Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The soft breeze drifted in through the half-open window, brushing gently against pages and skin. Murmurs buzzed low across the classroom — some voices tangled in gossip, others in distracted chatter — while a handful of students were intently focused on the teacher's words.

Wonwoo was one of them.

He didn't mind the names people called him — nerd, bookworm, teacher's pet. They'd nudge him and ask if he even had a life outside his textbooks, laugh when he didn't reply. But Wonwoo never paid attention.
Because the truth was, he didn't care.

All he wanted was these two years — just these two years — to study hard, ace every exam, and make it to a good university. He wanted to study literature. To lose himself in words that didn't hurt the way real ones sometimes did.

It had only been six months since he joined this school, and so far, he liked it better than his last. The environment was better. The people were tolerable. The teachers were kinder.

Everything was okay.
Well — almost everything.

That voice.

The sudden call from the doorway made him freeze. He didn't have to look up to know who it was. His shoulders tensed automatically.

Yes, there lay the reason behind his "almost" perfect life.

Wonwoo had been silently thanking the universe for letting him go through the morning without crossing paths with him. But clearly, fate wasn't on his side today. All he had hoped for was to keep his guard up and stay invisible—at least to that one person.

"Mingyu? You do realize you're twenty minutes late," the teacher said, pausing mid-sentence.

"I'm sorry, sir. Morning practice ran late. I'll make sure to be on time from tomorrow," came a breathless voice from the doorway.

That voice was already etched into Wonwoo's bones.

The teacher sighed, clearly used to this. He gestured for Mingyu to take his seat, understanding that the boy was training relentlessly for the upcoming championship. Still, Wonwoo's eyes stayed firmly on the board behind the teacher. Not once did he allow himself to glance in Mingyu's direction.

Mingyu, on the other hand, paused for the briefest moment when he noticed where Wonwoo was seated—then purposefully averted his eyes and made his way to the back of the class, settling far away like the proximity itself burned.

The class resumed, and Wonwoo buried himself in his notes, jotting down points as if the ink could drown out everything else. But there was something—some weight he felt on his shoulders. A pull from behind. Like someone was watching him. Observing. Breathing down the air he was in. He shook the thought away, blaming his overthinking. He wasn't the type to entertain delusions.

What he didn't know was that someone was indeed watching him.

Try as he might, Mingyu couldn't focus on the board. His eyes had a mind of their own—and they kept slipping back to Wonwoo.

How the boy absentmindedly bit his lip when he focused too hard. How his glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose. How his brows furrowed ever so slightly when he didn't understand something—and relaxed when he finally did. The way his fingers tapped the pen rhythmically while he worked through a thought.

It was maddening.

Mingyu hated himself for it.

Hated the way his eyes knew the pattern of someone he was supposed to loathe.

He noticed everything about Wonwoo.

All too well.

And that—was exactly what tore him up the most.

After what felt like an eternity to some students, the bell finally rang. The teacher gave a few important instructions regarding the upcoming exam next week and exited the room. Wonwoo had just stood up, planning to head outside for some fresh air, when a couple of girls surrounded him with doubts about the lesson.

It was no surprise—many students admired him for his academic excellence. But for some, it went beyond that. There was something in his calm demeanor, the quiet way he carried himself, and his innate kindness that drew others in. Wonwoo, with his neatly kept hair, sharp features behind those glasses, and his ever-serious gaze, was a classic handsome nerd—and an unintentional heartthrob.

Not that he paid attention to any of that. Truthfully, he didn't have many friends—except for Hoshi, his neighbour. Hoshi's loud, carefree personality was the complete opposite of his own, but they got along surprisingly well. Maybe it was because Hoshi never tried to change him, never tried to force him into conversations or parties, and yet always looked out for him in his own chaotic way. Wonwoo knew Hoshi genuinely cared for him.

Outside of that, Wonwoo usually kept to himself. Unless someone approached him for academic doubts, he rarely engaged in conversations.

Like now—he simply started answering the girls' questions, voice quiet and focused.

That was, until he suddenly stumbled, caught off guard by a light shove from behind.

He barely managed to regain his balance when he heard a familiar chuckle from the side—and he didn't need to look to know exactly who it was.

"Watch where you're going, Kim," Wonwoo muttered sharply as he staggered back a step, barely catching his balance.

Cause he knew well who it was. That scent—faint cologne mixed with the arrogance of someone too used to getting his way—was unmistakable.

Mingyu turned, not fully, just enough to throw him a sideways glance. His mouth curled into a smirk.

"Well, it's not my fault you were blocking the doorway, basking in the attention of your little fan club." His gaze flicked briefly to the girls who had scattered awkwardly at the sudden tension.

Wonwoo let out a small, humourless laugh, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. "Please. Don't even get me started. If anyone knows how to soak in the spotlight, it's you. You walk around like the hallway is your red carpet—from your father's money to your flavour-of-the-week girlfriend." His voice was even, but there was an edge to it. A cold, deliberate jab.

That did it.

Mingyu's smirk faded. He stopped mid-step, turned fully this time, and began walking back toward Wonwoo—each footfall heavier, slower, more calculated. The casual air around him dropped like a curtain being drawn shut.

"You sure you want to keep talking like that, Jeon?" he asked, voice low. There was no joking now.

Wonwoo didn't flinch. His back was straight, his hands still at his sides, but his jaw was clenched tight. "I'm just stating facts," he replied quietly, eyes not leaving Mingyu's.

Mingyu closed the remaining space between them until they were nearly chest to chest. Too close. Too tense. His next words came out as a whisper, meant only for Wonwoo to hear.

"Don't act like you know me. You don't. So stop pretending you do."

A beat passed. Then another.

Wonwoo's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes flickered—briefly, like a match being struck and blown out too fast. "Well, I don't want to," he murmured. Then, without another glance, he walked past Mingyu and out the door, leaving the air between them heavy with something unresolved.

The classroom, which had briefly quieted down at the confrontation, slowly resumed its usual buzz. A couple of students exchanged knowing glances, while others barely raised their heads. This wasn't new. Mingyu and Wonwoo clashing was practically a part of the school's daily schedule.

Some students had even split themselves into imaginary sides: Team Mingyu and Team Wonwoo. It was childish, sure, but when you're sixteen and bored out of your mind during math class, drawing battle lines over two attractive boys with unresolved tension was as thrilling as things got.

But what most of them didn't know—what even Mingyu and Wonwoo didn't quite understand themselves—was that this daily sparring held more than just rivalry. There was something else simmering underneath. Something neither of them had the courage—or stupidity—to name.

Not yet.

If you asked Mingyu when all this hatred started—he'd probably say it was the very first day Wonwoo joined the school.

It had only been six months.

Mingyu had approached him with a casual smile, trying to be friendly. But instead of a polite reply, Wonwoo had stared him down and said,

"I don't want to associate with people like you."

Spat the words, actually—right in his face.

The worst part? Mingyu had no idea why. He hadn't even done anything yet.

That was their first conversation.

And that was all it took.

But if you asked Wonwoo when the hate began, he'd just shrug and say,

"Hate at first sight. No reason needed."

Maybe it was the way Mingyu carried himself—oozing charisma like he owned the world. That smug smile. That irritating charm.

The way girls seemed to fall over themselves for him.

The way he flexed both talent and toned muscle on the football ground like it was a runway.

Everything about Mingyu felt loud, too bright, too perfect.

It rubbed Wonwoo the wrong way. Completely.

So he decided, right on day one—he didn't want to be near someone like that.

He hated him.

Or maybe...

He hated the strange, unexplainable flutter in his chest whenever Mingyu smiled.

And that was worse.

Classes passed one after another, and soon, it was lunchtime.

Wonwoo settled into his usual spot in the canteen, quietly unpacking his lunch when Hoshi plopped down across from him with his usual loud energy.

"Dude, I heard you and Mingyu argued again today?" Hoshi asked, eyebrows raised as he unwrapped his meal.

"Oh, please," Wonwoo sighed, picking at his food with his chopsticks. "Can we just eat peacefully without his name being dragged into it?"

Hoshi chuckled but didn't let it go.

"Seriously, Wonwoo... I don't even get what your issue is with Mingyu. He actually seems like a decent guy to me. I mean—sure, he's a bit of a show-off and gets into fights sometimes, but I've never seen him be rude to someone without reason."

Wonwoo paused, his gaze still fixed on his lunchbox.

"Don't believe everything you see, Hoshi," he muttered. "Some things are deceptive. It's always better to stay cautious around people like him."

As if on cue, a loud crash rang through the canteen—glass shattering, a chair scraping across the floor.

A chorus of gasps and squeals echoed around the room.

Wonwoo turned toward the commotion, already knowing what—or who—he'd find.

Sure enough, Mingyu launched himself at the boy—someone Wonwoo barely even recognized—and threw a punch that sent the crowd into a frenzy.

His teammates stood by, cheering instead of stepping in.
And the rest of the students?
They were enjoying the spectacle like it was a lunchtime show.

Wonwoo's stomach twisted at the sight.

Wonwoo couldn't stand it.

This wasn't just rage. It was disgust.

Using your strength over someone who couldn't even defend himself? Using your father's name like a shield, knowing no one would dare touch you because of your power?

It was pathetic. It was cruel.

And it was so... Mingyu

It made Wonwoo sick.

The fight only escalated—until someone finally stepped in.

Jeonghan, the senior and co-captain of the football team, pushed through the circle of students, grabbing Mingyu's arm. "Leave him. This is school — you'll get into serious trouble!"

But Mingyu didn't stop.

His fists kept swinging — like something inside him had snapped, like he couldn't hear anything anymore.
Jeonghan had no choice but to pull him harder, yanking him back with both hands.

Mingyu's body still buzzed with leftover adrenaline, knuckles aching from the blow, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

But all of it came to a standstill the moment his eyes met Wonwoo's.

Across the crowd, through the chaos, their gazes locked—
and held.

Mingyu saw it—clear as day.

The anger in Wonwoo's eyes.

The disgust.

The confusion.

And something else—something quieter, buried just beneath the surface.

But what caught Mingyu off guard wasn't what he saw...
It was what he felt from being seen.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, couldn't read Mingyu at all.

His stare wasn't taunting or smug like it usually was.

No smirk. No fire.

Just... something else.
Something unreadable.

Was it frustration? Regret?

Or maybe—just maybe—the ache of being misunderstood one too many times?

Whatever it was, it wasn't loud.
It was still. Quiet. Almost vulnerable.

And neither of them looked away.

Seconds passed.

No one around them noticed the weight of it.
But in that moment, neither boy moved—
like their gaze alone was holding them in place.

Jeonghan's voice calling Mingyu snapped the spell, and just like that—
the eye contact broke.
And so did the air between them.

Wonwoo watched silently as Jeonghan dragged Mingyu away—into an empty room, out of sight.
And maybe, just maybe, a little further out of reach.

Hoshi's voice pulled Wonwoo back to the present.
"Guess... things are indeed deceptive."

Wonwoo didn't reply.
He couldn't.

Yes, with what Mingyu had just done, he looked every bit the bad boy—the rude, arrogant jerk everyone warned about.

But in those few fleeting seconds, when their eyes met...
Wonwoo had sensed something else.

Something that didn't quite fit the image Mingyu painted with his fists.
A flicker of pain, maybe. Or something softer, buried beneath the anger.

But he didn't want to think about it.
Didn't want to dig deeper.
Didn't want to involve himself in something that might shatter the balance of his carefully built world.

So, he simply nodded and picked up his chopsticks again, eating in silence beside Hoshi—
like nothing had happened.

Chapter Text

Classes rolled by in a blur until the bell rang for everyone's favorite subject—well, almost everyone's—P.E.T. Class.

A chorus of excited chatter filled the room as students leapt from their seats, practically marching toward the school grounds. Wonwoo, however, let out a low sigh of annoyance, dragging his feet as if he were being sent to detention rather than a game.

It wasn't that he disliked sports; in fact, he was good at running, and his tall frame carried him faster than most. What he hated was the feeling of not belonging—the way groups would form effortlessly, friends clumping together in easy laughter while he lingered at the edge, uncertain of where to go, who to join. 

More often than not, he became nothing more than a quiet spectator, watching others from the sidelines.

If only I could trade this hour for the library, he thought, imagining the crisp pages of a book under his fingers, the silence of ink and words instead of the chaos of bouncing balls and shouting voices.

Perhaps the heavens had finally taken pity on him—because just as the class spilled out into the corridor, a cool breeze drifted in through the open doors, followed by the steady rhythm of raindrops. In seconds, the sky opened up, sheets of rain pouring down over the playground.

Disappointment echoed through the hallway.

"Ugh, seriously?"

"Why now?"

A chorus of groans rose up, students glaring out at the weather as though nature had betrayed them.

But while their smiles dimmed, Wonwoo's lips curved faintly upward. Relief flooded him—no running, no ball games, no forced spectating. His mind was already flipping through which subject he might use this time for quiet study, when a sharp voice broke his moment of joy.

"Students!" the teacher called over the noise. "Since it's raining, we'll move indoors. You can gather in the assembly hall and play indoor games."

And just like that, the class's mood flipped back into cheer. Excitement bubbled up again as everyone rushed toward the hall, their shoes squeaking on the tiled floor. Wonwoo, meanwhile, felt his brief happiness crumble.

In no time, groups had sprawled across the wide assembly space. Some crowded around a carrom board, slamming the striker with competitive grins. Others drew chalk grids for hopscotch, while a few huddled with a skipping rope, giggling as they tried to keep count. 

And there was Wonwoo—standing awkwardly near the edge, hands buried in his pockets, eyes darting from one group to another. He debated slipping back to the classroom, maybe sneaking in before anyone noticed.

"Wonwoo!"

The sudden call made him blink. A classmate jogged over, slightly out of breath, smiling. "We're one member short. Can you please join us?"

For a moment, Wonwoo hesitated, unused to being asked. Then a small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. At least, for today, he wouldn't have to stand alone.

"Sure," he said softly, stepping forward.

"Look who I brought here!" the classmate announced, his voice carrying as he tugged Wonwoo toward the group seated in a circle on the polished assembly floor.

A ripple of reactions broke out immediately. Half the students cheered in surprise, while the other half exchanged wide-eyed looks of disbelief.

What's with this reaction? Is it a miracle that I agreed to play?  Wonwoo wondered, utterly confused.

But the moment his gaze swept over the circle, he realized exactly why they were so astonished. His eyes locked on one particular person—Kim Mingyu.

Mingyu, too, stared back at him with raised brows, looking just as baffled for a split second. No one had ever seen the two of them in the same game, the same group—hell, Wonwoo had spent the last six months making it a point not to even glance in Mingyu's direction during activities.

 Yet here he was, standing opposite the one person he least wanted to face.

And just as quickly, Mingyu's shock melted away. His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk, the kind that reminded Wonwoo of a predator who had just spotted an easy prey caught in his net. 

Wonwoo's stomach knotted.

Suppressing a groan, he looked around, found the nearest empty spot, and lowered himself into it. His body went stiff, every nerve taut with unease.

The tension snapped into full panic when one boy clapped his hands and declared, 

"Alright, let's start! I'll spin the bottle!"

Wonwoo froze. His eyes widened, and a chill prickled across his skin. Wait. No. It can't be what I think it is.

The bottle spun on the floor, whirling in dizzy circles as laughter and anticipation filled the air.

They're not... they can't possibly be playing...

His heart sank as realization hit him. Truth or Dare.

Seriously? This is considered an indoor game now?

From across the circle, Mingyu leaned back, arms crossed, smirk deepening as though he had been waiting for this exact moment. Wonwoo's throat went dry. 

Of all games, it had to be this one. Of all opponents, it had to be him. Mingyu never missed a chance to get under his skin—and in Truth or Dare, the possibilities were endless.

I'm doomed, Wonwoo thought grimly, feeling like a mouse that had voluntarily walked into the hunter's trap.

Before he could protest, before he could even think of an escape route, the bottle slowed its spin, wobbling to a stop in front of a boy on Wonwoo's left.

"Truth," the boy said with a grin, and the game began.

The circle buzzed with mischief, eyes sparkling as the students leaned together, whispering and giggling about what question to throw next. Wonwoo, sitting stiffly at the edge, felt like he'd accidentally stumbled into a den of wolves.

Then came the question.

"When was the last time you touched yourself?"

The group erupted in laughter, some covering their mouths in mock shock, others leaning forward eagerly to hear the answer.

Wonwoo's jaw nearly dropped. Wait... what? His ears burned hot. They ask things like this? Out loud?

A knot tightened in his stomach. He gulped hard, already imagining his turn. No way. I can't. I'd never say things like that—not to anyone, not here. 

The thought alone made his chest tighten. His mind scrambled for an escape: maybe he could just pick dare instead. But then again... what if dare turned out to be worse?

His thoughts churned so much that he barely heard the poor boy's stammered confession, drowned out by the group's laughter and teasing. Wonwoo only sat there, shoulders rigid, fingers curling nervously around the fabric of his pants.

Can I just... leave? His eyes flicked around the circle, scanning for a way out, for any chance to excuse himself quietly. But then his gaze collided with another pair—Mingyu's.

Mingyu was already watching him, dark eyes glinting with amusement, lips tugged into that infuriating half-smile that said I see you. There was a teasing edge there, but something sharper too, like he was savoring every flicker of discomfort on Wonwoo's face.

Of course he'd enjoy this. Of course. Mingyu loved nothing more than seeing him thrown off balance. If Wonwoo tried to leave now, he knew exactly how it would go—the smirks, the whispers, Mingyu never letting him forget it.

What do I even do now? Wonwoo's chest tightened, frustration mixing with dread.

His spiraling thoughts snapped back into the present when the next player—one of the girls—chose, "Dare." Instantly, the group came alive again, voices overlapping, gossiping, scheming what task to assign.

Finally, one bold voice rose above the rest.

"Do some kind of physical touch with your secret crush."

The group whooped and gasped dramatically, clapping their hands like they'd struck gold. Wonwoo's heart skipped a beat. Even dares aren't safe?

But what shocked him more was the girl's reaction. Instead of backing away or protesting, she nodded quietly, a shy flush creeping across her cheeks. Wonwoo admired her for a split second—brave, straightforward, unlike him.

And then—his eyes went wide when she shifted to her feet. Slowly, she walked around the circle... and stopped right beside him.

"Wonwoo," she murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her voice almost trembling. "Would you... help me?"

Wonwoo froze, his mind blank, every instinct screaming why me?!

The circle instantly erupted with loud "Oooooohs," the sound bouncing off the assembly hall walls. Her friends squealed and giggled, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear.

"She actually took the chance to do it with her crush!"

Wonwoo froze, his mind blank. Crush? Me? He didn't know what to do or say, but as everyone's eyes bore into him, he slowly pushed himself to his feet. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, louder than the laughter around him. 

Physical touch... what exactly are they expecting?

The girl looked up at him with flushed cheeks but steady eyes. "I—I've liked you for a long time," she admitted, voice wavering with courage. "So... I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or do anything you don't want to. Not just for a game."

For the first time that evening, Wonwoo's lips curved into a soft smile. Her words carried a quiet sincerity, and though the situation felt suffocating under so many watchful eyes, he couldn't ignore her honesty. 

Without thinking much further, he stepped closer and wrapped an arm gently around her shoulders, pulling her into a brief, careful hug.

The girl stiffened for a second in surprise before she returned it, hugging him back with shy warmth.

The room erupted. Cheers, claps, and exaggerated whistles filled the air. A few classmates laughed in disbelief, some even muttering, 

"No way, Wonwoo's actually being friendly—"

And others, less impressed, groaned, "Boring! We were expecting something spicier!"

Wonwoo, however, shut it all out. In that little bubble of closeness, he lowered his voice so only she could hear. 

"Thank you for liking me," he whispered sincerely. "And I'm sorry I can't feel the same. But... I do wish you the best."

Her eyes glistened faintly, but she gave him a genuine smile, nodding in quiet understanding. When they pulled apart, she walked back to her spot, her friends fussing around her with giggles and squeals.

Wonwoo exhaled, relieved it was over—though a strange heaviness lingered in his chest. 

And just like that, the game resumed. Wonwoo lowered himself back into his spot, still trying to steady his breath. This wasn't new to him—he knew some girls had taken an interest in him before, a few had even confessed. 

But being confessed to like this, in front of nearly the entire class, and him actually hugging her... he couldn't believe all of it had happened within the span of fifteen minutes.

A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips as he replayed her words in his head. They had felt so real, so sincere. For once, he felt... seen. Loved, even, if only for a brief moment.

Almost unconsciously, his gaze drifted in search of her. He spotted her easily—already laughing with her friends, her smile brighter than before, as though the weight of her secret had been lifted. Wonwoo's lips curved in quiet fondness before he forced himself to look away—

And froze.

Because his eyes collided with the last person he wanted to meet—Kim Mingyu.

Mingyu wasn't just looking. He was staring. Gone was the mocking glint, the sly smirk that always lingered at the edges of his mouth. 

In its place was something heavier, sharper, as though Mingyu were studying him too closely, seeing too much. His posture was loose, almost lazy, but there was a tension in the way his jaw clenched and his gaze didn't waver.

It wasn't anger exactly. It wasn't teasing either. But it unsettled Wonwoo all the same.

Wonwoo's chest tightened. Why is he looking at me like that?

It almost felt accusing. Like Mingyu had seen the hug, heard the whispered words, and was silently demanding an explanation.

The weight of Mingyu's stare didn't loosen. It was suffocating. It made Wonwoo shift uncomfortably, his palms turning clammy as he tried to look away. 

But curiosity betrayed him—his eyes kept flicking back, only to find Mingyu's gaze still locked onto him, sharper each time.

What did I do? Did I... step somewhere I shouldn't? Or... does he... like her?

The possibility made Wonwoo shift uncomfortably, his throat tight. But before his thoughts could spiral further, the game demanded attention again—the bottle spun across the floor, wobbling before it pointed directly at Mingyu.

The circle erupted in cheers, hoots, and claps, as if everyone had been waiting for this exact moment. Mingyu's eyes flicked away from Wonwoo at once, sliding back toward the group with practiced ease.

"Truth or dare?" one of the boys asked eagerly.

"As far as I know, Mingyu always chooses truth," another chimed in knowingly.

But Mingyu tilted his head, lips curving just slightly. "Dare."

The single word dropped like a stone into the circle. The noise died instantly, surprise rippling through the group before it exploded into excited whispers.

"Wow... let's make it more interesting then," one boy grinned, rubbing his palms together.

The gossip swelled, voices layering over each other, everyone eager to come up with something daring enough for the class's star player. Until one suggestion cut through the chaos—loud, mischievous, and cruelly perfect.

"Kiss the person you hate the most in our class."

Chapter Text

"Kiss the person you hate the most in our class."

The words landed like a bomb. Silence swallowed the hall. For a brief heartbeat, no one dared to breathe. 

For a fleeting second, Mingyu's eyes widened, a crack in his usual confidence, before narrowing again, while Wonwoo's gaze shot to the floor, throat tight, pulse racing.

No. This can't be happening. This can't be happening.

Everyone knew who Mingyu hated the most. Him. Jeon Wonwoo.

He couldn't even lift his head to look at anyone. His chest felt tight, like the air had thinned out around him.

Panic bubbled in his stomach. There was no escape, no clever dodge—he was caught in the center of the room, and the crowd's expectant eyes pressed down like a physical weight.

"Wait, but what if that person is a boy?" one of the boys laughed, his voice echoing through the tense silence. "Are we gonna witness some gay romance?"

Laughter broke, a ripple of murmurs passing.

"So what?" another said. "Doesn't that make it more interesting?"

"Don't do it, Mingyu," a girl's voice chimed in, anxious, protective. "You don't have to. You're not gay."

Someone else immediately countered, "It's just lips touching, not like it means anything. No big deal."

The room tensed, everyone leaning forward, murmurs buzzing like electricity in the air. Half the students were eager to witness the kiss of the legendary sworn enemies; the other half—Mingyu's fangirls—bristled at the very idea of it, especially with a boy.

But Wonwoo heard none of it clearly. The sounds all blurred into a distant hum, muffled by the pounding of his own heartbeat. His thoughts ran circles—ways to escape, excuses to leave, any crack in the floor to disappear into. 

Relief tugged faintly at him, though: he knew Mingyu. Mingyu would never agree to this. Atleast not with him. 

Yes, there was no way on earth Mingyu would actually kiss Jeon Wonwoo.

Please, Wonwoo begged silently, just decline. Make a joke out of it. Don't make this worse.

But... Mingyu stayed quiet. Too quiet.

Wonwoo's chest tightened further. He dared a glance up, just slightly, and instantly wished he hadn't.

Mingyu wasn't looking at anyone else. He wasn't laughing it off or rolling his eyes. He wasn't even blinking. He was just... staring. Straight at Wonwoo.

It wasn't the usual mocking glare either. No, this stare was heavier—like Mingyu was silently declaring something, like he'd just spotted something of his being touched by someone else.

And under that stare, Wonwoo suddenly felt very, very small.

"Come on, Mingyu, come on."

"A dare is a dare."

Wonwoo could hear the voices closing in on him, echoing like a chant.

"You guys aren't even gay—it's no big deal!" someone scoffed.

No big deal?  Wonwoo's fingers curled against his knees. His throat was tight, the air around him too thick, like it was trying to choke him. His pulse raced so violently it almost hurt.

He didn't dare meet anyone's eyes—especially not Mingyu's. Please, just say no. Just laugh it off and say no. But the silence stretched. Mingyu wasn't saying anything, and that silence was worse than any answer.

I can't... I can't stay here.

Before the pressure could crush him, Wonwoo shot up to his feet, mumbled something that didn't even sound like words, and left. He could feel stares burning holes into his back, hear faint whispers chasing him down the hallway.

His footsteps echoed down the hallway until he stumbled into the washroom, shoving the door shut behind him.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too harsh, too white. He turned on the faucet with trembling fingers, the rush of water filling the silence.

Off went his glasses, and he splashed his face once, twice, over and over until the cold sting grounded him, until the frantic rhythm of his breathing began to slow. Droplets clung to his lashes, sliding down his cheeks, his hair dampened at the edges.

He braced both hands on the counter, bowing his head, water dripping onto the porcelain sink. His chest still rose and fell unevenly. It felt like he wasn't just running from the dare—he was running from something inside himself, a voice, a memory he didn't dare let surface.

So lost in the fight with his own thoughts, he didn't hear the door open. Didn't notice the quiet click of the lock.

"Jeon."

The voice was low, hoarse—familiar.

Wonwoo startled before whipping his head around. And there he was. Kim Mingyu.

Close. Too close.

Mingyu's tall frame loomed in front of him, the space between them already stripped away. Wonwoo's heart leapt into his throat at the sight, his body stiffening as if cornered.

"Kim, what are you doing here?" Wonwoo asked, forcing his voice to stay steady, though the tremor at the edge betrayed him.

Mingyu didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, one hand braced on the counter beside Wonwoo, boxing him in. The faint scent of soap and cologne clung to him, sharp and dizzying in the cramped space. 

Wonwoo felt his back press into the cold marble as if the counter might swallow him whole.

Mingyu's gaze roamed over him—his pale face, the damp strands of hair clinging stubbornly to his forehead, the droplets sliding down his temple. 

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Didn't know you were such a coward, Jeon," he drawled, voice carrying an almost lazy edge.

Startled by the closeness, Wonwoo's chest tightened. His breath hitched slightly, but he straightened, forcing himself to meet Mingyu's gaze. 

"I'm not," he replied, the words coming quicker than he expected, almost too sharp.

Mingyu's low chuckle vibrated against the small, tiled room. "Oh? Is that so?" His eyes lingered on Wonwoo's pale face, the subtle flush along his cheeks, the way his chest rose and fell a little too fast. 

"Then why were you running from the dare... from me?"

Wonwoo's stomach knotted, and for a fraction of a second, his hands twitched against the counter, as if he could push away the suffocating closeness. 

"I... I was just uncomfortable," he admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

The moment they left his lips, Wonwoo felt the shift in Mingyu's gaze—gone was the teasing sparkle, replaced by something heavier, raw, and almost feral. 

Mingyu leaned a fraction closer, the warmth of his breath brushing Wonwoo's temple. His dark eyes bore into him, searching, measuring, and, in their depths, a flicker of jealousy lingered—subtle but undeniable.

"Why?" Mingyu's voice was softer now, but it carried a weight that pressed down on Wonwoo's chest. "Aren't you... comfortable when you were hugging the other girl?"

Wonwoo's pulse thudded painfully. His mind raced. 

Is he... jealous? 

Is he actually interested in her? Or is this some kind of revenge because I hugged her? 

Every instinct told him to back away, to put space between them, but there was nowhere to go.

He clenched his fists, trying to steady himself. He couldn't—wouldn't—let Mingyu have the upper hand. He shot back, sharp, controlled, teeth almost grit through the edge of his words:

"That's not gonna explain why you're here now."

Mingyu's expression didn't waver, calm and unreadable, but the air between them thickened as he inched closer. 

"You know me, Jeon. I don't like losing... and I don't like giving up." He leaned in further, closing the last inches like a predator scenting victory.

The sudden closeness made Wonwoo stumble back slightly, hands brushing lightly against Mingyu's chest in a feeble attempt to create distance. 

"I... I don't understand what you're talking about," he said, voice tighter than he intended, heart hammering in his ears.

But Mingyu didn't budge. His dark eyes pinned Wonwoo in place, unflinching, measuring, almost predatory. He leaned just enough that Wonwoo could feel the warmth of his body, the faint brush of his sleeve against Wonwoo's arm. Each small movement magnified the intensity of the moment.

"I am here to finish what was started.", He said slowly, deliberately, the words curling around them like fire.

Wonwoo's breath hitched. His mind stumbled over the meaning of those words. Finish what was started? Did Mingyu... mean the kiss? Was he really here to—?

It made no sense. Mingyu hated this, hated the very idea of being forced into something like this. So why was he pushing it now? 

Was it really just about not losing a dare? Was his pride that important to him... that he'd cross even this line?

Wonwoo swallowed hard, forcing the doubt away. He wasn't going to let Mingyu see him falter—not now, not ever. 

"That has nothing to do with me, Kim," he said coldly, hoping his voice sounded firmer than he felt.

But Mingyu didn't back down. His smirk only deepened, a spark of challenge igniting in his gaze. "On the contrary, Jeon... it has everything to do with you."

Wonwoo didn't answer. His silence wasn't surrender—it was survival, scrambling for a way out, for something that would let him escape the chokehold of Mingyu's presence. But the longer he stood there, the more his chest constricted. 

For Mingyu, this might be nothing. He could toss kisses around at parties, laughing them off as games. To him, maybe it really wasn't a big deal.

But for Wonwoo? It was everything. A line he didn't cross. A truth he'd buried too deep to even name. And now Mingyu was dragging him right up to the edge of it.

Mingyu leaned in again, the smirk playing on his lips while his eyes—dark, unreadable—held Wonwoo hostage. The distance between them shrank until Mingyu's warmth pressed close, his shoulder brushing against Wonwoo's arm like a spark deliberately lit.

Wonwoo's fists curled tight at his sides. Every instinct screamed: move, escape, push him away. But his body betrayed him, locked in place, pulse hammering so loud it drowned out the faucet's dripping.

Why can't I move? His thoughts spun, frantic. Why does it feel like he's... daring me?

He felt everything—too much. The subtle tilt of Mingyu's head, the flash of amusement in his gaze, the faint trail of cologne clinging to him, warm and maddening. A pull twisted inside Wonwoo, sharp and relentless, threatening to snap the last thread of restraint.

He shut his eyes for a heartbeat, desperate to gather himself. Breathe. Focus. Don't let him win. Don't—

When he opened them, Mingyu had pulled back just slightly—not away, not really, just enough to dangle the illusion of retreat. His smirk stayed carved in place, infuriatingly victorious.

"Oh, Jeon," he murmured, voice low, velvet-edged, "how I love to see you so defeated like this."

Wonwoo's stomach knotted hard. Heat climbed his neck, not just from anger, not just from shame, but from something he didn't dare name. Is he... just playing with me? 

Every nerve in his body coiled tight, his heart pounding so violently he was sure Mingyu could hear it. His breaths came shallow, uneven, like he was teetering on a precipice with no way back.

"Don't worry too much, Jeon." Mingyu's voice was smooth, mocking, but there was steel beneath it. He stepped closer again, dark eyes locked on Wonwoo, not giving him room to breathe. 

"I'll just go out and tell them you're too scared to kiss... or maybe too scared to kiss me. Afraid you might catch some feelings, huh?"

"I—I'm not gay," Wonwoo blurted.

Mingyu's smirk deepened, head tilting ever so slightly. "Mmm... neither am I. But it's got nothing to do with gender, Jeon. A kiss is just a kiss. You can do it if you have the guts." His voice dropped, slow and deliberate. "Just admit it—you're a coward."

"No, I am not!" Wonwoo shot back instantly, voice sharper than he intended, heat flooding his cheeks.

"Yes, you are," Mingyu pressed, his tone low, deliberate, every step he took closing the air between them. Like a predator toying with prey, enjoying the cornered panic in Wonwoo's eyes.

"No! I am not!" Wonwoo repeated, but the words trembled at the edges, panic and defiance colliding in his chest.

The air between them grew too tight, too suffocating, and something inside Wonwoo snapped. That unbearable pressure—humiliation, anger, the relentless push of Mingyu's taunts—broke through his restraint in one reckless surge.

"Yes, you—"

Before Mingyu could finish, and before Wonwoo could think twice—before his mind could catch up, before fear or logic could drag him back, his hands shot forward on pure instinct. Fingers curled into Mingyu's collar, yanking him close. 

The world blurred—the pounding of his heartbeat drowned everything else—and in a rush of breathless defiance, Wonwoo pressed his lips to Mingyu's.

It was quick, sharp, clumsy—a peck that lasted no more than a heartbeat. But the shock of it reverberated like lightning.

Mingyu froze. His eyes widened, dark pupils blown wide in genuine surprise, as if the boldness—the audacity—had knocked the air out of him. He hadn't expected it, hadn't even been given a chance to react. 

Yet even in that fleeting second, the softness of Wonwoo's lips lingered against his, leaving behind an electric hum that shot straight through his veins.

Wonwoo jerked back as if burned, chest heaving, pulse hammering so violently it drowned out every other sound. What did I just do? The question tore through him, relentless. Adrenaline crackled under his skin, hot and dizzy, a whirlwind of panic tangled with something far more dangerous—exhilaration. 

His lips still tingled, his body still thrummed, and the weight of it pressed down on him like a secret too heavy to hold. Did I... did I really just kiss him?

He couldn't bring himself to look at Mingyu. He didn't dare. Because if he did, if he caught even a flicker of expression—mockery, anger, or worse, amusement—he knew it would shatter him. So he kept his gaze fixed on the floor, nails digging into his palms, the truth clawing inside him: he had crossed a line, and there was no undoing it.

"I–I'm not a coward," he muttered, the words tumbling out uneven, lips trembling as he bit them hard. "You can... tell them the dare's done." His voice cracked at the end, betraying more than he wanted, more than he could afford to show. 

And before Mingyu could even breathe out a reply, Wonwoo bolted for the door, fleeing the suffocating air of the bathroom.

The slam echoed in the silence Mingyu was left with. He didn't follow. He couldn't. His legs felt rooted, his body locked in place while his mind scrambled to catch up with what had just happened. Slowly, almost mechanically, he let his back slide down the cool tiled wall, breath leaving him in uneven bursts.

He blinked once. Twice. His fingers lifted on their own, brushing against his lips—still tingling, still haunted by the fleeting softness of Wonwoo's. 

His jaw tightened, annoyance flaring, but it wasn't for Wonwoo. No—it was for himself. For the way his heart was racing like a fool's, for the way his thoughts refused to stop replaying that single second over and over.

"What the fuck just happened," he hissed, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead as if he could rub the moment out. 

His lips curved into a faint, frustrated smirk, though his voice betrayed a crack of something rawer, something he would never admit out loud. "You should stop messing with me, Jeon..."

Meanwhile, the moment Wonwoo stepped out of the restroom, he pressed his back against the wall, trying to breathe—slow, even breaths, but they came out ragged, uneven. His chest rose and fell like he had just run a marathon, and in his head, a single voice screamed over and over: What the fuck did you just do, Jeon Wonwoo?

Yes, Mingyu had pushed him, cornered him, taunted him until his blood boiled. Yes, he had wanted to prove he wasn't a coward. But of all things... a kiss? He had wanted to shut Mingyu up, but not... not like that. 

His hand flew up to his mouth, fingers brushing across his lips, as though trying to erase the ghost of it. The softness, the warmth—it lingered stubbornly, refusing to be forgotten.

"It's fine. It's fine," Wonwoo muttered under his breath, forcing his feet forward. "It was just the dare. That's all. Mingyu got what he deserved. Calm down. Just calm the fuck down." He repeated the words like a mantra, but the frantic drum of his heartbeat betrayed him.

When he finally rejoined the assembly area, he froze. The group was scattered, no longer huddled together. Laughter spilled across the hall, but it was about something else entirely—other games, other distractions. Wonwoo blinked, confusion prickling.

He spotted one of his classmates nearby and forced his voice to sound casual. "Hey, did you guys start a new game already?"

The boy scratched the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. "Actually... after you left, Mingyu also got up and walked out. Said something like, 'I'm bored. This game is ridiculous.' So... people just drifted off and started other stuff."

Wonwoo's nod was slow, deliberate, but his insides twisted violently. On the outside, he kept calm, but inside? Chaos.

Mingyu left right after me? So he wasn't even going to finish the dare? Then why— Wonwoo's thoughts tangled, spiraling in every direction. Why follow me? Why corner me in the restroom? Why say he wanted to 'complete the dare' like it was some damn matter of pride?

The realization hit, bitter and stinging. He was just messing with me. Like he always does.

Wonwoo dragged a hand through his hair in frustration, tugging at the strands, his teeth gritted. "Idiot," he hissed under his breath, low enough that only he could hear. 

"Fuck you, Kim Mingyu." The curse tasted sharp on his tongue, but it didn't stop the heat burning in his chest, a mix of shame, anger, and something else he refused to name.

It was supposed to be a game, nothing more. Yet in that reckless moment, something irreversible slipped through the cracks. Somewhere between the push and pull, between pride and provocation, a line neither of them had meant to cross was broken. 

Anger had sparked it, stubbornness had fueled it — but what lingered now was something far more dangerous than either dared to name.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Don't ask Wonwoo how the following days went after that awkward encounter in the school bathroom. Each morning, the tiled corridors felt narrower, the air heavier, as if the very walls knew what he had done. 

He avoided Mingyu relentlessly. In classrooms, his eyes never strayed towards Mingyu's desk. In hallways, he kept his footsteps brisk, pretending not to notice Mingyu's presence.

Not out of anger. Not even out of hate—that had always been there. No, it was because he simply didn't know how to stand in front of him anymore.

He had realized it now. Mingyu hadn't stepped into that restroom to fulfill a dare. He had only come to tease, to sink his claws in the way he always did. And it was Wonwoo who had cracked first, who had turned a harmless provocation into something that couldn't be undone.

A kiss—no, just a peck, less than a heartbeat. But even a fraction of a second had been enough to poison him. Even a single drop of venom spreads. Even a single drop can kill. That's what Wonwoo believed.

Meanwhile, for Mingyu, the days dragged like lead. He tried to bury it, that stupid accident, the brush of lips with the boy he had sworn he despised. But the memory clung to him like humidity in summer air—dense, sticky, impossible to shake off. 

No matter where he went, the memory followed. In classrooms, the faint scratch of chalk against the board blurred into static, drowned by the echo of that fleeting touch. Among friends, laughter rang loud, yet all Mingyu heard was the thundering silence that came after Wonwoo pulled away. Even on the football field—his sanctuary—the crisp scent of grass, the slam of his cleats, none of it could keep the ghost of that peck from brushing against his mind.

At times, Mingyu couldn't decide what unsettled him more—the fact that the kiss had happened at all, or that it had ended before he could even react. The thought of a second chance, of what he might have done if given another heartbeat, made him mutter curses under his breath, furious at himself for letting his mind wander there. 

And still, his eyes betrayed him. They sought Wonwoo out more often than before, snagging against the curve of his lips—when he stood at the front of class to announce something, when he leaned over someone's desk to help, when he sat across the cafeteria with Hoshi. Each glimpse felt like a trap, a slow unraveling one.

Mingyu despised it - the weakness, the distraction, the way a single kiss had unraveled the order of his days. 

He despised how even teasing, his favorite weapon against Wonwoo, had turned dangerous. Every taunt that rose to his lips now carried the taste of that kiss, and he couldn't bear it.

But their little game of avoidance came to a sudden halt when fate decided to intervene. The literature teacher stepped into the classroom, a sheet of paper in hand, and pinned it onto the notice board. It listed the groups of four for the upcoming project—and as though the universe had a cruel sense of humor, Mingyu and Wonwoo's names were neatly written under the same team.

The teacher gave a few instructions before leaving, the door clicking shut behind her. Mingyu was about to stretch and stroll out when he noticed it: an odd shift in the atmosphere. Students whispering behind cupped hands, sneaking glances his way, smirks tugging at lips.

His irritation simmered. He knew that look—they were waiting for a show.

Right on cue, two of his so-called friends slouched into the seats beside him, grinning like hyenas. Mingyu didn't bother hiding his annoyance.

"Dude, we've got some great news," one said, voice dripping with mockery.

"Yeah, congrats. You'll be spending the next two weeks glued to your favorite person in class," the other added, cackling.

Mingyu didn't even blink. "What the hell are you idiots talking about?" he asked, his tone flat, uninterested.

They exchanged a glance, snickering louder. "You're with Jeon. In the same group. For two weeks. Enjoy your time."

That earned them a glare, sharp enough to wipe the smirk off their faces for a split second. If Mingyu already found them irritating on normal days, now he wanted nothing more than to shut them up permanently. But before he could, his eyes flicked to the side.

Wonwoo was walking toward him.

Not because he wanted to—no, the stiffness in his stride gave him away. Wonwoo hated this as much as Mingyu did. He clutched the papers on his hands too tightly, his jaw locked, eyes refusing to flicker anywhere but straight ahead. It was obvious he'd come to talk about the project, nothing more.

Mingyu's friends, of course, couldn't resist. They leaned in and whispered something vile under their breath, earning themselves a deathly glare from Mingyu. He didn't even bother responding; instead, he turned his attention on Wonwoo, masking every thought behind his usual cocky indifference.

"Jeon, I'm honoured that you graced my desk with your presence," Mingyu drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. 

On the surface, he looked composed, but his eyes betrayed him. They darted—lingering on Wonwoo's forehead, his sharp nose, even the curve of his ear—anywhere but the one place he was determined to avoid: his lips.

"Neither do I want to, but I had to," Wonwoo shot back, his tone clipped, hoping Mingyu's smirk would falter. It didn't. It only deepened, curling like it fed on Wonwoo's irritation.

"Anyway... what's the matter?" Mingyu asked lazily, though both of them knew the answer already.

Wonwoo tightened his grip on the papers, forcing his voice steady. He refused to let Mingyu win this round. "It's with respect to the project—"

"I don't care about the project, Jeon," Mingyu cut him off without hesitation.

And that—that—was exactly one of the reasons why Wonwoo hated him. Mingyu never let things go as they should. He always had to twist things his way. But Wonwoo wasn't about to back down, not against him.

"Well, I'm not here to ask whether you care," Wonwoo snapped back. "I'm here to tell you what you have to do. It's a group project, if you remember." His voice carried an edge sharp enough to draw blood.

"Jeon," Mingyu leaned forward now, his smirk sharpening, "as I said, I don't care. Besides, I don't have time because I—"

"But I do, Kim." Wonwoo's words sliced through his sentence. His tone was firmer, louder. His jaw clenched, eyes burning with quiet defiance. "The others do too. It's not our problem that you don't want to contribute. So shut your pretty excuses and finish your part."

That last phrase made Mingyu's expression twist. The smirk wavered for the first time. His chair scraped against the floor as he leaned closer, voice dropping into a growl. 

"Pretty excuses? You think my championship match is a pretty excuse, huh?"

The words cracked the air between them, pulling the attention of a few classmates. Whispers rose, but around their desk, silence pressed heavier. 

Wonwoo stiffened under the weight of those stares. He hated attention, hated being caught in the spotlight like this. His eyes dropped, hands curling into fists at his side. But his voice still pushed through, strained and simmering. 

"Then what about us? How could you always be this selfish?"

"Selfish?" Mingyu's laugh was bitter, hollow. His patience snapped like a dry twig. "Fine. Let me be selfish. I care about what matters to me first. The rest? None of my concern."

The words cut deeper than they should have. Wonwoo didn't want to sound harsh, but he couldn't stop himself. If Mingyu's match was important to him, then this project was important to Wonwoo. Their priorities clashed like fire against water.

"Then why don't you just tell the teacher yourself?" Wonwoo muttered, his tone tight and brittle. "I'll make it clear that we'll work as a team of three. Honestly, it'd be a relief not to deal with you."

"Thanks, Jeon." Mingyu's retort came quick, but it lacked its usual teasing bite. Instead, it landed heavier, carrying an edge that almost sounded like pain. "It'd be better for both of us if I stayed out of your way".

He stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor, and walked off without another glance.

Wonwoo watched him go, his throat tight for reasons he couldn't name. "Idiot," he muttered under his breath, but the word rang hollow. His chest twisted strangely, unsettled by the flicker of something raw in Mingyu's expression before he walked away.

And the next few days passed like any other—

everyone was caught up in the rush of preparing for the upcoming exams.

So was Wonwoo.

He sat at his desk, quietly immersed in making notes, his focus unshaken—
until a few papers landed abruptly on his desk.

Thrown.

Wonwoo looked up, startled, only to find someone towering beside him.

"Why the hell did I get an 'F' on this assignment, Jeon?" the voice bit out, sharp and accusing.

It took a second for Wonwoo's mind to register what was happening.

And just as quickly, his patience began to fray.

"What?" he asked, still seated, voice cool.

"I said," the boy repeated—louder this time, "why the fuck did I get an 'F' on this? I'm pretty damn sure I submitted it yesterday."

Wonwoo scoffed, clearly unimpressed.

"Exactly. Yesterday," he replied flatly. "It was due the day before yesterday."

Mingyu was fuming.

"So what? You handed it to the teacher yesterday, didn't you?" he snapped.

"She wouldn't have known it was late unless you said something."

Wonwoo's eyes didn't flinch.

"I just did my duty as class president, Kim. You're the one who can't follow simple rules," he said coldly, pushing back his chair to leave.

But Mingyu's anger had already spiraled past reason.

He grabbed Wonwoo by the collar, yanking him close.

"I know you don't like me, Jeon," he growled, breath sharp against Wonwoo's face.

"But that doesn't give you the right to sabotage my grades out of some petty grudge."

Wonwoo's hands went up to free himself from the grip, his voice low but lethal.

"I'm not some cheap-ass kid playing revenge games. I did what I was instructed to do."

His eyes narrowed. "And if I remember correctly, you've never taken your studies seriously. So maybe, stop wasting my time."

With that, he shrugged off Mingyu's grip and walked past him—leaving behind a silence heavier than the confrontation itself.

"Dude, why are you late for practice?" one of Mingyu's teammates called out as he lazily dropped his school bag onto the bench and started pulling on his practice jersey.

Mingyu didn't bother replying.

"Bad mood? Let me guess... Wonwoo again?" another teammate teased from across the locker room.

Still, nothing. Not a word.

He didn't want to feed into their comments — about himself or about Wonwoo.

All that ran through his head was the same, looping thought: How the hell am I going to pass the upcoming test?

He'd thought the assignment would at least give him a cushion — a decent grade to make the theory part easier to scrape a "pass." But now, with that grade tanked, the ground under him felt shaky.

No matter how much he tried to focus on football, the anxiety about the test sat heavy in his chest. Still, he dragged himself onto the field and began practice.

And just as he feared, his worst case came true — when the test results came out at the end of the week, his name sat squarely in the red. Fail.

It wasn't that he didn't care about school. He knew this test mattered — a lot. But what could he do?

He'd tried to make up for the theory with the assignment, but when it came to the written part... he'd been hopeless. Hours and hours went into drills, strategies, and sprints for the upcoming football championship.

Academics had been shoved into the corner, and now... the corner had collapsed.

Even as Mingyu ran drills, his mind wasn't on the ball.

It was screaming in anger.

He knew exactly what kind of consequences waited for him at home once his parents saw that grade. The thought made his stomach twist.

One by one, the other players left the field until it was just him — alone, kicking at the ball, chasing it, trying to force his body to focus. But his thoughts wouldn't let him.

Why has it always been this damn hard for me when it comes to academics?

It wasn't that he didn't try. He just never had enough time. Between endless football practices and expectations to perform on the field, schoolwork always seemed to slip further and further away.

Sometimes he wished — desperately — that he could be in two places at once. To excel in both. To not have to choose. To not constantly disappoint his parents... or anyone.

After an intense round of sprints, he finally slowed, chest heaving. He dropped down onto the sideway of the practice ground, wiping sweat from his brow, trying to catch his breath.

That's when he felt it — a shadow falling over him.

Before he could even look up— BAM —a sharp punch landed square across his face.

"What the fuck?!" Mingyu growled, his head snapping to the side. He pushed himself upright, vision clearing, blood pounding in his ears.

Standing before him was Wonwoo — eyes blazing, breath uneven, fists still clenched.

"Jeon, what the hell is your problem?!" Mingyu barked, shoving himself to his feet. He grabbed Wonwoo by the collar, confusion and rage twisting together on his face.

"You did this. Didn't you?" Wonwoo's voice was low but shaking with fury.

"What did I do?" Mingyu shot back, still gripping his collar, brows furrowed in genuine confusion.

Wonwoo yanked something from his side and flung it straight at Mingyu's face. The paper smacked lightly against his cheek before drifting to the ground.

Mingyu bent, picked it up, and turned it over.

It was a test paper. Wonwoo's name printed neatly at the top... and a glaring red F slashed across the corner.

His gaze flicked up to meet Wonwoo's.

"You did this," Wonwoo said, each word landing heavy, not a question but an accusation carved in stone.

Chapter Text

"You did this," Wonwoo said, each word landing heavy, not a question but an accusation carved in stone.

For a second, Mingyu just stared — breathing hard from practice, sweat rolling down the side of his face — trying to piece together why the hell he was being blamed.

A couple of hours earlier

"Students, your results are out. Congratulations to all who have shown improvement in your grades. And for those who didn't—please remember, the next few years of your life will depend on the work you put in now. So start taking things seriously, and don't fool yourselves. Kindly collect your test papers on your way out."

The teacher's voice still echoed in the room as students began shuffling toward the desk, picking up their papers one by one. The air buzzed with murmurs—some relieved, some anxious, others already grumbling about unfair grading.

Wonwoo sat in his seat for a moment, exhaling slowly. Weeks of preparation... it was finally time to see if it had all been worth it.

People always said it was "easy" for toppers to stay at the top, as if grades fell into their laps without effort. But only those who lived it knew the truth—that to stay ahead meant late nights, skipped outings, turning down distractions, and quietly swallowing the weight of expectations. It was a constant trade-off, sacrificing little pieces of normal life for one number written in red ink at the top of a page.

And yet, every time Wonwoo saw that number—the one he'd worked himself to the bone for—it made it worth it. The tiredness in his bones didn't feel so heavy then. He'd picture his mother's face when he handed her the paper; the way she'd ruffle his hair with that warm smile and say, "I'm proud of you, son."

She always added, "But take care of your health too, okay?"

He always rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, but deep down, that concern was a quiet anchor. A small, steady reassurance in a world that often felt too noisy, too sharp.

Today, he was ready to feel that again.

With the same quiet confidence, Wonwoo rose from his desk, slipping the strap of his bag over one shoulder. His mind was already picturing his mother's smile as he walked toward the teacher's desk.

Just as he was about to reach for his paper, the teacher's voice stopped him.

"Wonwoo, could you please wait a minute? I need to have a word with you."

Her tone wasn't stern, but it wasn't casual either. That middle ground—where something felt... off.

Wonwoo hesitated, then nodded, stepping aside. He waited patiently as one by one, the rest of the class collected their papers and filtered out. The chatter faded down the hallway until the room was still.

When the last student left, the teacher finally turned to him.

"Thanks for waiting," she began, folding her hands on the desk. "I just wanted to ask... are you alright?"

Wonwoo blinked. Alright? The question felt strange, almost misplaced. "Yes?" he answered cautiously.

"No, I mean... were you alright during the test?" she clarified, her eyes searching his face. "I know it's normal to drop a few points here and there, but this..." She shook her head. "This doesn't seem like you, Wonwoo."

A faint unease crawled up his spine. "What do you mean?" he asked.

The teacher didn't answer right away. Instead, she slid a paper across the desk toward him.

"You got an 'F,' Wonwoo."

For a moment, he didn't breathe. He looked down at the page as if his eyes had betrayed him. A bold red F glared up at him from the corner—unforgiving, final.

It didn't make sense. Not when he'd gone over every answer twice, not when he could remember the questions and the logic he'd used to solve them. Even if a few guesses had been wrong... three? five? That wouldn't have dragged him down this far.

His hands tightened around the paper. Something wasn't right.

He even found himself doubting if this was really his test paper. The handwriting was his, but... the answers? He didn't remember choosing those options at all.

"Look, Wonwoo," the teacher said gently, "I know how hard you've been working to top the finals. But at the same time, you need to take care of your health and get proper rest. Otherwise, our body won't cooperate with our mind when we need it most. I just wanted to tell you this in person. I hope you'll take better care of yourself in the future."

She patted his right shoulder with a warm but concerned smile before leaving the room.

Still, Wonwoo's mind refused to settle. He couldn't think straight, couldn't even find the words to defend himself— to insist that he had chosen the right answers. The right choices. But the paper in his hands told a different story entirely.

How was this possible?

Was he really so out of it during the test that he'd picked wrong answers without realizing? No... no, that couldn't be. He knew his own body, his own mind. This wasn't a careless slip.

The only explanation gnawed at him like a bitter taste in his mouth—

Someone had played a dirty game. Someone had tampered with his paper.

But who would even do that? Wonwoo had no enemies. No grudges. No reason for anyone to go this far.

Except...

His jaw tightened. Could it be him?

It had to be. Who else?

Would Mingyu really stoop so low—just because Wonwoo had done his duty as class president? Just because he'd submitted the assignments on time and reported the late-givers?

How dare he?

What did he think— that coming from a powerful family meant the world would bend to his whims? That he could walk over anyone, break any rule, and still have everyone bow to him?

And this- This wasn't just about ego or petty retaliation. This was messing with someone's effort. Their sleepless nights. Their hard work.

Wonwoo's grip on the paper tightened until it crumpled into a small, trembling ball in his fist. His eyes burned—not with sorrow, but with a raw, simmering anger that refused to be contained.

Before he realized it, his feet were already moving. He was racing towards the football ground, each step pounding out the same thought over and over: How dare he.

"You did this," Wonwoo said—not as a question, but like a verdict.

Mingyu froze, thrown off by the accusation. He didn't even know what this was supposed to mean. All he could see was Wonwoo—fuming, eyes sharp like they could cut through steel. And he himself wasn't in the right state of mind either; his own poor result was still sitting like a heavy weight in his chest, with the thought of his father's reaction clawing at him.

"I didn't do anything, Jeon," Mingyu replied, forcing his voice into a neutral tone, though irritation bled at the edges.

"Seriously..." Wonwoo's voice was low but laced with venom. "I've always known you're a jerk, Kim, but I never knew you'd stoop this low. Guess I underestimated you."

Before Mingyu could get another word out, Wonwoo's hand shot forward, gripping his collar tight and yanking him closer. His words came fast, each one spitting out like fire.

"You think you can do anything? Hurt anyone? Make fun of people's efforts? Do you have any idea how many early mornings I've woken up for this? How many late nights I've stayed up? How many things I've given up—just to get here? All for what? For you to take revenge on me by tampering with my paper?"

His grip loosened suddenly, his hand falling away. He let out a short, mocking laugh—cold, almost pitying.

"Forgive me. Who am I to talk to you about effort? What would you know about it, when you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth—when you get whatever you want handed to you on your father's money?"

Mingyu's patience snapped.

Wonwoo wasn't just blaming him without giving him a chance to speak—he was dragging his father into it too.

Mingyu didn't bother repeating himself. What was the point? Wonwoo clearly wasn't in the right frame of mind to believe anything he said, and Mingyu wasn't in the mood to explain either.

"For fuck's sake, Jeon, I'm telling you—I didn't do anything. And I have nothing to do with you," he bit out, voice sharp with frustration. Without another glance, he snatched up his bag and stormed off, rage simmering—not just from the accusation, but also from the humiliation of his own test result.

Wonwoo stood there for a moment, his fists clenching and unclenching. When the burn of his anger finally began to fade, it left a heavy unease in its place. He started heading home, his thoughts weighing him down more than his steps.

It wasn't the grade itself that terrified him—it was the conversation with his mother. She would look at him with that worried frown and ask what went wrong. And she would blame herself, saying she hadn't taken care of him properly.

If he told her the truth—if he told her Mingyu was behind this—her worry would double. She'd be furious that someone like Mingyu was targeting her son. And then what? God, how was he going to handle this?

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the figures approaching until a hard shove sent him stumbling sideways. He barely caught his balance before laughter erupted around him.

Three of his classmates—also Mingyu's teammates—stood there, blocking his path. Their eyes gleamed with amusement, and their grins dripped mockery.

"Look who we have here," one of them sneered.

"The great president Jeon Wonwoo, who had the guts to confront Kim Mingyu. How dare he?" another chimed in, his voice dripping with mockery.

"Know your place, nerd," the third one said, stepping in close enough for Wonwoo to feel his breath. 

"Even if Mingyu did it, you're a nobody to question him. Remember—if he wants, you won't be studying here much longer. Consider it your lucky day. Otherwise, he would've smashed you right there on the football field."

They shoved past him, their laughter echoing down the empty street like a cruel aftertaste.

Wonwoo didn't even have the strength to throw an insult back. His chest felt tight, but he forced his face to stay blank. He could blame the universe all he wanted—blame how the poor always seemed to be trampled underfoot while the rich played their games without consequence.

He bit the inside of his cheek, willing the sting in his eyes to fade. No tears. Not here. Not in front of them. He walked on, each step heavy, each breath harder to take.

Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he'd show Mingyu and his minions exactly who he was. He wasn't afraid of them—and they'd regret thinking otherwise.

And as decided, Wonwoo did. The first thing he did as soon as he entered the school was go to his English teacher. His palms felt damp as he spoke, voice trembling just slightly, but he forced himself to continue. He told her that he felt someone could have tampered with his paper—and that someone could be Mingyu. For once, the words didn't stick in his throat. 

When the teacher listened carefully and promised she'd take care of the matter, assuring him things like this wouldn't happen again, a weight lifted off his chest. She even appreciated Wonwoo for speaking up—because none of the other students had ever dared to say anything against Mingyu, not with the power his father held in the school and far beyond. 

Wonwoo nodded, relieved, but as he walked out of her office, a strange unease lingered. Had he gone too far by pointing at Mingyu? But what other options he has?

And as the teacher promised, she summoned Mingyu immediately as soon as he arrived at school. Mingyu, who was used to getting summoned by teachers, didn't have any particular thought of what it might be this time. He remembered well that for the past week, he hadn't even fought with anyone. With his usual lazy swagger, he walked down the hall. Still, something about the sharpness in the summons nagged at him.

When he approached the teacher's room, he knocked lightly and pushed the door open at the call of "Come in."

"Mrs. Lee, you called me?" Mingyu asked, expecting another one of those routine scoldings.

She removed her glasses and set aside the papers she'd been marking. Her gaze was steady, and there was no usual irritation—only disappointment. 

"Yes, Mingyu. I'm afraid I'm deeply disappointed in your actions," she said, her tone clipped but calm.

Mingyu, who was used to hearing variations of that line from almost every teacher, didn't look bothered. He leaned against the chair and asked carelessly, "Could I know what for?"

"Don't play innocent." Her voice hardened, rising just enough to make the air heavier. "You tampered with Wonwoo's paper. Because of you, one of our most consistent students—one of our class toppers—ended up with a failing grade. Do you have any idea how serious that is?"

Mingyu froze. For a moment, irritation flared—then confusion, then a sting he hadn't prepared for. "But, I—I didn't," he said, finally understanding the problem.

"Wonwoo reported that it could be you," Mrs. Lee said firmly, leaving no room for denial.

Something twisted sharply in Mingyu's chest at that name. Of all people, it was Wonwoo pointing fingers at him. He bit back the urge to argue further. What was the point? His reputation was already against him. Masking the shift in his expression, he forced his tone into something flat, almost bored. 

"What do you want me to do now?"

"Apologize to Wonwoo," Mrs. Lee said.

Mingyu let out a long, reluctant sigh. "Fine." He sounded hollow even as the word left him.

"And as punishment," she continued, folding her hands, "you'll have detention for two weeks."

Mingyu's eyebrows shot up. "What about my practice? I— I can't—"

"Kim Mingyu," the teacher cut him off, voice steely. "This is my decision. No arguments. Think carefully about your actions in the future. You may go now." She turned back to her papers, making it unmistakably clear the conversation was over.

Mingyu bowed stiffly and left the room, the word "Fuck" slipping out of him under his breath—an ugly little sound meant only for himself.

Frustration burned in Mingyu's chest, sharp and relentless. Every step down the corridor only stoked it hotter.

Because of Wonwoo, his practice hours were gone. Because of Wonwoo, he was stuck with detention instead of training for the one thing that actually mattered to him. His fists curled tight at his sides, nails biting into his palms. All of it—every bit of anger, every bit of loss—traced back to Wonwoo. He was still seething when he turned the corner—and froze.

Wonwoo.  

Walking toward him, head high, the picture of calm determination, as though he hadn't just ruined Mingyu's morning.

Something inside Mingyu snapped.

Before he could think, his hand shot out, seizing Wonwoo's collar and slamming him back against the wall. The empty hallway amplified the thud of impact, echoing like a gunshot.

"Do you even get what you cost me? My match. My future." Mingyu growled, voice low and rough, every word dripping with the fury burning through him.

Wonwoo, though clearly taken off guard by Mingyu's sudden push, regained his composure quickly. He could see the fire in Mingyu's eyes—but he was angry too. After all, Mingyu had cost him his test. With venom in his tone, Wonwoo hissed,

"Then maybe you should learn to live with the consequences of your actions."

Mingyu's eyes only darkened, his grip on Wonwoo's collar tightening like a vice.

"I hate you, Jeon. I fucking hate you."

Wonwoo met his glare head-on, wearing that unshaken defiance he always saved for Mingyu. His voice was steady, cutting through the charged air.

"Hate me all you want, Kim. I'd rather face that than turn a blind eye to the way you act. Everyone else might bow to you, but I won't. And if I'm wrong—why does it keep looking like you're the one causing the trouble?"

He pried Mingyu's fingers off his collar, pulse hammering beneath his calm façade.

For a moment, Mingyu froze, breath hot and heavy between them. The silence of the hallway pressed in on both of them, broken only by the harsh rhythm of their breathing. Finally, with a hiss, Mingyu shoved Wonwoo back harder into the wall before letting go, storming past him with a muttered curse, fists trembling at his sides.

Wonwoo exhaled shakily, his back still against the wall, watching Mingyu's retreating figure disappear around the corner.

Wonwoo had expected Mingyu to bite back. To come storming after him with sharper words, with the same relentless smirk that always got under his skin. But nothing like that happened. Mingyu didn't throw a single jab his way—not even a glance that lingered too long.

The silence unsettled him.

For the next week, Mingyu was a ghost in his life. He sat in class, he walked the halls, but it was as though he'd drawn an invisible line around himself and refused to cross into Wonwoo's world. No teasing. No smirks. No cutting remarks. If Wonwoo ignored him while giving instructions in front of the group, it almost felt like Mingyu hadn't even attended school at all.

And though Wonwoo told himself this was what he wanted, the normalcy he'd craved, there was a weight to it. A small, gnawing worry in the back of his chest—had he gone too far by dragging the teacher into it?

Still, with Mingyu's silence, his school days finally slipped into something like routine. Simple. Uncomplicated. Perfect.

That was until one random afternoon.

The classroom was buzzing in its usual post-lunch haze when the crash of a chair skidding across the floor snapped Wonwoo's head up. The noise was followed by the sharp thud of a fist connecting with flesh. His heart lurched when his eyes landed on Mingyu—towering over Jungwon, his fists flying in raw, unrestrained fury.

Jungwon stumbled back, trying to block, but it was hopeless. Mingyu's blows came too fast, too hard, each one landing with a force that made desks rattle and students gasp. Someone screamed. Others whispered in frantic tones, too scared to intervene, yet too fascinated to look away. A few brave ones tried tugging at Mingyu's arm, but he shook them off like they were nothing.

The rage in Mingyu's eyes was blistering, unrelenting, almost feral. It was clear he wasn't just fighting Jungwon—he was unloading something deeper, darker.

The door banged open. "Stop it!" the teacher's voice cut through the chaos, sharp as a whip. The room froze. Students scrambled back to their seats, lips pressed shut, as if silence could erase the fight from existence.

But Mingyu didn't stop right away. He stood over Jungwon, chest heaving, knuckles bloodied, his breath ragged but steady—like a predator unwilling to step back from prey. Even as the teacher's voice echoed in the stunned quiet, his glare stayed locked on Jungwon, his fist twitching as though one more punch still burned in him.

"Is this how you behave in class?" the teacher snapped, her tone trembling between fury and disappointment. "Mingyu. Jungwon. Principal's office. Now."

The command seemed to ripple across the room, but Mingyu didn't flinch. He didn't argue either. He simply dragged in a breath, eyes blazing with something far beyond anger. Finally, he spat out a low, venom-laced, "Fuck you," straight into Jungwon's face.

The class collectively held its breath. Then, with a sharp shove of his chair out of his way, Mingyu stormed out of the room, fists trembling, shoulders rigid, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

Wonwoo sat frozen, his knuckles white against his desk. He should've felt satisfied, maybe even smug—after all, Mingyu was finally getting caught for something. But instead, a knot twisted in his stomach. 

This wasn't the usual cocky, reckless Mingyu he knew how to deal with. This was different. Darker. More dangerous. For the first time, Wonwoo wondered if he had underestimated just how much weight Mingyu was carrying—and why it seemed to be crushing everyone around him.

Wonwoo's restlessness only deepened when Jungwon returned to class an hour later, bruised and disheveled but otherwise fine. Mingyu, however, was nowhere to be seen. His seat at the back stayed empty, a silent presence that seemed to weigh heavier with every passing minute.

Two hours crawled by. Wonwoo found himself glancing at the clock far too often, each tick of the second hand scraping against his nerves. He told himself it didn't matter, that Mingyu could rot in the principal's office for all he cared. And yet...he kept counting.

Why? He didn't have an answer. All he knew was that the silence where Mingyu's presence should have been unsettled him more than the sound of his usual taunts ever did.

Just when he thought he could finally shake it off, his name echoed through the classroom: "Jeon Wonwoo. Principal's office."

The words jolted him upright, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. A dozen eyes turned toward him, but he barely noticed. His chest tightened as he stepped into the hallway, his mind already spiraling with possibilities. Why him? What did they want from him? Was this about the fight? About Mingyu? About...the complaint he had made days ago?

Each step toward the office was heavier than the last, uncertainty gnawing at him. He told himself to stay calm, to act like he didn't care. But deep down, a strange unease whispered in his chest.

Wonwoo's knuckles rapped against the principal's door, his hand just the slightest bit shaky. The sharp "Come in" from the other side made his stomach twist, but he forced himself to turn the handle and step inside.

He bowed politely to the principal before letting his gaze lift—and froze.

Mingyu was already there. He stood slightly off to the side, shoulders rigid, arms crossed tight against his chest. His head was lowered, dark hair falling forward enough to shadow his expression, though the hard line of his jaw gave away the tension coiled beneath his skin.

Even without meeting his eyes, Wonwoo could feel the storm Mingyu was holding back, the quiet fury simmering just beneath the surface.

And then, in the chair directly across from the principal, sat a woman. She was striking in a composed, intimidating way—middle-aged, elegant, dressed in a tailored suit that radiated quiet authority. Her presence alone seemed to command the room, making the principal himself sit a little straighter.

Wonwoo didn't need an introduction to know who she was. The resemblance, the poise, the air of untouchable power—it had to be Mingyu's mother.

The room felt heavier suddenly, the silence stretching taut between them. Wonwoo swallowed hard, his pulse thudding against his throat. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to be simple.

And before he could think much about Mingyu's stormy posture or the elegant woman's piercing presence, the principal's voice cut through the silence.

"Wonwoo," she said evenly, folding her hands on the desk, "would you tutor Mingyu?"

Chapter Text

"Wonwoo, will you tutor Mingyu?" his teacher asked.

For a moment, Wonwoo couldn't comprehend how on earth he had ended up in this position — the teacher asking him to tutor the one person he hated the most.

His eyes flicked, almost involuntarily, toward Mingyu, but he instantly regretted it. Mingyu was already staring back at him, equally surprised at first... but that surprise quickly morphed into an expression of sheer annoyance, as if he couldn't care less whether Wonwoo said yes or no. 

In fact, from the way Mingyu looked, Wonwoo could almost swear he was expecting him to refuse. After all, everyone knew that the feeling was mutual — Mingyu hated Wonwoo just as much.

The principal cleared her throat, her gaze shifting between Mingyu, the elegant woman at his side, and finally landing on Wonwoo.

"So, the thing is," she began in a measured tone, "for Mingyu's punishment—both for fighting in class and in light of his parents' concern over his poor academic performance—the school management has come to a decision. If he does not perform well in the upcoming test, he will not be permitted to participate in his championship match. To be precise, Mingyu must score at least sixty percent."

Wonwoo blinked, his mind stalling for a beat. Sixty percent? For someone like Mingyu, who barely paid attention in class, who spent more time smirking or sleeping than writing notes—it felt almost impossible.

His eyes flicked briefly toward Mingyu, who stood rigid, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. Wonwoo wasn't sure if it was anger at the punishment or fear of losing the match that darkened his face.

The principal adjusted her glasses and leaned forward slightly.

"And since you are the class president as well as the topper in your class," he said evenly, "both myself and Mingyu's mother believe you would be the perfect person to tutor him. What do you say, Wonwoo?"

For a moment, Wonwoo froze. He didn't particularly want to care, but a part of him couldn't ignore the fact that this so-called punishment dangled the one thing Mingyu valued most: his match. 

And as much as Wonwoo disliked him, he also knew how much effort Mingyu put into the field. Taking that away felt... harsh.

But then again, him? Tutoring Mingyu? That was another problem entirely. Just imagining hours in the same room, locked in some teacher-student arrangement, made his skin prickle with unease. 

What if Mingyu mocked him? What if he refused to listen? What if this was just another way to drive Wonwoo crazy?

He pressed his lips together, unwilling to answer right away. He couldn't say yes, but the word no felt stuck in his throat. All he was left with was silence—an uncomfortable pause that said everything about how torn he was.

Then, wonwoo cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, ma'am. But I don't think—"

Before he could finish, Mingyu's mother interrupted. She rose from her chair and stepped toward him.

"Wonwoo, please... can you reconsider? I know my son can be a handful, but he's not a bad person."

Wonwoo didn't want to sound rude by refusing her directly. "That may be true, Mrs. Kim. But I'm already tied up with my own work. I don't think I can find the time to tutor anyone."

Mingyu's mom clasped Wonwoo's hands between hers, her grip trembling.

"Wonwoo, I'm begging you—"

"Mom, you don't have to do that," Mingyu cut in, his voice sharper than usual. But beneath the edge, Wonwoo caught something else—concern. No son wanted to see his mother beg.

"Shut up, Mingyu," she snapped, turning to him. "If you had listened to me in the first place, you wouldn't be here. Do you think you can magically ace the exam on your own? Do you think you can keep your precious football dream without help?"

Her voice cracked on the last word, and Wonwoo felt the sting of her pain even though it wasn't directed at him. Mingyu's shoulders sank, his head bowing low. He bit his lip, searching for a comeback, but nothing came.

Because deep down, he knew she was right.

Without passing, the championship was nothing but a fantasy. He needed help—needed someone to drag him through the mess he'd made. But why did it have to be Wonwoo? Of all people.

They couldn't stand each other for more than two minutes without trading jabs like it was a sport. So the idea of Wonwoo tutoring him? It was laughable. Mingyu would never admit he needed help — not to Wonwoo, not to anyone. Especially not to the one person who could cut him down with a single look.

Mingyu's jaw tightened. There was no way he'd ask Wonwoo for help. His pride wouldn't allow it. If he had to get through this, he'd go around Wonwoo entirely. Convince his mother, maybe. That was safer. That was the only way.

"Okay, I'll do it."

The words hit Mingyu before he could even breathe. Wonwoo had spoken first.

Wonwoo knew exactly what he was agreeing to — tutoring the school's bad boy. Not just any bad boy, but the one who had made it his personal mission to get on Wonwoo's nerves since day one. But watching Mingyu's mother, desperation in her eyes, he couldn't bring himself to say no.

Just this once, he'd set the rivalry aside. For grades, for the sake of being... decent. Still, in the back of his mind, he braced himself. Mingyu was a walking headache. He could only hope the boy wouldn't push him too far, wouldn't ruin this before it even began... wouldn't make him regret saying yes.

Mingyu's mind went blank. Wonwoo had agreed. He wasn't prepared for that. And for the first time in a long while, he couldn't meet Wonwoo's eyes. Pride or not, something in him told him this arrangement was going to be trouble.

And deep down, he knew exactly why Wonwoo was agreeing — only because his mom had requested it. Otherwise, why would Wonwoo ever tutor the person he hated most? Especially after telling Mingyu outright that he didn't want to associate with people like him on his (Wonwoo's) first day.

Mingyu just swallowed hard and glanced at his mom, who was now smiling warmly at Wonwoo and thanking him, gratitude evident in her voice.

"What time would be convenient for you?" his mom asked.

"Hmm... maybe 5 to 8, at the school library?" Wonwoo said, more like a question to check if it worked for her.

"Of course, Wonwoo-ssi. Thank you, really. I can pay you however much you want."

"No, that's not necessary, Mrs. Kim. We'll see about it later," Wonwoo replied before excusing himself from both the teacher and Mingyu's mom.

Before leaving the room, his eyes flicked to Mingyu — who was staring out the window, lost in thought. Wonwoo was certain Mingyu didn't even want this arrangement. In fact, he doubted whether Mingyu would attend the sessions at all. But then again... fate has a habit of forcing on us exactly what we don't want, doesn't it?

Evening:

After the school bell rang, Wonwoo glanced toward Mingyu's table. He was surrounded by a few friends, laughing and talking as if nothing in the world could bother him.

Wonwoo didn't want to interrupt. Doing so would only draw attention, and soon the whole school would know about this ridiculous tutorship arrangement. The last thing he wanted was to be the talk of the town.

So, without a word, he quietly packed his bag and headed to the library, hoping Mingyu would join him on his own.

Wonwoo waited.

5:15.

He still waited.

5:30.

Still no sign.

5:45.

His patience began to wear thin. Somewhere deep down, he'd known all along this was how it would go. How stupid of him to expect Mingyu to actually show up.

A humorless chuckle escaped his lips. Of course. This is Mingyu we're talking about. Always unpredictable, always selfish... and yet, somehow, people adored him for it.

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, staring at the door. He wasn't even sure if he was waiting anymore—maybe he was just proving to himself that his expectations had been right all along.

His patience finally snapped when the clock struck six. He slung his bag over his shoulder, jaw clenched, and marched straight toward the football practice ground. He knew Mingyu all too well—of course he wouldn't be at the library. Of course he would be here, doing what he wanted, ignoring what he was supposed to do.

The field was alive with noise. Some boys were playing on the pitch, while clusters of students gathered around, squealing and clapping, their voices overlapping in excitement. Wonwoo never understood that behaviour—fangirling over someone they barely knew, cheering for a game they didn't even seem to understand. It all felt absurd to him.

But then his eyes searched the field.

There he was.

Wonwoo's gaze locked onto him almost instantly.

Mingyu wasn't just playing; he was owning the field. His tall frame moved with startling agility, cutting through defenders like he had already read their minds. Each stride was long, powerful, yet graceful, as if the ground itself bent to his rhythm. Wonwoo told himself he didn't care. And yet—he couldn't look away.

His jersey clung to his body, damp with sweat, the fabric tracing over muscles sculpted from endless hours of training. His hair, dark and messy from the game, stuck to his forehead, but it did nothing to dim the sharp focus in his eyes. Those eyes—steady, hungry, alive. Wonwoo's stomach twisted. He hated that he noticed.

There was something magnetic about the way Mingyu carried himself—confident, almost arrogant, but justified. Every time the ball touched his feet, it was as though the entire game shifted around him. He didn't hesitate, didn't falter; he played with the kind of certainty that made it impossible to look away.

The way he dribbled—sharp, precise, calculated—made Wonwoo wonder if Mingyu had been born with a ball at his feet. When an opponent tried to block him, Mingyu's response was effortless: a feint, a swift turn, and he was already past them, leaving only stunned expressions in his wake.

And then, his expression—god, the expression. That fire in his eyes, unwavering, daring anyone to try and take this from him. It wasn't just determination—it was hunger, the kind that said losing wasn't an option.

The crowd felt it too. Each time Mingyu touched the ball, the chants grew louder, the energy more frenzied. He thrived on it. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips when he outsmarted a defender, as if he enjoyed the challenge, as if he knew he was better.

The way the crowd screamed Mingyu's name -  girls practically shrieking every time he touched the ball. Wonwoo rolled his eyes at them, at their blind obsession—yet when Mingyu sprinted forward, ball at his feet, he understood it. He hated that he understood it.

And then came that final run. Sweat dripping down his temple, jersey clinging to his back, muscles flexing with every powerful stride—he looked unstoppable. The ball stayed at his feet like it belonged there, like he was in complete control of not just the game, but everyone watching it.

The cheers blurred into a single roar—"MINGYU! MINGYU!"—as he struck. The kick was clean, sharp, and the ball sliced through the air, unstoppable.

Goal.

The stadium might as well have erupted. His teammates swarmed him in celebration, the crowd screamed his name louder than ever, and in the middle of it all, Mingyu stood with that infuriating, radiant grin plastered on his face—the grin of someone who knew he was destined for this.

And Wonwoo... stood frozen.

Against his will, he felt his chest tighten. He hated to admit it, but Mingyu looked nothing short of perfect.

As the cheers finally began to fade, Mingyu jogged toward the sideline, chest heaving, breath uneven. His teammates clapped his back as he passed, but his focus was on getting air into his lungs. To Wonwoo's eyes, though—watching from the edge of the field—Mingyu didn't look exhausted. He looked breathtaking.

A small group of girls hovered nearby, clutching water bottles like offerings, each hoping Mingyu would accept theirs. He gave them a polite smile and shook his head before reaching for Jeonghan's bottle instead. Tilting it back, he took a deep sip, only to nearly choke on the water when his gaze fell on someone unexpected.

Wonwoo.

For a heartbeat, Mingyu thought he was hallucinating. His class president—of all people—standing here, glaring at him like he had just committed a crime. But then it clicked, hard and fast. The tutoring session. Wonwoo was here because of him.

"Isn't that your class president?" Jeonghan muttered, sipping from a water bottle, low enough for Mingyu to hear but casual enough to hide the teasing edge in his voice.

Mingyu didn't answer with words, just a slight nod, his eyes still locked on Wonwoo.

"Can you tell coach I'm leaving? Got... urgent work," Mingyu said quickly, already pushing the bottle back into Jeonghan's hand.

"Urgent work?" Jeonghan raised a brow, but Mingyu didn't wait. His legs were already carrying him toward Wonwoo, cutting through the lingering crowd.

Before Wonwoo could form a single coherent thought, Mingyu's hand closed firmly around his wrist. The touch was warm, sweaty, unrelenting. Wonwoo stiffened but allowed himself to be tugged away, dragged past curious glances until they reached a quieter corner of the grounds, almost deserted.

Only then did Mingyu release him.

His eyes, still sharp from the adrenaline of the game, fixed on Wonwoo. "What are you doing here, Jeon?" Mingyu asked, voice low, threaded with something between disbelief and irritation.

Wonwoo rarely lost control. He was known for his composure, for keeping his emotions folded neatly inside, never spilling them where others could see. But with Mingyu—he couldn't control anything. Not his words, not his tone, not even the anger bubbling under his skin.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Wonwoo shot back, his voice tight with frustration. "Did you forget we have a tutoring session now?"

Instead of guilt, Mingyu let out a low laugh, the kind that only fueled Wonwoo's irritation. 

"Jeon, are you seriously worked up about that? Come on. I thought you only agreed because my mom begged you. You know, to keep your perfect 'good-boy' image with the teacher."

"What do you mean by that?" Wonwoo snapped instantly, his usual restraint cracking.

"Oh, you know exactly what I mean." Mingyu's lips curved into a smirk, casual yet cutting. "This tutoring thing—it's pointless. We both hate being around each other, so why torture ourselves? Here's the deal: I keep up with practice, we tell the teacher we're meeting like clockwork, and... as for my grades? Don't sweat it. I'll find a way to scrape by."

Wonwoo's jaw tightened, disbelief flashing across his face. 

"Do you even hear yourself right now, Mingyu? Have you completely lost it? You can't play the championship match unless you score at least sixty percent on the exam!" His voice rose, sharper than he intended, but it was impossible to hold back.

"Yeah, I know that. I know it well, okay?" Mingyu's voice rose, his usual easy confidence edged with frustration. 

"That's my problem. I'll deal with it. Don't act like you care about me. Or... wait—" his laugh was sharp, bitter. "What you really care about is what the teacher thinks of you if my grades tank. That's what's eating you, isn't it?"

"You are impossible, Kim." Wonwoo's tone cut clean, each word trembling with anger he rarely showed. 

"I hate you. I hate you to the core. But I still agreed to teach you—because your mom asked me to. Because she said this exam mattered for you, for your stupid championship match. If it were anyone else in your place, I would've done the same. I won't let my personal feelings ruin someone's future."

For once, Mingyu didn't have a comeback ready. His expression flickered, the smirk slipping just slightly. Had Wonwoo... really meant it? Had he actually been serious about tutoring him? Did he wait—expect him to show up—and then come all the way here to look for him when he didn't?

The thought twisted in Mingyu's chest, unexpected and unwelcome. Did Wonwoo actually care?

The silence stretched for minutes, thick and suffocating. Wonwoo's eyes locked onto him, and Mingyu saw something there he couldn't name—something like determination cracking into disappointment. 

It unsettled him, because it looked like Wonwoo was trying so hard and already losing. And Mingyu hated seeing that expression aimed at him.

Before he could speak, Wonwoo broke the silence, his voice low but steady. "You know what, Kim? Do whatever you want. I'm sorry for disturbing your precious football time. I just... thought you'd care as much as I did."

That snapped something in Mingyu. Before he could even process what he was doing, his hand shot out and caught Wonwoo's wrist just as he was turning away.

"No—wait. I–I–" Mingyu stumbled over his own words, breath shaky, the cocky sharpness gone. He exhaled a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry."

Wonwoo froze. His legs refused to move, his heart thudding in his chest. Did he hear that right? The school's golden boy, the so-called bad boy, his sworn enemy—apologizing? Kim Mingyu didn't apologize to anyone.

Wonwoo didn't turn around. He couldn't.

Mingyu's grip loosened, retreating as if afraid he had overstepped. His voice dropped lower, softer. 

"Give me fifteen minutes. I'll... I'll take a quick shower and meet you in the library."

Still, Wonwoo didn't move to face him. He dared not. His emotions were teetering too close to the edge—he didn't trust his expression, his voice, or the way his chest squeezed at the sincerity in Mingyu's words.

All he could do was give the smallest nod, before striding toward the library with clenched fists, praying Mingyu wouldn't see the turmoil written all over him.

At the Library

Wonwoo sat by the window, the late evening light spilling across the wooden table, catching in the dust motes that floated lazily in the air. His book lay open before him, but his eyes weren't on the words. His thoughts circled restlessly, chasing themselves into knots.

How was Mingyu going to behave from now on? Would he mock the tutoring sessions, turn them into another game of power, or—worse—would he actually take them seriously? And if he did... could Wonwoo handle it?

What unsettled him most wasn't the thought of Mingyu skipping tutoring for the football ground—that part had already frustrated him enough—but how quickly all of that frustration had crumbled earlier, erased by a single word from Mingyu. 

Sorry. 

Just one apology, spoken with a sincerity that caught him off guard, had undone all the walls Wonwoo had built to shield himself from the boy.

He pressed his fingers against the edge of his book, knuckles tight. Why did it matter so much? Why was it so easy for Mingyu to disarm him? The truth flickered at the back of his mind, half-formed, too unsettling to face.

Wonwoo stared out the window at the fading sky, a quiet dread threading through his chest. 

He feared not Mingyu's arrogance or his temper—that, he could handle. What he feared was the things he was beginning to discover about himself in Mingyu's presence. Things he wasn't ready to name yet.

His spiraling thoughts broke when someone pulled the chair opposite him.

"Lost in thought, Jeon?" Mingyu's voice was casual, light, as if nothing in the world could weigh him down.

Wonwoo's head snapped up. Mingyu sat there, his hair still damp with a few drops sliding down his temples, the faint glow of sunlight catching on his tan skin. He carried that same smirk—half smile, half tease—the one that always made it seem like he knew everyone liked him.

And Wonwoo hated how true that was. Everyone did like him. Maybe that was why Wonwoo's throat went dry as he stared a moment too long.

Mingyu cleared his throat, cocking his head at not getting a response.

"Sorry," Wonwoo muttered quickly. "I was just... thinking about something. Shall we—shall we start?"

Mingyu nodded easily, as if nothing was out of place.

"Okay," Wonwoo said, gathering his notes. "Tell me which subjects you find the toughest?"

Mingyu's lips curved into that familiar smile—the one where his crooked teeth peeked out just slightly. It was the exact smile that had trailed after Wonwoo's thoughts since the very first day he'd seen it.

"Honestly, Jeon? Everything's tough for me." Mingyu chuckled softly. "But if I had to pick... accountancy, hands down. I couldn't even clear it last time."

"Then we'll start with that," Wonwoo said, his tone steadier than how he actually felt.

And they did have an effective session. Not very effective if you asked Wonwoo. But if you asked Mingyu, he'd say it went surprisingly well. He had walked in expecting Wonwoo to tease him, maybe even humiliate him for his poor academics. But Wonwoo was nothing like that.

He listened carefully, let Mingyu explain his struggles in halting words, and addressed each doubt patiently. Even when Mingyu's problems boiled down to the most basic concepts, Wonwoo never made a face.

He didn't even know how Mingyu had managed to miss the golden rules of accounting, yet he didn't give up. He started from scratch, breaking things down into the smallest steps, and then letting Mingyu attempt the simplest sums on his own.

Wonwoo was checking through Mingyu's work now, pointing out mistakes gently, explaining wherever Mingyu went wrong—patient, composed.

Until—

"God, Mingyu... how on earth did you get this one wrong? I've already taught you this three times!" Wonwoo blurted, more out of exasperation than anger, his eyes still on the notebook.

There was a beat of silence.

"What did you say?" Mingyu's voice had dropped low, a weight pressing into the words.

Wonwoo looked up, startled. Mingyu was staring at him, no trace of his usual smile—just a serious, unreadable expression that sent a flicker of unease through him.

Is he mad? Wonwoo thought. Did he take it too seriously? Was I too casual with him just now?

He cleared his throat quickly, shutting the notebook. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just said it casually. You can ask me a hundred times if you don't understand—really, it's not an issue." His voice was sincere, soft, almost apologetic.

"I'm not talking about that part. I don't care about that," Mingyu said, his voice steady.

"Then?" Wonwoo asked, brows furrowed.

"My name."

"What?" Wonwoo blinked.

"Say my name. Again." There was a slight demanding edge in Mingyu's tone, quiet but insistent.

For a second, Wonwoo didn't get it. And then it struck him. 

This was the first time he had called Mingyu by his real name—Mingyu. The word had slipped from his lips naturally, without him even realizing it. He hadn't thought it was anything noteworthy, but apparently Mingyu had. And he wanted to hear it again.

Wonwoo felt a ripple of unease, but he was determined not to lose his cool in front of him. So he leaned back a little, masking it with casual nonchalance.

"What? I just called your name. Isn't that your name?—Mingyu?"

Mingyu could see it. The subtle way Wonwoo's lips curved when shaping his name, the faint pout at the edge of his mouth.

And he could feel it—how his heart twisted, unexpectedly, at hearing his own name roll off Wonwoo's tongue. It was too ordinary a moment to make his chest ache like this, but it did.

Before Mingyu could find words, Wonwoo cut him off smoothly, keeping the upper hand. 

"Would be great if you showed this same level of concentration for this formula I've been teaching you three times, Mingyu."

There was a silence. And then, slowly, a smirk tugged at Mingyu's lips. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned forward, voice low and teasing.

"Well," he said, "accountancy is not half as interesting as you, princess."

Wonwoo was caught off-guard when those words slipped from Mingyu's mouth. He knew Mingyu was teasing him, yet he couldn't stop the heat creeping up his neck—the sentence itself and that unexpected nickname tangled inside his chest.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mingyu. And my name is Wonwoo, in case you've forgotten," he muttered, trying to sound steady.

Mingyu tilted his head slightly, resting one elbow on the desk and propping his chin on his hand. His gaze lingered with deliberate ease.

"Of course I know," he said smoothly. "But don't you think princess suits you better?"

And there it was again—Wonwoo's composure cracking, his heartbeat betraying him. The nickname wasn't supposed to get under his skin, but it did.

Mingyu saw it instantly. And he loved it.

He used to think riling Wonwoo up, making him irritated or annoyed, was the best feeling in the world. But this—watching Wonwoo get flustered, cheeks blooming pink, ears tinged red—this was on a whole other level.

"Do whatever you want," Wonwoo muttered, trying to escape the weight of Mingyu's stare. He pressed his pen hard, underscoring the formula on the paper—once, then twice. "But don't forget this formula."

Mingyu didn't even glance at the paper. His eyes stayed on him—the way Wonwoo's glasses had slid just an inch lower than usual, the restless way his hands moved, the subtle flush he was trying to hide.

"No," Mingyu said softly, almost like a promise. "I'd never forget this."

Wonwoo underlined the formula again, but all Mingyu seemed to memorize was the look on Wonwoo's face.

Chapter Text

After Wonwoo felt that Mingyu had at least gotten a grasp of the basic concepts—ones he should have picked up long ago (not that Wonwoo complained)—he decided to wrap it up for the day.

They hadn't spoken much after Mingyu's teasing. Wonwoo explained the formulas, Mingyu listened. But little did Mingyu know how hard it was for Wonwoo to push away the distractions clouding his mind whenever Mingyu's eyes lingered on him, focused, listening, like nothing else mattered. Still, Wonwoo kept himself composed and finally decided to call it a day.

"Work on these sums on your own. Let me know if you face any difficulties," Wonwoo said as he stood up and zipped his bag.

"Sure," Mingyu replied, closing his notebook and packing up as well.

By the time they stepped out of the library, night had already settled in, the air cooler than before.

"How are you going home?" Mingyu asked.

"Of course by bicycle," Wonwoo answered easily, pulling his bicycle out from the stand.

Mingyu hesitated, his words stumbling somewhere between his mind and his mouth. Then finally, as if forcing himself, he said, "You can... come with me. I'll give you a lift."

Wonwoo paused mid-action and looked at him, his brow slightly furrowed in question.

"I mean—" Mingyu quickly added, almost tripping over his own explanation, "my driver should be here to pick me up. So... you could come with me."

Wonwoo was taken aback by the offer. Mingyu... really inviting him for a ride? In his car? That sounded like nothing but trouble. Wonwoo wasn't the type to lean on others' fortunes, let alone their help. And moreover—it was Mingyu.

If this same person had asked him yesterday, he would have flat-out refused. No—scratch that—he doubted Mingyu would've even made such an offer yesterday. But now... now Mingyu's face looked almost sincere. Still, Wonwoo couldn't bring himself to trust so easily.

"I don't want to trouble you, Mingyu," Wonwoo said carefully. "I can go on my bicycle. My home's close by. And... it's not like we're close enough for that, right?"

Something flickered across Mingyu's expression at those words. He closed the small distance between them in a few confident strides until he was standing right in front of Wonwoo.

"Being this close enough for you to come with me, Jeon?" Mingyu asked, his voice low.

Wonwoo's throat went dry. He could feel the heat radiating from Mingyu's body despite the cool night breeze in the open space. His lips parted, but no words came out. He refused to let his guard down though—he pressed a hand against Mingyu's chest and gently pushed him back.

"What's your problem? Don't you think it's indecent to get into a car with someone I barely know?" Wonwoo snapped, trying to sound firm, though his voice wavered ever so slightly.

"Oh..." Mingyu tilted his head, retreating a step. "So I'm still a stranger to you." His laugh was humorless. "And here I was thinking you'd at least started seeing me as a classmate."

He shook his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Thanks for the clarity, Jeon. I just offered to help because I felt guilty that you stayed this late in the library because of me. But if accepting something that small feels 'too much' for you, then fine."

His tone hardened, a mix of bitterness and disappointment. "Fuck it. I won't meddle in your business again. And obviously—it's none of my concern if you get home safely."

Saying that, Mingyu turned to leave.

Wonwoo hated this. Why did Mingyu always make him feel like he was the bad guy? He was only doing what any cautious, civilized person would do. And moreover, how could this even be happening? Wonwoo was supposed to hate Mingyu. That was the rule. That was the safe space he had built for himself.

But lately, Mingyu had been breaking those walls—piece by piece—without even trying. And now, when Mingyu's eyes carried that quiet accusation, as if Wonwoo had wronged him, Wonwoo felt... guilty.

He didn't want to.

He wasn't supposed to.

His mind repeated the same reminder: This is only because of the tutoring. If not for that, I wouldn't even look his way. I'd be far from the trouble that is Kim Mingyu.

But then Mingyu was already walking away, his broad back retreating, and something inside Wonwoo twisted uncomfortably. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, hurried and desperate:

"Mingyu, wait!"

But Mingyu didn't stop. His strides only grew longer as he headed toward his car.

Wonwoo cursed under his breath. Only if he wasn't this stubborn...

Acting on impulse, Wonwoo ran after him. His hand finally caught up, his voice sharper this time.

"Mingyu."

This time, Mingyu stopped and turned. His face carried no warmth, no trace of his earlier teasing. Just a cold poker face.

"What?" he asked flatly.

Wonwoo exhaled, catching his breath. "I... I'll come with you."

Something flickered in Mingyu's eyes, but his tone stayed low and steady.

"Why? Aren't I still a stranger? The person you barely know?"

There was no venom in the words. No mockery either. Just a quiet disappointment that felt heavier than anything Mingyu could've yelled.

Not knowing what else to do, Wonwoo's voice came out quieter than he intended.

"I'm sorry. I'll take back what I said."

For the first time, Mingyu's expression softened—just slightly, almost imperceptibly—but he still didn't say anything. The silence between them lingered heavy, until it was broken by the sharp sound of a car honk.

Wonwoo's eyes shifted, and his breath hitched when he saw the vehicle waiting nearby.

It was a sleek black car, its surface polished to perfection, gleaming even under the dim streetlights. 

A car that looked like it belonged in glossy magazine spreads, the kind of luxury vehicle Wonwoo had only ever seen rushing past him on the road. Never, not once, had he imagined himself stepping into one—certainly not at his age, certainly not beside Kim Mingyu.

"Get in," Mingyu said quietly, opening the door for him.

Wonwoo could only nod. He slipped into the passenger seat, still dazed, the rich leather cushioning beneath him foreign yet oddly comforting. Mingyu circled around and slid in beside him as the driver respectfully held the door.

"Your friend, sir?" the driver asked as Mingyu settled into his seat.

Without sparing even a glance at Wonwoo, Mingyu replied smoothly, his voice carrying the faintest thread of tease, "No, Mr. Lee. He's a stranger... someone I barely know."

The driver gave a small nod, accepting the answer without question.

But Wonwoo froze.

He hated how much those words hurt. Hated how his chest tightened at hearing Mingyu repeat the very same thing he himself had thrown at him earlier. Because yes, it was the truth. They were strangers... or maybe just one hesitant step above strangers. And yet, hearing it from Mingyu's mouth settled like an ache in the pit of his stomach.

He knew Mingyu was still upset with him. That was fair. But what unsettled Wonwoo more was this restless, unwelcome sting in his own heart. He clenched his hands together, keeping his silence, because he didn't trust himself to speak without breaking.

The driver slid into his seat, and with a deep rumble the engine roared to life.

Wonwoo didn't register anything at first—his mind was still tangled in his own thoughts, replaying Mingyu's words, replaying the sting they left behind.

It wasn't until Mingyu's voice broke through the hum of the car that Wonwoo blinked back to the present.

"Mr. Lee, can you change the music? Something... softer. A melody, maybe."

His voice was low, rougher than usual, like it had scraped past emotions he hadn't yet settled.

"But sir, this is your usual—"

The driver's reply was cut off by Mingyu, firm yet quiet.

"Well, I'm not in the mood right now."

A small pause, and then the upbeat track shifted into something gentler—soft, flowing notes that seemed to wash through the space like a calming tide.

Wonwoo lowered his gaze. Of course, it must have been Mingyu's choice. He really wasn't in the mood for his usual loud tracks tonight. That had to be it. There was no way Mingyu would know that he, Wonwoo, couldn't stand blaring music... right?

Still, despite what logic told him, something warm and unfamiliar flickered in his chest. Grateful—that's what he felt. Grateful for the quiet that was smoothing the edges of his restless thoughts.

The ride fell into silence, save for the gentle melody floating through the speakers. No conversation passed between them. Yet, in the quiet, Mingyu's gaze drifted. 

Every now and then, his eyes flickered toward the boy beside him. He noticed the way Wonwoo sat stiff, hands clasped too tightly in his lap, expression clouded as though he were somewhere far away. The dim city lights streaming through the window painted fleeting shadows across his pale skin, illuminating and hiding him all at once.

And Mingyu found himself watching—just a little too long, just a little too often—before turning away again.

Of course, he was still angry. The sting of Wonwoo's words lingered. But seeing him like this—so small, so fragile—it unsettled Mingyu in ways he didn't want to admit. His eyes caught on the slight tremor in Wonwoo's fingers, pale and restless against his lap.

"Mr. Lee, turn off the AC for now," Mingyu instructed, his tone quiet but firm.

The driver obeyed instantly, yet even with the cold air gone, Wonwoo's hands continued to tremble.

Mingyu noticed. Ofcourse, he did. He exhaled slowly, the kind of sigh that carried both frustration and surrender. 

"Your hands," he said softly, almost like it wasn't meant to be heard. Before Wonwoo could react, Mingyu reached across the space between them and gathered Wonwoo's hands into his own. His palms were warm, steady, as he began to rub gently, coaxing life back into those cold fingers.

Wonwoo stiffened instantly, the sudden warmth of Mingyu's palm wrapping around his icy fingers. His first instinct was to pull away, but Mingyu's hold was steady—not forceful, just... sure. His cheeks burned, heat spreading faster than the warmth in his hands. 

He'd always been weak to the cold, quick to shiver even in mild air. But how did Mingyu notice? And why... why was his heart stuttering just because of this warmth?

Mingyu wasn't too close, but close enough. Close enough for Wonwoo to see every little detail—the curve of his lashes, the constellation of tiny moles scattered across his face. Yet Mingyu's gaze never lifted. His focus remained solely on the boy's trembling hands, rubbing them with a tenderness that didn't match the sharp edge of his earlier words.

Wonwoo couldn't breathe properly. This was just Mingyu being careless, wasn't it? Just another of his thoughtless gestures. But Mingyu wasn't teasing, wasn't smirking. His expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on the hands he held like they were fragile glass. For once, his playfulness was gone.

That unsettled Wonwoo more than anything

"I don't want someone who barely knows me to get cold because of me," Mingyu murmured, almost under his breath, eyes still lowered.

"Mingyu... I apologized to you. I admitted I was wrong. Why are you still mad at me?" Wonwoo asked softly, his own tone surprising him with how gentle it came out.

Mingyu lifted his gaze, meeting those wide, concerned eyes peeking at him. For a moment, his chest tightened.

"I'm not mad at you, Jeon," he said quietly.

But Wonwoo quickly pulled his hands away, folding his arms across his chest and turning his face toward the window with an exaggerated pout.

"You don't have to lie to someone you barely know."

Mingyu's lips curved despite himself, a genuine smile tugging at the corners. That sulky expression—it reminded him so vividly of his younger sister when she'd throw a tantrum because he'd forgotten to bring her chocolates. The resemblance was uncanny, and oddly endearing.

The silence that followed didn't feel heavy anymore. It wrapped around them softly, settling in like a blanket.

Before long, the car rolled to a stop in front of Wonwoo's home. Wonwoo unbuckled his seatbelt, pushed open the door, and stepped out without sparing Mingyu even a glance.

"Thank you for the ride... Mr. Lee," he said flatly, his tone making it sound less like gratitude and more like he was acknowledging the driver—deliberately skipping over Mingyu's presence as though he wasn't even there.

Mingyu understood exactly what Wonwoo was trying to do. But he didn't say anything. He didn't even look at Wonwoo.

Wonwoo gave him one final glance before closing the door behind him, and heading toward his home. His footsteps slowed when he suddenly heard someone clear their throat behind him. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.

Still, he looked back—and there was Mingyu, leaning casually against the car door, hands tucked in his pockets, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"What?" Wonwoo asked first, trying to sound annoyed, though his voice betrayed more nerves than anger.

Mingyu pushed himself off the car and walked forward, stopping just close enough that the space between them seemed too small, too charged.

"What?" Wonwoo asked again, his tone clipped.

"Nothing... just making sure you're heading home safely," Mingyu said, the tease clear in his voice.

Wonwoo let out an exasperated sigh. "Are you kidding me?"

Mingyu chuckled low, the sound reverberating in the quiet night as he closed the gap between them until only a breath remained. The faint glow of the streetlight caught in Mingyu's eyes, sharp and mischievous.

"You wanna say something?" Wonwoo asked, hating the way his voice betrayed a flicker of nervousness.

"You wanna hear something?" Mingyu teased back, his smirk refusing to falter. Wonwoo muttered under his breath, "Idiot," and turned to leave.

"Woah, calm down, princess," Mingyu called after him.

The single word anchored Wonwoo in place. His chest tightened, and for the briefest second, he thought his legs might give out. Of all the stupid things Mingyu could call him... why did that one crawl under his skin? Mingyu's smirk widened, satisfaction written all over his face—he knew exactly the effect it had.

Wonwoo turned back slowly, trying desperately to keep his expression unreadable, to not give Mingyu the upper hand. His voice was steady, though his pulse betrayed him.

"Don't call me that," he said flatly, every syllable careful, deliberate.

"Do you hate it?" Mingyu asked, closing the distance between them.

"Yes," Wonwoo muttered.

Mingyu's lips curved into a sly smile. "Good. I love doing what you hate."

"You are seriously impossible," Wonwoo shot back. His tone sounded like a complaint, but deep down he knew it was really him trying to hold himself together.

"Do you hate.... that?" Mingyu tilted his head, eyes never leaving Wonwoo's.

Silence fell between them. Because how could Wonwoo answer that? How could he admit that was exactly the problem? His gaze faltered, unable to hold Mingyu's any longer.

"It's getting late. You should head home," Wonwoo finally said.

"Mmm." Mingyu hummed, then leaned closer, his lips dangerously near Wonwoo's ear.

"Goodnight, princess," he whispered with a mischievous lilt, smirk tugging at his mouth.

And before Wonwoo could react, Mingyu was already sliding into his car, leaving him fuming on the doorstep—heart racing, pulse betraying him, and hating just how much the nickname lingered.

Chapter Text

Wonwoo pushed the door open and slipped inside, the quiet hum of the house greeting him. He bent down quickly, fumbling with his shoelaces, pulling them off with a rushed desperation—as if getting rid of them could shake away the heat crawling up the back of his ears. Something unfamiliar, something dangerous, was blooming in his chest, and he refused to give it a name.

"Wonwoo-yah? You're late—did you eat?" his mother's voice floated from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of pans and the faint aroma of soy and garlic.

He ignored it. His legs carried him faster, almost stumbling up the stairs. By the time he reached his room, he slammed the door shut and pressed his back against it, as though he needed to barricade himself from the world outside.

His chest heaved. A hand came up instinctively to press over his heart, as though it could steady the erratic rhythm. "What was that?" he whispered into the still air. His voice shook, fragile in the silence.

It shouldn't be happening. Not again. He couldn't let it.

Mingyu's voice echoed in his head—low, teasing, the word princess curling around him like a spell he didn't want but couldn't shake. Wonwoo squeezed his eyes shut, his throat tight.

No, he told himself. No, it's impossible. He hates him. He's supposed to hate him.

But then—why did his words linger like an ember, glowing in the dark corners of his mind? Why did Mingyu's touch, his actions, make him question everything he thought he knew?

Mingyu was a jerk. Wonwoo knew that better than anyone. He had to be playing with him, tugging at his feelings for the fun of it—for the satisfaction of seeing him flustered. That's what made Mingyu happy, wasn't it?

So then... why didn't he hate it? Why couldn't he hate him with the conviction he always claimed to?

His thoughts spun in circles, an endless loop of denial and questions he didn't dare answer. The truth hovered just out of reach, and yet he refused it, pushed it away, locked it deep.

Finally, when his breathing had steadied, when the storm inside him dulled to a restless murmur, Wonwoo dragged himself to his feet. He changed into his casual clothes, splashing water on his flushed face as if it could wash the thoughts away.

By the time he went downstairs, the kitchen smelled of simmering stew. His mother was at the dining table, laying out steaming bowls. The warmth of home wrapped around him—but inside, he still carried the chill of Mingyu's name on his heart.

"Wonwoo dear, why were you so late today?" his mother asked the moment she saw him step into the dining room. Her hands stilled over the dishes she was arranging, her voice carrying just enough concern to make him hesitate.

Wonwoo sank into one of the chairs, grateful for the distraction of the glass of water in front of him. The cool liquid did little to soothe the dryness in his throat. His mind raced — should he tell the truth? Or maybe just enough of it... a half-truth that wouldn't spark suspicion? Because if there was one person who could see straight through him, it was his mother.

"Nothing serious, Mom," he finally said, eyes fixed on the glass in his hands. "The principal asked me to tutor a boy in my class since he needs some help."

The lie slid out too smoothly, but inside, his stomach twisted.

"Oh, that's good to hear, Wonwoo," his mom replied warmly, moving to sit beside him. "I'm sure she trusts you a lot. Be sure to help the kid in any way you can."

She smiled as she began placing food onto his plate, her gestures so casual, so loving, that guilt pricked sharply at his chest. Wonwoo nodded briefly and picked up his chopsticks. The food was warm, comforting — yet tonight, every bite felt heavy.

His mind wasn't at the table, wasn't with his mother's gentle chatter about her day at work. He barely managed to nod at the right moments, offering small smiles he didn't feel.

Because the truth sat like a shadow beside him — Mingyu. Mingyu's words still echoing, Mingyu's smile still lingering, Mingyu's breath brushing against his cheek as he whispered Goodnight, Princess.

Wonwoo shoved another bite into his mouth, almost desperate to drown the memory.

After dinner, he stood automatically to help his mother wash the dishes, the clinking of porcelain filling the silence he couldn't break. She hummed softly, a familiar tune she always sang when she was at peace, and Wonwoo almost hated himself for hiding things from her.

When the last dish was set to dry, he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, muttered a goodnight, and slipped into his room. The door closed behind him with a soft click, shutting out the comfort of the kitchen and leaving him alone again with thoughts he was trying — and failing — to silence.

He slipped into bed and pulled the duvet over himself. The room was silent except for the low whir of the fan, dark except for the faint silver of moonlight seeping through the window screen. He shut his eyes, willing sleep to take over, willing his mind to stay blank.

But it didn't.

All he could feel was the weakness in his chest when Mingyu had called him "Princess." The warmth that lingered in his palms where Mingyu's hands had held his. The ridiculous, infuriating truth that he liked being in Mingyu's presence — the very presence of someone he was supposed to hate.

I should stay away from him.

Yes. That's the only way. I'll talk to him only when necessary — only for tutoring. Nothing more.

Other times, I'll avoid his direction. He only drags me into trouble I never asked for.

But then another thought pushed through, uninvited, stubborn: God, why do I still find that mole on his cheek attractive... why does his crooked smile feel so perfect...

"Fuck you, Kim Mingyu," Wonwoo muttered under his breath, face buried in the pillow. Only then did sleep finally creep in.

The next morning, he arrived to class later than usual. Blame it on staying up too late. No — blame it on the one person who had kept him awake. Ming—

No. Don't even think his name.

Wonwoo muttered to himself as he stepped inside the classroom, determined to keep his head down, to avoid temptation.

But heaven had other plans. His eyes betrayed him, finding the very person he'd sworn not to think about. Mingyu, seated there, looking down at his book.

Wonwoo's brows furrowed. What is he doing here? Doesn't he usually head to morning practice at this hour?

Then he caught himself, cursing internally. Shut up, Wonwoo. It's none of your concern where Mingyu should or shouldn't be.

Wonwoo froze for a moment at the doorway. His eyes landed on Mingyu, head bent low, scribbling something across the page of his notebook. The faint scratch of pencil on paper seemed to echo in the otherwise chatty classroom.

Is he... practicing sums?  Wonwoo squinted, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Am I even seeing that right? My eyesight isn't failing me, is it?

He should have walked straight to his seat. Should have looked away before he made a fool of himself. But instead, his feet lingered, rooted to the floor as his gaze betrayed him, drawn to the curve of Mingyu's hand moving across the page.

And then, as though sensing the weight of eyes on him, Mingyu stilled. His pencil stopped mid-stroke. Slowly, he lifted his head, and their gazes locked.

Wonwoo's breath hitched.

That smirk — the one that had already shaken him too many times — tugged at Mingyu's lips again, lazy and self-assured. It deepened when Mingyu caught how quickly Wonwoo's composure cracked, his face flushing under the unexpected attention.

Before Wonwoo could wrench his eyes away, Mingyu's mouth moved silently. His words were voiceless but clear.

Good morning, Princess.

The heat rushed up Wonwoo's neck before he even registered it. His throat tightened. He couldn't reply. Couldn't nod. Couldn't do anything but stand there, silently begging his heart to stop thundering in his chest.

Why is it so easy for him to do this?  Wonwoo thought desperately, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

Mingyu let out a low chuckle at Wonwoo's flustered face. The corner of his mouth tilted higher as his mind whipered, "Cute."

Wait... Did I just... call him cute?

Him? The boy he can't stand to share a space with?

Before his thoughts could tangle further, the classroom door creaked open. Their teacher entered, the scrape of his shoes cutting through the heavy moment. Instantly, the buzzing chatter of the students dropped into hushed murmurs. Chairs scuffed against the floor as everyone scrambled to their feet, voices rising in unison to greet him.

"Good morning, class. Before going into our lesson, I have one announcement to make," the teacher said, clearing his throat.

A collective groan rippled through the room even before he finished.

"So, we will be having a seating arrangement change now. This is to make sure you guys have your exams in focus. So, don't come at me later to change your seats near your friends."

The protests were immediate — sighs, mutters, and the occasional "Nooo" chorused around the classroom. Even the squeak of chairs against the floor seemed heavier, dragging out the weight of the students' reluctance.

Seriously? Wonwoo blinked. Four whole months before finals, and they're already reshuffling us like this?

Still, the class obeyed, one by one dragging their bags and books across the room, their small complaints drowned out by the teacher's firm voice calling out names.

"Wonwoo, please go and sit in the second row of the first column desk."

Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, nodded wordlessly, and slung his bag onto his shoulder. He walked over to the spot assigned, sliding into the seat.

The desk was pressed neatly against the wall, the cool surface of the plaster just inches away from his shoulder. He ran his fingertips along the edge, already imagining leaning into it during long lessons. Not bad, he thought, settling down. I can actually rest my head here when I want to. I like this.

He straightened his books, letting a small, private smile play at his lips — the kind he rarely let anyone see. For once, the change didn't bother him.

"Mingyu."

The single name rolled off the teacher's tongue, slicing through the moment of calm Wonwoo had built for himself. His hand, still resting on the desk, stilled.

Wait... where is he going to be placed?

The teacher's words echoed like a sudden crack in the air, and Wonwoo's eyes flew open wider than he intended. His head snapped toward Mingyu instinctively, only to find the boy already staring back at him.

For the briefest second, Mingyu's face mirrored his shock—brows lifted, lips parted—but then, just as quickly, it shifted. A slow, smug curve tugged at the corner of his mouth, a teasing gleam flickering in his eyes.

Fuck. No. Wonwoo doesn't like this. Not at all.

"Mingyu, you can sit beside Wonwoo," the teacher announced.

The room inhaled sharply in unison.

A wave of gasps rippled through the students, followed by muffled laughter and hurried whispers. Everyone knew. Everyone. The way they couldn't stand being in the same space for too long, the way their arguments could slice the air like knives, the way even their silence was sharp enough to draw blood. Now, forced to share a bench? It was like locking fire and ice in the same jar and waiting for the explosion.

Some classmates were openly amused, nudging shoulders, while others giggled behind their hands as if they'd just been gifted a front-row ticket to their favorite drama.

But Mingyu didn't flinch. He didn't so much as raise an eyebrow. He gave the teacher a simple nod, then strode to the empty seat with an easy confidence, like the tension in the room had nothing to do with him. His chair scraped softly against the floor as he slid it back, the sound grating against Wonwoo's nerves.

Wonwoo sat rigidly, every muscle in his body wound tight. His eyes darted to the teacher, to the chalk dust drifting lazily across the blackboard, to the clock's ticking hands—all safer than acknowledging the tall, warm presence settling into the space beside him.

He could feel it anyway: the faint brush of Mingyu's sleeve when he moved, the subtle scent of soap clinging to him, the sheer awareness of him occupying the same air.

Wonwoo's heartbeat thudded louder in his chest than the teacher's voice. Don't react. Don't give him the satisfaction.

The teacher carried on, calling out more names. The classroom rustled with shuffling bags and scraping chairs as everyone else busied themselves finding their new seats. For a moment, the noise filled the space enough to cover Wonwoo's shallow breaths.

Then Mingyu leaned in—so close Wonwoo could feel the warmth of his breath ghost against the shell of his ear.

"Why are you so tense, princess?" he murmured, voice dipped low with amusement.

Wonwoo's spine stiffened. His knuckles tightened around the edge of his desk, but he didn't turn his head. His eyes stayed locked on the board, refusing to give Mingyu the satisfaction of seeing his reaction.

"I'm not," he replied flatly, though the faint tremor in his chest betrayed him.

Mingyu leaned back in his chair for a moment, letting his gaze wander lazily around the classroom. As if he hadn't just set off whispers and stolen the attention of half the room, he looked entirely at ease, observing classmates shuffle their bags or laugh with each other.

Then, without warning, his hand shifted closer. His long fingers brushed against Wonwoo's, stilling their restless movements on the desk.

Wonwoo froze. The warmth was faint, but it seared through his skin as if Mingyu had pressed fire into his bones.

"Your actions clearly tell me otherwise," Mingyu murmured, his tone maddeningly casual, as though he wasn't sending Wonwoo's heart into a reckless sprint with the barest touch.

Wonwoo's breath hitched. His eyes darted down, drawn helplessly to the sight of Mingyu's hand resting against his own. 

Why does it feel so deliberate? Why does something so small feel so loud?

Snapping back to himself, he jerked his hand away, the motion sharp, almost too defensive. His head finally turned toward Mingyu, though his voice scrambled to sound steady.

"No—I... I am not. What reason do I have to be tense?" he said, each word clipped, hiding the fact that his pulse was hammering against his ribs, begging to betray him. 

On the outside, he tried for indifference; on the inside, he was holding himself together by threads. Only Wonwoo knew how close he was to unravelling.

Mingyu tilted his head, studying him with a slow, deliberate smile tugging at his lips. "Hmm... if you say so," he drawled, leaning just a fraction closer. His voice softened into that mocking lilt he knew would get under Wonwoo's skin. "Princess."

The word fell like a spark into dry grass.

Wonwoo's breath stuttered, his body locking up under the sudden nearness. His heart pounded louder than the teacher's words, louder than the scrape of chairs, louder than the world itself. He looked away quickly, his jaw tight, willing his chest to calm the erratic rhythm.

Mingyu, of course, noticed. He always noticed. And he relished it. A small, satisfied smile curved his mouth as he finally leaned back, turning his attention effortlessly toward the lesson as though nothing had happened.

Wonwoo, meanwhile, sat stiff in his seat, silently begging his heartbeat to quiet, clutching at composure as though it were the only thing keeping him from shattering.

God... why does it have to be like this?

Am I the universe's unfavourite? Why give me a wish I never asked for?

It gave me exactly what I begged to avoid. I prayed to stay away from Mingyu... yet here I am, closer to him than ever. How am I supposed to hold myself together like this? How do I stop my cracks from showing, when every second feels like I'm on the verge of breaking?

That was the voice in Wonwoo's head as the teacher went on about the basics of accounting.

"For every debit, there is a credit. And vice versa."

Wonwoo clung to the monotone of the lecture, letting the rhythm of rules and numbers wash over him. Two classes passed like that, one after the other, and slowly—painfully slowly—he managed to get used to Mingyu's presence beside him.

As long as he kept his eyes on the blackboard, his mind on journal entries, and his ears tuned to the teacher's explanations, he could almost forget. Almost. But his heart was a traitor—it beat wildly, never quite matching the calm mask he forced onto his face.

Oddly enough, Mingyu didn't tease him once after class began. No leaning in, no smirked remarks, no whispered princess. Just silence. For a moment, while scribbling notes, Wonwoo even wondered—was Mingyu... actually paying attention?

When the two classes finally ended, break time arrived. Mingyu barely had a chance to turn toward him before his friends crowded around, dragging him out with their usual laughter and casual chatter.

Wonwoo let out a sigh—long, shaky, the kind he hadn't realized he'd been holding onto the entire time. His shoulders loosened, his grip on the pen easing just slightly. Maybe now, with Mingyu gone, he could breathe again.

He gathered his things, deciding to step outside too. He needed air—fresh, cold air—to clear the storm inside his chest.

Chapter Text

As soon as Wonwoo stepped into the hallway, the noise hit him.

"Fuck... in the morning itself?" someone yelled, followed by a wave of shouts.

Wonwoo turned toward the commotion, already half-expecting what he would see. And of course—he wasn't wrong.

Mingyu.
And Jungwon.

The same boy who had dragged Mingyu into trouble —the principal's office, his furious mother, his nearly ruined championship, and the tutoring arrangement that tied their fates together now.

Again? Wonwoo thought bitterly. Why in the world would Mingyu start a fight with him again?

Their teammates were already pulling them apart, voices raised, arms outstretched. Mingyu resisted until the last moment, spitting one last curse before he finally, reluctantly, let Jungwon go.

And then Mingyu turned.

His eyes caught Wonwoo's immediately, right at the classroom doorway where Wonwoo stood frozen, half-planning to step outside.

It wasn't surprising to see Mingyu in a fight—Wonwoo had long accepted that chaos followed him like a shadow. But his eyes...

The way Mingyu's eyes always looked after a fight.

Not fiery. Not mocking. Not triumphant.

But pleading. Like they were silently begging for someone—anyone—to understand him. To justify the storm of anger that lived inside him. To rationalize the choices he couldn't explain.

And Wonwoo could see it all. Clearer than he wanted to.

Those eyes were nothing like the ones Mingyu turned on him during teasing or bickering. These ones carried too much. Pain. Weariness. Loneliness.

It scared Wonwoo—because if he acknowledged what he saw, if he dared to understand it, would his entire world shift?

But the one thing he couldn't do was ignore it.

And he hated that. Hated noticing. Hated how it clawed at him. Hated the way Mingyu's pain settled in his own chest as if it belonged there.

Drawing in a breath, he straightened his shoulders, forcing the mask of his role back on. You're the class president. Do what you have to do.

"Mingyu," he said sharply, his voice colder than he intended. "Behave yourself on school grounds. Don't create a scene here."

The words sounded like an accusation, the same ones he always threw at Mingyu. But this time, they rang hollow in his own ears, as if he didn't even believe them himself.

He braced for the usual—Mingyu's irritation, his careless smirk, the inevitable retort. But none came.

Instead, Mingyu only looked at him. One final look, heavy and unreadable, before turning and walking out of the classroom.

Wonwoo's chest tightened. He couldn't even name what that look meant.

And that unsettled him more than the fight itself.

He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to sound steady. "Jungwon, the same applies to you. Don't blame me if things escalate."

Jungwon only gave a curt nod before stepping inside with his gang, their footsteps heavy against the wooden floor. The classroom buzz slowly died down, but Wonwoo's chest still carried the remnants of tension.

With a quiet sigh, he slipped out into the hallway. The air outside was cooler, lighter—yet it did little to untangle the tight knot forming inside him. He told himself he only came out for fresh air, but the truth pressed against him like an insistent whisper.

He wanted to know where Mingyu had gone.

The thought pricked at him, sharp and undeniable, and he hated how quickly it bloomed in his chest.

Still, before the bell rang, Wonwoo dragged himself back into the classroom. His eyes immediately sought the familiar seat, the tall figure that always seemed to fill the space even when slouched lazily in his chair.

Empty.

A quiet disappointment seeped through him. He told himself it wasn't unusual—Mingyu skipped classes more often than he attended. This was normal. Nothing to be concerned about.

Don't sweat it, Wonwoo.

But his heart didn't listen. With every class that passed, his restlessness grew heavier, pooling low in his chest like a weight he couldn't shake.

By the time the lunch bell rang, his hands were fidgeting against his notebook. The classroom emptied around him, laughter and chatter spilling toward the canteen. Wonwoo sat frozen in his seat, thoughts tugging him in directions he didn't dare follow.

Should he go look for him?

The question pulsed louder with every passing second, until it became impossible to ignore. But if he did... what then? What would he even say when he found Mingyu?

Hi, I came looking for you because...

Because I was worried?

Because I was concerned?

Because I wanted to check on you?

...Because I missed you?

The words curled inside his mind, dangerous and fragile, each one threatening to expose far more than he was ready to admit.

He pushed away the swirl of thoughts clouding his head and dragged himself toward the canteen. Maybe food would ground him. Maybe routine would help.

But the moment he joined the line, tray in hand, a sharp pang twisted through his gut. It was sudden, merciless—like someone had landed a blow right beneath his ribs.

Mingyu... did he leave because of what I said?

The guilt seeped in quick, burning, curling tight in his stomach. He hated how easily the thought hollowed him out.

Before he could think better of it, his hands moved on their own. He stepped out of the line, set his empty plate down on the nearest table, and turned back toward the hallway. His legs carried him with purpose he couldn't explain, the pounding of his heartbeat louder than the chatter of the canteen fading behind him.

When he reached his classroom, his steps faltered.

Through the doorway, he caught sight of someone slumped forward on a desk. That tall frame, those broad shoulders—it was unmistakable.

Mingyu.

Relief washed over Wonwoo so fast it made his knees weak. Quietly, he slipped inside, careful not to let the door creak.

Mingyu was fast asleep, arms folded under his head, face turned slightly to the side. The usual sharpness in his expression was gone, smoothed into something soft, unguarded.

Wonwoo's chest ached at the sight.

He eased himself into his own seat through the narrow space between the wall and the bench, holding his breath as if even the smallest sound might wake him. When he finally settled, he let himself look—really look.

A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it.

If only time could freeze like this. If only he could sit here forever, watching the boy who made him restless, chaotic, and inexplicably drawn in.

Mingyu looked so peaceful, as though only moments ago he hadn't thrown the entire school into turmoil, hadn't come dangerously close to beating someone senseless. As though he wasn't the reason Wonwoo's chest felt heavier and lighter all at once.

For the first time, Wonwoo could really look at Mingyu without the fear of being caught.

Up close, every detail seemed sharper.

Does he... does he have a tiny mole on his nose too?

And is that a double eyelid?

Why was he pouting in his sleep, lips pressed forward ever so slightly?

Wonwoo's eyes softened. His cheeks looked unbearably squishable.

But then his gaze caught on something else.

A thin cut stretched just above Mingyu's jawline, faint but raw against his skin. Wonwoo's chest tightened instantly. Of course—it must've been from that fight earlier. It hadn't even begun to heal.

Before he realized it, his hands were already moving. He opened his bag, pulled out a small box, and peeled a band-aid free, his fingers trembling as he unwrapped the sticker. Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward, bandage in hand, ready to place it over the wound.

His breath stilled.

Wait—what am I doing?

His thoughts screeched to a halt.

This wasn't... this wasn't anything special. It was just basic decency, right? Treating an injury was nothing unusual. Anyone would do it. He would do it for anyone.

...Wouldn't he?

The question cut deeper than he wanted to admit. Would he have done this for Mingyu a few days ago?

He didn't want to answer. So he pushed the thought away, forcing himself to focus on the boy in front of him instead.

With infinite care, Wonwoo pressed the band-aid gently onto Mingyu's cheek, his movements slow, deliberate, as though he were handling something fragile—too fragile. Even the faintest sound, the smallest slip, felt like it might shatter the moment.

When the tip of his fingers brushed Mingyu's warm skin, a tingling sensation coiled low in Wonwoo's stomach. The air between them seemed to tighten, charged, as if his own heartbeat had traveled into his fingertips.

A shiver curled low in Wonwoo's stomach when his fingertips brushed Mingyu's cheek. The warmth lingered longer than it should have, his hand resting there almost unconsciously.

Then Mingyu shifted in his sleep.

Wonwoo's heart lurched. Panic struck sharp and fast—if Mingyu woke up now... He yanked his hand back as if burned, pulse racing.

But Mingyu only stirred faintly, lips still parted in an untroubled dream.

Before Wonwoo could exhale fully, his phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced down.

Bro, where are you? – Hoshi.

His eyes flickered to Mingyu's still figure before replying, thumbs moving quickly:

I'll skip lunch.

Not appetite, he told himself. That was all. He just didn't feel hungry. Definitely not because he wanted to stay here. Definitely not because he liked the quietness that seemed to exist only when Mingyu was around.

He swallowed down the thought, picked up his English book, and bent over the assigned exercises. The scratch of his pen filled the room.

Time blurred until a soft rustle broke the silence.

Mingyu blinked his eyes open, groaning slightly as he shifted his weight. His arm felt sore from sleeping crooked for so long. He flexed his fingers, winced at the stiffness—then froze.

His gaze landed instantly on Wonwoo.

Sitting there beside him, posture neat, pen moving steadily across the page. The sunlight filtered through the thin window screen, scattering soft beams across his face. His hair, a little disheveled from the breeze, caught faint golden streaks. His glasses perched neatly on the bridge of his nose, framing those sharp eyes that never seemed to soften for anyone.

Wonwoo looked... ethereal. Almost unreal.

For the first time, Mingyu didn't complain about the ache in his neck.

"Jeon, What are you doing here?" Mingyu's voice came low, roughened with sleep as he sat up, still half-drowsy.

Wonwoo startled, not at the words but at the sound—deep and unguarded. It sent a shiver straight down his spine. He blinked, caught off guard, his face blank as he scrambled for an answer.

Mingyu tilted his head, eyes narrowing faintly. "You had lunch?"

"I–I..." Wonwoo's tongue stumbled, mind blank. He ended up deflecting, "What about you?"

Mingyu gave a careless shrug. "Not feeling like it."

Wonwoo opened his mouth to say me too—but before the words could leave, his stomach betrayed him with a loud, unmistakable growl. His eyes widened in mortification, heat rushing to his ears.

He muttered a curse under his breath, fumbling for an excuse. "I–I..." Anything to save himself before Mingyu could laugh.

But Mingyu didn't. Without a word, he reached into his bag, pulled out a sandwich, and held it out. The gesture was so simple, so casual, but it left Wonwoo staring at him, dumbfounded.

"You're not hungry?" Wonwoo finally managed, his voice quieter than he intended.

Mingyu leaned back lazily, expression unreadable. "I'm not. You can have it."

Wonwoo hesitated, fingers twitching at his side.

Mingyu's lips curved faintly. "Relax, Jeon. There isn't poison in it... unless you're worried about that." His tone slipped back into familiar teasing.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, masking his fluster. "Idiot." He finally took the sandwich, though the warmth spreading in his chest had nothing to do with hunger.

Wonwoo started eating his sandwich in his usual way—small, careful bites, almost like he was savoring each crumb. It was his signature style, delicate and precise, a complete opposite of Mingyu, who would usually wolf down an entire sandwich in a few quick mouthfuls. The contrast amused Mingyu, and before he realized it, a small chuckle slipped past his lips.

Wonwoo glanced up at him, eyebrow raised, clearly noticing, but he didn't seem offended. He simply returned his attention to the sandwich, unfazed, continuing with his neat little bites.

After a short silence broken only by the faint sounds of pages fluttering and distant voices outside the classroom, Mingyu finally spoke.

"Hmm... actually, I worked on the sums you told me to do yesterday," he said, pulling his notebook out of his bag and flipping it open. "Could you take a look at it?"

Wonwoo brushed his hands, having just finished his sandwich, and adjusted his glasses as he took the notebook. He began scanning through the problems, his sharp eyes moving quickly over the calculations. 

Meanwhile, Mingyu leaned slightly closer, studying Wonwoo's face instead of his own work, desperate to catch a hint of approval or criticism.

But Wonwoo was unreadable. His expression stayed neutral all the way through, giving Mingyu nothing—no smile, no frown—until the very last problem. When Wonwoo finally looked up from the notebook, Mingyu straightened instinctively, waiting.

Then, with a surprising warmth in his tone, Wonwoo said, "Oh my God, Mingyu... I never knew you were such a smart boy." 

Without even realizing it, his hand rose and gently patted Mingyu's head in a natural, affectionate gesture.

Mingyu froze, eyes widening in surprise. Wonwoo noticed immediately and jerked his hand back in panic.

"I—I'm sorry, I just meant it as a way of appreciation, I—" he stammered.

But before he could retreat, Mingyu caught his wrist, holding it firmly but gently, his gaze locking with Wonwoo's. There was no teasing smile, no playful glint—only something raw and earnest. Slowly, he guided Wonwoo's hand back onto his head.

"Can you... do that always, whenever I perform well?" Mingyu asked quietly, his voice carrying none of his usual mischief.

Wonwoo blinked, startled at the sincerity. For a moment, he searched Mingyu's eyes, trying to decipher the emotion in them, but found nothing but honesty and a silent plea. His chest tightened strangely at the sight.

So, he nodded ever so slightly, letting his hand rest again before giving Mingyu's head another gentle pat.

"Good work, Mingyu," he said softly.

And God... heaven only knew how happy Mingyu felt at those words, his heart almost bursting at the simple approval. His grin was radiant, boyish, completely unguarded.

And in that very moment, Wonwoo realized something unexpected—he wasn't uncomfortable. Instead, he found himself strangely at ease, almost... warmed, by how bright Mingyu's smile looked because of him.

Chapter Text

Hiii Guyssss....,

I just want to say a very heartfelt thank you, because Bittersweet has reached 10k reads!!!
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d get so much love and support from you all, and I can’t explain how happy this makes me.

Even if I write more stories in the future, Bittersweet will always be very close to my heart — not just because it’s my first story, but also because of the reason behind it. I started writing it simply because I missed Minwon after Wonwoo’s enlistment, and a lot of it was inspired by real-life emotions. That’s why it will always hold such a special place for me.

Thank you to each and every one of you who spent your time reading, leaving kudos, and writing comments. Every single one of you has truly made my day. I’m beyond grateful..)

And.....

As I mentioned before, there’s a surprise waiting at the end of the ongoing story...

And… something important I wanted to share with you all: I’ve decided what my last story will be. Yes, you heard it right! ...As you guys know, writing was never something I planned to do permanently, and
I’m mostly thinking of stopping by next year. Originally, it was supposed to end with Bittersweet, but because of your enormous love and support, I found myself writing more and more.

I still have a couple of stories lined up—the arranged marriage one and the CEO & Secretary trope. And alongside those, I’ve finally decided what my final Minwon story will be.

So, about the last story… I’ve finally decided on its name: “TIMELESS.” Yes, it’s inspired by Taylor’s song Timeless (Swifties, you’ll know what I mean.. ). When I heard that song some weeks back, it immediately sparked the idea of writing a Minwon FF around it—and I knew this had to be my final one.

Now, usually I hate giving spoilers , but since this will be my last, I want to write it as a true gift for you all, something that leaves both me and you fully satisfied. So here’s the outline I’ve been shaping:

Timeless will have three parts (like three seasons)—each set in a different timeline:

Prince Era (royalty vibes, castles, forbidden love?)

Fantasy Era (something magical… maybe vampires, maybe something else

Modern Era (our present-day love story, tying everything together)

That’s what I’ve mapped out so far. But—this is where you come in! If there are any tropes, scenes, or genres you’d love to see (angst, fluff, slow burn, forbidden romance, arrangement romance, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers… anything!), please drop your thoughts here. I’d love to include your ideas and make this as special as possible.

I’ll be starting this slowly from December, with the plan to finish it sometime next year. It feels surreal to even say this, but I want Timeless to truly live up to its name—for me, and for all of you who’ve been with me on this journey....)

Thank You and Love you guysss...)

Chapter Text

The quiet spell between them broke sooner than either would've liked. One by one, students began trickling back into the classroom, the air filling with the low hum of chatter and the scuff of shoes against the floor. The once-peaceful silence cracked under laughter, rustling bags, and half-shouted conversations.

Wonwoo lowered his gaze to his English assignment, forcing himself to focus on the neat lines of text in front of him. His pen moved methodically, though the letters blurred at the edges—his mind still replaying the way Mingyu had held his wrist, the weight of that earnest look in his eyes. He told himself to shake it off, to get back to the safety of grammar rules and essay prompts.

Beside him, Mingyu lounged in his seat, a book propped open but barely read. His eyes drifted sideways now and then, stealing quick glances at Wonwoo, as if his earlier smile hadn't fully left his system.

The spell broke with a loud voice.

"Woah, man, you came back?" One of Mingyu's friends slapped the desk as they approached.

"Yes, just some time back," Mingyu muttered, his tone flat, his focus fixed stubbornly on the page before him.

"You were so cool, beating the life out of Jungwon..." another chimed in, grinning wide. Their laughter followed, loud and unrestrained, like it was all some sort of badge of honor.

Wonwoo's pen paused mid-stroke. The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy, making something coil uncomfortably in his chest. He kept his face carefully blank, eyes glued to his notebook, but every laugh from Mingyu's friends scraped against his nerves. 

Why did it bother him? It wasn't his business—he told himself that. Mingyu's world with his friends was not one he had the right to step into. Still... he couldn't help but feel a sour twist in his stomach.

"Let's not talk about him," Mingyu said quietly, his voice low but firm. He looked at them briefly, then let his gaze fall back onto the book in front of him, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

"Sure, boy, whatever you say..." one of them shrugged. Then, with a mischievous grin, he reached out and grabbed Mingyu's chin, turning his face toward the light.

"But wait a minute. It's unusual of you to treat your wounds. Glad at least you finally did it."

Mingyu yanked his hand away immediately.

"Don't touch my face. You guys know I hate anyone touching it. And I clearly don't understand what you were saying."

One of the boys raised a brow. "You treated the wound on your cheek with a bandage, right? That's what he was saying."

Mingyu froze. His hand instinctively went to his cheek, fingers brushing against the rough edge of fabric pressed over the cut. There was a bandage there—neat, secure, almost careful in the way it had been placed.

But his memory... was blank.

He frowned, searching his mind. He had no recollection of doing this himself. He never treated his own wounds after fights—why would he? He'd always left that sort of thing to his mother, or, when he was younger, Jeonghan. Patching himself up had never been in his nature.

Yet here it was. A bandage he didn't remember, sitting on his skin like proof of a moment he hadn't lived.

He stayed quiet, brushing the thought away under the noise of his friends' laughter. Soon, the bell rang and the group scattered for the next period, leaving Mingyu behind at his desk.

But his mind wasn't on the lesson that followed. The teacher's words blurred into background static. His thoughts circled back again and again to the gap in his memory, the strange softness of the bandage, the lingering question of who had done it.

After the fight, he hadn't met anyone. He'd gone straight to the terrace, staying there until the ache in his body dulled. Then he'd returned, slipping into an empty classroom. He'd closed his eyes for just a moment—just long enough to breathe.

And when he'd opened them again... Wonwoo was sitting beside him.

The image came back with startling clarity, so vivid he almost wondered if it had been a dream.

It couldn't be. Could it?

Did Wonwoo... apply the bandage to his wound?

Mingyu knew exactly what Wonwoo thought of him.

The boy had made it clear enough—calling him out for creating a scene, throwing that sharp blame after the fight. Wonwoo hated fighting. Hated people who thrived on it. And Mingyu was very aware he fit perfectly into that category.

If not for the tutoring arrangement that tied them together, Mingyu was certain Wonwoo wouldn't even spare him a glance in the hallways. He would have been just another troublemaker in Wonwoo's eyes.

Yet here he was, sitting in class with a bandage on his cheek that he didn't remember putting there, and every instinct told him it had been Wonwoo's doing. The thought gnawed at him, an unfamiliar warmth pressed against his usual pride.

And Wonwoo wasn't at peace either.

Ever since overhearing Mingyu's friends talking, his heart hadn't settled. What if Mingyu found out? What if he put the pieces together—that it was Wonwoo, hands trembling just slightly as he pressed the bandage into place?

Would Mingyu mock him for it? Confront him?

Should he admit it casually, as if it hadn't meant anything, or deny it completely and let Mingyu believe he'd imagined it?

Wonwoo's thoughts spiraled until they came to an abrupt halt when he felt a faint nudge against his shoulder. He blinked, startled, as Mingyu leaned in ever so slightly, his gaze still fixed forward on the teacher at the front.

"Thank you," Mingyu whispered, so low it was almost drowned out by the chalk against the board.

For a moment, Wonwoo forgot how to breathe.

His lips twitched upward—just a small curl, quick and careful, before he forced them flat again. He kept his composure, eyes trained on the lesson, body language calm. But inside, his little heart was flipping wildly, tripping over itself at the sound of Mingyu's gratitude.

He told himself to act like it wasn't a big deal.

But it was.

Wonwoo's lips curled up just a little, though he fought hard to keep his calm composure, pretending it wasn't a big deal. Pretending his little heart hadn't just flipped upside down at the sound of Mingyu's voice thanking him.

Never—not in this lifetime—had Wonwoo imagined he would hear Mingyu say "sorry" or "thank you." Especially not to him. Mingyu's words were usually sharp, teasing, or laced with arrogance. 

But this... this had been different. There had been no mockery, no playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Just a quiet sincerity. Genuine. And that, more than anything, made Wonwoo's chest ache in ways he didn't want to name.

It made him unlearn the things he thought he knew about Mingyu. Made him question if the boy he'd painted in his mind—the troublemaker, the fighter, the reckless one—was really the same boy sitting beside him now, whispering gratitude in such an unguarded tone.

His throat tightened. He leaned in ever so slightly, his voice low.

"Sorry," Wonwoo whispered.

Mingyu's eyes flicked to him immediately, his head tilting just a fraction as though he needed to see Wonwoo's face to believe the words.

"For what?" he asked in the same hushed tone, curiosity threading through his voice.

Wonwoo kept his gaze on the teacher for a moment, afraid of what he might see in Mingyu's eyes. But eventually, he tilted his head too, just enough to meet Mingyu's stare. 

His chest thudded at the way Mingyu was already looking at him—not with annoyance, not with mockery, but with... softness.

"For touching your face," Wonwoo admitted, his voice barely above a breath. "I didn't know you hated it."

He was about to turn back to the front, desperate to escape the intensity of Mingyu's gaze, when Mingyu leaned closer. So close that Wonwoo could feel the warmth of his breath tickle his ear, the husk in his voice sinking straight into his veins.

"I don't mind if it's you, princess."

The world seemed to stutter. Wonwoo's stomach twisted. His ears burned so hot he swore Mingyu could see the red creeping up his neck.

"Idiot," Wonwoo muttered under his breath, just for Mingyu to hear.

The soft chuckle that slipped out of Mingyu in response made Wonwoo's heart squeeze painfully. It was low, hushed, almost secretive—as if this moment was theirs alone amidst the droning of the teacher's lecture and the scratching of pens around them.

Again. That blooming sensation in his chest, unwelcome yet unstoppable, flared up. Wonwoo forced his eyes to the front, desperate for distraction, desperate to anchor himself before he drowned in Mingyu's orbit. He told himself not to look sideways, not to let his gaze drift back to the boy whose lips now held the faintest trace of a teasing smirk.

He is Mingyu, he reminded himself firmly. The same Mingyu who loved provoking him, who enjoyed pushing his buttons. Those words weren't real. They couldn't be.

Yes. Wonwoo repeated it like a mantra in his mind.

They're not real. He's just teasing me.

And yet... no matter how many times he whispered it to himself, the warmth blooming inside him refused to be smothered.

The last class finally ended with the shrill ring of the school bell. Most students had already packed their bags nearly thirty minutes before, eyes darting to the clock every other second, waiting for freedom to come. The moment the teacher stepped out, the room erupted in chatter, desks scraped, and everyone rushed toward the door in a noisy blur.

Wonwoo stayed in his seat, quietly sliding his books into his bag, his eyes stealing a glance toward Mingyu. He wanted to say something, maybe ask if tutoring would still happen today, but before he could, a group of Mingyu's friends appeared, all energy and excitement.

"Mingyu, see you on the ground! Let's crush the other team," one of them said casually, bumping his shoulder as they hurried out.

Wonwoo blinked, his heart sinking a little. Is he going to skip tutoring today? The thought stung even though he told himself it shouldn't. He didn't have the right to expect too much from Mingyu. He wasn't going to push.

But Mingyu stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder, his tall frame effortlessly commanding attention even in the half-empty classroom. His gaze landed on Wonwoo, who was still looking at him, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

"I'll let my coach know and meet you in fifteen at the library," Mingyu said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Wonwoo's chest loosened, relief rushing through him before he could hide it. So... he is coming. He gave a small nod, not trusting his voice, but his eyes softened.

Mingyu turned to leave, but before he could, Wonwoo's voice stopped him.

"Mingyu."

The taller boy halted mid-step, his back still to Wonwoo for a second before he turned. One brow arched, his lips quirking as though to say, Well? His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—dark and sharp—were entirely on Wonwoo, waiting.

And for a fleeting second, with Mingyu's full attention on him, Wonwoo wondered if he'd made a mistake calling out at all.

"I-It's just..." Wonwoo started, the words tangling in his throat. His lips parted, but no full sentence would come out.

Mingyu tilted his head, studying him. "Is there any issue?"

"No, it's..." Wonwoo swallowed and forced the words out. "Actually... Hoshi is my best friend."

"I know," Mingyu replied instantly, as if it were the most casual fact in the world.

Wonwoo blinked, stunned. How...? How could Mingyu, of all people, know something like that about him? He wasn't exactly memorable — the kind of person most people overlooked. Mingyu had never spared him more than a glare or a mocking word in the past. For him to know such a detail felt... impossible.

But he kept that thought buried, hiding his surprise behind his usual calm tone.

"Hmm... so actually, Hoshi and I... we've never really kept things from each other. He's noticed I've been busy these days, and I... I was wondering if it's okay to tell him the truth. About tutoring you. Only if you're comfortable with it," 

Wonwoo said, his hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I just... don't want him to feel like I'm hiding something."

For the first time, Mingyu's expression shifted. His features stiffened, a flicker of something sharp crossing his face before he quickly masked it with his usual neutrality.

Does Wonwoo care that much about what Hoshi thinks? The thought stung, though Mingyu couldn't quite explain why.

"Honestly, I have no problem with it, Jeon," Mingyu said flatly.

The reply should have relieved Wonwoo, but instead it left a hollow weight in his chest. It wasn't the words—it was the way he said them. Detached. Distant.

And worse, it was the name.

Jeon.

Why did it always have to be Jeon? Was "Wonwoo" really that hard for him to say? Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wonwoo had convinced himself that things between them had shifted, even if only slightly—that the hostility had softened, that maybe they weren't just enemies locked in some cruel routine anymore.

But Mingyu's voice dragged him back down to reality. To him, maybe nothing had changed at all.

"You sure?" Wonwoo asked quietly, searching Mingyu's face for even the slightest trace of hesitation. He wasn't asking for details, just for honesty.

"Of course, Jeon." Mingyu's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. 

His tone hardened as he added, "And maybe you should be asking that to yourself. Because if I remember correctly, it was you who told me on your very first day that you didn't want to associate with guys like me."

The words hit like a slap.

His words. Thrown back at him.

Mingyu said them like they didn't matter anymore, like he was unaffected—but both of them knew the truth. The sting lingered, sharp and undeniable.

Wonwoo's stomach twisted. Did I... really say it like that? Was I too harsh? At the time, he had told himself he was only protecting his peace, keeping boundaries. But hearing those exact words from Mingyu's mouth now felt different. Bitter. Cruel.

And Mingyu's eyes—Wonwoo saw it, as clear as daylight. Hurt. No matter how much Mingyu tried to bury it beneath his indifferent facade, it was there.

"Mingyu, I—I didn't mean—" Wonwoo started, his voice unsteady.

But Mingyu cut him off without missing a beat. "Relax, Jeon. You don't have to explain. It doesn't matter."

No. It did. They both knew it did.

"As I said, if you're fine with it, you can tell anyone you want."

With that, Mingyu walked out of the classroom, his tall frame disappearing through the door.

Wonwoo sat frozen, guilt flooding his chest. The words he had once thought were right—necessary, even—now felt like a chain wrapped around his throat. Heavy. Unshakable.

And for the first time, he wasn't sure if protecting himself had been worth hurting someone else.

Wonwoo slung his bag over his shoulder and pushed the chair back. The classroom felt emptier than usual, though a faint hum of chatter from the next room seeped through the thin walls. He told himself he should head to the library—bury himself in notes and silence—anything to shake off the heaviness Mingyu's words had left behind.

The hallway smelled faintly of chalk dust and floor polish, the kind that clung stubbornly no matter how many times you passed through. His shoes echoed lightly against the tiles, steady, almost rhythmic—until he heard it.

"Wonwoo!"

The voice was urgent, carried down the corridor. Wonwoo stilled mid-step, his pulse skipping as he turned. A boy was running toward him, taller than most, his steps slightly uncoordinated from the rush. As he came closer, Wonwoo recognized him—he was one of Mingyu's teammates, someone who always seemed glued to his side during practice.

When the boy stopped before him, chest rising and falling, Wonwoo blinked. "You are Wonwoo, right?"

Wonwoo gave a cautious nod.

"Hi, I'm Jeonghan," the senior said, extending his hand with a quick smile.

Wonwoo hesitated a fraction longer than necessary—what is this about? why me?—but politeness won out. He reached forward, the handshake firm but tentative. 

"Hi, sunbaenim," he murmured, dipping his head slightly in a small bow.

"Ahh, Wonwoo, no need for such formality," Jeonghan chuckled, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "You can just call me hyung."

Wonwoo's lips tugged into the faintest smile. "Oh... o-okay, hyung." The word felt strange on his tongue, but warmer somehow.

Jeonghan's expression softened. "If it's okay... can I have two minutes of your time?"

Wonwoo shifted his weight from one foot to the other, curiosity prickling in his chest. Still, he nodded. "Sure."

The senior exhaled, tone careful as if he'd been rehearsing this. "So, the thing is... please don't take me wrong. I know it's not really good to get involved in someone else's matter. But I care for Mingyu. That's why I'm telling you this."

At Mingyu's name, Wonwoo's breath stilled. A chill passed through him, even though the hallway wasn't particularly cold.

Jeonghan went on. "He shared with me what happened with one of your tests. Mingyu didn't tamper with your test paper, Wonwoo. It was Jungwon. He was the one who did that. Mingyu only found out after, and when he confronted him... it turned into a fight. That's why Mingyu got summoned to the teacher's room."

The hallway buzzed faintly with distant voices, but around Wonwoo, it felt like the sound dimmed. His mind grasped at the words, trying to arrange them into sense. 

Jungwon? Not Mingyu?

Chapter Text

Jeonghan went on. "He shared with me what happened with one of your tests. Mingyu didn't tamper with your test paper, Wonwoo. It was Jungwon. He was the one who did that. Mingyu only found out after, and when he confronted him... it turned into a fight. That's why Mingyu got summoned to the teacher's room."

The hallway buzzed faintly with distant voices, but around Wonwoo, it felt like the sound dimmed. His mind grasped at the words, trying to arrange them into sense. Jungwon? Not Mingyu?

Jeonghan's gaze was steady, kind, but firm. "It's up to you whether you believe me."

Wonwoo swallowed hard, the knot in his throat tightening. His fingers twitched at his sides, restless, like they didn't know whether to clench or reach for something. For someone. 

All this time... I thought it was him. I accused him. I pushed him away. And yet he...

The silence stretched between them, heavy but unspoken, the kind that forced Wonwoo to confront the truth already taking root in his chest.

Wonwoo stood frozen, Jeonghan's words echoing in his head like the lingering chime of the school bell. His pulse quickened, not from the hallway chatter around him but from the sudden realization pressing down on his chest.

What is he trying to tell me... that Mingyu didn't do it? That it was someone else all along?

The thought clawed at him. His throat tightened, dry, as though he had swallowed sand. All this time—he had pointed fingers, cast blame, carried resentment. Against Mingyu. Against the wrong person.

His voice came out smaller than he expected, fragile in the bustling corridor. 

"What you are telling... is true?" 

Wonwoo asked, though deep inside he already felt Jeonghan wasn't lying. There was something about his eyes—steady, unwavering—that told Wonwoo this wasn't a fabricated story.

"I told you only the truth, Wonwoo." Jeonghan's words were calm, but heavy, every syllable weighted with sincerity. 

"If you want, you can check our school CCTV footage. I just don't want Mingyu to be misunderstood for something he didn't do. He isn't someone who'd pull that kind of thing. It's up to you whether to believe me or not. Thank you for listening."

With that, Jeonghan turned, ready to leave.

"Hyung..." Wonwoo's voice broke, softer than before. Jeonghan paused mid-step, glancing back.

Wonwoo bowed his head, his lips trembling slightly. "Th–Thank you for telling me."

A faint smile curved on Jeonghan's lips before he finally walked away, his footsteps fading into the hallway noise.

The world suddenly felt too loud for Wonwoo. The laughter of students, the slam of lockers, the squeak of sneakers on the polished floor—it all blurred into background static. Inside, he felt heavy, almost suffocated, as if the truth had wrapped chains around his chest.

By the time he reached the library, his legs felt heavier than usual. He sank into his chair, the wooden surface cold against his skin, and opened his book. The pages stared back at him, lines of ink forming words, but none of them took root in his mind.

His thoughts spun, looping endlessly back to the same point.

Have I made a mistake? Was I wrong all along?

Wonwoo prided himself on being careful, on not hurting others unnecessarily. He always thought he was mature enough to handle his emotions, to separate reason from impulse. But now... now he wasn't sure.

If it had been someone else—anyone other than Mingyu—would I have done the same thing? Would I still have refused to believe them?

He remembered clearly, painfully, the way Mingyu had looked him in the eye and said he hadn't done it. And Wonwoo... hadn't trusted him. He'd dismissed those words, dismissed him.

His stomach twisted.

Or could Jeonghan be lying? The thought flickered weakly, a fragile defense, but even as it surfaced, Wonwoo knew it didn't hold. Jeonghan had no reason to lie, no gain in fabricating this. His voice, his face—nothing about him carried deceit.

The page beneath Wonwoo's fingertips blurred as his vision turned glassy. He shut the book, the faint thud echoing in the quiet library. But silence did nothing to soothe him. His guilt lingered, loud and heavy, refusing to be buried.

Wonwoo thought he had Mingyu all figured out. He thought he had decoded him on the very first day of school—when he heard the gossip that clung to Mingyu's name like smoke, when he saw him swagger down the hallway with bruised knuckles and a proud smirk, when whispers about late-night parties and girlfriends followed him everywhere. 

To Wonwoo, Mingyu had been a fixed equation: troublemaker, arrogant, untouchable.

But over the past couple of weeks—especially since the tutoring thing—the neat picture he'd drawn in his head had begun to blur. 

The Mingyu he had seen lately wasn't the one from the rumors. Not the smug boy with an untamed grin, not the careless fighter. Instead, he had seen flickers of something softer: a hand reaching for his when it was cold, a quiet patience in the library, a gentleness tucked between the edges of his teasing.

Or maybe Mingyu had always been that way, and it was Wonwoo who had been too blind to notice. Too quick to judge. Too ready to throw words like knives, to call him names, to assume the worst before ever listening.

The realization sat heavy in his chest, guilt pressing against his ribs until his shoulders sank with the weight of it. His face fell at the thought of all his wrongdoings—how easily he had blamed Mingyu, how little he had trusted him. 

He wanted to tear apart everything he thought he knew, to start over from zero. He wanted to learn Mingyu again—not through whispers and rumors, not through anyone else's eyes—but through Mingyu himself. His perspective. His truth.

The sharp edge of his thoughts dulled when he felt a familiar presence settle across from him. That gravity, warm and inescapable, pulled him out of his storm.

"Lost in thoughts, Jeon?" Mingyu's voice broke through the silence, calm yet carrying a spark of amusement.

Wonwoo blinked, shaken out of the fog. He shook his head faintly, though his heart rattled against his chest. He wanted to ask—wanted to reach across the table and demand the truth from Mingyu's own mouth. But would Mingyu tell him? After everything Wonwoo had said, after all the times he had made it clear he disliked him... why would Mingyu open up now?

If Mingyu chose to shut him out, to deny him the truth, Wonwoo knew it would be his own fault. He had earned that wall. He had earned Mingyu's resentment. Perhaps he even deserved to be hated. The thought stung, quiet but sharp.

"Jeon?" Mingyu's voice pulled him back again, gentler this time, tinged with concern.

"Y-Yes, Mingyu," Wonwoo managed, his voice softer than usual, as if afraid to break the fragile air between them.

"You fine?" Mingyu tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly in curiosity. Then, almost casually, as if offering a lifeline back to normalcy, he asked, "Shall we proceed with the next chapter today?"

Wonwoo started hesitantly, his voice low. "Mingyu... before that, I want to ask you something."

"Sure," Mingyu answered easily, though his eyes flickered to Wonwoo's restless fingers, the tapping leg. He could tell he was nervous, anxious even.

"Calm down, princess. It's not like you're about to ask me out, right? Or... is that it?" Mingyu teased, trying to lighten the heaviness.

Wonwoo's shoulders relaxed a little, but his voice stayed firm. "Mingyu, I'm serious."

A soft chuckle left Mingyu. "Alright, but you don't have to look like I'm about to eat you alive. Unless... you want me to." The smirk that followed only made Wonwoo's heart stumble faster.

"Mingyu..." Wonwoo's tone pleaded, quiet but sharp. "Stop. Just... listen. I'll ask you a question. You can decide if you want to answer honestly, or lie, or not answer at all. Anything is fine with me."

Mingyu tilted his head, his smirk fading into something gentler. "Anything, huh? ...Do you want the truth, Jeon?"

Wonwoo swallowed and gave a small, hesitant nod.

"Then..." Mingyu leaned back slightly, his voice softer now. "I'll go with the truth."

The room felt too still after Mingyu's words, the kind of silence that pressed against Wonwoo's ribs. He let out a long, shaky sigh and lowered his gaze to the open book in front of him. His fingers worried at the paper, pressing and smoothing at the same corner until it had almost begun to curl. The faint scratch of skin against paper was the only sound for a beat.

"Is Jungwon..." Wonwoo's voice came out soft, uncertain, before he swallowed and steadied himself. 

"Is Jungwon the one who tampered with my paper? And you... you fought with him because of that?"

The words hung in the air like a fragile thread. Wonwoo's eyes lingered on the book for a moment longer before he dared to look up. He caught the shift in Mingyu's expression—something sharp flickering through his eyes, a crack in that usual composure.

"How do you know that?" Mingyu's voice was no longer light, no longer teasing. It carried an edge, harsh and cutting, making the air between them feel colder.

Wonwoo's lips pressed into a line. He didn't answer.

Mingyu leaned forward slightly, his jaw tightening. "Did Hannie-hyung tell you? It must be him, right?"

"Hannie?" Wonwoo repeated, the nickname unfamiliar on his tongue, strange in a way that unsettled him.

"I mean—Jeonghan-hyung. Did he tell you?" Mingyu clarified, a little too quickly.

Wonwoo felt something stir inside him, a flash of irritation he couldn't explain. Maybe it was the intimacy of that nickname, or maybe it was the way Mingyu was dodging. 

His own voice came out sharper than he intended: "Is that even relevant? Just tell me whether it's true or not."

The slight edge in his tone startled him, but he didn't pull it back.

Mingyu's smirk was gone, his face settling into something flat, almost unreadable. His voice, however, was steady—too steady. 

"Yes. He's the one. And when I confronted him about it, he said some things I didn't like. Things escalated into a fight... and after that, well, you know the rest. I'm here, under your care for tutoring, and my championship match is at stake."

The neutrality in his tone clashed with the weight of what he admitted. It made Wonwoo wonder—was Mingyu trying to downplay it, or protect himself from something heavier that lingered behind the words?

"Are you crazy? Why did you confront him? Why couldn't you just tell me the truth when you found out?" 

Wonwoo's voice rose a little higher than he intended, the sharpness startling even him. His hands curled into fists on his lap, nails digging into his skin.

But Mingyu cut in smoothly, his tone deceptively calm. "If I did, then what? Would you believe me? If my memory is correct, I clearly refused when you accused me, Jeon. Even then, you didn't believe me. Remember?"

The air in the room shifted, heavier, like a curtain had fallen between them. Wonwoo's mouth went dry. He opened it to reply but no words came. Mingyu was right. He knew it. Back then, he would have doubted every word Mingyu said, dismissing it as another excuse. 

The truth hit harder than he expected, pressing uncomfortably against his chest. And for some reason, Wonwoo hated that realization. Hated it even more when he saw Mingyu's face—blank, detached, as if none of this mattered to him. As if he didn't matter.

"Even then... you could have at least informed the teacher, right?" Wonwoo muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper, sounding less like an accusation and more like a plea he didn't understand himself. His gaze dropped, ashamed of the way it wavered.

Mingyu let out a short, mocking laugh, the sound cutting through the silence. 

"Come on, Jeon. Do you even hear yourself? I know what I am in everyone's eyes here—rude, arrogant, troublemaker, flashing my father's money, playboy. Who would believe me? And honestly..." his voice softened, but not kindly, "...I don't expect anyone to. I'm fine with whatever you guys think."

The words hit Wonwoo deeper than he expected, lodging themselves under his skin. Everyone. That word echoed louder than the rest. Because "everyone" included him too. He was no different. He wasn't better. Maybe worse. 

The others only gossiped about Mingyu in hushed tones, behind his back. But Wonwoo—he had believed those things. He had fed them. He had thrown them at Mingyu's face, raw and cutting, every chance he got.

Hated him. Mocked him. Accused him.

And now, sitting across from the boy who carried all those accusations with an unreadable face, Wonwoo felt a sting of guilt he couldn't shake off.

Am I really that bad of a person?  Wonwoo's chest tightened at the thought, and before he knew it, his eyes brimmed with unshed tears, blurring his vision.

"I–I'm sorry," he managed, his voice trembling despite his desperate attempt to keep it neutral. The crack in his tone betrayed him.

Mingyu blinked, caught off guard. "Oh my god, Jeon... what happened?" 

His voice carried genuine concern, almost frantic, as if he couldn't piece together the storm raging inside Wonwoo.

"I told you, right? It's fine. I don't mind it, actually..." 

Mingyu's words came softer this time, almost pleading as he rose from his seat and shifted to sit beside Wonwoo on the same bench. Their shoulders nearly brushed, the space between them thinner than it had ever been. 

"Stop... it's actually fine."

But Wonwoo shook his head, his breath shaky. 

"No, it's not. Why do you keep telling me it's fine?" 

His voice broke, tears still clinging stubbornly to his lashes, refusing to fall. His ears and nose flushed red, betraying the weight of his emotions.

"Why do you feel okay when people treat you less than you deserve?" His voice quivered, and then came out almost like a plea. "Can you just... p-please accept my apology?"

For a moment, silence stretched, fragile. Then Mingyu let out a small laugh, low and unexpected.

Wonwoo's head jerked up, wounded. "Do you find anything laughable now?" His voice trembled, defensive.

"No," Mingyu said quickly, shaking his head. 

His lips curved into a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I just find it... cute. The way you're holding everything in—trying so hard not to let those tears fall."

The words, light as they were, pressed warmth against Wonwoo's chest.

"Kim Mingyu..." Wonwoo breathed, half in protest, half in surrender—his name falling from his lips softer than ever before.

Mingyu tilted his head, studying him quietly. For the first time, the nerd and composed boy didn't wear his blank, untouchable mask. He only saw Wonwoo—the sharp lines of his face softened with guilt, the redness around his eyes, the way he was holding back like it would kill him to break down here.

And before Wonwoo could turn his head away, Mingyu's hand moved. Slowly, hesitantly, his fingers brushed against Wonwoo's cheek. Warm against cold skin. He caught a single tear that had escaped, swiping it away with the pad of his thumb.

Wonwoo froze at the touch. His breath caught. It was the first time Mingyu had ever touched his face without a fight in between, without anger lingering in the air. And it felt... disarming.

"You don't have to apologize like this," Mingyu said softly, his voice lower than Wonwoo had ever heard it. 

Wonwoo's lips trembled, and this time the tears betrayed him, slipping down despite his effort. Mingyu's hand lingered at his cheek, thumb clumsily wiping them away. He leaned a little closer, their shoulders pressing now, his warmth seeping through.

"Stop crying," Mingyu murmured, not as a command, but like a wish he knew couldn't come true.

And then, a small, genuine smile tugged at Mingyu's lips. "I accept your apology, okay? Do you feel better now?"

Wonwoo blinked, his throat tight, but nodded ever so slightly.

"Good," Mingyu said with a playful nudge, his tone shifting just enough to lighten the air. 

"Now teach me the next chapter... my time is running out. I can't let your princess behavior ruin my academics."

"Idiot," Wonwoo muttered under his breath, but this time, the word slipped out with a faint laugh.

Mingyu grinned wider at that, as if the sound itself was a victory. And just like that, the heavy silence between them lifted, replaced by the faint scratch of pen on paper, the soft hum of shared focus.

They sat side by side, knees brushing now and then, hands grazing in small accidental touches that neither mentioned. The silence was no longer sharp—it felt softer, almost fragile, like something they both wanted to protect.

Wonwoo's eyes stayed on the book, but his thoughts refused to. Each smile Mingyu gave, each easy word, only pressed heavier on his chest.

How can he sit here like this after everything I've said to him? After the way I've treated him?

The faint laugh still lingered on his lips, but inside, the questions clawed deeper.

Does he really not resent me? Or is he just too used to swallowing the hurt? And if he is... what kind of person does that make me?

He bit the inside of his cheek, pushing the ache down, and told himself to just turn the page. To just keep reading.

But even as he did, the guilt sat heavy in his chest, like a truth he could neither escape nor admit aloud.

Chapter Text

When they stepped out of the library, the quiet hum of the campus felt different. The building behind them glowed faintly with yellow lights, but the sky above had already surrendered to night. 

A dark indigo dome stretched wide, scattered with stars that blinked faintly through the city haze. The breeze carried the faint scent of damp earth and rustling leaves, brushing against Wonwoo's skin as though nudging him forward.

"See you, Jeon," 

Mingyu said casually, his voice light as he shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking away. His tall frame looked almost too carefree, the swing in his step like he didn't carry the weight of the day.

But Wonwoo's chest tightened. His throat felt dry, words swelling there, unspoken for far too long. Before he could stop himself, he called out, 

"Mingyu."

The name cracked through the air sharper than he intended, laced with hesitation. Mingyu stopped mid-step, turning just enough for the breeze to ruffle his hair as his shadow stretched across the pavement. 

Wonwoo's legs carried him forward slowly, each step heavier than the last, his hands twisting against each other.

He drew in a deep breath, the cold air burning his lungs, and kept his gaze fixed downward. Because how could he say it all while looking at Mingyu straight in the eye? What if his expression changes? 

"Actually... I–I know I'm at wrong." 

His voice was uneven, catching on the edges of his guilt. 

"I accused you, insulted you, threw names at you when I didn't even know a single thing about you. All these things I—I just said because of what I heard, what others told me, the gossip that spreads like smoke here..."

His words trembled into the night, fading in the stillness. Wonwoo finally forced himself to look up. His eyes stung with the glisten of tears that clung stubbornly, and for a moment he hated how raw it made him feel. Vulnerable. Exposed.

But Mingyu was looking at him—really looking. Not with mockery, not with sharpness, but with an intensity that made Wonwoo's chest cave in. 

There was a weight there, yes, but it was softened by something warmer, steadier, like Mingyu had been waiting all along for this wall to crack.

Wonwoo's voice broke softer as he continued, 

"You're right. Everyone here sees you as arrogant, a jerk, a troublemaker, a playboy—flashing your dad's money." 

The words felt ugly even in repetition, bile rising in his throat at the memory of believing them. His breath hitched. The air felt thick, as though the stars themselves leaned closer, waiting.

"But..." His eyes didn't leave Mingyu's this time, though it made his heart pound like it wanted out of his chest. 

"...can you please listen to what you are in my eyes?"

"I'll be honest, Mingyu." 

Wonwoo's voice wavered, but it carried, trembling against the night air. His fingers curled and uncurled nervously at his sides. "I thought I figured you out. I thought you were nothing more than the things everyone said about you."

He paused, a sharp inhale cutting through his chest as though saying it out loud made the shame heavier. His eyes flicked away, to the faintly glowing lamppost nearby, before drifting back to Mingyu's silhouette. 

"But no... no, you're not any of those things I heard."

The words tumbled out faster now, like water breaking free from a dam.

 "I misunderstood you—based on whispers, on what I thought I saw, on stories that were never mine to believe. But when I think about what I feel when I'm with you..." 

He pressed his lips together, voice catching, "...I think you're none of those things."

Wonwoo's throat tightened, but he forced himself forward, desperate to make Mingyu see the truth he had only just begun to accept himself. His gaze didn't waver this time, even though his chest was thundering.

"Can you—can you please see who you are through my eyes?" The plea rang quiet, almost raw.

His words softened into a list, each one slow, deliberate, as if he feared they might crumble if rushed.

"You're kind. You're considerate. You're respectful. You're talented. You're hardworking. You're stubborn in the best way—you don't back down when something matters to you. You're confident in what you do, and if people call that arrogance... then maybe they've never seen the difference."

Wonwoo's voice grew quieter, gentler, his lashes wet though no tears had fallen yet. 

"You're someone who cares, even if you don't say it out loud. You're someone people can trust. That's who you are to me."

The silence that followed was thick. Wonwoo felt the chill of the evening creep under his skin, but his face was hot, his heart racing in his ears.

"I know I've crossed a line with you, Mingyu," he whispered, almost afraid to hear his own words. "And I'll understand if you don't want to accept my apology, but—"

His sentence was cut short.

A sudden force collided into him, knocking the air out of his chest, and before Wonwoo could steady himself, he felt strong arms wrapping around him. 

Mingyu pulled him close, the scent of Mingyu's cologne, faint but warm, filled Wonwoo's senses. The world went still. The lamppost buzzed faintly, the stars shimmered, and Wonwoo's breath caught as his own hands hovered, uncertain, before slowly gripping the fabric of Mingyu's jacket.

Mingyu's embrace wasn't hesitant—it was fierce, as if he'd been holding back for far too long.

Wonwoo froze, his mind spiraling. Why does this feel like relief?  Do I even deserve this closeness after all the things I said to him?

But Mingyu only tightened his hold, as though answering without words.

Wonwoo felt small in Mingyu's embrace, like he had been swallowed whole by a warmth he hadn't expected to deserve. The hug was tight—too tight—and it carried a desperation that made Wonwoo's chest ache. 

Mingyu held him as if letting go would make the moment vanish, as if this fragile closeness could slip away the second he loosened his grip.

Wonwoo could feel Mingyu's hands sliding slowly, from the middle of his back down to his waist, tugging him closer until not even a breath could fit between them. Mingyu bent a little to level their height, the movement unthinking, instinctive, before he pressed his face into the curve of Wonwoo's shoulder.

Warm breath ghosted across the side of Wonwoo's neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It wasn't trembling; it wasn't broken by sobs. Mingyu wasn't crying. He was steady, silent, as if trying to ground himself in the reality of Wonwoo's presence, to wordlessly say: This is real. Don't take it away.

And as though guided by something beyond reason, Wonwoo's arms finally wrapped around him properly. His hand moved in slow circles against Mingyu's broad shoulder, a silent reassurance. 

The gesture said what words could not—that the apology was real, that the truths he had spoken about Mingyu were real, that every word had come from somewhere raw and honest.

For a fleeting moment, relief flickered in Wonwoo's chest. Mingyu had accepted him—his apology, his honesty. For once, he had managed to ease the weight Mingyu carried, even if only slightly. That knowledge should have been enough to steady him, to comfort him.

But it didn't.

Because beneath that relief bloomed something sharper—an awareness he had fought so long to deny. This closeness, this warmth, this fragile trust—was dangerous.

Wonwoo's jaw tightened against Mingyu's shoulder, his eyes closing as if that would stop the storm building inside. He had wanted distance. He had promised himself distance. Yet here he was, holding Mingyu like he never wanted to let go.

A heavy truth sank in his chest. I've stepped into the very trouble I swore I'd avoid.

And though he didn't move away, a knot of guilt and self-doubt twisted within him, whispering that he had no right to want this—yet unable to stop himself from needing it.

And now—standing this close, caught in Mingyu's hold—Wonwoo could no longer ignore the way his heart betrayed him. How Mingyu's large palms fit so securely around his smaller waist, anchoring him like he belonged there. 

How Mingyu's embrace carried a warmth that seeped through every corner of Wonwoo's guarded heart, a comfort he had secretly craved for longer than he cared to admit. How the steady rhythm of Mingyu's quiet breaths against him felt like peace—peace he hadn't found in years, peace he didn't think he deserved.

And it wasn't just that. It was the way Mingyu held him like he mattered. Like his presence alone could ease a weight Mingyu didn't let anyone else see. It was the way Mingyu didn't rush to speak, didn't demand, didn't judge—just was there. A silent steadiness that made Wonwoo want to sink deeper into him.

Wonwoo wanted more. He started to want more.

Even knowing it was reckless. Even knowing it could only end in pain. He wanted to feel it again and again, if it was Mingyu. Because if it was Mingyu—then maybe, just maybe—the ache would be worth it.

But then—like a cold alarm slicing through his haze—his conscious mind screamed a reminder.

What if history repeats? What if this ends the same way it always does—with hurt, with regret, with loss?

Fear jolted him awake. Wonwoo's body tensed, and before he could stop himself, he pulled away from the hug.

The sudden emptiness between them was loud. Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to. The silence was filled with everything the hug had already confessed—things their words couldn't dare to touch.

Mingyu stood there, a little dazed, still feeling the ghost of Wonwoo's warmth lingering on his skin. He realized something in that silence. He had been wrong all along. 

He thought making Wonwoo flustered, cornering him, teasing him, would give him satisfaction. That watching Wonwoo unravel would feed his pride. But no—this was different.

Seeing Wonwoo now, seeing the way his eyes softened, carrying a care and warmth Mingyu had never expected to receive from him—that made Mingyu happier than anything else ever could. It was a happiness that reached places even his pride couldn't touch.

Mingyu had always thought of Wonwoo as reserved, guarded—a man who kept his walls high. He never thought him to be unkind, just distant, unreachable. 

So he understood—how hard it must be for Wonwoo to open up, to bare even fragments of his heart. And more so to him—to Mingyu—the very person Wonwoo had once sworn to hate.

He thought of Wonwoo as someone unreachable—like a person carved from another world entirely. The kind of world where Mingyu didn't belong, where someone like him could only ever look up, never touch. 

He believed from the start that the two of them could never get along. After all, what were the chances that two different worlds would ever collide without breaking apart?

Their interactions had been fleeting: an occasional glance that lingered too long, a stare that made Mingyu second-guess himself, harsh words that cut deeper than they should have, and an irritated expression that Mingyu convinced himself was reserved especially for him.

And yet—never once did Mingyu expect to hear the words, the small gestures, the softness he had secretly yearned for, spilling from Wonwoo of all people. 

Wonwoo—the one he thought could only hate him—had given him a hug that felt like an anchor. A gift Mingyu didn't even dare dream of.

Before his mind could spiral further, Wonwoo's voice broke through the silence.

"Hmm... it's getting late. We should head back home," he said, his tone carefully even, though Mingyu could sense the strain underneath.

Mingyu only nodded. Words felt too heavy, too fragile to place into the air. They started walking, the silence following them like a shadow. But then—just as Wonwoo was about to take another step forward—he felt it.

Mingyu's hand, slipping carefully into his, fingers brushing against his own. The touch was featherlight, hesitant, but unmistakably warm. Mingyu's long fingers curled just enough around Wonwoo's right hand, like he was afraid to hold too tightly, afraid that one wrong move would make Wonwoo pull away again.

Wonwoo froze for a heartbeat, his breath catching at the gentle grip.

And then Mingyu's voice—low, steady, carrying every ounce of sincerity that words could hold—broke the stillness.

"Thank you."

Two simple words, but heavy enough to make Wonwoo's chest ache.

Because Mingyu wasn't just thanking him for the hug. He was thanking him for the moment, for the warmth, for a glimpse into a world Mingyu never thought he'd be allowed to see.

And though Wonwoo didn't answer, his fingers—just barely—pressed back against Mingyu's, the smallest acknowledgment that he heard, that he understood.

Wonwoo nodded faintly, his gaze drifting down to where Mingyu's fingers were still wrapped around his own. His heart thudded louder the longer he stared at their linked hands. 

Mingyu followed the movement of Wonwoo's eyes, and instead of pulling away, his grip only tightened. With a sudden tug, he drew Wonwoo forward.

Caught off guard, Wonwoo stumbled, his balance faltering as his free hand instinctively pressed against Mingyu's chest to steady himself. The warmth beneath his palm sent a jolt through him.

Before he could retreat—before he could even process—the other half of Mingyu's embrace closed in. An arm slipped around his frame, holding him there, steady but deliberate. 

The closeness was suffocating, and Wonwoo's breath hitched, his mind scrambling for sense.

"Do you really think," Mingyu's voice came low, edged with a teasing lilt that only made Wonwoo's pulse quicken, "that everything people say about me is false?"

Wonwoo's throat tightened. Words refused to come, and all he managed was a small nod, his lips parting but soundless.

A smirk curved Mingyu's mouth, mischievous yet unreadable. He leaned in just enough for Wonwoo to feel the faint brush of his breath.

"And what about the rumors," he murmured, tilting his head, "that I'm... ridiculously handsome?"

Wonwoo's breath caught sharply, eyes widening at the brazen words. The proximity, the way Mingyu said it—half a joke, half a confession—sent his thoughts spiraling.

"What is this? Does Mingyu even know what he's doing? Or is this just another piece of his endless teasing? If it's a game to him, then why does it feel so real to me? Why does it hurt?"

Wonwoo's fingers twitched against Mingyu's chest, torn between pushing him away and clinging tighter.

"Answer me, princess," 

Mingyu murmured, his voice laced with playful tease yet carrying something heavier beneath it—something that sent an involuntary shiver crawling down Wonwoo's spine.

Wonwoo's throat went dry. He gulped, eyes darting downward as panic coiled inside him. He needed to escape—escape Mingyu's hold, escape the warmth pressing against him, escape the storm unraveling in his own chest. He needed distance, not this unbearable closeness.

Summoning every ounce of will, Wonwoo lifted his eyes. The moment their gazes collided, his composure nearly shattered. Mingyu's stare was unrelenting, intense, and dangerously close. Heat flared across Wonwoo's cheeks, betraying him no matter how desperately he tried to suppress it.

His hand was still pressed against Mingyu's chest. He was still caught inside Mingyu's embrace. If he gave in now, Mingyu would win—he'd have all the upper hand. Wonwoo refused to allow that.

So he steadied his breath, curved his lips into a smirk, and countered, 

"Yes. I think that's not true either. People are just... exaggerating your so-called handsomeness." His eyes flickered, just for a fraction of a second, toward Mingyu's lips.

That single glance was enough. He felt Mingyu's arm tighten at his waist, grip firmer, deliberate. The action knocked the air from Wonwoo's lungs, his breath hitching audibly, but Mingyu's expression remained unchanged—a smirk still carved across his lips, daring, relentless, and far too close.

"Is that so, princess?" Mingyu teased again, the word rolling off his tongue too easily.

That nickname... that cursed, dangerous nickname. It was the one thing that made Wonwoo's heart ache with wishes he had sworn never to wish for.

"I told you not to call me that," Wonwoo bit back, his voice sharper than he intended.

"You don't want me to?" Mingyu countered, eyes narrowing with quiet amusement.

Silence. That was all Wonwoo could give. Because how could he admit the truth? That it wasn't about dislike at all. That the nickname clawed at walls he thought he had buried long ago, stirring feelings he couldn't risk letting out.

"I'll stop calling you that then," 

Mingyu finally said, loosening his grip on Wonwoo's waist. His hand slid away, deliberate and slow. He didn't miss the flicker of change in Wonwoo's expression at the sudden absence—too quick, too telling.

Leaning down, Mingyu dipped his head until their eyes met at the same level. His voice dropped to something low, dangerous, and intimate. "If you stop responding to it."

It wasn't just a condition. It was a challenge. A dare. He was asking Wonwoo to prove it—to show that he didn't care, that the nickname meant nothing. To treat it like any other word.

But Wonwoo was never one to back down from a fight, not even one that burned him from the inside. He curled his lips into a cool smirk, gaze steady on Mingyu's.

"That's not hard," he replied, his tone laced with more confidence than he actually felt

Mingyu chuckled softly, reaching out to pat Wonwoo's head with infuriating gentleness. 

"We'll see about that... Head home safe, princess."

And with that, Mingyu turned, leaving Wonwoo rooted to the spot, pulse racing, with the nickname still echoing in his chest.

Chapter Text

Days slipped by quietly, each one blurring into the next, yet every moment between Mingyu and Wonwoo carried a weight that hadn't been there before. On the outside, nothing had changed—seatmates in class as always, side by side in the library after school. To anyone else, it looked routine, even dull. 

But to Mingyu and Wonwoo, the proximity was no longer just a matter of chance or compulsion. It was charged. Unspoken. A tether they both felt but refused to name. Both knew it. Nothing between them was the same anymore.

It showed in the smallest of things. In class, when the teacher's voice droned on, they slipped scraps of paper across the desk—half gossips, half inside jokes, their handwriting crooked from trying to stifle laughter. The brush of fingers when the notes changed hands always lingered a second too long, always noticed, always ignored.

At lunch, Mingyu lingered near the courtyard, pretending to be absorbed in something on his phone, but really just waiting—waiting for Wonwoo to finish eating with Hoshi so they could walk back together. Wonwoo never asked why he waited. Mingyu never offered an excuse. The quiet rhythm of falling into step side by side was enough.

Tutoring sessions brought another kind of intimacy. When Mingyu stumbled through a tricky question, Wonwoo's hand instinctively reached out to ruffle his hair in approval. That simple pat—brief, soft—sent a ripple through Mingyu every single time.

And then there were the moments that caught Mingyu off guard, the ones that revealed how much Wonwoo listened without saying a word. One day, Wonwoo passed him a lunchbox, shyly insisting his mom had made an extra dish. It was the dish Mingyu had once mentioned in passing, so casually he had forgotten about it himself.

The realization hit him slowly, leaving his chest warm and unsettled. Wonwoo had remembered. His mom had cooked it. For him. Mingyu smiled that day more than he meant to, biting back the gratitude that threatened to spill over.

But as much as quiet affection crept in, so did mischief. Mingyu's teasing grew bolder with time. A hand brushing against Wonwoo's arm and staying there a beat too long. The way his eyes dropped to Wonwoo's lips when he explained something, gaze soft but far too intent. The moments he let himself memorize Wonwoo's profile under the library's yellow light, when no one else was watching.

And then, of course, the nickname. Princess. Mingyu used it more freely now, each time savoring the way Wonwoo stiffened, rolled his eyes, muttered complaints—and still responded. Always responded.

And Mingyu loved it. Loved the fight in Wonwoo's voice when he snapped back. Loved the way his eyes betrayed what his mouth denied. Loved that he couldn't let it go, even when he swore he hated it.

To everyone else, nothing had changed.

To them, everything had.

One embarrassing moment that Wonwoo can never erase from his memory came the very next day after his bold challenge to Mingyu—the reckless promise that he'd prove the nickname doesn't affect him.

Their class was preparing for the upcoming culturals, and there was supposed to be a drama performance. As the class representative, Wonwoo stood at the front with his notebook in hand, neat handwriting already prepared to capture suggestions. His voice was steady, authoritative even.

"Any recommendations for our drama?" he asked, scanning the sea of faces before him.

Almost instantly, the classroom turned into a noisy chorus of overlapping voices.

"Romeo and Juliet!" one shouted.

"Alibaba and the Forty Thieves!" another added.

"Cinderella!" came from the corner, followed by laughter.

Wonwoo kept nodding, jotting down the suggestions in quick strokes, expression unreadable. His pen scratched quietly against the paper, the chaos of voices blurring into background noise.

And then—clear as a bell cutting through the chatter—he heard it.

"Princess."

He didn't need to look up. He knew that voice, that deliberate tone, that teasing weight. Mingyu.

And before he even realized it, his instincts betrayed him.

"Yes, Mingyu," he replied.

The words slipped out effortlessly, like muscle memory. His pen paused mid-stroke, but his head stayed bent, as if still expecting Mingyu to continue his suggestion.

It was only after a second, the reality came crashing down on Wonwoo like a bucket of cold water. His spine stiffened. His throat went dry. Oh no. Oh no no no.

He had just answered. Out loud. In front of everyone. To Mingyu calling him Princess.

Wonwoo's head lifted slowly, almost against his will, eyes darting toward the culprit. And sure enough, Mingyu was leaning back in his seat, that infuriating smirk carved deep into his lips, his chin resting lazily on one hand. His eyes gleamed with mischief, locked on Wonwoo like a hunter savoring his victory.

Wonwoo's ears burned crimson. His hand clenched tighter around the pen, and he bit the inside of his cheek so hard. But he was grateful for the little chaos in the classroom; with students shouting and arguing over the drama's name, Mingyu's teasing slipped by unnoticed.

But inside, panic clawed at him. Stupid. You're so stupid, Jeon Wonwoo. Didn't you say you'd prove you weren't affected?  His throat felt tight, pulse hammering in his ears. Play it cool, Wonwoo. Just... play it cool.

He dropped his gaze back to the notebook, pen scratching furiously against paper as if sheer speed could drown out the humiliation clawing up his chest. But Mingyu wasn't done.

"Princess?" The single word floated again across the classroom, deceptively casual, but sharp enough that it sliced straight through Wonwoo's composure.

This time, he refused to be bait. His head snapped up, brows arched high in feigned confusion. "What did you say?" His voice came out steady, almost too steady, as though he genuinely couldn't understand what Mingyu had just muttered.

A beat. Mingyu leaned back lazily in his chair, throat clearing like he hadn't just set a trap. 

"I—I was saying, we could also do... princess stories. You know—Cinderella, Swan Lake princess, that kind of thing." 

He masked it with a cocky grin, the picture of innocence, like he was doing the class a favor by contributing ideas.

The smirk on his lips widened when the students around him nodded in agreement, completely buying into the cover. "Yeah, that'd be fun!" one girl chimed. Another added, "Everyone loves fairy tales. It could work."

Wonwoo's grip on his pen went white-knuckled. He could feel the laughter pressing against the edges of the moment, invisible but suffocating. The worst part wasn't the class believing Mingyu's excuse—it was that he had no choice but to go along with it. To nod, pretend, to act like "princess" was nothing more than what everyone thought it was.

But beneath the cool mask, his chest burned. He cornered me again. And I let him. God, why does it always feel like I'm the only one playing this game—and losing?

So many such instances piled up—moments when Mingyu refused to leave even a sliver of chance unused. A brush of his fingers when their hands accidentally touched over a shared notebook, a low murmur of "princess" under his breath just enough for Wonwoo to catch, or the way he would lean just a fraction closer than necessary while asking a doubt. Each of them chipped away at Wonwoo's carefully constructed calm.

But Mingyu thrived on it, relished every twitch of Wonwoo's lips, every faint pink blooming on his cheeks, every sharp roll of his eyes that failed to hide the flicker of something deeper. For Mingyu, this was nothing to complain about—it was entertainment, a game, a thrill and something more.

But for Wonwoo, it was torture.

Because every small act made him lose his grip. Because a single tease could ignite warmth in the hollow corners of his chest, warmth he had convinced himself he'd killed. Because beneath the mask of mischief, Mingyu's gaze sometimes softened—warm, unwavering, laced with a sincerity Wonwoo was terrified to name.

And in those moments, Wonwoo's perfectly crafted world cracked. The walls he had built around himself trembled, threatening to collapse with every teasing word, every lingering look. And the worst part? He couldn't even say he hated it. He couldn't. That truth—silent and burning—made his chest restless, like a storm he couldn't suppress.

On a random afternoon, a week before their accountancy test, the teacher's sharp voice cut through his thoughts.

"Students, I hope you will show improvement in the coming accountancy test. Writing this test sincerely will be useful for your final exams, got it?"

A chorus of "Yes, ma'am!" rang out, loud and drawn out, bouncing off the classroom walls. Some voices were resigned, others mocking, but everyone responded out of habit. Wonwoo's pen froze halfway through a doodle he wasn't even aware he was making, his head still hazy with thoughts of Mingyu's smirk from earlier.

The teacher continued, "And you guys will be having a study session for half a day for this one week, alright?"

The atmosphere shifted instantly. A collective groan spread like wildfire, low and disgruntled, mingling with a few dramatic sighs from the back row. The air felt heavier, charged with the dissatisfaction of students already buried in exams and now forced into longer hours.

Half the class slumped in their seats, dragging palms over their faces or dropping their heads onto their desks. The other half—those who still clung to ambition—scrambled for their notebooks, whispering plans to start revising that very evening. The scent of chalk dust lingered faintly in the air, carried on the warm afternoon breeze drifting through half-open windows.

Mingyu, who once used to groan at the very mention of study sessions, found himself surprised that he didn't feel like that anymore. In fact, he felt he might even enjoy those silences that wrapped themselves around the library when Wonwoo was there. The silence wasn't heavy or boring—it was steady, like a rhythm that only Wonwoo could set.

Mingyu's eyes wandered toward him now, catching the way Wonwoo bent over his notebook, carefully drafting a timetable for him to follow. Pride swelled in Mingyu's chest, though he'd never admit it out loud. Of course, Wonwoo was doing this because his mother had requested him to help, but Mingyu knew it was more than that.

Wonwoo stayed even after hours in the library, refusing to leave until Mingyu got through every last sum. He broke down even the smallest economic theories with a patience that didn't quite match his usual distant, detached self. He even went as far as to draft silly little mnemonics—ones Mingyu would never forget, because every time he recalled them, he also recalled Wonwoo's voice spelling them out with a faintly embarrassed frown.

Now, Mingyu lay sprawled across the desk, one hand propping up his head as his gaze lingered shamelessly. He loved this—loved how seriously Wonwoo took things when it came to him. The way Wonwoo erased, wrote, erased again, checked dates, counted hours, and flipped between pages as if perfection depended on it. The way he bit his nail unconsciously when something didn't line up the way he wanted.

The soft breeze from the open window brushed Wonwoo's hair slightly out of place, but his eyes stayed focused, sharp and determined.

Mingyu loved it all.

And maybe what he loved the most was how unguarded Wonwoo looked in moments like this—his composure stripped down, his walls forgotten, replaced by the quiet care he would never admit aloud.

"For how long are you planning to make me look at you, princess?" Mingyu drawled, his voice carrying that familiar tease that clung to every word he directed at Wonwoo.

Wonwoo didn't lift his gaze from the timetable he'd been drafting, his pen scratching softly against the paper. 

"If I remember correctly, I didn't tell you to look at me," he muttered, his tone clipped but not sharp enough to truly bite.

The moment lingered. The classroom was quiet now, except for the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the rustle of notebook pages. Wonwoo tilted his head finally, unable to stop himself, and found Mingyu staring back at him — stretched out lazily, one hand supporting his jaw as if he had all the time in the world. His gaze was infuriatingly calm, almost smug, like ruffling Wonwoo was his only task in life.

Wonwoo's chest tightened with a mix of annoyance and something else he didn't want to name. He forced his voice steady, his eyes narrowing a little. 

"You heard the teacher, Mingyu. This is your chance to test yourself. And I'm telling you, for one final time, give some rest to all your playfulness and be sincere in this preparation. So, start your damn studying."

Mingyu groaned dramatically as he pushed himself up from lying down, his long limbs moving with an exaggerated heaviness. 

"Uhh..." His voice trailed, followed by a soft, reluctant sigh. "I—I just don't find it interesting." His eyes darted away, like a child caught refusing vegetables.

Wonwoo stared at him, his pen still hovering above the page. He knew Mingyu well enough to realize that scolding alone wouldn't work. Something inside him—practical, determined, and maybe a little soft—kicked in. He leaned back in his chair, chewing briefly on the end of his pen as he thought.

Finally, he said, his tone shifting into something quieter, "Let's make it interesting then."

That caught Mingyu's attention. His brows rose, a flicker of curiosity lighting up his features. 

"How?" he asked, his voice dipping into genuine intrigue. His usual playful smirk faltered just a little, replaced by something almost boyish, almost hopeful.

Wonwoo watched that change carefully, trying not to let it affect him. The truth was, he liked this version of Mingyu—the one who wasn't hiding behind endless teasing, the one who wanted to try, even if he didn't say it out loud. And that realization made something tug uncomfortably in Wonwoo's chest.

"So, here is the bet... If you score the test with the percentage that I say, you—"

Wonwoo's calm explanation was smoothly cut off by Mingyu.

"I can ask you to do anything for me," Mingyu declared, voice dripping with mischief, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

The words slammed into the quiet of the classroom like a stone hitting still water. Wonwoo froze, his pen hovering above the notebook. His brows knitted together as he looked up slowly, catching the sparkle in Mingyu's eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Wonwoo asked, raising one brow. His voice sounded steady, but inside his chest, something skipped. This was not what he had meant. Not at all.

Why does he always twist things?  Wonwoo thought with exasperation. He had intended something simple, logical — a small reward: a week off tutoring, a chance to hang out like usual, something that concerned only Mingyu. But now Mingyu had pulled him directly into the bet. Why did it suddenly feel like the stakes were personal?

"Oh... You know... just... anything. ANYTHING," Mingyu repeated, dragging out the word deliberately, his smirk stretching wider. 

The late afternoon sunlight through the open windows caught on his sharp jawline, making the tease in his expression even more insufferable.

Wonwoo felt the tips of his ears grow warm at the way Mingyu was watching him, like a predator waiting for its prey to step into the trap willingly. The faint chatter from the corridor outside seemed to fade, leaving behind the rhythmic ticking of the old classroom clock and the pounding of Wonwoo's own heartbeat.

Mingyu leaned forward, elbows resting lazily on his desk, but his gaze burned with challenge. "So... you're up for it?"

Mingyu already knew the answer. He knew Wonwoo wasn't the type to back away from a challenge, no matter how reckless it sounded. And that knowledge gave him the upper hand.

Wonwoo exhaled slowly, adjusting his glasses in that deliberate, measured way of his. His voice came out calm, but his eyes flashed with quiet defiance. "Fine. Let's do it. But—" he paused, letting the silence hang for a second too long, "on two conditions."

Mingyu straightened, interest sparking. He tilted his head, his grin softening into something more intrigued. "What are those?"

"One: That 'anything' should include only possible things I can do. And it should not be any creepy thing."

"Done," Mingyu said without missing a beat, the smirk still plastered across his face.

"Second—" Wonwoo's tone sharpened, his eyes narrowing slightly, "you should get at least 70 in that test."

The smirk faltered. "Seventy? Even the principal asked me to get only sixty in the upcoming exam—" Mingyu complained, eyebrows shooting up.

"But she doesn't have a bet with you, right?" Wonwoo countered, voice calm but carrying a quiet challenge.

"Deal or no deal?" he added, tilting his head with a light confidence that only made Mingyu stare harder.

Mingyu tapped his pen against the desk, pretending to think it over. In truth, the glint in his eyes betrayed him—he liked being pushed, especially by Wonwoo. Finally, he leaned back with a low chuckle.

"I think the effort is worth the reward. Deal."

The words caught Wonwoo off guard. For a second, surprise flickered across his face, quickly followed by something softer—relief, maybe even pride. He hadn't expected Mingyu to agree so quickly. 

In fact, he thought Mingyu would either back down or try to bargain him down to sixty percent. But seventy? It was higher than Mingyu usually aimed. And that made Wonwoo strangely glad.

"So, here's a little help from me," Wonwoo said, sliding a neatly written paper across the desk. "If you stick to this schedule, it won't be difficult."

Mingyu's fingers brushed the edge of the page. His usual grin dimmed for a moment, replaced by something almost genuine. "Thank you," he said quietly.

But the sincerity lasted only a heartbeat. His grin was back, sharper this time, as he leaned closer.

"I can't wait to see you keep your word, princess."

Wonwoo's throat went dry, his hands curling on the desk. Fear and anticipation tangled inside him, leaving him unsure which weighed heavier. For once in his life, he wondered if losing might not be so bad.

Chapter Text

And Mingyu studied hard. Of course, he did. Wonwoo could feel the sincerity in his effort — the way Mingyu spent extra hours in the library, shadowing Wonwoo with question after question, scribbling notes until his fingers cramped. He'd come to school earlier than usual, already sitting in his place, hunched over his notebook, practicing sums as if the numbers themselves had become his enemy.

Wonwoo noticed it all. The frustrated way Mingyu muttered a sharp "fuck" under his breath when a careless calculation error ruined an otherwise perfect solution. The faint crease of concentration that appeared between his brows. Even the way he sometimes nodded off at the library desk, cheek pressed against the cool wood, pencil slipping from his loose grip.

And strangely, Wonwoo enjoyed every bit of it. He never said it outright, but in his own quiet way, he let Mingyu know — a small pat on the head when Mingyu finally got a tricky question right, a rare smile when their eyes met, a quick clap when Mingyu's answers came out clean. Wonwoo never thought tutoring Mingyu would make him this satisfied... this happy.

One evening in the hushed library, the air thick with the faint scent of old paper and chalk dust clinging to their clothes, Mingyu finally dropped his pen. His head slumped forward on the desk, words tumbling out half-breathed, half-defeated.

"I give up..."

Wonwoo let out a quiet chuckle at the sight. Mingyu, usually so cocky and untouchable, now looked like an overgrown kid who had been wrung dry by numbers. Turning a page in his book, Wonwoo said lightly, 

"Then what about the bet, Mingyu? Forget it. Honestly, I'm more than happy thinking I won't have to do any awful thing you'll ask of me. I feel relieved."

At that, Mingyu's head shot up, eyes gleaming with mischief despite his exhaustion. 

"Oh, oh— not so soon, princess. Mark my words— I'm gonna make you do the thing you hate most in the world." His smile curved slyly, playful yet promising.

Wonwoo didn't look up from his book, but the way his grip tightened on the edge of the page betrayed his nervousness. His voice came out a touch steadier than he felt. "Let's see."

Mingyu grinned and bent over his notebook again, pencil scratching against the paper as if nothing had happened. But before he could get too far, he felt a tap on his arm. Looking up, confused, he found Wonwoo holding something out toward him.

"Here. Have this."

It was a lollipop, its bright wrapper a strange burst of color against the muted browns of the library.

For a moment, Mingyu just stared, his grin softening into something unreadable. Wonwoo didn't explain, didn't even meet his eyes—he just pushed it gently into Mingyu's hand before returning to his book, ears tinged faintly pink.

"Thank you," Mingyu said, gladly accepting it. He tore off the wrapper with his teeth, popped the candy into his mouth, and leaned back in his chair. "Mmm, it's good," he said, his voice muffled around the lollipop stick, eyes closing briefly like he was savoring every bit of the watermelon flavor.

"I usually have one in my bag," Wonwoo replied, turning a page of his book and trying to sound casual. "I eat it on my way back home." His tone was light, distracted, but his ears burned faintly at having shared something so small, so... personal.

"You can have two in your bag hereafter," Mingyu said just as casually, his head bent low again over his notebook, pencil scratching across the page as if the statement meant nothing.

But Wonwoo froze for a second, his eyes stuck on the lines of text that suddenly blurred. It was nothing—just a careless suggestion. Still, something about the ease with which Mingyu said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world, made warmth crawl up Wonwoo's chest. He forced himself to look unaffected, pressing his lips together, but he couldn't stop the faintest smile from breaking across his face.

From that day on, lollipops quietly became theirs. Wonwoo would slip one into Mingyu's hand during study breaks, or leave it on his desk without a word, and Mingyu would take it with a grin that said he understood exactly what it meant. A silly, simple ritual, but one that kept humming between them, threading through every long hour in the library.

And then—the test.

The air in the classroom felt heavier that day. Mingyu came in with an unusual steadiness about him, his usual lazy posture replaced by something sharper, more focused. Wonwoo watched him from the corner of his eye, noticing how Mingyu tapped his pen against the desk with restrained energy, how his lips twitched into a smirk every now and then as if he already knew the outcome.

When the bell rang and papers were handed in, Wonwoo tried to ask, half-nervous, half-teasing, 

"So? How did it go?"

Mingyu only rolled his shoulders, leaning back with a lazy stretch, the lollipop stick still hanging between his teeth. 

"You better be ready, princess."

The word lodged itself into Wonwoo's stomach like a stone. He laughed it off—at least outwardly—but inside, his pulse picked up. Not from the test, not from his own result, but from the looming thought of what Mingyu would demand from him.

And when results were finally announced, Wonwoo's stomach churned more than the day of the exam itself. He tried to look unaffected, keeping his gaze on the blackboard, but when the teacher called Mingyu's name aloud, Mingyu rose to his feet slowly, confidently.

And there it was—that smile. That maddening, smirk-filled smile aimed straight at him.

Wonwoo's throat went dry. His fingers tightened around the edge of his desk. He gulped, knowing with every nerve in his body that this was it.

"Mingyu, I must say – you are the one in the whole class who has shown a tremendous improvement; I hope you can continue this hard work and excel in the final exams also. And also, I'll talk with the Principal about your championship match too."

"Really?" Mingyu's eyes widened, face lit up like someone had just switched on a bulb inside him. The teacher gave him a warm nod.

"Yeah, I think you deserve it."

The class erupted in claps. The sound was loud, too loud, the kind that bounced off the classroom's old walls. A group of girls leaned close to each other, whispering and giggling as if their favorite idol had just taken the stage. His friends, of course, joined in too, hollering things like "Our friend can do anything!" and "Bet it's just a fluke, though!" The laughter carried across the room, teasing but affectionate.

Mingyu didn't let his ears pick any of it. His gaze was fixed—straight across the rows of heads, past the noise, only on Wonwoo.

Wonwoo hadn't clapped. Hadn't said a word. He just looked at Mingyu, eyes unreadable to the world but clear enough to him. It wasn't pride exactly, it wasn't surprise either. It was quiet, steady—like he had always expected Mingyu to reach here, like he had known it from the start. The weight of that silent trust pressed against Mingyu's chest harder than the applause ever could.

He tore his eyes away only when the teacher extended the paper toward him. Mingyu bent down to accept it, hands suddenly clammy despite his smile. But the second his eyes landed on the score written in red ink—

his stomach dropped.

The sound in the room blurred, clapping and chatter fading into a dull hum. He made his way back to his seat, each step slower than the last, and slid into the chair beside Wonwoo. His head dipped, bangs falling forward to hide his expression.

Wonwoo felt it immediately—the subtle shift in the air beside him, heavier somehow. Quietly, without asking, he reached for the paper Mingyu still clutched. Their fingers brushed for a fleeting second before Wonwoo tugged it free. His eyes scanned the bold number.

"...66."

He whispered it low, almost like he was tasting the disappointment for Mingyu himself.

"Ahh...is he disappointed that he didn't reach 70 and lost the bet?" Wonwoo wondered. But he didn't say anything. Instead, beneath the desk, he slid his hand into Mingyu's, their fingers tangling together. He gave a firm squeeze, as if telling him without words that it was fine, that Mingyu had done his best.

Mingyu didn't speak. His silence lingered even after the bell rang, and when the class ended, Wonwoo walked to the library first, waiting. He expected Mingyu to come join him like always.

"I guess I'm not worth your congratulations," Mingyu muttered when he finally dropped into the seat beside him, setting his bag down with a dull thud. His head stayed lowered, though their shoulders brushed faintly.

Without hesitation, Wonwoo reached for his hand again, tightening his grip. His voice was quiet but steady.

"Mingyu, you know what... even before you took the test, I'd already decided to congratulate you. Even if you'd been last, even if you hadn't passed. I saw how hard you worked while preparing. As long as you did your best, there's nothing more to ask for."

Wonwoo's eyes softened, his thumb brushing over Mingyu's knuckles. "I'm really, really proud of you."

Mingyu froze. The words hit him harder than he thought they would. All his life, he had believed hearing them was impossible — a luxury he wasn't meant for. And now here they were, given so freely, from the last person he ever expected. From Wonwoo.

"R-Really?" Mingyu asked, tilting his head slightly, his eyes searching Wonwoo's face like he needed proof.

"Yes." Wonwoo's gaze didn't waver. "You're the best. And you did absolutely well."

And for the first time in a long while, Mingyu believed it.

Mingyu's fingers tightened around Wonwoo's, locking them firmly together. That look on Wonwoo's face—like he genuinely cared, like Mingyu's efforts mattered—satisfied something in him more deeply than the score ever could. But it wasn't just the care. It was the pride in Wonwoo's eyes, the way he looked at him as if Mingyu was capable of anything. That made him feel happier than he had in a long, long time.

"Thank you," Mingyu murmured with a small smile.

Wonwoo gave a short nod. "And here I was, worrying about what ridiculous thing you'd make me do ... Forget it. Honestly, it's fine if you don't want to."

Mingyu tugged him closer by their joined hands, closing the space until Wonwoo could feel his warm breath brush against his skin.

"Are you saying," Mingyu asked, his voice low, "you'd just hand me the upper hand—even if I didn't reach seventy?"

"Yes," Wonwoo replied instantly, his tone steady but his pulse anything but. "Since you worked so hard. Well... if you don't want to—"

"You better be careful what you wish for, princess." A teasing edge slipped into Mingyu's voice, but his gaze was intent. "If you're saying you'll do anything I ask, don't expect me to go easy on you."

Wonwoo swallowed hard, heat rising under his skin. It was the way Mingyu looked at him—steady and unflinching—the way his grip was both soft and firm, the way his words lingered between them like a dare.

"I don't expect you to," Wonwoo said, gathering up his courage.

"Good." Mingyu leaned back slightly, though his eyes flickered briefly to Wonwoo's lips before returning to his gaze. "Then be ready. I'll ask when the time comes."

Wonwoo only nodded, but the weight of Mingyu's gaze was almost too much. Clearing his throat, he pulled back and smoothly changed the subject, pretending to focus on another topic. Still, deep down, his mind kept circling one question over and over—what exactly would Mingyu demand of him?

While Mingyu's fingers tightened around Wonwoo's, intertwining them. He used to think the way Wonwoo looked like he cared for him was what made him happiest. But now—seeing the quiet pride shining in Wonwoo's eyes, seeing how highly Wonwoo thought of him—this feeling eclipsed everything. It made him the happiest ever.

Chapter Text

Days slipped by in their usual rhythm for Mingyu and Wonwoo. Morning hours at their desks, scribbling notes side by side. Evenings where laughter spilled in the quiet corners of the library, Mingyu's playful teasing echoing against Wonwoo's soft sighs and occasional glares.

Somewhere between Mingyu's light-hearted chaos and Wonwoo's quiet care, something unnamed was beginning to bloom—too subtle to put into words, yet too strong to be ignored.

On a quiet Sunday evening, Wonwoo sat at the dining table with his mother. The clatter of dishes and the faint aroma of kimchi stew hung in the air when she suddenly asked, almost casually, about his change lately. How he seemed lighter. How he seemed... different. 

Wonwoo froze mid-bite, his chopsticks lingering in the bowl. He quickly shrugged it off, brushing her words aside with a faint smile and a muttered "You're just imagining things, Mom."

But the truth was, she wasn't. Even Wonwoo felt it. Something had shifted within him. His days no longer felt flat; there was color now, warmth seeping into corners he didn't realize had gone cold. He caught himself smiling more. Complaining more. Talking more. Living more. All because Mingyu had woven himself into the fabric of his daily life.

Mingyu had become routine. No, more than that—he had become a constant. Every day was filled with Mingyu's endless laments over academics, his shameless teasing that got under Wonwoo's skin, and his undeniable presence that lingered even in silence. And somewhere along the way, Wonwoo had gotten used to it. Depended on it.

He should have felt at peace. Everything was smooth—better than smooth. Things were good between him and Mingyu, maybe even great. Yet, deep inside, a shadow tugged at him. A creeping fear, coiling tighter with every passing day.

What if things get messed up?

What if it ends the same way it once did?

What if this only leads me back into pain and agony—the kind I can't crawl out from again?

The "what-ifs" whispered relentlessly at night when the house was still, gnawed at him during class when Mingyu nudged his arm, lingered in every silence between words. They left him restless, no matter how hard he tried to bury them.

And then, on a random Wednesday, it happened. The very thing he had feared—like thunder splitting the calm, sudden and merciless—hit him.

It was their usual lunch break. The corridors buzzed with chatter, laughter echoing off the tiled walls, the faint scent of curry and fried snacks wafting in from the cafeteria. Mingyu leaned casually against the sideway pillar, scrolling through his phone, waiting for Wonwoo to join him after finishing lunch with Hoshi.

But before Wonwoo could appear, a cluster of familiar faces closed in on him.

"What's up, Mingyu!" one of his friends called out with a grin.

"Dude, it's been so hard to catch up with you these days," another chimed in.

"Right? I don't know why you haven't been hanging out with us like you used to," a third added, mock whining.

Mingyu didn't even lift his gaze, thumb moving lazily across his phone screen. "There's nothing like that. You know, I was busy with class tests and all." His tone was casual, but there was an edge of impatience underneath.

His friends, however, weren't about to let it go.

"Yeah, we get it... but dude, how are you even sitting next to that nerd these days? It must be hard for you, right?" one of them snickered.

The word nerd scratched at Mingyu's ears, but he kept his eyes fixed on the glowing screen in his hand, forcing his expression to remain blank.

"You bet," another added quickly, laughing. "All that nerd knows are rules, regulations, books, and glasses." Their laughter rang out, sharp and ugly against the hallway noise.

Someone leaned closer with a conspiratorial grin. 

"You know the recent rumor? That the nerd tutored you so you did well in your recent accountancy test. But Mingyu, we know you're naturally smart. You pulled it off with your own efforts."

Mingyu's grip on his phone tightened, his thumb halting mid-scroll. His jaw tensed, but he said nothing. The laughter carried on around him like static, pressing against his chest.

"Even if it's true, Mingyu," another voice chimed in, smoother, almost persuasive, "I don't think you need him anymore. See? Even the principal allowed you back for your championship match now. So really, you can stop using him. You don't have to pretend you're in good terms with him..."

Laughter followed, careless and loud, bouncing off the walls of the corridor.

"Yes... so foolish of that nerd not to even realize that Mingyu has just been toying with him, just to get revenge..." one of them added, and the group erupted again, their mockery echoing like a cruel chorus.

Mingyu's jaw tightened. His phone screen blurred in his vision as his thumb stilled over it. He didn't even notice the light tremor in his fingers. Revenge? Toying? The words dug into his chest, twisting, because they weren't just attacking Wonwoo—they were dragging his own feelings into a light he didn't want to face.

Before the sting could fade, another friend chimed in, voice deliberately playful.

"By the way, Mingyu, today you must hang out with us. Or better—with a special person. Jiyoon. Do you remember her? She was literally oozing over you at the party the other day..."

"Oh, yes, man," another jumped in with a grin. "She's been nagging us nonstop about you. You better meet her today and hook up with her. She's been waiting for this more than anyone." The laughter and teasing swelled around him again, loud, suffocating.

Mingyu forced a neutral tone, though his throat felt dry. "Let's see how it goes," he muttered, slipping his phone into his pocket. He started to leave, offering a quick excuse about having something important to do.

But their voices followed him anyway, trailing after his retreat like smoke.

"Do you think Mingyu will get laid today? God, it's been months since he last did, right?" one of them snickered.

"Yeah, bro... Honestly, every girl at the club keeps asking about him only..."

"I think he's played enough with the nerd. Time for Mingyu to get back to his real self. I miss the old parties."

"Yeah, yeah..." their laughter dissolved as their figures moved farther down the hallway.

Mingyu didn't look back. His steps were quick, sharp, but his chest was heavy. Their words clung to him, poisonous whispers he couldn't shake off—each one a cruel tug pulling him away from where he wanted to be, from who he wanted to be with.

And little did they know, someone had heard it all—the last person they'd ever want to. Wonwoo.

He had arrived just when Mingyu's friends crowded around him, about to step forward as usual. But the moment he saw them, he instinctively held back, leaning against the corner of the hallway. He thought it would just be casual banter. He never expected to hear... this.

Every word hit him like a stone thrown at glass, cracking something inside.

His first instinct was denial. No... that can't be true. Not Mingyu. Not after everything.
But the voices kept echoing.

Were his suspicions from the very beginning right all along?

Was Mingyu really just toying with him, carrying out some petty revenge?

Had everything—the teasing, the warmth, the unspoken glances—been fake?

Wonwoo's mind raced. Was I really that much of a fool? Did I let myself believe him without question?

If Mingyu hated him for what he did before, Wonwoo could have taken that. Even if Mingyu wanted revenge, he could have accepted it. But why this way?

Why make him lower his walls?

Why make him believe Mingyu wasn't the person he had feared?

Why let him think they were... something more?

Why make him care?

Why did he have to break down walls that took Wonwoo years to build?

Why did he have to make Wonwoo care, only to make a fool of him?

For the first time in a long while, Wonwoo felt smaller than ever.

All the words Mingyu had said, all the things he had made Wonwoo feel—the careless teases, the quiet laughter they shared after class, the stolen glances in the library, the warmth of Mingyu waiting for him during lunch, the comfort of walking home together as if it was the most natural thing in the world—

All of it... had been fake all along.

And Wonwoo—foolish, blind, naïve—hadn't seen it. That was the only truth now.

His eyes glistened with the weight of realization, but he didn't let his tears betray him there. He rushed to the washroom, locked the door, and broke down. Not the kind of crying where pain bursts out uncontrollably. His tears were silent—just like his care had always been: unnoticed, unspoken, unheard.

A part of him had always expected this moment to come. Somewhere deep inside, he knew happiness like this wasn't meant for him. But knowing it and facing it were two different things—and he hadn't prepared himself for the collapse.

I should have kept my guards up.

I should have never crossed the line.

I should have never let Mingyu in.

But what use were regrets now? The damage was already done.

When he finally returned to class, his face was calm, his head low. He slipped into his seat by the window, opened a book, and hid behind its pages. Like Mingyu's friends had mocked, he was nothing but a boy with books. He let out a bitter smile at the irony—at least books never lied.

"When did you come? I've been waiting for you," Mingyu's voice broke through the silence, cheerful, oblivious. He slid into the seat beside him like nothing had changed.

"Just now," Wonwoo replied softly, his eyes fixed on the words on the page that he wasn't really reading.

"Oh... alright," Mingyu said casually, turning his attention to his own things.

Wonwoo didn't look up. His smile was still there, faint and bitter, as if the book in his hands was the only shield keeping him from shattering completely.

But during class, Mingyu noticed it.

Something was off about Wonwoo.

He wasn't himself. His eyes never left the book on his desk, as if the words on the page were enough to shield him from the world. He didn't respond to the teacher's questions—something unusual for him. And when he did speak, his voice carried no warmth, only a hollow, distant echo.

Mingyu tried to shrug it off, convincing himself he'd ask later. But for reasons he couldn't explain, it bothered him. It dug into his chest, unsettled him in a way it wasn't supposed to.

The bell rang, school ended.

And Wonwoo's actions were mechanical, almost lifeless. He slipped his bag over his shoulder without sparing a glance at Mingyu, without a single word. He walked straight out of the classroom, his steps leading him, as always, to the library.

He dropped his bag onto a chair, sat down, and let the silence press against him. His thoughts spiraled.

Do I even continue this?

Should I just go to Mingyu and ask him directly?

But ask what?

That everything—the words, the smiles, the waiting after class, the warmth—had all been fake? And if Mingyu admitted it? If he laughed? If he called him pathetic for believing it? Worse—what if his friends joined in, turning his shame into their entertainment?

The possibility made Wonwoo's chest tighten until he could hardly breathe.

Or... what if what I heard this afternoon isn't true?

"No." He clenched his fists beneath the desk. Stop it, Wonwoo. Stop being so blind. Face it. Mingyu toyed with you. That's all this ever was.

He stayed there, lost in the storm inside his head, time slipping away unnoticed. By the time he glanced at the clock, it was already 5:30.

And Mingyu still hadn't come.

Is he even coming? Or am I just waiting for nothing?

His lips curled into a bitter smile. "Fuck it," he whispered under his breath. He grabbed his bag, slung it across his shoulder, and walked out of the library—this time, not waiting for anyone.

But once he stepped out of the library and into the quiet corridor, Wonwoo froze. Mingyu was there—leaning casually against the wall, laughing with a girl.

"Yes man... she's been literally nagging us... so you better meet her today and hook up with her. I think she's been waiting for this more."

Those words, the ones he heard earlier, echoed mercilessly in his mind.

Is that her? Is that Jiyoon?

Wonwoo's chest tightened.

Do you need any more proof, Wonwoo? Proof that you were toyed with by the one person you finally trusted? You let him in, you lowered your guard, and he shattered you into pieces. That's the truth, isn't it?

He couldn't bear to look any longer. Couldn't stand the sight of Mingyu's smile that once felt like his. He turned to leave, steps quick, desperate. Then - 

"Jeon!" Mingyu's voice cut through the hallway.

Wonwoo heard it, but refused to turn. If he did, he'd break, he'd explode, and he couldn't allow himself that.

His pace quickened, but Mingyu caught up, hand gripping his wrist, forcing him to stop.

"What are you doing here?" Mingyu panted, still holding onto him, his breath uneven, his eyes searching.

Chapter Text

"Jeon!" Mingyu's voice cut through the hallway.

Wonwoo heard it, but refused to turn. If he did, he'd break, he'd explode, and he couldn't allow himself that.

His pace quickened, but Mingyu caught up, hand gripping his wrist, forcing him to stop.

"What are you doing here?" Mingyu panted, still holding onto him, his breath uneven, his eyes searching.

Wonwoo yanked his hand free from Mingyu's grip, his voice slicing through the air.

"None of your business."

The harshness made Mingyu blink. "Woah... what's gotten into you?" he asked, confusion written all over his face.

"Seriously, Mingyu, what's your problem?" Wonwoo shot back, his tone laced with frustration.

"No—what's your problem? You've been acting off since lunch," Mingyu countered, his brows knitting together.

"Even if I did, how does that concern you?" Wonwoo's words were clipped, cold.

"Why are you—" Mingyu started, but the rest of his question was swallowed by Wonwoo's voice, sharp and trembling.

"Can you just stop pretending that you care? I heard everything, Mingyu. Every single word your friends said at lunch. So please—please—stop pretending... it's unbearable." His voice cracked, louder than he meant, but only for Mingyu to hear.

Mingyu's eyes widened. He heard? Wonwoo actually heard all of it?

"Jeon, it's not like what you—" Mingyu tried, panic creeping into his tone.

"Oh, don't. Don't even say a word." Wonwoo's voice rose again, bitter and trembling with rage. 

For a second, neither moved. The silence pressed down on them like heavy air. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights filled the space where their warm moments used to be. Wonwoo stood stiff, eyes fixed on the ground, while Mingyu's hand hung midair—still halfway reaching for him, unsure if he had the right anymore.

"I'm done with your lies. I'm done with how you've pretended, step after step, move after move... just to what? Just to take your revenge on me?"

The words spilled out like venom, every syllable laced with betrayal that burned its way out of Wonwoo's throat. His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths; his hands were trembling, not from fear, but from the weight of everything he'd kept buried.

Mingyu stood frozen a few steps away, his face unreadable—caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.

Wonwoo's voice cracked again, sharp as a whip.

"Have you ever even considered what that makes you? You're just an asshole, Mingyu. Someone who doesn't give a damn about anyone else's feelings. All you care about is your stupid image. You're a jerk. I hate you—I hate you the most!"

The hallway swallowed the echo of his words. Mingyu just stood there, silent—his knuckles tightening, his jaw clenching so hard that a muscle twitched near his cheek.

"Jeon," Mingyu said finally, his voice low and controlled, but the strain was unmistakable. "Stop saying things when you don't even know the full truth."

But Wonwoo only let out a bitter laugh—short, sharp, and hollow. The kind of laugh that didn't sound like laughter at all.

"Is there even anything more I need to know? The truth is clear as daylight, Mingyu! Just like your friends said—you used me. You played with me to get your revenge. And now that you've got the principal's permission to join the championship match, you don't need tutoring anymore, you don't need me —so you left me waiting in the library like an idiot while you went off with your so-called fangirl!"

His words cracked halfway through, the fury trembling into something that almost sounded like heartbreak.

Mingyu's expression shifted in an instant—his eyes darkened, his breathing deepened, and something inside him snapped..

"Stop it, Jeon." Mingyu's voice was low, almost a growl. In a sudden burst, he grabbed Wonwoo by the collar, pulling him close. His jaw was tight, eyes dark with rage and something deeper—hurt. 

"Enough," Mingyu said through gritted teeth. "Enough of your words."

Wonwoo froze. His pulse hammered in his throat, the edges of his anger starting to blur into something else—confusion. Doubt. But he couldn't let himself feel that. Not now. Not when the humiliation from what he'd overheard was still stinging in his chest.

"I misunderstood you. I thought you were different. But no... you're just like everyone else here—believing what you want to believe, judging before you even ask me" Mingyu hissed, his voice rough and breaking. 

Wonwoo flinched. The words hit harder than he expected. His breath caught, but his pride held him back. He wanted to speak—to defend himself—but what would he even say? That he was scared Mingyu might've really used him? That the thought of it terrified him more than it angered him?

Mingyu released Wonwoo's collar, shoving him back just slightly. His chest rose and fell violently as if the words themselves had exhausted him.

"Even after you heard what my friends said," Mingyu continued, his voice trembling with frustration, "the least you could have done was come to me—ask me what the truth was—instead of throwing accusations at my face." His hands flexed uselessly at his sides, wanting to reach for Wonwoo again but stopping himself.

Wonwoo's throat worked as he swallowed hard. The sting of the words hit deeper than he wanted to admit, but pride held his tongue still, his jaw clenched tight.

"You didn't do that. Do you know why?" His voice broke, dropping lower, rougher. "Because you're selfish, Jeon. You were so caught up in your own feelings—feeling betrayed, feeling like a fool—that you lashed out at me without caring to hear what I had to say."

Wonwoo flinched at the word selfish. His eyes flickered with something vulnerable, but the next second he straightened, forcing himself to meet Mingyu's furious stare head-on, refusing to break.

And Mingyu finally exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly as he forced the last truth out. "What my friends said... was true. But none of it came from my mouth." His eyes locked on Wonwoo's, desperate for him to see the sincerity there.

 "They saw us together in the library the other day and started questioning me. I told them the truth—that I needed your help to clear my test, and only then I could participate in the championship. That's all. But they twisted it into something else. They spiraled their own stories. And now you... you believe them instead of me."

His voice cracked at the end, raw with a mixture of anger and helplessness, his gaze searching Wonwoo's face for even a flicker of trust left.

While Wonwoo, stood there frozen, his chest tight, Mingyu's words ringing in his ears louder than his own heartbeat. His glare wavered, but he didn't reply—his silence only feeding Mingyu's fury.

"They themselves concluded that I was doing this for my so-called revenge... and everything." Mingyu's voice trembled with suppressed rage, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles turned pale. 

"And honestly, I don't even care to explain to them. Because I am tired of it. I am tired of all this shit—" his voice cracked mid-word, but he pushed through, harsher this time, "that people around me always assume things about me rather than asking me."

Wonwoo blinked, his anger thinning into hesitation as the weight in Mingyu's voice hit him.

"Am I an entertainment here?" Mingyu's gaze sharpened, almost desperate. "That you can gossip anything and everything about me... And you guys expect me to come and correct what is true and what is not..." His chest rose sharply, eyes burning as though he was fighting back years of bottled frustration. "Forgive me, I am just a human. There is a point to everything."

Wonwoo froze, caught off guard. For the first time, he saw not arrogance in Mingyu's tone, but exhaustion—a raw ache that made his heart stumble.

"And I was going to meet you at the library after class," Mingyu continued, his voice lower now but still vibrating with fury. "But on my way, I got interrupted by the new joinee there. She told me she was new and that she's going to join next year and wanted someone to guide her here." 

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I accepted it because she requested it. Accepted it because I expected you'd understand my delaying when I explained."

Wonwoo's lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. His earlier certainty cracked like thin glass under the weight of Mingyu's words.

"And god—" Mingyu let out a bitter laugh, sharp and hollow. "What you told about the championship... That I gave up on you because the principal gave me the permission..." His eyes burned into Wonwoo's, voice heavy with disbelief. 

"Hell, Jeon, do you even know what was the wish I was planning to ask from you from the bet?"

Wonwoo swallowed hard, his throat tightening, but his gaze stayed locked on Mingyu, silently demanding an answer even as his chest tightened with dread.

"I thought of asking you to be present there during my championship match," Mingyu's voice broke softer this time, a rawness slipping through the cracks of his fury. "Wearing my jersey. Supporting me. I wanted you there as my biggest supporter..." 

His eyes glistened but he refused to let them fall, his jaw clenched. "But here you are... accusing me that I used you only for my match."

A wave of shame washed over Wonwoo as Mingyu's words echoed in his head. His throat tightened, and he found himself biting his lower lip, unable to meet Mingyu's eyes. He realized every sharp word he had thrown was nothing but a wound, and his fists curled helplessly at his sides, wishing he could take them back before they left scars.

"Mingyu, I—" he began, his voice trembling with regret.

"No. Stop." Mingyu's voice trembled, sharp but fragile, like glass about to crack. He lowered his eyes for a moment, then forced himself to meet Wonwoo's gaze. "You've already said everything you had to. And I heard you. Loud and clear."

Wonwoo froze, his chest tightening, watching the faint quiver in Mingyu's clenched jaw.

"It was my mistake," Mingyu continued, his tone breaking into something tired, exhausted. "My mistake to expect anything from you. To believe you weren't like everyone else. I thought you were different... that you'd see me for who I really am. But thanks for proving me wrong."

Wonwoo's throat tightened. "Mingyu, no—look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I—" His words stumbled over each other, frantic, almost desperate.

But Mingyu only shook his head, a hollow laugh escaping his lips. "No, Jeon... I can't keep doing this. Even if we start again, we'll just end up right here—back to the same accusations, the same doubts. And I can't..." His voice cracked, eyes glistening as he looked away. "...I can't take that anymore."

"Mingyu..." Wonwoo's voice was barely a whisper now, guilt twisting in his gut.

"I don't want to hate you," Mingyu murmured, softer this time, almost pleading with himself. "So let's just... end this here. You on your path, me on mine."

He let out a shaky breath, the kind that carried more pain than words ever could. "I'm sorry if I hurt you," he added, and turned away.

"No, Mingyu—please, just listen," Wonwoo begged, stumbling forward and grabbing at Mingyu's hand like a lifeline. His grip was trembling, desperate.

But Mingyu pulled his hand free, lips curling into a bitter, heartbroken smile. "I thought I found someone finally. Someone who finally saw me. Someone who understood." His eyes flickered, breaking at the edges. "I didn't think it would only last for a while."

He swallowed hard, the silence between them louder than his words. "...Goodbye."

And then Mingyu walked away, shoulders stiff, leaving Wonwoo behind—his outstretched hand still trembling in the air, his chest hollowing with regret. The words he had thrown earlier replayed in his mind like knives, each one cutting deeper than the last.

Wonwoo's lips parted, but no sound came out. All he could think was: I pushed him away. I hurt him when all he wanted was for me to stay.

He broke down right there, tears slipping past his glasses and staining the corners of his shirt. His throat tightened, but no sound came out—only the sharp echo of Mingyu's last words replaying mercilessly in his mind.

Did he act too fast on his instincts?

Didn't he trust Mingyu enough?

Did he let his insecurities crawl ahead of the trust Mingyu had been begging for all along?

The questions burned inside him, louder than his heartbeat. Never in his life had Wonwoo thought he would feel this pain again—the hollow ache of someone he cared for turning away from him. Yet here he was, watching Mingyu's back disappear, and realizing too late that he had been the one to push him away.

He pressed a hand over his mouth, choking on his own breath, whispering silent prayers to the heavens. Just one more chance. Just let me fix this. Let me take my words back before they cut too deep.

But words, once spoken, can't be unspoken. A glass, once shattered, can't be pieced back together without the cracks showing. And the cruelest irony hit Wonwoo then: Mingyu only ever wanted someone who believed him, who wouldn't misunderstand him. And the one person who should have done that—who Mingyu trusted to do that—was the very person who failed him.

Wonwoo's tears slipped faster, blurring everything around him. His heart screamed for Mingyu to turn back, but the space between them only grew wider, colder.

And just like that, something fragile and precious ended before it could even begin.

Chapter Text

Wonwoo returned home that evening with a heavy heart. The walk back felt longer than usual, each step weighed down by the thoughts of Mingyu. He skipped dinner, mumbling something about a lack of appetite, though it wasn't hunger that kept him from eating. Every thought spiraled around one person—Mingyu.

Until yesterday, everything had felt perfect. He had felt like the happiest person on earth, like nothing could touch him. And now... all of it had been ripped away in a single afternoon. And by no one else but himself—his own words, his own assumptions.

"I'm such a pathetic person," Wonwoo muttered, letting the bitter thought settle in.

He should have gone to Mingyu. Should have asked him directly instead of jumping to conclusions. But who would have thought that what he overheard would turn out to be false?

"Why do I keep hurting him?" he whispered to himself, the weight of his guilt pressing on his chest.

He had thought he was different from the others, that he was the one who could see Mingyu for who he truly was. But... why? Why did it have to turn out this way?

"Am I really that bad?" The words came out shakily, almost a whisper, as if saying them aloud could make them truer.

Tears slipped down Wonwoo's cheeks, unnoticed, unchecked. He didn't bother wiping them away, letting them trace cold paths over his flushed skin. The thought of facing Mingyu tomorrow felt like stepping into a storm. How could he meet his eyes when all he carried was guilt, regret, and shame?

If he apologized... could things ever go back to the way they were? Could it make him feel alive again? Could he feel the warmth of Mingyu's presence without the shadow of this guilt looming over him?

He didn't realize when sleep finally claimed him, exhausted not by physical tiredness, but by the weight of his emotions.

The next morning, his alarm dragged him awake. His movements were automatic—mechanical even. A quick bath, slipping into his school uniform, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He murmured his goodbye to his mother, telling her he'd have breakfast at school, though he had no intention of eating.

His mind was elsewhere, a whirl of "what ifs" and "if onlys," all leading back to Mingyu and the silence now stretching between them.

When Wonwoo entered the classroom, his eyes immediately scanned the room for Mingyu—but he wasn't there. Panic and a hollow ache gripped Wonwoo's chest. He forced himself to look down, pretending nothing was wrong, and made his way to his seat. The emptiness beside him was suffocating.

It used to be like this—silent, uneventful, before Mingyu became his deskmate. But ever since Mingyu had joined him, life had shifted in subtle, irrepressible ways—the cheerful "Good morning" greeting, the teasing complaints about the day's timetable, Mingyu's insistence that Wonwoo eat more, the little gossips about teachers whispered between playful jabs. Those moments, small as they were, had become essential. And now, their absence gnawed at Wonwoo, leaving a dull, constant ache.

"I have to apologize... I have to make things right," Wonwoo thought, his chest tight, his hands curling into fists on the desk.

He hadn't finished the thought when a tall, tan figure strode into the classroom—the one he had been waiting for. Mingyu. His posture was confident as ever, walking as though he owned the room, yet the usual spark on his face was missing, replaced by a cool, unreadable mask.

I need to take the first step, Wonwoo thought, bracing himself. He opened his mouth to say, "Good morning," to bridge the distance—but before he could, Mingyu had already made his way to his friends, dropped his bag with casual ease, and settled beneath them. He didn't spare Wonwoo a single glance. Not a flicker, not a nod, nothing.

Wonwoo swallowed hard, trying to convince himself it was alright—Mingyu was angry, and time would heal this. But the hollow space beside him, once filled with warmth and chatter, now felt like a gaping void. The ache in his chest deepened with every passing second. 

Days went by, and the emptiness only grew, as if Mingyu's absence had left a permanent shadow on Wonwoo's routine.

It wasn't just that Mingyu was avoiding Wonwoo—it was as if he had erased him completely. Mingyu no longer sat beside Wonwoo in their usual spot, no longer came to their tutoring sessions at the library, yet Wonwoo waited every single day, hoping, praying, that Mingyu would appear again. 

Passing him in the hallways brought nothing but cold indifference; Mingyu didn't even look at him. No teasing, no playful jabs, not evn arguments like they had back when they were enemies. It was as if Mingyu had deliberately removed Wonwoo from his life, and each day, Wonwoo felt more certain that Mingyu didn't care whether he even existed.

The waiting had become unbearable. Waiting for the perfect time to apologize, waiting for Mingyu's anger to fade—it was slowly eating at Wonwoo from the inside. The ache in his chest grew heavier with each passing day. And finally, something inside Wonwoo snapped. He couldn't wait anymore.

He gathered every scrap of courage and walked toward Mingyu, who was sitting with his friends during free period, laughing and talking as though the last weeks had never happened.

"M-Mingyu?" Wonwoo called, his voice barely steady, but loud enough to cut through the chatter.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. Mingyu froze at the sound of his name—from the very person he had been trying to avoid. And, infuriatingly, he hated how natural it felt to hear Wonwoo call him, how a flicker of something long-buried surged inside him. He hated the way he had missed this.

The group's conversation halted instantly. Heads turned. All eyes were on Wonwoo, standing there, uncertain yet determined—except for the one that mattered most. Mingyu's gaze remained firmly elsewhere, deliberately not meeting his.

"Oh, class president? What do you want?" one of Mingyu's friends asked, smirking.

Wonwoo ignored him completely. His focus was singular, unyielding. Every beat of his heart, every thought, every ounce of courage was directed at Mingyu. 

He pleaded silently, desperately, that Mingyu would look up. Just once. Just once, hear him out. But Mingyu remained unmoved, his expression unreadable, cold, and perfectly controlled.

Wonwoo gulped and tried again, his voice a little steadier this time, "Mingyu, I... I want to talk to you."

Still, there was nothing. No glance, no reaction, nothing. Mingyu's silence was like a wall, impenetrable and cold.

One of Mingyu's friends, noticing Wonwoo's hesitation, smirked, "You can tell him here itself, Class President. Actually, we all don't mind, right?"

Wonwoo's chest tightened. The words didn't help—they only irritated him further. Why is Mingyu silent? Why isn't he saying anything?  his mind raced.

He knew he couldn't let this wait any longer. He couldn't postpone things. He needed an answer, right here, right now. He knew what he did was wrong—he knew he had hurt Mingyu—but didn't that make him deserve a chance to apologize?

Summoning every ounce of courage he had left, Wonwoo took a step closer and spoke again, trying to keep his voice calm but firm, 

"Mingyu, you need to return to your usual place. It's not class rules to change seats." He thought that if Mingyu sat beside him, maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to mend things.

Mingyu didn't move, didn't reply. Only his friends laughed louder. "Ohh... Class President Jeon, these rules don't apply to Mingyu. He sits where he wants. You better go back to your place and take up your books," one of them said, the group erupting in mock laughter.

"I... I'll have to complain to the teacher, then," Wonwoo snapped, frustration finally breaking through the edge of his restraint.

Finally, Mingyu stood up. Wonwoo's heart leapt. Yes! Maybe he'll speak, maybe he'll scold me... maybe he'll yell... maybe...

But no. Mingyu didn't say a word. He didn't glare, didn't argue, didn't throw a single jab. He walked out silently, his steps measured, almost indifferent. Each one felt like a hammer against Wonwoo's chest. 

He doesn't care anymore. He's really walking away from me...

"Shit, you're killing the mood, dude," one of Mingyu's friends muttered loudly, jabbing Wonwoo with a smirk. "Do you forget he hates you? Stay out of his and our business. We don't want you around us."

Wonwoo's stomach dropped. The words stung, but it wasn't just their teasing—Mingyu's silence, the deliberate distance, the absence of his usual spark—it all weighed heavier. Every fiber of Wonwoo's being screamed that things were slipping further away, and he felt powerless to stop it.

Wonwoo couldn't argue with Mingyu's friends. He couldn't even come up with the clever counter-replies he usually had at the tip of his tongue. Because more than the teasing words of Mingyu's friends, it was Mingyu's actions that cut deepest— the avoidance, the way he walked past without a single glance.

He returned to his seat, forcing a mask of indifference, pretending that nothing had affected him. But deep down, he knew he was shattered. The hope of mending things with Mingyu, of bringing back their usual connection, seemed to crumble with every passing day.

One Friday night, one of the students in Wonwoo's grade hosted a birthday party. The entire grade was invited, and Wonwoo, along with Hoshi, decided to attend. 

The place was extravagant—a terrace , soft fairy lights strung along the rails and fluttering slightly in the night breeze with a glowing swimming pool The moon reflected off the water, creating shimmering patterns on the nearby walls. 

Music pulsed loudly from the speakers, students dancing to the beat, glasses clinking, laughter echoing into the night. Drinks and snacks were laid out, some students lounging near the pool, others twirling under the strobe lights, their shadows and colors dancing along with the music.

Wonwoo stood at the edge of the crowd, taking it all in, feeling simultaneously awestruck and alienated. The loud, thumping music grated on his nerves; he wanted quiet, space, just a moment to breathe away from the chaos.

"I'll just use the washroom," he said to Hoshi, who nodded with a knowing, "Be safe."

He pushed through the throng of people, descending to the quieter area near the restroom. After a few minutes, he stepped out into the garden beside the swimming pool, the cool night air brushing against his face. 

A few students were scattered around—some dancing, some laughing, some tossing a ball near the pool—but Wonwoo paid them no mind. He leaned against the railing, trying to calm the storm inside him, drawing in slow, steady breaths.

As he looked up at the terrace, something caught his eye. A figure leaning over the wall, seemingly cornered by a larger presence. Even in the dim light, the broad shoulders, the posture, the familiar sway—it was unmistakable.

Mingyu.

Wonwoo's chest tightened, his pulse quickening. Seeing Mingyu here, out in the night like this, alive and laughing, but so close and yet untouchable—it was a jolt to every part of him.

Mingyu had a glass in his hand, dressed in a black tee, leaning over the girl. The girl pulled him into a kiss—not a casual peck, but one full of lust, fiery and demanding. She pressed herself into Mingyu's embrace, trying to melt into him completely. And Mingyu didn't hold back—he kissed her fiercely, hands holding her in place, returning her intensity.

Wonwoo's stomach twisted. He tried to look away, telling himself to leave, to not see this. But his eyes betrayed him—they were glued to the scene. He wanted to unsee it, to pretend it wasn't happening, to act unaffected—but he couldn't. Every fiber of him was screaming, yet frozen in place, forced to watch.

And then it happened. Mingyu's eyes lifted and found his. Across the garden, standing in the dim moonlight, Wonwoo froze under his gaze. Mingyu's breath hitched for a fraction of a second, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing—no way in the world would Wonwoo be here. Mingyu knew perfectly well that Wonwoo hated parties.

Before Mingyu could process further, he noticed Hoshi approaching Wonwoo, speaking to him briefly and then walking away. 

So he came just to accompany Hoshi, Mingyu thought. 

But even as that thought crossed his mind, he didn't break the kiss, didn't avert his eyes. If anything, it seemed to intensify—the connection between their gazes amplifying the moment, making it impossible for Wonwoo to escape the pain.

With no energy left to stand there, with his chest tight and heart aching, Wonwoo turned and left, footsteps heavy, the garden blurring around him.

Why does it have to feel like this?  he thought, each step reverberating in his chest.

Why does it hurt so much?

It's not new to Mingyu...he's always been like this, kissing, hooking up, moving on...so why, when I see it, do I feel like something inside me has shattered?

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to contain the ache, the jealousy, the longing, and the guilt that clawed at him. Every laugh, every movement from Mingyu burned in his mind like fire.

Meanwhile, as the girl pulled Mingyu closer again, his attention momentarily drifted from Wonwoo's retreat to her. He broke the kiss abruptly, stepping back, eyes flickering with conflict.

"I... I'm sorry," Mingyu muttered, voice low, almost strangled.

The girl laughed softly, brushing it off, "It's okay. I know what you're capable of. I've been waiting for this for a long time, Mingyu," she said, pulling him back toward her for another kiss.

Mingyu closed his eyes, trying to follow, but then—just like a floodgate opening—all the flashes of Wonwoo came rushing back into his mind. 

The way Wonwoo had called his name, so casually yet so sincerely. The way he rolled his eyes at Mingyu's silly jokes but still laughed at them. The way he tried to hide his fluster when Mingyu teased him—but failed every time. The way he had stayed up with Mingyu, helping him study for tests, noticing even the tiniest improvement, giving approving smiles, offering quiet reassurance. 

The way he had been there for Mingyu, always.

And then the memories of the fight—the accusation, the hurt, the way Wonwoo had tried to fix things, how he had silently carried the weight of Mingyu's actions, how he had even looked away, silently wounded.

The contrast hit Mingyu like a punch to the chest. The present—the kiss, the girl, the party lights, the pounding music—felt suddenly too loud, too heavy, suffocating. The room seemed to close in around him.

Mingyu stepped back abruptly, eyes wide, chest heaving. "I—I'm sorry. I... I don't think I can do this today," he stammered, voice tight with guilt and something unnameable, something far heavier than desire.

The girl blinked at him, surprised, but Mingyu didn't meet her gaze. All he could feel was the weight of Wonwoo's absence, the echo of everything that had passed between them—and the sharp, undeniable realization of what he truly wanted.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo, feeling he could no longer endure the party, decided to leave. Hoshi had already gone home, citing some urgent work, leaving Wonwoo to walk back alone. His steps were slow, deliberate, each one weighed down by the thoughts buried deep in his chest. 

The cool night air brushed against him as he walked past the swimming pool, the lights reflecting off the water like fragmented glass, each shimmer echoing the turmoil inside him.

Suddenly, a slurred voice broke his thoughts. 

"Hey, look who's here—our nerdiest class rep!" one of Mingyu's friends shouted, clearly tipsy, swaying slightly as he pointed at Wonwoo.

Startled, Wonwoo instinctively tried to ignore them, focusing on moving forward. But before he could pass, another stumbled toward him, slinging an arm over his shoulder.

"Oh... looks like our class rep isn't having enough fun. Should we fix that for him?" the intoxicated figure slurred, laughter bubbling around the group like a sick chorus.

Wonwoo froze for a split second, then struggled, trying to slip out of the grip. His heart pounded in his chest, the cold night air sharp against his skin, but the group only laughed louder.

"Calm down, Class President Jeon. Trust us—let's have some real fun. You can pick any of the girls over there and show us if you've got the balls tonight!" another taunted, their words dripping with mockery and alcohol-fueled bravado.

Wonwoo gagged at their words, fury and disgust flaring inside him. 

"Stay away from me!" he spat, jerking against the grip.

Instead of loosening, the hold tightened, and as he struggled, the wet tiles betrayed him at the worst possible moment. Wonwoo's feet slipped, his arms flailed instinctively, and before he could regain balance, gravity won—sending him plunging into the icy darkness of the swimming pool. 

The water swallowed him with a shocking chill that made him gasp uncontrollably. His glasses slipped down his nose, blurring everything into distorted shapes, while panic clawed at his chest.

He thrashed, trying to kick himself upward, but the movement only made the water heavier against his limbs. Each breath was a fight—his lungs burning, water stinging his throat as he coughed and sputtered. 

He clawed at the edge of the pool, his hands scrabbling for a grip that wouldn't come, his body trembling with desperate effort. 

Around him, the laughter of Mingyu's friends floated on the night air, cruel and oblivious, assuming he was exaggerating, mocking him with every shout and cheer.

Wonwoo's arms grew heavy, his legs weakened. The pool became an endless abyss, darkness pressing in from all sides. His struggles slowed, movements erratic, breath ragged, eyes barely keeping above the waterline. 

He kicked harder, but fatigue, fear, and the cold were relentless. He felt his consciousness slipping, a terrifying weight pulling him down into the deep. His vision swam, the sounds of the party and the jeering crowd fading to distant echoes, until the world narrowed down to the cold embrace of the water and the desperate need to survive.

Just as his body began to surrender completely, a strong force broke through the water, catching him mid-drift. Someone's arms wrapped firmly around him, pulling him upward in a surge of relief and warmth. The last vestiges of his consciousness clung to that sudden, undeniable reality.

Then he heard it—soft, urgent, familiar:

"Wonwoo..."

The voice carried a weight that made his chest twist—a mixture of concern, alarm, and something profoundly personal. 

Wonwoo's fading mind caught onto it like a flicker of light in the dark. Wonwoo. Not "Jeon." Not "Princess." 

He'd wondered before, in the quiet corners of his mind, what his name would sound like coming from Mingyu—without the mockery, without the teasing tone, without the wall between them. He never imagined it would sound like this - fragile, afraid, full of care.

And yet, here it was.

Even as his consciousness began to slip, the sound of it—his name, trembling in Mingyu's voice—wrapped around him, anchoring him to a truth he didn't want to face. 

That beneath all the anger and misunderstanding, Mingyu still cared.

His lungs burned, his body felt heavy, but that single word echoed louder than the rush of water, than his heartbeat, than everything else.

And then, the world faded, leaving only the echo of that single, trembling word—"Wonwoo"—burned into his mind as he lost consciousness, cradled safely in the arms of the person he had longed to hear it from for so long.

Chapter Text

A few moments before:

Mingyu leaned against the terrace railing, glass in hand, the drink swirling slowly as he tried to steady his thoughts. He had told the girl he couldn't continue, not tonight—not with the weight pressing on his chest. 

For weeks, he had been trying to lose himself in distraction, seeking fleeting moments with someone else to numb the storm inside. Tonight, he had come to this party determined to finally hook up with Jiyoon, to forget, to escape.

But then his eyes landed on Wonwoo. And all of that carefully constructed detachment crumbled. Thoughts of Wonwoo surged back relentlessly, unbidden, uncontainable. 

He couldn't run from it, no matter how hard he tried. And in that moment, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to. Part of him feared what he might feel if he let himself admit it.

Suddenly, his attention snapped to the edge of the swimming pool. A group of students laughed, oblivious to everything but their own amusement. And then—he saw him.

"Fuck..."

 Mingyu whispered, his chest tightening as his heart stopped for a split second. Wonwoo was nearing the pool, unaware of the danger, his posture careless in the chaos of the party.

Mingyu spun, rushing down the stairs, his mind a storm of panic. The sharp splash of water echoed behind him before he could even react fully. His worst fears had come true.

He pushed through the crowd, shouting, "Move! Move!" Heart hammering, limbs pumping. Every instinct screamed at him—he knew exactly what was happening. 

He remembered well—Wonwoo sulking at him the other day when Mingyu had playfully sprayed water on him. After Mingyu apologized, Wonwoo had quietly confessed that he hated water, hated getting soaked, hinting at some hidden trauma. 

Mingyu hadn't pressed him further, but the memory of Wonwoo sharing something so personal had stayed with him. Now, that memory surged back like a jolt.

"Move, move!" he shouted, pushing through the crowd without paying attention to anyone else. His focus was singular, laser-sharp—Wonwoo.

By the time he reached the edge of the pool, Mingyu didn't hesitate. He leapt in without a second thought, plunging into the cold water. His hands sliced through the liquid, searching frantically, until he found Wonwoo, limp and barely keeping his head above water.

Panic tightened in Mingyu's chest, but he swallowed it down. With every ounce of strength, he swam toward the edge, cradling Wonwoo like a fragile weight, feeling his body trembling, his limbs stiff from fear.

"Wonwoo!" Mingyu's voice rang sharp and desperate. 

"Do you hear me? I've got you! I've got you!" 

He kept repeating it, trying to anchor Wonwoo to consciousness. Wonwoo's hands twitched weakly, his breaths harsh and erratic, chest heaving. Mingyu murmured softly, more as a promise than words, "I'm here. You're safe. Don't fight it, just hold on..."

On the terrace and around the pool, everyone froze, wide-eyed. The party noise, the laughter, the music—all of it seemed to vanish. Even Mingyu's friends, who had always mocked and pushed, were rooted to the spot, disbelief etched on their faces. 

Whispers and murmurs spread quickly: How in the world... how could Mingyu—the same boy they thought was careless, flirtatious, and detached—be the one diving in to save Wonwoo? The boy - he and Wonwoo had thought of as rivals, enemies even, was now risking everything for him.

The realization sank slowly into the crowd: nothing in their past assumptions prepared them for this. Two people, sworn to dislike each other—or at least appear to—now had a bond that even outsiders could see in that desperate, life-saving moment.

Mingyu didn't even notice the whispers and murmurs from the crowd. His world had shrunk to just Wonwoo, trembling in his arms. Every step he took was urgent, precise, focused entirely on getting him out safely. Wonwoo's body felt fragile and cold against him, and the fear in his eyes made Mingyu's chest tighten.

He shot a fierce glare at the so-called friends lingering near the pool. They froze, gulping in fear. No one had ever seen Mingyu like this—not even during fights, not even after losing a football match. The intensity in his eyes, the raw, unfiltered rage, was unlike anything they had witnessed. This was protectiveness taken to its absolute limit.

Mingyu carried Wonwoo in bridal style, straight to his car, speaking softly, over and over, as if his voice alone could anchor Wonwoo back to safety. "It's alright... I've got you... You're safe... Just hold on..."

When the driver saw them approaching, the door was immediately opened.

"Oh my God, what happened to him?" the driver exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Me. Lee, can you—please get some warm clothes, a towel, anything nearby? He's completely drenched and frozen," Mingyu instructed urgently.

The driver nodded and hurried off while Mingyu carefully settled Wonwoo into the passenger seat, keeping his head on his lap. He ran his hands over Wonwoo's arms and back, rubbing gently, trying to restore warmth.

"Wonwoo... please, open your eyes," Mingyu whispered, his voice a mixture of worry and pleading.

"I'm here. I've got you," he continued, his tone softening as he noticed the slight shiver in Wonwoo's frame. "You're safe... It's okay..."

Even in his semi-conscious haze, Wonwoo's lips quivered, fragments of words slipping out: 

"I'm sorry... no... please don't go..." 

The words stabbed through Mingyu's chest like knives. They weren't meant for him—he could tell from the way they slipped out, raw and trembling, tangled in fear. He didn't know who Wonwoo was talking to in his haze, but hearing him beg like that twisted something deep inside.

Tears gathered in the corner of Wonwoo's closed eyes, and before they could fall, Mingyu brushed them away with his thumb, almost frantically. His heart was racing faster than it ever did on a football field.

"Wonwoo, please... open your eyes," Mingyu urged, his voice breaking despite himself. "I'm here. I've got you. You're safe, okay? Please, just open your eyes."

But still, Wonwoo's body shuddered with fear, his hands twitching weakly in Mingyu's hold. Panic bubbled in Mingyu's throat, threatening to choke him. And before he realized it, the words slipped out, soft yet desperate—words he hadn't said in so long.

"You're scaring me, princess."

Mingyu whispered, the nickname rolling naturally off his tongue, tender and intimate, like it had always belonged to this moment. His thumbs traced gentle circles on Wonwoo's skin, trying to anchor him to the present.

Wonwoo's eyelids fluttered hearing the nickname, a flicker of recognition cutting through the fog. He slowly registered the warmth beneath him, the steady press of Mingyu's body supporting him, the soothing cadence of his voice wrapping around him like a shield. The world felt a fraction lighter, less chaotic.

"M-Mingyu?" Wonwoo's voice was weak, trembling, but it was there.

Relief crashed over Mingyu so strong that his vision blurred for a second. "Yes, Wonwoo... I'm here. Just breathe, okay? You're safe." His hand slid to the back of Wonwoo's damp hair, steadying him against his lap.

Wonwoo blinked in confusion, his breath shallow, chest rising and falling too quickly. "W-Where... where am I?"

"You're in the car. With me," Mingyu reassured immediately, his voice low but steady, even though his chest was pounding. "I pulled you out. You're safe now. You're not alone."

The words seemed to sink slowly into Wonwoo, but his body still shook. "M-Mingyu... I-I'm scared."

Mingyu squeezed them firmly, anchoring him. "Don't be," he whispered, his words quick but tender. "I'm here. I've got you. You're safe, I promise." His thumb kept tracing circles over Wonwoo's knuckles, grounding him.

"Breathe with me," Mingyu urged, exaggerating the rise and fall of his chest so Wonwoo could follow. "In... and out. Just like that. I've got you."

Wonwoo's uneven breaths slowly began to sync with Mingyu's, each inhale a little steadier than the last. His trembling lessened bit by bit, though his eyes still shimmered with fear.

When at last his breathing evened out, Mingyu let out a shaky sigh, his forehead lowering briefly to rest against Wonwoo's damp hair. His voice came low, almost like a confession.

"You really have a knack for making me worry, princess."

At the word, Wonwoo's tired eyes opened wider, darting up to meet his. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Wonwoo's gaze lingered, catching the storm of emotions in Mingyu's eyes—fear, worry, and something else he couldn't name.

A moment later, their eye contact broke when a knock landed on the car window. Wonwoo immediately averted his gaze, trying to push himself up to sit straighter, while Mingyu cleared his throat and reached to unlock the door.

The driver bent down, handing Mingyu a towel wrapped in a thin plastic bag.

"Mr. Kim, I could only find this at the nearby store."

"Okay. Thank you," Mingyu said, curt but still polite. The driver gave a quick bow before stepping away, and Mingyu closed the door, shutting out the outside world again.

When Mingyu turned back, Wonwoo was sitting beside him now, his head ducked low. His lips trembled faintly, his fingers still shaking even as he pressed them tightly against his lap, as if trying to hold himself together. The sight pulled at something deep in Mingyu's chest.

Without a word, Mingyu shifted closer, turning his body toward Wonwoo. He unfolded the towel and gently reached for Wonwoo's hands. The moment his fingers brushed over Wonwoo's cold skin, the boy flinched faintly, as if the warmth startled him more than the chill ever did.

"You–You don't have to," 

Wonwoo mumbled, his voice barely audible, his eyes stubbornly fixed downward. His instinct was to pull back, to protect himself from kindness he wasn't sure he deserved.

But Mingyu didn't let go. Instead, he inched closer, his voice quiet yet firm, brushing with a hint of authority.

"I wasn't asking for permission."

The words settled heavy in the small space, not sharp but steady, leaving Wonwoo with no room to resist.

Mingyu began to carefully rub Wonwoo's trembling fingers dry, lingering a moment longer than necessary, trying to chase the cold away with his own warmth. Then he moved upward, dabbing along Wonwoo's damp wrists, his arms, and finally his face. Each movement was slow, almost reverent, as though Wonwoo might break if handled too roughly.

Strands of wet hair clung stubbornly to Wonwoo's forehead, and Mingyu gently brushed them aside, his thumb grazing the line of his temple. Up this close, Mingyu couldn't help but notice the small details he had always overlooked—the pale curve of Wonwoo's cheek, the way his lashes shivered with each unsteady blink, the faint parting of his lips as he tried to steady his breathing.

God... why does he always look so fragile? Mingyu thought, his chest tightening. And why do I care this much?

Meanwhile, Wonwoo kept his gaze down, refusing to look at Mingyu, though his every nerve seemed to be aware of how close Mingyu was. The warmth seeping through wasn't just from the towel—it was from Mingyu himself, from the steadiness of his hands, from the way he refused to let him face this trembling alone.

As Mingyu was carefully wiping away the last traces of water from Wonwoo's hair, Wonwoo's lips parted with a quiet question.

"Why am I here?" 

His voice was so low it almost got lost in the silence of the car, carrying not curiosity but a strange uncertainty, as though even he didn't know what he wanted to ask.

By now, he was conscious enough to piece things together—he remembered the slip into the pool, Mingyu pulling him out, and now being wrapped in warmth inside Mingyu's car. He knew the facts. But none of those explained why.

Why Mingyu had stepped in. Why Mingyu was looking after him now, when for days he had done nothing but avoid him, making Wonwoo feel unwanted, hated even.

So why now? Why step in when Wonwoo had finally felt like giving up?

Mingyu's hand stilled in his hair, his jaw tightening for a moment before he spoke, his voice rough, almost cracked.

"The correct question you should be asking is—'why were you there?'"

He pulled back slightly then, enough to give space but not enough to take away the warmth that Wonwoo could still feel radiating from him.

Wonwoo said nothing, his silence heavier than the air itself. He knew Mingyu wanted an answer, but his throat locked up.

Mingyu let out a breath, steadying his tone though it carried an edge of frustration, 

"Tell me, why were you there? Why did you even come to this party?"

Finally, Wonwoo muttered, his gaze fixed firmly out the window, refusing to meet Mingyu's eyes, "Why... is there a rule that I shouldn't come?" His tone was defensive, more like a shield than a genuine reply.

Mingyu closed his eyes for a brief second, dragging in another sigh before answering.

"It's not like that." His words were calm, but his chest felt tight. "I'm asking because I know you. You hate bright lights, loud music, drunk people, crowded rooms... you hate all of it. So why were you here tonight?"

His voice dropped lower, firm but almost pleading, like he was searching for something more than just an excuse. Something honest. Something real.

Wonwoo's breath hitched for a second. Mingyu's words landed like stones in his chest—because they were true. Every single one of them. He hated the noise, the lights, the crowd. And yet, Mingyu knew that about him... knew it so well that it left Wonwoo momentarily speechless.

But silence was safer. So he kept it.

Mingyu, however, wasn't the type to let silence pass. His patience was already thinning, his voice sharpening as he leaned in closer.

"If you came to accompany your so-called best friend, then he should've been by your side. Where the fuck did he go?"

Wonwoo's hands balled into fists in his lap, his voice snapping back before he could stop it.

"Don't bring Hoshi here." His tone was clipped, his gaze still pinned stubbornly out the window.

"Ohh, so even now, I'm the one in the wrong, huh?" Mingyu bit out, his frustration bubbling over. "I just asked if you were here because of him—"

But Mingyu didn't get to finish.

"I didn't come for him!" Wonwoo's voice rose suddenly, cutting the air between them like a blade. His head whipped around, eyes locking onto Mingyu's properly for the first time that night. 

"I just came to see you, okay?"

Mingyu froze.

For a second, the world narrowed to the boy sitting beside him—Wonwoo, who was trembling, pale as snow, his damp skin drained of color under the dim car light. His lips still quivered from the cold, unable to hold steady even as he forced the words out. Wet eyelashes clung together, framing eyes that were wide and raw, carrying a pain so sharp it almost made Mingyu flinch.

Wonwoo's chest heaved as though the confession itself had stolen his breath, and in that fragile look, Mingyu saw it all—the hurt, the exhaustion, the desperate honesty that Wonwoo had been trying to bury under silence.

And for the first time in a long while, Mingyu didn't know what to say.

The car was still, tucked away in a corner of the parking lot. With the driver gone, silence pressed in on them, broken only by the faint thud of music echoing from the distant party. The dim interior light cast soft shadows across Wonwoo's pale face, his damp hair clinging stubbornly to his forehead.

Mingyu finally found his voice, though it came out low and rough, like gravel in his throat.

"Why did you do that?"

He wasn't even sure what he was asking—why Wonwoo came, why he threw himself into a place he hated, why he looked at Mingyu with such pain in his eyes.

Wonwoo's reply was instant, his voice trembling between complaint and hurt.

"Oh, you tell me— I've been trying to talk to you for the past week. To have even one proper conversation. And all you did was... ignore me. Pretend I didn't exist. You didn't even care I was there." His breath hitched, and his next words came softer, almost breaking. "So I thought... I'd try one last time tonight."

His words hit like quiet arrows, each syllable piercing deeper. Mingyu's fingers tightened unconsciously on the damp towel in his lap, the fabric wrung between his hands. He stayed silent, staring at Wonwoo.

Half of him wanted to reach out, to admit how strange it felt—almost proud—that Wonwoo, who hated loud crowds and bright lights, had stepped into everything he despised. For him.

But the other half... ached. Because every word from Wonwoo carried accusation, and each one reopened the wound Mingyu had been nursing all along: Wonwoo had misunderstood him. Misread his silence. Misread him.

What now? his mind whispered, over and over.

He had thought keeping his distance was the safer way—easier for both of them to move on. But here was Wonwoo, stubborn enough to come crashing through those walls, risking more than Mingyu ever asked of him.

And still, that sting remained. Because it wasn't him who pushed Wonwoo away. It was Wonwoo who had misread him from the start. And that misunderstanding... it cut sharper than anything else.

His chest felt too tight, his throat closing around the words he wanted to say. When they finally slipped out, they were sharper than intended, carrying more bite than he meant.

"If you knew I was avoiding you, you should've stopped. You should've let it go and taken care of yourself."

The words hung heavy, cold and unforgiving in the quiet of the car. Mingyu's jaw tightened the moment they left his lips, because he knew—this wasn't anger. This was fear, frustration, and the bitter image of Wonwoo gasping for air in the pool flashing behind his eyes.

Wonwoo's chest rose and fell unevenly, his damp shirt clinging to his skin as though even the air weighed heavy on him. This time, he didn't hold back—his patience had already been stretched thin, his voice trembling but firm.

"Why are you like this?" he burst out, his hands curling into fists against his knees. His eyes glistened, half with frustration, half with something rawer. 

"I know I was wrong, okay? I know I hurt you, I accused you, I misunderstood—everything's on me. I jumped to conclusions too soon." His voice cracked, but he pushed through, louder this time, "But does that make me so unworthy that I can't even ask for a proper apology? Am I really that ......unimportant to you, Mingyu?"

The name, spoken with such desperation, pierced through Mingyu like a blade. His throat tightened, but instead of softening, the ache twisted into defense.

"Well, sorry can't fix everything, Jeon." His voice came sharper than he meant, laced with bitterness and pain. His gaze locked onto Wonwoo, unwavering. 

"You said I was just pretending. That I used you. Tell me—did everything I did, everything we shared, look like an act to you?"

Wonwoo's lips quivered. He blinked back the sting in his eyes, shaking his head as if trying to will the words out faster than his emotions.

"I prayed it wasn't. I wanted to believe it wasn't." His voice faltered, dropping softer, more vulnerable. "I lashed out at you because of that. Because the thought of what we had being fake—" his words tangled, desperate, "—I couldn't accept it. Why can't you just understand that?"

The car grew suffocatingly quiet, only the sound of their uneven breathing filling the space. 

Wonwoo's shoulders trembled as he tried to steady himself, his next words spilling almost like a plea.

"I just wanted to explain. To make you understand, to make you forgive me... that's why I came today."

Mingyu's jaw clenched, his fingers digging into the towel on his lap until his knuckles turned white. The image of Wonwoo slipping beneath the pool water flashed before his eyes again, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. His voice broke free, louder, harsher—born not of anger, but of fear.

"God, Jeon—do you even understand the situation?" Mingyu's voice cracked through the silence, louder than he intended, hands gripping the edge of the seat as if to ground himself. 

"Do you even realize what could've happened to you if I hadn't jumped in? If I hadn't gotten there in time?" The fear in his chest poured out as anger, each word trembling with the image of Wonwoo sinking beneath the water.

But Wonwoo's response came just as fast, just as sharp.

"Well, do you even understand what might have happened to me if you kept avoiding me?" His voice shook, but this time it wasn't from cold—it was from the dam breaking. 

His eyes glistened, and for the first time that night, tears spilled freely down his cheeks. His words fractured into a whisper, trembling and desperate. 

"I—I missed you."

Mingyu froze, breath caught in his throat. Of all the words he expected, this wasn't one of them. Wonwoo wasn't just here to apologize—he had longed for him. Missed him. 

And Mingyu, sitting there with the towel still clutched in his trembling hands, suddenly questioned whether he was even worthy of being missed by someone like Wonwoo.

Wonwoo's voice pushed through the thick silence, fragile but insistent.

"What do you think, huh?" He looked at Mingyu through blurred lashes, his voice cracking under the weight of everything he'd held back. 

"You think you can just come into my life whenever you want and leave whenever you feel like it?" His trembling hands clutched at Mingyu's shirt, pulling lightly as though afraid Mingyu would vanish if he let go. "You came uninvited... stayed... became my habit. And then—you just decided to walk away because I misunderstood you..."

His tears streaked down his pale cheeks, lips quivering as he tried to keep his voice steady. 

"Like you said, I'm just like everyone else, right? Just one in the crowd for you"

He continued, "Like your friends always said—I'm dull, I only know my books and rules, I'm boring. I was afraid... so damn afraid... that even you saw me the same. That the one person who brought color into my life was only temporary."

Wonwoo's voice broke as he pressed his forehead into Mingyu's chest, clutching the fabric tighter. 

"I was afraid you'd leave me... the moment you didn't need me any-"

He didn't get to finish. Mingyu's restraint snapped. Without a second thought, he pulled Wonwoo into a crushing embrace, his arms locking around him with desperation.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry," he whispered over and over, his voice breaking in places. One hand buried itself in Wonwoo's damp hair, the other rubbing steady circles along his trembling back. 

"Please—please stop crying. It's my fault. It's all my mistake."

But Wonwoo's sobs wouldn't stop. They shook through his body, each one digging deeper into Mingyu's chest.

"I tried... so many times to talk to you. To explain myself," Wonwoo managed between broken hiccups.

"I know," Mingyu murmured, still cradling his head, his lips close enough that his breath brushed Wonwoo's temple.

"I waited for you every day at the library," Wonwoo whispered between shaky breaths, his voice still trembling.

"I know," Mingyu answered softly, his hand continuing its slow, soothing circles in Wonwoo's hair.

Wonwoo pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes wet and confused. "You... you knew?"

Mingyu swallowed, the weight of everything he had kept inside pressing against his chest. 

"Mm. What do you think, Jeon? You thought it was easy for me to avoid you? My focus has always been on you—when you weren't looking, even when you weren't around, you were still there. In my thoughts. Always."

As he spoke, his hand guided Wonwoo's head back down, pressing him against his chest like it was the only way to steady his own trembling. Wonwoo let himself be pulled, damp hair sticking to Mingyu's shirt, his uneven breaths slowly syncing with the rise and fall of Mingyu's body.

"You thought you were the only one who missed someone," Mingyu murmured, voice low and raw. "I... I missed you too, princess."

The endearment slipped out naturally, carrying both ache and tenderness. 

And before he realized it, Mingyu bent down and brushed his lips against the side of Wonwoo's neck.

It wasn't deliberate—it was a slip, a half-second of emotion overtaking reason. A fleeting touch that felt too warm, too human to be an accident.

Wonwoo froze, every nerve on edge. His mind screamed at him to move, to say something, but his body refused to obey. His heartbeat drummed so loud he could barely hear the soft gasp that left his lips.

And though the touch was fleeting, instinctive—it sent shockwaves through Wonwoo. His body jolted at the sudden touch, his mind catching up to the closed proximity he was in. Heat rushed up his neck, and even in his frozen state, he could feel the lingering warmth of Mingyu's lips searing his skin. His breath stuttered, his chest tightening with confusion.

The intimacy of it—the closeness, the nickname, the kiss—hit him all at once, leaving him breathless and reeling.

"Y-you... you're lying," 

Wonwoo managed, pulling himself slightly out of Mingyu's embrace, wiping at his wet cheeks with trembling hands.

"Why would I?" Mingyu's voice came firm, steady, almost scolding. 

"Don't you realize? I'm used to your presence too... you've become my habit now." The weight in his tone made it impossible to mistake his words as anything but truth.

But then Mingyu's gaze flickered, his voice lowering into something heavier, almost raw.

 "But I was afraid... afraid that if I let myself have you in my life, what if something like this happens again? What if we end up worse than this?"

Wonwoo shook his head almost violently, as though words alone weren't enough to push away that thought. Summoning what little strength he had, he reached forward and clasped Mingyu's hand in his own, squeezing it tight. His voice was barely above a whisper, fragile yet certain. 

"Mingyu, I'll never hurt you again. I promise."

Mingyu's breath caught, his heart clenching at the sight of Wonwoo—so earnest, so raw, so desperate to hold them together. Slowly, he lifted his free hand, pressing his palm gently to Wonwoo's cheek. 

His thumb brushed softly against the damp skin, grounding them both. Wonwoo's eyes—wide, pained, filled with regret yet shimmering with hope—locked onto his, as if his entire world depended on Mingyu's response.

A small, genuine smile tugged at Mingyu's lips, a smile Wonwoo had ached to see for what felt like forever. "I know, princess," Mingyu murmured, voice warm and sure.

And it hit Wonwoo all at once again—the nickname. The word he had secretly longed to hear again. It rolled from Mingyu's lips so naturally, yet to Wonwoo it felt like a spark in his chest, a shiver down his spine. No matter how many times he had heard it before, every single time carried the same weight, the same thrill, as if Mingyu was etching his place into Wonwoo's very being.

The storm between them had quieted, leaving behind the fragile calm of two hearts choosing each other again. Wonwoo clung to the echo of Mingyu's words, while Mingyu held onto the trust slowly returning in Wonwoo's gaze.

It wasn't perfect, not yet—but it was real, and it was theirs.

And as the night stretched on, fate was already steering them toward the next step of their journey.

Chapter Text

The car ride was unhurried, the world outside moving in soft blurs of night, while inside the cabin Mingyu could hear only Wonwoo's steady, quiet breaths beside him. After their heart-spilling conversation, when Wonwoo had finally calmed, Mingyu told him—not asked him—that he would be the one to take him home. His voice had left no room for argument, and with a curt nod, he instructed the driver to head for Wonwoo's place.

Silence lingered between them, but it wasn't the kind that suffocated. This one was softer, a silence stitched with a fragile kind of peace that both had been deprived of for the past week. Mingyu's hand remained clasped around Wonwoo's, his thumb moving in slow circles over his skin—a quiet source of warmth, a wordless assurance that things were okay now, or at least, that he would make sure they were.

Wonwoo, however, was lost to the tangle of his own thoughts. His gaze stayed fixed on the night sky outside the window, but his mind replayed the chaos of the past hours. From battling his own fears, to the terrifying pull of the water, to laying his heart bare in Mingyu's arms—he had never felt so exposed to anyone before. 

The strangeness of it lingered, and yet, there was no urge to hide this time. With Mingyu's smile—the same one he had longed for all these days—etched in his memory, Wonwoo felt lighter, as though an invisible weight had been lifted off his chest. For the first time in a long while, peace didn't feel like a distant dream.

His eyelids grew heavy under the comfort of it all, and before long, drowsiness claimed him. His head slipped gently onto Mingyu's shoulder. Mingyu stiffened at the sudden weight, surprise flashing for a moment, but once he realized Wonwoo was asleep, he didn't move an inch. The slow rub of his thumb across Wonwoo's hand didn't falter either—because letting go, even for a second, felt impossible.

But beneath that stillness, guilt gnawed at Mingyu. He blamed himself—for not listening sooner, for pushing too hard, for every moment of silence that had widened the gap between them. 

The memory of Wonwoo's desperate gasp for air, his frantic struggle against the water, returned with vivid clarity. He had looked so fragile, so helpless, that it had torn something open in Mingyu's chest. Even now, with Wonwoo safe and breathing softly against him, that image refused to let him go.

He had tried to keep Wonwoo away. God, he had really tried. To look through him in the hallway, to pretend the empty chair at the library didn't ache, to let his phone stay silent when his fingers itched to type out a message. But reality had been merciless. Because all this time, his mind screamed a single name on repeat—Wonwoo. Every day for the past week, his absence had been a wound Mingyu couldn't stop pressing.

It had been torture, not talking to him. Torture not teasing him until his eyes rolled in mock irritation. Torture not seeing that crinkled-eye smile that always made Mingyu's chest feel too small for his heart.

And tonight, after everything that had happened, Mingyu was shaken by the lengths Wonwoo had gone without him even knowing. Wonwoo's raw affection—unpolished, unrestrained—made Mingyu's chest ache in ways he wasn't sure he deserved. Was he even worthy of this boy's desperate attempts, his confessions, his tears? Mingyu didn't know. But one thing he was certain of: he couldn't let him go. Not now. Not ever.

The hum of the engine slowed, and the car finally pulled to a stop outside Wonwoo's home. Mingyu lingered for a moment, steadying his racing thoughts before breaking the fragile stillness. Gently, his hand brushed against Wonwoo's arm.

"Jeon," his voice was soft, almost careful, "wake up. We're here."

Wonwoo stirred, his brows knitting before his eyelids fluttered open. His senses returned in fragments—the faint glow of the streetlight outside, the quiet of the car cabin, and then—most jarringly—where his head was resting. On Mingyu's shoulder. His body jolted in instinct, and he pulled away a little too quickly, as though Mingyu's touch burned him.

"We... we arrived?" Wonwoo's voice was hoarse, still heavy with sleep, but his attempt to mask the heat rising to his face was pitiful. His ears had already betrayed him, tinted a soft red.

Mingyu caught the fluster with ease, and a quiet smile tugged at his lips, the kind that carried both fondness and exasperation. "Mhm. We're here." His hand slipped away from Wonwoo's, leaving behind a faint trace of warmth that seemed to vanish too soon.

Wonwoo nodded awkwardly, swallowing against the sudden hollowness in his palm as he reached for the door handle. He stepped out quickly, as though the cool night air might soothe the storm in his chest. Mingyu followed, unfolding his tall frame from the car with ease and leaning casually against the door—his eyes still, unshakably, fixed on Wonwoo.

Wonwoo stood there, shifting his weight restlessly from one foot to the other, his nerves betraying him. He contemplated saying something—maybe a thank you. But how could a simple "thank you" ever be enough for what Mingyu had done for him tonight? Before he could gather the courage to speak, Mingyu's voice cut through the silence.

"You're welcome," he said, as though reading Wonwoo's mind. A pause, then softly but firmly, "Now, go home safe."

Wonwoo blinked, taken aback, the corner of his lips tugging upward into a small, surprised smile. He only managed a faint nod before muttering a quiet "bye" and heading toward his front door.

But when he reached it, his steps halted. The house was locked. Confused, he fished out his phone, about to call his mom, when he noticed her message—she'd gone to his aunt's place on an emergency and wouldn't be back until tomorrow.

"What happened?"

The low, familiar voice brushed against his ear, so close it made him jolt. Whirling around, Wonwoo found Mingyu standing right behind him, his height casting an easy shadow over the dim porch light.

"Hm... it seems my mom had to leave for an emergency. She'll only be back tomorrow," Wonwoo explained, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Okay... don't you know the password for the lock?" Mingyu asked, his tone deliberately light, the faintest mockery playing at his lips.

"Of course I know," Wonwoo shot back, rolling his eyes. Mingyu only gave him a small nod before casually turning back toward the car.

Wonwoo blinked. "That's it? That's the reaction?" he thought, unimpressed, as he bent down to punch the code into the lock. The sound of an engine starting behind him confirmed Mingyu was leaving.

"Idiot," Wonwoo mumbled under his breath.

"By any chance... was that meant for me, princess?"

The voice came again, low and teasing, directly behind his ear. Wonwoo froze, his fingers still lingering near the keypad. He didn't need to turn to know Mingyu was close—the way every fine hair on his skin stood up, his whole body thrumming with awareness, told him enough.

He forced himself to clear his throat, desperate to sound unaffected, and turned to face Mingyu. His lips parted, trying for a sharp question.

"What are you—"

"I'm staying here tonight." Mingyu's words cut in, calm but firm, as if he had already decided and was simply informing Wonwoo of the fact. 

His tall frame leaned casually against the doorframe, but there was nothing casual about the way his gaze lingered—steady, unflinching, pulling Wonwoo in.

Wonwoo's eyes widened. A flicker of relief tugged at his chest—he hated the silence of an empty house, the way it echoed without his mother there. And today, with his body worn out and his mind heavier than ever, he'd already planned on crashing at Hoshi's place rather than staying alone. 

Now Mingyu was right in front of him, offering the very thing he needed. It should've been comforting. And it was. But not completely. Because Mingyu's presence wasn't soft—it was heavy, grounding, and dangerously close to slipping past every defense Wonwoo had spent years building.

"You... you don't have to," Wonwoo managed, though the words tasted like a lie. His heart thudded against his ribs, screaming the opposite. He turned too quickly, fumbling slightly as he punched in the passcode and pushed the door open.

Behind him, Mingyu didn't move. Instead, he tilted his head, studying Wonwoo with quiet curiosity, one eyebrow arched as if he could read every tangled thought running through him.

"You don't want me to?" His voice was low, a shade softer now, coaxing, testing the edge of Wonwoo's resolve.

Wonwoo's throat worked, his hand flying up to rub the back of his neck—an old nervous habit he couldn't shake. "Yes... no... it's not that," he muttered, eyes darting anywhere but Mingyu's.

Mingyu's lips curved, just barely. Then he stepped forward, into the doorway, into Wonwoo's space, and said with a certainty that left no room for protest:

"I want to, princess."

And there it was again—that word. That name. Every time it slipped past Mingyu's lips, it unsettled something deep in Wonwoo. It wasn't just a pet name. It carried a familiarity he'd missed, a sting of warmth he secretly craved. 

 Because Mingyu always knew exactly how to do this—how to slip past Wonwoo's defenses with nothing but a word, how to twist his heart until it clenched and fluttered at the same time. Every time that nickname left Mingyu's lips, it stole a piece of Wonwoo's composure, leaving him bare and weak in ways he hated admitting.

Wonwoo's throat went dry. His first instinct was to argue, to push back, to tell Mingyu not to act like he owned the place—or him. But the words never came. Instead, he found himself just nodding, almost helplessly, as if the simple sound of Mingyu's voice had tied his tongue.

He turned quickly, pretending to busy himself as he walked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet house. "I'll... bring you some clothes to change," he muttered, not daring to meet Mingyu's eyes again.

Behind him, he could feel Mingyu's presence filling the room, warm and grounding, almost too much to bear. And though Wonwoo tried to convince himself it was nothing, deep down he knew—Mingyu's words weren't just breaking through his walls anymore. They were dismantling them.

While Wonwoo disappeared upstairs to fetch him some spare clothes, Mingyu let his eyes wander around the house. It wasn't big, but it felt warm in its own way—walls painted in muted tones, shelves lined with neatly stacked books and a few trinkets that looked well-used but carefully kept.

The living room was small, with a worn but soft-looking couch that faced an old television, and the corners carried that quiet sense of being lived in—a home shaped not by luxury, but by care.

His gaze caught on the wall by the staircase, where several photo frames were hung in neat rows. Mingyu stepped closer, his expression softening when he noticed a particular picture. A little boy—Wonwoo, no more than five years old—stood between his parents, wearing a floppy hat that looked far too big for his head. His lips were pushed out in a tiny pout while his mother smiled warmly and his father's hand rested protectively on his shoulder.

A small chuckle escaped Mingyu, unbidden. "Cute," he murmured under his breath, the word hanging in the quiet air.

But as he scanned along the line of photos, something unsettled him. The memories framed on the wall seemed to stop abruptly—pictures of Wonwoo growing up to maybe ten or twelve years old, and then... nothing. No teenage years, no recent smiles. Just silence where the rest of his story should have been. Mingyu frowned slightly, unsure if it was coincidence or something heavier that left that gap.

His thoughts scattered when he sensed movement. Wonwoo had returned, quietly holding out a folded set of clothes for him. Mingyu took them with a small nod, but curiosity tugged at him.

"Both your mom and dad will be back tomorrow?" he asked casually, his tone light as though he was just making conversation.

The change was instant. Wonwoo's shoulders stiffened, and for a second his entire expression faltered—like Mingyu had unknowingly touched a wound that had never fully healed. His eyes flickered with something Mingyu couldn't quite read, a mix of heaviness and restraint.

"My mom will be here tomorrow morning," Wonwoo said slowly, before releasing a quiet sigh. "And... my dad... he's no more." The last words slipped out low, weighted, as if the air itself pressed down on his chest.

Mingyu's eyes softened, the earlier lightness in his expression dimming into something heavier. "I—I'm sorry," he began, guilt pooling in his voice, but Wonwoo quickly shook his head.

"No... it's okay," Wonwoo interrupted, forcing a small, brittle smile. But Mingyu could see past it. That practiced composure, that mask of pretending—it didn't fool him.

He studied Wonwoo quietly - the way Wonwoo's jaw worked when he swallowed, the way his fingers fiddled with the hem of his shirt, the small, careful breaths he took to keep his face composed. Wonwoo's eyes kept darting away—never meeting Mingyu's—and each time they slid past, something in Mingyu tightened.

He wanted to ask about Wonwoo's father, to pry gently at the bruise he'd seen a moment ago, but he knew Wonwoo too well. The boy folded himself around his privacy like armor; he never offered the things that hurt unless he decided to. Mingyu didn't want to be the one to break him open.

So instead, Mingyu decided to shift the mood. He cleared his throat, the sound deliberately light. 

"Where should I get changed?"

Wonwoo's voice came low, almost careful. "There's a guest room upstairs. Right beside mine. You can use that."

Without another glance, Wonwoo headed down the hallway, his footsteps soft against the wooden stairs, until his door clicked shut behind him.

Mingyu changed quickly in the guest room, the faint smell of laundry soap clinging to the fresh clothes Wonwoo had given him. When he stepped back into the hall, it was still and quiet, save for the faint rustle of fabric from behind Wonwoo's closed door. Mingyu hesitated, then knocked gently.

"Jeon?"

Silence.

He tried again, a little firmer. "Jeon?"

A muffled reply came at last. "Yes. Mingyu, I'll be down in five minutes."

Leaning lazily against the doorframe, Mingyu tilted his head. "I'm starving, you know. Is there any instant noodles in the kitchen?"

Another pause, and then the door opened with a soft creak. Wonwoo stepped out, his hair tousled as though he'd run his hands through it too many times, his eyes faintly red despite his attempt at composure. Mingyu noticed instantly but, as always, chose not to ask.

"You... know how to cook?" Wonwoo asked, locking his door with a flick of the wrist, his brow knitting slightly.

Mingyu gave a short nod. "Mm."

Wonwoo's lips pressed together in doubt. "Are you sure? We could just order takeout."

Mingyu exhaled loudly, putting his hands on his hips in mock offense. "Jeon, I promise I won't burn your kitchen down."

Wonwoo still didn't look convinced. "I just don't want my mom scolding me if she comes back to a disaster," he said, his voice soft with genuine concern rather than sharpness.

Rolling his eyes with exaggerated patience, Mingyu shook his head. 

"Unbelievable. Fine. Just hand me two packs of ramyeon. And for the record, when I'm done, if you so much as take a bite, you're not getting another—unless you admit it's the best ramyeon you've ever tasted."

As he spoke, he trailed behind Wonwoo into the kitchen, the faint hum of the refrigerator filling the silence. Wonwoo bent to open the cupboard, retrieving two packs and passing them over with a small, almost mischievous smirk.

"Well, I'd love to bruise your confidence, Kim Mingyu," he said, his tone edged with quiet challenge, though the corners of his lips threatened to curl into something lighter.

Mingyu grinned, rolling his sleeves up with practiced ease. "We'll see about that."

Mingyu moved around the kitchen with a confidence that startled Wonwoo a little. He tied the sleeves of his shirt loosely above his elbows, setting a pot of water on the stove and working with practiced ease. 

The sound of bubbling water filled the quiet space, followed by the soft clatter of ladles and chopsticks as Mingyu stirred the noodles, tossing in seasoning with the kind of care that didn't match the simplicity of instant ramyeon. He didn't even need to check twice—his hands knew what they were doing.

"Go rest in the living room, Jeon," Mingyu said over his shoulder, voice casual, though his brow was furrowed in focus.

Wonwoo lingered at the doorway for a moment, eyeing him suspiciously. Leaving Mingyu alone in his kitchen felt like inviting chaos, but exhaustion tugged at him too strongly. 

With a reluctant huff, he padded over to the sofa, dropping into it with a low sigh, his limbs heavy from the day's weight. His eyes drifted shut for a few seconds until Mingyu's voice broke through, calling him back.

"Jeon! Give me a hand setting the table."

Wonwoo rubbed his face, forcing himself up. As he moved to grab bowls from the cupboard, Mingyu's gaze followed him—quietly, intently. He noticed the slope of Wonwoo's shoulders, the neat but slightly tired way he carried himself, and the almost imperceptible swallow when Wonwoo thought no one was watching. That odd tug in Mingyu's chest returned, sudden and unexplainable, and it softened him in ways he couldn't quite admit aloud.

Soon, the small dining table filled with steaming bowls of ramyeon. The savory aroma curled into the air, warm and homely, wrapping around them both like a blanket. It smelled of ordinary things—comfort, safety—and for the first time that night, something steady and domestic slipped quietly between them.

Wonwoo eyed the dish in front of him, skeptical but curious. He wasn't much of a cook himself, but just by looking at it—the rich color of the broth, the perfectly timed noodles—he could tell Mingyu knew what he was doing. Still, he hesitated, lifting his chopsticks slowly before taking a small slurp in his usual careful manner.

The taste hit him immediately. Wonwoo blinked, almost startled by how good it was. He hadn't expected much—it was just ramyeon, after all—but Mingyu had somehow turned it into something better, something... addictive.

Mingyu caught his reaction instantly, his lips curving into a smug smirk.

Wonwoo reached for another bite, but Mingyu swiftly nudged his chopsticks away. "Nah, nah—did you forget our deal? Not another bite unless you admit this is the tastiest ramyeon you've ever had," he teased, leaning back with that cheeky grin.

Wonwoo groaned, glaring half-heartedly but refusing to say the words. Not that he doesn't want to but he couldn't. His stubborn silence only made Mingyu gave up.

"Fine," Mingyu sighed dramatically, "you can have it. Lucky for you, I made enough for both of us."

He dug into his own bowl with enthusiasm, taking a huge slurp that made Wonwoo's lips twitch into a reluctant smile. A quiet chuckle escaped him as he watched Mingyu eat without a care, noodles slipping messily but happily between his lips.

They ate mostly in silence after that. No heavy words, no teasing—just the soft clink of chopsticks and the steady warmth of food filling the spaces between them. And for a little while, that was more than enough.

After they finished eating, Wonwoo gathered the empty bowls and carried them to the sink. Mingyu offered to help, but Wonwoo shook his head firmly. "You cooked, so I'll clean," he said, rolling up his sleeves. The soft clatter of dishes and running water filled the kitchen while Mingyu lingered in the living room, stretched comfortably across the sofa, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone.

When Wonwoo finally returned, drying his damp hands on a towel, Mingyu barely looked up. Wonwoo sat down beside him, leaving a small but noticeable space between them. "Shall we sleep?" he asked quietly.

Mingyu raised his head, eyes softening, and gave a short nod. Together, they climbed the stairs, their steps muted against the wooden floor.

"You can take the guest room," Wonwoo said over his shoulder, pointing toward the door beside his own.

The protest came instantly. "Jeon... no. I'll sleep in your room," Mingyu said, his voice dipping into a whine that clung between playfulness and insistence.

Wonwoo stopped, turning halfway to glance at him. "Then where do you expect me to sleep?"

Mingyu blinked as if the answer was obvious. "In your bed. We'll share. Me and Hannie hyung used to do it all the time on trips. It's not a big deal."

The words hit harder than Mingyu realized. Wonwoo froze, the phrase "not a big deal" catching like a thorn in his chest. For him, it was a big deal—too big. And hearing Jeonghan's name so casually slip from Mingyu's lips made something tight coil inside him, a shadow of unease prickling beneath his ribs. 

His reply came sharper than he intended, almost before he could stop it.

"Well, I'm not your Hannie hyung, Mingyu."

The hallway went still. Mingyu blinked at the sudden edge in Wonwoo's tone, his smile faltering into silence. For a moment, it seemed like he might push back, but instead, he tilted his head, letting his expression shift into something soft, wounded—an innocent card he knew how to play too well. His eyes turned wide, his lips pulling into the smallest pout, his whole face the picture of a kicked puppy.

"But... can't I at least stay beside your bed? I'll sleep on the floor," he murmured, voice gentling. "I get... uneasy sleeping alone in new places."

Wonwoo's heart sank. That look—the pleading, boyish vulnerability—was unfair. He felt his resolve slip even as his mind screamed at him to hold the line. He tried, voice low and strained. 

"Mingyu—"

"Please..." Mingyu whined, dragging the word out just enough to make it sound pitiful.

Wonwoo exhaled heavily, shoulders sagging. He could never resist when Mingyu looked at him like that. "Fine," he muttered at last, pushing open his bedroom door.

The victory was instant. Mingyu's soft laugh, warm and triumphant, floated behind him. Wonwoo didn't need to turn around to picture the smug grin on his face—he could feel it in the air.

Chapter Text

While Wonwoo busied himself dragging out spare blankets and a small floor mattress for Mingyu, the sound of fabric rustling filled the quiet room. His movements were steady, careful — the kind of careful that came from trying not to think too much.

Mingyu stood still near the desk, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, eyes roaming across the space that felt more like Wonwoo than anything else ever had. It wasn't a large room, but it carried that quiet, lived-in warmth of someone who found peace in simplicity.

The shelves along one wall sagged under the weight of countless books, each arranged neatly but spilling over with affection — pages slightly curled, spines softened by time. A desk sat in the corner, its surface organized but not untouched: a sleek computer, a pair of headphones hanging loosely off the side, a few game cases stacked in a tidy pile, and notebooks scattered with hurried handwriting. The soft glow from a small desk lamp cast a warm halo over it all, wrapping the room in gentle light.

Two framed posters hung on the wall — one of a fantasy novel cover, another from an old video game release — their edges slightly frayed, yet clearly loved. The bed was neatly made with navy sheets tucked in tight, a folded throw blanket resting at its foot. Everything about the room spoke quietly — not to impress, but to belong. It simply was, and it whispered Wonwoo's name in every corner.

Mingyu's chest tightened a little at that thought. It wasn't the grand kind of space people showed off — it was home.

His quiet surveying broke when Wonwoo's voice came from behind him, soft but steady.

"The bed's ready. You can sleep here."

Mingyu turned, catching the faint reflection of the lamp in Wonwoo's eyes and for a split second, Mingyu thought — or maybe hoped — that Wonwoo might tell him to share the bed. But he knew better. Wonwoo wasn't the type to blur boundaries easily. He guarded his space like he guarded his heart — quietly, but firmly.

So Mingyu just nodded. "Alright," he said, voice low.

Wonwoo gave a small nod in return, though his eyes lingered on Mingyu for a moment longer — as if debating something he wouldn't say. Then, without another word, he climbed into bed and reached over to switch off the light.

Mingyu settled down on the mattress beside the bed, tugging the blanket over himself. The floor was cool against his back, but the air around him felt strangely warm — maybe because Wonwoo was just there, within arm's reach.

The room wasn't entirely dark though — a thin line of silver moonlight slipped through the curtains, painting faint patterns across the floor and over the edges of the bed. Mingyu, laying down on the mattress, turned to his side. His eyes naturally found Wonwoo, bathed in that muted glow.

The light caught on the slope of Wonwoo's cheek and the soft fall of his hair. Mingyu couldn't see him clearly, but he could feel him — the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the tension in his clasped hands, the stillness that wasn't quite peaceful.

Wonwoo's eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling, his expression unreadable. He looked like he was holding onto thoughts too heavy to let go of.

Mingyu hesitated. The words perched on his tongue felt too intrusive for the moment — yet too sincere to hold back. After a few breaths, he let them out softly, testing the still air between them.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice as light as a whisper, careful not to break whatever fragile calm lingered in the room.

Wonwoo startled slightly at the sound of Mingyu's voice, not expecting him to still be awake — or worse, to have noticed his restlessness. For a brief second, his shoulders tensed, eyes flickering toward the boy on the floor. But Mingyu's voice had been so soft, so careful, that it felt less like an interruption and more like an invitation.

He tilted his head a little, his voice small and raw. "Thinking about your ramyeon."

Mingyu blinked, confusion flickering across his face. His brow furrowed as he propped himself on one elbow. "What?" he asked, unsure if he'd heard it right.

Wonwoo turned his gaze back toward the ceiling, the faint moonlight brushing over his features. "It's just..." he began, his tone quiet but steady, 

"I really loved how it tasted. But I couldn't bring myself to admit that it was the tastiest ramyeon I ever had."

Mingyu blinked again, caught between amusement and confusion. Of all the things to be on Wonwoo's mind, this wasn't what he'd expected. Yet something in Wonwoo's voice — soft, hesitant, unguarded — made him realize it wasn't really about ramyeon at all.

So he stayed quiet, letting the silence open instead of closing it.

And like Mingyu suspected, Wonwoo continued — his voice distant now, as if he were speaking more to the ceiling than to him. 

"When I was a kid, my dad used to cook buldak ramyeon for me after school," he murmured.

A faint laugh escaped him — barely there, tinged with something fragile. "I don't even know if it was my favorite because I loved it, or because he cooked it every day until it became one."

The moonlight shifted as he turned slightly, eyes soft with the kind of memories that ached to be remembered. 

"It was simple," he said, almost fondly. "Everything he did was simple. But thoughtful. Quiet. Just like his love for me."

For a moment, his lips curved faintly, almost fondly, but then the smile trembled and fell away. His next words came slower, thinner, almost afraid to touch the air.

"And then one day, I came home from school to an empty dining table. No smell of ramyeon, no clatter of chopsticks... just silence. And the kind that fills every corner until it feels like it's choking you."

He swallowed hard. "I kept waiting for that warmth to come back. But it never did."

The room hummed softly in response — the ticking of a wall clock, the gentle whir of the fan, the whisper of night air against the curtains. Mingyu didn't move or speak; he simply watched the faint light play across Wonwoo's face, realizing that this — this quiet confession — was the first time Wonwoo had let him glimpse the weight he carried.

And for the first time that night, Mingyu understood that staying hadn't just been the right choice — it had been needed.

He felt a tightness in his chest as he listened. He wanted to say something, anything, but his throat locked. Was it right to ask? Or would words only break the fragile moment that hung between them?

So he stayed silent, eyes fixed on Wonwoo, trying to understand every pause, every breath. He could feel the ache in the air, like the faint echo of someone's absence still lingering in the room.

Wonwoo, for his part, didn't seem to notice the silence. Maybe he found comfort in it—the kind of comfort that didn't ask for explanations. He had never spoken like this to anyone before. Never shared the parts of himself that still hurt when touched. Yet somehow, with Mingyu, being beside him—quiet, listening, not judging—it didn't feel so terrifying.

Wonwoo would've laughed—truly laughed—if someone had told him that Mingyu would someday become this constant, this undeniable presence in his life.

That the boy he once dismissed as arrogant and irritating would be the very one to shatter every wall he had built around himself with such precision and patience.

That Mingyu would somehow weave himself into Wonwoo's days—into his habits, his silences, his thoughts—until his presence felt almost like breathing.

He would have never believed that this same boy would become everything he once wished for but convinced himself he'd never have. Someone who could see through his calm exterior, someone who'd stand close enough for him to finally open up—unravel the wounds that never healed, the ones he had only ever hidden.

He hadn't planned to talk tonight. None of this was supposed to come out.

But maybe it was the warmth that lingered since the car ride, when Mingyu refused to leave him alone.

Or maybe it was the flash of fear behind Mingyu's anger when he scolded him earlier, the kind that didn't come from irritation but from care.

Or maybe it was the quiet concern in his eyes when Wonwoo mentioned his father, the word "no more"  hanging between them like a fragile truth.

Maybe it was all of it—the warmth, the fear, the worry, the silence—that made Wonwoo open up without even realizing it. Like a dam cracking from the smallest, kindest touch.

He exhaled softly, the sound heavy in the stillness.

"I don't remember it vividly," he began, voice almost a whisper. "I don't even remember why I fought with him that day."

Mingyu turned slightly, his brows drawing together, but he didn't interrupt.

"I think it was something stupid," Wonwoo continued. "A game set my classmates had. I wanted one too, but he didn't buy it for me. And I... I got angry." 

His throat tightened. "I shouted at him—said he didn't love me like other fathers loved their kids."

The words tasted bitter now, as if he could still feel them burning his tongue from all those years ago.

"I still remember how his expression changed in that moment," he said softly, eyes distant, glistening faintly in the dim light. "Just for a second. Like he'd been struck."

He swallowed hard, fingers curling against the bedsheet. "But I didn't say sorry. I didn't go back. I just shut myself in my room and stayed there."

Mingyu's heart ached at the quiet tremor in Wonwoo's tone. He wanted to reach out—to do something, anything—but his hand hovered in midair before he let it fall. Maybe all Wonwoo needed right now wasn't comfort, but someone who'd simply listen.

Wonwoo's voice was softer now, fragile, but steady enough to carry the next memory.

"It was my mom who tried to cheer me up later," he said. "She said we could go to the lake near our old neighborhood. She thought maybe it'd help me clear my head."

"And as we planned, we went there the next day," Wonwoo began, his voice distant, almost as if he was watching the memory from far away.

"The weather was bright. The kind of day where sunlight dances on the water, pretending everything's peaceful."

He paused for a long moment. Mingyu stayed utterly still, his breath quiet, afraid any movement might break the fragile thread of words.

"I remember running toward the lake," Wonwoo said, his tone soft, almost childlike. "The water was so clear that day... I could see my reflection rippling with every step I took. 

A faint, hollow smile flickered on his lips. "And then—I wanted to go a little deeper. Just to see how far I could go. My mom told me to stay close to the shore, but I didn't listen."

He swallowed, his throat tightening. "I didn't know how it happened - One step turned into two. Then the ground beneath my feet just... disappeared. The water pulled me down before I could even scream."

Mingyu's heart clenched. He could almost see it through Wonwoo's words—the small boy swallowed by still water, the sudden chaos in what was supposed to be a calm afternoon.

"I tried to swim back up," Wonwoo whispered, his eyes fixed on some invisible point on the ceiling. "But everything was heavy. The water filled my mouth, my nose. I couldn't breathe. I remember reaching out—hoping someone would pull me out—but everything was blurry."

His voice trembled now. "Then I saw him. My dad."

The memory flickered vividly behind his eyes—his father's face twisted in horror, the frantic rush through the water, the muffled echoes of his mother's panicked cries from the shore.

"He was shouting something," Wonwoo continued, his voice breaking slightly. "But I couldn't hear clearly... everything sounded like thunder under the water. The next thing I knew, he was there—his arms around me—pushing me up, forcing me toward the surface."

He drew a shaky breath. "For a second, I felt air again. I thought it was over."

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "But when I turned, he wasn't beside me anymore."

The silence that followed was unbearable. Mingyu's heart twisted painfully, imagining it: a small boy gasping for air, searching frantically for the man who'd just saved him.

"They said later he must have gone too far," Wonwoo whispered, words trembling like fragile glass. "That he got tired fighting the current. That by the time they pulled him out..."

He couldn't finish. His lips parted soundlessly before closing again.

"I saw them drag him to the shore," he finally forced out, each word scraping his throat raw. "His shirt was clinging to him, his hair plastered to his face. Mom was screaming, shaking him, but he wasn't..." He swallowed hard, a faint shudder running through him. "...he wasn't opening his eyes. He wasn't breathing."

"I remember kneeling beside him, begging him to wake up. Saying sorry over and over. But he didn't move. He was just... gone."

Mingyu sat frozen, with his eyes burning and lost for any words. The image refused to leave his head—the boy on the shore, choking on sobs, the echo of waves against the lifeless body of the man who'd loved him enough to give up his life.

He couldn't imagine how strong Wonwoo must have been to live with that memory — to carry the image of his father's sacrifice and still keep breathing, still keep existing in a world that once stole everything from him.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo was laying there, empty and still. No tears came. It was as if he'd cried them all away long ago, until nothing remained but silence. His face had lost all traces of warmth, and his eyes — usually alive with thought and quiet stubbornness — now looked like dim stars fading in the night sky.

"Do you know how hard it feels," Wonwoo said, his voice breaking softly, "to realize the last thing I said to him was blaming him for not loving me like other fathers do?"

He let out a hollow laugh that ached more than a sob. "I couldn't even apologize."

His lips trembled, his shoulders quivering ever so slightly as he tried to steady himself. "It should've been me," he whispered, his tone raw, stripped of every defense he once wore. "Instead, my father saved me and lost himself. I'm the reason he's gone. The reason my mom suffers. The reason she's alone now."

His voice was hoarse — like the wound had never healed, just grown deeper with time. The words fell out heavy, soaked with years of guilt and grief. His fingers, resting on the bedsheet, began to tremble, trying to hold onto composure that kept slipping through his grasp.

And then — warmth.

Wonwoo's eyes widened slightly when he felt it. A gentle but familiar heat wrapped around his cold, shaking hands. He looked down, startled, to see Mingyu kneeling on the floor beside the bed, his knees pressed against the wooden frame, his large hands enclosing Wonwoo's smaller ones as if trying to shield them from the world.

Mingyu didn't say a word. His head was slightly bowed, his thumb brushing lightly over Wonwoo's knuckles — not to comfort, but to let him know he wasn't alone. His touch was firm yet trembling, a quiet plea that said you don't have to hold it alone anymore.

Wonwoo stared at their joined hands, his breath hitching. Something inside him — something that had been locked and frozen for years — shifted, just a little. The air between them felt different now, thick with unspoken understanding and quiet care.

He didn't pull away. He couldn't. For once, he let himself feel the warmth of another person reaching out, not to save him, not to fix him — just to be there.

And for the second time that night, Wonwoo felt bare. Like every layer he'd built around himself over the years — the silence, the control, the indifference — had been peeled away by the sincerity in Mingyu's eyes. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he met Mingyu's gaze — those dark, glimmering eyes that held neither pity nor judgment, only warmth and something heavier... something that made his chest tighten.

Mingyu looked at him with that quiet intensity — brows slightly furrowed, eyes soft yet unyielding, like he was holding Wonwoo's pain within himself. His lips parted slightly, but he didn't rush to speak. 

But Wonwoo looked like he was crumbling piece by piece. His lips quivered with every breath, his lashes trembling as if he was on the verge of tears yet too exhausted to shed any. His face was pale, drawn tight by guilt and weariness, and his eyes — looked dim, hollowed out by years of carrying pain alone.

"I'm such a disappointment to my family," Wonwoo whispered, his voice so small it barely reached Mingyu. Saying it out loud made it feel more real, like he was finally letting his worst belief slip through the cracks of his composure.

Mingyu's head immediately shook, a sharp yet gentle denial. His grip on Wonwoo's hand tightened — firm but comforting — as if he was anchoring him to reality. He could see it now, how long Wonwoo had been carrying that weight, how it had shaped his silence and the walls around him. And Mingyu couldn't — wouldn't — let him keep believing such lies about himself.

Mingyu spoke, his tone low and steady, filled with care yet certain like an unbreakable truth. 

"No, you're not. You're not a disappointment, Wonwoo. I know neither your father nor your mother would ever think that. Your father would be so proud of you — that his son grew up strong, disciplined, respectful... and that he's taking care of his mom the way he would have wanted to."

Wonwoo let out a soft, bitter chuckle that didn't reach his eyes. "You don't know the entire truth, Mingyu," he murmured, his voice heavy with resignation. "We've barely known each other for five... maybe six months. You're overestimating me."

Mingyu's gaze didn't falter. If anything, it grew even more intense — the kind that silently said, No, I see you more clearly than you think.

And his reply came without hesitation, his tone soft but resolute. "

And that's more than enough for me to understand what kind of person you are, Jeon. All I can see is that you've been punishing yourself for something that wasn't your fault... something that happened because of fate. And I know—" his eyes glimmered with quiet conviction, "—your father would never want this for you."

Wonwoo's eyes blinked slowly, as though his mind needed time to process the weight of Mingyu's words. His throat felt tight, his chest heavy.

"He saved you, Jeon," Mingyu continued, his voice trembling slightly now, but never wavering. "He didn't think twice about his life—he only thought of yours. That's how much he loved you. His love was infinite, immeasurable. And if you truly want to honor that love... then you should live. You should live your life to the fullest—for the both of you. You should smile, chase the things you love, and make yourself and your dad proud."

Wonwoo's gaze fell, his lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. It wasn't as if these were words he had never heard before. He had—many times. He had tried, again and again, to convince himself to let go of the guilt, to tell himself it was fate, not fault. 

His mother had told him the same countless times, her words gentle and pleading. But a part of him had always refused to accept them, dismissing them as a mother's desperate comfort for a son who had suffered too much.

But hearing it now—from someone outside his family, from someone who looked at him not with pity, but with understanding—something shifted inside him.

Maybe... just maybe... it wasn't impossible. Maybe he could recover from this someday. Maybe he could learn to live again—not as a boy bound by guilt, but as a man his father would be proud of.

That he could finally accept what had happened and focus on what was yet to come.

He drew in a shaky breath, feeling the faintest warmth rise in his chest as if a long-frozen piece of him had started to thaw. He could almost feel his father's presence again—somewhere unseen, watching over him with the same quiet love that had never really left.

And for the first time in a long time, Wonwoo believed that maybe... he wasn't as alone as he thought. He would live this life for the both of them—for himself, and for his father.

He would make his dad proud, because deep down, he knew that wherever his father was now, he would still be watching over him—protecting him, loving him silently as he always had.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Wonwoo's lips—small, fragile, but real. It wasn't a full smile, just enough to ease the heaviness in the air. But Mingyu noticed it immediately, his eyes softening as his fingers tightened gently around Wonwoo's hand, grounding him.

"You've got this," Mingyu murmured, his voice low and sincere—almost like a silent prayer he was afraid to break. "You deserve everything your father wanted for you... and everything your mother still wishes for you."

And somehow, those words reached Wonwoo in a way nothing else ever had.

After a beat of quiet, Wonwoo looked down at their intertwined hands, then slowly lifted his gaze to Mingyu's eyes. And what he saw there wasn't sympathy—it was something deeper, something that wrapped warmth around his heart.

"I'll try," he whispered, his voice faint but sure. "I'll try to be a better person for him."

"You already are," Mingyu replied instantly, his words steady, leaving no room for doubt.

Wonwoo's lips curved again, just slightly, the corners trembling with emotion. His gaze dropped once more to their joined hands—the faint warmth of Mingyu's skin seeping into his own, comforting in a way words could never be.

Mingyu followed his gaze, realization dawning in his eyes. He slowly withdrew his hand, clearing his throat softly as he turned away, shifting back to his mattress. The space between them filled again with silence—but it was a different kind this time.

And yet, as Wonwoo's fingers curled slightly, searching for the warmth that had just left, he realized he already missed it.

Mingyu lay back down on his mattress, facing the ceiling, his arm draped loosely across his chest. The soft hum of the night wrapped around them—the faint ticking of the clock, the occasional rustle of the curtain from the breeze sneaking through the slightly open window. Yet, to Mingyu, everything felt too loud. His heartbeat, especially.

He tried closing his eyes, but the image of Wonwoo's faint, broken smile kept flickering behind his eyelids—the way his voice cracked, the way his hand had trembled in his own. Mingyu exhaled, long and quiet, as if trying to breathe the ache away. But it didn't leave; it settled deeper.

Wonwoo looking at Mingyu, debated with himself whether to say something - anything - a thank you , maybe or just turn away and sleep. 

But the words wouldn't come easily — because as he thought already, what Mingyu has been doing for him wasn't something a simple thank you could ever cover. It was quiet care, patience, and presence — things far deeper than words could measure.

Mingyu, sensing the weight of a gaze on him, turned his head slightly. The faint moonlight brushed across his face, highlighting his soft confusion.

"What?" Mingyu asked, his voice low, laced with concern. "Still can't fall asleep? Do you... want to talk?"

Wonwoo shook his head, and a small, genuine smile tugged at his lips — the first real one that night. Something about Mingyu's tone, the gentle worry tucked beneath it, made his chest feel lighter.

"Nothing," Wonwoo murmured, his voice steadier now. "It's just... I never knew anyone would think so highly of me."

There was a faint tease to his tone, but under it lingered genuine wonder — as if he couldn't quite grasp how Mingyu could make him feel like he was someone worth admiring, worth holding onto.

"Why? Isn't it obvious?" Mingyu said without missing a beat, his tone light and casual. "Everyone thinks highly of you."

A quiet beat passed between them — soft, stretched, filled with the rhythm of their breaths. Then Wonwoo's voice came again, low and sincere.

"I meant you, Mingyu," he said, his eyes fixed on the boy below. "I never knew you would think of me like that."

Mingyu blinked, caught off guard. His eyes flickered toward Wonwoo, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe. The realization hit him with quiet force — that Wonwoo had meant him, not anyone else.

But of course, Mingyu being Mingyu, a familiar smirk curved his lips before silence could take over. The teasing glint returned to his eyes, though something warmer hid beneath it — something far too real to disguise.

"Well," Mingyu drawled, voice dipped in lazy amusement, "there are a lot of things you don't know yet, princess."

The word hung between them — soft, playful, yet charged with something that made Wonwoo's heart stumble in his chest.

The word princess rolled off his tongue too easily — light, careless, but it hit Wonwoo like a heartbeat too loud. He turned his head sharply, pretending to look away, his pulse thudding unevenly. His cheeks burned, though the dim light mercifully hid the flush rising across his skin.

His throat tightened — God, Why did it feel like Mingyu could see right through him, even in the dark?

To mask the sudden rush of warmth spreading through him, Wonwoo grabbed the nearest pillow and flung it toward Mingyu.

"Why are you like this?" he muttered, his voice rougher than intended.

Mingyu caught the pillow midair, his laughter bubbling out — soft but unguarded. The sound filled the quiet space between them, warm and maddeningly addictive. He was clearly entertained by Wonwoo's outburst.

"Like what?" he asked, tilting his head, eyes gleaming with mischief that barely concealed the flicker of something else — something gentler.

Wonwoo felt something twist in his chest at the sight of that smile — the one that always made his heart trip over itself. He couldn't bring himself to say what he really wanted to. His throat tightened, trapping the words that were begging to spill out. 

Why are you like this? Why does one look, one word, or that stupid, warm smile make me feel weak... make me want things I shouldn't?

He swallowed hard and forced himself to look away, eyes finding a random spot on the wall instead of Mingyu's face. After a small pause, he finally spoke — softer this time, uncertain.

"Like... I don't know. Don't you hate me? Or at least, didn't you used to?"

The air shifted. Mingyu's teasing expression faltered, the smirk fading into confusion. His brows knitted slightly as he lifted his head, trying to catch Wonwoo's eyes.

He couldn't understand why Wonwoo would even bring that up now — not after everything that had just happened. Still, he wanted to make sure Wonwoo heard what he needed to hear. 

"Jeon..." Mingyu's voice was gentler now, the playfulness gone, replaced by something raw — almost fragile. "Do you really think I hate you?"

The question hung in the space between them, quiet but heavy. Mingyu's gaze searched his face, waiting, a flicker of unease in his eyes as though he feared the answer might actually hurt.

Wonwoo's breath hitched for reasons he couldn't name. His pulse quickened, his fingers curled faintly against the blanket — caught between wanting to look away and not being able to.

 He hesitated, his throat working as if the words themselves were reluctant to come out. Then, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, he murmured,

"Well... I think so. Sometimes."

The moment the words left his lips, he saw it — the shift in Mingyu's face. Even in the dim light, it was clear as day. The brightness in Mingyu's eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of disbelief, guilt rushing in like a tide threatening to drown him.

Wonwoo's heart clenched at that sight. He hurried to add, stumbling over his own words, 

"Because—because I haven't done anything to make you not hate me, right?"

He looked down, his voice trembling as he continued,

"All I ever did was jump to conclusions, blame you for everything that went wrong, throw harsh words without thinking... and most importantly—" he stopped, his breath faltering, "—I told you I couldn't associate with you. On the very day you tried to reach out."

A bitter laugh escaped him, soft but cutting through the silence. It wasn't one of humor — it was the sound of regret echoing in the air. Wonwoo's lips trembled faintly as he looked away, eyes unfocused, lost in memory.

At the time, he thought he was doing the right thing — protecting himself, keeping distance. But now, looking back, he could finally understand how much it must've hurt Mingyu, who had done nothing but try to be kind.

And that's what made it harder — the fact that even after everything, Mingyu still stayed. Still helped. Still cared. Wonwoo couldn't understand it — couldn't understand why Mingyu would go to such lengths for someone who had pushed him away so many times.

His chest ached with the weight of it. The warmth that Mingyu always carried — the one that used to irritate him, overwhelm him — now made his heart twist painfully, because he wasn't sure if he deserved it.

No matter how many times he tried to reason it out, he couldn't bring himself to believe that Mingyu was truly doing all this for him.

Sensing the quiet storm stirring behind Wonwoo's silence, Mingyu finally spoke.

"Jeon," he said softly, his tone cutting through the darkness like a gentle chord, "I don't hate you. I never have."

The words hung there — simple, unadorned, yet they felt like something breaking open inside Wonwoo. His breath hitched as his eyes lifted toward Mingyu. Under the pale wash of moonlight, he searched his face for any trace of jest, any flicker of teasing that usually colored Mingyu's tone.

But there was none.

Nothing but honesty. Unshakable. Firm, as though spoken like an undeniable truth of the universe.

Mingyu's expression softened, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a warmth that wrapped around Wonwoo like sunlight bleeding through storm clouds.

"You're the chaos I didn't ask for — and still, I wouldn't trade you for anything," he said quietly, his gaze unwavering. 

For a moment, neither of them moved. The room was silent except for the faint rustle of the night wind brushing against the curtains. Wonwoo's chest tightened painfully, something between disbelief and longing flickering in his eyes. His lips parted as if to reply, but no words came — only the echo of Mingyu's confession, sinking deep and finding a place to stay.

Chapter Text

"You're the chaos I didn't ask for — and still, I wouldn't trade you for anything," he said quietly, his gaze unwavering.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The room was silent except for the faint rustle of the night wind brushing against the curtains. Wonwoo's chest tightened painfully, something between disbelief and longing flickering in his eyes. His lips parted as if to reply, but no words came — only the echo of Mingyu's confession, sinking deep and finding a place to stay.

A strange warmth unfurled quietly inside Wonwoo, soft and hesitant. His fingers twitched slightly against the bedsheet, as if unsure whether to reach out or hold back. He wanted to say something — anything — to match the weight of Mingyu's words, but before he could gather the courage, Mingyu's voice came again, softer this time.

"Now sleep tight, Jeon. You must be tired."

Wonwoo blinked, the corners of his lips curling faintly, grateful for the way Mingyu eased the tension that had wrapped around them. "Good night," he whispered, his voice barely audible. Then he turned toward the dim glow of the window, letting his heavy eyelids flutter shut, though his heart refused to calm.

Whereas Mingyu - he  could still hear the echo of Wonwoo's voice, the trembling honesty from earlier — about his father, his pain, everything he had bottled up. It weighed on him, pressing against his chest in ways he couldn't explain.

He shifted slightly, exhaling a quiet sigh. Maybe it was the heaviness of the night, maybe it was Wonwoo's words, or maybe it was just the unspoken bond forming between them — fragile but real. 

Eventually, his thoughts began to blur, his lashes lowering as sleep claimed him, the faint sound of Wonwoo's breathing the last thing he heard.

The night had fallen into a deep, heavy silence.  Mingyu lay on the floor mattress beside Wonwoo's bed, half-asleep, when a faint sound broke through the quiet.

At first, it was barely there — a soft whimper, a breath caught in distress. Then, clearer — a choked plea.

"Please... don't go."

Mingyu's eyes fluttered open, confusion flickering for a moment before the voice sank into recognition. Wonwoo.

He pushed himself up immediately, heart thudding, as he heard it again — this time broken by sobs.

"I'm sorry... please, I'm sorry..."

Mingyu was on his feet before his thoughts could catch up, kneeling beside the bed. His gaze fell on Wonwoo — his face twisted in pain, tears slipping freely down his cheeks, fingers gripping the blanket as though trying to hold onto something — or someone — that wasn't there. His breath came out in short, uneven gasps, the kind that made Mingyu's own chest tighten painfully.

"Wonwoo," 

Mingyu whispered, his voice trembling with concern. He reached out, gently brushing away the wetness on Wonwoo's cheeks. But more tears followed, warm against his fingertips.

Without thinking, Mingyu climbed onto the edge of the bed, sitting close, his hand moving to cradle the side of Wonwoo's face. 

"Hey... hey, it's okay," he murmured, his thumb stroking soft circles over Wonwoo's temple. 

"You're safe, Wonwoo. You're here. It's just a dream."

Wonwoo's body trembled as if caught between sleep and memory. His brows furrowed, and another sob slipped out. Mingyu's heart clenched — it was unbearable to watch. He leaned closer, lowering his voice until it was barely a whisper, something gentle enough to reach through the haze of Wonwoo's nightmare.

"I'm right here. No one's leaving you. It's okay, I promise."

He kept speaking — soft reassurances, words that didn't need meaning so much as warmth. His other hand held Wonwoo's trembling one, squeezing lightly until the tension began to ease.

Slowly, the rhythm of Wonwoo's breath began to even out. The sobs grew quieter, his fingers loosening their desperate grip. His lashes fluttered, eyes half-opening, glassy with tears that still clung to the corners. For a moment, he looked lost — until his blurry gaze met Mingyu's.

"Mi-Mingyu?" he murmured weakly, voice cracked from crying.

The room was dim, yet the faint glow from the streetlight outside was enough for him to see Mingyu — hovering close, his face drawn with worry and exhaustion, his hand still resting gently against Wonwoo's cheek.

For a moment, Wonwoo simply blinked, startled by the proximity. His eyes widened slightly — Mingyu was so close that his breath brushed faintly against Wonwoo's skin, warm and real.

 And before he could say anything, Mingyu's thumb brushed away a tear that was about to fall, the motion so instinctive, so soft, that it made Wonwoo's throat tighten.

"You were having a nightmare," Mingyu murmured, his tone low and soothing, carrying that same tenderness he had used to call him back from the dream. 

Wonwoo swallowed, nodding faintly as he processed where he was. It wasn't new — those nightmares often found him whenever he thought too much about that day... the day he lost his father. Some nights were just heavier than others. So to him, this was nothing unusual. But Mingyu's expression told another story.

Even now, Wonwoo could see it — the remnants of fear in Mingyu's eyes, the way his brows were still knitted as if he was afraid to look away. His hand hadn't moved from Wonwoo's cheek; his thumb still drew small, absent circles where the tears had dried.

"Mingyu..." Wonwoo's voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. "It happens sometimes. Nothing to worry about."

But Mingyu didn't seem convinced. He just nodded slowly, his gaze soft but unwavering, as though silently refusing to leave him alone again.

"Fine," Mingyu said quietly after a pause, his voice warm with a kind of firm gentleness. "Close your eyes and go to sleep. I'll stay by your side."

Wonwoo blinked up at him, caught off guard by Mingyu's words. For a fleeting second, guilt flickered across his face — guilt for waking Mingyu, for troubling him yet again. The offer, so simple yet sincere, made something twist painfully inside his chest. He parted his lips, ready to insist that Mingyu should go back to sleep, that he was fine now...

But before the words could form, Mingyu spoke again — quietly, but with a firmness that left no space for argument.

"Close your eyes and sleep."

His tone wasn't harsh, just steady — like a promise disguised as a command. Wonwoo hesitated for a moment, then nodded faintly, lowering himself back against the pillow. The soft rustle of sheets filled the silence as he adjusted his position, his body still tense from the lingering dream.

Mingyu didn't move. He remained seated beside the bed, his eyes tracing over Wonwoo's face — the faint tear tracks on his cheeks, the way his lashes trembled every few seconds, the fragile calm just beginning to settle. And before he realized it, his hand found Wonwoo's again.

At first, it was just a comforting gesture — his thumb brushing slow circles over the back of Wonwoo's hand. But as seconds stretched into quiet minutes, the touch grew steadier, lingered longer. His fingers slipped between Wonwoo's almost unconsciously, fitting there like they belonged.

Wonwoo stirred faintly at the warmth, his fingers curling back, not out of awareness but instinct — seeking it, holding on.

Something in Mingyu's chest ached at that — a mix of protectiveness and something far softer, something he didn't dare name. His gaze softened, tracing the curve of Wonwoo's hand resting against his.

"I got you" Mingyu whispered, the words barely audible, meant only for the night. "I'm right here."

He didn't know if Wonwoo could hear him. Maybe he didn't need to. Because even in sleep, Wonwoo's grip tightened ever so slightly, as if answering him wordlessly.

And Mingyu stayed like that — hand in hand, eyes fixed on the peaceful rise and fall of Wonwoo's chest — while the night wrapped them both in quiet warmth.

Morning rays of sunlight spilled gently across the room, painting soft gold patterns over the sheets. Wonwoo stirred, his brows furrowing slightly as the warmth pressed against his side felt unfamiliar—solid and steady, nothing like the cold emptiness he usually woke up to. His lashes fluttered open, confusion flickering across his sleepy eyes before realization slowly dawned.

There was a firm chest pressed against his back, a steady rhythm of breaths brushing against the nape of his neck. A strong arm was draped securely around his waist, fingers curled protectively over his shirt, and a leg tangled lazily with his own. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Mingyu.

A jolt of surprise rippled through Wonwoo's body, his heart skipping once—then twice—as last night's memories began to piece themselves together: the nightmare, the trembling apologies in his sleep, Mingyu's soothing voice grounding him, the gentle warmth of his touch. Somewhere in between, Mingyu must have drifted closer, his comforting presence never once leaving his side.

Instead of discomfort, a quiet warmth bloomed in Wonwoo's chest. It was unfamiliar but... safe. His body, usually tense even in rest, felt lighter, his breathing unconsciously matching Mingyu's calm rhythm. For once, it didn't feel suffocating to be close to someone.

Still, his rational mind kicked in—he couldn't just stay like this. Carefully, Wonwoo tried to shift, inching his hand down to pry Mingyu's arm off his waist. But the hold only tightened instinctively, Mingyu's fingers flexing as if refusing to let go. Wonwoo froze, his lips parting in surprise, heart thudding louder now.

He sighed softly, trying again, this time applying a little more pressure. Mingyu stirred with a low hum, his lashes fluttering but his eyes still half-closed. Even in his dazed state, he seemed to understand, murmuring something incoherent as he loosened his grip. His arm slipped away from Wonwoo's waist, his leg untangling sluggishly before he rolled slightly to the side—still very much half-asleep.

Wonwoo sat up slowly, careful not to make more noise than necessary. He turned to glance at Mingyu once, his chest tightening again at the sight—the taller boy's hair was messy, his expression soft and peaceful, a faint crease between his brows even in sleep. The sunlight kissed his skin, making him look almost unreal.

For a moment, Wonwoo couldn't look away. Something inside him whispered that this—this quiet closeness—was far more dangerous than anything else he'd faced.

"What time is it?" Mingyu mumbled, his eyes half-open but unfocused.

Wonwoo blinked, stealing a second to compose himself before glancing at the clock. "Ten," he said softly.

Mingyu groaned and pulled the blanket higher over his shoulder. "I want to sleep more," he grumbled, words muffled behind the fabric.

A small chuckle escaped Wonwoo's lips. "You can," he whispered, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. There was something strangely endearing about seeing the usually confident Mingyu this way—unguarded, almost boyish.

Wonwoo started to get up from the bed, careful not to make any noise. But before he could move far, a sudden tug pulled him back down. He gasped softly, glancing over his shoulder to see Mingyu's fingers loosely wrapped around his wrist, his grip gentle but enough to stop him.

Mingyu's eyes fluttered open just slightly, the thin line between dream and reality blurring in his sleepy haze. His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper, 

"Princess... can you please promise me you'll stop crying? I hate it."

Wonwoo froze, his breath catching.

Mingyu's words hung in the air—soft, vulnerable, and utterly sincere, though the boy was still half-asleep. His thumb unconsciously brushed against Wonwoo's skin before his hand slackened again, slipping away as he drifted back into slumber.

Wonwoo sat there for a long moment, staring at Mingyu, his heart tightening in a way he couldn't explain. The sincerity in that sleepy confession—unguarded and pure—reached deeper than anything else could have.

A strange sensation began to bloom in his chest — that familiar warmth he'd been trying so hard to ignore. His lips curved unconsciously, forming a small, real smile, the kind he hadn't worn in a long while.

Mingyu remembered.

Even in his sleep, he remembered.

All of it — the trembling words from last night, the helpless sobs Wonwoo thought he'd hidden, the quiet moments when Mingyu had simply held his hand until he stopped shaking. It wasn't just pity. It was care — raw, unfiltered, and far too deep for Wonwoo to understand.

And the realization made his heart clench painfully.

A soft laugh escaped him, but it broke halfway through, dissolving into a shaky breath as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes again. Before they could fall, he quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand — as if silently agreeing to Mingyu's plea.

Wonwoo refreshed himself quietly, careful not to disturb Mingyu's peaceful sleep. Padding into the kitchen, he decided to make coffee — not for himself, but for Mingyu. Maybe he'd like it when he wakes up, he thought, biting back a small smile as he measured the coffee grounds. He wasn't exactly the best at brewing it, but somehow, this small act felt... right. Like something he wanted to do for him.

Just as the smell of freshly brewed coffee started to fill the air, the sound of the front door opening broke the morning calm.

"Wonwoo-ah, Mom is home!"

The familiar voice immediately lit up his face. Wonwoo's eyes widened in joy as he rushed out of the kitchen. "Mom!" he called, running straight into her arms.

His mother laughed softly, hugging him tight, her hands instinctively patting the back of his head. "Aigoo... I missed my dear son so much," she said, her tone full of affection.

"I missed you too," Wonwoo murmured, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

When they finally pulled apart, she cupped his face gently. "Sorry, mom had to leave you alone last night," she said with a small frown.

Wonwoo quickly shook his head. "No, Mom. It's fine," he reassured her. But after a moment's hesitation, his voice faltered, coming out softer, almost unsure. "And I—uh, I wasn't alone."

His mother blinked. "You weren't?"

He hesitated, eyes darting to the side as he fidgeted with his fingers. "There's... a guest."

"Guest?" Wonwoo's mom repeated, a faint note of surprise lacing her voice. It wasn't often that anyone visited their home apart from close relatives—and even that happened only on important occasions. 

And Wonwoo... he was never the kind to bring friends over, except maybe Hoshi. So when he said "guest," she was certain he didn't mean him.

They both settled on the sofa in the living room, the morning sunlight pooling softly across the floor between them. Wonwoo began explaining, carefully choosing which parts to share and which to bury deep inside his chest. He left out the pool, the panic, the nightmare—everything that might worry her. 

Instead, he spun a gentler version of the truth: how he went to a classmate's birthday party, how Mingyu offered to drop him home, and how, upon realizing his mother wasn't back yet, Mingyu casually said he'd stay over for the night.

His mother listened quietly, a small, approving smile curving her lips by the end. The thought that her son—who rarely opened his circle to anyone—had found another friend besides Hoshi seemed to genuinely comfort her.

As time slipped by, the kitchen filled with the faint hum of conversation and the comforting aroma of simmering food. Wonwoo helped her for a while, his laughter soft and fleeting as they talked about small, ordinary things. Eventually, he excused himself to wake Mingyu for lunch.

The moment he stepped into his room, an involuntary smile tugged at his lips. There lay Mingyu—completely sprawled across the bed, taking up nearly all the space. His head faced one direction, legs thrown carelessly the other way, and the blanket that once covered him was now lying in a defeated heap on the floor. His face was still half-buried in the pillow, a faint blush of sleep painting his cheeks.

A quiet laugh escaped Wonwoo before he could stop it. How could someone look this ridiculous and yet this... warm?

He quietly walked over and sat at the edge of the bed, right beside Mingyu's head. The morning light pooled gently across the room, softening every edge, every breath.

"Mingyu," he called softly, his voice still hushed from sleep. "Wake up."

No response.

He leaned a little closer, calling again, shaking Mingyu's shoulder gently this time. Still nothing. Mingyu remained buried in the pillow, lashes resting delicately on his skin, his lips parted just enough for his steady breaths to escape.

Wonwoo sighed, thinking he must be in deep sleep. But then, without realizing it, his hand moved on its own—hesitant at first, then drawn in by something quiet and unspoken. 

His fingertips brushed Mingyu's cheek, tracing the faint line of his jaw before gliding upward. His skin was warm, his features relaxed, and the simple sight of him like this—unguarded, soft, peaceful—made something in Wonwoo's chest twist tenderly.

His fingers lingered at the corner of Mingyu's lips—barely, just a ghost of a touch. It wasn't even a real contact, just the proximity where his skin could feel the heat of Mingyu's breath. It was the kind of closeness that felt dangerous if held for too long, the kind that made the air thicken between them.

Wonwoo's thumb moved upward again, circling the tiny mole on Mingyu's cheek. He didn't know why he always found it so... captivating. Maybe because it was just so Mingyu—small, subtle, yet impossible to ignore. His fingers drifted higher, running through Mingyu's hair in slow, absent motions, twisting a strand or two just to feel the softness between his fingertips.

He smiled without realizing it, a small, private curve of his lips that he couldn't explain even to himself.

Then suddenly—

"Baby, stop playing with my hair. Let oppa sleep," came a sleepy, muffled mumble from Mingyu.

Wonwoo froze. His eyes widened, his entire body stiffening as if he'd been caught red-handed. His hand flew back instantly, heart hammering in his chest. But Mingyu's eyes remained closed, his words heavy with sleep, his face buried in the pillow like he was talking to someone in a dream—someone familiar.

A strange, tight feeling began to build in Wonwoo's chest. The words baby and oppa echoed louder than they should have, echoing in the quiet room like a cruel whisper.

The smile that had bloomed on Wonwoo's lips moments ago faltered, replaced by something quieter—something he didn't dare name.

It shouldn't matter. It really shouldn't.

It shouldn't have meant anything. It never did before. He knew Mingyu had dated people, had gone on plenty of meaningless hook-ups — it was just how he was. Wonwoo had always brushed it off with a scoff or an eye-roll. It had never been his concern.

But now, for some reason, hearing it again — hearing it from Mingyu's mouth, in that sleepy, unguarded tone — made something twist inside him. A slow, inexplicable pull that felt almost like... jealousy.

He hadn't even considered the possibility of Mingyu being with someone lately. Not when the boy practically lived between classes, the library, and the football field. There'd been no space in between for late-night dates or whispered phone calls. So when those words slipped out, raw and unfiltered, Wonwoo realized there might actually be someone who Mingyu thought of that way.

The thought made his stomach knot. He didn't want to think about it — but he couldn't not. It was absurd, it was stupid, and yet it burned quietly under his skin. He hated the idea of someone being close enough to call Mingyu baby.

And worse, he hated himself for hating that.

The faint warmth he'd felt moments ago — the kind that had made him smile without realizing — was gone. It vanished, replaced with a restless irritation that he couldn't explain. His lips pressed into a thin line; his jaw tightened. The room suddenly felt too quiet, too heavy.

"Wake up," he said finally, but his voice didn't carry the same gentle patience it had before. It came out sharp, clipped — edged with something he couldn't hide.

Mingyu stirred, mumbling incoherently. His body shifted slightly, but his eyes stayed closed.

Wonwoo exhaled, irritation sparking again. Then, in one abrupt motion, he snatched the pillow from beneath Mingyu's head.

Mingyu, caught off guard by the sudden tug of his pillow, groaned lowly and blinked awake, his voice rough and confused. "What the fuck...?"

Wonwoo didn't flinch. His expression was unreadable as he said flatly, "Get up. It's lunch time."

No warmth. No trace of the earlier softness that usually slipped into his voice when he spoke to Mingyu.

Mingyu let out a tired sigh, dragging a hand down his face. He was grateful, in a way, that Wonwoo cared enough to wake him — but still, he couldn't help the small spark of irritation. Was it really that hard to just shake my shoulder like a normal person? he thought. He didn't know that the reason behind Wonwoo's sharp tone was him — or rather, something he'd said in his sleep.

"Yah, is that how you wake people up?" Mingyu muttered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, his hair a messy halo.

"Yes," Wonwoo shot back, his tone clipped. "What? You have a problem with that?"

He stood up abruptly, the bedsheet rustling as he moved away. Under his breath, almost too low to catch, he mumbled, "Is that how you think of someone else when I'm the one waking you?" The words came out bitter, slipping before he could stop them — too quiet to reach Mingyu's sleepy mind.

Mingyu squinted, frowning. "What are you mumbling?"

"Nothing." Wonwoo's reply was quick, dismissive. He didn't look back. "Come to the table in fifteen minutes if you don't want to starve."

He turned on his heel and left, the door closing behind him with a loud thud that made Mingyu wince. The sudden silence that followed felt heavier than before — as if something had been left hanging between them, something unspoken that neither of them was ready to confront.

Mingyu let out a small sigh and shook his head, running a hand through his messy hair. Seriously, what's up with him now? he thought. As far as Mingyu could remember, he hadn't done anything to piss Wonwoo off this early in the day. 

If anything, Wonwoo should've been thanking him — maybe even treating him a little sweetly after last night. But instead, the boy was acting like Mingyu had kicked his puppy.

"Unbelievable," Mingyu muttered under his breath, dragging himself out of bed. No matter how hard he tried, he'd never be able to decode what went on inside Wonwoo's head.

After freshening up, he followed the faint clatter of utensils and the smell of freshly cooked food that drifted through the house. The scent hit him as soon as he stepped into the living room — warm rice, simmering broth, something spicy — and it immediately made his stomach growl. He blinked in mild surprise. Did Wonwoo make all this?

Mingyu strolled toward the kitchen, voice teasing.

"I swear, your mood swings are worse than a pregnant woman, prin—"

The words froze halfway out of his mouth.

Standing inside the kitchen was not just Wonwoo, but a woman — her presence composed and quietly observant, eyes darting between the two boys. It took Mingyu only a second to piece it together — the gentle eyes, the faint resemblance, the aura of someone who ran a home with quiet precision. Wonwoo's mom.

His eyes widened in instant horror, and for a fleeting moment, he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo's reaction was immediate and unmistakable. His entire expression screamed, Don't. You. Dare.

Mingyu froze under her curious gaze, his mind racing for an escape plan — or at least a way to rewind the last five seconds.

Chapter Text

Mingyu strolled toward the kitchen, voice teasing.

"I swear, your mood swings are worse than a pregnant woman, prin—"

The words froze halfway out of his mouth.

Standing inside the kitchen was not just Wonwoo, but a woman — her presence composed and quietly observant, eyes darting between the two boys. It took Mingyu only a second to piece it together — the gentle eyes, the faint resemblance, the aura of someone who ran a home with quiet precision. Wonwoo's mom.

His eyes widened in instant horror, and for a fleeting moment, he wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo's reaction was immediate and unmistakable. His entire expression screamed, Don't. You. Dare.

Mingyu froze under her curious gaze, his mind racing for an escape plan — or at least a way to rewind the last five seconds.

Soon his senses caught up as Mingyu straightened and gave a hesitant bow, his voice a little unsure as he murmured, "Hello, Aunty... I—I'm Mingyu."

Wonwoo's mom smiled kindly, instantly dissolving the stiffness in the air.

 "Hi, Mingyu. Nice to meet you! So, you're the guest Wonwoo told me about," she said warmly, her tone gentle and welcoming.

Before Mingyu could even respond, Wonwoo interjected, his voice clipped and distant — the same cold tone he'd used earlier that morning.

"Yes, he's the classmate I mentioned," Wonwoo said quickly, avoiding Mingyu's eyes.

The single word landed like a small, sharp sting in Mingyu's chest. Classmate.

Was that really all he was to Wonwoo? Not even a friend? After everything that happened last night — after the quiet comfort, the soft words, the hand he held through the night — was that all it meant to him? Mingyu tried not to let it show, forcing a small, polite smile. 

He didn't know that Wonwoo had never actually called him just a "classmate" to his mom.

"And I'm very impressed," Wonwoo's mom continued, her voice light and teasing. "You actually seem to understand my son quite well. He's such a moody baby sometimes." She laughed softly, the sound filling the space.

That laugh somehow made Mingyu relax a little, and he couldn't help but chuckle too — a low, genuine sound that made Wonwoo's chest tighten unexpectedly. His fingers curled against his thigh as he rolled his eyes, mumbling under his breath, just loud enough to be heard,

"Well, maybe if people didn't do things that make me moody, I wouldn't be one."

His mom only smiled at his usual sass, but Mingyu caught the edge in his tone — that quiet irritation that didn't quite match the situation.  His lips parted slightly, eyes flickering toward Wonwoo. The words clung to his chest longer than they should have — sharper, heavier.

Because it wasn't the line itself that hurt; it was the tone behind it — the cold, clipped tone of someone who wanted to keep distance.

And it stung more because Mingyu remembered every small, quiet moment from last night — the way Wonwoo's trembling fingers had found his, how he'd whispered soft reassurances till the boy finally fell asleep.

Now, standing in the daylight, it felt like all of that had been erased.

Wonwoo brushed past him then, without so much as a glance, the faint scent of his shampoo brushing past Mingyu's senses — a soft, fleeting trace that felt more like a goodbye than anything else.

Their shoulders barely grazed, but it was enough to make Mingyu's chest tighten.

"Wonwoo-ah," his mom's voice came from behind, breaking the silence, "did you show Mingyu around the house yet?"

Wonwoo paused mid-step, not turning around. "No," he said simply.

"Well, why don't you take him around? I'll get lunch set up," she suggested cheerfully.

Wonwoo let out a barely audible sigh, one that made his shoulders rise and fall in quiet annoyance. "Okay," he muttered, his tone far from enthusiastic.

Mingyu offered a small, polite smile to his mom before following Wonwoo. His steps were hesitant, careful — unsure if he should even be there. Wonwoo walked ahead, deliberately unhurried, his posture stiff, as if every step was a battle between wanting to turn around and refusing to.

But even without looking, he knew Mingyu was behind him.

He could feel it — the soft rhythm of his footsteps syncing with his own, the faint warmth from the taller boy's body brushed against his back like a ghost of the morning they'd shared. The air between them felt thick, full of unspoken things that neither wanted to face. 

Yet, that strange heaviness in Wonwoo's chest—something unnamed and unwelcome—refused to let him acknowledge Mingyu's presence. So, he kept walking — eyes forward, heart stubbornly turned away, pretending not to care when every part of him did.

Their house wasn't grand—just two bedrooms, a modest guest room, and a terrace garden that held more life than the walls below. The faint scent of jasmine and wet soil greeted them as they climbed the stairs. The terrace was bathed in the mellow glow of the late afternoon sun, golden light filtering through the leaves of potted plants that stood neatly in rows. It was peaceful—too peaceful for the confusion swirling inside Wonwoo.

He stepped forward, fingers grazing the tender leaves of a newly planted sapling. The cool breeze brushed against his face, softening his features for a moment, as if nature itself tried to calm the storm inside him. Mingyu watched quietly, eyes tracing the way sunlight fell on Wonwoo's profile — the stillness of his expression, the quiet pain behind his silence.

"Hey," Mingyu's voice came out hesitant, careful, as though he feared crossing an invisible line. 

"Is something bothering you?"

Wonwoo's hand froze mid-motion, the leaf trembling slightly between his fingers. His heart stuttered, and a dozen words rushed to the tip of his tongue — 

You are. You're the one bothering me. But he swallowed them down, forcing his tone back into that cold detachment he didn't even understand anymore.

"Nothing," he said flatly, straightening up and meeting Mingyu's gaze, his eyes giving away none of the turmoil inside.

"Jeon," Mingyu began softly, stepping closer, his brow creasing with worry, "If you just say what's in your mind—"

Mingyu's words trailed off mid-sentence as his phone buzzed in his pocket, shattering the fragile tension that hung in the air. He glanced at the screen, and something shifted in his expression—a subtle flicker that didn't go unnoticed by Wonwoo. 

The faint crease between Mingyu's brows eased, his lips curved slightly, and there was a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there moments ago.

Wonwoo caught all of it—every fleeting detail—and hated that he did. His gaze darted to the screen almost instinctively, catching only a glimpse of the name before Mingyu turned away. Minseo.

Before Wonwoo could process the odd sting in his chest, Mingyu mumbled, "I'll just take this call," and stepped toward the far corner of the terrace, where sunlight hit the railing in fractured gold.

Wonwoo stood frozen for a moment, staring blankly at the plants before his legs moved on their own—slow, quiet steps that brought him close enough to hear Mingyu's low voice carried by the wind. He wasn't proud of it, but something inside him refused to stay still. He couldn't hear the other voice, only Mingyu's—and that was enough.

"Hello, baby," Mingyu said softly.

Wonwoo almost scoffed, the word baby feeling foreign and oddly irritating on Mingyu's tongue. That playful lilt in his voice—the warmth he'd never used with Wonwoo—made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

"I miss you too. I'll come by today, okay?" Mingyu's tone was gentle, affectionate—so much so that Wonwoo blinked, feeling something sharp slice through his chest. Miss someone? he thought bitterly. While being here, with me?

A soft chuckle came from Mingyu's direction before he ended the call, his voice tender as he said, "Love you too, baby. Bye."

Wonwoo straightened instantly, pretending to be utterly engrossed in the nearby potted basil as Mingyu turned back. His fingers brushed against a leaf that wasn't even dusty, his eyes fixed anywhere but on the boy who had just said love you to someone else. 

But no matter how hard he tried to appear indifferent, he couldn't shake the heaviness pressing down on his chest—an unspoken, unfamiliar ache he didn't want to name.

Mingyu cleared his throat as he approached, his steps cautious—testing the distance between them like one might approach a startled cat. Wonwoo looked up briefly -  mingyu's face visibly tense, every inch of him radiating a cold discomfort that hadn't been there before. The sharp contrast between the soft smile Mingyu had worn during the call and the uneasy one he carried now didn't escape Wonwoo's notice.

"Sorry," Mingyu began, voice hesitant, "I had to take that call. It was—"

But before he could even finish, Wonwoo's voice sliced through the air—tight, raw, and trembling with emotion he didn't even mean to show.

"I know. Your Minseo baby. The one who plays with your hair while you sleep. The one who misses you now." His tone cracked for a moment before he masked it with forced indifference. "You can just have lunch and leave soon, Mingyu—don't keep your girlfriend waiting."

The words tumbled out in a single breath, unfiltered and unplanned, like the dam inside him had finally burst. And before Mingyu could even blink, Wonwoo turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the terrace, his footsteps echoing against the tiled floor.

For a moment, Mingyu stood frozen, eyes wide and mind utterly blank. It took him a solid minute to even register what had just happened. Minseo? Baby? Girlfriend? His brows furrowed, confusion painting his face as he replayed Wonwoo's words in his head.

And then it hit him.

What Wonwoo said — it was half-truth and half-false. Yes, Minseo was his baby — the tiny whirlwind who'd sneak into his room at midnight just to mess with his hair while he slept, giggling when he swatted her away. 

The same Minseo who could start a dramatic argument over the color of his hoodie, who'd throw pillows at him just because he teased her first, and who'd still crawl next to him minutes later for a hug. Her love for him was unshakable — pure and loud. She couldn't go a single day without seeing him.

 Every time Mingyu left home for football practice or to hang out with friends, she'd stand at the door with puffed cheeks, pretending to be angry, only to call him a few hours later asking when he'd come back.

But the false part — the one that made Mingyu almost laugh — was that Minseo wasn't his girlfriend. She was his little sister.

He ran a hand through his hair, still in disbelief at the situation, and then paused, his mind suddenly piecing together the puzzle.

"How the hell did he even know her name... or that she plays with my hair?" Mingyu murmured, brows furrowing. Then it hit him — clear as daylight. The morning. The way Wonwoo had been oddly quiet since waking him up. His sudden cold tone. The death glare when Mingyu almost said "princess" in front of his mom.

"Ohhh..." Mingyu exhaled in realization, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "So that's what this is about."

He leaned back against the terrace wall, tilting his head slightly as the entire scene replayed in his mind — Wonwoo probably coming to wake him, brushing his hair away, and him, half-asleep, mumbling something about "Minseo" like he always did when dreaming of home. It all made sense now — the reason behind those icy stares and the sharp tone that morning.

"Jealous, are we?" he whispered under his breath, the words slipping out with an amused chuckle.

The genuine concern that had clouded his features minutes ago was gone, replaced by a gleam of mischief in his eyes. His signature smirk — the one that always meant trouble — found its way back to his lips.

Mingyu pushed off the wall, his heartbeat steady but his mind buzzing with playful anticipation. 

Because somehow, that misunderstanding warmed something deep inside Mingyu's chest. Because beneath Wonwoo's sharp words and stormy eyes, there was something Mingyu couldn't ignore anymore—he cared.

"You've got it all wrong, princess," he muttered, his grin widening. "And I'm so going to have fun fixing that."

Because if Wonwoo wanted to act cold, Mingyu was more than ready to turn up the heat — in the most teasing way possible.

All three were settled around the small dining table, the soft clinking of cutlery mingling with the faint hum of the ceiling fan. Wonwoo sat opposite his mother, his posture stiff, while Mingyu naturally slumped into the chair beside him — a little too close — with that infuriatingly smug smile tugging at his lips. Wonwoo's shoulders tensed immediately, and Mingyu had to bite down a chuckle.

The air, though, felt lighter now — the awkwardness from earlier replaced by something warmer, more domestic. The aroma of freshly cooked food drifted between them — soy glaze, a hint of sesame, something distinctly comforting. While Wonwoo remained quiet, poking at his food with more thought than appetite, his mother and Mingyu carried the conversation with ease.

They talked about her favorite recipes, her little garden on the terrace, Mingyu's hatred for morning lectures, and how he sometimes skipped breakfast to rush to football practice. Wonwoo's mom laughed heartily at his stories, and Mingyu couldn't help laughing along with her, his eyes curving in that way that made him look both charming and boyish at once.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, stayed mostly silent — pretending to focus on his rice bowl but catching snippets of their conversation, the warmth in their laughter pressing oddly against his chest. His mom and Mingyu really did get along well. Too well, maybe.

Then, just as Wonwoo was beginning to feel invisible, his mother turned to Mingyu and asked, 

"So, Mingyu, how did you become close with Wonwoo? He's usually so reserved. And you two seem like exact opposites."

The question caught both boys off guard. Mingyu blinked, his chopsticks pausing midair, while Wonwoo's head snapped up instinctively — his gaze meeting Mingyu's for half a second before darting away to his plate.

Mingyu's lips curved into a faint smile, playful but thoughtful. He knew the question came from curiosity, not interrogation, yet it tugged at something deeper. Because she was right — they were opposites. 

Wonwoo was quiet, deliberate, cautious, the kind who thought before he breathed. Mingyu was... everything else — loud, reckless, impulsive, a storm wrapped in a smile.

And yet, sitting there now, he realized how naturally they fit in each other's lives. How Wonwoo's calm steadied his chaos, and his chaos somehow pulled Wonwoo out of his stillness.

 Cause somewhere along the way, their differences began to fit together like mismatched puzzle pieces that somehow clicked — filling spaces they didn't even realize were empty.

He cleared his throat, eyes softening a little as he searched for the right words.

"It's true, aunty," he began. "We didn't really get along at first. There were... a lot of misunderstandings."

A small smile tugged at his lips, as if remembering something only he found amusing.

"But since the whole tutoring thing started, I guess somewhere along the way... we got close."

As he said that, his hand — warm and steady — slipped under the table, finding its way to Wonwoo's thigh. His fingers rested there with a casual confidence, thumb moving in slow, absent circles against the fabric of Wonwoo's pants.

"Right, Wonwoo?" Mingyu added, stressing the name deliberately, his voice dipping slightly — playful, but laced with an intimacy that made Wonwoo's breath hitch.

It was ridiculous how that one word, his name from Mingyu's lips, could sound so heavy, so personal. Wonwoo froze mid-bite. Every nerve in his leg felt the pressure of Mingyu's touch, subtle yet undeniable. 

He couldn't look at him — couldn't look at the hand resting so carelessly close, or those gleaming brown eyes that probably held a knowing smirk.

For a fleeting second, his heart stuttered. He hated that it did. He hated that Mingyu's voice and warmth could undo him this easily.

He couldn't do anything — couldn't stop the faint shade of pink that crept up his neck, couldn't stop the double flip in his chest at hearing Mingyu's words, couldn't stop replaying the way Mingyu's eyes gleamed when they met his just seconds ago.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced out words that sounded smaller than he meant them to be.

"We're... not that close," he mumbled, still pretending to focus on his food.

The words came out with less bite than he meant, falling hollow between them. Both Mingyu and his mother seemed to sense it. Wonwoo could even feel it — the subtle tightening of Mingyu's grip on his thigh, as if the boy knew exactly what Wonwoo was doing, and why he was saying it.

A small smirk tugged at Mingyu's lips. "Yeah? Guess he just can't resist my charm then," he said, tone light, teasing — but there was something unreadable in his gaze.

Even Wonwoo's mom laughed softly. "I know you mean the exact opposite of that, Wonwoo," she said warmly.

Wonwoo didn't even try to argue. He knew he could never deceive his mom — she could read him too easily. So he stayed quiet, letting the conversation drift toward simpler things that didn't make his pulse quicken.

But it didn't help. Because Mingyu's hand was still there — resting on his thigh, thumb drawing lazy, thoughtless circles like it belonged there.

"Mingyu-ah, are you free to hang out after lunch?" his mom suddenly asked, snapping Wonwoo out of his thoughts.

Mingyu looked up immediately, polite as ever. "I'm sorry, aunty. I'd love to, but I already promised someone I'd meet them soon," he said, his tone apologetic yet easy.

Wonwoo's mom simply smiled. "That's alright, dear. You can come by anytime. We'll hang out some other day."

Mingyu nodded with a grateful smile and went back to eating — calm, unbothered.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, suddenly found it hard to swallow his food. Because he knew exactly who that someone was. He knew who was probably waiting for Mingyu... and who Mingyu seemed eager to meet.

Or so he thought.

Because Mingyu's smirk — the quick, knowing curve of his lips when he caught Wonwoo's barely concealed reaction — said it all.

He was clearly enjoying this.

Enjoying the way Wonwoo's jaw tightened, the way his chopsticks froze midair, the way his eyes betrayed a flicker of something that looked a lot like jealousy.

And Wonwoo would never realize how wrong he had gotten it — not unless Mingyu decided to tell him.

Chapter Text

After lunch, Wonwoo's mom busied herself with household chores, humming softly as she moved around the kitchen. That left the two boys alone in Wonwoo's room.

Mingyu was sprawled across the bed, one arm draped over his stomach, claiming half the space like it was his birthright. "I'm too stuffed to move," he'd said, eyes half-lidded in contentment.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo stood by the cupboard, arms crossed, his posture stiff as he debated with himself — about whether to say something, or just let the silence win.

"So," he finally spoke, his tone cool and sharp enough to slice through the air, "aren't you leaving yet?"

Mingyu tilted his head lazily toward him, a smirk forming on his lips — that same infuriating grin that always managed to crawl under Wonwoo's skin.

"Why?" he asked, his voice dipping low with amusement. "Are you having an issue with me staying here a little longer?"

Wonwoo let out a short, humorless laugh and folded his arms tighter.

"If I remember correctly," he said, his voice carrying a brittle edge, "you're the one who told your girlfriend you missed her. Back on the terrace."

The words slipped out before he could stop them — sharp, raw, and unfiltered. He didn't even realize what he'd just admitted until Mingyu's smirk deepened, a knowing gleam flashing in his eyes.

"Oh?" Mingyu drawled, pretending to sound intrigued. "So you heard that?"

He paused, letting the silence thicken between them before adding playfully, "That reminds me... I should probably call her now."

Before Wonwoo could say anything, Mingyu fished out his phone, unlocked it, and held it to his ear — the smirk never leaving his face. His thumb wasn't even on the call button.

"Hey... hi, baby," Mingyu said, his tone dripping with warmth and affection — the same tone he'd used on the terrace that morning. And once again, it set Wonwoo's nerves on fire.

His jaw tightened. He didn't look at Mingyu — he refused to — and instead turned toward his cupboard. His movements were abrupt, almost comically focused as he began organizing clothes that were already folded, pretending to be completely absorbed.

The boy didn't say anything, but the faint flush of annoyance — maybe something else — painted his face vividly enough for Mingyu to savor every second of it.

Mingyu's eyes followed him, amused and half-adoring all at once. He saw it all — the way Wonwoo blinked too often, how his fingers trembled slightly when he brushed against a shirt, the tense slope of his shoulders,  the curve of his slim waist beneath his loose T-shirt, the soft fall of his hair as he bent slightly forward, and—God—those lips. Pursed in the tiniest pout of irritation.

Mingyu almost laughed. Adorable.

"Baby, stop pouting," he said into the phone, still staring straight at Wonwoo. His voice was low, teasing. "You're making me weak."

Wonwoo froze mid-fold, his grip tightening around the shirt in his hands. His jaw ticked once, and then—

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, pretending to shake the shirt out before folding it again, this time with twice the force. "Why does he have to flirt in my room?"

The sound of fabric snapping through the air made Mingyu flinch slightly—before a smile crept back onto his lips.

He leaned back on his elbows, utterly unbothered, enjoying every second of Wonwoo's silent fuming.

Because now, he was certain—his princess was jealous. He knew exactly what that irritation meant, and it only fueled his quiet satisfaction.

"Don't be mad," Mingyu said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that easily slipped past the teasing edge he was known for. 

"You know, I've never been like this with anyone"

He didn't stop looking at Wonwoo. His gaze, which usually danced with mischief, now held something more sincere — steady, fond, maybe even a little vulnerable. But Wonwoo, stubborn as ever, only tried to appear unaffected. His hands moved mechanically, pretending to focus on arranging clothes while his ears stayed fixed on every word Mingyu spoke.

And then came the final straw.

"I miss you too, baby. I wish I could go and meet you now."

The flirtatious tone wrapped in warmth was enough to make Wonwoo's movements freeze. His hands stilled mid-fold, breath caught in his throat. A second later, something soft — a bundle of clothes — came flying toward Mingyu, hitting his chest before tumbling to the floor.

"Have some shame! Don't flirt in my room!" Wonwoo snapped, harsher than he intended.

Mingyu only chuckled under his breath, brushing the fallen clothes aside, still wearing that smile of quiet contentment. But when his eyes lifted again — the smile faded.

Wonwoo's face was no longer painted with irritation. The anger had drained away, leaving behind something fragile — something Mingyu feared to name because it might just break him to admit it.

Wonwoo stood there, shoulders tense, lips trembling, eyes shimmering with a pain he was desperate to hide. The truth of his misunderstanding clung to the air — thick, silent, and suffocating.

"Get out," Wonwoo whispered, voice trembling as he turned back to the cupboard. His fingers clutched a shirt like a lifeline, pretending to fold, pretending not to fall apart — especially not in front of Mingyu.

Mingyu's chest tightened. Maybe he'd gone too far this time. The teasing that used to earn him eye rolls and muttered insults now seemed to have cut too deep. He rose from where he was sitting and took a few careful steps forward.

"Hey... I was just teasing," he said quietly, reaching out to gently turn Wonwoo by the elbow.

But Wonwoo jerked away, his voice breaking through the thick air. "Leave me alone, Mingyu."

Mingyu froze for a beat before sighing, running a hand through his hair. He knew this side of Wonwoo — the sulky, stubborn, impossible-to-approach version. The one who shut down before opening up. And yet, seeing him like this still hurt. To make things right and finally clean the mess that he has done, he unlocked his phone and actually video-called his sister this time.

Wonwoo, still stubbornly facing the cupboard, heard the ring tone echo in the room. He had no intention of listening—at least, that's what he told himself. But every vibration, every faint sound from Mingyu's phone seemed to tug at his attention until a soft, young voice broke through.

"Hi, oppa! "

Wonwoo froze mid-motion, his fingers still clutching a folded shirt. That voice—it wasn't what he expected. It was light, cheerful, childlike... definitely not the voice of someone Mingyu was flirting with.

He turned slightly, just enough to catch Mingyu's face lit up by the screen, flashing the same affectionate smile Wonwoo had seen earlier on the terrace—the one that had stung him then, but now confused him even more.

"Hey, baby," Mingyu said warmly.

Wonwoo blinked. That tone again, the one that had sent him spiraling into jealousy earlier—but now, paired with that soft, innocent voice, it didn't sound romantic at all.

The girl on the screen giggled. "So, when are you coming home?"

Mingyu chuckled, walking over to stand beside Wonwoo, mischief glinting faintly in his eyes. 

"I'll leave from here as soon as I make Wonwoo oppa smile," he said deliberately, loud enough for both of them to hear.

Wonwoo's brow furrowed. Wonwoo oppa? What was she talking about? His confusion only deepened when the little girl's voice piped up, excited, 

"Wonwoo oppa? You're at Wonwoo oppa's house?"

Mingyu didn't answer—he only laughed softly and tilted his phone toward Wonwoo, who was caught completely off guard.

The girl on screen looked around thirteen or fourteen, with round cheeks and a sweet, chubby face framed by soft, dark hair. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and warmth, the same warmth that shone in Mingyu's whenever he talked about someone he adored.

Wonwoo blinked, stiff as a board, completely unsure what to do or say. Not wanting to come off as rude, he managed a small, awkward smile. "Uh... hi."

The girl giggled, waving her hand. "Hi, oppa! I'm Minseo!"

And just like that—everything clicked. The "baby" on the terrace, the "miss you," the teasing call earlier—it all made sense now.

Mingyu looked at him, grin widening with triumph and affection. "Minseo," he said, introducing her like he'd been waiting for this exact moment, "my sister."

Wonwoo felt his soul leave his body. His brain replayed every jealous thought, every bitter look, every snide comment—and he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

He'd misunderstood everything. He'd been sulking, jealous, acting like a possessive fool... over Mingyu's little sister.

"Oh my God," Wonwoo muttered under his breath, face burning as he covered it with one hand. I want to disappear.

And Mingyu, watching him crumble in embarrassment, could only bite back his laughter, the teasing glint in his eyes now shining brighter than ever.

"Here," Mingyu said after a minute, with a half-smile, extending his phone toward Wonwoo. 

"She's been dying to talk to you."

Wonwoo's fingers trembled slightly as he accepted the phone. "H-hello, Minseo-ah. Nice to meet you," he said, his voice soft but warm.

"Nice to meet you too, oppa!" Minseo grinned. 

"You know how many times I've asked Mingyu oppa to let us meet? But he always says you're busy and that I might disturb you!" 

She pouted adorably, folding her arms with dramatic flair.

Wonwoo couldn't help but chuckle, his earlier embarrassment melting into fondness. So this was the "baby" that had Mingyu wrapped around her finger. No wonder he'd smiled like that on the terrace—no one could escape Minseo's cuteness. She had the same natural charm her brother did, that effortless warmth that could make anyone feel at ease.

But then something about her words caught him off guard—You know how many times I've asked Mingyu oppa to let us meet?

That meant Mingyu had talked about him. More than once.

Wonwoo's heart skipped a beat. He turned his gaze slightly to the side, where Mingyu was now carefully folding the clothes Wonwoo had hurled at him in a fit of misplaced anger, like nothing had happened. The picture of ease.

Yet the smallest smile tugged at Mingyu's lips—like he knew exactly what was running through Wonwoo's mind.

Wonwoo's lips tugged into an unguarded smile, a real one this time, before he continued the conversation with Minseo.

"Really?" he said, his voice carrying a shy fondness. "But Mingyu hasn't told me anything about this."

A genuine, soft smile bloomed on his lips as he turned his attention back to the screen.

Minseo puffed her cheeks in mock frustration. "He said he's already taking too much of your time. And that I'd just be another thing to bother you with."

Wonwoo's smile deepened, tinged with fond disbelief. 

"Nothing like that, Minseo-ah. I'd love to meet you," he said gently. Then, his teasing side peeked through as his lips curved wider. "And you're not like your brother at all—you're so sweet and warm."

His gaze flicked—almost unconsciously—toward Mingyu, watching for a reaction. And sure enough, Mingyu froze mid-fold, hands hovering over the half-folded shirt before he casually resumed, though the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Wonwoo hid a tiny grin, satisfied at having landed a hit, even if Mingyu didn't show it.

Meanwhile, Minseo had already launched into an animated stream of chatter—half complaints about her school, half rants about her brother's antics. Wonwoo listened quietly, chuckling now and then, the earlier tension easing from his shoulders.

The sound of her laughter, the way she scrunched her nose when she whined about Mingyu—all of it made the room feel lighter. And for a fleeting second, Wonwoo forgot about his jealousy, his misunderstanding, everything—just enjoying the warmth that this little sister radiated through the screen.

And then Minseo brought up something with a pout, "Oppa, you know what my brother did a couple of days back? He ate my share of ice cream before I came back from my hangout! Isn't that so mean?"

Wonwoo chuckled, shaking his head. 

"That definitely sounds like something he'd do," he said softly, the corner of his lips twitching upward.

But before he could say more, the air shifted—subtly at first, then unmistakably. the faint creak of the bedsheet and the sound of soft footsteps crossing the room, the brush of warmth near his arm. 

He glanced sideways, his breath catching when he realized Mingyu was now right next to him, leaning slightly to fit both of them into the frame. The familiar scent of him—reached Wonwoo a beat before Mingyu's hand came to rest on his back. Not tentative. Not distant. Just... there.

Wonwoo's breath stuttered, his body going still under the gentle pressure. The contact was casual enough to pass off as nothing—but it didn't feel like nothing. His skin tingled beneath the fabric, awareness blooming like a spark catching fire.

Mingyu's voice followed, smooth and teasing, as his lips curved into that infuriatingly charming grin. 

"Hey, don't go around ruining my reputation, baby."

Minseo rolled her eyes dramatically. "Do you even have one?"

Wonwoo couldn't help it—a satisfied chuckle slipped past his lips. This little girl was both sweet and sass, the perfect combination of charm and chaos. 

But the laughter died in his throat the moment he felt Mingyu's hand move—no longer resting casually, but curling around his waist, pulling him just a little closer.

Caught off guard, Wonwoo stumbled back, his shoulder brushing Mingyu's chest. The sudden contact made him freeze, his pulse stuttering as warmth spread from where Mingyu's palm pressed lightly against him.

"You think it's funny?" Mingyu murmured, tilting his head to look down at him.

The proximity was dangerous—his voice was low, his breath grazing the side of Wonwoo's face. Wonwoo could barely breathe, eyes darting to the floor, then to Mingyu's collarbone that peeked slightly from his loose shirt. 

Words refused to leave his mouth, so he only shook his head, weakly, betraying himself with the faintest tremor in his movement.

Thankfully, Minseo's voice cut through the charged silence. "What? I'm just telling the truth, oppa!" she exclaimed, pouting again.

Mingyu let out a rough laugh, breaking the spell for a moment. "This little devil is saying only half the truth. She was the one who ate my share of ice cream before I even came home from school!"

"That's not true!" Minseo shot back immediately, the mock argument spiraling into playful bickering. Their voices overlapped, full of life and laughter.

Wonwoo tried to follow the conversation, but his mind was elsewhere—caught between the rhythm of their voices and the warmth that continued to seep through Mingyu's touch. His focus blurred; all he could feel was the steady rise and fall of Mingyu's chest behind him, the gentle weight of that arm at his waist, the sound of Mingyu's laughter reverberating softly against his back.

And for a fleeting second, Wonwoo wondered if the calm he felt now was dangerous—because it wasn't just comfort. It was something deeper, something that made his heart beat in unfamiliar ways.

His thoughts scattered when Mingyu suddenly tilted his head toward him, voice breaking through the haze.

"Now," Mingyu said, eyes glinting with mischief, "you tell me — who's in the wrong?"

"Yeah, tell us, oppa!" Minseo chimed in, clearly enjoying having Wonwoo dragged into the crossfire.

Wonwoo blinked, completely lost. He hadn't even caught half the argument. But seeing both of them waiting expectantly — one with a playful grin, the other with a childlike pout — he made the safest choice he could think of.

"I think..." Wonwoo began, glancing at Mingyu before turning to Minseo with a small smile, "Minseo's right."

"I knew it!" Minseo squealed, clapping her hands triumphantly.

Wonwoo chuckled softly at her reaction, but his amusement was short-lived. Because Mingyu clearly wasn't ready to let it go.

The hand on his waist tightened — not painfully, but firmly enough to send a jolt through him. Before he could react, Mingyu leaned closer, his voice dropping to that dangerously low, rasping tone that made Wonwoo's pulse skip.

"Well," Mingyu murmured, his breath ghosting over Wonwoo's ear, "you do know you'll be facing the consequences for that, right... princess?"

The word landed like a spark. Wonwoo's breath caught, his spine going rigid as warmth flooded his cheeks. He turned his head slightly, enough to meet Mingyu's gaze — close, too close — and for a split second, the air between them felt heavy with something unspoken.

And then, thankfully — or maybe not — Minseo's voice cut through the haze.

"Yah! Why are you threatening Wonwoo oppa?" she demanded, her small face scrunching up on the screen.

"I'm not," Mingyu replied flatly, tilting his head slightly toward the phone, though his body didn't move an inch away from Wonwoo. His arm was still resting firmly at Wonwoo's waist — casual, but heavy enough to make Wonwoo hyper-aware of every inch of contact.

"You are! And—" Minseo leaned closer to the camera, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion, "'Princess'? Is that what you call Wonwoo oppa?"

That did it. Wonwoo froze, his breath hitching midair as Minseo's innocent question echoed in his head.

He hadn't even realized it before — how natural that nickname had become. Mingyu had said it so often, in so many tones — teasing, playful, gentle — that it no longer registered as strange. It was just his.

But hearing it pointed out like that, in front of her, made his stomach twist. His ears burned, and embarrassment bloomed hot across his face. He fumbled for words, searching for anything to make it sound less weird, less intimate.

He wanted to say something—anything—to make the moment less awkward and save some of his dignity. But it seemed Mingyu had absolutely no plans of helping him. Instead, he did the exact opposite of what any rational person would do.

Before Wonwoo could even blink, Mingyu wrapped his arms around him from behind, pulling him into a full back hug. The sudden gesture made Wonwoo stumble slightly, eyes widening in pure shock. 

Mingyu's hands rested on his stomach, his warmth seeping right through the fabric, and his breath brushed against Wonwoo's ear as he spoke in a low, teasing tone.

"Yes. I call him that. It's the perfect nickname, right?" Mingyu said, glancing at Minseo—but his eyes soon drifted back to the boy in his arms. "Just like him," he added softly, voice filled with quiet warmth.

Minseo giggled, nodding eagerly. 

"Yes, Wonwoo oppa! My brother gave you the perfect nickname. You're so beautiful,  divine and have this warm glow and—" she paused dramatically, eyes twinkling, "—princess suits you!"

"See? I told you it fits," Mingyu murmured, tilting his head slightly toward Wonwoo, the corners of his mouth curling in amusement.

Wonwoo was utterly frozen. His blush deepened until it spread visibly across his cheeks. Poor boy couldn't even manage a simple 'thank you' for Minseo's compliment; embarrassment had completely taken over.

Noticing it, Mingyu chuckled softly and shifted his attention back to his sister. "So... now that you've seen Wonwoo oppa in person," he asked, smirking, "who's more good-looking—me or him?"

Minseo hummed, pretending to think, while Wonwoo didn't even bother paying attention. Because the only thing that occupied his mind right now was the warmth of Mingyu's large palms resting firmly on his waist — and the thin fabric between them did nothing to help. He could feel his pulse quicken with every second that passed. He just wished Mingyu would let go already.

Finally, Minseo spoke, "I think Wonwoo oppa beats you to it," she said with a teasing glint in her eyes.

The smirk on Mingyu's face faltered. He blinked in disbelief. Sure, he knew his sister adored Wonwoo — she'd listened to enough of his stories about him — but siding with Wonwoo this easily? Ignoring him? Mingyu couldn't believe it.

With an exaggerated sigh, he said, "You do remember asking me to buy your favorite dress for your birthday, right?"

Minseo giggled at his mock threat, but before she could reply, Wonwoo tilted his head slightly — just enough to feel Mingyu's breath fan across his cheek — and said,

"Yah, why are you threatening Minseo now?"

Mingyu's reply came instantly. "Woah... why are you two teaming up against me?" he said, shifting closer — and then, in one smooth motion, Mingyu leaned in, lowering his head until it rested against the curve of Wonwoo's neck.

Wonwoo froze. Every nerve in his body seemed to react at once, heat rushing up to his ears.

Then Mingyu's voice came again, lower this time, his lips grazing Wonwoo's skin.

"I'm wounded," he murmured, feigning sadness, though the teasing lilt never left his tone.

Wonwoo didn't know how to respond — his mind completely went blank, knees felt weak, caught between panic and the strange flutter in his chest. It was Minseo's laughter that finally broke the moment, pulling him back to reality.

He huffed, surrendering with a soft sigh. "Fine, Minseo-ah. Let's give it to your brother. Your brother is the most, most handsome man we've ever seeeen, right?"

Minseo nodded eagerly, her smile widening at her brother's childlike expression.

Mingyu's chuckle rumbled softly against Wonwoo's skin — his head still tucked into the crook of Wonwoo's neck. "Oh? Am I, princess?" he asked, his voice playful yet low, his hands tightening around Wonwoo's waist.

Wonwoo wished the ground would just swallow him whole. And as if fate took pity on him, Minseo suddenly called out, "Wonwoo oppa! Mom's calling me. I need to go, bye!"

"Bye, Minseo-ah. We'll meet soon," Wonwoo replied, his voice gentle, full of warmth.

"Really?" Minseo's eyes lit up, surprise flashing across her face. "I'll look forward to it! Bye, oppa!"

Wonwoo smiled, nodding gently, the fondness in his expression almost instinctive. But beside him, Mingyu let out a small snort.

"Baby, you are focusing only on Wonwoo oppa? I'm still here, you know."

Minseo grinned, clearly enjoying the tease. "Bye, oppa. Come home soon — I miss you."

"Sure, baby... Since your Wonwoo oppa finally smiled, I'll stop bothering him for today," Mingyu said, voice dipping into something soft even as he teased, before he cut the call.

The room fell into quiet after that, save for the faint hum of the ceiling fan. Wonwoo could still feel the echo of Mingyu's touch lingering around his waist, the ghost of his warmth refusing to fade.

And something about the way Mingyu had said your Wonwoo oppa made his chest tighten — not in confusion, but in something softer. Like Mingyu was unconsciously letting him in, allowing him into that small, closely guarded circle of his world.

He released a quiet sigh he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

It wasn't that the moment felt uncomfortable. No — it was far from that. It felt too comfortable. Talking with Minseo had already wrapped Wonwoo's heart in a gentle warmth, but now, that warmth mingled with something sharper. Heat crept up his neck, and every inch of Mingyu's proximity made his pulse stutter.

He wanted Mingyu to let go — to free him before his face gave him away. But Mingyu clearly had no such plans. Wonwoo was still caught in the circle of his arms, his back pressed lightly to Mingyu's chest, their breaths unconsciously synced.

Then Mingyu's hand flexed, tightening slightly around Wonwoo's waist, the pressure firm but not possessive — just present.

Leaning in closer, his breath ghosted over Wonwoo's ear as he murmured, voice low and rough, 

"You see how she teams up with you already?"

Wonwoo's breath hitched. His lips parted slightly before he managed to reply, tone soft and teasing despite the flutter beneath his ribs. 

"Can you blame her? She's smart enough to know which side to pick."

Mingyu let out a quiet scoff, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. "Oh? So now you're stealing my sister and turning her against me?" he murmured — playful on the surface, but there was a thread of something else beneath, something gentler that lingered in his tone.

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, meeting Mingyu's gaze over his shoulder — their faces closer than he intended. His next words came out quieter, more like a confession than a tease.

"Maybe she just has good taste," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

And for a suspended heartbeat, neither of them moved. The air felt thick, humming softly with something unspoken — something that neither warmth nor words could quite contain.

Then Mingyu's voice broke the silence, low and rough-edged, 

"Look at you speaking... too sharp. How I'd love to shut those words from your pretty mouth."

The words slipped out — raw, unfiltered — before Mingyu even realized what he was saying.

And Wonwoo froze. His breath caught halfway in his throat, eyes widening just slightly. Did Mingyu know what he'd just said? Or was it just another one of his teasing, careless remarks?

The uncertainty gnawed at him, but the weight of Mingyu's gaze didn't help. Wonwoo could feel it — heavy, unwavering, almost burning against his skin. The warmth of Mingyu's arm still lingered around his waist, the faint scent of detergent and something uniquely him wrapping around Wonwoo like a spell.

Everything — the closeness, the silence, the words — felt too much. Too real.

And as if his heart couldn't handle it any longer, Wonwoo took a small, shaky step forward, freeing himself from Mingyu's embrace. The loss of warmth was instant, sharp.

"You— You should leave," he said finally, trying to steady his voice, eyes darting anywhere but at Mingyu. "Minseo is waiting."

The words came out softer than he intended — not quite a dismissal, but more like a plea to escape the tension that neither dared to name.

The silence that followed was thick, awkward, the kind that settled between people who both knew something had shifted — but neither dared to name it.

Mingyu blinked, rubbing the back of his neck as if to ground himself. "Right..." he muttered, his voice softer than usual, stripped of its usual teasing lilt. 

After a small pause, he added, "Take care. You don't need to see me out. I'll tell Aunty and leave."

Wonwoo parted his lips, wanting to say something — maybe to insist, — but Mingyu was quicker.

"You don't have to," Mingyu said, tone quiet but firm, like a command wrapped in comfort. "Rest well. See you on Monday."

For a moment, their eyes almost met — almost — before Mingyu turned away, his tall frame moving toward the door. The sound of his footsteps faded slowly, and with each step, it felt as though he was carrying away the warmth that had filled the room just moments ago.

The door clicked shut softly behind him, leaving Wonwoo alone in the quiet — heart still unsteady, pulse echoing faintly in the emptiness he left behind.

Wonwoo stood there, staring at the space Mingyu had just left, his chest tight with something he couldn't name. Maybe it was confusion. Maybe it was something else entirely — something that scared him just enough to push it down. But no matter how much he tried, the echo of Mingyu's voice — soft, low, and dangerously gentle — refused to fade.

Chapter Text

Mingyu sat in the back of the taxi, watching the early evening light fade into soft shades of orange and rose. The city outside wasn't dark yet — just settling, calming, like it was slowly exhaling after a long day.

He had expected to leave Wonwoo's house with the same warmth along with fluttering of the teasing glint they'd shared during the call with Minseo.

But now,  — a quiet, unfamiliar uneasiness that pressed gently at his heart. He didn't know where it came from, only that it followed him like a shadow.

When Mingyu went to bid goodbye to Wonwoo's mom, the house was steeped in the gentle calm of early evening — that quiet moment when the light softens and everything feels a little too sincere.

He'd expected a simple farewell, maybe a warm smile, nothing more.

But the moment she turned toward him, something in her eyes told him this wasn't going to be just a goodbye.

They exchanged a few polite words, and Mingyu was already starting to step back when she spoke, voice suddenly delicate.

"Mingyu-ah... I should really thank you."

He stopped. His brows drew together, confusion tightening his chest.

"Thank me? For what, aunty..?"

She sighed — a soft, tired breath that made Mingyu's heart clench unexpectedly.

"I know my son is a very reserved type. He doesn't try to get along with people, doesn't bother making friends... and he struggles to trust."

Mingyu stilled. He didn't intend to, but he did.

His fingers curled slightly at his sides.

His heartbeat slowed into something heavy and attentive. He didn't know why her words tugged at something in him — but they did.

Her eyes began to glisten. She blinked hard, but the shine only deepened. 

"But lately... he's changing. He's smiling more. Talking more. Living more."

Mingyu felt the breath leave him in a small, unsteady rush. A strange tightness spread beneath his ribs — part warmth, part ache.

She continued, voice growing softer, almost trembling. "I've been wondering what caused that change. But after meeting you today... I think I understand. You must have had a great impact on him."

The words hit Mingyu like a hand pressed gently to his chest — grounding and overwhelming at the same time.

He looked away for a second, swallowing hard. His throat burned unexpectedly. He hadn't expected any of this. He didn't feel prepared for it.

She hesitated, her voice dropping. "The boy carries too much guilt."

Mingyu's body reacted before his mind did — shoulders tensing, jaw clenching.

He knew what she meant. He knew exactly what she meant. And something in him cracked open, just a little.

"He's still... blaming himself for his father's death," 

Mingyu whispered — not just a confession, but a hurt he felt on Wonwoo's behalf. His voice barely held together. 

Wonwoo's mom's eyes widened in raw disbelief. "He—he told you that?"

Mingyu nodded, his own eyes soft, troubled.

In that moment, he felt the full weight of how deeply Wonwoo trusted him... and how delicate that trust was.

A trembling smile formed on her lips — not joyful, not sad, but deeply relieved. 

"I can't believe it... Wonwoo finally opened up to someone." Her voice shook. "Those scars... the ones he protected for so many years." She gave him a watery smile. "I guess you really are special to him."

Before the tears could fall, she wiped them away quickly, gathering herself.

"Please take care of my son at school," she said softly. "Even if he feels difficult at times... even if he seems hard to deal with. Please bear with him. He pretends to be tough, but he's hurting more than he lets on."

Mingyu swallowed hard, the weight of everything settling deep in his chest — heavier, warmer, and more real than anything he had expected when he walked into that house.

She continued softly, "I know it's a lot to ask—"

But Mingyu cut in before she could finish, the words rising from him almost instinctively.

"Aunty... Wonwoo is the most—" he paused, searching for a word big enough, true enough, but nothing seemed to fit. His voice softened, trembling at the edges. "He's the most precious person I've ever met. And honestly... I'm the one who should be thanking you."

Wonwoo's mom blinked, stunned.

Mingyu's fingers curled into his palms as he tried to steady himself. "Because without Wonwoo, I wouldn't..."

His voice faltered.

Not because he didn't know what to say.

No — the words were painfully clear.

He just wasn't sure if he was ready to hear himself say them out loud.

Saying them would make everything too real.

Too honest.

Too much.

He swallowed hard, the air tight in his lungs.

Finally, with a shaky exhale, he whispered, "Because of Wonwoo, I started breathing again."

The silence that followed was soft... sacred.

"Aunty," he continued, voice thick, "don't worry. As long as Wonwoo needs me... I'm never going to leave him."

As soon as the words left his lips, Mingyu felt something inside him break open — gentle but overwhelming. His eyes glistened before he even realized it, a warmth stinging the rims.

Wonwoo's mom saw it.

And in her eyes, tears gathered again — not from sadness, but from a relief so deep it made her shoulders tremble.

Mingyu managed a small, emotional smile and stepped forward.

She opened her arms almost reflexively, and Mingyu hugged her — tight, steady, earnest.

It wasn't a polite hug.

It was a promise.

When they pulled apart, her hand lingered briefly on his arm, gratitude shining through her tears. Mingyu bowed his head respectfully, whispered a soft goodbye, and finally stepped out of the house... carrying a heart that felt impossibly full and unbearably heavy at the same time.

As the taxi pulled away,  Mingyu leaned his head against the cool window, watching the fading evening light melt into soft streaks across the sky. The city moved past him in blurs — cars, people, the quiet hum of life — but none of it reached him.

His mind was somewhere else.

Back in that living room.

Back in her trembling smile.

Back in the weight of his own words.

They replayed again and again, looping like a film he couldn't stop.

Wonwoo finally opened up to someone.

You are special to him.

I started breathing again.

I'll never leave him.

Each sentence struck his chest in slow, heavy waves.

And the tighter they echoed, the tighter something inside him pulled.

He pressed his hand lightly over his sternum, confused at the sharpness of the ache. "Why am I..." he whispered to himself, but the words dissolved before they could form fully.

He didn't know what this feeling was.

Warmth? Fear? Responsibility? Something deeper?

He couldn't name it.

All he knew was that it hurt — not painfully, but deeply.

Honestly.

Dangerously.

His breath stuttered once, barely noticeable unless someone was watching him closely.

And amidst everything swirling inside him, a single question rose up — quiet at first, then louder, then so loud it drowned out everything else.

Do I deserve this?

His fingers curled slightly against his chest.

This trust.

This affection.

This reliance.

This place in Wonwoo's life he somehow ended up holding.

Do I deserve him?

The question hollowed him out and filled him up at the same time, settling like a knot he didn't know how to untie.

The taxi kept moving, the city kept glowing outside, but Mingyu sat there frozen in the softness of the evening — heart tight, breath uneven, and the weight of something unnamed pressing against every beat.

When Wonwoo stepped into school that Monday morning, he could already sense it—the shift in the air, the way eyes lingered longer than usual, whispers curling through the hallways like smoke. He knew it wasn't really about him. It was because of Mingyu. 

The school's golden boy, who had jumped into the pool without hesitation just for him. Everyone had seen it. And when it was Wonwoo of all people—the one who was supposed to be Mingyu's rival—it made the story twice as fascinating.

Keeping his head down, Wonwoo walked past the curious glances, pretending not to notice the way conversations hushed when he passed. He slid into his seat, exhaling slowly, almost relieved to finally escape the stares. But his reprieve didn't last long.

The moment Mingyu entered the classroom, the atmosphere thickened. Heads turned instantly, eyes following his every step. Whispers rose louder this time, half in awe, half in speculation. 

But Mingyu—tall, confident, and unbothered—walked through it as if he was used to carrying the weight of everyone's attention. He dropped his bag with ease, his expression calm, and sat down beside Wonwoo like he had been waiting for this moment all along.

Wonwoo felt something stir in his chest. It was familiar—the way Mingyu casually claimed the seat next to him, the way his presence filled the space so naturally. He hated to admit it, but he had missed this. Missed him. And by the small smile tugging at Mingyu's lips, Wonwoo could tell Mingyu had missed it too.

"How are you feeling now?" Mingyu asked quietly, his voice dropping low so only Wonwoo could hear.

"I'm fine," Wonwoo replied, short but steady.

Mingyu's eyes softened. He nodded once and muttered, "Good." For a fleeting moment, they both let the silence sit comfortably between them—like an unspoken truce, like a thread carefully weaving them back together.

That quiet was broken when their teacher walked in, commanding the class to rise.

"Good morning, students. I have an announcement before we start today's lesson," he began. A murmur rippled across the room, students exchanging guesses—some anxious about surprise tests, others hoping for something lighter.

The teacher adjusted his glasses and smiled. "As you all know, this Friday our school will be facing Daesung High in the football championship. We have five of our very own from this class on the team. Let's give them a big hand and cheer them on!"

Applause thundered through the room, shouts of "Fighting!" echoing from every corner. Mingyu's name, especially, rang out among the cheers, and Wonwoo caught himself sneaking a glance at the boy beside him. 

Mingyu didn't puff up with pride or act cocky like others might have—he just leaned back in his chair, smile relaxed, eyes shining with a quiet determination.

And something about that made Wonwoo's chest tighten in a way he didn't quite understand.

Wonwoo tried to clap, tried to match the excitement that bubbled in the room, but his hands felt heavier than the others. Because as the cheers rang out, Mingyu's words from their fight came crashing back to him. 

That moment when Wonwoo had misunderstood everything—and Mingyu, half-frustrated, had said that his wish, the one he wanted Wonwoo to grant, was simple: to come to the championship and cheer for him.

The fight was behind them now. Things between them had eased, maybe even shifted into something closer than before. But they had never spoken about that wish again. And now, as the classroom's applause faded into chatter, Wonwoo couldn't help but wonder—did Mingyu still want that from him? Did he still expect him to be there, cheering? He chewed on the thought as classes resumed, words from the board barely registering. 

But as the day went on, Wonwoo began noticing something entirely different — Mingyu's presence. The boy seemed... watchful today. Almost protective. Mingyu never let Wonwoo stray too far. 

Even when Wonwoo slipped out into the hallway during break, Mingyu fell into step beside him, silent but steady. Wonwoo didn't dislike it—not at all—but it left him restless, unsure if he was imagining things.

And his answer came at lunch. Wonwoo had just sat down with Hoshi when Mingyu joined them, dropping into the seat as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Both Wonwoo and Hoshi blinked in surprise, but Mingyu only shrugged, ignoring the way the cafeteria seemed to ripple with shocked stares.

At first, Hoshi hesitated, glancing between them, unsure how to start. But Mingyu took the lead easily, spinning the conversation toward comics, sports, and even the universal misery of homework. Before long, the two of them were laughing, trading rants and comments like old friends.

Wonwoo sat there in silence, chopsticks turning noodles idly in his tray, and he realized something surprising.

He wasn't annoyed. Instead, there was a small, quiet satisfaction curling in his chest. Seeing Mingyu fit so effortlessly into his world—seeing him and Hoshi joke around like they'd always known each other—it felt... good. Like the gap between them was closing without Wonwoo even noticing.

Every now and then, Mingyu's eyes flicked toward him, a silent nudge for Wonwoo to join in. And Wonwoo did, stumbling into their rhythm, finding himself smiling without meaning to.

By the time lunch ended, Hoshi was sulking about having to part ways. "Mingyu's the coolest guy I've ever met," he declared without shame.

Mingyu grinned back. "I'll take that."

Wonwoo shook his head at them both, though he couldn't hide the warmth tugging at his lips.

When they returned to class and settled into their seats, Mingyu leaned sideways, voice low, mischief dancing in his tone.

"Your friend seems to like me," he said, his grin pulling wider.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, but his chest betrayed him with a small, traitorous flutter.

"Of course he does. Everyone does. I mean—who doesn't?"

Mingyu leaned in slightly closer, his voice dipping. "Do you, princess? Do you like me?" 

His eyes lingered on Wonwoo's face, catching the faint flush that bloomed there and the restless way Wonwoo's fingers fidgeted against his notebook.

"I—I don't hate you," Wonwoo muttered.

"So, should I take that as you like me?" Mingyu asked, closing the gap just a fraction more, until their shoulders brushed and Wonwoo could feel the steady thrum of Mingyu's presence.

Wonwoo swallowed hard and refused to meet his eyes. He knew too well the effect of those eyes—the way they had the power to shake him from the inside. Instead, he pressed a hand against Mingyu's chest, gentle but firm, pushing him back just slightly to break the closeness.

"Think whatever you want," he said flatly, turning his head toward the window as though the blur of the outside world could calm the storm in his chest. But the effort was in vain; Mingyu's soft chuckle from beside him only made the chaos worse.