“you’re actually sleeping,” jaehyun mutters, his lips jutting out the slightest bit. “did i bore you that much?”

still, jaehyun shifts, shrugging his hoodie off to gently drape it over your shoulders. he pauses for a second before pulling it snug around you, careful not to wake you before sitting back, blinking down at his untouched question booklet.

he frowns.

“could’ve told me if i was boring you,” he mumbles, but his words don’t have bite. “and i don’t know what these questions mean.”

he doesn’t even pretend to study anymore. he just sits beside you, flipping your pen between his fingers and watching you breathe like it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen. you’ll definitely be mad when you wake up to see all the unanswered questions in his book, but that’s a problem for another time. 

park sungho

you’ve been holed up at your usual corner booth, textbooks and half finished drinks scattered across the table. sungho’s voice had been the only constant. low, steady, teasing you every so often when you lost focus mid sentence, probably because you hadn’t slept in a good day and a half.

“you always make me carry the conversation,” sungho mutters, nudging your cup closer.

but you didn’t reply. he turns towards you, sarcasm loaded, and then stops cold.

your head is resting on your folded arms, face buried against the sleeve of your sweater. you’re fast asleep, the kind of sleep that only comes after fighting it for way too long.

“seriously?” he mumbles. “you fall asleep on me of all people?”

sungho leans back in the booth, tipping his head against the cushion, and sighs. “you’re lucky i like you,” he says quietly, glancing at your peaceful face.

when your shoulder slumps a little, he instinctively reaches out to steady you, arm looping behind you without thinking. his hand brushes your back once, like he’s checking to see if you’re real. or maybe he’s just making sure you’re still breathing after he saw you take three cans of red bull yesterday afternoon,

lee sanghyuk

you’re both sitting on a park bench after school, your backpacks between you, the sky turning pink and orange with sunset. the conversation had gradually faded into a comfortable kind of silence, only interrupted occasionally by the rustle of the leaves from the tree above you and a chirping of summer birds.

riwoo had noticed your head tilting slowly, your eyes fluttering shut. but he didn’t expect you to actually fall asleep on his shoulder.

he freezes. “wait are you–” he tilts his head slightly and you don’t move. “are you seriously sleeping?”

he can feel your breath against his neck, and for a while, he just stares forward, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips.

he tries his best not to read into it and fails completely. you murmur something in your sleep–unintelligible–the type of thing he could definitely spin into something he can tease you with.

riwoo pulls his hoodie sleeve over his hand and adjusts your head carefully so you don’t wake up with a nasty neck cramp. he looks away as he does it, face a little red.

“this doesn’t mean i like you or anything,” he mutters.

“okay. maybe a little.”

han dongmin

you’d been whisper bickering over a shared study worksheet, hunched over a table with you pencils and passive aggressive sticky notes, when you energy finally ran out. as it should, that’s what taesan thinks–you’ve been giving his snarky remarks for a good hour now. taesan caught the change in your posture first, how your pen slowed and your head dipping.

he glances over, annoyed, ready to make a cocky comment, only to see you completely out, your cheek resting on your folded arms, dangerously close to his elbow.

“you’re not serious,” he mutters under his breath. “you’re not actually sleeping when he have a project due–”

you shift slightly in your sleep, your knee nudging his under the table. taesan swallows, blinking down at you sleeping and exhales like it physically hurts him.

he sits there for a while, stiff and unblinking before he finally reaches over, so slowly it’s almost ridiculous, and slides his hoodie off to drape it gently over your shoulders.

you stir, but don’t wake. his hoodie’s big on you, and he looks away immediately, jaw clenched and face burning.

when a classmate passes by and sees, raising an eyebrow, taesan mutters about how “it’s not what it looks like.”

kim donghyun

you’d gone up to the school rooftop to escape the cafeteria noise, as usual, leehan in following with two bottles of pocari and that calm look in his eyes. 

he notices how your replies start getting shorter, your eyes heavier.

when you nod off beside him, your head gently bumping his shoulder, he almost doesn’t react. leehan just blinks. looks down at you. Blinks again.

then–the faintest smile.

he doesn’t move. doesn’t flinch. he just watches the wind pull a strand of your hair across your cheek and reaches out, brushing it back with the lightest touch.

“you should sleep more,” he murmurs, voice quiet. “not just here.”

his shoulder shifts slightly, adjusting so you’re resting more comfortably. you don’t stir. leehan watches your brows furrow in your sleep, the way the corners of your lips twitch. you look pretty in the summer sunlight. 

“i’ll wake you before lunch ends.”

but he never does.

kim woonhak

the game controller slips from your hand mid-match.

“hey, y/n?” woonhak turns, expecting you to be annoyed at his overkill win. instead, he sees you curled up on the couch, face buried against a pillow, your legs tangled in the blanket you’d been fighting over minutes ago.

he blinks. grins.

“seriously?” he whispers.

he carefully sets your controller down, then kneels beside the couch to check if you’re faking. “if this is some kind of trap because i triple headshotted you because i'm just too good–” he leans closer. sees the even rise and fall of your chest. the softness of your expression. 

he tugs the blanket over you, then just sits there. watching you sleep. thinking about when exactly the friendship between you two got this comfortable. he also thinks about how well he did in the last match, too bad you fell asleep before he could rub it into your face. then he gets up and tiptoes to the kitchen, returning with your favourite snack. he places it beside you like some kind of offering.

“i’ll eat mine now,” he says quietly. “you can have yours when you wake up.”

he pauses for a second.

“you really should’ve seen my kill just now.”

You’d never seen him before. But after that, he seemed to be at the gym every time you were there.

At first, the two of you only smiled at each other when you saw him. But your friendship slowly developed into casual conversation every now and then. 

“I swear I’ve never seen you at the café before,” you laugh, squinting at him to see if he’s joking. “Are you sure you work there?”

Riwoo chuckles, leaning back against the bench. “I really do. Been working there since December, I swear.”

“Seriously? I go there, like, every week.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Guess I’m just unmemorable, huh?”

You scratch the back of your neck, suddenly a little sheepish. “Or I’m just really bad at paying attention.”

“Well,” he says, “how about this. I’ll gift you a free drink of your choice, if you come with me to Sungho’s party.”

“Wait, now I’m getting a little suspicious. Who is Sungho and why do I have to tag along with you?” 

Riwoo lets out a laugh. “Relax. Sungho’s just a friend. He’s throwing this party, and I might’ve told him I was bringing someone cool so I wouldn’t have to stand around awkwardly sipping soda all night.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And I’m the cool person in this scenario?”

“Maybe.” 

You try not to smile, but fail. “Okay, deal. How good are you at making a latte?”   

He shrugs, but there’s also a small smile on his face. “You’ll have to find out for yourself.” 

And now you’re here. Standing in the midst of a crowded party with Riwoo beside you. He looks completely out of place, fumbling with the plastic cup in his hands. 

Then, suddenly, a small group of girls approaches. You recognize them, they'd been watching him for a while now, whispering, laughing too loudly. Of course they’re interested. How could anyone not be interested in Riwoo?

You hate to admit it, but in the short time that you had known him, you had grown to like him a lot. He is handsome, witty and a gentleman without even knowing it. The kind of person who holds the door without thinking, who listens and remembers everything you say.

“What’s your name?” One of the girls asks, the smile on her face sweet and flirty. 

Riwoo is slightly caught off guard, but it doesn’t show on his face. Only you can see how he’s caught off guard. 

“Riwoo,” he says simply, his voice barely louder than the music in the room.

The girls giggle, one of them brushing her hair behind her ear a little too slowly. You watch them talk, not wanting to leave his side. You tell yourself it’s nothing. He’s not yours. He’s just your friend.

But still, you’re jealous. 

“You’re not from around here, are you?” another girl asks, her eyes practically glittering under the colored lights.

“Is it that obvious?” Riwoo chuckles. 

They laugh again, and it rings in your ears even after they’ve stopped laughing. You're still smiling, but your fingers tighten slightly around your own drink. You look away, trying to find some distraction to your jealousy. 

You turn away and walk towards the crowd, pretending to open your phone and text someone when in reality you’re just looking at the weather app. It’s easier than standing there, pretending not to feel the ache in your chest.

You don’t stop walking until the flirting and small talk fade away. 

The kitchen is quieter and also the only place that is lit by a lamp. Someone’s standing in the corner, but you ignore it. You take a deep breath in. 

It's stupid. You barely know him, but that doesn't stop the feeling of jealousy.

You pour yourself a glass of some random bottle that’s in front of you and take a sip of it. It burns a little, sharper than you expected. Maybe if you get drunk enough you’ll forget all about the fact that you’re at a party of a stranger. And that Riwoo is flirting with some random girls. 

By the time you’ve emptied your second glass everything is hazy and spinning.

Your head tips back against the cabinet with a gentle thud. The ceiling spins slightly and you look at it to try and ground yourself. 

You giggle at how ridiculous you are. Hiding in the kitchen like a sore loser, your only friend here flirting with a group of girls. You wonder if he even noticed you left.

Maybe you should go back out there and have fun. Forget all about the stupid situation you’re in and drink all your thoughts away. Instead you sink slowly to the floor, the glass still in your hand, your head resting back against the cabinets. 

“Hey.”

Riwoo is standing in the doorway. He looks so out of place under the dim yellow kitchen, hair slightly messy, one hand still carrying that plastic cup, now almost empty.

He steps inside slowly, and stops until he’s just in front of you. You don’t look up to meet his eyes, instead you’re just staring at his knees. 

“You okay?” he asks.  

“Do I look okay?” You mumble with a crooked smile, eyes glassy.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sets his cup down on the counter and crouches in front of you, elbows resting on his knees as he tries to meet your gaze. 

“You disappeared,” he says. 

“Why’d you come find me?” you ask, as you finally look him in the eye. He smiles, although his face still clearly shows his concern. 

“Because I didn’t want to be out there if you weren’t.”

He reaches out slowly and carefully brushing your hair back. He doesn’t pull away after tucking the hair behind your ear, instead he uses the moment to take a good look at you.

His eyes search your face, tracing every part of it. 

“You’re drunk,” he says, causing you to stifle a laugh. 

You nod slowly. “You’re only realising now?”

You hold his gaze, your heartbeat suddenly loud in your chest. His hand drops down, but only so he can sit beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he slides down against the cabinet. 

“I didn’t like watching those girls talk to you,” you admit, the words falling out before you can stop them. You’re staring straight ahead now, afraid to meet his gaze after admitting your jealousy. What will he think of you now that you told him? 

Riwoo turns his head slightly, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Why not?”

“Because I think I like you,” you say, voice barely audible. The words once again tumbling out of your mouth before you can think of the consequences. You shouldn’t have drank that much alcohol.

“Good.”

You turn to look at him, startled. He’s already watching you, his expression different, like he’s genuinely happy. It startles you more than anything else tonight. 

he nods into the curve of your neck. “i missed you so much,” he mumbles, voice soft and muffled as he sways you slightly. “did you miss me?”

you chuckle under your breath. “you saw me this morning.”

“yeah,” he pouts, pulling back just enough to look at you, “but that was so many hours ago.”

your heart melts at the sincerity in his voice, and you let him hold you, swaying gently with him in the quiet. the only sound is the soft crackle of the chimney behind you, casting a warm glow across the room.

even when you pull away slightly to ask if he wants dinner, he tugs you right back in, mumbling into your shirt, “not yet. just a few more minutes like this.”

and so you stay like that, his head resting on your shoulder, arms around your waist, wrapped up in the quiet thrum of home.

𝖫𝖤𝖤 𝖱𝖨𝖶𝖮𝖮

riwoo’s sprawled on the couch beside you, one arm draped around your shoulder as you snuggle into him, a blanket messily thrown over your tangled limbs and a bowl of popcorn resting on your lap.

a romcom plays on the television—the kind that’s equal parts cheesy and charming—and riwoo’s been providing commentary on every single scene, ridiculous and exaggerated, leaving you wheezing with laughter, clutching your stomach. he looks so proud of himself every time you laugh, flashing that boyish grin every time you laugh, even when you playfully shove him for his hilarious comments.

you’re laughing more than watching.

and then, the ending hits. the music softens, the screen dims, and the two lovers finally reunite after being apart.

riwoo’s about to crack another joke when—

sniffle.

he pauses, turning to look at you, and his smile fades into something softer. “wait, are you crying?” he asks, his voice low, surprised.

you nod, wiping your cheek quickly. “it just got me, okay?”

without hesitation, he scoots in closer, tugging the blanket snugly around both of you, his fingers gently reaching for yours. “hey, come here.”

no more jokes. just his arms around you, chin resting on your head, and his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles into your palm—quiet, warm comfort wrapped in the soft glow of movie credits from the screen.

𝖬𝖸𝖴𝖭𝖦 𝖩𝖠𝖤𝖧𝖸𝖴𝖭

it’s still dim when jaehyun wakes, the room washed in blue-grey light. your limbs are tangled beneath the blanket, one hand resting over his chest, your breath brushing against his collarbone in a steady rhythm.

his lips lift in a soft smile when he looks at you. your lips are parted slightly, brows relaxed, your expression peaceful—like you’re perfectly content staying wrapped in his arms. his gaze lingers, tracing over your face, memorizing every curve softened by sleep.

he brushes your hair back, thumb gently grazing the slope of your cheek.

the minutes stretch on. he checks his phone. no emails, no messages, no noise. just the quiet beating of his heart, somehow louder in the stillness.

eventually, the boredom seeps in—not the restless kind, but the yearning kind.

so he leans in, pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then your nose.

you groan, sinking deeper into the blankets. “too early.”

jaehyun hums, slotting his leg between yours, voice barely above a whisper. “i missed you.”

you sigh, exasperated, but you let him curl fully around you. he’s warm—annoyingly so. he smells like his body wash, and home.

and when he rubs his nose against yours and mumbles, “if you really want me to stop, i will,” you let out a tired laugh.

“don’t stop,” because even if you act mad sometimes, you still love his affection so much.

𝖧𝖠𝖭 𝖳𝖠𝖤𝖲𝖠𝖭

taesan bursts through the door, soaked from head to toe, water dripping all over the entryway.

“you didn’t take an umbrella?” you ask, arms crossed, brows furrowed in disappointment.

“i forgot,” he says pitifully, hair plastered to his forehead and shirt soaked through. “it started pouring out of nowhere.”

your glare doesn’t falter—you’d reminded him to carry an umbrella, more than once. but he never listens.

he pouts a little and leans into you, like a wet kitten looking for sympathy. “comfort me. i’m wet.”

“you’re also gross,” you deadpan. “go shower before you catch a cold.”

when he reappears fifteen minutes later, his hair is damp and clean, shoulders bare, skin flushed from the hot water. he sits at the edge of the bed, and you kneel in front of him, gently toweling his hair dry.

he hums, soft and content, until you accidentally tug his ear a little too hard.

“ow.”

“sorry,” you say, trying not to smile.

he turns to pout at you, cheeks puffed like a cartoonishly. “you’re not being gentle. are you really mad at me?”

you chuckle, setting the towel aside and pulling him closer until his head rests against your stomach. he immediately wraps his arms around your waist, face pressed into your shirt.

“better?”

“mm,” he hums, already snuggling in. “much.”

𝖪𝖨𝖬 𝖫𝖤𝖤𝖧𝖠𝖭

leehan is sitting on the floor between your legs, his back warm against your ankles, and his cheek rested snugly against your knee. the living room is quiet, save for the soft hum of whatever show is playing on the television.

your fingers move through his hair slowly—carding out the little tangles, smoothing each strand with care. leehan hums under his breath as you part it carefully, smoothing it down before starting a braid.

your hands move in gentle patterns—over, under, over—and he tilts his head slightly to give you more space. he leans into your touch, shoulders relaxed, breathing slow and steady.

“is this okay? too tight?” you ask, pausing to lightly scratch his scalp

“no,” he murmurs, eyes closed. “feels nice.”

you finish the braid—neat and simple—but your fingers keep moving, combing through the rest of his hair with soothing, lazy motions.

he shifts slightly, turning his head to look up at you with that soft, half-lidded gaze that makes your chest ache a little. “let’s do nothing all day,” he says, voice thick with comfort.

you chuckle, brushing a thumb against his cheekbone. “that’s what we’re doing right now.”

he nods, satisfied. and you both stay just like that for hours, long after the braid is done—quiet tv, soft touches, and hearts full.

𝖪𝖨𝖬 𝖶𝖮𝖮𝖭𝖧𝖠𝖪

you wake up to the softest poke against your shoulder and woonhak’s voice in your ear. “hey. wake up, please?”

you groan, blearily blinking at the clock. “it’s 1:30 in the morning. what do you need?”

he grins. “i’m craving ramen. come with me?”

you grumble but get up anyway, feet padding after him into the kitchen.

you sit on the counter, half-asleep and smiling as he throws absurd ingredients into the pot just for the sake of experimenting.

“strawberries are not for garnish,” you mumble, amused, watching him cut strawberries into tiny pieces.

“i just wanted some colour,” he laughs.

he keeps looking over his shoulder at you. you’re smiling in a sleepy, squint way: the one that he’s grown to adore so much. he cracks another egg into the pot, absolutely no reason other than wanting to hear you laugh again.

you don’t trust the ramen he’s cooking at all, but he’s glowing—loose tee, messy hair, eyes sparkling—and you let him play chef.

once the lid is on and the noodles are simmering, he sets the chopsticks down, steps between your legs, and leans in to kiss you. slow. warm. just because he can.

you kiss back, fingers curling into his hair—until your nose twitches.

“woonhak,” you murmur against his lips, “the ramen.”

he yelps, rushing back to the pot, cheeks flushed pink, clearly embarrassed for getting distracted so easily.

when it’s finally done, you eat straight from the pot (because who’s bothering with dishes at 2 am?). and somehow, it turns out edible delicious, even.

you sit side by side on the floor, knees bumping, chopsticks clinking, trying not to laugh too loudly.

you’ll probably regret this when you’re both running late in the morning—but that’s a worry for tomorrow.

“Woonhak, does this hair clip look pretty on me?”

“Yeah, it does. I like–”

“Thank you, Woon!”

“Woon, do I look okay today?”

“Yes, you always do–”

“Thanks, Woonhak!”

“Woonhak, quick, does this skirt look good on me?”

“Girl, of course–”

“Thank you, Woon!”

He’s seen you bare faced—the real essence of your beauty—almost every single day, to the point that he can’t find the words to describe it anymore. And the fact that he sits in the back row and often sleeps in English class doesn’t help him find the words too. 

However, today is the first time Woonhak has ever laid eyes upon you with makeup on. Full glam. 

And he doesn’t know how to react.

You’re beautiful, Woonhak knows that. 

Though, today, donning makeup that perfectly suits your features, it highlights your looks into a level of elegance he’s never noticed about you before. 

You’re actually so so attractive.

Woonhak watches, standing perfectly still, as you run up to him, a mixture of excitement and nervousness painted across your face.

“Woon!” you say, precisely stopping right in front of him. You give him a wide smile, unknowingly causing your best friend’s heart to race like crazy. 

“Yeah?” he answers, already breathless.

You grin. “Do I look okay? I’ve got theatre auditions in the third period so I did my makeup with Kyujin.”

“I…” Woonhak feels tingles through his skin, suddenly feeling weak in his knees. “Um…”

“C’mon! Don’t be afraid,” you urge, still smiling, innocently unaware of the state of your childhood best friend. Woonhak is beginning to see hearts floating around you, and you’re still flashing him an excited, rather adorable smile that makes him wanna jump across the line. 

“You look beautiful,” he finally manages to say, his voice breathy, “as always.”

BEING the person you’ve known as your best friend ever since you could walk, Woonhak has seen you through all the stages of your life—the messy stage of elementary school, the ugly emo haircuts in middle school, and now, through the life changing phase of high school—where some of the boys you found cute in elementary school have all turned handsome.

Including Woonhak. 

You’ve grown conscious of how he’s now so obviously taller than you, how he gets you wide-eyed and sometimes even flustered when he’s leaning in to listen to your whispers, how his cheerful smile makes you feel like life is worth living. You’ve grown to accept that your childhood best friend, Woonhak, has turned out to be ridiculously handsome and you didn’t even realise when that happened. 

However, you’re aware of the fact that the little feelings you have in your heart for Woonhak are not worth the risk of losing your life-long friendship with him. 

“How was the audition?” Woonhak asks, as soon as you step to him, walking out of the theatre. His eyes are trained onto you, looking extremely curious. 

You flash him a grin. “I think it went… okay. I’m not sure I’ll get the lead role, but if I don’t, hopefully I’ll get a supporting role or something.”

“Hey,” Woonhak exclaims, nudging you. His gaze hardens with enthusiasm. “You will get the lead role! I know it!”

You laugh, shaking your head as you nudge him back. “You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend.”

“No,” Woonhak says firmly, almost too quickly. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

Your eyes meet for a second longer than they should, and something unspoken begins to settle between you. It’s not awkward, exactly—but it’s heavy. Warm. Unfamiliar. You look away first, heart fluttering in a way you wish it wouldn’t.

You clear your throat, forcing a confident expression back onto your face. “Well… if I do get the part, you have to come watch me, okay?”

Woonhak’s lips twitch into a smile. “Only if you promise not to cry on stage during the curtain call.”

“I make zero promises,” you shoot back, grinning.

Woonhak laughs, and it’s the kind that makes your chest feel full and your stomach flip. Though, you maintain your composure, still looking at him with a normal expression. He looks at you again, softer this time, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Hey, you’re really amazing, you know?”

There’s a moment of silence.

You blink.

“What?” you laugh it off sheepishly. 

You eye him, “okay, Mr. Sentimental. What’s gotten into you today?” 

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Woonhak replies, his words calm and serious. He shrugs, and the soft smile doesn’t fade. “Just… I meant it.”

“Oh.”

You look at him, blinking rapidly. At a loss for words, you bump Woonhak’s shoulder lightly with yours. 

“Thank you, Woonhak.”

And although those words are simple and easy for you to say, you both feel a certain weight behind them. 

The lunch bell then rings, shattering whatever tension that started to settle around you and Woonhak. You both jump, and Woonhak quickly slings his backpack over his shoulder.

“Okay, c’mon,” Woonhak says. He leans in, brushing a stray eyelash on your cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “We’re gonna be late.”

You don’t move for a second, brain short-circuiting. Did he… always do that? Has he ever done that?

A second later, you break out of your trance and follow him anyway, trying not to overthink the weird feelings swirling in your chest.

AT lunch, when you approach the usual table, Kyujin is already there, scrolling through her phone. She looks up as you take a seat, then grins. “So,” she says, her eyes glinting with mischief, “what did Woonhak say about your makeup?” 

You notice her purposefully pressing her voice at his name.

“Him?” you sigh, glancing at Woonhak, who’s sitting across from you with a spoon of bibimbap halfway to his mouth. Then, nonchalantly, you say, “he said I look beautiful.”

Woonhak freezes mid-bite, and coughs as he looks up. “I did?”

Kyujin whistles. “Beautiful, huh? That’s a new one.”

“Yeah,” you say, poking at your lunch to avoid looking at either of them. “Guess he’s learning how to compliment properly.”

Woonhak clears his throat. “Well, you did look—uh, I mean, you do look—um—”

Kyujin raises her eyebrows, grinning.

You finally glance up, shoving food into your mouth, and Woonhak’s face is so red. You want to tease him, but the butterflies in your stomach refuse.

Later, when you and Woonhak are walking home, like always, it’s quiet for the first time in a while. The nice, comforting kind of quiet. 

Woonhak walks close to you. So close, your arms keep brushing against each other. 

“You know, I meant it,” he says suddenly. “What I said earlier.”

You blink up at him, “about what?”

Woonhak rubs the back of his neck before awkwardly putting his hand back to the side. “About…” he looks away, his ears now pink, “you being beautiful.”

The air shifts again. Something settles between the two of you, some kind of heavy weight that you can’t quite name. You should say something. You know you should. But you don’t. You’re too scared.

So instead, you nudge him lightly with your shoulder. “You’re not too bad yourself, Woon.”

Woonhak laughs, and the moment passes as he begins to talk about something else. But you can’t take your eyes off him, and the feeling lingers.

THE next few days, Woonhak decides to crash your place to study for the midterms that are coming next week. He’s sitting on your bedroom floor, back against the bed frame, surrounded by open textbooks and highlighters. You, on the other hand, lay on your stomach on the bed, pencil between your teeth, hair a little messy from how many times you've pushed it back.

“You’re not even looking at the page,” he says, flicking the page of your textbook. “So much for teasing me just now.”

You roll your eyes. “I am!”

“Really?” Woonhak raises his eyebrow. 

“I am looking,” you mumble around the pencil. “I’m just… absorbing it through osmosis.”

Woonhak rolls his eyes, but he laughs. “You’re such a mess.”

You stick your tongue out at him, but somehow, your heart feels warm. His words feel… weirdly affectionate. “Don’t care.”

Woonhak shakes his head as he grimaces. “Shut up, get back to studying.”

“Eh,” you say in a tone that’s mocking him, “whatever.”

Woonhak doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans back, watching you with a soft look in his eyes. When you glance at him, feeling his stare on you, he quickly looks away. 

“I don’t know how you make even studying look cute,” he mutters under his breath.

You feel your breath catch, but you pretend you didn’t hear him. You’re not sure what you’d say if you did.

You turn your focus back to your work, deciding that it’s better to plague your head with a headache due to physics rather than whatever is going on between you and Woonhak. 

A week later, you’re at the school library after school hours. You’re with Woonhak, of course. Kyujin was with you as well, but she had left almost an hour ago—she was too drowsy to continue studying in the silent library with dim lighting. 

You and Woonhak are both hunched over the same textbook, heads almost touching, trying to find answers to a question that you both can’t find the answers for. 

Woonhak turns a page and your hands brush. Neither of you moves away.

“Woonhak,” you say, voice raspy. He looks up upon hearing your name escape your lips, and your noses are mere inches away. 

“Do you ever think about college?” you ask quietly, like the silence of the library will swallow it. “We’ll be seniors next year.”

Woonhak hums. “Sometimes. Mostly about if we’ll end up at the same one.”

Your heart skips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, his lips forming a soft, small smile. “Feels weird to imagine not seeing you every day.”

You don’t know what to say to that, either. So you just nod and keep reading, even though none of the words make sense anymore.

YOUR phone buzzes at 2:34 a.m.

Tofu Woonhak calling...

You had been studying late at night, even after spending an entire day studying at the library. You don’t expect Woonhak to still be awake at this time. You blink, confused, then answer. “Woonhak?” 

“You’re still awake,” he says, voice low and gentle. Sleepy. “I knew it.”

You smile tiredly, curling up in your desk chair. “Just studying. Midterms are pure evil, you know?”

“Even on the smartest girl ever?”

You sigh. “Me? I wish…”

“You sound exhausted.” 

He knew, of course. Just from hearing how your response is. 

“I am exhausted.”

There’s a pause, then, “I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you are taking breaks.”

Your heart does that annoying fluttery thing again. You swallow before answering. “You’re too nice to me.”

“You’re my best friend,” he says softly, and the way he says it makes you ache. You shift uncomfortably in your chair.

“…Woonhak?”

“Yeah?” His voice is low it gives you tingles. 

“You should sleep.”

“Not until you promise to take a break in the next ten minutes.”

You laugh, voice soft. “Fine. Ten minutes.”

He doesn’t hang up right away. Neither do you.

THE first Monday after midterms, you’re standing outside the theatre classroom, feeling giddy after being announced that you’re going to be playing as the female lead in the upcoming play.

You’re chatting and laughing with your guy classmate, who’s from your cast—the male lead—tall, charming, annoyingly good-looking. He hands you something—maybe a small snack or a drink—and you accept it with a grateful smile.

Woonhak sees all of it from down the hall.

He wasn’t looking for you, but he always seems to find you anyway.

His chest tightens in a way he doesn’t like. His feet feel heavy, like they don’t know whether to move toward you or walk the other way.

You look so… happy.

He hates how much it makes his stomach twist. But he can’t pull his eyes away.

When you finally spot him, you wave enthusiastically. “Woon!”

He instinctively waves back, but he’s forcing a smile. The guy beside you glances at him, then leans in to say something to you that makes you laugh again.

Woonhak has to look away.

For the first time, he wonders what it would feel like to lose you to someone else.

IT’S already dark outside when you exit the building, a bag slung over your shoulder, the last of your castmates waving goodbye. Theatre practice had finished late today, and you didn’t expect anyone to be waiting—most people left a while ago.

But there he is. Woonhak. Leaning against the brick wall beside the exit, hands shoved in his pockets, head tilted up at the sky like he’s been lost in thought. 

You blink in surprise. You run up to him. “Woon? What are you still doing here?”

Woonhak startles a bit, knocking himself out of his trance and straightening up. “Hey. I… was just waiting.”

“For me?” You laugh lightly. You shove him using your elbow. “You could’ve just gone home, you know.”

“I know,” he says, a little too quickly, his voice strained. He does not spare you a glance. “I just—God, why do you keep acting like this is nothing?”

You freeze. Why is he suddenly mad? “…Like what’s nothing?”

Woonhak runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Like I’m just some guy who’s always going to wait around for you. Who’s always going to be there—watching you laugh with other people, watching some theatre guy flirt with you—smiling like it doesn’t kill me inside.”

Your breath catches. What is this about? 

“Woonhak—”

“I can’t do it anymore,” Woonhak says, eyes blazing as he turns sharply to you. “I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care, like I’m fine just being your best friend, when every part of me—”

He cuts himself off, chest heaving.

There’s silence. Real, heavy, heart-stopping silence. The kind that feels like it’s stabbing you right in the chest. 

You step closer, voice barely a whisper. You want to know. “Every part of you… what?”

Woonhak exhales shakily, eyes finally meeting yours. “Every part of me is in love with you.”

The words hang there between you, raw and unpolished. Heavy and honest.

Your heart pounds so loud it echoes in your ears. You don’t know what to say—not because you don’t feel the same, but because you do.

Too much.

And that’s terrifying. 

You freeze. 

The words hit you like a wave—I’m in love with you—and suddenly it’s all too loud. Your heartbeat, the crickets outside, the silence that stretches after.

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. You can’t feel your fingers, and your breath is stuck in your throat. There are too many thoughts, too many feelings, and not enough air.

So you do the only thing your panicked brain tells you to do.

You run.

You don’t even know where you’re going—you know just that you need to move. That staying in front of him, in that moment, might shatter something fragile inside you. It might even burst you. 

“Wait—wait!” Woonhak calls, the sound of his footsteps following closely behind. “Y/N!”

You don’t stop. 

You can’t.

You hear him catching up, the rhythm of his breath uneven. “Y/N, stop!”

You don’t listen to him. Not until you reach the empty courtyard behind the school, the soft glow of the streetlights washing everything in gold.

Then, finally, you find yourself coming to a stop.

Your back is to him. Shoulders heaving.

Woonhak catches up, breathless and frustrated. “Why did you run?”

You can’t face him yet. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“Then say anything,” he says, voice breaking. “Yell at me. Tell me I’m an idiot. Say you hate me—just don’t run away like that.”

You slowly turn to him.

Your voice is soft. “I didn’t run because I hated you, Woonhak.”

He takes a cautious step closer. His eyes tremble, his voice shaky. “Then why?”

Your hands tremble. You close your eyes, then, “because I love you, too, Woonhak.”

His breath catches. You slowly open your eyes, and you finally meet his eyes, and this time you don’t look away.

“I’ve loved you for so long it scared me,” you continue, voice shaking. “And I thought if I told you, I’d lose the one thing that’s always been certain in my life—you.”

Woonhak stares at you like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. And then—

He’s in front of you. Close. Closer than he’s ever been.

“Y/N, I… I was always yours,” he says quietly. “You couldn’t have lost me even if you tried.”

And with that, his hand finds yours—fingers lacing together like they’ve been waiting their whole lives to do it. He leans closer, and his lips find yours. 

It’s a quick peck—nothing monumental, just a soft brush against your lips. But it’s enough. 

Enough to pour his feelings onto your heart, telling you the things he needed you to know all these while. 

There’s no grand gesture. No fireworks.

Just two best friends, standing in the soft glow of the night, finally saying the things they were too scared to say before.

And it’s enough.

― © htaesan, 2025.

After a couple bottles of soju, the alcohol had intoxicated you already as you found yourself all alone and remembering all the sweet moments you had with him. How you first met him, all those serenades, the nights full of laughter or full of passion, the times when he kissed and praised your insecurities and showed you how much he loves you and finds you perfect, all the promises of a beautiful and nurturing future together.

Tears started to fall from your eyes abruptly as you mumbled his name and felt your heart ache. You needed to apologize to him, to show him that you could never hate him, that your heart was so full of him that it couldn't even be called yours anymore.

Your fingers tapped the phone’s screen as you dialed his number like the act of calling his number became such an habit that it’s now a part of your autopilot mode. Once he picked up, your phone was already glued to your ear.

“Sungho? Love…?” The pet name came out hesitantly, as if you were scared of saying it.

There was a brief silence before you finally heard the voice that you were dying to hear the entire night. “I’m here.” You let out a shaky sigh when he spoke up, sobering up when you took note of his tired and teary tone.

“I… I need you, Sungho,” you inhaled, trying to take a deep breath, even with your nostrils clogged from crying so much. “I need you here with me. I think I drank a little too much and I really wish you were here… I’m sorry for what I said earlier, I didn’t mean any of that,” you let out a sob and looked around the bar, trying to find him even though you knew he wasn’t there. “You know I love you more than anything in this world.”

“Are you at the bar near your place?”

“Yes…”

“Don’t move, I’m on my way.”

After a few minutes of staring at the bar’s door that seemed like hours, you saw the door opening for the 10th time, but this time it was Sungho who was entering the bar. He looked around and when his eyes landed on your face, you could see his expression softening.

“Sungho…” You mumbled and smiled when you saw him walking towards you. His hand found your cheek as he lifted your face and studied it, making sure that you weren’t too drunk. You looked up at him and leaned into his touch. “You came.”

He sighed and took a seat next to you before asking for the bartender a cup of water. “You called.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, I’m not mad at you.” He kept his eye on the bartender, watching him fill up a glass of water and place it on the counter right in front of you.

You frowned. “You should be, I hurt you, I said things I shouldn’t have.”

“I’m not mad,” he looked at you. “I’m upset, Y/N. It’s not easy to hear your partner that you love so much telling you that they hate you and a lot more shit.”

“I know,” you bit your lower lip in order to not cry. “And I know that what I did was wrong, but I didn’t mean any of that. I was hurt and wanted to hurt you as well. I’m so sorry, Sungho.” You took his hand and held it like you were holding the most precious diamond in your hands. “You are my everything and I shouldn’t have said all those things. In the heat of the moment I broke your heart — something I promised myself I would never do. I can’t take what I said back, but I can prove to you that I don’t think any of that and that that shit will never happen again. Please, can you forgive me?”

Sungho took a deep breath and wiped away your tears with a gentle touch, his thumb caressing the skin under your eyes. His lips turned into a little smile that warmed up your heart. “Ah, Y/N…” He pressed his lips against your forehead for a moment and leaned back looking into your eyes. “What should I do to you, hm?”

Sungho chuckled and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You smiled at him, your body felt light and you felt funny, and you didn’t know if it was because of your boyfriend or because of the alcohol.

“We make mistakes, it’s what makes us humans. But don’t do that to me again, my heart won’t take it. I thought I would die when you told me those things.”

You nodded repeatedly. “I promise you I will never do that again. I love you way too much and it hurts me to know that I upset you.”

Sungho pressed his lips against your forehead once again before letting you rest your head on his shoulder. “You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

“No. Maybe,” you giggled. “Just a little bit.”

“Gonna let you rest for a moment before I take you home, okay? Gonna take care of the love of my life. But once you’re sober, you give me the best princess treatment ever because I deserve it.”

You chuckled and gave him a quick peck on his neck. “Got it, Sungho, my special princess.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

Ever since that day you had hoped Sungho would bring him over again. 

It’s the peak of summer, the weather is so hot that there is no other choice but to go swimming. You and your friends had already agreed on going to the beach, but as you pack the last things into your beach bag you’re startled by your brother.

“Are you going to the beach?” He asks, causing you to flinch. 

“When did you get here?” You ask, flinging the beach bag over your shoulder. 

“If you need a ride, Taesan is coming to pick me up. You can come with us.” Your brother says, as he makes his way towards the staircase. “He’ll be here in 10 minutes.” 

“Oh… okay,” you say, turning away quickly so your brother doesn’t see the way your cheeks flush at just the mention of Taesan’s name. “I guess that works.”

You run to your room, checking your reflection one last time in the mirror. Your swimsuit is hidden under a loose button-up shirt and shorts. You toss your phone into your bag, then sit on the edge of your bed, pretending not to count the seconds.

Exactly nine minutes and thirty seconds later, you hear the sound of tires crunching against the driveway.

Sungho’s voice echoes through the house, “He’s here!”

You sling your bag over your shoulder again, force yourself to breathe, and make your way downstairs. The front door is already open, hot summer air spilling into the hallway. 

Taesan is wearing a sleeveless white tank and loose beach shorts, his hair messy in the way that looks unintentional but probably isn’t. His sunglasses are pushed up onto his head, and he looks up as you step out of the house.

His eyes meet yours instantly, and his smile grows slow and warm. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you say, heart tripping slightly over the word.

Sungho doesn’t notice the pause, too busy dragging his cooler toward the trunk. “We better hurry. Everyone’s already there.”

You slide into the backseat, and to your surprise, Taesan glances over his shoulder as he climbs in behind the wheel. “Seatbelt.” he says, his tone gentle.

Sungho spends most of the ride complaining about the heat and the group chat drama, but you barely hear him. You’re too busy catching glimpses of Taesan’s profile in the mirror, the way he drums his fingers against the steering wheel, the way he focuses on the road.

By the time you reach the beach, the sand is already warm beneath your feet, and the sun is high and unrelenting. Your friends are waving from down the shoreline, umbrellas and towels already set up.

Sungho runs ahead, cooler in hand, shouting something about beating everyone to the shade.

You move to follow him, but Taesan touches your wrist lightly, but enough to stop you.

“Your bag,” he says, quietly. “I’ll carry it for you.”

You don’t get the chance to respond. He’s already taken your bag from you and is jogging after your brother, calling out some joke you don’t quite hear. But you stand there for a second longer, your heart loud in your ears.

The beach is chaotic in the best way, waves crashing, people laughing, Sungho yelling over the speaker trying to get it to work and your friends jumping in and out of the water.

“Not a fan of loud music and flying volleyballs?”

You turned to find Taesan standing there, a playful smirk on his lips. You shade your eyes with your hand and smile. “Not when I’m trying to avoid being trampled.”

The rest of the afternoon passed just like that. Little exchanges between the two of you. At one point, your friends dare each other to go deeper into the waves. 

“Hurry up!” Your friend yells to you, as she splashes water towards you. 

“Wait up!” You giggle, slowly tiptoeing towards her.

The water is cold, sharp against your skin, but you don’t care. When a bigger wave hits, you stumble, and suddenly Taesan’s arms are there to steady you. You flash a smile at him, and he flashes a smile back. 

Later, as the sun starts to dip low and everyone gathers to eat, he brushes sand off your arm with the back of his fingers. 

And when you all pile back into the car, sticky with salt and sun, you sit in the back beside Taesan. Sungho dozes off in the front seat, Riwoo driving the car as it hums along the highway.

You rest your head near the window, feeling the summer breeze blow on your face and through your hair. Taesan watches how the wind and the setting sun makes you look like a dream. 

He reaches his hand out to yours. You don’t move away. Neither does he.

And in the dark, warm hush of the drive home, with the salty wind entering through the half-open window, it feels like maybe something small is starting. 

As the summer break nears an end something has changed. Taesan is at your house more often than not. Almost every other day now. He always shows up with Sungho, always acts like it’s just another afternoon of snacks and video games, but you know better. 

You feel it in the way his gaze lingers longer, the way he always sits just a little too close on the couch, or how he always manages to strike up a conversation with you even if there’s a dozen other people around.

“Why do we always hang out at my house?” Sungho complains, you jump up from the couch when you hear your brother’s voice coming from outside. 

“You got all the good games.” It’s Taesan’s voice. 

“Right,” Sungho mutters as he unlocks the door and heads toward the kitchen. “Like you don’t own half of the same ones.”

Taesan catches your eye. His mouth pulls into a small grin. “Hey,” he says, voice quieter now, just for you.

“You’re here again,” you tease as you fall in step beside him, also heading towards the kitchen where your brother is. 

“Maybe I like the snacks.”

“Maybe you like bothering me.”

He shrugs, still smiling. “Maybe I do.”

Later that day, when Sungho is still yelling at the screen in frustration, sounds of the controller clicking sharp and fast, you exit your room trying to find Taesan. 

But Taesan’s not in the living room. He’s not playing today.

You find him on the back porch instead, leaning against the railing, sipping from a cold can of soda, watching the sunset. 

“You’re missing your favorite game,” you say as you step outside, sliding the door shut behind you.

He glances over his shoulder, then turns back toward the horizon. “I’ll live.”

You plop down beside him, close enough that your arms are almost touching. “What’s up with you lately?”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes still on the fading sun. “Summer’s almost over.” He says, not looking away from the setting sun. 

You nod. “Yeah. Feels weird.”

“Feels fast.”

“I like being here,” he says suddenly. “I mean, with you. I didn’t think it’d feel like this, but it does.” 

“Like what?”

“Like I’ll miss it if I don’t say something.”

Taesan finally turns to look at you, and there’s that look in his eyes again. The one you’ve been pretending not to notice all summer.

“I think I didn’t just come over for the games,” he says, voice low and sincere. “I think you know that.”

You do. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t.  But hearing him say it makes the warm summer air feel even heavier. 

You don’t say anything right away. Instead, you lean a little closer. Just enough that your shoulder brushes his.

“I was starting to think you were only here to witness Sungho crashing out every other day.” you murmur.

He laughs under his breath, eyes dropping to the spot where your arm touches his.

“Not even close,” he whispers.

In this moment, you’re brought back to the present, startled at how you’re standing in front of him. The mysterious boy that you had sat next to turned out to be Han “Taesan” Dongmin—KOZ School of Law’s campus crush. There’s almost nothing “bad” that you’re heard of him, yet, when you find yourself walking towards him with a fiery determination in your eyes—you immediately know that you’re about to get hit with something you’d never expect. 

“A-are you sure?” you say, surprised to even find yourself stuttering. You’ve held yourself to such a high reputation—being your school’s academic weapon—you’ve worked hard to keep yourself true to that name. 

Well, to be fair, you didn’t expect Taesan to even say yes to your ridiculous plan—given that all that’s he’s ever done for you is say everything that will get on your nerves.

Taesan gives you a smirk. “Of course,” he says, clearing his throat. “Being the boyfriend of KOZ Academy’s academic weapon isn’t something you get to do everyday.”

The way he presses the emphasis on the word ‘boyfriend’ makes you flinch. It reminds you of your stupid plan; who in their right mind would offer Han Taesan—your rival—a fake dating deal just to make rumours about themselves go away?

“Right,” you roll your eyes. “Anyway, I think we need to enforce some guidelines and boundaries regarding this… set-up.”

Taesan shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight to let himself stand more comfortably. The smirk still on his face, he replies, “alright. Hit me with all of ‘em.”

You whip your phone out, quickly showing him a document that you spent an entire night typing out—complete with every single thing he needed to do for you. 

“Here,” you say, frustrated at how Taesan’s smug smirk just never falters. 

Taesan runs a hand through his hair before leaning down to read through the document displayed on your phone. He finishes reading it quickly, taking a step closer to you after. He doesn’t say anything for a while, only to startle you by abruptly saying, “I agree.”

“What–?” you blurt out, surprised once again. You thought that Taesan would be more picky than– 

“Your terms are easy for me to do. However,” you narrow your eyes at the boy who’s towering in front of you. Of course he’s picky—he’s Taesan. “I’d like you to agree to my conditions as well. If I have to do some things for you, you’d have to do some things for me too.”

You sigh before nodding. How hard could it be? Besides, this whole ‘relationship’ you’re having with Taesan is merely a fake dating set-up. 

“Okay.”

Taesan whips out a full-blown smug smirk, making you roll your eyes. He pushes his glasses up his nose bridge, holding out two fingers. 

“First, you have to also put in the effort to make things real. Like, wearing my jersey when I have basketball games, and wearing my initials ‘round your neck,” he pushes his middle finger down, the smug grin still plastered on his face, “and secondly, you’ll have to let me kiss you anytime.”

The moment the word ‘kiss’ escapes his mouth, you choke on thin air. 

Why is my plan backfiring on me? 

“What? No–”

Taesan shrugs. “Basically, physical contact is allowed to be done anytime.”

You feel your face flush, immediately recalling the third condition that you showed Taesan. No physical affection unless needed. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that—it’s clashing with my third term.”

“But your first term: ‘the other party must always do his utmost best to make the relationship seem real’ exists, am I right?” Taesan objects relaxedly. “Then, my second term doesn’t clash with that. And I also do believe that that first term of yours comes before the rest. Am I right?”

You grit your teeth, sucking in a sharp breath. How could you forget? Taesan will always work to have the last word—be that in court or in conversations. 

Plus, he’s not entirely wrong. 

Though, you’ve never been someone who lets Taesan win willingly. 

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes, your heart twisting in detest at the way Taesan’s face lights up with a smirk again. 

“Then, we have a deal?” Taesan asks. 

You stare into his dark brown eyes once again, registering what you’re about to commit yourself to. All just to get rid of your ex and the rumour he’s pulled you into. 

You hold out your hand, Taesan gladly reciprocating. 

“Deal.”

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IT didn’t hit you that you’re officially Han Taesan’s girlfriend that night. However, the next morning, right after the two of you signed the document at the coffee shop you always study at—it hit you like a million bricks from the sky. 

You’re in a “relationship” with the person you loathed the most for the past year. The exact same man who everyone adores, who’s called the it-boy, the campus crush—is now your most “beloved”. Freshman you would rather jump off a cliff than to offer her nemesis a fake-dating pact. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I guess. 

“Here,” Taesan hands you a velvet box—one that obviously contains jewellery of some sort. 

Of course. Han Taesan’s always prepared. 

You let out a deep sigh, knowing what’s inside. Despite that, you ask, “what’s this?”

Taesan gives you a grin, one that you always see him don during the countable times that he beats you in quizzes. “Open it—I’m sure you’ll like it.”

You run your fingers around the edges of the velvety box, sceptical at Taesan’s sudden soft tone. “Don’t talk to me like that,” you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. 

Taesan, instead of immediately throwing a scoff in your face, simply leans back into his seat with a chuckle. 

Not waiting for whatever reply he’s preparing to throw to you, you open the box. Your eyes lay upon a beautiful, dainty necklace with a “H.D” pendant, nested elegantly in the box. You bite back a gasp, though you’re unable to hide your surprise. The silver necklace is one of the most beautiful pieces of jewellery you’ve yet to lay your eyes upon—it’s dainty and simple, yet it screams elegance in the best way possible. 

You look up at Taesan, obviously bug-eyed. “What- I’m- thank you?”

Taesan throws his head back, laughing. He perches an eyebrow up, clearly amused. “What am I supposed to answer? ‘You’re welcome’?”

Oh. It’s part of his terms. 

You glare at him. 

Not missing a beat, Taesan says with a big grin on his face, “what is your lazy ass waiting for? Put it on—or do you need me to help with that?”

You massage your temples, tempted to stick your tongue out at him, hissing the obvious at him—that you do not want to wear his initials around your neck. 

“I don’t need your help,” you say between gritted teeth, harshly yanking the necklace from the box. You swiftly clasp the necklace around your neck, secretly surprised that you’re able to do so. 

Maintaining a glare, you retort, “I’m only wearing this stupid necklace because it’s part of your terms.”

You throw your gaze elsewhere, Taesan laughing his stomach out in the background. Why is he finding your irritated state so funny? 

The pendant feels cold against your skin, sending tingles. You gulp, feeling odd. You hadn’t announced your ‘relationship’ to your friends yet—but seeing you with Taesan’s initials could certainly start rumours. 

A part of you is jumping with triumph—your plan is starting to set its course, while another part of you is afraid of it all. What if you’re finally not good at something, no matter how much you try—pretending you’re in love with your rival, the bane of your existence?

“We’ll start slow,” you hear Taesan say, pulling you back into reality. You quickly morph into your stoic expression—one that you find yourself often putting up around people. “Like everyone else does. Soft launch.”

“Ah,” you manage, nodding. “Sounds good.”

“Even though that necklace certainly is a big jump for a soft launch,” Taesan voices, chuckling. His words cause you to narrow your eyes at him, hyper aware of the cold metal against your skin—a mark that Taesan managed to place on you. 

It’s all fake, you chant to yourself. Once Anton gets the message, it’ll all be over. 

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THE past few weeks had been a blur. Nothing was out of the ordinary—you attended classes, performed mootings and sent in assignments like usual. Though, only one thing that was out of the routine.

Taesan no longer felt like a thorn to your side. 

You still hate him—you despise the way he carries himself, so proud and confident. You wish you could punch his face for the way he’s so smooth with his words, the way that his charm works on everyone so well. You absolutely hate the way a handsome idiot like him had the potential to beat you in every single subject if you slacked for even a minute. 

Yet, to the public, he’s your boyfriend. 

A cliche: rivals to lovers, they say. 

Despite being the one proposing the whole fake dating plan, you had been the one following Taesan’s itinerary so far. The two of you had finally exchanged phone numbers, and at night, Taesan would always send a list of ideas on how to make the soft launch more obvious day by day. 

The first week, you found yourself wearing tops that highlighted the H.D pendant, styling your hair to make it more noticeable—you even went as far as attending Taesan’s birthday celebration to top the chances of people noticing the pendant. And Taesan didn’t inform you of this one, but you often found him telling his friends, yours, or random coursemates to pass you drinks and snacks. You had no idea how Taesan had gotten the list of all your favourite things to munch on, but you secretly did enjoy the free flow of snacks. Anton had passed you a snack from Taesan too—five packs of your favourite Choco Pie. You couldn’t forget the bewildered face Anton had as he passed them to you, eyes filled with question and a hint of jealousy.  

“What’s up with Han?” he asked.

You shoved the Choco Pies into your shoulder bag, biting back a smile. Who wouldn’t be jolly after getting five of their favourite tidbits? 

“How would I know?” you replied bitterly. You quickly turn away from Anton, the uncomfortable feeling of being around him overpowering the bubbly feeling you had from getting snacks. 

“Well, those Choco Pies are from him,” Anton repeated for the second time. “And I don’t recall him being anything but hostile to you.”

You suppress a scoff. “Maybe he’s had a change of heart? His brain is probably tired of coming up with things to try and outsmart me,” you muttered. As if. 

“Well, if anything—if that asshole tries to do anything to you, I’ll… be here for you, Y/N,” Anton said, taking a step closer. Your eyes widened and your jaw clenched. You quickly finished packing your bag up, swinging it over your shoulders. 

You said that last time, too. 

“Don’t talk to me, Anton,” you responded as monotony as possible before running out of the lecture hall, not giving Anton even a glance. 

The following weeks, Taesan was hanging out with you even more than the previous week. He wasn’t being too obvious, but to you, him walking slightly behind you and not throwing a loud sarcastic remark was already an apparent sign that would show everyone that your dynamics had changed. 

Anton had found yet another chance to corner you after a Public International Law lecture. You stayed back in the hall to reread your theoretical essay before sending it in. Behind you, Taesan was packing up his things, busy scrolling through something in his phone. 

“Hi, Y/N,” you froze when Anton’s voice reached your ear drums. 

You look up at him with a glare. “What do you want?”

Anton flashed his usual pitiful, soft smile. “Nothing. Just a meal with you—this week has been quite stressful for you, right? I heard that last Monday’s mooting was rough.”

“You’re not even a law student, Anton,” you seethed. The KOZ School of Business student ID card hanging on Anton’s neck looked extremely out of place amongst the ocean of law students. “Please kindly get lost, go back to the Business building.”

“My course mates are boring. Besides, you’re more fun to be around,” Anton replied. “I know we… haven’t been on good terms, but give me a chance to fix it all?”

You gritted your teeth, your hands beginning to shake. 

The audacity of this boy… where is my stupid fake boyfriend when I need him–?

“I think she clearly said for you to get lost, bud.”

You fought back a grin. Finally. 

“Han?” Anton tilted his head. “Wait– who are you to tell me that?”

Taesan stood next to you, his backpack dangling from one shoulder. His height towered significantly above you, making you standing right below his shoulders—enough to match Anton. “Who do you think I am?”

Anton’s eyes darted towards the pendant on your décolletage, his eyes bulging. “What the…” you heard him mutter under his breath. 

Taesan seemed to notice this too, and he swiftly pulled you close, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “So, get it now? Get lost, Lee, and give your ex some space. An ex is an ex for a reason.”

Anton then left with a fuming expression, leaving you in fits of relieved laughter after. You thanked Taesan, who simply responded with a polite smile. 

“By the end of this, don’t forget the wish, yeah?” he said, before walking out of the lecture hall. 

You stood there, blinking profusely. You had completely forgotten the last clause of your agreement with Taesan—once you were satisfied with his service, you had to grant him one wish. Anything that he wanted. 

You face palmed yourself. Why didn’t you think twice before typing that down? You mentally made a note to yourself to prepare your wallet for the outrageous request that the thorn in your side would make later on. 

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“ARE you and Taesan dating?” 

Sophia’s question makes you almost spit your lunch through your nose. 

“What?”

“Girl, don’t you dare pretend not,” Yunjin interrupts, pointing her spoon at you. “You literally have his initials as a necklace that you never take off! H.D., which means Han Dongmin, right? Isn’t that his real name?”

“It’s not like–”

“No, no. It’s so obvious! Taesan’s around you more now, and he even gave you a birthday present!”

Sophia smiles, “he looks at you so differently now!” 

Yunjin laughs, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, that too, I guess,” she then looks at you, directly in the eyes, “I guess Han Taesan and Y/N L/N have finally begun their lovers era, huh?”

You feel your cheeks warming up, and guilt fills your chest. You draw a sharp inhale before telling the girls the full story. And subconsciously, your fingers find the pendant, playing with it. 

“It’s fake,” you sigh, “I mean, not the necklace—he’s just pretending. I’m pretending, too. None of this is… real.”

Sophia gasps and Yunjin frowns. 

“Are you… sure? What for?” Sophia asks.

Yunjin nods in agreement. “I’ve always thought that dude had feelings for you, but I… I didn’t realise it’s actually wrong and my deductions were totally off.”

You scoff, though Yunjin’s words left you wondering. “Taesan doesn’t like me—have you girls seen how he treats me?”

“He treats you well,” Yunjin states plainly, shoving a spoonful of rice into her mouth. 

“No,” you immediately shake your head, “he hates seeing me happy! He always finds a way to stick his annoying nose into my life, mocking me. He’s like always, always there to only laugh at my face.” 

“Then why did he agree?” Sophia asks. 

“To what?”

“To fake date you,” she continues, taking a sip of her yakult. “Well, I’m sure you have a plan—a contract and all—don’t you?”

Your eyes widen. How do these two girls know you so well? 

“Yeah. I do. I’m doing all this because of Anton,” the look on your friends’ faces makes you feel a little relieved, “I need him to shut up about me.”

You recall the ridiculous rumour you’ve heard about you from Yunjin, that’s been going around like crazy—the rumour that you used to date Anton because he’s rich and that you used him as a bribe to get outstanding grades. Those close to you knew that is and would never become true—yet people are always jealous of others who have certain things better than them. 

It may seem like a small matter to some, but to you, it’s a matter of reputation. Your whole image and potentially, your graduation is at risk. What if the rumour reaches some professor and they report you? You couldn’t risk the huge amount of money and time you spent, only to be scrapped off the dean’s list due to some rumour. 

Yunjin herself had recorded proof of Anton trying to turn her against you, using that rumour. If she hadn’t shown you the recording, you wouldn’t have believed that sweet, kind Anton was the one who spread those malicious whispers about you.

Now, you’ve got to end it all. One way or another.

You continue finishing your lunch, Taesan somehow in mind. By the end of your lunch, you’re convinced that this is truly all an act—it’s nothing real, and in the end, you’re both just people who hate each other and use each other for selfish, personal reasons.

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“DO I really have to wear your ugly varsity jacket?” Dongmin hears you grunt through the call. He stifles a laugh, tossing a ball up and down. 

“Obviously, you dimwit,” he replies, “you’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?”

Dongmin lets himself smile. The word rolls off his tongue like a simple melody—it feels natural for him to say. He finds it odd, yet entertaining—your reaction is worth it all. Besides, it’s quite refreshing to take a break from hating you, sometimes. 

“Besides, your ex is going to be there,” Dongmin reminds, his voice more throaty than expected. “He’s on the team as well, remember?”

“Yeah,” he catches your quiet answer.  

“Anyway, how do you even have time for all this?” you question from the other end of the line. 

“Hmm,” Dongmin hums, “I do have time.” 

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” you hiss. “You’re in law school, Han Taesan.”

“What? Like it’s hard?”

Dongmin lets out a hearty laugh as he hears you gasp—one of the loudest and most genuine expressions he’s gotten out of you yet. 

“I’m so done with you,” you huff. Dongmin hears you shuffle through your closet, most likely finding something to wear. 

“You say that everytime,” Dongmin whispers to himself softly. 

“Anyway,” you announce loudly, “you better have some food for me once I arrive—I’m wearing your stupid varsity jacket.”

“Alright, sweetheart, anything for you,” Dongmin jests in a sing -song voice.

He hears you yelp in disgust, chuckling. “Yuck! Fuck off, Taesan!”

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IT’S a friendly match, nothing serious, Taesan had said; yet you’re here amongst other significant others, to watch him and his team play against another school’s team. 

At the bleachers, you feel called out, and insanely out of place. Everyone looks so in love—girlfriends wearing jerseys with their boyfriends’ numbers and names on the back, painted their faces accordingly, and even cheering for them with their hearts; mothers and siblings gathering together to support their sons and brothers.

Everyone looks so genuinely in love, and you’re the only one who’s there just because you have to. You arrived only two minutes before the match started, too, because you obviously don’t love Taesan enough to be rescheduling your work shift to see him play.

You fidget with the edges of the varsity jacket you’re wearing, oddly feeling how it’s perfectly oversized on you. 

Earlier, Taesan had spotted you sitting awkwardly on the bleachers. He ran over to you, quickly handing you a quesadilla and a cup of bubble tea, before jogging back to the basketball court to warm up. He didn’t say anything, nor did you—but the gesture made you feel weirdly fuzzy. 

Taesan did actually get you some food, even though you grumpily yelled at him to do so. You thought he wouldn’t, just so that he could get on your nerves, just like he always does. 

You watch him and the team warm up, pumping up positive energy with each other. You take a bite of your quesadilla, trying to ease your heart—yet you just can’t forget the real reason why you’re here. 

Jersey number 35.

The whistle blows, indicating the start of the game, and you catch Anton’s glance at you. He gives you a wide smile, winking twice—a sign that he made up, thanking you for coming, just like the old days. You grimace, turning away.

The mission is to make it seem like I’m in love with Taesan. 

You intently watch Taesan play in the arena, his moves sharp and powerful. He slips through the opposition’s defense flawlessly, scoring goals smoothly. Every time he throws the ball, it gets into the hoop—people erupt in cheers and he’s surrounded by his teammates. 

And every time, Taesan looks up at you, flashing his signature smirk. His grin sparkles, lighting up the room—it makes you feel like you’re the only one in the huge arena. 

It makes you feel odd. 

Like there’s so much more under that grin he flashes to you every time he scores. 

You touch the pendant on your décolletage, the cold metal stinging against your skin. Your fingers trace the letters—the initials of Taesan’s birth name—reminding you this is all a set-up. You’re supposed to pretend, and Taesan is pretending too. 

He must be.

Taking a deep breath, you tug the varsity jacket closer to your body, shoving your hands into its pockets. The weight of Taesan’s name and number lay heavy on your back, yet you don a bright smile—trying your best to show your support for him. 

Right now, you’re Han Taesan’s girlfriend. Player number 11’s girlfriend.

The match ends with Anton’s final goal, and KOZ Academy’s team wins 115-113. The entire gym erupts in waves of cheer and heartfelt hugs, every attending person feeling proud of their team, losing or not. You jog down the stairs, heading towards Taesan, whose height stands out in the crowd. 

When you reach the end of the stairs, you notice Anton’s gaze on you. You glance at him, the weight of past memories dragging you down. At the end of these exact same stairs, you used to run straight to Anton, engulfing him in a hug after a match. You used to kiss his cheek, congratulating him for a successful game. You used to feel like your entire world revolved around him, and that you would be happy with him. 

But that was in the past. Now, you can look at Anton with nothing in your heart. You feel nothing but plain resentment—damning him for the things he did to you. You had thought he was the love of your life, that you’d grow old with him—but Anton had other plans, and another girl that he prioritised more than you. 

You turn your head away, directing your gaze towards Taesan. He’s talking to his friends, his hair wet from the sweat. He’s grinning proudly, talking about something that’s interesting to boys. 

You sigh. Hopefully this whole set-up works—Anton leaves you alone, the rumours die down, and you can go back to bashing Taesan’s head. 

And hopefully, you can move on, too. Once and for all.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Anton take a step towards you. Though, what you don’t see is that Taesan is faster. He waves at you, calling your name with a big grin, before running to give you a hug. 

Your eyes widen upon the impact, and it’s like everything is in slow motion. 

Taesan pulls away, ruffling your hair. His eyes crinkle with his grin. “Are you proud of me, darling?”

Darling. 

You gulp. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

You give him a laugh, trying your best to not make it sound staged. Your nose crinkles at the smell of sweaty boys. Taesan notices, of course, and he chuckles. 

“Sorry, I must smell bad. I’ll be sure to spray on some more deodorant next time.”

You gaze into Taesan’s eyes, his arms still around your waist. There’s some kind of softness behind his teasing look—something that you’ve never seen before. 

A small smile forms on your lips, one that you’re unable to hold back. “Good job, Taesan.”

“Yeah?” Taesan laughs, his eyes forming crescent moons. “Thanks, Y/N.”

He then leans in to whisper, “that’s the first time I’ve heard that from you.”

You push him away, rolling your eyes. “Fuck off, Taesan. I’ll be waiting at the bus stop.”

Taesan laughs loudly as you stomp away. “By the way,” he yells, “you look good wearing my number, sweetheart!”

You lower your head, biting your lips to fight two things—the urge to flash the middle finger to the jolly Taesan behind you, and the weird fluttering feeling that erupts in your stomach every time he calls you ‘sweetheart’.

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“Y/N,” you turn around, finding a panting Anton in front of you. 

You’re standing in line outside one of the most famous pasta restaurants in the heart of the KOZ School of Medicine square, waiting to buy this one pasta dish you’ve been craving for the entire month. You didn’t tell anyone you’d be here—not even Taesan or the girls—so you’re weirded out by the fact that your ex found you here.

“...Anton,” you curtly acknowledge. 

“Is it true?” he asks. 

You force your eyes close for a second, wishing that it wasn’t wrong to beat someone up. “What?”

“That you’re dating Han Taesan. I saw him kissing your cheek last time.”

Your heart almost stops beating for a second. Almost two months have passed, and almost everyone in the entire campus of KOZ Academy knows that you and Taesan are finally getting tired of fighting each other—falling in love instead. 

Your plan has passed the soft launch phase, and now, you’re having your nemesis call you sweet, adoring nicknames out in public. 

“Yes,” you answer, managing a deadpan expression. “What about it?”

“Do you love him?” 

You narrow your eyes at Anton, feeling like if he keeps on shooting questions like this, he’d go home with a black eye. “Why does it matter if I love him or not?”

“Because,” Anton starts, his voice beginning to waver with every following word, “you used to love me.”

His words hang in the air, thick with a known, cursed history. You could hear your heart stutter for a split second, but you shake your head, quickly suppressing the feeling. You take in a sharp breath, feeling the heat of old anger rise in your chest. You force yourself to look at Anton, eyes hardening.

“That was two years ago, Anton,” you say, your voice detached. “And you made sure to end it, remember?”

Anton’s face flickers with something—guilt, regret, maybe even a hint of fear—but you’re not interested in seeing it. You’re sick of it—too familiar with the way he can spin his words to make himself seem like the victim.

“You don’t get to do this,” you continued, lips tightening into a thin line. “You don’t get to just show up and act like we can pick up where we left off, after what you did with Mina."

Anton’s face darkens the moment your old best friend’s name leaves your mouth, but you hold his gaze without flinching. Anton opens his mouth, probably to throw another lame and poorly explained excuse that you’ve heard before, but you’re faster than he is. 

“Save it,” you snap. “You don’t have any right to ask me if I love Taesan after what you did. You lost that right the moment you lied to me and slept with her.”

Anton looks taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected you to bring that up, but obviously, you don’t care. You’ve held your feelings in for so long—leaving them behind quietly to try and move on without a commotion. You’ve spent enough time letting him walk all over you in the past—you’re not about to let him do it again.

For a moment, Anton looks like he’s about to say something more, but you don’t give him a chance. You turn away, taking a small step back as you glance briefly at the line in front of you. “I’m done with this conversation, Anton. You should be, too.”

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THE next morning, after your first class of the day, you sigh as you find yourself waiting outside of a rather packed coffee shop—allegedly Taesan’s favourite one—bundled up in Taesan’s scarf. Autumn is starting to give way to winter, and as it’s doing so, the winds and temperatures are getting crazier. You bury your face further into the softness of Taesan’s scarf, letting the mixture of champagne orange, passion fruit, and sugar vanilla attack your senses. It’s disturbing, once the fact that the scarf that’s warming you up belongs to Taesan registers in your head; however, you had no choice. Freezing your nose off was the only other option. 

“Hey,” you hear Taesan’s voice, turning instantly towards him. 

“Apple pie latte?” he says, handing you a warm cup of said coffee. Grabbing it from him, you perk your eyebrows up. 

“How did you know?” you say, pushing the scarf down. Taesan shrugs, sipping his own drink. You glance at the sticker on his cup: cinnamon maple latte.

“Instincts.”

You snicker at his reply, rolling your eyes. “Cut me some slack.”

The two of you then walk back towards the law school complex, where both of your classes will be held next. The winds begin to blow, and you find yourself hiding half your face behind Taesan’s scarf. You squint your eyes, blinking harshly as the stray strands of hair sting them. 

“I love autumn, but not this kind,” you mumble. 

Taesan glances at you, and in one swift motion, he grabs your free hand and shoves it into the pocket of his coat. He interlaces his hand with yours, letting his body warmth transfer to you. 

Your eyes widen, your brain slow at processing the situation. You whip your head towards the tall man walking with you, his expression relaxed as ever. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss, trying to pull away. 

Taesan gives you a look that yells ‘really, Y/N?’. “Keeping you warm?”

“I don’t need your help,” you retort, yanking your hand away. 

Taesan grabs it back, shoving it into his pocket. This time, his grip on your hand is firmer than before. “I don’t need my girlfriend to freeze to death—it’s going to ruin my reputation.”

Realisation hits you, again, like a ton of bricks right at the face. 

Oh. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, letting him do his thing. You look away, deciding to admire the surrounding golden trees. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself of how this whole ‘thing’ with Taesan is temporary—and having a personal heat packet isn’t too bad. 

Once the two of you reach the lecture hall together, people begin to clearly spectate. You pull your hand away from him, rushing to your usual seat. Taesan, his expression calm as he always is, walks over to his usual seat as well—directly behind you. 

Then, two minutes before the lecture starts, the person you truly hated comes into view, and decides to sit at the empty seat next to you. 

“Hi, Y/N,” your ex, Anton, greets you with the biggest smile on his face. You mentally sob—already dreading the three hours to come.

You turn away, scooting as far as you could. The memories rush like a flood you can’t stop—reminding you of the heart-tearing pain the boy sitting next to you caused. 

“Y/N? You alright? You look pale,” Anton says, probing further.

“It’s the weather,” you reply dully, your lips downturned. You unravel Taesan’s scarf from your neck, placing it on your lap. Your eyes fixed onto the lecture, you ignore Anton’s attempts to get you conversing with him. 

“Y/N, are you free after class?” Anton whispers, twenty minutes into the lecture. 

“No.” You give him a side glance.

“And you don’t even take IT,” you fake a smile, “so I don’t think you should even be here. With due respect, get lost, yeah?”

“I’m honoured,” Anton whispers back. The soft smile on his face makes you gag. “You still remember things about me.”

“Oh, please,” you grimace, anger beginning to bubble up inside of you. “I’d rather make out with Taesan than remember even the tiniest bit of–”

You suck in your breath sharply, your cheeks flushing at an alarming rate. You had blurted your words out too fast to even register the fact that you’re actually wearing the said person’s initials in a necklace ‘round your neck. 

“You’d rather what now, sweetheart?” 

Hearing Taesan’s voice, you can almost see his smug smirk decorating that annoyingly attractive face of his. 

Your eyes widen. 

I did not just admit that.

You turn to Taesan for a moment, flashing him a sheepish smile. You quickly spin back to face the lecture, forcing yourself to focus. 

After the lecture concluded, you find yourself stuck in a sticky situation—Anton just can’t let you go out. 

“Do you want to go and grab lunch together? It’s pretty late for lunch, and I know your stomach gets upset easily if you don’t eat,” you wince upon hearing his soft tone. 

You frown, hating the fact that Anton knows almost a lot of things about you. “No, Anton, I’m sure I said–”

“She said no, Lee, I’m sure even a stupid motherfucker can understand.”

Seeing Anton’s eyes almost pop out at the sight of Taesan next to you, you’re sure that you look the same. You turn sharply towards Taesan, who has his hand perfectly placed on your back. The look on his face is fierce and scary, like he’s about to completely destroy Anton exactly where he’s standing.  

“Han,” Anton addresses him curtly. “I didn’t know that you’re on… good terms with Y/N.”

You fidget with the charm on your décolletage, collecting every bit of energy you have to maintain a stoic expression. 

Taesan flashes a sly smirk, pride radiating from his eyes as the corners of Anton’s lips twitch. “Why? Is it important to you who I’m close to?”

“No, but given your history with Y/N—I don’t want her to get hurt,” Anton blathers, “so I’m gladly asking you to–”

“What? Fuck off?” Taesan scoffs. Your eyes bulge, somehow not expecting Taesan’s choice of words to be so vulgar. “I think that’s what you’re supposed to do, Lee.”

“Y/N,” Anton says, desperation vivid in his voice. He grabs your wrist, and you instinctively step back. “C’mon, let’s go. I know you don’t like this stupid asshole here–”

Before you could even act, Taesan steps in front of you, shoving Anton to the floor. The students who are still lingering around stop to look. You couldn’t hold in your gasp—Taesan looks extremely angry, you swear you could see fire in his eyes. 

A thought clicks into your head. 

Taesan is the it-boy, of course he’s good at acting.

You take a step back, weirded by the heavy feeling of disappointment that begins to cloud your heart as soon as you remember the arrangement. 

It’s just acting, Y/N. Get it together. 

“Don’t touch her, bastard,” you hear Taesan hiss before he turns to you. Anger still lingering around, you watch with silence as Taesan relaxes the tension in his jaw. In a mirroring silence, he gestures for you to follow him out. You nod.

As you turn on your heel, Anton calls out, visibly irritated. 

“Y/N,” he says, “what’s going on?”

You give him a mocking smile. You swing Taesan’s scarf around your neck. “I don’t think I owe you an explanation, Anton.”

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AS you and Taesan walk out of the lecture hall, you can’t ignore the heavy weight settling in your chest. It keeps replaying in your mind: the way Taesan stepped in, fiercely protective—it’s all an act, right? You sneak a glance at Taesan, but his face is unreadable, his jaw still slightly clenched from the encounter.

“Taesan… you didn’t have to do that,” you mumble, playing with the hem of his scarf.

Taesan exhales through his nose, his shoulders rising slightly. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he then adds under his breath, “fucking bastard.”

You blink, unintentionally slowing your steps. That’s… different from what you expected.

“Taesan,” you try again, but he shoves his hands into his pockets, picking up the pace.

You know you should just let it go, but the air between the two of you feels heavier than it was before. Was it just an act? Maybe it was—and that Taesan’s acting skills are as good as the rom-com actors—but something about the way he had looked at Anton; like he was seconds away from doing more than just shoving him to the ground. 

It feels too… real.

A sudden gust of wind cuts through your coat, making you shiver. Instantly, Taesan grabs your wrist and pulls you into a nearby convenience store.

“Sit,” he orders, disappearing for a moment. You watch him move through the aisles, confusion twisting in your chest. You take a seat exactly where he ordered you to, your head fuzzy from the mixture of confusing, unnamed emotions.

When he returns, he kneels slightly, pressing a warm drink and a heat pack into your hands, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

“You’re hopeless,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “First my scarf, now this.”

You gasp dramatically, rolling your eyes as your lips twitch, your heart knocking against your ribs. “You’re the one who keeps giving me things.”

Taesan just hums in response, his gaze locking onto yours. His usual unreadable expression softens, something almost unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Your grip tightens on the cup, trying to shake off the way your body reacts to his warmth. This whole thing with Taesan was supposed to be temporary. So why did it feel like something had changed?

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DONGMIN takes several deep breaths, his eyes shut. The jazz music plays in the background, and the buzz of the cafe calms him down. 

No wonder Y/N likes this place. 

Dongmin opens his eyes, finding himself staring at you ordering drinks and some food for the two of you. You had dragged him here as soon as you finished your drink at the convenience store, repeating that you needed to treat him to some food. Your voice rings in his head, telling him that he needed to follow you to the coffee shop, to cool off his steam. 

“Do you like apple pie?” you ask, setting a plate of two slices of said dessert, accompanied by two scoops of vanilla ice cream.

“Why do you even ask if you’ve already gotten it? Seems like my preference doesn’t matter,” Dongmin replies, putting on the usual smirk. 

Your eyes widen and he chuckles. 

“Well,” you huff, “I like apple pie—and it’s impossible to find someone who doesn’t.”

“Alright,” Dongmin laughs, and it hits. His laughter dies down as the realisation sinks in—watching you devour your slice of apple pie like it’s the only food you’ll eat until the end of time. 

Dongmin, as he puts a bite of his food into his mouth, realises how messed up he is. He realises how often a hearty laugh escapes him when he’s with you—how a flustered, frustrated mess you make him. 

“Why are you being nice to me?” Dongmin asks. He pokes his fork absentmindedly into the crust of the apple pie, second guessing his question the moment it leaves him. 

You and he had always, always been rivals—a pair that’s never meant to get along. He’d always find you muttering curses and throwing glares in his direction; and he’d always find himself trying his best to reciprocate your disdain for him. 

Dongmin does hate you, too. 

He hates how you’re so confident, so diligent, so talented. He despises how hard you work, how determined you are, how you seem to always effortlessly bring him down and defeat him in academics. He feels the most intense dislike for you—whenever you walk in the room, he feels like the world is about to explode, along with his sanity. 

Dongmin hates, with a burning passion, how he can’t stop himself from falling in love with you. He absolutely loathes the way you smile, the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, and the way you look at him—with such fiery determination that’s enough to knock him off his feet. He completely hates the way that he has to keep his tongue sharp, and his attitude insufferable, for you to give him a sliver of your attention. He perfectly hates the way it’s impossible for him to let you know that he doesn’t hate you, at all. 

Dongmin watches you open your mouth to reply, yet you don’t for a few moments. You return his gaze, uncertainty playing around in her eyes. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion. “We’re just eating apple pie, Taesan,” you laugh sheepishly. 

For the first time, Dongmin doesn’t have an immediate answer. He swallows the bite of apple pie in his mouth, unsure of what he should say next. His smirk fades and hesitation engulfs him.

You notice this, of course, and your frown deepens. Though, before you could do anything, Jaehyun—Dongmin’s friend, suddenly appears.

He greets Dongmin, patting his shoulder. “Yo, Taesan, long time no see! Wait–” he pauses, laying his eyes on you. “Wait, am I dreaming? You two? Sitting together? Laughing? Are pigs flying now?”

You immediately shake your head, laughing along with Jaehyun. Dongmin, on the other hand, is dazed. He stays silent, still unsure of what to say. He’s finding everything peculiar—the way he’s unable to say anything, the way that his heart is thumping loudly against his chest at the mention of you as his girlfriend. 

He watches you politely say goodbye to Jaehyun, gaining certainty with every beat of his heart. 

His little crush on you is resurfacing, after two years of pushing it down with faked hatred. 

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AFTER Jaehyun leaves, you let yourself sneak a glance at Taesan, who’s absentmindedly poking holes in his already destroyed pie crust, avoiding your gaze. You notice his oddly quiet state—the Taesan you know would never miss the chance to throw in a witty remark. 

You throw him a glare, slightly hoping it’d make him knock out of his trance. You set your fork down with an audible clink. “You’re being weird. I mean, you always are insufferably weird, but this is even weirder.”

Taesan scoffs, lifting his drink to his lips. “And you’re being annoying. Paranoid.”

You cross your arms, an annoyed grimace forming on your face. “Am I?”

Taesan holds your gaze for a moment too long, something flickering in his eyes before he looks away. “Maybe not.”

Oh.

You lean back, sighing dramatically. “Fine. I don’t get what you being weird has with me being paranoid, but yeah, I’m totally being paranoid. Definitely imagining things,” you scoff sarcastically.

Taesan hums in agreement. “You do that a lot.”

You choke on air. Glaring at Taesan, you retort, “you’re infuriating.”

“And yet, here you are, sharing dessert with me,” Taesan smirks, tilting his head. 

You pause, blinking profusely.

That… is a valid point. How did you even get here? You and Taesan are supposed to be rivals. Aren’t you supposed to hate each other?

Your stomach twists, and suddenly, you find it difficult to swallow your final bites of apple pie.

After moments of deafening silence, you say, your voice slightly wavering, “you’re unbelievably good at dodging questions, Taesan.”

You bring your drink to your lips, hoping that you sounded casual. 

Taesan looks up from his finished plate of apple pie, smirking as he leans back. “Oh, yeah? Have you ever considered that you’re too good at asking too many questions, and it’s insufferable?”

Your eyes widen slightly, flickering to the way that his eyes glare vaguely at you. “Maybe I am,” you admit quietly, “but you’re dodging the real ones.”

Taesan’s smirk falters a little bit, just for a second, and there’s something unrecognisable in his eyes. Something you can’t put a name on. 

Maybe a shift in the air. Maybe it’s just your imagination. Or maybe it’s because your heart is racing just a little too fast.

You’re so focused on trying to read Taesan’s expressions that you don’t notice the way your voice softens. “So… if this whole thing is an act, why do I keep feeling like you actually care?”

You mentally hit yourself. That isn’t what you meant to say—and it’s certainly not what you would say in front of Taesan.

Though, it’s out before you can stop yourself. The words hang in the air, heavy and uncertain.

Taesan freezes, his eyes widening with a vulnerability for a fraction of a second. Then, just as quickly as it came, his guard comes back up. “Like we’ve discussed before, it’s an act. Nothing more.”

His voice is stern and plain, and his expression is stoic, but you catch the tremble in his hand as he’s fiddling with his fork. 

That, somehow, doesn’t sit right with you. 

You learn forward, the pendant swinging against your décolletage, your expression more serious now. “Then why do you care so much?”

You watch him closely, catching the tightening in his jaw and the way his hand proceeds to rest on the table, fingers anxiously tapping against the wood. Taesan doesn’t answer immediately, and instead, he looks away to drift his gaze to the window.

Your chest suddenly tightens. He’s acting like this is nothing, but you certainly feel it—the crack in the walls you’ve both constructed carefully against each other. It’s a tug at the back of your mind, a repeating whisper you’ve been trying so hard to push away.

And yet, the silence between you feels louder than ever.

Minutes pass by and the silence gets louder and louder. You’re lost in your own thoughts—realising just how much you’re affected by Taesan; just how much more you’re feeling than you want to admit. In the silence, you’re wondering, are you just imagining all this? Maybe it’s just you, maybe it’s the fact that you’re finding something more from this fake relationship you have with Taesan, your nemesis. 

Though, there’s something that you can’t deny: the fact that your chest tightens with fluttering butterflies every time he gets too close, every time his words shift to something softer than usual, it’s something that makes your heart trip in your chest.

“Y/N,” Taesan calls, his voice softer than anticipated, and you’re pulled out of your train of thought. You look at him slowly, uncertain and afraid of what’s to come. He pauses, as if he’s unsure of what to say next. “What if… I told you I’m not sure if I can pretend much longer?” 

His gaze finally meets yours, and for a moment, there’s no mask—just the raw sincerity in his eyes.

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You open your mouth, trying to say something—but nothing comes out. The evident truth in his words hits you like an ocean wave on a sunny day, and you can’t help but feel something is shifting between you both.

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THE next few weeks pass by like a ridiculously large time-skip in a movie. You’re doing things like you usually do—attend classes, do mootings, send in assignments, study for exams. Though, there’s one big thing in your life that you can’t ignore—Taesan, your fake-dating arrangement, and the lingering, unspoken tension between the two of you. The first week after the coffee shop episode, you couldn’t sleep even a wink—your mind kept on replaying the scenes over and over again, the way you caught Taesan’s guard almost falling down. You’re sure you felt it too, the cracks in the walls you’ve built against him—even for a short moment. 

At school, you’re hyper aware and extra distracted by Taesan. He’s doing his part of the agreement well, acting like he agreed he would. Every glance from him feels like a load of unspoken words, and the air between you two feels heavy. Every day you ponder, unsure of what to do with the new, fragile tension that’s settled between you and Taesan.

Today is the same—everything passes in a blur of lectures, assignments, and studying. You drag your heavy footsteps out of the room, your head spinning at the thought of the many assignments waiting for you. You look up, and the moment you step into the hallway, you see Taesan leaning against the wall, phone in hand, looking as calm as ever. 

You walk near him, and your eyes meet—you see a flicker of something there—a tension, a question neither of you have the answer to. 

“Y/N,” Taesan greets you with a casual, unreadable smile. You pause in your steps, turning to face him.

“Hi,” you reply quite timidly. You’re trying to sound casual, but you can hear the slight hitch in your voice. There’s no pretending this isn’t different now. There’s no pretending you didn’t almost cross a line last time. 

Taesan takes a final glance at his phone before shoving it into his pocket. “Still pretending this is just an act?” he asks, his voice surprisingly soft but laced with something familiar, almost teasing.

You pause, your breath stuck in your throat. Your heart, yet again, skips a beat, and you try to brush it off by laughing nervously. “Me? Pretending? I’m not pretending,” you say, and it’s directed more towards yourself than to him.

You’re not sure who’s trying to convince who anymore.

Taesan looks taken aback. He blinks profusely before putting his usual, calm expression back on. “Yeah,” he whispers, nodding, “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

You watch him walk away, heart twisting in the weirdest way. 

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DONGMIN hates the way everything is now. Why can’t he just tell you everything? Why can’t he just tell you that he isn’t pretending, that he actually cares?

He wants to stop everything–going back to shoving insults at your face might be the safest option of them all. Yet, Dongmin finds himself caring for you in the little ways—wrapping his scarf around your neck, adjusting the placement of your bangs with a simple ruffle, placing a tin of coffee and bread in front of you whenever you seem exhausted with studying, sliding post-its to you with his handwriting reminding you to take breaks when needed. He still finds his heart racing upon seeing you; the way your lips pout when you’re deep in thought, the way you smile and laugh so adorably upon hearing a funny joke from your friends, the way you’re still so cute even when frustrated. 

As he walks away, Dongmin fights with his own heart. Why was he acting like this? It’s so clear that you’re expecting something more, but why is he pushing you away? 

Dongmin takes a deep breath. Yeah, he’s scared. He’s afraid that maybe it’s all in his head, maybe you’re the one acting so well and it’s just gotten to him. 

Dongmin swears to get himself together, but it looks like he’s going to need more than just mental affirmations. 

The next day, he misses his alarm, for the first time in forever, and is running late to his 9 AM lecture. He’s speed walking through students, dodging them with a bag hanging on one shoulder and his hair still partially wet. Just as he’s about to near the entrance of the Law building, he hears raised voices nearby. He puts his hood up, his first instinct is to ignore it all—he’s got no time to eavesdrop on people’s business. However, he recognises one of the two quarrelling voices—yours. 

Dongmin’s steps come to a halt, and he turns to face you. His eyes slightly widen and his shoulders begin to tense as he sees you and Anton standing a few feet away, locked in an argument. He’s a bit too far away to hear the full conversation, yet he catches some bits of it.

You’re standing at your full height, stiffly in front of Anton, arms crossed and eyes blazing with fury. Anton, on the opposite side of you, no longer has that sickening, innocent smile—instead, he’s flashing you a mocking smirk. 

The argument is already reaching its peak, yet Dongmin is quick to analyse the situation just by picking up a few bits. 

“You think you’re really something, don’t you?” Anton taunts.

You scoff. Dongmin could tell you’re offended, yet the mask you put on really makes a difference. “At least I don’t have to put other people down to feel important.”

Anton scoffs back, “please. You act like you’re above all this, but you’re just as desperate for attention as everyone else.”

Dongmin clenches his jaw, watching the argument unfold as his fingers begin to twitch. 

You give Anton a mocking laugh, stepping forward. “I don’t care what you think, Anton Lee. I don’t care if you think I don’t love Taesan, because what matters is my own feelings, not yours. And I’m done wasting my time on you.”

Before you could turn away and enter the building, Anton grabs your wrist. 

It’s not aggressive, but it’s enough. Enough to make Dongmin see red.

Everything’s a blur—one second later, he’s towering in front of Anton, his eyes glaring daggers. 

“Let her go,” his voice is low and threatening, as sharp as a blade. 

Anton looks up, initially startled, but as soon as he sees Dongmin, he rolls his eyes. His hand still around your wrist, he says with a sneer, “look who’s here, Y/N’s knight in shining armour! Oh, so great, always the hero.”

Dongmin is too busy counting down the ways he could destroy Anton’s life to be noticing how immediate the warmth creeps up your cheeks. Dongmin, in one fluid motion, steps closer, standing between you and Anton. 

“Did you hear me?” his voice drops deadly lower than before, his posture relaxed yet his eyes are dangerous. “Let. Go.”

Anton huffs, roughly letting go of your hand. He shakes his head. “You two are seriously something else,” he mutters before storming away. 

You and Dongmin stand next to each other, cautiously eyeing Anton until he disappears from sight. For that moment, none of you say anything.

“What was that for?” you say suddenly, crossing your arms. “I didn’t need you to step in.”

Dongmin shoves his hood down to his neck, raising his eyebrow. Feeling slightly irritated, he scorns. “Yeah? Looked like you were having a great time.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing, but something pinches Dongmin’s heart as he notices there’s no real bite behind it. “I’m fine—I had it all handled.”

Silence. 

Dongmin exhales sharply, words shooting out of his mouth without second thought. “I know. It’s just–” 

He stops, his eyes landing on your wrist. Closes his mouth. 

You wait for a few moments, before warily asking. “What? Just what?”

Dongmin hesitates. Suddenly, it’s all he can push out of his throat. He’s already there, halfway crossing the line he’s put between you and him for the past two years. 

And then, it just… slips out. 

“I just can’t stand it, okay?”

Your frown deepens, confused. “Stand… what?”

Dongmin lets out a frustrated breath, turning sharply to completely face you. “I can’t stand seeing you with people like that fucking bastard. I can’t stand watching you get into these stupid situations. And I really, really can’t stand how much I—”

His eyes widen, and his words stumble upon a stop. Dongmin stammers, realising what he was just about to say. 

“Taesan,” you call, gently, hope suddenly shimmering in your eyes. “How much you what?”

Dongmin freezes. He’s silent, tongue frozen, unable to utter another word.

He can’t say it. 

Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, muttering curses under his breath. 

“You know what?” 

“Taesan–”

“Next time,” he says quickly, in a softer voice, “don’t… waste your time on a guy like him.”

Your eye contact is still intact, you open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Your eyes widen for a split second—as if you’re catching on to the feelings displayed, unknowingly, on Dongmin’s face. 

His concern is real.

“W-we should go,” you stammer instead, gesturing to the Law building. 

Dongmin nods. He grabs your backpack from you, signalling for you to walk in first. “Yeah. Let’s go.” 

You force yourself to walk as swiftly as possible to the lecture hall, heart pounding, mind racing. Behind you, Dongmin’s entire body is tense. He’s finally realising he can’t keep his feelings for you hidden forever.

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THE next day, you can’t stop thinking about Taesan—and whatever he was about to say to you. Your mind races with a million different thoughts throughout the day. What if he actually feels the same? What if you’re not the only one looking for something more in this fake arrangement?

However, given that exams are looming closer, you’re only given a short amount of time to dwell on your thoughts. After your last class of the day, you find yourself cooped up in the library, studying the rest of the day away. Several of your friends join you, too. 

The study group grows, joined by both your friends and Taesan’s—though, you didn’t even realise that Taesan is sitting across you the entire day, until everyone starts leaving one by one. 

By midnight, it’s only you and him. You don’t look up, but you can feel your heart thumping faster than usual. You’re hyper aware of your surroundings—how close he is, how his scent feels comforting yet intimidating, and how his presence is reminding you of something that you’re too afraid to admit. 

“Y/N,” you open your eyes to someone gently shaking your shoulder, the reality of things crashing onto you all at once. You lift your head up, realising that you fell asleep in the middle of reviewing a past paper. Your eyes meet with Taesan’s concerned gaze. 

His voice is low and soft, as if it’s only for you. “Let’s take a break. You’ve been snoozing off way too many times.”

Your heart is beating a little faster than usual, but you agree. Taesan’s request seems too casual, and he looks like he needs a break too. 

You follow his lead, walking a little bit behind him to the convenience store that’s still open in campus grounds. He’s silent, observing you and letting you pick anything you want before paying for both your things and his. 

“Go sit,” he says, holding your instant tteokbokki package in hand, along with his instant noodles. “I’ll heat these up.”

Taesan quickly moves to the microwave before you can say anything in retaliation, a sign that you take seriously. He’s not in the mood for any fights. 

You take a seat, and soon after, Taesan joins you. He puts your instant meal in front of you, breaking your chopsticks for you. 

“Here,” he says, his voice quiet. “Careful, the tteok is still hot.”

He then slips his coat around you before turning back to his own beverages. 

You find yourself staring at him, long after he’s handed you your things. You watch him, peacefully releasing his tension—running a hand through his hair, chugging down a cup of coffee. 

Everything around you looks like it has a blurred filter on, yet one thing is crystal clear: Taesan, and his evident care for you. The longer you stare at him, the more you realise.

He’s always been the one. He’s always been there. 

It hits you harder than any bad grade has ever done. 

Taesan has always been like this—quietly looking out for you, quietly caring for you. 

All this while, all the banter, the little arguments, moments, and glances—it’s not just rivalry. It’s not just the fact that he always finds a way to make you all grumbly and irritated. It’s not just the fact that, even back when you were with Anton, he’d always find a way to show his care for you. 

It’s not just the fact that you enjoy his company, even if he makes you feel like you want to bang your head against the wall. 

You like him. 

You like Han Taesan. 

You quickly turn your head away, blood rushing to your head as soon as the realisation hits you. You stuff a few bites of instant tteokbokki into your mouth, wanting to quickly get rid of whatever this warm, refreshing feeling is. 

“Can you stop looking at me like that, L/N?” 

You cough, shocked at how his sudden comment breaks through the almost comforting silence. All the past moments you’ve had with him—the banter, the insults, the arguments—run through your head as soon as your last name, what Taesan had always called you, reaches your ears.

“Like what?” emboldened by the awakening of your feelings, you retort, your tone more challenging than you intended. 

Taesan snaps, pushing his chair back, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. 

“Like I’m your fucking boyfriend.”

“What?” you’re confused, not expecting that out of his mouth. “What are you–”

“Like you’re waiting for me to say something that I know I can’t take back.”

“Say it, then.”

You say, challenging him. It feels sentimental—like the old days, where all you did when you met Taesan was throw taunting words at him. But at the same time, the words come out of your mouth without realising—daring the two of you to finally cross the line. 

“I like you, okay? I probably love you at this point, I don’t know. I don’t know when it started, but I do. And I—” He exhales sharply, his voice softer. “I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t.”

The world stops spinning and you stare at him, blank. 

Your tongue feels numb, your heart racing at a million miles per hour. 

You feel the same, you’re sure, but you don’t know how to respond. Do you smile and say it back? Do you tease him, calling him an idiot like you always do? 

“I didn’t mean to fall for you,” you catch Taesan muttering. 

You smile. “Me too,” you say softly. 

Taesan lifts his head immediately, sharply turning to you with widened eyes. “... pardon?”

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THE next few days feel like a refreshing spring breeze in the peak of winter, yet the air is filled with a cute awkwardness. After the confession, neither of you explicitly announce to one another that the two of you are a real couple now—yet your interactions feel new and unscripted, but no one exactly is making the first move. 

Of course, your friends notice before the two of you do. 

You’re sitting at the food hall together with Yunjin and Sophia, eating breakfast. You’re halfway through your pancakes, and Taesan—or Dongmin, as you call him now—suddenly takes a seat next to you. 

“Mind if I join, girls?” he asks, a charming grin on his face. He’s asking the table, yet his gaze is directed to you. You bite your lip shyly, nodding.  

“Sure, make yourself at home,” Yunjin says, her words laced with teasing. She watches with eagle eyes as Dongmin puts all of the sliced bananas from his serving of pancakes onto yours, knowing that you especially enjoy them with your breakfast pancakes. She snorts at the obvious look of love in Dongmin’s eyes, more evident now that he isn’t shoving insults at your face. “So, you two are really dating now?”

You choke on your bite of pancake, immediately blurting out,

“No!”

“Yes.”

You sharply turn to Dongmin, who has a smug look on his face. It’s the one look on his face that you’re used to, yet there’s a tint of pink on his cheeks. The edge of his smirk twitches, threatening to form into a cute, lovesick smile. 

“...I see,” Sophia interrupts your awkward eye contact, sighing dramatically. 

“We’re dating?” you ask Dongmin acutely, your brows connecting in an embarrassed frown. 

“I don’t know,” Dongmin shrugs casually, the look in his eyes teasing. “Are we?”

The blush that instantly creeps up your cheeks tells you the answer. You look away, suddenly focused on the way you’re cutting your pancakes. Dongmin’s laugh echoes to your left, and your friends’ send you teasing looks. 

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A few months later, on the first week back after winter break, you go on a walk around campus with your boyfriend, Han Dongmin. It feels weird, calling him yours now. Just almost half a year ago, you were fighting your ego to have your nemesis fake-date you in order to intimidate your ex into leaving you and your life alone. Now, that same thorn in your side has become the light of your life, the apple of your eye. Now, the two of you are in something that’s not written on a flimsy contract.

Dongmin had also helped clear out the rumours surrounding you—in the most annoying, Han Taesan way—announcing the truth about Anton by spreading it like a rumour to everyone. You still get second-hand embarrassment remembering that day, bombarded by questions and apologies from acquaintances and people you’ve only seen around. 

“You know,” you say dreamily, distracted by your train of thought, “you’re so annoying—but I love you.”

Dongmin freezes, his steps coming to an immediate halt. You, too, freeze in your steps as you realise you’re a few steps ahead of him now. You turn around, eyebrows perked up. “What’s wrong, Dongmin?”

Dongmin. 

The sound of your voice calling his birth name repeats in his mind, like a favourite song on loop. He stares, unable to say anything. His eyes fall on the pendant dangling from your neck, one that you started wearing due to the fake-dating arrangement. He remembered insisting that you take it off, so that he can buy you a new one later, but you said that it’s special so you won’t take it off. 

I love you. 

Dongmin feels a smile slowly bloom on his face. 

She said it. She didn’t even hesitate. It’s like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

His face softens, jogging up to you. He gives you a cheeky smile. 

“Say that again.”

You frown. “What again?”

“The first part.”

“What–” you pause, eyes widening as you get what he’s talking about. Heat rushes up your cheeks, warming your face despite Dongmin’s scarf wrapped around it. “I–”

“Yeah,” Dongmin says, smirking as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Me too.”

You bury yourself into the familiar scent of Dongmin’s scarf as he kisses your cheek. 

“Fuck you, Han Dongmin,” you grumble, ignoring the obvious butterflies in your stomach. 

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THAT weekend, you and Dongmin are eating lunch together at your favourite coffee shop. Dongmin had said that the vibes there makes him sleepy, and tried to bring you to eat at one of the more famous restaurants near the KOZ School of Engineering, yet the plan backfires on him when the line is certainly too long. 

Now, the two of you are back at your favourite coffee shop, sipping warm cinnamon lattes. 

“See?” you tease, smiling cheekily. “I told you this place is the best.”

Dongmin rolls his eyes, taking a big spoonful of the chocolate cinnamon roll on your plate. “I want to eat some real food, like kimchi jjigae, not these sweet chocolate desserts,” he complains, though he can’t hide the fact that he secretly loves it. 

“Yet you’re the one finishing my cinnamon roll,” you retort, letting him subconsciously finish your dessert. You’re familiar with his love for chocolate.

Dongmin flashes you an innocent smile, shrugging. “Not my fault.”

Comfortable silence engulfs the two of you, letting you bask in each other’s presence. Suddenly, Dongmin leans closer, adjusting the place of the H.D pendant on your décolletage. Frozen, you watch him lean back into his seat, smiling as he admires you. 

“You look good today,” he murmurs, “actually, you look good everyday.”

An undeniable tint of pink colours your face. “I’m literally wearing a black turtleneck sweater, Dongmin.”

His gaze softens. “Like the first time you sat next to me, three years ago, during our foundation year.”

Your eyes widen, your mind replaying the memory, fresh like it happened yesterday. “You… remember?” 

“Of course,” Dongmin replies, his smile delicate. 

“I even remember the day you walked up to me, confident and all. I thought you were going to brag to my face that you won first place for the quiz we had the day before, but then you told me to fake date you.”

You almost spit out the coffee from your mouth. “Han Dongmin!” you hiss. “Don’t remind me… it was so stupid.”

“Stupid?” Dongmin asks, tilting his head. The signature cocky smirk is back on his face. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah…” you sigh, “I mean, I could’ve resolved the matter by myself, you know–”

“But you know that I’m the best option,” Dongmin cuts you off, smug. You roll your eyes.

“I don’t think it’s stupid, though,” he continues, his expression softer. More… raw. “To be honest, I think I was ecstatic that you walked up to me that day.”

“Why?” you ask croakily. 

“‘Cause I’ve always liked you, Y/N. I always have. I just don’t understand where things went wrong—maybe it’s the way I thought teasing you would gain me your attention at first. It did. But then, you became used to my teasing and thought of me as a threat—maybe ‘cause I’m smart as hell, too—but yeah. I don’t know how to say it but, all of that hatred was… pretend.”

You blink at him, too shocked to process his words. You try to reply, but mere stuttering comes out, and your face turns bright red. 

Dongmin notices this, of course, and he turns on his shameless, impudent grin. “Besides, you said you’re going to grant me any wish that I have, right?”

Oh. 

You inhale sharply. How could you forget? You immediately bring out your phone, checking the balance in your bank account. It’s quite a luxury, due to you working a few part time jobs during your break and whenever you can—but you certainly don’t think it’s fit for whatever grand wish Dongmin is about to demand from you. 

“Fine,” you huff, “only because it’s part of our… old contract.”

“Old contract, huh?” Dongmin wheezes, already laughing hard. You frown, fighting back a smile. 

“Why are you always laughing whenever I speak, dumbass?”

“Hey,” Dongmin pauses his laughter, flicking your forehead gently. It doesn’t even hurt, but you gasp dramatically, and he laughs it off. “It’s babe for you, sweet girl. And, I’m not laughing at you. I’m just admiring how cute and funny you are.”

Babe, huh?

You snort, hiding a smile. “Fine.”

“Anyway, speaking of the old contract,” Dongmin grins, “what’s the new one, then?”

“You haven’t even told me what sort of dumb, overpriced thing you want for your wish,” you say, lips set in a grim line. “And now you want another one?”

“My wish, huh?”

The unreadable look on his face makes you brace yourself and your wallet.

“Then, my darling, this is my wish.”

Dongmin leans forward, brushing his lips against yours. It’s subtle, short and sweet, but significant enough for you to realise it all—the reality of your feelings and his. He lingers for a while before sitting back in his chair. 

“So,” he says coolly, ignoring the plain blush streaked across his face. “Can you grant me the wish? To kiss you anytime, and anywhere I want?”

“Basically, physical affection can be done anytime?” you say, quoting what this man in front of you said months ago, when both of you first agreed on the fake-dating situation. The whole absurd set-up that brought the two of you to where you are, today. 

Dongmin laughs, clearly impressed. “Yeah,” he nods. 

You give him a warm smile, glad that you’re finally able to follow your heart’s desires, and to not put up a wall of defense around him anymore. 

“Wish granted.”

― © htaesan, 2025.

“You… okay?” you hear him ask after quite some time. You purse your lips, still not meeting his eyes, afraid all the tears might spill once you do. “You didn’t read my texts for the whole day.”

“M-maybe,” you manage. Your throat feels dry as you force your words out. “I’ll be fine.”

“You know,” he says, after a few moments. He places a hand on yours, his touch gentle and comforting. “You can tell me anything.”

You lower your head. 

Please don’t cry.

“I might not understand your pain, I might not fully understand what you’re going through,” he continues, his voice so deep and kind. “But I’m here. I’ll listen.”

“Even if you don’t want to tell me—or if you can’t find the right words to describe how you feel, I’ll be here. Always.” 

Under his hand, you clench your own. 

“I…”

“Okay?” 

You finally look up, turning slightly to meet his gaze. You bite your lower lip as you watch Taesan’s eyes widen slightly at the way your eyes fill with tears. His hands grab yours tight as he offers you a gentle smile. 

“I’m sorry,” you croak, lowering your head again as tears begin to spill. Taesan’s grasp remains firm, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. “I… I don’t know how to say this…”

Taesan smiles softly, squeezing your hands. “It’s okay. Tell me anything—just say anything that comes to mind, I’ll piece it together.”

“My parents,” you say, your words coming out one by one, in between sobs, “it’s stressing me out– I– is this my fault? Why– why are they fighting? I thought they– love– each other—”

You can’t stop it, your tears falling down your cheeks like raindrops in a storm, unstoppable and overwhelming. Your chest heaves up and down with each sob, your throat tight with a lump that makes your speech difficult to interpret. 

“Hey…” 

Taesan pulls you into a hug, causing you to hiccup in surprise. It engulfs you like a warm blanket on a winter night—you could smell Taesan: a mixture of champagne orange, passion fruit, sugar vanilla; the perfume his mother had bought for him. Immediately, your tears begin to flow down again, as Taesan’s warmth starts to become one with you. 

Taesan doesn’t let go—his embrace of you firm and comforting, telling you he’s there for you through every high and low. Taesan hugs you close, letting your heartbeat converge with his. He lets you cry your heart out in his arms, not giving a care in the world about how your tears are staining his favourite sweater. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers, once your tears have subsided. 

“But… won’t you fall out of love, one day?” you ask him, resting your head against his chest. You close your eyes shut, trying to remove the memory of witnessing your parents’ fight from your mind. 

Taesan kisses the top of your head, resting his chin against it after. “Will I ever?”

“Maybe,” you mumble. 

“Darling,” Taesan says, causing butterflies to begin erupting in your stomach. He’s called you that for so many times already, yet it always catches you off guard. “If we love each other truly, we’ll always find a way to make things work, hm?”

He pulls away a little bit, and you look directly into his eyes. Taesan gives you a smile—different from his usual cheeky grin—beautiful, sincere, and ethereal. “Besides, we still have a long way to go before we get married, and before we die. We’ll have plenty of time to learn from our mistakes.”

“Married?” you exclaim, eyes widening. You smack his shoulder in an attempt to hide the blush that’s beginning to form on your cheeks.

“Yeah,” Taesan nods, folding his arms as he holds his neck from behind. “Why? You don’t like it?”

“Well… of course I love it,” you mutter, biting the inside of your cheek. After a while, you turn to him, narrowing your eyes. “But marriage is a serious matter, you know? I—”

Taesan kisses your cheek, grinning as he pulls away. “I know.”

You lock eyes with Taesan, the sparkling night around you, the gentle breeze blowing through. 

“And I love you, so seriously, to be doing it in the future. To be giving you my forever.”

“i liked you so much, it made me nervous,” he whines. “you still make me nervous, but in a good way.”

he leans in, pressing his lips to yours, the faint taste of alcohol mingling on your tongue. when he pulls away, he presses your hand to his chest. “feel that? that’s how nervous you make me.”

and sure enough, you feel his heart racing under your touch.

jaehyun yawns, sleepily snuggling closer, hand still holding yours. “don’t leave after i fall asleep,” he murmurs against your skin.

“never,” you whisper back, pressing a soft kiss to his head.

SUNGHO

sungho is pretending he’s sober. sitting upright on the kitchen stool, watching you fill up a glass of water with a straight face—like he wasn’t stumbling over his own feet and slurring his words just a few minutes ago.

“i’m completely fine. i only had, like, half a drink.”

“sure, you are.”

he opens his mouth to argue, but you hand him the glass of water. “just drink.”

he brings the glass to his lips with a small frown, and you get down on your knees, slipping his shoes off his feet.

when you stand back up, sungho’s stern expression has softened into something more like a kicked puppy. his eyes are teary, lips pulled together in a wobbling pout.

“sungho, what’s wrong?”

his lower lip trembles as he sets the glass down on the counter, then gently pulls you closer by the waist until you’re standing between his legs.

“you always do this. you always take care of me without complaining.”

your heart softens at his words, thumb swiping against his cheek to wipe a stray tear. “because i love you.”

“but it’s not fair,” he pouts harder, giving you a little shake. “you always look out for me. and you always save me the last cookie. every time. even when it’s the good one with the chocolate chunk.”

you blink. “i—what?”

“you don’t think i notice, but i do.”

you bite back a laugh when more tears slip down his cheeks. he looks so genuinely heartbroken over your small acts of love, it’s actually kind of adorable.

“are you crying?”

“i’m emotional because i love you so bad,” he whines. “let me be.”

later, after he’s done crying over your love, he ends up curled up by your side, hand clasped tightly in yours, muttering something about marrying you in a cookie shop.

RIWOO

riwoo is giggling. a lot. at nothing in particular. he keeps brushing against your hand and smiling like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

“you’re so soft,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “and you’re so cute. like, insanely cute.”

you poke his cheek. “look who’s talking.”

and just like that, soft giggles spill from his lips again as he buries his face in his hands. “don’t say that, i’ll combust.”

then suddenly, he sobers up a little, eyes glossy and a lovesick smile still plastered to his lips. “i don’t think you understand,” he says, voice soft and dreamy, “how many times i imagined this. us. this exact moment. you in your pajamas, me in love with you.”

you smile, brushing his hair from his eyes. “you’re drunk.”

“i’m honest,” he counters, followed by a contented sigh. “i think i loved you before i even realized i did. and i just keep loving you more and more every day.”

“good, because you’re stuck with me forever.”

he nods, snuggling in. “i’ll love you even more when i’m old and wrinkly and can’t even remember my own name.”

your heart softens. “but you’ll remember mine?”

he smiles against your skin. “always.”

TAESAN

“dance with me,” taesan says, swaying slightly as he pulls you into the living room.

“there’s no music,” you point out.

“you’re the music,” he says instantly, spinning you around with all the grace of a sleep-deprived giraffe.

you giggle, “you’re stumbling.”

“exactly,” he grins, tugging you closer. “all the more reason for you to hold me.”

so you do. arms loosely wrapped around his neck as he sways both of your bodies clumsily, barefoot on the living room floor.

it’s sweet. perfect. until his elbow knocks into the lamp, sending it crashing to the ground.

you both freeze.

a beat passes—then laughter erupts out of both of you, loud and helpless, as you double over, clutching each other, tears welling in your eyes from how hard you’re laughing.

he flops onto the couch, dragging you down with him, limbs tangled, laughter still bubbling as he stretches himself across you like a warm, giggling blanket.

“i should be mad,” you mumble, fingers threading gently through his hair.

taesan hums sleepily, nose brushing your collarbone. “be in love instead.”

LEEHAN

leehan hasn’t left your side since the moment he got home—not even for a second. even when he’s trying to drink water, your pinkies are still linked.

right now, you’re lying on the couch and he’s halfway on top of you, arms loosely wrapped around your waist, head tucked under your chin like he’s trying to become one with your heartbeat.

“i’m so happy,” he mumbles sleepily.

you smile. “yeah?”

he nods into your neck. “i have you. you’re warm. and you let me ramble about fish.”

that makes you laugh, and he immediately lifts his head to pout at you. “don’t laugh! you’re like—” hiccup “you’re like my coral reef.”

“your what now?”

“my coral. fish have their coral, right? like a little home they hide in when the ocean’s too scary. somewhere soft and safe.” he rubs his nose against your cheek. “that’s you. my pretty little coral reef.”

your heart aches with affection. he closes his eyes again, murmuring, “you’re so lovely. sometimes i look at you and forget what i was saying. just think, wow, i’m so lucky she’s mine.”

then he adds, lips brushing against your collarbone, “you’d be the prettiest reef in the sea. and i’d be your fish boyfriend.”

you chuckle. “you’re mad.”

“madly in love with you?” he kisses your jaw. “absolutely.”

WOONHAK

woonhak is sitting next to you on the floor, legs crossed, fingers playing with the frayed edge of the blanket draped over your knees. he keeps glancing at you, then looking away, then glancing again—like he’s trying to gather courage from the ceiling.

finally, in the softest voice, he says, “can i tell you a secret?”

you look at him, smiling. “always.”

he hesitates, then scoots an inch closer. there's a faint blush high on his cheeks, and he smells faintly of whatever fruity drink he had earlier. “i have the biggest crush on you.”

you blink. “woonhak—”

“wait,” he interrupts quickly, eyes wide. “no, actually, don’t listen to that. forget i said anything. pretend i didn’t. i was supposed to do it properly. sober and with flowers. not like this.” he gestures vaguely to the room.

you try not to laugh. “woonhak.”

he groans, hiding his face in your shoulder, voice muffled. “no, i ruined it, didn’t i?”

you pat his head gently, fingers combing through his hair. “baby?”

he peeks up at you, eyes a little glassy, lips in a soft pout. “yeah?”

“we’ve been dating for months.”

his head snaps up. “we—what?”

“you asked me out. remember? at the arcade. you won me that giant plushie and everything.”

he blinks at you for a long moment. “i thought that was a dream.”

you laugh and lean in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “well, it wasn’t.”

when you pull back, he just stares at you, dazed. “can you do that again? just to be sure?”

so you do. and then again, when he asks. and one more time, just because he looks too happy not to.

“holy shit,” he mutters, dazed and smiling. “this is the best day of my life.”

still, woonhak finds himself in romantic relationships that lack in seriousness left and right. he can’t quite pin a certain period of time where he didn’t have romantic involvement in his life. it could just be that he doesn’t know how to live his life without it, but woonhak can’t exactly admit that yet and keeps on chasing.

and with each breakup, each ghosting, each whatever the situation is—he finds himself digging the hole deeper down.

he wonders often if he’s ever going to see the light from the surface that has been hidden his whole life.

“woonhak!”

he turns to his right to find his friend, jihoon, calling him.

the ends of jihoon’s eyes are crinkled in frustration and his face conveys a clearly upset expression.

“do you know how long i’ve been calling your name?” the boy sighs. “you were sitting here, blanking out and staring off like you’re insane. in fact, you are insane.”

woonhak blinks. his eyebrows furrow in realization of jihoon’s words.

“i’m not insane. you’re insane!” he grumbles.

jihoon scoffs, leaning down and resting his arms on woonhak’s desk. “yeah, yeah, sure. the teacher told us to put our desks back into regular formation. that’s why i was calling you, you weirdo.”

woonhak rests his head on his arms. “why does that matter to me? i don’t have a seat partner.”

“well, it matters to you now. we have a new kid coming.” jihoon pushes himself off the desk and stands again, putting his hands in his pockets.

woonhak jumps in his seat and sits up straight. “wait—what? there’s a new kid?”

jihoon nods, “yep!”

a curiosity arises inside woonhak as he wonders who this person is—especially if they’re gonna be his desk partner.

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ

woonhak is, as he would say it, currently as ‘single as a pringle.’

sure, there are a few people asking for a form of attention from him, but he isn’t in anything serious and definitely doesn’t have a commitment currently.

with his last breakup, the girl ghosted him out of nowhere.

then, during the following days, they saw each other at school and she would quickly walk away, pretending as if her and woonhak had no relation between them and never once did.

only a few days later was when a friend of woonhaks spotted her with a new guy and woonhak was left with another piece of his heart broken off.

when woonhak meets you, he simply stares.

he watches as you walk into the room, approach the seat next to him, and sits down right there with a small few inches between you two.

he seems to have no shame in doing so since this gaze lasts for basically what is the whole entire day.

the next day starts the same way. woonhak ogles you throughout the morning as if studying your every action.

though, it gets put on pause midday.

your teacher is in the middle of a lecture and about everyone in class is dozing off; daydreaming about a good meal and chatting with some friends. lunch was soon.

woonhak was part of that majority until he notices your hand sliding over to his desk and gesturing him to read something on your notebook.

‘do you have an obsession?’

woonhak’s eyes widen.

he picks up his pencil, scrambling to quickly scribble down on the paper.

‘what do u mean?’

you slide the notebook closer to you, writing a response.

‘what is so interesting about me, woonhak?’

woonhak doesn’t necessarily think he is an easy man, but perhaps this was being proven wrong as his heart skips a beat.

you know his name. this isn’t a big thing at all, so why is his heart thinking otherwise?

he writes down a reply without thinking and you watch him attentively.

‘ure pretty’

he stares at his writing for a moment before realizing what he just wrote down.

he gasps, and a loud, disruptive sound releases from out of his mouth.

your teacher turns towards your desk with a stern look plastered on his face.

“do you have something to share with us all, kim woonhak?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ

the notebook gets confiscated.

and now, you and woonhak are sitting in your school’s office. your teacher is sitting in front of you with a stone-cold expression.

he starts, “yn, it has only been one day since you have been here and you have already caused trouble.”

you look at woonhak, who’s staring directly at you. you wish that the stupid, brainless expression on his face would falter even once. to you dismay, it does not, though.

you turn back to your teacher. “i’d like to correct you, mr. lee, in the nicest way possible.”

you frown, continuing to speak, “i didn’t cause any trouble. it was him.” you make a waving gesture to woonhak, thinking the look on his face will now form into something more shocked.

it doesn’t.

he stays looking straight at you. a warm, increasingly hot feeling boils in you.

mr. lee, who now stares at the two of you with a confused manner, looks to woonhak. he scans him before saying, “woonhak, is this true?”

“yes, sir. yn is right.” he continues to stare at you and his words come out with almost no hesitation. the corners of his lips turn upward into a cheeky smile. “it was all my fault. i mean—you heard me. i was the one who disrupted the class.”

the middle-aged man nods slowly. “alright.” he writes on a small piece of paper, pressing the pen against it a little too roughly.

mr. lee hands the slip to woonhak. “i hope this is not a common occurrence from here on out. if so, i’ll have to separate you two as desk mates.”

woonhak grabs the slip and gives the teacher a small smirk.

“it won’t sir.”

while leaving the office, woonhak’s steps tread lightly as if he didn’t just get assigned detention. you decide to stop him.

“hey, woonhak.”

he turns. “what’s up?”

you bite the inside of your cheek; a habit of yours.

“sorry. you didn’t have to go along with what i was saying, you know.”

he shrugs. “it’s fine. one detention won’t kill.”

he takes a step closer to you.

“if you do want to make it up to me though..” he offers you the detention slip.

you furrow your eyebrows. scoffing, you reply, “i’m not going to detention for you.”

he shakes his head, taking your hand and putting the paper in it. the touch of his soft hands makes you put more pressure into your cheek. “you won’t have to.”

and with that, he begins walking down the hallway.

you frown and turn your attention to the slip, staring at it with confusion.

“look at the back!” woonhak yells to you and his voice bounces off the walls of the empty hall.

you flip the paper over, finding his sloppy writing there.

it reads: “come help me escape detention? you’ll be helping me and i promise i’ll treat you afterwards.”

then, at the bottom of the slip: “deal ??” is written with a messy drawing.

you squint at it, trying to figure out what it possibly is.

a penguin? no. mochi..? no. a blob? maybe.

woonhak shouts to you once again, now at the very end of the hallway.

“it’s a snowman!” you can’t quite hear what he follows up with since it’s more of a grumble but it sounds something like, “is my drawing really that bad..?”

he chuckles, “see you then! don’t let me down!”

he waves in a big flashy motion, flapping his arms as if he’s a baby bird trying to fly.

he leaves, and you stand there in the hall alone, trying to process everything that had just happened.

still, the only image that lingers in your mind is woonhak’s face. that absolutely stupid, unbearable expression of his.

you continue to nibble at the inside of your cheek harder.

but if it’s so unbearable, why can’t you stop thinking about it?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ

here woonhak was—in the gloomy detention room, waiting for you to enter the room and come to his rescue.

he looks up at the clock. 4:30, it reads.

he focuses on the sound of the clock hand ticking, counting each tick. perhaps this is what boredom does to someone, he thinks.

when the count reaches 129, he hears the door open.

his head immediately turns to look, and a smile grows on his face in no time.

you walk into the almost silent room and your gaze wanders to woonhak. you roll your eyes, already able to tell what he’s thinking behind that lopsided smile of his.

you walk to mrs. park, the detention supervisor, who sits at a desk at the very front of the room.

“hello!” you say, generating as much enthusiasm as you possibly can.

she looks at you with a confused smile. “hello. what could i help you with?”

you bite a little at your inner cheek. “i, uh, had some questions about the elective you teach.”

her face brightens automatically. “of course! ask away.”

you smile awkwardly. “i actually wanted to know where it is held. is it possible for you to show me?”

she hums, looking around the room. woonhak quickly diverts his attention from your way as he was focused into the conversation.

“i’m afraid i cannot. i can tell you the room number, though?” she responds.

you crinkle your nose, trying to think of some kind of excuse to get her up and out of the classroom.

you exhale a long sigh. “i’m actually new here.. i don’t know my way around campus well.”

her face softens and she thinks for a moment, taking a look at her watch.

“alright, come with me,” she concludes.

you internally celebrate but quickly catch yourself. wait—why are you so happy?

you follow her out the room and around the school as she leads you to an art class with an interior of scattered easels and cabinets full of paint and other creative supplies.

you nod the whole time, not quite faking you interest as it does seem even the slightest fascinating to you.

when she is finished, you thank her for her time and walk to the entrance of the building.

there, you find the boy you saved.

he smiles warmly at you. “thank you, yn.”

you scoff, continuing to walk without stopping. “you’re welcome, snowman. you gonna treat me out now?”

he rushes to match your pace. he grins, “why, of course. i’m a snowman of his words.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ׄ 　۪ 𓂃 ੭୧ 𓂃　۪ ׄ

he takes you to a small, hole in the wall dumpling place.

it sports an old-school style with a cozy, somewhat lived in feeling. messages of customers from the past and present are written on the walls in messy marker smudges and faded letters written in pencil. you can tell they have immense meaning, even if you can’t exactly read it.

you and woonhak sit against the wall at a dark wooden table.

“this place is…” you take time to think about the right word.

“unbelievably beautiful?” woonhak chuckles, finishing your sentence.

“yeah. it feels like there’s so many words to describe it yet none of them can quite hold all of it.”

woonhak nods, and his piercing gaze on you is back. you aren’t oblivious—woonhak has been staring at you the whole way from your school to the restaurant and even now as you both sit there.

an older lady approaches your table. she smiles sweetly at you and woonhak.

“what could i get you two?”

woonhak gestures you to order first.

“i’ll get the juicy pork dumplings, please.”

an unfamiliar emotion flickers over woonhak’s face for a moment before it quickly leaves. you think you might just be imagining it so you brush it off without another thought.

the woman giggles a bit before responding, “alright, and what about you, young man?”

woonhak answers, “i’ll get the same thing, thank you.”

the older lady nods and leaves with a suspicious smile.

“so…”you start. “how did you find this place?”

he leans on the back of his chair. “an old friend of mine! i heard the dumplings are delicious and, well, how could i resist?”

you nod, “true, true. i’d never pass up a good dumpling.”

“i mean it, by the way,” he says, switching to a more serious tone.

you tilt your head slightly. “what?”

he continues, “for getting me out of detention. thank you.”

you shrug. “well… it was kind of my fault anyway. plus, you followed up with food afterwards.”

“right.. right…” he teases.

he looks at you gently, and you feel like his stare become less and less unbearable as time passes. or maybe it never was, and you just don’t want to accept that.

“hey! you just said you couldn’t resist this place so don’t judge me,” you scowl.

he grins and the two of wait for the food to come while conversing over random topics.

when your food comes, both of you dig in immediately.

“this is insane. how does something taste so heavenly?” you comment on it.

you don’t realize how comfortable you’ve become around woonhak or how it has even gotten to this point so fast. in a way, it just happened in a natural fashion.

plus, if you were completely honest—dead serious, honest—you can already feel his warmth rising inside you. you don’t know much about this boy in front of you who wears his heart on his chest (which he may not be fully aware of) and has a smile where his teeth stick out just the smallest bit, but you want to. you want to get to know every single detail about him.

he grins in response to your words and for a second you’re convinced his laugh is like music to your ears.

as the two of you are eating, the older lady comes up to your table again.

“how are we enjoying the food?” she asks.

you nod in a fast manner. “very good!” you hum, “it makes me crave sikhye..”

woonhak’s head snaps to you in a blink of an eye.

“what?” he says, dumpling still in his mouth.

you frown, “what?”

the two of you pause, eyes meeting for what feels like an eternity.

then, you hear a loud laugh.

the older lady still stands at your table, chuckling and holding her stomach as if it’s going burst open.

you raise an eyebrow, looking at her in confusion.

“oh, are you two funny!” her laughs slow, “mister kim woonhak, i think you’ve found the one!”

his eyes widen. “ma’am!”

she leans closer to you, whispering in your ear, “this boy you’re here with, kim woonhak,” she gestures to woonhak, “is here to test you.”

your mouth hangs open slightly. “test… me?”

woonhak digs his face into his hands, groaning.

she nods. “you ordered his favorite dish, you noticed this place’s design, and now you’ve just put the cherry on top—the sikhye.”

you slowly turn to woonhak.

“is this true?”

“yes…” his voice is muffled.

you begin to laugh, but it turns to a loud, almost obnoxious (to woonhak) one.

woonhak has this plan. he takes his newly met and possible partner to this exact dumpling spot, sees if they have similar tastes as him, has a hopefully engaging conversation, and decides afterwards if he likes the potential development that is there. he usually does, but still does the test anyways.

and if the subject just happens to order the same thing as him, order sikhye in the middle of eating, and notices the atmosphere of the restaurant, it might just be meant to be.

you so happen to have done all of these things.

and in response to this, woonhak turns tantrum mode.

“agh! this is so embarrassing…” his words are somewhat incomprehensible.

“woonhak.. it’s okay,” you giggle.

he looks up from his hands.

you hum. “i guess it’s just fate, huh? we might be meant to be.”

woonhak’s eyes widen with a subtle glimmer in them.

and finally, woonhak sees a hint of light. love no longer feels like it is going to end with a sappy, strange, or stupid reason at all; and he hopes desperately that it is all going to be because of you.

please do not copy, repost, or translate.

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