#sunghoon ff

The arena felt larger than usual, a cavern of steel and frost that seemed to swallow every sound. You stayed near the barriers, gliding in slow, effortless circles. You didn't want to disturb him, but you couldn't look away.

Sunghoon was a vision of controlled violence in the center of the rink. Every jump he attempted was followed by a sharp hiss of frustration when he didn't land it to his impossible standards. You could see the muscles in his thighs flexing through his leggings, the way his jaw was set so tight it looked like marble.

He knew you were there. He’d known from the moment you stepped onto the ice, but he chose to ignore you, pushing his body to the limit just to show off, or perhaps to distract himself from the way his heart hammered whenever you drifted into his peripheral vision.

You stopped by the gate, leaning your elbows on the padded railing. The cold was beginning to seep through your clothes, but the heat radiating from your own skin kept you centered.

Sunghoon executed a sharp turn, his blades spraying a fine mist of ice crystals into the air. Instead of starting another lap, he let his momentum carry him toward you. He didn't look at you yet; he kept his gaze fixed on the ice, slowing down until he was just a few feet away.

The silence between you was heavy, filled only by the distant hum of the cooling system and his jagged, uneven breathing.

"You're late," he finally said. His voice was low, rasping slightly from the dry air. He stopped completely, his skates parallel to yours. He still wasn't looking up, but he was close enough that you could see the steam rising from his damp neck.

"I didn't think you'd notice," you whispered, the lie tasting like sugar on your tongue.

Sunghoon finally lifted his head. His eyes were dark, hooded with exhaustion and something else—something much more primal. He didn't smile. He just stared at you, his gaze tracing the line of your throat, then your lips, before meeting your eyes again.

"I notice everything you do, y/n. Especially when you think I'm not looking."

He reached out, his gloved hand gripping the railing right next to your arm. He didn't touch you, but the proximity made the hair on your arms stand up.

"Come closer," he commanded, a soft but firm order that made your stomach flip. "The light is better here. I want to see your face when you tell me why you're really here this late."

You didn't move at first. Your heart was drumming a frantic rhythm against your ribs, echoing the heavy bass of the song playing faintly over the arena’s speakers. But Sunghoon didn't look away. He waited, his dark eyes challenging you, daring you to bridge the few inches left between you.

Slowly, you pushed off the railing, gliding toward him until your knees almost brushed the front of his skates. Up close, he was overwhelming. The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the sharp, metallic tang of the ice and the raw heat of his body.

"I'm here to practice, Hoon," you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.

"Liar," he breathed. He reached out, his hand—still clad in a thin, black athletic glove—slowly rising to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was light, but the contrast of the cool fabric against your heated skin made you shiver. "You’ve been doing the same three laps for twenty minutes. You’re distracted."

His hand didn't drop. Instead, his fingers slid down to your jaw, his thumb grazing the corner of your lower lip. His gaze followed the movement, intense and unblinking.

"Is it because of what happened earlier?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a low, vibrating hum. "In the hallway? I saw the way that guy from the hockey team was looking at you. And I saw you smiling back."

The sudden shift in his tone caught you off guard. The jealousy was there, simmering just beneath his polished surface. He gripped your chin slightly firmer, forcing you to maintain eye contact.

"He was just asking for directions," you stammered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened. "I don't care what he was asking. I don't like other people putting their hands on what belongs in this rink. On what belongs near me."

He stepped even closer, his body now completely shielding you from the rest of the empty arena. He was so close that his exhales were ghosting over your lips, tasting of mint and adrenaline.

"You think you can just be friendly with everyone and then come here and watch me bleed for perfection?" He let out a dark, breathless chuckle. "No. If you're going to stay, you're going to focus entirely on me. Do you understand?"

He didn't wait for an answer. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your head back. The dominance in his posture was suffocating in the best way possible.

"Tell me, y/n," he whispered against your skin, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. "Who are you here for?"

Sunghoon didn’t wait for your verbal answer. He knew he already had it by the way your breath hitched. Instead of kissing you, he suddenly gripped both of your hands, his fingers locking firmly around your wrists.

"Let’s see how focused you really are," he murmured.

Without warning, he began to skate backward, pulling you with him into the center of the rink. Sunghoon was a master of momentum; he moved with a terrifying smoothness, weaving a path across the ice while forced you to follow his lead. You were a good skater, but at this speed, and with him guiding your every move, you felt completely breathless.

"Hoon, wait—" you gasped, your skates clashing slightly as you tried to keep up with his sudden pace.

"Don't look at your feet," he commanded, his voice loud enough to cut through the cold air. "Look at me. Only at me."

He began to spin you slowly, then faster, keeping your bodies inches apart. The world around you blurred into a haze of blue and grey, leaving only his face in sharp focus. His expression was intense, almost predatory. He was showing off now—not for a crowd, but for you. He wanted you to feel exactly how much power he had on this ice.

Suddenly, he dug his blade into the surface, bringing both of you to a dead stop in the very center of the arena. The momentum sent you stumbling forward, right into his chest.

His arms immediately wrapped around your waist, holding you so tight you could feel the frantic thrumming of his heart against your ribs. He was burning hot, his body a stark contrast to the freezing mist surrounding you.

"You're shaking," he noted, a smirk finally tugging at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't a kind smile; it was the look of a man who knew he’d won.

He slid one hand down, gripping the back of your thigh to lift your leg slightly, forcing you to hook it around his hip to keep your balance on the slippery surface. It was an intimate, suggestive position, right in the middle of the open ice.

"Is it the cold, y/n? Or is it because you realize I can do whatever I want with you out here, and no one would ever know?"

He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, his eyes dropping to your mouth with a hunger that made your knees go weak.

"Answer me. Are you scared? Or are you just waiting for me to stop talking?"

Sunghoon didn't wait for your reply. He didn't have to. Instead, he kept his arm hooked firmly under your thigh, skating toward the edge of the rink with slow, deliberate strides. You were forced to cling to his broad shoulders, your heart hammering against his chest until he reached the barrier.

With a sudden, forceful movement, he pressed you back against the thick plexiglas. The cold of the transparent wall seeped through your clothes instantly, making you gasp, but Sunghoon was right there, his heavy body pinning you in place, trapping you in a cocoon of his heat.

"You like the way they look at you, don't you?" he whispered, his voice dangerously low as he leaned in, his lips hovering just a fraction away from your earlobe. "But they don't get to see this. They don't get to see how your eyes glaze over when I touch you."

He let your leg drop, but only so he could slide his hand upward. His black-gloved fingers moved with agonizing slowness, tracing the curve of your waist before disappearing under the hem of your top. His palm was searing against your skin, a deliberate contrast to the freezing glass behind you.

"Sunghoon..." you breathed, your head falling back against the barrier.

"Shh," he hushed you, his thumb circling a sensitive spot on your hip. "I didn't say you could speak yet. I want you to stay quiet and feel everything."

He began to trail kisses down your neck, biting lightly at the junction where your shoulder met your throat, marking the pale skin. You could feel the vibration of his low chuckle against your skin when you let out a soft, broken whimper.

"Good girl," he murmured, that little praise cutting through the tension like a blade. "So sensitive for me. Do you have any idea how much I’ve thought about breaking you down right here? Right where everyone thinks I’m so perfect and disciplined?"

His other hand came up, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back even further, exposing the long line of your throat. His gaze was dark, focused, and entirely in control as he watched your reaction to his touch.

"I’m going to show you exactly why you shouldn't smile at anyone else," he said, his hand sliding lower, his fingers teasing the waistband of your leggings. "And you’re going to be so loud for me that the whole arena will know who you belong to. Do you want that, y/n? Do you want me to stop being a gentleman?"

Sunghoon’s fingers stayed right there, hooked just under the elastic of your leggings, teasing the skin but going no further. He was motionless, a statue of heat and muscle, watching the way your chest rose and fell in ragged heaves.

The silence of the arena was deafening, making every small sound—the slide of his glove, the catch in your throat—sound like an explosion.

"You're so quiet all of a sudden," he mocked gently, his eyes searching yours with a terrifying intensity. "Where did all that confidence go, y/n? The girl who was so brave earlier, smiling at other men... she seems to have disappeared."

He leaned in closer, his chest crushing yours against the glass. He brought his free hand up, tracing the outline of your trembling lips with his thumb, before slowly inserting it into your mouth. He watched with a dark, satisfied smirk as you instinctively swirled your tongue around it.

"Look at you," he whispered, his voice dripping with dark praise. "Such a good girl, taking it so well. But you’re still not saying it."

He pulled his thumb out with a wet click and moved his hand back down, his palm flat against your stomach, pressing just hard enough to make you whimper. He began to grind his hips against yours, slow and agonizingly deliberate. You could feel exactly how much he was holding back, the hard length of him straining against his trousers, but he refused to give in.

"Hoon... please," you finally broke, the word coming out as a desperate, broken sob.

He stopped moving instantly. He tilted his head, his expression blank, though his eyes were burning. "Please what? You have to be specific, sweetheart. I’m a perfectionist, remember? I need to know exactly what you’re begging for."

He moved his hand away from your waistband entirely, leaning back just an inch—enough to let the biting cold of the arena air rush between your bodies. The sudden loss of his warmth was a shock to your system.

"Tell me," he commanded, his voice hardening. "Tell me what you want me to do to you. And if you don't say it clearly... I might just put my skates back on and leave you here, shivering and empty."

He caught your gaze and held it, his jaw set. He was waiting. He wanted to hear the ruin in your voice; he wanted the total surrender before he finally let the "Ice Prince" melt away.

"Please... I want you," you choked out, your fingers digging into the fabric of his training jacket, pulling him back toward you. "I want you to touch me, Hoon. Properly. Now."

A slow, triumphant smirk spread across his face. "There she is," he whispered. "I knew you were a greedy little thing."

He didn't waste another second. He grabbed your waist and hoisted you up, your skates dangling off the ice as he sat you firmly on the top of the padded railing. The sudden height difference put you right at his eye level. He stepped between your legs, forcing them wide apart, his body a solid, burning weight against your inner thighs.

"I've been thinking about how this would feel for weeks," he muttered, his voice dropping into that raw, horse language you’d been waiting for.

He reached down and, with one swift movement, pulled your leggings and lace underwear down just enough to expose you to the biting air of the rink. The shock of the cold against your wet heat made you gasp, but before you could even shiver, his bare hand—he’d ripped his glove off with his teeth—was there.

His palm cupped you firmly, his skin scorching. "You're so wet for me, Y/N. Look at that. Did you get like this just watching me skate?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He slid two fingers inside you with a sharp, blunt force that made your back arch and your head hit the plexiglass with a dull thud. You let out a loud, high-pitched cry that echoed through the empty arena.

"Shh, be loud for me, but stay still," he commanded, his dominance flaring as he began to move his fingers in a rhythmic, punishing pace. He found your sweet spot with terrifying accuracy, his thumb grinding against your clit with a pressure that was almost too much. "That’s it. Take it. You begged for this, didn't you?"

He leaned in and captured your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with the same frantic intensity as his fingers. He tasted like adrenaline and mint. You could hear the wet, messy sounds of his work between your legs, the noise amplified by the silence of the rink.

"You’re so tight," he groaned against your lips, his composure finally starting to fray at the edges. "I can feel you twitching around my fingers. You want more, don't you? You want me to fill you up properly."

He pulled back just enough to look at your face—your flushed cheeks, your blown-out pupils, your lips swollen from his kisses. That praise returned, darker this time. "You look so beautiful like this. Completely ruined for me. No one else gets to see you this way. Just me."

He withdrew his fingers, making you whine at the sudden loss, only to immediately start fumbling with the fly of his own pants. His eyes never left yours.

"I'm going to mark you so deeply you'll feel me every time you step on this ice," he promised, his voice a low, guttural growl. "Wrap your legs around me. Now."

You did exactly as he said, wrapping your legs around his waist and locking your ankles behind his back. The position was precarious, leaving you completely vulnerable and balanced only by his strength. Sunghoon gripped your hips with a bruising force, his knuckles white, as he positioned himself at your entrance.

"Look at me, y/n," he growled, his voice trembling with the effort of holding back. "I want to see your eyes when I take you."

He pushed inside you in one deep, slow stroke that seemed to go on forever. You let out a strangled cry, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as your body stretched to accommodate him. He was thick, hot, and completely unyielding. For a second, he just stayed there, buried deep inside you, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a long, shaky exhale.

"Fuck," he hissed, the word slipping out as his control finally snapped. "You’re so warm... it’s driving me insane."

He began to move, his pace frantic and desperate. Every time his hips slammed against yours, the plexiglas behind you rattled, the sound echoing like thunder in the cavernous silence of the arena. It was overstimulation in its purest form: the biting cold of the air on your skin, the hard glass against your back, and the scorching, rhythmic friction of him filling you over and over.

Sunghoon wasn't the graceful skater everyone knows anymore. He was a man possessed. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he left a trail of dark marks that would definitely be there tomorrow.

"Tell me," he gasped, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. "Tell me you're mine. Tell me no one else touches you like this."

"Only you... Hoon, only you," you sobbed, your head tossing back as the pleasure began to peak, sharp and electric.

"Good girl," he groaned, the praise making your insides twist with fresh desire. He accelerated, his movements becoming raw and unfiltered. He was hitting your depth with every thrust, his hands moving from your hips to your hair, pulling your face back to meet his for a messy, desperate kiss.

He was reaching his limit, his muscles locking up, his heart thundering against your chest like a trapped bird. "I'm going to... I’m going to make you come for me, y/n. Don't you dare close your eyes."

The begging was gone, replaced by a mutual, frantic need. You felt the first waves of your orgasm ripple through you, your internal muscles clenching around him so tightly he let out a guttural shout. That was the final straw. With one last, deep surge, Sunghoon followed you over the edge, his body shuddering violently as he emptied himself inside you, his grip on you so tight it felt like he’d never let go.

────୨ৎ────

For a long time, the only sound was the two of you breathing—loud, jagged gasps that turned into white mist in the freezing air. Sunghoon kept his face hidden in your neck, his chest heaving against yours. The adrenaline was slowly fading, replaced by a heavy, languid warmth.

Slowly, he pulled back, his eyes softened but still possessive. He reached up, his thumb wiping a stray tear from your cheek with surprising tenderness.

"I told you," he whispered, his voice still raspy and deep. "I notice everything. And now everyone’s going to notice those marks on your neck tomorrow. They’ll know exactly who you were with tonight."

He kissed your forehead, a small, triumphant smirk returning to his lips.

The silence of the arena slowly returned, settling over the ice like a heavy blanket. Sunghoon didn't move for a long time, his forehead resting against yours, his heart slowly calming its frantic pace. The only thing moving was the mist of your mingled breaths in the blue light.

He finally pulled back just enough to look at you. His usual composed mask was gone; his hair was a mess, his lips were swollen, and his eyes were dark with a lingering, satisfied heat.

"Stay still," he murmured, his voice sounding like gravel.

He reached down to help you adjust your clothes with surprising care, though his eyes lingered on the red marks he’d left on your collarbone. He looked proud of them—his signature written on your skin in a way no one could ignore.

He lifted you off the railing, his hands staying on your waist until he was sure your skates were steady on the ice. The cold hit you again, but it didn't feel as biting now. You felt heavy, warm, and completely claimed.

"We should go before the morning shift arrives," you whispered, finally finding your voice.

Sunghoon didn't answer right away. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and turned off the music. The silence was absolute. He then took your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles.

"Let them come," he said, a small, arrogant smirk tugging at his lips. "But from now on, you don’t watch the sessions from the stands anymore. You stay where I can see you. Where I can reach you."

He leaned down for one last kiss—not a desperate one this time, but a slow, lingering promise.

"See you tomorrow, y/n," he whispered against your lips. "And don't even think about covering those marks. I want to see them on you in the light."

He let go of your hand and skated toward the exit with his usual effortless grace, leaving you alone for a second in the center of the rink. You watched him go, knowing that the Ice Prince wasn't just a title anymore—he was your secret, and tonight, you had both burned the ice to the ground.

────୨ৎ────

It was the first day of university, and you were already running late. The strap of your bag was digging into your shoulder, your coffee was lukewarm, and you were half-jogging across campus trying to figure out where “Hall B, Room 204” was. You burst into the lecture hall just as the professor was introducing himself, cheeks flushed, hair slightly out of place. A few heads turned. Some people smiled politely. One guy sitting in the back corner didn’t even glance up.

You didn’t notice him at first.

You were too busy trying to find an empty seat, preferably one not directly in the line of fire for first-day introductions. You settled in the middle row, somewhere between too eager and too aloof. You pulled out your notebook, took a sip of your now-offensively warm coffee, and let out a breath. That’s when your eyes wandered—just casually, no intention behind it. And that’s when you saw him.

Back row. Headphones in. Face like stone. Tall, pale, a little slouched like he was already tired of being here. He wasn’t paying attention to anything or anyone. Just staring ahead like the world around him didn’t concern him in the slightest. And somehow… that made you look again. There was something about him that didn’t match the rest of the room. Like he belonged somewhere else entirely. You didn’t even know his name yet, but for some reason, your stomach flipped.

Over the next few weeks, you saw him everywhere.

And you were everywhere too—because that’s who you were. Loud. Friendly. Constantly surrounded by people. You liked talking, liked filling up space, liked being known. But every time you were in the same room as him, something shifted. Your words dried up. Your laugh softened. You’d glance over at him and forget what you were even saying. It didn’t make sense. You had no reason to feel nervous—he wasn’t even looking at you. But still, you felt it. That slow, creeping kind of curiosity. That quiet pull.

Sunghoon was tired. Everywhere he went, there was a shadow. And not his—an annoying 5’3 one that followed him everywhere. You were always in his line of sight. Talking to someone, laughing too loud, waving your hands when you got excited about something. You were like color in an otherwise grayscale world. Yet she never spoke to him, not a single word. Just observed him from a distance. He noticed. He just didn’t show it.

You didn’t know it then, but that was when it started—when you first fell. You didn’t fall hard, not all at once. It was quiet. Subtle. The way your heart picked up a little when you spotted him in the dining hall. The way you slowed down just slightly when you passed him outside the library. The way you memorized his schedule without meaning to. You didn’t know him. But you wanted to.

And that want? It grew.

You started timing your days around him—not on purpose, at first. It was just that your 10 a.m. lecture happened to be one he was in, and you figured out pretty quickly that he always got there five minutes early, headphones in, hood up if it was cold. He always sat in the same seat: back row, second from the window. You always sat three rows down, a little to the left, just enough to keep him in your peripheral vision. You told yourself it wasn’t weird. People watched people. That’s what people did.

But you didn’t watch everyone.

You watched him.

Sometimes you’d catch little things. The way he tapped his pen when he was thinking, or the way his fingers curled around his water bottle like he was grounding himself. You noticed how he always had one earbud out during lectures, like he didn’t fully trust the silence. You wondered what he was listening to. You wondered what his voice sounded like when he wasn’t mumbling out answers or mumbling “here” during attendance.

You had about a dozen opportunities to talk to him. You were you, after all—there was always someone asking you something, pulling you into something. You weren’t shy. You never had been. But when it came to him, you just… couldn’t. You’d freeze. Smile too quickly. Look away. And he never made it easier—never looked at you long enough to give you a window, never gave you a reason to think he even knew you were there.

But he did.

Sunghoon knew.

He wasn’t stupid. You were loud. Impossible to miss. Like a radio that never turned off. Like summer in the middle of a dull winter. He noticed how you always seemed to sit near him, always looked like you were about to say something but never did. He told himself it was just coincidence. Just one of those things. But then it kept happening. Over and over. The same girl. The same smile. The same presence that made the air feel different.

And yeah—he was tired. All the time. Not from school, not from work. Just… life. People. Noise. But then there was you. This exhausting, glowing thing that wouldn’t leave him alone. You weren’t trying to, but you were there. In his classes. In his thoughts. In the parts of the day where he didn’t expect to feel anything.

And eventually, something cracked.

But not yet. Not then. Because you had already fallen. Quietly, completely, helplessly. And he hadn’t even started.

You flopped onto your bed with all the dramatic flair of someone who had just survived a war, limbs sprawled out, backpack tossed somewhere near your desk.

“Hes sooo fine,” you groaned into your pillow, voice muffled but full of conviction. “Like, actually unfair. How is someone allowed to look like that and not speak to a single soul?” From the other side of the room, Stella barely looked up from her laptop. “You mean Park Sunghoon?” she asked, already sounding unimpressed. “I don’t get it. It’s like being attracted to a white wall.”

You lifted your head, offended. “First of all, he’s not a white wall. He’s more like… a minimalist painting. You know, subtle. Mysterious. Expensive.” Stella snorted. “Girl, he blinked at you once and you’ve been writing fanfiction in your brain ever since.” You threw a pillow at her. “You don’t get it. There’s just something about him.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, catching the pillow and tossing it back. “Something emotionally unavailable.” You didn’t argue, mostly because she was right. But also because you’d already started thinking about what Sunghoon’s voice might sound like if he ever actually spoke to you. You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling like it might hold the answers to your Sunghoon obsession. “Do you think he even knows I exist?”

Stella let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “You sit three rows in front of him. You laugh like a Disney side character. You’ve accidentally tripped twice walking past his seat. If he doesn’t know by now, he’s either legally blind or willfully ignoring you.” You groaned again, dragging a pillow over your face. “Kill me.”

“He’s cute, sure,” she continued, typing something on her laptop, “but he literally said ‘no thanks’ when a girl asked him if he wanted to join their study group. No thanks. Like he was declining an email subscription.” You laughed, muffled by the pillow. “He probably has a really soft voice. Like… barely audible. A whisper. Velvet.”

Stella gave you a look. “You need help.”

“I need him.”

She shut her laptop. “No, babe. You need to talk to him. Say something. Anything. Even just ‘hi.’ Break the curse.” You peeked out from under the pillow, heart already doing gymnastics at the thought. “But what if he looks at me?”

“That’s the whole point.”

You stared at her, horrified. “Absolutely not. I’d combust on the spot.”

“Then enjoy your silent crush from the shadows, weirdo.” You flopped again, dramatically. “Fine. But if I die from unspoken romantic tension, it’s on you.” She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Put it in your will, Romeo.”

The next morning, you woke up with a mission: to maybe say something to Sunghoon today. Nothing crazy. Not a full sentence or anything. Just a word. A syllable, even. A polite “hey” if the stars aligned and your voice didn’t betray you.

You spent an extra five minutes picking your outfit—something casual but not too casual. Like, “I didn’t try, but also I absolutely did.” Stella noticed, obviously. “You’re wearing the ‘Hot but I’m Not Trying’ outfit,” she said through a mouthful of cereal. “Is today The Day?” You shrugged, grabbing your bag and pretending you weren’t already sweating. “It might be.” Stella clapped slowly. “Godspeed, soldier.

By the time you got to class, your nerves were starting to spiral. Sunghoon was already there, sitting in his usual seat—hood down, headphones in, fingers tapping against the desk to whatever he was listening to. He looked unfairly good in a black hoodie and gray sweats, like someone had just pulled him out of a moody K-drama. His side profile was so sharp it should’ve been illegal.

You walked past him, fully prepared to say something, anything—He looked up. Briefly. Just for a second. Eye contact.

And then—back down. Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just send your soul into orbit with a single glance.

You speed-walked to your seat and nearly collapsed into it, heart pounding like you’d just run a marathon. You turned around just enough to glance back at him. Still headphones in. Still unbothered. Still so fine.

You opened your phone under the desk and texted Stella:

Me: I made eye contact. I think I’m pregnant.

She responded instantly.

Stella: omg congrats on the baby!!! do u know if it’s a ghost or a shadow????

You had to bite your lip to stop from laughing out loud. You looked up one more time. Sunghoon hadn’t moved. Still in his own world. Still completely unreadable. But you swore—swore—the corner of his mouth twitched. Almost like a smile. Almost.

You spent the entire lecture pretending to take notes while your brain went into overdrive analyzing that one almost-smile like it was a sacred artifact. Had it really happened? Or were you just so far gone that you were starting to hallucinate expressions on his face that weren’t actually there? You tried to sneak another glance at him halfway through class, just to confirm—but he was fully zoned out again, one hand lazily spinning his pen, the other resting against his jaw, headphones still in. Unbothered. Untouchable. Beautiful in the way that made your brain short-circuit if you stared too long.

When the professor dismissed everyone, you packed up slower than usual, hoping—praying—that the universe would throw you a bone. Maybe he’d glance your way again. Maybe you’d make accidental eye contact and he’d hold it this time. Maybe he’d say something. Or you would. But, as always, Sunghoon stood up, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and walked straight past you like he hadn’t just been living rent-free in your brain for the last three months. You sighed so loudly, the girl next to you looked concerned.

The time you got back to your dorm, you threw the door open with unnecessary force. Stella looked up from her desk. “Well?” You dropped your bag and collapsed onto the floor like the tragic lead in a college rom-com. “He looked at me again.”

She blinked. “…And?”

“And I felt it in my knees, Stella.” She closed her laptop, looking both amused and vaguely concerned. “You’ve got it bad.”

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “I think I’m in love with someone I’ve never spoken to. Do you think they make support groups for this kind of thing?”

“I think it’s called delusion, girl.” You dramatically flung an arm over your forehead. “Well, I’m the president then.” She tossed a granola bar at you. “Eat something and touch grass.”

You caught it without looking, sighing. “I swear he almost smiled.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think that counts as a conversation.”

She snorted. “Yeah, and I think you need help.” You took a bite of the granola bar and chewed in silence, thinking about the half-second twitch of his lips.

It was barely anything. Almost nothing. But to you? It was everything.

Later that night, you were curled up in bed, halfway through rewatching a comfort show you’d seen a hundred times, when the ping of a new email lit up your phone screen. You glanced at it lazily, expecting another boring newsletter or some campus event you weren’t going to attend.

But then your eyes locked on the subject line:

Group Project – PSY214: Social Behavior & Perception

Your heart stuttered. That was the class. The class with Sunghoon.

You sat up so fast your blanket fell off your shoulders. Opening the email, you scanned the body of the message like your life depended on it. The professor had assigned a project to be completed in pairs—not groups, pairs—and said you could choose your own partner, but you had to submit the name by the end of the week.

The universe had officially spoken.

You practically flew off your bed and ran out into the common area where Stella was on the couch, face half-buried in a bowl of popcorn, watching some true crime documentary with the volume way too high.

“STELLA.” You skidded to a stop in front of her, completely out of breath. She jumped, a kernel of popcorn flying out of her bowl. “Jesus—what?” You gripped the back of the couch like your soul might detach from your body. “Group project. Pairs. In psych. With Sunghoon. This is it. This is the sign. I’m going to do it. I’m going to ask him.” She blinked at you. “Wait, you’re gonna speak to him?”

You nodded, eyes wide with some mix of fear and determination. “I have to. I’ve been given a golden opportunity by the universe. A gift. An invitation to break my curse of romantic cowardice. This is my moment. This is my origin story.”

Stella stared at you for a second. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“I know. But you know what else I am? A people person. I’ve never had trouble talking to anyone. It’s literally my specialty. I can charm strangers in line at Starbucks. I can talk my way out of a parking ticket. I can talk to Sunghoon.” She raised a brow. “Okay, but can you do that without short-circuiting and running away like a squirrel?”

You narrowed your eyes. “…I’m working on it.”

Stella smirked and popped another piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Well, you better work fast. Because every other psych major with eyeballs is probably already plotting the same thing.” You dramatically flopped onto the couch beside her, clutching a throw pillow. “Ughhh. Why is he so fine and so quiet? It’s a dangerous combination.”

“Oh, speaking of dangerous,” Stella added casually, eyes still on the screen, “Did you hear Heeseung and his girlfriend got into a huge argument? Like it was full on hands on.” You blinked, thrown completely off track. “Wait—what? Are you serious?”

“Yep. My lab partner saw them holding hands outside the music building. She said it looked… not casual.” You groaned and buried your face in the pillow. “Okay, one emotionally unavailable man at a time, please.” Stella laughed. “You’re doomed.” You peeked over the pillow and mumbled, “Maybe. But at least I’ll go down trying.” She tossed a piece of popcorn at your forehead. “Godspeed, loser.”

And with that, your fate was sealed. Tomorrow, you were going to ask Park Sunghoon to be your partner. Or die trying.

The next morning, your alarm went off at an ungodly hour, and for once, you didn’t hit snooze. You shot out of bed like you had somewhere important to be. Like this was a mission. Because it was.

You had exactly one hour to mentally prepare yourself for what you were about to do: walk up to Park Sunghoon—aka human silence, aka your academic soulmate and secret crush—and ask him to be your partner. Easy. Simple. Nothing to be afraid of. You’ve talked to professors. You’ve hosted campus events. You’ve literally done improv in front of strangers. But now? Your hands were shaking because you might have to say five words to a man who barely speaks.

You stood in front of your mirror, practicing.

“Hey, wanna be partners?”

“No, that’s too blunt.”

“Hi! So I was wondering if—ew, no, too formal.”

“Yo.”

…Absolutely not.

From the other side of the room, Stella, still wrapped in her blanket like a burrito, cracked one eye open. “If you rehearse any longer, he’s gonna graduate before you speak.” You ignored her. “I’m manifesting smoothness, okay?”

“You’re manifesting cardiac arrest.”

By the time you got to class, your heart was already tap dancing in your chest. Sunghoon was in his usual seat—hood down, headphones in, all black hoodie, unreadable face. You stared at him for a full three seconds before you remembered you were standing in the middle of the aisle like a lost tourist. You snapped out of it and shuffled to your seat three rows down, pulse racing. You needed to catch him before class started. That way, if he rejected you, at least you could die quietly while the lecture played.

You kept glancing back at him, trying to time it right. He was scrolling through his phone now, completely detached from the world like he was on another plane of existence. Okay. This was it. You turned around. Took a breath. Stood up. Walked up the steps to his row like you weren’t having an internal breakdown. He looked up the moment you reached him. Direct eye contact. Your brain blanked for a full second.

“…Hey,” you said, voice not nearly as stable as you’d practiced.

He pulled one earbud out, eyebrows raised slightly. “Hi.”

HI. HE SPOKE.

“Um. I was just wondering if you wanted to be partners for the psych project?”

There was a pause. Not long, but enough to make your confidence start to wither.

Then he replied, voice low and quiet, “I already asked the professor if I could work alone.”

Oh.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. You hadn’t prepared for rejection. Especially not this calm, direct kind that somehow wasn’t even rude—it was just… final.

“Oh,” you said quickly, trying not to sound as mortified as you felt. “Cool! Yeah. That’s—totally fine.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just nodded once, almost politely, and put his earbud back in.

You turned around and walked back to your seat like someone had just unplugged your entire personality.

When you sat down, you stared at your notes without actually seeing anything. Your ears were hot. Your hands felt weird. You blinked a few times like maybe you could reset the whole moment.

You grabbed your phone and typed furiously.

Me: abort mission. i asked. he said no. he already asked to work ALONE. ALONE stella. like a damn lone wolf. i just got REJECTED by someone who doesn’t even TALK to people.

Three seconds later, the reply came:

Stella: …damn

Stella: okay but lowkey that’s so on brand for him

Stella: also that wasn’t even personal he probs would’ve said no if a supermodel asked

You slumped forward onto your desk.

If this was your origin story, then this was the flop arc.

And you were going to need emotional CPR before class even started.

Class ended with the usual rustle of backpacks and the scrape of chairs, but you sat frozen in your seat for an extra ten seconds, staring at the back of Sunghoon’s head like it had personally betrayed you. He was already standing up, slinging his bag over one shoulder, cool and quiet as ever. Like he hadn’t just shattered your plans and self-esteem into a thousand quiet little pieces.

But something in you snapped.

No.

You were done being shy. Done rehearsing conversations in your head and letting the moment pass you by. You were not letting Park Sunghoon disappear into the hallway without saying another word.

You jumped up, heart racing, and took a deep breath. “Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “We’re doing this. We’re not going to shrivel up and die from embarrassment this time.”

You rushed up the stairs after him, catching him just before he reached the door. “Sunghoon.”

He stopped, turning to look at you, that same unreadable expression on his face.

You inhaled. “You’re gonna work with me.”

His brows lifted, just slightly, caught somewhere between surprise and confusion. “I told you—I already asked the professor if I could work alone.”

You crossed your arms and raised your chin a little, tapping into your most extroverted, confident self—the version of you that could hold entire conversations with strangers and talk her way out of anything. “Then un-ask him.”

He blinked.

“I’m serious,” you continued, because if you stopped now you’d lose every ounce of courage. “You don’t even know me. What if I’m secretly a genius? What if we make the best team ever and win that bonus point thing he mentioned?”

Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, still quiet. Still unreadable.

You pointed at him. “You don’t have to like group work. But you’re gonna work with me.”

For a long second, he just stared at you.

The faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, not really. But something. He scoffed. Not in a dramatic, mean way. Just… soft. Dismissive. Like you were amusing. Or ridiculous. Or both. And then he turned and kept walking, like you hadn’t just declared war on his solo-project lifestyle. You blinked. Oh, hell no. You shoved your bag higher up your shoulder and stormed after him.

“Seriously?” you said, catching up to him in two strides. “You’re just gonna walk away after that?” He didn’t look at you. “Yeah.”

“You’re not even gonna consider it?”

“Nope.”

You huffed, falling into step beside him. “What is your deal with working alone? You allergic to people or something?” He side-eyed you. “You talk a lot.”

“Thank you,” you said flatly. “That’s literally the only reason I might save your grade.” He stopped walking. You stopped too, nearly crashing into him. He looked down at you—tall, pale, sharp-featured and quiet, like some sort of academic vampire who hated sunlight and group activities.

“Why are you so determined?” he asked finally, tone somewhere between annoyed and curious. You met his eyes, chin lifting. “Because I’ve never had someone ignore me this hard and still live in my brain rent-free. It’s annoying. So if I have to suffer through thinking about you all semester, you’re at least going to suffer with me. Equal pain.” His brows lifted just slightly.

“And,” you added quickly, “I don’t lose. So you’re working with me. End of story.”

Sunghoon stared at you for a beat longer. Like he couldn’t decide if you were insane or just persistent. Then he shook his head. And kept walking. But this time? He didn’t say no. You were halfway across campus the next day, trying to decide between skipping your next lecture or just emotionally disassociating through it, when you heard someone say your name.

Quietly. But definitely.

You turned around and almost tripped over your own feet when you saw him—Sunghoon. Hoodie, backpack, hands shoved in his pockets. Standing awkwardly like he wasn’t entirely sure he should’ve called out to you in the first place. Your heart did a full somersault. “Hi,” you said, maybe too brightly.

He blinked at you. “Hey.”

There was a weird beat of silence, filled with campus noise and your loud inner panic.

Then he shifted on his feet and muttered, “Can I get your number?”

Your brain exploded.

Was Park Sunghoon asking for your number? You stared at him, mouth slightly open, and he just stood there looking painfully neutral, like this was the last place he wanted to be.

“Are you—wait, are you asking me out?” you blurted, already regretting every second of your life.

His eyes widened just the slightest bit, like you’d accused him of a federal crime.

“No,” he said flatly. “For the project. So we can… communicate.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, eyes going wide as the heat crept up your face. “Right. Duh. Obviously. Obviously.”

He looked vaguely uncomfortable, like he wanted to disappear into his hoodie. “…Yeah.”

You scrambled to pull out your phone, nearly dropping it in your panic. “Here—yeah—just put yours in. That’s easier. I’ll text you. So we can… project. Collaborate. Academic synergy.”

He didn’t reply. Just took your phone, typed in his number, and handed it back wordlessly.

You stared down at the contact:

Park Sunghoon

(no emoji. no extra letters. just cold, clinical formality.)

“…Cool,” you said, trying to recover some semblance of dignity.

“Okay,” he mumbled. Then turned to walk away.

You watched him go, mentally facepalming so hard your soul cracked a little.

Your phone buzzed a moment later.

Unknown Number: it’s sunghoon

Unknown Number: let me know when you want to start

You sighed and saved the contact with a little ice cube emoji, because it felt fitting.

Sunghoon Park: cold exterior, barely speaking… and you were so in over your head.

Later that night, you were laying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, your phone balanced on your chest like it owed you something.

You had been so sure he was asking you out. So sure. For 0.3 seconds, you saw your entire future flash before your eyes: couple study dates, matching outfits, walking hand-in-hand through campus while he pretended not to hate the PDA. The works.

But nope.

Just… strictly professional group project business.

You groaned and rolled over, smothering your face into your pillow.

From the other side of the room, Stella looked up from her laptop. “What now?”

“He asked for my number.”

Her eyes lit up. “What? Shut up—did he really?”

You turned your head slightly, muffled. “For the project.”

She stared. “Oh. Ew. Okay.”

You rolled onto your back again, holding your phone up like it personally betrayed you. “I thought he was asking me out. I literally said, ‘Are you asking me out?’”

Stella burst out laughing, no remorse. “You didn’t.”

“I did. And the way he looked at me? Like I just offered to burn down the library. He was so uncomfortable.”

“To be fair,” she said through a cackle, “he always looks uncomfortable.”

You sighed dramatically and stared at his text again.

let me know when you want to start

Simple. Distant. No smiley face. No unnecessary words. He probably sat there thinking about whether three words was too many.

You started typing back:

Me: hey! free tomorrow after 2 if that works? also we could meet at the lib—

Then deleted the whole thing. Too friendly.

Me: hi. library tomorrow at 2?

No. Too dry. You looked like him.

You finally settled on:

Me: hey! are you free tomorrow after 2? we could meet in the library to go over the project?

And then hit send before you could overthink it again.

You dropped your phone beside you and groaned. “This is the most effort I’ve ever put into a man who literally doesn’t speak.”

Stella didn’t even look up. “Honestly, that’s kind of your type.”

You buried your face in your pillow again.

Somewhere, your phone buzzed.

Sunghoon: ok

Sunghoon: 2 is fine

Two words. No punctuation. Classic. And yet—your heart did a full stupid little flip anyway.

You were ten minutes late.

Not fashionably late. Not oh-no-the-bus-was-slow late. Panicked, sweaty, tripping-over-your-own-shoelaces late.

The worst part? You couldn’t even blame traffic. You had literally just stood in front of your closet for fifteen minutes debating what shirt said I’m smart enough to do a group project but also hot enough to be a distraction.

By the time you rushed into the library, breathless and clutching your tote bag like a life raft, you spotted him immediately—tucked into a table near the window, surrounded by neat little piles of notes, black zip-up hoodie, dark jeans, laptop open, posture perfect.

And glasses.

You froze.

You had never seen Park Sunghoon wear glasses before. They were thin-rimmed and kind of crooked on his nose and, for some infuriating reason, stupidly hot.

He glanced up the second he noticed you, gaze sharp behind the lenses. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but all that came out was a weird, out-of-breath sound that wasn’t even a real word.

“…Hi,” he said, tone flat, but not mean. Just very Sunghoon.

“Hi!” you replied too loudly, stumbling as you dropped your bag into the chair across from him. “Sorry—I—I swear I left on time, but I forgot my charger and then I spilled, like, half a smoothie on my notes, and then I couldn’t find the entrance for some reason even though I come here all the time. It was a mess. I’m a mess. But hi!”

He blinked slowly, adjusting his glasses. “You’re here now.”

You nodded quickly. “I am. Present. Mentally, emotionally, physically—kind of.”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you with that same unreadable face, like he couldn’t decide if you were hilarious or exhausting.

You shifted in your chair, suddenly aware of how loud your breathing sounded. And your heartbeat. And how you had no idea what to do with your hands. Why did your fingers feel weird?

“So,” you said, pulling out your laptop and trying to act like your brain wasn’t short-circuiting over the glasses situation. “Psych project. Brainstorm time. Right.”

“Yeah.”

He was already back to typing something, eyes flicking over his screen, and you realized he didn’t even seem fazed. Like this was just… normal.

For you, it was a crisis.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. How did he look so composed? So chill? So academically intimidating with that stupid zip-up and those stupid glasses and his stupid, quiet, mysterious vibe?

“…Did you always wear glasses?” you blurted before your brain could stop you.

He paused. Looked at you.

“Only sometimes,” he said simply.

“Oh.” You looked back down at your screen. “Cool. They’re… you know. Fine. Cool. Very… smart.”

A long pause.

“Thanks.”

You wanted to sink into the floor.

It was going to be a long group project.

You had just started to feel semi-normal.

Sunghoon was being quiet—shock—but not cold. You were actually getting into the flow of outlining the project. He listened when you talked. Nodded. Occasionally gave input. It wasn’t comfortable exactly, but it wasn’t the awkward apocalypse you were expecting, either.

And for a brief, fragile second, you thought this might be the first chill moment you shared alone.

Naturally, the universe had other plans.

“Oooohhh, what do we have here?”

You looked up just in time to see three people you had never met stroll up to your table like they owned the entire library. One was tall, with dark eyes and a mischievous smile—Jay, though you didn’t know that yet. Next to him was a golden-haired guy with a killer grin, arm slung around girl. Jake. And Jake’s Girlfriend, apparently.

Jay gave you a once-over, then looked at Sunghoon like he’d just caught him in a crime. “We just thought we should come check out Sunghoon’s first date with a girl.”

Your eyes widened. You choked on air.

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch. “It’s not a date.”

Jake’s girlfriend snorted. “At least he’s honest about it not being a date. Unlike my first date.”

Jake groaned beside her, dragging a hand down his face. “How many times did I apologize for that?”

You blinked. “Wait—what happened on your first date?”

She smiled sweetly. “He made a bet with his friends that he could get with me. You know, classic teen rom-com behavior.”

“Oh my god.” Your jaw dropped.

Jake threw up his hands. “And I said I was sorry! I was reckless and stupid.”

“You’re still stupid,” she muttered, but leaned into his side anyway.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon just sat there, jaw clenched, radiating quiet murder.

Jay leaned closer, ignoring the tension. “Oh, but she definitely wants it to be a date,” he said, nodding at you with a teasing glint in his eye.

You choked again. “I—What—No?!”

Sunghoon shot him a warning glare. “Jay.”

Jay held up his hands, smirking. “Alright, alright. Just saying. She looks real invested in this collaboration.”

Before you could combust, another voice burst into the mix.

“GUYS.”

You turned in your seat just in time to see a boy with bleached blond hair, glowing skin, and a phone clutched in one hand come skidding to a stop at your table.

“Heeseung and his girlfriend are having another full-on screaming match outside the student center,” he announced like it was breaking news. “It’s getting dramatic. One of them might throw hands. Or a smoothie.”

He finally looked at you. “Oh, hi. Who’s this?”

“Sunoo,” Jake sighed, “this is… uh…”

“YN,” you supplied, feeling very out of place.

“She’s Sunghoon’s group partner,” Jay said, emphasis on partner, like it was code for something else.

Sunoo’s eyes lit up. “Ooooooohhhhhh.”

Sunghoon let out a sharp breath through his nose, practically vibrating with annoyance. “Why are you all here?”

“Checking up on you,” Jay said cheerfully. “You’re weird about new people. We had to make sure you weren’t malfunctioning.”

Jake nodded. “And to be fair, you are being weird.”

“I’m literally sitting,” Sunghoon snapped.

“Okay, yeah, but like. Sitting with a girl,” Sunoo said, raising his brows. “A cute girl. You see why that’s suspicious.”

You stared at your laptop, cheeks burning. The chaos was unreal.

Jake shook his head. “Anyway, back to the drama—how long are Heeseung and his girl gonna keep doing this?”

Jake’s girlfriend crossed her arms. “Maybe don’t make bets about girls and they won’t cuss you out on campus.”

“Babe,” Jake whined, “again, I said I was sorry. Let it gooo.”

Sunghoon stood up abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.

“Where are you going?” Jay asked.

“Anywhere that’s not here,” he muttered.

You jumped up after him, trying to gather your stuff. “Wait—Sunghoon!”

He didn’t slow down, and you had to basically jog to catch up, face still on fire. Behind you, Jay called, “Have fun on your not-date!”

And Sunoo added, “She’s cute! You better not screw it up!”

You didn’t dare look back.

You finally caught up to him halfway down the library stairs, breath short and hands still fumbling to shove your laptop into your bag.

“Sunghoon—wait,” you called, your voice echoing slightly in the stairwell.

He didn’t stop, but he did slow down just enough for you to trail beside him instead of behind like some kind of out-of-breath gremlin.

You walked in silence for a second. Just the two of you. The air was heavy, thick with secondhand embarrassment and the faint smell of old textbooks.

“…They’re your friends?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual. Not that anything about the last five minutes had been casual.

“Unfortunately,” he muttered.

You bit your lip, half-smiling. “They’re… a lot.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept walking, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands and jaw tight like he was trying to bite back actual rage.

After a beat, you added, “I wasn’t expecting company. Or, you know, being accused of trying to date you in front of half your social circle.”

He stopped suddenly, turning toward you.

You skidded to a halt too, your breath catching a little—not just from the speed, but the way he was looking at you. Glasses slightly tilted, dark eyes unreadable, lips parted like he wanted to say something and hadn’t quite figured it out yet.

Then, very quietly, he said, “You didn’t… seem mad.”

You blinked. “Why would I be mad?”

His brows drew together. “At them. For saying all that. Teasing you.”

“Oh.” You shrugged. “I mean, yeah, I was dying internally. But it’s fine. You didn’t say it. You just… looked like you wanted to strangle all of them.”

“I did.”

A short silence.

And then—you laughed. Soft and sudden, the sound surprising even yourself. “Well, thanks for that.”

His gaze flicked to you, something small softening in his expression. “They weren’t supposed to show up. I didn’t… want to make you uncomfortable.”

You stared at him for a second. Because that? That was the most he’d said to you since the day you met. And also maybe the most thoughtful thing anyone had said to you all week.

“…You didn’t,” you said, voice quieter now. “Uncomfortable, I mean.”

His eyes searched yours for a second, like he didn’t quite believe you.

Then he looked away. “Good.”

You both stood there for a moment—just outside the building now, the cold air nipping at your cheeks, the sun sliding low behind campus buildings.

You finally broke the silence, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. “So… should we try again? Like, library, take two? Maybe somewhere your friends won’t crash?”

He hesitated.

Then, finally—finally—he gave a small nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

You smiled. “Cool. I’ll bring snacks this time.”

He glanced sideways at you. “I don’t eat while I study.”

“Of course you don’t,” you said, sighing dramatically. “You probably highlight in perfect straight lines too.”

“…Sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes. “God. You’re such a nerd.”

But he didn’t say anything to that.

Just that same tiny twitch at the corner of his lips.

And for the first time since you met him, you didn’t feel like you were chasing him.

You felt like maybe—just maybe—he was meeting you halfway.

Sunghoon should’ve known they wouldn’t just leave.

He exhaled slowly as he stepped out into the cold, the library door thudding shut behind him—and there he was.

Sunoo. Leaning against a bike rack like he’d been waiting for him since the dawn of time. His bleach-blond hair glowed under the dying sun, and his jacket was entirely too thin for the temperature, but he looked completely unbothered. Smug, even.

The second he spotted Sunghoon, his whole face lit up. “Finally. Took you long enough.”

Sunghoon gave him a flat look. “Why are you still here?”

“Because Jay and Jake went to get smoothies, and I wasn’t about to sit through their disgusting couple energy. Plus,” Sunoo grinned, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Sunghoon didn’t stop walking. “No.”

“You didn’t even hear what it was!”

“I already know it’s something annoying.”

Sunoo skipped a few steps ahead to block his path, walking backwards now, eyes wide and suspiciously innocent. “So… who’s the girl?”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “Group project partner.”

Sunoo squinted at him. “Right. And I’m totally just here to study Heeseung and his girlfriend’s dysfunction like a science experiment.”

“She’s not my type,” Sunghoon muttered, looking away.

“You don’t even have a type.”

“Exactly.”

Sunoo hummed like he didn’t buy that for a second. “She’s cute.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything.

“And funny. And a little chaotic. But in a fun, like, ‘I talk to my plants and lose my keys twice a day’ kind of way.”

Still, no response.

Sunoo leaned in closer, eyes glittering. “Do you like her?”

Sunghoon stopped walking. Just stared at him, unreadable.

Sunoo smirked. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave you alone.” He started to turn, then glanced back. “Actually—wait. Can I have her number?”

Sunghoon blinked. “What?”

“Just to be friends! Gosh. You think you’re the only one allowed to befriend hot, unbothered chaos girls?”

“You met her for like two minutes.”

Sunoo grinned. “And that’s all I needed. I have a sense for people. And she’s my kind of people.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened.

“She’s part of our circle now,” Sunoo added, sing-song. “You brought her in. There’s no going back.”

“I didn’t bring her in,” he muttered.

“You literally let her follow you out of the library like a lost puppy.”

“I did not.”

“You didn’t stop her.”

Sunghoon looked away.

Sunoo smiled, victorious. “So? Her number?”

Sunghoon glared at him. “Ask her yourself.”

Sunoo squealed dramatically, spinning around on his heel. “Oh my god, I will. I’ll text her right after I follow her on Insta. This is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Behind him, Sunghoon muttered under his breath.

“…What was that?” Sunoo called over his shoulder.

“Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

Because for some reason, the idea of Sunoo texting you made something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

And he didn’t want to think too hard about why.

You sat on your bed that night, still in your jeans and hoodie, your bag half-unpacked on the floor, laptop open but untouched, and brain moving at 300 miles per hour.

Your phone buzzed.

Stella:

Did you die or did Sunghoon kiss you or did you die because Sunghoon kissed you. I need updates.

You groaned, flopping onto your back and lifting your phone above your face.

Me:

None of the above. His friends ambushed us mid-study session and fully acted like I was his girlfriend. In public.

Stella:

WAIT. Which friends. Are they hot. I need names and Instas.

You sighed dramatically.

Me:

Jay. Jake (with his girlfriend). And some guy named Sunoo who said Heeseung and his girl were screaming again.

Also I think Sunoo might be my new best friend. He glows. Like??? How.

Stella:

JAY? As in soccer boy Jay?? Jake the business major? THEY WERE ALL THERE? NOOO I WAS ON THE WRONG CAMPUS TODAY.

Also Sunoo’s TikTok skin care routine is literally witchcraft I’ve seen it.

You laughed quietly to yourself, phone clutched to your chest for a second as your smile slowly faded into something more thoughtful.

Because, honestly?

You’d expected today to be awkward. Maybe awful.

You did not expect to feel… kind of okay.

Actually, more than okay.

Sure, you wanted to sink into the earth and die when Jay said you looked like you wanted it to be a date.

But then Sunghoon had looked actually annoyed—for you. And when you caught up to him, he didn’t walk away. He didn’t ignore you. He let you talk, let you tease him. Even cracked a tiny smile that made your entire brain short-circuit.

He didn’t seem like the type to say much. But he listened. And he noticed things. Like whether you were uncomfortable. Like how loud his friends could be.

That mattered more than you expected.

Your phone buzzed again.

Stella:

Okay but real talk. Did you feel anything? Like when you were sitting next to him? Being in his aura or whatever?

You stared at the screen for a second, then slowly typed:

Me:

Yeah.

He wore glasses.

I’m ruined.

Stella:

…That’s fair.

You rolled over, kicking your legs up and burying your face into your pillow with a groan. This wasn’t supposed to be a thing. You were supposed to get through the semester, maybe stare at him from afar a few more times, graduate with dignity.

Now? Now you were saving a contact in your phone as:

Park Sunghoon (Glasses = my downfall).

And you had a very bad feeling this was only the beginning.

The next morning, you got to class early. Like painfully early. Which was weird, because you were usually a chronic just-in-time kind of student—just enough hustle to not be late, never early enough to raise suspicion. But today? You practically skipped through the lecture hall doors, iced coffee in hand and a hopeful delusion bouncing around in your head like a movie trailer.

You spotted him right away—Sunghoon, in his usual seat near the window, hoodie pulled over his head like a warning sign, eyes glued to something on his laptop. Stoic. Brooding. Beautiful in that intimidating, I-read-whole-textbooks-for-fun kind of way. You took your seat beside him without hesitation this time. Victory, right? You were learning. Evolving. No more fear. Just controlled chaos and denial. He glanced at you as you sat. Said nothing. But you were used to that by now. Instead, you sipped your coffee and let your mind wander—straight into fantasyland.

Scenario One: You two finish the project early. Miraculously early. And somehow, that leaves just enough time for a casual, post-study hangout. Maybe he’s like, “I know this café down the street, wanna go?” And you act totally chill even though you’re internally combusting, and then one drink turns into two, and then next thing you know—

Scenario Two: He starts talking more. Like, actually talking. Maybe even laughing. You learn he’s got this dry, sarcastic sense of humor. The glasses make a comeback. He pushes them up while making some off-hand comment about people-watching or Nietzsche or whatever he reads for fun, and you just melt.

Scenario Three: He thanks you—like, really thanks you—for making the project more tolerable. You say something witty. He says something slightly flirty. There’s eye contact. And maybe, just maybe, he asks you to hang out again even after the project is over.

You blinked, realizing you were smiling into your coffee like an idiot.

“…What.” You jumped a little. Sunghoon was staring at you now, one brow raised behind his lashes, suspicious. You cleared your throat. “What?”

“You were smiling like you won something.” You coughed into your drink. “Oh. Um. No. Just… thinking.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “About?” You hesitated. You. Your stupid hoodie. Your stupid perfect jawline. How good your hands looked when you typed. Us getting married in a cozy bookstore-themed wedding. “…The project,” you lied.

He stared for another second, then looked back at his screen like he didn’t believe you but also didn’t care enough to argue. Your cheeks were burning. You turned toward the front of the room, pretending to listen to the professor. But in your head? The fake scenarios were still playing. And in all of them, Sunghoon never scoffed and walked away again.

You weren’t even sure how you got on the topic of astrology.

One second, you were casually mentioning your moon sign, and the next, you were ten minutes deep into a rant about compatibility charts, birth time accuracy, and how Mercury retrograde was definitely to blame for your chronic inability to meet deadlines.

You were in it—hands flailing, iced coffee half-forgotten, your voice carrying across your little corner of the library like a talk show guest who forgot she wasn’t mic’d.

“And I’m not saying it’s always accurate, but like—come on, I’ve never met a Leo moon who didn’t want attention in the most dramatic way—”

Then you looked at him.

And he was watching you.

Not glancing. Not politely nodding. Not half-focused while typing something on his laptop.

No.

Park Sunghoon was sitting completely still, chin slightly tilted, dark eyes locked on you like he was seeing you—really seeing you—for the first time.

And it hit you all at once: the weight of his gaze. The fact that he hadn’t interrupted you once. The way his expression wasn’t annoyed or bored or even confused.

Just… quiet.

Focused.

Curious.

Your words trailed off mid-sentence. You felt your mouth go dry.

“I, um…” you stammered, blinking hard and glancing down at your hands. “Sorry. I was rambling again.”

A beat passed.

He didn’t respond right away. You peeked up.

He was still looking at you.

For someone who rarely spoke, he really didn’t need words to fluster you.

You quickly turned back to your laptop and muttered, “We should probably get back to the outline.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than usual, but not in a bad way. Just… different.

Like maybe something had shifted. And he noticed it too.

And for once, you were the quiet one.

One week later.

You didn’t know when it happened—if it was the third study session or the way he started waiting for you outside class without saying anything, just casually lingering like he wasn’t—but something had definitely shifted.

He still wasn’t talkative, not by any stretch. Park Sunghoon was still the same quiet, unreadable guy who typed like he was solving a national crisis and stared at his laptop like it offended him. But now, sometimes… he looked at you like you were the more interesting problem.

You noticed it during Wednesday’s library session. You were scribbling notes, brain on overdrive like usual, when you cracked a dumb joke under your breath about Freud being the original red flag. And he—Sunghoon—actually smirked.

Not a full laugh. Not even a chuckle.

But a smirk. Like his mouth twitched and everything.

You were so shocked you nearly dropped your pen.

Now, seven days into being partners, your nerves still spiked whenever he looked directly at you. Which—terrifyingly—he did more often now.

Today, though, you were running late. Again. You’d had a 10-minute breakdown over whether your hoodie looked “accidentally cute” or “accidentally homeless.” When you finally rushed into the same table by the window, Sunghoon was already there—hoodie up, laptop open, long legs stretched out like he owned the entire row.

You skidded into the seat across from him, breathless and messy as usual. “Hi! Sorry—I didn’t mean to be late, I got distracted because I was reorganizing my playlist and then I realized I accidentally put a breakup song on my walking-to-class mix and it ruined my whole mood—anyway, I’m here!”

He blinked up at you.

“You always talk like you haven’t taken a breath in ten minutes,” he said flatly.

You opened your mouth to defend yourself—then paused.

Because even though his words were dry as ever, there was a glint in his eyes. A little tease. The ghost of amusement.

You grinned, emboldened. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta fill the silence between us.”

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he pushed your coffee toward you like he’d been holding onto it.

You blinked. “Wait. Did you—?”

“You always get the same one,” he said, shrugging, eyes flicking back to his screen. “You were ten minutes late. I figured.”

Your stomach did a weird flip.

It was a tiny thing. Barely even a moment. But it was the first time he’d done something unprompted—something thoughtful.

Something soft.

You sat down slowly, hands warming around the cup.

Before, you were a loud girl with a crush and no courage.

Now, you were still loud. Still spiraling. Still catching yourself staring when he wasn’t looking.

But somewhere in the middle of library study sessions, awkward silence, and shared glances that lingered a little too long—

Maybe he was starting to fall too.

Later that night, you were back in your dorm, lying on your bed with your laptop propped on your stomach and your Spotify playing in the background. You were supposed to be finalizing the last few slides of the presentation, but instead, you were deep in the Notes app—typing out possible conversation starters like a 14-year-old girl prepping for a first date.

Which it wasn’t, obviously.

It was just a group project. A graded group project. Which meant this mild obsession with Park Sunghoon was wildly unprofessional.

Still, your brain didn’t care.

He remembered your coffee order.

He smirked at your joke.

He bought your coffee.

You flopped your head to the side with a groan and rolled over, phone slipping out of your hand. “I’m losing it.”

From across the room, Stella didn’t even look up from her phone. “You lost it when you called his handwriting sexy.”

“I never said that out loud.”

She looked at you now. “Babe. You whispered it during your FaceTime call with me while you were editing your shared Google Doc.”

You grabbed a pillow and launched it at her. She caught it with a grin and tossed it back.

“So?” you said, burying your face in it. “Is it crazy to think he might kind of like me too? Just a little?”

Stella shrugged. “I don’t know. He bought your coffee. That’s a huge deal for an introvert. It took me three months to get my introvert ex to say good morning first.”

You peeked over the pillow. “You think he’s soft under all that broody quietness?”

“I think he’s already soft,” she said, nonchalant. “You’re just the only person loud enough to poke through it.”

You blinked.

Huh.

It was a weirdly sweet thought.

You stared at the ceiling for a long moment, your brain doing its usual rom-com spiral. Imagining more coffee. A casual movie hangout after your project was done. Him smiling at you again. Him taking off his hoodie and you realizing he was even hotter underneath it

Your phone buzzed.

You nearly flipped off the bed grabbing it.

Park Sunghoon: Do you want to meet earlier tomorrow? Library’s crowded after 5.

Your heart skipped. He messaged you first.

You scrambled to reply, fingers shaking just a bit.

You:Yeah totally! I can do 3?

Three dots.

Park Sunghoon: Cool.

You smiled down at your phone. Not a date. Not even flirting, technically. But still… something. And it was enough to make your chest feel a little lighter as you sank back into your pillow, grinning like a complete idiot.You were definitely being dramatic.

It was just a study session. Just Sunghoon. Just your project partner.

And yet here you were, standing in front of your mirror like you were about to walk into a k-drama confession scene.

You’d tried to be casual about it at first—grabbed your usual hoodie, pulled your hair into a messy bun, told yourself today would be like any other work day. But then you’d caught your reflection and froze.

Nope.

Not today.

Today, something in your brain snapped—the part that remembered the way Sunghoon looked at you last time. The way he handed you your coffee without saying much but still said everything.

So now here you were, smoothing down the pleats of your white skirt, the fabric light and soft, bouncing just slightly with every step. You’d tucked in a pastel pink top—simple but flattering, cinched at the waist, with a soft neckline that somehow made your collarbones look like they belonged in a Pinterest moodboard.

You curled your hair into soft waves, taking your time with each section like you were preparing for a date—which again, it wasn’t. But your hair looked good, and that was reason enough.

Then came the makeup—just enough to brighten your face. A little concealer, a swipe of blush, dewy highlight, and a soft pink gloss that matched your shirt perfectly. Not too much. Not trying too hard. Just enough to feel… confident.

You stepped back and looked at yourself. Cute, but not overdone.

Like you just happened to roll out of bed this way. Like you totally didn’t spend an hour prepping for a guy who still hadn’t said more than five sentences in a row to you.

You grabbed your bag, gave yourself one last look in the mirror, and nodded. He won’t even notice, you told yourself. But your heart still raced anyway.

You arrived at the library fifteen minutes early.

Which was insane. You were never early. You were barely ever on time. But today, you found yourself practically floating through the entrance with way too much pep in your step for someone heading into a two-hour grind session.

You chose a table tucked near the windows, sunlight filtering in just enough to give you that natural-glow effect you hoped—just a little bit—he’d notice. You pulled out your laptop, opened your notebook, sipped your iced vanilla latte like it was some kind of calming potion and not a way to keep your hands from fidgeting.

Three minutes passed. Then five. Then eight.

And just when you started to spiral, you saw him. Black hoodie, dark jeans, headphones around his neck, glasses on. Glasses again? Was he trying to kill you?

He walked up without a word, dropped his bag in the seat next to you, and sat down like this was the most normal thing in the world.

You swallowed.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound breezy. “You’re early.”

“So are you.”

You blinked. He noticed?

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” you said, smiling before you could stop yourself.

“I notice things,” he said, not looking up from unzipping his backpack.

Your brain promptly short-circuited.

You sat there a moment, trying to reboot your internal monologue, but he didn’t say anything else. Just pulled out his laptop, adjusted his glasses, and tapped a few keys like this was just another Tuesday.

You cleared your throat. “So… should we get started?”

He nodded, eyes flicking to the screen, and you did your best to focus, even though your heart was doing pirouettes in your chest.

Ten minutes in, he finally glanced sideways.

His eyes skimmed over you—your top, your hair, the soft gloss on your lips—and then right back to the screen.

Nothing in his expression changed.

But.

You swore the tips of his ears turned just the slightest bit pink.

It all happened so fast.

One second you were typing away, trying to figure out how to transition from your statistics slide to Sunghoon’s part about correlation, and the next, your phone buzzed with a message that made your stomach drop to the floor.

Mom:

hey—don’t panic. he’s stable. but your dad’s in the hospital. car accident. he’s asking for you.

The panic part, unfortunately, arrived immediately.

You gasped. Shot up from your seat like you’d been burned.

Sunghoon looked up, brows furrowed. “What’s—?”

“I—I have to go,” you blurted, already shoving your laptop into your bag with shaky hands. “My dad—he’s in the hospital—I have to—”

You didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t think to explain. Didn’t notice your phone sliding between the cushions of the library couch when you stood too fast. You were gone before Sunghoon could even stand.

He sat there for a while, blinking after you, confused and more than a little startled. But when the shock wore off, he assumed you just needed time. He figured you’d text when you got the chance.

Except… you didn’t. Thirty minutes passed. Then forty-five.

The seat next to him stayed empty. And despite the hum of the library, all he could hear was the faint echo of how your voice cracked when you said hospital.

He exhaled slowly and reached for his phone.

Pulled up your contact. You’re just checking. That’s it, he told himself.

He tapped the call button. And then frowned. Because your phone—the one he was calling—was… right there. Left on the couch like a forgotten piece of clothing, glowing faintly with the light from the screen. Missed calls. Texts. And one lockscreen wallpaper of you and your roommate pulling dumb faces at the camera.

He reached for it, reluctantly.

And that’s when he saw it.

Right there at the top of the screen, when the missed call alert faded away, was his name.

Park Sunghoon (Glasses = Downfall)

He stared at it. And blinked. And stared again.

Because it wasn’t just Park Sunghoon. It was “Glasses = Downfall.”

He slowly leaned back against the couch, completely thrown off, a mix of confusion and God, was that amusement?—starting to crawl across his face. Of course you saved his contact like that. Of course. He pressed his lips together, unsure if he was more concerned about you… or the way his chest actually tightened when he realized your phone was still here, and you weren’t.

Sunghoon was still sitting there, completely frozen, your phone in one hand and that ridiculous contact name burning a hole in his brain, when a familiar voice cut through the air like a ray of chaotic sunlight.

“Oh my God, is that her phone?”

Sunghoon looked up just in time to see Sunoo appear at the end of the aisle, eyebrows raised and lips already curled into a knowing smirk. His blond hair was perfectly styled, skin glowing like he drank actual light for breakfast, and he was strutting over like he owned the entire building.

“I knew something felt off,” Sunoo continued, stopping in front of the table. “She never leaves her phone anywhere. Last time she lost it for five minutes she had a full existential breakdown and accused Stella of cursing her.”

Sunghoon blinked, still not sure what to do with the phone in his hand—or the smirk that kept trying to tug at the corner of his own lips.

“She left in a rush,” he muttered, eyes flicking back down to the screen. “Family emergency.” Sunoo’s expression shifted instantly, eyes softening. “Wait—seriously? Sunghoon nodded once. “She said her dad’s in the hospital. She didn’t say much. Just left.”

“Shit,” Sunoo said, frown pulling at his mouth. “That’s… crap. Do you know which hospital?” Sunghoon hesitated. “No. I tried calling. That’s when I realized her phone’s still here.” Sunoo sighed and slid into the chair across from him, tapping his own phone screen rapidly. “I’ll call Stella. She might know something. Or at least be able to get in touch with her mom or something.”

Sunghoon gave a slow nod, leaning back again as he watched Sunoo work through his contact list like a professional. The tension in his chest refused to ease, even as help arrived.

“Oh, and by the way,” Sunoo said casually, glancing up with that glint in his eye. “You’re totally blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Sunoo grinned. “Glasses equals downfall? I mean, really? I should’ve known.”Sunghoon cleared his throat and looked away, ears tinged unmistakably pink.

Sunoo smirked. “So… are we finally admitting someone has a little crush?”

“She left her phone,” Sunghoon muttered.

Sunoo leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, completely unfazed. “Mhm. And you’re staring at her lockscreen like it’s a live stream. Just admit it, Hoonie.”

“I’m not calling you that.”

“You didn’t say no to the crush part.” Sunghoon sighed deeply, resting his head back against the seat as Sunoo grinned like he’d just won a game no one else knew they were playing. Silence settled again for a beat—until Sunoo’s phone lit up.

“Stella’s typing,” he said, glancing down. “I’ll keep you posted. You just sit there and keep pining dramatically.”

“I’m not—”

“Sure, sure.” Sunoo winked. “Keep telling yourself that, Mr. Downfall.” Sunoo’s phone buzzed, and he glanced down.

“Stella says she doesn’t know which hospital either,” he said, brow furrowed. “But—and I quote—‘I know her lockscreen passcode because we are married spiritually.’” Sunghoon blinked. “That’s… specific.”

“She says it’s her birthday. Not Y/N’s. Hers.”

Sunghoon stared at the phone in his hand. “Why would it be Stella’s birthday?” Sunoo smirked. “Because Y/N is a simp. Obviously.” Sunghoon inhaled, then exhaled like this was already too much for one day. Still, he typed it in. The screen unlocked.

Sunoo immediately leaned over the table like it was a hot gossip vault opening in real time. “Okay, try checking her notes. Or her location app. She has a tracker on her parents, I swear—oh wait.”

He stopped. Sunghoon had paused, fingers hovering over the screen. Because the phone didn’t open to the home screen. It opened to her messages. With Stella.

And the last message sitting right there at the top read:

Y/N:

sunghoon is wearing glasses today i need the ground to take me out respectfully

Sunghoon’s jaw ticked.

He didn’t scroll. He should’ve scrolled. But he didn’t need to. Because Sunoo saw it too—and gasped like he’d just seen a scandal unfold on live television. “Oh my GOD—scroll up. Scroll up right now.”

“I’m not—”

“GIVE ME THE PHONE.”

Sunghoon sighed in defeat and scrolled up two or three lines, just enough for Sunoo to snatch the phone halfway through and start reading aloud in a dramatic whisper:

Y/N:

i swear to god i’m trying to focus

but his glasses. HIS GLASSES STELLA

why did nobody prepare me for this man to look like a kdrama male lead in a hoodie and glasses combo i’m actually in pain

he said ‘can you pass me the charger’ and i almost proposed right then and there

guys I swear his shoulder look extra broad today

Sunoo smacked the table. “SHE ALMOST PROPOSED.” Sunghoon covered his face with one hand, voice muffled. “Please stop.”

“Oh, I’m never stopping. You’re officially her villain origin story. I can’t breathe.”

Sunghoon reached across the table, retrieved the phone with a blank expression, and locked the screen again. “We’re supposed to be figuring out which hospital her dad’s at.”Sunoo, still giggling, waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m texting Stella for the tracking app now. But I need you to know that she was down so bad she literally contemplated death-by-glasses. That’s… that’s poetry.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond. But the tips of his ears were pink again. And this time, he didn’t bother trying to hide them.

Sunghoon was halfway zipped up, bag slung over one shoulder, already mentally mapping the route to the hospital when Sunoo crossed his arms and tilted his head with a dangerous gleam in his eye.

“You know,” he said slowly, “you could save yourself so much embarrassment if you just admitted it.” Sunghoon didn’t pause. “Admitted what.”

“That you like her.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh?” Sunoo snatched Y/N’s phone off the table with a mischievous grin and unlocked it again. “Then I guess I’ll just keep reading her adorable little breakdowns about your glasses, and your hoodies, and—oh look—your ‘annoyingly attractive handwriting.’”

Sunghoon turned just enough to give him a warning look. “You’re making that up.”

“Sexy handwriting,” Sunoo repeated dramatically, scrolling. “Sexy. She called your handwriting sexy. Who even notices that in a group project? Oh wait—Y/N does, because she’s clearly unhinged about you and—oh my God.”

He stopped.

“Oh my God. She drew little hearts around your name in her notes app.” Sunghoon ran a hand down his face. “Sunoo.”

“I will stop,” Sunoo said sweetly, “if you admit you like her.”

“I don’t.”

Sunoo stared at him. Sunghoon stared right back, completely unreadable, posture cool and relaxed like he hadn’t just heard you almost died over the way he wore his glasses. The silence stretched. Finally, Sunoo groaned and dropped back into his seat, tossing the phone down like it offended him. “Ugh. You’re so boring.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond—just adjusted the strap on his bag, eyes flicking toward the exit. But if Sunoo had been paying attention to the way his fingers curled slightly against his side, or how his ears had gone just a shade pinker again… He might’ve known that silence wasn’t denial.

Sunghoon left the library with your phone in his pocket, steps quiet but fast as he crossed campus, hoodie drawn up just enough to shadow his face. He didn’t want to be noticed. He never did. But today especially—not with your words still echoing in his head like some cursed audio loop.

“kdrama male lead in a hoodie and glasses.”

It was ridiculous. And yet… somehow, it made the corners of his mouth twitch in the stupidest way. He forced it down, gripping the strap of his bag tighter.

The hospital wasn’t far. He caught the next bus downtown and kept checking your phone every few minutes—not that there were any new messages. But maybe… maybe Stella would text. Or your mom. Or you.

He shouldn’t be this tense. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t even your friend, really. Just a group project partner who somehow got dragged into your world like a moth to a sparkly, chaotic flame.

But still—he needed to know you were okay.

And despite everything, despite the teasing and the denial and the unread messages, he didn’t leave that hospital lobby until someone told him where to find you.

Meanwhile, back in your hospital room, you were staring at the blank TV screen, hand curled loosely around a paper cup of vending machine coffee that tasted like burnt regret.

Your dad was stable, resting just down the hall. You were grateful—more than grateful—but you’d never felt so unmoored. Like you were floating outside of your body.And on top of it all… your phone was gone.

You groaned quietly and buried your face in your hands. “Of all days,” you muttered. Your soul was actively leaving your body just thinking about it. The door creaked open.

You lifted your head, expecting a nurse, maybe your mom.

Instead—there he was. Park Sunghoon. Black zip-up, jeans, perfect hair, and those same glasses that had quite literally rearranged your brain chemistry. Holding your phone. And looking… weirdly hesitant.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Your eyes widened. “You—what—how did you—?”

“You left this,” he said, holding the phone out like it burned. “At the library. Sunoo and Stella figured out how to track you. I came to check if you were okay.”

You stared at him. Your phone. His glasses. Your life. All colliding in one surreal moment. And then, quietly, Sunghoon added, “Your dad… he’s alright?” You nodded, still dumbstruck. “Yeah. Yeah, just banged up. He’s resting.” QA small, relieved breath escaped him. You took your phone slowly, your fingers brushing his, and suddenly every single message you’d sent Stella flashed before your eyes in a horror montage.

He had your phone.

He read your texts.

He knew.

You swallowed. “Did you… uh… see…”

He looked at you, eyes steady behind the lenses. Then—just the faintest quirk of his lips.

“You have a really dramatic way of complimenting glasses,” he said.

You made a noise that could only be described as a muffled scream into your coffee cup. And Sunghoon—stoic, introverted Sunghoon—actually laughed. Soft and low.

But real. And it was worse than the glasses. It was so much worse.

You wanted to melt into the hospital bed and never be seen again. Just fully disappear. Cease to exist. Have your body donated to science and your soul banished to another timeline where you never sent those texts and Park Sunghoon never—never—saw the words “sexy handwriting.”

But you were stuck here. In this room. With him. And the phone that had betrayed you.

You forced out a breath and tried to smile through your humiliation. “I was… under a lot of emotional distress. You know. Midterm season. Lack of sleep. Temporary delusion.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “You wrote a three-message breakdown about my glasses before midterms even started.”

You blinked at him. “You read that far?”

He hesitated. Too long. Then shrugged lightly, gaze flicking to the floor. “Sunoo was reading out loud. I… couldn’t stop him.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to die. I’m just going to die right here and haunt this room forever.”

Sunghoon stayed quiet for a second.

Then he said, “I didn’t hate it.” Your hands dropped from your face like you’d been electrocuted.

“What?”

He looked vaguely uncomfortable now, like the words had escaped before he could catch them. His fingers tugged at the zipper of his hoodie, eyes fixed on the floor. “The texts. I didn’t hate them.” You stared at him.

“No one’s ever said I looked like a… kdrama lead before,” he muttered. Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You do, though.”

Silence stretched between you. Long and awkward and warm in a way that made your stomach flip. Finally, you cleared your throat. “So… uh… thank you. For coming. Really. You didn’t have to.” He glanced up again, eyes soft behind the glasses. “I wanted to.”

Your brain short-circuited again. Before either of you could say anything else, there was a knock at the door. A nurse poked her head in. “Visiting hours end in ten, guys.”

Sunghoon gave a quick nod. “Right. I’ll go.” He turned to you, pausing just before the door.

“Text me when you get home?” he said, voice quiet. You blinked. “You want me to text you?” He looked away again, almost shy now. “Yeah. Just so I know you’re okay.” You nodded slowly. “Okay. I will.” He gave a little nod of his own, then slipped out the door. You stared after him, phone clutched in your hand, your entire body buzzing. And you didn’t even care anymore that he saw your texts.

Because maybe… Maybe he didn’t hate it.

The elevator doors slid shut with a quiet chime behind him. Sunghoon leaned back against the wall, hands in his pockets, the cold metal pressing into his spine as he stared blankly ahead.

He hadn’t said much on the walk out of your room. He never did. Words weren’t really his thing—they always felt too heavy in his mouth, too slow to catch up to his thoughts. But somehow, tonight, they’d slipped out easier than usual.

“I didn’t hate them.”

“I wanted to.”

“Text me when you get home.”

He replayed those three lines over and over in his head, each one more revealing than he was used to. More open. Vulnerable, even. It made his chest tighten and something in his stomach twist in a way he didn’t totally understand. And then, before he could stop it—His reflection in the elevator doors caught it first.

A smile. Small. Barely there. But real.

His own face surprised him for a second. Like the muscles had moved without permission. His brows drew together slightly as he looked away, lips twitching back into something neutral. It wasn’t like him to smile over someone. But maybe… you weren’t just someone. Maybe you were starting to be the exception. And he wasn’t sure if that terrified him—or if it made him want to see you again even more.

The next morning, you were exhausted.

You’d barely slept. Between your dad being stable (thank god), the hospital vending machine coffee that had no right being that strong, and the emotional rollercoaster of Park Sunghoon seeing your texts, your brain was absolutely fried.

And yet, there you were—walking into lecture half-dazed with a granola bar in one hand and your phone in the other, scanning the room instinctively.

Your eyes found him instantly.

And you nearly tripped over your own feet.

He was wearing the glasses again.

Same black zip-up. Head down, hair a little messier today. But the glasses were there—slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose as he scribbled something in his notebook.

You froze for a second in the aisle, mid-step, like your brain blue-screened. People filtered around you, annoyed, but you didn’t care. He had to know what he was doing. There was no way he didn’t, not after reading your breakdown in full 4K resolution on your phone the night before.

You finally sat down, heart doing cartwheels in your chest, and tried not to glance back every ten seconds. But of course, your eyes betrayed you. You looked again.

And this time… he looked back.

Just a flicker of his eyes over the top of his notebook. A half-second longer than necessary. Then he turned away. But that half-second? It felt like it lasted hours. And even though you were 99% sure you were hallucinating everything—You swore he was smiling.

You: stella.

You: STELLA.

You: he’s wearing the glasses again.

You: I REPEAT. THE GLASSES. ARE. ON.

You: I am not well. I will not survive this class.

You: If I stop texting it’s because I’ve passed away from ✨visual overstimulation✨

You: and I look like a sewer rat today WHY is the universe like this

You were hunched over your phone like it was sacred scripture, thumbs flying, your screen dimmed just enough to look sneaky, but bright enough to see the disaster you were creating in real time.

You didn’t notice the presence behind you until it shifted. The air moved. Subtle.

“…You text like you’re narrating a crisis.”

You froze. No. No no no no no. That voice. You turned slowly. And there he was. Park Sunghoon. Reading your texts. Looking entirely unbothered. Glasses still on.

You stared up at him, every cell in your body internally combusting one by one.

“I—uh—”

He blinked down at you, face unreadable, then raised an eyebrow. “Sewer rat?” You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. And then the corner of his mouth tugged up. Just slightly.

“You look fine,” he said, voice quiet. And just like that, your brain did the only logical thing it could in that moment. It short-circuited. Completely.

You were still staring at him.

He’d walked away—already halfway to his seat like nothing happened—but you were frozen in place, still clutching your phone, eyes wide, brain buffering like it needed a software update.

He said you looked fine. He said you looked fine.

You hadn’t even washed your hair last night. You were pretty sure there was highlighter on your cheekbone that didn’t belong there. Your socks didn’t match. And this man—this walking iceberg of introversion—looked you dead in the eye and said you looked fine.

Your fingers finally remembered how to move.

You: STELLA

You: HE SAW MY TEXTS

You: AND THEN SAID I LOOKED “FINE”

You: STELLA I AM NOT OK

You: AM I HALLUCINATING???

You: IS THIS FLIRTING??? OR IS HE JUST… NICE???

Stella: what’s the difference

Stella: actually nvm HE CALLED YOU FINE BYE

Stella: u need to marry him IMMEDIATELY

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the dumb grin threatening to take over your entire face. You were not going to smile like a maniac in class. Not in front of him. You looked up. And immediately made eye contact with him. He was already watching you.

Not in an obvious way. But he hadn’t even opened his laptop yet. Just sitting there, elbow on the desk, head tilted slightly like he was waiting for your next move. You blinked. He looked away first. But the corner of his mouth twitched again. And this time—you smiled.

It was Friday night, and your dorm smelled like kettle popcorn, cheap wine coolers, and the faint singe of a burnt microwave pizza. Stella was sprawled across her bed, wearing fuzzy socks and eyeliner like she was going to war. Sunoo sat cross-legged on the floor with a giant bag of sour gummy worms and a pen tucked behind his ear like he was the host of Jeopardy.

You were halfway through a lukewarm sip of grape soda when Sunoo clapped his hands together like a villain hatching a plan.

“Okay,” he said dramatically, pointing the pen at you. “What if—plot twist—we invite Sunghoon to trivia night?” You almost choked. “What?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “You heard me. Tall, pale, wears glasses, makes your heart do backflips—that Sunghoon.” You immediately waved him off, face heating up. “No, no, no. Trivia night is sacred. It’s for us, and our weird little brains. He doesn’t even talk during normal group work. You think he’s gonna scream out ‘Switzerland’ during world geography?”

“Exactly why it would be hilarious,” Sunoo grinned. “Plus, he already likes you.”

“I—he doesn’t—”

Stella looked up from her phone and cut in, “He said you looked fine when you looked like you’d just rolled out of a 2009 Tumblr grunge blog. That’s basically a confession in Sunghoon language.”

You buried your face in your pillow. “I can’t. He’ll say no. He’ll probably run in the opposite direction and drop the course.” Sunoo shrugged. “So? At least then we’ll know he’s terrified of fun and allergic to joy.” There was a beat of silence. Then Stella said, “Or maybe—he’ll come.” You slowly peeked over the pillow. Sunoo smirked. “Wanna find out?” You didn’t say yes.But you did start typing.

You stared at his text reply for a solid ten seconds.

Sunghoon: I don’t think I’m a trivia night type of person.

Ugh. Of course he wasn’t. He was the study-in-silence, read-complicated-books-for-fun, looks-too-good-in-glasses type of person. You chewed your lip and typed back.

You: it’s not that serious!! it’s just a fun little thing!! u can even sit in the corner and judge us in silence like u always do

You: pls sunghoon

You: pls pls pls

You: I’ll owe u forever

You: like forever forever

You: like I will never ask u for anything again ever unless it’s for help opening a jar or fighting off a ghost

You: pls

The little typing dots popped up. Disappeared. Came back.

Sunghoon: …what time.

You let out a squeal so loud that Sunoo jumped and flung a gummy worm at your forehead.

“I take it he said yes?” he deadpanned. You grinned. “He said yes.” Stella threw her hands up. “THE POWER YOU HOLD.” Sunoo gasped, dramatically pressing his hand to his chest. “Should I prep an extra trivia round titled ‘Things That Make Y/N Weak in the Knees’? Number one: Park Sunghoon in glasses.” You grabbed a pillow and launched it at him, still grinning like a complete idiot. Trivia night just got a lot more dangerous.

The first round of trivia began, and you were already regretting your life choices.

Sunoo had been insistent about the rules. “If you get a question wrong, you take a shot of grape soju. It’s fun, it’s fair, and it’s how we build character.”

At first, you thought you could handle it. You weren’t a lightweight, and you could definitely stomach a little soju. But after one wrong answer, you could feel the heat of the alcohol creeping into your chest, and that was when you realized: This was going to be a disaster.

The first question was easy enough, something about ancient history, but you got it wrong anyway. You were too distracted, trying to avoid glancing at Sunghoon, who was sitting quietly in the corner, eyes occasionally flicking to your team’s answers.

“Looks like you’ve got a shot coming your way,” Sunoo said with a dramatic sigh, leaning back in his chair. “You know the drill.”

You took a deep breath and grabbed the small shot glass filled with the mysteriously purple liquid. You could feel Sunghoon’s eyes on you—probably the first time you were actually hyperaware of his gaze. Your fingers shook slightly as you raised the glass.

“To ancient history,” you muttered, making a face before knocking it back in one go.

The burn was immediate. Grape soju was sweet but deceptively strong, and you felt it hit the back of your throat like a truck. You immediately slammed the glass down, half-choking, trying to ignore the laughter from Sunoo and Stella.

“Alright, next question!” Sunoo was practically bouncing in his seat, enjoying your pain. “What’s the capital of…?”

But you barely heard him. You were too focused on not dying from the aftertaste of the soju. You were about to breathe a sigh of relief when—

“Uh, Y/N,” Sunghoon said softly, his voice cutting through the noise. You snapped your head to look at him, a little too fast, probably. “Huh?” He was still staring at his phone, but there was a flicker of something behind his glasses. “You missed your answer to the last question. It was ‘Rome.’”

You blinked at him. “Wait, really? You’re sure?” He didn’t look up, but his lips twitched. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Well,” you muttered, “I guess that means more soju for me.” You swore you caught the faintest, most reluctant smile from Sunghoon as he turned his attention back to the trivia board. DBut you were too busy silently dying from the soju to care about that.

Sunoo stood abruptly, grabbing his tote bag with a dramatic groan. “Okay, I love you all, but I have to go deal with my stupid brother who just tried to microwave a fork. Again.”

“That’s the third time this month,” Stella muttered.

“I know!” Sunoo wailed, already halfway out the door. “Natural selection is right there, but he keeps surviving!” Stella stood up not long after, stretching with an exaggerated yawn. “Well, I should probably head out too. I, uh… left my straightener on. I think.”

You blinked. “What? I thought you unplugged it?” Stella smiled sweetly, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “Hmm, did I? Guess I’ll go find out.”

She was gone before you could even respond. Now it was just you and Sunghoon. Alone. In a room that felt way too quiet all of a sudden.

You turned slowly to look at him. He was just sitting there, sipping water, looking completely unbothered. Glasses slightly fogged up from the warmth of the room. Zip-up hoodie half unzipped.

You, meanwhile, were sweating through your soul. You stood up too fast. Way too fast. The room tilted. And then, everything spun.

The last thing you saw was his eyes widen in slow-motion before your knees buckled and you collapsed—Right into him. You weren’t exactly the type of girl he expected to pass out on him. But there you were. Full dead weight. Head against his chest, breath shallow, skin warm. His arms had instinctively wrapped around you before you could hit the floor, but now he was just… holding you. And trying very hard not to panic.

“Y/N?” he said softly, shaking your shoulder. “Y/N—hey. Are you okay?” No response. You just… mumbled something unintelligible and curled in a little closer. Sunghoon blinked.

His heart was doing a weird stuttering thing. He didn’t like it.

You smelled like peach lotion and grape soju. Your hair was brushing his jaw. He was very aware of how close your face was to his.

He exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip so you were slumped more comfortably against his side. Then he looked around helplessly, muttering to himself.

“This is what I get for showing up to trivia night.” Still, he didn’t push you off. Didn’t move.

In fact, he pulled his hoodie off and draped it around your shoulders, just in case you were cold. He was still holding you when you stirred a few minutes later. And he hated that part of him hoped you wouldn’t move. Not just yet.

Sunghoon didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t exactly trained in what to do when a girl passes out in your arms and also smells really good and your heart won’t stop doing weird gymnastics. So, naturally, he did the first logical thing:

He picked you up—awkwardly, carefully, like you were made of glass—and marched straight down the hall to Stella’s room. He knocked twice. Then again. Louder.

Stella opened the door a crack, chewing a piece of gum, her brows lifting when she saw you slumped half-conscious in his arms, wrapped in his hoodie like a weird little burrito.

“She’s fine,” Stella said, not even hesitating. Sunghoon blinked. “She fainted.”

“Yeah, from like three sips of soju. She does this. Lightheaded. Dramatic. A menace.” Stella leaned against the doorframe and popped her gum. “Just lay her down on the couch, she’ll wake up in like five minutes and scream about missing a skincare step.”

“…Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Sunghoon looked down at you. Your lashes fluttered slightly, your cheek pressed against his chest, breath slow and even.

“She’s drooling,” he muttered under his breath. Stella grinned. “Yep. Sounds about right. Before he could argue more, she closed the door with a lazy, “You got this, lover boy.” He just stood there for a second, deadpan. Then turned and made his way back to the living room, still carrying you like you were a drunk kitten. He carefully knelt by the couch and laid you down, adjusting a pillow beneath your head and slipping off your shoes so you wouldn’t wake up with sore feet. You looked… soft like that. Peaceful. Lips parted slightly, hands curled near your chest, still wrapped in his hoodie.

Sunghoon sat back on his heels and sighed.

“This is insane,” he muttered. But he didn’t move away just yet.

You let out a tiny groan, barely awake, before slowly turning over on the couch—and promptly rolled right off. It all happened in slow motion for Sunghoon. One second you were peacefully drooling on the pillow, the next your body was halfway to the hardwood floor with all the grace of a sleepy baby deer.

“Shit—wait—”

He caught you just in time, arms shooting out to stop your head from bonking against the floor. Your face smushed into his hoodie again, limbs tangled awkwardly, and your eyes fluttered halfway open in a dazed blink.

“…mm?”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He just sat there on the floor beside the couch, exhaling sharply as he tried to situate you better. With zero idea what else to do—and absolutely no desire to wake Stella again—he gently shifted you, easing your head onto his lap.

You hummed softly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and curled in closer, like his leg was your designated pillow. Still barely awake. Still clearly unaware of everything happening. Sunghoon froze. Hands hovering. Brain static.

You looked so… small like this. Fragile. Sleepy and soft and completely unfiltered. The hoodie he gave you slipped down your shoulder, revealing the curve of your collarbone and the faintest shimmer of glitter from your makeup. A piece of hair stuck to your cheek. He moved it before he could stop himself.

He should’ve moved you back onto the couch. He should’ve gotten up and left. But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed still. Letting your breathing settle against his leg. Letting the room fall into a warm, weird quiet. And when you shifted again, murmuring something incomprehensible and curling your fingers around the fabric of his jeans—he didn’t say a word. Just stared down at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into the smallest, most confused smile.

The first thing you registered was warmth.

Not just the hoodie—though that was still wrapped snugly around your shoulders—but something heavier. Solid. Comforting. Something that smelled like clean laundry and mint and the faintest hint of boy.

And then you blinked your eyes open. Sunghoon. Your head was no longer just on his lap. You were in his lap. Full-on wrapped up in his arms, tucked against his chest like it was a survival instinct. One of his hands rested loosely on your back, the other curled by your waist, his breathing deep and steady, lips parted just slightly.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe.

Oh my god. You were going to die. Actually die.

You could see the headline now: University Student Spontaneously Combusts from Proximity to Hot Introvert in Glasses.

You slowly peeled yourself out of his grip, as delicately as a bomb squad diffusing a mine, heart slamming in your chest the entire time. Somehow, miraculously, he didn’t stir. He just mumbled something low and incoherent in his sleep and adjusted slightly, brows furrowing for a second before settling back into what looked like the deepest sleep known to mankind.

You stared for a second. Just a second. Because what the hell. Then you bolted. You rushed down the hallway in socked feet, practically slammed open Stella’s bedroom door and—She didn’t even look up from her phone.

“I know,” she said, sipping her iced coffee. “And yes, I took a picture.” You froze. “What?!” Stella turned her phone around to show you the screen.

There it was. A full high-def, heart-attack-inducing image of you curled in Sunghoon’s lap, his arms around you, both of you asleep on the floor like a goddamn drama couple.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

“No, you don’t,” she grinned. “Now go wash your face. You drooled on his hoodie.”

You groaned and rubbed your face, trying to wipe off the secondhand embarrassment still clinging to your skin.

“Also,” you muttered, already backing out of Stella’s room, “send me those pictures. All of them. I need to know what level of unhinged I looked like.” Stella smirked around her straw. “Oh, babe. You looked whipped.” You pointed at her dramatically. “I will delete your contact.”

“You won’t.”

You didn’t respond, just turned and padded back down the hallway, heart still thumping like a drumline in your ears. You were about to sneak into the kitchen and grab some water to cool yourself down when you paused in the doorway of the living room.

And saw him .Awake.

Sitting on the couch now, hoodie still half-draped on him, hair tousled from sleep, glasses slightly askew. His eyes were on you. You froze. He blinked slowly. “You drool when you sleep.” Your soul left your body.

“No, I don’t,” you said way too quickly, straightening up like that would somehow erase the last twenty-four hours.

“You do.” He yawned into his hand. “A lot.” You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. “Why are you awake?”

“Why are you yelling?”

“I’m not—” you paused. Cleared your throat. “I wasn’t yelling.” He leaned his head against the back of the couch, eyes squinting like he was still somewhere between dream and reality. “You asked Stella to send the pictures.”

Oh god. He heard that? You stared at him, eyes wide. “Did you—did you hear everything?”

He looked at you. Quiet. Amused. And then—just barely—he smiled.

“I heard enough.” You stared at him, completely still.

“I heard enough,” he said again, softer this time, like he was trying not to laugh. The corners of his mouth twitched, and suddenly you couldn’t remember a single word in any human language.

“I—” You blinked. “You were supposed to be asleep.”

“I was.” He stretched a little, arms lifting above his head, hoodie riding up just enough to flash a glimpse of pale skin before he dropped them again. “Then I wasn’t. Mainly because someone kept squirming in her sleep like she was fighting demons.” You smacked your hand against your face. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“You also talk in your sleep, apparently.”

“I do not.” He nodded solemnly, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. “Something about my glasses being your downfall? Should I be worried?” Your jaw dropped.

You knew that message was on your phone. You knew he saw it.

“I’m gonna throw myself out the window,” you said, already backing away. But before you could flee into the depths of your embarrassment, he tilted his head and looked at you—really looked at you.

“I didn’t hate it,” he said. You froze.

“What?”

He shrugged. “You sleeping on me.” Your heart tripped over itself. His voice was calm. Still low and reserved like always. But something about the way he said it—the almost casual, sleepy honesty—sent your brain into freefall.

“…Are you still half asleep?” you asked cautiously.

“Maybe.”

You swallowed, trying not to combust.

“Well,” you muttered, fidgeting with your hoodie sleeve, “good. Because if you were fully awake, I’d probably be more embarrassed.”

He smiled again. And this time, it reached his eyes.

You didn’t know what to say after that.

Because what could you say when the boy you’d been lowkey (okay, highkey) obsessed with just told you he didn’t hate having you wrapped around him like a human blanket?

Nothing. That’s what.

So you just stood there, blinking at him, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like they’d protect you from the way he was still looking at you. Like you were interesting. Like he wasn’t just quiet by nature but quiet because he was thinking and you were the subject.

You were fully prepared to melt into the floor.

“Well,” you finally said, clearing your throat. “I should… probably wash my face. And, like, process… everything.”

“Okay.”

“Right.”

You turned, took one step toward the hallway—and then stopped and looked over your shoulder.

“…Are you gonna pretend this didn’t happen later?” He raised an eyebrow. “The part where you passed out?”

“The part where I passed out on you.” He paused for a second, then stood up slowly, stretching again. The early morning light caught on the curve of his cheek, his glasses slightly fogged from sleep, hoodie still draped over his frame like it belonged there—like you had put it there.

“No,” he said simply. “I’m not pretending.” Then he walked past you, brushing shoulders as he headed toward the kitchen like he didn’t just ruin your whole ability to breathe.

You just stood there. Frozen. And the worst (or best?) part? You were grinning. Like an idiot.

You made it to the bathroom on autopilot.

Face = burning.

Heart = sprinting a marathon.

Soul = temporarily vacated your body.

You splashed cold water on your face like you were trying to reset your entire nervous system. Not pretending. Those two words echoed in your brain like a broken record. Not “it’s fine” or “don’t worry about it.” Not “that was weird” or “forget it ever happened.” He wasn’t brushing it off. He saw you—drooly, embarrassing, possibly cuddly—and didn’t want to pretend.

You were doomed.

You patted your face dry and stared at your reflection. Your cheeks were flushed, lips puffy from sleep, hair a mess from the couch. And still—still—you were smiling like a middle-schooler who just got asked to dance at prom.

You pulled out your phone with shaking hands.

Me: stella. stella i think im going into cardiac arrest

Me: he was awake. AWAKE. HE HEARD EVERYTHING.

Me: AND THEN SAID HE DIDN’T HATE IT

Me: AND THEN SAID HES NOT GONNA PRETEND IT DIDNT HAPPEN

Me: DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE EMERGENCY

The dots popped up almost instantly.

Stella: BREATHEEEE

Stella: girl idk whether to plan your wedding or your funeral

Stella: either way I’m bringing snacks

You snorted and shook your head, trying not to slide down the wall in emotional defeat. Then came another message.

Stella: also you left your lip gloss on the couch and he picked it up and put it in his pocket

Stella: do with that what you will

You froze. Lip gloss? In his pocket? You stared at your reflection again. Yep. Definitely time to plan your funeral.

The days after the project wrapped up had been an emotional rollercoaster.

You’d convinced yourself Sunghoon would slip back into his quiet, introverted world. That after everything, after all the moments you thought meant something, he’d go back to avoiding you and staying distant like before. You had tried to prepare yourself for it—convincing yourself it was fine, that you could handle it, that it was just the project that brought you together and nothing more.

But deep down, the idea that he’d stop talking to you again made your stomach twist. And you couldn’t shake the thought: Maybe it was just a one-time thing. Maybe I was just his partner. And now there’s no more reason for him to even look at me. You avoided checking your phone. You couldn’t bring yourself to. It was easier to stay in the quiet, heart-aching limbo where you could pretend nothing had changed.

But then, as you sat on your couch in your hoodie and sweatpants, watching a rerun of a show you didn’t even like to distract yourself, you heard a soft knock at the door. You froze, heart skipping a beat. You glanced at the clock. No way. He couldn’t…

But when you opened the door, there he was. Sunghoon. Standing on your doorstep, with one hand nervously holding a single, bright white flower. For a second, you couldn’t breathe. His usual quietness surrounded him like a second skin, but this time, there was something else in his eyes. Something unreadable, but so undeniably there that it made your heart pound.

“Hey,” he started, clearing his throat, his voice softer than usual. “Uh, I… I know school’s over, but, uh… I wanted to ask… if you’d go out with me. Like, outside of the project. Since, y’know, we don’t have anything else left to do.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to laugh or cry or pass out from the sheer shock of what was happening.

Sunghoon, Park Sunghoon, the quiet boy with glasses, the one who you thought would never speak to you again, was standing there with a flower, asking you out. And for a moment, it felt like time froze.

“Are you… serious?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, looking both shy and unsure of himself, a far cry from the usually reserved Sunghoon. “Yeah. I don’t… really know how to do this, but… I’d like to take you out. If you want.”

Your heart stopped for a second. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to say of course, but your mind kept catching up with your racing heart, trying to process everything in the last few seconds. And then, finally, you spoke.

“Yes.”

His eyes softened as he offered the flower to you, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” you repeated, your voice more confident now. “Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

The air between you seemed to hum with a sudden, undeniable connection. You could feel your cheeks heating up, but this time, it wasn’t from embarrassment—it was from the undeniable realization that maybe, just maybe, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

You couldn’t stop smiling.

You tried. You really did. But every time you looked down at the flower in your hand—a little imperfect, probably plucked from someone’s front lawn or a park bush—you felt it again. That ridiculous, fluttery warmth curling in your chest, refusing to go away.

Sunghoon asked you out.

And not because he had to. Not because of a project or a group grade or a seating chart. But because he wanted to.

You were still holding the flower like it was made of glass, like if you squeezed too hard it might vanish. It was stupid how your brain was short-circuiting over one boy and one flower and one quiet sentence—but you’d been waiting for this. Hoping for it. Fantasizing about it, if you were being honest.

And now it was real.

“You’re staring,” Sunghoon said beside you, voice low and a little amused. You startled, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Was not.”

“You were.” You looked away, pretending to examine the sidewalk, the cars, the clouds—anything but the smug little smirk on his face. “Okay, maybe a little.”

He didn’t say anything back right away. Just walked beside you, hands shoved into his pockets, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He was wearing those glasses again—of course he was—and you didn’t know if it was on purpose or if this was just who he was now, but either way: you were suffering.

“You like the flower?” he asked after a pause, like he was trying not to sound like he cared about the answer too much. You looked at it again, smiling softly. “I love it. I’m naming it after you.”

“…You’re naming a flower after me?”

“Yup. Park Sunghoon the Second. A little awkward, but sweet once you get to know him.” He let out the smallest laugh. A real one.

And your heart did a front flip.

There was a silence after that—comfortable, not awkward. One of those rare quiets where everything feels calm. You weren’t rushing to fill the space, and neither was he. You were just walking, side by side, with nowhere to be except here.

Finally, Sunghoon said, “So… Friday. 7:00. You and me?”

You turned to him, grinning. “It’s a date.”

And this time, he smiled first.

Sunghoon was stressed.

Not the obvious kind, either. No pacing, no nervous rambling, no frantic texting. No—his kind of stress came in the form of sitting completely still on the edge of his bed, staring at the one (1) decent shirt he owned and thinking, Is this what people wear on dates? Do people even wear shirts on dates? What if I show up and she’s wearing something fancy and I look like a middle schooler going to church?

He hadn’t even put the shirt on yet. It was just… there. Staring back at him with judgment. Or maybe that was just his own reflection in the mirror. Either way, he was spiraling. Silently. But thoroughly. Meanwhile, on the other side of town, it was chaos.

“Okay, gloss or matte?” you shouted, holding up two lip products like your life depended on it.

“Gloss!” Sunoo said immediately. “It’s date night. You want him to think you’re kissable.” Stella raised a brow. “Do you want him to think that, though?”

You stared into the mirror, hair half curled, blush perfectly pink on your cheeks. “…Yes.”

They both screamed.

The room looked like a war zone—outfits scattered across your bed, makeup brushes covering the desk, heels and flats and boots thrown in different corners like a mini tornado had passed through your closet.

Sunoo held up your tiny pastel pink purse. “This one. It’s giving soft girl danger.”

“I second that,” Stella said, adjusting your curling wand temperature like she was your personal glam squad. “Okay, close your eyes, I’m doing the final spray.” You did as told, heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and excitement.

This wasn’t just any date. This was Sunghoon.

And somewhere across town, Sunghoon was now staring at himself in the mirror, glasses on, hair tousled, that same black zip-up from the library night over a clean tee. He looked… okay. But he felt like imploding. What if I say the wrong thing? What if she regrets saying yes? What if—

His phone buzzed.

Stella: She looks insane. You better bring flowers. Or I will.

He blinked. Then slowly got up, grabbed his keys, and mumbled to himself, “…I need to find a flower.”

You were ready.

Or… as ready as someone who had changed outfits three times, nearly cried over a smudged winged liner, and threatened to cancel the entire date if her highlighter wasn’t even on both cheeks could be.

“Okay,” you breathed, staring at your reflection like she was someone else. “I think I’m good.”

Sunoo clapped his hands once. “You’re more than good. You’re edible.”

Stella popped her head back in from the hallway. “Sunghoon’s outside. I just saw him through the peephole. He’s standing like he’s afraid of the air.” You ran to the door, then paused. “Wait. Do I look like I’m trying too hard?”

“Yes,” they both said.

“Good,” you grinned, grabbing your purse.

You stepped outside and there he was—hands shoved in his pockets, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered, wearing that same black zip-up he always wore… but there was something different tonight. A tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze immediately lifted when he heard the door open.

And he was holding something. A flower. Just one.

Small, a little uneven, probably stolen from a nearby bush—but it made your heart lurch anyway.

“For you,” he said, holding it out awkwardly, like he was half-expecting you to laugh at him. Instead, you smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. “You’re lucky I’m weak for stolen flowers.” He huffed a quiet laugh under his breath and looked down. “You look…”

You waited, watching his face turn a little pink as he fumbled for a word.

“…Different,” he settled on. “Good different.” You gave him a teasing smile. “I’ll take it.”He blinked at you for a second longer, like he was trying to memorize the way your hair curled or the way your earrings swayed every time you moved.

Then he opened the car door for you. And just like that, the nerves melted away. You weren’t just you anymore—you were the girl Sunghoon came to pick up, with a flower in your hand and butterflies in your stomach. And you had a feeling this night was going to ruin you—in the best way.

Going on a date with Park Sunghoon had always been one of the fake little scenarios you made up in class when you were supposed to be listening.

It was a regular thing, honestly. You’d be halfway through pretending to take notes on cognitive development, and suddenly your brain would short-circuit and drift off into “What if he asked me out?” territory. Maybe he’d slide you a note during lecture. Maybe he’d wait after class. Maybe he’d say something completely out of character like “I’ve been watching you for a while now.” (That one made you cringe and swoon.)

You never thought it would actually happen. But now here you were—sitting in his passenger seat, clutching a slightly-wilted flower in your lap like it was an Oscar trophy, wearing the outfit you and your best friends had screamed over not even an hour ago.

And Park Sunghoon? He was right next to you. Driving. Quiet. Focused. Glancing over at you every so often like he couldn’t believe this was happening either.

You tried not to stare at his hands on the wheel. Or the way his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose every time he checked the mirror. Or the vein on his arm that popped ever so slightly when he turned.

It was weird. Surreal. Like you’d stepped into your own daydream. Except this time, it wasn’t just in your head.

You didn’t know Sunghoon was that rich.

Like, you knew he dressed nice. Quiet luxury vibes. Always in simple but suspiciously well-fitted clothes, like someone who didn’t want attention but still made people look. You knew he had a certain air about him—put-together, unbothered, kind of mysterious in that he definitely has secrets way. But nothing prepared you for this.

The restaurant he brought you to wasn’t just fancy—it was the kind of place that didn’t even have prices on the menu. The kind where water came in a crystal bottle and the waiters bowed when they spoke to you. The lighting was soft, the chairs were plush, and the bread basket looked like a Pinterest mood board.

You sat there, blinking around like a tourist while Sunghoon just casually sipped his water, completely unfazed. You leaned in across the table, whispering, “Do you… own this place?”

He blinked. “No.”

“…But like, do you know the owner?”

He paused. “Kind of.” You stared at him. He stared back. You narrowed your eyes. “Park Sunghoon. What is your life?” He shrugged lightly, lips twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Normal.” You looked down at the gold-trimmed menu.

Normal, your ass.

Your whole life you’d been daydreaming about going on a date with Sunghoon, and never—not once—did the fantasy include sitting in a place that probably had a Michelin star and a dress code for its bread.

And yet somehow, even with all the fancy things around you, the thing making your heart race was still him.

Still the way he looked at you when you weren’t looking. Still the way he asked, quietly, “Is this okay? I wasn’t sure what kind of place you’d like.” You smiled, cheeks warm. “This is… perfect.”

And when he relaxed just a little—just enough for his shoulders to drop and his fingers to uncurl from the edge of the table—you knew.

“I really like you,” Sunghoon said, voice soft and a little shaky.Your heart stopped.

“I mean, really like you. You’re… you’re so pretty it’s hard to look at you sometimes. And I

I’ve actually liked you this whole time. Even back in class, when you wouldn’t stop talking and I was trying not to laugh. I didn’t know how to say anything. But I want to now. I want to say everything. I want to spend my life with you.”

And then—he leaned in. His hand brushed against yours. You leaned in too, heart thudding, lips parting as your eyes fluttered shut—And just as his lips touched yours—The entire restaurant erupted into applause.

Chairs scraped, people stood, a waiter dabbed his eyes with a napkin. Someone in the back shouted, “True love is real!” The pianist transitioned into a soft romantic ballad. Rose petals fell from somewhere—somewhere.

You were glowing. Floating. Kissing Park Sunghoon, the boy you’d once been too scared to talk to, while the world quite literally clapped around you.

“Yn?” a voice said.

You blinked.

“Yn, are you… there?”

You snapped out of it, back in your seat, staring at your half-eaten appetizer. Sunghoon was looking at you, head tilted. “You zoned out for a solid two minutes. Did the salmon offend you or something?”

You blinked again, cheeks warming. “I—uh. No. Sorry. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

You quickly took a sip of water. “Nothing important.”

Just, you know. The fake proposal-level confession and restaurant-wide standing ovation that just happened in your head. No big deal. Meanwhile, Sunghoon went back to eating his food like he wasn’t the main character in your delusions.

And you sat there, trying not to smile. Because, who knows? Maybe the real version wasn’t that far off.

For a normal person, this date would kind of be boring.

Like, objectively speaking—Sunghoon wasn’t exactly chatting it up. He wasn’t telling wild stories or cracking dumb jokes or even attempting to carry the conversation when it hit a lull. He was quiet. Subtle. His responses were short, sometimes just nods or hums. There was a moment when the silence between courses stretched so long, you were certain even the waiter felt secondhand awkwardness. But somehow… you didn’t hate it.

Maybe because even in the quiet, Sunghoon felt present. His gaze stayed on you like you were something worth listening to. Like your rambles about Sunoo’s latest crush and Stella’s failed DIY bookshelf actually mattered. He wasn’t loud, but he was tuned in—like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

Still, halfway through the meal, you sat back with a crooked smile and said, “You know, I think I’ve spoken more in the last thirty minutes than you have all semester.” Sunghoon glanced up from his plate, blinking behind those stupidly attractive glasses. “That’s probably true.” You narrowed your eyes. “Are you ever gonna say anything that makes my heart race?”

A beat. Then, casually, without even looking up: “You’re really pretty.” You choked on your drink. He didn’t even flinch—just kept cutting his steak, a small twitch at the corner of his lips giving him away.

You stared at him. “You menace.”

He finally looked up, meeting your gaze. “You asked.”

And suddenly the quiet didn’t feel boring at all. It felt dangerous. Like every second he wasn’t saying something, he was thinking it—and one day he’d say it all at once and knock you flat.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, so you actually think I’m pretty? What’s pretty about me?” you asked, a bit of teasing lacing your voice. You were trying to play it cool, but your heart was already picking up pace, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your napkin. Sunghoon, however, didn’t skip a beat. He set his fork down, his gaze lifting slowly from his plate to meet yours. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, just that steady, almost unsettling focus on you.

“Everything.”

Your breath caught. You weren’t expecting that. The way he said it, so simply, so sure, like there wasn’t a single thing about you that didn’t deserve to be admired—it hit you right in the chest.

It was one of those moments where your entire world seemed to pause, just for a second, and all you could hear was your own heartbeat and the soft clink of silverware around you.

You didn’t know what to say. How could you? You’d spent so long trying to work up the courage to even talk to him, to make him notice you. And now he was here, not just noticing, but seeing everything—and everything meant more than just your smile or your laugh or the way your hair fell over your shoulders. It meant the little things, the things you never thought anyone would care to notice.

You swallowed hard, your voice almost a whisper. “Sunghoon…” His expression softened just a little. “You’ve always been… easy to notice.” And just like that, the room felt smaller, like the two of you were the only ones in it.

For a second, you forgot about everything—about the quiet dinner, about the fact that Sunghoon had been so silent most of the night. All that mattered was this moment. The way you had finally caught his attention. The way he’d fallen.

Sunghoon’s voice broke the silence, soft and unassuming, but there was a certain edge to it. “What about me?” he asked, looking at you with that same steady gaze. “Why do you like me?”

The question hung in the air, and you felt your pulse quicken. He was asking you about him. Sunghoon, the person who had always been so distant, so hard to read, was now waiting for you to give him an answer. An answer that felt so much more complicated than you had ever prepared for.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling a little too exposed under his gaze. “I—I don’t know,” you stammered, trying to find the words. “It’s just… from the moment I saw you, I knew you were different. You didn’t talk much, but you… felt like you were always thinking, you know? Like there was something more behind the quiet.”

You leaned forward, trying to get your words right. “And it wasn’t just because you were… well, you. It was the way you didn’t try to fit in, the way you didn’t care what people thought. You’re… real. And, I guess, I’ve always liked people who don’t hide who they are.”

Sunghoon stared at you, those eyes of his intense, almost searching, like he was trying to figure out whether you were being completely honest or not. And then he sighed softly, as if something in him had relaxed just a little.

“And when did you start liking me?” he asked again, this time more quietly.

You thought about it for a moment, trying to pin down when the shift had happened—the moment when you stopped just noticing him and started feeling the things you couldn’t control. “I think it was when you… when you let me in. I never thought you’d actually be willing to work with me on that project. And even though you barely said anything, you still… listened. That was when I realized I had feelings for you.”

Sunghoon let out a small, almost imperceptible chuckle. “I never thought I’d be the one to make someone feel this way.” His lips curled up in a faint smile, something almost shy about it.

There it was again. The softest vulnerability peeking through his usually composed exterior. And in that moment, you knew it wasn’t just you who had fallen.

He had fallen harder.

the school’s spring festival was a success.

with amazing coordination from the student council of all grades, you were met with satisfied results.

you were given three months to plan, coordinate, and accumulate all students in your school. you, as the grade’s class president, you were in charge of collecting opinions, doing surveys, and making posters for the school’s festival.

it was amazing. the weather was perfect, sunny with some breeze as the cherry blossoms were starting to fall from the trees. everyone was happy and enjoyed the activities that were included. seeing everyone smile made you smile, it gave you some sense of pride.

your adorable outfit, simple blue jeans, a red plaid tube top that fitted right and was appropriate, and a white cardigan and a matching white bow to fit your messy bun, made you look so pretty and captivated from everyone. you looked soft and delicate. like a flower 🌸 your boyfriend texted you after you sent him a selfie earlier today

that radiate smile you give off to people, how you listen to students with genuine interest, and how you softly speak to them, it’s no wonder people like you and want to keep you as class president. you have the grades, the balance, the sweet personality, and the serious one too.

you were so occupied with the student council and helping build the festival while balancing your grades and extracurriculars, that your boyfriend is still yet to spend a private moment with you.

sunghoon💗: are you done yet?

sunghoon💗: i’ve been waiting for you

hmm not yet, i have to still stay at the club sign up area for a bit :(

once some students leave and the area is a bit empty, i’ll come to you :)

sunghoon💗: you’re not gonna clean up?

pfttt i have other priorities ;)

i can start setting up

sunghoon💗: please hurry

sunghoon💗: i want to see you

sunghoon💗: you and that pretty outfit of yours

sunghoon💗: you’re very much prettier in person

sunghoon💗: i only saw you from afar but i still kept staring at you

sunghoon💗: finding any way to just stare at you and be in your space

i wanted to see you too :( i’m sorry i just got so busy with today

sunghoon💗: i know baby, i completely understand

sunghoon💗: idc but after this, you’re mine to keep

sunghoon💗: god i want to keep you all to myself

sunghoon💗: just you and me

but i’m already yours? hehe🥰

sunghoon💗: yes baby but i can’t hold it in

sunghoon💗: and that bow

sunghoon💗: the one i gifted you for your bday

it’s the best bow ever!! 😚 thank you again <3

sunghoon💗: anything for my princess

i have to go now, they want me to start prepping! i’ll be there soon and we can watch as many movies as you like tonight :)

sunghoon💗: oki, i like the sound of that

sunghoon💗: i’ll be waiting ❤️

you bit your lip, containing your smile. you put your phone in your back pocket as you help your classmates clean up with some students saying goodbye while passing by to go home. of course, you cheerily thanked them for coming today and hope they go home safely.

you’re in a good mood once you finally have time to see your boyfriend.

after folding and organizing everything, you finally said goodbye to your classmates and headed towards inside the classroom building where you’re expected to see your boyfriend.

you excitedly go up the stairs, each step making your heart pound in anticipation. your eyes immediately try to find your boyfriend once you reached the floor. his back is leaned against the door at the end of the hallway, making you see his perfect side profile.

his eyes eventually saw yours. and you excitedly wave at him. sunghoon’s lips curved into a smirk upon seeing your arrival and finally having to grasp your appearance in front of him.

you walked towards sunghoon, already halfway there when you unexpectedly were stopped by two students.

“class president! we need help, we were supposed to interview this one student but she backed down last minute.” your eyebrows jumped, surprised at the sudden action.

“if you have time, can we interview you for like five minutes! it’s really quick! and you’re great at speaking too.” her eyes beg for desperation holding her mic while the cameraman stares at you with anticipation.

you’re stunned honestly. you didn’t expect this. you quickly glanced at your boyfriend who gave you an understanding nod. your lips shaped into a small smile.

sunghoon was about to shoot them.

but of course, he can’t. he prays that both of them will trip on their way home after stealing his girlfriend in front of his damn face.

“sure.” you replied. the two students jumped in happiness and helped you prepare for the interview.

as the interview started, sunghoon couldn’t help but stare at you. just at you standing in such a beautiful, polite manner. you answering their questions with confidence and radiating energy. you laughed at the right moments, spoke in such a delicate way that can people be attracted to you. your clean, effortless outfit and that big bow to show off your class-president vibe, sunghoon just kept admiring you from afar.

his eyes were only trained onto your figure. smiling whenever you smile. him nodding to your words as if you’re talking to him. god everything about you was so pretty that his heart ached.

“thank you!” the student thanked you before walking away. you immediately thanked them once again before finally walking to your boyfriend with no interruptions.

you finally stood in front of sunghoon, your eyes smiling first before your lips. sunghoon leaned his head against the door, his body turned towards you as he held a proud smile.

“hey class pres.” sunghoon teased. you fight the urge to roll your eyes as leaned in closer to him.

sunghoon instinctively opened his arms wide out to you as you immediately went into his arms, your face in his warm chest and your arms hugging him so tight.

“i miss you.” you mumbled on his chest, taking in that white musk scent of his that makes relax. after not having to spend time with your boyfriend for a while, you forget how sunghoon easily lets go of your stress.

sunghoon takes in your floral scent from your shampoo as he rests his chin on your head. you feel his lips on your forehead, pecking and you smiled to yourself.

you looked up at him as both of his eyebrows jumped. “how was the festival today?” you asked, still holding onto him.

“fun actually. i was able to win a keychain from ring toss. jay had a hard time.” he chuckled. your eyes jumped. “really? which keychain was it?”

“the cherry blossom one.”

your cheeks flushed in pink color.

it was the one that you designed and customized for the festival.

you try not to squeal, burying your head into his chest which makes sunghoon laugh from how ticklish it gets and how adorable you are from hiding from him.

“you really know how to make me blush. it’s not fair.” you said pouting at him. “do you like it?”

sunghoon nodded. “i do, it was the best one from the rest.” sunghoon’s dimple came out while smiling at you.

“do you know where i got the inspo from?” you asked, feeling a bit prideful.

sunghoon shakes his head.

“it was the first selfie that we had together. the cherry blossoms at the jeju field trip last year.” sunghoon’s face dropped, his expression amazed with your thoughtfulness.

he remembers it clearly. who wouldn’t? it was also the first time he kissed you.

his eyes just stare at you smiling. multiple thoughts coming to his head.

“i really do miss you-"

and just like that, you’re shut up by sunghoon’s lips. the familiar feeling creeping on your chest makes you immediately move along. sunghoon’s hand snakes to the curve of your waist to hold you still while his hand gently holds your jaw.

he kisses you harder, deeper. his tongue kissing your bottom lip for permission to explore your mouth.

you know this feeling. and you know what it means.

sunghoon is hungry.

after days, weeks of not physically being with you, he was so pent up and eager to touch you right here and there whenever he would see you in school.

the bus rides coming weren’t enough. secretly holding hands at lunch weren’t enough. your fingers brushing his when giving him papers weren’t enough.

if anything, it built thirst. more desire.

sunghoon swiftly locked the door behind you once you enter inside the empty classroom. you’re breathing heavily, your hands grasping his polo shirt to hold on as sunghoon doesn’t stop. he feels you all over: from your soft hair, your glowy skin, to your waist and under thighs.

you rest your head on sunghoon’s shoulder as his hand tightly holds you on your hip.

it’s possessive.

he immediately attacks your neck, from butterfly kisses to open, messy ones. you whimper when you feel his tongue dance on your neck. you snake your fingers inside his locks. pushing. encouraging, pressing his tongue deeper to your neck.

his hands from squeezing your hip to possessively squeezing your ass now. you moan at the feeling as he spreads apart of your ass cheeks. your heart beat quickens his hands play around.

he sucks on familiar spots, and specifically a very familiar one that’s above your collarbone that makes you crack a broken moan.

“f-fuck sunghoon.” you moan right into his ear that immediately made him hard. he slapped your ass, then rubbing it afterward.

sunghoon smirks against your skin when he hears something nostalgic. “when you sound like that, i really can’t control myself.”

more greed.

usually, you would curse him out for leaving marks that can be easily visible but in this moment, you didn’t care, all you wanted was him. you’re just as greedy as him.

you grab sunghoon’s neck to look at him. you see his eyes are dazed from making out with your neck. that sight itself made you dizzy. his messy hair, swollen lips, and hooded eyes. you couldn’t stop. didn’t want to.

“kiss me.” you spoke. sunghoon obligated easily. that makes you laugh and grow butterflies in your stomach.

you push him to meet your lips once again. more rhythmic, more soft, more like love.

sunghoon’s fingertips dance along to the ends of your top after you tossed your cardigan on the shelf next to you. he neatly removed your hair clip without hurting you. your hair fully let down.

your fingers quickly unbuttoned his shirt and you threw it somewhere. sunghoon smiled at your eagerness and just like that, his chest is open to you. muscular and well built.

“i miss your abs.” you saw, fingers dancing on his chest, stomach, abdomen, that made sunghoon clench his teeth as you stare with amazement, a smile curving your lips.

sunghoon lets you have your playtime since you haven’t seen him shirtless in a while, but he’s needy.

he pulls your top down, exposing your chest to him that made you gasp. your boobs jumped in sight. he gets even harder when you’re wearing a red lace bra that shows your perfect cleavage. and it’s one of his his favorite bra from you.

“fuck baby, did you wear this for me?” sunghoon says, his enormous hands cupping both of your boobs. you gasp once again at the stimulation. you’re sensitive after not having sex with him for weeks, maybe months. “did you think about me while wearing this?”

you nodded, pathetically. submissively. “yeah…” you grew why, looking away but sunghoon held your chin to look at his eyes properly. it wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t gentle either.

“so naughty of you.” his deep chuckle enters your ears. “just for me though… it’s the most beautiful scene ever.”

you sighed deeply, head leaned back as sunghoon fondles with your boobs. massaging, caressing, squeezing.

“i-i think they got bigger..” you mentioned suddenly after remembering one morning you looked at yourself in the mirror and noticed the difference.

a groan escaped from sunghoon. “shit really?” he asked excitedly and it makes you chuckle.

“can i see baby?” sunghoon asked, eyes staring to yours and you feel shy. you nodded, biting your lip as you wait for sunghoon’s reaction.

sunghoon wasted no time to unhook your bra and toss it somewhere along with your shirt. his eyes dilated. he doesn’t know what to do or what to start off with, but you’re correct, they are bigger than the last time you had sex with him.

“s-shit hoon!” you moan when sunghoon sucks on a boob, his tongue swirling, even biting your nipple as your jaw stays open from the sensation. his hand plays with your boob as your hands tug into his hair.

he does the same to the other after you hear a pop from his lips. you feel something warm between your thighs and you’re getting more desperate.

“i-im wet baby.” you broke out, heaving as your thighs press together. “i want you.”

“fuck baby i want you too.” sunghoon stares at you with hunger. he whispers on your lips. “i almost got hard in my pants every time i saw you. like a fucking teenager.”

you gasp at his dirty words. sunghoon was known to be a dirty mouth in bed but it still surprises you and makes you even wetter.

sunghoon leans towards your face and makes out with you one more time. he will never get tired of kissing you. playing with your tongue, getting your saliva, getting a taste of you. of everything.

his knee gets between in your leg as you moan at the sensation of his pants touching your crotch. immediately you started grinding onto his pants.

you break out from the kiss, moaning at how amazing the feeling is.

he puts his forehead onto yours, getting sweaty and heated up as he encourages you to go harder. faster.

“yeah baby, just like that. use me to make you feel good.” he whispers in your ear and making your moan from his words.

you kept moving up and down, trying to reach your point. your moans kept getting louder and louder and sunghoon had to cover your mouth with his hand.

“fuck i want to hear you so bad but i don’t know if i wanna share with other people.” he stared down at your crotch grinding on his knee and he bites his lips.

“i don’t want to share.” he grits his teeth. his left hand plays with your boob and it added more pleasure.

“sunghoon im c-close.” you closed your eyes, head leaning back when your mouth let out a silent cry.

but then it stopped.

you breathing became irregular when you looked at sunghoon with a confused expression.

“why did you stop?” sunghoon scoffed at your words.

“you left me alone to myself for weeks.” he then leans to your face. “i couldn’t touch you in forever, don’t you think you deserve a punishment too?”

your confused expression turned into an annoyed one. “you didn’t make me come because of that? are you kidding?”

sunghoon squeeze a boob into his palm, slowly and tormented. “aww baby don’t be upset. a little punishment won’t hurt right?” you hold in a breath. you shake your head. sunghoon leans close to your face, his hand creeping around your throat, not squeezing, just gently holding.

“all i had was my fist and pictures of you to jerk off to every time i shower. thinking of touching you, pleasuring you, swallowing you as a whole, but i couldn’t do any of that.” you got wetter. and you squeeze your thighs together. sunghoon glanced down and noticed.

“if i told everyone that the class president likes dirty talk, how would they feel? that their polite, superstar president, likes to be fucked in positions you can’t even imagine.”

you whined. “you wouldn’t want anyone to know right?” you nodded to his words. your hand reached towards his stomach, dangerously getting lower to his dick.

“how can i make it up to you? how will you punish me?” you bit your lip, eyes shooting at his and sunghoon’s jaw clench at your teasing yet innocent expression.

“suck me. i want to feel your mouth after i pounded myself with my own hand for weeks.”

immediately you kneeled down, eyes connected to his hard. you slowly unzip his pants as sunghoon eyes watched everything. your eyes widened as you pulled his underwear down, revealing his large, thick shaft in front of your eyes.

you licked your lips as you take him into your mouth. immediately sunghoon let out a loud sigh, feeling your warm mouth on his dick. he leaned his head back, eyes closed in pleasure as his hand rested on your head.

“fuck princess, you’re still good at taking my cock in your mouth easily.” he groans when you swirled your tongue on the tip of his dick, the most sensitive.

as you continue to suck him, remembering ways how to pleasure him, sunghoon’s face contorts into pleasure. his eyes pinched together and his mouth opened as he feels himself getting close.

“mhmm just like that.” he encourages you as you take him into faster. tears gathered around your eyes, but you didn’t care. you wanted to make your boyfriend feel so good. feel so rewarded for having to wait this long. “keep g-going.”

the grip of your head tightened, knowing that sunghoon was getting close. “where baby? tell me.”

you temporarily removed your mouth, replacing it with you hand as sunghoon almost rolled his eyes. “inside my mouth. please. want my mouth filled with your cum.”

you sucked his tip and that became his breaking point. he let out a strong, deep growl that made your pants uncomfortable as he shoots his cum inside your mouth. the sight made sunghoon lose his shit.

you swallowed everything as sunghoon hoisted you up and put you on top of the one of the abandoned desks. he wasted no time unbuttoning your pants and throwing them away.

sunghoon pulled your legs apart, seeing the drench mess he caused. he kneeled down, amazed at how wet you are.

“hoon please… please touch me. anything.” you desperately begged. you grew shy from sunghoon’s stare.

“what do you want?” his eyes peer onto yours. you nibbled your lip.

“your m-mouth.. please..” you push his head closer to where you’re needed most.

“i will. god you’re so fucking beautiful.” he removed your underwear, putting it somewhere on the desk as he dives straight into your core.

you screamed when his tongue started to play with your pussy like he was eating ice cream.

your other hand clenched onto thin air. you don’t know know anymore.

you leaned your head back, back flat to the desk, moaning nonstop at how pleasurable it is. your boyfriend is great with his tongue and he knows it. he works on it like a champ.

he sucks harder when you pushed his face into your pussy more. you rolled your eyes. sunghoon’s grip around your thighs tighten, moaning every time your thighs slowly crush him.

“sunghoon oh my god!” you yelled when his tongue flicked faster inside. you’re starting to feel dizzy. “o-oh my god.” you cried out.

sunghoon feels you clenching, but he doesn’t want to stop. so he stops. at first you thought you would have a break to breathe.

but no.

his hand goes straight to your clit, flicking side to side which sends you into a spiral. a jerking mess.

“come come come for me baby.” sunghoon is obsessive with you. he chants your name like mantra, wanting you to unfold him in front of his eyes. he’s starstruck.

sunghoon inserts a finger inside, both of his hands working hard to make you come and you moaned so loud, people outside would hear you. the windows are closed to your fortune.

“make everyone in the school know that a loser like me knows how to fuck you perfectly. that i’m the only one who can touch you like this.”

the pleasure was fucking incredible. sunghoon was so focused on making you come. “come on princess please please.” he begged, his tone whining as you pressed your thighs together, feeling overstimulated.

“no not yet.” sunghoon demanded, keeping your thighs open when he finger fucked you with two fingers now.

you were crying. panting. panting even heavier.

“i’m c-coming sunghoon!” you finally said, making sunghoon smile.

“yes please for me, you’ve been doing so well.” his fingers fastened the pace, your eyes rolling once you’ve hit your orgasm.

you squealed so hard, your chest going up and down to keep your equilibrium.

sunghoon dropped down to your chest, pecking your lips, your neck, your cheek, everywhere to make you come back to your senses from that overbearing orgasm. “mhm..” he mums against your skin, under your ear.

“can you do one more round with me princess?” sunghoon whispered to your lips, the head of his cock rubbing in your clit.

sunghoon’s jaw opened from how good it felt. he looked down, getting turned on from the tight as he feels you getting wetter again. “i’ve been waiting for times like this. i miss i-it so fucking much…” his breath becomes irregular as he can’t look away from the sight.

“yes hoonie, please fuck me again.” you put your arms around his neck, smiling with your hooded eyes and kissing him passionately once more. he played with your boobs (he loves them) as he kisses you deeper.

he holds his dick, putting it your entrance as he slowly goes in. both of your gasp at each other’s mouth. your eyes squeezed as sunghoon looked down. his eyebrows are pinched together in concentration so he doesn’t hurt you.

you whined when he filled his whole dick inside you. while for sunghoon, he gripped you so tight so he wouldn’t crumble. he was ready to come right there the moment your walls tightened.

you two stayed like this together, chests tight and heat radiating from the both of you. “been so long..” he whispered to himself but you heard him. you see him close his eyes, leaning his head down.

“are you okay baby?” he asked gently, holding your hip with one hand and caressing your cheek with the other. you nodded, feeling warm about his caring action.

“you can move.” you smiled. it soon died down when sunghoon started pumping his dick inside you.

“fuck you feel so good y/n.” he said, closing his eyes as his pace slowly quickens. “always so tight for me.”

you moan at him moving inside out, you felt full. he was pushing and pulling so amazingly, you’re starting to see stars. hitting the right spaces that made you roll your eyes back. you felt like your insides will be out of place. you felt so, so good.

“like that hoonie.” you moan. you pulled him closer to you as he spreads little kisses all over your painted neck and collarbone. you tugged the ends of his hair. “f-faster..” your hips jerked when his dick hits your cervix.

the sound of his hips clashing onto yours while strongly holding you still made you feel dizzy. you close your eyes to savor this moment. “u-ugh.” you breathe out.

“you hear that?” the erotic sounds of your cunt hitting his cervix. “milking me so beautifully.” he loud out a broken whimper when more of your wetness covered his dick. easier for him to move whatever way he wants.

“i love it…” you grabbed his wrist, nails digging into his skin.

“y/n baby you feel so good with you swallowing my cock like that. i miss this- fuck.”

sunghoon continued the pace like you said but after getting impatient for a while, he fastens his pace.

“a-argh!” you scream as sunghoon leans down to kiss your neck. you feel a sharp pain from his fangs pinching your skin, decorating your neck with even more with purplish marks. he can feel your perfect tits bounce against his chest.

he looks down and sees the bulge. his dick moving in and out and his desire powered through. he presses his palm in the area where he can feel his cock coming in and out easily.

sunghoon bites his lip.

“fuck your pussy is perfect for me.” you can only moan, tug, bite your lip to death, close your eyes. clench.

“y-you like this right? getting fucked like this … so d-dirty of you class prez..” sunghoon taunts, smiling at you as you couldn’t properly speak sentences.

“can’t speak because my cock is making you full?” you nodded, satisfying sunghoon. “i’ll keep fucking you like this forever. just say the word p-princess. that this dick is yours.”

you got wetter. “i-it’s yours. fuck… my pussy is y-yours hoon..”

“shit y/n how did you get wetter?” he asked with genuine astonishment as he continues to fuck you in missionary.

his forehead touches yours, his eyes dazing to your erotic expression. “so good.” you whisper. sunghoon smirks. “y-yeah?” he fastens.

“cream on my cock baby.” his hands grabs yours ass cheeks, squeezing the encouragingly as the sounds of love echo in the classroom.

just you and him.

“i’m gonna come.” sunghoon says, right in your ear as he rested his head in your shoulder.

“come with m-me.” you breathe out and that encouraged sunghoon to go even faster. his sighs and groans collaborating with your high, loud moans and whimpers were like music in the ears. it felt right.

“f-fuck!” you yelled. raw from your throat.

“fuck sunghoon!” you finally hit your orgasm. your nails clawed at sunghoon’s back, leaving red marks later on but it didn’t phase sunghoon one bit.

sunghoon kept fucking you still, his hits getting sloppy when he’s about to reach. you were clenching from overstimulation, making sunghoon halt his steps and roll his eyes.

“baby you have to relax.”

he caress his thumb on your hips then moved his hands to your waist to squeeze. his warm breath hits your face like it was hypnotizing you. his grip was hard enough to leave it bruising. you finally stopped clenching. sunghoon kissed you as a reward when he feels you loosen up.

he groans into your ear, sounding perfect when he hit his orgasm. you felt his warm cum shoot inside your stomach. the stickiness, hot, sweaty feeling of your bodies touch each other- it may be disgusting but you don’t care. none of you do.

“i love you.” sunghoon says, kissing your neck of where of your pulse is.

“i love you more.” you said back, weakly smiling and playing with your boyfriend’s hair locks.

as you two were getting dress and making sure everything was in place before, before you could grab your panties, sunghoon was quick to grab it.

he put it inside his pocket casually as you rolled your eyes. he smiles in triumph.

“can we go see the cherry blossoms outside?” sunghoon asked, his hand reaching for yours before you exited out of the classroom. his soft smile never leaving his face whenever he’s with you.

you smile, blushing as if you’re back from the day he firstly asked you out.

“it would be a pleasure mister park.” you giggled, interlocking your hands with his tightly as both of you ended your day with something romantic and nostalgic.

— the end.