don't hate me because i'm beautiful | [엔하이픈]
PAIRING: fashionschool!sunoo x classmate!reader
GENRE: slice of life, comedy, slow burn, fluff, enemies to…
WARNINGS: bickering, forced promity, sunoo is a bit of a sassquatch and low-key rude but you are too so touché.
SYNOPSIS: When life tastes too sweet and the sun shines too brightly in the sky, that is when you ought to beware and brace yourself for impact. You had to learn this the hard way. Your final year of fashion school was meant to be your glory days— a catapult to your grandiose debut in the fashion industry; your heaven on earth, a free ticket to graduating at the top of the arts institution with flair and an unyielding sense of peace and fulfilment. Perhaps even paired with an obnoxious, villainous laugh. That was your carefully scripted “reality.” Until the one person you hate the most in the whole solar system waltzed into the classroom and ruined all potential plans of an early retirement, creative freedom and a stable blood pressure. Now, forced to co-operate alongside the very bane of your existence, you're plunged into an unwanted partnership, cat fights instead of catwalks, and an unavoidable confrontation of a ridiculously long historical rivalry.
WORD COUNT: 12k (got a lil carried away)
AUTHOR’S NOTE: can you believe it’s finally here? my first full enhypen fic! I could cry. I hope u enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. expect more enha fics in the future! i appreciate all feedback so don’t be afraid to comment ur thoughts <3
You’ve been at war since you were six.
"Are you friCkiNg stupid?"
"No. But I know you are."
A tiny sea of arms secured you a split second before you could leap into battle. Your classmates had already anticipated your moves, creating a makeshift barricade with their limbs for the both of you before matters could get any worse.
It had been the third time this week that a brawl broke out between the two of you, and it was only a Tuesday.
On Monday, it was a fight to the death on the playground over who got the correct scientific name of the animal that scurried on the big oak tree.
And now, your patience was being tested inside the classroom.
The teacher had briefly nipped away to fetch more gluesticks for the arts and crafts spaceship your class was building for the upcoming school funfair. She absentmindedly put the brightest, most responsible child, who was obviously you, in charge.
All was going splendidly, till a certain foxy, poopoo faced looking, annoying, short, bratty and stinky-bum boy decided to open his mouth and move it like a typewriter.
He insulted your drawing skills. Berating you and saying your doodle was "gross" and that you "couldn't even colour in right." You had drawn an outstandingly detailed flower at the bottom of the cardboard spaceship.
He called it a deformed elephant with wings.
And elephants don't live on the moon.
They don’t have wings either…
So, you took that personally.
The group of little children were now trying their best to push the both of you to opposite corners of the classroom, but your thrashing only grew fiercer.
You accidentally kneed one of them in the shin and elbowed another in the face. The two fallen soldiers dropped to the floor like wilted petals, each holding on to their brand new injuries gifted by yours truly.
By this point, hot tears of anger started to form as you fought to rush the dark haired boy who still had the audacity to stick his tongue out.
From behind you, a kind girl with pig tails landed a few soft head pats to soothe your vexation.
But there was no calm before the storm when it came to you. You were all fire and crackle and if anyone ever tried to put you out, you'd set them ablaze too.
"Quick! Help me hold her arm—"
You slipped out of their grasp like water from a faucet, ignoring the squeals of terror that gurgled out of your classmates.
As if time itself gave way to marvel at your closing act, you propelled your small body forward, jumping with all your might, arm drawn back with professional ease, fist loaded for impact.
The dark haired boy’s eyes flew wide open, legs attempting to scamper off to safety, but he couldn’t make it on time. It was already too late, and he knew it.
And like the famous painting of Apollo descending from the skies akin to an angelic dove, your mini sized fist connected raw and clean, right on his soft, chubby cheek.
His body fell in slow motion, your classmates watched in morbid horror, and you guffawed at the face of mockery, hands resting on your small hips like an infamous dictator.
And that’s how a new bruise was born.
You and Sunoo never got along.
Not when you were both in 3rd grade grabbing each other’s hair because one called the other’s shoes ugly.
Not in 7th grade, when you called Sunoo’s gifted and brand new £200 perfume vomit-inducing.
And certainly not in the very last year of high school, where Sunoo had painfully ridiculed and sabotaged your collaborative, end of year arts & science project.
In front of your whole entire school, your precious piece blew up on your face, the entirety of your hand made solar system had catastrophically erupted all over you, covering you from the crown of your head to the very soles of your shoe with a concerning amount of hot pink lip gloss.
It was supposed to spit out a sensitive amount of glitter to mirror the shining of the stars in space.
You’re not even sure how he managed to get such an ungodly amount of lip gloss in one go. And you’d rather not know.
You and Kim Sunoo never got along.
And likely, never will do.
The funny thing is, it wasn’t your fault, because somewhere in your mind, at the ripe age of 11, you convinced yourself that from that point on, nothing was your fault. Maybe it was the inner workings of an upcoming narcissistic phase, or perhaps it was truth coated in a ridiculously thick layer of lies.
Whatever it was, you decided to stand by it from then on.
In your viewpoint, you tried your very best to be nice. You attempted to make friends at any given opportunity (that’s a lie), you were stunning (truth), smart (correct) AND incredibly inviting (debatable).
Day by day, you managed to give Mary Sue a run for her money, if you do say so yourself. And the most significantly impressive thing of all is that you strained yourself daily to not downright rip Kim Sunoo apart, piece by piece.
Nothing could convince you otherwise.
Which left the equation as obviously self explanatory as it could possibly be.
So, naturally, when you came back to your last semester of fashion school after being severely sick for two weeks straight, the last thing you expected to see was a sadly familiar set of dark hair before you.
You shut your eyes momentarily, an intense scowl imprinted on your previously serene face.
Maybe if you didn’t see him, he wouldn’t see you. In fact, what if he was just a figment of your imagination?
You peeked your eye open to check.
He just hadn’t seen you yet.
Making a strangled noise of defeat, you growled lowly, eyes narrowing into murderous slits.
What the heck was he doing here?
Perfectly styled strands of ebony frilled around rhythmically, the wind blew like it was his partner in an end of year tango dance. His lips shone in pride, always moisturised and glistening as if ridiculing everyone else’s chapped ones.
Sunoo sat at the very back of the room, his attention completely absorbed in his own reflection as he monitored his appearance using the back of his phone.
You scoffed unbelievably, a mirror phone case, why of course.
His aura practically screamed “I’m better than every single one of you roaches” and your eye retorted with a twitch.
The clearing of someone’s throat pinched you out of your annoyed brain fog.
Your lecturer, also recognised as your fashion tutor, Ms. Dubois, smiled down at you with a sophisticated, rouge grin. She wore her signature 7 inch red bottoms, tight pencil skirt that trickled down to stop just above her knees and a cropped, asymmetrical blazer covered her slender shoulders.
“Oh, come on. Don’t give me that look, young lady! You haven’t stepped foot in here for two weeks and you’re already greeting me with such ugly energy.” Her heavy, francophone accent swam into your ears, a voice as strong as a diamond and as sharp as a dagger. She waved her hands in front of you as if attempting to “shoo” away your bad energy.
Your expression refused to change.
“What is this I’m hearing about? Some kind of paired work,” you spoke up, ignoring her hands still fanning the air around you.
“Oh! Yes, yes!” She finally stopped trying to exorcise you and bit down on the bait you offered her; the project.
“The final project will be a collaborative assignment. Pick a concept, a theme, and show the world what you got!”
You sighed, your shoulders sinking to the ground in despair.
It was too early in the morning for this.
“What’s the length of the project?” You inquired, already planning various mental mood boards and formulating prototypes of pieces in your head.
“3 months, darling.” Her towering figure stood with elegance, a professional smile beaming down at you.
You could already feel the weight of the project on your frontal lobe. You fought the urge to succumb to your intrusive thoughts of jumping out the window.
You were on the 7th floor.
That certainly wouldn’t end well.
“Have the rest already picked their partners?” You barely got your sentence out before Ms. Dubois guffawed in hysteria. You aimlessly blinked with mild astonishment.
“Darling, the pairs are assigned. Your partners were announced last week. Let me see,” she waltzed over to her overly large desk. Grabbing a folder as big as a Yellow Pages book, she licked her finger and started turning through the papers.
“Ah! Here we go. Your partner is, uh…” she looked up from her folder, squinted her eyes and skimmed the crowd of students with laboured difficulty.
“Umm, Kim Sunoo?” She carefully gestured towards the male that was STILL checking himself out before his name got mentioned. Her voice gave a slight rise near the end of her sentence, uncertain about her pronunciation.
Time zeroed in on itself.
The classroom completely blacked out and your head twisted to meet a dreaded face that looked just as awfully put off as yours.
You’d think it was an AI generated video at how unrealistically slow you moved.
You swallowed harshly, your eyes meeting his wide, amber ones.
His hands had frozen in mid air, one somewhere between fixing his hair and the other on its way to lowering his phone. His gaze faltered all the more once your tired eyes turned completely stone cold.
Maybe it was a different Kim Sunoo?
Your brain tried to coerce you into delusion as you walked up the steps towards the self-centred ass— you mean, man.
Dropping your items on the table with exaggerated force, you tossed your head backwards, sighing the world’s biggest sigh.
You know what made it all worse?
You hated sitting at the back.
You purposefully aimed to sit at the front on a regular basis, unfailingly, because even one single missed information would gnaw at your skin like the bubonic plague.
Even the past two weeks, you were working yourself like a dog on the lecture slides and studying overtime on the current fashion trends.
You were aiming to be a serious prodigy, an outstanding fashion designer. One of a kind. Once in a century.
You wanted to gag the current brand leaders and respected personnel in the industry. You couldn’t possibly do all that from the back. That’s for unserious people, that’s like shooting yourself in the foot at the finish line.
With your head still tilted, your eyes slid to look at Sunoo with murderous intent.
Your lids were heavy, mouth rested in an expressionless straight line, but the look in your eyes was enough to transpose all you wanted to do to this man.
Wrangling his neck would only be the start.
The dark haired male gagged in disgust as soon as he saw you standing near the table. His bundled fist flew to cover the opening of his mouth, eyes tightly wrinkled in pain.
“Could you kindly stop looking at me? Your face is making me feel physically sick.”
You nearly threw a table at him.
Silently staring at him for a moment, you turned on the balls of your feet, and wordlessly speedwalked back down the steps and straight for Ms. Dubois.
Her unsuspecting form was going through another student’s portfolio, assessing their recent contributions.
Your hands slammed against her desk with such force that Ms. Dubois was sure you disengaged gravity for a good minute.
“Ms. Dubois.” Your voice was low and eerily calm. You weren’t facing her, your head was lowered and glaring daggers into the wooden table below, your hunched back creating a dark, shadowy cast over your face.
Ms. Dubois gave a quick prayer, preparing to utter her next words as sensitively as she could. She took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry to inform you that I can’t do that,”
Blinking in very real alarm, Ms. Dubois attempted to get a good look at your face, calling out to you in genuine fear.
You were rooted to the ground of the classroom, a prop to the school building.
A poke stammered you back into focus. Ms. Dubois cautiously rushed to retreat, her finger now safely to her side.
“I really can’t, darling. It’s the rules! And I sent out an email with a deadline for discussions about changing partners last week.” She spoke as if her justifications could ever alleviate the raw suffering and sorrow you were condemned to.
Taking in a worryingly deep breath, you closed your eyes, rising up from your position with poise.
Ms.Dubois blinked in surprise.
Did she hear you correctly?
You turned around like a puppet on strings and made your way back to where your lovely partner was sitting, elbow on the table, hand upholding his jaw as he looked at your sorry attempt at changing partners with the most primal level of schadenfreude.
“Good morning to you too.”
You snapped your neck to the side making direct eye contact with him. The air physically grew cold.
Sunoo let out a dry whistle. “Gosh, aren’t you just a joy to be around.”
“Can’t say the same about you.”
He bit his lip, fighting the urge to throw an insult back.
Sighing, whilst whispering a hollow “Whatever,” he opened his sketchbook to the page he was already working on.
A variety of brainstormed ideas scattered the paper. Small sketches, colour schemes and fabric lists adorned each page like a purposefully orchestrated spectacle.
You took your seat, methodically choosing the one that was a chair away from him.
Sunoo was fully immersed in the planning of the project.
“I already thought of some concepts and prototypes for the pieces, whilst you were lazying about in the comfort of your own home,”
Sunoo glanced up to test your reaction, a sadistic smirk mildly glazed his lips before momentarily faltering.
“Why are you so far away?”
You stopped your writing to look at him.
“I work better in a controlled setting.”
Jabbing your pen at him, you added.
“You are not a controlled setting.”
Was he genuinely not as appalled, by the idea of the two of you being forced to work together, as you were?
He has been awfully on board with the whole thing. Usually, he’d already be trying to stab you with a ruler.
Scoffing, Sunoo directed his attention to you. His hand forcibly moved the chair between the both of you out of the way.
What happened next had you completely and utterly stupefied into pure silence.
He leaned over the now empty space, grabbing a hold of the bottom of your chair, and promptly pulled you over in silence.
Your chair migrated very slowly with a chorus of squeaks and mind altering screeches, eventually coming to a stop decently close to the pretty male.
“There,” he said, hands wiping away at false sweat. His eyes never found yours.
Attempting to move your chair back to its original position, Sunoo blocked any further movement by sucking in a short breath.
“Do you want to get a good grade or not?” His caramel eyes raked over you, briefly.
“I’m not exactly ecstatic working with you either, but unlike you, I’m actually serious about my work. So stop being a pain and pick up your pen. We have some planning to do.”
You were left speechless.
And unfortunately, he was right, although you would never admit that, not even over your dead body.
So you kissed your teeth, silently picked up your pen in mandatory obedience and started doodling fashion ideas.
Sunoo cleared his throat, hastily glancing at your quiet form.
“I was thinking we could do a wedding concept—”
“No? What do you mean, no? I didn’t even finish talking!”
The volume of your bickering managed to catch the attention of a few classmates. In particular, a short girl’s eyes lingered just a bit longer than others.
You continued drawing, shaking your head slightly. “That’s a weak concept. It’s not eye-catching, it’s predictable, safe, and it has limited themes. Sure, you could twist its traditional colour schemes but you can’t make a widely, unrepeatable fashion statement with a wedding dress.”
“Who says it needs to be a dress?”
“Your point remains invalid.”
He glared at you, clearly displeased.
“Well then have you got any ideas, since you’re the self proclaimed genius in this relationship—OW!” Sunoo rubbed his stinging upper arm.
“What the hell is actually wrong with you!”
“Oh, stop being a diva. I barely touched you. And we aren’t in a relationship.”
“You must be an imbecile, because a relationship is just a connection between two people, stupid. We’re literally partners.” He gave you a flat look.
“Anyway,” you resumed, ignoring him.
“My glorious idea is to go with the concept of extraterrestrial life—”
“Like that’s any better.”
“It’s widely interpretable, allows experimentation with shapes, colours and sizes, and most of all,” you leaned close to his face just to spite him with your next line.
“It’s interesting.” You finished, smugly.
He seemed unfazed at the proximity.
Nevertheless, you raised your brows in victory, throwing your arms to the side as if saying, ‘I told you so.’
Sunoo pinched his nose shut, making a disgusted face. “Gosh, your breath reeks. Did you even brush your teeth this morning?”
“Say one more word and this is going right up your ass.” You were being so deadass, hand twirling your ‘Hello Kitty’ ball point pen in your fingers like you were playing poker.
“Please, I insist.” You urged him.
He just scrunched his face and wrote down your suggestion with no further comments.
“—How does an extraterrestrial bride sound to you?”
“Sounds like utter bullshi—”
“I like your plan, except it sucks, so let me do the plan and that way, it might be really good.” He interrupted you with no care whatsoever.
You see, that’s the thing.
The both of you couldn’t be more different.
One reason why you were both constantly at each other’s throats growing up was because you were always at the polar opposite end of every possible spectrum.
When Sunoo liked pink, you liked blue.
When he wanted sparkles, you reached for mattes.
And when you wanted sequin, Sunoo would go through heaven and hell to opt for satin.
“Since we can’t agree on a concept we both like, let’s do one we can’t care less about.”
“But liking something makes you work harder.”
Sunoo glanced at you with little to no interest.
“That’s not how professionalism works. A professional puts their all in every project and can work with any criteria.”
You chewed your lip, hating how he was technically correct.
“What are you, Detective Conan?”
Huffing air out of your cheeks like a cartoon character, you slumped in your seat dramatically.
“Fine, let’s go with nature.”
He wrote down some words whilst you sulked next to him.
“Specifically, let’s do animals. I think that’s eccentric enough to keep your attention span running.”
You sat up a little higher on your seat.
“Hey, that’s not a bad shout, actually.”
He gave a satisfied smile and your brain farted.
“Ew.” You said on instinct.
“Don’t smile like that, it’s making me feel nauseous.”
He replied with a dramatised eye roll.
Returning to finally making some progress on your work, the reason as to why Sunoo was here had nearly escaped your mind.
“Why are you—no, how are you here, anyway? I haven’t seen you in years. Didn’t know you studied here.” You wrote as you conversed casually.
“Ooo, is that interest I’m smelling?”
Sunoo had shifted to give a small turn of his head to look at you, his jaw propped up by his palm, elbow on the table, a relaxed smirk.
You wrinkled your nose, eyes still focused on your book as you replied with little to no effort.
He hummed, turning back to his own sketchbook.
“I’ve always attended this institute, in case you were wondering. I’ve seen you around, actually. I just wasn’t enrolled in this specific program.”
The room filled itself with the sounds of pen strokes hitting watercolour paper and the blurred out conversations of other groups. A layer of comforting white noise.
“I was originally doing the Fashion, Beauty and Cosmetics course, but I found that too easy. I mean, I practically know beauty inside and out.” He pridefully raised his chin to show his sculpted face.
“So, I changed to something closely related but slightly more stimulating.”
You raised your head to steal a look at him.
“How did they even allow you to do that on the last year during the last term?”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
Fashion Design & Textiles was far from easy, so you concluded that if he was allowed to join this late so openly, he ought to have been more than qualified.
Or maybe the institute’s course director had lost their marbles.
Essentially, the outcome was the same; they ruined your comfort.
Sighing, you placed your pen down.
“I’m going to need your phone number. We need to arrange for fabric, styling, make up— though I’m sure with your prior knowledge that will be a breeze, and we need models.”
Luckily, the main showcase was to execute one primary piece with two other complimentary garments. This meant that you didn’t need to scramble about like a headless chicken, looking for 5 tall enough campus victims, like last year.
Three looks should be a piece of cake.
“With my prior knowledge… are you finally admitting I’m good at something?”
The two of you exchanged numbers, despite Sunoo initially gate keeping his phone like his life depended on it.
It’s not like you wanted to do this either, but you weren’t about to bank your future success on your hatred levels.
Even for you, that’d be low.
The rest of the day went by like a filler episode, and because your team had the likes of you in it, you got the majority of the planning done in no time.
Some suggestions had to be beat into agreement, Sunoo was hard headed after all, but you cracked the code of how to get what you want from the male.
Just annoy him until his ears bleed.
“I said we’re doing an Arctic fox, what the hell is this?” Sunoo lifted a design sketch of a garment that fully resembled the nature of a snow owl flapping its wings.
“Well, I said I liked the snow owl. So we’re doing the snow owl.” You snatched the paper out of his hands and straightened out the crumpled bits.
You were at the famous campus Café.
You hadn’t ordered anything because you were simply here for business, not to dilly dally. Sunoo ordered a mint chocolate and salted caramel frappé.
Your mind was already steeled to not let his opinions pass so easily.
You almost hesitated when you first walked into the building, seeing the sight of Sunoo’s heavy eye bags and what looked to be a gazilion loose sketches laid out on the table. For once he looked less like Ass Sunoo and more like a student running on delusion and spite, but you had a surprisingly strong resolve. So you kept it pushing.
Also, a whole week had gone by and all your texts regarding the project had been dutifully aired by the dark haired male, so you were in no mood to compromise, especially when your assigned partner wouldn’t listen or put in the work. No matter how heartbreakingly shattered your partner may look.
Taking a bottle of water out of your bag, you took a sip and swiftly twisted the cap back on. “An arctic fox is so painfully predictable.”
“Oh, and an arctic owl isn’t?”
You nodded as a matter of principle.
“Gosh, why do I even try?” He mumbled to himself whilst throwing his hands in the air.
“That’s what I’m saying, why bother?”
He nearly jumped you, but decided to be the bigger person.
“You know what, fine. We can do the stupid owl.” Sunoo frowned like a pre-schooler. His bottom lip jutted out in utter displeasure and his eyes brimmed with dissatisfaction.
You watched him quietly for a moment, then sighed ever so dramatically.
“Well, since we are doing animals as the main prompt, how about we pick arctic life as the theme?”
He looked up at you and you nearly flinched at the way his honey coloured orbs focused solely on you like there was no other presence in the room.
“In other words,” you started, averting your gaze to the barista with the name tag reading “Niki” who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but behind the counter. “We can do your cursed arctic fox idea.”
A solid silence lingered after your words and for a second you wondered if you said something wrong. But then you remembered that you don’t have the ability to be wrong, so you smiled to yourself with an odd look of serenity.
Your vivid eyes shifted to catch Sunoo’s reaction.
He was still looking at you, but the straw between his lips froze mid sip. His eyes widened a fraction, and he was looking at you as if you grew 6 extra pair of eyes.
“Okay then. Maybe not—” you rushed.
“—No! No… I like that idea,” he blinked slowly. “I think it’s cool.”
You looked at him with a plain stare.
“You don’t look like you think it’s cool.”
At your pointed expression, his senses seemed to have re-awakened.
With the corner of his lips lifting, he gently leaned back on his chair, eyes holding prolonged contact with yours.
“What? Do you want me to jump up like a frilled lizard and start applauding?”
He made a kissy face back and you’re sure that if you ended up ordering anything you would’ve spat it right onto his face from the sheer disgust you were feeling.
But since you didn’t have a drink to communicate your distaste with, you settled with lightly kicking him under the table.
His painful moan garnered a few judgemental glances from the tables nearby.
You pursed your lips in an attempt to stop yourself from laughing. As you reached for another sip of your water, your hand stopped.
“Oh—” You slowly got up from your chair, eyes drifting toward the restroom sign.
“I’ll be right back.” You started off, then turned back menacingly.
And disappeared behind the toilet door.
Sunoo was left sitting silently at the table, occasionally sipping his drink.
A tap made him glance over his shoulder.
A classmate. The short girl from last time.
“Hey Sunoo!” She smiled bubbly. Sunoo returned a cheery beam of his own.
“I couldn’t help but overhear a bit of your conversation. I’m sorry you got paired with her. She’s insane, isn’t she?” she asked, tone light, almost expecting agreement.
He looked at her for a moment. Then briefly glanced past her to where her partner sat, completely absorbed in his phone.
“I requested to work with her.” he said simply, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I wouldn’t worry about us though.”
He nodded toward her partner.
The girl forced a small laugh and turned away with a confused frown.
Sunoo’s fingers twitched around his drink. He raised his straw to his lips, his hold lingering a moment too long. He took a small sip.
His honey eyes scouted the vicinity just in time to see you returning, a small bounce in your step after feeling refreshed.
You dropped back into your seat.
The sound of pen on paper resumed.
“Hmm, we could have both our ideas and then make a main piece that brings everything together. How about an arctic hare?” You started jotting into your sketchbook, unknowingly smiling as you got carried away.
“Wait, shut up for a second, I need to think…” Sunoo mimicked a thoughtful pose, eyes lifting toward the ceiling in false immersion, fingers stroking his chin.
You threateningly tapped your pen against your open page at the carelessness of his words.
“An Orca.” He repeated, unimpressed.
“An Orca…” you echoed. “Why though?”
“Because we’ve done a land animal and a fowl.” He looked at you as if you were dumb.
“Yeah, water.” He said with false excitement as he went right back to sipping his extremely loaded frappé.
“Water, land and air. Huh, that’s actually—” you choked on your own words, physically unable to compliment him further.
“A brilliant idea. Yeah, I know. You’re welcome. Don’t mention it, not like you ever would.”
The two of you got to sketching each final piece by the end of the life span of Sunoo’s frappé.
It hadn’t been as difficult as you thought. Oddly enough, the process had been easier than with your previous partners.
Your fingers moved swiftly as you drew line after line.
“You’re quick.” You recall Sunoo commenting.
You pridefully smirked as a reply.
At a certain point, the task stopped feeling like a punishment and melded into more of a side quest accompanied by an annoying NPC.
“You’re blocking the sun.”
“What? Does it give you some sorta super power or something?”
You opted to reply, but naturally fell back into the pull of your sketchbook.
You both worked silently for another hour.
You hard carried the drawing part, as you were accustomed to the course more than he was. You were also a heavy perfectionist and insisted on sketching most of the art foundations yourself. You didn’t fail to include Sunoo’s ideas though, and he didn’t fail to draw his own version.
“These look great.” You beamed, hand holding out the three sheets of paper like they were your babies.
“Agreed. You did good.” You heard the man across from you say, suspiciously softly.
Shuddering, you clasped your chest in a hurry. Your heart literally stopped beating for half a second.
“Please don’t ever say that again, I nearly perished.” You hushed.
A short silence landed before Sunoo caught on to what you meant.
He blinked once. Then just stared at you strangely. He never encountered anyone that reacted that way to praise before.
“Weirdo..” he huffed a gentle smile. A smile that went very unnoticed by the likes of you.
Apart from the constant bickering, the next few weeks went swell.
You got your Snow Owl inspired two-piece done, just in time for you to work on Sunoo’s outfit; the Arctic Fox.
And yes, Sunoo got to have his darn androgynous dress.
In fact, the design was primarily his doing. You remember starting the sketch only for him to stop you mid stroke, his hands pulling out a revised drawing of his idea. This time, it had the inclusion of the comments you had made in the Café. “Not too feminine. Not too masculine.” You had said. Wanting to appropriately represent nature’s original beauty.
Your eyes squinted, getting a good look at the paper. He even added things you don’t remember mentioning. He perfected your collaborative vision.
Oh. You didn’t know he could do that.
Despite the fact that the dress almost uncannily reminded you of your teammate with its foxy nature, it was turning out to be outright stunning. Dare you say, it was almost too perfect.
Yeah, everything was going too well.
The both of you had now gotten the main trail of the garment done. Its nature resembling the mischievous movements of a fox’s tail.
The fabric adorned the most beautiful layer of shimmering beads and rhinestone, a line of faux fur coating the bottom line.
A harmonious cacophony of whites, splinters of black and the collaboration of silk, wool, tulle. You name it.
It looked like it was personally touched by an angel.
Ugh! You were so going to get that future you planned out.
Not to brag, but a good 60% of the whole thing was your idea, so you deserved to toot your own horn.
It was half way through the given time, and you were confident that you would be able to get the project done early. Granted, you still had the rendition of the Orca inspired dress to get to. But at the pace you were going, that’d be done with at least a day to spare.
Side by side, you worked through the garments in silence, needles pulling through fabric in a steady rhythm. Dare you say, you made a pretty decent team.
You managed to snag 3 out of 5 of the same models you borrowed last year, and, better yet, you barely had to talk to Sunoo when you met up to work on the clothes.
Surprisingly, he didn’t talk much when he was working. Not that you noticed.
Anyway, your life was looking up.
Gasping like someone stole your mom, you pointed an accusing finger at the figure near the foot of the dress.
What could only be described as a nearly done dress, now had the most devastatingly enormous tear known to man.
Your heart plummeted straight to your ass cheeks.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” You spat venomously, legs rushing into the scene, a bleak attempt to save what was already lost.
Before you crouched Kim Sunoo, face as guilty as can be, scissors in hand, jaw on the floor, legs shaking.
“No, no, NO! What have you DONE?!” You held parts of what used to be part of the dress, eyes shocked open in pure disbelief.
“I-I just wanted to trim the loose thread near the—”
“—You’re so useless! Do I have to do everything myself? Can’t I just leave you alone for one second?”
“I can’t believe you, you’d seriously go as far as sabotaging your own piece?”
“You heard me!” You snarled, snatching the scissors out of the male’s hands.
“How many times have you ruined my work in the past, huh?! I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you,” you heaved as your lips continue to throw venom. Sunoo could only look on in silence, his arms glued to his side in defeat.
“Do you… hate me that much? So much so that you genuinely believe I did this on purpose?” His voice came out weak and small, holding a hurting that you missed due to your fervent anger.
He looked at you, waiting for a response.
You breathed heavily, eyes glossed over with betrayal. Your face was hot, voice gruff from frustration.
Marching straight to his face with your bodies barely a centimetre away, you looked him dead in the eyes, purposefully ignoring the way your heart clenched in shame and how your orbs hesitated at your next words.
“I hate you.” Your voice was hoarse and your throat dry.
“I hate you so so much, Kim Sunoo. More than humanly possible. If it were only the two of us left on Earth, I’d find a way to end you. Now get the hell out of my sight, I need to fix the mess you made.”
You shoved him out of the way aggressively, arms scrambling to gather up the destroyed material. Your eyes began to water as you continued to pick up part of your work.
It was like a small part of you crumbled into nothing. You spent three weeks on this, hard earned sweat, stab wounds from needles, blisters from hot glue burning your skin. For him. For his piece.
You specifically took it upon yourself to manage the majority of the practical work due to Sunoo’s inexperience with varying materials, and the one time you start to think he’s grown into a sort of decent human being, he ruins everything and shoves it down your throat.
A single drop rolled down your cheek.
Bet he was laughing his ass off in another room, rejoicing at your downfall.
A sad sob escaped your lips, you wiped your hot tears with your sleeve as they increased.
You were so blinded by your own rage that you couldn’t even see the slumped figure just a few feet away from you.
Sunoo never left the room.
He stayed. A distraught look on his face, just watching you cry to yourself.
He didn’t mean to ruin your hard work at all, but there was no way you’d believe any of the words coming out of his mouth.
His shoulders slumped, his face falling to the ground.
He couldn’t bear to look on any longer.
With a reluctance as heavy as the weight of his mistakes, he turned on his heel and left without another word. The choked up cries still lingering past the soft thud of the door.
And then there was nothing.
You stared at it for a long time. The tear bared its teeth at you— an ugly reminder of the irreparable. It was mocking you. Telling you don’t have enough time to fix it and get the last piece done. It was calling you names. Incompetent. Useless. Failure. Yet your eyes refused to show any disdain towards it. Instead, you felt the most angry at yourself. At the way you lost your grip on your emotions, at the way you failed to avoid, or at the very least, control the situation, at the way you threw blame like a dart to a target.
Softly, the tip of your fingers found the edges of the damaged fabric. As if on autopilot, you caressed the sheets, smoothing and assessing them with the similar emptiness of a doctor when checking for a pulse they already know isn’t present.
You stayed there for a while, sprawled on the floor. Silent. The crook of your neck ached and your head began to thump aggressively.
You got up and made for the needle.
You could fix this—no. You had to fix this. There was no time to dwell on failure.
Swallowing the thickness in your throat, you reached for the dress.
The first attempt took approximately 57 minutes. You couldn’t make it to an hour.
You had plucked at the severed seams, unpicking the string with surgical precision, rethreaded, started again. Your hands were steady. Your face was blank. You partially held up the piece and you could feel your stomach churning.
The precision was off, the seam slightly puckered where your fingers had pressed too hard and the thread veered the smallest bit to the side. If you squinted with enough intention, you were sure you could likely make out exactly where the tear began and ended.
Barely noticeable to anyone else.
Absolutely unforgivable to you.
Second attempt. Your fingers moved fast. Sewing machine whizzing with no real destination. New threads. More fabric. New needles. More sweat.
You knew it. You didn’t have to look to know. The fabric sat dead on your fingers, almost like the previous magic it held managed to seep its way out through the cracks. A flatline on an ECG monitor. Unsalvageable.
You stayed on the floor, the trail of the dress on your lap, just staring at it. A hostage to time.
Eventually, you set it down. Carefully, the exact same way you place something down when all you really want to do is throw it out the window.
You took a 30 second break.
The third attempt you didn’t even finish.
You were so used to people parading about the third time being the charm.
You still believed it though. Why else would you have had so much hope?
The process was the same. A sickening cycle. You got halfway through and stopped. Simply…stopped. Needle suspended mid weave, long thread pulled taut between your teeth, the dress hugging tightly against the mannequin, waiting for you to do something. Anything.
Silence filled the workroom. Everyone else had packed up and gone home hours ago. The faint smell of new fabric, dye and glue. The exact kind of quiet only found in studios such as these. The quiet that you used to love.
You abandoned the needle in your hand on the table next to you, eyes unfocused as you mentally digested just how long you devoted yourself to this project.
It was hopeless from the start.
Like a puppet without a mind of its own, you stood up, refusing to acknowledge the dress.
Your legs walked without your consent, fingers lazily reached for the light switch.
Without sparing a glance backwards, you turned off the studio lights.
The room sat hollow after that. Nothing but the dull corridor lights bleeding past the crack of the door. It stayed still. No one in. No one out. Until a little past 10pm.
The door clicked open with a considerable amount of hesitation.
Sunoo stood in the frame for a while, hand still on the handle. His eyes peered into the darkness, slowly adjusting to the mess in the room.
The dress, in the middle, shining with mercy for attention.
He exhaled through his nose.
Without another word, he switched on the lights.
Every step closer to the piece unveiled a new layer of damage. Somehow, the dress looked worse than when he left it, and the sprawled scissors, torn scraps of material and stray needles served as hard evidence in knowing exactly whose hands had been on it.
Desperation didn’t always amount to success.
He knew that more than anyone.
He plainly stared at the joint work of chaos.
It was a mess, but sometimes messes made for the most surprising results.
He picked one of the loose needles on the table, and started moving.
Empty corridors, chilly workrooms.
Hours passed with the ease of the night.
The building retained that particular kind of quiet atmosphere that was exclusively reserved for 2am only.
Then, approximately a minute after 2, the door gently propped open.
A classmate, bag half on, clearly on their way home, stopped short when they saw the lights still on.
They leaned in the doorway drinking in the scene with that slow comprehension of someone whose brain is already at home and tucked away in bed.
They blinked very slowly.
“Dude. It’s 2am. Ain’t you going home?”
“In a minute.” Sunoo replied soullessly. He didn’t even know who he was talking to. His whole attention being pulled to the crystalline faux fur in his hands.
The other student didn’t move, they stayed standing, quietly taking a sweep of Sunoo’s condition. Beads of sweat gathered on his temple, his hair resembled defeat, the cream fabric of his shirt decorated with small rust coloured splotches that definitely weren’t there last time. And the bandaids—fingers, palms, and one on his cheekbone. How did that even get there?
The classmate gently shook his head, speaking more so to himself than Sunoo. A low whisper, “…Y’all sure you hate each other?”
Sunoo’s fingers faltered for a fraction of a second, then kept moving like the moment never came.
“Goodnight man.” The classmate called out. The door clicked behind him softly, leaving Sunoo to his isolated concentration once again.
The night rolled on in silence, a comforting sheet of company.
Morning came and students followed along with it. The corridor slowly filled with the shuffling sounds of early risers and the chirpy voices of classmates who were likely having a better day than most people.
Footsteps approached the door to the workroom. A click.
The conversation of a small group of female students, morning coffee in hand, stopped dead upon seeing him.
A timid beat of silence stretched on much longer than needed.
“Wha—have you been here all night?”
“Morning,” He repeated lightly, a polite smile etched on his lips. His eyes still refused to separate from the part of the dress that he was working on. The needle in his hand poked through flesh, drawing another bead of red. He didn’t so much as blink, continuing on with a scary level of focus.
The others shared a puzzled look before scattering off to their own stations to work on their own projects.
The rest of the day went on as normal, apart from your absence. It was almost like the place felt more amicable without your dictatorial energy buzzing with competitiveness. It was nice, yet a little uncomfortable. Or perhaps your classmates had just become a little too used to your terrorising presence.
It was the official end of the day. Around hour 19 for Sunoo. The workrooms had thinned out by then. The afternoon crowd slowly surrendering to the temptation of the evening, bags packed, stations cleared, the familiar end-of-day sounds of zips and goodnights.
One student remained longer than the rest.
They’d been a quiet comrade for a few hours, tucked away at the far end of the room with their own project. When Sunoo felt drops of red trickling down his nose, the student silently excused themselves to the toilet. The next thing you know, a small bundle of toilet paper was placed near Sunoo’s work station.
They were smart enough to say nothing. Decent enough to stay.
Eventually, they pushed back on their stool, the sound making Sunoo’s shoulders flinch the smallest bit.
Crossing the room, they stopped beside him. They looked at the dress, then at him. At the constellation of plasters and wounds. At the evidence of his hard work and determination.
Without a word, they set something down on the table beside his hand.
A singular strand of gum.
Sunoo glanced at it for a second. Then picked it up and tucked it away in his pocket, giving a small nod as a thank you.
The other student, Heeseung, pulled up a stool beside him and worked quietly for another hour, no conversation, just the shared sound of two people making something remarkable. Then he packed up, slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door.
Before leaving, he glanced behind him. A relaxed expression on his features.
This time, Sunoo actually looked up. Tired citrus orbs, dark circles, and that small smile of his that could make anyone’s day just a little more bearable.
The vision of humility, something that he had been avoiding deep inside for far too long.
Heeseung nodded, opening the door and walking out.
The door shut behind him.
And then it was just Sunoo again.
“Oh, for crying out loud.”
Your grumpy face met the surface of your pillow.
You skipped out on lectures, something you’ve never done willingly. The crawls of guilt crippled up your skin.
Sitting up on your bed, you glanced at the clock. It was probably dark outside.
What were you even doing? Moping around like an absolute loser.
You had to admit, you were appalled at your own behaviour. Wallowing in your room over a dress like a sad sack of potatoes. How laughable!
Kicking yourself off your bed with the momentum of your legs, you quickly stood up, an intimidating aura surrounding your form.
“What a crybaby,” you slapped yourself over the chest. “Acting like the world just ended and everything, psh!” You bit the fat on your forearm.
“How are you meant to survive the industry if you cry over the World’s most minuscule mishap, hUH?!”
Sudden banging from the wall beside you made you jump five feet in the air.
It was late. You were being too loud. And your neighbour was 2 minutes away from calling security on you.
You kicked the wall in retaliation.
Anyway, like you were saying. What kind of professional faints at the sight of a challenge? Embarrassing!
With a new found speed, you grabbed at your sewing kit, shoved it into your bag, and kicked the wall you shared with your neighbour once more (just for good measure) before dashing out of your apartment with crocs on.
What an absolute fashion statement.
You scampered over to your campus looking like that gremlin from the Lord of the Rings.
Desperate times called for desperate get ups.
The Fashion department always remained open for longer periods of time because the average fashion student didn’t know the concept of sleep. It seemed like you fell snugly under that category.
Unlocking the door to the large building, you ran to the elevator, cursed at it for being out of service, and made for the stairs.
By the time you reached the 7th floor you regretted your life decisions. Why was it that adrenaline lasted the equivalent of a YouTube ad.
“Urgh,” you swallowed a load of air, burping in the process. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” You leaned against the door to the workroom, your previous motivation fizzling out in real time.
Pushing your body weight on the door handle, you heard the soft click of the door. Your body came tumbling down on the other side with a sad splat.
“Oof, my rib!” You gripped at the edge of the door from the ground, ready to pull it off its hinges with your frustration.
But before you could do that, the gleam of something inside the dark room sent you blind first.
You squinted, hand going to shield your face.“What the actual fu—”
You stopped mid complaint, entirely enchanted by what you were seeing.
The dress. Finished. Breathing in all its glory, as if the recent instances never occurred.
You gulped, unable to hold the gasp that left your lips. Getting up from the ground, you made tentative steps towards the garment. Slow and steady, like a zoo keeper approaching a wild animal.
It was on full display, moonlight highlighting its curves like the shimmers from winter sunlight hitting ice water.
Absolutely, jawdroppingly stunning.
The tip of your fingers landed on the surface of the table. You stood face to face with the mannequin, the wonders of the material shining even better at closer range.
Glancing to the side, you caught countless stray papers being sprawled on the surface.
Some crossed out, others ripped in half, but none left unfinished.
Messy and sloppy. Highlights on every word, defeating the entire purpose of a highlighter. But he didn’t give up until he got it right.
The standout sketch was updated to match the dress’ current design.
Clumsy and clearly inexperienced.
Wonky by your standards but undeniably genuine and real.
You felt a small lilt in your chest.
He did this?…. Alone… This quick?
It was hard enough as an experienced fashion student let alone a rookie. This guy. Kim Sunoo… he had the potential of becoming a true fashion designer. You couldn’t believe you were admitting it but, he may have actually been…better than you.
You were still marvelling at the moon beams swimming through the materials of the dress when the door popped open.
The yellow industrial lights of the corridor broke into the darkness.
Box filled with spewing fabrics in hand. A makeshift scarf of light sequin around his neck. And an alarmed gaze that bore into your surprisingly calm orbs.
Even you could tell this much.
You weren’t new to people being scared of you, but usually it was due to your fiery and unorthodox nature.
But this was different. You felt it. Saw it. The guilt that still lingered, strangling his throat into a suppressed silence.
He was the culprit in this crime, and the jury stood before him unannounced.
He swallowed a thick lump.
“Erm,” you awkwardly started, gaze bouncing around everything in the room but him.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be here…”
Sunoo stood remarkably frozen, you on the other hand, were shifting your weight from one leg to the other: a dog needing the potty.
Without further thought, you spouted out the first thing on your mind.
“I didn’t know you knew those words.”
You pressed your lips together.
“Can I go first?” You inquired, putting your hand up like a child in class.
With eyes slightly wider than usual, Sunoo nodded once, his whole attention on you.
“Listen, I’m really sorry,” you paused, not entirely used to the phrase on your tongue. “I overreacted. I was supposed to be your confidant. Your helper. The teammate that you rely on.”
You ducked your head in shame. “I was supposed to be your partner…” you silently added, barely above a whisper.
“Mistakes happen all the time in this line of work, and yet, I conducted myself like an absolute rookie who’s unable to handle a singular unexpected event.” You sighed, frustratingly totalling your hair at the mere memory of your breakdown.
“I put all the blame on you when I was meant to reassure you. I was meant to guide you, but I was so blinded by my own selfishness. You trusted me, yet I shunned you and treated you like crap. So, once again,”
Your eyes rose to finally meet his. They stayed on you the whole time. You gulped.
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me. I would understand fully.”
A dead quiet overtook the air and you couldn’t help but immediately lose the confidence that you conjured up. Your eyes found the floor again.
Sunoo took a breath, carefully searching for the right thing to say. You flinched at the sound, ready to receive a load of hateful slashes and an unaccepted apology served stone cold.
Instead, you heard a short, playful scoff.
“Wow. Character development.”
You gaped at him, eyes blinking in offence, yet you couldn’t even begin to defend yourself.
“Now, if I may. I would also like to have heartfelt speech.”
Was he being serious right now?
“I’m sorry about the dress. It was truly my doing. I was too ambitious and eagerly tried to do something without discussing my decision with my teammate. So for that, I apologise.” He gave a small bow, an unfamiliar sense of humility latching at his words.
This wasn’t the time nor place, but the way he appeared so meek and vulnerable under the moonlight’s beam almost made him look… attractive—
“Granted, your reaction was admittedly overdramatic.”
You looked around for something to throw at him and he immediately ducked behind a nearby empty mannequin.
Not finding anything remotely adequate, you quickly grabbed at the spare mannequin near you as well, lifting off the ground just a smidge.
“Sorry, what was that again? I think I misheard you?” You smiled at him, tone venomous.
“I said I accept your apology!”
You placed the heavy weapon back down.
“Great! I don’t accept yours.”
Pointedly ignoring his complaints, you nudged your chin to the items he was carrying earlier which were now left on the floor near the door.
Sunoo’s eyes flitted to find yours and you had to clench your ass cheeks to not flee his eye contact like a weakling.
“The dress,” his voice interrupted.
“Wait…it’s not finished?” A disbelieved blink.
There was no way that absolute masterpiece of a dress wasn’t finished. No, seriously. You couldn’t possibly think of any necessary additions. It was practically perfect!
Your eyes raked over him in suspicion.
“What more could you possibly want to add?”
He just watched you like you said the most unhinged thing ever.
“Did that phrase really just come from you right now? I thought you loved the extreme?”
“There can never be too much. But sometimes too much is too much.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Just show me what you’re planning to do.” You sighed out, gravitating towards the box on the ground.
Sunoo picked it up before you could reach it, the sash still around his neck. Switching the lights on, he made his way to your shared station. You cluelessly followed close, a duckling to their mama bird.
Setting the stuff down, he took a seat behind the piece, crossed his legs on the floor and waved you over.
You quietly did the same.
Before he did anything else, he turned to you, a gentle confidence behind his eyes.
Fake it till you make it proved to work on most occasions. Then again, you really did hold a certain amount of trust towards him. Not astonishingly enormous, but it was there. And it had never been there before, or perhaps you never noticed it. So this time, you were going to latch onto it and see if it was worth keeping.
Your stare was intense, being filled with a sense of reliance that felt foreign to him. He’s known you for over half his life and he never saw you look at him that way until now.
The ghost of a smile adorned his lips and he had to quickly avert his gaze to avoid losing control of his expression.
A satisfied hum left him.
“Good. Then let’s get started.”
You were about to crap your pants.
Show day. The runway was ready. The audience was already seated, curiously following the various model’s paths as they posed and twirled in each team’s garments.
You furiously bit your lip, pacing around backstage. Sunoo and the two other models that showed up watched you in silence, too scared to tick you off even more.
“Where is he?!” You whisper-yelled in distress. A cold sweat bead licking the corner of your temple.
Sunoo tried to put on a wobbly smile but it ended up looking lopsided.
“I’m sure he’s on his way—”
“Your team is going up in 10.” A staff member called from the back before disappearing behind the curtain, and you could feel the life drain out of you. Sunoo had to hold the small of your back to keep you standing, the hand placement making your skin buzz in an unexplainable conflict of emotion.
The sound of a ping caught your attention.
You pounced at your phone, unlocking in record speed.
‘sorry, can’t make it in today something came up’
‘I’ll make it up to you though…’
The last text echoed in your head. His boyish voice circling your mind like an unending joke.
Your laugh only increased. Complete hysteria.
A frozen smile plastered your face and the rest of the models were left to look at each other in worry.
Your eyes drearily shifted to Sunoo’s.
Your mouth opening to add more fuel to your misery, but no words left your lips.
You stared at him for a long time.
His eyes. His nose. His lips.
Your gaze dropped to his skin-tight shirt, the material hugging his waistline.
A spark crossed your eyes.
Suddenly, you sprung to life, grabbing Sunoo’s upper arms with the force of a thousand men.
The whole piece looked like it was designed around him.
Sunoo blinked back at you. A completely innocent expression on his unsuspecting face.
He gave a short laugh, quietly asking. “…What?”
You pulled him to the side immediately, your eyes casting a brief glance at the clock.
Taking his hand in yours (to his surprise), you quickly guided him towards the fox-inspired piece.
You let go of his hand, staring at him with straight eyes.
He nearly choked on his spit.
Then, sputtering, he responded. “W-WHaT?”
“7 minutes till you’re up!”
You grabbed the hem of his shirt, already starting to pull it upwards.
“No time.” You were calm. Your voice completely relaxed, eyes focused.
No one would have ever been able to guess you were losing your mind a minute ago.
Sunoo saw the look in your eyes, his own honey orbs finding the dress not too far away.
With dread written all over his face, he started to squirm under your hold.
“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
“I didn’t even rehearse, I don’t think I even know how to walk straight—”
“I’m not cut out for this—”
Wide eyes found yours, the embodiment of insecurity.
His breaths slowed down. Gulping, he finally spoke.
“What if I ruin everything?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
Because he was right. There was no telling what would happen. No guarantee that all would go smooth sailing, and he had a pre-existent record of short-comings.
“You won’t. I trust you,” you said smoothly. And this time, not one lie was told.
Your peaceful tone acted as an anchor to his nerves. You continued.
Somewhere in the distance, the staff member called out again, the sound becoming muffled behind the intensity of your stare.
There was something behind your eyes. Something more than trust. Something that left Sunoo entranced and breathless.
Without a second thought, the words came spilling out of his mouth like water.
Good, because there was no time.
The two of you moved in sync, somehow managing to shuffle Sunoo into the dress.
The models helped with the jewellery and shoes. You got to tailoring the size with inconspicuous clips, and Sunoo’s fingers swam across his face with ease whilst doing his make up.
“1 minute! Let’s go everyone, let’s go!”
A crowd of arms rushed you towards the front. You hopped after Sunoo’s figure which was moving further away from you quicker than you anticipated.
Stretching forth your hands to fix the trail, you ended up tripping over something, completely face planting the floor.
Sunoo turned around instantly, concern written all over his face.
You sent him a firm thumbs up, body sprawled on the floor like a starfish, a tiny trickle of red to one of your nostrils.
And that was all he needed.
One by one, the models (and Sunoo) went up.
Each piece flowing like a carefully orchestrated storyline, one after another. You watched, crouched from behind the curtain. You gave a little prayer when it was Sunoo’s turn. Just in case.
Step after step. Sway after sway. It was like he was born to do this. Evidence of his nerves pooled lightly on the crease of his brows but it was hardly visible to the naked eye. Only someone accustomed to his expression would be able to tell.
It was almost like you knew him like the back of your hand now. Perhaps you’ve known each other for too long.
The show ended with the expertise pose performed by yours truly; Sunoo. All the models coming out to walk the finale.
The crowd cheered. People clapped. And you soaked in the sounds of what ‘could be’ in the future.
“You did so good!” You mused at the model that wore your owl inspired outfit, her joyous smile radiating off her features, making her look even more surreal.
You high-fived the second model. The orca inspired outfit was endorsed in black and white, a striking combination with his darker complexion.
He gave you a charming grin, nodding over at you before going in for a quick hug.
His steps were small and almost hesitant. Eyes not meeting yours.
You halted, taking him in slowly.
Taking a step closer, you manoeuvred your face, forcing his eyes to meet yours.
A small panic ensued, the male taking a small step backward. You held his arm, preventing him from escaping further.
Slowly, a small genuine smile softly overtook your lips.
Nothing but the overly loud beating of Sunoo’s heart. Something he hoped you couldn’t hear.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he blinked, releasing a breath.
You simply nodded back, turning away from him and starting to get your stuff ready.
“You were perfect too…by the way.”
You froze at the comment.
Your chest suddenly feeling light.
Clearing your throat, you straightened your back.
This wasn’t something you were used to. Not between the two of you, anyway. This whole cordial atmosphere was so… unfamiliar. Or maybe it wasn’t? Maybe it had just been presented as something else this whole time.
Unsure of what to say, you just threw another thumbs up.
At your unexpected gesture, he broke into a light fit of laughter. The sound carrying gently into your ears.
“You’re so… awkward.” He giggled again and you felt a small lament bubble up inside you.
“Oh yeah? Well you’re so…sO,”
“Well, whatever.” Was the weak response you decided on.
This was unlike you. Usually you’d be able to counter with ease. Usually his chuckles would be like nails to a chalkboard.
Usually… you wouldn’t be feeling this way.
Grabbing the rest of your stuff in a hurry, you mumbled under your voice, a false bite to your tone. “I’m going home.”
Sunoo’s soft chuckles were still present despite them fizzling out. He called out with a certain comfort that only the two of you had. “Wait for me!”
And you did. Oddly enough. It was like your body wasn’t responding to your brain anymore.
“Whatcha thinking about?”
“How ugly you looked in that dress.”
Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure you were.”
“I really was. Reminded me of the pig we used to look after in 5th grade.”
You raised an inquiring brow. “His name was Pint? Well, that’s very on brand. He was the most energetic pig I’ve ever seen in my life. Second only to you—”
You dodged the punch that was about to land on your arm, sticking your tongue out like a child.
“I’m surprised you even remember that.” Sunoo finally said after some quiet strides beside you.
You were nearing the intersection where you’d both go your separate ways.
Humming lightly, you cocked your head to the side. “I have a great memory.”
“I’d beg to differ.” Sunoo deadpanned.
“You always beg to differ when it comes to me,” you sniffled, crossing your arms over your chest. Your steps had slowed down to a tranquil strolling pace. “It’s like you’ve had it out for me ever since we were little.”
At your light tone, he softly chuckled.
Then, after a few seconds, you added. “Why did you hate me anyway?”
Your voice lacked the sarcasm it carried earlier. A tiny entrance of honesty being opened for Sunoo to explore. Small enough to keep your face, big enough for you to feel a tinge of vulnerability gnawing at your skin. And this time, neither of you backed away from the pressure of confrontation.
You reached the intersection, both your footsteps stopping, allowing the question to hang in the air between you.
Sunoo’s head tilted backwards. A small sigh left him, his eyes staring up at the sky.
At this, you turned towards him. You stood very still, a small expression of confusion on your features.
“I’m pretty sure you did, buddy.”
Sunoo snorted at the random nickname.
Covering his face with his hands to hide his smile, he shook his head, sparkling crescents blooming in his eyes. “I really didn’t!”
“Then why’d you always pick on me?!”
“Because…” Sunoo thought for a moment.
“…wait, you were the one who hated me!”
You looked at him incredulously, scoffing.
“I’ll have you know my mum told me never to start fights, but to end them. So that means it was definitely you who hated me.”
Sunoo flicked your forehead lightly, causing you to rub at the spot with both your hands. You glared up at him.
“I’m telling you, you were probably just jealous of my pretty privile—”
You sputtered out a boisterous laughter, wiping at a tear.
“Oh, please! You? Pretty privilege?”
Ignoring your unprecedented bullying, Sunoo tossed his hair, frilling up his fringe.
“6 year old you just hated seeing beautiful people succeed.” Patting your shoulder, he gave a mocking pout. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, darling.”
You couldn’t believe your ears. Blinking repeatedly, you shook your head in disbelief, shoving towards his side of the intersection.
“You better go home then, Cinderella, before the clock strikes midnight and you become ugly again.”
Walking backwards to keep his conversation with you going, Sunoo raised a pointed finger. “Um, that’s technically not how the story goes—”
“Just go home! Jeez!” You huffed, shooing him away before turning around and making for your house.
Without even realising his actions, Sunoo tenderly watched you walk away with a tiny smile. Your form becoming smaller and smaller as he stayed.
What you’d never know, is that he never hated you.
So long as you were annoyingly stuck to his side, and talking his ears off, he didn’t mind living with the constant migraine. Because when the migraine was as irritatingly addictive as you, it also had the strange ability of feeling like home.
But that was something that Sunoo knew you weren’t ready to hear yet.
So for now, the migraine was enough.
After all, he’d known you since he was six.
