Melody of Mischief 🎸

Contains: Playful rivalry, affection disguised as teasing, enemies-to-friends tension, music, subtle attraction. Pairing: Ha Eungyeol x Reader Word Count: ~1.8k TW: Light teasing, banter, mutual provocation, mild language.

The very first time you crossed paths with Ha Eungyeol, you swore the universe had a personal vendetta against you. That boy seemed like he had graduated with honors in How to Annoy People With Style: that crooked smile, sharp comebacks, and an almost professional ability to get under your skin.

And, of course, fate had decided you’d be sitting next to him in class.

Your very first exchange had set the tone: You, carefully organizing your notes with pastel-colored pens, when you caught him staring. —“Are you seriously going to highlight the whole book?” he teased, raising a brow. —“Are you seriously going to talk the whole day?” you shot back without looking up, though the sweet smile you gave him carried a sharp edge.

He laughed. —“Dangerous… angel face, demon tongue.”

From then on, it became a game. Him: stealing candies from your pencil case. You: scribbling comments in the margins of his notebook like “your handwriting is ancient hieroglyphics”. Him: flicking paper balls at you during class. You: jabbing your elbow into his ribs when he laughed too loud.

The most frustrating part wasn’t that he annoyed you. It was that you secretly enjoyed it. Every little clash felt like a language only the two of you spoke.

When the teacher announced you’d be paired up for a big project, the whole classroom roared with laughter. —“Not with him/her!” you both protested at the exact same time. Perfectly synchronized, as always.

Your first study session at the library was chaos. You set up your laptop and neatly outlined tasks, while he leaned back, feet kicked up on the chair opposite. —“You know we’re not here so you can watch me do all the work, right?” you glared. —“Relax, Einstein. I’m thinking…” he replied, tapping his pencil in a rhythm that suspiciously sounded like a song.

At first, you wanted to strangle him. But then… you noticed. When he dropped the clown act, he was smart. Brilliant, even. And the way he talked about ideas made boring topics sound interesting. Plus, you couldn’t ignore the little things: the way he bit his lip while concentrating, or drummed his fingers like he was holding an invisible guitar. Things that started distracting you more than you’d like.

—“You know, you’re not as unbearable as you look,” he admitted after a long silence. —“And you’re not as insufferable as you act,” you shot back with a cheeky wink.

He chuckled. And in that small moment, the rules of your game began to change.

After the project (a success, thanks to your planning and his last-minute improvisation), you started talking more. At first, it was quick comments in the hallway. Then longer chats after class. Until one day, as he was packing his guitar into its case, he tossed an invitation your way.

—“I’m playing with the band this weekend,” he said, trying to sound casual. “It’s nothing big. Crappy bar, bad acoustics… but it’d be cool if you came.”

You blinked at him. —“Are you… inviting me to your show?” —“Don’t get carried away.” He shrugged, but that mischievous grin gave him away. “My friends say I need at least one person in the audience with a friendly face. Yours looks like… well, like a diligent student. Balances out my bad reputation.”

You rolled your eyes, but for some reason, you said yes.

That Saturday, you were there. Surrounded by strangers, clinking glasses, and low chatter, you waited, unsure what to expect.

And then he walked on stage. Guitar strapped on, hair slightly messy, radiating a confidence that didn’t quite match the teasing boy from class. The moment he started to play, the whole room blurred. His voice, the sound of the strings, the way he closed his eyes during certain chords… it was like he belonged entirely to that moment.

And you couldn’t look away.

When the set ended, he scanned the crowd until his eyes locked on yours. That smile he gave you wasn’t mocking. Wasn’t challenging. It was something else.

—“Well?” he asked when he finally reached you, sweat shining on his forehead. —“Not bad,” you said, pretending to sound unimpressed, though your chest was still buzzing. He smirked. —“‘Not bad’… coming from you? That’s basically a ten out of ten.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and somehow the two of you ended up walking home together. Talking about stupid little things. Sharing stories. Laughing like you’d been friends forever.

For the first time, there were no paper balls, no sarcasm, no tug-of-war. Just the two of you.

And though neither of you dared to say it out loud, you both knew this wasn’t just friendship. This was the start of something far more dangerous… and far more beautiful.

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