It all started on a warm sunny day. The soft breeze tousles your hair, the smell of fresh and damp grass after rain filled your nose. You skipped to the swings, reaching them before anyone else could. You hopped on, adjusting yourself, gripping the chain of the swing set tightly. You began to swing yourself, your pace increasing more and more, reaching a decent height. That was until a mini, pouting, angry Han Jisung stood in front of you. Arms crossed and the complimentary furrowed eyebrows. You instinctively slowed down-- I mean, this kid just glared at you in VERY judgemental silence.
You asked with your young innocence, completely oblivious to the anger radiating from him.
He huffed out, ignoring your question.
You asked, confusion all over your small face.
"Yes. MY swing. Get off."
"That swing is red. My color. Go to another swing. This one is mine."
He continued with a stubborn, stubborn logic; it didn't make much sense, but his bratty little brain believed he had perfect reasoning.
He interrupted you, stomping his small foot onto the wood chips below pretty fiercely for a little boy, which made you flinch. In shock, and mostly fear, you hopped off immediately. You ran away, running towards your mom, who was talking to some strange lady who you had never seen before. Your small arms clung onto her leg, hiding you face away, eyes shut tightly. You began to sniffle, your grip progressively becoming tighter as you tried resisting tears. Both your mom and the mysterious lady stop their conversation, facing you.
Your mom said softly as she pat your head tenderly, her face slightly concerned. The strange lady's head tilts, curious.
"A mean-....A mean boy- He forced me to get off the swings- and-and-and-.!"
You panicked, holding back tears as you stuttered. Your mom tried soothing you.
Your mom tried to coax you into telling her, but the words just couldn't come out of your mouth. After a few minutes, and many, many hiccups, you managed to look up and over to point at a smug looking mini Jisung, happily swinging on 'his' reserved red swing. The strange lady facepalmed, sighing.
"Im so sorry that's... that's my son..."
The lady said, making your mom look up.
The lady screamed suddenly, making you jump slightly. All you see is the once smug look on Jisung's face which turned into an expression of intense fear; it almost made you giggle in irony. You watched as the mini Jisung walked closer with shame. His head down, as if he already knew what he did wrong. Which he did.
You slightly hid behind your mom, Jisung stood sheepishly in front of his. After lots, lots, and lots of yelling, you received an earful alongside Jisung as you listened to the long lecture he received. He hesitantly turned around and apologized to you quickly, a sour, forced expression on his face. His mom nodded and said her goodbyes to your mom, and you watched as Jisung stomped away--defeated but definitely holding a grudge.
Sadly, that was only the first of many time you had encountered Han, and now? He currently had just stolen your favorite pen. Your pen. Your red pen.
You groan, genuinely tired of him AND his antics. You smacked his shoulder, huffing, a slight pout on your face that you couldn't hide. Ever since Han started to magically follow you everywhere after the 'red swing incident,' he hasn't left you alone. Always teasing, always making comments, always stealing your stuff with the tired 'red is mine' excuse, ALWAYS irritating you just because it made him laugh.
"Nuh uh. This is mines y/n"
Han smirked, speaking slowly, which he knew irritated you more. You roll your eyes, snatching the pen back, continuing your writing in your journal. Of course this absolute brat had to be seated next to you.
"Hey hey... that's no way to take things from others, y/n~"
Han whispered, ALL up in your space, rightfully receiving a smack from you. Gosh, could he be any more annoying? You certainly hoped not. As you continued writing, slowly and carefully forming each letter with the permanent ink, Han noticed your intentional precision, like you were trying to perfect your hand writing. So what did Han do? He smacked your hand to make you scribble a random line over your work.
"oopssss. sorry sweetheart~"
Han said, rolling his eyes. You gasp softly, mouth agape, shocked at his AUDACITY.
You hissed through clenched teeth. You punched his chest, obviously not trying to hurt the guy, but still, if it did hurt him, you wouldn't mind. Sadly, it seemed he didn't care. In fact, he actually smirked even harder, as if that was possible. It only infuriated you more.
Han could still feel the lingering sting of your punch on his chest, and honestly? He liked it. Not the pain of course- in fact you had a pretty strong swing for your size- but the fact that those 4 seconds were spent with your eyes on him. Not the notebook. Not the teacher. Not any of your friends. Not anyone else, but him.
From anyone else's view, the Han Jisung that was currently leaning back in his chair, was just a bored, bratty seatmate. In reality, his heart was racing in a way that contradicted the annoying smug look on his face.
"Gosh she's so easy to rile up.."
Han thought, biting his lip as he grinned, watching you try ALL methods to try to remove that obnoxious red line he caused. Jisung knew how annoying he was, which only made him all the more annoying- I mean, the whole 'red is mine' thing has been OVERLY worn out since they were what, five? Yeah, red was his color. His favorite color. That was surely established, but was it really THAT important to him? No. Did he NEED the color red to survive or something? No, what he did need was your attention. He needed the silence to be broken. When it was silent, he felt invisible. When you were focused on your "perfect handwriting," he felt like he was just a background character in your life. But when he teased you? When he called you "sweetheart" just to see that specific spark of indignation in your eyes?
he pleaded silently, even as he opened his mouth to say something even more annoying.
"Don't look at the paper. Don't look at your friends. Just stay mad at me for five more minutes so I don't have to wonder if you've forgotten I exist."
"y/n, you know, you're so cute when you're mad~"
Han doubles down, receiving another one of your glares, and another punch.
But to Han? Every punch was worth it.
Seeing that look on your adorable face? His victory was certainly worth every one of your punches.
It was the next day, and you had almost managed to forget about Han's never-ending antics. You had walked through the halls with a delicate red bow pinned in your hair, feeling actually quite nice—that was, until you got home, and walked into your room.
Standing in front of your mirror, you realized your hair was empty. The bow was gone. You didn't even have to think about where it went. You already suspected the one and only thief who would've dared to snatch it.
You groaned into your pillow, so aggravated by Han's childishness. You hated it. You hated Han. You hated his stupid brattiness, and most of all, you hated seeing him in everything that was red. It was like that stupid color was a magnet, drawing the absolute menace to you no matter where you went.
But as you stared at your reflection, touching the spot where the red bow used to be, a tiny, annoying thought crept in. Did you really hate it?
You didn't know. And that was the most frustrating part of it all.
Meanwhile, in Han's room? He was laying across his bed, holding your red hair bow up in between his fingers. Instead of doing his homework, he observed the hair bow as if it was an absolute precious artifact. He could faintly smell the scent of your sweet perfume- or maybe your shampoo? He didn't know, but he did know it smelled like you. Did he seem like a creep right now? That was certain, but he couldn't help it. He saw the bow neatly tucked into your hair during second period, only one thought in his mind.
"Red. That's mine. That color belongs to me."
Yeah, it sounded like some messed up mantra, but if the color belonged to him, maybe, just maybe, if he was lucky enough, she could too? His logic still hasn't changed since like kindergarten.
"She's going to kill me tomorrow,"
he muttered to the empty room, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he sighed, resting the bow over his heart. The only part of you he could keep without you pulling away.
Han debated giving the bow back, telling himself 'one more day' but he knew he was lying, he knew he'd cherish this silly red colored bow.
The next morning, Han was leaning against his locker, his thumb hooked into his pocket where your red bow was safely tucked away. He was waiting for you, counting down the milliseconds until he saw that specific flash of red-tinted anger in your eyes.
"Whatcha got there, Hannie?"
A bright, deep voice chirped beside him. Han jumped, nearly hitting his head on the cold metal door. It was Felix, leaning against the locker next to his with a knowing, cat-like grin.
"Nothing, Lix. Go to class,"
Han muttered, trying to look bored. But Felix wasn't moving. His eyes dropped to Han's pocket, where a tiny sliver of red lace fabric was peeking out. Before Han could react, Felix's hand darted out with lightning speed, snatching the bow.
Han hissed, his face flushing a deep, traitorous pink. Felix held the bow up, inspecting it with a hum.
"Wait... isn't this y/n's? I saw her wearing this yesterday. Did you seriously steal a hair bow, Jisungie? That's low, even for you."
Han lied, reaching for it desperately.
"It's red. Red is mine. You know the rules."
Felix laughed, a rich, low sound that echoed in the hallway. He dodged Han's grab, holding the bow high above his head.
"The 'rules'? Hannie, you've been using that excuse since like preschool. Just admit you're obsessed with her already. You're like a bird collecting shiny things for a nest."
Han growled, but the way his heart hammered told a different story.
Felix teased, leaning in close.
"That's why you're blushing. That's why you haven't taken your eyes off the hallway entrance for ten minutes. You're waiting for your 'enemy' to come punch you again, aren't you? You're a total goner."
He muttered, snatching the bow back, but glancing back to see if you were anywhere near. Felix snickers and sees you walking towards them both.
"oh I'll leave you to it! Shes alllll yours!"
Felix said as he walked backwards, away from Han and the incoming ticking bomb- which was you.
You stopped right in front of him, skipping the "hello" and getting straight to it. You crossed your arms, mirroring the exact pose he'd used on you at the swings all those years ago.
Han let out a shaky breath, his eyes darting to Felix's retreating back as if wishing his friend would come back and save him. He quickly recovered, though, leaning his back against the locker and giving you that signature, lopsided smirk—the one that usually made you want to scream.
"Hand what over, sweetheart? You're gonna have to be more specific. I've got a lot of things. Books, a phone, a very charming personality—"
you hissed, stepping into his personal space.
"I know you have it. It didn't just 'fall out' in the middle of the hall, and I know you were behind me in second period."
Han's smirk widened, though his cheeks were still a faint, betraying shade of rose.
Han teases, irritating you further.
You were cut off by his hand gently maneuvering the bow into your hair awkwardly, you froze.
"Atleast put it somewhere I can see it.."
Han mumbles, fumbling with the hair accessory, his voice was almost soft, and so quiet. That was new. You stand awkwardly as he finally decides the placement was up to his standards. His fingers brush over your hair, fixing your face framing strands delicately.
"There... all set, y//n.."
He whispers, pushing you away as he hides his face into his locker, as if looking for his books.
"Go to class already... delinquent.."
He mutters, the sound of his voice muffled by the literal locker he was stuffing his head into. Stunned, you actually walk to class, eyes slightly wide, in complete silence. Somehow, his actions affected you so heavily. Like his words- or actions- OR HE just rest your brain into mush so easily.
The second the hem of your skirt disappeared around the corner of the hallway, Han's cool, nonchalant posture collapsed like a house of cards. He didn't just step into his locker; he practically dove into it. The metal door clanged against his shoulder as he buried his face into a stack of overdue textbooks and a spare hoodie that smelled faintly of laundry detergent.
The scream was muffled by a stray gym shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut, the image of your wide, stunned eyes practically burned. Why did I do that? Why did I touch her hair? Why am I like this?! His heart was doing a frantic, rhythmic drum solo against his ribs—the kind of beat he usually reserved for a high-speed rap verse, but this time, he couldn't find the lyrics to match. His fingertips still felt tingly, the sensation of your soft hair and the smooth fabric of the red bow haunting his touch.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid,"
he whispered into the dark, cramped space of the locker. He had intended to be the same old annoying Han. He was supposed to smirk, make a joke about how red looked better on him, and maybe snatch your pen again for good measure. But when you stepped into his space—when he saw that tiny, frustrated pout and smelled that scent he'd been holding onto all night—his brain had simply short-circuited.
"Jisungieee? You okay in there, buddy? You looking for Narnia?"
Felix's voice drifted over from a few lockers down, dripping with far too much amusement, you could practically hear his smirk. Han stiffened, his face heating up. He slowly retracted his head from the dark locker, blinking at the bright hallway lights, his hair a complete mess from his internal crisis. He slammed the locker door shut with a loud bang, ignoring the way his hands were still shaking.
Han snapped, though there was zero heat behind it. He shoved past his friend, staring intensely at the floor as he headed toward class. He could still feel the phantom weight of the bow in his pocket, but now, knowing it was back in your hair—placed there by him—felt a thousand times more permanent.
he muttered to himself, biting his lip to hide a smile that was absolutely, 100% genuine.
"She's actually going to kill me."
And for the first time, he decided he was okay with that.
To compensate for his unexpected soft moment at Han's locker, he decided to keep BOTHERING you during your next class together.
He repeats over and over again, grinning like an absolute idiot.
You snapped, slamming your fist down onto your desk, not THAT strongly but it was still surprising, though you couldn't help but smile slightly at your own antics.
Han leaned back in his chair, his menacing smile softening into something much more dangerous—something real, before opening his mouth.
he started, his voice dropping into that smooth, confident register that always made your pulse skip.
You mumble, but let him continue.
"That red swing? Back in kindergarten? I think my 'bratty little brain' wasn't actually obsessed with the color. I think I just wanted the girl who was sitting on it to look at me."
You blinked, your hand still frozen on the desk.
"But since I'm a 'delinquent' and a 'brat,'"
he continued, his smirk returning as he leaned closer until your shoulders brushed,
"I've decided to officially update the rules. The pen? Yours. The bow? Yours. But you? You're wearing red today, y/n. And we both know what that means."
He reached out, his fingers grazing the red lace in your hair one more time, his gaze intense enough to make your brain feel like actual mush.
"Red is mine. Which means you're mine. Got a problem with that?"
For a second, he looked like the ultimate smooth talker—the boy who had finally won the twelve-year-long game. But then, the silence lasted a bit too long. You saw it happen in real-time: the confident spark in his eyes flickered, his ears turned a shade of pink that rivaled your bow, and he suddenly looked like he wanted to bolt. You could see him cringe at his own words, making you giggle. Which made him even more doubtful.
"I mean—uh—only if you want! Or—or you can just punch me again! That's fine too! Whatever works!"
He scrambled to open his textbook, his hands shaking. He ducked his head low, hiding behind the cover, his voice a muffled, panicked mess.
"Just... don't say no, okay? My ego is already in the locker."
You looked at the boy hiding behind his math book, his messy hair sticking out in every direction, and realized that for the first time in twelve years, you didn't want to punch him at all.You reached over, snatching his red pen off his desk with a small smile.
"Fine, Jisung. But I'm keeping the pen."
Underneath the desk, you felt his hand tentatively find yours, squeezing it tight,
he whispered, finally peeking over his book with a grin that was 100% genuine.
"But the girl? She's definitely staying mine."
