Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ONE: AURICULA

pride

Sunghoon’s world is perfectly balanced on the edge of a knife. He’d like to say he walks the line without any trepidation, but it’s more of a… fake it ‘til you make it sort of deal. Make sense? 

(Yeah, it doesn’t really compute for him either.)

To put it simply, there are a few things he’s always known about himself. You know, fundamentally. Building blocks of the universe. The pillars of character. Park Sunghoon being made of 70% spite, 20% beauty, and 10% genuine sincerity he doesn’t know how to deal with. Ever. There’s a whole bunch of stuff that goes into his perception of himself and the people around him, but at seventeen, he’s got a pretty good handle of himself. His likes and dislikes, his habits and his annoying tendencies, what he’s allergic to and the kinds of people he likes to surround himself with. 

He could go into childhood memories and long-repressed realizations and coming-of-age bullshit, but honestly? Just watch any high school movie with a popular, pretty, intelligent guy (apparently that’s not a thing, but then how would he know? it’s not like he has time for those anyway) and suffer in the knowledge that Sunghoon lives life like that everyday, careless, while you have to deal with things like consequences, and failure. He’s on top of the world. It’s not his fault that there isn’t much room up here for everyone else. (Okay, fine , Sunoo, you can stop laughing now.)

Not all of that is necessarily true, but he’s sure that’s what it looks like to other people. Like he’s got all his shit together, like being good-looking solves all his problems.

But anyway, what does not come into his definition of himself— unbiased and modest as it happens to be— is a soulmate. His so-called better half, missing piece of the puzzle, what have you. The only part of him that’s missing is the lock of hair he hurriedly snipped off when Jaeyun decided they’d both look good as redheads and splurged on cheap off the shelf dye. (Spoiler alert: taking inspiration from Merida is good when it comes to rebellion and badassery— not so much haircare.) The universe has already had its say in his life, in his opinion. It can butt out and leave now, thanks.

So yeah. He’s made it this far. He might be on the edge of a knife, but it’s a pretty knife, you know. He’s a skater, anyway, so good balance is basically built into him. He’s got this handled. One more year of high school, then whatever prestigious college his parents ship him off to, and then the Olympics before he’s twenty-three. His future is planned, set, glorious. 

And then comes Lee Heeseung, and, well. The knife suddenly starts gleaming terrifyingly in the sunlight. 

— — —

Lee Heeseung is giving Sunghoon a Bad Vibe. 

And not even like a psychic, sixth sense, third eye ‘he’s not meant to be here’ sort of Bad, just… a plain old Bad Vibe. People that pretty are always fucked up in some way under the surface— just look at Sunghoon, slowly losing his mind under the pressure of juggling too many commitments in too little time. Heeseung probably, like, secretly bullies people or makes those dark humor jokes that are just plain rude or is infiltrating their school to hold them for ransom on behalf of the kkangpae. 

Sure, he seems unassuming and quiet, and sure, everyone’s all abuzz about him (in a good way, in a ‘he’s going to be invited to every party this year’ type of way) and yeah, the last time Sunghoon had a Bad Vibe he ended up becoming the older brother Yang Jungwon never had, but still. A Bad Vibe is a Bad Vibe is a Bad Vibe, and he’s going to follow his gut instinct of judging every action he takes until he reaches a consensus of ‘well my instincts were on vacation that day’ or ‘right on the money, Sunghoon’.

His eyes narrow across the cafeteria as the school’s newfound celebrity eats the processed plastic and bleached meat this school calls a lunch. At least two people are taking pictures of him while pretending to take selfies, and half of Sunghoon’s table is staring rather unabashedly. They’re very much in the majority on this. 

“You think he’d give me his number if I asked?” Jaeyun says a bit wistfully (although he tries his best to hide that), and Sunghoon immediately snorts, cracking a smile and turning to his friend with a conspiratorial grin.

“I would love to find out,” he says, waggling his eyebrows, and then smirks around a forkful of noodles as Jaeyun gives him a reproachful but amused look. His uniform— blue and white, sort of childish for a private school— is spattered in flour from what Sunghoon has heard from no less than four people was a nightmarish cooking class. He winces and grabs a tissue from the box on the table, reaching over the table to wipe at his neck. “Although maybe don’t do it when you’re covered in flour?”

And while I don’t have a camera to record your humiliation, he thinks slyly. Yes, he loves Jaeyun, and yes, he would love to play that video at his wedding. He can have both.

Jaeyun glances over his shoulder and Sunghoon tuts since it puts him out of his reach and effectively gives Lee Heeseung even more attention. “Nah,” he says after a moment, clearly transfixed. “He doesn’t seem like the type to say yes.”

“What, to you specifically or in general?” Sunghoon asks. He’s heard quite a lot of things about Lee Heeseung today— that he got held back in elementary school, that he came first in the state during exams last year, that he’s friends with TXT. He can take a guess as to which one of these rumors is most likely to ring true. 

Of course, his relationship status is pretty high in contention as well. Is he single? Is he into guys or girls or both or neither? Does he have a soulmate? If he does, then who? If he doesn’t, then is he waiting for the One, or, you know— still on the market?

“He works for SM or something, right?” Jaeyun says, turning back to Sunghoon and shrugging. “They might have him on a dating ban.”

Right . Sunghoon’s nose crinkles. The clincher here, the only reason people care at all that some guy has transferred to school a full three weeks after everyone else started the term, is because he models for one of South Korea’s biggest entertainment companies. 

There’s plenty of indirectly high-profile people here. This is one of the top academies in the region; the children of politicians, chaebols, famous celebrities, etc etc all mingle in the halls together, but it’s rare someone is talented or outstanding in some way on their own merit. He’s heard enough whispers about himself to know people take more of an interest when you’re the famous one rather than your parents. 

Honestly, Sunghoon is just annoyed he's stealing all the spotlight. He’s not even that interesting. (Which is probably why he’s been staring out of the corner of his eye for the last ten minutes.)

“Probably,” Sunghoon responds, and it comes out sounding sharp. He gives Heeseung one last glance, and then looks back down at his food. “Besides,” he says, a smile beginning to curve his lips, “what about Sunoo?”

Jaeyun gives him a Look. “Don’t. Literally just don’t,” he says, and Sunghoon snickers but doesn’t push it. He’s pretty sure he’s wrung every taunt out of the towel on that particular point.

“He’s probably the ‘waiting for his soulmate’ type anyway,” he shrugs, trying to placate Jaeyun.

Privately, he thinks it doesn’t really matter if you date around before meeting your destined lover, or whatever, but some people are determined to be loyal, even to someone they’ve never met. From Sunghoon’s point of view, why bother? If there’s really someone out there who’s supposedly made to love him, then they’ll understand if he doesn’t put his life on hold until he meets them.

Not that he has time for romance at the moment. That’ll have to wait until after high school… and then his skating career… and then whatever will inevitably crop up next. His soulmate had better be prepared, is all he’s saying, to contend with all that.

Jaeyun agrees noncommittally. It’s not like you can really tell based off looks, Sunghoon admits— and yeah, at the time the irony sails right over his head. “Besides, he seems kind of stuck-up to me,” he adds, and predictably Jaeyun swats his shoulder. He’s always been the optimistic— in this case Sunghoon thinks it’s closer to naive — one. 

“Come on, man, I bet you haven’t even talked to him yet. Give him a chance,” Jaeyun says, brows furrowing. What righteous anger on behalf of someone he’s never met either. 

“You’re just saying that,” Sunghoon grins, and then goes in for the kill. “You just think he’s good-looking.”

Jaeyun flushes. Shots fired. “No,” he says with a sheepish grin. “I just think it’s rude to write him off altogether just because he’s a model,” he maintains, raising his eyebrows, and Sunghoon shakes his head, still smirking. “You can’t judge him anyway, man, haven’t you modeled a couple times?”

“Casually,” Sunghoon scoffs, “and only for skating-related purposes. And don’t think,” he says, speaking over Jaeyun’s amused protests, “that I missed you changing the subject.”

“I stand by what I said,” Jaeyun starts.

“Yeah, and what you said is incredibly biased.”

Jaeyun tosses a French fry at his head. “Literally so is what you said? At least I’m being nice here,” he says, pressing his hands to his heart and pretending it hurts. “You’re just being cruel.”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “I never knew you’d be so weak for a pretty face.”

“So you agree he’s—”

“Someone posted his schedule online,” Sunghoon adds, ignoring him and tilting his head and grinning. “I have math with him, so if you want, I could introduce y—“

“I swear to god,” Jaeyun says earnestly, spoon clattering down into his tray as he covers his face with both hands. Sunghoon does the natural thing and completely disregards his apparent discomfort to continue teasing him. He’s not really in the practice of— how would you put it?— letting things go. 

— — — 

He wasn’t lying about sharing the worst class of the day with Jaeyun’s new celebrity crush— gag— so when the class stares in excited silence, half their mouths opening to tell the newly introduced Heeseung ( hello, I’m Lee Heeseung, I’m excited to meet everyone, please take care of me, yada yada) that ‘you can sit next me, oppa!’, it’s him that bites the bullet, takes Jaeyun’s advice of giving him a chance, and satisfies his own curiosity all in one go by piping up before everyone else. “There’s an empty seat by me if that’s okay with you,” he prompts, giving Heeseung his best smile. 

It’s actually kind of funny how many people deflate at his words. Heeseung bows, smiles quickly, and thanks him in one breath before sliding into the seat next to him. Sunghoon clinched the much sought-after window seat in the third row on the first day, and everyone was annoyed enough that they left the seat next to him at the same desk empty. Now, as Heeseung slides into it, he’s pretty sure he’s just solidified his status as public enemy #1 for math class 3-A. He can practically feel the burning gazes of half the class singeing the side of his head.

The teacher remains oblivious to the longing glances sent Heeseung’s way and the death glares Sunghoon’s and starts the lesson as Heeseung begins to unpack his things. 

Sunghoon finds himself watching curiously out of the corner of his eye, realizing the distance between them is shorter than he would have thought, and then finds he… doesn’t exactly hate what he sees.

Okay, so Heeseung is kind of— sort of— good-looking. You know, like, objectively. If you like big brown eyes and the most perfect teeth Sunghoon has ever seen on a living being and thick, dark, curly hair. He sees the whole model angle too— he’s tall, probably six feet at least, has a great side profile, and manages to make even their cutesy uniform look good, carrying himself with some sort of innate poise. If Sunghoon worked at SM, he’d no doubt have scouted Heeseung for a few magazine covers as well. 

But, being sensible and smart and not at all prone to making snap judgements, he’ll hold off until he gets some sense of his personality, because the Bad Vibe is definitely still making itself known. 

(Besides, innate poise usually translates to ‘I think I’m better than you’, so. Yeah, they’ll see.)

The math lesson today is something they all already learned last year, so everyone is idly whispering when the teacher turns his back. Usually Sunghoon doesn’t join in— because they’ve isolated him with the coveted window over here— but today his knee is already jogging up and down under the table with unspent energy and curiosity. “So where did you transfer from—” he asks— as innocuous a question as he can think of— “Heeseung… hyung? Should I be calling you hyung?” His voice is hesitant.

Heeseung looks up from where he’s— diligently taking notes?— and gives him a slightly awkward grin, flashing those picture-perfect teeth, eyes scrunching. Maybe Sunghoon’s heart skips a beat (shut up) . “Wabu,” Heeseung says, completely oblivious. “And— yeah, I think I’m your hyung.”

So maybe that rumor of him getting held back really is the true one.

Sunghoon opens his mouth to say something else, but Heeseung quickly cuts him off. “I— sorry, can I concentrate on the lesson? I don’t want to fall behind,” he says, and with a surge of satisfaction, Sunghoon’s hits on why exactly this guy gives off Bad Vibes— it’s because he’s probably more of a goody-two-shoes than the principal. 

One of those ‘can’t talk properly to save his life’ types. Or maybe that annoying category of straight-laced where he’ll not only refuse to break a rule but also tell on you for breaking it in front of him. His brain jumps from possibility to possibility like a detective on a case, each being less— more?— likely than the next.

“Of course,” Sunghoon says with a smile that’s much more false than before. He hopes it at least conceals his in-depth mental analysis of Heeseung if not his surprise and subsequent mild offense. “Sorry.”

Heeseung smiles again— he’s deflecting, Sunghoon thinks, because he does the same thing— and goes back to his work.

Well. That’s— very underwhelming.

(He’s not sure what he was expecting, but most of the time people he decides to spend this much time questioning the motives of do end up giving him more than half a minute of attention… not that it matters, of course.)

Thankfully, the teacher doesn’t drone on for too long— which here means that only two people fell asleep instead of five— and tells them to open up their books and start working. Predictably, everyone takes this as a free pass to pretend they don’t have work at all and instead lean over each other’s seats and gossip, or pull out their phones and start texting. 

Sunghoon, who only has one person to potentially make conversation with anyway, finishes his work in record time, checks it over again, and looks over— well, ‘looks over’ is a broad term since he can practically see everything in his peripheral vision anyway— to see Heeseung has erased the first three problems to death and skipped the fourth altogether.

He presses his lips together. It would be an asshole move to feel smug, right? 

(Maybe just the once is okay.)

But he thinks— hopes— that he at least makes up for the less than charitable thought by offering to help. “Hyung?” he clears his throat hesitantly. “Do you need some help?”

“What?” Heeseung looks up. Bambi eyes , Sunghoon thinks immediately, because they kind of just— pin you down a bit, make it hard to think. And yeah, okay, they’re kind of cute. Jungwon-esque, if you will. “No, no, that’s okay,” he says hurriedly, and Sunghoon has to blink and shake his head slightly to process. No one ever said he functioned well around pretty people. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Sunghoon shakes his head again, this time properly. “No, I’m already done— it’s no problem,” he says, half-truthfully. Most of the time it isn’t a problem, but with this guy… it’s like his worst feature is his politeness. 

Heeseung hesitates, and inwardly, it grates on him. He can’t imagine why it would be such a huge problem to accept his help. Is it because he’s younger or something? Is it out of a genuine desire to not inconvenience him? Is it just to waste both their time? Buzzfeed Unsolved couldn’t crack this one. 

“I’m top of the class,” Sunghoon tries, throwing in a bit of joking haughtiness as he leans back in his chair. “This is a rare offer, you know,” he teases. “Tons of people are lining up to be tutored by m—“

“Okay, yeah, thanks,” Heeseung says finally— and a little abruptly— sliding the paper closer and giving him a small smile that is really a grimace at second glance. The teeth don’t make an appearance.

Sunghoon blinks, leaning forward again to sit straight in his chair, and is silent for a long moment before he clears his throat and asks, once again with a false sort of cheer, what exactly Heeseung is confused about. 

“Oh, um… I’ll just do it again, hold on,” Heeseung says, quickly doing over what he’d erased. Sunghoon watches with the feeling that— hey, maybe he shouldn’t have invited Bad Vibes guy to sit with him for the rest of the school year? His pen clicks repeatedly under the table.

“Okay, yeah, so I can solve it all the way through, but then when I go to check it and plug it back in, it doesn’t work out,” Heeseung says, pointing at the problem.

Sunghoon abandons clicking the pen, leans forward, and stares for a full ten seconds before giving up and pulling his own completed set of problems to the center of their table, comparing their steps instead.

“Oh, I didn’t— I don’t want the answers,” Heeseung says, eyes widening. 

I wasn’t about to give them to you? “No, no cheating, of course, I’m just— okay, yeah, got it. So when the exponents are over each other like this, you don’t divide them, you subtract,” Sunghoon says, looking back at Heeseung’s paper and nodding to himself. “And when it says to multiply, you have to add them, so— do you mind if I—?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and writes straight on Heeseung’s paper, circling the numbers he’s talking about. “I think it’s page three-hundred something in the book, with all the formulas,” he supplies, flipping open his own and immediately deciding he’s not putting in all the effort to search awkwardly as Heeseung watches. “So that’s why it wouldn’t work if you plugged this in,” he points at Heeseung’s answer, clicking his pen one more time once he’s done.

Heeseung looks at him, expression unreadable for a long moment, and then nods. “Okay. Thanks.”

Sunghoon tries not to be offended and fails, mostly because he no longer has the patience to try very hard. What’s his problem? “You’re welcome,” he responds a few seconds later in the same tone as Heeseung— kind of frosty, polite but insincere. He lifts his hands off the table for Heeseung to slide his paper back towards him and simultaneously takes back his own as well, flicking idly through the problems one more time to give him something to do as he seethes inwardly. 

It’s not like this guy is a mind-reader, right? Because on the inside Sunghoon’s been dissing him, sure— and actually, even mentally he’s been complimenting the shit out of his looks. But outwardly, he’s been nothing but unfailingly polite. He invited him to sit next to him, tried to make conversation, helped him with his homework… what else does he even want? 

He eventually pulls out a book and starts reading as the class period comes to an end, people chattering in the background. When he looks over at Heeseung and sees that he’s gotten through most of the page, he spots a mistake in the third problem and can’t resist telling him, ignoring that little voice in his head that knows a thing or two about social situations and is warning him to not get involved in it. “The third one is wrong. It’s supposed to be 12, not 6, so I think you messed up plugging it back into the equation too,” he says. “Hyung.” It comes as an afterthought, just slightly late enough that he probably noticed but also not so late as to be rude. Knife’s edge, well-balanced individual— the point’s been made before. 

“Oh. Yeah,” Heeseung says with a slight cough, just barely sparing him half a glance. “Thanks,” he repeats. Sunghoon doesn’t bother with another ‘no problem’ or any other platitude.

The bell rings, and they both get up and leave for separate classes. Whatever, Sunghoon tells himself. It wasn’t him being rude; it was Heeseung. He doesn't have anything to feel guilty about, right?

Yeah. The more he thinks about it, the more he’s sure he didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not his problem anyway, so— whatever. He texts Jaeyun sitting in his next class, smirking slightly to himself: I think I was right about him being stuck-up

Oh cmon, Jaeyun responds. Typical. 

No seriously , Sunghoon types. I’ll tell you later , he ends up adding as the teacher clears her throat and looks pointedly at his phone, starting the lesson.

Behind him, he hears a girl lean over to her friend and whisper, as though solely for Sunghoon’s detriment, “Did you see that Lee Heeseung guy?” 

(The Bad Vibe begins to grow.)

— — — 

Retelling the incident to Jaeyun becomes— well, not that he knew it at the time, young and naive as he was— a bit of a tradition. 

That first day, it consists of this: “I did what you said, okay, before you start coming for me,” he says as a greeting as they both walk across campus together. 

“What do you mean?” Jaeyun asks. Sunghoon slings his book bag over one shoulder. “Is this about Lee Heeseung again?”

“Yes, and you’re the one that brought him up in the first place, so suffer with me now,” Sunghoon says impatiently. “I said he could sit next to me—“

“Really? I thought everyone would want to,” Jaeyun interrupts, completely undercutting the favor Sunghoon did for him.

“Not the point,” Sunghoon says, brushing him off. “I said he could sit with me, I was really nice to him— I even helped him with the work we were doing. In math, Jaeyun, you know I hate math.”

“The worst opinion you’ve had to date, but continue,” Jaeyun says passive-aggressively. 

“Whatever, Mr. Physicist,” Sunghoon rolls his eyes, grinning despite himself. “And he was polite, but… I could just tell he didn’t like me,” he says, put out.

Jaeyun shakes his head slowly. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense, Sunghoonie.”

“Like— like he was really passive-aggressive, I guess. Every time I said something, he’d kind of just be like ‘okay?’” As if he was mentally adding on the ‘so’ that inevitably came sassily after it, Sunghoon decides.

“Are you sure you’re not just exaggerating?” Jaeyun asks skeptically. “Everyone else says he’s really nice.”

“‘Everyone else’ is living in a state of delusion,” Sunghoon says, eyes flashing. “And since when do I exaggerate anyway?” he asks, mock-offended.

“Well—“ Jaeyun starts on what will inevitably be a friendship-ending sentence and is fortunately cut off by Jungwon running up to them. He gives Sunghoon a look that probably conveys more than whatever his spoken defense could have, and instead they both turn their attention to their dongsaeng.

“Hey,” Jungwon says a little breathlessly. “Let’s go, let’s go, I have to be home in fifteen minutes,” he adds as Sunghoon opens his mouth casually to ask him, rather pointedly, what he thinks of Lee Heeseung.

Jaeyun laughs as Sunghoon huffs, interrupted before he can even start, and impatiently waits for Jungwon to go get his bike, his own already leaning against the wall next to him. It used to be a mutual point of annoyance that Jungwon’s mom conspired with Sunghoon’s mom to get them to bike to and from school together in previous years ( we know it’s a safe neighborhood, but we just want you both to be careful, yada yada), but now that Sunghoon’s come around to Jungwon— not that he’d ever say so to his face— it’s more embarrassing for Jungwon to essentially be monitored biking home than it is for Sunghoon to call out things like “watch out for puddles, Jungwonie” and “oh, be careful with that branch” to tease him. 

“See you,” Jaeyun calls over his shoulder as he leaves, and Sunghoon hums in response. Jungwon high-fives Jaeyun as he passes and draws level with Sunghoon in record time, immediately rocketing past him.

“Wha— hey! Jungwonie!” Sunghoon says, eyes widening, and he takes off as quickly as he can behind him.

— — —

As is customary for their motley group of friends— as motley as four, sometimes five Korean boys all wearing the same uniform and with the same hair color can really be— they meet up at their local coffee shop to complain, pretend to do homework, and slowly drive the noonas working there crazy. 

Jongseong’s always there first, diligently doing his homework next to the window. It’s around six-thirty already; they get out of class around three, then it’s almost four by the time Sunghoon drops off Jungwon and heads to skating practice for two hours— which is shorter than usual, if you can believe it— and now finally plunks his heavy bag onto the table, face following suit.

“I see you had a great day,” Jongseong remarks. 

“One of these days I’m gonna fall asleep standing up,” Sunghoon says, voice muffled by the tabletop, “and cut my face open on the ice.”

Jongseong hums sympathetically, and Sunghoon groans and sits up, rubbing at his eyes and yawning. “What’ve you been doing all day?” he asks. 

“Student Congress,” he sighs. Jongseong is, for some inexplicable reason, student body president this year, and that’s odd not because he wouldn’t be elected ordinarily— because he definitely would— but because of the fact that he actually said yes. Sunghoon would honestly have thought he would have recognized that it would just drive him insane. “Someone keeps vandalizing the third floor boy’s bathroom—”

“That’s not vandalism,” Sunoo says in a scandalized voice from behind Sunghoon. He flops into the seat beside him and adds his bag to the pile of three on top of the table, his uniform neater than both of theirs combined. Jongseong hates the tie and Sunghoon’s jacket is buried somewhere beneath a textbook in his bag, so they both look more like delinquents than the only person here who’s ever actually served a detention. (He tried to raise three kittens in a storage cupboard last winter and failed to keep it a secret.) “That’s art!”

“I think you might be missing the definition of vandalism,” Jongseong raises an eyebrow as Sunoo takes out his laptop. “Besides, it’s not like they even painted anything nice; they just wrote fuck this place on the ceiling.”

Sunghoon’s startled into snickering. “And now you’re tracking down the criminal?” he guesses.

Jongseong pulls a face. “I don’t think we’ll ever know,” he says at the same time Sunoo adds pointedly, “they also did a very nice mural on the wall next to it.”

“Well, then take it up with the person in charge.”

“Hyung, that’s you,” Sunoo says hotly, and Sunghoon is just beginning to start laughing again when Jaeyun shows up covered in grass. 

“The hell happened to you?” Jongseong asks by way of greeting.

“I’m not letting this go, hyung—”

“Soccer practice,” Jaeyun says, sitting down next to Jongseong. “The showers are broken,” he explains, and Sunghoon wrinkles his nose and makes a show of leaning away from him.

“Gross,” Sunoo agrees, and then launches into a tirade on how Jongseong shouldn't abuse his authority like the last student body president did by having the school dance colors be the atrocious combination of orange and purple instead of blue and silver like everyone else voted on. 

“The president has power of veto,” Jaeyun says, shrugging as though to say what can you do? 

Sunoo narrows his eyes. “That’s called tyranny, Jaeyun-ssi,” he says primly, and Sunghoon and Jongseong exchange raised-eyebrow looks. (They’ve had a bet going on these two since Sunoo walked in his first year of high school and charmed Jaeyun in less than twenty-four hours. If Jaeyun can manage to man up sometime before the end of this school year, Sunghoon will be a full ten thousand won richer.)

“Well, in this form of government we also have a thing called delegation, so I’m delegating the task of dealing with complaints to someone else,” Jongseong says decisively. “Why didn’t you join if it mattered to you that much?”

“You don’t join a government if you hate it, you rebel against it.” Sunoo sticks his nose into the air. He’s adorable. Down with their government indeed. 

“Can you rebel by going and buying me a latte?” Sunghoon says with a bright smile.

Sunoo gives him a look. “Subtle,” he says, but he goes anyway, and Sunghoon passes him a random bill from inside his wallet to pay for the drink. 

The moment Sunoo’s gone, he takes the chance to look at what he was doing on his laptop; there’s a spreadsheet open to what looks suspiciously like the assigned parts for this year’s winter production. 

“Don’t do anything to it,” Jaeyun says, but he leans over to take a peek as well.

“Is that your name I see there?” Sunghoon asks slyly, and Jaeyun blanches and slams the laptop shut. Jongseong looks up from his homework conspiratorially.

“Oh, really? What did he get, Villager #3?” Jongseong asks with a laugh. “I didn’t know you did theater.”

“He got something big,” Sunghoon says in awe, and then his eyes dart to where Sunoo’s buying him coffee and back to Jaeyun, who looks guiltier than a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“I wasn’t supposed to know that yet,” he scolds, but his eyes are glowing with happiness. Sunghoon’s too shocked to be proud yet. 

“Jaeyun, you sly dog. That’s three months of singing love songs with Sunoo, isn’t it? His name was right next to yours!”

Jongseong bursts out laughing, slapping the table with one hand and doubling over his math assignment. “Oh my god. You joined for him?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this!” Sunghoon exclaims, but he’s laughing as well, because Jaeyun may have been simping over Heeseung earlier, but apparently he’s still loyal at heart. “And since when can you act?” 

“Since last Monday,” Jaeyun says, although his eyes are trained on Sunoo. “Stop laughing,” he says urgently. “He’ll hear you.” 

“Let him hear,” Jongseong says mischievously. “Are you the Juliet to his Romeo?”

“No,” Jaeyun says vehemently, but then he winces. “I’m the… Gomez to his Morticia?”

They’re both practically rolling on the floor by now. “You’re the what to his what?” Sunghoon asks, choking on laughter. Jaeyun’s face is slowly going redder than a tomato. 

“Leave me alone,” he whines. “I thought it would be fun and Sunoo just happened to be there, okay?”

“He’s literally the one in charge,” Jongseong cackles. “Wow. And here Jungwonie and I thought you had no game,” he says. Soulmates. So annoying. 

Most people have something subtle, right? Shared dreams, cute soulmarks, a streak of their soulmate’s hair color. Jungwon and Jongseong, those overdramatic assholes, can read each other’s fucking minds. They’ve been on the news. Jongseong has, like, fifty thousand Instagram followers. It’s rare, because the connection is personalized for everyone— and to that, all Sunghoon can say is thank god. He can’t imagine having someone constantly in his head like that.

They’re cute together, though, even if they’re a walking K-Drama trope. And it’s hard to stay annoyed at Jungwon for anything, really, so Sunghoon can almost put up with their incessant PDA. (It goes on even when one of them’s not in the room, for god’s sake.) 

“Hey,” Jaeyun protests, but they all catch Sunoo coming back over to them, cup in hand, and quickly stifle their laughter.

It’s actually kind of odd Sunoo and Jaeyun aren’t soulmates, if Jaeyun is crushing this bad. Then again, as far as Sunghoon knows, they haven’t even held hands yet— so who knows? Soulmate connections are iffy, unpredictable. Sometimes all it takes is meeting their eyes for it to materialize; other times it’s kissing them, or saying the words I love you to each other, or even singing in harmony for the first time. 

He thinks of the musical and hides a grin; maybe they’ll find out sooner than they think.

Sunoo hands him his drink and gives them all an odd look. “What’s so funny?” he asks, sitting back down and obliviously opening his laptop again.

Jaeyun gives Sunghoon a look that clearly says he won’t be forgiven for telling Sunoo the truth. “We heard you’re doing the Addams Family for the musical this year,” Sunghoon prompts, and Sunoo gets distracted pretty easily from there talking all about his plans for the production.

Sunghoon gives Jaeyun a knowing wink and takes a sip of his coffee, leaning back in his chair and listening to the chatter around him; Sunoo talking about the musical, Jongseong typing on his laptop, Jaeyun agreeing animatedly with everything Sunoo says. He’s tired, but he feels best around his friends. They fill the silence.

———

The next day is characterized once again by Lee Heeseung’s arrival. It’ll go down in history, Sunghoon thinks vindictively, as the second day of Lee Heeseung attending their school. 

(It’s… quite a lot like the first). 

The buzz has yet to die down— it probably won’t until some other new, exciting event captures everyone’s attention— and once again, his schedule prevents him from seeing his friends half the day. And by virtue of his impressive lack of foresight yesterday, he gets one full hour of time beside the person he has the least interest in interacting with.

Contrary to how much he really doesn’t want to see Heeseung again (seriously. Really. He doesn’t) he’s oddly anticipatory of it all day; he doesn’t know whether that’s good or bad. Maybe he’s just bored out of his mind sitting through his classes— although he knows it’ll get a lot worse considering how many advanced courses he’s in. Most people do two or three, maybe four or five if their parents get on their case about it. Sunghoon, having no self-preservation and an extreme desire to prove himself, is taking six. So while it may all be easy review right now, he knows he’ll be cursing himself for taking all these classes later on.

Lunch comes after an agonizingly long time, and Jaeyun’s busy studying in the library today, so he sits with Sunoo and his crowd of younger friends. One of the freshmen, a Nishimura Riki from Japan, is sitting on the edge like Sunghoon is; it looks like the language barrier isn’t making things easy for him.

Sunghoon pulls out what little Japanese he does know, mostly from being around Jongseong and, by extension, Jungwon. He doesn’t think it’s fair that they’re technically both fluent, since Jongseong can just mentally tell him what to say and translate every time someone else speaks. 

All this to say that, well, he wishes either of them were here to help out a little. Riki does perk up when he starts talking with his stilted command of the language, but it quickly becomes apparent neither of them can really communicate much. They make do with what they have, though, and Sunghoon manages to learn that he came over the summer and got accepted as an idol trainee at a company nearby. 

“That’s so cool!” he says truthfully, grinning. “Um— sugoi,” he adds in Japanese, and Riki bursts out laughing. Sunghoon can’t resist joining in. He’s cute— Riki, that is. He can see why Sunoo likes him enough to introduce him to Sunghoon specifically. 

All in all, he’s feeling sort of good about the whole experience as he heads to math after lunch is over. Maybe even Lee Heeseung’s not that bad. He is new, after all… although he can’t exactly explain away being kind of rude to Sunghoon with a language barrier or being new to the country itself entirely. 

Whatever. Either way, he slides into his seat beside Heeseung with a sort of renewed determination to give this another shot. “Hyung,” he smiles the moment Heeseung sits down, dropping his bag on the table. “Hi,” he adds. Students chatter all around them, people stopping to wave at Heeseung or clap him on the shoulder or do something equally awkward. Sunghoon hides a wince. 

Heeseung somehow finds the time to nod in response. “Hi, um… Sungchul?”

Okay, wow— that kind of stings. “Sung hoon,” he corrects, smile becoming slightly fixed, and Heeseung purses his lips and apologizes, dipping his head again and chuckling awkwardly. He’s squeezed himself at the edge of the table, as far from Sunghoon as possible, and because Sunghoon is incapable of subtlety, he tilts his head and speaks up about it.

“You can spread your stuff out more, you know,” he says. “I know I was here first, but I won’t get offended if you sit a bit closer or anything.” That can’t possibly be misconstrued, can it?

Heeseung inhales and lets out another awkward laugh, obliging by scooting his chair exactly one inch closer. 

Seriously? Sunghoon is about two more stilted non-responses from giving up on the guy altogether. “So how are you settling in at school? I guess it must be kind of hard to be new,” he tries.

Heeseung shrugs. “I’m fine. Most of the people here are pretty nice,” he says, and something about the way he says it sounds like he’s implying Sunghoon is… not. 

Sunghoon inhales, holds it, and carefully leans away from Heeseung, resting his elbow on the windowsill and biting his cheek to keep from saying something stupid to someone who’s both his hyung and currently up on a pedestal. “That’s good,” he bites out. The bell rings and effectively cuts off any response Heeseung might have given. 

The lesson forces him to focus a bit more this time, so he pulls out his notebook and copies down all the formulas the teacher is listing, half-listening and half-brooding. Sungchul, he thinks, inwardly seething. Couldn’t even be bothered to remember my name.

So the Bad Vibe was, in fact, correct. And not only that, but Lee Heeseung is actually the worst category of annoying: the kind that’s only annoying to you and perfectly sweet to everyone else. So Sunghoon’s the one with the unpopular opinion here.

He can’t make himself look over at Heeseung properly, but every glimpse he gets through his peripheral vision only serves to make him more mad. 

Sungchul? Seriously? Sungchul?

Eventually the teacher ends the lesson, and Sunghoon leans back in his chair, his taut muscles relaxing slightly. He doesn’t bother to ask how Heeseung is doing, just dives right into his work. There’s no way he’s offering his help today.

Clearly he’d been too hasty in offering to let Heeseung sit here beside him. There were at least four other empty seats in the classroom— so why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? Dammit .

Unfortunately, maybe Heeseung picks up on the Do Not Disturb vibe Sunghoon’s no doubt giving off strong enough to to form almost a physical aura, or was just never planning on asking Sunghoon in the first place, because ten minutes into their work time, he raises his hand and calls over the teacher to explain it to him instead.

Sunghoon’s pen clicks and clicks and clicks its way through the whole class period.

— — — 

“So you’re this mad at him because he forgot your name, and then he… asked the teacher for help?” Jaeyun summarizes from his position on Sunghoon’s bed, arms wrapped around one of his little sister’s stuffed animals and legs propped up on the wall, vaguely resembling a flailing insect. But, since it’s Jaeyun, a cute one.

“Come on! It’s really rude to forget people’s names like that, isn’t it? And I’m not mad he asked for help— I’m mad he apparently thought he was too superior to ask me,” Sunghoon says petulantly, resting his chin on one hand.

“I seriously think you’re overthinking this,” Jaeyun says reasonably. “He probably met like, a hundred people yesterday. Of course he’s gonna forget some of them.”

“Yeah, but I sat next to him for a whole hour. It wasn’t like I just said hi and left or something.”

Jaeyun pulls a face at him, upside down and more funny than it is intimidating.

“Fine, you have a point, but like— maybe he just has a bad memory,” Jaeyun tries, shrugging as best he can in his current position. “And maybe he was embarrassed to ask you for help. Wouldn’t you feel weird asking Sunoo for help with homework? It’s probably because he’s older.” 

He hates when Jaeyun gets all reasonable and sensible like this. Would it really be so bad to just say ‘yeah, Sunghoon, I agree— he’s totally an asshole’ like a good friend?

“No,” Sunghoon says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can tell when someone just doesn’t like me.”

“Sunghoon,” Jaeyun says firmly. “You’re literally one of the nicest people I know. There’s no way he just ‘doesn’t like you’ for no reason,” he says, turning and looking properly at Sunghoon, expression softening. “If you really feel bad about it—“

“No, I’m just proving a point here. Whether he likes me or not doesn’t matter,” he gives Jaeyun a reproachful look. “He just pisses me off. And it would be kind of inconvenient to sit next to somebody for the whole year and not talk to them at all, you know.”

“I guess,” Jaeyun says, clearly unconvinced. 

“And I also have to introduce him to you, which means I should at least try being friends with him—“

“You’re such a horrible friend,” Jaeyun groans immediately, grabbing one of Sunghoon’s pillows and stuffing his face into it to avoid looking at his wicked grin.

“Fine, fine, enough about Lee Heeseung,” Sunghoon declares, stretching and getting up from where he’s been unsuccessfully making his way through what must be the most boring pages of reading in his entire history textbook. (At least he hopes this is the worst it’ll get, because if it gets even more boring than this, then he’s kind of screwed.) “Come on, I think there’s still ice cream left in the fridge from Gaeul’s birthday last week,” he jerks his head toward the door. 

Jaeyun rolls over and crushes the stuffed animal in one go. “All right,” he says, much more enthused. “One condition.”

Sunghoon halts halfway through the doorway, one hand on the edge of the wall. “What?”

Jaeyun’s expression turns mischievous. “Are you sure you don’t like him?”

He cycles swiftly through the five stages of grief at this question before dropping his head into his hands. “Not every set of rivals is secretly in love, Jaeyun.”

“It kinda seems like it!” he raises his hands as if in surrender, still grinning as Sunghoon peeks out through his fingers. “You haven’t complained about anyone this much since you first met Jungwon and thought he was a brat.”

“Fine, so maybe I’ll come around to Heeseung someday and start making friendship bracelets with him,” Sunghoon says sarcastically. “Do you realize how crazy that sounds?”

“If you say so,” Jaeyun mutters. “You’re ignoring the evidence, th—”

“Are you saying the scientific method is telling you that I’m destined to be friends with Heeseung?” Sunghoon counters.

Jaeyun gives him a grin. “I’m just saying, man. Laying out the facts for you.”

“Okay, then there’s another one: I don’t like Lee Heeseung, and I’m sure he doesn’t like me either,” Sunghoon says slowly, spelling out the real truth of it for him. “Now come on, or else a couple other facts are gonna make it back to Heeseung,” he says, raising a brow.

“Oh, no wonder he doesn’t like you,” Jaeyun grumbles, and then pillows start flying.

— — — 

On the third day, Heeseung brings in cookies.

It’s so out of left field that Sunghoon stares for a full minute as he passes them out to the utterly gleeful class. 

“Are these handmade , hyung?”

“Wow, they’re even better than the ones in the store!”

“Oh, white chocolate’s my favorite!”

Sunghoon is half-expecting him to skip him altogether, but every single person, even the teacher (who by the looks of it has been utterly charmed by Heeseung already) gets one. Does he have six boxes of these? For all his classes? 

Sunghoon asks as he reaches into the box and takes one for himself, and Heeseung sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck. “I’ve been rotating so I only have to bring one box everyday,” he says, and, well. What a strategy. Free food equals instant friends in virtually every place you can find. And true to form, Heeseung is surrounded by a gaggle of people following and actively chatting with him until the bell rings to actually start class. Everyone groans, fights over who gets the last three extra cookies in the box, and eventually settles down as Heeseung puts it away. Sunghoon has to admit they are kind of good. 

“So,” the teacher starts, clapping their hands together. “I hate to ruin all your fun,” they continue, and immediately dread takes hold of Sunghoon’s heart. “but today we’re having a pop quiz!”

The entire class bursts out with protests, Sunghoon included, and the teacher raises a hand for silence. “Next time I’ll warn you, but this time I’m testing whether you’ve all been doing your homework or not.”

They all groan as the teacher starts sorting through a set of papers, and Sunghoon frowns at the stack apprehensively. He has been doing his work, but it’s not like he has everything memorized already. 

“Do they normally do this?” Heeseung asks him, and Sunghoon’s so surprised to even have been asked that it takes him a few seconds to formulate a response.

“What, the teachers?” he asks skeptically. “Sometimes. Most of them don’t, but it happens a lot more in English especially, you know, to test if we’ve been reading the books and all.”

“Oh,” Heeseung nods. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

The papers make their way down the row toward them, and silence descends on the classroom. Heeseung passes the last one to him and whispers “good luck.”

Sunghoon has to read the first question four times before he even picks up his pen.

Have the last two days been a fever dream ? What happened to his Bad Vibe and Heeseung’s frosty silence and the utter awkwardness between them? 

Maybe it’s the atmosphere before taking a test. Endears you to everyone suffering with you. 

But revelations about Heeseung’s personality aside, he does have a test to take, so he hunkers down and focuses. 

It ends up being surprisingly easier than Sunghoon thought, and he finishes first. Normally that makes him a bit apprehensive, since it probably means he rushed through some stuff, but today he’s confident enough that he goes up and hands it in. The teacher looks over the first page in front of him and nods to himself. “Looks good, Sunghoon,” he says, and Sunghoon bows slightly, smiling to himself as he heads back to his seat. 

It’s not that he’s expecting to get the top score, but, well, he was top of the school in both his first and second year, so. It’s more or less the expectation at this point.

Most people hand theirs in not long after him, and slowly the amount of people working dwindles to just a few urgent pencils scratching on paper as everyone else reads or does homework or stares blankly at the ceiling. Sunghoon gets it. Sometimes it really is that hard to not fall asleep in class.

Once again, he feels like a bit of an asshole for being smug that Heeseung is the last person left working, all the way up until the bell. The diplomatic thing to say would be to say that people have different strengths, though, so maybe he’s just not as good at math? 

Sunghoon’s strengths don’t really lie in diplomacy, though, so his thoughts are a bit less… nice.

“Heeseung,” the teacher calls as everyone starts packing up. “Finish up, please. Class is about to end.”

(Okay, he might kind of be snickering on the inside. So what?)

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Heeseung says, and he scribbles an answer for the last question and springs out of his seat just as the bell rings. Sunghoon leaves with the stream of people that immediately go for the door, already discussing their answers, and for once his only offhand complaint about Heeseung to Jaeyun after school is that he should have made a few more cookies. 

(Jaeyun’s unsubtly jealous about that.)

— — — 

Walking into class the next day, Sunghoon already has a good idea of his score. For starters, everyone’s already dissected their answers with each other, him included. And, well, not to seem as stuck-up as Heeseung’s been acting the last few days, but really, he’s got this in the bag. Rare is the day that he isn’t top of the class at anything— science, arts and crafts, language arts. Math isn’t an exception. 

So he flops into his seat without any of the nervous energy that had been thrumming through him during the exam, relaxed as he leans back in his chair and pulls his books out of his backpack. 

Heeseung comes in not soon after; Sunghoon’s deduced his last class is probably further away than Sunghoon’s is because he’s always around a minute later arriving than Sunghoon is. That, or his pace is slowed down responding to the ridiculous amount of people that stop him in the halls to say hello or tell him his cookies were great or jokingly ask for autographs. All real stuff Sunghoon has witnessed, by the way. 

“Hey, hyung,” Sunghoon greets a little warily, not sure what to expect from him, and it turns out he’s right to be wary. 

“Hey,” Heeseung responds a bit abruptly, sitting down and immediately striking up a conversation with the guy behind him. He doesn’t spare Sunghoon a single glance.

Sunghoon exhales and pointedly looks away as well. Whatever. If Heeseung doesn’t put in any effort to be nice to him, then from now on he’s not doing it either.

Still, it seems like class takes an abnormally long amount of time to get going. First the teacher has to come in and sort through his papers, and then the class all has to sit and quiet down. And only then does he clap his hands for their attention— although Sunghoon in particular was already looking at him, hand propped on his chin and jaw clenched angrily from ignoring Heeseung (who, of course, isn’t paying him any attention either.)

“I’ll call out the names in order of rankings,” the teacher says, and immediately half the class groans. Sunghoon leans back in his chair, satisfied with that, at least. And, as he’s expecting, he’s not called in the bottom half of scores at all— and, surprisingly, neither is Heeseung. 

“How do you think you did?” he asks eventually, breaking his own unspoken vow of silence as his disbelief grows stronger and stronger. 

“Hmm?” Heeseung asks, looking over and immediately looking back at the front with a shrug. “Okay, I guess. It took me a while to finish, so I didn’t really get to check everything over…”

Well, Sunghoon knows that. 

It gets down to the last five papers, and both Sunghoon and Heeseung are still sitting in their seats. This is— ridiculous, Sunghoon thinks privately, but outwardly he allows himself to only look mildly interested, nothing else. There’s no way someone who finished in the last thirty seconds got this high of a grade?

Four people. Three. And then, finally, damningly, two. 

He looks over at Heeseung again, fleetingly, and catches him staring resolutely at the teacher. If he’s not imagining it, though, he’s leaning forward a little in his seat as well, maybe at least half as curious as Sunghoon.

It’ll be me, he thinks confidently. Maybe it’s arrogant, but where is he going to say it if not in the privacy of his own mind? 

“And number two,” the teacher reads off idly, making Sunghoon jump. He shakes his head slightly to clear it and squares his shoulders in anticipation. Lee—  “Park Sunghoon.”

—Heeseung?

Sunghoon jumps up and starts across the room on auto-pilot. He has the strong and rather hysterical urge to start laughing.
“And number one: Lee Heeseung,” the teacher finishes, and Heeseung gets up and brushes past him before Sunghoon’s even sat down. “Well done to most of you,” he adds with a slight smile. “I can see that some of you at least have been doing your work properly—”

And on he drones, though Sunghoon is, for once, not really listening. He sits stiffly in his seat and flips through the test to find the two mistakes he made: one on the first page, the other on the very last problem. And Heeseung’s bright red underlined 100 taunts him as he does so. It thumbs his nose at him and raspberries its tongue and prances around previously peaceful corners of his brain, irritating him to no end and stirring up trouble wherever it goes. If a test score was ever deserving of a witch-hunt, he thinks, biting hard enough into his lip that it starts to hurt, it would be this one. 

It’s not usually common practice for his classmates to congratulate each other on inconsequential grades like this one, which is how he knows everyone’s just looking for a way to be closer to Heeseung when they sidle up to him at random points during class to comment on his high score. They’re not subtle. 

“Wow, oppa, I’m so jealous! You only got here this week and you’ve already beaten all of us!’

“Could I see what you put for question four? Everyone else got it wrong and you’re the only person that got a perfect score!”

“Okay, you might have gotten first this time, but me and my seventy-eight are gonna get you someday, hyung~”

A good portion of the room laughs at that last one, Sunghoon excluded. He’s too busy slowly slumping lower and lower in his seat, emotions simmering, as he tries and fails to focus on their latest sheet of problems. 

So it’s not that he’s embarrassed, but like— it also is very much that he’s embarrassed. All that talk about him ‘having it in the ‘bag’? Yikes. 

His cheeks feel hot as he bites his lip, staring down at his paper and trying to convince himself it’s really not that big of a deal. So he got second to Heeseung— Heeseung who has been ignoring him for three days and probably already thinks he’s way better than Sunghoon or something and Heeseung who everyone is now treating like some celebrity, but, like, who even cares, right? 

Sure, Lee Heeseung seems kind of stuck-up, but it’s probably his own fault for assuming he was going to get a perfect score. And it’s not like he did badly . Two questions wrong on a test with fifty? That’s nothing to scoff at.

This is all much easier said than done, though, when the object of everyone’s affections and top scorer of the day is sitting right next to him, awkwardly fielding everyone’s admiration. Key word being awkwardly. It’s like Heeseung can’t bring himself to properly accept anyone’s compliments but also doesn’t know how to dismiss them at all. 

He breathes out a bit huffily as, once again, someone comes up to Heeseung to ask what he got on some random question because he’s— we get it, people, come on— the ‘only person who got a hundred’ and is guaranteed to have everything properly laid out on his test. Big fucking deal.

Anyways— Sunghoon can’t stand this anymore.

“Hyung?” he pipes up after yet another girl scoots her way up to Heeseung to ask, a little sheepishly, if she can be tutored by him after class. “Could I come as well?” he asks sweetly, and both Heeseung and the girl— Yeji— blink at him. “I wouldn’t want to fall behind either,” he explains.

Yeji cocks an eyebrow. “You get second once and you’re scared already, Sunghoon-ah?” she teases as Heeseung stammers for a response— which, yeah, figures. He looked all ready to accept when it came to Yeji, but the moment Sunghoon asks? He looks like he’d rather retake the test again with ten extra essay questions on it. And, like, damn. It kind of stings, yet again.

But, he’s still determined to get to the bottom of whatever this is— and to see exactly how far he can push Heeseung before he finally snaps and tells Sunghoon exactly what his problem is. 

Anyway, he’s not surprised Yeji’s sassing him. He’s known her for a couple of years now, mostly through group projects and because Sunoo is friends with literally everyone at this school. Not once has she ever asked him for tutoring, though— so it says enough that she’s asking Heeseung out of the blue today. 

Sunghoon gives her a reproachful but amused look in response. “Nothing like that… I guess I just want to see if Heeseung-hyung is a good teacher or not,” he shrugs, eyes darting to Heeseung a little slyly. He pastes on a grin, as though he doesn’t want to reach over and rip Heeseung’s perfect exam paper in half. “And it’s more fun to study with other people around.”

“If you really want me to, then— sure, I guess,” Heeseung says finally as they both stare expectantly at him. He looks back and forth between them like he’s caught in the middle of two different lines of fire.

“Thanks,” they say in unison, and as Yeji turns to leave, she winks conspiratorially at him. He’s been horribly misinterpreted, then, yet again. What is with everyone these days and their obsession with thinking Sunghoon is somehow crushing on a guy he took one look at, the very first day he got here— before they’d even met— and thought ‘he seems like kind of a jackass’? He’s not into Heeseung; he’s just petty as hell. Get a clue, please.

So, after school that day, he texts Jungwon to go ahead without him because he has tutoring— because he wants to cause trouble, not because he wants to, as Yeji has probably assumed, join her in flirting with Heeseung.

?? Jungwon sends back. I feel sorry for whoever has to sit through your teaching, he adds a few seconds later with a thumbs-up to show he’s good to bike back on his own. Sunghoon is both insulted and slightly gratified that he assumes that he’s the one doing the teaching. It would make more sense that way, at least.

  T_T, he sends back. And then, more succinctly: shut up

Contrary to what Jungwon thinks, after school ends, he finds himself sitting on a bench in the courtyard with a highly amused Yeji and a Heeseung who is quite clearly out of his depth here.

“So what did you guys need help with?” he asks, a few other study groups and students clustered at other benches around them, chattering. Usually none of the staff have a problem with it as long as they leave along with the rest of the clubs that meet after school. 

“Oh, I was wondering if you could show me how to do this one?” Yeji says immediately, raising her hand and everything.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, stifling a snort as Heeseung laughs and sits down in-between the two of them. “I’m not a teacher; you don’t really have to do that…” he trails off as he looks down at her paper, and instead shifts to explaining the logic behind the lesson for today. 

Which leaves Sunghoon to start working through their homework on his own, one ear trained on their conversation. Yeji’s not very subtle with her flirting; she cracks jokes the whole time and leans closer to him every time he speaks to hear him better. Sunghoon quickly goes from being amused about it to feeling like a third wheel when Heeseung doesn’t exactly stop her. Either he’s denser than a brick, immune to Yeji’s charms, or actually attracted to her, and in the latter case Sunghoon would rather not sit here to watch that, thanks.

He’s pretty sure he’s been forgotten about until Heeseung finally taps him on the shoulder, finished explaining the problems to Yeji. “Sunghoon? You said you needed help as well?” he asks hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon lies, sliding his paper over. He skipped the second one earlier on, so now he lets Heeseung have a go at it himself.

“So… you divide these, multiply by the reciprocal, and you add this here…?” Heeseung mutters under his breath, eyes trained on the problem as he scribbles on a scrap sheet of paper. Sunghoon watches him instead, a smile slowly blooming on his face as he watches Heeseung mess up once, then twice, then start doing it wrong again a third time.

“Hyung,” he cuts in, composing his expression with slight confusion and concern as Heeseung looks up. Inwardly, he’s grinning wider than the Cheshire Cat. “I think it would work if you kept this negative here—“ he points “—and subtracted these two instead of adding this one before it,” he writes it out on his own paper. 

“Oh— yeah, you’re right,” Heeseung says, clearing his throat. He’s avoiding Sunghoon’s eyes, making him start to smirk again. 

He looks up, though, at entirely the wrong moment, when Sunghoon’s smile is unconcealed and wide, dimples showing. Heeseung’s expression hardens a little, shockingly, and Sunghoon’s stomach drops slightly as he immediately straightens his lips out, eyes flicking away and then back to Heeseung again in a split second. 

“I don’t really think you needed my help at all,” Heeseung says a little sharply, and as Sunghoon’s eyebrows twitch slightly, about to rise, he undercuts it with a clearly fake laugh. “Anyway, let me know if you have trouble with anything else?” he adds, turning away before Sunghoon can even respond and pulling out his own work.

Right. “Okay,” Sunghoon says in a measured voice. “Thanks.”

He feels— kind of bad, maybe, for laughing at Heeseung like that, but hey, the guy sort of deserved it. He’s been acting like Sunghoon has personally wronged him somehow since they first met. 

And if he’s still blind to the fact that it pisses Sunghoon off, then that’s his own fault at this point… right?

Shaking his head, Sunghoon goes back to his own homework as well, all three of them working in relative silence. Yeji pitches in with a few witty jokes here and there, remarkably unaffected by the current of tension between Heeseung and Sunghoon, but in the end it only serves to make the awkward silence that follows after their laughter seem more out of place. 

She must catch on eventually, though, because maybe fifteen minutes into their study session, she springs to her feet, shoving her homework into her folder and shouldering her bag. “I have to be home pretty soon,” she winces apologetically. “My little sister gets out of middle school in less than an hour.”

“See you tomorrow,” Sunghoon calls as she goes.

“Bye, Sunghoon-ah, oppa,” she says to both of them in turn, waving. She sends Sunghoon a considering glance when Heeseung’s not looking, and Sunghoon rolls his eyes in response, making her grin.

Spoilsport, she mouths.

Sunghoon nods his head at Heeseung and responds with he’s not interested.

She sticks her tongue out at him and manages to mouth worth a try, though, before Heeseung finally looks over and waves back at her. “See you.”
She grins widely, sparing her last look for Heeseung, and leaves. As she sets off through the grass, Sunghoon and Heeseung are left on their own.

It occurs to him as Heeseung clears his throat, lips pursed, and uncomfortably goes back to work, that they’ve never truly been alone like this before. Sure, there are still kids around them, but no one’s paying attention right now, and even if they were, they’re not close enough to hear them speak if they were to actually do so. There’s definitely less proximity between them than the desks in class, which have a couple feet between them.

Even so, Sunghoon tries to work quietly— he really does— but, as always, it proves pretty impossible to do. He’s not entirely sure why he can never keep his mouth shut around Heeseung, but— there’s just something weird about the way he’s been treating him— all underhanded politeness, to put it a bit bluntly. He’d rather have— what’s that saying, ‘bitter truth over sweet lies?’ It hits the nail pretty squarely on the head.

“Heeseung-hyung?” Sunghoon asks after a few minutes, pen clicking under the table. 

Heeseung looks up, and for once Sunghoon has to flounder for something to say. He can’t just outright go ‘I don’t think you like me very much? Why?’ or demand to know how he suddenly got a perfect score on the test after struggling through the lesson in front of Sunghoon and taking forever to get through all the questions. 

So what’s the ultimate test of the extent of Heeseung’s politeness? How does he figure out if Heeseung is just tolerating him and doesn’t actually have an interest in him at all?

Am I wasting your time, am I doing something wrong here, are you the asshole or is it me?

“Do you— are you—“

Heeseung blinks, looking more put off by every second Sunghoon stammers.

“Do you not like me or something?” Sunghoon blurts suddenly.

Instant regret . Within a nanosecond. He mentally facepalms, kicks himself, the works. What the hell kind of question even is that? 

Heeseung does a double take, clearly surprised. His lips part, eyebrows rising up into his hairline. “I— um— what?”

Sunghoon clears his throat and continues clicking his pen, meeting his eyes and choosing to just go for it. “Do you not like me?” he repeats, and Heeseung opens his mouth to respond, clearly still confused. Sunghoon steamrollers on and doesn’t let him. “I mean. I thought I was being nice enough and all, but for some reason you’ve been kind of rude,” he says truthfully, and Heeseung’s eyebrows rise once again. 

Hmm. Too bold of a statement to hurl at his hyung? Probably.

“ I’ve been rude?” Heeseung starts, as though Sunghoon’s throwing him for a loop. But then he cuts himself off before saying anything more, taking in a sharp breath. “I’m— very sorry you feel like that,” he enunciates after a long moment of silence during which his brows draw together in what Sunghoon can only assume is barely-concealed annoyance. “I’ll try not to make you uncomfortable in the future.”

So he’s taking this in the worst way possible, then. Is it a deliberate choice on his part to assume the worst of everything Sunghoon says, or is he just doing it subconsciously? He can’t even decide which would be more insulting.

“That’s not what I meant,” Sunghoon begins. “Just— you’ve been implying stuff this whole time and like— you were so ready to tutor Yeji and not me,” he points out, a hint of petulance creeping into his voice.

Heeseung opens his mouth to respond and then shuts it, still looking as though it’s costing him something to stay silent. “Imply—? What am I—?” He inhales sharply, looking back down at his paper, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Again. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I’m so—”

“I don’t think you are,” Sunghoon interrupts coldly, because it sounds like someone is physically forcing him to apologize. At least stop pretending to be all polite and high and mighty, he thinks furiously. “Stop faking it and just tell me what you think.” He pointedly doesn’t tag on the ‘hyung.’

“I think,” Heeseung starts— snaps, really, and then shuts his mouth again. “I think we shouldn’t argue,” he continues stiffly. Oh come on. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he bites out, standing and shouldering his bag just as Yeji had a few minutes ago. He’s not even halfway done with his work. Sunghoon’s eyes narrow, jaw working, and he leaps to his feet as well, crumpling his paper in his hurry to put it away.

He’s never been so mad at someone for not yelling at him. 

“Fine,” Sunghoon says, pouncing on the chance to have the last word. “I guess I’d appreciate that,” he says stiffly. 

“Fine,” Heeseung responds as well in just as tense a tone. His gaze is sharp, piercing, nothing like the big brown eyes that had first greeted him. Sunghoon can’t believe he ever compared him to some innocent baby deer. Even venison probably has more inner depths than this— this insufferable, arrogant faker. 

They storm across the courtyard in opposite directions. (Sunghoon doesn’t give a damn if they look funny doing it.) In the moment, it feels almost symbolic, in a way, how they draw that line in the sand, right down the center of their school. 

It doesn’t end up being an easy one to cross.

— — — 

Sunghoon doesn’t tell Jaeyun about the incident at all, and it’s arguably the one most worth complaining about. But he keeps his mouth shut this time, instead silently fuming all day. He’s so quiet and laser-focused during skating practice that his coach has to keep telling to loosen up more until she finally snaps at him. 

“Get a hold of yourself, Sunghoon-ah!” she calls exasperatedly across the rink, and he flinches slightly, irrationally even more furious at Heeseung for distracting him during practice. 

“Sorry,” he calls back, mentally scolding himself as well, and he makes a conscious effort to try and let it go after that.

The next three class periods he has with Heeseung are spent in utter, fuming silence. Apparently neither of them is letting it go.

If Jungwon picks up on his horrible mood as they bike to school the next morning, he doesn’t comment on it, but he does pop over to Sunghoon’s lunch table on the way to his own and toss him a slightly squashed muffin from the vending machine down the hall. 

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” he unwraps it happily.

“Hyung, I keep you around,” Jungwon responds sassily, and Jaeyun laughs hard enough that he starts coughing. Sunghoon refuses to let him eat any of the muffin. 

If Heeseung is struggling at all during their math classes, then he doesn’t show it; Sunghoon refuses to even look his way unless necessary, and obviously asking for help is laughable at this point, so he remains blissfully oblivious of Heeseung’s proficiency with their lessons. There is a quiz on Friday, though, and that, he’s determined to catapult himself back to the top spot in. Heeseung and his ego are going down.

He stays up studying on Thursday night, the memory of that argument with Heeseung motivating him enough that he gets through three full sets of practice problems by midnight, which is when his parents force him to turn off the lights and go to sleep. Athlete’s gotta maintain his health and all. 

So he walks into class on Friday with steely resolve fueling him and not much else. Heeseung sits stiffly beside him as usual, and for once Sunghoon decides he’s going to poke the sleeping bear. 

“Good luck on the test, hyung,” he says, sugary sweet. Heeseung’s eyes dart over, clearly surprised but also unimpressed. 

“You too,” he bites out. No more is said between them.

It feels kind of like a scene from a movie as the teacher passes out the papers; a strong sense of deja vu underlies the entire moment. Sunghoon thanks him, flips over the paper, and flies through the questions with careful precision.

Once again, the same thing happens; he hands his test in first, and Heeseung scribbles urgently all the way until the bell rings, and even then his eyes are still moving back and forth quicker than lightning, reading over his answers again and again. 

He hands it in as Sunghoon passes him, and just for the sake of it, just to see if he squirms, Sunghoon leans in and whispers, a breath away from his ear, “I bet I beat you this time.”

Heeseung doesn’t even look over at him. “We’ll see,” he responds evenly, and Sunghoon’s both taken aback and satisfied at the same time.

Yeah, they’ll see. 

(He doesn’t really have a backup plan for losing, but then, does Park Sunghoon ever lose? It’s not in the guidebook, folks. Losing doesn’t make the cut for his ‘picture-perfect’ life.) 

— — — 

The universe— and the power of online math worksheets and spite— is apparently on his side, however, because he ends up not needing a Plan B at all. 

The teacher reads off rankings once more as he passes out the tests, and wouldn’t you know it? Sunghoon is the last one to be called— number one .

He slides into his seat, paper in hand, with the cool glow of satisfaction suffusing what had been a relentlessly hot, burning ember of anger in his chest for the last couple of days, now doused only by victory. The taut set to Heeseung’s shoulders is immediately visible to him, and it only serves to highlight his success even more. He got second, for perspective. How the tables turn.  

Heeseung pointedly doesn’t say anything. 

Good game, Sunghoon thinks, leaning back in his chair and flicking idly through his test. Hopefully that’ll keep him from thinking too highly of himself for the rest of the year. 

And it’s always satisfying to do well on something he studied hard for, it’ll make his parents happy, blah blah blah. Mostly the knocking Heeseung down off the pedestal part, though. He’d hardly call himself the underdog here, but the reigning champ has to have some claim on the top spot, right? 

He’s feeling pretty good about himself, happy with the 98 in the corner of his paper, when it occurs to him that Heeseung got a perfect score last time, and while he came close today, this is— not that. 

Whatever, he tells himself. It’s about time he stopped actively seething about Heeseung, anyway. An asshole is an asshole is an asshole and it’s not worth worrying himself about, right? So anyway— 

“Congratulations,” Heeseung says abruptly, and Sunghoon startles halfway through glancing over the one problem he got wrong. He looks over, slightly alarmed, to see Heeseung blinking innocently at him. “On getting first,” he clarifies, smiling as though he doesn’t care either way. 

Sunghoon nods, grinning in response as well, a good bit more cheekily than Heeseung is. “Thanks,” he chirps, but his eyes narrow slightly. He’s sensing Heeseung isn't finished speaking just yet. 

“Won’t happen again,” Heeseung continues in the same cheery tone of voice. He’s been proven right, but at the same time… what?

Sunghoon takes a moment to process this, and then— 

Oh. Oh. 

Sunghoon levels a challenging look at him, eyebrows raised and fingers curling around the edge of his paper. Heeseung’s gaze is hard to meet and harder to look away from, the only sign of his discontent in the blazing pupils of his eyes, the way he’s staring Sunghoon down with a ferocity he hasn’t seen from Heeseung before. It’s both exciting and infuriating at the same time.

“Really?” Sunghoon asks coolly. “Never?”

“Not anymore,” Heeseung copies his steely tone precisely, matching his energy. He stares down at his paper with all the derision Sunghoon had directed at his own a week ago, and it’s both smugness and a sense of anticipation that has Sunghoon smiling to himself as he looks away, toward the teacher, who’s starting another lesson, prepping for another test. He can’t believe he never considered it, but…

…they’re not quite done with each other yet, are they? 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO: RUE

disdain

Lee Heeseung is just doing the best he can. 

He doesn’t like watching other people get the work done, doesn’t like losing sight of his goals. If there’s something to get done, he’ll do it. But, as his brother says, he’ll probably break a bone or two during the process. The job will be finished, and so will he. 

Sometimes he feels like he’s sitting in a boat trying to go upstream, through a pile of rocks. The boat can’t turn around; it’s already gone too far now. So instead it keeps beating relentlessly against the jagged faces of the rocks, crashing over and over again. Night turns into day and then night again and it’s still there, bobbing in the waves and fighting for its life. 

It makes it eventually. But how much of the boat is left to go on? How much is left unbruised and unbattered and clean and whole and healthy?

(Maybe he is the boat.) 

Things are— they’re not easy, before the start of his last and long overdue year of high school, but they’re clear-cut. The expectations and outcomes are black and white and easy to understand. Modeling equal money equals success equals more money equals a bit of financial stability for his parents. His brother’s been doing part-time jobs since he started high school (although his parents didn’t know about those for years). It’s Heeseung’s turn now, isn’t it?

It’s not that he doesn’t like modeling, but— he can’t even afford to let himself have that debate in his head. He’s in a good position now. It would be dumb to give it up. 

But anyway. One plus one equals two, milk goes before cereal, somewhere out there in the world he’s got a soulmate made to love him, and Heeseung knows where he’s going with his life. (At least for the next year.) These things are definite facts of the world, and the world makes sense.

And then he meets Park Sunghoon, and quite a lot of things cease to make much sense at all. 

— — — 

The thing that really keeps Heeseung’s final year of high school from having an inauspicious start is meeting Jongseong and Jungwon.

There’s a lot riding against him— the fact that this school is practically all the way across town (in the much nicer part), the looming burden of the academic scholarship he’s here on, the inherent awkwardness of showing up three weeks late to the semester, almost midway through September. It could very easily have been a lonely, humbling experience. 

He’s nervous the entire first half of the day, probably a product of watching too many k-dramas about private schools, that people won’t be nice to him… but instead, inexplicably, the problem is that they’re a bit too nice, almost? 

Things become a bit clearer when someone asks him if he’s really a model in second period, and— well. That makes more sense. 

Maybe he’s just reading too much into things— but it’s hard not to notice that people are kind of whispering behind their hands whenever he’s around, sneaking pictures of him when they think he’s not looking, etc etc and… he’d rather be seen as a classmate, not a celebrity. Especially when it would be laughable to call him famous.

So Jongseong’s blunt ‘how’d you pass the audition?’ and his habit of sitting down next to Heeseung at lunch with his slightly exasperated boyfriend in tow ends up being one of the most endearing interactions he has with any of his schoolmates.

“I— what?” he asks the first time they meet, after Jongseong has posed the million-dollar question. He blinks up at him, taking in his pristine uniform and trying to process what he’s asking.

“Okay, wow, hyung, chill,” says the kid next to him, grinning sheepishly at Heeseung. They both set their trays down across from him, sitting down, and the one that looks younger continues with “I’m sorry about him— he’s been getting rejected for ages, though, so he thinks you’re some kind of god for getting in,” he jokes, and Heeseung flushes.

“For… modeling?” Heeseung asks slowly.

They both nod. And then— “shut up, Jungwon,” says the older one without even looking at his friend— his boyfriend? The younger one— Jungwon, apparently— starts giggling into his pizza slice. “Fine,” he continues, giving Jungwon a look and then turning to Heeseung, who is at this point debating whether it would be a better idea to just get up and find another table. “Hi, I’m Jongseong. We have history together, so I’m not stalking you,” he says pointedly, eyes cutting to Jungwon again. There’s a moment of silence during which Jungwon stares down at his tray as though he’s waiting for something, and then Jongseong sighs. “And I’m sorry for randomly asking you about your career, but—”

“Are you two… soulmates?” Heeseung asks, leaning forward. “Sorry for interrupting, but you… act a lot like my parents, actually.”

Jungwon’s eyebrows go up. 

“Yeah, actually,” Jongseong says, looking slightly impressed as he glances back and forth from Jungwon to Heeseung. The split second of eye contact he and Jungwon have speaks volumes. “We can hear a lot of each other’s thoughts.”

“We can’t hear everything, though,” Jungwon winces. “Which is why I had no idea he was going to come ambush you until he actually did.”

Heeseung stifles a laugh. “That’s okay. And, um, I got scouted, actually, so I didn’t have that much of an audition or anything.”

Jungwon’s shoulders slump slightly, but in some twist of emotions it’s Jongseong that squares his and nods sharply. “Thanks. I guess I’ll figure something else out.”

There’s a few seconds of silence that prove to be instrumental in the long run. Heeseung runs over the interaction in his head, looks from Jungwon to Jongseong, and thinks, all in a rush, that he likes them. Not many people would just come up to him and ask like that, and not many people would follow their slightly hotheated soulmate into a social clusterfuck like that either.

And he doesn’t want to say things are too easy from then on— because really, when are things ever easy for him?— but with Jongseong and Jungwon, they’re definitely not too difficult, either. They fall into step, somehow. 

For example, Jungwon is fully on board with and finds it hilarious that Heeseung’s not a huge fan of resident school sweetheart Park Sunghoon.

He actually thought Sunghoon seemed kind of nice at first glance: he’s good-looking, he’s apparently top of all his classes, and Jongseong certainly seems fond of him. They point him out to Heeseung during lunch that first day, after they’ve gotten past the talk about modeling and the essential questions— are you a fan of this group, do you think this team should have won last year, isn’t that new English teacher so mean? Everything’s satisfactory on both sides. 

He takes advantage of having people to ask about where his classes are and shows them his schedule. In a stroke of good luck, he finds that he shares four classes with Jongseong and music with Jungwon, since that’s mixed with all grades. 

“Oh, you have math with Sunghoon-hyung,” Jungwon says thoughtfully, scrolling down to fourth period, right after lunch. “He’s the only one of us smart enough to be in the advanced one.”

“Us?” Heeseung asks, at the same time that Jongseong mutters, “only one dumb enough to do all that work if you ask me.” 

“Our friends,” Jungwon clarifies, looking reproachfully at Jongseong. “He brags about it constantly.” Heeseung gives him a cursory laugh in response, but judging by the smile the two of them share, he’s probably missing the joke. 

“I mean, he’s not that bad,” Jongseong tries, but he doesn’t sound very convinced of it himself. 

More importantly, they seem to have forgotten a key detail, which is: “Who’s Sunghoon?” 

“Oh, he’s…” Jungwon looks around the lunchroom, eyes scanning all the tables. He points to one near the window a few rows down. “He’s sitting across from Jaeyun-hyung, the guy who’s covered in… flour?” Jungwon makes a confused face. “He’s kind of popular, I guess.” 

Jongseong takes a bite of his food, back of his hand over his mouth. “People call him an ‘ice prince’.”

“Not a nice guy, then?” Heeseung asks, tilting his head. Usually people give idols or celebrities that kind of nickname for being— well, icy. Cold, rude, resting bitch face. Something like that. 

“Depends who you ask,” Jungwon says, making a face. “In my opinion, definitely not.”

“It’s actually because he’s a figure skater,” Jongseong explains, grinning. “He’s really good, actually, I think he won second in Korea a couple of years ago. He’s competed internationally and everything.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s amazing,” he says truthfully. This school really is a place for ‘Korea’s top young minds’, isn’t it? Maybe that brochure they gave him this morning in the front office wasn’t wrong.

“He’s pretty awesome,” Jungwon confirms. “And I’ll kill anyone who tells him I said that,” he adds, much to Jongseong’s amusement. And yeah, Heeseung gets it this time, grinning as well. Jungwon looks more like the kid whose ears you cover to hide from that kind of thing than the cold-blooded killer himself.

“I’d avoid him if I were you,” Jongseong says to Heeseung after he’s controlled himself a bit, but he’s still grinning so he doesn’t take it too seriously. “He’s nice, but…” he trails off ominously.

“Oh, leave him alone,” Jungwon says, laughing. “He’s awkward, not horrible— I’ll tell him you said that,” he adds, and Jongseong gives him a look of betrayal.

Heeseung’s caught between amusement and utter confusion. “You’re giving me really mixed messages here,” he tries, going for a smile that carries a bit of both, and they both wince. It’s kind of cute how they share a lot of the same habits— must be a soulmate thing. His mom and dad do that as well, but who spends a lot of time thinking about their parents’ soulmate connection? 

Jongseong and Jungwon are new and interesting and young— their relationship is a lot more fascinating.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jongseong chuckles. “We shouldn’t badmouth him while he’s not here.”

“Anyway, if I was going to introduce you to anyone, hyung, I’d say you should meet Sunoo-hyung,” Jungwon says. “He’s great; he’s friends with basically everyone.”

Jongseong hums in response, and the conversation moves on.

Heeseung, in his fatal hubris, essentially forgets all about Park Sunghoon the may-or-may-not-be-nice skater until he walks into math class— wow all of the classrooms here are nice, it really does look like a set for a k-drama— and sees him sitting there. If he’s friends with Jungwon and Jongseong, then surely he’s not that bad, Heeseung thinks, looking around and waving at a girl he recognizes from first period. Maybe he can go say hi or something.

The entire room is staring at him by the time class begins, and he’s just standing awkwardly off to the side at the front, waiting for the teacher to get this over with. He’s done this three times already, in every class, and it’s a big school; surely they don’t all have to go through a bunch of introductions at the start of every year? With this many students? They’d never get any work done.

The teacher— a Kim Dongyul, one of the typical, middle-aged, laidback types he’s met tons of since middle school— clears his throat, claiming the attention of everyone still chattering amongst themselves. “Right, today we’re covering quadratics again, so get out your notes,” he starts, and as everyone goes for their backpacks, he gives Heeseung a nod and a smile. 

So he’s leaving him to fend for himself, then. (Some of these laidback types can get a bit too laidback.) 

“Hi, I’m Lee Heeseung,” he says, giving the class at large a smile and a bow. “It’s nice to meet all of you.” Why does he sound like a guest speaker about to bestow a lot of unwelcome worldly wisdom on them?

He opens his mouth to continue and then turns it into another grin, finding nothing else to say. Probably better not to bore them to tears, anyway.

“Thank you, Heeseung-gun,” the teacher says, and then looks pointedly out at the class. 

Heeseung looks back over to them in time to see maybe half open their mouths, sit up in their seats, begin raising their hands.

“There’s an empty seat by me if that’s okay,” Park Sunghoon says, flashing him a smile. Heeseung can’t help but think there’s something about it that looks sharp around the edges, as though he’s planning to pounce. Creepy, his brain whispers, and then immediately he feels guilty for the thought, bowing his head again and thanking him. 

He slides into the seat beside him and tries his best to negate it by being nice… and quickly fails. It’s a flaw of his, but it’s a hard habit to break, avoiding potentially rude people by just— shutting them out. He cuts off Sunghoon’s small talk and concentrates on the lesson instead. 

Still, Sunghoon is… persistent. He starts bragging about how he’s top of the class while he’s offering Heeseung help, instantly reminding him of everything Jongseong and Jungwon told him, and from there, everything kind of begins to snowball.

Heeseung does realize that most of the stuff they said was probably in jest— fond exasperation born of familiarity. 

But at the same time, it’s not hard to tell that Sunghoon is definitely somehow messing with him, nice as he pretends to be. He never seems completely sincere— and once Heeseung notices, it’s impossible to stop. 

Take, for example, how he treats everyone around him: when girls say hi to him in the hallway, he’ll wave back and give them a nod, maybe say hi in return if he’s feeling generous, and then roll his eyes after they pass him by, subtly enough that Heeseung would almost think he’d just imagined it if not for the multiple times he can testify to bearing witness. 

Whenever people come up to him to ask him how his skating’s going, or when his next competition is, he gives them some non-answer like same as always or pretty good and walks away as quickly as he can. That can’t be a sign of anything more than a thimbleful of patience, can it?

And again— even his friends, the people he’s supposedly closest to, started off by telling a stranger not to be around him. That he may or may not be nice, ‘depending on who you ask’. 

Heeseung tries not to judge him too harshly— he really does— but the red flags are hard to avoid when they’re coming and smacking him in the face wherever he turns.

He keeps these thoughts to himself for a while, because Jungwon and Jongseong are still friends with Sunghoon, no matter what they may say about him. Jungwon bikes home with him everyday and Jongseong has apparently known him for ages as well, at least since middle school. He doesn’t want to alienate them by complaining about Park Sunghoon of all people. 

That particular resolution lasts about a week, until the day Sunghoon invites himself along to be ‘tutored’ by Heeseung, clearly miffed he didn’t get first place on a math quiz. (Heeseung studied for two hours the night before just to have a hope at passing; a perfect score is like a dream come true.)

It’s pretty much an open secret that he had to repeat his freshman year; for once the rumors are right, and the main reason was because of traveling for work. Unofficially, though, that was when his older brother took a gap year after graduating high school himself and unintentionally introduced Heeseung to the idea that he might not get to go to college either, which of course to a fourteen year old meant that most of his motivation to try and keep up with school while traveling went down the drain. 

To an eighteen, almost nineteen year old who still hasn’t gotten a diploma? It’s something he wants to go back and smack his past self in the face for.

And after all of that, now he has to deal with Park Sunghoon, perfect Park Sunghoon with his pristine record and flawless grades, who for some unfathomable reason is apparently this pissed that Heeseung beat him— can you even call a difference of three or four percent beating someone? they probably understood all of the material on the exact same level— on one random quiz. 

Why is this the hill he's choosing to die on? What’s his problem?

Heeseung sort of snaps when Sunghoon pretends to ask for his help and then proceeds to solve the problem properly anyway, correcting Heeseung while he’s at it. He’s already under enough stress, so Sunghoon and his mini-agenda here of— testing Heeseung’s limits, or something, aren’t really helping. 

He keeps telling himself to not jump to conclusions until Sunghoon outright asks: “Do you not like me or something?”

And then he insinuates Heeseung is the rude one, and— well. He’s going to have to make room for Heeseung on that hill, because apparently they’re both dying on it. 

“He really said that?” Jungwon asks, laughing so hard he’s clutching at his stomach. The three of them are sitting together on stools at an ice cream parlor with cones in hand, Jungwon simultaneously making his way through a huge pile of Jongseong-made flash cards from when he took advanced lit last year. 

Every time they go out like this, Heeseung inevitably ends up asking him if they’re sure they don’t want him to leave and let them… enjoy their date, or whatever. And every time they both give him looks that plainly say he’s being ridiculous. 

They both actually seem more interested in him than each other when he’s there, steering the conversation back to Heeseung whenever they can and asking him all the questions instead of the other way around. And yeah, they’re probably coordinating this mentally to make sure he doesn’t feel bad, but still. If they’re going to all that effort, then it really speaks to how much they must genuinely like him. 

Jongseong is apparently at a loss for words in regards to Heeseung’s newest dilemma. “That’s— Sunghoon— whose side am I supposed to be on?” he says in imminent distress.

“Mine,” Heeseung says, vaguely insulted, which sets Jungwon off.

“I’m definitely with you, hyung,” he says, practically cackling. “Sunghoon-hyung’s always putting his foot in his mouth somehow.”

“That’s true,” Jongseong grumbles, shoving a spoonful of Rocky Road into his mouth from his sensible waffle cup. By comparison, Heeseung’s strawberry cone is dripping all over the place, and Jungwon’s flashcards are probably permanently stained with mint chocolate chip. (The amount of are you really older than us, hyung? jokes have started increasing exponentially since they met and will likely only continue their meteoric rise.) “But not for no reason,” Jongseong continues firmly. “Hyung, I think you might have messed up somehow.”

“Me?” Heeseung asks incredulously. “And to think I came here for support,” he says, shaking his head. “Jungwonie, you’re my new favorite.” Jongseong’s lips tilt up in an indulgent smile as Jungwon gasps dramatically.

“Was I not before?” he looks up, mock-betrayed, and that sparks a whole new discussion about who Heeseung likes better that somehow ends in him buying them both more consolatory ice cream. (In hindsight, he’s probably been tricked somehow…). 

And the ‘thing with Sunghoon’, as so Jongseong so aptly calls it (as though he can pencil it in on his calendar— photo shoot at seven in the morning tomorrow, biology test on Tuesday, enmity with Sunghoon, meetup at Jongseong’s house to binge trashy movies and complain about their English teacher), doesn’t end up being a one-time thing, or a two-time thing, or even a just-for-a-week thing. No, it ends up being a Thing, meaning it overflows all those time constraints and becomes what’s starting to seem like a semi-permanent fixture in his life. 

So it doesn’t take long for the two of them to develop a routine. Three weeks after their unsatisfactory tutoring session, most people have stopped gaping at him in the hall or randomly touching him when they think he’s not paying attention to see if he’s their soulmate (has that strategy ever actually worked for anybody? he doesn’t know where they’re all taking inspiration from), all the teachers have kicked it up a notch with homework and tests and lectures about how high school is ‘the easy part’, and Sunghoon and Heeseung are competing in not just math but science and English and history as well. (Jongseong is the exasperated middle-man who relays their scores because a) Sunghoon apparently refuses to interact with him any more than necessary— a blatant lie considering how much passive aggressive trash talk he’s capable of— and b) they don’t actually share any classes other than math— they’re getting by on having the same teachers.)

It’s a bit hard to keep score when there’s so many different factors at play— but luckily Heeseung doesn’t even have to, because Sunghoon keeps a tally on the inside back cover of his planner. He doesn’t realize Heeseung knows about it until the one time he reaches over their shared desk space and draws a line for himself, updating the score to Sunghoon: 9 and Heeseung: 10, and then he flushes bright red and won’t look him in the eye for the rest of class. 

Currently, the standings are Sunghoon: 13, and Heeseung: 12. (The gap is never really larger than one or two, distressingly.)

Heeseung, for the life of him, can’t remember the last time he indulged in anything so petty. He doesn’t have time for this. You have to understand that. He’s got work and school and some emerging semblance of a social life, he’s got chores around the house and responsibilities to his family and a brother to pester the hell out of. He’s busy enough already without this new time-consuming chaos to deal with.

And, even besides that… this isn’t him. This isn’t the kind of thing Lee Heeseung does. Is it?

Heeseung prides himself on being nice to everyone at school, always has— and people have always been nice to him as well. So this is wholly unexplored territory for him. Sunghoon, however, seems perfectly happy to drag him deeper into the frontier of academic rivalry with every test they take. Heeseung has to wonder if he’s done this before, or if he’s somehow just that confident. The more time he spends around him, the more he’s inclined to believe the former. The latter? 

The more time he spends around him, the more he’s inclined to believe that he really doesn’t understand a single thing about Park Sunghoon. 

(Probably better that way.)

But this, in all its childish yet addictive glory, means that wow is he studying a lot, more than he ever has before.  

Not that he’d ever tell Sunghoon this, but it’s not like he was some top student before this year. He usually gets good grades, and he studied a fair bit for the exam to get the scholarship for this school, but seeing his name at the top of the class lists taped on the cafeteria walls for the first time? That alone would have been enough to make him fight for number one every time, not just an A minus or a passing grade. (As it stands, it’s both that and the image of Park Sunghoon’s stupid victorious smirk. Someone has to wipe it off his face, don’t they? Unlikely heroes, and all that...)

This is good, he tells himself when it’s one in the morning and he’s been staring at his history notes for two hours. In ten years you’ll look back and be glad for Park Sunghoon because he’ll be the reason you kept your scholarship to this fancy high school and got into college. 

Sometimes he believes that, and other times it’s a bit more of a struggle to imagine he’ll be able to think the name Sunghoon with anything other than disdain at any point in his life, whether it be now or in the far future. 

Because studying at home and keeping up with the actual academic part of it is one thing— but then there’s the confrontation aspect of it. The one class they actually share is a battleground every time they sit down next to each other. 

“You got this problem wrong,” Heeseung says one afternoon where Sunghoon is clearly half-asleep and complained to the girl who sits in front of them for ages about how he had a nasty fall while skating last night he’s still sore from— probably not the best day to provoke him, in retrospect, but in the heat of the moment it’s a bit harder to think critically. He gets a sneer in response and a mouthed shut up. 

“Oh, so you need more pencil lead? Hmm…” Sunghoon says, rattling his clearly full box of lead three days later, fresh off a perfect score in English that Heeseung got an eighty-nine on and would not have felt so horrible about if it weren’t for Sunghoon flouncing into his seat ten minutes ago and asking him, honey-soft, whether he studied at all or not. “Maybe Woosang has some.” 

“Thank you,” Heeseung mutters sarcastically. Normally he tries not to antagonize Sunghoon, since he makes it crystal clear the proper way to annoy him is to ignore him, but really? Sometimes it’s a struggle not to throw his exam papers right back into his face. “Now I know exactly who to ask.” Smug bastard, he thinks inwardly, jaw clenched. 

“Your shirt’s inside out,” Sunghoon adds helpfully. 

It’s not, but when Heeseung glances down at it and then frowns disdainfully, realizing he was lying, Sunghoon gets his expected result and snickers. 

(Heeseung went on to beat his score in Physics the day after, at least, so he got his revenge.)

And don’t even get him started on the clubs they share.

Yeah, that’s right. Not only does he have to sit next to Sunghoon for an hour every day— why did he accept his offer that first day, oblivious to what he was getting himself into?— but also deal with him nearly every day after school. It’s like the universe is purposely messing with him. Everytime he chose a new club and walked in the door— bam, Sunghoon was there. Debate, Photography, Mathletes. He even hangs around the dance room a lot to pester his friends and is somehow never kicked out. 

The only silver lining is that he’s rarely able to stay long; he always leaves earliest for figure skating and isn’t really in a leadership position in any of the clubs, as far as Heeseung’s seen. Probably doesn’t have the time, and honestly, neither does he, which makes it that much worse. Who wants to stand up and give a speech on politics while Park Sunghoon is glaring at you from across the room? Certainly not Heeseung.

Their situation only worsens when the fact that they share so many friends finally comes back to bite them in the ass. 

Case in point: they all head to the theater one weekend to see a new movie (apparently it’s Sunoo’s turn to pick— implying Heeseung is possibly intruding on a tradition of theirs— so it’s a romance) and while Jungwon is excited to finally watch the legendary rivalry Heeseung and Sunghoon are apparently cultivating in action, Heeseung is… less on board. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” he asks as they walk to the theater, breaths clouding in front of them. It’s chilly, so they’re wearing coats and gloves and in Jungwon’s case, an adorable mango knit hat with tassels. “I don’t know any of your other friends—“

“You know Sunghoon-hyung,” Jungwon jokes.

“Yeah, and he hates me.”

Jongseong knocks his shoulder into Heeseung’s, clearly noting the tension coiled in it. “Don’t worry about it, hyung. All of our friends are nice— they’ll be excited we brought you along, if anything.”

“Even Sunghoon-hyung won’t be rude in front of everyone,” Jungwon assures him. “And if he is, I’ll tell him to stop.” He squares his shoulders, draping a protective arm around Heeseung’s shoulders, and both Heeseung and Jongseong exchange glances before concealing their laughter. He’s three years older than Jungwon, so the mental image of him standing up to Sunghoon for him sounds more cute than it does intimidating.

“Did you both forget that I can read Jongseong’s mind?” Jungwon says wryly, pouting slightly as he looks over at Heeseung. “I’m rescinding my offer of protection,” he announces, and both Heeseung and Jongseong start protesting.

“Ah, okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Heeseung grins, wrapping an arm around his waist in turn and earning a miffed sniff reminiscent of a cat. Jongseong takes the loud route and starts bemoaning Jungwon’s unsung taekwondo skills to the sky. Inevitably, Jungwon succumbs and lets Heeseung aggressively press their sides together, grinning widely.

Despite how horrible they’d undoubtedly be as bodyguards, Heeseung still feels safe walking with them, like he’s heading into battle and has his two most trusted generals by his side. He hasn’t even known them that long, really— but they make him feel like friendships can be fated too. 

“If I had to choose anyone to be my bodyguards,” he says, throwing an arm around Jongseong’s waist as well, “I’d choose you two.”

Jongseong nods solemnly, sobering immediately from singing Jungwon’s praises. “Thank you, thank you. That means a lot,” he says, and he offers a hand for Heeseung to shake. 

Jungwon interrupts their serious bonding moment with an eye roll and a deadpan stare. “You two are such nerds,” he says, and Heeseung loses it. 

That’s how they finally walk into the theater, Heeseung flanked on both sides with amateur bodyguards and both he and Jongseong laughing at Jungwon’s bluntness. 

Almost immediately, a black-haired boy standing by the vending machine in the enormous, mostly empty lobby with the guy Heeseung recognizes as Jaeyun notices them and waves, grinning widely. Jungwon raises a hand and waves back, and then Heeseung’s eyes move from where the waver and Jaeyun are pushing around the vending machine that no doubt ate their money and see Park Sunghoon sitting on the bench next to them and laughing at their attempts to fix the machine. 

His heart skips a beat, as it always does. Sunghoon never fails to make him angry, apparently. 

Knowing he would be here isn’t the same as seeing him here, wearing a fancy brown coat and with his hair all ruffled from the wind and his feet tapping against the floor in his boots. Just the sight of him is already making him nervous. It’s ridiculous. He’s Heeseung’s dongsaeng; it should be the other way around. He should be making Sunghoon shake in his boots— but instead it’s Heeseung who has to take the fortifying breath before diving into the foray. 

(For some reason, Heeseung can already tell this will not be the relaxing afternoon with friends that was promised to him.)

He can tell the exact moment that Sunghoon notices him making his way across the lobby with Jungwon and Jongseong because the smile that’s lingering on his face from watching Jaeyun and the other guy— Sunoo, Heeseung assumes— try to find the balance between punching the vending machine enough to get their money back or their food out and not punching it so much that they get kicked out abruptly freezes on his face and is then replaced with mild horror followed by utter betrayal. It would be funny if it wasn’t directed at him. 

“His face,” Jungwon is already laughing. “Hyung, this is too much,” he snickers, turning his head into Heeseung’s shoulder. Jungwon, in his innocence, hasn’t seen anything yet. 

“Oh, come on,” Sunghoon calls across the lobby as they come over. “What’s he doing here?” He manages to make a word as simple as ‘he’ sound like a curse. 

“You were not kidding,” Jongseong murmurs, and then he pitches his voice louder as they finally come level with Sunghoon, stopping a few feet away from his bench. “Yah! Listen up, Sunghoon-ah— you’re not allowed to be rude to Heeseung-hyung at all while we’re here,” he announces. 

Jaeyun undercuts the moment rather squarely by finally managing to tilt the vending machine at the right angle and emerges with a bottle of soda in hand, cheering. 

Sunghoon’s eyebrows rise into his hairline. “You should tell him that,” he says back at the same volume, and Heeseung is reminded of two poor half-deaf grandmas trying to communicate via mobile phone. 

Jungwon moves to stand in front of Heeseung and crosses his arms in an x over his chest. “No arguing today, Sunghoon-hyung,” he says, and Heeseung laughs a little and puts one hand on his shoulder.

“Leave him alone, Jungwonie,” he says. In the background, the noise of Sunoo and Jaeyun grunting their way through a second attempt to free Sunoo’s food from the machine starts up.  

Sunghoon rolls his eyes so hard he probably catches a glimpse of the inside of his own (overlarge) head. “Don’t play the nice guy, okay—“

Ignore him, Heeseung thinks forcefully. Don’t give him the satisfaction—

“—when it’s your fault that we don’t like each other anyway,” Sunghoon finishes irritably, scowling.

The thread of control he has sort of— snaps. It was thinning to begin with, to be honest. It’s been getting a lot of wear and tear recently courtesy of Park Sunghoon. 

“My fault?” Heeseung shoots back, gritting his teeth. Sunghoon’s chin lifts, lips twitching triumphantly, and immediately a hot burst of anger pools in his stomach. He forces himself to take a breath, purses his lips. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice dangerously quiet. “But who’s winning right now?”

Sunghoon’s eyes flash, and he sits up, uncrossing his legs. “By one percent,” he says viciously. “You think you’re so superior—“

“As far as I know, that’s your job,” Heeseung responds coolly, belying the way his heart is thudding in his chest.

Sunghoon’s grinding his teeth. He swings his head over to face Jungwon and says, in a hiss, “So what were you saying about me being rude?” he demands.

Jungwon, to his credit, looks highly entertained, looking back and forth between them as though they’re an ongoing tennis match. “Should we be buying tickets to watch this—“ he gestures between Heeseung and Sunghoon— “instead of the movie?” he teases, and Heeseung is simultaneously so grateful to have him there and of half a mind to twist his ear for saying that. 

“Wow,” Sunghoon says, scoffing disdainfully. “You’re not funny, Jungwon-ah,” he adds a few seconds later, less aggressive. The fight bleeds out of his shoulders. 

“Are you two done?” Jongseong asks teasingly.

Heeseung has the decency to at least be a little sheepish, abashed, but Sunghoon apparently doesn’t. 

“I’ll be— polite to Heeseung,” Sunghoon says, sounding as though it’s physically paining him, “if he’s polite to me,” he finishes passive-aggressively, crossing his arms over his chest. Apparently the ‘hyung’ is optional now— he doesn’t think he’s heard it in weeks. It’s a miracle none of their teachers have scolded him for being impolite.

“Fine,” Heeseung says immediately. Clearly he doesn’t give a shit that their friends are here in the middle of all this and shouldn’t have to moderate for them, but Heeseung, you know— does, so he’ll take that if it’s the best he’ll get. 

“Fine,” Sunghoon snaps back, probably just for the pleasure of having the last word, and Heeseung has to fight to keep his mouth shut.

Jongseong breaks any potential tension that may linger by going and sitting down next to Sunghoon, also automatically creating a barrier. He strikes up a conversation immediately, and while Sunghoon looks like he knows he’s being deliberately distracted, judging by how his eyes flick back to Heeseung once or twice, he gives into Jongseong and doesn’t pick another fight.

“You really don’t like him, huh, hyung?” Jungwon whispers as he grabs Heeseung’s wrist and starts leading him to Sunoo and Jaeyun instead. 

Heeseung rubs at the back of his neck. “He’s— um.” What’s the diplomatic way to put this? “We don’t get along,” he says finally.

“No kidding,” Jungwon mutters, and then he turns his attention to where his other friends are still fighting the machine. “You’re gonna get us kicked out!” he exclaims, tugging at the back of Jaeyun’s jacket, and he laughs as Sunoo gives Jungwon an unimpressed look.

He hopes he doesn’t look like a jackass to the two of them, but Sunoo, after giving up on the vending machine, stands and smiles widely enough at him that he’s put mostly at ease. 

“Hi, I’m Sunoo,” he says with a little wave, and everyone quickly follows suit, introducing themselves. Heeseung bows, smiles, and does the same, shoulders relaxing slightly from how tense they’d been arguing with Sunghoon.

Heeseung’s not here for him. The best thing to do is to just forget Sunghoon’s even here, right?

“So what are we watching?” Heeseung asks, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking back and forth between the two of them. 

“ Colors of Love ,” Sunoo chirps, and Jungwon visibly winces, making them all laugh. “I’ve heard good things, okay, have some faith in me,” Sunoo says defensively. 

“So it’s a romance?” Heeseung asks, genuinely curious. He hears Sunghoon scoff quietly and inwardly sends him a middle finger. Can’t he at least be considerate of his own friends?

“Yep,” Sunoo says. “It’s about two soulmates—“

“Which automatically means it sucks,” Jungwon puts in, hands stuck in the pockets of his coat. 

“You’re the only one of us who has a soulmate,” Sunghoon points out, and reluctantly Heeseung turns along with the rest of them to include the two on the bench in their little— well, there’s six people here, so little is relative— circle.

“Yeah, and that’s why I can tell you the movies get everything wrong,” Jungwon says with the air of someone who’s about to bestow a great deal of profound wisdom on them. Jongseong just shakes his head.

Sunoo doesn’t even let him open his mouth. “Ignore Jungwon, please. It’s about two soulmates who broke up a few years ago and are now both competing in the same art competition!” he says winningly.

“Ooh,” Jaeyun says suddenly. “I don’t like stories where the couple’s broken up before. They’re all kinda depressing.”

“Plus it ruins it if they have bad history,” Sunghoon agrees.

“Okay, well, this is a romance, not a tragedy ,” Sunoo says, crossing his arms over his chest. “So it won’t be depressing.”

Heeseung hides a smile. “Sounds good to me,” he shrugs good-naturedly.

“Oh, please, you’re just saying that to be polite,” Sunghoon says, clearly unable to pass up a good opportunity when he sees one.

Heeseung’s lips tighten into a thin line, but he ignores Sunghoon and speaks directly to Sunoo, eyes flashing. He knows what pisses Sunghoon off the most, and if it’s not being the center of attention in every room then Heeseung will gladly concede defeat. “I like stories about soulmates,” he says, and it’s half true and half just to challenge Sunghoon. It’s not a topic that’s come up before between them, obviously— ha, I beat you in Chemistry, and by the way, do you have a fated life partner? 

Sunoo opens his mouth, but it’s Sunghoon who speaks first and takes him up on it. “Do you have one, then?” he asks skeptically.

Finally, Heeseung’s eyes flick over to him. He looks defiant in a way that suggests this conversation isn’t going the way he wanted it to and now he’s trying to take back control. 

(He has no idea when exactly he learned to read Sunghoon’s expressions.)

Either way, he’s forced to shake his head. “No, but my parents are soulmates,” he says quickly. “And even if they weren’t… I think it’s interesting to see all the different kinds of connections there are.”

“Agreed,” Sunoo chimes in, probably trying to diffuse the mounting tension once more.  

Jungwon, the traitor, takes a seat next to Sunghoon, leaning against his arm. The bag of chips starts making a round between him and Jaeyun. “My personal favorite is the red string,” Sunoo smiles. “It’s the only one that’s there from before you meet them.”

“And it gives you more control,” Heeseung nods, grinning. His mood shifts entirely when he starts talking to someone other than Sunghoon, eyes brightening. “You can follow it whenever you want and choose to meet them.”

“I think I’d want the warmth one,” Jaeyun says, leaning against the wall beside Jungwon. “Where you get energy from touching them?”

“That one’s sweet,” Sunghoon says, a bit unexpectedly. From what Heeseung’s seen, he’s not the best with physical contact, even from his friends. “I’d want anything music related, really. Hearing them singing, getting the same songs stuck in our heads, whatever.”

This admittedly strikes a chord within him— pun kind of intended. Music used to be the one he’d dream about as a kid, in all its forms. Hearing someone’s favorite song whenever they’re listening to it, always singing in perfect harmony, etc. There’s nothing wrong, in his opinion, with the simpler ones— sharing an eye color, glowing when they’re around each other, or even Sunoo’s red-string choice. But music… if there’s anything that would truly convince him he’s made for someone, it would be music. 

Jungwon snorts as they all look at him, and Heeseung cracks a smile as well. He taps his forehead and shrugs, smiling. “I’m kinda stuck with this already.”

“What about you, Heeseung-hyung?” Sunoo asks as Jongseong rolls his eyes and Jungwon glares at him, some conversation the rest of them can’t hear happening in their heads.

“Me?” Heeseung asks, eyes widening. He hadn’t realized it would eventually come around to him as well. “I guess… I’d just be happy to have a soulmate at all. Doesn’t matter what the connection is,” he says sheepishly, and for some reason, Sunghoon’s expression— twists, somehow, as though he’s unsatisfied with the answer.

Jaeyun gives him a little round of applause. “Damn, they should get Heeseung-hyung a movie,” he jokes, and they all laugh, Sunghoon excluded. 

“Not that anyone asked, but I’d want to be able to take Jungwonie’s pain away,” Jongseong says, leaning their shoulders together.

“Why are you both so disgustingly sweet?” Sunghoon mutters as Jungwon starts turning red, but Jongseong just laughs. Heeseung doesn't really have to try too hard to get it. Wouldn’t they all want to take any potential pain away from Jungwon?

“Okay, okay, enough,” he teases, glancing down at his watch and looking up at them a little expectantly. He feels a bit responsible for the rest of them even though he’s the newest one here; he’s the oldest, and probably the only one who’s even wearing a watch. “We only have two minutes, so if we want to see the movie, we should go.”

As if on cue, the door swings open once again and a tall kid with blond hair and no jacket despite the biting cold rushes in, waving goodbye to the car pulled up to the sidewalk behind him. “Hi, hi, sorry I’m late,” he pants, immediately darting to Sunoo’s side. 

“Nope, you’re right on time,” Sunoo says, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “This is Riki, everyone.”

They walk into the theater, showing the employee their tickets, as they get through the formalities with everyone who hasn’t met Riki, which is practically everybody save for Sunghoon and Sunoo. He’s the only freshman out of all of them, which is clearly making him a bit nervous, but Heeseung tries his best to put him at ease and asks if Riki wants to sit by him. Jungwon wants to sit next to Jongseong, who will hopefully have the common sense to not make out with him while they’re all literally right there next to them, and Sunoo wants to sit by Jaeyun, and Sunghoon doesn’t want to sit in the middle and so on until, by some twist of fate, Heeseung ends up sandwiched between Sunghoon and Riki, smack in the middle of the theater. He can’t think of a way to ask to switch with someone without being annoying, though, so unfortunately it seems like he’s stuck next to this walking ball of resentment. Fantastic.

They get situated with the popcorn, and the theater, full to the brim, quiets down as the movie starts. Maybe it really is highly-rated, Heeseung muses as he looks down at the dozens of riveted people filling all the seats.

The first ten minutes of the movie is just the main characters being sad as they go through life ‘without their soulmate and yada yada’, according to Sunghoon’s unsubtle whispering to Jaeyun. The urge to tell him to shut up grows with every snarky comment he makes. It’s not so bad when Jongseong does it, for some reason, because Jongseong’s comments are funny but never downright mean. Sunghoon, as always, manages to sound like he thinks he could have shot, written, and edited the movie better than the professionals credited during the opening.

“She seems kind of stuck-up,” Sunghoon whispers of the first female lead; she works in graphic design at some fancy firm and spends her entire life just working working working, never going out with any of the friends that are lovely to her despite her doom and gloom personality and worldview. 

“She seems kind of like you,” Heeseung whispers back, and the handful of popcorn in Sunghoon’s palm slips back down into the bucket. He presses his lips together in an effort not to laugh.

“Ex cuse me?” Sunghoon hisses heatedly, and instead of humoring him, Heeseung reaches over and grabs a bunch of popcorn from his bucket, putting one long finger to his lips.

“Shh,” he says quietly, eyes trained on the screen. His lips are no doubt twitching. “No talking.”

Sunghoon yanks the bucket as far away from Heeseung as he can, setting it down on the armrest between him and Jaeyun, and subsequently spills a bunch of popcorn in his own lap. Heeseung lets one singular snicker escape and can feel Sunghoon death glaring the side of his head. It’s kind of an effort to not look back.

The movie goes on to introduce the second lead, who owns a bakery and runs a very successful but anonymous art account online with hundreds of thousands of followers drawing famous characters from TV series and books. Watching her struggle to find the artistry without her “ precious soulmate to frost a flower on some tiny cupcake” has Heeseung sympathetic and Sunghoon giggling into his hand again, apparently unable to take her seriously. 

Heeseung’s head whips over, and he sends Sunghoon an unimpressed look as he sees his grin.

“She’s cringey,” Sunghoon whispers, because of course he’d think that.

Heeseung just shakes his head and goes back to watching.

The movie goes on to somehow introduce both women to the local art competition Sunoo mentioned (the graphic designer, Soo-ah, overhears her coworkers talking about it while making coffee at work, and the bakery owner, Hyerin, is quite literally greeted by a flier advertising it that plasters itself to her storefront window during a windstorm. It’s a bit tropey even for him.) Soo-ah’s coffee maker stills “conveniently” as she listens, and Hyerin is given the “melodramatic violin background music” as they both simultaneously— “wouldn’t you know it,” Sunghoon rolls his eyes, not having kept his mouth shut for longer than a full minute— get distracted by a flashback.

It’s shown Hyerin drew Soo-ah for years when they were together, and that— and this is likely the reason the movie is so popular— she specifically used to draw her in the colors she put on her skin. 

See, that’s their connection: whenever they touch, color blooms on their skin. It seems to only last a few minutes or hours, but Hyerin used to draw Soo-ah with all the vibrancy and brilliance of the colors that adorned her skin as a visual representation of their connection. She voices over the scenes as she describes her paintings, showing Soo-ah’s face painted in blues and greens and yellows, then a full body one of her in the sunlight, purple fingerprints down her arms and blotches of red and pink along her shins and her neck and forehead. There’s dozens of them, in different positions and with Soo-ah maturing through them, from young high schooler to full grown woman, hair growing longer and features sharpening. 

It tells a story, all of it— every mark on her skin is a place Hyerin touched her at different times. There’s patterns, too— there are tons with little lip-shaped outlines on her face and neck, or with her palms fully colored, or even with lines criss-crossing her shins at similar angles. 

Why? Hyerin says in her voiceover at the same time Heeseung thinks it, making him jump slightly. He realizes he hasn’t had any popcorn in a couple of minutes— he swallows and shoves some half-heartedly into his mouth without looking down. 

I don’t remember, Hyerin says mournfully, and for the first time watching it, Sunghoon’s mouth is shut beside him. He looks over, the sound of Hyerin’s quiet, melancholy voice filling the theater. Sunghoon’s silhouetted in the light, eyes earnest, trained on the screen. I don’t remember the story behind those marks anymore.

The theater has gone dead silent. Heeseung finds himself holding his breath, afraid to break it. He looks away from Sunghoon, finally, and refocuses on the screen.

The flashback ends, and the movie continues. 

— — — 

Heeseung finds himself slightly amused, shockingly, by how Sunghoon is visibly growing more and more invested as the story goes on. He sits up slowly, stops eating popcorn at such a feverish pace, goes from making snarky comments every ten seconds to just in passing, barely. 

The story keeps drawing him in as well; Hyerin only needs to ask her followers once if she should join to receive thousands of enthusiastic responses saying yes, and it doesn’t take much after that to convince her to go sign up, but Soo-ah— Soo-ah is a bit harder to get through to.

The movie jumps into another flashback pretty soon, showing how Soo-ah met Hyerin when they were just starting high school and thought she was too loud and brash and wild at first. They got detention together because of Hyerin, and when Soo-ah was angry at her, Hyerin made her laugh, tugged on her hair, and not two minutes later accidentally brushed knuckles with her. And bam— soulmates.

It shows how it was always Hyerin that persuaded Soo-ah to leave the bubble she was so accustomed to being in: perfect grades, perfect record, perfect life. She made her sneak out at night and take risks and go bungee-jumping— all stereotypical rebellious stuff— but also gave her the courage to stand up to her parents and ask to go to art school… not that it worked.

So when they get back to present-day, Heeseung has a bit more sympathy for why she finds it hard to branch out and apply for the contest. She doesn’t have Hyerin backing her anymore, so she’s— afraid.

“Wimp,” Sunghoon whispers anyway, likely just to see Heeseung’s jaw clench. He tends to do it a lot around Sunghoon, mostly from trying not to talk back at him.

He shifts his attention back to the movie as it shows Soo-ah going back home to her grandfather’s house, where he works as a woodcarver making children’s toys. 

“Her harabeoji is… Santa Claus?” Sunghoon whispers, and Heeseung, in a remarkable twist, finds himself trying not to laugh. Jaeyun is simultaneously startled into a silent fit of giggles, and Sunghoon dissolves into them as well when her grandfather greets her with a ‘ho ho’.

Heeseung’s eyes dart over a few times to look at him, but he doesn’t say anything else. He can have that one, albeit grudgingly.

He tries his best not to pay him any attention, though, and keeps watching as Soo-ah asks her grandfather for advice on what to do, not just with the competition but with her life.

Her grandfather gives it to her straight and informs her she hasn’t moved on at all and should try and do that soon before she gets stuck in this rut forever, and Sunghoon is snickering again by this point.

“What’s so funny?” Heeseung hisses, and Sunghoon’s grin widens. 

He just shakes his head. “You wouldn’t get it.”

Heeseung looks up at the ceiling, asks whatever divine being may be up there for help not punching Sunghoon, and goes back to watching the movie, thoroughly annoyed by this point.

Soo-ah takes his advice in stride and spends a cute weekend helping him make a dollhouse. They hand it to a smiling couple together a couple days later, and the smile on their daughter’s face as she squeals over it, much to her grandfather’s amusement, cuts into a smile on younger Hyerin’s face as she and Soo-ah race around a park.

He’s not much for cheesy romance, but it’s sweet to watch them be genuinely happy around each other, to see exactly the kind of vibrancy in Soo-ah that Hyerin was so gone for. They start playing their own version of a questions game— one question, any question, for every time one of them manages to climb three branches of an enormous tree in the middle of the park. Soo-ah’s halfway up, a university logo on her jacket, when she leans down and asks the shorter, struggling Hyerin about her first impression of Soo-ah. Was it love at first sight? she teases.

Hyerin, mock-annoyed, talks about how her first impression of Soo-ah was much like Soo-ah’s first impression of her: I thought you were uptight and boring and prudish, she wrinkles her nose, and she swats away the hand Soo-ah extends teasingly to help her up the tree. 

Soo-ah pouts as the theater has a chuckle, buckets of popcorn rustling. Heeseung smiles into the hand he’s using to prop up his chin, elbow on the armrest. 

What changed? she asks a bit cheekily.

Hyerin shrugs. Maybe me. Maybe you. 

You think we changed after we met? Soo-ah asks curiously.

I dunno. Maybe the way I saw you changed, Hyerin amends. Maybe you were the same all along.

Soo-ah blinks thoughtfully, and this time when she reaches down, Hyerin takes her hand. They crest the tree together, sitting high above the world and watching the fountain down below spray water as kids run through the streams. I think I did change after meeting you, she says quietly, and Hyerin looks at her under her eyelashes, short hair blowing across her face in the evening wind. You make me feel… braver, Hyerin-ah.

Yeah? Hyerin asks, cocking an eyebrow and smiling. She leans forward and touches their noses together. How else do I make you feel? she asks teasingly. Do you liiike me, Soo-ah-ssi?

The sound of their laughter combines and then quiets, solidifies, into the singular sound of the little girl in Soo-ah’s grandfather’s shop, barely half a foot taller than her own dollhouse. It hits Heeseung in the chest, heart skipping a beat. He looks over as Sunghoon’s coat rustles, half-expecting to see him laughing again, but instead he’s just staring at the screen raptly, fingers tapping on his thigh like he’s thinking hard. 

He’s looked over too many times during this movie. Why does it matter so much to him what Sunghoon thinks, or how he reacts? Jongseong never shuts up during movies either, but somehow that’s endearing and Sunghoon is— distracting.

That’s a good word for him, Heeseung decides, chewing on his lip as his eyes flick back to the screen. Distracting. Always the most noticeable person in the room, unpredictable. He changes tactics on Heeseung so quickly it gives him whiplash— one moment he’ll be straight-up mad, half-yelling, the next frostily cool, pretending not to care. Whatever will piss Heeseung off the most in that particular moment, he’ll do.

Right now that’s not shutting up, so, if you do the math, the best thing would be for him to pretend it doesn’t matter to him. That he’s not listening. 

Fine. Yeah. Watch the movie. No more looking at Sunghoon.

He fixes his eyes resolutely on Soo-ah as her expression falls, and the scene shifts again. (He almost looks over two times in the next five minutes.)

It’s back to Hyerin this time, and she’s trying to decide what to paint for the competition. She’s thumbing through old paintings, but every one of them is of Soo-ah, or reminds her of Soo-ah. The dates signed in the corners just remind her how many years it’s been without her, how many years since she painted something original on her own. Apparently she’s gotten stuck just working with other people’s characters, settings, concepts. Not taking many risks. (Don’t look at Sunghoon.)

It’s like she’s lost everything that makes her Hyerin, Heeesung notices. Everything that Soo-ah loved about her.

Soo-ah herself goes home and “she’s been monologuing for like ten minutes” about life, about the juxtaposition of the generations between that little girl, and her, and then her grandfather. About how time changed her and how there are people that don’t know how it changed her, about how it goes on even if you lose the people that made all those years feel worthwhile. (Don’t look at Sunghoon.) So she goes the symbolic route, and starts painting an enormous mural of herself through the years, filtered through seven colors of the rainbow. A line of red Soo-ahs go through a different path in life than a line of purples, or blues or yellows. 

And then comes a call, two weeks later, as Soo-ah is struggling her way through the mural and Hyerin is sitting around idealess, without inspiration. Order for twenty sheet cakes. An outrageous amount of money and an outrageous amount of work hours. All due two days after the art competition. 

So now she’s faced with a choice: to go or not to go? The artist has to be there for it to count, apparently, to claim their piece. 

And the roles, in what is leading up to the climax, probably, are reversed. Hyerin is unsure, and Soo-ah’s full of inspiration. She paints and paints; she redoes the mural twice, and each time the smile on her face grows bigger. A stroke of paint over the camera takes them back again, to the past, both of them standing in cheesy paint-covered overalls in Hyerin’s room, bickering over what to put on a blank canvas in front of them.

I’ve been wanting to paint a city for ages—

I don’t want to! Hyerin interrupts, glaring at Soo-ah. What’s wrong with painting us?

Can’t we just look at a picture if we want to see us? Soo-ah says, clearly exasperated. Or in a mirror? Which is a pretty big contrast, Heeseung notes, to Soo-ah painting an entire wall of variations on herself in the future. 

The whole argument has an aura of having been going on for a while even before the scene started.

Then won’t you be able to just look out the window in Seoul and see the whole city? Hyerin demands, hands on her hips, and Soo-ah rolls her eyes. 

Don’t be stupid, Soo-ah says firmly. If you’re thinking like that then there’s really no point in painting at all, is there?

You’re the one giving it up, Hyerin shoots back.

Hyerin, we don’t all have parents that want us to be artists, okay? Soo-ah snaps. It’s not that easy. 

Right, but it’s so easy to just— leave me and go all the way across the country to live in Seoul, isn’t it? Hyerin’s eyes are shining. 

“Could they be any more predictable?” Sunghoon mutters, and Heeseung’s concentration is immediately broken. Seriously? Could he be any less considerate of Heeseung just trying to watch the movie in peace? 

He angrily shoves a handful of popcorn in his mouth and keeps his eyes trained on the screen as Soo-ah runs out of steam, anger fading to concern. They go from yelling to hugging, their soulmarks spreading up their arms. You don’t have to worry about me leaving you, Hyerin, Soo-ah assures her. It’s not like I won’t love you from Seoul. 

And even as Hyerin laughs, the scene shifts back to present-day, grown up Hyerin, sitting alone in a room surrounded by paintings of Soo-ah. 

But she couldn’t, Hyerin says. After she went to Seoul, I think she just… forgot. How to love me. 

How do you just… forget to love someone? If you really love them then surely it’s— easier than this. Since when has it been a chore to do that? 

For once, Heeseung wouldn’t be opposed to Sunghoon making some stupid comment— but he’s silent, and when Heeseung’s eyes dart over (don’t look at Sunghoon, idiot) he’s just quietly eating his popcorn. 

— — — 

Approximately five minutes later (movie runtime-wise), it’s showtime; Soo-ah walks down a path to the festival, radiant and glittering in a silvery gown, dangly earrings catching in the glow of several interesting paintings, holographic in nature. 

It’s evening, darkness dappling most of the paintings around the lawn, a public park blocked off for the gallery. Soo-ah makes rounds of tons, although it never seems to end. She passes her own and gives a shy bow to someone noticing it’s a self-portrait (or, well, twenty combined).

There’s something coming, though— Heeseung can feel it, anticipation rising along with the music.

A while after Soo-ah’s arrived, a row of well-dressed people get up onto the podium in the center of the park, between all the rows of displayed paintings, and they clap their hands to get everyone’s attention.

Everyone goes silent. Not even a baby’s crying.

Welcome, artists and benefactors, to tonight’s gallery of Korea’s best work. All of these individuals have created wonderful, thought-provoking pieces, one of the women lined up begins, microphone held to her mouth. The speech goes on, thanking sponsors— “are they doing an ad right now?” Sunghoon asks incredulously, and Heeseung doesn’t disagree but also really, sincerely, would like him to shut up— and then, finally, reading off runner-ups.

Each of the paintings is unveiled on a projector in front of them, garnering a huge round of applause. Third place is a piece painted entirely with coffee, a commentary on colorism in Korea. Second place is a love letter to their pet cat, whose footprints linger on the portrait. 

First place has everyone holding their breath, including Soo-ah. She shakes her head minutely as one of the judges steps up to the mic. She thinks it’s not her.

And it’s not. 

First place— Choi Hyerin, announces the judge cheerfully, and the look of utter surprise on Soo-ah’s face would have been funny if it wasn’t so heartbreaking. There’s a collective round of cheering from the theater, although Heeseung distinctly hears a “great, lost that bet,” from some girl behind him. 

Hyerin? Soo-ah mouths, silent and stunned through the applause that fills the clearing. Her eyes are wide, gloved hands clasped together against her chest.

Please come up to the stage, Hyerin-ssi, the judge continues, smiling, and Soo-ah’s gaze shifts to somewhere else in the crowd, shock visibly growing greater.

Hyerin emerges from the crowd looking as much of a vision as Soo-ah does; a baby blue suit and tie, hair falling short but silky around her face, surprise visible on her own face.

I— wow. Wow, thank you so much, I never thought— she cuts herself off, bowing and shaking the judge’s hand. A certificate is presented to her, along with a trophy. 

And a microphone.

She turns it on with a squeal of feedback, pulling a face and getting a laugh from the crowd. “Quirky,” Sunghoon remarks sarcastically. Heeseung pulls out a kernel of popcorn from his bucket and promptly chucks it at the side of his head. It lands and bounces off into Sunghoon’s lap, going totally unnoticed.

Well, uh, hi. Thank you so much for liking my work, and thank you all for coming to see and appreciate all of us, Hyerin begins, and the crowd applauds again. 

The projector flicks on, and her piece shows up. Soo-ah’s head tilts to the side, mesmerized by Hyerin, and then by her artwork. 

It’s entirely monochrome, shades of black and white and gray filling the space around a white silhouette, which is clearly Hyerin’s. There’s shapes, words, so many intricate details in the surroundings— Heeseung recognizes Soo-ah and Hyerin’s old high school, tons of flowers and valentine’s cards and broken hearts. 

And aside from all that, Hyerin continues. I guess what you want to hear about is my art. The piece. And… well, it’s not a very happy story.

The piece is called ‘fade’, because that’s what happened to me and… my soulmate, Hyerin says, drawing a gasp from the crowd and a murmur of interest from the theater. Heeseung can’t quite believe she’d say that on a stage either— soulmate relationships, for those who choose to maintain them, generally don't involve much airing of dirty laundry. It would be like getting up there and gossiping about your husband cheating. It’s not done.

She was… well. She was everything to me. I would say I’m sure you can imagine… but I don’t really know if you can, unless you’ve loved someone like that. 

When we were younger, everything was easy. It’s very easy to be in love when you don’t have to put in any work, you know, Hyerin says, laughing a little bitterly. 

And then we grew up, and reality caught up with us. She went to college in Seoul, and I opened a bakery in the suburbs. And… this is what happened next, Hyerin says, waving at her painting. 

And I won’t say we didn’t love each other, at first. We tried for years. I’d visit at Christmas, she’d come over during Chuseok. But even after she graduated, she stayed there, and then… we just drifted apart. We’d talk everyday and say nothing at all. It was just… at some point it became harder to stay with her than it was to stay apart. 

Heeseung… just doesn’t understand. 

And it seems Soo-ah doesn’t, either. There are tears running down her face, her eyes flicking back and forth from the painting to Hyerin, uncomprehending. 

I guess we all have the one that got away, Hyerin says quietly. I just didn’t think it would be her. 

People are audibly crying by this point; multiple people in their row, probably in their group, definitely are, from the sounds of it. 

Heeseung himself can feel his throat go tight the longer Hyerin keeps talking. His soulmate is always someone he’s looked so forward to meeting. He’s kept them in his thoughts almost as a fail-safe at times— even if this goes wrong my soulmate still loves me somewhere, even if I get rejected today I’ve got a perfect person waiting out there, etc etc. 

He knows he already loves them, whoever they are. Maybe that’s too much, maybe it’ll come on too strong, but he can’t help it. It was always sort of a childhood dream of his, meeting his soulmate young. 

To have that kind of love, and then to lose it… how does that just happen?

(Don’t look at Sunghoon.)

But, secret rebel that he apparently is, he breaks the rule, and he looks at Sunghoon, hearing something suspiciously like a sniffle from next to him.

And to his utter surprise, Sunghoon is actually crying. 

He has to blink a few times to process it, thinking he’s probably misinterpreting in the low light of the theater. Surely there’s no way he’s crying after all that snark up until less than five minutes ago?

 But his hand is clutched tightly on the armrest they share, shoulders shaking, and silent tears are slipping rapidly down his face, shining just slightly in the light coming from the screen.

Heeseung wants to laugh, but instead it just makes his stomach twist. He feels his earlier resolve to be nothing but cold to Sunghoon today crumble slightly in the face of this. 

Sunghoon looks vulnerable, upset. The natural urge is to make sure he doesn’t keep feeling that way.

(What can he say? He’s not good at the whole ‘hating people’ thing.)

He hesitates, Hyerin’s emotional speech still going in the background, Soo-ah’s shining eyes matching Sunghoon’s. 

And he reaches over with one gloved hand and puts it over Sunghoon’s, curling his fingers around the side of his palm. 

Sunghoon starts slightly, but either he’s forgotten it’s Heeseung sitting next to him or just doesn’t care at this point, because he squeezes back, turning his hand to hold Heeseung’s tightly the proper way around. He leans just a little closer, eyes still fixed on the screen, and Heeseung finds himself hiding a smile. It’s— objectively, it’s kind of cute. If it was someone he liked, it would be cute. Because it’s Sunghoon, it’s… just not too repulsive.

He feels almost gratified that Sunghoon’s not pushing him away, as though somehow this means he’s won something. An ember of undefinable emotion burns in his chest as he glances back at the screen, hand still wrapped right around Sunghoon’s. 

And I miss her, Hyerin says sadly. I miss her very much.

Heeseung’s own eyes prickle as Hyerin shuts hers, the emotion in her face etched into every line of it, the longing a full-body, overwhelming thing. 

His grip on Sunghoon’s hand tightens, and a tear slips down his own cheek.

His vision tunnels as he keeps watching, as Hyerin mentally wages war with herself. Sunghoon’s hand is beginning to feel like a tether, warmth leaking through both their respective gloves and spreading from his hand throughout his body. What’s it tethering him to? He has no idea.

But he can’t just let go. 

(He doesn’t want to let go.)

Thank you, Hyerin says, and the round of applause on the screen, from the crowd, spreads to real life, the theater joining in. Heeseung hears Jongseong’s whoop along with a few others, and someone wolf-whistles, somehow managing to sound admiring instead of cheeky. She smiles, wipes her tears, and bows, walking off-stage and leaving Soo-ah behind, reeling, in the crowd.

At least he can say he knows what that feels like. When the world is moving too fast around you, and then you’re standing in the dust, trying to catch up. 

Soo-ah handles it about as well as he does. She goes home, and she keeps going through her life, just as a zombie. Like before, she barely talks, eats, sleeps. Just works. And thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

Heeseung’s beginning to wonder how much of the movie is left if Soo-ah’s just going to walk around listlessly forever. It’s funny— the closer he feels to these characters, the more he relates to them, the more he berates them, inwardly encourages or yells at them. It probably says something about how he treats himself, but at this moment he’s not really ready to have revelations about his own life. People on-screen are already doing that. 

And then, right when the theater is clearly growing a bit restless, comes the call.

Soo-ah’s grandfather is— he’s—

“Are you kidding me,” Sunghoon whispers without much bite, and Heeseung reaches over and pats his hand with his free one. “Oh, let go,” he says irritably, yanking it away. 

Heeseung’s remains there for a shocked second, and then he sets it back in his lap, jaw working as he faces the screen again. There we go, he thinks furiously. Some thanks he gets for being nice to this guy. 

He hopes Sunghoon realizes he’s just alienating Heeseung further every time he’s rude to him.  Negative reinforcement, and all that— he won’t bother to be nice down the line if this is the reaction he keeps getting.

He ends up lacing his fingers together in his lap, pretending he’s not offended at all.

The movie is showing Soo-ah grieving as well, throwing things at the wall, tearing apart her house, screaming and crying, mascara running. She sits in her bathroom and just sobs, sinking down to her knees and crying so hard she can’t breathe.

The theater is silent once more, somber. Sometimes it’s fun watching movies as a big group, when everyone laughs together and gasps together. But it’s not nearly as nice knowing they’re all sad together.

There is something Soo-ah learns from dealing with the aftermath of losing someone whom she loved and who loved her so much, after all that waiting around and not acting. 

She takes his advice from earlier, thinking about how much she misses Hyerin, even now. I miss you too, Hyerin-ah, she whispers out loud, to herself, over and over. I miss you too.

And I think you’re worth fighting for.

And so, the last scene is of Hyerin, sitting at her register in the bakery. It’s a warm morning, sunny, birds chirping. A fresh start to the day. 

The bell on top of the door dings to signal someone’s come in, and from her position searching a bottom drawer, Hyerin calls out, “just a minute!” 

She surfaces after the customer has walked, heels tapping, to the counter, brushing hair out of her face and bowing immediately. “So sorry about that. What can I get for you?” she asks, looking at the register.

The customer doesn’t hesitate. “Whatever you recommend,” she says, and when Hyerin looks up, eyes widening in recognition, the theater gasps. They all know who it was, and they pretend to be surprised anyway.

“S—Soo-ah,” Hyerin stammers. The two women stare at each other, and then for a moment they’re their younger selves, fifteen and then seventeen and then nineteen and then twenty three, all the way to now. Twenty-seven. After four years apart. 

Soo-ah smiles. “Hyerin,” she says, reverently, and then her smile— has she smiled at all, this whole movie, in her older, twenty-seven year old form? no — takes on that cheeky edge it used to have when they were younger, the Soo-ah from the treetop. “I’ve missed you,” she says, and when Hyerin blushes, she laughs. 

“I— me too,” Hyerin says breathlessly. “Me too.”

And now I don’t have to anymore, Soo-ah thinks in her mental monologue. She sounds so genuinely gleeful, almost a 180 from her earlier personality. 

I don’t have to miss you anymore.

And then it ends.

Immediately the theater bursts into applause again, popcorn thrown and people cheering. Somewhere down the row, Jongseong shouts “What? That’s all?!” and at least half the people are still crying, but Heeseung laughs, swept up in it all, and joins in on the clapping. 

The screen goes black, credits playing, and the crowd erupts with chatter, people whispering to each other and reaching for fallen popcorn and at least two couples hurriedly breaking apart from where they were undoubtedly making out. (That’s really a thing that happens at theaters? Wow.)

Heeseung leans back in his seat and wipes hurriedly at the single tear still remaining on his face, looking up and down the row to gauge his friends’ reactions. Sunoo’s sobbing into Riki’s shoulder, Jungwon’s unsubtly recording Jongseong and Jaeyun crying, and Sunghoon is— 

Sunghoon’s looking right back at him, tears still wet on his face, expression thoughtful. Heeseung’s so caught off guard that all he can do for a few seconds is stare silently back, resisting the urge to open his mouth and say something he’ll probably regret down the line. You don’t sass people when they’re crying— it’s basic courtesy.

(Not that Sunghoon himself has any.)

After a long moment, Sunghoon blinks, sniffs slightly, and looks away, scrubbing at his own face with the back of his hand.

“I didn’t take you for a romantic,” Sunghoon mutters, nodding at the screen. 

Heeseung has to gather his thoughts to respond intelligibly. “I— sometimes people are a bit more interesting than you make them out to be,” he says, almost accusatory. He’s heard Sunghoon loudly complain about how boring Heeseung is and how superior he acts enough times to know his impression of Heeseung… isn’t the best.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, but for once, he’s smiling. He has dimples, Heeseung notes, more prominent on one side of his face. It makes him look more charming, that grin, more like the boy Heeseung’s seen people gossip about behind their hands, the boy that gets at least two confessions a week. 

He swallows and looks rapidly away, face heating. That’s not allowed, he thinks distantly. He can’t be thinking like this.

“Not you,” Sunghoon scoffs, as though if he says it firmly enough it’ll make it true. “You’re as shallow as you look.”

His face flushes; it’s as though Sunghoon knew exactly what he was thinking. 

There’s no way, he tells himself, biting his lip and not meeting Sunghoon’s eyes. “I think you’re mistaking me for a mirror,” he mumbles, and from then on, Sunghoon is— if he hadn’t been before, what does Heeseung know— back to normal. 

— — — 

Heeseung almost expects Sunghoon to bring it up later on— ‘it’ being anything about how all of their friends are now mutual, and that the unfortunate coincidence of them going to the movies together will probably keep repeating itself indefinitely, not to mention the inherent bizarreness of them holding hands for however long— but he doesn’t. It’s kind of odd for Sunghoon to ever subvert his expectations; he’s predictable in his dislike, apparently, and Heeseung has gotten used to— if not knowing exactly what to say— at least knowing what Sunghoon will. It makes it far too easy to end up brainstorming potential arguments at night, lying in bed, and then consequently spending much more time thinking about Sunghoon than he’d planned to.

(He tries not to think about that too hard either.)

For instance, on Monday, when they slide into their seats next to each other, all he gets is a “You’re losing again, by the way,” and then a self-satisfied smile when he hisses at him to shut up because the teacher is talking.

(...so maybe he’s a bit predictable as well. He can’t just pull witty things out of his ass, though, so unfortunately Sunghoon’s going to have to put up with a lot more of be quiet and do you ever shut your mouth if he wants to keep doing this. Whatever this actually is.)

The perpetual cloud of tension between them remains, anyhow, seemingly undeterred by the temporary truce they called at the movies. And, well. What else could he even expect?

But at the same time, all of this is… Heeseung would hesitate to say it’s fun, but it’s definitely— interesting. It’s interesting. (That’s his story and he’s sticking to it.)

Because the universe definitely seems to be conspiring to bring him and Sunghoon together whenever it can— such as, for example, how Heeseung runs into him at the local library around a week after the movie, doing what all rebellious teenagers do on Friday night and… studying. 

“What the fuck,” Sunghoon states when Heeseung rounds a corner with a stack of history books in hand and nearly slams headlong into him. 

Heeseung would have to agree most ardently. What the fuck. 

He looks Sunghoon up and down as though he’s confirming whether it’s really him. This is only the second time he’s seen him out of a school uniform, but it appears he’s as impeccable in a sweatshirt that says have an ice day and track pants as he is in a private school blazer and tie (although that frequently goes missing, apparently.) 

“What are you looking at?” Sunghoon sneers, a flush climbing up his neck, and Heeseung blinks. “Or— actually, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you’d be spending your Friday nights with K-pop idols or something.”

Heeseung, as always, tries his hardest to be the better person. That voice in his head that tells him he’s Sunghoon’s hyung and should therefore not be as shitty as him, though, is steadily being drowned out by the general assholery of his dongsaeng. He just makes it too hard, Heeseung thinks miserably, to be nice to him. 

“That’s almost as stupid as if I’d assumed you spent your weekends with Yuzuru Hanyu,” he points out under his breath. “I’m here to study, so please just move,” he adds impatiently. 

Sunghoon splutters, clearly offended. Heeseung learned on almost day one that the best way to piss him off is to not give him the time of day— all you’d need to do is take a look at the way he reacts when Heeseung doesn’t have the patience for him. “I didn’t realize you had right of way in library aisles,” he drawls sarcastically, and he steps aside with an exaggerated bow. “Be my guest,” he says, and then when Heeseung brushes angrily past him, he stomps on his untied shoelace, and Heeseung nearly brains himself on an encyclopedia. 

“Okay, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he hisses from the floor. Miraculously no one else has noticed Sunghoon practically ambushing him in a public place— but then he notices they’re practically in the back corner, and that the sounds of flipping pages and low whispers echo just faintly around them. Everyone else is far away, and it’s not like there’s many people here on Friday night. He’d wager that even if Sunghoon was to just kill him in cold blood and then leave the body here, no one would notice until tomorrow morning at minimum. 

That’s reassuring. 

Sunghoon hides a smile behind his hand, putting the other on his hip and raising his eyebrows down at Heeseung, who’s sprawled on the carpet with a pile of books strewn all around and on top of him. The front page of that History of Korean Wars will likely never be the same again. “Oops,” he practically cackles. 

“You could have killed me!”

“What, with books?” Sunghoon snorts. “Nice try. Now, if you could get out of my way…” he simpers, and Heeseung grits his teeth as he steps right over Heeseung’s legs and stalks away, grabbing one of his books off the floor and taking it with him for good measure. 

He forces himself to not say anything to his retreating back, takes a breath, and manages to not scream at something.

He mentally curses Sunghoon out the whole time he’s picking up the books and dusting himself off, legs smarting from the fall, and he chooses a spot as far away from Sunghoon as he can possibly get in the common work area. (He still finds himself seeking glances at him occasionally, though, because apparently he’s not the only one that has a spare pair of blue light glasses. 

Sunghoon’s are silver-rimmed and smart, and they should look nerdy on him but they— don’t. He looks like a stock photo , Heeseung thinks spitefully as he sips his coffee and darts yet another glance at where Sunghoon is sitting, flipping through a stack of papers. One of those stupid ‘my future boyfriend’ Pinterest stock photos. 

But, like, who cares, right?)

Certainly not Heeseung— except when it keeps happening. He runs into Sunghoon buying printer ink at the stationary store three days later and promptly turns and goes the other way to waste twenty minutes pretending to look at floral folders in aisle ten. When he returns, the ink aisle is Sunghoon-free, but knowing his luck, that’s not the end of it. 

Then the week after: his eyes pass over a guy wearing an obnoxiously red jacket, passively noticing him, and then snap back immediately, coming to a stop in the middle of the park, to see that it’s Sunghoon walking his dog. 

(He can’t even make a comment against the dog because it’s adorable. It’s white and fluffy and small and at the moment he’s more concerned with if Sunghoon would let him pet the dog than with how the last thing he wants is to see Sunghoon in the middle of—)

“Please look at the camera, Heeseung-ssi,” says one of the cameramen around him, and he clears his throat and refocuses on his actual job. He’s dressed in quintessential rebellious teen fall gear— a brown leather jacket, combat boots, ripped jeans, and a red beanie to match the fall foliage around him. He feels like a wannabe ‘90s college kid, but his job isn’t to comment on the clothes— it’s to show them off well. 

It’s hard for him to feel completely at ease doing this in an empty studio, much less at a public dog park. He loves animals, okay, but there’s a pile of poop less than two meters from him he’d rather not accidentally sit on. Not to mention the stares they’re getting having a full on squad of cameramen and a makeup crew on standby, all clustered right in the middle of the grass. 

 He feels his face heat up as he trains his eyes on the camera and tries to find his rhythm again, remember what pose he was in the middle of before Sunghoon walked by and distracted him to no end. God. That’s really becoming a problem, isn’t it?

Whatever it is, he doesn’t look Sunghoon’s way again, but he keeps catching sight of that red jacket in his periphery, heart jolting each time. He wonders if Sunghoon’s spotted him, and hopes very sincerely that he hasn’t and never will.

Considering it doesn’t merit a mention the next day at school, he’s going to assume not. 

But at the same time, is it just him having these experiences, of seeing Sunghoon in places where he wouldn’t expect and then not being seen in return? Or has Sunghoon been seeing him around as well, in the store and next to the mall and by the company building? Has he just been ducking out of sight like Heeseung?

It’s a scary notion. He starts dressing nicer almost unconsciously just in case he sees him anywhere. (You wouldn’t see Heeseung wearing a shirt with a tacky pun on it at school, much less out and about. At home is a different matter, though.) He has a vague idea of what days Sunghoon has ice skating practice that runs late (because he usually complains about it afterward ) and tries his best to go out only during those hours. Hell, he even switches which bookstore he frequents just in case he winds up catching Sunghoon behind the register one day, sneering at the romance novels Heeseung mixes into his steady diet of autobiographies and apocalyptic what-ifs. He’d probably manage to get the card declined. 

Anyway. Despite all his efforts— substantial enough that even his brother calls him out on it with a confused “Heeseung-ah, it’s eight-thirty on a Friday night, why the hell are you going to the grocery store now?” — Park Sunghoon is either one hell of a stalker or the world has a vendetta against Heeseung being able to leave the house without feeling like he’s being paparazzi’d, because on Sunday evening, as he’s picking up coffee for himself and the rest of his family, you’ll never guess— no, really, never guess— who he sees at the coffee shop.

He gets all the way to picking up the tray of drinks the barista hands him after ordering, bowing and offering her a smile and a ‘thank you’, before he hears an incredulous “Heeseung?” from behind him.

His expression must do something truly alarming, because the barista’s returning smile falters in its tracks, and she quickly turns and goes back to doing something at the register. Maybe she’s sensing the animosity brewing in the air, but either way— smart decision. Why can’t Heeseung just go hide behind the counter too?

“Sunghoon?” he asks tentatively, turning to see him sitting just across the room, next to the window, laptop open on the table in front of him.

Of all the times to come here to study, he chooses now? 

“What the hell are you—” Sunghoon cuts himself off with a scoff, looking almost as shocked as Heeseung feels. “Are you stalking me or something?” he asks, accusatory, and Heeseung does a double take. “Why do I keep seeing you everywhere?” 

Heeseung gets out of the way of the other people standing in line and, tray in hand, storms over to where Sunghoon is sitting. “Why would I be stalking you?” he asks with a scowl. “I don’t know either, okay? Maybe we live close by or something,” he says, because that’s exactly what he needs right now; to have moved to a whole new school only to end up living next to the worst person in it.

Sunghoon gives him a predictably dirty look. “You think I live anywhere near a gated community? You probably have, like, a pool in your backyard or something.”

“It’s not good to make assumptions, Sunghoon-ah,” Heeseung says coldly. He was aiming for condescension, but he lands somewhere between offended and angry instead— and judging by the look on Sunghoon’s face, he knows it. He storms out of the shop, vindicated by the I wasn’t finished yet sort of look Sunghoon throws him. At least he had the last word.

(That voice in his head telling him Sunghoon is a dongsaeng and shouldn’t be subjected to his wrath gets quieter everyday.)

And after that, things turn… nasty.

It starts with Sunghoon (because of course it does). Heeseung accidentally— “I pushed him!” Jungwon will later scream after having been sufficiently bribed by Jaeyun to diffuse the situation— spills his lunch tray on Sunghoon’s lap, gets ketchup on his brand-new shoes, and then gets home the next night, opens his backpack, and finds a large dollop of mayonnaise adorning his math homework. 

“I’ll get him expelled if you want,” Jongseong offers when they go out with Riki later that evening. “I know a guy who’s willing to pull the fire alarm during lunch; just say the word, hyung, and he’s gone.”

“I knew there was a reason you were my bodyguard,” Heeseung grins. “But I don’t need you to expel him. I’ve got a better idea.”

When Sunghoon goes to the bathroom the next day in math, he rips out the ten pages on this unit from his textbook, tears out his notes from the last week, and then, for good measure, takes Twelfth Night out of his backpack, drops it on the ground, and subtly kicks it under the table ahead of him.

It’s… not his finest moment. (But hey— it’s pretty damn satisfying.)

And it’s definitely worth it when Sunghoon walks into class the next day and struggles for fifty minutes to not ask him where his notes went. The answer is obvious, but whether Sunghoon wants to make this into Cold War 2.0 or just open his mouth and ask him about it remains to be seen.

Heeseung watches him storm out of his seat at the end of class not having said anything, any lingering guilt mostly eclipsed by satisfaction, and makes a mental note. Cold War it is. 

Which goes… about as well as you could expect.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THREE: CLARKIA

your witty conversation delights me

The entirety of the three weeks that remain until the end of October can be summed up pretty well as a net win— for Sunghoon, at least. In that same timeframe, Jaeyun’s soccer team gets pummeled in all three matches they play, Sunoo’s drama club loses ten members to poorly-scheduled track and field practices, and Jungwon’s backpack gives out in the middle of the hallway. 

But Sunghoon’s choosing to focus on the good: Jaeyun’s team hosted a pizza-and-moping night that he got to tag along to, at least five of the guys that left the drama club were knuckleheads anyway, and watching Jungwon try to hold onto all his stuff and balance himself upright on a bike going home that afternoon had been one of the most entertaining parts of Sunghoon’s day. (Yes, he went and helped, he’s not a monster.)

But where is this optimistic attitude coming from, you may ask? 

(Not that Sunghoon’s naturally pessimistic, but usually his confidence remains in himself, in the people around him, in Yuzuru Hanyu. Nowadays he’s been thanking the universe as a whole for the good things coming his way.)

To that… he’d ask where you’d even want him to begin.

First of all there’s the wonderful development of their school moving on from Lee Heeseung— as much as anyone can move on from a six foot tall literal model who had better fear for his life come Valentine’s Day. It tapers off naturally, once all the weirdos have had their go of trying to miraculously become soulmates with him and he’s made his rounds handing out cookies; high schoolers are easily bored. By all rights this should mean that Sunghoon wipes his hands of the novelty as well, moving on to the next thing.

But his inability to let things go has already been established, and Lee Heeseung? Sunghoon is not planning on shelving his pride on that matter anytime soon. 

Anyway. That whole— mess, essentially— aside, that development is made slightly less wonderful by the fact that the new topic of interest is Halloween. 

There’s not much inherently wrong with the holiday itself; it’s fun, the costumes are entertaining, and the steady supply of candy he gets off his sister, who’s still somewhere around the age where it’s socially acceptable to go trick-or-treating, is not something he’d want to pass up.

But trust him. There are other issues.

“Do you think I have time for a Halloween party?” Sunghoon asks at lunch on a warm Friday afternoon, him, Jaeyun, Sunoo, and Riki sitting in a corner of the cafeteria and watching a few hapless student council kids string decorations along the walls in shades of purple and orange. It’s an interesting experience to be eating a sandwich while Frankenstein’s bride snarls at you from an abnormally large poster across the room, but it’s even odder to think that Sunghoon has apparently forgotten Halloween this year. The thought quite literally never crossed his mind.

What’s been living up there these days, just math formulas and YouTube binges of Nathan Chen landing quads and one-liners that would look good breaking Lee Heeseung’s goody-two shoes facade? Absolutely no perception of the real world?

And even besides that, he has such vivid memories of trying a beer for the first time during sophomore year out of one of those stupid red solo cups and then vomiting all over his costume that he’d have thought it would resurface strongly enough for him to know naturally every year, reawakening that annual, primal instinct that screams do not go to Halloween parties. Evidently he’s managed to weed out all latent hints of self-preservation, flinging himself into the air above solid ice and testing the limits of every teacher he knows with didn’t I deserve this last point, though—? 

Honestly, when was the last day he didn’t spend doing homework, or practicing, or studying out of the irrational fear that he’ll fail something he already understands well enough to teach the lesson on? He’s turning into a workaholic without even being properly employed yet. God.

“You can spare one Friday night,” Sunoo says in a tone that suggests he’s completely aware of how Sunghoon will give in at some point if he’s the right level of annoying. “And it’s Jongseong-hyung’s, so you don’t really have a choice, hyung . Everyone already thinks we’re boring private school kids, you kn—”

“It’s Jongseong’s?” Sunghoon asks, eyes widening, at the same time that Jaeyun tilts his head and points out that “they’re not wrong,” which earns him a vicious glare. He raises his hands in surrender, laughing, and predictably doesn’t push the point. God, Sunghoon hopes love never turns him into this pile of mush.

“Jongseong-hyung said his parents are out of town that weekend, so he’s having a party,” Riki confirms, continuing to steal everyone else’s food.

“Jongseong?” Sunghoon repeats, still uncomprehending. If this is what he heard everyone getting excited about in third period, maybe he can understand the hype a bit. A party at the biggest house in town? Yeah, sounds like enough to dethrone anyone, even Heeseung.

“Yes, Jongseong-hyung, who else?” Sunoo says, giving him a look that plainly says obviously. Sunghoon really does hope he has to deal with a dongsaeng just like him someday. (Ugh, he sounds like his mother.)

“But he’s student body president. And his parents are— have you met his eomma? She’ll kill him if she ever finds out,” Sunghoon says, shaking his head.

“Tell me you’re not actually this tragically boring, hyung,” Sunoo says earnestly. “It’s tradition for the president to have a couple big parties anyway.”

“Since when?”

“Since Dahyun-noona graduated and got the cops called at the afterparty,” Jaeyun supplies, as though that makes Sunghoon feel any less skeptical about this. 

He texts Jongseong under the table as Sunoo declares, “I will be offering my makeup services to all of you,” with a dramatic sweep of his arm. 

Did you lose a bet?

Within ten seconds, the typing bubbles show up. don’t even start, Jongseong responds, and Sunghoon snickers. 

He looks up, across the cafeteria to the side he frequently pretends doesn’t exist because of who sits there, and meets Jongseong’s eyes, raising his eyebrows and grinning. Jongseong gives him an unimpressed look back and types something else on his phone, making Sunghoon’s ding with a notification. 

Jungwon tricked me into it, the message says, and there’s really nothing more quintessentially Jongseong than that. 

(“Ten thousand won on Riki showing up as a whoopee cushion,” Jaeyun whispers.

“You’re on,” Sunghoon says, because, well. There’s nothing more quintessentially Riki than that.)

— — — 

Anyway, Halloween is something that happens to him; opposingly, Sunghoon intends to be something that happens to Heeseung. 

He’s not prone to biding his time, so the first chance he gets, he strikes back at in a way that could be called small, by the uneducated passerby: he finds out which library Heeseung studies at and then decides they’re going to share it. It’s an inspired idea, in his opinion.

It turns out to be a different one than where they tripped over— ha— each other last week; an innocuous query to Jungwon tells him it’s Hanwon Memorial, and typing it into the GPS informs him it’s down the street from the bridal boutique Jongseong’s mother casually owns, wedged between a coffee shop and the sports store Sunghoon always buys skating pads at. Also, it’s walking distance from his house. It’s too convenient not to take advantage of, all right? 

So he takes a gamble Saturday morning, tells his parents he’s going out, and sets off to see if he can commence the ruining of Lee Heeseung’s life on his very first try. He’s optimistic. It’s a sunny, brisk morning, the score’s tipped in his favor by virtue of an English test Friday afternoon, and he’s fresh off early morning skating practice. The exhaustion will hit later on, but for now he’s riding high on the dopamine rush and raring to go. 

(Does he stop to question why the hell he’s putting so much effort into this? Yes, and since the answer is inconclusive and begs further experimentation, he decides the best course of action is exactly that. Gathering more data.)

He also stops and buys himself donuts, solely for the purpose of lording them over Heeseung if— when, trust your gut — he sees him there. 

The library, when he reaches it, is a tall brownstone of a building, narrow but stretching three stories high. It looks less like a place of knowledge and more like it should have been abandoned a long time ago; he actually double checks the GPS and peeks his head in through a window— yep, books. Huh.

Sunghoon has no idea what’s so much better about this place than the much larger public library, but if Heeseung apparently sits around here 5-6 days a week, then he’ll just have to find out. He shoulders his bag and heads inside.

He gives the lady sitting at the help desk a short bow and then heads off to find somewhere to sit. It’s much less crowded than the bigger public library, but it’s organized the same way they all are— over there is the kids’ section, then teens’, upstairs is adult…

Sunghoon walks the length of the first floor and doesn’t find who he’s looking for. Great. 

I’ll… just have a look at the adult section, he decides, and despite how sheepish he feels doing it, he goes up the flight of stairs to search there as well.

The shelves are set closer together here, long rows running almost all the way to the walls. He has to skirt around a few tight corners to find the large, open area of tables and cushions, and when he gets there, one quick sweep tells him all he needs to know. Mission: unsuccessful.

He heads across the room and flops down on a couch by the back corner, next to the window. It’s built into this little alcove of sorts, like a bite taken out of the rest of the wall, so it’s secluded enough for him to start on the donuts that are probably contraband. He’s never been in a library that was okay with frosting getting on their books. 

But this is his consolation prize. Come on. Three weeks of seeing Heeseung everywhere, like a fucking ghost following him around, and now, the first time Sunghoon actually seeks him out somewhere he apparently goes almost everyday, he’s not here? Seriously?

Of fucking course. That’s just Sunghoon’s luck, really, because these days—

His heart skips a beat. 

Inexplicably, Heeseung’s actually here now— he’s walking across the room, backpack over one shoulder. 

Why is this more of a shock than him not being here?

(...maybe there is something a bit witchy going on here. It might be worth just going out somewhere and snapping his fingers to see if the universe magically sends Heeseung his way, because… what? How?)

His surprise dissolves pretty quickly in favor of scheming. He leans back on the couch, fingers twitching on the last piece of his donut. How’s he gonna play this? 

His job’s made easier by the fact that Heeseung’s walking right towards him. Probably to this exact couch. Maybe his luck really is that good these days. 

Anyway: on one hand, he can’t wait to see the look on his face when he spots him sitting here. On the other…

He shoves the donut in his mouth and quickly unzips his bag, pulls out his laptop, and opens a random document— his history essay. Fine. Sunghoon’s very intently reading the introduction he wrote last night, stomach turning in anticipation, when Heeseung rounds the corner. He swallows the last bit of donut and waits for the payoff. 

It takes a Herculean amount of effort to not look up, but he manages, contenting himself with the glimpse of Heeseung stopping in his tracks that he gets from above the laptop screen. His lips twitch, and he quickly presses them together, schooling  his expression. Do not laugh. Don’t fucking do it. His heart’s beating too fast in his chest, like a butterfly beating its wings. 

He types a sucker after his last sentence, then dramatically adds a period, like a typewriter announcing the end of a line.

“Sunghoon,” Heeseung says, and Sunghoon makes a show of pausing, leaning back, looking up.

He blinks, takes him in properly. He’s dressed casually enough, in jeans and a jacket over a plain shirt, and that in itself is a bit weird, after seeing him in almost nothing but that blue uniform every day— however, something about him looks even more different than usual.

His brows furrow, and then straighten out, realization striking him. It’s the hair. It’s unstyled, hanging into his eyes, and it makes him look older, makes his eyes look darker. That ever-present oh my god he’s looking at me how do I react feeling rises to a fever pitch in Sunghoon’s chest, kickstarting his heart. You’re not supposed to find people you despise attractive, his brain reminds him, a slight warmth blooming in his cheeks. 

“Heeseung?” he asks incredulously, eyes widening, mouth falling open. The picture of surprise. “Wow. What are you doing here?” Sarcasm drips off every word, saccharine.

Heeseung’s giving him this Look, this why are you doing this to me look that’s so quintessentially done that once again he has to press his lips together to keep from laughing. 

He doesn’t really succeed. A snicker slips out, and then his lips curve upward on their own, shattering his facade. 

“Why,” Heeseung sighs, and it’s not a question. He drops his head towards his chest, tilts it to the side. “How did you even—?”

Sunghoon’s properly showing off his pearly whites now, thoroughly satisfied with himself. All he had to do was show up and Heeseung’s apparently reached his quota of bullshit for one day. He honestly can’t wait to see how much worse he can make this.

“I have my methods,” he says, refusing to elaborate. Jungwon had better be grateful Sunghoon’s not selling him out.

“Fantastic,” Heeseung mutters, and with a dubious expression, he cautiously comes and sits next to Sunghoon, his bag slipping off his shoulder and onto the couch. He makes it so easy, god. “Is there any point in trying to go sit somewhere else?” he deadpans.

There probably is. Contrary to what Heeseung may think of him, Sunghoon won’t stoop so low as to chase him around a public library… but if that’s what he wants to hear, then for once Sunghoon won’t deign to disagree.

“None whatsoever,” he confirms smoothly, and as Heeseung sighs and sinks backward into the pillow, he discreetly holds down the backspace button until his sucker is deleted. 

Heeseung cautiously pulls out his homework, Sunghoon barely pretending to focus on his own as he does it. There’s definitely something immensely satisfying about giving someone so much anxiety just by sitting down next to them. Maybe the real strategy here isn’t to terrorize Heeseung— it’s to sit here and act like he has a master plan and instead do nothing. That’ll fuck with him for sure. 

“So how’s your day going, hyung?” Sunghoon asks cheerfully, and the poor boy nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“Uh,” Heeseung begins, eyes wide as he cautiously sets his laptop down onto the table in front of them. “Fine?” Sunghoon can practically see the since when doe s he call me hyung bouncing around his woefully empty brain, the warning bells going off. 

“Really? Mine was terrible,” he lies. “That’s why I got these.” He waves at the bag of donuts. 

“Right,” Heeseung responds, and this conversation is awkward even for Sunghoon but also hilarious— Heeseung looks like he’s going into shock. “Right, you— what do you want from me, exactly?” he asks in a tone that suggests he wants nothing more than to get up and leave. 

Sunghoon blinks innocently. “Nothing,” he says. “Why?”

Heeseung gives him a disbelieving look. “This isn’t gonna work on me,” he says firmly, and his confusion melts away to an unimpressed glare.

“What’s not—?”

“Sunghoon,” Heeseung cuts in pointedly, and Sunghoon gives it up, rolling his eyes and leaning back onto the couch. 

“All right,” he sighs, but by no means does that mean he’s done. Heeseung certainly seems to think so, going all smug and returning to his work, but Sunghoon hasn’t forgotten that half the contents of his backpack mysteriously disappeared after he went to the bathroom in math a couple of days ago. Losing library books comes with a fine, and he doesn’t think two minutes of being polite, of all things, makes up for the dip into his allowance. 

He tries aimlessly to write his essay for a couple of minutes, during which, out of the corner of his eye, he can see Heeseung sneaking glances at him. As the interval between each suspicious look gets longer, Sunghoon can see Heeseung beginning to relax slightly, even looking over at Sunghoon’s donuts. In his fucking dreams. 

“Heeseung,” he starts a while later, making him jump again and stifling a laugh. Too damn easy. 

“What?” Heeseung snaps, and then determinedly claps his mouth shut. Sunghoon gives him a sarcastic smile— he knows Heeseung’s got that thing about not arguing with him, but the lines he draws for himself make such little sense that Sunghoon’s basically given up trying to understand or tolerate them. If he can shamelessly rip out all of Sunghoon’s notes so he’ll fail the next test, he can man up and look him in the eye and trade verbal blows with him without going all ‘but he’s my dongsaeng ’ about it.  

“Just wondering what you’re doing here on a Saturday morning. Don’t people like you have anything more exciting going on when you’re not at school?”
“I— people like me?” Heeseung asks incredulously.

Sunghoon raises his eyebrows. “Yeah. Pretentious models.”

“You have an internet documentary about you,” Heeseung responds testily.

“How… do you know about that?” Sunghoon asks, sitting up and flushing. When he was younger, people had started paying attention to his ice skating career, and so they’d filmed a whole embarrassing thing about him and his schedule and how he got yelled at on a daily basis. To this day, his friends terrorize him by posting it all over social media on his birthday. Generally he’d like nothing more than to forget it ever happened, thanks.

Heeseung’s lips twitch, though he makes a valiant effort to straighten them out immediately. “Jungwonie showed me.”

That brat. “I— I’m gonna kill him,” Sunghoon says, looking away and momentarily shutting his eyes, curse words flowing through his brain in a long, uninterrupted stream.

“It was cute,” Heeseung says, which makes him open his eyes and give him a dirty look, ignoring the swift thump his heart gives. Heeseung raises his own eyebrows in response. “What? It was pretty cute. I think you cried, like, three tim—”

“Shut up,” Sunghoon interrupts, eyes flashing, and inexplicably Heeseung laughs. 

“You came and sat next to me.”

The urge to snap back with something harsh is extremely hard to resist, but he manages. If he gets into an argument with Heeseung, he’ll go home feeling shitty; if he sticks to just pissing him off and having a laugh, he’s golden.

To be honest, Sunghoon’s not sure when Heeseung became such a fixture in his life. On one hand, sometimes seeing him is unavoidable— during school, out with their friends, even around town sometimes. But on the other, there’s this— seeking him out on purpose, shamelessly. Sunghoon’s honestly kind of surprised with himself for having the nerve. 

And yes— Heeseung’s still the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He’s unyielding and arrogant and clearly hates Sunghoon for some reason, and even if he wasn’t all that he’s so damn annoying about their test scores that it would be impossible to go around without an ounce of resentment towards him. 

And yet— and yet it’s like meeting Heeseung’s eyes injects an electric bolt of energy into Sunghoon’s veins. Makes him act in ways he never thought he would. He can rationalize it all he wants— and boy has he tried — but in the end it comes down to something undefinable, beyond just Heeseung’s surface-level assholery. There’s something about him that keeps making Sunghoon come back, even for the bickering and the cold shoulders and the ups and downs of losing and then winning, winning and then losing.

(Maybe love isn’t all that’s written in the stars— maybe hate’s up here too.)

Then again, all of that’s just bullshit. What he does know is this: it gives him something like a dopamine rush to know he’s won anything against Heeseung, and if a stand-off in a public library is what’s in contention today, he’ll take it.

Besides, that exercise high is rapidly wearing down. Where else is Sunghoon supposed to get his excitement from?

So after around ten minutes, maybe, of half-heartedly researching for his history assignment— he’s on Wikipedia, which should be a dead giveaway to anyone paying attention that all he’s doing is fucking around and wasting time— he pipes up again, unable to sit silently. 

(It’s kind of embarrassing when he really stops to think about it; when it comes down to it, beneath all the bluster, in essence all he’s doing is waving a neon sign in Heeseung’s face that says notice me senpai. And sure, it comes more from the desire to get him riled up than it does romance, but. For all of Sunghoon’s nonchalance, it’s not like he’s ever been immune to pretty boys.)

“Heeseung,” he starts, and then reconsiders, weighing what he’s about to ask. “Hyung?”

Once again, Heeseung’s surprise is evident. He’d clearly been concentrating a bit better than Sunghoon, typing rapidly on his own laptop, but his fingers go still on the keyboard, head snapping around so his eyes can pierce into Sunghoon’s, brows furrowing. Sunghoon files this away for future use: Lee Heeseung freaks out a little when I call him hyung. Maybe he’s successfully Pavlov’d him or something. 

“What are you working on?” Sunghoon asks. Heeseung blinks at him, uncomprehending, and then tilts his head to the side, eyes scrunching shut in exasperation.

Really? his expression says when he opens his eyes, bottom lip sticking out in what’s almost a pout. Sunghoon fights the urge to snicker. “History,” Heeseung sighs. “What is it now?”

“With Seo seon-sang-nim?” Sunghoon confirms, just to make sure they have the same assignment.

“Yes?”

“Okay, do you know what this is about?” Sunghoon points at his laptop screen, turning it Heeseung’s way and showing him a random line on the rubric, compare with today’s current political climate or something. 

Heeseung hesitates. “Are you actually asking, or just—”

“Yes, actually,” Sunghoon says, rolling his eyes. When Heeseung gives him a reproachful look, he sighs, pulls a face, and carefully enunciates, “Can you please tell me what this is about,” dragging out the words nice and slow.

Heeseung looks half a second from telling him to shove it up his ass, but he gives a short nod and squints at it. “It’s pretty simple, actually— it’s asking about the 1870s, right, so if you talk about the government then and compare it to now— you could probably mention the split into North and South Korea, what the current president wants versus back then, just general stuff.”

“But what even is the political climate now?” Sunghoon pushes, because he’s got an inkling as to how much Heeseung enjoys the sound of his own voice, and he’d like to see if he’ll be proven right. 

“Well—”

And he gets going, just as Sunghoon would have thought; he googles something about the president and then rambles for— Sunghoon glances at the clock— three full minutes. 

“--so you could start with that, I think—”

Sunghoon can pinpoint the exact moment that Heeseung registers the earbuds stuck firmly in Sunghoon’s ears, because his expression does something that a smarter person would probably go hide from. His eyes go wide, mouth slack, and then something like betrayal flits across his face before being replaced with what can only be pure rage. 

Sucker, Sunghoon thinks again, vindictively, and one side of his mouth pinches to the side with the effort to not laugh. He pulls out one earbud and adopts a confused sort of look. “I’m sorry, do you think you could say that again? I was—”

Heeseung slams his textbook shut and shoves it into his backpack with the exact sort of fervor Sunghoon had hoped to induce. “You’re welcome,” he grits out. “Why is it that every time I try and be nice to you—”

“I don’t listen?” Sunghoon asks, grinning. “Yeah, you shouldn’t bother.” 

“That’s not what you said when you were holding my hand and crying at that movie,” Heeseung shoots back, slamming his laptop shut as well. 

Now it’s Sunghoon’s eyes that widen, cheeks flushing. “That’s not— I didn’t ask you to do that, you idiot—”

“You didn’t ask me to let go for ages, either,” Heeseung responds pointedly, but it’s clear that he’s not receiving much satisfaction from holding this over Sunghoon.

“You—” Sunghoon flounders for a response, but for once there’s nothing to say, because Heeseung’s fucking right. He should have known that day would come back to bite him in the ass eventually. “Oh, go fuck yourself,” Sunghoon snaps, eventually, and immediately afterward his first thought is oh shit. He doesn’t think they’ve crossed the line of just brazenly cursing at each other yet. 

Heeseung opens his mouth to respond, hand slamming down on the table between them, and Sunghoon’s bracing himself for what will undoubtedly be a scathing response when Heeseung pauses, head dropping down to glare a hole in the table with his eyes. “Oh, fuck this,” he mutters, and then he turns on his heel and storms off.

Sunghoon’s left staring after him, a mix of emotions warring in his chest. For one, there’s satisfaction— he’s gotten Heeseung riled up like never before, has definitely left a dent in his day, and yet there’s also that masochistic urge to ask him what he was about to say, make him voice it aloud, keep the fight going. If it was Sunghoon in his shoes, he wouldn’t have held back; he’d have said it outright, made Heeseung deal with the consequences. So where does Heeseung get off having so much goddamned self-control? 

He huffs out an offended breath, sinking back into the couch and running a hand through his hair. His face still feels flushed, veins thrumming with anger— and then he’s cringing again remembering that stupid movie and holding Heeseung’s stupid hand. Why hadn’t he pushed him off?

(It’s pretty damn obvious why, honestly, and that’s because notice me senpai can’t really culminate in any more attention than that. Also, he was crying. Is that not off-limits when it comes to mean insults?)

God. Whatever.

Sunghoon picks his head off the headrest, shaking his head as if to clear it. He’s gone now, anyway, so there’s no point sitting here and continuing to be embarrassed about it for ages. And—

And it looks like Heeseung forgot his backpack here. Sunghoon looks from the folder still open on the table to where the bag lies on the ground, unzipped and halfway to vomiting out a pencil case. 

His eyes stray to the bag of donuts in front of him, lips parting thoughtfully.

The question is not, at this point, whether he has a death wish or not— it’s how long it’s going to take to be granted. 

Sunghoon does the absolute dumbest, most infuriating thing he can think of— he pulls out a donut, takes a moment to mourn its death, and honorably sacrifices it to Heeseung’s handwritten English book report. 

Frosting smears over his name and date, over the first three paragraphs, and then he flips it over and systematically ruins the next three pages— three pages, Heeseung’s going to have one hell of a weekend re-doing this thing— heart pounding all the while. If this doesn’t break Heeseung’s stupid facade, nothing will. And Sunghoon’s not so proud as to deny that he’s a little scared to see what that looks like. Heeseung’s always given him the vibe of being hard to get angry but then absolutely terrifying when he does hit the limit. 

No time like the present to find out.

Sunghoon’s carefully packing away his things— because the chances of him getting any work done after all this are minimal to say the least— when he spots Heeseung storming back across the library. Maybe the idiot finally realized he made his dramatic exit stage right sans backpack.

Heeseung says nothing as he rounds the corner back into their little alcove, eyes trained on the ground. Sunghoon loudly zips up his backpack, gaze darting back and forth from Heeseung to the table, lips pressed tightly together. 

“You—“ Heeseung spots the paper, the donut still face down on it, and his expression goes stricken, mouth dropping open. “Oh my fucking god,” he enunciates, and Sunghoon’s shoulders are shaking with the effort not to laugh. “Oh my god, you absolute psycho,” he hisses, reaching over and poking the donut as though trying to confirm its existence. His eyes are wide as dinner plates.

Whichever idiot said revenge was bitter must not have succeeded at it, because this is quite possibly the greatest thing Sunghoon has ever witnessed in his entire stupid life.

“Karma’s a bitch, Heeseung,” Sunghoon informs him cheerily, and then Heeseung looks up and gives him a look that’s half furious beyond belief, half-panicked, and wholly priceless. If someone made him an oil painting of Heeseung’s face in this moment and managed to capture the exact shade of shock and horror in his eyes, he’d pay them any sum they demanded to have it framed in his living room. 

“That’s it,” Heeseung says after a moment, straightening and shaking his head. “That’s it.” And he turns and storms away again, Sunghoon looking after him with amusement written all over his face, making his chest warm.

Which quickly transforms into horror when he realizes he’s going right for the librarian’s desk across the room. Is he— seriously? 

Yeah, never mind; they probably don’t make oil paintings of people with the maturity levels of five year olds.

Sunghoon rapidly scrambles after him, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. He catches up halfway across the room, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back. “What are you doing? Are you trying to tell on me, is that the—”

Heeseung jerks his hand off but halts, both of them glaring at each other. “I don’t know why you have to act like this all the time.”

“You started it,” Sunghoon shoots back, eyes narrowing.

“Me? You haven’t wanted me around from the moment you met me,” Heeseung counters. “So excuse me for trying to make sure you don’t come back here again.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like this has all been one-sided.”

A muscle jumps in Heeseung’s jaw, eyes flashing. “If I don’t get you kicked out,” he starts, and Sunghoon opens his mouth immediately to protest. “Let me finish,” Heeseung interrupts. “If I don’t get you kicked out, will you go on your own? I have work to get done. Don’t come back and sit right next to me.”

A million different comebacks are on the tip of Sunghoon’s tongue— you act like I wanted to sit next to you; isn’t that arrogant?; you’ve got a lot of nerve talking down at me like that. He’s so angry he can’t even speak them aloud, and instead what’s really threatening to come out of his mouth is another series of curses. That’ll fucking help senpai notice him. 

The devil on his shoulder suddenly suggests he hold his tongue. 

Here’s a better idea, it says, while the angel on the other side is for once screaming that maybe just cussing him out is the smarter option. The angel, and Jaeyun’s voice in his head. Don’t do it, Sunghoonie. 

But he only has to consider it for a second; Heeseung’s given him plenty of practice in silencing the poor angel. 

“Fine,” Sunghoon spits, raising his chin; he hopes the amount of venom packed in that single word hits Heeseung as hard as it can, burrows deep. (‘Fine’ is commonly considered to be a very damaging insult, in case you weren’t aware.) His teeth grit together with the effort to not follow it up with something else. Let him walk away, he cautions himself. 

Heeseung continues to glare at him a moment longer, holding his gaze. His eyes tell the whole story, narrowed and sharp and full of riotous anger. And god, the blame for all of Sunghoon’s problems can be put squarely on Lee Heeseung’s stupid expressive eyes. One thing will come out of his mouth, and another altogether will reflect in his eyes. It makes it so painfully obvious when Heeseung is lying. Doesn’t even have the decency to spare Sunghoon the bullshit.

But in this moment, Sunghoon realizes with a rush of satisfaction— misplaced as it probably is— that he doesn’t think Heeseung could hide his disdain if he tried. It’s about time.

(The other problem with Heeseung’s earnest brown eyes is that they make him want to do stupid things. No, he won’t elaborate.)

“Fine,” Heeseung responds finally, shoulders slumping a little. He looks from the desk where the librarian is typing away at something on her laptop, oblivious, to Sunghoon, and his glare turns into something more unreadable. If it’s anything like Sunghoon’s thoughts, it probably translates to what an asshole— or maybe it’s something more diplomatic. He probably strangled the devil on his shoulder long ago, just left it to rot. 

He brushes past Sunghoon again, stalking back to the couch in the corner. Sunghoon throws a mocking look after him, tightening his grip on the strap of his bag. When he sits back down, facing Sunghoon, he quickly turns his head away, nose in the air. See how you like this, he taunts mentally.

Quick footsteps carry him to the librarian’s desk, making her look up from her typing. It’s a middle-aged lady with the stereotypical rimmed glasses and tea mug steaming beside her, and her eyebrows rise in question at Sunghoon.

“Hi, ahjumma,” he starts, and he doesn’t have to fake the slightly awkward laugh. “Um, I just wanted to tell you I think there’s someone getting donut frosting all over the library? I wouldn’t have said anything, but he got some on one of my books too…” he trails off, reaching over and patting his backpack with his free hand. 

“Someone brought donuts into the library?” she asks, eyebrows lifting further; it doesn’t sound like she really believes him. Well, lucky for them all, he’s got proof. 

Sunghoon nods and points over his shoulder with one thumb. “Yes, right over there,” he says, turning and leaning to the side. She sits up slightly and tilts her head as well, and as both of them watch, Sunghoon’s finger outstretched to point him out, Heeseung picks up the paper Sunghoon ruined and starts prying the donut off. Some of the melted frosting drips off onto the table, and Sunghoon has to clamp his lips together to fight the sudden and debilitating urge to burst out laughing. Wow, he could not have made this any easier.

“I’ll go speak to him immediately,” the librarian declares from behind him, surprise and mild disgust coloring her voice, and he turns again to watch her stand, shut her laptop, and begin walking around the desk to go give Heeseung a piece of her mind. “Thank you for informing me,” she adds, giving Sunghoon a grim smile, and Sunghoon bows in response.

“Of course,” he says smoothly, and as she starts storming across the room, the smile he’s been suppressing blooms wide and satisfied on his lips, shoulders shaking with a snicker. He leans back against the desk and watches her reach Heeseung, who hastily makes an effort to throw away the donut and fails. 

She crosses her arms over her chest and tells him something that makes him pale and get immediately to his feet, opening his mouth and beginning to protest. The donut is still clutched incriminatingly in his hand. (Where’s a camera when you need one?)

The librarian points at the door, hand on her hip. Sunghoon continues to lose it as Heeseung gestures with his hands, eyes wide, clearly trying to tell her what really happened. But the frosting’s on his hands, the writing’s on the wall, and the librarian’s clearly not listening. She points again more forcefully, and Heeseung’s shoulders slump.

She starts storming away again, and Sunghoon composes his expression a split second after Heeseung’s disheartened gaze strays around the room, landing right on him and his grin. Why does this asshole always catch him slipping?

Sunghoon’s smile slides off his face as Heeseung’s expression does something— truly scary. He’s seen that look on his sister’s face before, right before she does something like toss his skates out the window or try to suffocate him with a pillow. 

Ah , he decides, a warning bell chiming in his head. Time to run?

He gets out of there before Heeseung’s done packing his stuff and hightails it down the street, laughing breathlessly the whole time. 

All in all, he’d call that a perfectly productive morning. 

(The angel would have to disagree most strongly, though. It’s a good thing he doesn’t listen to it as much as he should.)

— — — 

Unfortunately the universe doesn’t make things go his way for long; come Monday morning, right after first period, Jongseong texts him this:

okay first of all this is getting ridiculous, I know you have Heeseung-hyung’s number from the group chat but I’m sending it to you again anyway: XXX-XXX-XXXX START TALKING TO EACH OTHER DIRECTLY OH MY GOD

also he said he got a 94 on physics and wants to know how you did 

and no I’m not telling him for you

Sunghoon doesn’t grace him with a response for two reasons: 1) he refuses to acknowledge such blatant unhelpfulness, and 2)...he definitely did not win this round. Physics is fucking hard, okay? He’s good at calculus and book reports, not quantum mechanics.

Still. Good to know Heeseung can’t resist the curiosity of wanting to know who stands at the top of the rankings either. It’s been driving him up the wall, watching him try to convince himself he’s above all this. Stupid things don’t look as bad when you embrace them. Heeseung clearly still has a couple of things to learn about the intricacies of disliking someone. 

Sunghoon’s not sure how they got all the way here, to this dysfunctional, evolving, yet somehow still concordant mess of a thing that takes up entirely too much of his time and energy. He doesn’t see a way to get rid of it without shelving his pride, though, and, well. Park Sunghoon doesn’t give up that easily.

(Maybe he does know how they got here, then.) 

And if part of it is because Lee Heeseung would probably not have looked twice at him otherwise, then that’s his business and his alone. 

Besides, most of it is truly just genuine disdain for him, so what’s really more important here, the intrusive thoughts about how Jaeyun asked if Sunghoon didn’t just have a crush, or the crux of the matter: the obvious enmity? That’s right; it’s the latter.

He’s barely tucked his phone in his pocket when someone abruptly shuts his locker, just as he was about to reach in for a book. He looks over to give them a piece of his mind, a faux-polite what do you want, when he meets Lee Heeseung’s eyes.

For some inexplicable reason, his first reaction is to blush. It’s not often Sunghoon’s thinking about someone and then they appear right in front of him as though summoned, especially not giving him such a vicious glare. His stomach does an involuntary little backflip. 

It takes him a second to gather his thoughts, but when he does, he thinks he does a pretty damn good job. He looks Heeseung up and down, from his uniform to his hand on Sunghoon’s locker, from his bag over his own shoulders to his hair, styled back once again, lips pressed into a thin line. The maneuver is full of derision, injected with as much ew as he can manage, as though people haven’t been tripping over themselves lining up to ask Heeseung out since he’s transferred here. 

“What are you doing here?” Sunghoon demands. “Is this something you do often, just come up to people and dramatically slam their lock—”

“You got me kicked out of that library,” Heeseung hisses, standing up straight and glowering over at him. “Permanently.”

Sunghoon gives him a satisfied smile, sizzling at the edges with barely concealed fury. “Fantastic.”

“What is wrong with you?” 

“What’s wrong with me?” Sunghoon asks incredulously, not unsurprised at his vehemence but still angered by it. He clutches his books to chest protectively, like a shield, a sharp contrast to the acidic bite of his voice. “You threw away half of my homework for the next week and an entire library book,” he snarls, “that I had to pay for.”

“And that was a proportionate response?” Heeseung shoots back, raising his eyebrows. “Getting me permanently banned from a library I’ve been going to for years?”

“Find another one,” Sunghoon snaps. “What did you expect me to do, lie down and take it?”

“You told me you’d leave me alone—”

“And I did. I didn’t come back.”

Heeseung gives him a look that plainly says he’s about ten seconds from exploding. “I have made every effort to be nice to you—”

“Really? Is this what your ‘every effort’ looks like? Wow, it’s even worse than I’d have thought.”

“—and this is what you do,” Heeseung continues, talking right over him. He shakes his head, jaw tensing. “You choose to act like—” he clamps his lips together. “You act terrible,” he grits out eloquently after a stuttering, silent moment. Oh, wow, Heeseung, that’s really one for the history books, Sunghoon thinks sarcastically.

“Like you’re one to talk,” he snaps.

“I honestly don’t understand what your problem with me is,” Heeseung says, eyes flashing. “Have I really been that horrible to you?”

Is he kidding? Like, genuinely kidding? Sunghoon gives him such a mocking expression that it would have merited a casting in Sunoo’s theater production if he’d only been there to see it. “Oh, really? Okay, fine, let’s do this, then: you’ve looked down on me from the moment we met, you know that? You forgot my fucking name after sitting next to me for an hour and having a whole conversation, you acted like an ass until I decided to ask you why, and then you kept acting like one instead of just answering the fucking question—”

“That’s not what I— you make it so hard to be polite, Sung—”

“Funnily enough the rest of the world seems to manage fine,” Sunghoon responds coolly. “And I wasn’t finished. You act like the world revolves around you every time you get a higher grade than me—”

“I don’t—”

“—and you try and pretend like you couldn’t care less about who’s winning or who’s losing and then send Jongseong to get answers for you anyway,” Sunghoon continues, eyebrows rising into his hairline, taunting, and he sees the truth of it in how Heeseung stiffens and angrily opens his mouth to protest— but hesitates, pursing his lips instead. Sunghoon’s becoming well-versed in the nuances of Lee Heeseung’s wins and losses, the way he reacts when faced with either, and he knows what being a sore loser looks like on him. 

And he would have recognized that expression anyway; he pulls it every time he finds himself with nothing to say in response— when he’s been bested. 

(Well, he recognizes it in passing. Losing is a rare occurrence for him, you know.)

“—and you assume the worst of everything I say to you—”

“Sunghoon,” Heeseung cuts him off, and his tone is indecipherable for once, somewhere in that no man’s land between anger and amusement— self-deprecating, if the way that last comment affected him counts for anything. “Have you honestly ever said anything to me that didn’t mean to be as insulting as possible?” he asks.

This dramatic bastard . He’s like, ninety percent sure that he has. Didn’t he spend like a week trying his best to get into Heeseung’s good graces, eating his cookies like everyone else, offering to help with his stupid math homework and calling him hyung like any other well-meaning dongsaeng would have? Heeseung’s living in a state of delusion if he thinks Sunghoon is the one that was rude right from the start. 

(Sure, there was that whole Bad Vibe thing, but it’s not like he ever told Heeseung about that. Besides, he was right, wasn’t he?)

However, it’s the principle of the thing that matters. So all Sunghoon does is lift his chin and go along with it, meeting his exasperation and his misguided belief that he knows what’s coming with steely, undisguised derision. “Have you ever deserved it?”

His aim lands true; he watches that sink in, an unkind smirk tugging at one side of his lips. 

Heeseung’s cheeks hollow as he looks away, teeth digging into his lip. Vindictive satisfaction slips around Sunghoon like an embrace the same way anger thrums through every tense inch of Heeseung’s body, from the tight set of his shoulders to the stiff way he’s curling his fingers in his pockets. 

“Yeah,” Sunghoon says, taking advantage of his clearly furious silence. “That’s what I thought. You’ve never given me a chance.”

Heeseung’s eyes meet his again, and as always his insides twist. They’re piercing, blazing. The quality of his anger is always the same— potent, fiery, somehow designed specially just to get under his skin, as though he can’t believe Heeseung would ever have the audacity to get angry at him even after provoking him into it. 

Which sounds enough like him that it’s probably true.

The beat of silence echoes. The hallways are emptying now, and any moment now the bell will ring and they’ll both be late. But Sunghoon is rooted to the spot, held fast by the strength of his conviction to have the last word and by Heeseung’s goddamn life-ruining eyes. He should walk away, head held high. He’s thrown down the gauntlet, let it shatter the wall between them. Why isn’t he just letting Heeseung pick up the pieces now?

Heeseung inhales, lifts his own chin. Sunghoon’s head rapidly empties of all thoughts, the only lingering consideration being a little flicker of foreboding, a whiff of I’m not going to like this, am I? propelled by the mounting quality of the tension between them. 

“Have you ever deserved one, Sunghoon?” Heeseung asks quietly, throwing his own words back into his face.

What. 

It’s honestly kind of amazing how precisely that hits Sunghoon, right where it should for maximum okay, what the fuck did he just say to me? (Which he would describe, under pain of death only, as probably somewhere in the foundations of his ego.) His mouth opens incredulously, eyebrows rising, eyes widening. Probably makes a pretty picture. 

Heeseung’s just seemed to realize that Sunghoon does not have a response to this— he’s a little busy drowning in offense, okay, it’s an all-consuming emotion when its toll is this high— when, as though the universe is timing it, the stupid bell rings. Of course. 

Sunghoon gives him one last glare and rapidly starts doing his locker combination again, his anger slightly outweighed by his desire to not get yelled at for being late. 

(He really should not be this offended.)

“Don’t pull something like that again,” Heeseung says after a moment, a bit of his anger seeping back into his voice.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t take orders from you,” Sunghoon snarls, pulling out his books and then slamming his locker shut again. 

Heeseung’s jaw clenches, and he heaves a sigh, fingers pressing to the bridge of his nose the same way Sunghoon’s harabeoji does at Chuseok, when his younger cousins are running around breaking fine china and hitting baseballs through windows. Exhibit 493 of Heeseung being the most melodramatic idiot on the planet. 

“I don’t think anyone could not have noticed, you insufferably stubborn drama queen,” he mutters, and then turns and walks off as though that’s not the most insulting thing he’s possibly ever said to Sunghoon.

— — —

That stupid comment follows Sunghoon around all day like a bad smell sticking to his clothes, echoing in his mind whenever he tries to do something sensible like concentrate , or answer a question in class, or remember which direction his third period class is in, apparently, instead of having to halt midway through the hallway and abruptly turn around. Insufferably stubborn drama queen.

It’s ridiculous, and it’s pretty damn hypocritical of him, considering he’s the one that it applies to the best. 

(And its biggest crime is how it makes him want to burst out laughing every time he thinks of it.)

It doesn’t make any sense. It was an insult— and he meant it, you could tell he meant it, with every inch of him. Heeseung very passionately considers Sunghoon to be an insufferably stubborn drama queen. Just. Just give Sunghoon a minute, okay; it’ll start computing momentarily. System delay. It happens.

Of all the things he could have said, that’s what he goes with?

Make no mistake; Sunghoon does not consider it a compliment. It’s an alarmingly arrogant slight against his personality, a slap in the face of his upstanding, moral character. 

It’s also making him suppress a grin in the middle of class like some kind of idiot.)

Anyway. The other annoying, itchy burr in his coat is how Heeseung thinks he apparently did not deserve a chance to prove he wasn’t an asshole. What does this guy think, that people are born with chips on their shoulders or something?

And no, this has nothing to do with the Bad Vibe he received from Heeseung the day they met. No link whatsoever.

In fourth period after lunch, he and Heeseung make it twenty minutes without snapping— which is a feat in itself, considering how much Heeseung is clearly fuming beside him. By that point, the silence is a physical thing, prominent and cloying in a room where everyone else is talking and laughing. 

“So…” Sunghoon starts, and he has to stifle a grin. “Don’t you technically owe me a donut—?”

Heeseung’s head shoots up, turns to meet Sunghoon’s eyes. His mouth opens, then closes again. He’s never seen a person look so physically done in his entire life. 

“No, because—” And then Sunghoon just loses it. 

It’s not something they normally do, just laugh at each other, but in this moment, the way Heeseung’s looking at him paired with the memory of that stupid insult is too much to bear. He presses the back of his hand to his mouth and looks away, shoulders shaking. 

“Are you laughing at me?” Heeseung asks, and he looks like he doesn’t know how to react to that. If the roles were reversed, Sunghoon would have defaulted to annoyance, but maybe he’s just really shocked Heeseung that much.

“No shit,” he responds, and all hopes of getting any work done that period take a swan-dive off the roof.

— — — 

The next couple of weeks are about as average as Sunghoon’s life really gets; he goes to practices late into the evening, studies, and then wakes up in the morning and drags himself to school, where at least there’s some variety. Someone spills a carton of milk on him in the morning on Thursday, if that counts for anything.

But overall, things are monotonous in the most boring high school way. (He’d called a net win , not a total win.) So instead of having any exciting senior year fun, he’s just sitting around writing essays and analyzing stupid books on the weekends. As promised, all his advanced classes have caught up to him, and now his workload has him unable to do much but homework whenever he’s not skating until his ankles are about to give out.

And he wishes he could say it’s paying off— but by the time Halloween comes around, Heeseung is a solid two points ahead at 19; Sunghoon lags behind at 17. And it’s more frustrating than it was before, to stare at those marks in his notebook, because they’re both averaging straight A’s right now. It’s not even a matter of who studies more, just sheer dumb luck. Who bubbled C for question 8 and who bubbled A. Who thought the answer was 70 and who missed a zero and said 7 instead. It’s the stupidest thing.

What’s even stupider is how Heeseung’s gone back to acting like he doesn’t give a shit. 

Sunghoon waves his perfect 100 on their latest test in his face on the Tuesday before Halloween, complete with shit-eating grin, and receives a half-hearted scoff in return. And that’s it.

Okay, fine. He did only win by two percent, not anything worth getting worked up over. 

But then the day after they have a slew of tests given back, and Sunghoon does better on all three. And it’s kind of by a wider margin than usual: 97 to an 83 in English, 98 to an 80 in History, 92 to an 79 in Biology. If it was someone else Sunghoon would literally have asked them if they were doing okay. Since it’s Heeseung, he just— kind of awkwardly shuts up after listening to him read off the scores deadpan, looking straight ahead at the teacher setting up for class, wordlessly daring Sunghoon to say something. 

But he doesn’t, because contrary to what Heeseung may think, he’s not some kind of monster. It feels cheap to taunt him about something like this when it’s clear he didn’t get these scores for lack of trying— to put it simply, it’s no fun if they’re both not into it. He doesn’t like Heeseung much, but he’s not trying to make him miserable. Hasn’t he only given him as much as he thinks he can handle, all these weeks?

Whatever. He doesn’t dwell on it— or at least he tries not to dwell on it, and whether or not that works happens to be besides the point— but all the same, by the time Friday rolls around, he’s no longer averse to going to Jongseong’s stupid party. God knows he could use a break, mentally and physically. 

(And Sunoo was correct in saying that he wouldn’t have a choice, since Jongseong’s making all of them show up anyway to hold down the fort and, directly quoted, “make sure no one dies of alcohol poisoning.”)

So with that merry command in mind, Sunghoon dutifully buttons up an old skating costume on Friday night, not having had the energy to come up with something else. He’ll fit right in with the crowd, knowing the kinds of things people usually wear out on Halloween. 

It’s one of his shinier ones, sparkly white on top fading down in an ombré to midnight blue at the bottom of the long sleeved, loose-fitting shirt. It cinches in at the wrists and waist, all frilly and a bit reminiscent of a storybook prince. He tucks it into the crisp black pants that go along with it and then, glancing at himself in the mirror, adds a Grim Reaper-esque blanket over it, draping it like a shawl and making a makeshift hood. Couldn’t hurt to try. 

He tells his mom he’s going to Jongseong’s, and she doesn’t hesitate to tell him that’s fine, and to be home by ten or call her if he’s planning on staying the night. This is why no one would ever think Park Jongseong’s throwing the big Halloween party of the year. The guy your mom likes even more than you? Sure. Sunghoon can’t believe he’s still the only one questioning this.

His sister, sprawled on the couch watching TV, laughs aloud at his get-up and tosses popcorn at him. Do you see why he needs to get out of this house?

He waves goodbye and debates taking his bike for all of two seconds— what kind of loser shows up to a party on a bike? He’ll walk. No thanks.

The sun’s setting by the time he gets there, maybe twenty minutes into a brisk walk, painting the sky shades of blue and gray. Jongseong’s house has been advertised all week to the entire school— technically, only seniors are invited, but it doesn’t take a genius to know everyone’s going to be here anyway— as the biggest one you can find. And yeah, they’re not wrong. It looks like a behemoth at the end of his already luxurious street, three floors and like a quarter of an acre of front lawn. It’s one of those magazine homes, sleek and modern looking and all white on the inside. 

The telltale hum of the pool in the backyard filling with water in the backyard greets him as he comes up down the sidewalk, trying to guess who’s here already. Jaeyun’s car is parked in the driveway, and a couple of bikes are tossed against the garage door, but those all look familiar; so none of their classmates are actually here yet. He’s pretty sure people make a point of not showing up to parties before 8:30, and then not leaving until midnight. But what does he know? He’s been to like two of these things. 

He rings the doorbell and is answered by Jaeyun with a bowl of candy, laughing at something in the background as voices echo from inside. “Happy Hall— oh, hey, man,” Jaeyun greets, clapping him on the shoulder when he turns and looks to see that he’s not, in fact, a six year old with a pumpkin shaped basket. “Sunghoon’s here!” he calls, stepping aside and letting him pass. 

Sunghoon gives him an impressed eyebrow raise as he shuts the door behind him— he’s dressed as a vampire, with a powdered face, a black suit, and eerie red eye contacts. 

“Yeah, watch out, Hoon, I might turn you too,” Jaeyun says, baring a pair of impressively cheap-looking fangs when he grins. 

“I’m already dead,” Sunghoon says pointedly, spreading his arms under the thick blanket, and Jaeyun’s expression twists immediately to the sort of exasperation he’s gotten used to receiving from Heeseung. Should be careful with that, then— he doesn’t want to use up all his best brattiness before he even shows up.

(He’s not stupid; he knows there’s no way Heeseung’s not going to be here tonight.

And no, that’s not part of why he came.)

“You’ve been here ten seconds, hyung, and you’re already killing the mood,” Sunoo says, and Sunghoon yelps when he comes sweeping into the foyer— yes, the two-story, double staircase, Phantom-of-the-Opera-style chandelier-equipped foyer— with a full face of skeleton makeup. He smiles, the lips painted on his teeth lifting to reveal his actual teeth, and Sunghoon gives him a holy shit look.

“Sunoo-yah, that looks amazing,” Sunghoon says after a shocked moment, and Sunoo gives him a satisfied, slightly shy grin.

“Is that what you’re wearing, really?” he goads, looking down at Sunghoon’s blanket and wincing. “This is the second year in a row, please find a better costume.”

“Have you seen Riki?” Jaeyun asks, giggling. He grabs Sunghoon’s elbow and drags him into the living room to the left, where Jungwon’s sprawled on the couch with a handheld mirror trying to draw on his face. And Riki—

Riki’s standing in the corner, phone in hand, inside a giant pink inflatable dinosaur.

Sunghoon absolutely loses it, setting off the room at large; Jongseong’s dressed in a Spider-Man costume and sitting on the couch next to Jungwon, both of whom burst out laughing, and Jaeyun’s still giggling beside him as Sunghoon grabs his shoulder to stay upright, laughing his ass off. “Which idiot bought him this?” he asks between laughs, the blanket slipping off his shoulders. 

Jaeyun grabs it for him as Riki looks up from his phone, giving them all a shit-eating grin. “It’s funny,” he says defensively. “Sunoo-hyung says it’s cute—”

“Because ‘Sunoo-hyung’ thinks everything is cute,” Jaeyun chuckles, looking over his shoulder as Sunoo follows them in, taking one look at Riki and laughing again. 

“That has to be a fire hazard,” Jungwon remarks. “Sunoo-hyung?” he adds pointedly, waving what Sunghoon hopes isn’t a Sharpie in Sunoo’s direction.

“Coming, coming,” Sunoo says, brushing past Sunghoon with another exasperated laugh. “Isn’t the equivalent of a football player showing up with his jersey on? Seriously, hyung, do you wanna be that jock?” Sunoo asks.

“Literally nobody sees Sunghoon as a jock,” Jongseong says at the same time Sunghoon calls, “Do you really want to be that theater kid?”

“What is that supposed to—”

“Okay, okay,” Jongseong cuts them off. “Shut up and pick some music,” he says.

“Sunghoon-hyung really does make a point of arguing with all of us, doesn’t he?” Riki asks, giggling when Sunghoon gives him a half-hearted glare. (He doesn’t think any of them really know how to go about being angry at Riki.) “Heeseung-hyung told me he—”

He’s cut off by Jungwon pressing some button on Jongseong’s phone and setting off a truly earth-shaking blast of Twice’s Fancy from a speaker somewhere farther into the house. There’s a collective yelp and a scramble; Sunoo’s marker slashes across Jungwon’s face and ruins whatever design he’d been going for, Riki jumps and drops his phone, and Jaeyun trips over Sunghoon’s foot as they both physically startle. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jongseong pants, thumbing down the volume immediately to something that might not induce premature deafness. 

There’s another wave of movement; Jaeyun sighs and gets up off the ground, Sunoo giggles nervously, hands clapped over his mouth, and says, “I, uh… maybe I can turn that into a whisker,” Riki starts doing some sort of limbo trying to bend down properly enough to get his phone, and Sunghoon, having all his priorities straight, asks in a shaky voice that is perfectly merited in his opinion, after that scare:

“So Heeseung-hyung said what about me?”

“He called him hyung, somebody write that down,” Sunoo says immediately, eyes darting over to meet Sunghoon’s conspiratorially, and Sunghoon huffs. 

“You know what? Never—”

“He said you scare him,” Riki supplies anyway, and whether that’s because he truly doesn’t know what Sunghoon was saying or because he’s choosing to ignore him will remain a mystery. 

Sunghoon’s eyebrows flick up, and he hears Jongseong groan as he leans back into the couch. “Here we go again.”

“He said I scare him?” Sunghoon laughs, sitting down next to Jongseong. He’s scrolling aimlessly through Spotify, brows furrowed. 

“Yep,” Riki nods. “Hyung, can you get my phone?” he says, and all five of them make a motion towards him. Jaeyun gets there first, and he’s halfway through asking what kind of game Riki’s playing when he goes on: “He said you were crazy, and that it was kind of scary.”

“I— crazy?” Sunghoon asks in a totally different tone. 

Jungwon and Sunoo are both laughing too much to save the makeup. “Congrats, Sunghoon-hyung,” Jungwon giggles. “You actually scared him off.”

Sunghoon scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, come on. Didn’t you scare him off me first?” he asks pointedly. Heeseung’s definitely mentioned something about ‘a bad first impression’ from their dynamic soulmate duo.

Jungwon contains his laughter, propped up on his elbows, and tilts his head. “Kind of?” he says, then winces, smile fading. “No, you’re right, actually. We were joking, but we shouldn’t have done that behind your back,” he says, giving Sunghoon those apologetic boba eyes. “Sorry, hyung.”

“He’s not wrong, actually,” Jongseong agrees. “I don’t even remember what we said, but yeah, Sunghoon-ah, it was kind of our fault,” he leans over and gives Sunghoon a sideways hug, getting sparkles all over his costume. “I’m really sorry too.”

Sunghoon presses his lips together to not smile fondly and shrugs a little awkwardly, patting Jongseong on the back. “Ah, that’s okay. I got him to hate me all on my own afterward,” he grins, and the momentary silence Jaeyun, Riki, and Sunoo had been stuck in, watching warily, dissipates into a collective round of laughs. 

“Hey, play something by Jay Park, that’s what people usually do,” Jaeyun suggests, and Jongseong keeps his head on Sunghoon’s chest, turning it to the side to squint at his screen. “All I Wanna Do or something.”

“Jay Park?” Sunghoon asks, amused, but Jongseong’s already laughing and pressing play, so— there they go, apparently.

And so they kick off the party with Riki in his dinosaur costume dancing like a maniac. 

(Which effectively sets the tone for the rest of the night.)

— — — 

Jongseong puts him on door duty (no, really, he makes him be the one to sit on the couch and literally get the door to make sure random people aren’t just coming into his house)— which goes about as well as you’d expect. 

The rest of them all spread out around the house after the clock hits eight and people start streaming in like clockwork; at first he gets the door and it’s just two girls, one in what looks like an old ballet costume (Sunghoon gets it, he really does) and the other a full eldritch horror, but within twenty minutes enough people have showed up that it’s a toss-up what’ll greet him when he opens it again— the entirety of their school’s basketball team ready to get him with silly string or a trio of what must be very lost trick or treaters that he has to run inside and find some candy for.

At eight-thirty-nine on the dot, he opens the door on Lee Heeseung. 

Immediately all his senses kick into overdrive, becoming hyper aware. Five seconds ago he’d been on the couch staring at the ceiling and contemplating whether it was, in fact, a good idea to get drunk like everyone else was doggedly, stupidly doing— now his heart gives a thump in his chest, lights up his body. Overly-loud music is shaking the ground behind him, lights dimmed, fake fog swirling around his feet, cheesy disco balls being tossed through the crowd spread all over the first floor and beginning to spill over outside, no doubt taking advantage of the pool. He’s covered in sparkles head to toe, and there’s probably still silly string in his hair. Be cool, Sunghoon. 

Heeseung blinks up at him for a moment, expectant, and then recognition hits and his lip curls just slightly, eyebrows giving the quickest jerk up and down. (Always the eyes, telling Sunghoon too much.) 

The sleeves of his trench coat are a bit long on him, and he’s wearing a raggedy beret that looks like it’s seen better days, as well as some sort of button-down. 

“You look like an idiot,” he informs Heeseung coolly after the initial beat of silence, surprise melting into tension. He leans against the doorway and looks him up and down, acting as though the sight of him is a disappointment rather than something that’s making his stomach flip. He’s always gotten off on confrontation, but he has no fucking idea when exactly it got this bad. 

(Heeseung hasn’t looked him in the eye in three days, okay? He’s kinda itching for an argument.)

“You’re… sparkly,” Heeseung offers— and there’s that exasperation. Sunghoon fights a smirk. “Are you gonna let me in?” he asks after a moment, and his tone borders less on neutral and more on pissed. Sunghoon can’t help his mild surprise— all week, he’s been getting non-answers from this guy like they’re starting all over again, back to the awkward phase when neither of them knew what to say to each other. It’s kind of a relief to see that whatever the hell you could call their ‘normal’ isn’t a wholly lost art.

The temperature’s dropped, so Heeseung’s shivering a little in the cold. Sunghoon hardly hesitates, just extends an arm to the other side of the door and blocks his path inside without an ounce of remorse. “No,” he responds, point-blank, pushing his luck. “What are you even supposed to be?” 

Heeseung gives him a Look, but he spreads his arms almost exactly the same way Sunghoon did in his Grim Reaper get-up. 

“Are you dropping off the newspaper?” Sunghoon tries, giving him another onceover and drawing a blank.

“I’m—”

“Maybe you’re about to ask me what I think of Queen Victoria?”

“Yes,” Heeseung interrupts. “I’m Sherlock Holmes. You got me. Now would you move?”

“Or what,” Sunghoon says primly. “You’ll call me a drama queen again?”

Heeseung’s eyes widen in exasperation, arms thrown out again. “What else would you call this?”

“Completely unrealistic— since when are you Sherlock Holmes? I’ve never met a bigger Watson in my life.”

“Would you let me in?” Heeseung snaps, arms wrapping around himself, rocking back and forth on his heels. His breath’s beginning to cloud in the air. Poor guy.

“Fine, fine. What’s the password?” Sunghoon says, once again blocking his path as he hurries up the steps. There’s another crowd of people not far behind him, coming down the sidewalk, so unfortunately he’s got to finish having his fun. 

Heeseung gives him another incredulous look. “Mature,” he hisses. “The password?”

“Yeah, the password, Heeseung. I’ll give you a hint: it starts with Sunghoon and ends with is the be—”

“A brat,” Heeseung cuts him off, glaring up at him. The insult hardly stings anymore— which is funny, since he knows that these days, Heeseung probably means it more than ever. “Let me in, or I’m leaving,” he says, tilting his chin upwards, and for some reason it gives him deja vu. 

…has he himself done that before? 

Sunghoon doesn’t think on it too much, just gives him a mocking glare in return. 

Don’t scare him off, Jungwon’s voice echoes in his head. 

After a moment of impatient consideration, he lets up, shifting and removing his arm from the door. “Don’t be too much of a killjoy,” he advises as Heeseung immediately hurries past him, their shoulders knocking together. 

“I don’t think a party with you at it had much joy to begin with,” Heeseung calls over his shoulder as he heads inside. Sunghoon lingers for a moment against the door, watching him go, turn the corner and disappear down the hall. He’s probably been here before, knows his way around.

Sunghoon doesn’t think he really needs to explain why, ten minutes later, he snaps and follows him anyway. The stream of people arriving has slowed to a trickle, and there’s enough people hanging around the entrance that they can get the door themselves. He can’t imagine Jongsoeng actually expected any of them to stay where he put them for the whole night, anyway. 

Pulse thudding in his chest, anticipatory, he makes his way through the foyer and down the hall, squeezing by couples making out in what they probably think are shaded alcoves but are instead the most trafficked place in the house. Come on. At least find a respectable bush outside. 

The living room is crowded to an almost unbreathable capacity already, people pressed close enough together that he couldn’t squeeze in there if he wanted to. Music blares from the speakers on the other side of the room, vibrating in his chest and under his shoes, through his feet— Exo’s Call Me Baby . He ducks around the messy crowd of dancers and past the empty boxes of pizza on the kitchen’s island over to the massive sunroom. Night’s fallen, so it’s bathed in moonlight, and people are streaming in and out from the open door on the other side, heading out to the pool, which is full of glowsticks and people screaming and throwing bouncy balls at each other. 

Sunghoon finds the row of drinks lined on the huge table inside and grabs a cup at random, looking down at it in slight suspicion and giving the drink a swirl. Doesn’t look like anyone’s touched it yet. 

He looks up, eyes scanning the crowd surreptitiously for a familiar head of dark hair. There’s tons of boys with Heeseung’s haircut, though, and everyone’s dressed in glowing, bright colors, sparkles trailing the floor and sequins dangling from dresses. Finding a trenchcoat in all that would be asking too much of anyone. 

His eyes dart back to the cup, wavering. 

The thing is— and it’s kind of lame, yeah— that usually he spends these kinds of social events just… lurking. 

That would probably blow a couple of minds, that Park Sunghoon’s not some kind of silent brooding fixture at everyone’s parties— but he would argue that putting in even the slightest amount of critical thinking would prove why. He’s not really one to go grind with some random stranger on the dance floor— and if you think that then that’s really on you, when has he ever given off that kind of vibe?— doesn’t really trust party food, and for the same reason can’t really play any drinking games. 

Which basically leaves him to do what all the cool kids do, and stand in a corner making fun of the drunk idiots dancing. 

(It usually gets old fast. There’s a reason he hasn’t come to many of these in his time.)

He would have called the night a win if Jaeyun had stuck by him, but he caught sight of him following Sunoo out to the pool earlier, so. That’ll probably be interesting, but he’ll have to hear about it in the morning. 

So: what the hell. He’s a senior, he’s probably not going to barf from one measly cup of beer, and that mind-numbing stint at the door almost has him willing to go give that dance floor a shot. Not to mention that Lee Heeseung is nowhere to be found, and so his only potential source of entertainment has absconded for the evening. What’s some liquid courage going to hurt in finding another one?

“Are you just going to drink that?” asks a familiar voice from beside him, and Sunghoon looks up to see Heeseung standing right fucking there. 

“How long have you been here?” Sunghoon demands, drawing back in surprise and nearly sloshing alcohol on his skating costume. (Oh god, maybe he should have worn something else. His mother prizes these costumes like nothing else.) But also— what the hell? Where did he come from? 

Heeseung pulls a face, looking out at the crowd and shrugging. “Since I got here,” he admits. “There’s… less to do here than I expected.”

“Really? You’re telling me no one wanted to do very bad things to you in some closet?” Sunghoon asks, shock beginning to fade into amusement.

Heeseung’s eyes widen, and he has to stifle a laugh. Of course Heeseung’s the most innocent guy at this school— never mind that he’s the oldest. 

“Never mind. That’s probably a bit above your pay grade,” Sunghoon rolls his eyes, makes to take a sip of the alcohol. 

“Wha— hold on, don’t just drink that,” Heeseung repeats, reaching out and slapping a hand over the opening of the cup. 

Sunghoon levels a brow at him, half-incredulous and half-mocking. “What else do you want me to do with it, water the garden?” he asks, laughing and yanking it away from him. 

“Anyone could have put anything in that,” Heeseung protests, but he apparently doesn’t know the first thing about Sunghoon, because that’s what seals the deal.

Sunghoon lifts it to his lips and tips it all back in one go, half a cup of nasty-tasting, fizzy beer that tickles as it goes down his throat. “I’ll take my chances,” he says, unable to fight down a grimace. He sets the cup down and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, already feeling braver for having done it. 

“Sunghoon,” Heeseung starts, looking aghast, and Sunghoon gives him another incredulous look.

“Who do you think is hanging around here slipping things into the drinks? You’re looking at the biggest nerds in the country, Heeseung. I promise you the only thing you have to worry about with these is freshmen puking them out,” Sunghoon says pointedly. 

“One of these days you’re gonna get yourself killed,” Heeseung responds after a moment, shaking his head like he’s disappointed in Sunghoon— and also as though Sunghoon frequently does shit like this, cutting class or smoking or robbing convenience stores in his free time. 

“Not unless you do it yourself.” Because this, right now, is probably the most dangerous thing he’s done in weeks. 

(Excluding the flinging himself into the air above solid ice that he does as a part of his daily routine. He’s a trained professional; it’s fine.)

Heeseung doesn’t respond, just gives him those eyes— flinty, flickering in the moonlight, unreadable— that usually spell trouble, brewing anger beneath the surface. Fantastic. Sunghoon curls his fingers around another cup, downs its contents as well.

“Are you doing this just to piss me off?” Heeseung asks as Sunghoon grimaces again, shuddering slightly at the terrible taste. He can already feel the first cup fizzling through his system, kicking everything up a notch. 

He gives Heeseung a grin, mocking him without hiding it. “Yes,” he says readily.

Heeseung walks around the table, Sunghoon’s eyes following his path towards him. When they’re close enough to touch, he reaches over and plucks the cup from his fingers. “It would piss me off a lot more if we had to call the cops because you got alcohol poisoning,” he starts, and Sunghoon reaches over in retaliation to snatch the beret off his head and then unceremoniously toss it out the door. “Are you kid—”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Sunghoon shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes, sorry, clearly you’re being incredibly reasonable right now,” Heeseung responds just as hotly. 

“What do you care if I get alcohol poisoning?” Sunghoon asks, just to be contrary. It’s a rhetorical question.

Heeseung treats it as one and just glares at him, once more tilting his head as though in disappointment. 

Sunghoon gives up that line of questioning and seizes on another. “You know what? Why do you always pretend to care more about everyone, actually? Why do you always have to be the nice guy, Heeseung? Nice guys finish last.” He jabs a finger into his chest.

“I don’t care about winning,” Heeseung says immediately, but when Sunghoon raises his eyebrows, he falls silent, not protesting the insinuation— or rather the blatant fact— that he was lying. 

“But you do, so why do you always act like you’re better than me?” Sunghoon asks, taking a step forward. Heeseung takes one back. 

“I don’t think I’m better than—”

“You sure as hell act like it. Is it the age difference, or something?” Sunghoon continues, matching his words with another step forward. He likes the idea of crowding Heeseung up to the glass walls, not giving him a place to hide. Answers. He’d like some answers, and not some roundabout nonsense of a response completely ignoring his questions. “One incredibly long year, hyung?” he asks. “If you think you’re under some sort of obligation to take care of me—”

“I’m under plenty of obligations,” Heeseung snaps back. “None of them have anything to do with you.”

Which makes about as much sense as most things out of Heeseung’s mouth do— which is to say: none. Sunghoon just continues fighting his way forward, uncomprehending but unwilling to give it up that easily. “Then don’t treat me like a dongsaeng.”

“You are my dongsaeng,” Heeseung says in exasperation. 

“And I could probably beat you in a fight any day!”

“I’m— not going to fight you, Sunghoon,” Heeseung responds warily, but now Sunghoon’s got him against the wall, surprise flitting across his features when his back hits the window, and satisfaction rather than annoyance floods him.

“Well, of course you’re not going to fight me,” Sunghoon says, bracing one hand against the wall and keeping the other on Heeseung’s chest, one finger still poking between his ribs, over his shirt. “But if none of your obligations have anything to do with me, then stop acting like you’re responsible for my safety, or not hurting my feelings. I can take it,” he snarls.

Heeseung looks down at the finger in his chest, then back up at Sunghoon, and something in him seems to snap. “Fine,” he says, eyes flashing, and the same feeling washes over Sunghoon that had taken hold right after meeting his eyes in a library he’d just gotten him kicked out of— something undefinable, both satisfied and nervous. The devil saying fantastic and the angel tearing its hair out. 

“Fine. You don’t want me to treat you like a dongsaeng? Get out of my face, Sunghoon, and for god’s sake stop being so immature all the time,” Heeseung snaps. “Stop assuming the worst of everything I tell you and constantly acting like a brat.” His lip curls as he pushes off the wall, dislodging Sunghoon’s hold on him, panting slightly, eyes dark, hands slipping on the silky material of Sunghoon’s shirt as he pushes him off by the shoulders. 

For a long moment they just stare at each other, music pumping in the background, Sunghoon’s heart pounding faster. Heeseung’s silhouetted blue in the light, and although Sunghoon didn’t realize it before, he lost the trench coat at some point, and now he’s standing there just in the button down, two buttons undone and hair a mess from Sunghoon stealing his beret. 

He draws in a breath, leans forward, and Sunghoon’s heart practically stops beating in his chest. 

Is he about to—?

He’s so close— too close, when did he even get so close? Sunghoon could count his eyelashes if he wanted, could reach out and touch his face, his lips…

“And drink as much of that stupid poisoned beer as you want,” Heeseung adds, just as hotly as before. It snaps the tension cleanly in half. 

Silence, both of them processing. And then Sunghoon bursts out laughing.

It’s exactly the sort of giggly drunk he was just complaining about, all common sense having left the room. He leans forward, almost falling into Heeseung, bracing himself on his chest with one hand. 

“Wha—?” Heeseung’s looking at him like he’s going crazy, but he’s grinning ear to ear, amusement filling the space where resentment usually lives. He got him to snap— actually got him to snap. How could this not be hilarious?

“‘Drink the beer’?” Sunghoon mocks, and his other hand finds the collar of Heeseung’s shirt, uses that to hold himself up as well. 

Heeseung’s arms go around him, holding him up, and Sunghoon genuinely shorts out for a second, even through the laughter. It doesn’t feel how you’d think it would feel, being held by Lee Heeseung— he’s too hesitant for it to be any substantial contact, just the bare bones of it. Probably thinks Sunghoon is fragile or something. 

“I told you,” Heeseung mutters, although Sunghoon feels his shoulders slump, the anger seeping out of them. “That alcohol was mixed with something.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, looking over at him— although his arms around Sunghoon’s waist mean that they’re practically nose to nose again so he doesn’t have to look very far— with disdain again. “Isn’t this how drunk people normally act?” he asks, drawing out the words in a decidedly non-Sunghoonish way. 

Heeseung tilts his head, blows out a sigh. “Probably. I’m letting go now,” he says pointedly, warning him, and Sunghoon pushes him away before he can, laughing again when he’s the one to stumble . He can admit he’s drunk— really more just tipsy— but he’s definitely not so far gone that he can’t walk properly. “I just said you should stop acting like a brat,” he sighs.

“Then don’t make it so easy,” Sunghoon responds easily, turning and crossing back to the table of drinks, palms balancing down on it. Adrenaline’s flooding through his body, getting him wired. He has the urge to go run it out, to move, to engage himself somehow. Maybe all those couples have the right idea, feverishly making out on the first available surface. 

It’s not often he wishes he wasn’t single, but now? Now he’s wondering if he should have come here with someone after all. 

Maybe he should try joining the crowd in the pool, throwing beach balls and enjoying the last bit of autumn warmth under the jet spray of water.

Or, actually, speaking of pools—  

“Hey,” he says suddenly, turning back to Heeseung and tilting his head. Heeseung looks back, eyeing the drinks suspiciously. Sunghoon grabs another one, doesn’t drink it just yet. 

“There’s a pool table in Jongseong’s basement,” he says after a moment, raising his eyebrows. “Or air hockey or something, I don’t know.” 

Heeseung makes some sort of face, clearly not happy with the idea. His eyes flick from Sunghoon to the dance floor, the music they’re speaking loudly over. Sunghoon knows he’s got him just from that competitive spark igniting in his eyes.

“I’ll get my stupid hat,” he sighs, feigning nonchalance. Sunghoon takes a large sip of the new cup, hiding his smile, and grabs a full bottle of beer. 

Looks like they’re gonna need it.

— — — 

Jongseong’s basement is as predictably luxurious as the rest of the house, although delightfully empty. Sunghoon hadn’t even realized the press of bodies and smell of sweat in the air had been cloying and oppressive until getting away from it, to the cool, filtered air down here. He shuts the door behind them, and since everyone’s been told to please just stick to the first floor, whenever it opens it shuts again within moments, scarcely letting in snatches of the music thrumming loudly upstairs. His basement’s soundproof, so only the slightest vibrations leak through to disturb them. 

Heeseung flicks on the lights and finds two cue sticks from a long line on the wall as Sunghoon sets the cup he’s still carrying down on the edge of the massive pool table, arranging all the balls in a neat triangle in the center. The lighting’s comfortably dim, yellow and warm, and Sunghoon catches sight of his arms glittering as he nudges the last few balls into place, standing out in the gloom. 

There’s a sense of something hanging in the air, as though the fake fog from upstairs has seeped down here to hover between them, clouding Sunghoon’s judgement along with his vision. He already has to have lost it a little, to be inviting Heeseung down here knowing the chances of this ending in an argument are practically 100%. 

But when he reconsiders all he finds is a sort of thrumming excitement keeping him tethered here. You don’t walk away from the most interesting person at the party— even if they are interesting for a bad reason. 

Heeseung clears his throat behind him, and Sunghoon looks back expectantly as he holds up the cue sticks, tilting his head. He doesn’t know what Heeseung’s looking for— as long as they’re the same length there’s no wrong cue stick to be using, as far as he knows— so he just nods. That seems to be good enough; Heeseung closes the glass cabinet he’d gotten them from and walks over, shaking his hair out of his face. “I’ve never actually played pool before,” he warns, like an idiot. Now Sunghoon can make up whatever rules he wants.

“It’s not that complicated,” Sunghoon mutters disdainfully, leaning back and taking one of the cue sticks from him. 

“So explain it to me,” Heeseung says. “Something about… hitting these into the holes?” he asks, leaning against the table across from him. 

Sunghoon sighs dramatically, enjoying the frown that creases Heeseung’s face in response. But he’s eager to get going, so he doesn’t drag out his exasperation too long. 

He sets the cue ball down in front of him, a straight line from the triangle, and positions the cue stick like he’s preparing to hit. “You use this one,” Sunghoon points, “to hit either stripes or solids into the holes. We both choose one; if you’re solids and you hit stripes, it’s a foul.”

“So whoever gets them all in first wins?” Heeseung asks, bracing his palms on the edge and squinting down at the table.

“Right. You leave the eight ball,” Sunghoon nods at it, “for last, and then if you get that in, you win.”

“What happens if someone gets it in accidentally, before one of us is done?” Heeseung asks— always quicker than Sunghoon would like to give him credit for. 

“Automatic loss,” Sunghoon smirks.

Heeseung looks up at him, disbelieving. “That easily?”

“That easily.”

He gives the table another skeptical look. “All right, fine, I’ll believe you. Are you starting?”

“Give me a minute,” Sunghoon snaps back on instinct, ignoring Heeseung’s grumbling as he lines up the shot, thumb balanced beneath it. He’s the right level of tipsy right now, senses focused and zeroed in on the game. 

Sh-woop. He sends the cue ball rolling, hits the triangle dead-on, and the balls scatter, bouncing slightly against the green felt. Sunghoon’s eyes follow their paths with interest, mouth ticking downwards when none find a hole. 

“We forgot to choose who gets what,” he says after a moment of surveying the table, eyeing a particularly well-placed solid. 

“Rock paper scissors,” Heeseung says immediately, fist in one hand. “Don’t over-complicate this,” he adds when Sunghoon makes to protest, standing up straight.

“Fine,” he huffs. He plays paper, Heeseung plays scissors. Dammit. 

“Solids,” Heeseung declares immediately, grin too smug for Sunghoon’s liking. 

“You won a game of chance,” he enunciates. “Calm down.”

“You get offended so quickly,” Heeseung responds, shouldering Sunghoon out of the way to stand by the cue ball, clumsily holding the cue stick like a javelin.

“You really have never played before,” Sunghoon mutters irritably, and he walks over to stand behind him, pushing his elevated arm down and shoving at his shoulder with the other hand so it looks less like he’s about to stab the cue ball than give it a clean hit. “Like this, you idiot,” he says as Heeseung glances back at him, suspicious. Sunghoon ignores the way his spine is tingling from how close they are and nudges his back again with his elbow, jutting his chin at the table in a wordless look over there, not here. 

Heeseung warily does it, looking back and going back to holding the stick with Sunghoon’s corrections. Sunghoon brings one arm over in front of him, chest almost touching his back, and leans to the side slightly to see the table, one hand bracing on Heeseung’s shoulder, to show him how to hold his fingers under the stick, tapping his index finger against his middle finger to indicate the cue stick should go between them.

“Are you even paying attention?” he demands when Heeseung just stands there, unmoving, and he gives his shoulder another push with his free hand.

“Fine, fine,” Heeseung snaps back, muttering something under his breath but obeying, clumsily mimicking his fingers. Sunghoon looks over Heeseung’s shoulder to see that he’s doing it right and then makes a that’ll do sort of sound. 

“Lean down further,” he says, removing his right hand from Heeseung’s shoulder and instead curling around the end of the stick. His other hand remains braced on the table, so in a way, if they were touching, he’d be back-hugging him. “And move your hand up, you won’t have any control if you hold it this far back,” he adds.

He does what Sunghoon says for once, although not without an obvious amount of hesitation. Sunghoon presses a bit closer, rising up on his toes to look at the table. He turns the stick slightly to the side, fixes his aim. “Okay, draw back,” he says, concentrating, and it comes out in almost a whisper, his right hand moving to rest lightly on Heeseung’s bicep, pulling it back with the slightest pressure.

Heeseung looks back at him again, eyes hooded, and something prickles in Sunghoon’s stomach, warmth flooding his sternum, creeping up his neck. “What?” Sunghoon asks softly, but he knows what he’s doing— not that he’d be doing it if he was even an ounce closer to sober. But the part of his brain that decides what’s a stupid thing to do and what’s not is comfortably silent. So yeah, he’s showing Heeseung how to play pool romance-movie-style. No one ever said he didn’t play dirty, or that he wasn’t okay with a little psychological warfare. 

“Are you trying to psych me out right now?” Heeseung asks after a moment, and Sunghoon’s lips quirk up, smirk a little wolfish.

“Is it working?”

Heeseung gapes at him for a moment, and then makes to straighten; Sunghoon grabs his shoulder, stops him, amusement lingering but mixing with disdain. Why can’t Heeseung ever chill out? “I’m actually helping, you jackass,” he protests, and Heeseung subtly rolls his eyes. 

“Then can I hit it now, seonsangnim?” Heeseung sighs, turning back again, and Sunghoon gives the back of his head a glare, letting go and stepping back. 

“Be my guest,” he snarls.

Heeseung lines it up and hits with entirely too much power, and the red he was aiming for connects with too much momentum. It works anyway, of course, bouncing its way into the hole. 

“You’re welcome,” Sunghoon says irritably as Heeseung straightens, grinning.

“That was all me,” Heeseung responds, giving him a teasing look and grinning wider when Sunghoon opens his mouth in offended shock. Now who’s trying to psych who out?

“Get out of the way, you ungrateful loser,” he snaps, and the game goes on. 

Two minutes later, Heeseung’s cue stick nudges the cue ball before he shoots, and Sunghoon seizes on it. “Foul,” he calls from across the table, and Heeseung looks up at him, still in position to hit. 

“How is that a—”

“You moved the ball before you hit it,” Sunghoon says, eyebrows rising.

“By one inch, Sunghoon,” Heeseung responds exasperatedly.

“That’s a foul in everyone’s book.”

Heeseung scoffs but straightens, giving up his position. “Fine, is it your turn now, then?” he asks with a glower, not pushing the point but being annoying about it.

“Yeah, obviously, but we need some sort of punishment or something.” Heeseung’s midway through giving him a why are you like this kind of look when it clicks. “How about… two sips of beer?” Sunghoon says, nodding at the untouched cup still sitting on the other end of the table.

“You’re joking,” Heeseung says after a moment, letting out a fake, sarcastic little laugh. “I’m not touching that.”

“Then don’t break the rules,” Sunghoon responds cheerfully. “Two sips, hyung,” he prods, playing dirty, and the way Heeseung’s eyes flash is incredibly satisfying. 

“You’re serious?” he asks when Heeseung still makes no move towards the cup. “You’re telling me you’re that much of a lightweight?”

“You’re not provoking me into drinking that,” Heeseung says firmly. 

Sunghoon really has to wonder if this idiot hasn’t realized that throwing down the gauntlet like that? It only solidifies his resolve to be as much of a little shit as possible.

Which he does, gladly— “that’s the kind of terrible shot I’d expect from a cheater,” he says passive-aggressively when, against his urging, Heeseung still takes his turn; “don’t cheat and knock the table”; “that’s another foul!” (Spoiler alert: it works like a charm.”

When Heeseung finally does snap, he plays it like a drama queen, setting down the cue stick and plugging his nose and everything, and takes two incredibly small sips, wincing as he sets the cup back down. “That’s— god, that’s nasty, what is that?”

“Liquid luck,” Sunghoon responds, still riding high on the adrenaline from his two drinks. He walks over and takes the same position Heeseung had, aiming for a striped ball two inches off Heeseung’s. 

Predictably his shot goes wide, and he hits the solid next to it instead, knocking it half a foot closer to the hole.

“That’s a foul for you, isn’t it?” Heeseung asks, sounding entirely too gleeful, and Sunghoon turns back and gives him a glare. 

“Shut up,” he says, but he downs his own two sips without protesting.

The game goes on and steadily becomes more intense as they start clearing the board. Heeseung gets four more fouls to Sunghoon’s two and finishes off this cup and half of the next one they pour out from the bottle, looking a bit bright-eyed and jittery for it. When he suggests the ridiculous idea of having to hit from under your leg for the replacement foul, Sunghoon’s drunk enough to say yes, and then to fall over laughing when Heeseung’s the first one to have to do it, practically tripping over himself and then snickering at himself when he manages to just graze the cue ball, completely missing.

It’s unabashedly the most fun Sunghoon’s had in what feels like a while. His competitive side has never been happier, and the side of him that has been wondering what the fuck is going on with Heeseung is— kind of relieved, to be honest. The way their banter sparks off each other’s witty turnarounds never ceases to be a rush, and from Heeseung’s expression he must feel something like the same way.

“That was such a terrible shot—”

“But you’re still losing, and I only learned how to play ten minutes ago.”

“I thought I was supposed to be a dongsaeng whose feelings you didn’t want to hurt?”

“And I thought you told me to stop.”

“Since when do you ever listen to anything I tell you?”

“Well, if you don’t have to take orders from me then why should I have to take them from you?”
Which earns Heeseung a shove that makes him knock the cue ball around again, which earns Sunghoon a heated argument on whether that counts as a foul or not, which earns Heeseung another cup of beer when he accidentally hits Sunghoon’s chest with the point of the cue stick and gives in at his feigned, exaggerated wince. (If he’s going to insist on being like this then Sunghoon can and will take full advantage.)

There’s two solids and four stripes left on the table when Sunghoon fucks up, for a multitude of reasons— 1) the simmering shame of knowing Heeseung’s beating him at a game he literally had to show him how to play twenty minutes ago, 2) the fact that Heeseung’s tispy enough to be sitting on the edge of the table waiting for him to go, having rolled up the sleeves of his button-down and brushed back his sweaty hair, and 3) the once-in-a-game opportunity afforded to him by having one of the stripes lingering right by the hole, in a near-perfect line from the cue ball.

“Don’t do it,” Heeseung warns, leaning forward with his elbow on the table and grinning.

“Get off the board,” Sunghoon responds tightly, ignoring him. He’s concentrating, and Heeseung is— not helping with that, sitting there smelling like some intoxicating brand of cologne and showing off his collarbones . 

“I’m not even in the way,” Heeseung waves him off, watching intently as Sunghoon lines it up and takes the shot.

He hits the eight ball right beside it and sends it straight into the hole.

Immediately he groans, and immediately Heeseung bursts out laughing, leaning back onto the table and losing it. 

“Are you kidding me?” Sunghoon exclaims, falling forward onto the table as well, forehead thunking against it and arms forming a cocoon around his head. He lets out a long, wordless groan, not managing to drown out the sound of Heeseung’s laughter.

“I told you, Sunghoonie, I said you shouldn’t do it—”

“Excuse me for not taking advice from someone who just learned how to play this game like ten minutes ago,” Sunghoon snaps, voice muffled by the table, and reluctantly he picks his head up, trying for a glare but mostly managing a pout as he looks over at Heeseung’s stupid grin. He ignores the little jump his stomach gives at the Sunghoonie. 

“You should have trusted me a little more,” Heeseung says triumphantly, turning and swinging his legs up onto the table as well so he’s sitting there, palms braced on either side of him, like some sort of hedonistic Sherlock Holmes, legs never ending, hair falling into his eyes, looking for all the world like he’s posing for one of his photoshoots. 

(This was not in the book.)

“I don’t trust you at all,” Sunghoon grumbles, wishing that cup of beer hadn’t been drained already. He sets down his cue stick and clambers up as well, perched on the edge, and spreads his own legs out, precariously close to falling off. They’re facing each other, filling the table, mirroring each other’s positions. The few balls still rolling around squeeze into the spaces between them, and Sunghoon’s foot knocks a solid into a corner hole, making room.

“Okay, so what do you have to do?” Heeseung asks, still smirking at him. “Enough drinking,” he adds as Sunghoon’s eyes stray to their emptying beer bottle. The room smells of it; no doubt their clothes do, their breaths. His eyes dart to Heeseung’s lips at that thought as he says, oblivious, “something else.”

Sunghoon pulls a face, leaning back until his back hits the table and throwing an arm over his head to block the glare of the lights shining right into his eyes. “Any bright ideas?”

“Hm… you owe me.”

“Original, Heeseung,” Sunghoon sighs, pulling his legs up so his knees stick into the air and then nudging Heeseung’s side with one of them, arms under his head. 

“Then what? What would you have said to me if I lost?” he says, as though Sunghoon would actually answer a question like that. He’d probably make him drink another full cup of beer, just to see what a drunk Heeseung is like. He’s got a few interesting theories. “...you’d have made me drink more, wouldn’t you?” Heeseung asks after a minute, deadpan, knowing.

“Correct,” Sunghoon says, grinning as he sits up and meets his eyes. “Have you really never been drunk before? Even I’ve gotten hammered, and— you know,” he gestures vaguely. “How can you be eighteen and never have done it?”

Heeseung shakes his head, eyes shadowing slightly. “Nineteen, actually. My birthday was a couple weeks ago.”

“Wha— really? When?” Sunghoon asks, sitting up further and giving him a confused look. How had that happened without him hearing one word about it?
“Did you want to come to the party?” Heeseung asks tauntingly, and Sunghoon crosses his arms over his chest.

“Of course not. I would have thought Jongseong would have said something, though.” Or Jungwon. Or the Internet. Or their entire fucking school. How did Lee fucking Heeseung’s birthday come and go without any fanfare? 

Heeseung just shrugs, apparently not of the same mind as him on this. “I forgot to tell him until pretty late that day, so. Not much he could have done.”

“Why am I not surprised by that,” Sunghoon scoffs. “I’m telling you right now, my birthday’s December 8th, and I expect presents.”

Heeseung snorts, unamused. “You expect presents? From me?”

“Yes, from you. At least… one month of being nice to me,” Sunghoon responds, raising his eyebrows at Heeseung’s never gonna happen look.

“You’d make me regret it,” Heeseung says with too much certainty for Sunghoon’s liking. He gives him another dirty look, wrapping his arms around his knees and resting his chin on them. 

“Are you really that much of a teacher’s pet, though? Never gotten drunk, never broken a rule—”

“I’d be willing to bet you haven’t either.”

“Never kissed anyone—”

(Okay, fine, he’s curious.)

“I’ve kissed people!” Heeseung protests. “I’ve kissed— I used to kiss every kid I met in elementary school—”

“To see if you were soulmates? Yeah, that doesn’t count,” Sunghoon informs him smugly. 

“Well—” Heeseung sighs. “I’m actually— I’m waiting for my soulmate,” he says, and ladies and gentlemen: he’s blushing. First time for everything, apparently.

Sunghoon opens his mouth to respond and shuts it, both amused and unsurprised. He and Jaeyun had guessed right from the beginning, hadn’t they? And Lee Heeseung has never failed to meet expectations. 

(He ignores the mental image that presents itself to him of Heeseung being soulmates with some faceless nobody, ignores the jolt that sends through his stomach.) 

“Of course you are,” Sunghoon mutters, and his tone is far from neutral.

Heeseung reddens further. “I— don’t make it sound like a bad thing,” he says, clearly offended. 

“Oh, come on. What if you meet your soulmate and they’ve already got someone?” Sunghoon asks, which is a little mean— but that’s their brand, and their joking banter tonight hasn’t actually changed that. “It happens, you know, people fall in love with other—”

“That’s not going to happen,” Heeseung says firmly. “And if it does then— I’d understand,” he adds, like he’s forcing the words out of his mouth, and Sunghoon stifles a snicker. Yeah, sure, he’d understand— he’d understand enough to try and pull what Julia Roberts did in My Best Friend’s Wedding. Not that Sunghoon can really see Heeseung trying to tear apart someone’s relationship— but have you met him? He wouldn’t even have to actively try and sabotage his soulmate; he could walk through the door and charm both halves of the existing couple with one hi, I’m Lee Heeseung. And then they’d all be fucked. 

As always, grin widening, he pushes the point. It’s a reflex, not a choice. “Or what if you fall in love with some—”

He gets shut down faster than he’d have expected: “That’s definitely not possible.” Heeseung sits up further, expression shuttering, going serious. “No way. Not me.”

Sunghoon’s smile dims. “Of course not,” he says, in the same tone he’d said it before. He has a feeling that once Lee Heeseung decides how he feels about someone that— that it doesn’t change. 

The ensuing silence stretches long enough for Sunghoon to get uncomfortable. “You never picked something,” he says after what feels like an eternity, looking away. 

“You’re right,” Heeseung says after another long moment, blinking as though coming out of a stupor and giving Sunghoon a considering look. The tension between them abates somewhat, seems to evaporate entirely on Heeseung’s part. “I— you know what? I got one— you have to get me a birthday present,” Heeseung declares, brightening. “You lost, right? I’m calling in my victory.”

Sunghoon’s slow to respond, but he gives him a Look, nudges his knee into Heeseung’s chest again, releasing his lip from where it had been caught between his teeth. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, Lee Heeseung,” he says, voice measured, one side of his lips ticked just slightly up.

“Definitely not as much as you, Park Sunghoon.” 

His quick response makes Sunghoon’s heart speed up in his chest, fighting the urge to look away as Heeseung’s shining eyes hold his. The silence lingers, the rhythm of Sunghoon’s heartbeat the only sound breaking it, too loud and too fast in his chest.

(It’s a bit distressing that when the chips are down, Sunghoon can’t figure out a way to say no to him.)

“Fine,” he grumbles, breaking their stare and throwing his arms into the air. “Fine, I’ll get you a stupid birthday present.”

Heeseung smiles over at him, clearly pleased as punch, and Sunghoon meets him with a glare, watching as he picks up the cue stick between them and dodging an unexpected prod in the chest from it.

“You wanna go again?” Heeseung asks, cocking a brow.

Sunghoon hardly has to consider it. “You’re setting up,” he responds, swinging his legs off the table, and once again Heeseung smiles.

(He thinks of Heeseung doing the same to a soulmate— to someone else— and he loses more of the subsequent games than he wins.)

— — — 

The rest of the group comes down what must be at least two hours later, when the two of them have played enough games to be sick of it— and yet whenever one of them goes to set down their cue stick, the other pipes up with something to keep the game going, intent on torturing the other even at the cost of their own sanity. 

Anyway: one moment Sunghoon’s squinting at a green striped ball that’s beginning to blend in with the board, and then, ominously, the low thrum of music from above shuts off abruptly.

Sunghoon blinks up at the ceiling, and Heeseung, who’s leaning against the table next to him, does the same, running a hand through his hair. “Is the party over?”

“No shit,” Sunghoon says, earning a deadpan look that makes him smirk. They keep playing, Sunghoon oscillating between hitting perfect shots courtesy of all the practice he’s gotten tonight and sending the balls flying in completely wild directions as the buzz of alcohol in his veins cools off, fading to exhaustion. 

True to form, within ten minutes their friends are coming after them, voices obnoxiously loud as they call out their names. “Sunghoon? Heeseung-hyung?”

“We’re here,” Heeseung confirms, and with no small measure of relief, Sunghoon sets down his cue stick. Heeseung’s eyes dart over to it and then Sunghoon, eyes sparkling. “So the game ends just before you lose?” 

“I just gave up a comeback,” Sunghoon protests, and that’s possibly the most bullshit thing he’s ever said. “I had that.”
Heeseung’s about to respond, no doubt, when Sunoo strides in, skeleton makeup smeared, hair messy, his graying suit looking newer now that most of the dust has apparently rubbed off. “What are you guys doing?” he asks, head turning to the side and lips curling in offended shock. 

“Playing pool,” Sunghoon says, casually flicking the end of Heeseung’s cue stick. 

“With Heeseung-hyung?” Sunoo asks incredulously. Jungwon jogs down after him, wraps his arms around him from behind.

“You found them,” he slurs, makeup also hopelessly smeared, a pair of lopsided cat ears resting on his head, at the same time that Heeseung cocks a brow and asks “What’s wrong with Heeseung-hyung?”

“Wha— nothing, hyung, I just meant—”

“I know, I know,” Heeseung sighs. “He did almost murder me over a foul, if it makes you feel better,” he nods at Sunghoon.

“You poked me so hard with that stupid stick—”

“You’re fine,” Heeseung waves him off, and Sunghoon’s mid-scowl when Sunoo starts snickering. 

“Why are you laughing?” Sunghoon asks, offended, but no one’s listening. Typical.

“WE FOUND THEM!” Sunoo yells up the stairs, and footsteps echo above them as the rest of the boys make their way over to the basement door. 

“Is— Jungwonie, you good?” Heeseung asks, tilting his head. He gets a muffled moan in response and walks over and pries him off Sunoo. Jungwon just comes forward and clings to him instead, burying his face in Heeseung’s shoulder and groaning.

“Did you get him drunk?” Sunghoon’s asking, torn between rising amusement and scolding whoever handed Jungwon the glass, but then he hears a series of thuds that sounds suspiciously like someone falling down the stairs.

He can’t tell who reacts faster, him or Heeseung; Sunoo’s mouth is only half-open in shock when they’re both racing over. 

Sunghoon’s heart gives a jolt, expecting the worst— but it’s just Riki, lying there looking dazed in his dinosaur costume. His forehead is at least six inches off the transparent panel he’s supposed to be looking out of. 

“Hi,” he says as Jongseong gives some sort of strangled are you okay scream from upstairs. “Can someone pop me?”

After they find the hole to let the air out, help Riki escape, and confirm he’s alive— I’m good, the costume took most of it— they all gather on the floor, Jungwon passing out with his head in Heeseung’s lap and Jaeyun frantically apologizing for stepping on Riki’s costume and sending him tumbling. Sunghoon looks around at them with a measure of fondness, but he’s beginning to feel as tired as Jungwon looks. 

“What time is it?” he asks, head leaning against one of the legs of the pool table.

“Like… two?” Jongseong mumbles, forehead on Heeseung’s shoulder. The three of them are going to be out within the next five minutes— Sunghoon would bet money on it.

There’s a collective groan. “I have to go back to the dorms,” Riki moans from where he’s lying facedown on the ground in front of Sunghoon, arms spread dramatically. (They’re letting him have it, after that fall down the stairs.) Sunoo’s lying perpendicular on top of him, head on the small of his back. 

“So do I,” Sunghoon says in a similar tone, burying his head in his hands. “What am I gonna tell my coach when I’m hungover trying to land triple axels tomorrow?” 

Jaeyun laughs lightly from beside Sunghoon, vampire cape turned almost all the way around and hair coming out of its elegant swoop. “I have to go too,” he says, stretching and leaning over to drape himself over Sunghoon, arms wrapping around his waist as he hugs him sideways. Sunghoon messes up his hair lazily in turn, and Jaeyun groans but doesn’t move away. “I can drop you guys off,” he says, voice muffled.

“So who’s freeloading and who’s leaving?” Jongseong mutters.

It turns out that everyone besides Heeseung, Sunoo, and Riki can’t stay, so they pry themselves up off the ground, moaning and groaning about it. 

“See you guys…”

“Don’t vomit, Jungwonie, please—”

“Someone find Sunoo a pillow,” Sunghoon adds.

“Someone find me a pair of sunglasses,” Riki says, throwing an arm over his eyes at Sunghoon’s sparkling costume. “Goodnight.” And then he’s out, predictably, within ten seconds.

Sunghoon chuckles at how quickly he falls asleep, still half-hugging Jaeyun as they start making their way across the room. He looks expectantly at where Heeseung’s trying and failing to wake Jungwon up, one hand gently pillowed on his head.

“Come on, Jungwon,” he calls, and that sets off the entire pack of wolves.

“Wake up, Jungwonie~”

“Jungwon-ah, Jungwon-ah, Jungwon-ah—”

“Jongseong’s kicking us out, Wonie!”

“I’m awake,” Jungwon snaps, sitting up and meeting their laughter with a glare. “I’m coming. Jeez.” His hair’s sticking out in every direction. 

Somehow they make it out of the house in one piece, the rest of the boys following them upstairs. It takes three of them to carry Riki (Heeseung, Jongseong, and Sunoo) and a fourth (Sunghoon) to get his stupid dinosaur costume. 

Jaeyun slips out the door to unlock the car as the rest of them collapse on the couch. The floor’s strewn with cups and plates and ripped fabric from costumes. There’s at least three phones lingering on counters around the house and at least four toxic broken glowsticks spilling their contents onto the carpet. Sunghoon has never been happier that it’s not his problem.

“So, Happy Halloween, huh?” he asks, leaning against the slightly ajar doorway. He slips his coat on from the rack and abandons the idea of looking for the Grim Reaper blanket— you couldn’t pay him to wade through this mess. 

“It wasn’t half bad,” Heeseung shrugs, and Sunghoon’s eyes dart over to him, still not sure what to look at— the loose collar or the way his hair is swept back messily from his forehead? The way his shirt is sticking to his skin or the figure he cuts in those slacks? 

(To be on the safe side he just. Looks away.)

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sunghoon responds after a moment, considering they spent the whole party together; he earns a light chuckle, indulgent and exasperated. “Anyway. See you, Jongseong,” he waves. “Sorry about the mess.”

“You should see the pool,” Jongseong shudders. 

And with another laugh, Sunghoon leaves. 

(On Monday, he walks into math class and discreetly pulls a box of donuts out of his backpack, setting it down on Heeseung’s side of the desk and then turning and staring resolutely out the window as though their school’s manicured green lawns are the most fascinating thing on the planet.

When Heeseung sits down next to him, he can hear his steps slow, probably taking in the box. He sets down his bag with a thunk, and Sunghoon looks over at him, unable to resist his curiosity. Heeseung looks from the box to Sunghoon, eyebrows rising. 

“Is this a sick joke, or… are these for me?” he asks, sounding hesitantly hopeful. 

“Happy Birthday,” Sunghoon says, and it comes out a little more sincere than it should. Heeseung’s mouth drops open a little, and then he’s grinning, wide and unfiltered and completely stupid.

“I also,” he starts, leaning back in his chair and grimacing to cover the way his lips are lifting of their own accord to try and mirror Heeseung’s idiotic smile, “went back to that library and told that lady to let you back in.”

“Actually?” Heeseung asks, looking down at him in genuine surprise, eyes widening, and Sunghoon smirks.

“No, of course not, you greedy asshole. Aren’t the donuts enough for you?” he snarks, and Heeseung rolls his eyes and finally sits down, still smiling. 

“They’re enough,” he says around a laugh, looking over at him with those twinkling Bambi eyes. “Thanks, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon shrugs awkwardly in response, lips pressed together. Heeseung looks so touched. Poor sod. 

He makes to open the box, and Sunghoon stifles a laugh, expectant. “I got a ninety-nine on that Chem test,” he starts. “What about you?”

Heeseung makes a sheepish face, for once not angry about losing. “Ah, I think I got a—” He pauses. 

“There’s nothing in here, Sunghoon—?”)

See? Net win.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOUR: GERANIUM

folly

Heeseung’s quota of good luck for the indefinite future runs out all at once.

It always seems to hit a stopping point after too many good things have happened; the week after he got into BigHit, his parents lost the noraebang place they used to run. Two days after he got back his first relatively large paycheck, their old house was foreclosed, despite how they were barely fifteen thousand won from the rent. Four hours after winning a lifesize teddy bear at the carnival, his brother threw up all over it— and on seven year old Heeseung’s scale, that would rank on the same level as the other two tragedies. 

So it’s not hard to follow the series of events that have expended his current share; he’s been getting straight A’s since he transferred to this new school, has made enough friends to have someone to walk with to and from every class, has been winning against Sunghoon for a solid week. Things are good. Suspiciously good. 

Temporarily good. 

And usually that sort of thing follows him around. It lurks in the back of his mind, poisons happy moments with worries. Sometimes he swears he can tell before something bad happens because he’s become so attuned to guessing when exactly the hourglass has turned. 

But for once, this time around, he forgets. (Fatally.) And then Park Sunghoon decides to remind him in the brattiest way possible. 

To summarize: he walks into the library on the Saturday morning after ripping Sunghoon’s notes out of his folder hoping to get some work done— and instead walks out with a warning that he’s not to return unless he wants to be properly fined.

He’s fuming all the way home, torn between feeling like Sunghoon definitely went too far and between wondering if he didn’t push them to the brink first, earlier this week. (This entire thing has gotten him to compromise his principles so thoroughly that he apparently doesn’t even remember what they are anymore.)

His phone buzzes in his pocket when he shoulders open the door, worsening the situation almost instantly. (When he says his luck runs out, he means it books it out the door. Does not look back.)

It’s routine enough, the usual sort of thing he gets when he gets booked for something new: an email with when to show up, what they’re going to do, who’s photographing and managing, etc etc.

His eyes drop on instinct to the schedule, and… they’re making him miss school again for this?

His sizzling anger rapidly fades to a cold sense of disappointment, dropping into his stomach like a stone.

They said this wouldn’t end up being the same as freshman year, when he spent so much time either traveling or in photoshoots that he couldn’t pass the year solely based off how many absences he had, but so far they’ve already had him start three weeks late and are now essentially filling every free moment with something or the other— auditions, shoots, fittings, whatever. Heeseung no longer believes Joochan-nim when he says it’ll be a short project, because until now nothing has been.

He’s midway through a sigh when his brother pokes his head out of the kitchen, frowning at him. “Yah, close the door, it’s not summer anymore,” his brother Junseo hisses, shirt covered in sauce stains and a stray pea or two. His hair rustles from the autumn wind blowing inside.

“Hyung, are you wearing lunch or cooking it?” Heeseung asks, just to be annoying, but he shuts the door as asked, following his brother as he ducks back into the kitchen.

“Keep talking like that and you’re not eating it,” Junseo shoots back, sliding in his socks across the floor to go back to stirring a pot of soup that looks like it’s been scraped off a sidewalk. Heeseung leans against the wall and watches, and as always when he thinks too hard about this kind of thing it all comes into focus again; the crumbling paint on the walls, the grainy backsplash losing its color, the chipped spatula Junseo’s holding. The stove that only holds three dishes at a time and the sputtering flame beneath Junseo’s bowl. It’s all always been there, but when he throws himself into working or spends time with his friends, or is busy being angry at Sunghoon, it doesn’t nag at the back of his mind as much. 

Things aren’t as bad as they used to be when Heeseung was younger and they were moving houses every six months, counting money down to every thousand won; now they have a house that’s not actively falling apart, now both his parents have jobs, now he and Junseo are both properly back in school. Now they’re heading towards some semblance of stability.

But it’s always there. Even with all the progress they’ve made, the sense of responsibility Heeseung feels for this, the righteous anger that rises up in him whenever he sees how hard his parents work only to get next to nothing for it, is impossible to shake. It only gets worse.

Even now, for instance— it’s Saturday afternoon, and where are his parents? His eomma’s working a shift at a hair salon, and his abeoji’s out doing construction work. They’ll come home just in time for dinner if there are no hang-ups, and then they’ll be up early tomorrow morning to go back to work.

What he wants most is for them to be able to retire in peace soon, to have someone waiting on them for a change. They’ve been working all their lives. When do they get to stop?

“Seung-ah, what are you still hanging around here for?” his brother asks after a few moments, looking over his shoulder and frowning yet again. Junseo’s tall, brown-haired, and perpetually smiling— whatever the opposite of resting bitch face is. Resting innocent face. Resting eomma look at me I did nothing wrong blame Heeseung face. (Apparently Heeseung has resting guilty face. You guessed right: nobody in his life cares about him.) 

Funnily enough, though, they used to get mistaken for twins a lot when they were younger; they’re still around the same height, and even now their aunts will say Junseo’s just Heeseung a few years older, which pisses off Junseo a hilarious amount. So if Heeseung invariably looks like a kid who stuck his hand inside the cookie jar, then so does his idiot identical brother.

“And why are you back so early? It’s like eleven-thirty,” Junseo adds, oblivious to Heeseung’s inner turmoil. 

Heeseung heaves a sigh, tilts his head, and tells himself to shut up and let it go. Junseo himself has told him a thousand times that overthinking is the worst thing Heeseung can do to himself, and he’d probably consider it incredibly rude of his dongsaeng to ignore his advice while standing right in front of him.

“Long story,” he says, smiling at the thought. He knows what Junseo’s response is going to be before he even opens his stupid mouth. 

“Then shorten it,” his brother says predictably, making an obnoxious face, lips turning down. 

Even as he giggles, Heeseung rolls his eyes, thinking back to the stupid smirk on Sunghoon’s face, meeting his eyes from across the library. He hadn’t had the energy to go after him, but god. Does he not have a line? Some cut-off point where teasing someone officially becomes too much? Or is this a normal thing for him, to get someone literally banned from a library? 

His anger rekindles with enough force that it’s like someone’s thrown a lighter on his emotional state, clearing his mind of all other thoughts save for the fury searing through his veins. 

On principle it grinds his gears that Sunghoon framed him for the infraction that got him banned. Sunghoon wouldn’t have given a damn if he got kicked out. Why does Heeseung have to be the one that suffers? 

Against his better judgement, he decides he’s gone long enough hiding the extent of his annoyance from his friends who are also Sunghoon’s friends. He needs one person to be solely on his side, please. 

So he crosses his arms over his chest, gives the wall a glare. “Do you know who Park Sunghoon is?” 

Junseo makes a confused noise. “No…? One of your classmates?”

And from there the whole story comes tumbling out of Heeseung’s mouth, disjointed and skipping around but overall painting what he’d like to think is a pretty clear, objective picture: Sunghoon: going after his peace of mind with a sledgehammer; Heeseung: valiantly trying and failing to pacify him.

“— and then today he got me banned from the library and got frosting all over my homewo— are you laughing at me?” he demands.

Junseo’s doubled over the soup, having collapsed midway through ladling it into a bowl. “Dude, what the fuck is your life,” he cackles. “I mean, it’s fucked, don’t get me wrong,” he adds in response to Heeseung throws his hands into the air. “But that’s hilarious, man, that’s good,” he says, dissolving into giggles again. “Let me see it, let me—”

“I threw it away!” Heeseung exclaims, although in hindsight he probably should have kept the assignment and tried to copy it over again instead of forcing himself to do it all from scratch. The realization only serves to make him angrier.

“Oh, god,” Junseo wheezes. “Wow.” 

“Wow?” Heeseung repeats, exasperated. “There really is no one on my side.”

“Well, I mean, I know you, Heeseungie, and you can get a little…” Junseo tilts his head, makes a face. 

“What does that even mean?” Heeseung demands, and it sets Junseo off again. 

“I’ll tell you later,” he says, and when Heeseung just looks at him, deadpan and slightly pleading, he snickers again and shakes his head. “All right, all right, I’m on your side,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. His lips twitch. “Kind of.” And then, ignoring that, he goes on: “but you know the best way to get him to shut up is to—”

“Ignore him? I’ve tried, hyung, but he makes it so hard to ignore him,” Heeseung mutters viciously, and for some reason that makes Junseo snicker again. “And I feel like I shouldn’t say anything because he’s my dongsaeng! I’m supposed to— I’m the better person,” he says firmly, lifting his chin and meeting Junseo’s eyes, jaw set. “I am the better person.” 

Junseo rolls his eyes. “Can the better person find some croutons?” he asks.

“Sunghoon would not have gotten them for you,” Heeseung says pointedly as he goes and opens a cabinet, rooting around in a messy container. 

“Jesus,” Junseo scoffs. “Look, you only have to to deal with that little gremlin—” Heeseung’s startled into a laugh— “for what, six more months? However long it is until you little high schoolers are done? And then you’re golden. Never have to see him again.”

Heeseung walks back and starts dropping croutons at random into the two bowls Junseo’s set out as his brother searches for spoons. Not seeing Sunghoon ever again? He’s got a sinking feeling that even if he left the country he’d never be rid of Park Sunghoon, not after seeing him at least twice a week outside of school for no reason other than cosmic coincidence. Maybe someone’s been following him around with a camera, engineering these incidents. Maybe the universe just hates him that much. Maybe it’s someone’s idea of a terrible joke. 

Whatever it is, they’ve been thrown together a ridiculous amount of times so far. Graduating high school of all things seems unlikely to deter that. 

“I’m not optimistic,” he mutters, summarizing. There’s apparently still a lot Junseo doesn’t know about.

Either way, that earns him a cuff over the head that he’s too slow to duck away from, followed by an affectionate tug of his hair. “Or you could beat him,” Junseo suggests, splashing soup around when he drops the spoons in. If Heeseung wasn’t already preoccupied with being annoyed at Sunghoon he’d have made his usual comment about how genuinely terrible Junseo’s cooking (not to mention his manners) is. “Grind him into the dust.”

“I promise you, that would only make him worse,” Heeseung shudders. Park Sunghoon has shown him in no uncertain terms that he’s not amenable to losing. 

They head over to the couch with their soup precariously balanced on their laps and burn their tongues trying to eat it right away, both of them apparently starving. “Oh, hey,” Heeseung calls after him as Junseo goes to get water. “Joochan-nim sent me the new schedule,” he says. He’d almost forgotten— but now he recalls the sheer amount of work hours packed into the next two months of his life and winces. 

Junseo makes a sympathetic noise from the kitchen. “Oooh. Bad?”

“Extremely,” Heeseung says, forgoing a well, not that bad for the truth. His spoon clinks against the bottom of the bowl. 

“You know,” Junseo starts, and his voice is cautious as he comes back into the living room, noticeably only holding one glass. Couldn’t be bothered to get one for Heeseung, apparently. (Typical.) “You don’t have to—”

“Hyung,” Heeseung cuts him off. He knows where this turn in the conversation is going— you’re still in high school, you shouldn’t work so much, you know none of us would blame you if you stopped, focus on graduating— needlessly protective attempts to convince him to quit the company. “I don’t want to have this conversation again. I can handle it,” he says defensively.

“You’re handling it about as well as I did,” Junseo snaps, sitting down and turning to give him a glare. “Heeseungie, how do you think eomma and appa feel? I know you think you’re doing them a favor, but you’re the baby of the family. Do you really think they want you working like this to help out? Do you think I want it?” The mirth has faded from his expression, replaced by a grim seriousness that has never and will never suit Junseo’s goofy exterior.

“I don’t— I’m not trying to make them feel bad,” Heeseung says, looking away. “But I can’t watch them struggle either, hyung, come on. I know what’s too much for me, and this isn’t it. And I’m not you, hyung,” he adds, voice harsh. “I’m not planning on dropping out of school.”

It’s a bit meaner than he normally is, (and Junseo’s getting his degree now, so it’s baseless to boot) but his brother is hardly fazed. He just rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “And that’s good. Don’t you fucking dare quit school,” he says firmly, making Heeseung’s lips twitch. “But we share enough DNA that I think you’re definitely capable of being exactly as stupid as me,” he adds, reaching over and slapping Heeseung’s shoulder.

“You’re calling yourself stupid?” Heeseung asks reflexively, seizing on the slip.

“Heeseung,” Junseo warns, and he shuts up. “When it comes to this? Yeah, I was stupider than you can even imagine. And you’re doing the same thing, you idiot. Aren’t you supposed to be learning about life from me or whatever? Where’s your head at?”

Heeseung shakes his head, making a face. “I’m telling you, hyung, it’s fine. Stop worrying— it looks weird on you,” he adds. “You don’t normally think this much.”

“You little shit,” Junseo hisses, tousling his hair as he grins cheekily. “Fine. Don’t listen to me.”

“I was never planning on it,” he says, eyebrows ticking upwards, and then immediately realizes that maybe Sunghoon’s rubbing off on him a little too much. Catching the academic overachieving bug is one thing— he doesn’t also need to start giving everyone the level of shit his dongsaeng does. 

“Is this how you talk to Choi Sunghoon?”

“Park Sungh—”

“Because I can really see what his problem with you is, dude—”

“Hyung!”

— — — 

When they send Heeseung a schedule they mean business, the we need you here yesterday category of business.

So, the following afternoon finds him back in a studio, makeup and hair and clothes all finished by nine AM. It’s the usual brand of controlled chaos: people running around for last-minute camera batteries, testing lights and angles and arranging paper tissue roses around the main background, the occasional slipping-on-a-banana-peel comedic timing of someone tripping over a wire, the whir of fans overhead as a long-haired girl starts off her portion of the shoot. 

After the initial rush to get him ready, they drag over a chair for Heeseung in a corner and tell him, essentially, to sit tight. For four hours.

As always he just pulls out his phone to see how long it takes for him to get sick of playing Candy Crush, only absently keeping an eye on how the shoot’s going. Within ten minutes he’s bored out of his mind— and there’s only so much concentration you can put into a mindless game, so instead his thoughts wander pessimistically. 

The fundamental issue of it is this: he’s never really had a choice. 

He sort of fell sideways into modeling without having to think about it much; he was scouted, it was easy enough to show up for a few auditions, and then after they decided his face was pretty enough he was hired. That was all. Now he just does as they tell him, but there’s no— passion, or anything, in it. On the best days it can be fun, when he feels confident and handsome in the clothes they choose and when the photographer and staff are all nice; then it feels like maybe he can do this, like it’s just another extracurricular activity, like a sport. 

But then they hand him a contract, or a paycheck, or start talking about a future career, and the illusion goes up in smoke. 

He’s not going to kid himself— he’s never been the type. There are a few things he’s passionate about— for a minute there he was really considering music, the whole trainee thing like Riki, but it was a minute ill-spent at the end of it because realism takes priority: he’s going to college for something practical as opposed to something enjoyable.

All their relatives think they’re the hipster branch of the family. Leave them to their own devices, and Junseo would probably join the police force and sit around strumming a guitar in his free time. Heeseung would probably be one of thousands of teenagers trying to make a name for himself on SoundCloud, would very much prefer to just not go to college. Honestly in a perfect world he would have been happy enough to run his parents’ old noraebang place. Before their customers all started leaving the neighborhood, they’d made enough to be as well-off as all of Heeseung’s friends whose parents worked 9-5s in corporate buildings.

But here they are now. He’d like to tell himself it’s no good dwelling on the past, but. Well. It’s hard not to.

There’s not really anything stopping him from going on SoundCloud now, of course, but it’s just— it was a different time, a different dream. To put it simply: he’s kind of sick of struggling constantly. He’s so tired of it, and music is nothing if not a career he’d have to work every inch for. He’s willing to put in the work for what he wants, but god. For once he wants the guarantee. He wants the signed contract saying that he’ll get there in the end. And that probably makes him a coward in other people’s eyes, but he’s already having a hard enough time getting through high school. He’ll worry about the other stuff later. 

Around half an hour into blowing up chocolate bombs and teenage angsting, though, he’s interrupted with this: 

‘wonie’ has created a group chat! ‘wonie’ has added five new people to the chat!

10-12-20XX 

09:45

wonie: hi everyone!! i thought it would be nice if we had a group chat :) 

wonie: don’t spam plz 

sunoo: ahh hi!! 

sunoo: this is everyone from the movies, right? 

sunoo: i don’t think i have everyone’s numbers, so in case you don’t have mine i’m sunoo! (✿◠‿◠) 

wonie: i’m jungwon

jongsaeng: i’m… being mentally yelled at by jungwon?

jongsaeng: and i’m jay park :))

sunoo: (¬‿¬)

wonie: lol where’s everyone else?? 

wonie: hellooo? hyungs?

This looks like the kind of chat that’ll never manage to stay quiet, but for once that excites him more than it does make him want to mute it. So far having an insistent group of friends has been going better than expected.

me: hey wonie :)

me: this is heeseung btw

sunoo: hi hyung! I never got to ask what you thought of the movie?

sunoo: after everyone was talking about how terrible it was going to be (ง︡'-'︠)ง

wonie: and we were right, it sucked

sunoo: you cried for literally half of it??

me: lol i think we all cried

(+X-XXX-XXX-XXX): hey guys, i’m jaeyun :)) or jake if you prefer 

*you have saved +X-XXX-XXX as ‘jaeyun’*

jongsaeng: well if it helps riki slept through the entire first part

sunoo: no one told me that omg

sunoo: what do you have to say for yourself @riki

heeseung: i think he’ll be at dance practice now? he mentioned being busy

sunoo: ohh, you’re right, i totally forgot

sunoo: and hey jaeyun-hyung! i think that’s almost everyone, where’s sunghoon hyung?

😈: i’m here!

😈: …and now i’m muting this bye

wonie: you can’t just do that?? hyung don’t you love us :((

😈: you? absolutely

😈: heeseung? nah

me: i… don’t even know what to say to that

😈: 😎

jaeyun: 

jongsaeng:

sunoo:

wonie: 

me: 

riki jackson: okay i blocked sunghoon hyung

(And true to form the rest of it after that is chaos.) 

But it’s still nice to have a proper group of friends, to always have someone who’s on their phone to talk to, no matter what ridiculously late hour of the night it is. He spends at least two hours on the phone with Jaeyun later that afternoon, Heeseung between shoots again and Jaeyun stuck on the bus with a bunch of sleeping soccer players post-away game. The niggling doubt that maybe Jaeyun would take Sunghoon’s side dissolves about two minutes into the conversation, when he says “I think you’re both being extremely stupid. No offense, though, hyung!” Somehow all of their friends are playing Switzerland with admirable determination, and when you put that up against the group fracturing in two instead, Heeseung will welcome neutrality with open arms. 

So, when you combine the promise to go out for ramyeon with Jaeyun with how Jungwon’s been inviting Riki everywhere he, Heeseung, and Jongseong go, and how Sunoo’s started sitting by him in music, Heeseung can say he’s pretty much friends with all of them now. The Sunghoon situation is still a mess, but. Aside from that, he can pick up his phone and text any of them about practically anything— and vice versa. 

And even though bad luck usually comes in a triple whammy, (so far he’s got the Donut, the email, and an unknown apocalyptic event)... that sounds more like a winning streak to him.

— — — 

Two days and another unsatisfying confrontation with Sunghoon later (he can’t just let what happened the other day go that easily, although is Sunghoon is predictably defensive, refuses to admit he did anything wrong whatsoever, and then turns the whole argument on its head and starts mounting an attack against him, cutting off every single thing he says in response and generally being so annoying that it makes Heeseung want to scream), he turns nineteen.

Heeseung’s as much of a birthday person as anyone else is; when he was younger he was absolutely one of those kids that loved getting presents. As the years went he had less parties and, honestly, less reason to celebrate. He’s nineteen and still in high school. He’d really rather not parade that around.

But predictably the hope of having a quiet day is pointless; Junseo wakes him up at half-past five via tackle-hug, their sleepy parents calling after him to leave him alone, Junseo-yah! 

Heeseung startles awake and woozily blinks up at his idiot brother, confused beyond belief, before Junseo starts loudly belting out a rendition of Happy Birthday that could send a pack of hyenas running. 

“Oh my god,” he groans, burying his face in his hands, hopelessly tangled in the blankets as Junseo continues to aggressively try to hug him. “Oh my god, this isn’t love, this is cruelty— get off me, hyung!” he exclaims, but he’s laughing. 

When Junseo and his parents— his dad laughing through the whole thing, his mom still trying to sternly tell Junseo to stop it— finish the song, he finally pushes his brother off and sits up, grins around at them. 

His eomma stands a good four inches taller than his abeoji, but they’re that old cliche of married couples that begin to look like each other after a few years; they’ve both got salt and pepper hair, similar style, and of course there are their soulmarks, twin stars in the dip between their collarbones, like pendants. In the dim, gray morning light, they’re glowing slightly, as they always do when they touch each other; a quick glance shows their arms nudging as they stand side by side, breaking out into laughter as Heeseung gives Junseo a glare.

His dad leads the charge and then they’re smothering him in a group hug, all three of them, Junseo tickling him unabashedly under his mom’s arms. “Hey— wha— stop it, hyung, what the—”

“Language,” his mom says, quick as a whip, and she pulls away first, enough to look fondly at the three of them in a mess of limbs in front of her. “Ah, I can’t believe you’re nineteen already, Heeseung-ah. Both of you grew up too soon,” she starts, and Junseo groans loudly.

“Spare us the—”

“Be quiet and let me look at my sons,” she waves him off.

It takes Heeseung a good ten minutes to convince them all to not take a day off— we can celebrate this weekend, appa, you should all go to work— and then another five to pry Junseo off him. From what he knows of his brother, he finds it embarrassing to show Heeseung how much he loves him, so he overdoes it instead, making it comical. Or suffocating, in this case.

It’s perfect aside from the fact that they don’t have a cake—  nothing’s open this early in the morning. But Junseo promises to pick him up from school with the largest cake he can find, and they pass around donuts for breakfast against his mom’s express wishes to eat healthy, so even that’s quickly taken care of.

It’s an ordinary day at school, since no one actually knows it’s his birthday. He knows he should mention it, especially to his friends, but he just… doesn’t want to. They’ll insist on throwing a party, or making a huge deal out of it, or buying him big expensive presents. In other words they’ll be wonderful, and he’ll hate it on principle because he’s feeling shitty.

And— yes, fine, it’s the typical birthday blues, but the entire day he just kind of wants to wallow in depression. Even the weather matches his mood, gray and gloomy and rainy. He’s sad no one wishes him a happy birthday, but he’s the one who hasn’t told anybody. He’s sad he’s still in high school, but it’s his own fault he decided to just not do any homework the first time he did freshman year. He’s sad he has so much work to look forward to until Christmas, but he’s the one who signed up for it. 

He’s even sad no one’s noticing he’s sad. 

So in conclusion, for a nineteen year old, he’s being remarkably elementary.

He picks at his food all through lunch, eyes trained on the table, until eventually Jungwon throws a carrot at his head. “What, hyung?” he asks when Heeseung looks up, jerking in surprise. Jungwon looks both amused and worried, lips pressed together so his cheeks are beginning to dimple. “What’s going on?”

“What do you— nothing,” Heeseung says quickly, blinking. “Nothing’s— going on.”

From beside him, Jongseong rests both elbows on the table, leans down and tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. “That’s the least believable thing I think you’ve ever said,” he jokes, and Jungwon grins as Heeseung scoffs, looking away.

“Uh,” he starts, shrugging. He doesn’t really feel any better now that they’ve noticed— but now that they have he can’t really justify not telling them any longer. They’ll get offended if they find out down the line that he never mentioned it. So: “I guess it’s my birthday?” Heeseung says, wincing. 

There’s a pause. “You guess?” Jongseong asks at the same time Jungwon’s jaw drops, eyes widening. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” he asks incredulously, leaning forward in his chair. “Happy Birthday, hyung,” he laughs, exchanging a startled glance with Jongseong. 

“Oh, that’s— I’m so sorry we forgot, hyung, you must have been waiting,” Jongseong groans. “I’ll get you whatever you want to make up for it, I prom—”

“You don’t have to— I wasn’t expecting you guys to know,” Heeseung shakes his head, now surprised himself. “I don’t think I know when your birthdays are either.”

“But still,” Jungwon says, wincing. “I really feel bad. Are you doing anything? Like a party?”

“No,” Heeseung starts hesitantly, immediately dreading whatever he’s going to say next.

“Okay, then we’ll have one,” Jongseong pipes up, straightening in his seat and seizing on the chance. Shit. “I can invite everyone to my house if that’s easier, even if it’s short notice plenty of people will—”

Heeseung scrambles to refuse. “No, really, that’s—”

“—at the very least I know all seven of us can make it, and we can get a huge cake if you want,” he continues, and Jungwon’s eyes brighten.

“Yeah, hyung, that’ll be fun, does that sound good to you?”

“No, seriously, I don’t want—”

“Ah, don’t worry about formalities and stuff, just let me do this,” Jongseong grins winningly. “I can get everything set up by this evening, don’t wo—”

“No!” Heeseung practically yells, and both Jungwon and Jongseong stop short, leaning back a little as though he’s yanked on the reins and now they’re both rearing up. “I mean—” he breathes, swallowing, containing the slight panic that had been flooding through him. “That’s— fine, Jongseong-ah, really. I don’t really want anything big,” he says, smiling to show he’s not angry.

“Well…” Jongseong trails off, exchanging a glance with Jungwon. For the first time ever, maybe, it sends a prickle of something like discomfort through Heeseung, making him purse his lips. The fact that he doesn’t know what they’re actually saying about him hasn’t crossed his mind before now, but… for once he’d rather they just say whatever it is they’re thinking. Not leave him out of the conversation. “Yeah, okay, sure,” he says after a second, turning back and returning Heeseung’s smile a little hesitantly. “If you don’t want to, I won’t force you,” he assures him.

“Thanks for offering, though, really,” Heeseung says, giving a short laugh and looking back down at his food. “I just… I’m sorry, I’m being really annoying right now, aren’t I?” he winces. “I didn’t really sleep that well last night, I’m just—”

“No, no,” they both rush to assure him, Jongseong slinging an arm over his shoulders and Jungwon tilting his head in concern. “No, you’re good, hyung, I always feel really crappy on my birthday too,” Jungwon admits, grinning ruefully. “It’s never as good as I’m hoping it’ll be.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Heeseung agrees, latching onto his explanation. Sure. That’s one way to put it. Heeseung’s expectations were never high, but this is definitely worse than he’d hoped. “I had three tests today, you know.”

“Ooh,” Jongseong winces— a little exaggeratedly, in Heeseung’s opinion. Jungwon pitches in talking about how horrible the History teacher is, and then both of them start complaining on Heeseung’s behalf about the B- she gave him last week; he’s not oblivious enough to miss an obvious attempt to cheer him up when he sees it, but he’s also not angry enough to shut them down, so he goes along with it half-heartedly, although it fails to actually make him feel any better. Honestly he just kind of wants to go home and sleep and forget what day it is. There’s no real reason for him to feel this way, but. Generally he’s been having such a tough time that maybe he doesn’t need one.

“—and he’s such a hardass about putting the date on the paper for some reason? And he actually gave you an E on that essay, do you remember?”

“Yeah, he— wait, what?” Heeseung asks, blinking, and Jungwon sighs and leans back in his chair. 

“You haven’t heard a single thing I’ve been saying, have you?” Jongseong tilts his head, laughing as Heeseung sighs and buries his head in his hands, moaning. “Okay, clearly this isn’t working,” he starts, “so I’ve got a better idea.” Heeseung peeks through his fingers, skeptical, and Jongseong raises both hands as if in surrender, tilting his head. “Just— hear me out, okay,” he warns, and Heeseung gives him a Look. 

“What?” he asks suspiciously, the slightly grumpy edge creeping back into his voice. 

Jungwon gives a little drumroll, smile knowing, and Jongseong looks around furtively, leaning closer to Heeseung to whisper in his ear. “Come skip with me,” he says eagerly, and Heeseung’s eyes widen. 

“Skip… class?” Heeseung asks, drawing back and doing a double take at Jongseong’s conspiratorial expression, lips quirking up to one side, mischievous. “Come on, Jongseong-ah, how would we even—? They’ll notice and call my parents,” he says, shaking his head. There’s no way. Him? Skip school? That’ll be the day. 

“Get them to call your brother instead,” Jungwon jumps in, still drumming his hands on the table, more excited than both him and Jongseong combined. “Fake a headache or something and say Jongseong-hyung’s dropping you off.” 

“Yeah, that’ll work,” Jongseong nods. “We’ll make something up, hyung, all the teachers love you anyway. They’d never believe you were skipping,” he grins, and Heeseung mirrors it on instinct, still unable to process what he’s saying. 

“But—” he stammers. “Guys, I’ve missed enough school already,” he shakes his head, saying no on principle. “No. We can’t just walk out in the middle of the day, that’s not—” he gestures vaguely. They just can’t. No way. 

“Hyung, what are you going to miss?” Jongseong presses, and he’s actually serious about this. Literally. Both him and Jungwon. What? “Some random math lesson and a boring history lecture? Just ask for someone’s notes tomorrow,” he says urgently, leaning forward with earnest excitement, eyes shining. “Come on, come with me. We can take my car, do whatever you want. You wanna go to the beach? The mall? The—” he tilts his head at Jungwon.

“Heeseung-hyung seems like a museum type of guy,” Jungwon laughs, and Heeseung shakes his head again, more vigorously.

“Definitely not,” he says, frowning, but he’s… hm. Well. 

(He’s kind of considering it.)

But there’s so many complications even logistically. Would it really be that easy to lie to the office and get a pass? What if he does miss something important? And what if his parents found out? 

But then… what are his parents going to do, ground him? Where does he go anyway? 

And he’s not going to lie, the prospect of getting out of this school building and doing what Jongseong said, just driving wherever the desire takes them, is kind of intoxicating. He hasn’t even done it yet and his spirits are already lifting. 

“I’ll…” he sighs, tapping his fingers on the table. There’s ten minutes left of lunch, and he hasn’t even started it yet. 

…this is not a Lee Heeseung thing to do. Absolutely not. 

(For some reason that only makes it sound more appealing.)

“I’ll text my brother,” he says eventually, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can catch them, hold them back. A little thrill of excitement zings through his stomach, only intensified as Jungwon gives a small whoop, fist pumping in the air, and Jongseong leans back, grinning in satisfaction. 

“All right,” Jongseong says excitedly as Heeseung pulls out his phone, fingers trembling with anticipation. Junseo will say no, and then the matter will be set aside, but— still. He can’t shake the urge now that it’s taken hold of him. 

hyung, if i told you i wanted to skip the rest of the school day what would you say? he starts. jongseong’s coming with me, he adds as an afterthought. Jongseong and Jungwon have met Junseo only in passing so far, but his hyung’s been so taken with Jongseong that Heeseung’s starting to think he’d choose Jongseong over him. Which is saying something, and also kind of insulting seeing as how Heeseung has been here a whole eighteen— nineteen , actually— years longer than Jongseong. 

The three of them stare at the phone for barely three seconds before his brother starts typing out a response, bubbles appearing on the screen. There’s a collective intake of breath. 

are you being hacked 💀 , his brother says eloquently. And then, even as Jongseong snorts, he quickly follows it up with if this is actually you then wtf?? go to class idiot

Heeseung pouts down at the phone, types out a response before Jongseong can even suggest something. i t’s my birthday hyung :(( , he tries. we’ll be careful, and I’ll be back by six when appa and eomma come home

idk what if you get kidnapped? then what am I supposed to tell eomma huh that her second favorite son is in some asshole’s trunk because I told him it was okay to leave school??

🙄 I’m not going to get kidnapped hyung I’ll be with Jongseong, we’ll stick to public places, it’ll be fine

please? just pick up and give permission when the school calls you, Heeseung pleads. we’ll be careful seriously

The typing bubbles go on for long enough that he gets impatient, starts quickly typing out a long string of please please please until finally Junseo responds, exasperation almost tangible even through the screen. 

god fine fine, I’ll do it, but you owe me seung you’re doing laundry for a week smh

Heeseung looks up with a grin, wordlessly jubilant, and this time Jongseong whoops, slapping his palm in a high five. 

thank you thank you thank you, he responds, laughing properly and freely for the first time that day, biting his lip to try and contain it. 

do not get yourself killed, Junseo orders.

Yeah, yeah. Heeseung intends to do the opposite. 

— — —

Half an hour and a slightly chaotic visit to the office later— Jongseong had ended up faking the headache, and Heeseung had coincidentally come in at the same time after asking Junseo to call ahead and excuse him; they’d quickly pretended to make arrangements to drive home together, and then they were home free— and Heeseung’s throwing his backpack into Jongseong’s backseat, getting into the car with his pulse thrumming excitedly in his veins, a smile playing at his lips. Jongseong gets in beside him, shuts the door— and then they’re exchanging glances and bursting out laughing, the sound filling the inside of the car.

They buckle up and Jongseong pulls out of the parking lot with one arm over the back of Heeseung’s seat, head turned back to gauge the road. Heeseung takes the opportunity to flip off the school through the windshield; Jongseong laughs and joins him.

“So where do you wanna go, hyung?” he asks, looking over as Heeseung scrolls through his Spotify. 

He turns on something more upbeat, pure summer pop music so they can pretend it’s not a wet October day, and sets the phone aside, craning his neck outside the window, fingers drumming on the edge. “The beach?” he asks, as though it’s not forty minutes to the nearest one.

“You got it,” Jongseong responds immediately, and then they’re off. 

The feeling of not having any rules, any deadlines, anything holding him back is nothing short of euphoric, as they get onto the freeway and Jongseong’s singing along with the radio, Heeseung trying on all four pairs— four , who even needs four pairs of sunglasses?— he has in the console. The gloom recedes as they drive out of town— literally disappears as they leave behind the clouds and the wind, cresting hills until they’re out in the sun again, and the grass is green and the sky blue. That queasy feeling of his social battery running out keeps threatening to make an appearance, but he contains it, determined. This is going to be a good day. He can feel it.

Jungwon texts him as Heeseung’s trying to get Google Maps to cooperate and tell them which exit to take, half an hour on the road with no one having pulled them over for truancy. it’s so depressing sitting here in class with nothing to do? you guys suck :((

we’ll bring you back ice cream, Heeseung promises, grinning to himself and pointing out where Jongseong should turn off the road.

Another fifteen minutes and an impromptu wrong turn through a marsh has them emerging from the forest and onto a practically deserted, well-traveled road along the sand, spilling over into small piles that the tires of his car— a sleek white Camaro— bump over easily. There’s a few kids playing in the water beneath them, but most of it is as empty as Heeseung had hoped. 

Jongseong can’t park fast enough in the small lot further up the hill, hidden in the trees, and then they’re stumbling out of the car, Heeseung practically getting whiplash from the warmth of the sun after the week of cloudy, windy days they’ve been having back home. 

“Race you to the water,” Jongseong calls, tossing his shoes into the backseat, and without a second thought Heeseung pries off his own, socks and all, and takes off towards the cresting white peaks of the waves. 

It’s genuinely the most fun he’s had in ages, feet burning hot against the sun-warmed, golden sand, tripping over himself, Jongseong screaming at him from behind about how that’s cheating, and how we hadn’t even said start yet, and Heeseung’s just laughing, letting the momentum of running downhill carry him headlong into the sea, the sand evening out and becoming hard-packed a moment before a surge of water is coming up around his knees to meet him halfway. 

Jongseong splashes in loudly after him, and without hesitation Heeseung turns and splashes him, soaking the jacket of his uniform and one side of his head all in one go.

“Yah— hyung, are you kidding me, my phone’s in here!” Jongseong exclaims as Heeseung does it again, still laughing his head off.

“Oh, shit, mine too,” Heeseung realizes, and then they’re both pulling them out and tossing them into the sand, arcing far above the wet portion and landing sideways in the dusky, soft part further back. They’ll… get those later. It’s fine. No one’s going to steal a couple of phones out of the literal sand, right?

They wade in further, Jongseong splashing him in retaliation, and Heeseung unbuttons his shirt and tosses it after his phone, throwing himself into the water as his teeth start chattering from the cold. He surfaces with his hair sopping wet and body shivering, but immediately he feels better being under the water, crouching down so he’s neck-deep and watching Jongseong struggle to try and take off his waterlogged clothes. “Just forget it,” Heeseung laughs. “They’re ruined already.”

“They’ll never dry off if we just keep them on,” Jongseong protests, but Heeseung just splashes him again, and that’s about as reasonable as two teenage boys who are already skipping school can apparently be. They’ll worry about their wet clothes later. 

They spend at least half an hour just splashing around in the water, playful splashing turning into some sort of underwater wrestling after Heeseung gets Jongseong into a headlock and forces his head beneath the surface, ruining his perfect hair. Jongseong shows off how he can somersault underwater, and Heeseung retaliates with a sloppy handstand that quickly dissolves into chaos when something wraps around his wrist and has him screaming and inhaling half the sea before he flails to the surface and Jongseong reminds him about the existence of seaweed, falling over himself laughing. 

They find themselves laid out on the wet sand eventually, panting and tired out from chasing each other through the waist-deep water, footsteps heavy. 

“We have to do this more often,” Heeseung breathes, staring up at the blue sky, euphoric.

“Get sand in our pants?”

“Cut class,” he corrects, and even that’s laughable enough that they lose it all over again. 

Heeseung’s phone reads 2:15 by the time they stumble over to the sand and waste a good twenty minutes burying their feet in it, Heeseung’s clammy on top of Jongseong’s, and when they’re done Jongseong leans back and takes a picture of the makeshift foot coffin that they send to Jungwon, receiving depressed keysmashes and crying emojis in response. 

And the rest of the afternoon is as recklessly carefree as Heeseung needs it to be; they get the sand out of their hair by ducking their heads in the water, hobble up the hill in wet pants so Jongseong can buy them swim shorts and a bright blue pair of heart-shaped sunglasses each from a shack with a guy who asks them whether they’re supposed to be in school but is too lazy to do more than grunt when Heeseung unconvincingly says nooo around a laugh, walk barefoot around town and buy ice cream, kick their legs in the water, eating it on the boardwalk, until Jongseong spots a crab two inches from his foot on the pole in the water and drops his cone into the ocean while he’s yelling and stumbling back, splashing water everywhere, head back to the beach to see if Jongseong has enough money in his pocket to rent them a surfboard and instead find a group of college kids playing volleyball, play until the sun’s going lower on the horizon, sand itching in every crevice of Heeseung’s skin and a smile playing permanently on his lips. 

It’s so much better than he’d woken up thinking today would be— it’s a taste of the kind of freedom he’s going to have after he graduates, and for once instead of souring his mood thinking about how he should have been in college with this group, it just excites him, has him looking forward to what’s coming. There will be a time when he won’t have to work as much as he does now, and it’ll be glorious. 

But until then, he thinks he could stay out here for days, weeks, just endless hours in the sun, doing whatever he and Jongseong want. 

“We should maybe head back,” Jongseong says when the college kids leave around five, groaning about homework. He must catch sight of Heeseung’s expression, though, because immediately he follows it up with a rueful grin. “Or we could go see that lookout Leeseo-noona mentioned,” he tilts his head, referring to one of the girls they’d been playing volleyball with. 

“I’ll come if you want to,” Heeseung says, voice carefully neutral, but he can’t disguise the slump of relief his shoulders give when Jongseong immediately says yes. 

The lookout in question is past where they parked the car, a fifteen minute hike through the woods and up the cliff overlooking the entire beach. Jongseong leads them up, the afternoon light darkening to evening around them. “We should try and catch the sunset,” Jongseong suggests as they finally stuff their shoes back onto their feet and grab their jackets, making comical figures there on the beach: two teenagers with a ridiculously expensive car wearing neat shoes and socks under swim shorts, shirtless save for the dark blue uniform jackets over their shoulders. It’s almost a good thing they both dropped their sunglasses in the chaos at the boardwalk along with their ice cream.

“Okay, race you!” Heeseung grins immediately, taking off down the path in the woods, and Jongseong groans and sets off after him, their footsteps crunching against twigs and moss. 

They take the entire uphill trek at a run and manage to exhaust themselves into collapsing at the lookout, which is also deserted. “This is— wow,” Heeseung says eloquently as they sit on the wooden benches, panting. It’s a nice little balcony on the edge of the cliff, surrounded by trees on three sides, jutting out into walkways on either side, stairs leading all the way back down to the beach. The horizon stretches out endlessly in front of them, blue waves meeting blue sky, tinged at the bottom with yellow-orange, ochre. They’ve timed it well; in another fifteen minutes it’ll be a proper sunset. It’s windy up here, courtesy of how high above the ocean they are, no trees blocking it, but it’s a pleasant sort of wind, chilly but refreshing, after a day full of hot sun. 

“It’s pretty amazing,” Jongseong agrees, face silhouetted golden in the light, leaning on the armrest beside him, both their legs stretched out to the opposite bench on the other side of the walkway, heads tilted back. 

They sit there in silence until the gusts of wind stop being abated by the sun’s warmth as it sinks lower and lower, more and more orange bleeding across the sky. Heeseung’s head is empty of practically everything, content to sit there and watch thin wisps of clouds make their way across the horizon, to stare out at the sea and wonder what it would be like to live in a town like this. If he could convince his parents to retire by the beach, then he’d have an excuse to come back all the time. 

“Hyung?” Jongseong asks eventually, quietly. The serenity of the silence isn’t broken; his voice blends in with the wind, soft. 

“Hmm?” Heeseung responds easily, not looking away from the sky. He’s slumped on the bench, relaxed. 

“Are you… are you all right, hyung?” Jongseong asks, hesitant, and Heeseung tears his eyes from the horizon to look over at him, tilting his head a little. Jongseong’s staring back, expression conflicted, but when Heeseung meets his eyes he smooths out the creases, unwrinkles his brow. “I just mean… you seem really tired, these days,” he says. “You’re not normally the type to skip, are you?”

In favor of responding, Heeseung leans over and leans his head against Jongseong’s shoulder, sighing and looking back at the sky, cold fingers curling around Jongseong’s elbow and making him wince. “Whoops, sorry,” he says with a breathy, distracted laugh, shoving his palm under his thigh instead, warming it against the bench. 

There’s another short silence as Heeseung collects his thoughts. Jongseong doesn’t push him, just waits, and for that— and a lot more— Heeseung really does love him. 

“I’m good,” he says eventually. “Mostly. You’re right, though, I am… I’ve been working a lot recently,” he admits. “Part of it is school, honors classes and stuff. And then modeling, and meetings and auditions and all… it takes me ages just to take the bus into the city,” he explains. The amount of time he wastes just getting to school or going home from the company building is astronomical. “And yeah, normally I would have said no,” he smiles, closing his eyes momentarily. “But this was really nice, Jongseong-ah, this is exactly what I needed,” he says, and with another sigh he turns and hugs Jongseong sideways, wrinkling his painstakingly ironed uniform. 

“Of course,” Jongseong says immediately, grinning over at him from their jumble of limbs and turning to hold onto him in return. “We really should do this more often,” he laughs. “I’ve only skipped like twice, but me and Sunghoon just went and watched like three movies in a row, and Jaeyun and I just snuck into his house to play video games. This is by far the most fun I’ve ever had cutting class,” he admits. “I always forget we can technically do whatever the hell we want. Like— no one’s ever going to know we came to the beach,” Jongseong shakes his head. 

“Exactly,” Heeseung laughs, pulling back enough to settle his head on Jongseong’s shoulder again, turning his attention back to the horizon, the sunset. “As long as we get all the sand out of our hair,” he winces.

“Oh, god, I think I have seaweed in mine too,” Jongseong groans, and then they spend the rest of the sunset pulling twigs out of each other’s hair until they can hardly see anymore, and by the time the lighthouse in the distance is turning on its light, even Heeseung has to admit that they’d better head down. Their phone flashlights get them back along the path without breaking anything, and then they clamber back into Jongseong’s car, shivering from the sudden chill that drops down into the air as night falls properly.

It’s 6:15 by the time they get their actual clothes back on, dried out from being draped over Jongseong’s windshield all afternoon— they decided it was worth risking them being stolen in favor of not having wet pants the whole drive back— and both their phones are blowing up.

seung you still alive? his brother texted at least an hour ago.

Yep, Heeseung responds. I’ll be home by seven i think?

Junseo sends back a bunch of exasperated emojis, but he agrees to tell their parents that he’s coming home from Jongseong’s soon instead of snitching. (Knowing Junseo this impromptu rule-breaking will come back to bite him in the ass someday.)

Then after that there’s Jungwon asking what they’re doing, and the group chat furiously debating whether humans have one butt or two, which Heeseung is… going to stay out of for the sake of time. (But clearly the answer is one.)

The ride back has him drowsy, relaxing in his seat, looking out the window and being met with his own reflection. He looks windswept, hair messy and eyes bright— exactly how he feels, like someone’s jumbled him up inside. 

He turns the radio back on, propping up his phone in front of the stereo so Jongseong can keep an eye on the GPS, and leans back in his seat, watching the road go by. “Wish we could have brought Jungwon,” Heeseung says after a few moments of silence, looking over at Jongseong and sharing a smile.

“Trust me, he wishes he could have come too,” Jongseong laughs. “Wait until I tell Jaeyun, though, he’ll be so sad he missed the beach— and Sunoo, too. He did this lifeguard thing with Sunghoon a few summers ago and both of them made me drive them like half an hour every other day to drop them off.”

Heeseung leans his head against the window, nods. “They all should have come.”

“Really?” Jongseong asks, and Heeseung looks back over as he glances away from the road just for a second, enough to give him a you sure? sort of look. “Even Sunghoon?”

Immediately Heeseung scoffs to himself, stomach giving a leap of sorts. Park fucking Sunghoon. “That’s… a different story,” he winces, and Jongseong laughs to himself, shaking his head.

“You guys have a lot in common, you know,” he tries. “Give him a chance, maybe.”

“I’m— I have,” Heeseung says helplessly. “I do. If he was nice to me, I’d be nice to him,” he maintains, although maybe that ship has sailed a little. He’s been told he can hold a bit of a grudge. He’s… working on it.

“Yeah…” Jongseong trails off. “I don’t know. As long as you don’t actually hate him. Right?” he asks pointedly.

Heeseung shakes his head. “No. He’s annoying, sure, but I wouldn’t be friends with all of you guys if he was really that bad,” he grins. “And I mean… the competition’s good for me,” he admits.

Jongseong cocks a brow, gaze still trained on the freeway. “Is it really? From my point of view, it’s pretty excessive.”

“I’m sorry we dragged you into it,” Heeseung laughs. “But I think it helps a little. Forces me to study, at least.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t take it too far?” Jongseong says absentmindedly, attention refocusing on the road. “I know we act like Sunghoon’s the worst and all… but if he’s an idiot then he’s our idiot, hyung. And so are you— don’t look at me like that,” he laughs. “Really. Try not to break each other, please?” 

Heeseung doesn’t know whether to be touched or offended by that. “You… sure, Jongseong-ah,” he smiles. “And honestly— there’s nothing I could say to Park Sunghoon that would break him, trust me.” 

The rest of the drive back is relaxing, but it smacks a little too much of coming home after a party, when the fun’s gone and all you’re left with is this intense, bone-deep knowing that this will linger in your mind forever, that you’ll look back on it as a better time but it’ll be bittersweet in that it’ll only be a memory. Nostalgia for the present, for a moment he’s still living in. 

(And so, even after Junseo scolds him for practically half an hour after sniffing out the saltwater on his skin, he can’t bring himself to regret going.)

— — — 

The next few weeks are. Well. They say when you’re in hell you should keep walking, don’t they?

It’s just non-stop, is the issue. He’s doing homework every spare moment, work eating up tons of his time, and Heeseung has never been the type to be good at constant grinding; technically he has enough time to get everything done, but there’s this little problem called stress that tends to shove its way into his schedule, elbowing away and stomping on petty concerns like productivity, or getting an A on that next Chemistry test. 

And as is to be expected, things follow a rather clear trajectory after that— not that he can calculate it, because he fell asleep over his math homework the other day. His grades slip, which makes him even more stressed, which makes them even worse, which… you get the idea. It’s a vicious cycle, but it’s notoriously hard to crack. 

By Halloween he’s about to hit a breaking point, so when Jungwon pulls a hyungs you left me at school and went to the beach I think you owe me something in return and then asks with shit-eating grin to boot for an entire costume party, Heeseung’s response is something like “that’s nice, Wonie, I’ll find something to wear,” instead of “don’t people end up taping themselves naked to trees at those kinds of parties?”

(Ultimately, the extreme need to take a fucking break wins out over his concern for Jongseong’s conifers.)

But funnily enough, Heeseung almost doesn’t notice he has a problem until Park Sunghoon points it out to him by… not pointing it out to him.

To elaborate:

The week leading up to Halloween is a haphazard mess of a thing, because he’s getting hardly any sleep and so even the simplest tasks seem Herculean. He’s getting all his work done, though, which is miles better than freshman year and even a little feeble footstep further than last year, when he hadn’t had a five foot eleven, insufferable seventeen year old hot on his heels, refusing to let him slow down. 

The issue makes itself known on the day that he gets back three tests, though, and fails to get an A on any of them. 

A special kind of torture manifests in the form of wondering what Sunghoon is going to say when he sees that, and— Heeseung has never wanted to hear it less. He’s been just as if not arguably more shitty to Sunghoon as Sunghoon’s been to him— there’s hardly a time he fails to talk back to him, after all— but he does wish Sunghoon could learn to draw a line . 

He plonks down at his seat beside him to find Sunghoon scrolling through something on his phone. He looks up when Heeseung starts getting his stuff out, distractedly, and gives him a look bordering on casual. There is the rare period that goes by without them arguing much, but usually Sunghoon greets him with something like: 

“Well, you look like shit,” Sunghoon says frankly, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Thanks,” Heeseung mutters, setting down his water bottle with a clatter. “That’s— really good to know, wow. Fantastic.”

Sunghoon’s lip curls. “And you’re already pissy. Fantastic,” he echoes sarcastically.

Sunghoon’s saved from Heeseung responding with something pissy enough to surprise even him by the bell ringing. The chatter around the classroom dies down a bit, then picks up again when the teacher gives them a dismissive wave, saying something about tech issues and going back to fiddling with the buttons of his projector. 

“So,” Sunghoon starts predictably, after scarcely two seconds of silence between them. “What’d you get on—”

“83 in English,” Heeseung grits out. “80 in History, and a 79 in Biology.”

They’re all passing grades, but he feels his face grow warm as he rattles them off, staring straight ahead, unable to look at Sunghoon. God, he’s in for it now. 

Ten seconds of silence follows, stretching out like taffy growing thinner. His neck prickling, eyes beginning to water from being fixed on one point for so long, the taffy snaps as his patience runs out. His eyes dart momentarily Sunghoon’s way, fleeting, sharp, more nervous than he has a right to be, and are met with… nothing.

Sunghoon’s staring at the board as well, chewing his lip, expression unreadable. Heeseung tries to parse out what he’s thinking from looking at him, but if Heeseung’s learned anything from this rivalry besides the art of falling to new depths of childishness every time Sunghoon provokes him into it, then it’s that he never has and never will be able to guess a single thought in Park Sunghoon’s pretty head. Nowadays he’s grown vindictive enough to be pissed by it instead of grateful, as his naive former self had been, once upon a more idiotic time. He doesn’t know if it’s because the inside of Sunghoon’s head would provide him with more ammunition or simply because of curiosity, but either way it would make his life a lot simpler. 

After another long, stretched taffy moment, Sunghoon looks down and startles Heeseung into looking away, stomach jolting like he’s been caught. Caught doing what though, looking at him? 

Heeseung’s only ever going to have eyes for one person anyway, and he hasn’t even met them yet. There’s no reason for him to feel like the kid with his hand in the cookie jar that his family likes to pretend he is— guilty-looking Heeseung, living up to the stereotype. 

Sunghoon just flips open his notebook and quietly adds three tally marks for himself. 

And Heeseung— Heeseung knew, okay, he knew that Sunghoon would have gotten straight A’s as usual; because of course he would, because there’s nothing else for him to have done, because it’s somehow always that easy for him. Because Park Sunghoon has probably never had so much as a bad hair day in his life. 

But seeing the score jump up that much in one go sends a surprisingly passionate rush of disappointment and anger through him— leading into the urge to start something he knows Sunghoon would take great pleasure in finishing. He has to physically bite his tongue to keep from giving in to it; why bother when Sunghoon will get to it first anyway?

But he says nothing, which only goes to show Heeseung… that he’s fucked, isn’t he? If Park Sunghoon is shutting up and leaving him alone, then there’s something fundamentally going wrong here. 

The knowledge that he has a problem, though, does not help him to fix the problem. It just makes him feel a little bit mollified, like maybe he’s been underestimating Sunghoon a bit.

The theory’s backed up by how Sunghoon treats him at the Halloween party itself on Friday night, greeting him at the door of Jongseong’s enormous house shimmering from head to toe and snarky as ever. Immediately he feels like a fool in his raggedy, thrown-together costume; the coat’s his brothers, and the beret is Jungwon’s— Sunghoon’s looks tailor-made and professional, expensive, like something out of a movie. He looks like something out of a movie, leaning there against the wall and raising his eyebrows, porcelain and flawless. 

The maddening superiority of his tone tells Heeseung all he really needs to know about how the rest of the night will play out.

He manages to brush past him and into the party eventually, but it quickly becomes clear that he’s got… nowhere to go. He hovers by the drinks table and pulls out his phone to text the group chat, eyes scanning the room. i’m here at jongseong’s, where is everybody?

There’s no response for a good five minutes, which he spends idly bopping his head to the music and looking around for something to do. Everyone dancing is just jumping up and down or grinding, it’s not nearly warm enough to go out to the pool, and he doesn’t actually know anyone that’s playing beer pong. 

It appears that telling himself he’s going to enjoy the evening, take a break, etc etc is easier said than done. 

The song switches as Riki finally texts back: i’m upstairs playing video games, do not disturb, which means he’s with his usual crowd of freshmen who communicate via Halo references. In quick succession a few others chip in: Sunoo’s out at the pool hyung you should come and join us! and Jongseong’s dealing with someone who threw up all over the back porch, don’t even ask. 

He’s just about to give up and go out to the pool to see what Sunoo’s doing when he spots Sunghoon across the room.

As always, the sight of him trips Heeseung up. Normally he feels a rush of disdain upon seeing him— there’s this way he struts about, all confident, that irks him. Or maybe he’s walking normally and Heeseung’s perception is skewed due to his bias, but he’d argue that there’s a reason Sunghoon’s so hard to ignore, and it’s probably because of the arrogance he exudes.

But at this party he looks about as comfortable as Heeseung feels, eyes darting around furtively, avoiding looking at all the kissing couples. Heeseung stifles a grin at his obvious discomfort with it, leaning his elbows against the table and not even pretending to be doing anything but staring at him, fingers playing with the edge of his long sleeve. 

It’s kind of funny; he’s always thought of Sunghoon as being the center of attention, in the middle of every room, but that’s… wrong, isn’t it? 

Even in group settings, he hangs back— he asked specifically to not sit in the middle when they all went to see Colors of Love, and when he thinks of the most extroverted people at their school, Sunoo comes to mind as the stereotypical knows-everyone-and-their-mother guy much more than Sunghoon does. 

Honestly, at this point, he’s gotten used to being proven wrong about Sunghoon. 

It’s just that usually whatever he learns makes his opinion of him worse, instead of what’s happening now: him looking at Sunghoon making his slow way across the room and thinking, with a tilt of his head, that he looks younger. 

Which spells nothing but trouble, knowing him. The moments Heeseung has found him most tolerable, most sympathetic— when they held hands at the movie theater, when he sat down next to Heeseung at the library and temporarily messed with his perception of reality by calling him hyung, when he’s more than one point behind in their ridiculous rivalry and visibly disappointed about it— is when he’ll pull the most bullshit thing in short order, retaliating to some imagined slight against him.

Either way. Sunghoon gets all the way to the table without spotting him, and then when Heeseung does try and convince him to not destroy his own liver with the most likely spiked alcohol they have around here, he essentially tells him to fuck off— and then they’re at it again, Sunghoon backing him up against the wall until he’s starting to feel like this is something out of Boys Over Flowers. 

“If you think you’re under some sort of obligation to take care of me—” Sunghoon starts hotly, and inwardly the exasperated irony that somehow they always seem to end up here isn’t lost on him. He’s got to learn how to tell Sunghoon to shut up and mean it— but with the way things are going that’ll have to be a priority for another day. 

“I’m under plenty of obligations,” Heeseung growls, lifting his chin upwards and taking swift steps backward to match the determined path Sunghoon’s plowing forward, eyes bright but narrowed, hair falling over his forehead out of its neat swoop, glitter in his eyelashes. His voice sounds like it’s coming from far away when he snarls: “None of them have anything to do with you.”

“Then don’t treat me like a dongsaeng,” Sunghoon responds without missing a beat.

“You are my dongsaeng.”

“And I could probably beat you in a fight any day!”

“I’m— not going to fight you, Sunghoon,” Heeseung sighs, because seriously? 

“Well, of course you’re not going to fight me,” Sunghoon rolls his eyes like it’s obvious, but then Heeseung’s back is hitting the wall and the breath whooshing from his lungs. Sunghoon crowds him up against it so they’re nose to nose, 

When he meets Sunghoon’s eyes, something like pure dread jolts down his spine, an inexplicable emotion. For a moment he’s frozen, Sunghoon’s gaze piercing his, and they’re close enough that he sees himself reflected in Sunghoon’s eyes, his deer in headlights shock mirrored there.

In hindsight something about all this should have spoken to the romantic in him— it should have tickled an instinct, rung a bell, triggered a realization. 

Instead, tenuously, his thread of control snaps. 

“Fine. You don’t want me to treat you like a dongsaeng? Get out of my face, Sunghoon, and for god’s sake stop being so immature all the time,” Heeseung responds angrily. “Stop assuming the worst of everything I tell you and constantly acting like a brat.” He gives Sunghoon a shove for good measure, getting off the wall and glaring him down.

There’s a long pause— too long. Sunghoon’s gaze grows unfocused, music resonating loudly in the background. There’s no distance between them, breaths mingling. Heeseung holds his eyes for as long as he can, and then, almost nervously, he has to break the silence. “And drink as much of that stupid poisoned beer as you want.”

It takes approximately one second for Sunghoon to burst out laughing against him. Does he have to mention again how everything about this idiot continues to take him by surprise? It’s maddening. 

And yet, when he asks to go downstairs and test their mettle against a pool table, Heeseung opens his mouth to say no— and instead “I’ll get my stupid hat” comes out.

And it goes— it’s not as bad as he’d have expected, after he gets Sunghoon to teach him how to play pool. That’s. That is definitely bad, him leaning over Heeseung like that, arms on either side of his torso, his breath fanning against the back of Heeseung’s neck. It’s terrible. It’s got him distracted the whole evening.

The more he drinks, after Sunghoon convinces him that’s somehow a good penalty idea, the more he can feel himself loosening up, inhibitions slipping away. He sits on the pool table to watch Sunghoon lose, meets his repartee without the slightest bit of hesitation. It’s almost better like this, when he doesn’t bother to filter himself. He means at least half of what he says, but Sunghoon appears to just— not care. 

It makes for a night that’s far from unpleasant, when all is said and done. Most of the time with Park Sunghoon the sum of all the parts tends to create a very negatively skewed whole— but even with the edge that creeps into Sunghoon’s voice sometimes, putting them dangerously close to an argument, the way they both rein it in puts them in the green for once. 

— — — 

The three of them that are left after the party— him, Sunoo, and Jongseong— find their way upstairs eventually, sidestepping the half-full garbage bags they spent maybe fifteen minutes trying to fill before giving up. Sunoo goes green when they find someone that made their pizza slices into a smoothie, and the entire living room smells so strongly of alcohol that it’s nauseating. 

“Maybe it’s time to go to bed,” Heeseung suggests nasally, nose plugged with his thumb and pointer finger, and Jongseong runs a hand through his hair, Spiderman costume beginning to show its seams, and grins helplessly.

“Thank you, hyung,” Sunoo says immediately, the bag in his hand held out as far as possible from his body. He drops it, pulling a face, and ducks under Heeseung’s arm leaning against the door to hurry off down the hall. 

“I’m never having one of these again,” Jongseong shakes his head empathetically, and Heeseung claps him on the shoulder, grinning.

“Sure, Jongseong-ah.” (The moment Jungwon asks him to, Jongseong will be eating his words.)

Jongseong’s bedroom, when they follow Sunoo up to it, is thankfully clean, smells like air freshener, and is enormous. Sunoo throws himself onto the huge bed up against one wall, smearing fake dust onto the white sheets, and even as Jongseong starts yelling at him to at least lose the dirty suit before jumping on my bed, Heeseung stands wide-eyed in the doorway, gaping around at the room. Everything’s golden and white, sleek— the mirror on one wall, the nightstand, the neat desk beneath the window overlooking Jongseong’s absolutely trashed backyard. There’s enough shit floating in the pool to rival the Han River. 

But even Heeseung can only resist the allure of the bed for so long; he goes and plonks down face-first onto it beside Sunoo, who reluctantly wriggles out of his jacket at Jongseong’s behest, face pillowed in his arms. “Mm, hyung, I love your bed,” Sunoo says dreamily. 

“If you’re gonna sleep then at least sleep properly,” Jongseong sighs, stretching and walking over to start tugging down the sheets for Sunoo to get under. “It’s nearly three in the morning anyway.”

Sunoo groans and rolls over, spreading his arms out and narrowly avoiding hitting Heeseung in the back of the head. To be safe he rolls to the side as well, facing Sunoo, already feeling himself beginning to grow sleepy. 

But: “No,” Sunoo decides, shaking his head. “Who goes to sleep before the sun rises during a sleepover?”

“People whose dongsaengs made them drink too much,” Heeseung sighs, reaching over and flicking him affectionately on the forehead. 

“That’s boring, hyung, come on,” Sunoo grins, tilting his head to look Heeseung in the eye. Jongseong searches through his closet on the other side of the room, welcome background noise as opposed to the total silence of the rest of the house. 

“What do you prefer we do, play truth or dare?”

“Fuck, marry, kill?” Jongseong calls from across the room, amusement clear in his voice.

“Or maybe you wanna spin the bottle, Sunoo-yah,” Heeseung laughs, and Sunoo smiles in response, tucking his hands under one side of his face like a child sleeping to blink at him thoughtfully.

“No, but I feel like I don’t really know anything about you, hyung,” he says. “I want to get to know you better. Is that okay?”

“He’s always like this,” Jongseong sighs as Heeseung blinks, a bit thrown off. “You should have seen how he used to talk to Sunghoon. His Spiderman costume’s exchanged for pajamas when he emerges from his closet, door swinging shut behind him. He reaches over and dims the lights before clambering onto the bed, sitting between them with his hands under his chin. 

“Have you ever seen him skate?” Sunoo protests. “Sorry, Jongseong-hyung, but at the time he was more interesting than all of you combined,” he smiles.

“Wow,” Jongseong looks at Heeseung, deadpan. “There you go— that’s the extent of Sunoo’s loyalty,” he gestures, disappointed.

“Shut up, hyung,” Sunoo sniffs, turning his head back to Heeseung, who’s entertained but also getting closer to falling asleep by the second. “Okay, wait, Heeseung-hyung— what’s the costume, I totally forgot to ask,” Sunoo starts, eyes lighting up— and the next half hour slips by easily, engaged in conversation with Sunoo and Jongseong about everything and nothing, football teams and the new iPhone and Sunoo’s Addams Family production coming up in the winter— our pianist keeps losing her music, and I love her but I need her to remember what key signature we’re in— theories as to who might have stolen Jongseong’s presidential student council gavel— I probably forgot it in a desk somewhere, guys, what are you blaming Riki for?— and whether Heeseung has ever been to Paris Fashion Week— not even to serve rich people caviar, Sunoo-yah. Three AM questions like do you ever think about how the sun’s going to swallow the earth someday, and what if we go nowhere after we graduate, and Jongseong can you hear Jungwon in your head even while you’re sleeping? (Answer key: no, but thanks for reminding me, I really fucking hope not, and not really, but we share dreams sometimes.) 

They talk about everything under the sun, to put it simply, and then when they double back around they come to halt, inevitably, inescapably, at Sunghoon. 

The entire path of Heeseung’s senior year has begun to look Sunghoon-shaped, these days. You’d think he’d have some other stereotyped role in their group— the oldest hyung, the ramyeon lover, the mom friend. But instead he’s one half of those two that are always arguing. 

(Thank god he was able to filter all of this through his own words for his brother, because if Junseo had heard this from Jongseong then Heeseung would have had to leave the country.)

It comes up when Sunoo mentions offhand, on a tangent about sports, that skating’s about as dangerous as it looks. 

“I’ve honestly never watched it,” Heeseung remarks, tilting his head. They’ve shifted positions on the bed, Jongsoeng having cajoled him and Sunoo into a matching set of pajamas that will no doubt end up immortalized with a series of embarrassing pictures in the group chat, and Heeseung can’t even bring himself to be annoyed about it.

“Wait, really, not even Sunghoon-hyung’s?” Sunoo asks, overdramatic as he rolls over so his shoulders are level with Heeseung’s, both of them propping themselves up on their elbows, feet on the headboard. Jongseong’s sprawled sideways on the bed in front of them, halfway to falling asleep. (If Heeseung squints then the light beneath the shut curtains on the window is starting to look more gray than pitch-black with the oncoming sunrise.) 

“Especially not Sunghoon’s,” Heeseung laughs, but he leans over to look as Sunoo reaches over and grabs his phone, googles Park Sunghoon, and then scrolls until he finds what he’s looking for. 

“Okay, here,” Sunoo murmurs, and sure enough it’s Sunghoon, wearing the same costume he was wearing tonight— all white on top, darkening to blue on the bottom, every inch of it sparkling. “He looks so young compared to now, wow,” Sunoo laughs, and it’s true— this is from at least three years ago, maybe even from when Sunghoon was in middle school. “So he’s just warming up, but— okay, yeah, look at that,” Sunoo says empathetically, pointing at his screen as Sunghoon goes into a spread-eagle and then launches himself into a jump, spinning faster than Heeseung can comprehend, and then landing flawlessly. “Does that not look like a good way to snap an ankle?” 

Heeseung gives him a chuckle to show he’s listening, but in all honesty his eyes are glued to the screen, surprised. He knows what figure skating looks like theory, but Sunghoon doing that? It’s a little mind-bending.

Sunoo fast-forwards past the rest of the warm-up— this is boring, hyung, it’s just him skating around; isn’t it all him skating around?; very funny, Heeseung-hyung— and then hands Heeseung the phone as Sunghoon takes up position in the center of the rink to start the actual performance, flopping down face first onto the bed and groaning. “This bed is a trap.”

“I don’t think it’s big enough for three people,” Jongseong mumbles, face turned into his elbow, legs dangling off the end of the mattress, “so feel free to leave.”

Heeseung absently pats Sunoo on the back of the head— they’re close enough now for that, right?— but keeps his attention on the phone, feet kicking in the air behind him. 

(He really does look very young. Sunghoon, that is.)

The music begins, and Sunghoon starts moving across the ice in rhythm, and Heeseung doesn’t think he blinks for the next five minutes— because it’s… kind of amazing.

He doesn’t have any idea where Sunghoon ranks in skill compared to other skaters, but in his eyes this is— fantastic. The sweeping music rising in the background, the otherworldly contrast of Sunghoon’s costume against the pure white ice, the clean lines of his body. He seems more comfortable on the ice than he’s ever appeared to be on land, graceful and unhesitating, constantly in motion. 

Sunghoon slows down only to go into another spread-eagle and then a jump, once again spinning high above the ice; the imperfect landing, a slight stumble, makes Heeseung’s heart skip a beat— but Sunghoon hardly pauses to correct himself, just keeps going. 

His feet slow in their kicking, eyes riveted to the screen— how does he move his feet like that, turning out and and in so smoothly, and how do those spins work, ninety-degrees to the side, and how on earth does he know where he is on the ice all the time? It looks like he could do this with his eyes closed, not a moment where he seems to forget his routine—

There’s another jump, and Heeseung, for once in his life, is rooting for him to land it well— and the next, and the next. 

It’s hard to watch this and find any genuine motivation to want him to fail— so instead he smiles with the cheering crowd as Sunghoon lands what looks to him like a perfect jump later on, and then another, and then another, sometimes even in succession. Heeseung can’t even begin to comprehend it— it looks downright impossible.

He feels himself tense in anticipation during the grand finale and looks up, finally, at Jongseong and Sunoo, just for a second, slightly embarrassed. But Jongseong is snoring lightly already, and Sunoo hasn’t moved since he handed Heeseung the phone. (Apparently he’s the only one living up to Sunoo’s sleepover requirements.)

And anyhow, the performance captures his attention again within less than two seconds, music swelling once more, and he quickly turns his gaze back to it, unblinking, rapt. 

It ends almost too quickly— and he’s left staring at the screen as the crowd applauds, Sunghoon skating away.

Heeseung purses his lips. Looks back up at Jongseong and Sunoo. (Still fast asleep.) 

And then he rolls over onto his back, wriggles up to plant his head on a pillow, and spends the hour and a half remaining until sunrise watching basically every video of Park Sunghoon skating that the Internet has for him.

(The only thing that could be worse than someone being an absolute brat to you 24/7 is learning that they have a good goddamn reason to be that cocky. 

And also that they were really cute as an eleven year old doing their first ice show.)

— — — 

Halloween is, as promised, a high point in Heeseung’s downward trajectory. On Saturday morning, he and Sunoo finish helping Jongseong clean out the house enough for it to reach the level of ‘young child left at home alone’ as opposed to the debilitating natural disaster it had been when they woke up. There’s still beer dripping off the ceiling in random spots, but at least there’s not pizza clogging up the pool. Or plastic cups in the fireplace. 

(To whoever who left those in there— Heeseung just wants to talk. Really.)

But as always the good continues to have a pretty hard time overshadowing the mass of bad. And although Heeseung continues to firmly curtail Junseo’s attempts to dissuade him from upping the intensity of his schedule— bold of him to assume Heeseung could demand less work without being booted from the company altogether— his doubts seep in through the cracks in Heeseung’s reasoning, settling deep in the recesses of his mind. 

His schedule really has been packed the last few weeks, and that’s only about to get worse. He spends Sunday night staring  at the ceiling of his bedroom, unease growing in his stomach. 

He’s seen this before, enough times to warn himself off this kind of thinking. Work is only too much if he convinces himself it is— half his pressure is self-imposed and always has been. Do not fucking do this to yourself, he repeats, over and over. He can’t sabotage his new routine before it even begins.

But oddly enough he finds himself thinking of Sunghoon, even in relation to this. It’s almost an accident: halfway through a list of reassurances, all as random and disconnected as stream of consciousness rambling tends to be (tons of people do it, at least you’re not an idol trainee, you know, Riki does it, Riki doesn’t even see his parents at all anymore, Sunghoon does it—)

Immediately his brain rebels against this, relying on his honed anti-Sunghoon instincts. 

But the thing is that Sunghoon does do this. What’s his schedule like? School, skating practice after (and sometimes even before), homework, clubs, going out with friends, finding time to pester Heeseung at the library. 

Heeseung has no idea how he does it; but it’s nothing if not motivating. A surge of determination floods him head to toe, and for once— fatally— he doesn’t stop to consider what the hell is fueling it. ‘Spite’ really only goes so far; at some point he should try and face the worrying possibility that Park Sunghoon’s so hard to ignore because he’s exceptionally good at everything he does, including pissing Heeseung off, and maybe consider a few more implications of that, but— as he’s said multiple times before— he’s pretty damn busy these days. He’ll… get around to it.

Anyhow, the crux of his sudden emotional synthesis is this: if Park Sunghoon can manage a schedule like that, then what’s Heeseung doing lying here convincing himself he can’t?

Right. Right, so he can do this. He’s the better person and he’s Sunghoon’s hyung, but doesn’t that mean, essentially, that he shouldn’t lose to him? 

He’s too sleepy to properly gauge the flaws in that particular line of reasoning (somewhere along the lines of ‘being the better person means not actually caring about winning’), so in the morning all he’s left with is the familiar desire to beat Sunghoon at his own game. 

(The empty box Sunghoon hands him on Monday does not help.)

So in the end Heeseung would call that the moment where everything truly begins to go to shit. In retrospect he might be able to acknowledge, at least in a court of law, that no one would have been able to pin down Sunghoon as the sole perpetrator. There were too many other factors at play. 

(But he’d protest—  and rightfully so— that Sunghoon was the straw that broke the camel’s back.)

“Wait, wait, wait, hyung— you’re telling me you’re just another mint-choco hater?” 

The question comes from an irate Kim Sunoo on Tuesday afternoon, eating lunch with Riki and Jungwon and Heeseung out on the lawn, enjoying a rare November day of mild sunshine. 

“It tastes like toothpaste,” Heeseung protests, drawing a laugh from Jungwon, back against the trunk of a tree, and a miffed scoff from Sunoo, doing his english homework with his right hand and taking bites out of a sandwich held in his left. 

“Maybe Sunghoon-hyung has a point not liking you,” he says in disbelief, and then quickly follows it up with a wince. “I’m sorry, don’t take it personally—”

“No, it’s okay,” Heeseung assures him, snickering. 

“Are you sure? Because I know Sunghoon-hyung can be a bit much—”

“Enough about Park Sunghoon,” Heeseung sighs, looking reproachfully at his dongsaengs. “I’d rather complain about ice cream.”

“Okay, okay,” Sunoo concedes with a grin. “At least Sunghoon-hyung has his shit together, honestly. You both already have jobs, and I’m sitting here trying to choose between being an actor or opening my own bookstore or becoming an accountant, or something. I change my mind every time I watch a new movie,” he says, making a T-symbol on his cheek with one hand, pouting.

“You have time, don’t worry,” Heeseung reassures him. “You’re only— sixteen?”

“Sixteen,” Sunoo confirms. “You know there are idols debuting at sixteen? There are people performing at the MAMAs at sixteen. And I’m just—”

“A mint-choco lover,” Riki nods. “Yeah, Sunoo-hyung, that’s terrible. What are you doing with your life?”

“Let me live,” Sunoo moans, but they’re all laughing. 

Heeseung’s phone dings as Jungwon picks up the conversation again, and he zones out momentarily to check his texts: 

Hey, new change to the schedule— can you do Wednesday through Friday in Seoul?

As in tomorrow? he sends back, after he’s unfrozen from the initial onslaught of what the actual fuck. That’s three days. 

Yes. 

And then he sees how much he’s getting paid, and any idea of protesting dies before it can even come to fruition. Ah. Okay. 

That works for me, he responds through the alarms blaring in every corner of his mind— he has two essays to write by Friday, a group project due in History that his group mates are inevitably going to neglect, tests in three of his classes, and a lab to make up for the last time he skipped Biology. This most definitely does not work for him. 

“—hyung? Heeseung-hyung?” Sunoo’s asking, and Heeseung’s head shoots up from his phone, brows unfurrowing, releasing his lip from between his teeth. 

“Hi, yeah, sorry,” he says after he blinks around at them for a moment— they’re all looking at him, faces blank with confusion. “Just— work,” he clarifies. Speak of the devil. He tries for a smile and it comes out more like a grimace.

“Oh, go ahead,” Jungwon starts, but he shakes his head tightly and tucks his phone into his pocket, ignoring the additional ding it gives. 

“No, it’s fine, it’s… not important. You were saying?” he asks expectantly. 

Riki grins, looking up for a split second from his own phone, where he’s playing some game as usual. “We were asking who’s winning,” he says, and inexplicably a stab of anger jumps through his stomach, misdirected. “Out of you and Sunghoon-hyung?”

Him and who else, honestly? 

He can feel his expression darken slightly. “I don’t know,” Heeseung mutters. “I think Sunghoon keeps track more obsessively than I do.”

“Yeah, Sunghoon-hyung is kind of insane, isn’t he?” Sunoo remarks absently, bent over his work once more. An alien explodes on Riki’s phone. 

Heeseung remains in a bit of a— a funk would be the politest word for it— for the rest of the day, exacerbated by the knowing look on Sunghoon’s face when they take their seats next to each other in class. Right— he got an 83 on a test this morning, and no doubt this has made its way through the grapevine to the person he’s got the least amount of patience for today.

“Is it true you—”

“Not in the mood,” Heeseung responds testily, and Sunghoon’s expression flickers in mild surprise before he settles on a frown.

“Asshole,” Sunghoon mutters, looking away, and it’s all Heeseung can do to just grit his teeth and keep his mouth shut. 

Predictably, that’s not the end of it, because, honestly, when has Park Sunghoon ever been able to just let something be?

“You know, I could use some help with this question,” he says mock-sweetly ten minutes later, as they’re all chattering and working, and Heeseung has to close his eyes for a moment to keep from saying something that would probably get him kicked out of the classroom. 

“Shut up,” he snaps. “Do it yourself if you’re so smart.”

Once again, he seems a bit like a kid that’s been denied his favorite sweet for the second time. Heeseung hates that look for a multitude of reasons.

“Fine,” Sunghoon says loftily, eyes flashing. He looks both offended and mad about it. Good.

The hour passes in steamed silence. Heeseung’s pencil lead breaks twice, and Sunghoon’s lip is worn raw from him biting it ferociously the whole time. The difference is that Sunghoon’s gotten most of the work done; Heeseung’s barely halfway through. The bell rings with a hurried explanation of what the homework is from the teacher, and then Heeseung’s out of there before Sunghoon can even blink. 

He’s prickly the rest of the afternoon and he knows it. He snaps at a freshman who asks him for directions (and then apologizes and gives them to him, but still), nearly explodes when the bathroom sink randomly stops working, and takes another test— in lit this time— that he walks out knowing he’ll be lucky to have passed. He debates not even going to— well, Debate, and decides against it; his brother’s home today and will inevitably ask why he’s back early. Explaining the situation to him sounds worse than just sucking it up and going.

But Sunghoon continues to find every single button there is to push and slamming on it like a toddler, refusing to leave him alone even now. In a remarkably bad decision on the part of everyone who left only one seat for Heeseung to choose, they sit across from each other at the table, surrounded by whispering kids. The teacher’s not even in the room; mostly they moderate these themselves, as practice for competitions, so Heeseung’s chosen as the victim to start the discussion via a twenty-way rock-paper-scissors.

“Schools should start later in the day to give kids more sleep,” he starts. Immediately, Sunghoon’s got an answer for him.

“Well, isn’t the point of school to train kids for the real world? Why shouldn’t they learn to wake up early the way they’ll have to for work all their lives?” he blinks innocently. 

I actually have a job, Heeseung thinks furiously. Wouldn’t I know? He grits his teeth, and in the fluorescence of the room, every emotion flitting across his face must be glaringly obvious to everyone around the table. For once, he doesn’t even care. “Actually, it’s scientifically proven that teenagers have the hardest time waking up early, because of their circadian rhythms. Their brains don’t release melatonin until eleven,” he says, barely restraining himself from snarling the words instead of saying them calmly, diplomatically. “So they’ll find it easier as they get older. There’s no need to—”

“But then what about transportation? The buses go from the high school, then to the middle school, and sometimes even to the primary school kids. If we started later, then it would push back everyone’s schedule.”

“We could restructure the system and allocate more of the district’s budget to buy more buses—” He’s pulling this out of his ass, but again, no one really seems to care. 

“But that would pull funding from something else,” Sunghoon says, and his points are valid but his tone is so smug Heeseung wants to scream. 

“This is about the students’ health,” he says, and his voice is definitely a bit stronger than it was before. “Surely that would be more important?”

Sunghoon practically laughs in his face. “Health doesn’t make money grow on trees ,” he says with a nasty look, and people are looking up from their phones or their notes now, eyebrows raised. Most look interested, some surprised. Heeseung goes red, the back of his neck prickling. He doesn’t want it getting around that he doesn’t like Sunghoon— but then, in the most patronizing tone he can muster, he adds, “hyung,” and Heeseung kind of. Well. He snaps. 

 “That doesn’t even make sense,” he snarls, and Sunghoon’s eyes light up. He’s gotten what he wanted, the attention-seeking brat.

“What doesn’t make sense is restructuring the entire system, like you said, just to change the schedule by what, fifteen minutes?”

“I don’t see you offering another solution,” Heeseung says in a withering tone, and someone in the back goes ‘oooh’, garnering a collective laugh.

Neither Heeseung nor Sunghoon join in.

A clearly disgruntled look flickers across Sunghoon’s face. “The entire problem doesn’t have enough of a basis for anyone to care about it,” he says through gritted teeth.

Heeseung practically throws his notes at Sunghoon’s face. “The science says otherwise,” he says heatedly.

“You’re completely dismissing the financial side of things—“

“You’re completely dismissing the problem altogether,” Heeseung half-shouts. 

“The problem doesn’t even—“

“What if we tried switching the schedules around?” Ryujin steps in, and both Heeseung and Sunghoon stop short, open mouths falling shut as she levels them with a look that clearly says what the hell? “Elementary schoolers first and high schoolers last. Their bodies release melatonin early enough to wake up at six, so everybody wins.”

“What about our extracurriculars, then?” someone else pipes up, and within a minute the focus has shifted from him and Sunghoon to the others. 

Heeseung flops back into his chair and doesn’t say a word the rest of the meeting, because if he does he’s going to get kicked out of here.

When it ends he’s, again, the first one to leave. He hurries out the door and to the parking lot, across the lawn, and is foiled yet again at the last step; he’s missing his phone. 

He rocks back impatiently on the balls of his feet, fed up. He’s been furious for long enough to be on the verge of a headache, and the longer this goes on the more he’s leaning towards crying out of sheer frustration. 

He wants to go home and take a nap and just forget about all this other bullshit for a while. Can he please just do that in peace? Is that really so much to ask?

“What is up with you today?” 

Apparently it is.

Heeseung shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. “What do you want?” he asks sharply.

“An explanation,” Sunghoon responds, footsteps tapping on the sidewalk as he comes and waits next to Heeseung. “What the hell’s been going on with you?” he asks, and a wave of blind rage hits Heeseung so hard he almost gets whiplash. 

Fuck it, he thinks viscerally, vividly. 

“Do you ever shut up?” he growls in a completely different tone from before. “You’re so— every single time I think you might want to grow the fuck up, you don’t. Can you not fucking see when you should leave someone alone, you jackass?” 

Sunghoon couldn’t have looked more shocked, Heeseung thinks, if he’d been slapped. 

Within half a second his surprise has melted into incredulous indignation, anger flashing through his eyes. He leans forward, brows coming together, scoffing. “I was trying to ask if you were all right, you piece of shit,” he spits. “But thanks, really, for just jumping to conclu—”

“What the hell else am I supposed to think that you’re asking when you’re always out to get me? It’s— it’s really fucking annoying sometimes, Sunghoon— the worst part of my day is when I have to come to class and deal with you,” Heeseung growls, ignoring what he’s saying entirely to pick a fight. It’s all horrible, but the words are coming out of his mouth before he can even think to stop them, and he’s so fucking tired of censoring himself. 

Sunghoon’s expression goes even more murderous, and he takes a step forward. Heeseung matches it, heart racing, blood pounding in his ears. “And you think it’s fun for me? Putting up with perfect Lee Heeseung and his goddamn fan club—”

“Have you ever noticed that it’s actually just you that’s so obsessed with me? You can’t go one single minute without someone paying attention to you.”

“Please, you don’t know anything about me and you think you’re the smartest person to ever walk the fucking planet— at least I didn’t flunk an entire year of high school—”

And that is— that’s fucking it. That’s it. He sees red. 

“You are the worst person I’ve ever met,” he enunciates, meeting his eyes dead-on, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him in close. Sunghoon’s eyes widen, but his chin lifts just the slightest bit to meet his murderous gaze, jaw jutting out, hair blown across his eyes. “You’re such a fucking asshole, Park Sunghoon— you think you’re better than everyone but you’re not. You’re just a selfish fucking jerk with a superiority complex and absolutely zero fucking reason to even have it—” he cuts himself off with a groan, gesturing with his hands. 

Sunghoon’s silent a moment longer, and something in his expression seems to harden as Heeseung looks back at him, mouth opening to continue. Instead his stomach does something that makes him want to throw up as Sunghoon lifts his chin further, eyes shining, jaw clenching. “I always knew you were a piece of shit,” Sunghoon snarls before Heeseung can, slapping his hand over his chest to push him away. “Do you know that? From day fucking one, I looked at you and I thought he looks like an asshole, and it turns out I was fucking right the whole time, wasn’t I?” he says, panting as though he’s the one that didn’t stop to breathe the last thirty seconds.

“I don’t give a damn what you think about me,” Heeseung sneers, lying through his teeth. He gives a damn what everyone thinks about him, and sometimes it’s the most exhausting thing in the goddamn world. “Just fuck off, okay, leave me the hell alone,” he snaps in frustration, getting louder, going from hissing to genuinely yelling himself hoarse, the words echoing off the walls, around the empty parking lot. “I cannot fucking put up with your bullshit anymore. You’ve been making my life this living hell, and you’re ruining everything with our friends— you’re so fucking immature, god damn it, and you think you deserve the world on a silver fucking platter— but you don’t, okay,” he says viciously, and Sunghoon flinches. 

He doesn’t even sound like himself as he keeps going, channeling every single bit of exhaustion, stress, insecurity, every single negative thought that keeps him up at night, into tearing into Sunghoon, thinking of the worst things he could possibly say and then expanding on them for good fucking measure. 

“Heeseung—“ Sunghoon starts, taking a step back to the one Heeseung takes forward, and he’s gone quieter, hesitant, hushed as opposed to the way he was yelling back not a moment before— and that makes Heeseung even angrier, that he won’t respond now, after months of Sunghoon provoking him into every single argument they’ve ever had. He’s always so eager to trade verbal blows with Heeseung, and now he’s backing down, when Heeseung is finally instigating it? 

“Why do you always have to start something, or follow me around and — do you not understand when someone can’t fucking stand you?” he snaps, and a flicker of anger flits across Sunghoon’s tight expression, eyes darting away from his. Look at me, Heeseung thinks harshly, and it feels like he’s really thinking stop seeing the wrong thing. Stop assuming the worst all the goddamn time. Stop putting me into this box and refusing to look over the edge of it.  

And for the love of god, stop taking everything too fucking far. 

He opens his mouth again and feels terrible even as he speaks, even as he’s thinking of the words in a frenzied rush, even as he puts every malicious intent he tries his hardest to never act on behind them. “I wish I’d never met you,” Heeseung growls, and Sunghoon inhales sharply, shining eyes widening further and snapping back to his, finally. His hand curls around the strap of his backpack, mouth falling shut— but there’s no satisfaction in it, shutting him up. There’s just this endless surge of anger. “I don’t know why you can’t just leave me the fuck alone,” he snaps, voice crescendoing into a yell again, and just like before, Sunghoon winces. His chin lowers this time instead of lifting, and somewhere through the fury Heeseung’s heart twists. 

“Do you actually get something out of being such a shitty human being?”

“Heeseung—”

“Or does it just make you happy to constantly piss me off? Is that really what you want out of life, just—”

“I think that’s enough,” Sunghoon says, voice wavering as he looks back up, and this time it’s crystal clear that he’s close to tears, lashes wet and hair blowing across his nose, shrinking back from him. 

“You’ve never listened to me when I said that,” Heeseung snaps, out of patience. “God, I hate when you act like this— I hate you, Park Sunghoon, I really fucking do— so can you just —”

“Hyung!” Sunghoon interrupts sharply, and more than the volume of his voice it’s the use of the honorific that finally— and yet far past the point of no return— gets Heeseung to fucking shut his goddamn mouth. He stares, chest heaving, expression fierce. 

Sunghoon’s eyes are wide again, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. “I—” he starts, voice breaking, and on the next inhale Heeseung’s breath hitches in his chest, marks a stopping point in his unrestrainable anger. “I didn’t realize—” he stops, looking away and swallowing, jaw clenching tighter— and in the ensuing silence, Heeseung’s stomach feels like it’s— unraveling. Sunghoon blinks away his tears determinedly, turning his head further to the side jerkily and sniffing when his eyes remain watery, flooded. 

He didn’t realize—? But what was there for him to realize, that Heeseung is— that Heeseung is a fucking idiot? 

“Sung— Sunghoon,” Heeeseung says, pressing his palms into his eyes, panting. He looks back up to find Sunghoon watching him, biting his lip fiercely, the edges of his stoic expression trembling. One foot hovers just above the pavement, about to take a step backward. He really is about to cry, fuck. “Sunghoon-ah, listen,” Heeseung starts, much quieter than before, dread beginning to creep up his throat. He plays back all the vitriol that had just come out his mouth, and his heart skips a beat, stomach roiling nauseatingly. 

“No, I think I’ve— I’ve heard enough,” Sunghoon says, just above a whisper. He takes that step back, followed by another, like a trapped animal fleeing a threat. The white-hot tension throughout Heeseung’s body goes cold, panicked. The anger is draining from his body like sand slipping out of his palms, and his throat is raw from yelling, eyes stinging to mirror Sunghoon’s. God, what the fuck has he done, what the hell did he just say— 

“I didn’t mean it,” he breathes, even knowing it'll work as well as emptying the ocean with a spoon, and then he takes a step forward, following. “Sunghoon—” 

But Sunghoon turns on his heel and starts walking away, speeding up when Heeseung starts going after him. 

“Sunghoon— please, listen to me, I really didn’t mean that, don’t—” he cuts himself off, breaking into a run to catch up, footsteps echoing against the sidewalk. “Sunghoon—” three quick steps brings him level, close enough to grab Sunghoon’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “I swear I didn’t—”

Heeseung’s left shoulder suddenly flashes white-hot, almost painfully so, like someone’s holding a curling iron too close to his skin. He hisses, head whipping to the side— but nothing’s there, not so much as a hot gust of wind. Just empty, cool air.

At the same time, Sunghoon flinches and rips his wrist out of Heeseung’s grip, whirling to give him a vicious look, half a sob escaping him simultaneously, tears already having tracked halfway down his face. Through his frozen surprise, a debilitating, terrible wave of guilt crashes over Heeseung, practically giving him whiplash. Sunghoon’s giving him this look, betrayed beyond belief, that makes him feel even worse, genuinely terrible. I’m so sorry, he thinks, but before he can even open his mouth to say it, Sunghoon’s snarling, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, what was—” 

He stops, eyes fixed on his wrist, which he’s brought up to look at in the empty space between the two of them. Heeseung’s hand absently goes to his still-burning shoulder, already beginning to cool off. 

What the hell is—

“Oh, fucking hell,” Sunghoon breathes. “Holy fucking shit.” 

“Sunghoon-ah—?”

Sunghoon looks back up at him, stunned silent, lost. He turns his wrist Heeseung’s way, shoulders still shaking. Heeseung’s eyes dart down to it as Sunghoon presses the back of his other hand to his mouth and looking away, expression still shell-shocked.

Time slows. The world goes blurry. 

Heeseung’s vision tunnels to a single point. 

Because on Sunghoon’s wrist are flowers, vivid blue-purple flowers. And something tells him that they most certainly weren’t there before. 

That’s— that’s not a tattoo. That’s not a fluke. That’s a soulmark. 

The world tilts on its axis, Heeseung’s grip on his shoulder loosening until his hand slips down his arm, and then his fingers tighten on the fabric until it's bunching in his fist. He takes a step back, reeling, shocked. 

“We’re—” Heeseung says in a choked voice, and he’s going to cry too, he really fucking is— what’s going on, what is this, what— “We’re soulmates,” he says, awed, and for a long moment both of them just stand there, stunned, speechless. The ground feels shaky beneath Heeseung’s feet, tilting side to side. 

What is happening— 

“I’m— I can’t do this,” Sunghoon breathes suddenly. “I can’t— what the fuck.” His voice cracks. And then before Heeseung can even comprehend what that means, he turns and runs. 

"Sung..." he trails off, watching him go, chest heaving, thoughts in total disarray. For all his earlier determination to follow, this time around he lets him go. He doesn’t even know what he’d say if he caught up. 

(When he’s gotten ahold of himself enough to sit down on a bench, numb, and unbutton his shirt to look at his own shoulder, there’s a flower on his shoulder as well, yellow and small and lonely.)

Heeseung’s so completely fucked.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIVE: HEARTSEASE

you occupy my thoughts

It takes almost too little time for Sunghoon to learn what type of flower is now tattooed irreversibly on his wrist, and even then it’s only because, somewhere between the crying and the freaking out and the locking himself in his room, he finds the time to google it.

He’s almost expecting a scavenger hunt, and maybe thirty years ago it would have been, finding a florist or a library or a gardener— but in today’s day and age, all it takes is typing in types of blue flowers. 

Which, combined with the perfect visual he has on his wrist, brings him quickly enough to ‘bluebells’. Hyacinthoides non-scripta. Found in Atlantic areas, planted in late summer. Toxic upon human consumption. 

As he’s reading through all this, Sunghoon’s curled up in bed, under the covers. It’s half-past seven, and he has a pile of homework for tomorrow and some skating practice he should be doing on the synthetic ice in their basement, but instead he’s here with the door locked, his parents having tried multiple times to get him to leave his room without avail. He doesn’t see himself getting up and leaving the safety of his room anytime soon. 

The only exception to his determination to not look another human being in the eye until he starts feeling less like a piece of shit is Jaeyun, whom he texted earlier with a succinct please come over if you can and has yet to receive a response from. Knowing Jaeyun, he’ll probably freak out when he sees it— but Sunghoon doesn’t want to deal with this alone, all right? And Jaeyun’s always been his default when it comes to things like this… although, to be fair, telling him the annual family drama from Chuseok has nothing on— this. Being… soulmates with Lee Heeseung.

God, the thought only continues to prove his universe has been thrown completely out of whack. Yesterday the ground was down here and the sky up there; now he feels like he’s tripping over clouds and looking up at grass. 

The one thing— well, there were many things, but most importantly— that he never considered was responsible for the dynamic between him and Heeseung (the coincidental meetings, the spark of undefinable feeling before they’d even met, the sense that he was always missing something) was being soulmates. Because shouldn’t the universe fucking know better?

He rolls over and gives the pillow next to him a useless punch, the splash of color against his wrist starkly visible against the white of his sheets, dim though the light around him is growing as the sun goes down. He brings it closer to his eyes, examines it from every direction— he’s done it a thousand times since he stormed up here and took an extremely ill-timed nap at four in the evening, but now that he’s woken up he’d been hoping it would— go away, or something. Sometimes these are temporary. Surely he won’t have to carry around this visible reminder of how much Lee Heeseung fucking hates him his entire life?

The thought makes his toes curl, eyes going unfocused from his soulmark— his soulmark. God. What the hell is going on?

He buries his face in his hands, taking a long, deep breath. By now he should be cried out, considering how he ran home and spent at least twenty minutes sitting on the edge of his bed sobbing until he fell asleep— but his throat is still tight, painfully so, and his eyes burn behind his lids. He presses his palms into them until he’s seeing stars and then finally wrenches himself up, sitting upright and wincing. 

He reaches over and flicks on the bedside lamp, and then rolls over to look at the flowers again, properly, in the golden light. 

At least they’re pretty, he considers, almost sarcastically. The bluebells— two of them, growing sideways across his wrist along a brown-green vine that fades off into nothing before it reaches his palm on the other side— are a stunning shade of violet fading into vibrant blue, opening downward so the petals match the name, growing outward from the bottom. He runs the fingers of his other hand, his left hand, across his skin. There’s no difference in texture, no outer layer he could peel off or dye he could scrub away. They’re just part of his skin now. 

He sits up again, frustrated, and grabs the pillow beside him to chuck it at the wall, followed by his phone, which slides across the carpet until it comes to a halt two inches from the leg of his table, screen facing the ceiling. Even as he leans back and looks around for something else to throw, it lights up with a notification— someone’s texting him.

Sunghoon ignores it, instead getting out of bed only to kick the wicker trash can beside his table, scattering loose papers and candy wrappers that Yeji throws away in his room to wisely cast off the blame on her athlete brother who has approximately one gram of sugar a week. 

He doesn’t even know who he’s mad at— himself? Heeseung? The universe at large? 

But what he does know is that whatever he’s feeling, it fucking hurts. There’s— there are things he knows now that he didn’t before, that he wouldn’t have known if given the choice. He was fine carrying on not knowing Heeseung hated him that much, or that they’re fated to meet in every lifetime from now until the end of time. 

Couldn’t they have skipped a generation? 

He never wants to see him again; he wants to see him everyday just to scream at him. He wants to apologize for everything; he wants Heeseung to say he’s sorry until it stops sounding like an actual word. He wants to make Heeseung feel just as shitty as he feels right now; he wouldn’t wish the feeling of not being wanted on anyone. 

Distantly, he recalls that conversation he and Heeseung had on the pool table, barely five days ago. I’m waiting for my soulmate. 

He said he’d never love anyone else. 

All Sunghoon can think, as he sends an old tennis ball arcing over the laundry basket, thunking against the already tipped over trash can, is that he warned him. Sorry it had to be me, he thinks viciously. 

His phone buzzes again, insistently, and then again, and again. 

Sunghoon pauses mid-kick, his backpack half an inch from becoming his next target, and gives it a nasty look. “Who the fuck,” he mutters, but he marches across the room and picks it up, thumbs it on, fully prepared to text whoever it is to kindly fuck off.

But it’s Jaeyun, clearly freaking out a little. 

wait is everything okay?

sunghoon-ah?

sunghoon? are you at the rink or something?

no, Sunghoon responds after a minute of deliberation. i’m at home

please just come? i’ll explain when you get here

Jaeyun responds in the affirmative— thank god— and then Sunghoon’s left to just stare around his room with puffy eyes again, miserable and completely out of his depth with what to do with it. He just wants to sit here and never see anyone or anything again. 

There’s not much more of substance that passes through his head until Jaeyun’s familiar footsteps echo on the stairs— and then Sunghoon quickly stands up from his sprawl on the ground and shoves the stray papers in his room under the bed, tosses the sheets into some semblance of order, and finally comes back over to the bed, sitting down like he’s just arrived or something as opposed to having been knocking his head against these same walls for four hours.

There’s a knock on the door— Jaeyun’s, two taps, a literal knock-knock . “Sunghoon-ah?” 

“Yeah, come in.” Sunghoon stares despondently up at the ceiling, flopping backwards so he’s lying down.

“Okay, what is going on, you dramatic asshole?” Jaeyun demands after coming inside, shutting the door behind him and coming over to lie down on the bed beside Sunghoon, bouncing the mattress around. “You made me think someone died—”

“This is worse,” Sunghoon vows, scrunching his eyes shut. “I—” he trails off, throwing an arm over his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath. 

“What?” Jaeyun prods, rolling over and wrapping an arm over Sunghoon’s stomach. “Sunghoon. Hoonie. Hoonie. I’m not shutting up until you tell me. Sunghoonnnn—”

Sunghoon gives a wordless groan and extends his arm outward, leaving it hovering somewhere in Jaeyun’s line of sight, above both their heads. “Just—”

There’s a moment of telling silence, during which Sunghoon’s heart skips a beat, anticipatory. And then: 

“Is that a SOULMARK?” Jaeyun screams at the top of his lungs, and Sunghoon jumps like someone’s electrocuted him.

“Holy— shut up, shut up,” Sunghoon hisses, rolling over and sitting up so he’s on his side, hovering over Jaeyun on one elbow, clapping one hand over his mouth. “Please, be quiet, oh my god,” he says through his teeth. “My entire family is downstairs, they’ll hear you, shut up.” Jaeyun’s eyes are wide as dinner plates above his hand, which he bats away easily.

“You— are you kidding me?” Jaeyun whisper-yells, and then he’s grabbing Sunghoon’s arm, bringing it over to look closer. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Hoonie, that’s insane, who—? Who is it?” he asks eagerly, laughing incredulously at the beautiful bluebells, turning Sunghoon’s wrist every which way to take them in. 

Watching him, Sunghoon’s half-risen spirits plummet again, mouth twisting into a frown, eyes flicking away. How does he even begin to tell him what’s really going on?

“It’s…” he presses his lips together, looking back up at the ceiling. 

“What, is it someone bad?” Jaeyun teases, releasing his wrist and sitting up beside him, eyes bright with excitement. “Come on, who? Is it someone we—”

“Jaeyun—” Sunghoon starts. “It’s, um.”

“What?” he presses, and his lips are starting to curve up, looking unbearably amused. Sunghoon’s giving him exactly the wrong idea right now, and— 

“Heeseung.” Sunghoon’s tongue betrays him before he can think better of it, and then he claps the back of his hand over his mouth, eyes burning as he stares down at the sheets. “It’s… Heeseung,” he mumbles through his fingers, sounding as though he’s surprised at himself for saying it. 

Jaeyun’s silent for another long, almost painful moment. “You… and Heeseung-hyung?” he asks in an indecipherable tone.

Sunghoon looks back at him, vision swimming with tears. “Sorry I stole him from you,” he chokes out, but even before he’s done speaking he’s dissolving into sobs.

“Wha— Sunghoon-ah,” Jaeyun breathes, scooting closer and immediately wrapping his arms around Sunghoon’s shoulders, pulling him close. Sunghoon buries his face in Jaeyun’s shoulder and, for the second time that day, cries until he feels like he can’t anymore, until his thoughts are so muddled he can hardly stammer out an explanation for Jaeyun’s benefit. 

The common thread throughout all his rambling is this: there’s likely nothing Heeseung wants less than to be soulmates with him. 

“Sunghoonie, I’m sure that’s not true—”

“That’s what he told me,” Sunghoon interrupts. (Which only shuts Jaeyun up for approximately two seconds.)

“Well— well, how did you find out, Sunghoon-ah? Did you—” and here Jaeyun’s arms tighten around him “— I mean did you kiss him, or som—”

Really? This is what Jaeyun has to offer in his time of need? Did you kiss him? “Why the hell would I have kissed him?” Sunghoon demands, drawing back and giving him an incredulous, tearful look. 

“Well— I mean, there’s usually a trigger… right?” Jaeyun starts, but at the look on Sunghoon’s face he shuts his mouth with a wince. “Uh, not that, then?”

“No, it— you know how this stuff is,” Sunghoon mumbles. “He grabbed my wrist, and then…”

“Sometimes it’s the first significant touch,” Jaeyun finishes. The trigger that sets off some sort of manifestation of being soulmates is usually different for everyone— meeting each other’s eyes, brushing fingers, saying each other’s names— or, as Jaeyun suggested, kissing for the first time. “But now? Sunghoon-ah, it’s November already; didn’t he transfer here in like… September?”

Jaeyun’s absolutely correct— that’s part of what makes all this so crazy. They should have found out within the first week of knowing each other; and it’s not just him saying that. This is a statistical nightmare of a situation. How on earth did they not know? 

“I don’t even know,” Sunghoon agrees, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. And now he doesn’t know what to do with this. 

He wasn’t supposed to meet his soulmate until he was thirty, or until he’d gotten past all of the pressures of competing and academics and whatnot. The amount of irreversible life decisions he’d have to make in high school was supposed to have hit a stopping point already. 

And Lee Heeseung— model Lee Heeseung, annoyingly tight-laced Lee Heeseung, condescending pretty infuriating inexplicable Lee Heeseung— is not someone he can reconcile with whatever half-formed soulmate related fantasies he’s had over the course of his miserably short ruminations on the romantic part of his life. He always pictured someone… well, shyer, for one. That would fumble over him at first sight. He could never quite bring himself to imagine himself doing the same over them, but since all of society had assured him he would, that was that. End of story. 

With Heeseung, Sunghoon didn’t just fumble the first meeting— he’s been fumbling for the last two goddamn months with no signs of regaining his balance.

“Sunghoonie?” Jaeyun asks, and Sunghoon realizes he’s gone a bit too silent for his friend’s liking. (Jaeyun’s way of solving a problem is almost always through ‘healthy communication’, although Sunghoon’s not sure how healthy it can be lauded as when he’s giving you that Park Sunghoon so help me god I will get you to stop being so emotionally constipated look to make you spill.)

“I’m… fine,” Sunghoon says unconvincingly.

“I know you never really cared about all this soulmate stuff,” Jaeyun starts, and as always his attempt at insight leads Sunghoon right to the real root of the issue. And it’s not the soulmate stuff, to reuse his words, that’s truly bothering him— because it’s true, he doesn’t care. His parents aren’t soulmates (his mother’s died tragically young and his father’s is a perfectly platonic family friend that comes around twice a year to catch up), the universe has just proven itself to be exceptionally unqualified in having a say in Sunghoon’s fate anyway, and the last thing he needs right now is to worry about establishing some lifelong relationship with anyone. 

But then there’s two months of whatever has been building up with Heeseung. There’s that horrible pit in his stomach. There’s those warring desires to both slap him in the face and apologize, shame-faced. There’s… some half-witted homoerotic academic rival fiction he’s been concocting in his stupid brain. 

He swallows. “Exactly,” he lies, exhaustion coming through in his tone. “It’s just… a lot.”

“No, I get it, absolutely,” Jaeyun says, shifting so he’s sitting side by side with Sunghoon, their shoulders pressed together. “I— honestly can’t believe it. You and Heeseung… no wonder you noticed him right away.”

“I hated him right away,” Sunghoon murmurs, but his lips twitch. 

“Eh. If he really said all that bullshit to you, then maybe he deserved it,” Jaeyun says, and the way he only half sounds like he’s joking makes Sunghoon shift uncomfortably.

“Maybe,” he agrees, nodding to himself. “Maybe he did.”

Because maybe it’s Heeseung’s fault sounds a hell of a lot easier to be angry at than maybe Heeseung hates me sounds to be unbearably miserable about.

— — —

Contrary to popular belief, Sunghoon does not spend eternity wallowing. He does spend a good twenty-four hours doing it, to the chagrin of his— admittedly not unreasonably— confused parents. He tells them he had a fight with Jongseong, and since last time that had happened the damage had come to a broken vase, two weeks of sulking, an attempt to full-on switch schools, and them refusing to speak to each other for nigh on three months, they quickly decide they’ll let him have one day to get his shit together and then he’s going to school on Friday.

“Get some more sleep, Sunghoon-ah,” his mother advises with a kiss to his forehead. “You’ve been looking so tired lately.”

He feels a bit guilty about lying, especially after that, but if he tells his parents they’ll get a hold of Heeseung’s parents and start asking all sorts of questions and— well, they’ll be well-meaning about it, but they’ll still force them together, and then it’ll quickly turn into a scene from a movie. There would be forced family dinners, vacations, holidays— what have you. 

And ordinarily he might have put up with that, but now there is absolutely no way he’s telling anyone he’s found his soulmate.

It’s almost distressingly easy to keep it a secret; he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the group chat to start blowing up with it, for him to start getting messages from people he hasn’t spoken to in years to congratulate him, or whatever— but it appears Heeseung hasn’t told anyone either, because he gets none of that. Just radio silence. And it’s simple enough to go buy some makeup to cover the soulmark— they make foundations specifically for people in his situation for one reason or another. And since he only has the singular flower, that’s— kind of it. He’s free to go on with life as normal, without anyone knowing about his soulmate. 

Soulmate. His soulmate. The person he’s supposedly met in every lifetime from the beginning of time to now, the person he’ll meet in the next generation and the next and the next. 

After the first day or so of feeling shitty about himself, eventually his brain seems to acknowledge this new reality of his, although he doesn’t think he’s fully grasped all the implications that come with it. People throw parties over this kind of thing, divorce lifelong partners, change the paths of their lives. Sunghoon just throws himself into homework so he doesn’t even have to think about it for longer than necessary. 

Jaeyun shadows him anxiously on both Friday and Monday, and in addition to how they’d spent the whole weekend together cursing the concept of soulmates and eating all the ice cream under the sun, he’s starting to feel both immeasurably grateful and immeasurably stifled by his constant concern. 

“I’ve got this,” he tells him a million times during lunch. 

Jaeyun’s eyes are trained somewhere across the cafeteria, where Sunghoon outright refuses to look. He knows who Jaeyun’s looking at, and he doesn’t need a visual reminder, thanks. “Are you sure?” Jaeyun asks for the millionth time. 

Sunghoon tosses one of his fries at him. It smacks his cheek and slides off onto his tray, garnering a reluctant laugh. “I’ll be fine, Jaeyun.”

He raises his palms in surrender. “All right, all right, I believe you.”

It feels a bit odd to not be sitting with more of the group that they’ve been forming— him and Jaeyun, Jungwon and Jongseong, Sunoo and Riki, and even if Sunghoon doesn’t like it, Heeseung. But Jongseong and Jungwon seem to know something’s happened, even if they haven’t approached him about it yet, and while Sunoo and Riki are oblivious, he doubts it’ll remain that way for long. He or Jaeyun will inevitably slip up, and then this soulmate thing might end up truly ruining their group dynamics.

Fuck Heeseung, he thinks suddenly, viscerally, for ever touching him at all. They could’ve gone their whole damn lives without knowing if he’d just let Sunghoon go that day. 

Jaeyun’s expression has gone wary again when Sunghoon looks up, glare half-formed on his face already. “You tell me you’re fine but then keep worrying about it?” Jaeyun asks wryly, tilting his head.

“It’s just Heeseung,” Sunghoon grumbles, as though his stomach hasn’t been doing the cha cha slide every time Heeseung walked into the room since the first time they met, as though just this morning he didn’t see Yeji flipping through a magazine with an airbrushed version of him taking up pages eight through nine. “What’s the worst that could possibly happen?”

(Famous last words.)

When Sunghoon does finally shake Jaeyun off for long enough to duck inside their math class, Heeseung’s already there.

His heart practically beats right out of his chest when he spots him, hair bronzed in the afternoon sunlight coming in through the windows, blue uniform neat and sharp, eyes darting back and forth. Abort mission, his brain squeaks.

Unfortunately it takes Heeseung less than a second to spot him as well; with an impressive lack of tact, Sunghoon takes one step forward and trips over someone’s laptop charger, and the ensuing clatter makes him look up along with the entirety of the class. 

Heeseung’s eyes widen. The world slows.

For an endless moment, they just look at each other. The rush of emotions that hit him like a sledgehammer when he walked in the room only digs in harder when they lock eyes— shock, pain, awe, even a terrible, flighty sort of anticipation, the kind that’s somewhere between dread and excitement.

Abruptly it dawns on him that he hasn’t so much been scared of this as he has been oddly impatient. As though he was just— waiting to see Heeseung again. No matter how angry he’s been, how terrible he felt— 

Sunghoon swallows. 

Heeseung was made to love me, he thinks, inexplicably, and his face flames. Two months ago he didn’t even know this guy, and now his entire world is supposed to revolve around him? 

With the slight revulsion that comes on the heels of that thought comes the memory of the events surrounding their soulmate connection, and the wonder fades quick as lightning. The world resumes turning on its axis. Time begins to move forward once more. 

He straightens, bows his head in apology to the girl whose charger he nearly killed and which nearly killed him, and shoulders past Heeseung as he sits up, eyes still wide. “Sunghoon,” he says immediately, urgently, and it makes Sunghoon’s stomach twist. Leave me alone leave me alone leave me alone—

He ignores him and sits down, but he knows that won’t be the end of it. He starts taking out his stuff, trying to be calm and collected about it, but he feels shaky, nervous, almost. His pencils scatter on the table and his papers wrinkle as he pulls them out, Heeseung’s gaze trained on him like a homing beam. Sunghoon doesn’t turn to look at him once. “Sunghoon, please, I— I know you’re mad at me—“

You think? he thinks fiercely, and this— this, yes, he can deal with. Anger is familiar. It’s easier. If Heeseung thinks he’s mad rather than disappointed— heartbroken— then fine. Fine. Sunghoon can do that. He can blow it out of the fucking park. What Heeseung said to him last week? Tame, tame, he tells you, in comparison to how furious Sunghoon is at him. 

In a moment of inspiration, Sunghoon wordlessly flips open his notebook to the last page, where a messy scoresheet defines the plains of their relationship so far. Sunghoon— 19. Heeseung— 16. 

He writes you win on Heeseung’s side, draws four more tally marks to bring his score up to a non-negotiable 20, and then rips it out, viciously enough that it gives him a fucking paper cut, and practically throws it in Heeseung’s face. Suck on that.

Even through his peripheral vision, Heeseung’s dismay is clear in his body language. His shoulders slump as he looks at the paper, at what Sunghoon’s added. “Sunghoon…” he starts, voice small, but the bell rings and the class quiets almost instantly in anticipation of the test they have today.

It’s more a blessing than a curse this time around; he barely studied, but it means Heeseung can’t say another word all hour. 

And besides— after all that happened, their little competition has come to a self-proclaimed, bloody end. He won, Sunghoon thinks mockingly. He can fucking have the win. Sunghoon’s done with him. He’s just fucking done.

(He turns in the test with absolutely no clue of how he scored— which is probably worse than at least knowing if he passed or failed.)

Heeseung’s done early, for once, seemingly as distracted as he is. It’s both satisfying to know he’s not entirely unaffected and yet simultaneously annoying as hell. When he sneaks a glance at him turning in his test, he’s staring at the ground, hair hanging into his eyes, looking defeated. As though he’s the fucking victim here. 

It pisses him off enough that he doesn’t give Heeseung another ounce of his attention for the rest of class. Sunghoon stares out of his window while Heeseung stares at him, skin prickling. One of these days he’s going to break that damn bell for not ringing faster when he needs it to. 

The hairs on the back of his neck are raised the whole time, and every move he makes makes him think he’s shifting too much, or that he looks awkward. Worst of all is the stinging in his eyes. He bites his lip, hard, and forces down his emotions. 

Not now, not in the middle of class. 

He’s already cried in front of Heeseung twice. No need to do it yet again. 

The moment the traitorous bell rings, he’s up and out of his seat; but Heeseung’s there to foil him. “Sunghoon,” he breathes, standing abruptly and cutting in front of him. Their bookbags bump against each other, and Heeseung’s hip hits the chair in what must be a painful way, but he stands his ground with only a slight wince. Sunghoon gets a good look at him for the first time today, properly (aka from a vantage point not skewed by a homicidal wire) and finds that he looks less put-together than usual. His hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it, and the bags under his eyes are dark, like he hasn’t been sleeping. “Just listen to me, okay, pl—“

“No,” Sunghoon grits out, eyes flashing. It feels like he’s admitting defeat by speaking, but Heeseung’s eyes don’t light up in victory the way he’s gotten used to them doing— they just go wide, imploring. 

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung says urgently, desperately, and Sunghoon’s throat goes tight. “I’m really so sorry. I didn’t mean any of—“

“Sure,” Sunghoon says, trying to keep his tone neutral but letting most of his antagonism bleed through into it. “You didn’t. Now get out of my way, Heeseung,” he snaps. The classroom is emptying around them. He has places to be, his next class to get to. Move, he thinks fiercely, or else he’s going to start crying— or worse, shouting— in the middle of this classroom.

Heeseung makes a pained sort of expression and gestures helplessly with his hands. “I can’t just let this go,” he pleads. “I know you’re mad— you’re right to be mad—”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Sunghoon growls before he can think better of it, anger flaring in his chest.

Heeseung opens his mouth to say something else, hesitates, and ends up shutting it. He takes a breath and looks away, one hand coming up to brush his hair off his forehead. He looks like he’s the one being held up by an argument on the way to his next class instead of Sunghoon, harried and exasperated. “Can we just— talk?” he tries. “I just— I mean—”

“Sunghoon-ssi, Heeseung-ssi,” the teacher interrupts from the front, straightening out his stack of test papers with a thunk on the table. Both their heads whip around to look at him. “Is there a problem?” he asks with raised eyebrows. Everyone else has, evidently. left. 

Sunghoon shakes his head rapidly. “No, sir. I’m sorry,” he says tightly before Heeseung can say something else, and then he cuts his eyes at him. Heeseung’s just standing there, frozen. 

He steps aside after a long moment, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw. Normally Sunghoon would have asked about it: what is your problem, how come you get to be offended but I don’t? But he finally remembers his resolution to not give him the time of day and sticks to it, brushing past him without a word or more than a cursory glance his way, ignoring how Heeseung’s annoyed expression shifts slightly when he meets Sunghoon’s eyes again, softening back into guilt. Please, he can see Heeseung pleading wordlessly.

On one hand, he feels almost victorious about it, in a way. He’d been miffed to not have his attention when they met and been vying for it all this time— and now he has it. Now Heeseung’s seeking him out to apologize, pleading with him, asking for his attention. He got what he wanted, didn’t he?

But on the other, it’s a hollow victory. Bittersweet. If it was something to be proud of, he wouldn’t feel so shitty about it, would he?

And anyway; Heeseung’s gonna have to do better than that to convince Sunghoon.

Once he gets out of the classroom, he makes a beeline for the restroom. He doesn’t give a fuck if he’s late to his next class— although that ship probably sailed a while ago.

It’s blissfully empty. He crosses to the sink and splashes some water onto his face, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Cold water drips down onto his collar and wets his bangs, and when he opens his eyes, they look as hooded as Heeseung’s. 

He takes another breath, steels himself, and goes to his next class. 

(He only thinks about Heeseung for around seventy percent of it.)

— — —

His reflection looks up at him again nearly four hours later from the blade of an ice skate as he picks it up, slides it on, and begins lacing it up. 

The rink is as cold and empty as ever, although his coach is waiting by its edge and trying to wrangle a CD into the player so he can practice. He’s wearing a zipped up jacket and fingerless gloves that catch on his skates as he straightens and stands, tentatively walking out to the ice, taking off the protective covers on the blades, and stepping out onto it.

Immediately he feels lighter on his feet, more relaxed. He skates a few warm-up circles around the rink, letting them go wide, and etches his tension into the ice ruthlessly. The circles turn into sharp figure eights, his skates cutting into the smooth, recently-cleaned surface without any mercy. 

“All right, start with the single and see if you can get to the triple,” his coach prompts from across the rink, finally having gotten the CD into the player. Sunghoon gives her a wordless nod and skates to the far side, building momentum and speeding up.

One, two, three— he jumps, spins in a neat circle in the air, and lands hard on one foot, following through the momentum and skating out further.

Faster, he thinks, and he does it again, this time sharper, even cleaner than before. The impact rattles his teeth, but he moves onto the harder one— a double axel. 

“Good,” his coach remarks under her breath as he glides past her, coming off the jump. 

He spins around, cuts his way across the rink again, and veritably throws himself into a triple axel, landing messily on one leg and nearly falling. “Again,” his coach calls. “Not so wild, Sunghoon-ah.”

He grits his teeth and goes again, tensing his muscles and flinging himself into the air. He lands cleaner this time but harder, and his body jolts. 

“That’s enough,” she calls after the third try. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’ll put on the music, you warm up a bit more,” she says— so maybe she hasn’t fully harnessed control over the CD situation. 

Realistically he knows he should calm down. Skating is a gamble on the best days; he was perfectly fine the day he twisted his ankle, had felt at the top of his game when he fell and sprained his wrist, and had gotten his record best score the day before someone ran over his finger with a skate. He’s practically shooting himself in the foot if he’s skating this furiously.

He’s already stretched and done his jumping jacks, but he continues cycling through some basic moves on the ice; he does a triple toe, a simple Lutz, goes over the step sequence he’s been working on at the beginning of his routine.

It calms him slightly when the music finally begins to play, and he falls into his routine with practiced— if not ease— then familiarity. He has a competition in around two months, during the first week of January, so he already knows the basics of most of it. For now, he’s embellishing to fill in the gaps between the larger points; it’s one of the things he likes most about his coach, how she lets him feel things out and tweak them before he actually decides on them instead of sticking to the choreography she had in mind with religious zeal. 

“You’re too fast,” she says, taking notes on her cupboard. “Run that part again,” she adds, rewinding the music.

It’s an orchestral, violin-heavy song; the tempo changes quickly, and a lot. It’s hard to keep up with, but normally he finds that exhilarating, a fun challenge. Today it’s infuriating. 

Reminds him a lot of Heeseung, actually; the way it never gives him a moment to breathe, how it’s always changing its mind about something or the other.

Why is he thinking about Heeseung again? 

He skates viciously through the next section, movements more sharp than they are graceful. His coach shouts a reproachful criticism at him that goes in one ear and out the other. He throws himself into another jump, lands funny, and crashes to the ice, skates scoring a sharp line through it, hip jolted by the fall.

Sunghoon’s up on his feet again within seconds; it’s the expectation. His hip screams bloody murder, but he knows the difference between a bruise and an injury, so he keeps going, jaw clenched. His ego’s hurt worse than his body is.

Concentrate, he tells himself, but then he falls into the trap that comes with thinking through every little move; his movements go awkward, stilted. His arm is at least forty-five degrees off; his feet are going too fast. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, trying to get himself back into the groove, angry beyond belief. Heeseung’s not even here. How is he still fucking with Sunghoon’s head?

And once he starts thinking about him he can’t stop. Every time, for the last five days, that his brain’s had the traitorous urge to bring up anything remotely related to Lee Heeseung, he’s shut it down. Refocused on a math problem, struck up a conversation with his sister, furiously redirected his thoughts towards something else. 

But here, out on the ice, he’s always laid himself bare, and so— and so this time he doesn’t stop himself.

In the interest of no longer torturing himself, he can admit this: he’s had feelings for Heeseung since— god, at least since they held hands in that movie theater. Probably from the moment he saw him. Of course Park Sunghoon of all people would look at someone he might like and go um, ew? and assume he hated him. 

That’s not to say that all of his animosity had been faked, or unmerited— there have been times that Heeseung made him want to tear his hair out. Right now, for instance. 

But… but for the universe to tell them they’re soulmates barely thirty seconds after Heeseung passionately screamed in his face about how much he hates Sunghoon feels— like a betrayal, of sorts. Like the option’s been ruled out. 

The next runthrough of his routine, he does on autopilot, trying and failing to focus.

Heeseung was made to love him. Him, Park Sunghoon. 

He closes his eyes as he goes through another step sequence and lets his mind wander dangerously. His cheeks heat up as he pictures it, what it might have been like in another world; if Heeseung did love him, and if things were all a degree to the left. He’s hardly let himself imagine it, but— what would it be like, if Heeseung was to kiss him hello and goodbye every day? If he— if they were competing but it wasn’t painful, if they studied together instead? If Heeseung were to hold his hand as easily as he had in that theater everyday, if their banter stopped escalating into screaming matches and instead softened into flirting? 

The sweep and rhythm of Sunghoon’s movements go softer, with more musicality. His coach frequently accuses him of being stiff, but now, lost in his imagination, the rink disappears, his coach off the rink disappears, his doubts disappear. He’s alone here, and his skating is all the better for it. He leans into the beat of the music, lets his daydreams carry him across the rink. 

It feels almost wrong on some level to be wondering about all this, but for some reason the knowledge that it’ll absolutely never happen frees him from the need to censor his thoughts. He’s come dangerously close to this particular thought a few times— now he lets it play out, rewinds it over and over— every time Heeseung’s ever told him to shut up and every time Sunghoon’s had the irrational urge to respond make me, and what would happen if he leaned over and did so— or the idea of taking him to their graduation dance, of not having to hide how he seeks Heeseung out every chance he gets behind the cover of I’m only following him to annoy him, to see what soulmark he left on Heeseung last week— 

But his imagination falters after a certain point, unused to this line of thinking and— and a bit too aware of the reality. No amount of wishful thinking, Sunghoon reflects, could ever make Lee Heeseung give him something so innocent as a proper smile. 

He doesn’t think he even knows what those really look like on him.

The moment shatters; his concentration breaks, and his eyes flutter open an instant before his coach yells, “WATCH OUT!” 

And he slams into the side of the rink fresh off the momentum of skating across the entirety of the ice. 

He’d been going slightly sideways, so his right side takes the brunt of the damage. His hip hits the wall with a painful thud— his fingers get crushed against it— there’s an audible snap— and then an aborted shriek escapes his mouth.

He lands in a messy heap, smarting from around fifty different bruises, and immediately doubled over, clutching at his hand. His coach races over as he winces down at his hand, already dreading the impending doctor’s visit. Shit.

“Sunghoon-ah!” his coach yells dramatically— and yeah, there you go. That’s a wrap on the rest of the evening.

Two hours, a hospital visit, and a rousing pep talk from his sister consisting of ‘why would you close your eyes while skating, idiot?’ with a hug more painful than comforting later, he gets home with a splint on his broken middle finger and no chance of writing properly for months. 

And, to top off the lovely evening he’s having, he has a veritable essay of texts from an ‘unknown number’ waiting for him when he gets into bed, having stumbled through his homework rather messily with the giant splint on his writing hand. 

And despite never having saved his number on principle, he knows exactly who it is. The first text informs him in no uncertain terms.

Hi, Sunghoon… it’s Heeseung

I got your number from Jungwonie, I hope that’s okay

He doesn’t want you to be mad at him over it. (As though Jungwon has ever cared about that.)

I know you don’t want to hear anything I have to say, Heeseung continues, but please just let me explain? 

It’s not much of an excuse, but I was having a really bad day the other day, and I just… kind of snapped, I guess

I didn’t mean any of what I said, really, and I know you won’t believe me, but I need you to know I don’t hate you. I could never hate you

And I’m sorry you had to find out that we’re soulmates like that

It wasn’t fair to you at all, and I don’t blame you for being mad at me (but I know you don’t need my permission for that)

Sorry if that came across as sarcastic I’m just… terrible at making jokes

The urge to laugh feels both irrational and not unmerited.

Never mind

I know that’s probably not enough of an apology and that you probably don’t believe me still, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to convince you

I really am sorry, Sunghoon-ah… I think we could be really good friends if we just tried 

Please just tell me what I can do to make it up to you.

It becomes apparent that Sunghoon’s eyes are stinging somewhere upon the fourth reread, which he stifles as best he can. Good friends. Like he’d ever had any inclination to let it stop there.

He stares at the screen for an immeasurable amount of time, scrolling back through the messages listlessly. It would be… very easy, at this point, to give in. To let Heeseung apologize and see if they could really start over. Maybe a week ago he would have done it— begrudgingly, hesitantly— but still done it. 

Now?

Now, he sends off a fuck you before he can think better of it, blocks him, and then chucks the phone at his nightstand and fails to go to sleep.

— — — 

Funnily enough, having the splint on his fingers does wonders for Sunghoon’s popularity.

He’s always been sort of infamous around school; people inevitably find out that he’s a nationally ranked skater and spread the word at every school he’s attended, this one included. Most people know his name; he gets a minimum of two confessions per week. If there’s a party somewhere, he can consider himself invited. 

The attention is more annoying than it is appreciated, most of the time— but today he’s riding high on its waves.

Some of it is more welcome than others, such as Jaeyun’s greeting: “Hey, Hoonie, what’s— oh my god what happened?” and then the subsequent disapproving but sweet lecture Jaeyun gave him on taking care of himself. 

Jungwon tracks him down as he’s going to his second class and runs up to ask worriedly if he’s all right, eyes round and guilty. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sunghoon assures him, but his smile goes flinty after a moment. “I’d be better if I knew my number wasn’t being handed out to random people,” he adds cuttingly.

Jungwon’s expression shifts. They haven’t discussed Heeseung at all since Sunghoon found out; they didn’t ride home together the other day, and outside of group settings it’s usually hard to get ahold of him since he’s in every club under the sun and usually eats lunch with Enemy Number One. 

“Jongseong yelled at him so much,” Jungwon says finally, in a private voice usually reserved for gossiping. The hallway is full of chattering people around them, and he looks around furtively before he leans in and continues. “He told us what he said and… hyung, if it’s true you blocked him, then I don’t blame you.”

He feels marginally better hearing that; he knows Jungwon and Jongseong have probably left him alone about this because they’re closer with Heeseung and don’t want to get in the middle, but he’d been assuming they were kind of taking his side when neither of them called or said anything over the weekend. At least now he has confirmation that they’re not so biased.

“I did,” Sunghoon confirms coolly. 

“But hyung—“ he starts in a tone that tells him all he needs to know about what’s coming next. 

 “Go to class before you’re late,” Sunghoon orders, pulling the strap of his bookbag tighter against his chest and shaking his head. “I don’t want to hear it, Jungwon. Go to class,” he repeats a bit harshly, and Jungwon’s face falls.

He’ll apologize to him later, he decides, when he’s not liable to disown him for sticking up for Heeseung. After all, Jungwon’s never done anything with ill intentions; he doesn’t deserve to be yelled at any more than Sunghoon did. 

Anyway, of the less welcome variety are the five people that come up and ask him during his second class if they can sign his cast before realizing he doesn’t actually have one. 

They all put on a wonderful act— or maybe it’s real, but Sunghoon’s a popular stranger, not a close friend, so he’d be hesitant to believe that— of being worried, eyes wide and sympathetic. Usually Sunghoon would want to hide under a table hearing all of this, but he catches Heeseung’s eye in the hallway, midway through waving off another crowd of concerned acquaintances, and changes tack quick as a whip. Unwelcome? Certainly not to Sunghoon.

“Yeah, I crashed kinda badly,” he says a bit sheepishly, showing them his broken fingers. They’ve been a pain in the ass all day and promise to continue making writing impossible for him for ages . He’s gotten permission to type all his assignments for the upcoming month, but that’s as clunky as you’d expect with a three centimeter finger. 

The crowd makes a collective ooh with a wince in response, and they all clap him on the back or praise him for doing such a dangerous sport or what have you, surrounding him and blocking his view of Heeseung. He still catches sight of how he takes a step in Sunghoon’s direction, swallows, and ends up going the other way. 

(He’s not sorry.)

By lunch the word has spread and most people aren’t doing more than glancing over at him every now and then. “I can’t believe you crashed into a wall,” Sunoo says disdainfully as he, Jaeyun, Sunghoon, and Riki split his slice of cake over the table, Sunghoon struggling to eat with his right hand. He switches to the left and drops the bite of cake onto his lap. “What are you, some lumbering hockey player?”

“Fuck my life,” he says with finality, staring at the smear of frosting that lingers even after he picks it up and puts the fallen piece back onto his plate. Jaeyun just laughs at him. “And it’s not like I asked to crash,” Sunghoon says defensively, not sure if he’s talking to Sunoo or Jaeyun. “Besides, aren’t you the one who took two soccer balls to the face in one game last year?” he counters. “And you— Sunoo-yah, someone dropped a dumbbell on your foot last year and you couldn’t dance for three weeks. I have blackmail on both of you.”

“Yeah,” Riki chimes in, swallowing an alarmingly large bite of his cake and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning evilly. “But you don’t have it on me, so I can tell you that was dumb as hell without worrying.”

“I see how it is,” Sunghoon deadpans as the table dissolves into laughter around him. “I’ve gotten more sympathy from random strangers than I have from you guys today—”

“Because all those strangers don’t understand how stupid it is to crash into a wall while figure skating,” Sunoo repeats. 

“Leave me alone,” Sunghoon moans, but he’s grinning. “Can we talk about— I don’t know, how’s the musical going? Is Wednesday Addams still refusing to listen to the stage manager?”

Jaeyun and Sunoo share a look that says uhh, which sets off all four of them again. (Wednesday Addams apparently has a seventy-five percent chance of being replaced by her understudy.)

“You can all come, right?” Sunoo asks, looking around pointedly as though Sunghoon’s parents haven’t blocked off the entire evening of opening night on the calendar to go see our cute Jaeyunie in a suit. “I’m getting you all free tickets and I will be mad if you don’t use them—”

“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Riki waves him off. “That’s in like four months, though— I want to see Jaeyun-hyung’s soccer game on Friday way more,” he grins.

“Oh my god, do not come to that,” Jaeyun responds immediately, eyes widening. Sunghoon and Sunoo share a look, amused. “No, I’m serious, we’re playing the best team in the league and it’s supposed to thunderstorm—”

“But they already put it all over Instagram,” Sunghoon says, nudging his side unsympathetically. “You’re just gonna have to do well, Jaeyunie, because I think the whole school’s coming.”

“We’ll get seats in the front and cheer really loud,” Sunoo promises, beaming. “You’ve got this, don’t worry.”

Jaeyun gives Sunghoon a wide-eyed, slightly panicked look and mouths I do not got this, and honestly? At least Sunghoon’s not alone in that.

“I’ll be there if someone comes to pick me up,” Riki says. “And also if we get food at the game?”

“I’ll buy you McDonald’s,” Sunghoon vows before Jaeyun can sabotage Riki’s attempt to come watch him lose— that always works on his sister. Riki reaches over and high-fives him.

“You always were my favorite, Sunghoon-hyung.”

“Is that why you think this—” Sunghoon waves his injured hand— “was ‘dumb as hell?’”

Riki’s eyes widen. “Listen. It was a lapse in judge —” 

“Great!” Sunoo chirps, determinedly cutting them both off. “Would you ask Heeseung-hyung if he wants to come too?” he continues, and both Sunghoon and Jaeyun freeze. Sunghoon’s heart does a little relay race in his chest. ( God, just from one singular mention of his name?) Sunoo carries on, oblivious. “I wanted to make posters and he has good handwri—” he looks up from his food to the no doubt slightly horrified looks on their faces and gives them a confused raise of his eyebrows. “Okay, so I know you’re not a fan of him,” Sunoo says slowly, “but I like him fine, and you’re like, the only one of us who has classes with him.”

Sunghoon blinks, thrown for a loop. 

“I could ask him after school,” Jaeyun tries in vain to salvage the situation, looking from Sunghoon to Sunoo and back again. “Or— why don’t you just text him, Sunoo-yah—”

“No, I can tell him,” Sunghoon interrupts, surprising even himself. His voice sounds cool, detached. Good. 

He’s always maintained that he doesn’t want whatever the hell is going on with Heeseung to come between the rest of their friendships— they don’t want to be that group and implode right before graduation— and this feels like the bare minimum. He can ignore his PMs, but he doesn’t know if he can avoid group outings with him without raising a few eyebrows. 

And— desensitization, you know? There has to be an end of the line somewhere. Maybe if he just pretends nothing is wrong, one day he’ll be able to think of Heeseung without immediately feeling this odd mixture of poisoned attraction. 

Once again his stomach twists with a glimmer of guilt about not telling anyone as Sunoo and Riki carry on talking, Jaeyun unsubtly watching him pick at his food with a modicum of wariness. The foundation on his wrist seems to itch more and more each day; the label even says, in literal fine print, that soulmarks aren’t meant to be covered for long, especially not twenty-four seven. He can’t keep this a secret forever, and they’ll feel bad if they find out long after the rest of the group has. 

So he’ll have to do it someday— but the bell rings to end lunch, and abruptly he decides, with a rush of relief, that it’s not today. 

All Jaeyun does is give him a slightly worried look as they leave the cafeteria, but Sunghoon still rolls his eyes and jerks his head at the hall, telling him to go. He’ll be fine, just like he was fine yesterday. He only broke, like, two bones. 

Even so, he’s a bit shocked to find that Heeseung’s there before him yet again, although this time he lets Sunghoon sit down and get all of his stuff out before he finally ventures to ask, quietly, “Did you block me yesterday?”

Sunghoon gives him a Look. “Yes,” he says shortly. “I don’t want to hear it,” he continues when Heeseung opens his mouth to say something else, looking hurt. Seriously, why does he always get to be so offended while Sunghoon apparently can’t even be mad for longer than two days? “And— Sunoo wanted me to tell you that we’re going to Jaeyun’s soccer game on Friday. If you can be bothered to come,” he adds scathingly.

“But—”

“I’m not interested in talking to you, Heeseung. It doesn’t matter what you have to say because I don’t care either way,” he snaps. “So shut up, would you? And leave me alone.” 

Heeseung looks at him from under his lashes for another long moment, blinking in a way that would make him feel guilty if he were a lesser man. But he’s not, so he stands his ground and tries not to squirm under his gaze. I mean it, he tries to say wordlessly by meeting his eyes so brazenly. He doesn’t want anything to do with Heeseung. He doesn’t. 

“Fine,” Heeseung says eventually, making him blink. “I’ll leave you alone.” 

And he doesn’t speak to him again after that. He doesn’t speak to anyone in the classroom at all, in fact, even though at least three people ask him what he got for number two, or if he’ll think about bringing in any cookies again, or what magazine he’s going to be in next. 

Sunghoon quietly does his work and orders himself to stop worrying about it.

(Spoiler alert: he doesn’t.)

— — —

It doesn’t get easier to deal with, per se, over the rest of the week, but it— yeah, nope. It doesn’t get any easier to deal with. 

It’s honestly kind of amazing just how much can fit into one measly fifty-minute math class, but it’s defined so much of his life over the last month and a half that it’s not even funny. First it was the bane of his existence, and then it was— for lack of a better word, kind of exciting— and now it’s gone back to being annoying as hell, like some sort of torture chamber. 

Heeseung’s insufferably quiet from that day forward— he doesn’t even ask him for the date anymore. Not that he did before or that Sunghoon would give it to him, but it’s the principle of the thing. No one who asks to be left alone when someone’s trying to apologize actually means it, do they? 

Maybe in Heeseung’s family things are a bit more well-adjusted, and they do— but either way, Sunghoon’s chafing under it. At the very least Heeseung could stand to look over once or twice. But nope. He stares at his desk the whole time, until Sunghoon’s sure he must have memorized every whorl in the wood, and even when he lifts his eyes, he never meets Sunghoon’s. 

Which brings them to Friday afternoon, where everybody’s tenuous control seems to snap a bit.

At first there’s nothing to it, just afternoon sunlight shining through the window and illuminating the sleepy, silent classroom, dust motes twinkling through the air with more enthusiasm than anyone has in taking notes; except for Lee Heeseung, of course. Because since when has his infuriating soulmate— gah, Sunghoon’s still not used to thinking of him that way — ever done anything halfway? (Except for apologizing, apparently.)

Anyway. It’s been twenty minutes since class began, and the teacher’s still talking. The initial discomfort of sitting next to Heeseung while they’re both so hostile has faded into bored lethargy. His eyes are struggling to stay open as he stares at the board, the concept of writing notes a thing of the past.

It’s karma that gets him in the end. His eyes trained on the board, he waits until the teacher turns his back and, cautiously, mindful of the dead silence of the room, he starts inching his hand across the desk to take his phone out of his jacket’s pocket. 

Next to him, Heeseung shifts slightly, sighing and leaning back in his chair, and even as Sunghoon startles at the sudden movement—

Their hands brush.

Sunghoon freezes; distantly, he feels Heeseung do the same. His heart stutters in his chest, a chill racing down his spine.

He’s barely had time to blink before his body moves automatically at the same time as Heeseung’s— they jerk their hands away from each other as though burned. 

Sunghoon’s aware that he’s sitting bolt upright, uncomfortably so, spine rigid and expression stricken. His eyes dart to Heeseung’s without a single thought behind the motion, and he’s— shockingly, he’s looking back.

He’s ashamed to say his stomach bottoms out.

He’s been through this before, but in context it bears repeating— in general it bears repeating, because it’s driving him up the fucking wall— but Heeseung’s eyes have always been so hard for him to meet. They’re a force of nature unto themselves, and whenever they narrow in anger at him, his heartbeat goes haywire. He knows this. He’s not proud of it, but he knows it and understands it and has… mostly been dealing with it until now. (That point is not open to constructive criticism, thanks.)

But now— now he feels like he’s being punched in the gut.

Those eyes are startling, is what they are— they’re arresting. They’re big and brown and expressive; Sunghoon looks into his eyes, and he gets a little hypnotized. Maybe that’s all there is to it— maybe they’re just eyes and he’s a guy who goes a little crazy when he catches the sunlight shining into them— ugh. 

Sometimes— all the time— he wishes Heeseung wasn’t so damn good-looking. It would make it a lot easier to hate him. 

Those startling, arresting doe eyes widen at the contact with Sunghoon’s, and his mouth opens and shuts without making a sound, clearly struggling to— or to not— say something. He looks different than earlier, somehow, as though Sunghoon looked away for a week and is now coming back to find someone new has replaced the boy he used to— not know, really, but hate? The boy he used to— whatever the hell it was they were doing. 

He looks a bit thinner, alarmingly— because sometimes Sunghoon may want to punch him in his perfect teeth, but he has a line and it’s drawn well before Heeseung’s actual health and safety. More than that, though, he looks more— lackluster. Finished. Exhausted. He looks a lot more like the rest of the bored teenagers in this classroom— exasperated with having to be here, sick of the grind, ready to move on.

It makes his heart sink, just a little. Because Lee Heeseung’s not supposed to do anything halfway. 

Slowly he comes to realize he’s been staring and Heeseung has been staring back for a ridiculous amount of time and blinks, coming back to himself. The memory of him ranting about how much he hates Sunghoon resurfaces in his mind, and his mood sours. He inhales sharply and looks away. Heeseung does the same, quickly.

He’s panting. Why is he out of breath?

Sunghoon tremulously goes back to looking at the board. The teacher’s on a completely new equation. 

He swallows, insides all jumbled, and his eyes dart down to his hand against his will, breath catching as he sees the slightest outline of the bluebells on his wrist, foundation prickling. There’s a telltale smear on the end of his sleeve; with a sharp inhale, he grabs it and pulls it down over the mark, heart jumping nervously. 

He looks back up at Heeseung, hesitantly, and his heart does something else destabilizing as he catches him staring intently down at Sunghoon’s hand, at the barely visible blue-violet hue peeking out from under the makeup. 

And it’s like something clicks in his mind, a puzzle piece pushing into place, a string turning into tune. He was meant to meet Lee Heeseung— and what comes after is up to them, but this soulmark, this person, was always going to happen to him. 

He knew they were soulmates before, okay? He knew. He knew.

But now he knows. This is not going away. This isn’t a fluke, or a mistake. This is fate. They’re— connected, for better or worse. Definitely for worse.

But still. They’re soulmates.

His eyes dart to Heeseung again, swallowing, biting his lip to keep from saying something because Heeseung’s clearly about to, and for once the quivering anticipation of finally hearing him speak is more powerful than the nervous urge to break the silence himself.

“Is that—?” Heeseung whispers, barely audible, and a rush of panic shoots through his veins as he realizes Heeseung wants to ask about the stupdid soulmark.

Sunghoon shakes his head and pulls down his sleeve again, determinedly not meeting his eyes. Stop, he mouths, and Heeseung’s expression flickers to something like frustration before drooping back into the customary woe is me look he’s been sending Sunghoon’s way for the last week.

What is it? Heeseung asks, ignoring him either way. 

Sunghoon gives him a Look that wordlessly says no, and in response receives— what can really only be called puppy eyes. His stomach does a backflip, and then another. Don’t look at me like that, he thinks furiously, because now he feels like the deer caught in headlights. 

Heeseung tilts his head, even as Sunghoon nervously looks over at the teacher to check they’re not about to be caught— is this guy ignoring them on purpose at this point?— and then back again. Heeseung makes the slightest motion with his chin towards Sunghoon’s hand. What is it? he mouths again, still giving him that puppy-eyed look, all wide and innocent and torturous.

“—and that should be all for today, everyone,” the teacher says loudly, and half the class startles at the sudden uptick in volume, Sunghoon and Heeseung included. The tension of the moment shatters, Sunghoon blinking as though trying to get himself out of a daze, irrationally angry at both Heeseung and this horrible teacher— “If you slept through this lecture, then don’t come and ask me for help,” he goes on, looking over his glasses at them all like he’ll get a raise for subscribing to enough movie tropes. “Now, the homework problems are on the board…”

Almost immediately a wave of chatter picks up, and Heeseung apparently decides to pounce on the opportunity, not giving Sunghoon more than a second to collect his thoughts. “Sunghoon-ah—” he starts.

“Stop it,” Sunghoon responds immediately, hotly, and once more anger comes easier, erupts inside of him and then out with hardly a spark needed to set it ablaze. “What— Heeseung, what do you even want to say to me? This isn’t— it’s not something you stupid you did that I’ll just get over,” he snaps, face flushing as he remembers the students around them. No one’s listening, but his voice still dips into a whispered hiss as he talks, hating the proximity of everyone around them, their loud discussions.

“I swear I didn’t mean it, though,” Heeseung responds after a moment, surprise flitting across his face and then melting into the earnestness that Sunghoon has come to realize is characteristic of him, enlivening his face. “It could have been Jongseong and I’d—”

“You’d have said all of that? The same things?” Sunghoon mutters, giving him a proper glare. “Don’t fucking lie to me—”

“I’m not. I really…” he sighs, breath escaping him shakily, and for a horrible moment Sunghoon thinks he’s going to cry. As if mirroring him, the urge bubbles up into his throat as well, a lump forming, eyes stinging. God, not in here, not in the middle of class. “I really am sorry. Please, Sunghoon, I swear. I’m sorry,” he says passionately, and the way he looks back at Sunghoon after saying it makes his heart sink, his mouth shut on another snappy retort, a tirade. 

“I… It’s not okay, though,” Sunghoon responds after a long, long moment, swallowing around the shards of ice in his throat, because it’s not, but it’s also not supposed to feel this terrible to keep shooting someone down, especially when they deserve it.

“I know it’s not,” Heeseung says quietly. “But I— I’m going to be selfish for a second,” he goes on, drawing in another wavering breath— although thankfully his eyes are dry. “And say that I really don’t want you to hate me. I don’t think you did before, and I— I just really don’t want you to now.”

“Why does it even matter,” Sunghoon begins, frustrated beyond belief, but Heeseung cuts him off again.

“Just— at least tell me what it is,” Heeseung says, changing tack. “I know you won’t show me, and—”

“Bluebells,” Sunghoon snaps, waving his hand dramatically, and after a second Heeseung’s eyes widen, expression clearing somewhat. “There you go. It’s not like there’s any significance to it.”
Heeseung’s lips press together. “But… there is? There’s— all flowers mean something, Sunghoon-ah, there’s a language to it,” he says softly. 

“Wha—” But even as he’s starting to speak, the breath whooshes from Sunghoon’s lungs, his own eyes widening. That’s— how come he never considered that? How did no one—?

It’s… because he didn’t spend more than two seconds researching, and then because— well, no one knows. How would anyone have told him?

“Then— this—?” he stammers, anger momentarily forgotten. 

Heeseung’s eyes capture his again, like a fly caught in honey. He hesitates, tilts his head, lips pinching to one side and then smoothing out again, as though he’s uncomfortable, or considering. 

“They…  they mean sincerity, Sunghoon-ah,” he says, sounding relieved. “They— regret, basically. They mean I regret it, and that I meant it when I said I was sorry a lot more than I did while I was mad.”

Sunghoon swallows, not bothering to try and circumvent him. The moment he gets out of class he can google it and confirm, but what his morbid curiosity seizes on next is: “So what did I—?” he nods at Heeseung’s shoulder. Heeseung’s eyes dart down to look at the table, almost shamefully, and Sunghoon’s stomach twists. Something… bad? There are flowers with negative connotations, aren’t there?
“I… haven’t been able to find out what,” he mumbles, and that’s the worst nonanswer Sunghoon has ever heard. 

“So I have to show you but you can’t show me?”

“I’d have to take off my entire shirt,” Heeseung says pointedly, a touch of annoyance creeping into his tone— so it must have been really bad, then— “so if you want me to do that in the middle of class, then feel free to investi—”

“You are so fucking bad at apologizing,” Sunghoon interrupts, turning back to the front again, still half-reeling. 

“You— um, you’re right,” Heeseung says after a moment, and Sunghoon just turns to look at him incredulously, half-annoyed now even by his humility. “I— listen, if you—”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Sunghoon says decisively, expression dark, hand curling into a fist. “I have to— cover this up properly,” he mutters, grabbing his sleeve again and standing.

“But—”

“And stop calling me Sunghoon-ah like we’re friends or something,” he adds, pushing in his chair. “It’s fucking with my head.” 

(The look on Heeseung’s face as he finally storms off, all downcast and guilty, doesn’t hold an ounce of vindictive satisfaction anymore.)

But it’s not like Sunghoon goes home and thinks about it for ages, the feeling that this new revelation brings on. He doesn’t think about Heeseung’s eyes, or the hesitant way he looked at Sunghoon, or the sincere apology written all over his face and marked on Sunghoon’s wrist in permanent, vibrant blue. He doesn’t.

What’s less dramatic than the entirety of that confrontation— which he doesn’t return to, by the way, just waits out the bell mindlessly scrolling through Instagram in the bathroom and then avoids so much as looking Heeseung’s way when he passes him going out the door— but perhaps more telling is how he finds himself feeling hollow, by the end of the week. Like he’s missing something. (Some one.) 

He gets a perfect score on an English test— and English is his worst subject— and for a few moments his first thought is god I can’t wait to see the look on Heeseung’s face. And then he remembers, and the satisfaction fades. 

Without the motivation to one-up Heeseung, his grades aren’t— suffering, so to speak, because he still has college to go to and parents to satisfy, but they’ve definitely stagnated a bit. The fun’s been sucked out of it.

Because it… kind of was fun, wasn’t it? Winning, of course, but for some reason losing had a different excitement of its own, an adrenaline rush of both rage and anticipation. Leaning back in his chair and saying I’ll get you next time, and then working his ass off to live up to his word. The bickering, the teasing. The way Heeseung used to look at him when he won, the smirk on his face, that little light in his eyes. 

(Not that he’ll ever admit it to himself, but Heeseung himself was always part of the challenge, wasn’t he? Getting him to snap, goading him into a response, drawing his attention back to Sunghoon. Because apparently he’s become his worst nightmare and has fallen from grace and into showing off for guys. Well— singular, actually. One guy.)

He flounders through the rest of the week somehow. The plan is to sulk about this for the rest of eternity, never speak to Heeseung again while simultaneously thinking about him all day every day, and try not to break any more bones. 

It’s a wonderful plan, in his opinion.

(Too bad Yang Jungwon has a different one.)

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIX: PHLOX

affability, trying to please you

From the moment Sunghoon turns and runs, soulmark fresh and burning on his hand, to when Heeseung wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat nearly twelve hours later is a terrifyingly blurry period, lost to the overwhelmed recesses of his mind.

He blinks his eyes open, mouth horrifically dry, overheated and generally miserable under the covers. Throwing them off, he sits up abruptly, heart beating swiftly. For a moment he can’t remember where he is or how he got here; his hand fumbles for his phone on instinct, the feeling of being out of place and time only intensifying when he doesn’t find it on his bedside table.

Swallowing painfully, he stands up, intending to go knock on his brother’s door, and realizes after a long moment, brain going slower than molasses, that he’s still wearing his school uniform, coat and all. 

He pats his pockets, impressively uncoordinated, and fishes his phone out, shoulders slumping in relief. 

The screen’s too bright in the dim gloom of his room, but he doesn’t bother to turn it down, instead staring in disbelief at the time. It’s… 4 in the morning? Not to mention he has a ton of texts from Jongseong of all people, who—

Who probably knows exactly what happened today— yesterday?— with— with— 

He tosses his phone on his bed, immediately stripping off his jacket and beginning to stumble across the room to the door. He throws it behind him and hurries as quietly as he can down the hall to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and then flicking on the switch, wincing at the sudden onslaught of light. 

In the mirror he looks downright sick, hair plastered to his forehead, skin pasty, dark circles under his eyes. The AC’s pumping cool air through the room, and the tiles are cold against his feet, which helps somewhat, but either way, before anything, he turns on the sink and splashes water over his face, not caring if it drips all over his clothes. 

And then he unbuttons the white shirt under his jacket, pulse thudding hard in his chest, making his fingers shake. 

There’s a sort of stillness that comes over him when he tugs it off, turns his shoulder into the light, and finds the soulmark that Sunghoon had left on him still there. The rest of the world goes on, but Heeseung? Heeseung inhales and holds it and lets himself shut down, as though he can feel the cogs inside him coming to a stop one by one, still listening to the too-loud chirps of crickets from outside, the ambient sound of wind, the slight crackle and fizz of the lightbulb above his head that’s due to sputter out any day now. 

It’s the same thing he did this afternoon, how he turned around and got on the bus and came home and weaved through the house to collapse on his bed. He vaguely recalls Junseo coming in to wake him for dinner and not even being able to move, just refusing enough times for him to get annoyed and eventually give up. They’ve all probably assumed he’s sick or something. 

He stands there just staring, stomach turning, for so long that he jumps when he feels his eyes begin to sting, immediately cringing away from the sensation of hot tears dripping down his face. 

The stillness breaks, and with it breaks his self-control— he drops his elbows onto the rim of the sink, burying his face in his hands, heart aching almost physically. 

It’s just— this is all wrong, it’s all backwards, it’s all— it’s all so messed up from what it’s supposed to be. 

He hunches in on himself, stifling a sob into his hands, and thinks, with all the self-pity that he hates with every fiber of his being, that I was supposed to have this, I was supposed to be able to enjoy this one fucking thing about my life— 

Because the thing is that Heeseung’s always wanted a soulmate. He’s always craved to have someone like that, someone to support him, someone to hold onto, someone he could love unconditionally and who would love him.

When he was a kid he gladly went along with the tradition of touching all of your new classmates at the start of every year, or that universal agreement among little kids at the park to greet each other with high fives. One of his fondest childhood memories is of the first day of fifth grade, when their teachers let them stand in lines of all sorts of combinations— January birthdays, kids over five feet, only children— and run around slapping their palms against each other in two, haphazard, elementary schooler lines, ribbons tied around all their wrists. The whole school got in on it, and they found, surprisingly, two pairs of soulmates: two third graders realized their red strings led to each other, and a fourth and fifth grader who had been colorblind were suddenly able to see the world in its full spectrum of colors. 

He, like most people he knows, doesn’t even know who his first kiss was— he thinks it was a Chinese girl he met at a playground once, but who knows how well his four year old brain would have remembered that? Maybe there was someone before. Maybe that was a fragment from a dream. The point still stands.

With time that childlike wonder and fascination has faded: eventually reality had to set in. For some people it takes longer to meet their fated partners— look at Junseo, twenty-two and in college and still soulmate-less. Statistically, 50% of people meet their soulmates after twenty-five; it’s evenly spread throughout the earlier stages of life. The older he got, the easier it became to understand that, and to accept it. And with middle school came dating, and crushes, and a sudden shift in interest from soulmates to relationships based purely on attraction, without that universal push. He’s not that same kid anymore, the one who thought all soulmates had perfect relationships and frequently met by clumsily kissing under the monkey bars. 

But maybe it’s not as gone as it should be, that shine and luster. Maybe it never really wore off. The part of him that longs for something exactly as wonderful as he sees in the movies, like the love story that Soo-ah and Hyerin had, is rejuvenated every time he looks at his parents, at Jungwon and Jongseong’s casual touches and synced conversations, how they’ll get lost in their own world together sometimes.

And so— and so of course Heeseung wants that for himself. It’s just always been a fact of life. Junseo used to ask Santa for toys, and whatever he was collecting that year, and a girlfriend if he could somehow get an elf to figure out how that one would work. And Heeseung used to ask for a soulmate, year after year, and no one was surprised. It’s a stereotype, but it’s not one he ever had an issue with fitting into— lover not a fighter, wise beyond his years, not the heartbreaker but the one who pieced you back together afterward. Ahjummas used to pinch his cheeks and pat his head and say someday he’ll make someone very happy, and Heeseung would vow to himself that he’d prove them right.

And maybe he started buying into it too much, at some point. Maybe he never grew up past that urge to ask for a soulmate for Christmas and expect it on a silver platter, under the tree, addressed to: Heeseung. 

And the juxtaposition between ten year old Heeseung’s sweet daydreams and the cold hard reality of what he is to Park Sunghoon and what Park Sunghoon is to him is making him wonder if he should have just shut up and asked for a Nintendo like everyone else— forget that his parents couldn’t afford it, forget the conversation that would happen Christmas morning when he unwrapped the box and didn’t find what he wanted— because then he might not have gotten his wish, but at least he’d have dealt with the pain already. 

— — — 

Heeseung’s alarm goes off the next morning with all of the earsplitting tactlessness of a banshee, slamming him over the head with an onslaught of noise. 

His forehead gives a pained throb as he reaches over and punches the already dinged button with an entire fist to turn it off, facedown on the pillow with one leg dangling down onto the floor for the monsters under the bed to cut his Achilles tendon. 

A quiet snort comes from his other side, and the mattress shifts, a creak echoing through the now blissfully silent room. 

Heeseung slowly opens his eyes, although he already knows who’s there— Junseo has a habit of just sitting around him whenever he’s sick, offering company or fetching tissues. 

“G’morning,” his brother croaks, sounding about as awake as Heeseung feels. He’s stretched out on the bed next to him, neck slumped in an unfortunate position against the pillows. Bright light illuminates the top half of his face, ghost-like, from his phone screen; behind him, the window curtains shimmer a translucent gray from the approaching dawn. 

“When did you get here?” Heeseung mumbles, shutting his eyes again and letting out a long breath. Physically he’s doing what seems to be much better than last night— or two hours ago, when he crawled back into bed and cried himself to sleep; he got himself some water, turned on the fan, and didn’t bother putting his clothes back on, so he’s pleasantly cool underneath the sheets now. But facing the world again is a prospect that lands like a knife to the stomach, forming a lump in his throat he has to breathe around. 

“Like an hour ago,” Junseo mutters back. “Eomma woke me up to come see if you were dead—“

“Am I?” Heeseung asks quietly.

“No, dumbass, but that didn’t sound like a joke to me,” Junseo says suspiciously, and Heeseung instinctively tenses under his blanket. Shit.

If there’s anyone that can always pin down when he’s lying then it’s Junseo— Junseo who knows him inside out, Junseo who’s been tattling on him since the ripe age of two, Junseo who is sitting right next to him despite how he forgot to put a shirt on before going to bed—

Abruptly Heeseung is wide awake, eyes snapping open and arms flailing as he quickly rolls over, taking the blanket burrito he’s buried in with him. Thankfully his shoulder remains under the sheets the whole time, the soulmark hidden.

“So what’s going on?” Junseo asks with a sigh. “You just came home and faceplanted. It’s been like fifteen hours— I haven’t seen you sleep this much since that time you had pneumonia five years ago—”

“I don’t have pneumonia,” Heeseung tells his bedroom ceiling, still breathless and wide-eyed from the close call. 

There’s not much Junseo doesn’t know about him— in fact it’s probably an exercise in futility to try and keep this from him— but that doesn’t mean Heeseung can’t try. 

Junseo shifts closer, and Heeseung turns to look at him half a second before a clumsy hand descends onto his forehead, finger thwacking his nose. 

“Ow.”

“No fever,” Junseo mumbles to himself, pulling his hand back and making a face at Heeseung that has his lips twitching. “You gotta talk, ‘seung. Was it you in the courtyard with the candlestick? Are you sick?”

“It was Peacock,” Heeseung grins despite himself. “And I’m… not sick. Mostly.”

“So you slept for fifteen hours straight for… fun…?” Junseo prompts, flopping onto the bed to lie down properly, giving him a Look that tells Heeseung he’d better not try and bullshit his way out of this.

“I’m just stressed,” Heeseung admits, averting his eyes— they’ve had that conversation enough times. “So I’m fine. Just needed to sleep.”

“I don’t believe you,” Junseo responds immediately, almost before Heeseung’s even done speaking.

Heeseung sighs. “I know you don’t.”

“So why bother ly—”

“Hyung,” Heeseung says forcefully. “I’m gonna be late for work.”

“You still want to go to work?” 

His options are either to sit here and think about this, let it consume him, or to be able to ignore it for at least another twelve hours. 

“Yep,” Heeseung confirms, matter-of-fact, detached. “I haven’t been this well-rested in months, anyway.”

It takes him about half an hour to shake off Junseo properly amidst getting ready, but once he does, the rest of the morning is depressingly easy to get through on autopilot. Sit here, get makeup done, change into this, wait around for an hour or ten. Watch the clock hit eleven and sigh, because sure, he could say he’d like to call it night; he could also get replaced in an instant with someone prettier or newer or more talented. It’s becoming exceptionally rare that he enjoys this.

The first evening of the promised three day shoot is a bit of a flurry, as expected, but it finds Heeseung in a corner by himself next to a stack of homework he’s done most of yet comprehended none of and with a phone whose charge is dwindling low from the amount of Subway Surfers he’s played. The clothes he’s in are kind of itchy, thin but wiry mesh spreading over his chest. When he shifted at certain angles, earlier today, there was a smudge that appeared on his shoulder that the stylists were quick to cover up, no questions asked. Thank god for discreet coworkers and NDAs. 

But now, after finally catching a somewhat private moment…

He waits, still distractedly playing the game, until the photographer nearby finishes taking a drink of water and heads back to his tripod, leaving the corner properly empty, and then immediately switches to google, staring down with slightly nervous, shaking fingers and no small amount of trepidation.

He lets out a long breath, leaning back in his chair. The sad part is that he’s really kind of excited about this, has been saving it, reading up about his soulmark. In some other universe he probably would have lit some candles and put on mood music so that a few well-chosen timeless love songs could tide him through his journey of self discovery on soulmates.edu. 

But in this one, it’s just him in a glittery fishnet toga masquerading as a shirt, lights dim in the studio, resigned to the reality of not having the time or the will to do anything that fancy.

Now or never. So he types in flower soulmarks and starts reading, skimming all the statistics and sources and pictures of famous celebrities showing them off. Use concealer liberally, may or may not glow in the dark (that’s a no), in rare cases may move or grow on their own. 

The further he scrolls the more his nervous excitement fizzles. There are plenty of interesting caveats detailed here, but none seem to apply in any capacity to him— no tingle when his soulmate is happy, no color changing with their mood, no spontaneous migration across his body at the flower’s own whims. Just a single, stationary yellow flower that he’s hardly been able to get half a good look at since it first bloomed to life on his arm. 

He sighs and idly swings his foot out, hooking it around a probably-precarious cart of equipment and rolling it slowly back and forth. Soccer player Choi Danbi with her bright white daisies, 50% off soulmark photography with SoulPhoto, Soulmarkers found to be toxic against human skin—

Potential meanings, says the second column, and all of a sudden his stomach bottoms out.

Oh… god. Oh no, oh fuck.

He sits bolt upright in his seat, foot slipping off the cart and landing on the floor with a soft slap. His eyes dart up tentatively, head moving up only minutely, to slowly dart a glance across the room. No one’s looking, not even half-bothered. (He almost wishes they would be.)

Because— meanings? What does he do with the possibility of Park Sunghoon having left some— some I hate you flower on him? Whatever they put in the mean bouquets that’ll secretly give you horrible allergies or that your cat will eat and throw up onto the carpet or that will smell downright horrible?

It's a struggle to keep his mouth shut and lean back calmly, as though the words aren’t physically aching to spill out. Why didn’t he tell Junseo when he had the chance?

But ultimately curiosity wins out over the panic bubbling up his throat, and he starts scrolling, as fast as he physically can. Acacia, ambrosia, amaryllis— no, no, no. Nothing in the Bs that matches, nothing in the Cs, nothing in the Ds. 

By G, his thumb’s started to hurt, hand curling into an impatient fist against his knee. Not all of them are good— begonias mean ‘beware’, yellow carnations, ‘rejection’; yellow chrysanthemums, ‘slighted love’; yellow hyacinths, ‘jealousy’. 

Every badly connotated yellow flower he scrolls past is another stone dropping into the pit of his stomach, another low swoop of his heart until it’s resting somewhere close to six feet under, mouth twisted mournfully, throat aching once more but now from the effort not to cry. The noise of the studio around him, normally a familiar background, is fading away entirely to the blood pounding through his eardrums, the all-consuming morbid curiosity that’s keeping his thumb swiping. 

He hasn’t recognized any of the pictures yet. So maybe…. maybe . 

By the point he hits S, his eyes are swimming with frustrated tears, daring him to cry for the third time in the last twenty four hours. One of the stylists really will kill him, god—

His thumb stills. 

All at once there’s a small part of Heeseung that withers a little inside, that uncurls and then unravels like untied yarn, too fast to catch in your fingers. If reeling with all that’s happened over the last day has been heavy, then this last straw, the way all of him is coming loose, is lightheaded and woozy, dazed. It’s the same sort of reaction that comes from sticking your hand into water that’s too hot— the first sensation that scalds your skin is cold. It’s reversed. 

The flower that Sunghoon’s left on his arm— is a tansy. 

They look like dandelions. They’re ranked three thousand four eighty nine in commonality on the 1-5000 list of flower soulmarks. They can vary in size from a pinkie tip to a full back’s worth. 

And although there are multiple meanings, the only one that has any significance to Heeseung, that makes sense to him in this goddamned studio where all of the strings holding him up are falling off their hooks, the only one that echoes in his ears instead of the dim, muted calls of the photographer for him to please come take his position, is—

War. Tansies mean war. 

— — — 

Somehow, Heeseung makes it through the next two days without anyone noticing that his entire perception of reality has been flipped upside down, sent through a meat grinder, and then flushed through a garbage disposal. (He’s never once going to go back and look at the pictures from this photoshoot.)

His manager tells him it went well. Just that he was— missing something. It’s funny; he’s actually found something: his other half, the yin to his yang, the stars to his moon, and all it’s doing is making him feel like shit. 

It’s— in theory it’s a memory he wanted to treasure, meeting his soulmate. In practice it turns out most treasures are better off locked in a chest anyway. 

When he does get home on Friday evening, the shoot finally having wrapped on the third day as promised, he opens the door to a call from the kitchen, “Heeseungie? Is that you? Your friend’s here!”

For a heart-stopping, terrifying moment, he thinks it might be Sunghoon. 

There’s— the thought of Sunghoon in this house, in his kitchen, talking to his mother, first of all, isn’t one he can bear. It’s just too surreal; Sunghoon belongs at school during the day and in the privacy of his mind at all other times. He doesn’t belong in reality. What part of ‘homoerotic academic rivalry’, in Junseo’s words, screams reality? 

And then logic finally comes and knocks him on the head, gives him a chill out, man sort of look. Sunghoon does not know his address, or his mother. Sunghoon recently ran in the opposite direction from him. 

Also— amusingly, worryingly— Heeseung can’t reconcile the idea of Sunghoon introducing himself as a friend even in front of his mother. He’d probably come up with fifty different embarrassing ways to circumvent the word rather than go the simple route and just let her believe it. Who honestly cares? Heeseung would ask, and Sunghoon would respond— and he can see the expression on his face so clearly in his mind’s eye; the glint in his eyes, the defiant tilt of his chin, the uptick in his brows— me. I care. Because he always does care about the wrong things.

“I’m coming,” Heeseung calls out, but his brows furrow as he takes his coat off and hangs it up, glancing at the muted TV playing the news as though it’ll have some answers for him. “Who—”

He rounds the corner into the kitchen, where his mom’s stirring a pot and Jongseong’s awkwardly eating a cookie, leaning against the counter. He only looks slightly less out of place here than Sunghoon would. 

“Jongseongie,” Heeseung greets, forgetting to smile for a long moment. “Hey,” he says, offering one after a pause that stretches for too many seconds, and then trails off. Jongseong gives him a grimace. 

There’s a bad feeling ruminating in his stomach about all this, and maybe it’s just left over from his first thought, that it was Sunghoon, but Jongseong didn’t call before coming and is standing there looking much less amused and much more grim than he should for a casual visit to a friend. And then there’s the irrefutable certainty that Sunghoon told someone— and who first if not their best friends?

“You two go upstairs,” his mom shoos them, oblivious. “And please feel free to stay for dinner, Jongseong-ah,” she adds, grinning at the two of them. She gets ahold of Heeseung and gives him a few embarrassing kisses on the cheek, which has Jongseong cracking a smile, but the silence as they head up to his room is both telling and worrying. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks the moment Jongseong shuts the door behind him. He flops down onto the bed, watching Jongseong take everything in. He’s been here before, but he’s never actually come inside the house, just dropped Heeseung off on the street or caught a glimpse through the front door. It’s not that Heeseung’s embarrassed— because really, living in an apartment complex on a street like this probably speaks for itself— but at the same time, there’s a reason he doesn’t really bring friends that are used to three story mansions over here. 

“Wait, you—” Heeseung’s eyes widen. “You texted. I totally… I forgot, I’m sorry—”

“Hyung,” Jongseong starts, and Heeseung’s only too happy to shut up. Jongseong makes a face, and if it was anyone else Heeseung would have thought he was thinking something through— with Jongseong, there’s always a chance he’s speaking to Jungwon instead. “What— what did you say to Sunghoon?”

Heeseung blinks. “I— what?” he asks, voice stilted. “I mean— I—”

“I’ve heard a lot of things— mostly from Jaeyun,” Jongseong says slowly. “Is he right? Are you and Sunghoonie…”

Heeseung looks away, swallowing. “Yeah,” he says, a lump forming in his throat as though even his body understands the implications of voicing this aloud. “We’re… I guess we’re soulmates.”

The words hang there in the air, over his head, over Jongseong’s, lingering. He doesn’t dare look up. “You’re— hyung,” he says a little helplessly. “How the fuck did you just find out?”

Heeseung runs a hand over his face. “I honestly don’t know,” he mumbles, and Jongseong splutters.

“But what did you say to him? Did you tell him you didn’t want him or something, because—”

“What?” Heeseung’s head snaps up, eyes widening. “I— who told you— is that what Jaeyun thinks?”

“That’s what everyone thinks,” Jongseong says grimly, and there’s a note of something that sounds like tension climbing in his voice. “Is that… true, hyung?”

It’s— god. How does he even begin to answer that question?

If he was going to try and explain, at risk of sounding a little unhinged, he’d put it like this: there’s two different perspectives in his head right now, and trying to reconcile them is like trying to push two same-sided magnets together. The side of him that feels so horribly guilty for hurting his soulmate like this is screaming its lungs off that he’s being so stupid sitting here and hesitating, that of course he wants Sunghoon, that this is all his fault. This is on him. Heeseung swore up and down his whole life to take care of his eventual soulmate, to love them unconditionally, to be as understanding and caring and loving as he could. Give them 110%. 

(Sunghoon thus far has probably received… 5%, if he’s generous with that analysis, of the care he knows he can muster.) 

He’s better than this— he was supposed to be so much better than this. 

The side of him that is a good bit more selfish and can acknowledge that Sunghoon’s not some perfect angel unconditionally deserving of his undying love and devotion says maybe he’s not unjustified in feeling the way he does, that— well, that the gift under the Christmas tree was something he clung to his whole life like a safety net, knowing someone would be there someday, daydreaming about their eventual arrival, and now they’re not who he thought they would be. Like it or not, that half of him is wary, and a little hurt too, a little wounded at the way the universe has handled this, and the way the two of them have too. It’s not like he went off at Sunghoon wholly unprovoked. 

“You— hyung,” Jongseong says, interrupting his train of thought. He looks up and immediately realizes with a nervous twist of his stomach that he’s been silent too long. Jongseong’s mouth drops open. “I— is this really what you’re like? You don’t want him?”

The meaning of his words catches up to Heeseung, and he starts as well, standing up and shaking his head urgently. “Of course I— I care about him, Jongseong-ah, please don’t think that I don’t. I feel so terrible about all of it, but I just— I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to him,” he says, expression twisting. 

“You’re supposed to say you’re sorry,” Jongseong snaps, and he steps forward with the kind of determination Heeseung noticed in him ten seconds after they first met, dormant unless he finds a source. “You’re supposed to go make up with him and— aren’t you supposed to be the best of us, hyung?” he demands, and there’s a kind of betrayal in his expression as well that makes Heeseung’s heart twist. “I always thought you two were fighting for stupid reasons, you know, that you’d get over it—”

“I’m not mad at him,” Heeseung says helplessly, and Jongseong’s incredulity only seems to grow. 

“You’re not mad at him? Hyung, you told him something horrible— I don’t even know what— right when you found out you were soulmates , and now you’re—”

“I really am fucking sorry,” Heeseung says, and the words speak of anger, of lashing out wrongfully, but his voice wavers sincerely, eyes stinging. “He didn’t deserve that, I— I’m not disappointed,” he says carefully. “That it’s him. I’m not— of course I want him, Jongseong-ah, the only thing either of us did for this to be the way it is was to be born. I’m just— I’m— I wasn’t ready for this, I didn’t think— if I had known I would never have—“ he gestures helplessly, pleadingly. 

Jongseong’s eyes are flinty, blazing, but he takes a step back, allows Heeseung to gather his thoughts. It only makes them spiral more— why is Jongseong so much better at this than he is? How did he and Jungwon figure things out so quickly and easily? 

But he has to tell Jongseong something— he has to decide something for himself, too. There’s been enough wallowing. Now, how… how on earth does he begin to fix this? 

“I’m really sorry for what I said to Sunghoon,” Heeseung mutters— true. “I wish I could take it back, I wish— that we hadn’t found out like that.” Also true. “And I don’t want him to think that I hate him, or that I don’t want him, or something, because that’s not true.” To his relief, that makes a hat trick.

“Okay,” Jongseong says slowly in response. “Are you working through this right now?”

“I— yeah, Jongseong-ah, I’ve been a mess for the last couple of days,” Heeseung admits. “I had one idea of Sunghoon, right, and I swear to you it wasn’t all bad like you’re thinking. He’s just a kid—”

“I’m pissed at you for saying that on his behalf,” Jongseong interrupts wryly, mouth quirking just the slightest bit. “You know how much he’d hate to hear you say that?”

Heeseung sighs. It’s about time he started trying to make an effort to appease him anyway, so— “You’re right, I know. He’s not a kid. We were both pretty stupid about all this,” he mumbles. Yeah, fine, they didn’t like each other much. But whenever he stopped to think about it, wasn’t the most annoying thing about Sunghoon that he was good at everything? That he never backed down? Wouldn’t that have been a good thing in any other context? “But I had that idea of him, and now two months after I met him I find out we’re— fated to be together,” he says, shoulders slumping. “Written in the stars.”

“Hyung—”

“And it doesn’t make sense to me, that all of this was supposed to happen,” Heeseung continues, sitting back down and running his hands through his hair. “Why would the universe choose to make us ha— strongly dislike each other,” he corrects, because hate has been definitively proven to be a word he’s been throwing around far too lightly, “for so long?”

“Nobody told you guys to do that. That was all you.”

“So then we were going against fate? But that doesn’t make any sense either, because—”

“Hyung!” Jongseong exclaims, stalking forward and putting his hands on his shoulders. “Listen to me. This is going to sound harsh, and I’m sorry— I really do respect you a lot, but I know more about this than you do,” he says, in that brazen yet unapologetic manner of his, jaw set. “Fate is— fate is really fucking stupid, hyung,” he admits, and Heeseung lets out a breathy little laugh, more an exhalation than true amusement. “I’m serious. Fate fucks up everything. If you do everything based on what fate of all things is supposedly telling you, then you think Sunghoon won’t notice? You think Jungwonie didn’t notice when I tried to turn myself into the kind of boyfriend I thought he wanted instead of just doing what I wanted?”

Heeseung’s momentarily stunned silent. “You and Jungwon… I always thought you just clicked,” he says quietly.

“We did,” Jongseong sighs. “It was never a huge deal for us. We had a few conversations about it, I think we took a break for a grand total of a week, and then when we tried again we started as friends instead. And then… everything else came naturally,” he shrugs. “I’m not— I’m sorry for coming here and inserting myself into this, it’s between you and Sunghoon,” he starts.

“No, no,” Heeseung says immediately. “Thanks for telling me that, Jongseongie.”

“Okay,” Jongseong whispers, looking away and swallowing. “I think what I learned from that,” he says, thinking through the words slowly, “is that we still have choices. Yes, you’re soulmates, but that doesn’t have to mean you marry him.”

Heeseung hesitates, eyes searching Jongseong’s. As always, he finds nothing but earnestness, the uncertainty that comes with him searching Heeseung’s eyes in turn. 

“Jongseong,” he says quietly. “There’s… you’re missing one very important thing here.”

“What?” Jongseong asks, brows furrowing further.

“We found out because we got soulmarks,” Heeseung starts. “And mine is— a tansy. Tansies… they mean war, Jongseongie.” Jongseong’s expression goes slack. “So what do I do with that?” he whispers. 

Jongseong’s silent for a long, long moment, and Heeseung’s not so stupid as to think he’s not talking to Jungwon, comparing thoughts. Not for the first time, it makes him swallow down some sort of objection, after sharing something so personal— what are they supposed to do, turn it off?

But it feels like he’s airing out his failings for them to see and hopefully not judge, shattering their perception of him as their reliable older hyung. War with his soulmate? Of all things?

“So this is— Wonie wants me to say this,” Jongseong starts, voice painfully loud in the heavy silence. “Can you just try and think of it as— as you said something horrible to Sunghoon, and now you have to fix it? Leave the rest out of it, hyung. You know soulmarks can mean anything— maybe it’s—” and here his expression brightens, eyes taking on a new light, “maybe it’s telling you to stop fighting.”

That’s characteristically optimistic of him, but Heeseung… Heeseung can’t say he’s not fucking tired of fighting tooth and nail for every good thing in his life. 

Something of his thoughts must show on his face, because Jongseong only straightens, grows more passionate. “Listen, if Sunghoon hated you, then he wouldn’t have cared about you yelling at him, he wouldn’t have cared what you thought of him at all—”

“Because I’m his soulmate—”

“But Sunghoon’s never cared about all that, trust me. He’s never really hated you hyung, come on,” Jongseong says earnestly. “It’s obvious. He just— he’s just being petty, really, but he’s really not the type to hate someone for no reason. I— I just think you should at least try, hyung. Forget the soulmarks. Doesn’t Sunghoon deserve for you to try?”

“Jongseong…” Heeseung trails off, looking away and chewing at the inside of his cheek. 

Part of him is still insisting that Sunghoon could stand to apologize for once, but… Jongseong’s right. He’s so inescapably, painfully right. 

With what feels like a massive effort, Heeseung forces himself to consider how Sunghoon must feel, learning that they’re soulmates right after being screamed at for reasons that had nothing to do with him. How… how his eyes had gone wide and round as Heeseung’s voice got louder, voice shaking as he turned to leave. 

Beneath all of the annoyance and anger and discord, there’s always been that part of Heeseung that looks at Sunghoon and thinks… and thinks whatever it was that made him reach out to hold his hand in that movie theater, that made him steady him at Jongseong’s Halloween party, that’s making his stomach twist into guilty knots now. 

For the past two days, he’s… been making this all about him, hasn’t he? His soulmate, his expectations, his anger. If there’s a breaking point then he’s sped right past it, but— but Sunghoon’s too important. Heeseung can stop having a mental breakdown for a few days if it means fixing this.

Finally, he takes a breath and nods, slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, he does.”

A small smile curves Jongseong’s lips. “I’m… glad you see it that way, hyung.”

There’s another short silence that Heeseung doesn’t want to listen to any longer. “How— how come you’re not with him?” he asks. “Sunghoon, I mean. Is— Jaeyun’s with him?” 

“Yeah. I think they’re… not very happy with you.”

“But then you’re with me,” Heeseung says, and it almost disappoints him. “But I’m the one who fucked up, Jongseong-ah, why aren’t you—”

“Oh, come on, why are you both like this?” Jongseong huffs. “Hyung. I love you. I also love Sunghoon. They’re not mutually exclusive!”

“I… guess they’re not,” Heeseung admits. Otherwise their entire friend group would have fallen apart before they even came together. “Have you gone to visit him?” he asks hesitantly, and his heart jumps at the idea. 

“He’s kind of sad, hyung, not bedridden in the hospital,” Jongseong’s brows furrow in amusement. “And no. He hasn’t been to school, and he wouldn’t go down to see Jungwon when he tried to go see him, so… I guess we’re trying not to make this more melodramatic than it already is,” Jongseong winces.

Heeseung gives him a small smile. “Right. I’m sorry to— all of you, as well. I know it’s been kind of annoying to watch us fight all the time.”

“Well— yeah,” Jongseong says readily. “Pretty annoying. But it was always really funny to watch you react to everything he said,” he snickers. “I could say all that and you wouldn’t blink, but Park Sunghoon does it and…”

Heeseung flushes. “It was different,” he mumbles.

“I have no fucking idea why you guys are like this,” Jongseong sighs. “You’re both good people and I’d appreciate it if you could stop hurting each other,” he says firmly. “You get it? Stop.”

“I know,” Heeseung says, another smile pulled from him by Jongseong’s dry humor. “I know. I’ll apologize. A lot.”

“Please do,” Jongseong responds, grinning back, and then, with all the deadpan exasperation that comes with a stable, loving relationship, “we get it, Wonie, I was nice about it—”

— — — 

“I’m sorry, I’m an asshole, I don’t expect you to forgive me right away,” Heeseung mumbles, lacing up his shoes. Predawn gray light streams in through his open window, birds chirping the neighborhood awake, and in ten minutes he has to be out the door for school. “I’ll make it up to you however you want—“ 

Well. However Park Sunghoon wants sounds like a fantastic recipe for public humiliation, so. That can be Plan B.

Plan A, on the other hand, is simple enough: apologize, be sincere, and get Sunghoon to like him. 

Easy. It’ll be fine. 

He straightens, looks at himself in the mirror, and nods. He’s a man on a mission. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice quiet. “I could never hate you.” His heart gives a weak thump. 

It’s… yeah, it’s fine. He’s got this.

It becomes apparent less than fifteen minutes after he gets to school, though, that all of this is easier said to his own familiar face in the mirror, where the only person cringing is himself, than to Sunghoon, who… who looks a little worse than Heeseung would have thought.

He’s unpacking his stuff into his locker, glancing around for Sunoo to come and chat before class starts as he normally does each morning, when his heart gives a traitorous jolt at the sight of a familiar face coming down the hall.

His hands slow putting his books away, neck craning around his locker to look at Sunghoon. He’s on the other side of the hall, much further down, so he doesn’t appear to have noticed Heeseung at all, face downcast and fingers lethargic on his combination lock. The general chatter and background noise of students gathered around the hall fades to the background as Heeseung watches him, mouth twisting. 

Sunghoon always makes himself out to be some sort of untouchable prince— or maybe that’s just Heeseung buying into the rumors; but he thinks he knows a thing or two after the massive clusterfuck of a school year they’ve been having. He always goes stand-offish when Heeseung beats him at something, when he gets mad. Maybe it’s specific to him, maybe not— Heeseung has never actually seen him get truly pissed at someone else.

But anyway. He goes stiff, silent, brooding. It’s like looking at a sculpture— a furiously pretty sculpture, something you’d pass in a park and go far around because it’s wearing this deathly glare. And then inevitably something will make the ice crack, and Sunghoon’s anger will spill out in a torrent.

(It doesn’t occur to Heeseung that he’s projecting.)

But even then there’s always that familiar spark in his eyes, that admirably constant confidence that says he’s not going to back down that easily, that characteristic flame in his chest.

Now he just looks sad, shoulders slumped and lips downturned, silent even though a few people call out as he pulls off his backpack, and— Heeseung kind of hates himself for putting that flame out.

“Hey, hyung, how was your weekend?” 

Heeseung blinks, inhaling and remembering himself. He turns automatically to Sunoo, expression still probably resembling a deer caught in headlights. “It was fine,” he says after a moment. “Kind of long, though.”

“Since when has a weekend ever been too long?” Sunoo asks, and Heeseung presses his lips together, shrugging wordlessly. You really have no idea how long.

And by the time the bell rings and Heeseung turns back, Sunghoon’s gone. 

What follows is a week of absolutely no headway, a week of looking over at him in class and feeling increasingly undone, a week of watching Sunghoon hurt and not being able to hold it against him when he does snap at Heeseung. A week of responding ‘fine’ whenever anyone asks how he’s doing while the mark on his shoulder burns a hole in his skin, a week of slowly realizing Plan A and B and every single one afterward until Z is a hell of a lot harder in the face of Park Sunghoon’s damned determination to hate him, a week of staying up scrolling the Internet for other possibilities because maybe he missed something, maybe it doesn’t mean what he knows, deep down, it does. A week of memorizing every other flower on the planet, of refreshing Sunghoon’s texts for four hours straight until he clicks back on and it says you can no longer send texts to this person. A week of staring at his ceiling late at night and running through every interaction he and Sunghoon have ever had on repeat, of trying to untangle the threads of what happened to see if he can trace back to the moment they both decided to ruin their relationship before it even started. 

It’s a week whose lethargic, discouraging stagnation is blown away within ten minutes of Yang Jungwon dragging him into the boy’s restroom after class on Friday.

“Hyung, I love you, but what are you doing?” Jungwon demands, brows furrowed, before Heeseung’s even fully processed that he’s been kidnapped on the way to fifth hour. 

“Wha— Wonie, what the hell are we doing in here?” he stammers, voice pitching low to a whisper-yell. He looks around, suspicious, but thankfully it’s the second floor bathroom with the unfortunately placed window, so it’s dead empty. 

“I’m staging an intervention,” Jungwon declares, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes sharp. “I can’t stand this anymore. One of these days Riki and Sunoo-hyung are going to notice that something’s wrong with you two, you know,” he adds, and Heeseung winces. 

“I— I’m working on it,” he starts.

“I know you are,” Jungwon sighs. “But Jongseong’s been worrying about this in my head non-stop for the past ten days, and I can’t stand by and watch you sabotage yourself any longer.”

“How am I sabotaging myself?” 

“Because you keep asking for him to forgive you ,” Jungwon responds in the same tone. “Sunghoon-hyung probably doesn’t want to forgive you, okay, and I know you want to be the bigger person, but this just— isn’t working.”

“So do you want me to— what, force him to forgive me? He doesn’t have to do anything—” Heeseung starts, incredulous and not too far from snapping at Jungwon. He gets that it’s difficult to watch your friends fight but one of these days all of this is going to make his head explode. His agent is asking about his school schedule to know when in the near future he’s free for a photoshoot. He has tests in five of his classes on Monday. His mother’s birthday is next Thursday and he still hasn’t decided what he’s getting her. There’s just—

Wait.

His voice cuts off abruptly mid-angry exclamation. He has tests in five of his classes on Monday.

“I… might have an idea,” he says in a hushed, surprised sort of voice. The chances of him getting As on all of those tests, much less passing, is looking low at the moment… but this idea is just stupid enough that it’s worth a shot anyway.

“... like a good one…?” Jungwon responds skeptically. 

Heeseung straightens his shoulders. “Well, if this doesn’t work,” he says truthfully, “then I don’t know what will.”

— — — 

However, as much of a lifesaver as Heeseung is counting on this particular plan to be— Plan C with an uno reverse, if you will— it very nearly doesn’t even get off the ground; after they have math together, Heeseung almost never sees Sunghoon again until the next morning. And considering it’s Friday afternoon, that means Monday itself, and that just won’t do.

Once again, it’s Jungwon who saves his ass, although inadvertently this time. He texts the group chat a reminder at around 4:30: remember Jaeyun-hyung’s game is today guys!! 

Ten seconds later Heeseung’s calling Jongseong for a ride; there are few things he feels certain about when it comes to Park Sunghoon, but there’s no doubt in Heeseung’s mind that there’s absolutely no way Sunghoon would ever miss Jaeyun’s game. He’s willing to bet— is betting, really, their entire relationship thus far on it.

And so Jaeyun’s game is, as promised, the blockbuster event that everyone said it would be, stands full and sky heavy with thick, dark clouds. Everyone’s dressed up in glittery, bright clothes, Jongseong and Sunoo greeting him in front of his house with matching blue and white stripes on their cheeks that Heeseung couldn’t escape getting painted on his own if he tried. 

The roar and pulse of the crowd is contagious, electric and energizing. It fills Heeseung head to toe with far more than a reasonable amount of adrenaline, and by the time they get past concessions, cheap popcorn and hot dogs in hand, he’s literally buzzing with it, fingers shaking, body trembling. He passes it off as from the evening chill when Jongseong asks, but he can’t lie to himself half as well as he can lie out loud. He’s shaking for the same reason he’s never once felt sleepy in math class, why he didn’t notice the clock ticking to one at the Halloween party, why this entire week has been punctuated, like sudden jumps in a heart monitor, by bursts of energy in his miserable slump. 

It’s because of Park Sunghoon, and he damn well knows it. 

They come to an awkward halt a ways before the towering set of bleachers, craning their necks to scan the crowd. Jongseong mutters something under his breath, shaking his head, and pulls out his phone. “Where are they?” Sunoo asks, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. “We should have brought coats, it’s freezing,” he laments, rolled-up poster under his arm. In the bright stadium lights, he’s practically glowing.

“You want mine?” Jongseong asks, and Heeseung thinks dimly that he should maybe offer his too, but the majority of his attention is drawn back to the crowd, searching for—

“There,” Heeseung says loudly, interrupting Sunoo laughing Jongseong off. His stomach gives a lurch, eyes fixed on the singular point in the crowd he’s identified. His face is minuscule from this far away, but to Heeseung he’s...  unmistakable.

“Where—? Oh, oh, I see them too,” Sunoo says in a rush. “Great, thanks, hyung, come on!” he gives Heeseung’s arm a tug, and Heeseung’s hardly about to refuse.

As they climb up the stands the scoreboards give a loud blare, droning on over the noise of the crowd. Thunderous cheers follow, feet stomping on the bleachers, heads tilting up and screaming. Jongseong exchanges a raised-eyebrow what can you do? with Heeseung, one he mirrors— probably not well enough considering how Jongseong’s smile dims. 

As promised Jungwon has apparently secured them spots as far ahead as possible: they’re in the third row, front and center. Heeseung spots them with a wave of Jungwon’s arms, and then they clamber in quickly, mindful of the people behind them.

“You couldn’t have hurried a little?” Jungwon calls as a greeting, yanking Jongseong down to sit beside him. Sunoo slides into the middle, between them and Sunghoon, and Heeseung ignores the voice in his head telling him he’s going to get murdered for this and plants himself right on Sunghoon’s other side.

He sees the exact moment that Sunghoon realizes he’s here, watches it bloom across his face; his eyes widen, hand pausing halfway to his face even as he goes to stuff a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

But it’s Sunghoon, so it takes him maybe half a second to recover, put his ice wall up again. “What are you doing here?” he demands in a hiss, scooting away when Heeseung sits down next to him. 

“I’m here for Jaeyunie,” Heeseung responds coolly, and then remembers the goal is to not push him. “Same as you.”

Sunghoon’s expression goes mutinous, jaw clenching. “I— get up,” he snaps. “Leave me alone, Heeseung.”

Heeseung won’t deny that a small flare of anger ignites in his chest. “I’m not going to do anything,” he says firmly, and then as Sunghoon makes a motion as though to get up, he sighs. “Just— sit down, Sunghoon. What do you want me to do, not sit with my friends?”

“You know what you’re doing,” Sunghoon responds icily, and he turns away, shoulders rigid. “Do you have to support him from right next to me?” 

“I don’t have to,” Heeseung responds after a moment, careful. He waits for Sunghoon to look back at him, holds his gaze meaningfully. He’s all decked out tonight too, stripes on his cheeks and bright blue sweatshirt shining with their school’s logo. His skin looks porcelain in comparison, and not for the first time, the realization that he’s allowed to think that now, that ignoring the undeniable fact that Sunghoon is incredibly pretty this whole time has been the actual mistake, sends a rush of something that feels forbidden spreading rapidly from head to toe, emboldening him. “But… maybe I want to.”

The short silence that follows— not really a silence at all, surrounded by the din of the entire crowd— manages to be both profound and comical at once: the way Heeseung’s heart pounds through the entire moment feels momentous, terrifying, but the way Sunghoon’s mouth goes slack, momentarily struck dumb, somehow still appeals to the side of him that’s always looking for a win against this idiot. 

“Original,” Sunghoon mumbles after a minute, but that slight pout curving his lips betrays how off-balance Heeseung’s made him.

And… okay, maybe that wasn’t the ideal strategy. He wants Sunghoon to like him. He— wants this to be over.

But it’s more difficult than he’d anticipated. It’s been a point of shame for him for weeks that he’s continually unable to resist snapping back at Sunghoon, but even past his own sometimes misguided intentions there’s the unscalable wall of Sunghoon himself. He’s never going to take Heeseung seriously like this, much less start a conversation where Heeseung can try and appeal to his good side.

“Listen—“

Heeseung’s cut off by another roar from the crowd: both teams are running out onto the field, already having warmed up. They all get into position, focused— Sunoo unfurls his poster and nudges Sunghoon and Jungwon into hoisting it up high, waving his arms around. “GO JAEYUN-HYUNG!” he screams, and the way Jaeyun’s head snaps around instantly from out on the field has Heeseung stifling a grin. Nobody told him about that.

The crowd momentarily hushes as the game begins, and quickly Heeseung realizes that a soccer game? Is not the best place to try and have a heart to heart. It’s impossible. 

And Sunghoon doesn’t even give him a chance— from the moment the game begins, he keeps himself occupied. He indulges Sunoo in listening to him explain everything Jaeyun’s told him about the soccer team, cheers along with the crowd at every available opportunity, and keeps scooting further away from Heeseung.

As the game goes on, the night’s nervous energy begins to fizzle. Heeseung’s fingers go numb in the cold, eyes turned on the field but not really focused on the game. Everyone around him is chattering away, but for once he’s just sitting here quietly, hands in his lap and mouth downturned. That stomach-turning feeling of his social battery running out begins to grow stronger every time Sunghoon turns away from him— he hasn’t so much as looked at him in half an hour.

There’s something absolutely terrifying about the possibility of this being— unfixable. What if he never reconciles with Sunghoon? What if they graduate and lose each other’s numbers and just never see each other again? What if Heeseung’s fucked up so badly that nothing will make it okay?

A roll of thunder startles him and half the crowd, earning a low murmur from everyone assembled on the bleachers. Heeseung definitely remembers something about this game being slated at the same time as a massive storm, and if this is it, then—

As if on cue, the skies crack open, a thick droplet landing on Heeseung’s nose, and then another, and then another.

“Oh, shit—“

“Do you have an umbrella?“

“There goes my stupid mascara—“

Around him, a good fifth of the crowd gets up and runs off, streaming down through the bleachers with calls of “I’ll bring you a coat!” or straight up “I’m out, we’re losing anyways.”

“We’re not losing!” Sunoo yells after the girl who said so, but it’s drowned out in the flurry of everyone shoving something above their heads. 

Heeseung rapidly slides off his coat and hoists it up, creating a makeshift umbrella for himself and shivering. On the field, play’s been stopped momentarily, the teams running over to collect thick sweatshirts to go over their jerseys. “They’re playing through the rain?” Heeseung asks, doing a double take. 

“They always do,” Sunghoon grumbles from beside him, and Heeseung inhales sharply, whipping his head around as if to confirm what he’s heard— he’d started to miss the sound of Sunghoon’s sharp tongue.

And then for a moment he has the surprising, damming urge to laugh; Sunghoon’s just sitting there getting soaked, Sunoo having leaned over to share a coat with Jungwon and Jongseong too far to help out. His hair’s plastered to his forehead, shoulders growing wetter by the second, and the way he’s got his arms crossed over his chest, hunched in on himself, is— for lack of a better word, it’s cute.

“Come here,” Heeseung offers, scooting closer a bit apprehensively. If Sunghoon moves any further away then Sunoo’s probably going to elbow him right off the bleachers, but he’s not going to make the mistake of underestimating Park Sunghoon’s determination again. Sunghoon looks up, properly scandalized, and Heeseung allows himself to give him a Look, albeit not quite as harsh as he used to. “Do you really want to catch a cold just because you hate me?” Heeseung says dryly.

Sunghoon glares at him for another long second, but then the clouds give another almighty burst of thunder, earthshakingly loud, and he jumps slightly and gives in. 

Heeseung’s painstakingly careful as he drapes the coat over them both, although Sunghoon’s quick to snatch the other side from him and curl it around himself. They press together, because his coat’s really not meant for more than one person to crouch under, heads turning towards each other and rain pattering in sheets around them. Heeseung’s jeans and shoes are complete toast. 

Immediately it becomes apparent that sharing a coat is a much more intimate act than it should be by any stretch of the imagination. There’s their legs pressed together from calf to thigh, arms from elbow to shoulder. There’s Sunghoon’s hair dripping into Heeseung’s shoulder. There’s his face not six inches from Heeseung’s own, their shared warmth creating a pocket of bearable space in an otherwise freezing environment. 

“I’m not avoiding you because I hate you,” Sunghoon mumbles as he adjusts his side a little, pulling it further over his head and staring determinedly out at the field. A gust of wind blows a spray of rain right into their faces, but it does nothing to cool the warm glow that spreads from Heeseung’s head to his toes, lips pressing together to hide a relieved smile. It’s not much, but Heeseung will take it. Coming from Park Sunghoon, ‘I don’t hate you’ might as well be a compliment.

“Then why are you avoiding me?” Heeseung asks softly, turning his head closer to Sunghoon. “Sunghoon-ah—”

He squirms, and Heeseung’s afraid for a second that he’s just going to get up and leave with the rest of the crowd. Never mind then.

“I— forget it,” Heeseung says, stifling a sigh. “At least you’re not doing it now.”

“Hey, don’t get too excited,” Sunghoon responds sharply. “If you piss me off again, I’m stealing your coat.”

Heeseung tilts his head. “You can have it if you want.”

In return he gets a look that’s half-disgusted, half-surprised. “Just— shut up and watch the game. You said you were here for Jaeyunie,” Sunghoon says quickly.

“...I might have lied,” Heeseung admits, not ready to spend another hour here with Sunghoon stiffly ignoring him, not when they’re pressed together and every breath Sunghoon exhales fans hot against his collarbones.

“No shit?” Sunghoon scoffs, apparently unsurprised. He’s staring determinedly away from Heeseung, but his body’s still angled in his direction; Heeseung’s chest grows oddly warm at the realization.

“You had to know I was coming,” Heeseung says after a moment. “Basically everyone’s here.”

“Riki’s not.”

“Yeah, but he was supposed to come before his company forced him not to,” Heeseung points out. 

“Maybe I just thought you were taking the hint,” Sunghoon snaps.

“The hint that you don’t like it when I don’t pay attention to you?” Heeseung says pointedly, pressing his lips together so he doesn’t smirk when Sunghoon’s head whips around, eyes wide and offended but giving him away instantly. He’s always suspected that Sunghoon’s an attention-seeker, but in his recent quest to try and see his traits in a less directly negative light, he’s come to consider that Sunghoon might just want his attention, the same way Heeseung couldn’t have given less of a shit about the test scores of everyone else in their class. 

“How is that supposed to make me want to forgive you?” Sunghoon asks incredulously.

“I don’t know, that’s up to you,” Heeseung laughs. “But you’re smiling, so it’s your problem.”

“I am not—” Sunghoon forcefully presses his lips together— and then finally snaps, turning away and stifling his laugh into his sleeve, looking back at Heeseung with the bottom half of his face hidden but eyes still smiling.

Oh , that’s going to be a problem. That’s a serious issue. That’s not good for his nervous system. His stomach does a little flip, like he’s pleased with himself, and his lips tilt up of their own accord, like invisible strings are pulling them, buoyant.

“Shut up,” Sunghoon snaps as he pulls his arm away, still grinning despite himself. “You can’t tell someone not to smile, okay? It just has the opposite effect.”

“Sorry,” Heeseung responds, and he can tell he doesn’t sound very sorry at all. So can Sunghoon, apparently, because he rolls his eyes, finally controlling his expression again. “Do you— maybe want a tissue?” he asks.

“What now?” Sunghoon sighs, looking back at him again. (Heeseung has to wonder if Sunghoon realizes he never denied wanting his attention.)

“Your, uh, stripes? War paint? It’s making you look like you’re crying blue.” He points to Sunghoon’s cheeks, where the blue body paint has in fact dripped down like mascara after a crying session.

“You wanna talk, Pennywise?” Sunghoon shoots back, raising his eyebrows. He reaches over, swipes his thumb across Heeseung’s cheek, and then shows him his blue-smeared finger, all before Heeseung can even react beyond leaning away instinctively.

It takes him a moment to come up with something to say, heart beating swiftly in his chest. He swallows back an ear to ear grin with difficulty. “Pennywise? I’m that ugly to you?” he asks, mock-offended.

“Uglier,” Sunghoon grins back, and this time he doesn’t seem to remember to hold it back.

Heeseung almost pumps his fist in the air. Progress— go Lee Heeseung. But also, ouch; even if Sunghoon doesn’t mean it. 

A sharp blast of the whistle restarts the game, reigniting some of the crowd’s passion. The scoreboard reads 3-2 in their opponents’ favor, but Heeseung’s… suddenly very optimistic about their chances, a pleased lightness replacing the pit in his stomach. 

“So who else on the team is good besides Jaeyun?” Heeseung asks, eyes trained on the field again.

“You’re not subtle,” Sunghoon grumbles, elbowing him, but then he leans over and points. “Number forty-eight scored the other goal, so I guess he’s the other good one. They’re all not bad.”

“That’s kind of high praise coming from you.”

“I only make it a point to be an asshole to you, all right?” Sunghoon scoffs.

Heeseung stifles a groan. “Why me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m the worst person you’ve ever known, and you wish you’d never met me, and I—? What was it? The worst part of your day is—”

Heeseung turns and claps his hand over Sunghoon’s mouth. “Okay, okay, I get the point,” he winces, stomach twisting again but for an entirely different reason. “I’m a horrible person. I know.”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “You’re up there,” he says, not quite disagreeing. And then, suddenly: “But I’m so sick of being mad at you,” he admits, and Heeseung’s spirits brighten, just a little.

“You are?”

“You make it so difficult,” Sunghoon sighs. “We’ve been sitting here for like ten minutes and I keep forgetting I’m supposed to hate your guts.”

“Are you sure about that?” Heeseung says skeptically. “I think you’re underestimating your death glare.”

Sunghoon scoffs. “I’m still— you don’t deserve for me to just forget about it, but—”

“Okay, then how about this?” Heeseung asks, suddenly remembering he had a whole plan. Sunghoon smiling at him is turning out to be a bigger distraction than he’d anticipated. “What if we had another round? We have… all those tests on Monday. So—”

“So if you win, I have to get over it?” Sunghoon asks wryly.

“...something like that,” Heeseung nods, holding his breath.

“What if I win, huh? Do I get to ignore you forever?” He tilts his head, watching Heeseung like he’s amused. 

“I would hope not,” Heeseung admits, still hesitating.

“If I win… I want to see your soulmark,” Sunghoon snaps his fingers. “That’s reasonable. And you have to buy me a box of donuts.”

Heeseung’s shoulders slump in both relief and with the weight that’s suddenly dropped down on them. There is no way in hell that Sunghoon’s seeing his soulmark, possibly ever— so this leaves him with no choice but to win, really. 

“All right,” he agrees. “But if I win, then you’ll— you have to give me a chance. Actually.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Sunghoon responds, eyes glinting with that familiar competitive spirit. “I don’t really lose, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Heeseung scoffs, but once again they’re both smiling as the game goes on.

From then on, he’s cautious, worried Sunghoon’s civility is temporary; but apparently he’d forgotten that nothing Park Sunghoon does will ever make sense to him, because he’s remarkably easygoing for the rest of the night (although he does seem to make a point of cheering like an airhorn right next to Heeseung’s ear.)

Their team ties the game, in the end, 5-5 with an all-around miserable team, coach, and crowd, but over here in their little pocket of space, beneath his coat, Heeseung can’t find it in himself to even pretend to be sad about it, not when his heart beats faster every time Sunghoon leans in and whispers something derogatory about someone else to him. It’s like a simulation or something, totally surreal:

“Number eighty-four on the other team is a piece of shit—”

“It was a foul, it was a foul, the referee will call it,” Heeseung whispers back.

(The referee does not call it.)

“Wha— FOUL!” Sunghoon screams. “HE NEARLY DISEMBOWELED HIM! ARE YOU LEGALLY BLIND?!”

Needless to say, Heeseung bursts out laughing. “You can’t say that to the referee, Sunghoon-ah—”

“He can’t even hear me, Heeseung, chill out—” Sunghoon grabs his arm, shaking it as though he’s trying to get Heeseung on his side as well. “THAT WAS A FOUL, COME ON, MAN!”

“Why are you busting my eardrums, if he can’t even hear you?” Heeseung moans, grinning over at him.

“Because I don’t like you.” And again, Heeseung can only laugh.

The night ends on a whimper rather than a bang for the rest of the crowd, everyone trudging down through the rain, bumping knees and elbows, still holding their soaked coats over their heads. The five of them stumble down through the stands somehow, Heeseung losing track of Sunghoon until they get back down to the field, everyone gathering together under the massive stadium lights. 

“See you guys Monday, someone tell Jaeyun congrats from me,” Jongseong says quickly, shivering and pulling down his hood when the wind threatens to blow it off. “Can we go? Please?”

“We should wait for Jaeyun-hyung,” Sunoo starts, but there’s an immediate chorus of please no that Heeseung can’t imagine Jaeyun taking issue with. “Okay, yeah, fine, let’s go,” Sunoo agrees with a wince as another strong gust of wind rustles the trees behind them. 

They head their separate ways after waving goodbye, Jongseong’s car in one lot and Sunghoon’s in the other— but Heeseung can’t help himself. “Give me one second,” he pants as they’re making their way along the sidelines, Sunoo and Jongseong shivering together. “I’ll be right back.”

Before either of them can protest, he turns and jogs back the way they came, wet shoes squelching on the hard packed ground, one hand raised against the rain. 

“Sunghoon-ah!” he calls, catching back up with Sunghoon and Jungwon. They turn back to look at him, both soaking wet and clearly not happy about it. “Here,” Heeseung says breathlessly, sliding his coat off and holding it out to Sunghoon. “I meant to let you have it— I just forgot.”

Sunghoon gapes at him. “I— what?” he asks weakly.

“Hurry up, it’s cold out here,” Heeseung grins. “You can give it back later.”

Sunghoon reaches out and slowly takes it from him, eyes still wide. Next to him, Jungwon’s face is scrunched up like he’s about to cry from trying so hard not to laugh. “Uh. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Heeseung says readily. “Get home safe, okay? See you later, Wonie,” he adds.

“Bye, Heeseung-hyung,” Jungwon giggles, and with another amused smile at a completely dumbfounded Sunghoon, Heeseung turns and jogs back to Jongseong and Sunoo, heart light even as his clothes grow heavy with rain.

“You had to do it,” Jongseong sighs as he comes level with them, panting again. Sunoo’s giving him a look like he’s never seen him before.

“I wanted to see the look on his face,” he grins, smug and giddy. Worth it. 

— — — 

After that evening, it’s like a new form of energy takes root inside Heeseung, buoying him through the next few days like a light that refuses to go out. He has to go in and see his agent on Saturday morning? No problem. He has a mountain of math homework to do? Three hours and a battle of wills to not check the notifications on his phone later, he’s done. He has to look his brother in the eye and say “nothing much” when Junseo asks what’s going on? Grea—

“Seung, you have the worst poker face out of anyone I’ve ever seen,” Junseo crosses his arms over his chest. Heeseung’s finding it difficult to take him seriously considering they’re both eating dinner on his bed, Vincenzo playing on Heeseung’s laptop in front of him, and Junseo’s wearing a shirt that says live fast die young bad girls do it well with only his boxers underneath.

Heeseung swallows, fork clinking against his bowl, and side-eyes Junseo as though he isn’t 100% right. “Are you sure this isn’t, like, reverse psychology, hyung? Are you projecting something you’re hiding onto me?”

“Stop paying so much attention in your science classes, asshole. And no, this isn’t reverse psych, I’m just not stupid—“

“Aren’t you, though?” Heeseung asks cheekily.

Junseo kicks him in the shin. “You know what? For— dude, I think he just exploded,” he says suddenly, and the conversation is entirely forgotten as they look back at the screen.

Opportune character death aside, Heeseung’s not so lucky on other fronts— exhibit A being his mother.

He has no idea whether it’s Junseo that went to her— he’d sincerely hope not, since they’re supposed to be a united front against their parents when it comes down to it— but either way, she comes into his room Saturday night, as he’s studying, with a look on her face that tells him he’s a little bit done for.

“Heeseung-ah. Are you trying to test exactly how much work one kid can do until he drops?” she asks, giving his entire room— covered in what could possibly be called an organized mess but is in actuality more of an ‘I emptied every folder I own onto the ground’ situation— an exasperated onceover. 

Heeseung pulls his headphones down around his neck, looking up from his laptop. “I’ll go to bed on time, don’t worry.” Technically all of the oppressive whirlwind of work that he’s been buried under is still a perpetual problem, but. Everything with Sunghoon is worth pushing aside a few worries for. 

“Heeseung—“

“I’m fine, Eomma, seriously,” he says, giving her a smile. “This is how much work everyone’s doing.”

She gives him a look that’s pure Junseo, the don’t be a little shit and lie to me glare. “I don’t like that you’re spending all this time locked in your room,” she says finally. “At least take it outside.”

“It’s November,” Heeseung protests. “And there’s stray dogs everywhere, Eomma, come on—“

“Go to the library, then. Go to Jongseong’s! But you can’t keep sitting in here, Heeseung, it looks like a crime scene,” she says.

“That is not true,” Heeseung mutters. He hasn’t told her Sunghoon got him banned from his usual library, but there’s definitely no way he’s telling her now, so. He takes it outside.

Twenty minutes and a bus ride later, he winds up at the larger local library. It’s a bit livelier than his usual place— there’s definitely more kids running around— but there’s hundreds of shelves running from one end to the other, as well as a whole area reserved for studying. At night, the rows of windows making up the far wall are midnight blue, reflecting the yellow lighting around the room. 

Get to work, he tells himself, blinking away the admiring gaze he’d been directing around the whole place. There’ll be a spot at the back somewhere—

Except when Heeseung goes around back to take a look, he remembers exactly why he’s always been so enamored with the idea of a soulmate. Coincidence, luck, fate— whatever you’d like to call it— is confidently on his side.

A strong sense of deja vu rises inside him as he starts to the back corner of the library, toward the booths lined against the windows. Hopefully this time goes… better than the last time he and Sunghoon came across each other at a library.

“Hi,” Heeseung whispers as he comes up on him, and Sunghoon looks up from his work, glasses reflecting the light. Heeseung’s chest empties of all air. 

“Wha—“ Sunghoon gives him an incredulous look. “Hi,” he responds after a moment, and while his lack of any further response aside from blinking owlishly up at him can probably be pinned down to shock, Heeseung takes it as a chance to go on. 

“Can I sit here?” 

“… what, with me?” Sunghoon asks slowly.

No, with the screeching six year old I passed on the way here, Heeseung thinks— but he halts halfway through opening his mouth to say it. What comes out is an amused, quiet, “Yeah. With you.”

Sunghoon narrows his eyes. “Are you trying to pull some K-drama bullshit again?”

Heeseung takes that as his cue to sit down, grinning wolfishly over at him. “I mean, did it work?”

“I’m not that easily won over,” Sunghoon informs him, leaning back in his seat, eyes twinkling. 

“Next time I’ll get sudden amnesia and only remember you.”

Sunghoon winces. “You’d think I was the one who pushed you in front of the car,” he laughs.

“ Hey. Maybe I’ll get sudden amnesia and remember everyone but you.”

“Sounds peaceful,” Sunghoon grins, looking back down at his textbook. He highlights a line absentmindedly, holding it in a fist to accommodate for his broken finger. 

“How did you get hurt?” Heeseung asks, nodding at the cast. He’d heard around school about it happening, but he doesn’t know anything other than that it happened while he was skating. 

“Are you going to even pretend to study?” Sunghoon asks with a sigh, looking up at him and straightening his glasses, amusement playing across his face despite the standoffish words.

Heeseung makes a face and pulls out his books, holding the pencil in his hand like he’s getting ready to write. “See? I’m working hard,” he vows. 

Sunghoon bites his lip to hold back a smile, shaking his head; Heeseung continues to stare expectantly. Sunghoon sighs again, shoulders dropping down. “… I crashed into a wall,” he admits. “I’m honestly lucky I didn’t snap something more important than a stupid finger, but doing homework has been super fun recently.” He raises his eyebrows sarcastically. 

Heeseung sucks in a breath through his teeth, mouth opening in an ah of understanding. “That sucks, Sunghoon-ah.”

“How come you’re calling me Sunghoon-ah like that all of a sudden?” Sunghoon asks skeptically, curling his fingers in on themselves, cast tapping against his palm. “You can’t have decided you like me this much in one day.”

“Do you not want me to?” Heeseung asks wryly. 

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “I could not care less,” he enunciates, and when Heeseung’s gaze goes a little too knowing, he gives him a familiar glare, aloof and slightly flushed. “Let me work, at least, if you’re not going to.”

Heeseung sighs. “No, if I want to win then I should be working too,” he admits, staring down at his half-completed math review with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose. “Can’t you just forgive me now? Hmm? Please?”

Another fleeting smile flashes across Sunghoon’s face, quickly stifled. “Shut up, Heeseung,” he mutters, but Heeseung can hear the laughter in his voice. 

All in all, it’s… not a bad time, sitting there studying together. Every time he’s getting bored, Heeseung just looks up and finds something to say to Sunghoon, to rile him up, and in turn he gets Sunghon’s sharp wit, a light kick in the shins under the table, a pen tossed towards him. That is met with a glimmer of annoyance— but the glare forming on Heeseung’s face fades remarkably quickly once he sees Sunghoon grinning over at him.

It’s like a shot of espresso, or something, this lightness that he feels knowing just the sight of him isn’t making Sunghoon uncomfortable anymore, that he’s teasing back now, poking Heeseung’s knuckles with his pen and drawing upside down penguins on his history timeline. 

“Sunghoon-ah, stop— Sunghoon-ah. Why does this penguin have three feet?”

Sunghoon grins but leans back, clicking his pen. “Let him live, Heeseung,” he laughs. “What did the penguin ever do to you?”

“He’s trespassing next to the 1724 reign of Yongjo!” Heeseung exclaims, and Sunghoon absolutely loses it. “How do I explain this to Sejeong-seonsangnim? It’s not like Yongjo had pet peng— did they even know about penguins back then?”

“Oh my god, stop talking,” Sunghoon wheezes. Heeseung raises his eyebrows, grinning fit to burst, and rubs his hand back and forth on the table, imitating Sunghoon’s windshield wiper laugh. “Hey!” Sunghoon exclaims, tossing another pen his way, but he’s still laughing too hard to speak, both hands pressing over his mouth to muffle the sound of it.

“No, you’re fine, you’re fine,” Heeseung says, breathless from it himself, happiness filling him up until his insides feel as fizzy as a soda can, one hand clutched to his stomach. “Don’t worry,” he chuckles. “It’s cute.”

Sunghoon gives him a Look from behind his hands, shoulders still shaking with laughter. “You’re so fucking mean,” he chokes out, letting them drop, finally. He leans back until he’s slouched in his seat, eyes still bright, dimples showing. The fizzy feeling in Heeseung’s stomach becomes catalyzed by something else entirely.

“You were worse,” Heeseung says, shaking his head. “You were—“

“Should I play the worst person you’ve ever met, superiority complex for no good reason card again?”

Heeseung clamps his mouth shut. “Nope, never mind.”

Sunghoon’s teasing grin is every bit as familiar as his glare, but honestly Heeseung thinks this is the first time he’s ever seen it properly. It used to be that he couldn’t see any of Sunghoon’s good traits if he tried— now they’re sneaking up on him, startling him from behind. Gorgeous skater, nice smile, adorable dimples, cute laugh, impressive wit… hot in glasses. 50/50 chance that he’s smarter than me. 

“What?” Sunghoon asks, expression suddenly suspicious. 

“What?” Heeseung parrots, slightly distracted. 

“You’re making this face,” Sunghoon says, making one in return. “What? Have you decided you hate me again?”

The slight bitter edge to his voice makes Heeseung tense in return— but then he sighs, releasing it. “I’m not gonna do that, Sunghoon-ah,” he says seriously, letting the conversation shift in tone. “If I ever talk to you like that again, then— feel free to punch me in the face, okay?” he lets out a breath huff that’s almost a laugh, although it lacks the proper amount of humor. “But I… kind of like you,” he says eloquently. “That’s kind of hard to just forget about.”

Sunghoon’s mouth slowly opens as he talks, shutting when Heeseung’s done. He swallows, a pink flush spreading up his neck. “… only kind of, huh?”

“I’d like you a lot more if you hadn’t drawn the three-footed penguin,” Heeseung concedes, and when Sunghoon smiles it feels, once again, like a shot of straight espresso to the heart. 

— — — 

They manage to stay on good terms the rest of the evening, alternating between being serious about studying and ribbing each other. Heeseung still feels tentative around him, cautious— but at least they’re trying, now, to relearn each other’s limits. Heeseung waves goodbye at him with a smile as they head their separate ways at closing time, and Sunghoon returns it with an eye roll and a nonchalant wave back, shyness creeping through just slightly. Heeseung’s smile only grows goofier as he watches Sunghoon walk away, hand on the strap of his bag, heels rocking back and forth. 

“Heeseung-ah fighting,” he whispers to himself with a pleased nod, and he grins the whole way home, until his cheeks hurt. 

And then promptly buries himself in his textbooks for the rest of the weekend. 

He hunkers down with military determination, reviewing everything until his brain hurts and his family is asking him what the hell is going on— you’ve studied enough to get As, okay, please put the book down. 

(Heeseung does not put the book down.) 

He’s jittery all of Monday morning and he knows it; deep down he has this hopeful, tingly feeling that Sunghoon probably wouldn’t force him out of his life even if he did lose, but it’s hard not to feel pressured to win anyway, just for certainty’s sake. 

He mentally gives himself a whole pep talk before walking into math that day, sitting down beside Sunghoon, who’s there before him, as usual. “Hi,” he greets cautiously, earning himself half a smile and a tentative ‘hey’ in return. 

“Hope you’re ready to lose,” he grins over at Sunghoon, knee jogging up and down under the table.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, a small smile still playing on his lips. “Are you trying to start trash-talking me now? You’re not even good at it.”

“Well, I don’t have to be,” Heeseung points out. “We’re trying to be nice to each other, aren’t we?”

“Are we? You make it difficult,” Sunghoon replies, “walking in here and trying to insult me immediately.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Heeseung leans back in his chair, foot tapping underneath the table. He’s already taken two of those tests— Biology and English— and he’s vaguely optimistic about his scores. He went back and checked over his answers a million times, that’s for sure. 

“You’re the one who issued the ultimatum.”

“I know— you’re rubbing off on me,” he shudders. 

“Keep talking and next time those penguins will have three arms too,” Sunghoon warns, and they both break out in grins at the memory.

“All right, all right, everyone settle down,” the teacher calls. “I’ll pass the tests out soon~”

There’s a flurry as everyone clears their desks, Heeseung’s stomach once more fluttering with nervous butterflies. 

“Good luck,” Sunghoon whispers. “You’re gonna need it.”

Heeseung gives him a half-hearted glare, receives a self-satisfied smirk in response, and from then on it’s business as usual, in a way— they both concentrate on the test and nothing else.

Well— if nothing else means being painfully aware of Sunghoon next to him in a way he’s never been aware of anyone. Heeseung’s always wanted to get a look at the inner workings of Sunghoon’s head, why he says the things he says and does the things he does— but that curiosity has only gotten stronger over the months, until it’s too big to contain now, is making him look past all his earlier animosity and try to figure Sunghoon out for real. He’s not particularly good with emotions or reading people— but now that the situation calls for it he’s trying his best.

He doesn’t think he can equate ‘curiosity’ of all things to the way his eyes keep straying Sunghoon’s way, though. 

Predictably, admiring his side profile ends up being more of a distraction than anything, and by the time he’s turning in his test, he’s got a sinking feeling in his chest that he just lost.

“Still confident?” Sunghoon elbows him after the bell rings. 

Heeseung sighs. “I honestly don’t know,” he admits, and the smile slowly slips off Sunghoon’s face. 

“It’s not even fun if you give up this quickly,” he admonishes, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Come on. Don’t you owe it to me to try?”

Heeseung musters a grin to send his way. “I cannot wait for the day you finally stop milking this.”

“ Hey, let me have it for a few weeks at least. See you tomorrow?”

“See you,” Heeseung waves, watching him go despondently. His eyes stray to the teacher at the front of the room, taking his sweet time stacking up all the tests. Is it worth it to try and plead with him for an A?

(It might be, actually, but Sunghoon would literally murder him if he ever found out Heeseung cheated, so unfortunately he has to table that idea.)

He and a Junseo who still has no idea what’s going on, poor guy, eat their way through half a tub of ice cream that evening, Heeseung ignoring his diet and vegging out in front of the TV. Nobody even faults him for it, after the way he studied the entire weekend— they just pat him on the head and tell him to eat well and that if you give yourself an upset stomach then I’m not responsible, Seung-ah.

So ‘see you tomorrow’ comes after a sleepless night and a morning where Heeseung firmly turns down every offer his family makes to get him to eat breakfast, much to Junseo’s amusement. The total of his scores, when he’s walking into math, comes out to a 383— his fingers are itching to text Jongseong to serve as carrier pigeon again and ask Sunghoon for his, but he’s too nervous to go through with it. 

“How’d you do?” Sunghoon asks the moment Heeseung’s within earshot, chin propped up on his hands, leaning forward eagerly. Once again, his heart does the same thing it does seeing a puppy wag its tail, a kid grin a gap-toothed smile, Jungwon laugh so hard he hiccups— cuteness overload. He’s even smiling. How fucking weird is that? Two weeks ago Park Sunghoon probably wouldn’t have smiled at him for a million won, not if it wasn’t in a self-satisfied got you there context. This looks suspiciously like him perking up because Heeseung’s here.

“383,” Heeseung replies with a sigh, initial rush of happiness fading slightly as he sits down next to Sunghoon, mimicking his position with a sudden burst of nervousness. “What about you?”

“Not telling,” Sunghoon says instantly, smirking and turning back to the front. 

“Oh? So you’re losing?” 

“Maybe I’m winning and I just don’t want you to feel bad,” Sunghoon says sarcastically, scoffing, and a bit of excitement rekindles in Heeseung’s chest. Maybe he still has hope after all, then.

“Please. You’re losing, aren’t you?” 

Sunghoon huffs and looks away. Got you. 

He leans back in his chair, satisfied, and finally relaxes for the first time all day, following the teacher’s movements with his foot tapping under the table, impatient despite his newfound confidence. 

“You’re really invested in this,” Sunghoon says after a moment, resting his arms back down on his desk. Heeseung does the same, meeting his eyes as he looks over. His gaze is searching, eyes bright. “I don’t remember you ever caring this much earlier.”

Heeseung shrugs. “Earlier it didn’t matter as much, did it?”

“What are you talking about? This has always been life or death,” Sunghoon responds, tilting his head and grinning at him. If this was anyone else, now would be the moment Heeseung reached over to ruffle their hair. His fingers go so far as to twitch on the table— but before he can acquiesce the bubbly feeling in his stomach and muster up the courage to potentially do it, the teacher ominously clears his throat.

“ Quite a lot of you failed this test,” he starts, and out of the corner of his eye, Heeseung sees Sunghoon raise his eyebrows. He stifles the urge to laugh and refocuses on the front of the classroom, falling back into the rhythm of what’s become a familiar routine, sitting here waiting with bated breath to see which of the two of them is going to have a good day, and which of the two of them is going to sulk in their chair for the next forty-five minutes. “Normally this isn’t that difficult of a test, so I’m going to assume it wasn’t my teaching that was deficient…” he spreads his hands pointedly, and the room erupts with protests.

“Seonsangnim, we had five tests on the same day!”

“I didn’t even have time to study for yours—”

“Can we have a retake, please?”

He waves his arms again for silence and points at the girl in the front row who’d asked for the retake. “No,” he says after pausing like he’s considering it, grinning, and once again everyone groans. “But I’m not a monster. Nobody got 100%, so I’ll give you some extra credit later on in the semester. Are you all satisfied now?”

After the chorus of impassioned thanks sings its last note, he finally, finally gathers up the tests and runs down the list, calling off the usual suspects to a flurry of giggles for the last three rankings and then climbing up the wildly oscillating twenties and teens, from Yeji, who covers her face with her paper as she runs up to get her first failed test of the year, to back-of-the-class Park Dongpil, whose entire face lights up as he gets his first passing grade— a C-minus.

But Heeseung doesn’t have the spare willpower to worry about everyone else and the general enjoyment of the room watching their usual hierarchies fall apart. All he cares about is—

“And number 17, Lee Heeseung.”

The room collectively goes oooh, giggles stifled behind hands. A couple of jaws drop, amazed. How the mighty have fallen. 

Heeseung knows they don’t mean to be hurtful— everyone else has accepted their failing grades with an embarrassed nod and a laugh, in on the joke— but his stomach turns the entire way across the room, emotions likely showing on his face. 

“Oh, don’t feel bad, oppa, you’ll get number one again next time,” Yeji pipes up, and the rest of the room follows suit.

“At least you passed!”

“It’s all right, everyone has one unit they suck at.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Heeseung waves them off, managing to grin sheepishly. He slides back into his seat beside Sunghoon, copying Yeji and covering his face with the paper, making everyone laugh again. Behind it, he gives himself half a second to make an embarrassed face, spirits falling— but it’s only funny for so long, so he emerges from it again, shaking out his hair, as the teacher calls up the next person.

Sunghoon’s eyes are trained on him when he looks over. He winces and looks away, staring despondently at the front of the room for as long as it takes for the teacher to get to Sunghoon’s name, depressingly slowly. “And number one,” he finishes. “Park Sunghoon.”

Why the fuck did he study so hard?

Heeseung’s stomach’s turning over nervously as Sunghoon returns, paper in hand. He doesn’t even want to look over and see that familiar glow of victory in his eyes, not when it’s making him feel nauseous.

“So… you still confident now?” Sunghoon asks cheekily, leaning over and shamelessly looking at his score, sucking in a sympathetic breath through his teeth. “A 74… but you said you studied a lot,” he teases.

“I did,” Heeseung mumbles, confused as well. He flips through it and quickly realizes, with a moan, that he’d shot himself in the foot— half these answers were correct before he’d gotten nervous and gone back to check them over and convince himself they were wrong. If he’d just taken the test normally, he would have done loads better.

He glances over at Sunghoon’s— he’s scored a 95. Depending on how he did on his other tests…

“So who won?” Heeseung asks, tilting his head when Sunghoon glances over, meeting his eyes. 

“Well— what’s your total now?”

“457,” Heeseung says after a moment, doing the math in his head. “...what about you?”

Sunghoon looks away, staring back down at his paper. “Uh…”

“What? Is it that bad?” Heeseung asks, cracking a smile. “Or…?”

Sunghoon sucks in a breath through his teeth again. “Congratulations,” he enunciates, and Heeseung’s heart does a couple of backflips.

“Wait— what? Did I win? Is that what you’re saying?”

“How much clearer do you want me to be?” Sunghoon grumbles, but when he looks up, his lips are twitching like he’s trying not to smile. 

The utter sense of relief that washes over Heeseung isn’t really something that eloquently be put into words, considering the inside of his head looks something like this: adsjfklsdsdkfjsdjfs??!?!

“Wha— really? Seriously? How—”

“I’ve always kinda sucked at Biology,” Sunghoon shrugs, still giving him that look where his eyes are so clearly smiling but his mouth is refusing to.

“Oh,” Heeseung replies, biting into his cheeks to keep from smiling like a literal maniac. “Um. Good?”

Sunghoon takes one look at him and abruptly starts snickering into the back of his hand. 

“Wha— stop laughing at me,” Heeseung says, but there’s no reproach or bite to his voice, just barely filtered happiness. 

“You’re really happy about this, aren’t you?” Sunghoon asks, still laughing. “Don’t be so shameless.”

“Why not?” Heeseung replies, face breaking out in that grin, the goofy, uncontrollable one. 

“Because it’s embarrassing,” Sunghoon scoffs, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He’s looking at Heeseung like he’s never seen him before, eyes searching his expression. “I’m embarrassed on your behalf. You’re giving me secondhand embarrassment— you’re that embarrass— why are you looking at me like that again?” he asks, exasperated— but he’s pretending. 

Heeseung has a feeling he’s been pretending from the beginning.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVEN: DAFFODIL

new beginnings

“I told you so,” Jaeyun crows the moment Sunghoon steps out of school after the final bell, a horrifically smug look on his face. “I told you. I’ve been right from the beginning, Park Sunghoon—”

“Yes,” Sunghoon agrees sarcastically, unslinging his bag from his shoulder and swinging it a little recklessly over the handlebars of his bike. He gives Jaeyun an eyeroll that immediately feels a little too mean and follows it up with a quick “Sorry. You’re not Heeseung,” offering Jaeyun a sheepish, apologetic little smile.

“...I thought we were done being mad at Heeseung?” Jaeyun asks, tilting his head. Yesterday evening Sunghoon had confessed to him, over the phone in the privacy of his bedroom, that he was considering doing something extremely stupid and that Jaeyun had better stop him if he tried it.

“ I swear to god if it’s weed then please leave me out of—”

“It’s not weed,” Sunghoon had whisper-yelled, staring incredulously at his bedroom wall. “Where the hell are you— you know what? Never mind. Forget that— it’s much worse than weed.”

“ ...cocaine?”

“NOT DRUGS,” Sunghoon emphasized in no uncertain terms. 

He had been entirely prepared, after the disaster that last week had been, to write off Heeseung entirely, to remain stuck in that odd sort of limbo where he was running and Heeesung was chasing— although entirely prepared might not be the right phrase to use considering it took him a grand total week to get sick of running. 

Or maybe it was just that Heeseung caught up, Heeseung with his earnest apologies and bright eyes and soft smile, Heeseung who held the coat that’s now draped over Sunghoon’s bedroom chair over Sunghoon for an hour and a half and Heeseung who teased him about drawing penguins on his homework. Heeseung who seems just as tentative about talking to him as Sunghoon feels, Heeseung who said he kind of likes Sunghoon, Heeseung who looked so nervous taking that math test today that Sunghoon had grown depressingly disillusioned with letting him down again, seeing that crestfallen look on his face. 

However. Sitting here and staring down at his soulmark had awoken a very familiar set of worries, and Sunghoon had to confirm for himself that for once he wasn’t making the worst decision he was capable of by giving Heeseung the benefit of the doubt.

“Just tell me, on a scale of one to ten, how much of an idiot would I be if I— I don’t know, called a truce to World War 3 with Heeseung?”

“ Like a two, Sunghoon-ah, that’s the smartest thing you’ve said to me all year,” Jaeyun responded almost instantaneously. “Please forgive him, for goodness’ sake, Jungwonie might actually murder one of you if you don’t fix this soon.”

“And we’d hate to disappoint Jungwon,” Sunghoon sighed, half-joking. He pulled his legs up onto the bed, sitting criss-cross on the mattress and staring gloomily out the window, room lit blue by the late evening light. Every shade of blue he had happened across in the last week had been less vibrant, less pure, less beautiful than the soulmark on his wrist, the same one he was trying not to look at now. “Jaeyun-ah,” he said after a moment, when the silence had begun to stretch, Jaeyun evidently allowing him to collect his thoughts before speaking. “Jaeyun-ah, I’m kind of terrified of him.”

“Of Heeseung-hyung?” Jaeyun asked, amusement coloring his voice, a laugh hidden behind the words. “ I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Hoonie.”

“But we were— we were both so shitty to each other,” Sunghoon said, fingers drumming on his thighs. “So I don’t know. I don’t really want to go back to the way things were,” he admitted, swallowing. Those words sat uneasily in his chest, rendering him off-balance; it was so much easier when he was pretending to be careless, to not give a shit about what Heeseung was thinking or doing or how he felt, especially how he felt about Sunghoon, but now… if there was a point of no return, he had definitely crossed it sometime before Heeseung had used him as a verbal punching bag for his emotions. Now there was even less sense in keeping up the facade than there had been even before the soulmate revelation, when there was already a shockingly low percentage of sense factoring into Sunghoon’s decisions. 

But he was going to be an adult in less than a month, and every time he looked at Heeseung there was this ache in his chest, and despite that he kept looking, over and over. When the inside of his head was a clusterfuck, the least he could do was try and make the outside look presentable.

“ You know you guys confuse the fuck out of me too?” Jaeyun replied, chuckling. “It’s like watching two bulls keep headbutting each other.”

“Wow,” Sunghoon deadpanned. “Thank you so much for that visual. Don’t know what I would have done without it.”

“You can be the prettier bull, if you want.”

“I don’t want to be the prettier bull, Jaeyunie, I want my relationship with my soulmate to not be a raging dumpster fire,” Sunghoon whined. “I want to— I don’t want him to hate me. I’ve never wanted him to hate me.”

Jaeyun’s voice went painfully kind. “He doesn’t hate you any more than I do, Sunghoonie. He’s been apologizing to you for nearly two weeks, he’s— he literally put a soulmark on you that means ‘I’m sorry’. He’s the one that should be having this conversation, not you.”

“Well— maybe,” Sunghoon conceded. “But it’s… I don’t know. He says he won’t ever talk to me like that again, but I don’t really know whether to believe him or not.”

Jaeyun hummed on the other end, thoughtful. “I get that,” he said, because Sunghoon had found himself the most amazing best friend on the planet. “I’d be a little worried too, but… I’m pretty biased, Hoonie, but I do trust him,” he laughs, sheepish but certain. “You know I’m not just saying that. I really think he’s sorry and that he wants to fix this too. He’s been groveling about it for ages, it’s getting embarrassing—”

“Hey, it was deserved,” Sunghoon said, but his lips twisted, slightly guilty. He really had put Heeseung through it, so to speak.

“ Just give him a chance,” Jaeyun said, voice confident and sure. “I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

“...why do you always have to be so rational?” Sunghoon had responded, and that had, in essence, been that. 

Now, Sunghoon gives Jaeyun a look that’s trying to say a million things all at once— I don’t know if I’m still mad at him, you’re so annoying Jaeyunie, How Do Emotions Work— and likely just comes off as slightly panicked. “I don’t know,” he says, and Jaeyun’s expression softens. “We’ll see how long we can last before he pisses me off again.”

Jaeyun’s expression is knowing, slightly amused. “Whatever you say,” he says, and something in his voice makes Sunghoon’s cheeks begin to burn. 

“What?” he asks, and Jaeyun does not hesitate— sly fucker— to drop the bomb on him.

“Just— kiss him by Christmas, will you? Riki said Valentine’s Day, but I had a little more faith in you two, and look, I was right—”

“Oh my god, Sim Jaeyun—”

“What?” Jaeyun echoes in the same tone as Sunghoon had. “Don’t look at me like that, you know what I’m talking about.”

“I—” Sunghoon’s going to kill him. “I’m going to find Wonie—”

“Okay, nice try, but you’re not changing the subject that easily—”

“Wonie!” Sunghoon calls, looking around and determinedly ignoring Jaeyun.

“Yah!”

“Jungwon-ah!”

“Hoonie, come back here—!”

— — — 

The next couple of days are a rather— Sunghoon’s run out of words for the experience by now, run out of clever things to say in response to Heeseung’s sincerity, because to put it simply, the next few days are an exercise in Heeseung following him around like a goddamn puppy.

It starts off innocuous, eyebrow-raising but not noteworthy, considering how he’s been acting as of late: he shows up at Sunghoon’s locker the next morning with tired eyes and a little smile, leaning against the wall to his left and doing unhealthy things to his heart. 

“Good morning,” he greets merrily, and Sunghoon pauses halfway through pulling out a textbook to give him a truly disbelieving look.

“...I’m sorry, what are you doing here?”

“Saying hello, Sunghoonie— I’m allowed to now, right?” Heeseung asks cheerfully, and Sunghoon hardly remembers to scoff and look away, not when Heeseung’s looking at him with those eyes, big and brown and far too genuinely happy. 

“Don’t get too excited,” Sunghoon warns, looking him up and down slightly warily. “I still think your personality is a raging dumpster fire.”

“...I’ll let you have that one,” Heeseung says graciously, tilting his head and glancing inside Sunghoon’s locker. “Is that Jungwon?” he asks, snorting as he spots one of the pictures Sunghoon’s tacked up on the inside of the door with cheap magnets, most of them of his friends.

“I don’t know what his mom was thinking getting him that haircut,” Sunghoon grins, cracking at the sight of seventh grade Jungwon with his braces and bowl cut. 

“And that’s Sunoo? And Jongseong… do you have pictures like this of everyone?” Heeseung asks, slowly growing more incredulous as he glances from middle school Sunoo to toddler Jongseong wearing sunglasses. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I take a lot of pleasure in pissing people off,” Sunghoon says, saccharine and sarcastic as always— but this time, instead of snapping back and judging him for it, Heeseung just laughs, lips curving up almost fondly. 

How is that not too good to be true?

“Should I pretend to be surprised?” Heeseung replies, resting his hand on top of his messenger bag, which is slung over his shoulder, pressed between his hip and the row of lockers, sliding down as he sighs and slumps further against it, yawning into the back of his hand. 

“Am I boring you?” Sunghoon mocks, and Heeseung grins again.

“You? Boring?”

Sunghoon has to look away, lips pressed together, to hide his smile. “You still haven’t told me what you’re really doing here, you know.” He zips the textbook in his hands into his bag, reaching into his locker and rooting around for a granola bar he knows he ate at least three days ago. (The longer he stands here, the longer Heeseung does as well.)

“I really came just to say hi.”

“Because you enjoy my company that much?” Sunghoon says sardonically, sliding his eyes back over to Heeseung, suspicious. There’s no way this can just be that easy. There has to be a catch, a price to pay— there’s no such thing as a free lunch, and there’s no such thing as a Heeseung that comes over ‘just to say hi.’ 

“Because I won a bet, if you want to get technical, and we agreed we’d try to be friends.” Heeseung uses his fingers to tuck back a strand of hair over his forehead, eyes blinking unwaveringly at Sunghoon. “Right?”

“...I should have set better parameters on the terms of that bet,” Sunghoon grumbles, giving up on pretending to search for his snack and shutting his locker. He turns back to Heeseung and mirrors his position, leaning against it and crossing his arms over his chest. “How long exactly are you planning on popping up like a mole everywhere I go?”

“So you noticed that as well?” Heeseung says, suddenly breaking out into a grin. Seven-sixteen in the morning is too early for those blinding white teeth, Jesus. “I kept seeing you everywhere, I had no idea what was going on—”

“I remember— I think we fought about it.”

“I don’t think there’s much we didn’t fight about,” Heeseung agrees, but for once it doesn’t sound like it pains him to think of. Sunghoon’s… not quite as ready to let everything just roll off him. “But we finally figured out why, didn’t we?” he adds, eyes sparkling, and Sunghoon’s stomach gives a surprised little flip.

“I’ve never thought about it like that,” he admits, caught off guard. God, he’d even gone so far as to ponder the frankly supernatural odds of constantly running into Heeseung, that maybe he could close his eyes and pick a direction and walk until he inevitably found him— and yet his brain had never thought to glance two degrees over from that line of thinking to come to the distressingly obvious conclusion that maybe it was because they were sharing a fucking soul that probably wanted to be reunited with its other half?

“I thought I was going crazy,” Heeseung laughs. “It was driving me up the wall, never being able to get away from you—”

“That sounds wonderful, really, in context,” Sunghoon mutters, rolling his eyes, and Heeseung’s expression goes playfully reproachful, eyes dancing.

“Don’t be like that,” he says— and yes, ladies and gentlemen, that might actually be a slight pout on his lips. The half of Sunghoon’s brain that’s not fully awake yet gives a pterodactyl screech, unbidden; the half that is has a minor malfunction, momentarily freezing his body in place. “You know I’m not trying to be an asshole. I don’t… we were getting along perfectly fine this weekend.”

Sunghoon’s brain takes a long moment to finish loading. “...yeah, well. I’m not used to having to be nice to you.”

“We’ll get you used to it,” Heeseung promises, and Sunghoon scoffs again, but he’s laughing as he ducks his head, looking away to avoid having to look at Heeseung’s smile again. 

“You’re really good at avoiding my actual questions, you know. How long am I going to have to put up with this?” Sunghoon gestures at all of him, and Heeseung’s gaze is far too sharp and knowing for the frankly embarrassing words out of his mouth.

“Hopefully a very long time.”

“ Heeseung.”

“What? I’m being honest,” Heeseung grins, and Sunghoon can feel his cheeks beginning to go hot. Kiss him before Christmas, says Jaeyun’s voice in his head, unprovoked, and suddenly he’s blushing, eyes trained at a point somewhere on Heeseung’s neck— but then that’s distracting too, the way his collar swoops around his Adam’s apple, the golden-brown tan of his skin—

“You’re being an asshole again,” Sunghoon protests, dragging his eyes back up and finding Heeseung’s gaze searching his, mouth opening in what looks like both curiosity and… god, Sunghoon hopes he didn’t notice the way he was blatantly checking him out, Jesus Christ. Who let him try to function this early in the morning?

Heeseung sighs, mouth shutting as he glances away, shaking his head. “Fine,” he agrees, and at some point their thought processes seem to have diverged— thank goodness. “You know, the goal is for us to like being around each other,” he says in an almost warning tone, like he’s giving Sunghoon a disclaimer. “I shouldn’t have to keep bringing up a bet for you to want to hang out with me.”

“Tough luck,” Sunghoon drawls, and Heeseung rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs, tilting his head back and forth, considering. It’s far too adorable for the juvenile motion that it is. “A month?” Heeseung asks after a moment, raising his head back up to meet Sunghoon’s eyes. “That’s reasonable. One month, and— it was a mole, wasn’t it? You called me a mole?” He grins. “No Whack-A-Mole for a month, then, please.”

“A month?”

“Well, hopefully this time next month you might think my personality is less of a raging dumpster fi—”

“One week,” Sunghoon protests, and Heeseung’s eyes widen.

“Sunghoon-ah, I consider myself pretty likeable, but I don’t think even I could win someone over in a week—”

Are you actually this dense? Sunghoon thinks with something almost like anger. You blind, obtuse fucking moron, you absolute numbskull— how much more winning over does he want to do? “Tough luck,” he repeats, fighting to keep his voice even.

“Sunghoonie,” Heeseung sighs, and Sunghoon’s stomach gives another pained, hopelessly enamored flutter. Why me, he thinks, with all the wretched frustration of someone about to fling himself off a bridge. He wants to punch Heeseung in his stupid fucking mouth, and then he wants to kiss it better. 

“I am not the bad guy here,” Sunghoon enunciates, but his face is still burning, and his eyes are trained firmly on Heeseung’s forehead. 

“But you’re only arguing on principle, aren’t you?” Heeseung says, and his expression clears slightly, amused. His lips tilt up to one side, eyes going imploring, as though he’s cracked the fucking case. “Because that’s what we always do?”

He’s not, actually. He’s just— 

Once again, seven-twenty in the morning is really too early to be doing this, but. But. 

If Sunghoon’s being honest— and he hates that, he really does— then what he’s really doing is defending himself. This is so fucking weird on so many levels, Heeseung coming over to bargain to spend more time with him, smiling at him like that, calling him Sunghoon-ah all innocently with no blessed idea of what it’s doing to him. Jaeyun might trust Heeseung, but Sunghoon’s— Sunghoon’s genuinely worried he’s going to do something horribly stupid if he lets Heeseung in, if he does what everyone’s telling him to and takes him at his word, if he really does get used to being nice to him. 

Because he’s really not that strong, not when it comes down to it— so excuse him, for god’s sake, for being a little hesitant to give him a month to get Sunghoon wrapped around his goddamn finger.

“Fine, then, two weeks,” Sunghoon sighs. “Is that good enough for you?”

“...you know what? It’s not like I’m never going to see you again after those two weeks,” Heeseung says, eyes brightening. “Two weeks. I can make you like me in two weeks,” he grins, and Sunghoon has never been happier, truly, that they can’t read each other’s minds like Jongseong and Jungwon. 

Because the level of obliviousness in that sentence, Jesus Christ.

— — — 

So, needless to say, Heeseung proceeds to do exactly as promised; he doesn’t waste a second of those two weeks Sunghoon’s reluctantly given him.

He shows up at Sunghoon’s locker before and after almost every class, fingers drumming against the door as Sunghoon switches out his books and grinning as he offers to carry them for him— “ don’t be ridiculous, okay—” “you’re saying that but still handing me your bag?” And Sunghoon is, indeed, extending his bag to Heeseung, eyebrows raised. 

Heeseung doesn’t miss a beat, reaching over and tucking it under his free arm. (It’s shock more than anything that prevents Sunghoon from tentatively telling him he doesn’t really have to, you know…?) 

He finds him after school as well, catching up to him biking home and asking if he wants to study together— “ no, Heeseung, we wouldn’t even get any work done.” “You’re quite literally obligated to say yes— you do know that?” “Are you going to force me?” “Well— don’t be like that, Sunghoon-ah—”

And that too, the incessant, consistent rhythm of Sunghoon’s name on Heeseung’s lips, falling off it every ten seconds like he can’t resist— “come on, Sunghoon-ah” “don’t be rude, Sunghoonie” “Sunghoon-ah, Sunghoon-ah, wait up—!”

To put it simply, he’s going insane. He meaning— Sunghoon, or Heeseung, or both, or both but at different times. Heeseung outwardly and Sunghoon on the inside, mentally screaming every time he does something stupidly sweet and utterly incomprehensible.

Remembering those long gone days (it’s been three weeks) when Sunghoon used to follow Heeseung around to annoy him only serves to highlight just how bizarre this role-reversal is. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Sunghoon enunciates when Heeseung sits across from him at lunch two days later. Riki, Sunoo, and Jaeyun freeze in unison, comical expressions of shock mirrored on all their faces. A cucumber slides slowly out of Sunoo’s sandwich and lands with a thwack on his tray. “Jesus Christ,” he says, looking over at Heeseung with a glare. “Could you give it a rest?”

Heeseung just grins, completely unfazed. “You promised me two weeks.”

“And I knew it was a bad idea from the beginning,” Sunghoon huffs.

“You know the meaner you are to me the more determined I get?”

“How exactly is this environment conducive to us becoming friends, Heeseung?”

“Heeseung- hyung?” Heeseung asks hopefully. In your fucking dreams, Sunghoon thinks viciously.

“In what world,” Sunghoon raises his eyebrows, “would I ever—”

“It was worth a try,” Heeseung mutters, shaking his head and sticking his fork into a limp piece of school-lunch-salad lettuce. 

“I’m sorry,” Sunoo says precariously, and they both look up to see him looking, quite, frankly, like someone’s dropped a bomb over his head. “ What is going on right now?”

Sunghoon takes a vindictive bite of his own lunch. “He’s decided he wants to be friends,” he says irritably. “And now he won’t leave me alone.”

“You know you haven’t actually told me to leave yet?” Heeseung chirps.

“Is it not deafeningly obvious?”

This time it’s Jaeyun’s rather unsubtle snicker that interrupts them; Sunghoon looks up and gives him a truly withering look, heart jolting slightly. It’s a familiar song and dance, worryingly, one of them making faces at the other in the fleeting moments the other’s crush isn’t looking, sending stupid finger hearts or waggling their eyebrows. And this is not what that is, Sunghoon won’t let it be—

“So I was thinking we should have a surprise birthday party for Jaeyun-hyung,” Riki says. 

“Oh, good idea,” Jaeyun agrees instantly, and then they’re all laughing so hard that Sunghoon honestly forgets to be angry.

Forgetting to be angry actually describes his current predicament distressingly well, when he dares to think about it head-on, instead of circumventing with well no one’s mean enough to be angry when he smiles like that and laughter is contagious, they’re like yawns— not because you’re funny, shut up. 

Heeseung starts asking questions and getting answers, keeps coming up to Sunghoon and smiling at him until his heart is doing backflips, is buzzing constantly around his head the way he always has, but somewhere along the line he’s gone from an insect wanted to bat away to a butterfly he wants to stand very still and hold his breath for, see if he’ll land on Sunghoon’s nose. 

Heeseung falls into step beside him on his way out of school that afternoon, walking alongside his bike as he walks it out onto the sidewalk, and Sunghoon— does nothing, really, to stop him. He manages a grumbled “what are you doing here?”, receives a Look in answer, and can’t muster up the will to protest any further. Heeseung hasn’t even done anything— but it’s like, all this time, Sunghoon was only looking at him out of the corner of his eye, fleeting glances in his peripheral vision: and now Heeseung’s come and inserted himself right there in the center of Sunghoon’s line of sight, staring back every time he tries to look at him. It feels like he’s discovered a new layer of attractiveness that’s even worse than the first. 

“Listen,” Heeseung starts, “I just realized that we don’t actually know that much about each other.”

“Meaning…?”

“ Meaning I know what you’re like when you’re angry, but not much else,” Heeseung says with a shrug.

“Well, see, when I’m disgusted, I make this face—” Sunghoon says sarcastically, scrunching his face like he’s just caught a glimpse of something nasty under his shoe.

“I’ve seen that before, thanks,” Heeseung snorts. “You used to make it at me all the time— and that’s not what I meant either,” he goes on, looking amused. “I don’t even know what your sister’s name is.”

“I don’t think Riki does either, you know.”

“Don’t be difficult, come on. Tell me something,” Heeseung says, nudging his shoulder. “You want me to take the bike? I can—”

“I can handle my own damn bike,” Sunghoon assures him immediately; Heeseung carrying his bags was enough cognitive dissonance to last a lifetime, what with the back and forth of growing guilt and growing fondness. It’s all growing, all his feelings, like they’re becoming too full to fit inside him. And funny things happen when Sunghoon starts letting them hit adolescence and start expressing themselves, especially when they’re so new and raw, penned away for so long. They’ll go straight for the teenage rebellion phase, and Sunghoon? Sunghoon hasn’t read enough parenting manuals to get them— to get himself— under control. “And my sister’s name is Yeji, if you want to know that badly. She’s twelve. It’s a nightmare.”

“Twelve?” Heeseung asks, tilting his head. “I always assumed you’d have a noona.”

“...is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Sunghoon asks, leading him across the school’s courtyard through the crowd, dodging the freshman running to their buses. 

“Mm, mostly bad,” Heeseung says, face splitting into a grin when Sunghoon’s head whips around, eyebrows rising. 

“Excuse me?”

“Come on. You give off bratty younger sibling vibes, don’t lie to me,” Heeseung teases, and Sunghoon whacks him on the arm.

“Well, clearly it’s your situational awareness that’s the problem then. What about you? Spoiled only child?” 

“No, I have an older brother in college—”

“So you’re the bratty younger sibling,” Sunghoon grins, snapping his fingers and pointing at him. “Knew it.”

“You don’t think I’m a responsible hyung?”

“I think you’re a fucking disaster,” Sunghoon snarks, and when Heeseung throws his head back to laugh, his heart runs a little relay race in his chest. “ Why are you laughing? That was mean, Heeseung. I’m being mean to you right now, on purpose—”

“Because I know you don’t mean it, and that makes it ten times funnier,” Heeseung says, still laughing without a care.

“What do you mean, ‘I don’t mean it’?”

“Well, maybe you do, but you’re not saying it to hurt me, are you?” Heeseung asks, eyes darting back over to meet his. 

“...what do you take me for, some kind of asshole who does yell mean things at someone to hurt them?” Sunghoon says pointedly.

“I take you for someone who… puts cereal before milk,” Heeseung says, effortlessly rerouting the conversation.

“Seriously? Gross. Milk before cereal,” Sunghoon wrinkles his nose.

“Ah— see, that’s your disgusted face,” Heeseung points, and even as Sunghoon abruptly bursts out laughing, he goes on, cheeky: “five minutes and I already know you better. Do surprise next, I want to see if it looks just as constipated—”

“Shut up,” Sunghoon says through his laughter. “Stop milking the joke, Heeseung,” he adds on a whim, waggling his eyebrows significantly.

Heeseung’s jaw quite literally drops open. “That was the worst joke I’ve ever heard,” he says faintly, stopping in the middle of the street about it. He’s giving Sunghoon a look like he’s never seen him before. “You want to talk about disgusting things— what was that—?”

“You really do know nothing about me,” Sunghoon cackles. “Not one single thing, Jesus Christ—”

“Maybe it was better that way,” Heeseung says quietly, still looking horrified, and Sunghoon laughs so hard his stomach starts to hurt. “Is that— you really think that’s funny?” he asks, lip curling in mock disgust, and when Sunghoon’s only response is a wheeze, he rolls his eyes, a smile sneaking onto his lips, and shakes his head. “...we’ll work on it,” he exhales.

“Oh, there’s no fixing this,” Sunghoon assures him with a bright smile, just as cheeky in response. “I’m stuck this way, Heeseung-ssi. You’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Heeseung- ssi,” Heeseung repeats thoughtfully. “You know—”

“I was joking,” Sunghoon interrupts, knowing exactly where he’s going with this. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“But why not? Sunghoon-ah—”

Because, Sunghoon thinks, once again with that now-familiar mix of panicked anger, every time I look at you and think Heeseung-hyung it makes me blush. 

(...yeah, that’s right, Sunghoon’s given himself a complex about it. He gave it half a thought the other day, debating slowly starting to call him hyung in normal conversation, and abruptly threw said thought out the window once he realized.)

“—I’m not asking to force you or anything,” Heeseung goes on, completely oblivious. “But come on, you don’t think you should make up for that horrific pun somehow?”

Sunghoon holds his ground— which he feels merits some kind of award, considering how Heeseung’s giving him those puppy dog eyes again, probably without even being consciously aware of his actions, of the effect he has on Sunghoon’s nervous system. “Keep dreaming.” 

Heeseung sighs. “Someday,” he vows, and then jogs slightly ahead of Sunghoon and turns back, grinning again and starting to walk backwards. “Don’t let me hit anything,” he says, although there’s not much danger of that considering from here to the road is a straight line and most of the students have cleared out from around them. “Anyway. Where was I? Getting to know you, right. I know you skate…”

“I skate,” Sunghoon repeats, shaking his head with a slight scoff. “That’s the simplest way to put it, yeah.”

“And I know you’re good at it,” Heeseung admits, raising both hands in surrender.

“How? You’ve never seen me skate.”

“Sure I have. Sunoo showed me basically every video there is of your competitions,” Heeseung says. “You were so adorable in the first few.”

“...are you talking about when I was ten?” Sunghoon asks, entirely ignoring the you were so adorable— that’s something he’s going to unpack when he’s alone in the privacy of his room with no one to watch him press his hands into his eyes until he’s seeing stars. 

“Were you? I didn’t know for sure,” Heeseung says. “But either way— I’ve seen you skate. I didn’t realize you were kind of Internet famous until then.”

“Like you’ve never been on a billboard somewhere,” Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “You’re a model— you want to talk to me about being Internet famous?”

“I’m not that well-known,” Heeseung waves him off. “Everyone here was just… impressed, I guess.”

“Well, yeah. Everyone here has famous parents— they haven’t gotten to do much themselves.” Sunghoon shrugs. “What about you, actually? You don’t seem like a chaebol, but neither did Jongseong and his uncle’s some… 40 under 40 or something.”

“Definitely not a chaebol,” Heeseung confirms ruefully. “But I have an uncle who once shook hands with Min Yoongi.”

Sunghoon smirks. “Take that, Jongseong.”

“So you’re on my side?”

“Like I said,” Sunghoon warns, looking away and stifling another grin. What happened to holding him at arm’s length? Come on, Sunghoonie. “Don’t get any ideas. Also, that’s the road, idiot.” 

Heeseung comes to a halt a few yards away from the crosswalk, glancing over his shoulder and scooting out of the way when Sunghoon wheels his bike up to the line, waiting for the light to change. 

“Wait— wait, I forgot about Jungwon,” Sunghoon says suddenly, head whipping around to glance back at the school building. It’s halfway hidden behind a little grassy hill— wow, they’ve walked pretty far. “ Shit—”

“He was going home with Jongseong anyway,” Heeseung says. “He mentioned it at lunch, don’t worry.”

“Oh— oh, okay, good. My dad would have been so mad—”

“I mean, I’m sure Jungwonie won’t be too happy when I tell him you forgot about him,” Heeseung says, smile in his voice, and when Sunghoon glances back, completely unimpressed, his grin widens into a familiar smirk. It still makes Sunghoon want to do things he desperately shouldn’t.

“Yah. What the hell does that mean? Why would you tell him?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Heeseung counters, and when the walking light turns green, they both set off across the crosswalk. Sunghoon has no idea if Heeseung’s house is even in this direction— and his own is definitely too far to walk leisurely to, so at some point this little get to know you thing Heeseung’s got going on will have to end… but at the same time Sunghoon can’t suppress that no, you hang up first urge to not be the one to mention it. He’ll let that be Heeseung’s problem.

“Do you treat all your friends like this?” 

“Yes,” Heeseung responds instantly. “If you were Jaeyun I’d be asking you to buy me ramyeon tomorrow night.”

“And since I’m not Jaeyun…?” Sunghoon trails off, expression expectant. He hopes Heeseung realizes there is a correct answer here.

“I’m asking if you want to study together tomorrow night,” Heeseung says smoothly. “I was planning on going to the library— your library, since you had me kicked out for frosting a book at mine,” he adds, and Sunghoon pinches his lips together to stifle his grin. Okay, he is kind of sorry about that one, admittedly. “Are you free?”

Sunghoon gives him a Look. “Am I even allowed to say no under the terms of your stupid bet?”

“Forget the bet, Sunghoonie. Just come?” Heeseung asks, glancing over and— god, there they are, those fucking eyes.

He shouldn’t say yes— not based off the conclusion he’s come to, his determination to not let Heeseung in. He shouldn’t. 

“We won’t get any work done,” Sunghoon warns, stepping onto the sidewalk again and dragging his bike over a rattling crack in the concrete. 

“I promise not to distract you with any deformed animal drawings.”

“It was not deformed, don’t hurt its feelings,” Sunghoon says hotly.

Heeseung’s eyes are twinkling with something that almost looks fond. Sunghoon doesn’t trust it. “Oh, it’s the penguin’s feelings that are hurt?” 

Doesn’t trust it, but he can’t resist it. “For the love of— fine, my feelings, then. Don’t be rude, Heeseung.”

“Heeseung…hyung…?”

Sunghoon sighs, coming to a halt as the light changes again behind them and cars begin to fly by, ruffling their hair and clothes with the passing wind. Give me one good reason to say no, he thinks desperately, because he wants to say yes so badly that it seems like a horrible idea. Nothing he’s ever wanted this much has ever come so easily. 

And maybe it’s not as simple as it looks. Maybe Heeseung will keep this up for another couple of weeks, wait until Sunghoon’s followed him blindly past another point of no return, and then abandon him at the signpost, set adrift with no way to turn back. Maybe he’s just sorry and Sunghoon’s just the annoying dongsaeng he’s placating the same way you would a child with candy— maybe, maybe, maybe.

What scares Sunghoon the most is how badly, underneath all the bluster and sass and disgruntled looks, he wants to believe otherwise. How much it aches, the ugly notion that Heeseung’s just— letting him win, in a sense. 

“Do you want me to come or not?” he snarks aloud.

“Wait, yes, I want you to come,” Heeseung backpedals quickly, and Sunghoon nearly bites off the inside of his cheek trying not to smile. “Sunghoon? Is that a yes?”

Sunghoon sighs. There’s no reason forthcoming, no sign from the universe for him to take. The one time he asks, and the universe fails to deliver. “Go home, Heeseung.”

“What— yes or no, Sunghoon-ah? Sunghoon-ah?” he calls as Sunghoon starts walking again, trailing slowly after him. “Park Sunghoon! Is that a yes?”

No, Sunghoon thinks, steeling himself to say it aloud. No way. 

He turns to glance over his shoulder— and that was his worst mistake, really. 

There Heeseung stands, silhouetted by the sun, eyes shining and smile bright, hopeful. He doesn’t look like someone who’s capable of taking Sunghoon’s fragile hopes and crushing them in his fist; he looks like someone who’s asking Sunghoon not to crush his. 

And, well…

…oh, all right.

“Yes!” Sunghoon yells back, turning back so he doesn’t have to look at him any longer. “Yes, you idiot.”

(But the idiot in this situation is, for once, probably not Heeseung.)

— — — 

Because the universe can never make anything simple for Sunghoon, their reconciliation is made that much sweeter by how it seems to have revitalized the rest of the group too. Just another bullet point on the neverending list of why he should really come around to Heeseung— you’ve been missing out this whole time, Sunghoon-hyung, according to Jungwon. 

Sunghoon hadn’t really noticed how dead the group chat had been (mostly because of Riki sulking that he couldn’t make it to Jaeyun’s game on Friday) until Jungwon piped up to make plans for Friday night. He ends up sending back a sorryyyy, i can’t make it on friday :(( knowing he has practice until late at night, but almost everyone else says yes… including Sunoo.

Now. Sunghoon knows Jaeyun would— and has, actually— been telling that he doesn’t owe anyone anything, even despite his soft spot for Sunoo, but enough is, admittedly, enough. He doesn’t see Sunoo around as much as he does Jaeyun and Jongseong, or even Heeseung, these days, but Sunoo’s the only one who will come to random skating events with him and freeze his ass off in some outdoor rink to watch Disney on Ice, or whatever is coming around that Sunghoon wants to go to, and he’s one of the only people that Sunghoon never gets bored with. Sunoo’s told him all kinds of things, privately whispered to the ceiling during sleepovers, frantic motions across the room when Sunghoon needs to come save him from talking to a teacher. Hiding this from him still feels like a betrayal of some kind.

So Sunghoon mentally puts it on his list:

• Learn how to write with left hand

• Convince coach to pick a skating costume for next month without sequins on it

• Tell Kim Sunoo about soulmate situation with former mortal enemy

• …pick something to wear to study session with said mortal enemy

And that brings Sunghoon to the problem at hand, sitting in his room at four-fifteen the following evening, chewing on his lip and highkey tearing his closet apart for something that says I just put on something random, I’m only here because you’re forcing me to be but I’m also just that cute even when the outfit was effortless <33. 

Karma really is a bitch; the first person he usually calls in a situation like this is Kim Sunoo himself.

So, instead: 

“Yeji!” Sunghoon yells, hands on his hips, staring into the depths of his closet like it’s personally wronged him. “PARK YEJI-SSI.”

“WHAT?” comes his little sister’s responding yell from the living room. They’re home alone, parents both at work, which here means that Yeji’s emptying their kitchen and doing her homework in front of the TV like a Rebel™ and Sunghoon’s free to not be quite as responsible of an older brother.
“COME HERE!”

“WHY?”

“I NEED YOUR HELP.”

“WITH WHAT?”

“I’LL TELL EOMMA YOU’RE THE ONE WHO’S FINISHING ALL HER CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM EVERY MONTH,” Sunghoon replies, throwing his arms into the air, fed up. “Just come here for two minutes?”

“I HATE YOU,” Yeji screams back, as though Sunghoon would ever really sell her out like that. (She has way too much dirt on him, could absolutely take him in a fight, and is generally ten times brattier when she’s mad at him. It’s easier to just keep the peace when you’re dealing with a ticking time bomb.)

She storms into the room ten seconds later, glasses balanced on her nose. Her hair’s in two French braids down her back, and she’s wearing a Yuzuru Hanyu sweatshirt— because she is Sunghoon’s sister, after all. She’s just barely cleared five feet, is a grand total of twelve years and six months old, and still thinks she’s the scariest person in every room she walks into. Even now, all she does is roll her eyes at him standing there in his underwear (although he did think to cover up his soulmark before calling her over.) “Why are you naked?” she says snarkily.

“I’m not naked, shut up,” Sunghoon scoffs, and then he throws an arm out to his closet. “And it’s because I have nothing to wear.”

Yeji looks from him to his full closet of clothes, crossing her arms over her chest. “...you’re not usually this stupid, oppa.”

“I’m being serious! Nothing looks good,” Sunghoon says mournfully. “Yeji-yah. Come on. You have a magazine in your hand twenty four hours of the day, please pick something nice.”

“I’ll look,” Yeji says, turning up her nose and marching across the room to look through the closet. “Why do you even care? Don’t you usually just wear whatever?”

“I just want to look nice today,” Sunghoon says evasively. “I have to leave in like ten minutes, Yeji-yah, hurry up.”

“Stop rushing me,” she complains, looking back at him with a glare. “Why do you never buy anything cute except for blazers? Everything else is just sweatpants.”

“I look good in blazers,” Sunghoon protests. “And I’m freezing my ass off here, could you go a little faster?”

“I’m telling Eomma you said ‘ass’,” she replies coolly, turning back to the closet and dragging a handful of hangers into her line of sight.

“I’m telling Eomma you said ass.”

Yeji huffs again, rising up on her tiptoes and tilting her head. “Okay… how about this?” She pulls out a black button down, and Sunghoon immediately shakes his head.

“Not that nice.”

“You’re the worst,” she groans, aggressively putting the hanger back inside. “Where are you even going?”

“You’ll laugh,” Sunghoon says after a moment.
“Duh. That’s my job. But you’re not helping by not telling me.”

He tilts his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “...the library.”

She turns back to face him, incredulous. “You have to look nice to go to the library that you spend half your free time at? You go there like four times a week, oppa, why—?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Sunghoon whines. “Come on already.”

She throws her hands up in the air, shaking her head dramatically, and turns once more back to the closet. “Is this a date?”

“ No.” Is she kidding? This is no more a date than the time Sunghoon frosted Heeseung’s homework for him. 

“Because if it was a date then I’d tell you to wear this,” she says pointedly, pulling out a white button down with a high collar and a blue sweatshirt. “And maybe put on some concealer.”

Sunghoon’s lips pinch to one side. “It won’t look like I’m trying too hard?”

“No, you loser, it won’t. Can I do the concealer?” she asks, perking up.

“This isn’t really a makeup situation,” he mutters, but in the end he’s never been that great at saying no to her. He puts on the outfit she chose and sits on a chair in the bathroom for a good fifteen minutes more than planned, letting her poke his face with their Eomma’s brushes and mutually failing to figure out which one is the highlighter and which one is the eyeshadow. 

He gets out the door and onto his bike at four thirty, pedaling against the wind. It’s only as he’s heading inside the library, a bit windswept and out of breath, that he realizes he forgot Heeseung’s coat in his room.

Sunghoon wanders around for a few minutes, oddly jittery. This isn’t a date and he knows it, but at the same time Heeseung talked about it for half of this afternoon’s math class. 

That’s certainly a new development in its own right, the melting of their frosty silence. In hindsight— or even in the moment— it was always ill-conceived to try and ignore someone sitting so close your knees were knocking together, but although Heeseung’s returned to that policy of not talking while the teacher is that had pissed Sunghoon off so much when they first met, their work time at the end of class was a bit of a pleasant surprise in that Heeseung had leaned over and— shocker— asked for help. It was like coming full circle, in a way, especially in that this time Sunghoon hadn’t laughed at him so much as actually helped out— and then the conversation had kind of flowed on its own.

But anyway, as much as he knows it isn’t a date, that part of his brain isn’t so easily shut off. Heeseung could have picked anything— he could have asked Sunghoon to buy him a box of donuts for the fake birthday present he’d given him a few weeks ago, could have asked him to really start calling him ‘hyung’, could have asked him to be nicer. Instead he’s choosing to spend an evening with him, all alone, to study. 

If he would just stop doing things that mess with Sunghoon’s head…

After looking around in every corner starts to get a bit boring, he finally pauses and gives Heeseung a call, halfway into the children’s section and realizing he has no idea where he’s going. “Hey,” he starts cautiously. “Heeseung?”

“Sunghoon-ah, hey. Where are you?” Heeseung asks casually on the other end. “I’m upstairs by the windows… same place as last time?”

“Oh— all right, I’ll come up,” Sunghoon says, nodding. “Sorry I’m kind of late. My sister held me up,” he lies. If anything Sunghoon was the one who held Yeji up.

“That’s surprisingly polite of you to say,” Heeseung laughs. 

“I can be meaner if you prefer,” Sunghoon scoffs, naturally defaulting to being annoying. He finds the staircase and hurries up, shouldering past a pair of lost-looking little kids. 

“No, no, I like this better,” Heeseung says, smile in his voice. “And that’s alright. I only got here… ten minutes, maybe? Ten minutes ago.”

Sunghoon’s not that easily tamed, though. “So you are that eager to spend more time with me, hmm? I remember just last month you were practically begging me to leave you alone.”

“Don’t be a brat, Park Sunghoon,” Heeseung replies cheekily, just as familiar with their routine. “I think you’re forgetting that you’re the one who lost the bet this time.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, rounding the corner past a row of shelves and craning his neck to search all the little booths. “Yeah, yeah— but your reward was me,” he grins, stomach full of jittery, pleased butterflies. “That’s what you wanted. I think I should get to gloat at least a little bit, shouldn’t I?”

Stop flirting with him? Sunghoon scolds himself instantly, but even the imaginary voice in his head is half-hearted. 

“...don’t make me regret inviting you,” Heeseung warns, and Sunghoon’s smile widens. “I should have known it would take you about ten seconds to go back to— where are you going?” he asks, interrupting himself.

Sunghoon slows his pace, brows furrowing. “What are you talking about?”

“On your right,” Heeseung laughs, and Sunghoon glances over, still confused— and then his eyes widen. Heeseung gives him a wave from one of the tables by the windows, as promised, phone held to his ear. Sunghoon’s stomach twists a little, pleased, when he realizes Heeseung’s dressed up a little too, wearing a white sweater tucked into long black pants. 

(Yes, he’s unfairly good-looking. No, Sunghoon’s not going to comment on the singular earring in his ear, because if he does he might combust right then and there, and he still has three hours of a not-date to get through.)

“Oh,” Sunghoon says eloquently, hand dropping down to hang up the phone. “Hey,” he greets, sliding into the seat across from him and instantly regretting it. He’s already done the stupid thing by agreeing to come here— why not make it worse by at least sitting next to him the way he very much wants to?

“I almost thought you wouldn’t show up,” Heeseung says thoughtfully. Something flickers across his face, fleeting but giving away the truth in his words anyway.

“I’m not that much of an asshole,” Sunghoon mumbles, slightly mollified. He pulls out his books and arranges them around Heeseung’s open notebook and pencil case, opening a new stack of index cards and flipping over to the glossary of their latest Chemistry unit. He gets two flashcards in, pen tapping against the paper, and finally gives in, eyes darting up to Heeseung again. He’s bent over his notebook, brows slightly scrunched in concentration. His hair’s parted to the side, windswept and soft-looking, and that single dangly cross earring is calling to Sunghoon’s fingers like a ball of yarn to a cat. 

Is that allowed? If he were to just reach over and…

No. No. Of course it’s not allowed. Shut up, Park Sunghoon. 

He keeps his eyes trained on Heeseung’s brow, narrowing them slightly. I don’t like you, he thinks, trying to recall the venom he used to put behind the thought, the righteous anger and competitive spirit, the annoyance that used to stir his inhibitions so often. You’re such an asshole, Lee Heeseung. 

He almost means that one, but still— there’s just nothing there, no furious intention, no irritation. 

But then why is his chest still tight, stomach still flipping over like he’s itching for a fight? Why has his breath caught at least five times since sitting down? Why is he dressed up and still seeking Heeseung’s attention? 

…this is not a conversation Sunghoon’s having with himself today, nope. 

“What are you working on?” he asks, abruptly looking down and swallowing.

“Hmm? Oh, English,” Heeseung says. God, he even smells good. “It’s the only subject I actually have fun in.”

It takes Sunghoon a moment to process, a miserable contrast to Heeseung’s casual response. “...yeah, your English scores are always really high,” he admits, earning himself a cheeky little grin as Heeseung looks up, visibly pleased with himself. There— that. Shouldn’t that be infuriating? Why isn’t Sunghoon huffing in anger right now, immediately taking it back? Why is his only instinct to open his mouth and tease, half on autopilot, that “modesty is a virtue, Heeseung.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever complimented me on something before,” Heeseung shakes his head, still smiling to himself. 

“Well,” Sunghoon starts, and then finds himself with nothing to say in response, because it’s probably true. Despite everything, he doesn’t find himself very proud of the realization. “Well— it’s not like you’ve complimented me on much either.”

“Would you even have believed me if I did?” Heeseung chuckles. “But all right…”

“I wasn’t asking you t—”

“You look really nice,” Heeseung says readily, and Sunghoon wants to crawl into a hole and never come out, cheeks going hot.

“Would you shut up,” Sunghoon says quietly, head ducking down over his paper, and Heeseung just laughs, nudging his foot under the table. 

“What? I’m being serious,” he says, blinking innocently over at Sunghoon— actual innocence, not feigned. “You look—”

“Go back to doing your stupid English homework,” Sunghoon orders, and Heeseung’s lips pinch together, smile shining through in how his eyes scrunch happily. 

“Okay, okay,” he concedes.

The silence stretches on longer this time, Sunghoon’s hand copying down formulas by rote. He’s hardly paying attention to what he’s writing, both their pencils scrawling along even as his mind replays the you look really nice over and over again. He has to resist the urge to press his free hand to his cheek to cool it down. 

(No, he’s not going to unpack that.)

But this is weirdly nice, actually. He knows he’s missed competing with Heeseung, but he hasn’t realized just how deep that runs until now. He’s not even hating studying right now, even though he’s just been suffering through all his assignments since falling out with Heeseung.

“Hey,” he pipes up again, almost regretting it when Heeseung’s eyes dart up instantly, inquisitive gaze pinning him in place. (Every time he meets his eyes, it’s like doing it for the first time all over again.) “That next test on Monday— we’re still…?”
Heeseung’s brows furrow and then straighten out again a moment later, head tilting in realization. “Oh, you still want to see who wins?” he asks.

“Come on. You wouldn’t be able to resist asking either,” Sunghoon points out, and Heeseung’s lips tilt up, nodding slowly.

“I guess not. As long as it’s, you know, not to make each other feel bad…”

“Winner gets… a vending machine cookie,” Sunghoon offers. “Nothing life-threatening.”

For some reason, this makes Heeseung’s expression soften. “I can live with that,” he agrees easily. “Sure. You’re on, Park Sunghoon.”

“Good,” Sunghoon says, looking down as a smile flickers across his face as well. There’s this warmth in his chest that’s both familiar and not, that desire to win warring with… genuine fondness, or something like it. It’s their thing, after all, competing like this— it’s what’s been missing from this whole let’s-be-friends shtick the entire time.

“Are those for Chem?” Heeseung asks, nodding at the flashcards he’s halfway through making.

“Yeah, for that quiz next Monday.”

“Can I see?” Even as he asks, Heeseung’s already reaching over to take a handful, flip through them. “I don’t know a single one of these,” he admits sheepishly.

“Doesn’t using my notes count as cheating?” Sunghoon teases.

“These are the same formulas in the textbook, just in your handwriting,” Heeseung scoffs, grinning at him over a blue flashcard. “What is… Avogadro’s constant?”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “6.03 times… ten to the eighth?”

Heeseung clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Ten to the twenty-third, Sunghoon-ssi. Don’t make it this easy for me.”

“Are you serious? I’m making these because I don’t know everything, you asshole,” Sunghoon groans, reaching over and snatching it out of Heeseung’s fingers, turning it over to confirm the answer. “Why would I be bothering if I knew all the answers already?”

“Calm down, calm down,” Heeseung smiles. “I’ll quiz you, give me those—” and he gathers up the whole pile Sunghoon’s made so far, pushing his notebook over the top half of the textbook page Sunghoon’s been copying from so he can’t see the answers. 

“What’s the catch?” Sunghoon asks immediately.

Heeseung blinks. “Does there have to be a catch?”

“With you? I’d be surprised if there was just one,” Sunghoon raises his eyebrows, Heeseung responding with a deadpan look.

“Fine. We never got to finish our conversation yesterday,” he says. “Every one you get wrong, I get to ask you something?”

“You realize I just told you I don’t know any of those?” 

“Great,” Heeseung grins, and then talks right over Sunghoon’s— admittedly rather weak— protests. “How do you calculate pressure?”

“...acceleration over…” Sunghoon huffs, looking determinedly away from Heeseung’s amused expression and staring out the window, racking his brain. “No, wait— force over area?”

Heeseung makes a face. “Fine. That’s right. What about percent error?”

“Um… actual minus theoretical over actual… times one hundred?”

“Actual minus theoretical over theoretical,” Heeseung relays immediately, sitting up and setting the card down into a separate pile. He makes a game show buzzer noise, looking far too pleased with himself, and Sunghoon crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Fine, fine. What do you even want to ask so badly?”

“Hmm… how long have you really known Jongseong?”

“What?” Sunghoon asks, head turning back around to meet Heeseung’s eyes thoughtfully. That’s tame, he muses. “Since sixth grade, I think. We went to middle school together.”

“And Jungwon since high school started, then?”

“I mean, if you want to get technical, he moved into my neighborhood the summer before freshman year,” Sunghoon shrugs. “And his middle school is right next to our school, so I was carpooling for him for two years before he even met Jongseong. Them being soulmates came out of literally nowhere.”

“Really? They’re so…” Heeseung trails off, gesturing vaguely.

“They are,” Sunghoon agrees, not even pretending to misunderstand him. “They’ve been like that since the beginning.”

“...what about Jaeyun and Sunoo, then?”

“What about Jaeyun and Sunoo?” Sunghoon says suspiciously, instantly defensive on Jaeyun’s behalf. 

Heeseung must see the glint in his eye, because he backs down, chuckling. “Chill out. Nobody told me anything, but Sunoo showed up to his game with that banner… and they’re kind of—” he makes the vague handwave again— “too, you know.”

Sunghoon reluctantly nods. “Sometimes I just want to shove their heads together and yell kiss already, you idiots,” he says, startling Heeseung into a laugh.

“So you’ve all known each other for a while, then?” Heeseung asks thoughtfully. “That’s sweet, that you’re all still friends after so long…”

“I guess so. It was just Jaeyun and Jongseong and I for a long time, but it’s… better with the rest of you,” Sunghoon says thoughtlessly— a fitting but immediately humbling contrast.

“Oh, it is?” Heeseung asks in a completely different tone, instantly catching on, and Sunghoon kicks him in the shin under the table, turning his waggling eyebrows into an offended jerk back. 

“That was way more than one question,” he warns.

“Don’t take it so seriously,” Heeseung protests— and, because Lee Heeseung apparently always gets what he wants, by the time he’s gotten through the stack that can’t hold more than twelve cards, he’s cajoled Sunghoon into answering almost twice as many questions. 

“Why do you even care whether I prefer white chocolate or dark chocolate—”

“Oh my god, of course your favorite Disney movie is Bambi, get out.”

“ No, I don’t have some stereotypical hatred for hockey players.”

The sun goes lower and lower on the horizon as they talk, Sunghoon occasionally remembering to make another flashcard to add to Heeseung’s pile. He does the ones Sunghoon got wrong again until he gets them right, slowly growing more comfortable teasing him, smiles coming more easily and eyes bright. 

He’s so easy to like now that Sunghoon’s letting himself do it— too easy to like. It’s too good to be true, this— this little bubble they’re in, their own private corner of the library, Heeseung’s smile glowing in the golden light from above them and Sunghoon’s entire body tingling with warmth, their banter sliding easily off each other instead of sharpening and pricking each other’s skin. 

Sunghoon’s heart keeps doing something funny, skipping over half a dozen beats like fingers slipping over guitar strings, leaving his body trembling with the notes playing in the aftermath, filling the air with music. 

(He stops that metaphor in his tracks when his brain goes as far as to realize it would be Heeseung’s fingers playing the strings.)

“All right,” Heeseung says, setting down the last flashcard with a flourish. “That’ll be all for today, Sunghoon-ssi. You’re ending the game with negative five points. How do you feel?”

“I feel like it’s your turn,” Sunghoon says, reaching over and sliding Heeseung’s notebook out from under his arm, turning it towards him. There’s a long list of vocabulary words— perfect.

“Oh, come on. Our next English test isn’t for weeks,” Heeseung protests, but when Sunghoon clears his throat pointedly and asks him to translate the first line, he stumbles his way through it.

Heeseung really is better at English than Sunghoon’s been giving him credit for, so he gets most of them right, laughing every time Sunghoon makes a face down at the paper, disappointed. Quickly growing bored with quizzing him, Sunghoon tosses the notebook back onto the table and gives a dramatic groan, making Heeseung crack up. 

“Don’t take it personally,” he jokes, and Sunghoon makes another face at him. 

“I knew I wouldn’t get any work done,” he says, pretending to give a shit about whether he finished his homework or not. “It’s already dark outside, and I’ve gotten through nothing aside from Chemistry—”

“Oh, no. It looks like you’ll have to stick around longer,” Heeseung says, shaking his head and scrunching his nose in mock-disappointment. His eyes are glittering when Sunghoon meets them, white teeth glinting in the light, silver earring shining— 

“Why are you only wearing one earring?” Sunghoon asks suddenly, cutting his losses and doing the dumb thing. He leans forward, elbow on the table, and uses his pointer finger to give the earring a light flick; he brushes Heeseung’s warm skin, and Heeseung inhales sharply.

“Your hands are freezing,” he protests, and Sunghoon rolls his eyes, pretending his stomach isn’t doing the cha-cha slide right now.

“Perpetual hazard of being a skater,” Sunghoon says, playfully pressing his whole hand to the side of Heeseung’s neck, making him hiss and tuck his head to the side, jerking away. 

“Stop it,” Heeseung laughs, batting his hand away when he goes in again. “You want to work? Let’s work,” he declares, giving him a Serious look that utterly fails in its goal because of how his lips are twitching. He picks up his pencil again and gives it a valiant effort— but he snickers again the moment Sunghoon reaches over, grinning, and gives his earring a flick again, and again, until he’s grabbing Sunghoon’s wrist to stop him. “What the hell are you doing,” he asks, making Sunghoon laugh as well.

“Being annoying,” Sunghoon replies without any hesitation, doing it again.

“Sunghoon.”

“What?” 

“I give up,” Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Do what you want,” he says, shaking his head, and Sunghoon does exactly that, thanks; he uses his right hand to write and his left to play with Heeseung’s earring as easily as he normally clicks a pen or drums his fingers on the table. “...you’re not planning on stopping, are you?” Heeseung asks after a good three minutes.

“If your plan was to wait me out, then you should have known it was a horrible idea,” Sunghoon grins down at his paper, giving the earring a light tug. 

“How do you expect me to focus like this?” Heeseung sighs, but when Sunghoon glances up, he’s smiling down at his paper as well, annoyance as feigned as Sunghoon’s excuse to touch him.

“Are you planning on making me stop, then?” 

Heeseung makes some kind of muffled noise, a little annoyed groan, but… he doesn’t. 

In fact, he lets Sunghoon do it for almost another hour, the back of his hand resting on Heeseung’s shoulder, slowly working through his math homework with a good thirty percent of his attention focused on the earring instead, his heart swelling a little more with every minute that slips by without Heeseung making a single move to push him away. 

When he looks up, finally, at nearly eight o’clock, Heeseung’s head is tilted slightly to the side to give him better access, idly working on a worksheet, lips slightly parted in concentration. What Sunghoon wouldn’t give to lean over and capture them in his own…

His hand slows on Heeseung’s earring, finally realizing how close he is to touching Heeseung’s face— it almost makes it worse that he’s been twirling his earring around his fingers for so long, because he’s not allowed to go any further than that, to trail his fingers over Heeseung himself. 

And god once he’s got the idea in his head it’s impossible to get rid of it, suppress it back down. See, there’s that danger with growing feelings again, so hard to catch and control. 

But what would it feel like to touch Heeseung himself, Jesus, to run the pad of his thumbs along his lips, to feel his silky smooth, warm skin under his palms, to run his hands through his soft hair? It might actually kill him, getting to do that, might—

Might get him to do something utterly stupid and start liking Heeseung a little too much. 

Focus, Park Sunghoon, he thinks firmly, and with what feels like a great effort, he finally lets up, letting go of the earring and withdrawing his hand slowly. Instant regret would be an underestimation of the feeling that washes over him, especially when Heeseung goes still, glances up at him through his lashes, eyes blinking owlishly. You asshole, Sunghoon whines inwardly. You lovely asshole, stop looking at me like that.

“Finally got bored?” Heeseung asks, a smile flitting across his lips.

“Mm, it’s kind of late,” Sunghoon says. “So we should probably…”

“ Oh, you’re right.” Heeseung’s eyes dart up to the clock on the far side of the room, somewhere against the far wall behind Sunghoon. “It’s almost eight— we should go.”

Sunghoon can’t deny his disappointment at Heeseung’s lack of protest, silently packing up his things as Heeseung does the same. Somehow he’s still not satisfied with touching that earring, fingers itching to go give it another flick back and forth, despite having overindulged for nearly a full hour. 

(This is why he’s always telling Heeseung to go away; having him around makes Sunghoon so stupid.)

“Was this as horrible as you were expecting?” Heeseung asks teasingly as he zips up his bag, standing and scooting out of his seat before slinging it over his shoulder.

“Worse,” Sunghoon mutters, only half-joking, but he gives Heeseung a small smile to tell him not to take it seriously. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation that long without insulting each other.”

“See how easy it is to be nice to me?” Heeseung grins, and Sunghoon huffs, lips curving into a mirroring smile, as he gets up too, sliding the last of his books into his bag and zipping it shut. 

“You call that easy? I was holding back the whole time,” Sunghoon says truthfully, although he doesn’t bother to elaborate on that and clarify that what he was holding back was the insatiable desire to touch Heeseung like he was a particularly enticing velvet stuffed animal.

“Ow,” Heeseung says, pressing a hand to his chest with a fake wince. “That hurts, Sunghoonie. I’m glad you did, then, for my sake.”

“Oh, I can stop any time,” Sunghoon warns. 

Heeseung’s face breaks into a grin, spreading slow and gorgeous across his face, knowing and fond and— and making Sunghoon’s heart melt a little in his chest. “Sunghoon-ah,” he says quietly as they start making their way through the library together, skirting tables of people still working and heading for the stairs again. “You really don’t mind, right? I’m not forcing you to be here or anything?”

Sunghoon can’t resist, not when it’s right there next to him, he reaches up and flicks Heeseung’s earring again, playful and reproachful all at once. “...we could do this again sometime,” he offers in response, tentatively. 

“Yeah? You want to?” Heeseung asks, looking over and smiling again, relief suffusing his voice and expression.

Sunghoon’s going to do something very stupid if someone doesn’t stop him, god. “Yeah, I want to,” he says softly, settling instead for momentarily setting aside the facade. “I got more done than I expected, and you’re… well, you’re not horrible company,” he concedes, grinning. 

Heeseung mirrors it, breathtaking and sincere. “High praise, coming from you.”

“I know, Lee Heeseung, so you’d better appreciate it,” Sunghoon grins cheekily, shouldering into the stairwell before him, Heeseung following close on his heels. Oh, he likes that more than he should: Heeseung chasing after him, after so long having to do the reverse. 

“How’s the view on that high horse, Park Sunghoon?” Heeseung mutters as he comes level with him on the ground floor, nudging his shoulder. 

“It was nicer before you showed up,” Sunghoon counters immediately, eyebrows rising.

Heeseung sighs dramatically, making him giggle— giggle, Sunghoon’s not a giggler— and gives him a Look, mock-offended. “Ten seconds. You lasted ten seconds—”

“I keep telling you not to get any ideas.” 

“But they’re such good ones,” Heeseung protests, and Sunghoon’s stomach floods with warmth, fluttering in a way that’s hardly merited. That is not what he means. Chill out, Sunghoon. 

“Keep them to yourself,” Sunghoon shakes his head, leading the way across the ground floor. It’s emptier down here in comparison, most of the children having gone home— in a way it feels like it’s just the two of them in their own world.

“...so, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Heeseung asks.

“Whether I wanted to or not.”

“You want to,” Heeseung says, and when he reaches up and ruffles Sunghoon’s hair, fingers scratching lightly at his head, the way his entire chest warms like he’s taken a warm bite of a soft cookie, a long sip of hot chocolate after a wintry cold day, a hot shower right before bed— it has him unable to muster up a protest. Damn you, Lee Heeseung. 

“Bye, Heeseung,” he says instead, just like yesterday— sending him away before the situation can go beyond his control. They reach the library’s front doors too soon, slipping into the little lobby before the actual doors leading out into the night, and pause for a moment. Everything’s so lovely right now that it doesn’t even feel real: the warm glow of the lights around him, a sharp contrast to the dark night outside, Heeseung standing right beside him looking dream-like and gorgeous, this thing that’s budding between them with all the possibility of being as vibrant and beautiful as the flower on Sunghoon’s wrist. 

He looks back, and the sight of Heeseung nearly hurts. Sunghoon has never, ever wanted anything so badly in his life, and that scares the fucking daylights out of him— but at the same time, look at him. Listen to him, the cadence of his voice, the way his lips curve around a smile every time he talks to Sunghoon, what he’s actually saying, how sincere it is. 

The worst part of all of this has been that Sunghoon’s being forced to come face to face with the truth of Lee Heeseung, and what he is, deep down inside, past the pretty face and whatever the hell Sunghoon had assumed about his personality, is too fucking good to be true. Sunghoon had thought he was presumptuous and thought himself better than everyone and dismissed him far too quickly; now Heeseung’s firmly silenced all of his reservations. 

“Heeseung-hyung,” Heeseung corrects, watching him expectantly, and when Sunghoon nearly gives into that too, mouth half-opening to agree breathlessly, he realizes it’s high time he got the fuck out of here. 

He pastes on a smile, almost a grimace, feet taking him quickly away, walking backwards to the door. “If this is the hill you’re choosing to die on—” 

“It is, yeah.”

“—then you’ll be on it a long fucking time,” Sunghoon vows, heart thumping in his chest. 

“I can work with that,” Heeseung says good-naturedly, grinning with those teeth that are too full for his mouth, and yes he’s pretty, yes it’s attractive— of course it is— but more than anything it’s the happiness in his eyes that gets Sunghoon, the light reflecting in them. How could he ever have been chasing after the sharp flash of Heeseung’s glare, just to feel that fleeting, searing brand of competitive fury in his chest, when this is so— so—? “Bye, Sunghoon-ah.”

And he’s already said it once, but still he finds himself saying it again, pushing open the door and glancing back to echo him with a “Bye, Heeseung.”

(After dinner, when he’s home and reading in bed, Yeji sneaks in and clambers in beside him, hands tucked under her cheek, hair fanning out on the pillow. “How was the date?”

“Not a date, Yeji-yah,” Sunghoon says fondly, reaching over and resting a hand on the back of her head. 

Yeji rolls her eyes. “Don’t be annoying, oppa. How was it?”

Horrible, Sunghoon thinks, eyes slipping shut. Heeseung’s stupid smile is still burned into his eyelids, like he can still see that earring glinting in the corner of his vision. It’s going to ruin my fucking life. 

“…good,” Sunghoon smiles without opening his eyes, and Yeji’s giggle is too knowing for a twelve year old girl.)

— — —

Sunghoon would hesitate to say that things are easy from then on— since it feels worryingly like jinxing it, to voice that— but for once there’s no better adjective. From then on, things with Heeseung are easy. They’re fun, actually. Fun in that Sunghoon’s fluttering stomach has started to flag a recurring problem that he probably needs to ask about at his next annual doctor’s appointment. Fun in that Heeseung’s fingers are still playing his heartstrings like a fiddle. Fun in that the voice in his head screaming to tell someone continues to get louder and louder, that covering up the soulmark every morning starts to itch more and more. Well— maybe that part’s not so fun, but nowadays he looks down at it and feels something more than just dismay, and that’s still a win in his book, all things considered.

And of course, Heeseung continues to be on his bullshit, following Sunghoon from class to class while Sunghoon tries (and most likely fails) to act like he’s getting sick of him. It’s getting very difficult to look into his eyes and not melt into a puddle.

“Sunghoonie-hyung,” Sunoo whispers to him across the hall a few days later, on a rainy Tuesday morning that had had Heeseung asking, casually, if Sunghoon was ever going to return his jacket. 

“If you want it that badly, come and get it.”

“Maybe I will, Park Sunghoon—”

“What?” Sunghoon whispers back, forcing the corners of his lips to stay in place. 

“Call me crazy,” Sunoo says with wide, searching eyes. “But I think Heeseung-hyung might like you.”

“You’re crazy,” Sunghoon replies promptly, ignoring the pleased little flutter his stomach gives. He’s not going to kid himself; Heeseung’s just like this. He’d probably be doing the same for anyone he was trying to apologize to. As soon as Sunghoon forgives him, he’ll back off, and they’ll be— well, friends, maybe. Most likely. But Sunghoon can’t fathom Heeseung ever wanting to be more.

“I’m not crazy!” Sunoo whisper-yells back instantly. “Listen. He gave you his coat after the game last week— he comes and sits with us at lunch every day just for you—”

“Because—” Sunghoon cuts himself off, remembering with a guilty twist of his stomach that Sunoo still doesn’t know. “He’s not doing that because he likes me, Sunoo-yah. Just— don’t worry about it.”

“What do you mean, don’t worry about it? Don’t tell me you don’t like him back, Sunghoon-hyung,” Sunoo says, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Sunghoon a disbelieving, dubious look. “Come on. You’re not subtle.”

“What? Sunoo-yah—”

“He’s being really sweet,” Sunoo points out, and Sunghoon gives him a Look, unable to deny it. Heeseung has been, to put it most simply and— however much he may hate to say it— accurately, incredibly sweet the last few weeks. “So don’t ruin this by being stubborn, hyung,” he says reproachfully, eyes glinting.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sunghoon replies, shaking his head. 

“I still have eyes,” Sunoo says pointedly, “and practically anyone can see that for some reason, he’s head over heels for you.”

Sunghoon scrunches his eyes shut. “ Stop talking—”

“No, listen,” Sunoo says, giggling. “I have no idea what’s going on with the two of you, but I can tell you for a fact that no one that says your name like that doesn’t like you.”

…okay, Sunghoon will give him that one. At least someone besides him has noticed all the Sunghoon-ah, Sunghoon-ah that’s been going on.

“Would you just go to class, Kim Sunoo,” Sunghoon mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair and waving Sunoo off. 

“Would you listen to me, Sunghoon-hyung?” 

But Sunghoon’s already noped out of that particular conversation once, and it’s a lot easier to awkwardly race off away from Sunoo than it is to keep having to think about it— so he gives an encore and turns tail to head in the opposite direction. 

“Hyung!” Sunoo calls after him, sounding both amused and annoyed at the same time, but he lets Sunghoon go. 

Right. So. There’s that as well. (Sunghoon wants nothing more than to hide from it.) 

But it keeps following him around, and will likely not let up until Heeseung does. If he’s allowed to go on being like this around Sunghoon, soon enough Sunghoon’s going to forget he ever disliked him at all. He can hardly remember why; maybe at some point their initial bad impressions had stopped being so important, and it was simply about the last slight— the stupid thing Sunghoon had said yesterday, the condescending tone of Heeseung’s voice last week. Which leaves Sunghoon at a loss now that Heeseung’s stopped being all of those annoying things, has started treating him like— well, like he’s worth something to Heeseung.

(Which is, of course, as obvious to the rest of their friends as it was to Sunoo.) 

The following evening, a chilly Wednesday night they’d all gone to painstaking trouble to make sure was free, finds all of them gathered together for the first time in a while at Jaeyun’s birthday party, as organized by Riki and Sunoo. 

When Sunghoon gets to Jaeyun’s place, gift bag in hand (two books and a sweater he’d bought at least three months ago knowing it would make a good present for when Jaeyun’s birthday did eventually come around), Jungwon and Riki are fighting with a roll of masking tape in his living room, a glittery mess of streamers on the couch. Yeah, he’s… going to let them handle that one.

He tracks down Jaeyun in the kitchen, both of them awkwardly but earnestly going in for a hug— unless one of them is crying or half-asleep, Jaeyun’s inner frat boy instinct always has them bro-hugging instead. 

“Happy Birthday, Jaeyunie~”

“Thank y—”

“You know, today would be a great day to confess to Sunoo,” Sunghoon whispers in his ear, and the hug ends with Jaeyun pulling away and slapping him on the chest. 

“Hey, this is the one day every year you’re supposed to be nice to me,” Jaeyun groans as Sunghoon dissolves into laughter.

“All right, all right, I’m sorry,” he chuckles, going in and hugging him again, tighter this time, until Jaeyun’s squawking and trying to shove him away, screeching about his crushed ribs.

“Can we let him be eighteen for longer than twenty-four hours before murdering him?” Jongseong asks, poking his head into the kitchen as well and waving. 

“Yes, thank you, come save me,” Jaeyun moans, succeeding in pushing Sunghoon aside to go hug Jongseong instead— okay, wow, that’s their lifelong friendship down the drain, then. Jongseong gives Sunghoon a shit-eating grin over Jaeyun’s shoulder, drawing a burst of surprised laughter from him.

They’re both dressed up a little, just like Sunghoon: Jaeyun’s in a warm white sweater, Jongseong in a button-down, and Sunghoon in all black, hair parted out of his face. 

“Hey, you know this makes you the only kid out of the three of us,” Jaeyun says, pulling away and sheepishly accepting both their presents to put on the counter next to Riki, Jungwon, and Sunoo’s. 

Sunghoon’s heard this joke a million times already— but it is markedly worse this year, he’ll admit. Jongseong has been insufferable since his own birthday in April. 

“Someone tell Heeseung-hyung to give it another month or two,” Jongseong says, waggling his eyebrows. “Or he’ll catch a cas—”

“I hate all of you so much,” Sunghoon interrupts earnestly, cheeks immediately flooding red. Both Jaeyun and Jongseong burst out laughing, Jongseong slapping the counter, Riki and Sunoo and Jungwon’s voices echoing from the living room, all of them giggling about something. Feels like the entire goddamn universe has been having a real nice laugh at him recently.

“You know— you two are honestly the funniest thing to happen since Riki in that dinosaur costume,” Jongseong says through his chuckles. “I mean— I’ve only really gotten Heeseung-hyung’s side—”

“I’m not telling you anything, Park Jongseong,” Sunghoon huffs, although he’s fighting a smile as well. 

“Well, neither is he, not anymore. I don’t think he really does the whole ‘talking to people about feelings’ thing,” Jongseong grins ruefully. “I don’t really care as long as you guys are— both happy, I guess.”

“Aww,” Sunghoon and Jaeyun chorus simultaneously, teasing, earning themselves a half-shy, half-unimpressed look from Jongseong. “Look, he does care.”

“Have I ever pretended not to? And— why are we talking about Sunghoonie again, it’s your birthday,” Jongseong gestures, and even as Jaeyun’s laughing into Sunghoon’s shoulder, the doorbell rings.

Sunghoon knows precisely who it is even before the three of them turn to glance out the window, curtains slightly parted so they can see outside but no one can peer in— and even if he didn’t, the way Jongseong turns to him instantly, grinning like a cat that’s got the cream, would have given it away beyond a shadow of a doubt.

So, knowing his friends: “Go get the door, Sunghoon-ah,” Jaeyun teases, both him and Jongseong now teaming up to poke and prod him out of the kitchen. 

“Why me?” 

(But in the end, no matter how much he protests, it’s an exercise in futility.)

“Hi, Heeseung,” he says, long-suffering, as he swings the door open. They’ve done this before, Sunghoon greeting him and Heeseung peering up curiously, and just like last time, Sunghoon makes a show of barring the doorway, planting himself in it and staring Heeseung up and down. Oddly enough, it’s with more secrecy than last time— at Jongseong’s party he had the excuse of being coy, condescending; now there’s nothing left to hide behind. 

Heeseung is, as always, devastatingly handsome— he’s dressed a bit nicer than usual, in a black button-down and pants, but his hair is unstyled and curling at the ends, soft and loose over his forehead. There’s a shiny silver gift box in his hands, but it still doesn’t beat the glow of the grin that spreads across his face at the sight of Sunghoon.

Sunghoon’s heart gives a hard, meaningful thump. With every smile Heeseung sends his way, eyes sparkling just so, exuding warmth and sweetness and something undefinably reassuring, he can feel it getting away from him, leaving the safety of his chest and passing somewhere into the space between himself and Heeseung, up for the taking.

“Sunghoon-ah,” he greets, practically skipping up the two steps left until the porch. 

You see me multiple times a day, Sunghoon thinks, but the words don’t make it past his lips, momentarily frozen. 

“What, do you want a password again?” Heeseung huffs, mock-reproachful as he tilts his head, waiting for Sunghoon to say something.

That’s right— he has to say something. Wake up, Park Sunghoon, he thinks, but even when he gives his head a little imperceptible shake, blinking back into awareness, Heeseung’s still there smiling at him.

But either way: “Correct,” Sunghoon agrees, offering Heeseung a smirk and leaning back against one side of the doorway, arm outstretched to block the rest of it. “You get three guesses.”

“That’s more than last time,” Heeseung remarks wryly, rocking back on his heels and actually humoring him, giving it some thought. “...Happy Birthday, Jaeyunie?”

“Seriously? I’ll give you a hint,” Sunghoon tilts his head, and Heeseung chuckles, stepping closer and raising his eyebrows expectantly. “It starts with ‘Sunghoon—’”

“Ahh, of course it has to be all about you.”

“—and ends with ‘is my favorite,’” Sunghoon finishes, breaking out into a grin when Heeseung sighs dramatically.

“You know, it’s not good to lie, Sunghoonie.”

“It’s not good to scream at people and make them cry either, but you seemed alright with—”

“Sunghoon’s my favorite,” Heeseung nods rapidly, eyes widening, and Sunghoon bursts out laughing, slumping against the doorway again.

“You’re free to go,” he waves him in through his laughter, Heeseung grinning and ruffling his hair as he goes. “I’m not a child, Heeseung—”

“Yes, you are,” Jongseong counters from the living room, where every single one of their friends is staring in keen interest, Jungwon’s eyebrows waggling and Sunoo giving him a Look. Ah. Fuck my life. 

“Hyung, I thought I was your favorite?” Jungwon calls, and Heeseung raises his hands in surrender as Sunghoon shuts the door.

“Now, now, there’s enough of me for everyone,” he starts, making everyone else laugh loudly. On his way past him, Sunghoon tasers his side. “Yah—”

Sunghoon just crosses his arms over his chest, heading into the living room with Heeseung following. “This isn’t about you, Heeseung-ssi.”

“Heeseung-hyung,” Heeseung corrects automatically. 

“Hee. Seung. Ssi.” 

“Not even for a special occasion?” he sighs.

“Not a chance.”

“Sunghoon-ah—”

“Would you stop worrying about me for a second and go say Happy Birthday to Jaeyun, maybe?” Sunghoon laughs, and there’s another collective snicker. 

Heeseung rolls his eyes, but his cheeks go pink, shy as he heads over to Jaeyun to do just that. Everyone else is giving Sunghoon variations of the same look, Riki laughing outright, Jongseong grinning over at him pointedly. 

Sunghoon gives them all a Look in return, biting the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t break into an uncontrollable grin. (His stomach flutters for at least ten minutes afterward.)

“Okay, that’s everyone— can we start the movie?” Jaeyun asks after Heeseung’s sat down on the couch, the rest of them scattered around the room. There’s a table to the left of the TV full of snacks— gummy bears, popcorn, soda. 

There’s a chorus of agreement and then a scuffle for snacks, as though there’s not enough there for them to get diabetes just by looking. Sunghoon and Jungwon collect everyone’s popcorn, heading into the kitchen as the rest of them get the movie set up, and they’ve only been standing by the microwave for two minutes, waiting for it to finish, when Jungwon cracks.

“I’m so glad you made up with Heeseung-hyung,” he laughs under his breath, and Sunghoon slaps him on the shoulder.

“I don’t want to hear one word—”

“But this is so much more entertaining,” Jungwon giggles. “Watching you guys flirt instead of fight.”

“We’re not flirting,” Sunghoon whisper-yells, giving him a vaguely horrified look.

“Hyung, please stop lying to yourself.”

Needless to say, Sunghoon spends the two minutes remaining for the popcorn to be done trying to get Jungwon into a headlock— and mostly failing, of course. 

The movie’s already begun when they get back, prompting a jaw-dropped “yahhh,” from Jungwon and an offended scoff from Sunghoon.

“You didn’t even save me a seat,” he complains to the group at large— they’ve turned off the lights and gotten comfortable, Jongseong and Sunoo sharing a blanket on the couch, next to Heeseung, who has his feet tucked up. Jaeyun’s on the ground with Layla’s head in his lap, head leaning back against Jongseong’s knees, and Riki’s beside him, legs stretched out with an assortment of candy on his thigh. Jungwon squeezes himself between Sunoo and Jongseong, filling the couch to maximum capacity, and Sunghoon rolls his eyes but grabs another blanket to settle in next to Riki, right below Heeseung.

They’re watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off because according to Jongseong it’s one of those quintessential high school movies, and since their only other real movie watcher— Sunoo— had rattled off a list of cheesy rom-coms, Jaeyun had decided to trust his taste instead. 

They almost miss the first few minutes because of the renewed flurry of movement— “is that caramel popcorn? Ooh, let me try some—” “that’s my head, Jongseong, stop fidgeting” “I dropped a gumball somewhere on your floor, hyung, don’t let Layla eat it”— and amidst the chaos, Sunghoon hardly bats an eye when Heeseung reaches down to tap his shoulder, voice quiet underneath all the other squawking and chattering.

“Give me half,” he mutters, tugging on the blanket Sunghoon’s draped over himself. 

“Get your own,” Sunghoon whispers back, twisting around to give him a teasing grin.

Heeseung huffs out a laugh. “Sunghoonie,” he murmurs, tugging again. 

(Sunghoon folds like a house of cards.)

He makes a big show of it, sighing dramatically and setting aside the bowl of popcorn in his lap, shifting to get it out from underneath him to pass the other end up. Heeseung drapes it over his legs, but it’s big enough that Sunghoon can twist it around and cover most of his torso with it too, bringing his knees up and balancing the bowl between them and his chest.

“Okay!” Jongseong yells after another thirty seconds of scuffling. “By the time we start the movie his day off will already be over— please be quiet, you animals.”

“Who are you calling an animal?” Heeseung shoots back, making everyone double over again, losing it. “I’m your hyung, Jongseong-ah—”

“Heeseung-hyung can do whatever he wants,” Jongseong corrects. “The rest of you— shut up.”

There’s another grumble, but they do finally settle down to actually watch the movie after that, falling silent and directing their attention at the screen.

Sunghoon finds himself comfortably warm after the first half hour, laughing at the jokes and steadily eating his way through the popcorn. From an outside perspective, the rest of the group appears to melt, slowly relaxing into more comfortable positions; Jaeyun slumps over so his head is on Riki’s chest, both of them leaning back onto the couch with Layla to balance them out, asleep in their laps; Jongseong, Jungwon, and Sunoo all prop themselves up against each other, Sunoo leaning against Heeseung’s side; Sunghoon subtly leans back so his head is brushing Heeseung’s knees.

He doesn’t realize he’s sort of thinking of it as a test before Heeseung delivers, fulfilling his unspoken desire. 

“You’re quiet today,” he murmurs in Sunghoon’s ear. Sunghoon turns back to look at him, realizing he’s lying down— it had been his stomach Sunghoon was leaning back slightly against, not his legs, which are across Sunoo’s, Jungwon’s, and part of Jongseong’s lap, under their blanket. He has his portion of Sunghoon’s across his chest, which can’t be all that convenient, since there’s an inch over his stomach where they don’t overlap, but he looks content to lie there, tilted towards the TV. “I remember you talking a lot during Colors of Love.”

“It was a stupid movie,” Sunghoon replies. “This one’s not bad.”

“Well, if it meets your standards…” Heeseung trails off, laughing to himself when Sunghoon makes an offended face back at him.

“You can keep your commentary to yourself.”

“Why? You never do.”

“I’m the exception,” Sunghoon says, and when Heeseung smiles, it’s so close; their faces are hardly a few inches apart, Heeseung’s head on the headrest and Sunghoon turned to the right to whisper privately to him. 

“I wasn’t complaining, you know. It’s nice to have some peace and quiet once in a while,” Heeseung taps his knuckles against the back of Sunghoon’s head, and Sunghoon rolls his eyes, turning back to the TV. 

But from then on he does start talking, whispering his usual brand of snarky comments over his shoulder— and although he wouldn’t admit it on pain of death, either to himself or anyone else, it’s only to make Heeseung laugh, so quiet no one else can even hear. 

And when Heeseung’s fingers begin to ghost over his hair, Sunghoon doesn’t protest. He starts slow, tentative, just scratching lightly at the crown of his head; but when Sunghoon doesn’t make a single move to push him off, he slides his fingers into his hair, lightly stroking along the back of his head. 

(If anyone had glanced over, they would have noticed Sunghoon completely forget to keep eating his popcorn around the time he’d realized he could feel Heeseung’s rings pressing lightly against his head.)

His heart keeps doing backflips in his chest, attention focused singularly on Heeseung’s hand, on how warm and gooey it’s making him feel inside. He’d never realized how much it really stung to have Heeseung always angry at him until finally getting to experience the opposite, and it’s getting depressingly difficult to keep giving himself reasons to not let himself enjoy it. 

(His head leans back slightly of its own accord, without him even noticing.)

He doesn’t even actually like you, he reminds himself as Heeseung’s fingers trace a slow path over the top of his head, fingers brushing his hairline as he strokes back Sunghoon’s bangs. This is the same way Heeseung treats Jungwon and Sunoo, the same way you’d try and tame a wild animal. 

But there is a frankly overwhelming amount of evidence pointing to the opposite, and Sunghoon— Sunghoon has no fucking idea what to think anymore. There’s no way Heeseung truly likes him this much; but what if he does? What if he’s just touching Sunghoon because he wants to, spending time with him because he likes it, calling him ‘Sunghoon-ah’ for the same reason Sunghoon calls Jungwon ‘Wonie’ and Jaeyun ‘Jaeyunie’? What if Sunghoon’s not going to wake up and smell the coffee because there’s nothing on the goddamn stove?

…god, Heeseung should learn to keep his hands to himself. One lingering touch and Sunghoon’s going insane.

He keeps it up for the entirety of the movie, in any case, resting his hand on Sunghoon’s head— and at some point it becomes incredibly difficult to not react at all. He closes his eyes around the point where Ferris joins a parade in Chicago and doesn’t open them again until he’s done singing, at least five or ten minutes later, actively resisting the urge to lean back into his touch like a cat.

(Unbeknownst to him, Sunoo’s poked Jungwon who’s poked Jongseong who’s nudged Jaeyun who’s tapped Riki, and every other person in the room has snickered into their collar at the two of them at least twice.)

The movie wraps up another hour later, and it takes a few minutes for everyone to blink out of their haze, stretching and slumping lazily, Heeseung staring back at him already when Sunghoon turns to look.

His hand is still in Sunghoon’s hair, a half-smile playing on his lips; his eyes flick slowly from Sunghoon’s head to meet his gaze, blinking when he realizes Sunghoon’s turned. 

Even amidst the background chatter of everyone else, Layla waking up with a snuffle and jumping onto Jungwon’s lap, prompting an indulgent laugh from the trio under the blanket, there’s this moment where everything— freezes. Heeseung’s hand goes still in Sunghoon’s hair, Sunghoon staring up at him with his heart thumping, mouth dry. He doesn’t know what’s written on his face, but watching Heeseung react to it makes his stomach twist; the way his expression softens, eyes shining even in the darkness, ignites something in his chest not dissimilar to how he felt gearing up for a fight with him, the knowledge that Heeseung’s attention would be singularly focused on him sitting like a glowing ember in what’s beginning to feel like the fragile trappings of his rib cage. 

And once again, flighty and tenuous, slipping out of his grasp, Sunghoon’s heart is trying to beat right out of his chest.

“Heeseung-hyung!” someone calls, and the moment shatters— Sunghoon inhales sharply and looks away, swallowing. Heeseung startles a little, hand momentarily gripping tighter in his hair; and then he sits up, withdrawing it altogether, back towards himself.

“What’s up?” he asks casually, and Sunghoon’s never been so glad for the lights being off— his cheeks are hot, stomach fluttering. Maybe if he slides down enough he can cover himself with this blanket and just— never come out.

In the subsequent mess of limbs and snacks, everyone detangling themselves from the couch, no one gives Sunghoon a second glance— which is just as well, because he’s pretty sure if someone were to ask him what his own name was it would take him a touch too long to answer. 

But then Riki and Jongseong are racing into the kitchen for the cake, and Sunghoon’s suitably distracted by setting it up on a table they drag into the center of the room, deciding where to put the candles. It’s a round cake with pearlescent, white frosting, and it glows in the darkness as they all gather around, Jongseong lighting the candles with a hand over the flames to protect them from their laughter. 

Jungwon holds up his phone, the flash on to record, and they all chorus a round of Happy Birthday as Jaeyun blows out the candles, Sunghoon’s hands cupped over his mouth to cheer. “Happy Birthday, Jaeyunie!”

He’s the first one to dip his finger into the frosting, but Riki’s faster, swiping it over Jaeyun’s cheek before anyone can so much as blink.

“NISHIMURA RIKI,” Jaeyun yells, setting off a chain reaction; the singular slice of cake in his hands is quickly robbed of frosting by everyone else’s hands, Sunghoon taking the chance to smear his dollop on Jaeyun’s other cheek. “YAH!”

And in the subsequent frosting fight that follows, Sunghoon can’t really be blamed for going straight for Heeseung, can he? Not when it’s instinct, by this point. 

“Come here, Lee Heeseung— you asshole—” Sunghoon crows, slapping an entire palm of frosting onto his cheek as everyone else goes wild, Jungwon tackling Sunoo, Jaeyun valiantly going after Riki to take his revenge, Jongseong launching a sneak attack on him from behind. 

Heeseung ducks away, laughing his head off, and paws at the edge of Jaeyun’s cake, swiping off a smeared row of the swirly border and wiping it off onto Sunghoon’s hair. 

“Hey—!”

Sunghoon swipes his own fingers over the bridge of Heeseung’s nose, Heeseung fisting his hand in his hair, and then they both grab more at the same time, all seven of them steadily demolishing the top layer of Jaeyun’s cake. Heeseung’s faster, smearing a large handful onto Sunghoon’s cheek, and Sunghoon’s handful goes onto Heeseung’s hands instead of his face as he grabs his wrist to push him off, getting it all over the edge of his sleeve too. “Hee seung—”  

Heeseung just laughs and grabs more, leaving Sunghoon an opening to quickly rub off what’s left on his left hand onto his other cheek. “Yah, Park Sunghoon,” he says loudly, turning back with renewed determination, chasing him when he tries to wiggle away. He yanks Sunghoon back by the arm, reaching out and swiftly getting Sunghoon’s forehead.

“Would you— stop it!”

But when Heeseung just grabs another palmful and smacks it right onto Sunghoon’s face, he can hardly stop him, eyes scrunching shut and head leaning back, an annoyed whine escaping him— but he halts, giving it up. There’s really no point when Heeseung’s just put what feels like half the cake on his face in one go, anyway. 

“Are you satisfied?” Sunghoon huffs, grinning wide enough that it hurts. His hands curl around Heeseung’s wrists again, purposefully staining them with frosting from his fingers, and once Heeseung’s used the tips of fingers to wipe frosting all over his face, he finally pauses for breath, standing there panting, Sunghoon’s grip on his wrists loosening.

Everyone else sounds like they’ve given up fighting as well, although there’s a collective round of laughter going round that sounds like it’s probably because of Sunghoon, Sunoo audibly doing a double take.

“Sunghoon-hyung— wait, Sunghoon-hyung, oh my god,” he laughs, which sets off another loud burst of laughter.

“As soon as I can see again,” Sunghoon enunciates, because his eyes are still very much shut, frosting over his lids, “you’re a dead man, Heeseung.”

“Heeseung- hyung,” Heeseung corrects, and the sound of his laughter fills Sunghoon’s chest with a feeling as buoyant as though he’d done it himself. 

“Jeez, hyung, it’s like you were trying to drown him,” comes Jaeyun’s voice from across the room, and Sunghoon drops Heeseung’s wrists, reaching out dramatically, zombie-style.

“Can someone tell me where the bathroom is? Not Heeseung— he’d probably push me down the stairs—”

There’s another flurry of movement, a call from Jungwon about getting tissues. It takes maybe five seconds for someone to press one against Sunghoon’s face, messily wiping off his eyes. “...I think this is a lost cause,” Jongseong laughs. 

Sunghoon hardly has a second to be disappointed that it wasn’t Heeseung before he feels an arm go around his shoulders, Heeseung’s voice coming fond and vaguely apologetic. “I’ll find him a bathroom.”

“Down the hall to the left, hyung,” Jaeyun calls, even as Sunghoon groans dramatically, elbowing Heeseung in the stomach, as though this wasn’t exactly what he’d been hoping for. (He’s really becoming laughably pathetic about this.)

“Not him— guys— you can’t just—”

“That’s the table, Sunghoon-ah,” Heeseung chuckles, hand slipping down to Sunghoon’s waist to guide him around it, and Sunghoon’s protests don’t go on for very long after that. Especially considering not one person has done anything more than point and laugh, by the sound of it.

The background noise grows quieter as they head out of the living room, a click echoing through the hallway that must be Heeseung turning on the lights. “Are you sure you’re not taking me up to the roof? Because I’m way too pretty to die this young, Hees—”

“Do you ever shut up?” Heeseung sighs, arm still around Sunghoon’s waist. “I’m genuinely asking. Have you ever, in your life, shut your mouth?”

“What can I say,” Sunghoon says sarcastically, stumbling slightly as Heeseung comes to a halt. “You bring out the worst in me.”

“Lucky me,” Heeseung replies, taking him into another room. “Okay, stand there— don’t move,” he instructs, guiding Sunghoon over so his back is pressing against the counter. “You’ll get frosting everywhere.”

“Are you really expecting me to listen to you?” Sunghoon shoots back, but he does, lingering there and waiting to see what Heeseung will do next. There’s the click of the door shutting, leaving them alone in the bathroom, and then Heeseung turns on the tap, the rustle of tissues echoing through the suddenly silent room. 

Sunghoon swallows, heart skipping a beat when Heeseung murmurs “okay” under his breath, shifting over to stand closer to him. “Don’t shove me away,” he warns, and before Sunghoon can protest, he wraps one hand around the nape of Sunghoon’s neck, the other pressing a wet tissue against his face. 

Sunghoon can’t stop himself from flinching away slightly, but that’s more out of shock than anything, abruptly stilling under Heeseung’s hands as he chuckles quietly, methodically cleaning off Sunghoon’s face for him. 

The world seems to narrow to a single point— or ten, to be more precise, all ten of Heeseung’s fingers on his skin, Sunghoon’s head twitching away instinctively. He can’t think straight like this, torn between wanting to run away and lean in closer, savor the touch— and that’s terrifying, truly. He really should shove Heeseung away, take that tissue into his own hands. 

… any second now.

“Sorry about your eyes,” Heeseung murmurs. “I… might have gone overboard there.”

Even if Sunghoon had been able to think through the spell Heeseung’s put him under this evening, he doesn’t think he’d have stayed mad after that— not even when he had one foot on the hating Heeseung side and one foot on the opposite. 

“You think?” he says aloud, meaning for it to be sarcastic— but it comes out soft instead, just the slightest bit breathless. At least he’d had the decency to stop at playing with Heeseung’s earring, not daring to actually touch him; Heeseung’s been treating him like they’ve been comfortably close for years for the last three hours. 

Heeseung doesn’t just stop at his eyelids, though; he wipes off Sunghoon’s cheeks, his nose, his temples. The fleeting thought of just— offering Heeseung his hand, just to see if he’ll painstakingly wipe off Sunghoon’s fingers as well, flits across his brain with a truly startling amount of yearning behind it.

Shut up, he tells himself firmly. Shut up, Park Sunghoon.

“There you go,” Heeseung declares a few moments later, far too soon and yet far too late at the same time. “I don’t really know what to do about your hair, but…” he trails off as Sunghoon’s eyes flutter tentatively open.

He’s instantly met with Heeseung’s eyes staring into his own, blinking slowly. He’s so close that Sunghoon could count his lashes if he wanted, could lean over and— 

His eyes are up there, Sunghoon thinks faintly, focusing on them with admirable determination when Heeseung’s lips are right there, so close he can imagine what they’d feel like against his with hardly any effort at all. 

At least that’s not new, the fighting not to look at his lips. There’s hardly been a single day, from the beginning of all this, that Sunghoon would not have said yes if he asked. 

But in the end it’s him that breaks first, bursting into laughter after a long moment. No amount of yearning would make him take Heeseung seriously with all that frosting still on his cheeks, god.

“What are you looking at?” Heeseung mutters, but his unimpressed look only makes Sunghoon laugh harder, some of it out of nervousness, body thrumming with adrenaline. 

“You should have done yourself first,” Sunghoon chuckles, turning around as Heeseung shifts away. When he glances in the mirror, it’s to see that Heeseung’s really done a good job— his face is entirely clear. He grabs another tissue as Heeseung splashes water on his face, running it under the sink and then arduously going in to wipe off his hair. He really would have been quite content— read: absolutely losing his mind— to sit there as Heeseung did this for him as well, but as much as this might feel like a dream, apparently it’s still reality. 

But while reality has them heading back out to their friends without any other fuss, it also has them sitting next to each other at Jaeyun’s dining table as they eat dinner, feet knocking together every now and then until Sunghoon purposely provokes him into playing footsie, stealing chicken off Heeseung’s plate when he’s not looking, has Heeseung huffing and giving it up after admonishing him with an exasperated “that was the last piece, Sunghoon,” which of course doesn’t go unnoticed by Jungwon, who pipes up with a “you let him get away with that way too easily, hyung.” Reality has the memory of Heeseung’s hand in his hair haunting Sunghoon all night, has his heart fluttering every time their shoulders brush, eyes meeting as Heeseung laughs at something Sunoo’s said, Heeseung’s leg pressed against his. Reality is… pretty fucking amazing, all things considered.

They wrap up the party a little earlier than everyone truly wants to— Jaeyun has a karaoke machine that’s laughably tempting, especially when Sunghoon remembers Heeseung’s parents used to own a noraebang place (and Lee Heeseung doesn’t really do things in halves)— but considering they have school at 7:30 the following morning, Jaeyun does unfortunately herd them all out around nine, thanking them for the presents and accepting the hug they all stop to give him on the way out.

“You know, today would be a great day to confess to Heeseung,” Jaeyun whispers in his ear as Sunghoon goes in for his, making his eyes widen. Oh, touche, Sim Jaeyun. 

The idea makes him physically recoil, giving Jaeyun a horrified look. What would Jaeyun have him do, give Heeseung a box of chocolates? The button on his jacket? Or god forbid— a bouquet of flowers?

Oh, gross. He can imagine how that would go, all right, the level of awkwardness in Heeseung turning him down, the way Sunghoon would physically implode of embarrassment. 

“I’ll let that go because it’s your birthday, Sim Jaeyun,” he hisses, making Jaeyun burst out laughing. “But if you pull that kind of bullshit again—”

“Oh, come on , you emotionally constipated idiot. Don’t be the ice prince everyone says you are,” Jaeyun giggles, as though that’s not going to make Sunghoon stick to his guns with even more determination. 

“I’m not—”

“Stop hogging the birthday boy,” Sunoo calls from inside the house. “My turn~” and the way Jaeyun’s smile spreads across his face when Sunoo flings his arms around him tells Sunghoon that the conversation is pretty much over.

“See you!” Sunghoon cups his hands to yell through the door, receiving a chorus of goodbyes in response. “Happy birthday again, Jaeyunie.”

“Thanks,” Jaeyun responds dreamily, and Sunghoon rolls his eyes, grinning as he finally leaves. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Heeseung asks, having been lingering on the sidewalk when Sunghoon turns.

There he goes again. How is Sunghoon meant to interpret that? What the hell is wrong with Heeseung? 

“Why bother asking when you know I will?” Sunghoon replies with an exaggerated sigh, inwardly pounding his fists against the wall of his brain when Heeseung gives him a Look in response that melts into a smile. Stop it. 

“What if you decide you hate me again tomorrow?” Heeseung responds, and even though he says it around a smile, it’s like someone has kick-started Sunghoon’s heart into gear. 

How… what are the odds that they’ve been worried about the same damn thing this whole time? How many times has Sunghoon had that exact thought?

“Well— I won’t,” he says eloquently.

“No?” Heeseung blinks, and Sunghoon can tell he’s fishing for it, pole in the river with his head turned up to the sky, whistling innocently with his fingers crossed behind his back— but he takes the bait anyway.

“No, Heeseung,” Sunghoon huffs, making it dramatic so it won’t come out too sincere. “I… kind of like you too, in case you haven’t noticed.”

His heart is going faster than a bullet train, pounding against his ribs, throughout his entire body.

“Goodnight, Sunghoon-ah,” Heeseung says sincerely, both of them standing there below Jaeyun’s porch, warmth and light and laughter emanating from inside. 

“...goodnight,” Sunghoon replies, a little breathless, a little hopeful, a lot nervous. 

They both turn to go their own ways, Sunghoon’s hands in his pockets, night air cool on his warm cheeks. There’s a fluttery feeling in his stomach that he hates for being so addicting, a lightness in his chest that contrasts so sharply to how he used to feel around Heeseung, high-strung and wound-up; now it’s like he’s coming undone, and someone had better come sew up his seams as quick as they can lest something important fall along the way. 

He can’t resist, in the end, not with the night’s excitement still thrumming in his veins, the phantom feeling of Heeseung’s fingers lingering on his cheeks. He turns back to look—

And Heeseung’s already looking back. 

His head is turned over his own shoulder, those eyes that make Sunghoon go weak in the knees staring intently at him, and when they lock gazes, a frisson of something warm and nervous goes through Sunghoon’s stomach, like terror mixed with delight, shot through with something he doesn’t care to name, an aftertaste that sneaks up on you and sits on your tongue for hours afterward, the most memorable part. 

And when Heeseung’s lips tilt up, slow and fond and unbearable— well. Everyone and their mother already knows about what Heeseung’s stupidly gorgeous smile does to Sunghoon’s stupidly weak heart.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER EIGHT: HYACINTH

your loveliness charms me

He likes me, Heeseung’s brain whispers every ten seconds. He likes me he likes me he likes me—

“A little more serious, Heeseung-ssi,” the photographer advises, and for the fourth time since this morning, when the shoot began, Heeseung nods, tilts his head, and wipes the beginnings of a smile off his face. 

The rational thing to do would be to take his advice to heart— to apply it, as the overachiever he’s been learning to be the last few months, to conquer multiple challenges. The current shoot is one— they’re outside, in a forest about an hour’s drive from the usual company building, and the temperature is toeing the line of freezing, Heeseung’s fingers numb and breath clouding. It’s for the effect on camera, of course, the frigid, dead white trees a sharp contrast to the deep crimson shirt Heeseung’s wearing, the dark red they’ve done his lips in and the raven’s wing hue of his hair against what he knows is a white-gray horizon, but that doesn’t make it any less patently miserable. (The sips of hot chocolate between shots are all that’s getting him through.)

And if he was to be honest— which he tries, truly— then whatever the hell he’s going to do with his future would be another. Being ‘a little more serious’ is so fitting it’s laughable. 

But the one he’s really referring to, the one his mind keeps straying to and getting distracted by, is, has been, and worryingly enough might continue to be one Park Sunghoon, seventeen-year-old figure skater extraordinaire. A future Olympian if you ask Jungwon or Sunoo. A loser since birth if you ask Jaeyun or Riki. Just awkward enough to keep up his ice prince persona if you ask Jongseong. 

Ask Heeseung and you’d get an essay. It wouldn’t make very much sense, and the thesis would include a lot more fucking annoying than because, therefore, or furthermore, but nonetheless he’d definitely have too much to say to sum it up in one sentence. 

Annoying as fuck— as he’s already said— brattier than a five year old, more overconfident than anyone should have the right to be, argumentative, petty, rude, unreasonable, unnecessarily spiteful— 

—and quietly kind, awkwardly funny, hard-working to a fault, so talented it hurts to think about for too long, too handsome for his own good, dorky in an endearing way, a horrible artist but somehow able to make up for it with spirit, intelligence, brilliance, and a caring personality. Kind of adorable. 

Heeseung’s never put so much thought into psychoanalyzing someone as he has Park Sunghoon— why is he the way that he is? Why is it becoming painfully endearing instead of infuriating? Why is he sitting here with his lips twitching yet again at the idea of Sunghoon liking him? 

…why does that feel more satisfying than every victory Heeseung’s ever had against him combined?

The jittery feeling in Heeseung’s stomach doesn’t subside for the entire shoot— although that may just be the cold. But even so, his fingers are trembling ever-so-slightly when he pulls out his phone on a break, waiting for the photographers to set up their cameras in a different location, and impulsively texts Sunghoon. It’s nearly noon on a school day— Thursday, the morning after Jaeyun’s party— so it should be almost lunchtime for everyone else. Luckily, his timing pays off: he gets a response within thirty seconds. 

11:48 AM

me: 

i’m dying send help

😈 : 

proof?

i have plans today could you schedule a different time 

to DIE?

yeah to die

and i can’t send proof

i signed contracts sunghoon

i signed away my fucking soul

…

It takes Heeseung a good ten seconds to figure out why Sunghoon’s suddenly stopped typing after this particular revelation.

…he has no idea how he got that far into a sentence with the word ‘soul’ in it without realizing the glaring issue. 

For reference: they haven’t ever, not once, so much as hinted at talking about it. Heeseung’s soulmark has been burning a hole in his shoulder for weeks; Sunghoon’s must be about to flare up in a rash from the amount of concealer he puts on every day, for Heeseung not to have caught even a glimpse in all the time he’s spent looking; and the conversation they should be having about it continues to be one Sunghoon is scared to start and Heeseung is scared to finish. 

To put it simply: having a soulmate was supposed to be easy— something that would fall into place as quickly and easily as fitting together two matching puzzle pieces. 

In reality, Heeseung has had… maybe two or three moments where he saw the potential for what the universe has set them up to be. The rest makes little to no sense to him. 

But the important thing is that the potential is there. Heeseung knows that Sunghoon is nothing like what he’d been imagining— that everything he was imagining was all bullshit anyway— but he doesn’t want to give up on his dreams so easily. Not when Sunghoon wouldn’t even have responded to his texts a few weeks ago, or pretended to give a shit about what he was saying, not when there’s still something that blooms in his chest every time Sunghoon walks into a room that’s just as fiery and passionate as what he blindly brushed off as hatred— and yet it’s not the kind of warmth that scalds and burns. It’s… a lot more like the shower of sparks that comes from bursting fireworks, the sun’s rays early in the morning urging Heeseung to wake up and open his eyes and see what he’d been missing all along.

But instead of hey, should we try and talk things out so you at least feel comfortable telling your family that we’re soulmates instead of hiding it all the time like it’s something to be ashamed of (is it me are you ashamed of me please tell me it’s not me—) what his fingers type out is:

haha whoops yk what i mean

anyways i’m still on the brink of death

…so what am i meant to do about it

i mean i wouldn’t say no to a rescue mission

🙄 at least you get paid for modeling 

aren’t there cash prizes for skating?

enough to make up for the cost of a private coach and rink?? no way

you get a bouquet of flowers and a pat on the head if you’re lucky

but ppl throw things on the ice after you’re done right??

plushies and flowers

at least you get that 😭

so you want me to come throw things at you while you’re working?

…not if it’s a ‘ten points if you hit heeseung in the head’ situation

fifty for the head! ten is for the stomach 👍  

😑😑

So the situation can be summed up (not very effectively) with: Heeseung’s glad they’re getting somewhere, but no one’s told him where ‘somewhere’ actually is. 

— — — 

But while things are up in the air like this, delicate and careful and blooming— either a very fitting or very poor choice of words— Heeseung wants nothing more than to follow them, face turned up to the sun, arms outstretched to reach up; so he follows the tug in his chest that gives another funny little lurch every time the thought of Sunghoon so much as tiptoes into a recess in the back of his mind, and he keeps reaching up, and out, and holding onto that quiet hope that Sunghoon will reach back. 

He was right when he said Heeseung really knew nothing about him, so Heeseung tracks him down day after day, past the allotted time of that idiotic deal giving him two weeks to vague-handwave ‘make it up’ to Sunghoon, and makes a genuine effort to, and it’s… 

God, it’s actually so easy. 

The thing he hadn’t really accounted for before— well, just before— is that Sunghoon’s always been magnetic. He has this way of looking up from his paper through his lashes that wipes all of Heeseung’s thoughts blanker than a whiteboard and every time their fingers brush Heeseung has the slightly crazy thought that they’d probably fit perfectly in his and— 

And, well. There was only ever one conclusion to the whole stupid thing, wasn’t there? From the beginning, from the moment Sunghoon said hello and Heeseung thought he’s going to be a problem, isn’t he? and he was so painfully right it’s almost funny. Park Sunghoon is a problem all right, the enigma that makes mathematicians wrack their brains for answers and leave chalkboards covered in nonsense— or maybe that’s just Heeseung. He’s certainly the one who’s going to stay up all night and find that solution, because with every passing day it just ignites more of a fervor inside him. It’s like a challenge Sunghoon’s issuing, maybe the first one he hasn’t even spoken aloud, hasn’t hounded Heeseung about— Heeseung’s doing it to himself, going crazy in his own private corner, perplexed and intrigued and terrified of the way it makes him feel that Park Sunghoon doesn’t hate him.

Park Sunghoon doesn’t hate him. 

His bedroom ceiling has heard all about it by now, interspersed with long pauses where his mind drifts and starts replaying a half-smile Sunghoon sent him four days ago in response to Heeseung tearing his paper with the eraser after redoing a problem for the third time, or the way his eyes fluttered open in that bathroom at Jaeyun’s party, wide and brown and staring directly into his like he could see right through to Heeseung’s frantically beating heart, could sense the way it skipped and tripped all over itself at his wolfish grin, could see the cogs turning in Heeseung’s brain, the simultaneous anticipation building in some delusional corner that believed Sunghoon was growing to like him and the adjacent nerves building to a fever pitch, the way his entire body had gone tense for a moment, like he’d been electrocuted. 

All of this started because he was trying to apologize— and deep down, there’s a large part of him that only feels worse every time he recalls all the horrible things he said— and make himself come around to the idea of being friends with Sunghoon as much as the other way around.

But now?

“You can’t be serious,” Sunghoon says with an eye roll when Heeseung asks, the next day at school, whether he wants to study together again. “I get nothing done around you anyway,” he protests— because Heeseung’s pretty sure he’s forgotten that it’s been longer than two weeks already. 

Heeseung’s not going to pretend to be good enough of a person to remind him. “I won’t talk so much this time. I promise,” he says good-naturedly, shifting over their shared desk space and resting his arms on Sunghoon’s side, shoulders scrunching up as he leans forward. Sunghoon’s posture stiffens, freezing in his chair, sitting straight up. He looks down his nose at Heeseung, wary. Like a statue carved of marble, every line of him sharp and unyielding— but deceptively soft-looking from afar, exquisitely made. 

For me, Heeseung recalls with something like a twist in his stomach, a release like something’s coming undone. Made for me. 

He’s sure his expression must soften somehow, because so does Sunghoon’s, shoulders relaxing minutely, and Heeseung jumps on the chance. “You haven’t actually answered my question. Does Monday night work?”

Sunghoon huffs. “Yes, okay. It works.”

…and now he’s maybe possibly falling over himself trying to get Sunghoon’s attention, but that’s— fine. It’s fine. It’s working, isn’t it? 

In hindsight, it’s kind of depressing that the only time they can really spare to spend around each other is while studying— but as Heeseung has said and likely shown, he’ll take what he can get.

Especially if what he gets is to spend hours sitting across from Sunghoon over their homework, pestering him into helping when Heeseung doesn’t want to do something, teasing him when he messes something up, fixing his hair in the reflection of Sunghoon’s blue-light glasses enough times that Sunghoon gets fed up and takes them off (which is a bit of a shame, in all honesty.) 

His expectations had been low going in, but Heeseung won’t deny that it quickly becomes one of his favorite ways to spend an evening. Sunghoon doesn’t give him a single inch— but he also gets shy whenever Heeseung says anything nice about him, indulges Heeseung as much as Heeseung ever indulged him. He’d never realized until now, but he’s… quite capable of being just as annoying and in-your-face as Sunghoon, and he takes full advantage of the fact that Sunghoon now won’t react with murderous intent when he does it to… abuse the privilege, maybe. (He’s never claimed to be a saint.)

The juxtaposition of Heeseung’s previous image of Sunghoon versus the reality of him is actually kind of funny, in hindsight. He’d considered Sunghoon to be kind of arrogant, disrespectful, the type to chafe under authority. That’s before he learns that Sunghoon apparently gets yelled at on a daily basis by his skating coach, his mother, and also his little sister. 

“Your little sister too?”

“Don’t look at me like that, okay, she kickboxes in her free time—”

“Where does your dad fit into this, then?”

“He just makes popcorn and watches. Absolutely no help,” Sunghoon grumbles, and Heeseung laughs until Sunghoon reaches across the table and threatens to draw a penguin on his face this time instead of just his assignment.

“I don’t trust you not to draw a dick instead,” Heeseung grabs his wrists, still laughing.

“Don’t give me ideas you don’t want me to use,” Sunghoon replies in a warning tone, but his lips are twitching too.

It just goes to show that they should have been doing this all along, becoming closer instead of pushing each other away. Heeseung’s overflowing curiosity is a hunger that’s only grown stronger over time, the desire to finally learn what makes Park Sunghoon tick, to catch a glimpse inside his mind always niggling at him when they talk— although Heeseung would hope that one of these days he’ll open up all by himself, finally let Heeseung solve the mystery of him.

Until then he’s apparently going to keep living in the forefront of Heeseung’s mind like a song he can’t lose the tune of, playing on repeat over and over, haunting every other thought he has. He can’t stop thinking about him, about what clever thing he wants to lead into their next conversation with, about whether he’ll round the corner somewhere and see him out of nowhere because the universe is on their side like that, about the soulmarks on both of their bodies and whether Sunghoon will ever stop covering his with a layer of foundation thick enough to burn its own hole in the ozone layer. 

(Whether the next time he smiles at Sunghoon, Sunghoon will smile back.)

— — — 

But as much as Heeseung would like to spend all his time with his head in the clouds, only thinking as far ahead as the next smile on Park Sunghoon’s lips, life goes on. 

His revolving door of problems continues to throw one out once in a while, just to spice things up. The one at hand, the one that currently has him staring at his ceiling feeling unfulfilled and dissatisfied, is— well, aside from Sunghoon, although Heeseung would hesitate to call him a problem, per se— is the impending collision course he’s on with his future. 

It’s been a recurring theme of his senior year, his brain failing to comprehend time. At first he was as embarrassed to be here as any nineteen year old high school senior ought to be, trapped in the molasses-slow, fly-stuck-in-honey stage of perception; and now it’s like everything’s been sped up past the point of recognition, and Heeseung is the idiot in the shopping cart hurtling full-tilt at the nearest brick fucking wall. He’s made up his mind to do something that, for lack of a better description, is going to make him enough money to not have to worry about paying his bills, at least. He’s set everything up: getting into this fancy school this year, getting good grades, having been on the so-called straight and narrow since the sojourn into delinquency freshman year when he’d used modeling as an excuse to straight-up cut class a few too many times, and it had back-fired on him spectacularly… but now that it’s time to actually select the option on the dropbox, he’s— clearly undecided. 

It’s a difficult line to draw between choosing something he’s going to hate himself for fifteen years down the line and choosing something he’ll hate himself for the moment he hits submit on the application, except with a tangible sense of relief underlying it. Then again, maybe he’s just being dramatic. Everyone else does it; they work a job they don’t exactly love and come home and do whatever the hell they want afterward. Surely there’s something Heeseung will find an interest in. Business? Finance? Engineering? 

And then there’s his parents to consider. Doesn’t he want to help them out after they retire? Take care of them? Doesn’t he want to prove all of those snide aunties at Chuseok wrong? 

The problem here is that everyone in his life is, quite frankly, too nice to him. Every single attempt to talk about it has ended in “you should do what you feel passionate about, Heeseung-ah” and “you’ll never get anywhere in a field you hate working in anyway.” Which, if Heeseung were a little braver, he might have countered with “plenty of people never get anywhere in fields they love working in too, eomma” but… listen, anyone who thinks Heeseung’s a particularly courageous guy should probably get their emotional intelligence reevaluated. He has his moments; he’s not nearly decisive enough to maintain that, or to, evidently, come to a conclusion about this.

So then… what? What’s the end of the road here? 

He doesn’t know, but what he has been made aware of is that the road itself is beginning to consist of quite a lot of sleepless nights, which, in combination with all the time he already spends unable to sleep because of Sunghoon, of course leads to a lot of drowsy days. (He’d recommend turning left towards counting sheep when the path begins to grow too rocky with needless worrying.)

His grades oscillate slightly leading up to the start of December, As occasionally dipping to Bs— but so do Sunghoon’s.

“So?” Sunghoon asks as Heeseung sits down next to him on the following Monday afternoon, brushing his hair back tiredly. 

“87,” Heeseung reports with a sigh, shaking out a hand still aching from hand-writing an essay last night. 

Sunghoon makes a face. “I got an 85.”

Heeseung gives a low whistle, Sunghoon’s gaze turning into a cutting glare in response. It hits him like a slice to the chest, painful, heart-racing warmth blooming along his skin. Ouch, he thinks, because that look could kill— but these days he’s really begun to lean into wanting it to. Because why not? “That’s a little low for you, isn’t it?”

“I skate five hours a day, Heeseung, and then go home and—“

“I know, I know,” Heeseung laughs him off. “I’m just messing with you.”

“ Why?” Sunghoon asks sharply, but this entire time his lips have been twitching— Heeseung’s onto him, all right, and he leans back in his chair, comfortable in the knowledge that Sunghoon hasn’t been properly angry at him for weeks. 

“Well,” Heeseung says, eyes twinkling. “I think you’re really cute when you’re angry, for starters.”

Sunghoon’s face turns a lovely shade of fuschia. “That’s not funny,” he enunciates.

“I’m not joking,” Heeseung replies, darting Sunghoon a look from under his lashes. Sunghoon’s fuschia deepens to a beautiful crimson, and. Well, the lack of a retort has never been more telling.

So— where was he? What was his point? Right. Sleeplessness, grades slipping; but at the end of the day, he’s still getting great marks, he’s neck and neck with Sunghoon (9-9 since restarting after Sunghoon ripped out that original page) and sometimes if he needs it he sleeps through lunch, so really, it’s all fine.

…and despite his desperate need for a reality check, Sunghoon does make for such a tempting distraction. 

There’s never been a moment where Heeseung could have denied how singularly gorgeous Park Sunghoon is, but there’s definitely something to be said for how someone’s countenance affects your perception of them. Before he was— untouchable, a frozen sculpture, the kind of beauty best admired from a distance. Now something like a smile flickers across his face whenever Heeseung walks into the room, something definitely like a laugh bursts out of him whenever Heeseung whispers something witty into his ear, something sparkles in his eyes and dimples his cheek and suffuses him with this glow that Heeseung finds impossible to look away from. 

And how do you admire a sculpture anyway? You get closer— you sneak a touch— you walk around it in circles, making it the temporary center of your universe.

Except the longer Heeseung spends in Sunghoon’s gravitational pull, the less likely it seems that this is a ‘temporary’ thing for him.

There’s two sides to this— first, the side where this makes all the sense in the world. Sunghoon is his soulmate; of course Heeseung should be obsessed with him. 

Second, the side that’s categorically and vehemently opposed to this. It’s Sunghoon. This is a horrible idea. Unstoppable force vs. immovable object, and he’s got a nasty feeling about what happens when they collide, who ends up worse for it. 

And yet he doesn’t want to stop, to slow this down. Every time he catches Sunghoon’s eyes for a beat too long, realizes midway through class that he has no idea what the teacher’s talking about but could maybe draw Sunghoon’s side profile from memory, jittery all over with this insatiable desire to touch him— god, it’s insane how much Heeseung wants to touch him, partly because of how it makes him feel but not in small part because of how it makes Sunghoon go blessedly quiet for reasons unknown— finds himself imagining conversations they might have, how Heeseung’ll make him laugh, how his gaze might turn fond without that ever-present distance Sunghoon seems to want to keep between them, it all feels… momentous. 

So, in conclusion: Heeseung hasn’t learned anything. From the moment he could comprehend what a soulmate was to now, his dreams have been the same— now they’re just more detailed, more specific. Now he has memories to turn over in his mind like a present to admire from all directions, and not just daydreams of what could be.

It takes about a week for the two of them to go from Sunghoon’s continued determination to pretend he doesn’t like being around Heeseung to Sunghoon’s eventual (somewhat?) acceptance of it and then his continued determination to make Heeseung suffer every moment he spends in his presence. The kind of suffering you want more of rather than less, but. Heeseung’s starting to think that Park Sunghoon’s brand of torture started giving him a high long before everything became so complicated. 

There’s him being his usual bratty self, of course, pointing out all of Heeseung’s mistakes and gloating in a way he probably thinks is very subtle whenever he’s ahead and trying and failing to distract him during class— but that’s always been a sore point with Sunghoon. And then there’s the part that comes with them actually making an effort to interact outside of those boundaries. 

One of the most gratifying moments of Heeseung’s life is when he realizes Sunghoon’s actually trying to reciprocate the olive branches Heeseung’s extending his way. He says yes to nearly every time Heeseung asks him to study together (and is usually there on time as opposed to Heeseung who almost always hurries in ten minutes late with an apology ready), comes up to talk to or text him half the time, responds to every dry what’s up? text Heeseung sends his way (he doesn’t know what else to say, all right; at least it’s not wyd) with selfies that Heeseung spends an inordinate amount of time being distracted by. 

The first time catches him entirely off-guard midway through a midnight snack, rooting around for a spoon to go with his yogurt, the open fridge spilling out the only light in the quiet, dark kitchen, when his phone chimes with a notification.

He’d texted Sunghoon about an hour ago, unable to sleep and knowing Sunghoon was likely to be up as well— their sleep schedules are equally fucked on weekend nights, 12:37 AM on a Sunday being a depressing time to be awake or not— with something nonsensical, probably along the lines of are you awake rn?

unfortunately, Sunghoon replies, and Heeseung smiles to himself as he sets down the spoon on the counter, going to peel open the tub of yogurt. 

homework? or you just can’t sleep?

Heeseung’s three bites in when his phone lights up again with a response— a slightly grainy picture of Sunghoon sitting on what must be his bed, papers strewn around him, blue light glasses reflecting his laptop screen. His lips are pressed together so his dimples are showing, hair falling in waves over his forehead.

Heeseung blinks down at his phone for so long that the still-open fridge behind him starts beeping angrily, and then he has to scramble to shut the door before anyone wakes up at the noise. 

And from then on he realizes it’s just a thing Sunghoon does, sending pictures of himself. Which, fair enough— looking the way he looks, who wouldn’t be confident enough to just take a picture whenever and send it— but then why does Heeseung’s heart have to skip a beat every time he does? 

Sometimes they’re in response to something— Heeseung asking what he’s doing, or what his rink looks like, or his dog— and then he gets more pictures of Sunghoon mid-study session, or a picture from the top of the stands looking down into the massive ice rink, a blurry shot of his adorable, fluffy white dog wriggling around in his lap.

But other times he just sends them unprompted— a pictures of him walking said dog, or raising his eyebrows at the camera propped on the edge of the rink, wearing a skin-fitting jacket and waiting for his coach while leaning back on his skates, or even one time Heeseung texts him while he really is asleep and all Sunghoon sends back is a picture of him in bed, blinking one bleary eye open to glare at the camera, while his free hand flips Heeseung off. Well— that one might just suggest that he was too tired to do more than click the picture and go back to sleep, considering how Heeseung’s sheepish apology text went unanswered until the following morning, but anyway— the rest all suggest that Sunghoon just. Likes when Heeseung is looking at him, and boy is Heeseung looking. He’s looking, all right. Definitely looking.

…still looking. (Sorry.)

But a side effect of texting someone practically every day is that you get to know them, and they get to know you, and… that’s when things get interesting. 

They upgrade to calls not long after texting, starting off innocuous— Heeseung texting that he’s never really gotten the hype about Seventeen and then being informed in no uncertain terms for a good ten minutes straight about exactly what he’s been missing out on (a manifesto that couldn’t be effectively communicated over text message, apparently), or both of them texting back and forth for long enough that wasting the time on typing started to seem pointless, and Heeseung just called— and then slowly growing more frequent. 

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Sunghoon asks the first time Heeseung FaceTimes him from his dressing room, sitting there dolled up in all white, hair dusted with glitter and lips shining cherry red, with three hours to go before anyone even glances his way. He has the phone on the table right now, staring at himself in the mirror— he brushes a lock of hair out of his eyes and picks it up, scoffing when he sees Sunghoon’s offering him the same view, phone angled up at his ceiling. 

“You think I’d be calling you if I had a better option?” Heeseung teases, knowing full well all of their other friends are doing fuck-all right now and would definitely have picked up. 

Sunghoon graces the frame with a swift middle finger, startling Heeseung into a laugh that echoes slightly in the empty room. There’ll be other people in and out, but for now, it’s just him— and Sunghoon, now that he’s finally deigning to pick up his phone as well and prop it up on something on his desk. It’s late afternoon at this point, and Heeseung can see the sunlight streaming in through the windows on the far side of Sunghoon’s room, making his hair dusky brown and highlighting his perfect profile as he shifts the phone to get it into position, face blank with focus. Heeseung takes the rare chance to study him, trace the slope of his nose and the clear dark brown of his eyes. He’s wearing this gray hoodie that’s loose and cozy, and this dressing room is freezing, Heeseung’s fingers cold enough that he has to keep jamming them under his thighs— but then Sunghoon leans back slightly, lips crooking up at the sight of Heeseung, and a rush of warmth floods his chest, stomach flipping over. 

“Hi,” Heeseung says, lips twitchy and nervous, voice wavering as he tries not to sound too excited. His hands are fidgety, fingers running along the cuffs of his sleeves and drumming against the table. 

“Hi,” Sunghoon replies, one side of his lips turning up fully. “You look like a Tim Burton character,” he says, eyes dancing with mirth as he glances away, moving his mouse around to do something on his laptop. 

“Take that back,” Heeseung says instantly, and Sunghoon starts to laugh, that unbecoming, horribly endearing, wheezy laugh that never fails to make Heeseung smile as well, helplessly. “I look good,” he emphasizes, crossing his arms over his chest. “I look— I don’t need your validation,” he decides. “So if you could just— not make any comments—“

Sunghoon mimes zipping his lips shut, nodding once, firmly. “No comment,” he agrees, and then proceeds to adopt the most shit-eating grin Heeseung has ever seen on another human being. 

“What the hell is that,” Heeseung deadpans, and Sunghoon shakes his head, still smiling. 

“Nothing. Anyway— did you need something, Heeseung-ssi?” Sunghoon sighs, glancing over again and raising his eyebrows jokingly. 

“Maybe I just wanted to talk to y—“

“Shut up,” Sunghoon says, long-suffering. “God. There’s always something with you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re a menace to society and I hate you,” Sunghoon enunciates. 

“Words have power, Sunghoon-ah. Words can hurt. I’m in pain. I’m—“

“You’re being directed by Tim Burton, of course you’re in pain. Now tell me why I shouldn’t hang up on you?”

Heeseung huffs. “Tell me why I shouldn’t hang up on you, Sunghoon-ah? Considering you’re the one acting like—“ he waves an arm vaguely.

“Like?” Sunghoon presses, because of course he has to. He’s still doing something on his laptop, and mentally Heeseung’s snapping his fingers in Sunghoon’s face in exasperation. Pay attention to me— that’s that ever-present voice in Heeseung’s head that had better keep its mouth shut, or else. 

“Like someone who deserves to be hung up on,” Heeseung says warningly.

“Really?” That gets Sunghoon to finally turn his attention away from his screen, eyes flicking back to meet Heeseung’s, completely unimpressed. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got? After all that practice insulting me, that’s the best Lee Heeseung can manage?”

“Aren’t you sick of being mean?” Heeseung says, tilting his head and challenging him. “I think I practiced enough to perfect the art.”

“So show off a little,” Sunghoon urges. “Come on,” he clicks his tongue. “I can handle it.”

Heeseung’s stomach flips over again. Does Sunghoon… realize what that sounds like? 

Whether he does or he doesn’t, Heeseung can’t exactly leave that unanswered. “Are you sure about that?” he replies, chuckling a little breathlessly— which, in hindsight, what the hell. It’s all well and good to find Sunghoon cute and endearing and all, but get a grip, Lee Heeseung. 

“I think I’ve built up a tolerance,” Sunghoon plays along, lips once again tilting up. Shit , Heeseung wants to run his thumb over that dimple, even if it’s just once. 

“Well—“ and Heeseung looks at him, at his bright eyes and half-blooming smile and his attention riveted to Heeseung, feels his heart flutter in his throat when he swallows, and— it turns out that all of that tactics has been for nothing, because he can’t do it. “Well,” he repeats, tilting his head like he’s thinking, “You’re—”

Blessedly his manager decides that’s the right time to knock on the door to his room, and Heeseung’s allowed to hang up without looking like an idiot. (Or at least like too much of an idiot, since apparently it’s impossible to avoid entirely.)

— — — 

To be honest— Heeseung should have seen it coming miles away. After all this, after everything with Sunghoon, the fact that they’re literal soulmates … it should have been obvious. 

But it isn’t, in the end, not until it comes and smacks him in the face that he’s genuinely starting to have a crush on Sunghoon. Denial is a powerful thing, and up until the moment it hits him, he’s somehow managed to convince himself that’s not what this is. This whole time he’s just been learning Sunghoon’s good qualities and appreciating him proportionally, that’s all. He’s been memorizing the way Sunghoon looks and talks and laughs and smiles because it makes sense, that’s Heeseung’s soulmate, he’s been searching for him since he was a child, and of course he’s going to be sufficiently curious about him now. He’s been chasing him around to apologize and mend their fractured relationship— that’s what you do when you hurt someone.

He’s been taking Jongseong’s advice of paying attention only to Sunghoon, as a person, and shutting out the rest of it.

But Heeseung’s either forgotten or hadn’t realized, looking back, a few fundamental things here. #1: Park Sunghoon’s got dozens of people at their school wrapped around his finger, and for good reason. Heeseung doesn’t know what the hell he was thinking, trying to spend that much time with him without falling for him. #2: He was following Jongseong’s advice with good intentions, yes. But wasn’t the end goal that he had in mind, however subconsciously, for them to be like Jongseong and Jungwon? Aren’t Jongseong and Jungwon in love? 

Heeseung’s been surrounded by too many soulmate relationships that fall outside the constraints of romantic love— eternal best friends, brotherhood, etc etc— to arrogantly demand that even from his own soulmate. He and Sunghoon have literally had this discussion before, however naive they were back then, not knowing they were talking about each other. 

But somehow… he finds himself in the same position he always knew he would, deep down. Maybe that’s the real certainty he’s been carrying around his whole life. He always knew he’d fall head over heels for his soulmate; but while he was a dreamer at heart, he never managed to cross the bridge from dream to potential reality for that love being requited , even in his imagination. He knew not to assume. 

So maybe that’s why he was stuck in denial for so long. Apparently he does have some self-preservation under all the sleepless nights and extra work hours. 

Either way— the moment of truth doesn’t arrive all at once. It’s a gradual realization, one that creeps up on him but then strengthens in conviction the more time Heeseung spends with Sunghoon. 

He’s forced to start facing facts the first time they go on a… he hesitates to call it a date, but that would most likely be the scientific term for it. 

To put that in context:

Thursday night finds Heeseung over at the library again, although unfortunately, this time it’s less for Sunghoon and more for himself. He’s got a mountain of homework to get through that’s conveniently piled up to the worst possible time, and so he walks straight there after school ends, setting up shop close to the vending machine and working straight through until seven. The first few hours are okay, and luckily he thinks ahead enough to finish the essay and presentation slides first, while he’s still coherent— but by six-thirty, he’s flagging. 

He gets up to go to the bathroom and splash some water on his face when he starts to feel a headache coming on, chugging half a bottle of water and slapping himself on the cheeks like a K-drama character. “Come on,” he mutters to himself, thankfully alone in the restroom. His reflection doesn’t look very heartened, but his cheeks have a rosy glow that could almost be mistaken for alertness, so. He’ll take what he can get. 

When he heads back out, shaking out his now-dripping bangs, Sunghoon’s already there, looking marginally more awake than Heeseung. His hair looks damp too, and he’s wearing his skating jacket, black with white stripes on the sleeves, which gives him away as probably having taken a shower before coming. 

“Hey,” Heeseung mutters, sliding in next to him. Sunghoon doesn’t seem to notice him pulling his stuff over from across the table, greeting him as casually as ever. 

“Have you done any of the Bio packet?” Sunghoon asks, flipping open his folder and pulling it out.

Heeseung manages a laugh. That packet looks like it just came straight off the printer, not a crease in sight. “Yeah, but you clearly haven’t.”

“I skipped ahead when I didn’t even understand half of question one,” Sunghoon sighs, cutting his eyes over at Heeseung playfully. He looks relaxed in a way Heeseung envies, likely fresh off a dopamine high. His hair smells like vanilla shampoo, and his features are soft in the warm light, unblemished and smooth. Heeseung’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch him.

To be honest, he feels much groggier in comparison to Sunghoon, face oily and eyes drooping, head throbbing on one side. He runs a hand through his hair, subtly rubbing just beneath the crown of his head, and shakes his head slightly to clear it, exhaling. 

“You can look at mine if you want,” Heeseung says, sorting through the pile of finished homework he’s gathered so far this evening and passing it over. 

Sunghoon takes it slowly, eyebrows rising. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

You are so lucky you’re cute, Heeseung thinks, with the fondness only someone who’s felt the opposite can truly muster. “Shut up and do your homework, Sunghoon-ah.”

He cracks a smile when Sunghoon just laughs, clicking his pen and starting to write on his own paper. At least Heeseung’s winning at something.

Another hour passes in relative silence, although it’s a comfortable one. Sunghoon’s knee presses into his a couple of times and immediately wakes him up from the drowsiness he’s beginning to fall victim to, a jolt straight to the heart. He still smells really good; Heeseung keeps drifting towards him unconsciously and then catching himself just before it becomes noticeable, mentally kicking himself each time.

Maybe he’s Pavlov’d himself. He tried so hard to like Sunghoon that it’s now consumed him. He blunders through a few more pages of the reading he’s meant to be doing for the Chem lab tomorrow, but his eyes won’t stay focused on his screen. 

“Are you falling asleep?” Sunghoon asks quietly, eyes darting over as Heeseung stifles a yawn for the nth time. He’s wearing a small earring today, a single gold hoop that he hardly thought about putting in his morning, but when Sunghoon reaches over and flicks it lightly, it’s like his touch ignites something in Heeseung’s entire body. Why isn’t he wearing earrings everyday?

“I can’t,” Heeseung murmurs, something like an attempt at a smile flitting across his face. 

  “Why not?” Sunghoon asks unexpectedly, but he seems genuinely confused, brows creasing. He puts the back of his hand to Heeseung’s forehead, and it’s comfortingly cool, perpetually just a little chilled from all the time he spends on the ice. “You look exhausted.” 

Heeseung’s smile is slower this time, but much bigger. “Are you worried about me, Sunghoon-ssi?” he asks in a tone he hardly recognizes, teasing and slightly coy— which is entirely at odds with the genuine warmth in his chest, soothing his headache somewhat by sheer willpower. 

Sunghoon’s cheeks flush, and he withdraws his hand quickly, shoving at Heeseung’s shoulder. “You look like a zombie— it’s creeping me out.”

“I’m not dead just yet,” Heeseung rolls his eyes. “And I’m fine, Sunghoon-ah, I’m not getting sick.” He smiles again, fleeting and wolfish. “Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t,” Sunghoon says instantly, in a tone that says he most definitely was. He sends Heeseung a deadpan, unimpressed look and goes back to scrolling through an essay he has opened on his laptop, chewing his lip. Heeseung reluctantly returns to his reading as well, trying to force himself to focus. 

He stumbles through a few more lines before a shooting pain starts to gnaw at one temple, at which he closes his eyes and leans back, silently sighing. 

“What?” Sunghoon asks, evidently having noticed. Heeseung shakes his head, brows furrowing as he hides a wince. 

“Nothing. What time is it?” 

“Eight-fifteen. But they’re open until ten today since exams are coming up,” Sunghoon says. “If you need to sleep that badly then don’t force yourself to stay awake,” he adds after a moment in which Heeseung doesn’t move, reproachful. 

“I have to finish this, Sunghoon-ah,” Heeseung responds, but there’s a heavy weariness in his tone that even he can hear clear as day. He rubs at the aching side of his head with one hand, and for the millionth time wishes he’d just done this earlier. At lunch yesterday or something. Being hungry he can handle, but being tired is debilitating in the worst way. 

“Heeseung, seriously, are you all right?”

He forces his eyes open and gives Sunghoon a bleary thumbs-up, managing to laugh it off. “I’m just tired.”

Sunghoon sees straight through him— his eyes are piercing, brows creasing again. He’s twisted to the side to look at Heeseung, and he’s got that cute determined look on his face. 

“How much work do you have left?” he asks after a moment. “Is that the Chem reading?” He points at Heeseung’s laptop. “You don’t have to do that, he’ll explain everything during class anyway. What else?”

Heeseung tilts his head to the side, still lolling back against the back of the booth. His lips tilt up, amused, but he humors Sunghoon. “The reading for History, and I was going to start studying for our Math exam, since he gave out the review packet….”

“That reading took me half an hour while I was cleaning my room,” Sunghoon says decisively. “And if you start that review right now, you’ll forget everything anyway.”

Heeseung’s eyes close again in a quiet laugh. “How do I know you’re not just sabotaging me?” 

He means it as a joke— obviously it’s a joke, anyone with eyes can see Sunghoon’s genuinely trying to help… but Sunghoon‘s silent for a long moment, long enough for Heeseung to open his eyes again and see what’s keeping him quiet. 

Sunghoon’s looking over at him with an unreadable expression on his face, biting at the inside of his cheek judging by the way they hollow out. When Heeseung meets his eyes, he exhales, oddly serious. “I am worried about you,” he says, and this time there’s no embarrassment in his gaze. Heeseung’s stomach drops, head coming up off the seat. “You can’t work hard and not sleep properly— the whole thing falls apart then.”

And of course this only activates Heeseung’s natural instinct to be guilty, stomach twisting as something that’s both touched and shameful squeezes his heart. He has the most inane urge to say he’s sorry, brows scrunching. “I’m really okay, Sunghoonie, it’s just a headache—“

“So normally you sleep well?” Sunghoon challenges, raising a knowing eyebrow. 

“Normally I manage,” Heeseung says, admitting it without admitting it. “Today was just a lot.”

Sunghoon holds his gaze a moment longer, then reaches over and shuts his laptop, quietly but firmly. “Then give yourself a break for one day.” 

“But I—“

“I’ll call your mother,” Sunghoon presses, eyebrows rising.

“You can’t be serious,” Heeseung responds, half-laughing, incredulous. “No way.”

But Sunghoon gives him a Look, appearing to be, in actuality, quite serious— and Heeseung subsides, sighing. A bit of tension leaves his shoulders, reluctantly relieved. His head is still throbbing, and everything looks a little too woozy, but he can admit that it feels… so good, honestly, to have someone tell him he has to take a break. Not just that it’s okay to, or that no one would blame him, but that there’s no other choice. That’s what he has to do.

“Fine,” he agrees after a moment, leaning back against the couch again. “Fine, I’ll… go home, I guess.” 

“It’s pouring rain right now,” Sunghoon shuts him down, and Heeseung is surprised to find that it actually is; the windows are wet with it, a soft drumming sound echoing throughout the building from where it’s pounding on the roof. “Just sleep here, there’s no one around.”

“...okay. But no more giving me orders,” Heeseung says, tilting his head to look at Sunghoon, who just scoffs lightly. 

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Can I get something more solid than a ‘yeah, yeah’?” 

“Would you just go to sleep?” 

You’re distracting, Heeseung thinks, unbidden, and then, somehow, he does go to sleep.

… 

… 

… 

“-seung-hyung? Hyung… Heeseung-hyung?” 

Someone’s running a hand down his arm, slowly but firmly. 

“Heeseung-hyung?” the voice somewhere to his left repeats, and Heeseung becomes aware of many things all at once. 

1. That’s Sunghoon. 
2. His head is resting on something warm and vaguely pointy, and a sleepy jerk of his head indicates that it’s likely Sunghoon’s shoulder.
3. This might be a parallel universe.

“Hyung, hey, wake up,” Sunghoon repeats, and Heeseung’s stomach drops out of his body, heart skipping a beat. His cheeks begin to warm, suddenly hyperaware of everything even as he keeps his eyes shut, too sleepy to properly move. One of his hands is holding onto something, and his whole body is curled to the left, into Sunghoon. Sunghoon’s hand is still rubbing his shoulder, wrapped around him from the back, and he smells like moisturizer and the fabric of his jacket, a vague undertone of cologne that he probably sprayed onto it a while ago lingering. Heeseung can’t contain the urge to want to bottle the combined scents. “Heeseung?” Sunghoon asks, a little more urgently, and Heeseung makes a slightly confused noise and picks up his head, as though just now waking up. 

“What?” he asks blearily, the library’s lights far too bright as he pries his eyes open. Sunghoon’s incredibly comfortable, their shared body heat having created a pocket of warmth between them, and Heeseung hates having to pull away, removing his hand from where it had been on Sunghoon’s thigh— oh okay that’s cool that’s fine that’s so awesome wow— and sitting up. 

“Hey,” Sunghoon says, and his voice is soft, much softer than usual. He hasn’t removed his arm from around Heeseung’s shoulders yet, instead lightly gripping the arm he was shaking earlier. “Are you feeling any better?”

Not very, Heeseung thinks, half-hysterically, because he doesn’t know how he can be expected to be anywhere near okay with Sunghoon talking to him like that, like he’s a lost baby deer. He glances over, aware that his cheeks are burning hotter by the second, and Sunghoon’s eyes are even softer than his voice, fuck. 

The genuine concern on his face makes Heeseung’s heart go from skipping dazedly to melting in his chest, almost painfully. “I’m fine,” he responds quietly, not trusting his voice so soon after waking up. “How long… what time is it?”

Sunghoon pulls his arm away, and inwardly Heeseung sighs, a dejected, likely pathetic sound that is much better off being imaginary, trust him. “Nearly nine-forty,” Sunghoon reports, checking on his phone. “I figured I should wake you up before an announcement about the library closing did.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung agrees, like an idiot. He stares at the table in silence for a few moments, collecting himself and forcing his brain into alertness. His hands are tingling, almost fully awake already. One of Park Sunghoon’s numerous talents, apparently. “Thanks.”

Sunghoon, packing his things up, makes some sound in response, noncommittal and likely somewhat embarrassed. Heeseung watches him for a few seconds, and it’s a completely mundane set of actions, organizing papers in folders and tucking them away— but it only takes him a few seconds to realize he’s smiling without quite knowing why, an ember of warmth burning in his chest. 

They lock eyes as Sunghoon glances around to see if he’s forgotten anything, and he stops, catching the grin on Heeseung’s face. “What?” he asks skeptically, although there’s still something open about his expression, relaxed. 

Heeseung shakes his head. “I just remembered,” he says, quickly covering for himself. (He has to maintain some semblance of dignity here.) “I won last week.”

By winning last week, he means he racked up more points by Friday, which is apparently how they’re doing things now. It was Sunghoon who suggested it, tricking Heeseung into agreeing on the condition that he buy him coffee for a week if he lost; but to Sunghoon’s dismay, Heeseung didn’t. 

Sunghoon scowls. “Way to kill the moment,” he scoffs, and Heeseung laughs, somehow more excited at the fact that he said there was a moment at all rather than annoyed at him for breaking the tension. “What do you want, Your Highness?” he asks sarcastically. 

Heeseung bites the inside of his cheeks, holding in a smile. “I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “Call me hy—“

“No.”

“But—“

“ No.”

“Are you seri—“

“Pick something else,” Sunghoon says firmly, as though Heeseung didn’t hear him saying it two minutes ago. For the love of god .

Heeseung huffs, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t think you’re allowed to do that, you know. I won— don’t I get to pick?”

Sunghoon side-eyes him suspiciously. “You know there isn’t an official rule book, right?”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Heeseung starts, and Sunghoon holds up his hands to stall before Heeseung’s even formulated an argument. 

“ Fine. Just pick something else— anything else.”

Heeseung looks up, considers, and decides to push his luck. “Pick me up from work on Friday,” he says, meeting Sunghoon’s eyes challengingly.

“Pick you up from work?” Sunghoon repeats, skeptical. “From where?” Heeseung tells him, and he wrinkles his nose, dramatically burying his face in his hands. Heeseung watches, caught between amusement and anticipation— he’s technically acting like he’s already said yes, isn’t he? “That’s like, forty minutes away.”

“Which is why I figured I shouldn’t ask poor Jongseong,” Heeseung responds easily, snickering at the look on Sunghoon’s face when he lifts his head again.

“I see how it is,” Sunghoon huffs. “Fine. Just this once, okay? So don’t get too excited.”

Heeseung hides his grin behind his hand, elbow braced on the table. “What’s there to be excited about?” he says teasingly, even as his heart thumps like a sledgehammer in his chest.

— — — 

Now, the smart thing to do in a situation like this is what the kids like to call not feeding your delusions. Touching grass. Reigniting his BTS obsession to pine after celebrities that he’ll never meet like every other normal teenager out there.

Is that what Heeseung does?

Studies would indicate that nope, he throws that advice out the window and goes straight for the opposite. 

This feels like the equivalent of being taken by hand and led to a candy store. Everything is free. His pockets are endless. Sunghoon’s picking him up at nine.

It sounds too good to be true, and Heeseung’s jittery the whole shoot as a result, unable to fully loosen up like he knows he’s capable of. No one points anything out, so maybe it’s not physical— maybe it’s just his head that’s been thrown completely out of whack, staring at dust motes floating down from the high ceiling of the studio, zoned out somewhere to the left of the camera as per the photographer’s instructions, and wondering everything from what kind of car Sunghoon drives to the most mundane details of their conversation, what Sunghoon will greet him with when he walks up, whether he’ll drag Heeseung on some detour just to waste his time. He wouldn’t mind; in fact, he finds himself almost wishing for it. The part of him that found a little too much satisfaction in cutting class with Jongseong longs to do it again, apparently; to pretend no one will miss them and spend as long as he can sitting there nursing that electric spark between him and Park Sunghoon, upping the voltage to see if he can handle what it feels like when lightning strikes. 

The shoot wraps up on time, and when Heeseung fishes his phone out of his jeans pocket amid the general muted background noise of everything being turned off and put away, his heart skips a beat. Sunghoon texted fifteen minutes ago: i’m here, tell me when you’re done

We’re done now, give me ten minutes, Heeseung texts back quickly, and then hurries through getting his makeup taken off and changing, making the stylists laugh at him hopping around with one sock on, searching for his shoes.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” one of the noonas calls after him.. 

“I’ll tell you later!” He tugs on the shoes, pulls on his coat, and leaves with a hurried series of bows, stifled giggles following him down the hall. 

He pulls out his phone again, call connecting as he makes his way down to the first floor, heading down the stairs through the darkened building and peering out of the huge glass windows out front, trying to see if he can make out Sunghoon’s car in the parking lot. 

“Hi,” he says breathlessly. “Sorry I took so long. I’m coming out now.”

“Yeah, you made me wait out here forever,” Sunghoon huffs, although he sounds more sarcastic than genuinely pissed. “I’ll come around to the front, hold on. I’m the white car,” he adds. “Don’t get in some creepy black van if it pulls up at the same time.”

“...you realize the company cars are black vans?”

“I saw,” Sunghoon says, smile in his voice. “That’s why I said it.”

Heeseung emerges into the lobby, nodding at the secretary sitting alone behind the front desk, and pushes out of the doors leading outside, looking out at the parking lot— and there he is, idling at the loop in front of Heeseung, phone held to his ear, in a sleek white car as promised. Except— 

“You drive a Porsche?” Heeseung asks, momentarily distracted from the stream of warm fuzzy thoughts that have been filtering through his brain since Sunghoon first agreed to give him a ride. 

Sunghoon, as with his typical brand of entertaining assholery, gives the engine a vroom, wordlessly punctuating his exasperated “get in the goddamn car, Heeseung.” 

“A Porsche?” Heeseung repeats incredulously, although he goes around to the passenger side, not eager to stand around in the cold any longer than he has to. The little beep of the call disconnecting sounds in his ear just as he opens the door, quickly clambering inside and shutting it to keep the heat in. God, it’s nice and warm in here.

“Yes, a Porsche, okay— it’s my mom’s, take it up with her,” Sunghoon says by way of greeting, giving him a Look from the driver’s seat. The inside of the car is as sleek as the outside, seats a soft tan color and smooth, probably leather. The light flicked on when Heeseung opened the door, and although it’s turned off now, he can still see Sunghoon clearly. He’s dressed in a black bomber jacket not unlike the one Heeseung had given him and dark pants, hair brushed back off his forehead. 

“I’m not going to fight your mom about it, calm down,” Heeseung replies, settling properly into his seat and pulling on his seat belt. He’s growing to accept that Sunghoon is incapable of saying hi to him like a normal person, and so he doesn’t ask for a greeting, just goes on with the conversation. “But still—“

“Are you seriously going to be so annoying about this when I just spent half an hour in this parking lot waiting for you?” Sunghoon groans, starting to pull out of said lot. “I turned off the heat and everything too.”

“…right, sorry,” Heeseung gives in, because that’s the least he can do, right? At least accept when Sunghoon’s got a point? “I’m just— surprised. Why do you all have such expensive cars?”

“That’s just Jongseong— and Jaeyun, I guess. Not that he ever bothers to drive it. This isn’t mine, like I said. You think I’d be biking with Jungwon everyday if I had a car?”

“I guess not,” Heeseung chuckles, pulling off his coat as he adjusts to the car’s temperature, leaving him in just a sweater and jeans. “I gave you my address, right?”

“ Yes, Heeseung,” Sunghoon responds long-sufferingly. “Do you think I’m going to drop you off on the side of the highway or something?”

“Can we have one conversation without doing this?” Heeseung pleads, but he’s grinning despite himself. “Come on. Just one.”

Sunghoon wrinkles his nose, glancing over as he stops at a red light, now on the actual road. “Fine. How was your day, Heeseung?” he asks sarcastically. 

“Hyung,” Heeseung tacks on, and then goes on without letting Sunghoon interrupt. “And it was all right. They finished the shoot earlier than I thought they would, and… I think I did well on all those tests today.”

“Yeah? We’ll see,” Sunghoon says, glancing over and grinning, and a jolt of something both familiar and not goes through Heeseung’s stomach, searing down his spine. “And how is nine-thirty early for a shoot anyway? I thought they couldn’t make minors work past ten.”

“I’m nineteen,” Heeseung reminds him ruefully. “But enough about work.” You’re here, he thinks, almost giddy. They’re sitting here all alone, Sunghoon has for some reason agreed to do something genuinely nice for him, and the inside of this car smells like cologne. Forget work. “What about you? How was yours?”

“Do you honestly care?”

Heeseung smiles. “Humor me.”

Sunghoon sighs, but as Heeseung is increasingly becoming used to, he does. “Fine. Uh… it was pretty boring, I don’t know. I had practice before school, then— school—” he gives a vague handwave— “and then more skating. I got about ten minutes of math homework done, and then I came straight here to pick you up,” he summarizes. “ Really interesting stuff.”

“I’m honestly impressed you have the energy to try so hard in school,” Heeseung glances over. Sunghoon always looks put-together and well-prepared, and based on that lecture he gave Heeseung at the library a few days ago, apparently gets eight hours of sleep most nights… which is probably an example Heeseung should be taking. But how does he do that, seriously? And also make time for all their friends dragging him around to watch romance movies and get hot chocolate after school? 

“I haven’t had free time in, like, six years,” Sunghoon shrugs, although Heeseung would guess he’s only half-joking. “And I’m good at compartmentalizing. If I tried to focus on everything at once, I think I’d go crazy.”

Heeseung shakes his head, tearing his eyes away to stare through the windshield. They’re entering the freeway now, amid a sea of other cars in late-evening traffic. “I think I am going crazy,” he mutters, only half-joking himself.

“Do you like it that much?”

“Hmm?”

“Modeling,” Sunghoon clarifies, glancing quickly at him before redirecting his attention to the road. “That’s what you’re planning to do, right?”

Heeseung sighs, smiling wistfully and leaning his back against the seat. “I don’t really know. It’s not my favorite thing in the world, and it’s not like you can model until retirement. I want to study something, but… I don’t really know what.”

Sunghoon’s brows furrow. “Why are you doing it, then? If you don’t enjoy it? I mean— I guess it probably pays pretty well…”

“That’s pretty much it. My parents aren’t exactly…” Heeseung hesitates. “We lost our business a few years ago, which is why I started in the first place.” 

Sunghoon’s lips part in surprise. “Oh. I didn’t know,” he glances over again, furtive and cautious. “That… really sucks.”

“It did,” Heeseung agrees, biting his lip. “But we’re fine now— I mean, we live in a good district and all, so my parents want me to quit and focus on school.”

The silence lingers for a moment, and then Sunghoon asks, looking over again, “but?”

Heeseung’s lips twitch, amused he caught the second half of the sentence hanging unspoken in the air. “But I don’t know. It kind of scares me, honestly. What if I do quit and something happens again? It probably won’t, but… even if it doesn’t, we’re not exactly billionaires.”

Sunghoon’s silent again, and when Heeseung looks over, he’s got the slightest of furrows between his brows again, like he’s thinking. “...I don’t really know what to say,” Sunghoon says in the end, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “I can see both sides of it. I’m sure your parents are just worried about you,” he says quietly. 

“I know,” Heeseung sighs.

“But I think I’m with you on this,” he says unexpectedly. Heeseung tilts his head towards Sunghoon in surprise, a warm flush spreading through his stomach. 

“What? Really?”

Sunghoon nods, a hint of a smile on his lips. They look soft, Heeseung notices nonsensically. He’s probably the type to use moisturizer and lip balm in liberal amounts. No wonder he always smells good… “If I was in your shoes, I’d probably feel the same way. Of course you want to help them. Not,” Sunghoon goes on, halting Heeseung’s increasing delight in its tracks, “that I think you nearly passing out at a public library is reasonable. But the rest of it… yeah, that makes sense, Heeseung.” 

Heeseung’s smile tucks itself into his lips, private and soft. “Thanks,” he says softly, fingers curled into the fabric of his coat on his lap. “Really. Everyone else has just been saying ‘your parents should be the ones taking care of you’ and all…”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “It’s not like it’s unheard of. And you’re not throwing your life away either, are you? You got into a really good school.”

“And started competing with the top student, yeah,” Heeseung flashes a grin at him, warmth spreading throughout his body.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Sunghoon replies, but he flashes one right back, dimples showing, eyes shining in the streetlights. “But you know what I mean.”

Heeseung quickly goes back to looking out the windshield, heart jumping. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing. “I know what you mean.”

“Either way,” Sunghoon says, leaning back in his seat a little. The traffic has mostly cleared, and there are only a few cars around them. He gives Heeseung another smile, genuine and adorable. “I think it’s sweet of you.”

At that, Heeseung has to close his eyes and press his rapidly-warming cheek against the window, wincing and laughing like it’s a joke, to keep from showing how flustered he really is. “Don’t do that,” he says into his hands, covering his face with them, and Sunghoon bursts out laughing, the sound filling the car and Heeseung’s rapidly-thumping heart all at once, the beat pulsing throughout his body. “I wasn’t trying to fish for compliments—”

“Good, because that’s all you’re getting,” Sunghoon says through his laughter. “Anyway, enough serious discussion. Have you had dinner?”

Heeseung gratefully accepts that segue. “No, no yet,” he says unthinkingly, dropping his hands and brushing his hair out of his face— and then his heart jolts yet again when he realizes the implications of that question.

“Yeah, me neither,” Sunghoon mutters, distracted by changing lanes. “You want to stop at a drive-through?”

Heeseung’s nonchalant yes (very, very enthusiastic on the inside, trust him) has little to do with his stomach and much, much more to do with something a hell of a lot more traitorous.

Stopping at the closest fast food restaurant adds at least half an hour to the journey, especially when they get stuck in line, but Heeseung hardly notices the time go by. They bicker over everything there is to bicker over, from what sauce to get with their burgers to which one would make their respective coach/manager angrier to whether they want to split chicken or fries (chicken wins, because obviously), and by the time they’re pulling out of the parking lot, Sunghoon having balanced his styrofoam tray on the console to take bites when he can, the air between them feels charged, electricity sparking off Sunghoon’s quicksilver smile and Heeseung’s tingling fingers and the city lights through the windows, addictive.

“So what do you actually want to do, then?” Sunghoon asks as they get back onto the freeway. “Modeling aside.” He slides his right hand off the steering wheel and rests an elbow on the console between them, much more relaxed now that they’re almost alone on the road again.

Heeseung swallows a large bite of his burger and shrugs. “It’ll probably be something boring. I haven’t really decided yet, though. What about you? Skating?”

“Yeah. And then Finance in school— I know, I know,” he says, laughing at Heeseung’s wrinkled nose. 

“You hate math, though?”

“I do,” Sunghoon lifts one shoulder. “But I do like the idea of making six figures before I’m thirty,” he grins.

“Fair enough,” Heeseung smiles back, then shudders. “Ugh, I don’t want to talk about this. Can we go back to arguing over ketchup?” 

“Fair enough,” Sunghoon echoes. “But personally I’m a mustard person, you know.” 

Heeseung rolls his eyes, stifling another giddy smile, and hides behind his food again. 

The discussion does remain mostly light-hearted after that, winding down as they get closer to home. By the time Sunghoon’s pulling into his neighborhood, Heeseung directing him down the familiar streets, he’s practically bursting open at the seams with the desire for more, to have Sunghoon around longer, to— what? To argue with him for another hour? 

He’s starting to feel a little insane, like he might do something stupid. In this car, so close together, it’s like social norms don’t exist, like the outside world as an entity doesn’t exist. If Heeseung were to just— but no. No, he just sits there and contains himself and lets Sunghoon drive slowly down the road towards his house, playing with the edges of his coat thrown over his lap and watching Sunghoon’s hands on the steering wheel and wondering what it would feel like to hold them. If Sunghoon would let him or just pull away the first chance he got.

Sunghoon heaves a dramatic sigh as he comes to a halt outside Heeseung’s house amid a slow song starting on the radio. He turns back and gives Heeseung his full attention for the first time that evening. It sends a jolt of something through his stomach, like he’s nervous giving a presentation in front of the whole class— but there’s no need, not when it’s just Sunghoon. 

However— on the other hand, Sunghoon has never been just Sunghoon to Heeseung, anyway.

“Here you go, Heeseung-nim, we’ve arrived at your destination,” Sunghoon says, dipping his head in an exaggerated bow. 

Heeseung reaches over and ruffles the crown of it while it’s tilted down towards him, prompting Sunghoon to shoot his head back up instantly, eyes slitted. “Okay, okay,” Heeseung says quickly, withdrawing his hand before it can get— bitten off, or whatever that look on Sunghoon’s face is an indicator of. “Thank you, Sunghoonie, seriously. I didn’t even think you’d say yes,” he admits, softening slightly and dropping the teasing look.

Sunghoon jerks his head as though shaking off the remnants of Heeseung’s touch, resting one wrist on the top of the steering wheel, his other elbow on the console, leaning closer to Heeseung now, eyes shining in the moonlight. His jacket slips off one shoulder, and for a moment he looks like something out of a magazine, a faraway dream. The slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, all shadows and sharp lines in the darkness; and then the contrasting softness of his eyes, the way he blinks and breaks the illusion. If Park Sunghoon’s an ice prince, then he’s one with pre-existing cracks in the facade— they’ve always been there for Heeseung to see, and he’s never bothered to open his eyes before now, to realize how unfair he was being earlier.

“I didn’t think I would either,” Sunghoon mutters after a long moment. The song hits its first chorus, notes crooning long and slow, and Heeseung’s suddenly aware of everything around him, breathing manually, unsteadily, nose catching the scent of Sunghoon’s cologne in the air, how the distance between them is so small, how easy it would be to lean over and close it— both physically and emotionally.

Then why did you? Heeseung thinks, but something tells him asking would only derail the conversation, break the tension that’s building between them, the air growing heavy with it. “I’m glad you did,” he offers. “You’re not half-bad company, Park Sunghoon,” he says, attempting a grin and mostly failing; there’s something jittery beneath his skin, like every nerve in his body is fidgeting, and he kind of wants to run from the feeling, the uncertainty fluttering in his stomach. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Sunghoon starts, tilting his head. “Are you sleeping better now? Since that night in the library?”

Heeseung doesn’t tell him that nap against his shoulder was probably the deepest he’s slept in weeks, but he nods truthfully. “Yeah, I have been. Don’t stay up worrying,” he grins. 

“Oh come on, don’t be an asshole,” Sunghoon says, one side of his lips curving up, a closed-mouth smirk. 

Heeseung should— go. He should most definitely leave, preferably right now. 

“I’m not being an asshole,” he says instead, petulant. 

“You’re pouting,” Sunghoon notes, smile widening. He gives his head a slight jerk, getting his bangs out of his eyes. Heeseung’s fingers flex on the edge of his coat again, itching to help him with it. “What, was that too mean for you?” he teases.

“What if I said yes?” Heeseung counters, something almost like annoyance rising in his chest and then falling away just as quickly. 

Sunghoon’s expression softens slightly, unexpectedly. His eyes are sparkling as he tilts his head to the side, considering. “Nah,” he says, far too confident. But then— “I’m glad you put up with me now,” he adds thoughtfully, and the words are joking, but his tone is completely sincere. 

Heeseung swallows. “Likewise,” he murmurs, and the words bring something to mind, something he doesn’t want to think about, all of a sudden, stomach twisting. “Sunghoon-ah,” he starts. 

Sunghoon hums in response, seemingly patient despite the car’s engine still idling.

Heeseung hesitates. “You know it’s been… three weeks?” he asks quietly. 

“Three weeks…?” Sunghoon asks, expression flickering with confusion. “I don’t get it.”

“You agreed to two, remember? To let me… follow you around. Make you like me.”

Sunghoon blinks again, eyes searching his. “...you can’t seriously think,” he says slowly, softly, “that I care about that stupid bet anymore.” 

Oh, Heeseung thinks, and something lights in his chest like warmth coming from a hearth, glowing and golden. There’s nothing teasing or feigned about the way Sunghoon’s looking at him right now, genuine and a little tired around the edges. 

“You always care about the wrong things,” Heeseung says, a smile flitting across his lips— he remembers thinking that weeks ago, in a much different context. Now he finds it fascinating, almost, how Sunghoon’s attention is always fixated on something completely different from him. 

“What am I supposed to care about, then?” Sunghoon murmurs.

Me, Heeseung thinks, unbidden, and that glow in his chest brightens, spreading warmth throughout his body, which yearns to stretch towards Sunghoon, limbs thrumming with desire. Me, me, me, care about me.

Please, please, please— I hope you care about me.)

“I, um…” Heeseung trails off, blinking furiously. “I’ll— I’ll see you tomorrow, Sunghoonie. Thank you again, thanks,” he says, reaching over and opening the door, chilly air spilling into the car like the press of a cold knife against warm skin, a jolt back to reality. 

Sunghoon blinks, a crease appearing between his brows. “...Heeseung? Are you—?” okay is the logical conclusion to that sentence, although if Sunghoon truly wants to know then the answer is no, followed by and it’s all your fault. 

“I’m fine,” Heeseung says quickly. “Just tired. See you at school,” he tries. “I’ll… yeah. Bye.”

“Bye,” Sunghoon echoes, and if Heeseung’s not mistaken he looks a little put out— disappointed. He clambers out of the car with a sense of something gone wrong as well, something not sitting right under his skin. Like he just yanked his earbuds out right before the best part of the song. 

The cold night air is a harsh reality check, chilling his bones and leeching the warmth from his body. But it can’t stop his heart from continuing to pound, breaths fast and sharp like he’s fresh off a marathon.

He gets to the door almost in a daze, and when he glances back, Sunghoon’s car is still there, waiting to see that he gets inside safely. He offers a quick wave, a tight smile, and then practically flees the scene, unlocking the door quickly and letting himself inside. 

It’s dark, no one else at home yet. He flicks the lights on slowly, willing himself to not look; but he can’t help it. Immediately, he crosses to the living room window and peers outside, just catching Sunghoon’s shiny Porsche rounding the corner and disappearing. 

Heeseung’s heart is still thumping in his chest, his ears, his palms. His cheeks are warm, and his reflection, in the window, looks dazed, eyes too-bright and shining, hair curling over his forehead, lips parted. 

He pictures, unprompted, what it would be like to kiss Sunghoon. Whether his lips would be soft, whether he’d wrap his arms around Heeseung’s waist or slide his fingers into Heeseung’s hair—

His stomach flips over, lips pressing together. 

Or maybe he’s the type to ask first, to whisper can I kiss you? in Heeseung’s ear and only then lean forward and do it— but no, that’s not really Sunghoon. He’d just do it; would probably go about it angrily, too, the way he does most everything with Heeseung, would back him into a wall the way he’d done at Jongseong’s party, except this time his eyes wouldn’t be glazed over— they’d be as piercing as Heeseung has come to know— and then kiss him like he was trying to win at that too, mouth hot on his, hands cold on his skin, curling into the nape of his neck —

“What the hell is wrong with me?” Heeseung whispers at his window, backing away and sitting down on the couch, coat in hand and face still frosty with cold— not that it seems like it’ll remain cold much longer. Shut the fuck up, he chants inside his head, nose scrunching in something like reproach. 

—and he’d smirk after pulling away because of course he would, smug because Heeseung kissed him back, because Heeseung grabbed his waist and pulled him closer, because Heeseung tilted his head, eyes slipping shut, and opened his mouth and let him.

Oh, he thinks, heart scrambling for purchase and slipping right out of his hands. Oh, no. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER NINE: BELLADONNA

I dream of you, you are a dream

“...hi? Sunghoonie?”

It has to be some ungodly hour of the morning, and for a good three seconds, Sunghoon has no idea why he’s awake. He only reached over and slapped his phone screen when it started ringing to turn the infernal noise off, but now there’s a familiar voice in his ear, and he stirs, brows knitting together. 

“What?” he mumbles, too exhausted to muster up anything more.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d be waking you… I always stay up for my birthday,” Heeseung laughs softly. Recognition shoots through Sunghoon like an electric shock, zapping half his sleepiness away instantly. Holy shit, that’s right, tomorrow morning is his birthday. Or—? He pries his eyes open and squints at the digital clock on his bedside table— 12:03, December 8th. A jolt of excitement ricochets through his stomach, the hints of a smile starting on his lips.

Guess who just turned 18? 

“Anyway, Happy Birthday!” Heeseung says, right on cue. “I wanted to be first— am I?” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re first,” Sunghoon mutters, voice rough with sleep. He drops his head back down onto the pillow, chasing the warmth of his blankets again. “Thank you,” he adds genuinely, trying to keep from sounding too touched.

He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop on this whole… Heeseung-being-nice-to-him thing. It’s been wonderful while it’s lasted, but surely he can’t keep it up forever?

But the more days that slip by with Heeseung continuing to be so… sweet and kind and understanding, the more Sunghoon’s starting to realize just how much of an idiot he was in the past. If this is what Heeseung is genuinely like as a friend, then why the hell did he waste so much time trying to be anything else to him?

“You’re welcome,” Heeseung responds easily, maybe a little shy, smile in his voice. Eyes closed, Sunghoon’s lips curve up into one as well, so big and goofy it should be illegal. “I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“Mm, good idea,” Sunghoon mumbles, pressing his grin into his pillow. “Good night, hyung.” 

Tomorrow morning, he’s going to pass it off as just being too exhausted to care— although, to his credit, Heeseung doesn’t make the mistake of bringing it up, just gives him a conspiratorial grin, eyes shining, that speaks for himself. But in that moment, there’s this— startling clarity in his chest, like a glowing diamond, that tells him there’s no point in resisting this anymore.

“...good night,” Heeseung says, slightly breathless, and Sunghoon falls asleep before either of them hangs up.

— — — 

Clarity and crystals and decisions made at midnight aside, Sunghoon is… very much not blind. He can see whatever it is that’s brewing between him and Heeseung, like two planets spinning ever-closer together— and he can’t help but both love it and hate it at the same time.

Because isn’t he just proving the universe right? All of those romantic poems and quotes and stereotypical movie tropes, saying you can just tell when they’re meant for you— ugh. Sunghoon doesn’t know about all that; he’s never felt as uncertain about anything as he has Heeseung. 

But it’s becoming increasingly clear that if there was a red string around his wrist, it would lead straight to Heeseung. If there was a star on his chest, it would light up brighter than the sun at his touch. If they could hear one another’s thoughts, Heeseung would have no trouble following the trail to the corner of Sunghoon’s brain that’s been devoted solely to thinking about him 24-7, nonstop. It does feel inevitable now. Like they’ve just been dancing around each other this whole time, hurtling for one singular end result.

That’s not a concept Sunghoon’s going to pretend to like.  

For now, though, he’s got other things to worry about. 

He’s just barely finished putting away the gift Heeseung got him in Math the following afternoon, having stammered his way around a series of heart palpitations and a you really didn’t have to in response to the box Heeseung had quietly handed him, receiving a teasing you said you expected presents, Sunghoonie in response, when there’s a hesitant tap on his shoulder. 

At first he thinks it’s Heeseung, but no— Heeseung is twirling a pen around his fingers beside him, midway through saying something that sounds like an unsubtle hint to keep his evening free (no doubt his friends are planning something).

Sunghoon pulls away from Heeseung and turns to the girl hovering in front of his desk, holding something in her hands that looks suspiciously like a gift-wrapped box of chocolates. Her eyes are very brown and very big, hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders, and she looks maybe a year or two younger than him— so not in any of his classes. She’s garnering a few looks from the people already in class, but luckily that’s only about four or five students who couldn’t care less anyway.

Almost comically, Sunghoon’s heart stops in his chest, stomach dropping into his shoes. Please no, he thinks uselessly. 

“Um, hi,” she starts, giving him a bright smile. There’s a rustle of fabric from beside him; Heeseung leaning away and sitting up properly, pen halting between his fingers. Sunghoon can feel his gaze against the side of his face, which begins to heat inexplicably, pinned down from both directions. “I— just wanted to say Happy Birthday,” she says, offering him the box. “And, um,” she runs a self-conscious hand through her hair, smiling shyly, and. Please don’t, Sunghoon tries to wordlessly communicate to her, frozen in his chair. Not in front of him, please— “I know we haven’t really spoken before, but I just wanted to say that I… really like you, and, um, you don’t have to say yes or anything, but I was wondering if you’d… maybe want to go out… sometime?” It sounds as though it physically pains her to say, and she gives a self-deprecating wince, grinning at him. 

To be fair, she’s not making a fool of herself or anything, but… Sunghoon still has to stifle a full-body cringe. “Um,” he blinks, horribly slow to muster up a response. Every single excuse he’s ever used is on the tip of his tongue— sorry, I’m too busy with skating/school, my parents don’t want me to date— but saying them in front of his literal soulmate feels like a genuine asshole move. “I, um…”

Thankfully, she puts him out of misery. Her eyes search his face, find whatever it is that he can’t bring himself to voice, and a rueful smile flits across her face. “That’s okay,” she says good-naturedly. “I figured I should at least try… but you don’t have to explain it to me, I know we don’t really know each other. Um, Happy Birthday anyway! You can keep the chocolates,” she waves off his feeble, idiotic attempt to wordlessly hand them back, tongue-tied. “I, um, have to go to class, so…” 

And she darts back through the desks and out the door, looking vaguely embarrassed the entire time.

Sunghoon can understand the feeling; his entire face feels like it’s on fire, a blush spreading red-hot across his cheeks and down his neck. He watches her go and then slowly leans back in his chair. When he darts a quick glance at Heeseung, it’s to find him spinning his pen again, eyes fixed on it, expression unreadable. His earlier relaxed demeanor has turned into stiff shoulders and a slightly pushed-out bottom lip, and— 

“Sorry,” Sunghoon blurts, inexplicably. It’s not like he asked her out, or even contemplated saying yes—? And even if he did, why apologize to Heeseung for it unless, you know…

His stomach gives an almighty flip as Heeseung looks up from his pen, eyes wide with surprise. He looks devastatingly handsome from this angle, and devastatingly observant, like he can see right through Sunghoon’s bullshit. Another wave of embarrassment makes Sunghoon’s words knot together, clumsily stuck in his throat as he opens his mouth to elaborate and comes up with nothing. 

“For… what?” Heeseung asks slowly, eyes searching his face in a manner eerily reminiscent of that girl— except whatever he finds written all over it makes his lips start to turn up at the corners. 

“That was,” Sunghoon starts, and then doesn’t know how to finish. Not my fault? I didn’t mean for her to? I’m sorry she did that right in front of you? I’d have been sorry even if she did it behind your back? 

The smirk growing on Heeseung’s face turns a little evil as he reaches across Sunghoon to the box of chocolates, tearing off part of the wrapping and revealing the Russell Stover logo. “She must have spent a good amount of money on these…” he says thoughtfully, eyes glittering. Sunghoon just stares at him, still mortified beyond belief and not even sure why anymore. “Do you mind if I—?” He peels off a large strip of the wrapping and takes the box out, scrunching up the paper and tossing it into the nearest trash can. 

Sunghoon watches, fighting the urge to bury his face in his hands— or, nonsensically, in Heeseung’s chest— and give a whine of humiliation. Oh, fuck you, he thinks viciously, as though he’s not the one who set himself up for this.

Heeseung flips open the lid and the rows of chocolate in little cupcake wrappers, all gleaming dark chocolate. “This one looks pretty romantic,” he grins, picking up the one covered in strawberry drizzle, and Sunghoon shoots him a truly desperate look that he doesn’t even see because he’s so busy reading the flavor list—

“Can I have some? After the birthday boy, of course,” Heeseung asks innocently, practically batting his goddamn eyelashes. 

Last time he ever apologizes to this guy for something, Jesus Christ… 

(Sunghoon shoves one into his mouth on principle, unable to take the pressure of those eyes on him. Heeseung helps himself to four, unsubtly fighting the urge to burst out laughing for the entirety of the next fifty minutes . And on Sunghoon’s goddamn birthday, too…)

The rest of the day does manage to be somewhat better, although the memory of that entire encounter— not to mention Sunghoon’s reaction to it, which is really what was worse— keeps making him cringe periodically all the way up until he gets ambushed after skating practice. For the record, his parents are throwing him a family party tomorrow, when his aunt and uncle can come down for brunch, and so he goes to practice because he wants to, regardless of what Jaeyun and Jungwon seem to think with their sad little “but it’s your birthday…”

It’s dark out already, so at first Sunghoon thinks he’s being kidnapped, but when the random-ass man picking him up in the middle of the parking lot turns out to be Jongseong, his flailing and yelling turns into laughter instead, his gym bag falling to the pavement in the chaos. Sunoo, Jaeyun, and a very hyper, jumping-ten-feet-in-the-air Riki run up with a cake in their hands, faces lit by the already-dripping candles, and Heeseung appears out of seemingly nowhere to grab Sunghoon from the other side, so he’s sitting in a makeshift seat made by Jongseong’s and Heeseung’s combined arms, arms wrapped around their shoulders. Jungwon’s lagging behind, waving his arms from across the parking lot, and even as Sunghoon struggles to contain his laughter, everyone’s yelling at him to blow out the candles before wax drips onto the precious cake. 

“Wait for Jungwon, come on,” Sunoo says reproachfully over the commotion, and Sunghoon kicks his legs uselessly, nudging Jaeyun’s thigh. 

“Guys, my coach is going to think I’m being murdered out here,” he warns. They thrust the cake closer to him so he can read the cursive Happy Birthday Sunghoon! written across it in blue frosting, the round top decorated with little snowflakes. “Wait, is this— Elsa-themed? You got me a Frozen cake?!”

No one even has the gall to be ashamed. Apparently it ‘fits his aesthetic’. God, the amount of injustices being committed against him today— again, on his birthday— 

As soon as Jungwon arrives, panting breaths clouding in the cold, Sunghoon closes his eyes, quietly making a wish.

“Hurry up, it’s cold out here!”

Sunghoon’s eyes shoot open again, directing an unimpressed look at the group at large, and then he finally puts them out of their misery by leaning forward and obediently blowing out the candles.

They pick up a truly horrendous rendition of Happy Birthday, voices all overlapping and laughter ruining any hope of being in tune, but the smoke smells sweet and everyone’s eyes are shining, and Sunghoon’s lips lift into a smile of their own accord. (Maybe he’s leaning more on Heeseung than he is Jongseong. So sue him.)

The two of them let him down onto the ground after they’re finished singing, and they squeeze into Jaeyun’s car, all seven of them— thankfully, no one’s planning on driving anywhere like this. Jongseong plants himself in Jungwon’s lap in the corner of the backseat, Riki and Sunoo shoved in there with them and loudly complaining about it. Jaeyun quickly takes the driver’s seat, removing himself from that equation. Which leaves Heeseung and Sunghoon to look at the empty passenger seat, lock eyes, and then simultaneously dive for it.

Sunghoon is just about to pull the ‘it’s my birthday’ card when Heeseung whispers, “Don’t you win if no one has to sit on your lap?” And unfortunately, for once, he’s making sense. So he sits, and then Sunghoon tells his brain to shut up shut up shut up about ten times in the span of the two seconds it takes for him to clamber in after Heeseung, sit on his lap, and shut the door behind them, and surprisingly enough, he doesn’t spontaneously combust in the first ten seconds.

Everyone else is too busy with dividing up the cake onto paper plates and passing out utensils— for some reason, Jaeyun has an entire box of plastic knives and not one fork to go around— to give them any notice, which is just fine by Sunghoon. Heeseung’s hands are lightly holding onto his waist, allowing him to sit sideways across his lap, and it’s incredibly difficult not to lean into his touch or his chest, especially when he’s so warm. Sunghoon accepts the plate of cake Jungwon gives him, and Heeseung shifts to reach out a hand to do the same. He balances his plate on Sunghoon’s lap, which is— fine, that’s fine, this is all so deeply fine—

“Next time we’re booking a bigger party venue,” Sunoo says sarcastically, giving Riki a dark look as he piles two helpings of cake onto his plate and then nearly hits Sunoo in the face with the plastic knife in his enthusiasm.

“What are you guys doing for my birthday tomorrow?” Riki asks, earning himself a series of knowing looks. 

“Why would we tell you?” Heeseung replies cheekily, looking over the seat and balancing his arms over Sunghoon’s lap again. 

“Because you love me,” Riki grins.

“It’s because we love you that we’re not telling you,” Sunghoon laughs. “Also, can we please focus on me for the next three hours? Hello? It’s still my birthday?”

Heeseung unceremoniously shoves Sunghoon off his lap and onto the console, where about five people attack him with cake frosting to the face at the same time, barely held at bay with how they’re all, including Sunghoon, laughing their heads off, and it’s— objectively, it’s the best birthday he’s maybe ever had.

(It’s only when he finally gets home that evening that he gets to unwrap the gift Heeseung got him, a small box paired with a card featuring three puppies in a basket. It’s a snow globe, fragile and crystalline, with a skater inside, leg outstretched like he’s about to fling himself into a jump. He’s wearing a gold medal around his neck, and when Sunghoon turns over the snow globe, sparkling blue-white flakes spiral dazzlingly through the water. 

You are the single most annoying person I’ve ever met. Congratulations— you’ve even won at that. I think you were just born a winner, Sunghoon-ah, and I knew you’d be offended if I picked the one wearing a silver medal… so I got you gold. Happy birthday from your favorite hyung, and thank you. You wanted a gift from me, but you really are a gift to the world.

Sunghoon doesn’t think he has the words for what wells up in his chest reading the end of that card, almost painful in its intensity, and to be honest? He doesn’t know that he ever will.)

— — — 

In the midst of Sunghoon and Heeseung executing this… oddly-paced mating dance, or whatever the hell going on pseudo-dates at the library, continuing their homoerotic rivalry while Sunghoon resists the urge to ask for a kiss if he wins next time, and smiling like an idiot at every text Heeseung sends is supposed to be called, Sunoo and Jaeyun’s infamous musical finally comes to fruition.

sunoo: 

hiii ik half of you keep leaving the gc T_T but for everyone that’s left remember the tickets for the musical are finally on sale!! 

wonie: 

i got them for me, jongseong-hyung, and riki already, dw

me: 

where do you buy them again?? 

sunoo: 

i’ll send you the link, hold on~ 

here !

me: 

why are they so expensive

sunoo: 

are you not going to buy them T_T

me: 

you’re a brat 🙄  

also where are we sitting?? 

wonie: 

second row, i’ll send a screenshot

okay here *image attached*

me: 

…the only two seats left are by the aisle

why are you forcing me to sit next to heeseung T_T

sunoo:

am I missing something here? isn’t everybody friends now 

lee heeseung (derogatory): 

ignore him please

me:

okay rude

lee heeseung (derogatory): 

you realize not one person mentioned my name before you brought me up?

and we were perfectly fine sitting next to each other at the movie theater

me: 

oh please you didn’t want to be there any more than i did

lee heeseung (derogatory): 

come on, sunghoon-ah

me: 

the hell is that supposed to mean

lee heeseung (derogatory): 

it means shut up and buy the tickets

me: 

oh you want me to waste my money on you too??

jaeyun: 

first of all

i’m going to ignore that you called our musical a waste of money :((

and second of all

jjongsaeng: 

everyone and their grandma knows you two want to sit next to each other

put us out of our misery and just buy the goddamn tickets

jaeyun:

ty for interrupting, but i couldn’t have said it better myself

me: 

what i’m getting from this conversation is that no one loves me T_T

riki jackson:

quick should we pretend to argue

me:

 gET OUT

OH MY GOD

YOU SHITS

AT LEAST TRY AND LIE TO ME

lee heeseung (derogatory): 

don’t be a drama queen

me: 

keep this up and i really will never call you hyung

lee heeseung (derogatory): 

…

can someone take one for the team 

sunoo: 

SJDFKLSDJL HYUNG 

jjongsaeng: 

okay that’s it do this on your own time i don’t have the patience for this 

*’jjongsaeng’ has removed you and ‘lee heeseung (derogatory)’ from the groupchat!’

So, in preparation for the dent that’s going to be made in their study time on a Thursday night, of all things, the next Wednesday finds Heeseung and Sunghoon arguing over text about where they’re studying. Sunghoon, for once, does not have time for either this discussion or to drive to the library, and as much as he likes Heeseung, he has fifteen different things to be worrying about right now, not the least of which is the stupid cast still on his finger that’s made him stay up doing homework late far too many times over the last few weeks.

December is always a shitshow, but this time around, with all the added pressure of being a senior, it’s only worse. His skating season officially kicks off in January, and he has like four tests in the next seven days, and… ugh.

“Hyung, either you come over here or we have to hang out some other time, okay?” he says, finally having called him to rectify the situation. His voice is terse but polite, and Heeseung seems to sense that now is not the time to push his luck, because he just sighs and agrees.

Luckily, before Heeseung comes over, Sunghoon remembers to lather a liberal amount of foundation over his soulmark. The skin there looks red and raw, and it’s started to itch at random intervals, which is particularly annoying because it’s not even an itch he can scratch away, not without ruining the makeup. But he’s not taking any chances. He knows what they say—  out of sight, out of mind. And this is something he’d definitely rather not keep in mind.

Sunghoon is upstairs doing a history outline on his bed— because he passed the point of having the energy to study at his desk, like… four days ago— when the doorbell rings. He glances up, dislodging his headphones, only to hear Yeji screech, “I’ll get it!” and thunder down the stairs at rocket-speed. She has some sort of sixth sense for whenever someone he doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his coming over, Jesus…

He takes the stairs at a much more normal pace, wincing as the unmistakable sound of the door opening and then indistinct voices echoes across the house. Their parents are working late today, so it had originally just been the two of them, but now, when he rounds the corner, there Heeseung is, toeing off his shoes in the entryway as Yeji shuts the door behind him, eyeing him with interest.

Sunghoon makes a wordless motion with his hands at her that means something like get the hell out of here. She points at Heeseung, mouths is this him? and makes a finger heart with her hands for some godforsaken reason, as though is this him didn’t speak for itself.

Sunghoon resists the urge to facepalm and gives her a dark look, turning it into a smile when Heeseung looks up at him, straightening.

“Hi, um… Yeji? Is that right? The boxer?”

Yeji brightens instantly. “Yep! Do you want anything? Tea or coffee or mango juice?”

Can Sunghoon just go slide down a wall somewhere and scream? Everyone must get one free pass to act like a melodramatic K-drama character, right? Just one?

“I like mango juice,” Heeseung says, sounding as though he’s holding back a laugh, and the little demon scuttles off to go get some. (She’s never once asked that question of her own volition before, for the record.) 

Sunghoon swallows his mild embarrassment. “I can take your coat, if you want,” he offers, hanging it up in the closet for Heeseung. A sudden realization strikes him, bittersweet. “...I still have your other jacket, don’t I?” he asks. He’d almost forgotten entirely. “I think I have it upstairs somewhere.”

“I was wondering if you were ever planning on giving that back,” Heeseung grins as they head up to Sunghoon’s room, Yeji offering Heeseung the mango juice before he takes to the stairs. She waggles her eyebrows at Sunghoon from behind Heeseung’s back, grins widely, and runs off before he can find something to throw at her. “She seems nice,” he says. 

Sunghoon makes a noncommittal sound. “...depends on the situation.”

Heeseung’s technically never seen his room before; in fact, the entire experience of having him here is surreal. Sunghoon has a split-second, visceral flashback to sitting on that same bed and crying into his hands for like, two hours straight a few weeks ago, and blinks back to the present only by looking at Heeseung, who’s staring in clear admiration at Sunghoon’s trophies in the back corner, and reminding himself that they’re very far removed from those days.

Not that Sunghoon isn’t still afraid of what being Heeseung’s soulmate means, of course. That conversation they had on Halloween keeps flickering to the background of his mind like a persistent bad smell, darkening his thoughts. All of those things Heeseung wants from his soulmate… at the time, Sunghoon wouldn’t even subconsciously let himself dream that it would ever turn out to be him. But now he just wants to go on ignoring it. Isn’t that working out perfectly for them? Without all of that added pressure?

He likes Heeseung. Can that not just be enough?

“So… Kim Yuna?” Heeseung asks, pointing at a poster on Sunghoon’s wall that has a montage of his favorite skaters.

“She’s my mom’s favorite,” Sunghoon responds smoothly, telling himself to stop worrying about it. Heeseung’s here, he’s wearing a white cashmere sweater that Sunghoon wants to tangle his fingers in, and he’s giving Sunghoon those liquidy brown eyes that always make his stomach flutter. A half-baked worry of his is not worth ruining his mood over… not to mention that they’ve done such an impressive job of skirting around it so far. 

Heeseung has a look at all of his posters as Sunghoon laughs and goes back to doing his homework, leaving the headphones off this time. There’s a mountain of work to be done, and it should make him nervous just how much he’d rather spend that time talking to Heeseung instead; but again, it's difficult to be rational in this kind of situation.

They end up sitting shoulder to shoulder on Sunghoon’s bed, Heeseung ostensibly reading for English and Sunghoon struggling to focus on his outline, and when he groans and drops his head into Heeseung’s lap after an hour of staring at the same four pages, Heeseung laughs, ruffles his hair, and lets him lie there for another fifteen minutes. 

“Hyung,” Sunghoon says eventually, rolling over onto his back, head on Heeseung’s thighs. He looks up at Heeseung, whose eyes are fixed on his book, still, finger already lifting up the next page.

Heeseung’s lips twitch, but he wisely doesn’t push his luck. Sunghoon is… slowly trying to phase it into normal conversation, mostly because at this point it just feels weird not to be calling him hyung, and thankfully, Heeseung is capable of being low-key about things. It’s one of his better qualities.

“What?”

Sunghoon opens his mouth to say something, and nothing comes out. What he’s really thinking is god I really want to kiss you right now, but that’s— not very study-session appropriate, for one thing. 

“...nothing,” he says, very, very unconvincingly, and when Heeseung grins knowingly, flipping the page, Sunghoon has to hide a smile of his own. 

— — — 

Yeji has about a million questions for him after Heeseung leaves, but he’s able to fend her off with the— admittedly true— excuse that he’s very busy right now, which is mostly on account of not getting anything done while Heeseung was there distracting him. 

She does his makeup again when he’s heading out the following evening to the musical’s opening night, dressed warmly in anticipation of the biting December wind. “Are you picking up Heeseung-oppa?” she asks slyly.

Sunghoon executes a highly-dramatic eye roll. “Literally everyone is going, Yeji.”

“Are you picking everyone up?” 

Her teasing voice keeps replaying in his mind as he drives to Heeseung’s house, nerves squirming around his stomach. He drums his fingers against the wheel at every light, biting his lip when he pulls up outside of Heeseung’s house. There’s something about Heeseung that both relaxes him and excites him; right now he’s somewhere in the middle, nervous about him but somehow confident that actually having him here will calm him down within a few minutes.

Heeseung practically races out to the car when Sunghoon texts that he’s here, shivering and shaking rapidly-melting snowflakes out of the air as flurries spiral from the sky. It’s a pretty night, crisp, cold, and windy, and Christmas decorations have started to go up in the neighborhoods. A little tree glows in Heeseung’s window as well, casting a shadow against the white curtain. 

“It’s freezing, fuck,” Heeseung curses, looking decidedly put out by it.

Sunghoon grins and reaches over to help, running his fingers through Heeseung’s hair lightly to keep from messing it up too much. He exhales and leans closer, eyes darting up to Sunghoon’s hand and then down to his face again, a hint of a smile on his lips. It makes Sunghoon want to draw back and maybe giggle like a schoolgirl (boy?), caught, but he subtly sets his jaw and finishes what he’s doing, refusing to be humiliated into stopping. 

When they do eventually set off for the school auditorium, it’s with a quiet stream of background chatter, murmuring to each other over the low-volume radio and high-volume heater, turned up to its highest setting. Sunghoon’s heart warms at how relaxed Heeseung seems, gesturing with his hands and laughing easily— he’s been making an effort to subtly be more welcoming, to clean up Heeseung’s notes for him when he goes to the bathroom during study sessions, to not ask probing questions he won’t want to answer, after hearing about his whole family situation. A prickle of definite guilt twists his stomach at how much harder he must have been making things for Heeseung earlier, what with pushing to see his grades all the time. It was mutual, of course, but Sunghoon never really cared about showing his scores; Heeseung might not have wanted to, or needed the extra stress. 

On a lighter note, Sunghoon’s slowly been indoctrinating Heeseung into how figure skating works, complaining about the latest jump he’s having trouble with— “can you actually land a triple axel?” “...next question, hyung.”— and, in exchange, gets to hear about Heeseung getting back into Hollywood movies recently. 

“We should watch some together sometime. Have you ever seen The Godfather?”

“Is it like Vincenzo?” 

“...probably,” Heeseung shrugs, and they both exchange smiles. 

Okay, it’s a date, Sunghoon thinks, and his lips tingle with the effort to not say it. 

…unfortunately, he debates it for so long that somehow they’re out of the car and walking across the parking lot by the time he realizes that the opportune moment was at least five minutes behind him. 

They’re walking close together, ostensibly because it’s cold, but the backs of their fingers keep brushing as they head inside, little bursts of warmth that Sunghoon could probably live off of forever, if need be. 

Jongseong, Jungwon, and Riki are already there when they enter the auditorium, waving from their seats. The auditorium is a nice one, with a large stage, currently closed off by massive red curtains, and plush red seats, disappearing into a back section overshadowed by an upper wing, which has more parents than students in it. 

They get settled in, and the atmosphere is infectious, like the hurried whispers from backstage are filling the entire room with a sense of anticipation. The lights are still on, illuminating Heeseung’s profile in gorgeous clarity. Sunghoon has a proper look at him for the second time that evening, and as always the sight of him strikes like a bullet to the chest, unforgiving. The way he’s limned by the stage lights, the planes of his chest slightly visible underneath a sweater made of thin material, the manner in which he carries himself, somewhere between self-assured and self-effacing. Sometimes when Sunghoon looks at him, he can see so clearly in his mind’s eye what Heeseung will be like in the future, how he might grow into his confidence, and strangely it invokes a sense of nostalgia that he… doesn’t necessarily want to explore. Why indeed might Sunghoon know Heeseung’s future self so well? Definitely not because of past experience…

Heeseung glances over, clocks Sunghoon’s gaze, and gives him a smile that says I know exactly what you’re thinking , wolfish. Sunghoon’s stomach flips. Maybe there isn’t that much confidence left to grow into.

“Are you planning on paying attention to the show, Sunghoon-ssi?”

Sunghoon vigorously rolls his eyes. “What else would I be paying attention to?”

Heeseung very carefully tucks his smile away, eyes dancing. “I have no idea.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have given me a reason to.”

Sunghoon huffs. “This is why I didn’t want to sit next to you in the first place.”

“Because I’m too distracting?” 

The lights dim on Sunghoon pulling a disgruntled face at Heeseung, both amused and dismissive. He’s not going to give Heeseung the satisfaction that easily, is he?

But either way, that’s as far as they get into that particular line of discussion; the show begins not long after, the auditorium quieting down. The stage is well-lit and almost every seat full, and the effect is transformative. For a few spellbinding minutes, it seems like something a lot more beautiful than your average high school auditorium. 

The musical begins with a flourish, curtains drawing back grandly, and from then on Sunghoon does, admittedly, forget to be nervous. It’s not the highest-quality production of The Addams Family ever made, but the soundtrack is perfect, the costumes look good, and Sunoo makes for an ethereal Morticia. The effect Jaeyun’s creating as Gomez is more comical than anything, but seeing him be so over-the-top and clearly enjoying himself makes Sunghoon grin as he watches them onstage, singing and holding hands and being so obviously in love with each other that Sunghoon wants to lock them in a closet and tell them to please, for the love of god, put everyone out of their misery and just kiss already. 

Sunghoon’s known about Jaeyun’s crush for years, but it’s always been Sunoo he’s not sure about. It’s one of those unspoken things that everyone side-eyes one another about but never voices aloud out of respect for their friends; similar to how everyone side-steps him and Heeseung being soulmates, which Sunghoon will always be grateful for. But watching them together, harmonizing, giving each other sly, conspiratorial looks, and strutting around like they’ve been married for twenty years, it seems laughable that there could ever have been any confusion. 

After about twenty minutes, Sunghoon gets more comfortable with the room’s temperature and takes off his peacoat, folding it in his lap and leaning back properly, arm brushing Heeseung’s on the armrest between them. His palm is facing upward, fingers curled up slightly, not entirely relaxed. Sunghoon almost nudges him off the armrest, whispering it’s my turn— but realization hits him square in the face, like a clock striking midnight. 

People don’t normally put their hands on armrests like that… not unless they’re trying to send a glaring signal to the person beside them.

His heartbeat speeding up, Sunghoon sneaks a quick glance at Heeseung’s face out of the corner of his eye. He’s watching the play intently, the stage lights reflecting off his eyes. The whole cast is singing again, dramatic and loud, matching the drumbeat of Sunghoon’s heart.

Oh, fuck this, Sunghoon thinks, almost viciously. But his movements are much slower, hesitant. He reaches his hand out and carefully, painstakingly puts it on Heeseung’s, fingers sliding together. Heeseung’s breath hitches, ever-so-slightly, and neither of them dare look down; but their fingers twine together, the warmth of their hands mingling. Sunghoon’s not sure if it’s his heartbeat or Heeseung’s that he’s feeling between their palms, a rapid, electrifying thump-thump-thump— or maybe they’re one and the same, hearts beating in time. 

A sense of deja vu suffuses the whole endeavor, reminiscent of when they held hands during Colors of Love; but that was a temporary truce between two strangers. This… feels like the start of something, as though what they’re holding in their hands is not only their pulses but their hearts. 

There are moments where Sunghoon leans forward in laughter with the rest of the crowd, when Heeseung leans in to whisper something into his ear that makes them both snicker, when they both jump at a random special effect or jumpscare (it is the Addams Family, after all)— but they don’t stop holding hands until the end of the musical.

Sunghoon’s one of the most obnoxious whistlers during the standing ovation that follows the musical, which ends with a few bars of the familiar theme song and a full-cast bow. Sunoo catches his eye across the auditorium, face glowing and eyes glittering onstage, and his grin widens, cheeks dimpling happily.

 There’s a general air of excitement as everyone starts to file out of the auditorium, energized and chattering and laughing. Heeseung catches Sunghoon’s hand again as they head out to the large hallway outside, where everyone’s milling around and getting aftershow refreshments in the form of those hit-or-miss store-bought sugar cookies, laid out in rows of plastic trays. 

Jungwon’s eyes flick down to their joined hands, and he gives Sunghoon a private wink, grinning widely. A rush of warmth floods Sunghoon’s cheeks and stomach, the tingly feeling in his chest spreading throughout his body. 

“What is taking so long?” Jongseong asks after a solid ten minutes of them all hanging around and eating cookies, discussing random moments from the show that they liked. The rest of the cast is beginning to stream out, most of them still in costume, to take pictures with their parents and friends, jokingly signing autographs. “This is almost as bad as waiting for Heeseung-hyung to catch up with me in League.”

Sunghoon, seized by a sudden, brazen courage, turns and wraps his arms around Heeseung’s shoulders from behind, mock-annoyed. “Why are you being mean to Heeseung-hyung?”

The exasperation on Jongseong’s face, juxtaposed with the way everyone else immediately doubles over laughing their heads off, is nothing short of hilarious. Sunghoon laughs against Heeseung, feeling his shoulders shaking as his hands come up to rest on Sunghoon’s forearms in solidarity. 

“ I’m being mean to Heeseung-hyung? ME?”

The two of them are too busy laughing to muster up a proper response.

Jaeyun and Sunoo finally emerge from the crowd after another five minutes, Sunoo leading Jaeyun by the wrist and looking, if possible, even glowier than he did onstage. The rest of them offer up a round of cheers and applause, Sunghoon playfully pinching Jaeyun’s blush-red cheeks. Happiness is dancing without abandon in his chest, a little cheeky and overexcited.

Jaeyun takes a mock-bow, face splitting with a smile, and shoves Sunghoon away, back into Heeseung, who catches his waist to steady him and doesn’t seem as though he plans to let go anytime soon. His hands bleed warmth into Sunghoon even through his clothes, like an anchor, and Sunghoon wills himself not to blush, not succeeding entirely. But everyone’s cheeks are a little flushed with excitement— hopefully he blends in? 

“So we have an important announcement to make,” Sunoo starts, glancing back at Jaeyun. They exchange such blinding smiles that Sunghoon’s eyebrows are already drawing together in realization before Riki perks up, grabbing Jungwon’s arm and rapidly shaking it, practically jumping up and down.

“Hyung, you owe me so much money,” he says gleefully.

“Yah, at least let me finish,” Sunoo gapes, Jaeyun sidling up beside him and returning Sunghoon’s oh my god, really? look with a sheepish nod. Sunoo’s glowy face does have a just-been-kissed flush to it. Ha — no wonder they were so late coming from backstage. “Jaeyun-hyung and I—”

“Let me guess,” Jongseong says dryly, arms crossed over his chest. He’s clearly trying to conceal a grin as blinding as Jaeyun’s. “You’ve acknowledged you’re in love and are finally doing something about it?”

Sunoo scarcely has a second to begin rolling his eyes in annoyance at the continual interruptions when the combined might of Riki and Sunghoon converges on the happy couple, each one going for a bear hug for different reasons. Jaeyun complains about Sunghoon squashing him, but they exchange the kind of conspiratorial grins only two best friends who have listened to equal amounts of each others’ romantic bullshit can, knowing and sly. 

They get as many admonishments for torturing everyone around them for so long with their ‘unresolved tension’ as they do congratulations, Riki counting out the money from a half-amused, half-put-out Jungwon’s wallet right there, with the sugar cookies to bear witness. 

“If you two had just waited until Christmas…” Jungwon sighs.

“As though they haven’t already taken long enough?” Sunghoon shoots back. “I’ve had to put up with—” Jaeyun claps a hand over his mouth before he can finish, a warning look in his eyes, and Sunghoon squawks in indignation, laughing against his palm and subsiding. 

They start making their way to their cars after another ten minutes of hanging around the cookie table, after which the hall starts to clear out. Sunoo and Jaeyun have already changed out of their costumes, although some makeup remains on their faces, still glittering around Jaeyun’s eyes and Sunoo’s neck, so they’re able to leave straight away, off to get dinner as a group. 

Heeseung twines their hands together again, and Sunghoon directs his smile at the ground, a private, pleased thing he doesn’t want to show anyone else, not even Heeseung. 

“So did you guys find out you were soulmates?” Heeseung asks casually through the chatter. Up ahead, Jongseong, Jungwon, and Jaeyun are arguing about which restaurant to go to— well, Jaeyun and Jongseong are arguing. Jungwon is doing a pretty terrible job of mediating. They’re all blissfully unaware of Sunoo turning back at Heeseung’s question, the light catching the glitter remaining on his skin.

But Heeseung’s words hit Sunghoon like a blow to the face. His heart skips, hand going cold in Heeseung’s. 

“Hmm? No, I don’t think we are,” Sunoo shrugs, unassuming and nonchalant. With a lurch of his stomach, Sunghoon remembers, suddenly so guilty he can hardly breathe— Sunoo doesn’t know . “But we’re not really bothered about waiting for our soulmates, anyway. I don’t think it matters that much.”

Heeseung hums, and Sunoo turns back to the arguing mob, apparently satisfied with answering his question. 

Sunghoon’s heart is hammering in his chest, easy smile from earlier having dropped straight off his face. 

…surely Heeseung doesn’t mean it like that?

He casts a glance over at him; Heeseung’s looking at Jaeyun, whom Sunoo’s just gone up to, and has a thoughtful little furrow between his brows. Sunghoon can’t read his expression, not even when he glances over, sees Sunghoon looking, and gives him a smile, squeezing his hand. He gives his head a little shake— one of his cuter habits, like he’s refocusing— and leans in to ask Sunghoon a sly question about whether Sunghoon’s going to kick him out of his car now that he can pawn Heeseung off on Jongseong or Jaeyun. 

“Maybe I should,” Sunghoon snarks back, scoffing and looking away, but even when Heeseung laughs, only a shadow of a smile flickers across his face in response.

Try as he might, the magic of the night is just— gone, after that, can’t really be recaptured again. They go to a cozy, busy restaurant in the city, all seven of them around a large table, Heeseung at Sunghoon’s shoulder again, and everyone else is talking and laughing and joking, teasing Jaeyun and Sunoo about who confessed first— Sunoo, of course— and who’s liked who longer— that one goes to Jaeyun— and where they’re going on their first date, etc etc… but Sunghoon feels like he’s playacting at having fun rather than actually involved in the conversation.

Heeseung makes a few more attempts to draw him into their usual back-and-forth, eyes shining and mouth tilted, hand momentarily resting on his— clearly flirting, clearly hoping Sunghoon will do it back— but he can’t really manage to fake the enthusiasm for it. Eventually he gives Sunghoon a searching look. “Are you just tired today?” he asks, voice lowered.

Sunghoon nods, hopping on the excuse. “Yeah, sorry, I stayed up late last night.” There’s a witty remark on the tip of his tongue, something about he promises to be more entertaining next time— but it lodges in his throat and sticks there.

“Ah, that’s okay,” Heeseung says good-naturedly. He serves Sunghoon a few extra pieces of chicken, tells him to eat well, and does him what would have been a kindness had he actually been tired, mostly leaving him alone to bother Riki instead. 

It gives Sunghoon a little too much time to tear at his breadsticks and mull over things he definitely does not want to be mulling over at a crowded table with all of his friends, something like dread coalescing in his stomach alongside the chicken and pasta. 

It’s been lurking in the back of his mind since the beginning, an unfair accusation about Heeseung’s intentions. Did he really want to apologize to Park Sunghoon, the same person who got him banned from a library and gave him hardly anything aside from disdain for two months? Or did he just want to get into his soulmate’s good graces? Did he really want to come over to Sunghoon’s house and follow him around for a month and continually make plans to hang out and become friends? Or was he just forcing himself to do all that because of what traditional, antiquated societal expectations said he should?

Does he even actually like Sunghoon?

Or even if he does, if Sunghoon lets this go on and keeps flirting with him and touching him and driving him around like they’re half-dating already— then will he still feel the same way after two or three months, or even two or three years? When he wakes up and sees that Sunghoon isn’t and can’t ever be the perfect fantasy soulmate for him, even if he wants to?

Not to mention how Heeseung has never even told Sunghoon what his soulmark means, or even let him see it. Does he know something Sunghoon isn’t aware of telling him? What if, underneath Heeseung’s clothes, there’s a bright, blood-red rose, ardently proclaiming exactly how Sunghoon feels about him? What if he’s doing all of this out of pity, or some sense of— of misguided obligation? 

That’s the possibility he hates the most, and it’s the one he’s been avoiding the most fervently— but now that he’s put a name to the monster, it rears up dark and imposing in his mind, nearly overshadowing every other good feeling he’s ever ascribed to Heeseung before. 

Somehow, despite all this, Sunghoon’s able to drive Heeseung home, mostly in a daze. Heeseung’s arm is on the console between them, clearly primed for Sunghoon to reach over and hold his hand; but Sunghoon can hardly look at him right now, too caught up in his head. He drops Heeseung off with a quiet “good night”, receiving a fond smile and another searching look in response. Heeseung’s hand makes an aborted motion up, as if to touch him, and Sunghoon tenses, anticipatory in a not-entirely unwelcome way. The phantom feeling of Heeseung’s hand carding through his hair or on his face, thumb stroking across his cheek, sends a burst of warmth through him, underlaid with inescapable affection. 

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Heeseung says, offering him a smile back. His hand drops, maybe too shy, and with a final glance over his shoulder, he’s gone. 

Sunghoon can’t help but feel like the emptiness of the car as he’s driving home is a precursor to a much more damning silence. 

— — —  

He does his duty, don’t worry— it does end up bringing up his mood to listen to Jaeyun’s panicked stream-of-consciousness babble over the phone later that night, when everyone’s supposed to be asleep and the two of them can’t quite seem to get there for various different reasons.

“I didn’t even think he liked me, and then he just walked up and kissed me? Sunghoon-ah, seriously, I thought my head was going to explode.”

“Of course he likes you,” Sunghoon mumbles back, flopped on his stomach with his mouth half-on his pillow, clock reading somewhere just past eleven-thirty. His wrist is itching so much that he puts Jaeyun on speaker temporarily, mindful that his parents and Yeji are asleep down the hall, and reaches over for the bottle of lotion on his nightstand, leaning up on his elbows to rub it in. “You’re the most likable person I know.”

Jaeyun laughs. “Thanks, Hoon-ah. I just— god, I still can’t believe it. Why do you think he didn’t say anything earlier?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Sunghoon suggests around a laugh of his own, although his chest twinges as he glances down at the lotion smearing over the bright blue flower on his skin. Why don’t you just ask him indeed. “Have you guys actually discussed it yet?”

“Yeah, we did. I asked him out and all, but there just wasn’t time to… go into details, I guess…”

“So give him a midnight call,” Sunghoon grins. “Why are you talking to your boring old best friend when you could be talking to Kim Sunoo?” he teases. 

Jaeyun gives a little sigh. “Point taken. I’ll call you later.”

“Wait, I didn’t mean right this second—”

“Bye, Hoonie! And don’t think I’ve forgotten that it’s your turn to confess next,” Jaeyun giggles ominously, and then he hangs up before Sunghoon can do more than let out an indignant squawk.

Phone screen now dark, Sunghoon glares at it, then rolls over onto his back, a rush of freezing cold air chilling his bare skin. He burrows back into the blankets, wrist still itching. 

The following week is a string of bad nights for him, sleep fitful and agitated. That fateful rash everyone warned about is starting to show up, and Sunghoon starts to risk only covering the bottom half of the mark, since the top is usually hidden under his sleeve anyway— but it’s either he shells out a ridiculous amount of money on very pricey, skin-safe soulmark concealer (which is also a scam from what he’s heard), or he finds a way to not be wearing the concealer he does have all the time. He’s already not wearing it to bed, but now he risks going without it during practice and at home, when his sleeves are so long that they come up to his knuckles anyway.

And it’s not entirely about Heeseung, he’ll have you know. For once, sleeping on the problem does help a little. He wakes up the next morning, just after dawn when everyone else is still fast asleep, and gives himself a little grace, taking his time in the shower and eating a warm breakfast. Self-care, you know.

(Although, to be honest, it’s turning on the TV that actually helps. He watches one singular episode of a 2000s K-drama where a secretary falls in love with his terrifying boss and decides yeah, you know what, angsting over boys is not all that when said boss starts having a mental breakdown over whether her stomach growling during a meeting was unattractive.)

Heeseung has to have some genuinely caring feelings towards him by this point. There’s no way all of it’s fake, and thinking that is unrealistic. Does that mean Sunghoon would go out with him if he asked, though?

He almost loses his appetite at how depressing the answer is. He’s never wanted it as badly as he does now, sitting on his couch wearing pajamas and having oatmeal, of all things. His stomach flips, heart clenching, eyes unfocused— a physical representation of how gone he is over Heeseung— but he wouldn’t go out with him. Seriously? 

So, anyway. Not that any of that is a good problem to have, but the real reason Sunghoon’s stressed out is… you’ll never guess. Okay, fine, one shot. 

…yeah, it’s school. It’s like a vapid ex that comes back every time you get hotter or you post on social media out with all of your friends, having a little too much fun, and in some fit of jealous rage, it claws through the screen to come simpering back and asking for a second chance, sucking you into its toxic circle again. If Sunghoon could just skate all-day everyday and never have to step foot in that building ever again, Jesus Christ…

December brings with it not only Christmas cheer but final exams, and Sunghoon is more of a zombie than a person at this point. It’s eat, sleep, study, skate, repeat, and to be honest, Heeseung doesn’t look much better. 

They don’t stop hanging out entirely, because Sunghoon does still like him, okay? Every instinct in his body is always screaming out to have him around, to touch him and make him laugh and talk to him, to tell Heeseung all of his secrets so it can be them against the world and not just him, alone. So yes, he still calls Heeseung that Sunday night and makes plans for him to come over on Tuesday, and to exchange notes on Thursday, and to set terms for next week’s bet (eclairs from the bakery near Sunghoon’s rink). 

But their banter tapers off into silence more often than not when they’re studying together, because Sunghoon is a) not fond of looking him in the eye recently, and b) he does, unfortunately, actually have to focus. It’s not necessarily about hanging out with Heeseung anymore. 

Everything starts to blur, his calendar going from one commitment a day to two or three or four— his first competition is in early January, and he has volunteer hours to submit and a massive group project in Bio and a test nearly every day. 

“I literally hate my life.”

“Should I just drop out? I’ll go… work at Wendy’s or something, they’re hiring.”

“Try marrying rich,” Riki advises, munching on a burrito. Their lunch table’s normally scintillating conversation (which is perhaps a debatable claim in its own right) has further devolved into a mindless back-and-forth of complaining, Jungwon’s head buried in his arms on the table and Sunoo and Jongseong dozing against each other, blinking themselves awake every few seconds. Sunghoon doesn’t have much of an appetite, his collar’s itching (not nearly as much as his hand is, though), and Heeseung’s sitting all the way at the other end, laughing over something on his phone with Jaeyun. Life was so much better like, three weeks ago, when final exams were a thing for future-Sunghoon to worry about.

Future-Sunghoon has become present-Sunghoon, and yes, the procedure did hurt.

“I think you need to graduate high school to be desirable to millionaires,” Sunoo groans, and then, the oft-repeated slogan: “Does anyone have any Tylenol?”

The days slip by snow-covered and blustery, calendar pages flipping in brisk wind. Sunghoon wakes up cold in the middle of the night and is irritable during the day. He studies with Heeseung again only to fall asleep on him this time around, head in his lap and face turned into his stomach, unmoving and exhausted until Heeseung wakes him, syrupy-slow and gentle, two hours later. 

“Hyung,” Sunghoon mumbles into his stomach, about to unintelligibly ask for five more minutes. He’s so warm and comfortable, and Heeseung’s hand is resting on his head, and there’s a blanket over his legs on the other end of the bed somewhere, and it’s… too nice to not bask in for as long as he can.

“Hmm?” Heeseung hums, fondness softening the sound, thumb stroking Sunghoon’s hairline. Sometimes, in these moments, it feels like they’re already together. As if it’s only a matter of time, and one day Heeseung will replace his fingers on Sunghoon’s skin with his lips, and that’ll be all, Sunghoon will never be the same again. 

Sunghoon’s stomach tightens. Before he can convince himself to pick his head up and blink away the heaviness in his eyes, he takes a breath and sleep pulls him into its quiet embrace again.

(The next day, Sunghoon cancels on their plans to meet at the library and review for English.

It sets a precedent he’s not very proud of.) 

How is Sunghoon supposed to tell the difference, is the issue, between Heeseung’s genuine friendly affection and times when he’s forcing it?

God, what if he’s not forcing it? Is Sunghoon even ready for that? What’s wrong with him? What happened to the ten-year-plan, Olympics by twenty-one and a SKY University and laser-focusing on his goals? He was dancing on that knife’s edge; why is he losing his balance now?

He’s turned down every single person that’s asked him out for years, not only because of his career ambitions but also because he’s just not wired that way. He doesn’t have that in his DNA, the instinctively-knowing-when-to-buy-flowers-for-an-angry-girlfriend gene, the butterfly-kisses and teddy-bears and healthy-communication. The making-a-committment-at-18, because that commitment is Lee Heeseung , and if he’s with Sunghoon, then he’ll probably spend his entire life feeling like he never actually stopped looking for his soulmate. 

Sunghoon isn’t going to choose him over practice or take him to prom if it coincides with a competition or plan dates when he should be studying for math tests. He won’t pick a university for Heeseung’s sake or rearrange his life for Heeseung’s family or— any of that other typical-soulmate stuff. And if that’s what Heeseung wants, then that’s what he should have, no ifs or buts about it. So doesn’t he deserve better, then? Don’t they both , to be quite honest, deserve better? 

Having a boyfriend is just that— having a boyfriend. You decide your level of attachment. Having a soulmate is a multi-generational binding contract. Sign on the dotted line. Why would you break up with your soulmate, are you insane? Is there something wrong with you? Were you so bad at it that he had to leave? Maybe Park Sunghoon really is an ice prince, wow…

— — — 

In a way, it’s like the last month has been a dream that he’s just now waking up from. Sunghoon etches his problems into the rink again, skates cutting sharp and harsh against the ice, scoring figure-eights into it that reflect the circles his mind is going in, back-and-forth and back-and-forth. Maybe he should have gone into hockey; he wouldn’t mind having one of those sticks and a puck to mindlessly fire into the wall over and over again, bang bang bang until he can’t hear anything else. He has a B— in Chem right now because he nearly failed the last test. Bang bang bang. Riki came to Sunghoon crying on Friday about how all his friends at the company are going home for Christmas and he’s going to be there alone because they won’t let him go back to Japan. Bang bang bang. Heeseung seems like he’s catching on to Sunghoon pulling away, even their silences turning awkward at the edges rather than comfortable and peaceable. Bang bang bang. 

So, given all of that, Sunghoon slams into another wall right after the silver lining of getting that stupid cast on his finger finally removed. Because of course.

It’s after his coach has ascertained that he hasn’t broken anything, just needs a thick covering of bandaids and a pat on the back, that she sits him down beside the cool silence of the rink and asks, point-blank, “What’s more important to you right now than skating?”

Sunghoon pauses mid-awkward-tug at the freshly applied bandage, insides twisting together uncomfortably. 

Han Chaewon has always been like this, blunt and to-the-point. If tough love was personified then it would have the same calloused hands as her, the same narrowed eyes and deafening bark of a voice. Even just by sitting him down like this, in the stands, she makes Sunghoon feel like a child being reprimanded— which is what this is, don’t get him wrong. But it is kind of funny to know that he would have been terrified to be in this position even just five years ago, when his coach was taller and unfamiliar and harsh, when they were still scoping each other out. Now, he just feels— embarrassed, because what she’s really asking is so what new idiotic teenage problem are you having now that’s getting in the way of what could potentially be an Olympic career? (And because she’s stereotypically all bark and no bite once she gets to know you.)

“I’m…”

“Does it have anything to do with that soulmark you think you’re hiding so well?” 

That definitely cuts off whatever bullshit response he’d been about to give. ( I’m just tired has always failed miserably on her— she’ll only convince his mother to turn off their Wi-Fi early so he’ll be forced to sleep sooner.)

As it is he nearly jumps out of his fucking skin. “I— what?” he demands, jerking up out of the slumped position he’d been sitting in, bolt upright. One twist of his hand reveals that half the foundation on the soulmark appears to be staggeringly missing— shit, it must have rubbed off in all the chaos after he violently introduced himself to the wall. “I—“

He looks helplessly over at her, eyes wide, mouth open. Chaewon gives him a dry look in return. 

“Do I want to know why you wouldn’t have told anyone about this? Or is it just me you’re keeping it a secret from?” she asks.

Sunghoon shuts his mouth, rapidly shaking his head. “Not just— no, not just you, I haven’t even told Eomma.”

“Yah!” she barks, brows furrowing, looking him up and down in disgust. “Not even your eommonim—? What kind of a person is this, Sunghoon-ah?”

Sunghoon cringes back, biting his lip to force down a reluctant grin. His coach is not a fan of mixed signals. “It’s not like that,” he promises— although even he has to admit that maybe there’s no good reason to keep hiding it, nothing aside from his own inhibitions. Heeseung, being Heeseung, hasn’t said anything about it, quietly going along with Sunghoon’s bullheaded determination to act as though the entire situation is a non-entity. But even he has to know it’s going to blow up in their faces at some point; and here it is, a practice run of what hell his mother will inevitably raise when she finds out her eldest child has been keeping what amounts to one of his life’s biggest turning points from her for no good reason, Sunghoon-ah? 

“Oh, wonderful— are there any other life changing decisions you’ve made without informing your mother? Are you dropping out of high school next?” his coach demands, right on cue, and Sunghoon cringes again. 

“I— can we please not talk about this?” he blurts out, knowing it’ll be useless. There are people in his life who take him at face value— Jaeyun would have turned into a blushing, ohmygod no I’m so sorry for pushing you mess by now, and his dad would have nodded solemnly and backed off— but it’s the women around him that are always relentless. Yeji, for instance, treats the word ‘no’ like a challenge.

“Absolutely not, Park Sunghoon. If you refuse to speak to your mother—“

“If I tell Eomma she’ll start planning family vacations!” Sunghoon exclaims, pushing his limits a little but willing to be stubborn on this. “She’ll call his parents and they’ll start asking questions and— and wondering why we’re not dating, and I can’t do that, seon-sang. I don’t even— I don’t even want to be soulmates with him,” he confesses, terrifyingly honest. The words hang there in the rink, unforgiving in the chill air, and he swallows, mouth dry as though it’s atoning for what it’s said. He should feel sorry about it. His cheeks turn hot, a blush spreading down his cheeks that has nothing to do with being flustered. 

“What? Why not?” Chaewon asks, remarkably not commenting on his tone or attitude.

He gives her an uncertain look. “He didn’t like me before he found out,” Sunghoon says cryptically, knowing he’s being evasive but not willing to say more now that the horrible root of the truth has come out.

“You’re in high school, you all hate each other,” his coach scoffs. Maybe this is the sort of situation where you really had to be there, with the metaphorical violins playing and the wind whistling dramatically. “Did this boy cheat on you? Did he ruin your life? Did he break your heart?”

Sunghoon flushes deeper. “No.” 

But he might, Sunghoon thinks, horrified at the possibility of her reading it off his face, that bone-deep fear. Figure skating isn’t kind to cowards. 

“Then you tell him and move on,” she says decisively. “Clean break. Hurts less.”

“I can’t just flip a switch and forget him,” Sunghoon mutters. “But I’m sorry,” he looks up at her, earnest and almost-pleading, please drop it. His cheeks are still flushed, the urge to cover his face with his hands and sprint out of here nearly overpowering his desire to just go back to skating, to tire himself out until all he can think of is how sore his muscles are instead of— the entirety of this conversation. “We’re wasting time, I’m wasting time, I know. I’ll… I’ll figure it out, I’ll stop letting it distract me—“

“I don’t need you to solve all your problems before you get on the ice,” his coach sighs. “I just need you to utilize the support around you and have a little maturity here. I’m only putting up with this because he’s your soulmate.”

Sunghoon nods, wincing again. “I know. I’ll— I’ll tell Eomma and Appa.”

He looks back out at the ice, stomach twisting uncomfortably. He no more wants to tell his parents about this than he does Jongseong’s mom about what really happened when they left him home alone on Halloween, and to be honest, he’s no more likely to, at least right now. As much as it might be the mature thing to do… Sunghoon’s not going to be the one to disrupt the equilibrium they’ve created. This one’s just going to have to fester.

Chaewon doesn’t look very convinced, but she gives a short nod. “All right. Now go home and eat something, okay? You look exhausted.”

“I—” Sunghoon starts to protest— it’s barely halfway through his usual practice time— but she levels him with a quelling look, and he subsides, shoulders slumping. “Fine,” he agrees sullenly, and he’s never felt more like a stupid teenager than when he slinks off, bandages on his thigh still throbbing, to take a sulky shower and leave with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

— — — 

Things come to something of a head in the midst of finals, just before Christmas break. A nervous energy suffuses the whole school for those three days, seeping in around the lockers and desks like a plague, contagion spreading from whispered, hurried reviewing just before the test and jittery knees jogging under tables, clicking pens and the occasional mental breakdown that a teacher has to quietly deal with. You don’t go to a school like this without finals feeling like a cutthroat, survival of the fittest endeavor that hits the academic-overachiever part of Sunghoon right in the stomach, the breath going out of his lungs.

It lingers in the spaces between Sunghoon and Heeseung as well. Heeseung comes in looking about as tired as Sunghoon feels on the day of their math final, handsome as ever but rubbing at his eyes and yawning widely. He glances over at Sunghoon’s tense shoulders and set jaw and nudges his shoulder lightly. 

“Earth to Park Sunghoon? Are you all right? You know you’re going to get like, 103%, right?”

Sunghoon can’t but relax somewhat. “Hopefully. What about you, are you ready?”

Heeseung sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Hopefully,” he echoes. “But I’ll tell you what— when you win, I’ll buy you some ice cream.”

“It’s December,” Sunghoon replies, even as a grin sneaks across his face. 

Heeseung shrugs, returning it. “So? Who cares?”

The exam itself is admittedly not the end of the world. Sunghoon’s as jittery as the worst of them throughout, but there’s only one question out of eighty that seizes his heart in a what the fuck when did we learn this momentary panic, and the rest are all blissfully straightforward. 

Afterward, everyone files out of the room muttering amongst themselves, despite the teacher’s warning to not speak until they were out of the classroom. Heeseung casually wraps an arm around Sunghoon’s waist, leading him down the hall and leaning in to say, “So? It didn’t kill you after all.”

Sunghoon leans into his touch instinctively, stomach fluttering. He looks away and scoffs lightly. “It was a close thing,” he protests. “And anyway, it wasn’t math I was worried about. Chem tomorrow, on the other hand…”

“You want to study together?” Heeseung asks, cool as you please. Some deja vu awakens deep in the recesses of Sunghoon’s mind, drawing a parallel to what seems like a lifetime ago, him vying for a fake-tutoring session with Heeseung and suffering through Yeji (the high school one, not his sister) unsuccessfully flirting with him for half an hour. Maybe it’s that memory that gets his mouth moving before he can think better of it, the voice of reason in his mind barely stirring to life with a but you should really give yourself an extra hour of free time to rest your brain before the secondary, lovestruck voice that exists in his emotional center only to issue the occasional impassioned, yearning sigh essentially squashes it like a bug under a boot. All of which is a lengthy way to say the obvious: of course Sunghoon says yes. It’s Heeseung asking. 

When the time comes, a quarter to five like they’d planned on, Sunghoon’s stomach turns over, mildly queasy. Heeseung’s probably leaving soon, and the thought of seeing him in the midst of cramming for his next round of tests is nothing short of wonderful. Sunghoon wants to curl into his chest and exchange notes like they always do. Maybe Nancy and Steve from Stranger Things had the right idea— what was it, a kiss for every right answer? Sunghoon can totally do that, no problem…

He shakes himself out of the dazed daydream and back to reality, where he’s staring at his notebook and is viscerally aware, once again, of the paradox he’s stuck in. Sunghoon doesn’t think it would be all that difficult to make that happen; there’s the barrier of his own courage, of course, but Heeseung has a way of making him do and ask for things he’d never previously imagined himself capable of. So… yeah. Sunghoon doesn’t think Heeseung would say no— but how would it make Sunghoon feel, to be kissing him and not feeling as though Heeseung was feeling all the same things as him, the same rush of emotion and passion? Isn’t it worse to have exactly what you want but know that you’ve somehow cheated your way into it?

That’s what he’s doing, isn’t he? Sunghoon’s essentially cheating his way into Heeseung’s heart. 

Although, once again, it can’t be entirely true, Sunghoon’s stomach still twists. He’s warring with himself about it, back and forth between thinking it’s not that serious he’s just coming over to study and thinking going to ask him what was going on the day we found out we were soulmates wasn’t that serious either— and then he hits send on hey I’m sorry, something came up, I’m not free anymore 

Heeseung responds barely a minute later. that’s alr, see u later 👍

Sunghoon’s stomach sinks as though he’s the one canceling, eyes downcast. Is he doing the right thing there, keeping Heeseung at arm’s length knowing it’s not a good idea for them to go out? Or is he just being selfish? 

He doesn’t really know anymore. 

— — — 

Before everyone splits off for Christmas break (Jongseong is temporarily adopting Riki, Jungwon and his family are going to Japan, and Jaeyun’s going to visit family up north) they make it a point to have one last group hang-out at a local coffee shop that Sunghoon hasn’t visited in months. There’s a general air of relief, the place full of celebrating high schoolers and windows coated in frost, Sunghoon squeezed between Jongseong and Riki and fighting over the bag of marshmallows.

He and Riki are arguing over the merits of candy canes in hot chocolate (they’re kind of a weird combination, in Sunghoon’s opinion), Sunghoon absentmindedly scratching his wrist, when he looks over and catches Heeseung zoning out, staring at the table. His eyes dart to Sunghoon’s hand, catching the movement, and Sunghoon can see recognition dawn in them, mouth freezing on his straw. There’s always a faint blue tint to the skin there, but now, it seems starker than ever, blindingly obvious— especially to the person who put it there. 

Sunghoon pulls his hand off the table— which is, in hindsight, not the wisest decision to make. He tucks it under the table, mindlessly chattering to Riki, still, but Heeseung tracks it, gaze flicking up to meet his questioningly.

You’ve got to be kidding me, Sunghoon scolds himself mentally, fighting back a flush. 

There’s a sense of dread swimming in his stomach for the entirety of the next half-hour, until Jaeyun checks the time and makes some comment about how he has to be back home soon to pack, leading to everyone else reluctantly getting up to leave as well. 

Sunghoon leans over to throw his cup of hot chocolate away, following everyone out— and he’s less surprised and more nervous when Heeseung catches up with him, falling into step as they start walking home. They live in separate directions, but there’s another block or two before they have to split up. 

“Hey, um…” Heeseung starts once they’re out of earshot of everyone else. It’s freezing cold, their breaths clouding in front of them, and they’re both wearing coats and gloves, hands jammed in their pockets. Snow is freezing to the sidewalk, gathering in mushy piles all around, turning gray from the pavement. Sometimes Christmas snow is beautiful and white and glitters like diamonds; sometimes it looks like a Slurpee someone tossed into a gutter to rot. “I…” Heeseung exhales, appearing as lost for words as Sunghoon feels. 

Please don’t bring it up, Sunghoon thinks desperately, heart pounding. He doesn’t want to have this discussion right now, everything is going so well, this isn’t the time or place—

“Do you want to come over later? Near Christmas?” 

Sunghoon nearly gives himself whiplash with how fast his head swivels around to look at Heeseung, wide-eyed. “...what?”

“My parents hate having the house empty on Christmas, but a lot of our family is in Japan this year, and… I mean, most of our friends aren’t in town, either. I’m not asking you to ditch your own family Christmas, but… dinner, or something? On the 23rd?”

Heeseung looks so adorably sincere that Sunghoon’s heart has to melt a little, looking into his chocolatey brown, hopeful eyes. You don’t say no to that face, do you?

“Um, maybe,” Sunghoon says after a long moment, cursing himself for being so damned awkward. This is so very clearly not just a request between friends. If he goes to Heeseung’s house the day before Christmas, his entire family is going to make the assumption that they’re dating. 

Heeseung’s face melts into a smile. “Okay, cool. If you can’t make it, that’s fine. I just thought I would ask. My brother’s bringing some of his friends too, so it won’t be awkward or anything…”

Sunghoon has a very strong feeling it will be, but he’ll give Heeseung credit for trying.

He opens his mouth to say something, and horribly, the first thing he thinks of is so are you only asking because we’re soulmates? He forcibly shuts his mouth and soldiers on through the cold, stomach a mix of conflicting emotions. A very large part of him is touched Heeseung asked, which is why he’s directing his shy gaze down at the sidewalk, and a smaller but no less vigilant part is screaming don’t fall for it!!! You didn’t do anything to deserve this!!! 

“But either way, I’ll see you sometime, right?” Heeseung asks, nudging his elbow into Sunghoon’s side and grinning. “You’ll make time for me in your very busy schedule of doing nothing at home over break?”

“I have competitions to prepare for,” Sunghoon reminds him, huffing out a quiet laugh. “But yeah, probably. Seeing as how I can’t seem to get rid of you.”

“I don’t think you want to,” Heeseung says confidently as they reach the intersection where they separate. “Bye! Merry Christmas!”

“Bye, hyung,” Sunghoon says around a laugh, endeared against his will at how cute Heeseung looks waving at him, cheeks flushed from the cold and shoulders scrunched against the cold. 

He makes it so difficult to stay away from him, god.

— — — 

Sunghoon manages three days of knocking around at the rink before even he gets sick of spending ten hours a day within its walls, and by the time December 22nd rolls around, he and Yeji have foregone all pretense of doing work in favor of baking a batch of horrifically ugly gingerbread cookies. They’re frosting them together, Yeji drawing Xs in place of every single eye and Sunghoon painstakingly putting ice skates on all of his— the Kim Yuna one is reserved for his mother, who is probably going to take one look at the kitchen and have a Christmas-cheer-induced conniption, when his phone starts to buzz against the island counter, screen lighting up.

There’s a blizzard hounding the windows outside, gusts of wind whooshing through the rafters and snow battering the world until all they can really see when they look outside is a blur of white. There were multiple news warnings to stay home and stockpile canned food, so the Park family household has opted to do just that.

Yeji looks up from where she’s turning another lively gingerbread woman into a corpse and lifts up on her toes, squinting at the caller ID. “Oppa! It’s Heeseung-oppa! Why is he derogatory?” 

“He just is,” Sunghoon snorts, although his stomach flips. He sets down the tube of frosting and reaches over to pluck his phone off the counter before Yeji can get her sugary, sticky hands anywhere near it, going to hang up on him.

“What are you doing?” Yeji exclaims. “Oppa, I’ll live if you leave me to frost these alone, go pick up the phone! This is what we want!”

“Right, and when I turn around, suddenly every single cookie is going to disappear, isn’t it?” Sunghoon teases. 

“Pick it up or I’ll tell him about what happened in Jeju-do,” Yeji warns.

“What happened in Jeju-do?” Sunghoon asks, mock-innocently. Damn younger siblings and their never-ending supply of blackmail material. “And why do you even care so much?”

“I don’t want you to be a single grumpy cat man when you’re old and wrinkly!”

“Wrinkly—? Yah, listen—” 

Yeji makes another frantic motion with her hands at the phone, and, half-amused and half-unwilling to give in, Sunghoon picks up, puts it on speaker, and slides the phone towards her. “Here. You talk to him.”

“Do you really want me to do that?” Yeji asks, raising her eyebrows into her hairline. She’s wearing two braids, one of which is rapidly unraveling, and has frosting on her forehead, nose, and shirt. Sunghoon can’t believe this is the same girl who took down a five-foot-seven athlete in training last week.

“Hi? Sunghoon-ah?” Heeseung asks over the phone and Sunghoon and Yeji both gesture at each other, equally impassioned, to talk to him.

Yeji throws her hands up in the air, completely baffled. Why don’t you want to? she mouths, looking genuinely confused. Sunghoon does not know how to explain to her that his brain has just been shutting down around Heeseung lately, worse than ever before. Even the sound of his voice is sending fingers of desire crawling up and down his spine, pooling hot in his stomach. He’s having dreams about Heeseung. Enough is, quite frankly, enough.

“Hi, this is Yeji,” she says finally, cheerful once again.

“Oh— hi, Yeji-yah, is Sunghoon there?”

Yeji gives Sunghoon a withering look, then smiles down at the phone again. “No, but I can pass on a message.”

Heeseung laughs under his breath, and Sunghoon nearly keels over and dies right there. “I don’t really have anything that important to say, I just wanted to talk to him. What about you, what are you doing?”

“I’m frosting gingerbread cookies,” Yeji replies. “There isn’t much to do being stuck at home.”

“Yeah, this storm is pretty nasty, isn’t it? How old are you again? Do kids your age still like playing in the snow?”

“Sure,” Yeji agrees easily. “I’m gonna drag Sunghoon-oppa outside so I can throw snowballs at his head later.”

Heeseung laughs again. “Sounds like fun. I understand the temptation.” Sunghoon can practically hear that stupid grin in his voice. “Oh, hey, actually, I should probably ask— can you ask him if he’s still free for dinner tomorrow night?”

Yeji’s eyes light up like an arcade game. She gives Sunghoon an incredulous look, and he rests his elbows on the table and buries his face in his hands, already knowing what she’s going to say. “Yes, he is!” she announces immediately. 

“I know this storm is crazy, so if the roads are still bad tomorrow—”

“He’ll be there,” she promises. Sunghoon mimes throwing his tube of frosting at her, and she glares at him, not bothering to duck. “Is it at your house?”

“Yeah. I was going to ask him to just hang out on our own, but I really want to see the look on my brother’s face when Park Sunghoon shows up for dinner,” Heeseung laughs. 

“What? Why?”

Heeseung sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I… might have complained about him a little.” 

Yeji doesn’t even pretend to have an ounce of sisterly concern, even as Sunghoon’s stomach drops into his toes. Oh my god. Does Heeseung’s family think he’s some kind of homework-destroying, petty asshole? What did Heeseung even say to him?

Also, that’s his motivation for inviting Sunghoon over? Wow. Maybe Sunghoon’s been giving him too much credit. 

Either way, Sunghoon can’t contain an amused grin, meeting eyes with Yeji and dissolving into laughter with her. “Just so you know,” Yeji says around a giggle, “I have a black belt.”

“Sunghoonie told me earlier.”

“So no complaining about him. I think. Did he do something to deserve it?” 

“Are you serious?” Sunghoon exclaims, and both Heeseung and Yeji start to laugh again. 

“I had a feeling he was there the entire time… why am I talking to your sister and not you, Sunghoon-ah?” 

“She stole my phone,” he lies, and Yeji throws her arms out again— typical melodrama from a seventh grader. You get used to it.

“That doesn’t seem like something Yeji would do, you know,” Heeseung teases, mock-skeptical. 

(This is why Sunghoon never wanted them to meet in the first place.)

“How would you know? You’ve met her twice! And is that seriously the reason you invited me over? To spite your brother?”

“Why else?” Heeseung asks, sly as anything, and Yeji snorts behind her hand, having gone back to killing gingerbread men. The oven dings with another batch, and Yeji perks up, already reaching for the oven gloves. 

“Okay, hold on, I’ll call you back if you really want, hyung,” Sunghoon replies, standing and following as she goes to turn on the light and check that they’re really done. They’ve merged into a giant cookie slab, just like the first attempt, but as Sunghoon and Yeji have learned, they look almost normal when you cut them apart into individual gingerbread-people.

“No, that’s okay. Are you really coming tomorrow, though?”

Sunghoon hesitates. “I don’t know…”

Heeseung gives a dramatic, almighty sigh. “Let me know by tomorrow afternoon, okay? And if I don’t see you, then Merry Christmas. To Yeji too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sunghoon grins. Somehow it feels incomplete to be leaving it like this, to just hang up— and Sunghoon’s got a feeling the part he’s missing is love you, bye. 

Instead, he ends the call and goes to help his little sister get the cookies out of the oven.

Yeji doesn’t ask any other questions until after they’re almost finished frosting this batch, now gathering a nice stack of cookies to put in containers that will clutter up the entire kitchen in the best way. But she does keep sneaking thoughtful looks at Sunghoon, appearing more and more confused each time— until finally, he’s the one who snaps.

“What, Yeji-yah?” he asks, catching her looking again. “Do I have frosting on my face or something? You know what— come here,” he prompts, and she obediently comes over, arms crossed over her chest. He grabs a tissue from the center of the island and starts wiping frosting from her face, making her cringe away. 

“I just don’t get it,” she grumbles. “Do you not like him? I thought you liked him. But you keep saying you’re not sure about going over to his house for dinner? And you made me talk to him instead of talking to him yourself? Oppa, you can’t be that shy.” And for her part, she does sound genuinely invested, like she thinks Sunghoon is unconsciously sabotaging himself.

“That’s not it,” Sunghoon sighs. Again, all the women in his life… “It’s not that I don’t like him,” he mutters, a light flush rising in his cheeks. “I do like him.” It feels weird to say aloud, after guarding the secret close for so long. As though Heeseung will somehow hear him.

“Then what?” Yeji asks, batting away his tissue. “I’m serious. I really don’t get it. Is it a career thing? You don’t want to waste your time on a boyfriend?”

Sunghoon looks her directly in the eyes— her curious, analytical gaze, the frosting still smeared on her temple. It’s always been difficult to lie to her, mostly because Sunghoon just doesn’t like to. He remembers when Yeji was too young to speak, or even to understand what he was saying; she’d be lying in her cradle and staring at her own fingers as though she was amazed that they existed, and he would sit beside her, watching her when his parents asked him to, and tell him all the woes of his seven-year-old life. How the teacher was mean and he hated the kids who sat in the corner and threw wads of paper at everyone and he despised speaking in front of the class. And she would always look at him when he spoke, eyes clear as day, focused. 

“Give me a second,” he says, and he gets up, ignoring her bewildered look, to go to the bathroom and wash his hands. The soulmark is stark against his skin in the bathroom light, a bright splash of blue against a pale background, both familiar and not after weeks of having it but covering it up even to himself.

He returns to find Yeji turning on the lights as afternoon becomes evening, scrubbing off the last of the frosting on her face. She turns to him, likely on the verge of being annoyed at this point; and true to form, she stomps over and glares up at him when he sits down in his chair again, arms crossed over her chest. “Would you stop with the whole mysterious routine? What is it?”

Sunghoon’s heart skips a beat. “See for yourself,” he thrusts his hand out towards her, voice distant even to himself. Yeji glances down, and then her eyes widen bigger than saucers, almost comical in her surprise. She looks up at him, then down again, arms uncrossing themselves slowly.

“Hold on,” she says shakily, and Sunghoon’s shoulders tense. “No way. Oh my god. Oh my god. SERIOUSLY?” she exclaims, grabbing his hand and pulling it closer to properly inspect it. A smile starts to spread over Sunghoon’s face, the kind where his lips are pulling themselves up, fond and amused, stomach tingling and heart racing. “You’re being for real? This is actually—” she rubs it aggressively with her palm. “Is it Heeseung-oppa?” she looks up, jaw hinged open.

Sunghoon hesitates, bashful— then dips his head. “Yeah, it—” 

She cuts him off by launching herself into his arms, squealing and jumping. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god!” Her arms squeeze tight around his neck, knocking him back in his chair until her feet are off the ground and his grip on her waist is holding her up, feet kicking in the air. “No fucking way—”

“Language, Jesus Christ,” Sunghoon replies without thinking, and then has to laugh at himself. Yeji’s too busy to even notice, still jumping and flailing and trying to strangle him. “Yeji— Yeji, calm down—”

“I can’t calm down!” Yeji exclaims, pulling back to give him a searching look. Their parents are going to hear at this rate; his mother’s napping upstairs and his father is repairing some random broken knickknack in the attic. “Are you serious? It’s really him? You’re sure? Does he have one too?”

“He does,” Sunghoon responds, blinking rapidly as he tries to keep up with her questions. “But I haven’t seen it.” 

“But you’re sure?” Yeji presses, still jumping up and down. Her joy is contagious, transferring to Sunghoon from where she’s gripping his arms tightly, hair askew again and eyes crinkled in a massive grin. “I can’t believe it, oh my god.”

“You said that already,” Sunghoon laughs, and he realizes his cheeks are flushed, nervous and somehow embarrassed. He’s never had this experience before, telling someone and having them be excited for him. “So… so you like him?”

Yeji slaps his shoulder, eyes bright. “Of course I like him. He’s great, oppa, seriously. He’s so handsome. He’s nice to you, right?”

Sunghoon levels her with a Look. “He’s nice to me,” he agrees, because that’s pretty undeniable these days. “Most of the time.”

Her smile softens into something more thoughtful, searching Sunghoon’s face. She leans in to hug him again, more deliberately this time. “I’m really, really happy for you,” she says quietly into his ear, squeezing tightly. 

Sunghoon’s not normally a tight hugger— but now he does the same back, the world silent and still as though it’s holding his breath to let the moment pass. “Thanks, Yeji-yah,” he responds, equally quiet. 

“...why haven’t you told Eomma and Appa yet?” Yeji asks, pulling away suddenly, realization written all over her face. “Or anyone else?”

“That’s… kind of a long story.”

Yeji reaches over and grabs a cookie, narrowing her eyes at him. “I’ve got time.”

— — — 

…no, Yeji does not successfully convince him to call Heeseung right that minute and dramatically confesses his undying love. But Sunghoon does drive through the aftermath of that huge, heavy blizzard the following evening to hand-deliver his Christmas present, which is practically equivalent to it anyway.

The streets are silent, but brightly-lit even in the night, everyone’s Christmas decorations up and shining. The world has taken on that reverent, quiet quality that always lingers after a snowstorm, roads surprisingly clean but a thick blanket of clean snow in every yard and on every roof, broken here and there by a set of footprints. There’s hardly anyone else out, which is the only reason his parents let him take the car in the first place. 

He pulls up to Heeseung’s house, where a few other cars are already lined up, and reaches over for his phone, pulling off his gloves and texting that he’s here. He’s wearing a warm coat and boots, but luckily there’s no wind to merit any extra layers, just a frigid, still cold that’s much more bearable. 

The sidewalk leading to Heeseung’s door is clean, and so is the porch when Sunghoon goes up to wait on it, kicking idly at stray shards of ice. The door swings open after a moment, and Heeseung peers out of it, a smile spreading across his face when he sees Sunghoon standing there. Faint instrumental Christmas music is coming from inside, snatches of piano followed by chatter. Sunghoon wouldn’t be surprised if they did own a piano; he knows Heeseung’s parents used to run a karaoke place. 

Heeseung opens the door all the way, letting out the light, warmth, and laughter coming from inside. He looks like the embodiment of all three, wearing a cozy red-and-white sweater, hair falling in light waves over his forehead, smile bright and easy. 

“Sunghoon-ah,” he greets, and the sound of Heeseung’s voice forming Sunghoon’s name is enough to have his heartbeat picking up, breath hitching softly on his next inhale. “Come in, it’s freezing.”

“I told you, I’m not staying,” Sunghoon smiles back regretfully. He had only just made up his mind to when his mom reminded them about an early-morning breakfast at a relative’s tomorrow, very strongly advising that he not go tonight. And… maybe it was a sign, you know. He’s definitely taking it as one.

But… he also couldn’t justify not coming at all. 

“I just wanted to give you this,” Sunghoon says, offering him the present, which is in a shimmery red and green bag. He honestly had no idea where to start, so he went for the basics: a sweater, some jewelry, and the one BTS album Heeseung doesn’t have yet. 

“Sunghoonie, seriously, don’t tell me you came all this way just to leave,” Heeseung says, tilting his head. “I’m not taking that unless you come in.”

“Hyung—”

“I’m serious. Come inside or I’m shutting the door,” Heeseung warns, stepping back and going to do just that. 

Sunghoon acts on impulse, heart jumping. He sneaks around Heeseung to set the bag down on the floor inside his house, grinning when Heeseung gives an exasperated shake of his head. 

“You really can’t stay?”

“I really can’t stay,” Sunghoon confirms. “But I’ll see you.”

Heeseung gives him a dubious look, crossing his arms over his chest and biting his lip. He doesn’t meet Sunghoon’s eyes as he exhales, that familiar, slightly-annoyed crease appearing between his brows.

Sunghoon’s heart softens, struck by how cute this particular type of anger is. Sometimes Heeseung’s fury is a force to reckon with, brazen and unyielding and sharp, eyes flashing with it, brows knit together, unbearably attractive; but this is just disappointment, and something about how childlike it is calls to a similar part of Sunghoon that feels the exact same way. He should have just told his mother he was staying anyway, fuck… 

“I’m sorry, really,” he says, more gently than he’d planned to. He steps closer and, on impulse, wraps his arms around Heeseung’s waist, leaning in to hug him tightly. Heeseung’s standing on the threshold, a little step above Sunghoon, and the height difference off-sets them perfectly, allowing Sunghoon to hook his chin over Heeseung’s shoulder. 

Heeseung is quick to hug him back, arms unfolding to make room and coming up around him as well. He slides one hand into Sunghoon’s hair, resting on the back of his head, the other pulling him in by the shoulders, and he smells like lotion and Christmas chocolate chip cookies and something familiar, innately Heeseung. Sunghoon’s eyes flutter shut, basking in the feeling for a long, blissful moment, Heeseung’s arms solid and warm around him, how soft his sweater feels under Sunghoon’s hands, how well he fits into Sunghoon, as though they—

Because they are, actually. Made to be with each other. Every road Sunghoon’s traveled leads here, every choice he’s made, every passing moment of his life. He was always going to be here. 

Is it such a bad place to be? he thinks, and longing seizes him vice-like and overpowering, like nostalgia for a moment he’s currently living in. He’s always known his well of wanting is bottomless, never satisfied with a single win in skating, with a single high score, with a single evening spent in Heeseung’s company. But this is on another level entirely, how much he feels for Heeseung. It has nothing to do with them being fated, or what the soulmarks on their bodies have to say— it’s just Heeseung, and his magnetic appeal, his quiet earnestness and inviting demeanor— and it’s terrifying to think that maybe what’s between them didn’t suddenly gain a layer with the revelation that they were soulmates. Maybe it’s been that serious all along. 

Sunghoon pulls away, unable to completely meet his eyes. Heeseung’s face, when he glances over, is doing something that feels too private even for him to look at, eyes soft and hands shaking ever-so-slightly on Sunghoon’s shoulders, as though he feels it too, the full-body desire to touch Sunghoon again, the tension simmering between them like water left to boil for too long. 

For a second Sunghoon considers letting him, leaning in again to ask— but he doesn’t want it. Not like this. Not when he can’t know if it’s real.

“Merry Christmas, Heeseung-hyung,” Sunghoon says quietly, stepping away until Heeseung drops his hand with a sharp inhale. “I’ll see you at—”

“Sunghoon-ah,” Heeseung starts, and Sunghoon’s already turned around, but there’s something in his voice, a note of yearning that sounds as potent as anything Sunghoon’s ever felt for him, and it drops anchor in his stomach and tugs, pulling him back to Heeseung forcefully. He glances back, and Heeseung is silhouetted in the light, a faint blush on his cheeks, eyes bright and lips parted. For a silent, spellbinding second, Sunghoon thinks he’s going to do exactly what Sunghoon wants, throwing away every ounce of rationality, and fly down the path to Sunghoon and—

“I’m still mad at you,” he warns, swallowing, and Sunghoon’s lips curl up into a grin, surprised and not entirely disappointed. 

“No, you’re not,” Sunghoon responds, knowing. “I know you’re not.”

And Heeseung doesn’t bother correcting him as he turns and finally leaves, heart heavy in his chest, snow falling lightly into his hair. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TEN: JASMINE

gift from god, grace, elegance

Remember what Heeseung said about luck? How it always balances itself out for him, in his favor and against in a never-ending pendulum, reliable as the tide going in and out? 

Here they are again, then, at high tide. The spellbinding silence that rests easy around them, not between them, because there is no space between Sunghoon and Heeseung— the soft exhale Sunghoon releases into his shoulder— the silky strands of his hair brushing Heeseung’s cheek. The tentative warmth of his arms, how good it feels for Heeseung to momentarily close his eyes and sink into him, swaying ever-so-slightly on his feet. The imperceptible rustle of Sunghoon curling his hands into Heeseung’s shirt, at his back. 

He doesn’t know it at the time— how could he, giddy and flustered and stunned, hope dancing around like flurries of snow in his chest?— but the sharp, painful sting just below the inside of his wrist, materializing a moment after Sunghoon drops his arm, doesn’t end up being the precursor to what he wants it to. 

It’s just the first sign of his luck running out on him yet again.

All he can do in the moment is stand there in shock, watching Sunghoon’s unfairly gorgeous silhouette walking off through the snow for at least fifteen seconds before he jolts back to reality.

Heeseung’s hands are shaking, both from the cold and the shock of burning pain, now dying down to a dull simmer that will disappear in a few moments, if he’s right about what it is. His heart is hammering in his chest like a rapidly-tolling bell, which seems like an apt comparison given the Christmas music playing behind him, notes spilling out into the road and fading to silence at Sunghoon’s retreating back. The air is crisp and freezing, but Heeseung’s face is hot with a blush. He can feel his pulse in his palms, hear his ragged breathing like he’s just run a marathon.

He backs into the house again, slowly, as Sunghoon gets into his car. The cold finally hits him, prompting a belated shiver— but when he goes inside, it’s almost too warm. 

In a daze, Heeseung races past the warmth and light of the full dining room, where Junseo, their parents, and three of Junseo’s friends are scattered around the table and in the kitchen, talking and laughing and playing around with Heeseung’s father’s piano.

He quickly sets down the glittery gift bag at his side on his bed, almost reverently. His stomach flips, heart beating almost painfully hard against his ribs, as he lets himself into the bathroom and turns on the lights. He looks wide-eyed and young to himself, breathless and flushed from the cold, eyes very bright, all his carefully-gathered confidence gone in one fell swoop. This isn’t the same Heeseung that teased Sunghoon about getting asked out by a girl right in front of him, righteously indignant and not a little amused at his immediate instinct to apologize to Heeseung, of all things. (It was appreciated, don’t get him wrong.) Nor is it the Heeseung that’s been touching Sunghoon unprompted, uncaring of the consequences, grabbing his waist and holding his hands and resting careless fingers on his shoulder, hanging off and around him, like he can never get enough. 

This looks a lot more like the Heeseung that sat down on the couch after Sunghoon dropped him off from work and had to press his hands to his cheeks to get them to cool down, overwhelmed by the depth of his own feelings. The one who stared after Sunghoon, lost and stunned into silence, after discovering they were soulmates. 

He rolls up his sleeve, sucking in a breath at the unmistakable, bright red flower blooming on his forearm. His stomach cycles through an entire gymnastics routine, chest heaving on his next inhale. Holy shit. Since when have more soulmarks even been an option? What the fuck? Hadn’t this been a one-and-done deal?

But apparently not— and the longer Heeseung stands there gaping at his forearm, the more clear it becomes that there was no reason for him to have assumed so in the first place. Why shouldn’t there be more? There are plenty of soulmate connections that involve multiple marks. Maybe it’s a continual thing; maybe they can keep painting flowers on each others’ skin.

It’s a startling, wonderful thought. His lips curve up in a grin of their own accord, marveling at just how pretty the flower is. It’s large and layered, a lovely shade of dark red, like a rose— except it’s rounder and more spread out, petals lined up in little, perfect ovals. 

Google helps him out again; he finds the same website he had last time, breath stuttering in his chest. Time narrows, his mother calling out for him from the kitchen fading to background noise. He finds the name of the flower before the meaning, recognizing the pictured pink version of it with a jolt.

It’s a camellia, a flowering, evergreen shrub. They’re exceptionally long-lived, and grow best in partial shade. 

When you give them as a gift, they have a singular, unmistakable meaning:

My destiny is in your hands. 

Heeseung goes weak in the knees.

— — —

From then on it’s like he’s free-falling. There’s an inevitability to it that he finds almost scary, staring down the reality of falling in love with his soulmate; but whether he wants it to or not, it’s happening— feet skidding down the slope, heart in his throat, stomach full of butterflies. Whoever said love was painful failed to clarify that it hurts because it’s terrifying, because fear is beating your heart into the ground and clamping vice-like around your throat, like being held at knifepoint. 

Heeseung doesn’t tell Sunghoon about the soulmark. He doesn’t have the words, not even for himself— not yet. 

But god. For once, he wants to do this properly. He wants to kiss Sunghoon soft and slow, until he stops asking stupid questions and ducking away from Heeseung’s gaze, until Heeseung’s brain has gone blissfully quiet— and then tell him I think I love you, Sunghoon-ah . He wants to bloom flowers on Sunghoon’s skin, show him in action what he can’t with pretty speeches. He wants to step up to the plate and be worthy of the responsibility Sunghoon’s given him, the level of trust— my destiny. He doesn’t want his hands to waver in the keeping of it.

The following weeks don’t afford him a great deal of time with which to deal with any of this, which is both a blessing and a curse. With the end of his Christmas break comes the start of a new set of responsibilities, more working hours, more homework than ever before. All of which is only compounded by how quickly his brain adapted to having nothing to do for endless days, struggling to get back into the rhythm of working. 

Sunghoon is almost irritatingly good at going right back to it, in comparison. He pulls up their little scoreboard and winks over at Heeseung when he tallies up his three-point lead, and Heeseung pulls a face, kicks the sole of his shoe, and then stays up until two AM to beat him the following week, because a) Sunghoon might be Heeseung’s… crush, to put it lightly, but his ego is big enough already, and b) the way he pouts when he loses is devastatingly adorable. Heeseung’s starting to like it even more than how giddy he gets when he wins. He’s a simple man. He likes simple things. Sunghoon liking him too much to get properly pissed off at him for winning is one of them.

Still, Heeeseung’s mood throughout most of January is, uh. Not the greatest.

He’s been over this before— and as nice as it is to have good friends who care about his health, there’s not much that sets January aside from October or November or December or any of the other constantly stressful months of his life. That’s his least favorite part, really; there’s nothing to look forward to anymore. Winter break is over, and there’s three months left until he gets another substantial amount of time off. 

And when he does get time off from school, it’s because he’s skipping for work— which makes him feel the opposite of relaxed. The receptionist in the attendance office greeted him by name last week. Every time he checks the number of absences he’s racked up, his stomach turns. It’s often multiple days in a row whenever he has to travel somewhere— and then he gets sick on top of that, which knocks two more days off the calendar. By the time he’s recovered, he’s four days behind on everything and sleep-deprived on top of that. Not to mention that even his teachers are getting a little sick of him only being there half the time…

“Heeseung-gun?” his math teacher calls after him on a chilly Wednesday at the end of class, prompting an eyebrow raise from Sunghoon as he packs up his things. Heeseung nods at him to go ahead on his own and makes his way to the teacher’s desk as the classroom empties, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “We had a test yesterday.”

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I can—”

“You can make it up tomorrow during class,” he responds firmly. 

Heeseung winces, catching his lip between his teeth. Shit. “Um, seonsangnim… I’m a little behind on the homework. I missed Monday too, and I didn’t get to review at all over the weekend… can I take it on Friday, please?”

His teacher doesn’t budge. “No, I’m sorry,” he says with finality, and Heeseung’s stomach drops. “I understand you’re missing school for a good reason, but I need you to stay caught up on your work while you’re out. Please be ready to take it tomorrow.”

And that’s— it makes sense, objectively. Heeseung still flushes brighter than a tomato, embarrassment prickling through his stomach. He bows deferentially, agreeing, and exits stage left, face still burning. 

Sunghoon’s leaning against the wall just outside and scrolling on his phone. He glances up when Heeseung comes out, raising his brows again. “Are you in trouble?” he asks jokingly, grinning.

Heeseung clears his throat. There’s no reason to be humiliated, he tells himself. It was his own fault for not emailing the teacher earlier or starting the work over the weekend. “No,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t really hear any of what Sunghoon says afterward, absentmindedly agreeing to his invitation to come over. If he’s going to miserably learn an entire unit of math in one evening, he can at least pacify himself with Sunghoon’s presence.

Still— by the time he shows up that evening, he’s nursing half a headache and dreading the long night of work ahead. 

They manage to be productive for the first two hours, actually, Sunghoon focused with his earbuds in and Heeseung exhausted, rubbing at his eyes and erasing his work obsessively. He’s so well and truly sick of this that it scares him a little; there’s still so much of the school year left. What is he supposed to do if he keeps losing steam like this? 

It’s not the first time Heeseung’s gotten odd looks after missing a bit too much school, and it’s this— this vicious cycle. He’ll only miss more if he lets the stress get to him and knock him out, but he also can’t just let it go so easily… Heeseung makes a good show of it, but being nineteen and still in high school grates so hard on him sometimes. 

He nearly snaps his pencil in half when he does the next problem wrong four times, unable to understand what the hell the question is even asking. He doesn’t want to draw four graphs for one equation— Jesus Christ, who wrote this, a jailer fresh off a shift at the Tower of London? When the hell is Heeseung going to use this? Genuinely. 

“Hyung, why are you trying to murder your eraser?” Sunghoon asks, a laugh in his voice as he glances up at the sound of Heeseung aggressively getting rid of his last unsuccessful attempt. “What’s the problem?” He takes Heeseung’s paper in hand, his own pen clicking in a way that’s always been slightly annoying. “You’re just forgetting what to do with the y-coordinate for this… and I think your calculator’s on the wrong mode. He went over it in class yesterday, here…” Sunghoon shows him how to convert it to the proper setting. 

“Thanks,” Heeseung mutters as he takes the paper back, marginally more calm than he was a moment ago. There are still fourteen more problems left, though, and as he looks them over, his heart sinks. He doesn’t have any idea how to do the rest either. And then he has that history assignment, and the research to do for his English paper… he thought he’d be okay taking Honors classes since he’d already studied so much of this stuff for the entrance exam— and, to be frank, because it would have looked horrible on his college applications to not only have been held back a year but then to just keep taking it easy after that… but clearly he’s not. 

It’s so hard not to feel dumber and dumber the longer he sits there, in his sweats, glasses falling down his nose, watching Sunghoon out of the corner of his eye. And listen— he loves Sunghoon, okay, of course he does— but Sunghoon makes everything look so damnably easy. Skating, school, even himself; he always has perfect skin and hair, groomed fingernails and a clean, organized room. He has one alarm on his phone to wake up, not twelve different ones set at five minutes intervals to the most obnoxious noise available— Heeseung’s seen it. He drops his little sister off at boxing practice twice a week. He makes time to get boba with Jungwon and drive Heeseung to work. He takes all Honors classes and aces them, is well-liked by pretty much everyone despite not putting any effort into being popular, and can land triple axels that only like, 0.0001% of the world’s population could only dream of even attempting. He’s probably going to be an Olympic medalist someday. 

How the hell can one person manage everything so well— especially when, by contrast, Heeseung has to convince himself to get out of bed everyday for school, barely makes time to see his mom every other day, much less his friends, and is wearing a T-shirt of Junseo’s with a ramen stain on the hem? What is he doing with his life? 

His eyes start to sting even as Heeseung forcefully tells himself he’s not going to cry. Sunghoon’s going to think he’s an idiot for crying over a stupid math assignment.

Heeseung could have done this yesterday, when he was sitting around on his phone at the shoot. He could have saved himself the trouble— but he didn’t, because he knew he wouldn’t understand it without extensive notes from the lesson, and even now that he has Sunghoon’s, he still doesn’t get it. 

Another frustrating ten minutes pass as Heeseung attempts the next three problems and doesn’t get any of them right. His patience rapidly runs out, and he reluctantly turns to Sunghoon again. 

“Hoon-ah?” he asks, exhaustion shining through in his voice. He can’t quite hide it as he passes over the paper again, stomach churning. It’s really not that serious, he tells himself. Sunghoon’s not going to judge him for not understanding one concept in literal calculus. “What am I doing wrong?” He plants his chin in his hand, hunching forward and making the ache in his back flare up. The lump in his throat seems to solidify with the contact, constricting painfully when he swallows, tiredly rubbing at his temples. 

Sunghoon squints down at the page, concentrating. He glances at the notes again— then laughs, expression clearing. “Hyung, you’re just forgetting to make this negative. When you add 16, the answer is 23, not -9. And you’re using the wrong equation for this one… #10 uses the chain rule, that’s what you’re missing.” Sunghoon passes the paper back over, smiling teasingly. “Just don’t be so stupid and you’ll be fine.”

Heeseung’s throat sticks. He doesn’t mean it like that, every inch of him screams, but it’s too late; he lowers his head to hide how his eyes immediately begin to swim. His stomach clenches, and he sets his jaw, fighting it— but he blinks and a tear spills out anyway, the onslaught of humiliation that burns in his gut proving to be too much for him. 

Sunghoon doesn’t notice until Heeseung is blindly taking his paper back, intending to get up and run for the bathroom because fuck, why is he crying here? — but then he catches Heeseung’s wrist, brows furrowing. “Hyung, I didn’t— Heeseung?”

Heeseung’s head ducks down further, breath hitching around a stifled sob. His cheeks begin to burn, trembling hands setting down the paper, and Sunghoon releases a nervous, breathy laugh that sounds more surprised than anything. 

“I— I’m so sorry,” Sunghoon stammers. “I swear that’s not what I meant, hyung, seriously, you’re not stupid, I don’t think you’re stupid at all— Heeseung? Heeseung, really, listen to me,” he urges, scooting closer and putting his hands on Heeseung’s shoulders. He smells really good. Even the part of Heeseung that’s mortified beyond belief has the energy to spare to find it funny that Sunghoon’s cologne is the first thing he notices even now, when he’s one escalated breath from breaking down bawling. 

Sunghoon goes on as Heeseung stares down at his lap, shoulders tense and breaths broken-off. “I’m so sorry, hyung, I mean it, please don’t— please don’t cry,” Sunghoon pleads.

“It’s not because of what you said,” Heeseung chokes out, voice breaking. 

“Then what is it?” Sunghoon asks, voice still urgent with concern. Heeseung sniffles, chest aching, and shakes his head wordlessly. He can feel Sunghoon’s gaze darting over his face, noting the tears rolling down his cheeks. Tentatively, Heeseung looks up, vision blurred and stomach twisted into knots. Sunghoon’s brows are furrowed, but his expression is soft, searching. “Hyung, you’re not dumb because you’re finding one calc assignment hard, okay? They’re all hard, seriously. And you get top of the class half the time—“

"None of that comes naturally,” Heeseung says through his tears, breath shaking. 

“Of course it doesn’t,” Sunghoon says, voice softening. “It’s hard for all of us, hyung. I have to study a lot too, all the time. Why do you think we always hang out while studying? I barely have time for anything else. I swear it’s not just you that feels this way.“

“At least you’re all—“ Heeseung’s voice cracks. “At least you’re all graduating on time.”

Sunghoon hesitates, hand half-rising as if to touch Heeseung's face, and Heeseung’s sobs spill over, chest cracking open. He pushes closer, burying his face in Sunghoon’s chest, and muffles the pitiful sound of him sobbing and crying with Sunghoon himself, hands curling into the back of his shirt, throat aching. 

“Hyung, hyung, hey,” Sunghoon murmurs, catching him easily. He wraps his arms around Heeseung in turn, hands resting on the back of his head. Heeseung sinks into him like a runner collapsing after a marathon, all of his limbs going loose, body tingling with how good it feels to finally lay down and be held by someone— by Sunghoon, after so long hoping and wanting and yearning. “It’s okay. Don’t cry,” he says, fingers sliding into Heeseung’s hair, rubbing gently at his scalp. Heeseung only cries harder at that. “Please don’t cry...”

But he does, and for a long while. It’s so difficult to stop once he’s started, all of his emotions spilling over chaotically. It’s not crying he’s ashamed of— more the reason behind it. He’s always hated to admit how difficult this is for him, both because it’s discouraging to keep thinking about how hard everything is and because that’s not who he is. He’s not looking to martyr himself here. He just wants to do well in school and do well by his parents. Is that really supposed to be such an insurmountable goal? 

Sunghoon doesn’t push him; he lets Heeseung cry as long as he needs to. Heeseung almost wishes he wouldn’t; he’s heard about people setting timers to break down and then going back to their work, which is probably what he needs to do if he wants to pass this test tomorrow. Not ace, not get top of the class, but straight-up scrape by with a passing grade. It’s not a helpful thought in the least.

After an undefinable amount of time, his tears finally slow down enough that he becomes aware of his surroundings again, how tightly he’s holding onto Sunghoon. Heeseung pulls away slightly, sniffling, and Sunghoon tilts his head down to meet Heeseung’s eyes, his own round and concerned. 

“Are you okay?” Sunghoon asks quietly, one of his hands gently rubbing up and down Heeseung’s back. Heeseung’s curled up between his legs, and he has to crane his neck to look directly at Sunghoon, surprised by how vulnerable it feels. There’s no one else home at Sunghoon’s place— thank god. But with just Sunghoon here, with his clothes so soft in Heeseung’s fingers, his eyes so understanding and hands so warm… he wipes Heeseung’s cheeks with the side of his hand, and Heeseung’s heart melts through his rib cage. 

“I didn’t realize you were that worried about this test.”

Heeseung ducks his head, taking in a shaky breath. “It’s not just that,” he manages, clearing his throat to dislodge the lump stuck there. “It’s just— everything. It’s not too much,” he says quickly, defending his decisions even now. “But I’m– I’m tired, and I’m tired of being tired, and of feeling like I don’t have the right to be tired. Sometimes I feel guilty for…” he trails off, exhaling. “For enjoying myself too much. Because I failed that first year, I’m still behind, and I don’t regret it. But I still feel like... I’m cheating, or something, by liking this year. It should never have happened,” Heeseung murmurs, stomach twisting. “I should have graduated last year.

“But I’m still stuck in high school, and everyone acts like I’m cooler because of it, but I don’t think I deserve any more respect than the rest of you for being held back a year. I should still be making up for it. Not— making friends and finding excuses to not study.”

Sunghoon’s continued stroking his back the whole time, and Heeseung closes his eyes now that he’s finished, basking in the sensation. He could admit to anything like this, tell Sunghoon whatever secrets he wants to know. In fact he kind of wants to. 

“I don’t think you’re being very fair to yourself,” Sunghoon murmurs after a long moment. “You didn’t skip a year because you were goofing around and throwing your life away— you were working harder than all the rest of us.”

“I really wasn’t,” Heeseung admits, swallowing. “I’m not being dramatic. I didn’t take it seriously, having to miss school. I thought there was no chance they’d actually hold me back. That first day going back as a freshman all over again was— horrible,” he confesses quietly. “It still keeps me up at night.” He laughs almost sincerely. “Everyone kept telling me it was fine and that idols did it all the time, but I could tell everyone was— laughing behind my back. I don’t know why it’s suddenly become cool,” Heeseung murmurs, self-effacing.

Sunghoon lets out a quiet laugh. “Hyung, it’s not being held back that’s cool— you’re cool. Everyone just likes that they get to take classes with the hyung they would normally have to sneak into other classrooms to see,” he snickers, and Heeseung turns his face into Sunghoon’s chest and makes a muffled noise of protest, fighting laughter himself. The knot in his stomach loosens ever so slightly, tense limbs relaxing.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and Sunghoon ruffles his hair playfully.

“Don’t get used to it,” he warns, and then goes on to compliment Heeseung even more. “Anyway… whatever happened, it’s in the past. You remember what I said about my success being behind me? Well— so is your—“ he hesitates for a moment, and Heeseung fills it in for him with a morbid type of humor.

“Failure? It’s okay,” he says, turning back to rest his temple against Sunghoon’s collarbones. “You can say it.”

“But it wasn’t a failure. Is that how your family sees it? That you failed by being a good son?”

Heeseung’s stomach knots again abruptly, heart squeezing. “They would never say something like that. Even when they found out they were... so understanding.” It had, without a doubt, made Heeseung feel a million times worse.

“Because it is understandable. I get it, okay? You know I get it. Sometimes you can satisfy everyone there is to satisfy except yourself.”

Heeseung exhales, hands tightening on Sunghoon again.

“But nothing anyone else thinks matters unless you’re happy with yourself,” he goes on quietly. “Hyung, you don’t need to punish yourself for it anymore. Repeating that year was punishment enough. You’re only human,” he says. For some reason this makes his eyes burn, not liking it, the gentleness or what Sunghoon is saying. “You can’t expect to—“

“I don’t want to just be human,” Heeseung replies, low so he can hide the shakiness. “I’m sick of being imperfect. It’s—" you can’t understand, he thinks, maybe unfairly. "It’s like there’s this threshold for how good I can be, and I’ll never get past it because of how I set myself back from the beginning. I’ll always have to live with this, no matter what. I can’t go back and have a perfect record.”

Sunghoon hugs him a little tighter. “No, you can’t,” he agrees, and then he says something no one else has said before, not like this. “I’m sorry.”

Heeseung can feel his expression crumple against Sunghoon’s chest, eyes prickling. His throat closes, breath shuddering when he inhales against Sunghoon.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, soft and sorrowful, and he lets Heeseung sit with that for a long, long minute, again, not saying a word when he turns and presses his face to Sunghoon’s sternum again, a dry sob silently trembling through his body. Sunghoon runs a hand down his back, indulgent and gentle, and Heeseung wants to cry even more at that, at how stupidly understanding he’s being. He’d almost rather be yelled at, told he’s being stupid— because he is, he knows that, there are so many worse problems in the world than this— but Sunghoon’s being so unrelentingly kind, and Heeseung doesn’t know how to not be humbled in the face of it. 

“Hey, for the record,” Sunghoon says, a bit more familiar, warm, “I think you’re wrong.”

“About what?” Heeseung manages, voice trembling but clear.

“Yourself,” Sunghoon says softly. “You’re not the type of person who would just lie down and accept that your finish line is behind anyone’s, and it’s not. I know I’m the last person who should be saying this,” he says, a smile in his voice, “but your life isn’t some kind of game where you lost some permanent advantage by graduating a year late. You can get the same internships and apply to the same colleges and get just as many As as me. Maybe just one less,” Sunghoon teases, and Heeseung laughs wetly against him, for a moment awed all over again by how far they’ve come from when this competition began. “If anything, all you lost was time. You have more of a right than anyone to enjoy yourself, hyung. You have earned it.”

Heeseung knows that if this mother was here, she’d be saying something along the lines of happiness isn’t something you have to earn, but maybe Sunghoon understands him a little more than that. He’ll always feel like he does have to work for it, just a little. 

But something in him comes undone at Sunghoon’s words anyway— at the notion that he has earned it. No way, chides a petulant voice in his head, the same one that urges him to keep going, always, nose to the grindstone. And yet… sometimes he wants to look up and stop for a moment. Just a while. Long enough that he feels like he can breathe again, like he can sing again without feeling guilty for it, like he can fit in with his younger friends and not constantly feel that niggling sense that in some alternate, perfect timeline, he never would have met them in the first place. Is that even what Heeseung wants? 

And then he has to deal with feeling guilty for that thought, because how is it that he could be grateful for anything that came of the worst decision he’d ever made? How could he appreciate a world in which his parents had to take so much money from him, a fourteen year old, and in which he had to deal with all of this? 

“I don’t know,” Heeseung mumbles. “I should have grown up a long time ago.”

Sunghoon sounds rueful when he responds. “Hyung, trust me. You did.” He swallows, hand tracing Heeseung’s scalp. “Just be a little kinder to yourself about everything.” Sunghoon’s voice grows a little smaller. “It— makes me really sad to hear you talk about yourself like this,” he admits, and Heeseung’s heart jolts. Oh, god, that’s not fair, he can’t spin it like that, Heeseung can’t live with feeling guilty for feeling guilty— “you don’t deserve to suffer forever because you messed up when you were fourteen. It’s not like you committed a crime. So don’t… don’t be so cruel.”

“I don’t hate myself or anything,” Heeseung starts, now somewhat sheepish, but Sunghoon cuts him off.

“No, you just think you don’t deserve to be happy— as though it’s not a human right, like people aren’t born deserving happiness.”

Heeseung grimaces at his sharp tone. Okay, fine, being snapped at isn’t actually better than being tenderly reassured, lesson learned. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “I don’t mean it like that. I’m just being self-pitying... sorry,” he repeats. “I’m not trying to unload on you. It’s not your problem.”

“I asked you to talk to me,” Sunghoon says firmly, putting a pin in that line of reasoning. “Just— hyung, I’m not saying you’re not allowed to be sad about it. Of course you are. It’s not my job to tell you what to be sad about and what not. But I really meant it, about being kinder to yourself. You study harder than anyone else I know. You give all your money to your parents. You put up with me teasing you all the time. I hate to break it to you, but you’re not the Antichrist.”

“Okay,” Heeseung says, having been bullied into a smile. He presses it to Sunghoon’s chest, his own warm and melty. “I’m sorry,” he repeats one last time. “You’re right,” he says, abruptly so grateful for him that he wants to kiss his knuckles and send up a prayer. “You’re always right. I’ll defer judgement to you from now on.”

“Yeah, you better,” Sunghoon snorts without batting an eye, and then they’re both laughing, helpless and snickery.

Eventually Heeseung sits up, neck beginning to ache, and when he turns to look at Sunghoon his heart quietly rends itself to pieces. Heeseung can look away for one second and be dazzled by Sunghoon’s beauty when he glances back— every part of him is perfectly sculpted, eyes luminous, mouth quirked up in a smile, cheek dimpled adorably. But his arms are strong and defined, chest hard, jawline sharp— he’s cute but handsome, everything at once. 

“Thank you,” he says, half-joking. “For listening.”

“Of course,” Sunghoon answers, entirely sincere.

The discussion has rapidly devolved from serious to light-hearted, and in light of that, still lingering here between Sunghoon’s arms seems less justified. But even as he has the thought, the idea of getting off feels worse than the awkwardness of staying, like he’ll break the cozy spell between them. Sunghoon being unabashedly sweet to him always feels so indescribably good, body tingling with happiness. He can’t give that up so easily. 

(Sunghoon only feeds Heeseung’s delusions by holding on just as long as he does.) 

— — — 

You’d think Heeseung was already screwed enough after that, wouldn't you? Nope. No. It’s a continual assault from all sides.

He gets a 95% on that math test. When the teacher hands his paper back, Sunghoon doesn’t even pretend to be depressed about being beaten; he gives Heeseung a genuine, private smile, eyes shining, and mouths duh, teasing. 

Heeseung legitimately has to look away to keep from diving across the table to kiss him right then and there. Be normal, he tells himself firmly. For once in your life. Be normal about this. 

The following Monday, he gets asked to deliver some papers to his English teacher during second hour. He has the immense pleasure of walking in during quiet work time, the door creaking open loudly. He winces, then trips over his own shoelace walking in. The dead silence is broken by a ripple of laughter throughout the room, giggles hidden behind hands. He covers his face with the papers as he continues walking, prompting another round of giggles, and offers them up to the amused teacher.

“Oh, hold on, I’ll sign these so you can take them back,” she says, leaving him to rock his heels beside her desk while she finds a pen. He glances out at the rest of the classroom, most of whom are distractedly doing their work. 

His eyes lock onto Sunghoon’s in the third row. A surprised, pleased jolt of adrenaline shoots through his veins, pulse skipping and then speeding up. Sunghoon looks away quickly, like he’s been caught staring. Has he? 

Heeseung’s heart skips at the thought. When Sunghoon glances back, he can’t help it— impulsively, he winks. 

“Here you go, Heeseung-gun,” his English teacher says, and he turns back to her quickly, before getting to see Sunghoon’s reaction. He accepts the papers again, bows, and turns to leave, throwing a rapid glance over his shoulder as he goes. Sunghoon’s smiling down at his paper, face half-covered by one hand, unfiltered and shy in a way that suggests he definitely thinks Heeseung’s not looking. 

Be. Normal. Please be normal. You can’t just go up and say you’re in love with him, he’ll think you’re insane— 

Sunghoon’s relentless, though. He won’t let up, can’t let Heeseung breathe even in his dreams.

Heeseung wakes up to the smell of something sweet, a muted alarm going off from a phone buried under the bedsheets. He lazily taps it off, squinting at the time— it’s 9:40, golden sunlight shining through the windows. He’s wearing a pair of pajama shorts and a familiar oversize T-shirt that he normally keeps for balmy summer nights, and his hair is falling all over his eyes. 

Brushing it out of his face, he reluctantly gets out of bed, stretching and going through his usual weekend morning routine on auto-pilot; brushing, washing his face, finger-combing his hair into place. His stomach is growling the entire time, nagging at him to go discover the source of that sugary smell— eventually, he gives in to it, leaving behind the bedroom and bathroom to head down a narrow hallway to the kitchen. The windows are open, letting in bright rays of sun that silhouette the Seoul skyline beyond, skyscrapers rising in the distance. 

“Took you long enough,” Sunghoon scoffs from in front of the stove, pouring pancake batter onto the pan. There’s a stack of four beside him on a plate already, and an almost-empty bottle of syrup Heeseung imagines World War 3 will be fought over in the next fifteen minutes. 

Right now, though, he couldn’t care less about the syrup. Sunghoon’s wearing a black pair of track pants and nothing else, gloriously shirtless in the morning light. A scattering of soulmarks blooms across the bare, toned skin of his back, blues and reds and greens and pinks, and when he gives Heeseung a smile over his shoulder, he can see more flowers on his collarbones, curving up his neck and over his chest. He looks beautiful— a little older than Heeseung’s subconscious is telling him he should be, jaw sharper and figure broader— and only more gorgeous for it. 

“What?” Sunghoon asks, laughing knowingly, like he knows exactly what Heeseung is thinking.

“You know what,” Heeseung replies with a scoff, crossing the room to wrap his arms around Sunghoon from behind. His stomach flips at the view he has of Sunghoon’s torso over his shoulder— of his six-pack, to be precise. He pauses, breath momentarily stolen, and lays his hands flat on Sunghoon’s stomach, fingers running over the divots of his muscles. Sunghoon’s body is warm against his, heated from the sunlight. He leans down to kiss Sunghoon’s bare shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs against Sunghoon’s skin, half-awed, half-playful.

“Original, hyung,” Sunghoon shoots back, but Heeseung can hear the smile in his voice. “You take all the fun out of flirting sometimes.”

Heeseung nudges the side of his neck. “All I did was call you pretty. Which you are.” 

“You have to work up to it,” Sunghoon laughs. 

“I think you’re just embarrassed.” Heeseung raises his head, nosing into Sunghoon’s cheek, pressing his smile against his skin. “Do I still make you that nervous, Sunghoon-ah?”

Sunghoon elbows him in the stomach, setting down his spatula and turning in Heeseung’s arms. He crouches down, lightning-fast, and wraps his arms around Heeseung’s thighs, lifting him into the air. 

“Yah, yah, you’re gonna drop me!” Heeseung exclaims, bursting into laughter, but Sunghoon’s grip is steady as he walks them backward, head tilted up to meet Heeseung’s eyes with a grin playing on his lips. “Sunghoon—”

“Chill out,” Sunghoon says, setting him down on the opposite kitchen counter. He settles in-between Heeseung’s knees, leaning his arms on Heeseung’s thighs. “You make me carry you around all the time. And stop talking,” he interrupts before Heeseung can get further than opening his mouth to retort, cheeks beginning to flush. “I was proving a point.” 

And then Sunghoon leans in to kiss Heeseung, hard. His hands tug Heeseung in by the waist, lips parting, and Heeseung’s brain melts out of his ears, arms moving of their own accord. He wraps them around Sunghoon’s neck, hands carding through his hair. It’s just as silken-smooth as it looks, his lips plush and soft, but he’s kissing Heeseung with a hint of teeth, practiced and confident, like he’s done it a thousand times before. He’s perfected the technique.

When he pulls away, Heeseung has to blink back to awareness, dazed. He licks his lips absently, and Sunghoon’s eyes dart down, tracking the movement. Heeseung’s stomach is full of butterflies, a thrill going down his spine. Sunghoon smirks and leans forward again, evidently aware of this, and for some reason— 

“I love you,” Heeseung blurts. It doesn’t necessarily fit the mood, but he’s got this feeling, this subconscious awareness, that he should say it while he can. 

Sunghoon’s face splits into a grin, eyes flicking up to meet his properly. “All of a sudden?” he asks, laughing. He swoops in to press a kiss to Heeseung’s cheek, fond and amused. “I love you too,” he says easily when he pulls away, eyes dancing. The way Heeseung’s entire body lights up at that really can’t be put down in words— the way his heart swells, the way something unravels inside him, like Sunghoon’s cut all the strings holding him up. Fuck. 

“...sometimes I don’t know if you’re real,” Heeseung murmurs, dazed once more. Sunghoon ducks his head, smiling, and brings Heeseung’s hand to his lips, kissing the inside of his palm.

“That’s too sappy for so early in the morning, Heeseung-hyung.”