youâopening it to that page again so you can see what he's seeing: your drawing of him.
Then⌠after a long pauseâŚ
He nods.
Once. Firmly.
Not dramatically or emotionallyâjust a single nod that says: Yes.
Keonho doesnât say anything else.
But the nod is enoughâclear, decisive.
Yes, I want it.
Not just a polite âsure,â not dismissing your art⌠but actually wanting to keep the sketch.
Without another word, he gently tears out the pageâthe one with his profileâand carefully folds it in half. Then again. Until it's a small rectangle that fits neatly into his blazer pocket
You watch every movement.
Youe heart beats slightly fasterâyou hadn't expected him to take it.
And yet⌠seeing him protectively put your drawing away like something important? That means more than any compliment ever could.
Now it feels like a gift from you.
And thatâs exactly what it is.
Not a grand gesture.
No confession, no romantic words exchanged.
But the folded sketch in Keonhoâs pocket? Thatâs yoursâa piece of your art, your quiet attention to him⌠given without demand.
A gift.
Simple as that.
For someone who rarely receives anything from othersâespecially something so personal and thoughtfulâyou just handed him proof: I see you. I noticed your face. I remembered it well enough to draw
Keonho doesnât acknowledge it aloud.
Doesn't smile or thank you.
But he touches his blazer pocket once with two fingersâas if checking the paper is still there.
Then finally⌠he looks at you properly for the first time since walking into class.
You lock eyes with his.
No one looks away.
Your brown eyesâwide, soft, full of quiet emotionâhold Keonhoâs steady gaze.
He doesnât blink first.
But for once⌠he isn't cold or distant in that stare.
Something passes between you.
Not words.
Not a smile.
Just understandingâa silent exchange of what just happened: you sketching him without telling anyone⌠him seeing it⌠keeping it.
And now this momentâtheir first real eye contact since lunch, since the cat drawing, since he surprised you by appearing in Art class.
The classroom around you fades slightlyâthe teacher speaking softly to another student about brush techniques becomes background noise.
The silence between you stretchesâlonger than usual.
Not awkward. Not heavy.
Tender, somehow.
Keonho doesnât say anything, but his expression⌠itâs different.
Softer around the edgesâthe way his eyes donât look quite as detached anymore
You feel it too: this quiet intimacy forming without either of them saying a word
No one interrupts.
No teacher calls on you or him.
The clock ticks toward the end of periodâmaybe ten minutes left before dismissal.
And for those few secondsâŚ
you just *stay* like that:
looking at each other,
no pressure to speak,
no expectation to perform.
Keonho finally blinks.
Itâs a small movementâbarely noticeableâbut it breaks the intensity of the eye contact.
Not because he wants to look away⌠but because something in him shifts and he doesnât know how to process it.
Without speaking, without warningâŚ
He leans down slightlyâ
And presses a quick kiss to your forehead
A soft, brief touch.
No romance. No drama.
Just an instinctive gesture that feels right in this quiet moment.
The kiss lasts less than a second.
A fleeting brush of his lips on your foreheadâso gentle, so unexpectedâthat you freezes completely.
Your breath catches.
Eyes widen slightly.
Heart? Thumping like it's trying to escape your chest.
Then he leaves the room like nothing happened, though his red ears give it away, leaving you stunned because Keonho never initiated affection like this.
His ears red.
Not from anger or embarrassment in front of othersâŚ
but from affection. From doing something soft for onceâand not hating it.
He steps out into the hallway without looking back.
You don't move.
Not for several seconds.
Your forehead still tinglesâwhere his lips touched, warm and fleeting.
That tiny kiss⌠it wasn't dramatic or passionate like in kdramas.
It was quiet. Private. Meaningful.
Keonhoâthe boy who never hugs, never holds hands first, rarely says "I love you," the guy who avoids affection at all costsâŚ
Just kissed you on the forehead.
Without a word.
Without explanation.
Like it was natural.
The classroom keeps moving around youâstudents turning pages, pencils scratching paperâbut you're frozen in that moment.
Your fingers slowly rise to touch the spot on your forehead⌠as if checking if it really happened.
The teacherâs voice finally breaks through your daze.
"Alright, classâwrap up your projects. We have five minutes before dismissal."
Students begin packing up: sketchbooks zipped, paints capped, chairs pushed in.
You slowly move.
Your hands are a little unsteady as you slips your art supplies into your backpackâthe sketchbook going in gently on top.
You touch your forehead one last time⌠then exhales softly.
No smile yet.
Not giggling or blushing dramatically like other girls might if their cold boyfriend kissed them out of nowhereâŚ
But something warm spreads through your chestâa quiet joy that feels fragile and precious.
Like you just received a secret gift from the universe.
Class ends, you're at your locker.
The hallway is noisy with the rush of students leavingâlockers slamming, laughter echoing, backpacks thumping against lockers as kids cram books inside.
You stand quietly at your locker.
Your dark brown hair falls over one shoulder as you turns the combination lock slowly.
You're not rushing.
Not texting.
Just organizing: placing notebooks neatly side by side, slipping a few loose papers into a folder.
Around you, groups chat loudly about after-school plans: hanging out at cafes or convenience stores⌠basketball practice⌠group projects due tomorrow.
But you don't join any conversations.
You're still in that soft haze from earlierâthe kiss replaying in your mind.
Keonho appears at the end of the hallway.
He walks with his usual calm strideâhands in his pockets, blazer slightly unzipped, dark hair neatly falling over his forehead.
No hurry. No one around him.
But as he gets closer to your lockerâŚ
his steps slow downâalmost imperceptibly.
It's not obvious unless you're really looking.
But Keonho is checkingâmaking sure you're there before he fully approaches.
Minho and their other friends are already gone aheadâtheyâd teased him earlier for leaving class early again (he never sticks around for dismissal).
Now itâs just him⌠and you.
You sense his presence and turns to look at him.
The moment you turn, your eyes lock onto Keonho.
Heâs standing a few feet awayâclose enough to be intentional, far enough not to seem too eager.
Hands still in his pockets. Posture relaxed but attentive.
No smirk.
No greeting.
Just that quiet stareâthe kind he gives when he's assessing something⌠or someone.
But there's no coldness in it this time.
Not indifference.
Something softer lingers beneath the surfaceâmaybe the ghost of that forehead kiss still on his mind too.
Around them, students continue moving: some saying goodbye loudly at lockers, others rushing toward exits.
"...Shall we go home together?" You suggest tentatively, gauging his reaction.
Keonho doesnât answer right away.
He just looks at youâstudying the way you asked, how quiet and careful your voice was. Like you weren't sure if heâd say yes.
Most couples wouldâve assumed theyâd walk home together after class ended.
But you? You asks firstâgives him space to refuse or ignore.
For a second, Keonho considers saying nothing.
Walking past like usual.
Going his own way without explanation.
Thatâs what he usually does.
But thenâŚ
he remembers the sketch in his pocket.
The kiss on your forehead. The softness from earlier that felt too real to undo now
Without a word, Keonho nods.
Then he steps forwardâclosing the distance between themâand gently takes your backpack from your hand before you can protest.
Itâs not dramatic.
No sweeping gesture or grand romantic act.
But he is carrying it for you nowâsliding the strap over his shoulder and adjusting it so it sits comfortably beside his own bag
A small thing.
But huge in meaning: Iâm walking with you. Iâm doing this intentionally.
He doesnât say âLetâs goâ or hold out his arm like a gentleman wouldâŚ
Just turns slightly toward the exit doorâand waits for you to fall into step beside him
You walk side by sideâno space between them, but not touching either.
You matches his pace easily.
Keonho isnât fast, not slowâjust walks with that natural rhythm of someone who doesnât rush for anyone.
The school grounds are quieting down now: the last few students leaving campus, teachers heading to their cars or faculty rooms.
Sunlight slants through the trees in golden streaksâthe late afternoon sky soft pink and blue above you.
Neither speaks.
But itâs comfortable silenceânot awkward or empty. Just⌠peaceful. Like you're used to being near each other without needing constant conversation.
The two of you walk in quiet harmony through the school gates, then down the sidewalk leading to your neighborhood.
No one passes byâjust occasional cars driving slowly along the residential street.
Keonhoâs long fingers occasionally brush against yours as they swing slightly with each step⌠but he doesnât pull away or adjust his posture.
If anything, it feels natural for him to be this closeâshoulder almost touching yours now and then.
You pass a small convenience storeâyour usual spot if you ever grabbed snacks after school. A few kids from another class are hanging out by the entrance, laughing loudly.
But Keonho doesn't slow down.
Doesn't glance at them.
He just keeps walking forwardâas if you're all that exists right now.


















