𐙚You were the school’s sunshine; always seen skipping around with the widest smile anyone has ever seen. Taeyang, meanwhile, was always seen walking around with either a bruised face or bruised knuckles — sometimes even both. Whats everyone’s reaction to the two polar opposites of the school slowly starting to get closer?
PAIRING: student!Taeyang x student!Reader
WARNINGS: violence, smoking, blood, theo is mean
taglist: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @iloveavatar @keymeadoww @insert-fangirl-screech-here @stylishcaprisuns
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You were sitting in history class, humming softly while going over your neat, color-coded notes. History wasn’t your strong suit, so you tried to reread everything whenever you had a chance.
When Professor Hwang finally walked in, the room went silent. Everyone stood up to greet him, and he waved a hand lazily, mumbling something that sounded like a greeting.
“Alright,” he said, dragging out the word. “Report cards are coming up, but I can’t give you grades because I don’t remember any of your names.”
Jiwoo, in the seat right in front of you, snorted loudly, and Hana elbowed her under the desk.
Professor Hwang continued, “And I know none of you would study for a real exam, so instead, I’m giving you a group project.” He paused, let it sink in, then added, “It’s worth a hundred percent of your grade.”
The reaction was instant. The entire class exploded into groans and complaints. Jiwoo and Hana were yelling at the top of their lungs while you just sat there, quietly flipping a page in your notes. It wasn’t like a project scared you. In fact, you fully believed a project was better than an exam.
After everyone ran out of breath, Professor Hwang started listing group names. Eventually, only you, Jiwoo, and Hana were left, so you shrugged, assuming the three of you lucked out.
“And the last group… Jiwoo, Hana, Y/N… and Taeyang.”
The room fell so quiet you swore you could hear someone swallow. Every head turned toward your group. Jiwoo and Hana whipped around like they’d been personally attacked.
“Are you serious?” Hana snapped, slamming her palms on her desk. “Choi Taeyang? Really?”
“What kind of punishment is this?” Jiwoo added loudly. “Do you want us to fail?”
Professor Hwang pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please. I’m running on two hours of sleep and almost no will to live. Sit down.”
You barely had time to blink before you heard a chair scrape beside you. Taeyang dropped into the seat next to yours, legs spread out, taking up more space than necessary. He smelled like smoke, but you didn’t wrinkle your nose or flinch. It wasn’t your business.
Jiwoo and Hana glared at him like he’d personally ruined their lives. Taeyang glared back with twice the intensity.
“I don’t bite,” he said flatly.
Hana scoffed. “Everyone knows how you bit that guy in ninth grade.”
Taeyang rolled his eyes, and you turned toward him with your usual bright smile.
“I’m Y/N! Nice to meet you.” You held out your hand, waiting.
He looked at it, then at you, then turned away without a single word.
You opened your mouth to try again, but Jiwoo shot you a warning glare. “Don’t talk to him, Y/N. Seriously.”
Your smile faltered, just a little, before you forced it back. You happened to catch Taeyang looking at you from the corner of his eye, but the moment you smiled at him, he rolled his eyes again and stared straight ahead.
When class ended, Taeyang shot out of his seat and headed for the door. You immediately scrambled up, stuffing your notebook into your bag before running after him.
“Hey, wait!” You reached out and grabbed his wrist.
He stopped, jaw tightening as he turned to you. “What?”
You looked up at him like he hadn’t just snapped at you. “Can I get your number? I need to make a group chat.”
“No.” He tugged his arm, trying to leave, but you held on stubbornly.
“But you have to be in it,” you said. “Otherwise how are we supposed to meet and work on the project?”
“I don’t care about the project.”
You blinked. “But… it’s a hundred percent of your grade. Do you want to fail history?”
He didn’t answer. He just turned to keep walking, so you let go long enough to dig through your bag for a sticky note. You scribbled your number on it as quickly as you could, nearly tripping as you ran to catch up.
“Hey! Hold on a second!” You grabbed his sleeve this time.
He whipped around, eyes narrowed. “What do you keep pulling me for?”
You pushed the sticky note into his hand. “My number. Please text me so I can add you to the group chat. It would suck if you failed.”
Without waiting for a response, you gave him one more cheerful smile, turned on your heel, and skipped back toward Jiwoo and Hana.
Both of them were glaring at Taeyang like he was the villain of their story, and Taeyang just stared down at the sticky note in his hand, expression unreadable, before crumpling it a little between his fingers and shoving it in his pocket with a roll of his eyes.
The cafeteria was loud like always, a mix of shouting, laughter, and trays slamming that somehow faded into background noise for you. You sat with your usual chocolate milk, poking the paper straw through the tiny hole before bringing it to your lips. You were humming without even noticing, swinging your feet lightly under the table while Jiwoo and Hana bickered about something pointless again.
“No, I’m telling you that was definitely Minji’s pencil,” Hana said.
“It literally had my name carved into it,” Jiwoo snapped back.
“It could’ve been another Jiwoo.”
“Who else is named Jiwoo in this school, Hana?”
You kept humming, nodding along even though you weren’t listening.
Taeyang passed your table, shooting you a quick side eye like you’d personally offended him by existing. You froze mid-sip, eyes lighting up. You lifted your hand in a big wave, smiling at him like he was a friend and not the school’s resident hurricane.
He scoffed loud enough for your table to hear and rolled his eyes before continuing on.
You didn’t seem bothered. You just popped the straw back into your mouth and started sipping again, happy as ever.
“Y/N.” Jiwoo said your name in a tone she usually saved for lectures.
You blinked up at her, startled. “Hm?”
Both of them stared at you like you’d grown a second head. Hana sighed dramatically. “Oh, you sweet little marshmallow.”
Your brows furrowed. “What?”
“Look,” Jiwoo said, leaning forward. “We know you want to see the good in literally every living creature, but Taeyang doesn’t have any good. None. Zero. He’s like… all fists. All violence. Some people are just not fixable.”
You frowned, confused. “But… in middle school you two used to get suspended every other week. You were always in fights. Everyone was scared of you. And, not trying to be mean, but a lot of people didn’t like you.”
Hana made a face. “Okay? And what does that have to do with anything?”
You smiled innocently. “Well, even though everyone saw you as violent troublemakers, I still gave you a chance. And I got to know who you really were. So why can’t Taeyang be the same?”
Jiwoo opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out. Hana stared at you like you’d suddenly become very complicated.
Before either of them could try again, a loud crash echoed from behind you. The cafeteria suddenly shifted, voices rising. Chairs screeched against the floor.
You twisted around in your seat.
A few tables away, Taeyang was squared off with another guy. They were nose to nose, both yelling so loudly you could hear the rage from your table. Then the other guy must’ve said something truly horrible, because Taeyang was fuming.
He grabbed one of the metal food trays, and swung it straight into the guy’s head.
The guy dropped instantly.
Taeyang didn’t stop. He followed him down, straddling him, fists slamming again and again. Blood splattered with every punch. From the guy’s face. From Taeyang’s knuckles. People backed away, some screaming, others filming.
Teachers rushed in, but it took three of them to rip Taeyang off the guy. Even then he was still yelling, trying to lunge back as they dragged him out of the cafeteria. Two other teachers knelt down beside the guy, who wasn’t moving at all.
You stared, eyes wide, straw still in your mouth but forgotten.
The moment Taeyang was dragged away and the unconscious boy was carried out, Hana slowly turned toward you, raising an eyebrow.
“So,” she said. “You were saying?”
You blinked once, twice. Your lips pressed together before your smile returned, small but steady.
“I stand by what I said.”
You got up, picked up your bag, and walked toward the exit like nothing had happened. You had class to get to.
All day long, the school buzzed like a beehive that had been kicked. Everyone had something to say about the fight. Every hallway you walked through, someone was whispering about Taeyang’s latest meltdown, showing a blurry video on their phone, or swearing they knew exactly what the other guy said to set him off. None of them actually knew, but that never stopped gossip from growing legs.
By lunchtime, the videos were already posted online. Some people replayed them over and over like they were watching a highlight reel. Others whispered things like he needed to be expelled or locked up. A few cheered him on. Most just watched for entertainment.
But you sat there, feeling this strange heaviness in your chest. You knew you shouldn’t feel bad. He smashed someone’s face in until teachers had to tear him away. He scared half the cafeteria. But still… something in your gut kept tugging at you. Something telling you that maybe, deep inside that usually-angry exterior, there was something softer. Something kind. People just didn’t bother to look for it.
Everyone was misunderstood in your eyes. Everyone deserved a chance.
Which was how you ended up skipping your next class, sitting on the plastic chair outside the principal’s office with a mini first aid kit resting on your lap. Your legs swung beneath the seat as you hummed quietly, the sound echoing a little in the empty hallway.
After what felt like forever, the office door clicked open.
Taeyang stepped out, looking pissed off and exhausted at the same time. When he saw you sitting there, his shoulders immediately dropped like he knew you were going to be trouble.
“What the hell do you want from me?” he muttered, voice low and irritated.
Your eyes went straight to his hands. His knuckles were covered in dried blood and already blooming with fresh bruises. You stood up, holding the little first aid kit between your palms like an offering.
“This should help your hands,” you said gently.
Taeyang froze for a second. He looked at you like you’d just spoken in another language.
Then he scoffed and brushed past you roughly. “I don’t want your help.”
You let out a soft breath and followed behind him at your usual calm pace.
“They’re gonna get infected,” you said, not raising your voice, not annoyed.
He didn’t even turn around. “Fuck off.”
You couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged your lips up.
“You wanna go home and have your parents see your hands like that? Better to wrap them up before they get worse.”
He turned sharply, eyes cold and warning. “Don’t talk about my parents.”
You didn’t flinch. You just raised the first aid kit again with a small, hopeful smile.
Taeyang stared at you for a long moment, jaw tight, before snatching it from your hands like you were forcing him at gunpoint. But he didn’t storm off right away.
You brightened immediately. You didn’t say anything—just flashed him a warm look before turning to walk away.
You stopped mid-step and looked back over your shoulder. “Yeah?”
He shifted awkwardly, holding the first aid kit like he didn’t know what to do with it. “I don’t know how to do this. Wrap… whatever.”
You laughed lightly. “I can help you. If that’s okay.”
He seemed to fight an invisible battle in his head before letting out an annoyed exhale. “Fine. But not here.”
You did a little victory cheer in your head, then jogged after him as he led the way.
Soon you were both sitting behind the school on the pavement, where the concrete was warm from the sun. Your thighs brushed every time one of you moved. You hummed without thinking while carefully cleaning the dried blood from his knuckles, then wrapping them in soft gauze.
Taeyang was quiet until suddenly he tensed.
“Hey. Where’d you hear that song?” His voice was sharp, almost defensive.
You blinked and looked up. “What song?”
“The one you were humming just now.”
“Oh.” You smiled shyly. “I never realise when I hum. But I heard it outside the gym. Someone goes in there after school and plays guitar. They always lock the doors, so I sit outside and draw. I like listening to them. Sometimes I leave them sketches.”
A faint blush warmed your cheeks at the confession.
For a split second, Taeyang’s eyes widened. Then he forced his expression back to normal.
“Nope.” You popped the p.
You finished wrapping his knuckles and leaned back a little. “All done.”
He lifted his hands, studying them like he wasn’t sure how to feel about the neat white bandages.
You stood up and brushed the dust off your skirt. “So… think about texting me, okay? It’d be good for you to try socialising a little.”
Taeyang glared at you from where he sat. You giggled, completely immune to it, and started skipping away.
Every glare he gave you, every scoff, every insult, none of it scared you off. And the fact he let you take care of him at all was all the proof you needed.
You were right about him.
The next three days felt strangely quiet without Taeyang’s constant presence looming somewhere in the background. No heavy footsteps echoing down the hall, no annoyed grunts when someone bumped into him, no messy bruised knuckles tapping on desks. For the first day, you were honestly worried. Maybe he’d gotten hurt. Maybe he took off because his hands were infected after all. Maybe he hated you for being persistent.
But then the rumor mill kicked in like it always did.
Word spread quickly that he’d been suspended for the fight. Everyone had an opinion. Some said he got what he deserved. Others said the other guy provoked him first. A few people claimed they saw blood on the cafeteria wall like it was some urban legend being passed on.
You mostly just felt sad.
And what made it worse was that the guitar music in the gym stopped too. No strumming. No soft melodies echoing under the door. No reason to sit on the bench and draw while humming. Whoever played the guitar was gone, and Taeyang was gone, and the school felt a little emptier for it.
But on the fourth morning, everything snapped back into color.
You walked into history class, still half asleep, and froze mid-step when your eyes landed on the back row.
Taeyang was there with his head down and passed out cold.
You squealed quietly, almost dropping your binder, and rushed straight to the empty chair beside him like a kid spotting their favorite cartoon character in public. Jiwoo and Hana didn’t even try to hide their horror. They shared the same wide-eyed glance and shook their heads at you.
You ignored them completely.
You grabbed Taeyang’s shoulder and shook him hard. He shot upright like he’d been jolted with electricity, arm raised, ready to swing at whoever woke him.
When he saw it was you, he clicked his tongue and dropped his arm onto the desk.
“Leave me alone,” he muttered before burying his face in his folded arms again.
“But I haven’t seen you in forever. How are your hands?” You giggled, immediately grabbing one of his arms and tugging his hand toward you. You were stronger than you looked, because he grunted and nearly toppled off the desk.
“You fucking—” He cut himself off when you gave him a warning look.
He sucked in a breath. “They’re better.”
“When’d you take the bandages off?” you asked, gently turning his hand. The bruises were still there, but the cuts had closed up nicely.
“This morning.” He snatched his hand back like you’d burned him.
You beamed at him. “Good! So, anyway, I’ve accepted the fact that you’ll never text me about the project, sooo…”
You dug around in your backpack while he watched with clear suspicion.
When you finally pulled out the paper, it looked like something straight out of a study-themed Instagram page. Pink and purple markers, neat bullet points, little stars doodled in the corners. You handed it to him proudly.
He took it like it was contaminated.
“What the hell is this?” He held it by the very corner, thumb and index finger barely touching it.
“You don’t have to do anything for the presentation,” you explained, smiling brightly. “Just memorize a few dates and what happened during each one. I picked the easiest ones.”
He stared at the notes, then at you. “It’s pink.”
“Well, duh! Pink is amazing.” You giggled.
He didn’t even blink. “Do you get a lower grade if I don’t participate?”
“Well… no.” You pouted. “But you’ll fail the class. And I’d feel awful if you failed while being in my group.”
He kept staring at the sheet for a moment before sighing long and deep. He shoved the paper into his bag like it offended him.
“You care too much about people,” he muttered.
You shrugged, cheeks warm. “That’s just how my mom raised me.”
“Go away now.” He flicked his fingers at you like you were a fly buzzing in his face.
You gasped dramatically. “But I thought we were bonding.”
“I don’t bond with anyone. Go sit with your insane friends,” he grumbled, glaring over your shoulder at Jiwoo and Hana, who were absolutely glaring right back at him.
You leaned forward, lowering your voice playfully. “Okay. But, just saying… if you three stopped hating each other, you’d be great friends.”
Before he could respond, you reached out and booped his nose.
He immediately slapped your hand away, scowling so hard it could’ve cracked the desk. You just laughed and skipped toward Jiwoo and Hana.
The moment you sat on the desk behind them, Hana grabbed your arms. “Y/N, you crazy idiot! Did he hit you? Did he shove you?”
“What? No.” You waved her off. “It’s progress.”
Jiwoo opened her mouth to lecture you, but that was when Professor Hwang stumbled into the classroom, yawning loudly enough for everyone to hear.
You hid a smile behind your hand.
Lunchtime felt like a reward after surviving the morning, so you grabbed a tray and started piling it with everything you liked. You added your favourite chocolate milk last, obviously, because no meal was complete without it. You hummed to yourself as you skipped between tables, trying to spot Hana and Jiwoo. For some reason, they were nowhere in sight. You checked the usual corner, the table near the windows, even the one they sometimes used when they were in a bad mood. Nothing.
While spinning around to check again, your eyes caught someone sitting alone at one of the back tables. Taeyang. He was hunched over his phone, completely absorbed in whatever he was scrolling through. You didn’t even hesitate. You practically bounced over and plopped down in front of him.
He looked up, saw your face, and groaned like you had just ruined his entire week. His head fell back for a second before he leveled a tired glare at you.
“Why are you everywhere?” he muttered like the universe was personally targeting him.
He started to push his chair back, clearly ready to relocate anywhere else, but you grabbed his tie before he could even get half a step away. It wasn’t tied properly, so it slipped in your hand, but it was enough to yank him right back into his seat.
His glare sharpened like they could cut glass.
“We’re friends now, Theo.”
He stared at you so blankly that for a second you thought maybe he didn’t even understand what language you were speaking. Then his eyebrow twitched. “Who the fuck is Theo?”
You beamed. “You. Obviously. It suits you.”
“If you call me that again, you’re getting punched.”
You snorted into your food. “Anyway,” you said, waving off the threat like it was background noise, “where’s your tray?” It only hit you then that he didn’t have any food in front of him. Actually, thinking back, you realised you hardly ever saw him with food at lunch. The only time was when he weaponised a tray and smashed it that guy’s skull.
He stared at you like he was debating whether to lie or just bite your hand. “I’m not hungry.”
Right on cue, his stomach growled so loudly that you actually jumped a little. His ears flushed bright red while your jaw dropped.
“Theo,” you said, scandalised.
He glared harder. “Stop calling me that.”
You clicked your tongue at him and stood up, already annoyed. “Wait here. And keep rolling your eyes at me. See what happens.” You gave his head a little shove as punctuation.
He jerked his head back toward you like he couldn’t believe you actually touched him. You ignored the look and marched straight to the food counter, grabbing another tray. You filled it with food he might actually eat. Nothing too weird, nothing too healthy, plus an extra chocolate milk because you were convinced he’d like it if he just stopped pretending to hate joy.
You came back humming, set the tray down in front of him like a waiter, and sat back down to your own food.
He looked up from his phone, saw what you’d done, and practically shouted. “What the hell? Take it back! I’m not paying for that!”
You raised an eyebrow. “I’ll pay. Just eat. You’re literally starving yourself.” You took a casual bite of your own food like the discussion was already over.
Taeyang stared at the tray like it might explode. You didn’t give him time to think. “Here,” you said, grabbing the chocolate milk from his tray and shoving the straw through the little hole before handing it to him. “Try this. It’s amazing.”
He looked at the milk, then at you, then at the milk again. Very slowly, he raised it and took a sip.
His eyebrows lifted before he could stop himself.
You grinned triumphantly. “Right? Good, huh?”
He dropped back into his usual scowl almost instantly and set the milk down way too aggressively. “No. It’s terrible. Go away.”
You burst out laughing, and even though he tried to ignore you, you caught the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
The walk home was quiet in the best way. You had your headphones in, your playlist shuffling through all your comfort songs, and the late afternoon breeze kept tugging at your skirt. It felt peaceful, one of those moments where nothing dramatic was happening and you could finally breathe.
But as you walked, something about your skirt pocket kept feeling… wrong. The fabric felt bunched up or twisted somehow, and you sighed, assuming it had just gotten wrinkled after a full day of running around school. You slipped your hand inside to smooth it out.
Your fingers brushed against something soft. Soft and silky.
You slowed down, confused, and pulled it out.
You frowned at the sight of the boys uniform tie hanging from your fingers. Dark, smooth, definitely not yours. You stared at it for a long second before your brain finally clicked.
Right. The lunch table. You yanking him back down by his tie like he weighed nothing. You tugging it so hard it practically fell off his neck. You must have shoved it in your pocket without thinking.
Heat rushed to your cheeks as you remembered the whole thing. You smiled to yourself, feeling ridiculous but also weirdly happy. Taeyang probably hadn’t even noticed it was gone until he got home and realised he looked like a delinquent on the run.
You tucked the tie safely back into your pocket and kept walking. Tomorrow, you’d give it back. And honestly, you should probably teach him how to tie it properly because the thing was always hanging off his neck like he’d fought it in a dark alley.
The next morning at school, you spotted him at his locker. He had one hand braced against the metal door, looking annoyed at life, the universe, and everything in between. Perfect timing.
You marched right up and slammed his locker door shut.
The bang echoed and he flinched hard, whipping around with his fist half raised before he froze at the sight of you.
He groaned like his soul was leaving his body. “Fuck my life.”
“Good morning to you too,” you said cheerfully. “You smell like cigarettes. Is that what you had for breakfast?”
He let out a sarcastic little laugh that absolutely promised murder. “What do you want this time?”
You reached into your pocket. “I accidentally stole your tie yesterday.”
His eyes flicked down to your hand, then back up to your face. “Okay, thief.” He snatched it away so quickly he nearly smacked you in the process.
You watched him fumble with it for a few seconds, trying and failing to look like he knew what he was doing. His hands were stiff, awkward, completely clueless.
You grinned. “Let me help you.”
He jerked back immediately. “Do not touch me.”
“Oh, stop trying to push me away. You’re stuck with me now, Theo.” Your tone softened without you meaning for it to. You stepped closer, gently taking the tie from his hand. He let you, even if he looked like someone had just threatened him with affection.
He stood very still as you looped the tie around his collar, eyes fixed on you like you were performing some kind of forbidden magic. His cheeks slowly turned red, which he kept trying to hide by looking anywhere except your face.
You tightened the knot neatly, smoothed it down, and tapped your palms lightly on his chest. “There. Perfect.”
You stepped back, satisfied with your work. “I’ll see you in history. And get ready, because I’m not letting you shoo me off to Hana and Jiwoo this time.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why not? They’re your best friends.”
You laughed. “They’re both skipping today. So you, my dear Theo, are stuck with me for the whole school day.”
His face twisted in absolute devastation.
You gave him a little wave before walking off. He groaned loudly behind you, the sound echoing down the hall like a man accepting his tragic fate, and trudged toward class, already regretting every life decision that led him to this moment.
You spent the entire day together, even if Taeyang refused to admit that was what you were doing. After every class, you hunted him down like some determined little puppy, and every time he spotted you coming, he swore under his breath. But neither of you took it seriously. You knew he didn’t mean the things he said, and he knew you were too stubborn to leave him alone anyway.
People definitely noticed. They whispered behind their hands or stared openly as you walked past. It didn’t make sense to them. You, the school’s resident sunshine, glued to the side of Choi Taeyang of all people. You were gentle and soft-spoken and carried bandaids in your bag. He was the guy who’d recently sent someone to the hospital and looked like he was permanently three seconds away from committing another crime. Nobody could make the math add up.
You didn’t care. Taeyang cared even less.
He’d slipped into the bathroom for what he called a “small break,” which was just his way of saying he needed a smoke so he didn’t strangle someone. You leaned against the wall outside, scrolling on your phone and humming quietly.
Then a shadow blocked your light. You looked up, expecting Taeyang, but instead, Minho stood there, arms crossed and a scowl already in place.
Your stomach dropped a little. “Hello, Minho.” You kept your voice soft, polite, neutral. No need to poke a bear.
He raised a brow, jaw tightening. “So let me get this straight. You cut me off for being toxic and aggressive, but now you’re hanging out with Taeyang, who’s even worse? Makes perfect sense.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.
You blinked, stunned. You hadn’t talked in literal years. This was his grand comeback?
“You’re reaching,” you said, already feeling your patience thin. “Theo is nothing like you.”
He scoffed. “Theo is what we’re calling him now? Cute.”
“No. Theo is what I’m calling him,” you corrected. “And I’ve been doing great since I cut you off. Don’t ruin that now.”
Minho’s glare sharpened. “I don’t get it, Y/N. This is Choi Taeyang. He put someone in the hospital last week. That dude still isn’t conscious. His parents didn’t even recognise him when they visited. And you’re defending him?”
“Obviously he had a reason,” you said, shrugging. “That guy provoked him.”
Minho looked horrified. “Do you even know what happened?”
“Minho,” you sighed, folding your arms. “What are you doing? Seriously. Move on. It’s been years. You wrecked our friendship. Leave me and Taeyang alone.”
He opened his mouth to argue again, but the bathroom door squeaked open behind you.
Without turning, you knew Taeyang was there. The smell of cigarettes and the faint trace of his cologne wrapped around you instantly. He stepped closer, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes dark and unreadable.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
Minho paled immediately. “No,” he said quickly.
“Then get going.” Taeyang didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
Minho nodded so fast it almost looked comedic and hurried off down the hallway.
As soon as he was out of sight, you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. Then you reached into your bag and pulled out your favourite vanilla body mist.
Before Taeyang could say anything, you started spraying him with it.
He flinched back. “What the hell—stop! What are you doing?”
“You smell like cigarettes,” you said, not missing a beat. “And not the hot, mysterious kind. The gross kind.”
He snatched the bottle out of your hand. “Why does this smell like a bakery exploded?”
“Because it’s vanilla,” you said, grabbing it right back and shoving it into your bag before he could throw it across the hall. “And you stink.”
Taeyang glared at you like you’d personally offended his ancestors. You just smiled at him, completely unfazed, and he muttered curses under his breath that didn’t scare you one bit.
School was finally over for the day, and you were already bouncing on your feet, ready to say goodbye to Taeyang so he could disappear into whatever alleyway he usually climbed into. But before you could even open your mouth, he spoke first.
“Which way is your house?” he asked, tone flat but eyes sharp on you.
You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… that way?” You pointed to the right side of the street, brows raised.
He nodded once. “Mine too.” Then he just started walking.
You stood frozen for a few seconds before the grin slowly spread across your face. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Mr. Theo,” you teased as you jogged to catch up.
“Soft over what? I’m just walking home,” he said, glaring at you from the corner of his eye. But the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
That tiny smirk made your heart somersault. He was cracking. You were winning.
The walk home was a weird mix of your nonstop rambling and his usual grunts, curses, and occasional shoves when you accidentally brushed his arm or bumped his shoulder. But he didn’t tell you to shut up. Not really. And he didn’t walk three steps ahead like you expected.
When you reached your house, you did what you always did and stretched up to boop his nose.
He slapped your hand away instantly, scowling, and you skipped inside with a giggle. You were definitely winning.
The next morning, Taeyang was standing outside the school entrance, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved in his pockets like some brooding protagonist in a drama. The second he saw you, he pushed himself off the wall and walked through the doors with the speed of someone pretending to not wait for someone.
You sprinted after him and threw your arms around his shoulders from behind. “Goodmorning!” you sang.
He shoved you off like you were a mosquito. “No touching,” he growled.
You only laughed. “This is progress. If I hugged you like that two days ago, you would’ve slammed me straight into a locker.”
He shot you a glare that wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he thought. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small.
A pink handmade bracelet.
“This is yours, right?” he asked.
Confused, you looked down at your wrist, and yep, it was gone. You gasped softly, taking it from him and sliding it back onto your wrist. “It is! Where did you find it?”
“I found it on the road when walking back,” he said casually, shrugging. “It must’ve slipped off.”
You froze. Completely froze.
Your face burned instantly, the flush creeping up your neck and ears. “Walking… back?” you asked, voice small and shocked.
Taeyang frowned. “Yeah? Why do you look like that?”
“You said your house was near mine,” you said, eyes wide. “So why were you… walking back?”
The realisation hit you like a truck, and Taeyang could see it in your eyes.
His whole expression dropped. “I was… uh…” He cleared his throat aggressively. “It’s too fucking early for this shit,” he muttered, turning on his heel and storming off like he could outrun his own embarrassment.
You stood there frozen for a whole three seconds before breaking into the brightest smile ever. Then you bolted after him.
“You big baby!” you yelled as you jumped onto his back, arms looping around his shoulders and legs wrapping around his waist.
He nearly dropped dead on the spot. His hands shot to your thighs automatically to keep you from falling. “Get the fuck off me!”
“What’s the magic word?” you teased, tightening your arms around him.
“Get the fuck off me now,” he snapped.
“Nope! That’s not it,” you laughed, tossing your head back.
His grip on your thighs tightened in warning. “I swear, if you don’t get off right now, I’m slamming you into the wall.”
“You’re the one gripping my thighs,” you said sweetly. “You’re gonna leave bruises.”
He instantly dropped his hands like you’d burned him. His entire neck and ears turned red.
You slid off his back, landing easily on your feet. Without another word, he spun around and stalked off toward class, muttering curses so violently you could practically see smoke rising from his hair.
You, meanwhile, stood there smiling like a lovesick idiot before skipping off toward Chemistry class, humming your favorite tune and replaying the entire morning in your head.
You were definitely, absolutely winning.
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