Because your boyfriend is standing in front of you with bright red hair. In theory, it should look strange. It should be one of those changes you need time to adjust to. But it isn’t. Not even close. If anything, it makes it worse in the best way possible, because Taesan looks unfairly good like this, and your brain seems to short-circuit on sight.

A warm rush floods through you at the way the colour frames his face, sharpens his features, makes him look even more infuriatingly attractive. You press your legs together without thinking, as if that alone could ground you.

Taesan, on the other hand, looks like he’s bracing for impact. He rubs the back of his neck, gives an awkward little laugh, clearly uncomfortable under your silence. “I lost a bet with the guys,” he admits. “This was my punishment.”

You don’t answer. Not because you’re upset, but because words have officially stopped working for you. Your brain is still buffering.

The lack of response only makes him more uncertain. He waves a hand in front of your face. “What? Is it really that bad?”

That snaps something in you. Bad? He thinks this is bad?

If only he knew what it was doing to you.

Your voice finally returns, but it comes out softer than you expect. “Tell your friends I said thank you.”

He barely has time to process that before you step forward and kiss him.

It isn’t gentle. It’s immediate, hungry in a way that surprises even you. You nip lightly at his bottom lip, slipping your tongue against his, and for a second he freezes—caught off guard—before he melts into it, matching your intensity with a slow, growing heat.

Any restraint disappears quickly.

You don’t care how desperate it feels, or how obvious you’re being. All you can think about is him, the warmth of his mouth, the way he responds when you pull him closer like you’ve been waiting for this without realizing it.

When you finally break away just enough to look at him, he’s breathless. His red hair is slightly tousled now, eyes a little glazed, lips parted like he’s still catching up. It only makes everything worse in the best way.

You kiss him again, immediately, like your self-control never stood a chance in the first place.

This time it deepens, faster, more consuming. His hands find your waist, firm and sure now, pulling you in until there’s barely any space left between you. You let out a quiet sound against his mouth when he shifts you backward without breaking the kiss, guiding you until your back meets the wall of your apartment entryway.

The change in position makes your breath hitch.

Taesan doesn’t stop there. One hand stays at your waist, the other slides lower to steady you, holding you there like he’s decided he’s done being startled and fully committed to this moment instead. You cling to him without thinking, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, like letting go isn’t even an option anymore.

The kiss turns slower, deeper—less rushed, more deliberate—but no less intense. It’s the kind that makes time feel slightly irrelevant, like everything else has been pushed out of the frame except the two of you and the way he’s looking at you when he finally pulls back just enough to breathe.

His forehead rests briefly against yours. He laughs softly, breath still uneven. “Babe,” he murmurs, voice low, “I need to breathe.”

That alone almost makes you forget how to function.

He presses a light kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, like he’s trying to steady both of you back into reality without fully letting go. His hands are still at your waist, anchoring you there.

“So…” he says after a moment, a teasing edge creeping back into his voice, eyes flicking over your face like he already knows the answer, “I take it you like the new hair?”

You let out a shaky breath, still a little dazed, still not fully recovered. Your hands don’t move far from him either. “Yes,” you admit simply.

His smile widens at that—soft, knowing, entirely too satisfied.

He leans in one more time, brushing his lips against yours, gentler this time, almost playful. “Good,” he murmurs.

Then, with a faint laugh, he tilts his head slightly, red hair catching the light again as he adds, “So the hair stays?”

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He has a talent—an infuriating, almost impressive talent—for getting under your skin. He always knows exactly what to say, exactly what expression to wear, exactly how long to hold your gaze before you snap.

You glare at him.

He’s already looking at you, lips curved in that on-brand Taesan smugness, like he’s been waiting for you to notice him.

Somehow, today he feels even more annoying than usual—if that’s even possible.

“Taesan, I don’t have time for your crap today,” you sigh, trying to brush him off.

It doesn’t work.

“Whoa,” he snorts. “Someone’s feisty. What’s got your granny panties in a twist?”

“Oh, fuck off, you ginormous idiot.”

Of course he smiles at that.

“I’ll admit everything about me is ginormous,” he says smoothly, leaning back in his chair, “but an idiot I am not, princess.”

You stiffen.

You’ve told him—countless times—not to call you that. You hate it. Especially when it comes from him. And he knows that. He only does it because it gets to you.

You refuse to let him see that it still does.

“You know,” you say coolly, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re obsessed with me. You’re giving me an awful lot of attention.”

He hums. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it. You’re practically glowing because I’ve graced you with my presence. Radiant, I’d say.”

You press your pen down harder against the page. “Can’t you see I’m trying to study? I really don’t have time for this.”

There’s a sharp edge to your voice this time. You’re stressed. Tired. Overwhelmed.

For once, Taesan goes quiet.

You glance up, and catch something unfamiliar flicker across his face. Not smugness. Not teasing.

Something softer. Something uncertain.

It disappears before you can name it.

A few minutes pass in silence.

Then, quietly, he says, “I’m sorry, if I said something that stressed you out.”

There’s a faint crease between his brows.

He stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I tease you because I like being around you. But if that makes things harder for you, I’ll stay away.”

He hesitates.

“Good luck with studying.”

And then he walks out of the library.

You just sit there, staring at the empty chair.

What the hell was that?

Taesan doesn’t apologize. Ever. And that didn’t sound like sarcasm. It didn’t sound like a setup for another joke.

It sounded real.

You try to go back to studying, but the words blur on the page. Your chest feels tight. Your mind keeps replaying the way his voice dipped at the end.

With a frustrated sigh, you close your books and pack up.

As you step outside the library, you spot him sitting on a bench a few meters away, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the ground.

You almost walk past him.

Almost.

But your feet betray you.

You stop in front of him.

He looks up, confusion flickering across his face.

You take a breath.

“You stupid idiot,” you start, voice shaking more than you’d like. “Why do you mess with my head like this? Why do you always do that?”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him speak.

“I’m supposed to hate you. That’s the whole thing. You annoy me. You tease me. You drive me insane. But then—” Your voice cracks. “Then I catch myself thinking about you. When you’re not around, I wonder where you are. If you’re okay. If you ate. And when I don’t see you for a day or two, I miss you.”

The words tumble out faster now.

“I hate that you distract me. I hate that you get under my skin. I hate that I think about you. I hate that I miss you. I hate that I care.”

You swallow.

“But what I hate most is that I don’t actually hate you at all.”

Silence settles between you.

Taesan stares at you like you’ve just knocked the air out of him.

“You. Care about me?” he asks quietly.

Mortification floods your body. You want the ground to swallow you whole.

But you nod.

Slowly.

Carefully, like you’re something fragile, he stands.

For once, he doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t say something clever.

He just steps forward and pulls you into a hug.

You freeze.

Taesan is hugging you.

His arms wrap around you firmly, warm and steady, like he’s been wanting to do this for a long time.

“I care about you too,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’ve liked you for so long it’s embarrassing.”

Your breath catches.

“I didn’t know how to say it,” he continues. “So I teased you. Because at least then you were looking at me. Talking to me. Thinking about me.”

You slowly wrap your arms around him.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumble against his chest.

“Yeah,” he agrees softly. “But I’m your idiot.”

You pull back just enough to look at him.

For once, there’s no smugness. Just something open. Vulnerable.

He brushes his thumb lightly against your cheek. “Can I stop messing with your head now?”

You huff a shaky laugh. “You better.”

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.

This time, when your heart stutters, you don’t fight it.

Because maybe he was never the bane of your existence.

Maybe he was just the beginning of something you were too stubborn to see.