Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Under the alias InkSpillHoon , Sunghoon uploaded his latest post with a sense of quiet satisfaction. The image accompanying it was a clean, minimalist sketch of his trusty wooden table—a comforting chaos of brushes scattered beside his watercolor palette. A faint coffee mug stain peeked from the corner of the table, and hints of a golden hue washed over the page, inspired by the sunset he had admired by the bay.

Beneath the image, he wrote:

"Just wrapped up my little tour. 🌅 The sunset by the bay had me thinking—what if I captured that glow? Here's my watercolor palette resting on my trusty table, sketching the possibilities. What do you guys think? Should I give it a go?"

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair as the post went live, his shoulders easing with an odd mix of relief and excitement. Sharing pieces of his world through these small windows— sketches, quiet musings, and fleeting moments of inspiration —brought him a comfort he couldn’t quite find elsewhere. The anonymity allowed him to be honest, vulnerable, even playful, without the weight of judgment tied to his name.

The comments started trickling in almost immediately, bringing their usual dose of warmth and encouragement:

"This is so cozy! The warm tones are perfect for sunset vibes!"

"Please do it—I’d love to see your interpretation of the bay. Your work always feels so alive."

Each word of support, each little heart reaction, acted as a subtle reminder of why he started sharing in the first place. It wasn’t about fame or recognition; it was about the quiet fulfillment that came from knowing his art spoke to someone, somewhere. Over time, it had become a private ritual, a way to process his thoughts and anchor himself in the whirlwind of life.

And lately, these posts have taken on a deeper significance. Sketching wasn’t just an outlet for creativity—it was a way to make sense of the confusion in his heart. 

There was someone in his art class, someone whose mere presence seemed to spark inspiration in ways Sunghoon hadn’t expected. 

Unknowingly, that someone had become his muse.

And while his followers praised his "imaginative" work, Sunghoon knew the truth: every stroke, every idea, was imbued with the quiet longing that had taken root deep within him.

The thought lingered as Sunghoon sat in the art appreciation class, staring at the presentation projected at the front of the room. The teacher droned on about Rococo technique, elaborating on delicate brushstrokes and lavish compositions. Sunghoon scribbled a half-hearted note in his sketchpad, punctuated with tiny doodles in the margins—a faint echo of the focus he usually brought to his own work.

He faintly remembered a heated moment when the teacher had mentioned something on an online forum that he had stumbled across. 

It was a comment thread on the basics of Rococo, and the teacher had confidently stated that such art was devoid of emotional gravity, focusing purely on excess. Sunghoon—unable to resist—had replied anonymously, correcting the notion with a polite but pointed critique. Rococo, as he had argued, held layers of emotional storytelling beneath its ornate surface. The teacher’s silence afterward had been an oddly satisfying victory.

Even now, as the class wore on, he struggled to pay attention. His head rested in his hand, his fingers tapping idly against the table as the monotone lecture continued. Rococo was fascinating in theory, but Sunghoon couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. 

His mind wandered freely, searching for anything that might capture his interest.

Heeseung had joined the class just two weeks ago, a new transfer who walked in with the unbothered confidence of someone used to navigating new spaces. Sunghoon had learned from whispered conversations among their classmates that Heeseung was a senior, though he carried none of the weight of an older student trying to prove something. Instead, he settled into the class with an easy-going demeanor, rarely raising his hand or volunteering answers, yet somehow always acing whatever small assignments were given.

Like the first group activity, where they had to replicate a portion of a Rococo painting using just pencil shading. While most students scrambled to capture the intricate details of the ornate designs, Heeseung had stared at the paper for what felt like forever. 

Just when Sunghoon thought Heeseung might be procrastinating—or worse, clueless—he’d watched him make a few deliberate strokes. By the time Heeseung handed in his work, it was astonishingly precise, every shadow and curve perfectly balanced as if he had spent hours on it instead of minutes.

Sunghoon hadn’t openly complimented it—he rarely said anything about others’ work, especially not to someone like Heeseung, who seemed so effortlessly good at everything. But that didn’t stop him from glancing at the piece whenever Heeseung wasn’t looking, quietly marveling at how someone who appeared so detached could produce something so intricate.

And then there was the time the class was asked to design their own patterns inspired by the playful, pastel elements of the Rococo movement. Most of the students had submitted crowded, chaotic designs, trying too hard to imitate the decadence the period was known for. 

Heeseung, on the other hand, turned in a pattern so understated yet clever that even their teacher—rarely one for effusive praise—had nodded approvingly. Sunghoon had studied that pattern longer than he cared to admit, trying to understand how Heeseung’s mind worked, how he found the balance between simplicity and complexity so effortlessly.

But for all his brilliance, Heeseung never seemed invested in the class or its competitive undertones. 

He attended, listened just enough to pass, and delivered whenever it was required of him—but beyond that, he remained an enigma. And maybe it was that mix of detachment and quiet skill that kept drawing Sunghoon’s attention, making him wonder what else was hidden beneath Heeseung’s unassuming exterior.

It was then, during one of these wandering thoughts, that Sunghoon’s gaze shifted to the far right of the room. There sat Heeseung, slouched in his seat, blinking sluggishly as he struggled to keep his eyelids from drooping shut. The faint outline of his hand supported his chin, his posture so close to tipping into full-on sleep that Sunghoon almost chuckled.

The sight hit Sunghoon harder than he expected—there was something endearing about the way Heeseung seemed ready to doze off, oblivious to the lecture’s dull rhythm. Sunghoon’s grip tightened on his pen as inspiration surged unexpectedly within him. He didn’t need any words from the teacher, nor the lesson itself, to spark his creativity. 

He had everything he needed right there, captured in the soft, sleepy outline of Heeseung.

As the class finally wrapped up, Sunghoon hurriedly stuffed his things into his bag, eager to escape the monotony of the lecture. 

He wandered into the hallway and found himself next to Jake, a friend from another class who had a knack for turning casual conversations into lighthearted interrogations.

“So,” Jake began, his tone teasing, “been waxing poetic about sunsets again lately?”

Sunghoon froze mid-step, his grip tightening on the strap of his bag. “What are you even talking about?” he muttered, attempting a nonchalant tone despite the warmth rushing to his cheeks.

Jake grinned, sensing his unease. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Last night’s post? Something about your watercolor palette and, what was it—‘capturing the glow’? I mean, seriously, who talks like that? It’s like a rom-com monologue in art form.”

Sunghoon groaned, dragging a hand down his face as Jake’s dramatic interpretation rang in his ears. “That is not what I said,” he protested weakly, though he knew defending himself was a lost cause.

“Oh, really?” Jake shot back, his grin widening. “‘ What do you guys think? Should I give it a go?’ And don’t even get me started on that comment about sunsets and hope. You might as well have written a love letter to life itself.”

“Jake. Shut. Up,” Sunghoon hissed, glancing around to ensure no one overheard the conversation. His embarrassment was almost tangible, and Jake, as always, was reveling in it.

“Relax,” Jake said, throwing an arm over Sunghoon’s shoulder as they walked. “I’m just teasing. But honestly, your posts are great. People eat that cheesy stuff up.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, though the faint warmth of Jake’s compliment lingered. He knew Jake’s teasing was meant in good humor, but hearing his words reflected back in such an exaggerated way made him feel far more vulnerable than posting them online ever had. He could only hope Jake didn’t suspect the true inspiration behind the post—the person who had unknowingly become the focus of his artistic musings.

As they reached the bus stop, Jake leaned against the pole holding the bus schedule, his expression shifting from playful to mildly exasperated. “You know, I don’t get how you do it—being all poetic and stuff. I mean, I spent three hours last night trying to sketch one flower for my project, and it still looks like it got run over. My prof’s gonna think I have personal beef with nature.”

Sunghoon smirked, crossing his arms. “Well, maybe you do have personal beef with nature. Ever think about that, Jake?”

Jake groaned, kicking at the pavement. “Yeah, thanks for the psychoanalysis, Van Gogh . Really helpful.”

Sunghoon pretended to look thoughtful, tapping a finger against his chin. “Okay, fine. Here’s my real advice: stop treating it like an assignment . Look at the flower like it’s telling you its life story—where it grew, how the sunlight hits it, why it might secretly hate the rain. Then, draw that. It doesn’t matter if it looks perfect. It just needs to feel like something.”

Jake blinked at him, unimpressed. “What’s this? Flower therapy now? How is that supposed to fix my sketch disaster?”

Sunghoon shrugged nonchalantly. “Just trust me. If you don’t connect with it, you’ll overthink every petal and end up in banana territory again.”

Jake snorted. “Fine. I’ll try, uh , interviewing my next flower. Maybe it’ll tell me it had a rough childhood or something.”

“ Exactly! ” Sunghoon grinned, throwing his hands in the air as the bus pulled up. “And once you’ve got its story, make the sketch yours. The prof’s not grading the flower’s autobiography; they’re grading how you see it.”

Jake shook his head as they boarded, muttering under his breath, “Sometimes I don’t know whether you’re a genius or just very, very weird.”

As the bus pulled away from the stop, Sunghoon gave Jake a quick wave. “See you tomorrow,” he called out. Jake, ever the teasing friend, responded with an exaggerated bow before striding off.

Sunghoon climbed aboard his bus, finding an empty seat near the back. He slid his bag off his shoulder, settling it onto his lap as the faint hum of the engine created a rhythm that lulled the passengers into a quiet calm. The day’s monotony had left him craving a creative spark, and his sketchpad was always the answer.

With a comfortable sigh, he reached into his bag, his fingers brushing against pens and loose sheets until—panic surged through his chest. 

His sketchpad wasn’t there.

He rummaged again, faster this time, overturning every corner of his bag as his heart raced. 

The realization hit him like a wave—his sketchpad, his dear sketchpad, was missing. 

The one that held his most personal sketches, where his thoughts and emotions took shape on every page. 

He clenched his fists, replaying the last time he’d had it. 

In the classroom, right before the lecture.  He must have left it behind.

Meanwhile, back in the now-empty classroom, Heeseung stirred awake. His eyes blinked slowly, adjusting to the quiet surroundings as he stretched in his seat. Beside him were Jay and Jungwon, who had stayed back to chat about some group project details.

As Heeseung turned his head, something caught his attention on the desk behind him. A notebook—a sketchpad—sat abandoned, its cover slightly tilted as though someone had left it in a hurry. 

Heeseung reached for it, brushing his fingers over the edges as curiosity flickered in his expression. “Hey, someone left their sketchpad,” he murmured, glancing at Jay and Jungwon. “It looks important.”

Jay craned his neck, intrigued. “Open it. Maybe there’s a name inside,” he suggested with a shrug.

Jungwon nodded, leaning closer. “Yeah, could be useful. No harm in checking.”

Heeseung hesitated, his thumb resting lightly on the edge of the cover. Then, with a careful motion, he opened it. The first pages were filled with striking sketches—portraits, objects, scenes—all intricately detailed with a personal flair that drew his attention. At first, he thought it was just a showcase of an artist’s wide-ranging talent. But as he flipped through, something became impossible to ignore.

The recurring theme began to emerge. The sketches started to focus on one subject—a familiar figure. Halfway through the notebook, Heeseung stopped and stared. The drawing on the page was undeniably him, leaning forward at his desk in concentration, his brows furrowed. The lines were sharp yet fluid, capturing his intensity with an almost uncanny precision.

Jay leaned in, raising an eyebrow. “Uh, is that...you?”

Jungwon tilted his head, studying the sketch with interest. “Whoever drew this has some serious talent. Look at the shadows—they even got the way your collar bunches when you lean forward.”

Heeseung flipped the page, his breath hitching as he found yet another sketch of himself. This time, he was walking across campus, his jacket swaying slightly in motion. He flipped again—there he was holding a pencil, his fingers delicately captured down to the faint veins and ridges of his knuckles. The drawings varied in style and theme, each one a subtle masterpiece.

Jay let out a low whistle. “Whoa. That’s not just one admirer—that’s a whole portfolio. Seriously, how many of these are of you?”

Jungwon reached over, flipping through the pages quickly yet carefully, his voice counting aloud with growing astonishment. “One…two…three—oh, wait, this one’s dramatic. You’re sitting under a tree like you’re in some coming-of-age movie. Four…five…six… Heeseung, there’s like twenty pages of just you in here.”

“What?” Heeseung’s voice cracked slightly, though he cleared his throat to cover it up. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not!” Jungwon flipped another page, revealing a stylized piece where Heeseung’s silhouette blended seamlessly into a sunset-like backdrop. “See? Look at this—it’s like they’re experimenting with themes. This one’s all dreamy and romantic.”

Jay burst out laughing, clapping Heeseung on the shoulder. “Dude, you don’t just have an admirer; you have a fan club. This is next-level dedication.”

“Guys, come on, be objective,” Heeseung said, trying to maintain composure despite his reddening ears. “It’s just good art. Artists sketch what’s in front of them.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Oh, sure. Because it’s totally normal to have an entire sketchbook of someone’s every expression, pose, and mood. Look at the attention to detail—they didn’t just see you, they studied you.”

Jungwon chimed in, tilting his head thoughtfully. “And not just studied—they put heart into this. Look at the light in this one—it’s so soft, like they wanted to make you look... warm .”

Heeseung snapped the sketchpad shut, but Jay quickly reached over, pulling it open to one last page. “Hang on. We’re missing the pièce de résistance.”

The three of them stared at the final sketch. There, on the page, was Heeseung, captured mid-snooze in class. His cheek rested gently on his hand, his posture relaxed yet vulnerable. The lines were tender, the shading delicate, and the expression so serene it practically radiated peace.

Jay’s jaw dropped. “Okay, now this is love. Whoever drew this definitely sat there watching you like, ‘ Wow, this guy needs to be immortalized. ’ I’m calling it: secret admirer.”

Jungwon smirked. “Or maybe they just like napping aesthetics. Either way, this is impressive.”

Heeseung stared at the page for a long moment, his lips pressed together as thoughts swirled in his mind. He wouldn’t admit it—not to these two, at least—but there was something about that final sketch that felt different. More recent. More intentional. It wasn’t just art; it was a snapshot of a moment that had passed in real time, as if the artist had been quietly present in the room with him, capturing him without his knowledge.

“Well,” Jay said, breaking the quiet with a grin, “looks like you’ve got a mystery to solve.”

And though Heeseung tried to brush it off, the images lingered in his mind—the sleeping sketch most of all. Twenty pages of him, in different poses, themes, and styles. He couldn’t shake the curiosity about the artist, or the reason they’d chosen him as their subject.

“Shit.” 

The word slipped out of Sunghoon’s mouth before he could stop it, his voice laced with panic as he clutched the straps of his bag. He paced back and forth in the campus hallway, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

Sunoo, leaning casually against the wall nearby, raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “So, what now?” he asked, his tone sharp and slightly amused. “Your sketches are out there, floating around in the wild. And you didn’t just draw anyone, you know. You basically turned Heeseung— the Heeseung you’re infatuated with, obsessed with, whatever —into a Renaissance painting or something.”

Sunghoon groaned, rubbing his temples. “I wasn’t obsessed. And it’s not like I was trying to—it just… happened , okay?”

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure. Totally natural to pour your heart and soul into sketching a guy you barely talk to. Anyway, let’s focus here. Who do you think has it? It wasn’t in the room when you went back to check, right?”

Sunghoon shook his head, his pacing accelerating. “It’s not there. And the art appreciation class isn’t for another two weeks—what if it’s somewhere completely random by now? What if someone finds it and—oh my god, what if he finds it?” His words came out in a rush, his hands tugging at the ends of his hoodie as though that might somehow slow his spiraling thoughts.

“Relax,” Sunoo said flatly, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed the fact that he was thoroughly enjoying the drama. “For all you know, it’s just sitting under a desk somewhere. Or maybe someone nice found it and will hand it in to Lost and Found.”

Sunghoon stopped mid-pace and turned to face him, eyes wide. “Or maybe someone not-nice found it and is right now flipping through every page, laughing at how I practically dedicated half a notebook to Heeseung’s face. Oh my god, Sunoo . This is bad. This is so bad .”

Before Sunoo could reply, Jake appeared, strolling down the hall with his usual easy confidence. “What’s bad?” he asked, tilting his head as he took in Sunghoon’s frantic expression.

Sunoo smirked, jerking a thumb toward Sunghoon. “He lost his sketchpad. You know, the one with all the sketches. Including...certain sketches of a certain someone.”

Jake blinked, then burst out laughing. “Wait, seriously? You mean the sketchpad? Oh man, this is gold.”

“It’s not funny!” Sunghoon practically yelled, his face redder than ever.

“Okay, okay, relax.” Jake held up his hands in mock surrender, though the grin didn’t leave his face. “But, uh, Hoon? Didn’t you post on your anonymous account about painting a new landscape the other day? Something about a sunset or whatever? You also mentioned losing your sketchpad in the same post, right?”

Sunghoon froze, a cold pit forming in his stomach. “Yeah. Why?”

Jake shrugged. “Just saying, your followers kinda lost their minds. The comments were all like, ‘Nooo! If anyone tries to sell your sketches, I’m going to hunt them down!’ or ‘Whoever finds it better guard it with their life or face the wrath of the internet.’” He snorted. “Your fans are intense, dude.”

“Why would you even read the comments?” Sunghoon groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Because it’s hilarious,” Jake replied simply. “You basically have an online army now. If someone does find it and tries anything, you’re probably safe.”

Sunghoon peeked through his fingers, his voice muffled. “This isn’t helping.”

Sunoo clapped him on the back. “You’ll survive. Probably. But hey, if the sketchpad shows up and someone really saw everything...well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Sunghoon dragged himself to his next class, trying to focus on the lecture. But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept drifting back to his missing sketchpad—and the panic that had taken root in his chest. It felt like a part of him was missing, and no amount of taking notes or doodling in the margins of his textbook could fill the void.

By the time his break rolled around, Sunghoon was exhausted from pretending everything was fine. He found himself standing by the vending machines in the corner of the campus, staring at the rows of brightly colored cans and bottles without really seeing them. His frustration bubbled to the surface, and he groaned aloud, talking to himself in a low mutter.

“How could I be so careless? Why did I leave it behind? It’s basically my life in there— how am I supposed to survive without it? ” His voice rose slightly as he stepped closer to the machine, glaring at the row of drinks as if they might offer answers. “Ugh. Stupid sketchpad. Stupid vending machine.”

In a burst of frustration, Sunghoon kicked the machine—not hard, but enough to rattle it. To his surprise, a can clattered into the dispenser slot, startling him out of his thoughts. He stared at it blankly for a moment, unsure whether to feel triumphant or guilty about his reaction.

Then a voice came from behind him. “Are you okay?”

Sunghoon jumped, spinning around to see Heeseung standing a few steps away, his expression a mix of mild amusement and curiosity. Sunghoon froze, words completely abandoning him as he stared at Heeseung—the Heeseung, who he had spent hours sketching and had lost said sketches.

“I, uh...yeah. Fine,” Sunghoon stammered, fumbling for an answer as his ears began to burn. 

“Totally fine.”

Heeseung nodded, glancing at the vending machine and then back at Sunghoon with an almost imperceptible smirk. “Good to know. For a second there, I thought you were picking a fight with it.”

Sunghoon let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nope. Just.. .motivating it.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he gestured toward the can sitting in the dispenser slot. “Looks like it worked.”

Sunghoon blinked, then quickly grabbed the drink, holding it awkwardly in his hands. “Yeah. Uh , lucky shot.”

“Sure,” Heeseung replied casually, stepping up to the machine and scanning the options. 

Sunghoon stood frozen in place, unsure whether to leave or stay—and more importantly, how to act like a normal person in front of Heeseung.

As Heeseung punched in his selection and leaned down to retrieve his drink, Sunghoon tried desperately not to think about the sketches. 

Don’t say anything. Don’t do anything weird. Just act normal.

But Sunghoon didn’t realize how loud his thoughts were until Heeseung glanced at him again, holding his drink and tilting his head slightly. “You sure you’re okay?”

Sunghoon nodded hurriedly, forcing a smile. “Absolutely! Never better.”

Heeseung didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let it go, giving Sunghoon a small wave before walking away. 

As soon as he was out of sight, Sunghoon groaned again, leaning his forehead against the vending machine. 

“I am so not okay .”

Later that day, Sunghoon found himself slumped in the corner of a campus café, recounting the entire vending machine ordeal to Sunoo and Jake. The more he talked, the more animated Sunoo became, until he finally burst out laughing—a loud, high-pitched cackle that made heads turn.

“You kicked a vending machine,” Sunoo gasped between fits of laughter, clutching his stomach. “And Heeseung—of all people—just casually walks up like, ‘Hey, you good?’ Oh my god, Sunghoon, this is too much.” He wiped at the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, his voice rising as another wave of laughter overtook him. “I’m gonna die. You’re—no, this is—chef’s kiss perfection.”

Jake, meanwhile, had been taking a sip of his drink when Sunghoon described how he awkwardly grabbed the can and tried to play it cool. The mental image was too much; Jake choked on his sip, coughing violently as he struggled to breathe.

“Jake!” Sunghoon yelped, half-concerned and half-mortified. “Don’t die! I already humiliated myself once today, don’t make it worse.”

Jake waved a hand, still coughing but visibly grinning through it. “I’m— cough —I’m fine. Just—pfft—oh man. You really kicked it? And then said it was...what, motivating it?” He dissolved into laughter again, nearly toppling off his chair.

Sunghoon dropped his head onto the table with a groan, his ears burning as Sunoo continued to laugh like a maniac. “This isn’t funny,” he muttered, though his words were muffled against the surface.

“Are you kidding?” Sunoo shot back, barely able to contain himself. “This is comedy gold. I mean, first the sketchpad, now this? You’re living a sitcom, Hoon.”

Jake finally calmed down enough to add, “Honestly, I wish I could’ve seen Heeseung’s face when you said you were, what, motivating the vending machine? I bet he thinks you’re some kind of vending machine whisperer or something.”

Sunghoon groaned louder, covering his face with both hands. “I’m never showing my face on campus again.”

Sunoo leaned over, patting him on the back, though his grin betrayed his lack of sympathy. “Oh, come on. At least you didn’t, like, confess your love to him by accident or something. Yet.”

“Yet?” Sunghoon repeated, glaring at him.

Jake snorted. “Hey, we’re just saying, if things keep escalating at this rate, who knows? Next time, maybe you’ll accidentally sing him a love ballad in the middle of class.”

Sunghoon groaned again, sinking further into his chair as his two friends cackled like they’d discovered the funniest thing in the universe. If humiliation was a currency, Sunghoon was sure he’d be a billionaire by now.

With another embarrassed sigh, he puts his head in his hands, counting to 100 before pouncing on his friends out of sheer humiliation. 

Society be damned. 

Heeseung scrolled absentmindedly through his feed, the gentle glow of his phone illuminating the quiet room. His day had been...eventful, to say the least. Finding that sketchpad had left a mark on him—so much talent, so much detail. It had stirred something in him, though he couldn’t quite put it into words yet. For now, he let the thoughts sit in the back of his mind as he focused on something familiar.

His thumb stopped on a new post from one of his favorite anonymous art accounts, InkSpillHoon. He had discovered the account months ago, purely by chance. What had started as casual scrolling had turned into quiet admiration—this artist had a way of making the ordinary feel extraordinary.

Heeseung didn’t know who they were, but there was a warmth in the way they shared their work. The art always seemed to carry an emotional weight, like you weren’t just looking at a drawing, but at a moment frozen in time. It was raw and personal, yet it resonated with so many. Including him.

He clicked on the post, his eyes scanning the caption.

@InkSpillHoon

“So here’s something quick I scribbled down on scratch paper. I walked through the park today—the grass was wild and messy, and this little bug wouldn’t stop climbing on my shoe. I don’t know why, but it made me pause. I tried to capture that feeling. What do you guys think?”

The image was simple—messy strokes on a torn piece of paper, but somehow it told a story. The grass seemed to sway under an imaginary breeze, and the tiny insect seemed alive, like it was just about to crawl off the page. Even without polish, the energy was there. It amazed Heeseung every time—how InkSpillHoon could take something so small and mundane and make it feel...special.

Without hesitation, Heeseung typed out a comment.

@DrawnToHee

“This is so good. You’ve got such a way with capturing these little moments—it feels like you press pause on the world when you draw. Love how alive this feels!”

Heeseung smiled to himself as he hit send, resting his phone on his chest. He didn’t know why, but interacting with this account always left him feeling lighter. He could scroll through their posts for hours, drawing inspiration not just from the art itself, but from the way they saw the world. It made him want to create more. To be better.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting his thoughts wander. “I wonder who you are,” he murmured to himself. Maybe one day, I’ll find out.

His phone buzzed faintly, and he glanced at it again, opening the notification tab to see the reply.

@InkSpillHoon:

“Oh really? Glad you like it. Honestly, the way you described the movement in the grass—I’m betting you’re an artist too. I can tell from the details in your comments. If you ever feel like sharing your work, I’d love to see it!”

Heeseung paused, his thumb hovering over the phone screen as he re-read the reply. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. InkSpillHoon was always so encouraging—it was part of why Heeseung enjoyed interacting with the account. Still, something about the casual compliment made his heart race a little more than usual.

His eyes flicked back to the post, reading the rest of the message.

@InkSpillHoon:

“Sorry it’s just a quick one on scratch paper this time. My usual sketchpad went missing recently, so I’m working with whatever I can find. Fingers crossed I get it back soon!”

Heeseung froze, his mind instantly snapping back to the sketchpad sitting in his own backpack—the one he had found earlier that day. His stomach churned as he processed the words. Missing sketchpad.

“Wait,” Heeseung muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing as he stared at the screen. Is this...a coincidence?

His thoughts raced, connecting the dots. The missing sketchpad. The intricate drawings. The timing. There was no way this anonymous account—InkSpillHoon—belonged to the same person who had sketched him so delicately in that notebook...right? But the possibility gnawed at him. The sheer talent displayed in InkSpillHoon’s posts matched the artistry he had seen in the sketchpad. Could it really be them?

The thought felt too strange to ignore. Heeseung stood abruptly, grabbing the sketchpad from his backpack as his heart thudded against his ribs. He opened it again, flipping past the first few pages. The drawings at the start were random enough—objects, scenery, playful experiments with style. They were impressive, sure, but familiar in the way good art often was.

But as Heeseung flipped further, his hands started to tremble. He paused on one sketch—a tree, drawn with twisting branches that seemed almost alive. Have I seen this before? he wondered, his mind searching for answers. Then another drawing caught his eye—a steaming cup of coffee rendered with expert shading, so vivid it seemed to emanate warmth.

Recognition hit him like a wave. He grabbed his phone, opened InkSpillHoon’s account, and scrolled down furiously. The posts were all there—every drawing matching the pages in the sketchpad. The coffee. The tree. Even the abstract piece featuring a swirl of colors and textures that had made him comment “mesmerizing” weeks ago.

He nearly dropped the sketchpad as his phone buzzed with a notification. 

InkSpillHoon—had replied.

@InkSpillHoon:

“Yeah, unfortunately lost it today. It’s a bummer since all my recent work was in there, but I’m hoping it turns up! Fingers crossed.”

Heeseung stared at the screen, his emotions swirling into a chaotic storm. The person he had been following all along, the artist he had admired from afar, was possibly someone who liked him. Or maybe even more than liked him. And now he didn’t know what to feel—excitement? Confusion? Panic?

His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he typed out another reply, erasing it, then typing again.

@ArtisticHee:

“Wait...it’s such a coincidence. I think I might’ve found something that belongs to you...but I’m not totally sure. Can you describe the sketchpad? Like what’s inside it?”

He hesitated before hitting send, the realization sinking deeper into his chest. This was too much. But he had to know. He had to see where this led.

Heeseung stared at his message after sending it, his heart thumping like it was trying to escape his chest. This was it. The moment of truth. His fingers tapped anxiously on the edge of the sketchpad as he waited for a response, his mind already spinning with what-ifs.

What if it really was theirs? What if the person he’d been following all along...had been watching him, sketching him, immortalizing him in pencil strokes that now sat in his hands? It was almost too much to process.

His phone buzzed, the notification lighting up his screen. He took a deep breath and opened the message.

@InkSpillHoon:

“Yeah, it’s a brown one with a spring binding. There’s a small crumple on the side—long story—and most of the pages are already used up. I’ve had it for a while, so it’s kind of my creative lifeline. Why? Did you find something?”

Heeseung felt his stomach flip. His hands tightened around the sketchpad as he glanced down at the slightly crumpled corner of the cover and the nearly filled pages inside. Oh no. This was it. Bingo.

He shut the sketchpad quickly, as though it might somehow leap out of his hands and scream the truth for him. His mind whirled with emotions he couldn’t name—shock, panic, and something dangerously close to nervous excitement.

Of all the possible scenarios, this was the one he hadn’t been prepared for. The anonymous artist he admired, the person whose work had inspired him countless times, was not just anyone. They were someone who had drawn him—over and over again. Someone who, based on those sketches, might have had feelings for him.

And now, Heeseung didn’t know what to feel about it.

@ArtisticHee:

“Oh haha, it might just be a coincidence. Sorry for asking!”

Heeseung hit send, staring at the screen as the message went through. He let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. His excuse felt flimsy even to himself, but what else could he say? He wasn’t ready to reveal that he might actually know who this mysterious artist was—or worse, that he might be holding the missing sketchpad in his hands.

But now, a new problem had presented itself. He had to figure out who InkSpillHoon was. The idea that someone he saw in passing—or worse, someone he interacted with—might be the very person whose art he admired and who had apparently spent hours sketching him...it was too much to ignore.

Heeseung opened the sketchpad again, flipping through the pages with fresh determination. He studied the sketches, searching for anything that might hint at the artist’s identity. Most of the first half was filled with random objects and scenery: coffee cups, old books, a park bench that looked oddly familiar. But none of it gave away a name or a face.

He closed the sketchpad with a frustrated sigh, his thoughts spinning. “Okay,” he muttered to himself, “if they’re in my art appreciation class, I can figure this out. Maybe they’ve left some other clue.”

The realization made his stomach twist. The next art appreciation class was still two weeks away, but the thought of being in that room, surrounded by his classmates, and trying to figure out which of them was the person behind the account...it was daunting. More than that, it was nerve-wracking. What am I even going to do if I find out it’s them? he thought.

And yet, the nervous energy was paired with something else—a faint thrill of anticipation. If this InkSpillHoon really was someone in his class, then Heeseung wasn’t just looking forward to solving the mystery. He was looking forward to seeing them, maybe even talking to them in person for the first time. The thought made his heart race, though he quickly pushed it aside.

“First step,” he muttered, tapping his phone against the edge of his desk, “find out who it is. Then I’ll figure out the rest.

The library hummed with hushed activity, the occasional rustle of pages and soft whispers filling the air. Heeseung sat at a corner table with Jungwon and Jay, their heads bent close as they whispered intensely. His sketchpad rested on the table, its cover firmly closed, though it felt like it was practically pulsing with secrets.

“So let me get this straight,” Jay said, his tone just above a whisper. “You’re telling us that the sketchpad you found matches InkSpillHoon’s account exactly. And they’ve been sketching...you. A lot.” He leaned closer, raising an eyebrow. “And you haven’t done anything about it?”

Heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What am I supposed to do? Go up to every single person in my art appreciation class and say, ‘Hey, by the way, did you lose a sketchpad filled with drawings of me?’ That’s insane.”

Jungwon smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Honestly, though? I’d pay to see you do that.”

Heeseung shot him a withering look. “Not helping.”

“Well, I’m just saying,” Jay whispered harshly, gesturing animatedly, “this is kind of huge! Someone’s out there, obsessively drawing you, and all you’ve done is follow them on social media. How is this not progressing faster?”

Before Heeseung could respond, a sudden voice broke the relative quiet of the library.

“Who has a crush on Heeseung?!” Niki blurted as he bounded up to their table, his grin wide and mischievous. Several heads turned their way, and Jungwon immediately reached over to pull Niki into the chair next to him.

“Shush!” Jungwon hissed, glaring at him. “We’re in a library, you idiot.”

Niki ducked his head, though the impish grin didn’t leave his face. “What? It’s not my fault you guys are being all sneaky and whispering over here. What’s the tea? Who’s got a crush on Heeseung?”

Jay groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible.”

Heeseung, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled. “Niki, keep your voice down.”

Niki ignored them, leaning forward with wide, sparkling eyes. “Wait, wait. Is it about that sketchpad you found? The one you won’t shut up about? Are we talking full-on secret admirer vibes?”

Jay raised his hands in exasperation. “You see what I’m dealing with?”

Jungwon snickered quietly. “Well, technically, Niki isn’t wrong.”

Heeseung sighed, his voice low but urgent. “Look, it’s not just a few sketches, okay? It’s—” He lowered his voice further. “It’s like twenty pages. Of me. In different poses. And now I know it’s connected to InkSpillHoon, but I have no idea who they are.”

Niki’s eyes widened, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from shouting again. “Twenty pages?” he whispered dramatically. “That’s intense. You have to find out who it is!”

“Obviously,” Heeseung said, his words clipped with frustration. “But the only clue I have is that they’re probably someone in my art appreciation class. And the next class isn’t for two weeks.”

Jay threw up his hands again. “Two weeks?! What are you going to do in the meantime, just...wait? Hee, come on. You’ve got to do something. This isn’t the kind of thing you just sit on.”

“Do something like what?” Heeseung asked, a little too loudly. Jungwon and Jay both shushed him in unison, which earned them an eye-roll. “Seriously, though. What am I supposed to do? I can’t just confront people randomly.”

Niki grinned, leaning closer. “You could totally set a trap. Like, mention the sketchpad in class and see who reacts. You know, go full detective mode.”

Jungwon snorted. “That’s so dumb, it just might work.”

Heeseung shook his head, his frustration mounting. “I can’t just randomly accuse people! Besides, what if they don’t say anything? What if they’re too embarrassed, or—” He stopped himself, his gaze falling to the closed sketchpad again. The thought that someone had poured so much effort and emotion into capturing him on paper made his chest tighten, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Look,” Jay said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin. “Two weeks is a long time, sure. But it’s also enough time to piece this together. In the meantime...” He glanced at Niki, who was already scribbling something in the margin of his notebook. “Let’s keep the noise level down so we don’t get kicked out.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung muttered, staring at the sketchpad and feeling the weight of the mystery all over again. “Keep it down, Niki.”

“Hey, I’m a beacon of discretion,” Niki whispered with mock seriousness, smirking as the others rolled their eyes.

As they settled back into their hushed discussion, Heeseung couldn’t shake the feeling of nervous anticipation. Whoever InkSpillHoon was, they weren’t just an anonymous artist anymore. They were someone close. And soon, Heeseung knew, he’d find out exactly who.

Sunghoon sneezed loudly, snapping Jake out of his mid-sentence rant. Jake immediately smirked, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look. “Someone’s talking about you,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

“Shush,” Sunghoon shot back, rubbing his nose as he grabbed a tissue. “Maybe it’s just the dust or something.”

Jake shrugged, still grinning. “Or maybe someone’s gossiping about how you’re secretly a vending machine whisperer.”

“Don’t even start,” Sunghoon muttered, shooting Jake a halfhearted glare as he leaned against the edge of the couch.

Jake chuckled before resuming the topic he had been excitedly talking about earlier. “Anyway, about the plant sketch I’m working on—it’s coming along. Like, I don’t want to jinx it, but I think it’s actually looking pretty decent now. Your advice about not overthinking it really helped. Just letting the lines be messy and...I don’t know, natural. It actually looks like a plant this time, not some alien spaghetti.”

Sunghoon smiled faintly, though his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. “See? Told you it’d work. Just focus on the vibe, not the exact details.”

Jake nodded, picking up a pencil and sketchpad from the table in front of him. “Yeah, vibe-wise, it’s a masterpiece in progress. You’re like an artsy therapist, Sunghoon.”

Their light conversation was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open. Sunoo walked in, his energy filling the room as he tossed his bag onto the nearest chair. “Okay, artsy therapist, I have a bone to pick with you,” he said, pointing dramatically at Sunghoon. “You know, you can’t count on staying anonymous forever. What if your sketches start speaking louder than your silence?”

Sunghoon blinked, caught off guard. “What are you talking about now?”

Sunoo flopped onto the couch beside him, folding his arms. “I’m talking about how someone might figure you out eventually. You’re good, Sunghoon, and people notice when someone’s good—even if you try to hide.”

Jake perked up, laughing as he rested his chin on his hand. “You mean, like, when he accidentally reveals something, and then poof—he’s outed as the artsy superhero?”

Sunghoon groaned, covering his face with both hands. “It was one time. And it’s not like I meant to. I just clicked the wrong account by accident.”

Sunoo smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Okay, fine. Just...be careful, metaphorically speaking. You never know when a ripple might turn into a wave.”

Sunghoon frowned, shaking his head. “Look, I just want to find my sketchpad, okay? That’s all I care about right now.”

Jake paused, tapping his pencil against the page thoughtfully. “What if it’s, like, gone forever?” His tone was light, but the question made the air feel heavier.

Sunghoon frowned, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Then I’d be...sad,” he admitted quietly. “I mean, it’s not just a sketchpad. It’s everything. My ideas, my progress... It’s like losing a part of me.”

For a moment, the room fell silent, Jake and Sunoo exchanging a glance. Then Sunoo nudged Sunghoon gently on the arm. “Hey, you’ll find it,” he said, his voice softer this time. “And if not, you’ve got us. We’ll help you start fresh, okay?”

Jake nodded, holding up his sketchpad. “Yeah. We’ll even vibe-check your new sketches.”

Sunghoon let out a small laugh despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Thanks, guys. I guess...I just need to keep hoping it’ll show up.”

It was no secret. Both Jake and Sunoo were well aware of his...infatuation. They weren’t always subtle about it, either—the teasing, the knowing looks, the occasional exaggerated sighs when Sunghoon’s thoughts wandered too far into the realm of a certain someone. But of course, not everything about the situation was fun and games.

Jake groaned loudly, slumping into the armchair like the weight of the world had suddenly decided to rest on his shoulders. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, glaring at his phone as though the notification on the screen had personally offended him.

“What now?” Sunoo asked, peeking over from where he was seated on the floor, idly doodling on the edge of a notebook.

“My art teacher,” Jake grumbled. “I have to draw a building. A building, Sunoo. Do I look like someone who can draw straight lines? I mean, come on, I’m more of a spaghetti sketch kind of guy!”

Sunoo laughed, leaning back against the couch with an amused grin. “Okay, drama queen. Relax. Buildings aren’t that bad. They’re just...a bunch of rectangles stacked on top of each other.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Jake shot back, though the corner of his mouth twitched up. “Anyway, I’m doomed.”

Sunoo rolled his eyes, standing up and grabbing his backpack. “Fine, fine. I’ll show you a few of my sketches from last semester. You can use them for inspiration—or just straight-up copy my vibe. But if you do copy them, please don’t make them look like abstract art.”

Jake’s eyes lit up despite himself, trailing after Sunoo as they headed toward the desk. “Oh, now we’re talking. You’re a lifesaver.”

Sunghoon, meanwhile, stayed where he was, his gaze fixed on the corner of the room even though his thoughts were miles away. His friends’ chatter faded into the background as his mind turned inward, circling the same familiar concerns.

The sketchpad. The missing pages. And more importantly, the mystery of who had it.

He sighed, leaning back against the armrest of the couch and closing his eyes briefly. Ever since it had disappeared, his thoughts had felt like scattered pieces of a puzzle he couldn’t quite put together. Knowing how much of himself he had poured into those pages—every moment, every feeling, every fleeting thought—made its absence feel all the heavier. And the fact that someone else might be flipping through them right now…

He opened his eyes, staring at the empty sketchpad resting on the coffee table. He needed to figure out what happened. He needed to find it. And—though he wasn’t sure if he could admit it even to himself—he needed to know who had it.

A loud laugh from Jake snapped him back to reality. Sunghoon shook his head lightly, trying to ground himself again in the present moment. But as Sunoo and Jake continued flipping through sketches and talking animatedly, Sunghoon couldn’t help but retreat into his thoughts once more.

The library was quiet, the soothing rustle of pages and faint hum of the air conditioning creating a cocoon of focus. Sunghoon wandered through the aisles, his notebook tucked under his arm as his eyes scanned the shelves. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for—maybe something to take his mind off the missing sketchpad, something to distract from the nagging emptiness it left behind.

On the other side of the library, Heeseung moved with equal restlessness. The sketchpad was in his backpack, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should. He had been debating all day whether to leave it at Lost and Found, but every time he tried to make the decision, something held him back. The sketches inside—the ones of him—they were so personal. Whoever had drawn them clearly saw something in him he hadn’t seen in himself, and it left him feeling...conflicted.

Their paths converged in the art section, though neither of them realized it at first. Sunghoon paused at a shelf, tilting his head as he pulled out a book on perspective drawing. Heeseung stopped a few feet away, browsing through a stack of sketchbooks displayed on a nearby table. 

Sunghoon felt the faint shift of air as Heeseung moved closer, his focus on the book wavering slightly as he registered someone nearby. His grip on the notebook tightened reflexively, a strange prickling at the back of his neck telling him to keep his head down. He glanced sideways, catching the faint outline of Heeseung’s figure in his peripheral vision, but quickly turned his attention back to the shelf.

His gaze lingered on the rough sketches inside, his thoughts wandering to InkSpillHoon. The mystery of their identity pressed at the edges of his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to address it here. 

As Sunghoon placed the book back on the shelf, he adjusted his grip on the notebook and turned toward the table to find something lighter—maybe an instructional book on dynamic poses. Heeseung looked up from the sketchbook just as Sunghoon glanced his way, their gazes colliding for a brief moment.

“Oh,” Heeseung said softly, breaking the silence. “Sorry, am I in your way?”

Sunghoon blinked, his heart skipping, but he quickly shook his head. “No, no. You’re good.” His voice felt awkward in his own ears, but he managed to keep his composure as he stepped past Heeseung, his movements stiff but deliberate.

Heeseung nodded, a polite smile tugging at his lips. He watched Sunghoon walk away, his brow furrowing slightly as a faint sense of familiarity stirred in his chest. But just as quickly as the moment had come, it passed. Heeseung shook his head again, focusing on the sketchbook as if it would distract him.

A tiny spark of giddiness flickered in his chest when he thought about how close Heeseung had been, the faint smile on his face lingering in his mind. He shook his head quickly, grounding himself before his thoughts could spiral. Relax, he told himself. You don’t even know if it means anything. Remember what Sunoo said—don’t let people notice too much. Stay low-key.

He exhaled quietly, retreating into the safety of routine. Sliding into a quiet corner near the end of the aisle, Sunghoon opened his new notebook and stared at the blank page for a moment. It wasn’t the same, not without his sketchpad—the pages didn’t carry the same weight or history. But it would have to do.

He glanced up at the shelves in front of him, letting his eyes wander over the rows of books. Their neat alignment and the varying textures of their spines caught his attention. Slowly, he began to sketch, his pencil creating fluid lines that mirrored the organized chaos of the library. The world around him faded as he immersed himself in the comfort of drawing again.

“Wow.”

The soft voice startled him, and Sunghoon glanced up quickly to see Heeseung standing just a few steps away, his eyes fixed on the notebook in Sunghoon’s hands.

“That’s really good,” Heeseung continued, his tone genuinely curious. He hesitated for a moment, then gestured lightly toward the notebook. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just...noticed. You’re sketching the library shelves?”

Sunghoon blinked, his grip tightening on the pencil. “Uh, yeah,” he said awkwardly, flipping the notebook slightly closed as though to shield it. “Just something simple.”

Heeseung stepped a little closer, his gaze still drawn to the notebook. “Simple, but impressive. The lines are so clean, and the composition already looks great.” He gave a small smile. “You’re really talented.”

Sunghoon felt his ears heat up, the compliment catching him off guard. “Oh, thank you,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended.

There was a brief pause, and then Heeseung tilted his head slightly. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever caught your name before. What’s it?”

Sunghoon froze for a second, his mind scrambling. He had interacted with Heeseung in passing before—small acknowledgments here and there—but this was the first time they were actually talking. And now Heeseung wanted to know his name.

“Sunghoon,” he replied, his voice steadier this time. “Park Sunghoon.” He shifted slightly, holding the notebook closer to his chest. “And you’re... Heeseung , right?”

Heeseung’s eyes widened slightly in surprise before he nodded, his smile growing warmer. “Yeah. Lee Heeseung.” He paused for a moment, studying Sunghoon as though trying to place him. “Funny, I feel like I’ve seen you around before...but I don’t think we’ve actually talked.”

Sunghoon shrugged lightly, trying to brush off the faint wave of nerves. “Probably. The campus isn’t exactly huge, and most people stick to the same spots.” He hesitated before adding, “I guess I usually keep to myself.”

Heeseung tilted his head, a hint of curiosity glinting in his eyes. “Same, honestly. Though I’ve been spending more time in the library lately. It’s quieter here—and something about the atmosphere makes sketching feel easier.”

Sunghoon’s grip on his notebook loosened slightly, his interest piqued. “You sketch?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung said with a small laugh. “Not as often as I’d like, though. I usually end up staring at an empty page for too long, wondering if anything I draw will look remotely decent.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking up slightly. “Art block?”

“Exactly,” Heeseung replied, nodding in agreement. “It’s frustrating, but I guess it’s part of the process. What about you? You seem pretty focused—do you draw often?”

Sunghoon hesitated for a moment, but the genuine curiosity in Heeseung’s tone coaxed him into honesty. “Pretty much all the time. It’s kind of my go-to when I need to think—or stop thinking, if that makes sense.”

Heeseung chuckled softly, his smile widening. “It does. Sketching kind of feels like hitting pause on everything else, right? That’s why I love it, even if I’m not as consistent.”

Sunghoon nodded, relaxing slightly as he leaned against the nearby shelf. “Exactly.”

Their conversation shifted naturally, flowing with a quiet ease. As they talked, they began to uncover more commonalities—Heeseung shared how he liked walking through the campus gardens for inspiration, and Sunghoon mentioned how nature often influenced his sketches. They both admitted to keeping a stockpile of pens in case they ran out mid-sketch, and they even discovered they’d both attended the same art exhibit a few months back, though neither had noticed the other at the time.

“Kind of funny how we’ve probably crossed paths a hundred times,” Heeseung remarked, leaning slightly against the edge of the table. “But this is the first time we’re actually talking.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon said quietly, his pencil spinning between his fingers. He realized, somewhat unexpectedly, that talking to Heeseung felt...comfortable. Like a puzzle piece sliding neatly into place.

Heeseung glanced at the sketch in Sunghoon’s notebook again, his admiration shining through. “I really like your lines,” he said softly. “They’re clean, but there’s a looseness to them—it feels alive, if that makes sense.”

Sunghoon flushed slightly at the compliment, his voice dipping shyly. “Oh, thank you.”

Heeseung smiled warmly at the response, his gaze lingering on Sunghoon for a moment longer before straightening. “Well, I should let you get back to it. It was nice meeting you, Sunghoon.”

“You too,” Sunghoon replied, watching as Heeseung turned and walked away. There was something in the way Heeseung glanced back briefly, as though he was debating whether to say more, but instead, he disappeared around the corner.

As Sunghoon stared at the faint lines on the page, he couldn’t help but replay the conversation in his mind. And somewhere down the aisle, Heeseung was doing the same, his curiosity about Sunghoon growing with every passing second.

Later, Heeseung discovered that the sketchbook had never made its way to the Lost and Found. The realization settled heavily in his chest, leaving him with more questions than answers. Whoever owned it hadn’t come forward yet, and the mystery lingered like a shadow in his thoughts, refusing to be ignored.

That night, with the sketchbook laid open on his desk, Heeseung found himself poring over the pages once again. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the lamp above, casting a soft glow over the intricate sketches. His fingers traced the edges of the drawings carefully, as though they might reveal the secrets of their creator.

The layers in each sketch fascinated him—the way a single line would curve just so, how the shading felt deliberate yet effortless, and how every tiny detail seemed to breathe life into the images. Heeseung studied them intently, noting the way the pencil strokes changed with each page, as though capturing the shifting emotions of the artist. There was something deeply personal in the way they drew—the kind of honesty that made him feel like he was peering into someone’s unguarded thoughts.

It wasn’t just art; it was a story told in graphite and paper, a glimpse into a world Heeseung couldn’t quite piece together. And though he couldn’t explain why, the more he studied the sketches, the more compelled he felt to uncover the person behind them. What had started as simple curiosity had now grown into something more—a puzzle he was determined to solve.

Today was art appreciation day, and the classroom was buzzing with activity. Students milled around in clusters, their chatter filling the air like a low hum. Heeseung, true to his style, hadn’t asked anyone one by one about the sketchpad—it wasn’t exactly his fashion to interrogate classmates on a whim. Instead, he wandered, letting the sea of people shift around him as his thoughts meandered.

Heeseung’s gaze flicked across the room until it landed on Sunghoon, standing by the far corner, his notebook open but angled away, as though shielding its contents. The sight stopped Heeseung in his tracks, and just like that, the sketchpad mystery evaporated from his mind. His mission was forgotten entirely.

With a faint smile, Heeseung made his way over, his steps quick but light. “Hey, Sunghoon,” he greeted, his voice warm and casual. “How have you been since the library?”

Sunghoon blinked, startled but clearly recognizing Heeseung. “Oh, uh, I’ve been okay,” he replied softly, his words carrying that same shy undertone Heeseung had noticed before.

Heeseung leaned against the edge of the table beside Sunghoon’s, his eyes flicking briefly to the notebook before meeting Sunghoon’s gaze again. “So,” Heeseung began, a playful curiosity in his tone, “what happened to the shelves sketch you were working on back then? Did you finish it?”

Sunghoon hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. It’s not that great, though,” he said quietly, his hand hovering over the notebook as though debating whether to show it.

“Come on,” Heeseung said with an encouraging smile. “Let me see. You’re probably being too modest.”

After a moment of hesitation, Sunghoon turned the notebook slightly, revealing the finished sketch. The library shelves were captured in intricate detail, with the spines of the books outlined in delicate but deliberate strokes. The shading made the rows feel alive, as though the books themselves carried stories far beyond their covers.

Heeseung’s eyes widened, his breath catching slightly. “Wow,” he said, the admiration in his voice unmistakable. “You’re kidding, right? This is incredible. The depth, the perspective—you even captured the texture of the book spines. This feels like something out of a professional art book.”

Sunghoon ducked his head slightly, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the page. “It’s just shelves,” he murmured, though the faint flush of pride in his cheeks betrayed his modesty.

“It’s not just shelves,” Heeseung countered, still studying the sketch with awe. “You made them feel...warm, almost. Like a quiet moment frozen in time. You’re really talented.”

Sunghoon didn’t know how to respond, so he simply mumbled a soft “thank you,” his voice barely audible.

Their easy back-and-forth was interrupted by the sharp click of heels against the linoleum floor. The art appreciation teacher strode into the room with her usual dramatic flair: oversized glasses perched precariously on her nose, a perfectly coordinated scarf draped across her shoulders, and stiletto heels that clicked with every step. Her perpetually pouty expression made it look like she’d just bitten into a lemon, and her movements commanded attention like she was the star of her own personal runway show.

Heeseung leaned slightly toward Sunghoon, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What do you think she does with the heels? Just stomps around at home to make sure they click loud enough?”

Sunghoon’s eyes widened slightly in surprise at the sudden humor, but he stifled a laugh as he whispered back, “Nah, she probably practices her pout in the mirror while posing with them. Like an art form.”

Heeseung grinned, his eyes twinkling. “It’s probably her greatest masterpiece.”

Sunghoon ducked his head slightly, the shy smile returning, but this time paired with the faintest laugh. Heeseung felt a little victorious—it was the kind of chemistry he hadn’t realized he’d been craving.

As the bell rang and students began packing their things, Heeseung hesitated for a moment before glancing at Sunghoon again. “Hey,” he started, his tone casual but with an undertone of nervousness, “are you free after this? Want to grab something to eat?”

Sunghoon froze, the question catching him completely off guard. His lips parted slightly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “What? Me?”

Heeseung chuckled lightly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, you. I mean, if you’re free.”

“Oh, uhm...” Sunghoon trailed off, his eyes darting briefly toward the group of friends near the doorway. “Sure. But, uh, can I bring a friend? If that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Heeseung said without missing a beat. He motioned toward the group by the doorway. “I’ll probably bring one too, if that’s cool with you.”

“Yeah, cool,” Sunghoon replied, nodding slowly. His shy smile returned as he adjusted the strap of his bag. “I’ll, uh, see you after then?”

Heeseung smiled warmly, his curiosity about Sunghoon deepening. “See you then.”

As they parted ways, Heeseung felt a spark of anticipation that made his steps lighter, while Sunghoon tried to steady the quiet excitement bubbling in his chest.

Sunghoon burst into the dorm, his bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder and his mind already racing. He had barely stepped through the door when Sunoo sprang up from his spot on the couch, hands thrown dramatically in the air.

“Backtrack!” Sunoo exclaimed, his tone verging on theatrical. “What? Eat with who? And just within thirty minutes? Wait—” He pressed a hand to his chest as if the news had physically impacted him. “I am not ready to send you off like this. I need my tux, my flowers, maybe a heartfelt speech...”

“Oh my god, Sunoo, stop!” Sunghoon groaned, shoving his bag toward him with enough force to make Sunoo stumble backward onto the couch. “What do I wear? Come on, help me! If you’re not coming, then—then I’ll just grab that hideous jacket you love so much and throw it off the nearest bridge! You know, the one I still hate the color of!”

“Whoa, whoa—easy!” Sunoo protested, clutching the bag as though his life depended on it. “Don’t go committing jacket atrocities just because you’re panicking. Okay, fine, let me think. First of all, you’re asking the wrong person—I’d need a full hour just to make you look date-ready. Wait— why am I not coming? Who said I’m not coming?”

“You didn’t!” Sunghoon snapped, pacing back and forth like he was in imminent danger. “You didn’t say anything! Ugh. What am I even doing? This is a disaster.”

Jake strolled in mid-chaos, stopping just short of bumping into Sunghoon’s frantic pacing. “What’s going on here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he took in Sunoo sprawled on the couch clutching a bag and Sunghoon looking like he might combust.

“Sunghoon’s got plans,” Sunoo said, his words laced with faux seriousness. “Big plans. But apparently, he’s panicking because he doesn’t trust me to fix this catastrophe of an outfit situation.”

“It’s not a catastrophe!” Sunghoon retorted. “I just—I don’t want to look ridiculous, okay? I need something decent. And I’m not wearing that jacket.”

Jake smirked, folding his arms. “Dude, it’s just a date.”

Sunghoon stopped mid-pace, turning sharply to face him. “A what?! No—it’s not a date! It’s—it’s just eating! Like, dinner! It’s nothing!”

“Dinner. Food. Hanging out. Yeah, that’s a date,” Jake said with a shrug. “You’re overthinking it.”

“Jake, you don’t get it!” Sunghoon groaned, throwing his hands up. “This isn’t just about food—this is about surviving! What if I wear the wrong thing? What if I say the wrong thing? What if—”

“Okay, wow, dramatic much?” Jake cut in, raising both hands in mock surrender. “Listen, Sunoo can sort you out with clothes—he lives for this kind of moment. And you’ll survive. Probably.”

“I live for this kind of moment?” Sunoo echoed, narrowing his eyes at Jake. “Excuse me, I thrive in this kind of moment. But fine, Hoon, let’s get you sorted. I will reluctantly spare your jacket from its watery grave—but only if you let me fix this properly.”

As he stood up, Sunoo tilted his head, giving Sunghoon a once-over with exaggerated judgment. “You know, for an art student, it’s kind of ironic you can’t even pick decent fashion clothes.”

Jake snorted from his spot by the wall, clearly entertained. “Oh, Sunoo’s got a point though. You can make amazing sketches, but when it comes to clothes, you’re kind of hopeless.”

Sunghoon shot both of them a glare, his patience finally snapping. “Oh, shut up,” he muttered, tugging at his bag strap in frustration.

The streetlights flickered softly against the evening sky as Heeseung walked beside Niki, Jay, and Jungwon. The quiet hum of distant traffic mixed with the chatter of passersby, creating a backdrop of city life that felt oddly comforting. The ramen house near the park was just a few blocks away, and Heeseung couldn’t help but feel a little nervous as they made their way toward it.

“So,” Jungwon began, a teasing lilt in his voice as he glanced sideways at Heeseung. “What happened to your whole mission of finding out who drew you in that sketchpad?”

Heeseung rolled his eyes, adjusting the strap of his backpack. “Shush. Isn’t this what you guys wanted? You know, making friends and stuff. Be grateful I’m putting in the effort.”

“Effort?” Niki snorted, his grin mischievous. “All I see is you conveniently forgetting your big mystery in exchange for dinner. Not that I’m complaining.”

Jay smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, but don’t let Jungwon fool you into thinking he’s interested in your sketchpad mystery. He’s only tagging along because of the ramen.”

“Hey, ramen is a valid reason!” Jungwon retorted, his brows furrowing in mock indignation. “This place has the best broth in the city, okay? Priorities.”

“Speaking of priorities,” Niki chimed in, glancing at the park entrance just a block away. “I’ll go check how Sunghoon and his friends are doing and then head over to the computer shop around the corner. You know, priorities.” He winked, already calculating how much gaming time he could squeeze in before the night ended.

“Do whatever you want,” Jungwon replied easily, brushing Niki’s antics aside. “I’m here for the food. And Jay’s following me anyway.”

“Not following,” Jay corrected. “I just know you’re bad at picking spots, and I’m here to supervise.”

Heeseung snorted softly, shaking his head at their banter. Despite their constant teasing, he appreciated their company more than he let on. The truth was, Heeseung hadn’t known many people throughout the semester. Being naturally introverted had made socializing feel like an uphill battle, and even though the others joked about it, he’d often felt nervous and out of place. Embarrassed, even. But now, walking with them toward a dinner meet-up, he realized he didn’t feel as alone as he had before.

Still, a flicker of nerves crept into his chest as they neared the ramen house. He wasn’t entirely sure why—maybe it was the thought of meeting Sunghoon again, of sharing a table with people he was still getting to know. Heeseung swallowed down the feeling, keeping his expression calm and collected. Nervous excitement bubbled under the surface, but he wasn’t about to let it show.

The soft glow of the ramen house sign came into view, and Jungwon let out a satisfied hum. “There it is,” he said, quickening his pace. “Best broth in the city, here I come.”

Jay sighed, trailing after him. “Don’t embarrass yourself. Again.”

Niki chuckled as he broke away from the group, waving vaguely toward Heeseung. “I’ll check on them and catch you later, hyung. Don’t let Jungwon eat all your noodles.”

“Noted,” Heeseung said simply, watching as Niki headed toward the park entrance before turning back to face the ramen house. The faint warmth of the sign’s light reflected on his face, and despite his nerves, a small smile tugged at his lips.

This is fine, he told himself. It’s just dinner. Just new people. Just Sunghoon.

But deep down, his pulse quickened at the thought of seeing Sunghoon again, and he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that tonight might turn out to be more meaningful than he expected.

The ramen house hummed with warmth, the scent of broth and spices curling through the air as Heeseung and his friends settled into one of the wooden tables near the window. Jay leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming absentmindedly on the table’s edge, while Jungwon excitedly scanned the menu, already debating which ramen bowl to order. Niki, of course, was halfway through planning his escape to the computer shop, though he kept one ear tuned to the group’s conversation.

The sound of the door creaking open drew their attention. Jay glanced up first, his posture relaxed but his brow quirking slightly at the sight of the boy stepping in. “Oh,” Jay said under his breath, nudging Jungwon with his elbow. “Check this guy out.”

Jungwon looked up, following Jay’s gaze. Jake entered the ramen house first, wearing a simple white hoodie and loose-fit jeans. His slightly messy hair framed his bright, open face perfectly, giving off effortless golden retriever energy. The way he carried himself—casual, friendly, and utterly approachable—made Jungwon do a double take. “He looks like he walked straight out of a toothpaste commercial,” Jungwon muttered, narrowing his eyes slightly in amused disbelief.

“Yeah,” Jay agreed, shaking his head with a grin. “And why does it work? Like, seriously, people aren’t supposed to look that...happy to be alive.”

Jake laughed at something over his shoulder, the sound warm and clear, as he held the door open for the others. “I’ll grab the menus!” he called back cheerfully.

As Jungwon and Jay exchanged another look, Niki’s attention shifted to the second person walking through the door: Sunoo.

Niki straightened in his chair, caught slightly off guard by the sight of him. Sunoo wore an oversized beige sweater that somehow made him look even more delicate, his fox-like eyes bright and observant as he scanned the room. His hair fell softly against his forehead, perfectly framing his heart-shaped face. Everything about him—from the slight bounce in his step to the way he tilted his head with curiosity—exuded a quiet, natural charm that Niki couldn’t quite ignore.

Sunoo paused when he spotted their table, his gaze locking onto the group for just a moment before he smiled, lifting a hand in a small wave. Niki felt his face heat up immediately, a blush creeping into his cheeks that he stubbornly tried to will away. He turned his gaze back to the table, mumbling under his breath, “I’m gonna head to the computer shop after ramen. Maybe earlier. Or now. Like, immediately.”

“You’re blushing,” Jungwon teased, barely glancing up from his menu.

“Am not,” Niki shot back, trying to sink further into his chair.

Then, finally, the third person entered. Heeseung, distracted by Sunoo’s wave, caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head. The moment he saw him, his heart seemed to stop.

Sunghoon stepped inside last, walking a little more cautiously than the others, his soft brown hair falling slightly into his eyes as he glanced around the room. He wore a pale blue sweater with sleeves that were just a bit too long, paired with simple black pants and sneakers. There was a shyness to his movements, as though he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself—but that only added to the quiet warmth he radiated. He smiled faintly at something Jake said, and the way his lips curved—gentle, unassuming, utterly sincere—made Heeseung feel like the air had shifted.

In that instant, Heeseung could barely hear Jungwon’s chatter or Jay’s amused commentary. All he could focus on was how Sunghoon looked like he’d walked straight out of a daydream, the kind of soft, shy lover boy he hadn’t realized he was falling for until now. Sunghoon glanced briefly in their direction, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes met.

Heeseung felt his chest tighten. He should look away. He should say something. Anything. But all he could do was sit there, utterly lovestruck.

“Hyung,” Niki whispered, nudging him under the table. “You’re staring.”

Heeseung blinked, snapping out of his thoughts as he cleared his throat and glanced at the menu to busy himself. “I wasn’t staring,” he mumbled, though the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

Sunghoon followed Jake and Sunoo to their table, his steps light but deliberate, completely unaware of the effect he’d just had. As he sat down, Heeseung couldn’t help but steal another glance, his heart still racing from the boy who’d just turned his ordinary evening into something extraordinary.

The group settled into the table at the ramen house, the warm glow from the hanging lanterns giving the space a cozy, inviting vibe. Heeseung adjusted his seat nervously, his gaze flicking across the table as Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jake joined them one by one. The introductions began casually, each person adding their own flavor of personality into the mix, creating an atmosphere that was equal parts awkward and funny.

Jake was the first to speak, settling into his chair with an easy grin. “So,” he began, sliding the menu across the table toward Jungwon, “you guys are art students, right? I’m not. I’m just here to cheer Sunghoon and Sunoo on. It’s kind of my thing—being supportive, even though my idea of drawing involves stick figures.” His golden retriever energy was impossible to miss, his open demeanor making even the simplest remark feel cheerful.

Jay chuckled, leaning back in his chair as he glanced at Jake. “Stick figures, huh? Classic. Do you ever add hats to them, or are we keeping it minimalist?”

Jake tilted his head thoughtfully. “Now that’s a good idea. I should add hats next time. Maybe draw a whole family of stick figures. Expand the world, you know?”

Jungwon snorted, shaking his head. “That’s impressive. Revolutionary, really.” He turned his attention to the rest of the group, motioning toward Sunghoon and Sunoo. “So, since you brought your entourage, Sunghoon, tell me—what’s it like having people hype you up 24/7?”

Sunghoon flushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as he muttered, “It’s not like that. They’re just...being supportive.”

“Supportive is the word,” Sunoo chimed in, flashing his fox-like smile as he glanced around the table. “By the way, I’m Sunoo. If any of you need shading advice, I’m your guy. I might even teach you how to make your stick figures look dramatic.” He shot Jake an amused look, earning a laugh in return.

Jay smirked, glancing at Niki next. “That offer applies to you, too, Niki. If you ever feel like your abstract geometry needs a little more flair...”

“Hey,” Niki interjected quickly, looking mildly offended. “I don’t need flair. My abstract geometry is perfect as it is.” But his tone was light, his cheeks faintly pink as he caught Sunoo’s gaze briefly before returning his focus to the menu.

As the introductions continued, Heeseung found himself drawn to the way Sunghoon interacted with everyone—quiet, thoughtful, yet undeniably warm. There was something magnetic about the way his eyes softened when he spoke, and even though Sunghoon didn’t talk much, every word seemed deliberate, as though he was carefully considering his place in the conversation.

When Jake turned his attention to Heeseung, his grin widened. “So, Heeseung, huh? We’ve heard about you. Did you know Sunghoon here—”

“Shush, shush!” Sunghoon cut in quickly, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink as he waved his hand, clearly flustered.

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Sunoo teased, leaning forward slightly. “Are we keeping secrets now, Sunghoon? Or should I spill the tea?”

Sunghoon ducked his head slightly, his sleeve bunching around his wrist as he fiddled with it nervously. “There’s no tea,” he muttered, his voice soft.

Jay raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a grin that promised trouble. “Hmm, no tea, huh? Sounds more like lukewarm water. Suspiciously specific denial, if you ask me.”

Jake laughed at that, leaning back in his seat as he draped an arm casually over the chair. “Leave him alone, Jay. He’s probably nervous because you’re doing that weird thing where you sound like an investigator. This is ramen night, not a crime drama.”

Sunghoon shot Jake a grateful look, but his ears were still tinged pink as he fiddled with the edge of his menu. The conversation took a lighter turn when the server came by, dropping off cups of water and scribbling down their ramen orders. Jake enthusiastically added extra toppings to his order, and Jungwon quietly judged his choices with a smirk.

As the server walked away, Jungwon decided to shift the conversation. “So, how are we all suddenly turning into a friend group? Because I swear, this wasn’t planned.”

“Yeah,” Jay said, laughing as he sipped his water. “It’s like, one second we’re minding our own business, and the next we’re sitting here sharing ramen and...whatever this is.” He motioned vaguely at the table, his smile widening.

Sunoo tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eye. “Well, common interests make people closer, right? Like ramen. And art. And—” He turned to Niki with a knowing smile. “Gaming?”

Niki rolled his eyes, though there was the faintest hint of a blush on his face. “Sure, whatever. Ramen and gaming. Iconic combo.”

The table was lively, filled with banter and laughter as the group settled in and the server began taking their orders. Jay leaned back in his chair, his fingers idly drumming against the table, while Jungwon debated the merits of extra toppings for his ramen bowl.

Jake turned to Jay, his curiosity piqued by something Sunoo had mentioned earlier about commuting. “You know, Jay,” Jake began, his tone casual, “Sunoo said earlier you have a long commute to campus. Where are you coming from?”

Jay blinked, tilting his head slightly in thought. “Oh, yeah. I live on Broadwood Street. It’s not that far, but the traffic in the mornings makes it feel like a cross-city trek.”

Jake sat up straighter, his expression lighting up. “No way! You live on Broadwood? I just moved there last month.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Wait, seriously? What building are you in?”

“Building 4,” Jake replied, grinning. “Do you live nearby?”

Jay blinked again, his lips curling into a smirk as realization hit. “I’m in Building 3. So you’re right next to me. Let me guess—Unit 12?”

Jake laughed, pointing at him. “Yeah, that’s me. Unit 12! Wait—are you Unit 11?”

Jay groaned, nodding slowly. “Yep. And now I’m realizing you’re the guy I keep hearing singing at random times during the day.”

“Oh no,” Jake muttered, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t tell me you can hear that. Oh god. This is so embarrassing.”

Sunoo, ever amused, leaned in with his trademark playful grin. “Jake, don’t worry. I bet your neighbor loves hearing your rehearsals—instant entertainment.”

Jay snorted, shaking his head as he glanced back at Jake. “It’s not bad, honestly. But seriously, how did we not figure this out sooner?”

The table burst into laughter, the topic quickly shifting to other random coincidences they’d begun uncovering. Jungwon teased Niki about spotting him at the campus arcade once, and Sunoo casually offered tips to Jay on “how to perform with finesse during your next accidental concert.”

Heeseung, who had been quietly observing, felt his nerves ease slightly as the group’s chatter filled the air with warmth. His gaze flickered briefly to Sunghoon, who sat across from him, smiling softly as he listened to Jake’s embarrassment spiral further. Though Sunghoon didn’t say much, there was a subtle charm in the way he engaged with the group—a quiet magnetism that Heeseung couldn’t ignore.

As their ramen bowls finally arrived, steam wafting through the air, Heeseung allowed himself to relax further, his nervous excitement bubbling just below the surface.

The walk back from the ramen house was filled with laughter, the group splitting off one by one as they headed toward their respective destinations. Jake, Sunoo, and Sunghoon trailed behind slightly, still caught in the post-dinner buzz.

“That was fun,” Jake said, his voice light and cheerful as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “I mean, I didn’t think I’d have that much fun. Who knew ramen and random art students would make such a good combo?”

Sunoo chuckled, his fox-like eyes crinkling as he nudged Jake’s arm. “Right? And tell me I’m not the only one who thinks Niki is, like, hilariously unpredictable. I swear, one minute he’s dead serious, and the next he’s plotting some kind of weird chaos.”

Jake laughed at that, nodding. “Definitely unpredictable. Did you see his face when you waved at him? I’m pretty sure he was about to crawl under the table and never come out.”

“Poor guy,” Sunoo said with a teasing grin. “I’ll be nice to him next time...maybe. Actually, I might meet him again soon. He said there’s a computer shop near the ramen house that he loves, and I kind of want to check it out.”

“You? Computer shop?” Jake raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “That’s not your usual vibe.”

“Hey,” Sunoo retorted, narrowing his eyes in mock offense. “I contain multitudes, Jake. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get into gaming. Or maybe I’ll just hang around and see what all the fuss is about.”

“Knowing you, it’s probably just for the tea,” Jake teased.

Sunoo didn’t deny it, simply giving Jake a sly smile before glancing over at Sunghoon. “What about you, Sunghoon? Did you have fun? You’ve been quiet since we left.”

Sunghoon blinked, pulled from his thoughts as he realized the conversation had turned to him. “Oh,” he said softly, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Yeah, I had fun. It was nice.”

Sunoo tilted his head, studying him. “Just nice? You’ve been spacing out the whole walk back. What’s going on in that mysterious little head of yours?”

Jake chimed in, grinning as he added, “Yeah, Sunghoon, you looked like you were in a whole other world at the table earlier. Spill.”

Sunghoon’s lips curved into a faint, shy smile as he glanced down at the pavement. He wasn’t entirely sure how to explain it, but something about the night had left him feeling lighter—like a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying had been lifted. “I guess I’ve just been...thinking. I don’t know. It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. As much as he tried to brush it off, Sunghoon couldn’t ignore the faint hum of inspiration coursing through him. The laughter, the warmth of the group, the way Heeseung had looked at him across the table with that quiet, encouraging smile—it all lingered in his mind, sparking the faint beginnings of ideas he wanted to sketch out.

More importantly, he couldn’t stop thinking about Heeseung. The way their conversation had flowed naturally, how Heeseung seemed genuinely interested in his art—none of it had been forced. It felt easy, comfortable, and for Sunghoon, that was a big deal. Getting closer to Heeseung, even just as friends, was something he hadn’t expected but couldn’t help feeling grateful for. The small, shy crush he harbored was like a quiet glow in his chest, warming him as he thought about how the evening had unfolded.

Sunoo shrugged, letting Sunghoon off the hook as he started talking about his plans for the computer shop again. Jake followed up with a teasing remark about Sunoo becoming “the next big esports star,” which earned him a light smack on the arm.

Sunghoon trailed slightly behind them, letting their banter fade into the background as his mind drifted once more. His fingers twitched slightly, itching to pick up a pencil, to draw the way the light hit the ramen house sign or the way Heeseung’s smile had softened when he wasn’t thinking too hard about it.

He let out a small breath, feeling strangely at peace. The night had been unexpected, but maybe that was what made it special. 

And as they walked under the glow of the streetlights, Sunghoon decided that maybe, just maybe, it was okay to let the sketchpad incident fade into the background. 

After all, there were new things to sketch, new thoughts to explore—and most importantly, new friendships blooming around him, including the one with Heeseung that quietly meant the world. For now, at least. 

After all, he had no idea it would resurface one day—bringing with it far more than he ever anticipated, including the revelation of just how much Heeseung had come to mean to him.

Days turned into weeks, and as the semester progressed, Heeseung and Sunghoon found themselves spending more and more time together. It started as study sessions in the library, where they sat side by side at their usual corner table. Sunghoon’s pencil moved quietly across his sketchpad while Heeseung worked through notes and books, the occasional sound of a page turning breaking the comfortable silence.

“You’re doing it again,” Heeseung murmured one day, leaning slightly toward Sunghoon.

“Doing what?” Sunghoon asked, startled, his pencil freezing mid-stroke.

“Sketching something amazing and not letting me see,” Heeseung replied with a faint smile, his tone teasing yet sincere.

Sunghoon flushed, quickly closing the sketchpad halfway. “It’s not amazing. Just...practice,” he muttered.

Heeseung shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “You always say that. Practice or not, your work’s incredible. Seriously.”

Sunghoon’s grip on the sketchpad tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he ducked his head and mumbled, “Thanks.”

Their interactions didn’t stop in the library. Soon, they found themselves lingering in the campus gardens with their friends. The group would gather under the shade of a large tree, their laughter carrying on the breeze. Jake and Jungwon often led the chaos, debating everything from ramen combinations to art techniques, while Sunoo and Niki exchanged witty remarks about gaming strategies.

Meanwhile, Heeseung and Sunghoon gravitated toward quieter conversations at the edges of the group.

“You ever think about sketching something like this?” Heeseung asked once, motioning to the scene in front of them. The fountain glimmered in the sunlight, its water catching the light as it flowed gently.

Sunghoon tilted his head, his gaze following the motion. “Maybe,” he said softly. “It’s peaceful. But sometimes I feel like I’d rather sketch the moments instead of just the view.”

Heeseung looked at him curiously, his brow raising slightly. “What do you mean?”

Sunghoon hesitated before answering, his tone careful. “Like...the way the light hits the fountain when someone’s leaning against it. Or how the sound of the water blends with the wind. It’s the small things, I guess. They’re what make the picture feel alive.”

Heeseung’s expression softened, his lips curving into a faint smile. “That’s a cool way to think about it. You don’t just see things—you notice them.”

Sunghoon glanced away, feeling his cheeks warm. “Not always,” he murmured.

It wasn’t long before their conversations turned deeper. On one particular evening, the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting golden hues across the garden. Their friends had wandered off, leaving just Heeseung and Sunghoon seated on a bench near the fountain.

“Do you ever feel like you’re chasing after something but don’t even know what it is?” Heeseung asked quietly, his voice carrying the weight of thoughts he hadn’t shared with anyone else.

Sunghoon paused, his pencil hovering above the page of his sketchpad. “Yeah,” he replied softly. “Like there’s something right in front of you, but it’s blurry. Or maybe you’re just not ready to see it.”

Heeseung turned to look at him, his expression thoughtful. “That’s exactly it. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. Like...there’s this piece of my life I can’t figure out, and it’s been bothering me more than I’d like to admit.”

Sunghoon swallowed hard, unsure what to say. “Maybe it’ll come to you when you’re not trying so hard to figure it out,” he offered, his voice quieter now.

“Maybe,” Heeseung said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s just...frustrating. Like you’re reaching out for something, and it keeps slipping away.”

Sunghoon wanted to say something more, to offer words that might ease Heeseung’s frustration, but the right ones didn’t come. Instead, he simply nodded, his pencil scratching lightly against the paper as he began to sketch again.

After a while, the silence between them grew companionable, the soft rush of the fountain filling the space. Sunghoon finally stood, brushing off his jeans. “I should get going,” he said, his voice gentle but steady.

“Yeah,” Heeseung replied, his smile warm but tinged with something unspoken. “See you tomorrow?”

“See you,” Sunghoon said with a small nod before walking away, his steps deliberate as he left the garden.

Heeseung lingered on the bench for a while longer, the soft glow of the setting sun reflecting on the rippling surface of the fountain. Something about the evening left him feeling both peaceful and unsettled, as if the quiet air around them had carried more meaning than either of them had acknowledged.

As he sat there, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out absentmindedly, his thumb brushing over the screen to check the notification. 

It was a post. A new one from InkSpillHoon. 

Heeseung blinked, the name immediately catching his attention.

The sketch was of the fountain. This fountain . The lines were flowing and delicate, capturing the rippling water with an almost ethereal touch. It was so familiar, so exact. Heeseung felt his pulse quicken as realization began to take shape in his mind.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. The fountain, the timing, the style—it was too precise to have been drawn by anyone else but...

Sunghoon.

The thought hit him all at once, leaving him stunned as he stared at the sketch on his screen. 

Memories flashed through his mind in quick succession: Sunghoon sketching quietly in the library, hiding his drawings with shy smiles; the way he always seemed so focused, his pencil moving with deliberate ease. 

How had Heeseung not put it together before?

The anonymous artist whose work he had admired from afar—the one whose posts had captivated him for months—had been sitting right beside him all along. 

Sunghoon was InkSpillHoon.

Heeseung’s hand tightened around his phone, his breath catching in his throat. A mix of emotions swept through him: shock, admiration, and a flicker of something softer, warmer. It wasn’t just about the sketch or the artistry—it was about the realization that Sunghoon had been quietly seeing the world through a lens Heeseung hadn’t fully understood until now.

He glanced toward the path where Sunghoon had disappeared, his mind racing. The boy who had become such an important part of his life—the one he’d been spending more and more time with—had been carrying this secret the entire time. And now that Heeseung knew, he wasn’t sure what to feel.

But as his gaze returned to the fountain, its water shimmering softly in the fading light, one thing became clear. 

This changed everything. 

Chapter Text

The room hummed with the usual energy—voices overlapping, papers rustling, the occasional scrape of a chair against the floor. Jake sat cross-legged on the carpet, his pencil spinning precariously between his fingers. He sent it into another twirl, only for it to slip out of his grip, bounce off the table, and roll onto the floor with a clatter.

“Jake, stop twirling that!” Jay groaned from the couch, gesturing at the pencil now resting by his feet. “I swear, if it hits me again—”

“Relax, I’ve got it under control this time,” Jake replied, reaching down to retrieve the pencil. He started spinning it again almost immediately, his grin never wavering. “See? Perfect balance.”

“Perfect until it falls for the hundredth time ,” Sunoo muttered from his perch on the bed.

“Don’t hate the craft,” Jake said loftily, sending the pencil spinning once more. Predictably, it flew out of his hand again, landing under the coffee table.

Jay buried his face in his hands. “How is this the same guy who made that flower sketch?”

“Oh, speaking of,” Jake said, apparently unaffected by the collective exasperation. He grabbed his paper and held it up triumphantly. “Sunghoon, check this out! It’s the flower we talked about— you know , back in chapter one of my artistic journey.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly as Jake handed him the paper. He tilted his head, studying the sketch—a daisy drawn with surprising attention to detail. The petals had light, thoughtful shading that followed their curves, giving them a soft, natural look. The center was dotted just enough to add texture without overwhelming the simplicity of the design.

“This is...” Sunghoon started, pausing briefly as he traced the lines with his eyes. “Actually good.”

Jake blinked. “ Actually? ”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Sunghoon said quickly, motioning toward the drawing. “It’s just —you’ve really improved. Look at the way the shading follows the curve of the petals. It’s subtle, but it gives the whole thing a natural softness. And the texture here, in the center—” He gestured with his finger, his tone picking up slightly. “That’s a good call. It makes the daisy feel more realistic without overloading the drawing with detail.”

“Here he goes,” Jungwon muttered from the desk, smirking.

“What?” Sunghoon asked, glancing up, genuinely puzzled.

Jay leaned back on the couch, shaking his head with a grin. “You’re such a yapper when it comes to art. The second you get going, it’s like listening to a lecture.”

“It’s not a lecture,” Sunghoon replied, defensive but smiling faintly. “I’m giving constructive feedback.”

“Oh, you’re giving feedback, all right,” Sunoo chimed in with mock seriousness, pretending to hold an invisible microphone. “In-depth art analysis with Sunghoon, our resident critic.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, his lips twitching into a small smile. “You’re all dramatic.”

“You’re the dramatic one, Sunghoon,” Jay retorted. “I’m surprised you didn’t write an essay on it.”

“It’s a compliment!” Sunghoon shot back, though his attention flicked back to Jake’s paper. “Anyway, like I was saying—if you keep building up the shading and focus on the negative space, it’s going to stand out even more. You could add just a touch of light shadow under the petals to give it some extra dimension.”

Jake nodded, squinting at the sketch as though he were trying to see what Sunghoon saw. “Huh. Yeah, okay, I see it. Shadow under the petals. Got it.” He paused, looking at Sunghoon with exaggerated seriousness. “Does this mean I have... potential?”

Jay groaned audibly. “Oh no. He’s spiraling.”

Sunghoon leaned back, crossing his arms as he looked at Jake. “I mean, it’s good. You just have to keep practicing.”

“Good, huh?” Jake echoed, clutching the paper dramatically. “Sunghoon said it was good. Everyone, hear that? I’m officially endorsed!”

Niki smirked from the floor, glancing up from his phone. “Give it two minutes before he tries to sell it as an NFT or something.”

Jake gasped, pointing at Niki. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Please stop,” Jay groaned. “We don’t need to hear Jake’s business pitch.”

Ignoring him, Jake lifted the paper aloft like it was a trophy. “Thank you, Sunghoon, for believing in me. I’ll dedicate this daisy to you.”

“I don’t want the daisy,” Sunghoon replied flatly, though his smile was still intact.

“Jake, put that down,” Jay groaned from the couch, gesturing at the pen Jake was currently twirling. Again. “If it flies out of your hand and hits me again, we’re done.”

“It was an accident the first time!” Jake protested, though his mischievous grin said otherwise.

“Accident, my foot,” Sunoo interjected from his perch on the bed, flipping idly through a thick book. “You’re trying to sabotage our study session with acrobatics. For the nth time. ”

“Trying to?” Niki chimed in, looking up from his phone. “He succeeded. None of us have studied a word in the past hour.”

Jungwon sighed dramatically from the desk, his head tilted back as he scrolled through notes on his tablet. “Speak for yourselves. I’ve been carrying this study session, and do I get any thanks? No. Just chaos.”

Sunghoon found himself smiling despite the noise, a warm sense of belonging settling over him. They weren’t classmates, and most of them didn’t even share the same programs, but somewhere along the way, they had become a group. They didn’t need a reason to be together anymore—it just happened, like gravity pulling them back into the same orbit time and time again.

Later, they spilled out onto the campus streets, the cool evening breeze tousling their hair as they headed toward the library. The streetlights illuminated their path, casting long shadows that danced as they walked. Sunoo and Niki bickered lightly at the front of the group about the best ramen flavor, while Jake was attempting (and failing) to convince Jungwon that mint chocolate chip wasn’t a crime against ice cream.

“You just don’t get it!” Jake said, throwing his arms up dramatically. “Mint chocolate is refreshing and innovative.”

“It tastes like toothpaste,” Jungwon replied flatly, not bothering to glance at him.

“That’s harsh!” Jake retorted, turning toward Sunghoon for backup. “Sunghoon, help me out here.”

“I’m staying neutral,” Sunghoon replied calmly, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets. “I’m not taking sides.”

“Traitor,” Jake muttered, though his grin didn’t waver.

They slowed down as they approached one of the campus buildings, just in time to see Heeseung stepping out the door. He had his bag slung over one shoulder, a notebook tucked under his arm, and an expression somewhere between tired and content. He spotted them instantly, his gaze brightening.

“Hey!” Heeseung called out, his voice carrying over the chatter. “What’s all the noise about?”

“Perfect timing,” Sunoo said, smirking. “Would you like to weigh in on a very important debate?”

“Depends,” Heeseung replied, falling into step with them. “What’s the debate?”

“Mint chocolate chip ice cream,” Jake announced, his voice tinged with mock urgency. “Crime against humanity or culinary masterpiece?”

Heeseung blinked, tilting his head slightly as he considered the question. “Honestly? It’s fine. I don’t get the hate.”

“Yes! Vindication!” Jake exclaimed, fist-pumping the air.

“Traitor number two,” Jungwon muttered under his breath.

“What are you guys even doing out here?” Heeseung asked, shaking his head. “I thought you were heading to the library.”

“We are,” Niki replied, gesturing ahead. “But we can’t walk quietly, apparently. It’s against the rules.”

“Walking quietly is boring,” Sunoo added, grinning. “Speaking of, Heeseung, didn’t you just come from your communications class?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung said, his tone relaxed. “It was fine. We spent most of the time on presentations, so it was just me standing there talking while everyone stared at me.”

“Sounds stressful,” Sunghoon commented quietly.

“It’s not that bad,” Heeseung said with a shrug. “I don’t mind public speaking. I just don’t like when people interrupt me halfway through a sentence.”

“Well, you should probably get used to interruptions with this group,” Jay said, smirking.

Heeseung chuckled. “True.”

As they reached the library, the group dispersed naturally, heading toward their preferred spots. Sunghoon and Heeseung ended up at a larger table near the windows, the soft yellow glow of the library lights bathing their notebooks and papers.

Sunghoon let his focus wander briefly, his eyes drifting over the scattered sketchpads and busy hands around the room. The air felt charged with creativity, like every stroke of a pencil or click of a pen was contributing to an unspoken hum that filled the space. He adjusted the strap of his bag absently, allowing himself a moment to soak in the quiet bustle before his gaze naturally settled back on Heeseung.

“I didn’t know you were multitalented,” Sunghoon said softly, his tone light and sincere, almost like he was sharing a thought he hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

Heeseung froze, his pencil pausing mid-line as he blinked up at Sunghoon. “What?”

“Public speaking... and art,” Sunghoon clarified, his voice warm but quiet, as though the compliment wasn’t meant to draw attention. “Most people are lucky to be good at one thing. You make it look easy.”

The words seemed to catch Heeseung off-guard, and for a moment, he simply stared at Sunghoon, his lips parting slightly. His usual composure faltered, replaced by something softer—uncertainty, perhaps, but also a flicker of gratitude. “Oh,” he murmured, the tips of his ears turning pink. “I... I wouldn’t say that. Art’s just... you know, an outlet. Nothing serious.”

Sunghoon tilted his head, his gaze steady but kind. “It doesn’t look like ‘nothing.’” He nodded toward Heeseung’s notebook, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Your shading is good. You’ve got an eye for it.”

Heeseung blinked rapidly, his grip tightening around his pencil as he glanced back down at his sketch. The compliment felt too big, too genuine, especially coming from someone like Sunghoon—an art major, someone who actually knew what they were talking about. “Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost unsure. “That... means a lot, coming from you.”

Sunghoon watched him for another moment, his expression softening further as he leaned back slightly in his chair. “It’s just the truth.”

Heeseung’s blush deepened as he ducked his head, suddenly too aware of how exposed he felt. It wasn’t the first time someone had commented on his sketches, but there was something about the way Sunghoon had said it—gentle, earnest, like he really meant it—that made Heeseung’s chest tighten in an unfamiliar way.

Sunghoon let his gaze drift back toward Heeseung, watching as he leaned forward and buried himself in his notepad, a faint furrow forming between his brows as he worked. The scattered papers surrounding Heeseung’s spot caught Sunghoon’s attention—a mixture of rough sketches and notes sprawled haphazardly across the table, as though creativity itself had spilled out with reckless abandon. It was chaotic yet strangely captivating, and Sunghoon felt a soft smile tugging at his lips, a quiet giggle threatening to rise at the sight.

His thoughts meandered as he observed the scene, the way Heeseung’s pencil moved with focused intent even among the clutter. Art truly seemed to be Heeseung’s outlet, Sunghoon mused. There was something undeniably personal in the way the sketches had taken over his space, like fragments of his mind and emotions laid bare on the page. Sunghoon found himself lingering on this idea, his thoughts slipping deeper and quieter, until the ambient hum of the library faded into the background.

It wasn’t until Sunghoon shifted slightly in his seat, his hand brushing against the strap of his bag, that he snapped out of his reverie. He glanced up and froze for a moment, realizing that Heeseung was staring in his direction. The sudden focus on him was enough to pull him completely back to the present, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion as he tilted his head toward the other boy.

“Is there something on my face?” Sunghoon asked softly, his voice carrying an edge of genuine curiosity.

Heeseung blinked, visibly startled, his pencil halting mid-stroke before he quickly looked down, fumbling to shove a piece of paper under his notebook. “Huh? No—uh, nothing,” he said hastily, the faint blush on his ears betraying him.

Sunghoon tilted his head, the corners of his lips twitching upward despite his reserved demeanor. “Nothing? You sure about that? You looked like you were about to sketch battle me just now.”

Heeseung’s lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the playful edge in Sunghoon’s voice. “Sketch battle?” he repeated, furrowing his brows. “No, I—look, it’s not—there’s nothing, okay?” He sounded oddly defensive, though his tone lacked conviction.

“Uh-huh,” Sunghoon murmured, leaning back in his chair as he studied Heeseung more closely. “You know, you keep saying nothing, but your face says everything. ” He shifted slightly, resting his elbow on the table and letting his pencil twirl between his fingers with practiced ease. “You’re being weird, you know. Are you sure you’re not plotting something?”

“Plotting something?” Heeseung repeated, his tone tinged with exasperation. “What would I even be plotting?”

“I don’t know,” Sunghoon replied, shrugging lightly. “World domination? Secret art sabotage? You tell me.”

Heeseung blinked rapidly, staring at him as though he couldn’t quite believe the conversation they were having. “I’m not—what? No! I was just—look, I wasn’t staring, okay?”

“Sure,” Sunghoon said, his lips twitching again as he leaned slightly forward. “You weren’t staring. You were just... intensely examining the air in my general direction?”

Heeseung groaned, letting his forehead briefly drop to the table. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” Sunghoon asked innocently, though the faintest trace of amusement danced in his eyes. Despite his reserved demeanor, he wasn’t above a little snark when the moment called for it—especially when Heeseung was acting this flustered.

“Like—like this!” Heeseung gestured vaguely at him, clearly searching for words.

“Maybe it’s just my charm,” Sunghoon quipped softly, though the slight warmth in his cheeks betrayed his usual confidence. He straightened, clearing his throat and brushing invisible specks off his notebook, his tone shifting back to nonchalant. “Anyway, whatever this is, it’s definitely suspicious.”

Heeseung muttered something incomprehensible under his breath, hurriedly shifting his focus back to his notes as though the conversation hadn’t happened. Sunghoon let the topic drop—for now—but his curiosity lingered, gnawing quietly at the edges of his mind.

As the group began packing up to leave, the sound of shuffling papers and whispered goodbyes filled the air. They were almost out the door when Sunoo stopped suddenly, his sharp eyes catching something on the floor near their table.

“Wait, what’s this?” he asked, bending down to pick up the stray piece of paper.

Jake leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the page. “Huh. Looks like a sketch.”

Sunghoon stepped closer, his curiosity piqued. The moment his eyes landed on the paper, his breath hitched.

It was a sketch—of him.

There was no mistaking it. The soft lines captured the slope of his jaw, the way his hair fell lightly across his forehead, and the faint tilt of his head as he worked. It was detailed yet unassuming, as though the artist had tried to catch him in a fleeting moment of quiet concentration.

Sunoo tilted his head, glancing between Sunghoon and the paper. “Uh, who dropped this? Because, uh...this looks familiar.”

Jake furrowed his brows, his gaze bouncing between the group. “Yeah, seriously. Whose is this?”

Sunghoon stared at the sketch, his thoughts running in circles. But as he glanced to the side, he caught sight of Heeseung, who was suddenly very busy fumbling with his bag. The realization hit him like a rush of cold air, and something clicked into place.

Heeseung had drawn this.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything immediately, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt a strange mix of emotions—confusion, warmth, and a flicker of something he wasn’t quite ready to name. 

But one thing was certain: this wasn’t the end of the conversation.

The library was buzzing with quiet activity, a calm hum of shuffling papers, the soft scratch of pencils, and the occasional muffled cough. Heeseung sat at the table, his pencil held loosely in his hand as his eyes drifted across the room, but his attention kept circling back to the person seated across from him.

Sunghoon was sketching, his focus drifting lazily between his own work and the other students scattered around the room. Every so often, his gaze would linger on someone else's notebook, his sharp eyes scanning their sketches as if he were mentally cataloging ideas or techniques. There was something so casual yet thoughtful about the way he observed people—his head tilting slightly, his pencil tapping lightly against his paper as he absorbed the details.

Heeseung knew. He’d realized it when he stumbled across that fountain sketch online—the one posted under the name Inkspillhoon . It was the same intricate lines, the same deliberate yet natural style. 

And now, sitting across from Sunghoon, watching the way his hand moved so effortlessly across the page, there was no doubt in Heeseung’s mind. Sunghoon was Inkspillhoon, and he was the one who had drawn him in class. The sketchbook he had for weeks on end and he does not know what to do.

The thought made Heeseung’s stomach twist, a mix of flattery and panic swirling in his chest. He wanted to say something, to acknowledge it somehow, but the words caught in his throat every time he tried. 

What would he even say? Hey, I saw your post, and by the way, thanks for sketching me?  

It sounded ridiculous in his head.

His pencil hovered over his own sketchpad, but he wasn’t drawing anymore—just fidgeting as his gaze flicked between his unfinished lines and Sunghoon’s focused expression. He thought about how much care must’ve gone into that sketch, how it had captured him so perfectly without his even knowing. 

Did Sunghoon do that often? Draw people who didn’t realize they were being watched?

Heeseung’s lips parted slightly, the beginnings of a question forming. He hesitated, glancing down at his sketchpad as though it might offer him an answer. Finally, he took a quiet breath and decided to go for it.

“Did you—” he started softly.

Before he could finish, a loud crash shattered the quiet of the library. A stack of books toppled over at a nearby table, followed by a flurry of whispers and hurried apologies. The noise startled him into silence, and he turned his head toward the commotion along with the rest of the room.

Sunghoon looked too, his pencil stilling mid-line. After a moment, he glanced back at Heeseung, tilting his head with mild curiosity. “Did I... what?” he asked, voice calm but edged with intrigue.

Heeseung blinked, his thoughts scrambling. “Oh! Uh—nothing,” he said quickly, waving his hand like he was trying to brush the whole thing away. “It’s not important.”

Sunghoon squinted slightly, his lips curving into the faintest smirk. “ Uh-huh . If you say so.”

Heeseung ducked his head, cheeks warming as he tried to refocus on his sketchpad. But the thought wouldn’t let go. He needed to say it—it was going to eat him alive otherwise. Clearing his throat quietly, he glanced back up at Sunghoon, who was once again immersed in his own work.

“Did you—” Heeseung began again, softer this time, as if testing the waters.

Right then, a loud, obnoxious “AHEM” cut through the air. Heeseung flinched, his hand jerking slightly. Across the room, Niki was grinning mischievously, standing next to a very unamused librarian who was clearly trying to shush him.

“Niki,” the librarian hissed. “Quiet.”

“Sorry,” Niki whispered in the least whispery tone possible, looking utterly unapologetic as he plopped back into his chair.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at the interruption and turned back to Heeseung with an amused expression. “Are you... okay? Because you keep starting sentences and then... not finishing them.”

“I’m fine,” Heeseung mumbled, dragging his hand through his hair and trying to suppress the heat crawling up his neck. He was not going to be defeated by interruptions. Not this time. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”

“Sure it is,” Sunghoon replied, his smirk growing. “You’re acting really convincing.”

Heeseung shot him a halfhearted glare but said nothing, gripping his pencil a little too tightly as he mustered the courage for one last attempt. He had to ask now. He couldn’t keep chickening out.

“Did you—”

“EXCUSE ME,” a voice bellowed from the aisle nearest them, followed by an impressive array of books being haphazardly dumped onto a return cart. A clatter echoed through the library, causing several students to whip their heads around in annoyance.

Heeseung groaned audibly this time, dropping his pencil onto the table. “You know what? Forget it,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he flipped his sketchpad shut.

Sunghoon, clearly entertained now, leaned back slightly, his pencil tapping idly against the edge of the table. “Wow, you’re really bad at this.”

“I’m not bad at anything,” Heeseung shot back half-heartedly. “This place is cursed. ”

“Sure. Blame the library.” Sunghoon chuckled, the sound quiet but warm. He tilted his head, his gaze lingering on Heeseung for a beat longer than usual. “You can tell me next time , I guess.”

“Next time,” Heeseung agreed quickly, hoping the conversation would end before his cheeks caught fire. He shoved his sketchbook into his bag hastily, not bothering to check if the loose papers were securely tucked away.

Sunghoon stood and stretched, the light catching on his hair in a way that made Heeseung’s stomach twist. As they both turned to leave, Sunghoon threw a glance over his shoulder and added casually, “By the way... you’re terrible at hiding when something’s bothering you.”

Heeseung froze mid-step, his mouth opening slightly in protest. Before Heeseung could come up with a reply, he decided to walk ahead, settling with a nod..

The cool night air greeted them as they stepped outside, but Heeseung’s thoughts stayed tangled back inside the library, circling around Sunghoon’s words and the sketch still burning in his memory.

If there was an unsettling feeling crawling in his stomach, he would have only realized much til later. Later he for sure would start to regret not confronting soon enough. 

“We’re having a party!” 

Jake declared enthusiastically, his voice cutting through the soft din of the canteen as he plopped his tray onto the table with an exaggerated flourish.

Jay, sitting across from him with his arms crossed, gave him a knowing look. “Don’t say it like you came up with the idea. My parents gave me the go-ahead to invite people to the dorm for my birthday.”

“Oh, so it’s an officially sanctioned party,” Jungwon teased, grabbing a fry from Jake’s plate without asking. “What’s the deal? Did they give you a checklist of rules or something?”

Jay smirked, shaking his head. “Not quite. They just...trust me. Well, mostly because they’ve met this guy already.” He gestured at Jake, who raised both hands like a celebrity caught by paparazzi.

“What can I say?” Jake said, grinning. “Parents love me. I’m neighbor-approved. Plus, we’re literally next-door neighbors, so they’ve seen me enough times to know I’m harmless. Mostly.”

“Harmless except to my wallet,” Jay muttered under his breath, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his affection. “Anyway, my parents are cool with it. They even said they’ll cover pizza and stuff as long as we keep it chill. Free food, good gaming—it’s a win for everyone.”

“That’s surprisingly generous,” Jungwon commented, his expression thoughtful. “They must really like Jake, huh?”

Jay’s smile softened almost imperceptibly. “It’s not just that. I wanted to keep it simple. It’s easier for everyone that way, especially Jake.”

Jake’s grin faltered slightly as he glanced at Jay, a flicker of something warm and unspoken passing between them. “Simple’s good,” Jake said after a pause, his voice quieter but no less sincere.

“Simple is boring, ” Jungwon countered, though his tone was more playful than critical. “But...I guess it works. I like it. Pizza, gaming, no drama. It’s perfect for us.”

“Wow, that’s uncharacteristically agreeable of you,” Jake said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“Don’t get used to it,” Jungwon shot back, popping another fry into his mouth. “I just don’t feel like dealing with your whining if I complain.”

Jake gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest dramatically. “Me? Whining? Never.”

Jay groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Great. This is already chaos, and the party hasn’t even started yet.”

“So,” Jungwon began, turning to Jay with a raised eyebrow. “Who are we inviting, aside from us four?”

“Good question,” Jay said, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “We should probably keep it close. Small group. You know, people who won’t ruin my dorm.”

“Sunoo and Sunghoon will definitely want to go,” Jake said confidently, leaning back in his chair as if it was a foregone conclusion.

At the mention of their names, Heeseung snapped out of his daze, blinking as he realized he’d been staring blankly at his Greek column sketches for the past five minutes. His pencil paused mid-air, his gaze flicking briefly to Jake.

“Sunoo and Sunghoon?” Jungwon echoed, glancing at Jake with a knowing smirk. “Of course they’d want to go. What about Niki?”

Jake snorted. “Niki? Please. Niki will go wherever Sunoo goes. The little menace doesn’t even need an invitation.”

“True,” Jungwon said, grinning as he leaned back in his chair. “He’d probably cancel his gaming night just to tag along. All just to impress Sunoo.”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued despite himself. “Impress him? How?”

Jungwon’s grin widened. “By being Niki. You know how he gets, sacrificing his precious gaming time to admire...a wall. Literally. ”

“A wall?” Heeseung asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep,” Jungwon replied, clearly enjoying himself now. “He’ll stare at a wall like it’s the most fascinating piece of architecture he’s ever seen. All just to say something like, ‘Oh, this wall is...flat.’ And then he’ll look at Sunoo, expecting applause or something.”

Jake burst out laughing, nearly choking on his drink. “He does do that! The other day, I caught him pretending to admire a campus bench. I think he called it...‘a sturdy masterpiece.’”

Jay rolled his eyes, though there was a small smile tugging at his lips. “As long as he doesn’t talk to my walls, he can come.”

Heeseung let out a quiet laugh, their banter pulling him further out of his earlier distraction. The warmth of their easy camaraderie was almost enough to make him forget about his Greek columns— almost.

“Okay,” Jay said, clapping his hands once to get their attention. “So it’s settled. Sunoo, Sunghoon, and Niki are in. This is going to be a disaster.”

“A fun disaster,” Jake corrected with a grin.

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, letting out a small breath as he surveyed the finished page of his sketchpad. The timelapse feature on his phone had captured the whole process—a Venice Grand Canal-inspired scene brought to life with flowing lines and careful shading. The one he had sketched back in the library. He’d spent hours layering in the details: the soft reflections of light on the water, the elegant curves of the bridges, and the intricate facades of the buildings lining the canal. It wasn’t perfect—not yet—but it was enough to feel like a quiet accomplishment.

He closed the sketchpad carefully, tucking it to the side as Sunoo’s voice cut into his thoughts.

“...Party?” Sunghoon repeated, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed Sunoo’s earlier words. His tone was quiet, hesitant, and just a tad confused.

Sunoo let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back onto the couch like the weight of the world had just settled on his shoulders. “Oh no . Introvert Sunghoon invited out to a party after so many years?? What has the world come to?”

Sunghoon scoffed, crossing his arms as he shot Sunoo a halfhearted glare. “Don’t be so mean. I do parties.”

“Sure you do,” Sunoo replied, smirking as he tilted his head. “Okay, then. When’s the last time you went to a party?”

Sunghoon faltered, his confidence slipping as he wracked his brain for a decent answer. “Um...my sister’s birthday party?”

Sunoo snorted loudly, sitting upright as his fox-like eyes sparkled with amusement. “That doesn’t count! Come on, you can’t use a family gathering as your one example. That’s cheating.”

“It’s not cheating,” Sunghoon muttered defensively, slouching slightly in his chair. “There was cake. And balloons. And...other people.”

“Let me guess,” Sunoo countered, narrowing his eyes mischievously. “Most of those ‘other people’ were under the age of ten, weren’t they?”

Sunghoon opened his mouth to argue but stopped when he realized Sunoo wasn’t wrong. He sighed, shaking his head. “Fine. Keep making fun of me.”

“Oh, I will,” Sunoo replied cheerfully, leaning forward to grab his drink. “But hey, don’t worry. We’ll be there to guide you through the terrifying ordeal of social interaction. You can thank us later.”

Before Sunghoon could respond, Niki chimed in, his excitement practically spilling out of him. “You’re overthinking this. The party sounds amazing! Jay’s birthday, free pizza, gaming...and it’s all happening on a Saturday night. What’s not to love?”

Sunoo raised his drink like a toast. “See? Niki gets it. He doesn’t make excuses like some people. ” He shot a glance at Sunghoon but didn’t say anything else, his gaze briefly flicking to the hand that fiddled with something in Sunghoon’s pocket before returning to his drink.

Sunghoon groaned quietly, muttering, “You guys are unbelievable.”

“Unbelievable? No way,” Niki said, leaning forward. “You’re the one who zones out and forgets you’re in the middle of a conversation. Don’t think I didn’t notice you spacing out earlier when Jake was talking about pizza toppings.”

At the mention of Jake and pizza, Sunghoon felt his mind start to drift again, though this time it wasn’t Jake or pizza that occupied his thoughts. Heeseung is going to be there, he realized vaguely, his focus slipping further away.

His hand slipped into his pocket again, his fingers brushing against the edge of the folded paper—the one Sunoo had picked up in the library earlier and handed back to him without much thought. The paper felt heavier than it should have, carrying a weight that seemed to anchor Sunghoon’s thoughts somewhere he wasn’t ready to confront just yet.

“Sunghoon.” Sunoo’s voice cut through his thoughts like a sharp breeze, snapping him back to reality. Sunghoon blinked, glancing up quickly as the room came back into focus.

“Uh—what?” he asked, his tone flustered.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Sunoo said, shaking his head with a grin. “We all know you zone out more than anyone here.”

Before Sunghoon could come up with a retort, he noticed Niki polishing off his pudding with comical urgency, his spoon scraping the edges of the cup.

“Okay, okay,” Sunghoon said suddenly, smirking slightly as he saw his opportunity to change the subject. “Before we get too excited about the party, Niki...finish your pudding before you hear another earful from Jake about how you stole it from the fridge again or something. ”

Niki froze mid-spoonful, his wide eyes darting between Sunghoon and the nearly-empty pudding cup. “I didn’t steal it!” he protested, though the guilty look on his face didn’t help his case.

Sunoo burst out laughing, nearly choking on his drink as he pointed at Niki. “Jake’s still convinced you’ve been running a pudding heist operation. Better finish that before he shows up and starts interrogating you again.”

“I’m innocent!” Niki cried dramatically, shoveling another spoonful into his mouth like it was some form of evidence. “This pudding came from...a totally legal source!”

Sunghoon shook his head lightly, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Sure it did.”

“Why do none of you believe me?” Niki lamented, though his words were muffled by another bite of pudding.

Despite his earlier hesitation, Sunghoon found himself enjoying the playful chaos of the moment. The idea of the party still felt daunting, but maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t the worst way to spend a Saturday night. 

And the fact that Heeseung would be there...well, that was another thought altogether.

The room was alive with chatter and laughter, the soft glow of string lights casting a warm ambiance over the decorated space. Balloons bobbed gently along the walls, and a "Happy Birthday Jay" banner stretched proudly across one side of the room. Sunghoon and Jungwon stood by the entrance, their trays of drinks clinking softly as they greeted guests, weaving through the occasional chaos that only a lively party could bring.

Jake burst into the room, as animated as ever, holding a box wrapped in bright, slightly crumpled paper. His grin was wide, his excitement palpable. He made a beeline for Jay, practically shoving the box into his hands.

“Here,” Jake said, rocking on his heels. “Happy birthday! Open it now.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the box skeptically. “What’s the rush? What is it?”

Jake gestured wildly. “Just open it already!”

As Jay tore into the wrapping, Jungwon and Niki hovered slightly off to the side, their curiosity piqued. When the torn paper revealed the rare action figure inside, Jungwon let out a soft snort.

“An action figure?”

Niki leaned in closer, tilting his head. “Wait—is that the limited edition one? The one from that superhero series?”

Jake puffed his chest out proudly. “You bet it is.”

Jay held the box up, his brows furrowing as he turned it over in his hands. “Seriously, Jake? This?”

“You said you wanted it!” Jake said, shrugging, his grin unfaltering. “Months ago. I remembered.”

Jay sighed exaggeratedly, shaking his head, but there was no denying the warmth that settled in his chest. He hid it well, though, rolling his eyes for dramatic effect. “You’re unbelievable. But… thanks.”

Jungwon laughed, nudging Niki. “Look at him trying not to smile.”

Niki smirked. “It’s okay, Jay. You can admit it—you love it.”

The sound of the door opening pulled Jay’s attention away as Heeseung stepped inside, his movements shy but steady. He approached with a small velvet pouch in his hand, the kind of simple gift that didn’t call too much attention to itself.

“Happy birthday,” Heeseung said quietly, holding it out.

Jay took the pouch and opened it carefully, shaking the contents into his palm. A sleek guitar pick fell into his hand, its polished surface catching the light. He stared at it for a beat, his lips twitching upward.

“This is… really cool. Thanks,” Jay said, holding it up for a closer look.

Heeseung shrugged, a hint of warmth in his expression. “Figured you could use it. You know, for your music.”

From across the room, Sunoo tilted his head, looking curious. “What’d you get him?”

“A guitar pick,” Jay replied, flashing it toward Sunoo.

Niki whistled softly. “It’s fancy. You’ve got good taste, Heeseung.”

Jay glanced at Heeseung, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah, he does.”

Jungwon sauntered over next, an unmistakable gleam in his eye. “Jay. Are you ready?”

Jay narrowed his eyes. “Ready for what?”

“My magic trick,” Jungwon declared with a grin, pulling a small black recorder seemingly out of thin air with a flourish. He held it out dramatically.

Jay reached for it slowly, turning the recorder over in his hands. “A recorder? Really?”

Jungwon smirked. “Check the inscription.”

Jay squinted, running his thumb over the faint etching at the top. His eyes widened immediately. “No way. No way. This is—”

“Yep,” Jungwon interrupted smugly. “Original Bon Jovi.”

From behind them, Sunoo let out a low whistle. “Whoa. Jungwon, how’d you even get that?”

“Magic,” Jungwon replied, his grin widening.

Jay was shaking his head in disbelief, clutching the recorder tightly. “This is insane. Jungwon, seriously, this is—I can’t even—thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jungwon said nonchalantly, clearly satisfied by the reaction.

Sunoo was next, carrying a small box with an air of practicality. “Okay,” he said, handing it to Jay, “this is a very purposeful gift.”

Jay unwrapped it carefully, revealing a neat set of brand-new pencils. He let out a soft snort, already guessing the thought process behind the gift.

“Purely backup,” Sunoo explained, pointing toward Jake with a smirk. “In case someone keeps dropping his on purpose.”

Jake rolled his eyes loudly, as if that were possible. “I don’t drop them on purpose!”

“You do,” Sunoo replied immediately.

Jay laughed, holding the pencils up. “Honestly, this is genius. Thanks, Sunoo.”

“Genius?” Jake protested. “Mine was genius too!”

“It’s practical,” Sunoo added smugly, ignoring Jake entirely.

Niki arrived next, dragging a large bag that he dropped onto the floor with a thud. “Jay. Happy birthday. Open this.”

Jay crouched down to peer into the bag and froze, his eyes wide. “A console?!”

“Yep,” Niki said nonchalantly, crossing his arms. “Figured your old one’s slow. This is way better.”

“You figured correctly,” Jay said, pulling the box out carefully. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

Niki grinned. “Now we can finally beat Jake at gaming.”

“Hey!” Jake called from the other side of the room, glaring. “I am good at gaming!”

“Sure you are,” Niki replied flatly, earning a chorus of laughter from the others.

Finally, Sunghoon approached, holding a wrapped frame close to his chest. He seemed quieter than usual, his steps hesitant as he offered the gift to Jay.

“I, uh… I remembered something you said,” Sunghoon began softly. “About wanting to be an artist one day.”

Jay unwrapped the frame with deliberate care, the image inside pulling the breath from his chest. It was a stage, drawn with painstaking detail, the lights bright and dramatic. At the center stood a silhouette—clearly modeled after Jay—bathed in a powerful spotlight.

The room went quiet for a moment as Jay stared at the piece. “Sunghoon,” he said finally, his voice breaking slightly. “This is… incredible.”

Sunghoon shifted slightly, his ears tinged pink. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like it.”

“I don’t just like it,” Jay said, his grip tightening around the frame. “I love it. Seriously, thank you.”

From the corner, Jungwon whispered to Niki, “He’s floored.”

“He should be,” Niki replied. “That’s legit.”

As the room erupted into another wave of laughter, Jay sniffled quietly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. It was impossible to hide how much this moment meant to him, even with their endless teasing. And honestly? He didn’t mind. Not when it felt like this—warm, chaotic, and undeniably full of love. It really was the kind of night he’d remember for a long time.

The teasing didn’t stop, of course, with Sunoo leaning in like he was narrating a drama. “And here we have Jay, the birthday boy, so moved by his friends that he’s sniffling up a storm. Seriously, are you sure you’re not going to cry?”

“Shut up,” Jay muttered, though the wavering tone of his voice betrayed him.

Jungwon chuckled, giving Jay’s back a few hearty pats. “It’s okay, man. No one’s judging. Except maybe Sunoo.”

Jay groaned softly, his lips twitching in what was clearly meant to be a scowl but ended up looking more like an embarrassed smile. Before anyone could push the teasing further, Niki perked up with unmistakable excitement, breaking the mood with a loud declaration.

“Okay, enough sentimental stuff! Who’s ready for some Tekken 8? ” He grinned and pointed to himself triumphantly. “I’m picking Clive!”

Jake immediately threw his hands up. “Clive?! You’re stealing my main!”

“Too late!” Niki said, already heading toward the console with purposeful strides.

The room buzzed again, laughter and playful bickering spilling into the air as they gathered around the console. Sunghoon stayed back for a moment, leaning slightly against the table as his gaze flicked to the framed artwork Jay had carefully set aside earlier. He let out a quiet breath, feeling the tension in his chest release as he realized the gift had been received exactly as he’d hoped. Jay’s reaction had been worth all the nervousness that had built up beforehand.

It wasn’t long before Sunghoon noticed Heeseung glancing his way. Their eyes met briefly, and Heeseung offered a small, almost shy smile. It wasn’t much, just the faint curve of his lips and a barely noticeable nod, but it carried an unspoken reassurance—a quiet acknowledgment that Sunghoon had done well.

The corners of Sunghoon’s mouth lifted slightly in return, his fingers brushing absently over the edge of the table as the noise of the room swirled around them. It wasn’t often he felt like he belonged in moments like these—chaotic, messy, full of too much life—but tonight was different. Tonight, he let himself breathe it in.

Meanwhile, in the background, Niki was already shouting over the game menu. “Come on, Clive! Don’t let me down!” Jake argued back, Jungwon smirked knowingly, and Jay—though still a little sniffly—couldn’t help but laugh, the weight of gratitude resting softly in his chest.

The party had settled into its groove, the earlier buzz of gift-giving now replaced with the quiet hum of playful rivalry near the console. Jay sat off to the side, a blanket draped lazily over his shoulders as he watched his friends with an amused smirk. The scattered remnants of wrapping paper, half-finished drinks, and stray cushions painted a picture of a lively but now relaxed celebration.

At the console, Jungwon and Sunoo were locked in battle, their focus sharp as they maneuvered their characters across the screen. Jake, sitting just behind Jungwon, leaned forward like a coach on the sidelines, whispering strategy into his ear. “Okay, okay, now dodge—use Alisa’s mobility. You gotta time this!”

On the opposite side, Niki was gesturing wildly, his voice a bit louder as he pointed at the controller in Sunoo’s hands. “Don’t let him corner you! Use that combo I showed you earlier. No, not that one—the other one!”

“Stop yelling!” Sunoo shot back, his tone half-annoyed, half-laughing.

“You need to listen if you want to win!” Niki retorted, earning a dramatic sigh from Sunoo.

The match reached its peak when Jungwon attempted a risky move with Alisa, narrowly dodging one of Sunoo’s attacks before launching into what Jake called “a game-changing combo.” For a split second, Jungwon looked like he might pull off the win—but Sunoo, under Niki’s direction, countered at the last second, finishing the match with a decisive hit.

“Yes! Victory!” Sunoo exclaimed, dropping the controller onto the floor triumphantly.

Jungwon stared at the screen, blinking in disbelief. “No way.”

Jake groaned loudly, flopping back onto the floor. “What?! How did you lose? You were so close!”

“It was the combo,” Jungwon muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to process the defeat.

“You still owe us five bucks, Jake!” Jay called from his spot, laughing as he watched the scene unfold.

Jake sat up quickly, looking offended. “What? Why do I owe you five bucks? I wasn’t even playing!”

“Because you’re the ‘coach,’” Jay replied, gesturing at Jungwon with a grin. “And your representative lost.”

“No!” Jake said dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Jungwon doesn’t represent me! He was just borrowing Alisa!”

“Too late,” Niki chimed in, smirking as he leaned back against the couch. “The verdict is in. Jungwon was your guy, and he lost. Pay up.”

Jay grinned, crossing his arms. “Fair’s fair. I officially dethroned Jake on my birthday. Feels good.”

“You didn’t beat me ,” Jake grumbled, but his pout only made the others laugh harder.

“Well you lost using my controller. That should count as one.”

Jay shook his head, his smile lingering as he watched them argue over the technicalities of their loss. Despite the teasing, it was clear everyone was enjoying themselves.

From across the room, Heeseung sat quietly, a faint blush warming his cheeks as he let the chaos of the console fade into the background. His gaze drifted, inevitably landing on Sunghoon, who was perched on the edge of the chair. Sunghoon’s shoulders were relaxed, his head tilted slightly as he watched the group with an expression that Heeseung could only describe as relieved.

There was a pause—just long enough for their eyes to meet—and Heeseung felt his lips curve into a small, shy smile. Sunghoon’s own expression softened, the corners of his mouth lifting faintly in return before his attention shifted back to the group.

The laughter echoed around the table, the group well into another chaotic round of Cards Against Humanity. The effects of soju had loosened their filters, and Sunoo, always quick with the playful jabs, leaned back in his seat as he eyed Sunghoon.

“You know, Sunghoon,” Sunoo said, his tone teasing. “Who knew your last party—your sisters’ ten-year-old birthday—would actually be handy for this?”

The comment sent Jake into fits of laughter, his drink wobbling dangerously in his hand. “Oh my gosh, Sunoo, you’re killing me. I can’t.”

Jungwon smirked as he leaned over the table, pretending to study his cards closely. “I knew it. Sunghoon’s been preparing for this his whole life. Strategizing, plotting…”

“I don’t plot,” Sunghoon replied, his voice calm but with the faintest hint of exasperation.

“You don’t not plot,” Niki chimed in, grinning slyly. “I bet at those birthday parties, you sit in the corner quietly judging the kids’ humor levels for future card domination.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he shuffled his cards. “You guys have too much time on your hands.”

“That’s what you want us to think,” Sunoo teased. “But you know we’re right.”

Before Sunghoon could reply, the next card question was read aloud, bringing everyone’s focus back to the game: “What ruined my childhood?”

The room was filled with murmurs and exaggerated reactions as everyone picked their answers. Sunghoon placed his card down last, his movements deliberate, and leaned back slightly in his chair.

Jay, tasked with reading the responses, started flipping the cards over one by one. “Alright, let’s see. First up: ‘The inexplicable inability to do basic math.’ Brutal. Next: ‘Santa’s secret meth lab.’ Oh man, who—Jake, was this you?”

Jake grinned mischievously, shrugging. “I mean… what if Santa needed the funds?”

Jay groaned, shaking his head as he flipped to the next card. “Okay. ‘Being replaced by your younger sibling.’ Wow. Someone’s holding a grudge.”

“I wonder who,” Sunoo muttered, shooting a glance at Niki, who raised his hands in mock innocence.

Jay rolled his eyes as he flipped the third card, pausing to take a dramatic breath before reading. “‘Having a face only a mother could love.’”

The room exploded with laughter, Niki actually falling over onto the couch while Sunoo clutched his stomach.

“Oh my god, who did that?” Sunoo howled, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “That’s so wrong—but so right.”

“It’s definitely Niki,” Jungwon muttered between gasps of laughter.

Niki raised his hands in mock innocence, his grin wide. “Not guilty this time, but I wish I’d thought of it.”

Jake burst out laughing again, pointing across the table. “Oh no, no way! Did you play that about yourself?!”

Sunghoon shrugged nonchalantly, but the faint blush creeping up his neck gave him away. “It fit the prompt.”

Sunoo was practically wheezing at this point, gripping the edge of the table as he looked at Sunghoon with mock betrayal. “You mean to tell me you’re good at self-roasting too? Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“He’s unstoppable,” Jungwon said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Even when he’s the target.”

Niki chimed in, wiping at his eyes. “We can’t compete with this level of advanced humor. It’s over for us.”

Jay, still chuckling, set the cards down with a sigh. “Alright, Sunghoon wins this one, no contest. That card is… a masterpiece of self-deprecation.”

Sunghoon leaned back slightly, his expression calm but with just the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. “Told you. Strategy.”

Sunoo threw his hands up in defeat. “I can’t believe this. Betrayed by the quiet one. Again.”

The game wrapped up with Sunghoon being declared the undisputed winner of the round, leaving Jake sulking dramatically and the others erupting in half-hearted protests. Heeseung reached toward the table, aiming for his glass without much thought, but as his fingers brushed against someone else’s hand, he froze.

It took him half a second to realize it was Sunghoon’s hand beneath his, the warm, steady weight of it pressing lightly against his fingertips. Sunghoon didn’t pull away immediately either, his hand just lingering there as if he wasn’t sure what to do.

Heeseung’s breath hitched. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, the sound loud in his ears despite the faint buzz of conversation filling the room.

“Oh,” Sunghoon murmured softly, his voice barely audible.

“I—s-sorry,” Heeseung stammered, his voice catching as he hurriedly curled his fingers and started to pull back. “I’ll just—uh, I’ll get this.”

But the movement wasn’t quick enough to shake the weight of the moment. Their eyes met, just for a fleeting second, and the room seemed to slow down around them. Sunghoon’s gaze was steady, unreadable, but the faintest pink brushed the tips of his ears, betraying his usual composure.

Heeseung felt his throat tighten. The warmth of Sunghoon’s hand lingered on his skin, the simplicity of the contact leaving an almost dizzying tension between them.

“Right,” Sunghoon said finally, shifting slightly in his seat as he retracted his hand with a muted clearing of his throat.

Heeseung ducked his head quickly, his face burning. He grabbed his glass hastily, gripping it with both hands as if it were the only thing anchoring him in the moment. “Sorry,” he mumbled again, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Sunghoon’s lips parted, like he might say something more, but the rest of the group didn’t notice the heavy air between them. Niki, ever oblivious to subtlety, waved his arm dramatically to draw attention back to the game.

“Alright, alright, enough lingering. Who’s ready for me to crush them in the next round?”

The tension broke, the sounds of laughter and banter rushing back into the space as Heeseung quickly looked away, focusing intently on the table. His hand still tingled faintly, though, and somewhere across the table, Sunghoon’s gaze lingered just a moment longer before he, too, focused on the game again. The weight of the unspoken moment hung between them, heavy and charged, but neither said a word.

The party had softened into a haze of quiet laughter and drowsy murmurs as the night stretched on. Niki stretched his arms above his head, letting out an exaggerated yawn that seemed to fill the entire room. “Alright, hyungs, I’m done. Goodnight,” he said, his voice thick with sleep as he stood and shuffled toward the hallway.

“I’ll go too,” Sunoo added, his tone equally sleepy but still carrying a spark of his usual playfulness. He shot a tired grin at the others. “You guys behave. Or, well… don’t.”

Jay raised a brow, smirking from where he sat at the table. “We’ll try. Sleep tight, kids.”

“Goodnight, hyungs!” Niki called out, disappearing into one of the rooms with Sunoo close on his heels.

At the table, Jay, Jake, and Jungwon were still lounging, though Jungwon looked like he was barely clinging to consciousness. His head swayed slightly, and his lips quirked up as he mumbled something incoherent before leaning his weight heavily on the table.

Jake chuckled, leaning closer. “Jungwon? You good?”

“Jakey~,” Jungwon slurred softly, his tone turning sing-song as he blinked up at Jake through half-lidded eyes.

Jay nearly spat out his drink, laughing as he slapped the table. “Oh, no way. What was that? Jungwon, you’ve been holding out on us, huh?”

Jake, though equally amused, looked scandalized. “Jakey? Since when am I Jakey to you? Are you confessing your feelings or something?”

“Jakey~,” Jungwon repeated, dragging the word out with a lazy grin. “You’re… so funny.”

Jake shook his head, his laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. “This is what happens. It’s always the quiet ones who turn out to be lightweights.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jay said, shaking his head fondly as he got up. “Alright, enough teasing. Let’s get him to bed before he confesses something he’ll regret in the morning.”

Jake stood as well, looping an arm around Jungwon to help him up. “Come on, buddy. Time to call it a night.”

Jay nodded toward the others as they guided a stumbling Jungwon toward the hallway. “Goodnight, guys. Don’t stay up too late.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Sunghoon found himself sitting at a slight distance from Heeseung. The TV was on, playing an old sitcom rerun, and Heeseung—still slightly tipsy—was giggling softly at one of the jokes.

Sunghoon wasn’t even sure when he started staring. It wasn’t intentional, or at least, that’s what he told himself. But there was something about the way Heeseung’s smile lit up his face, the way his laughter carried just enough warmth to pull Sunghoon’s focus entirely.

His chest tightened, the flutter of butterflies impossible to ignore as Heeseung glanced at the screen again, oblivious to the attention. Sunghoon let out a soft breath, trying to steady himself, but every stolen glance only made it worse.

“Speaking of lightweights,” Jay’s earlier comment echoed in his mind, tugging at the corner of his lips in a faint smile.

The room was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the TV and the occasional burst of laughter from the sitcom. Heeseung’s giggles had softened, his tipsy state leaving him relaxed and unguarded. Sunghoon, still lying on the floor, found himself staring up at Heeseung, who was perched above him, his weight balanced awkwardly as he hovered.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. Sunghoon’s breath caught in his throat as he realized how close they were, the warmth of Heeseung’s presence pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake. They’d been doing this a lot lately—these long, lingering stares that felt like they carried something unspoken, something heavy.

Heeseung’s gaze softened, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something, but the words never came. Sunghoon’s chest tightened, his thoughts swirling in a way that left him feeling both exposed and confused.

Finally, he cleared his throat, breaking the moment as he shifted slightly beneath Heeseung. “I should… get up,” he murmured, his voice quieter than he intended.

Heeseung blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and nodded quickly. “Y-yeah, right. Sorry.”

Sunghoon braced his hands against the floor, starting to push himself up, but before he could fully rise, something slipped off the couch above them. The object landed squarely on his face with a dull thud, making him wince.

“Seriously?” Sunghoon muttered, his voice tinged with irritation as he reached up to grab the offending object. “What the he—”

He froze mid-sentence, his fingers tightening around the cardboard cover as he pulled it away from his face. His heart sank, a cold dread settling in his stomach as he stared at the familiar sketchpad in his hands.

Heeseung, still giggling softly, tilted his head. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice light and tipsy, completely unaware of the shift in Sunghoon’s expression.

The room felt suffocatingly quiet, the sitcom’s laugh track now a distant hum in Sunghoon’s ears. His fingers tightened around the sketchpad, the familiar texture of the cardboard cover grounding him for a fleeting moment before the weight of realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

His chest constricted, a sharp ache blooming beneath his ribs as his breath caught. The edges of his vision blurred, his focus narrowing entirely on the sketchpad in his hands. The air around him felt heavier, colder, as if the warmth of the room had been sucked out in an instant.

No way.

The thought clawed at his mind, relentless and unforgiving. He flipped the sketchpad open with trembling fingers, the pages revealing themselves like a betrayal. His sketches stared back at him—raw, intimate, pieces of himself he’d never intended to share.

A flash of memory surged forward, unbidden and cruel. Heeseung had been fidgety all night, his hands restless, his gaze darting toward Sunghoon with an almost nervous energy. There had been moments— small, fleeting moments —where Heeseung had looked like he wanted to say something, his lips parting only to close again. Sunghoon had noticed it, of course he had, but he’d brushed it off, thinking it was nothing.

But now, with the sketchpad in his hands and Heeseung’s giggles still echoing faintly in the background, the pieces began to fall into place.

His stomach churned, a cold dread settling deep in his gut. Heeseung had known. He’d known all along. The realization twisted like a knife, sharp and unrelenting, cutting through the fragile hope Sunghoon hadn’t even realized he’d been holding onto.

Heeseung’s voice broke through the haze, soft and slurred. “Hoonie? What’s wrong?”

Sunghoon’s grip on the sketchpad tightened, his knuckles turning white as he forced himself to look up. Heeseung was still perched above him, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol, his smile lazy and unguarded. He looked so carefree, so oblivious, and it only made the ache in Sunghoon’s chest worse.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. “Nothing,” he said, his voice strained and barely audible.

Heeseung tilted his head, his giggle softening into a hum of curiosity. “You sure? You look… weird.”

Sunghoon forced a tight smile, his jaw clenching as he closed the sketchpad and set it aside. The motion felt deliberate, heavy, as if he were physically pushing the weight of his emotions away. “I’m fine,” he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

Heeseung didn’t seem convinced, but before he could press further, Sunghoon stood, gently pulling Heeseung to his feet. The contact felt like static, his skin buzzing with an uncomfortable mix of emotions he couldn’t untangle.

“Come on,” Sunghoon said quietly, his voice steadier now. “You need to sleep in a proper bed.”

Heeseung nodded, his movements clumsy as he let Sunghoon guide him toward one of the rooms. The walk felt endless, each step weighed down by the storm brewing in Sunghoon’s chest. Heeseung leaned against him slightly, his warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread that had settled in Sunghoon’s stomach.

Once Heeseung was settled in the room, Sunghoon lingered for a moment, his gaze flickering over him as he drifted off to sleep. The ache in his chest deepened, a quiet, gnawing pain that refused to be ignored.

The room remained eerily quiet as Sunghoon sat on the couch, staring at the closed sketchpad resting beside him. His fingers brushed over the cover again, the texture coarse and familiar, but it didn’t ground him the way he hoped. The ache in his chest had rooted itself too deeply, refusing to budge no matter how many times he tried to push it down.

He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping as he leaned back against the couch cushions. For a moment, he considered opening the sketchpad again, the thought gnawing at him like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. But he knew better than to indulge it. Heeseung was asleep in the other room now, oblivious and unbothered, his laughter and careless smiles still haunting Sunghoon’s memory.

Still, the curiosity clawed at him, persistent and unrelenting. With shaky hands, Sunghoon flipped open the sketchpad to the most recent pages, his breath hitching as he scanned the rough, half-finished drawings scattered across the paper.

There it was.

A sketch of Heeseung’s smile.

It wasn’t complete—barely more than the curve of his lips, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and the faint suggestion of light hitting his features—but Sunghoon didn’t need the details to know exactly what it was. Heeseung’s smile, drawn from memory, not reference.

A sharp pang shot through his chest, stealing the air from his lungs. He stared at the page, his fingers curling slightly as he fought against the wave of emotion rising inside him. It was intimate, raw, painfully honest in a way Sunghoon hadn’t let himself fully acknowledge before.

All this time, he’d been carrying pieces of Heeseung with him—etched into his mind, spilling onto his sketchpad in moments of quiet longing—and now, Heeseung had seen it. He’d seen it and said nothing.

Sunghoon closed the sketchpad carefully, his movements slow and deliberate as if he were trying not to disturb the weight of the moment. He set it back down on the couch, exhaling shakily as he leaned forward, his head falling into his hands.

He shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Heeseung was drunk tonight, careless in the way he’d tugged Sunghoon down and giggled at the TV screen. There was no malice in his actions, no sign that he was intentionally toying with Sunghoon’s feelings. But that didn’t stop the ache, the sharp twist of pain that came from knowing Heeseung had seen the most vulnerable parts of him—the sketches that had never been meant for anyone’s eyes but his own.

For a long moment, Sunghoon stayed there, his hands pressed against his face as he tried to steady the tinge of heartbreak lingering in his chest. He’d let himself hope, and now, he wasn’t sure what to do with the shattered pieces left behind.

The soft hum of the TV carried on in the background, indifferent to the quiet devastation settling around Sunghoon like a storm cloud. Heeseung’s voice, distant and fragmented in Sunghoon’s memory, still echoed faintly.

“Hoonie, ” it whispered.

And for the first time, the sound of it hurt more than he could bear.

The morning came with the faint smell of leftover food and the distant murmur of birds outside. Jungwon woke first, groaning as he clutched his head. “Ugh… what—what happened?” he muttered, squinting at the sunlight streaming through the curtains. He tried sitting up, his face scrunching in pain. “My head’s killing me.”

From the room across the hall, Heeseung stirred, slowly opening his eyes to an unfamiliar view. His neck felt stiff, and his body was twisted in an odd position, half-slumped against the bed. He blinked, frowning as he tried to piece together how he’d ended up here. Wait… how’d I get here?

The memories were fuzzy—blurry moments of laughter, his hand reaching for another drink, Sunghoon’s presence hovering nearby. His stomach flipped as fragments of the night before started piecing themselves together in scattered flashes.

Heeseung dragged himself upright, rubbing his face as he pushed back the lingering haze of sleep. When he stepped into the living room, the others were already gathered. Niki was pouring himself a cup of coffee, still looking half-asleep. Jay sat at the table beside Jungwon, who was slumped over in exhaustion, and Jake leaned back in his chair, holding a plate in one hand.

“Morning, Heeseung,” Jay said, glancing up. Heeseung nodded in return, mumbling something close to a greeting.

“Where’s Sunghoon?” Heeseung asked as he pulled out a chair.

“Oh, he left early,” Jay replied casually. “Said he had something to deal with and couldn’t stay for breakfast.”

Heeseung frowned slightly, though he didn’t press the matter. His chest felt faintly tight, a tension he couldn’t quite explain. Sunghoon had been distant toward the end of the night, quieter than usual. But Heeseung had been drunk—tipsy at the very least—and he couldn’t say for sure if he was imagining things.

As Heeseung poured himself a cup of coffee, Sunoo let out a snort of laughter. “Wow, Jungwon, you look awful.”

Jungwon lifted his head just enough to glare at him. “Gee, thanks, Sunoo. That really helps.”

Jake chuckled, patting Jungwon on the back. “It’s always the quiet ones who can’t handle their drinks.”

The conversation blurred into soft chatter as Heeseung took a sip, his thoughts wandering back to the previous night. He had been so determined to talk to Sunghoon, so sure he would bring up the sketchbook. It had been sitting in his bag for days, hidden but not forgotten, weighing on him like a secret he couldn’t keep anymore.

But then they’d started talking— about what, Heeseung couldn’t quite remember —and the drinks had come faster than he’d intended. Heeseung winced as fragments of blurry memories floated to the surface, moments where he thought he was going to say it, only to let the alcohol pull him further away.

The others finished their breakfast, and Heeseung pushed back his plate, getting up to stretch. As he glanced toward the living room, his eyes landed on something unexpected.

The sketchpad.

It was sitting on the couch, partially covered by a blanket but unmistakable. His stomach dropped, a cold dread creeping over him as he realized something else—the zipper on his bag was open.

“Wait…” he muttered softly, his gaze flicking between the bag and the sketchpad.

Niki, noticing the shift in his expression, paused beside him. “Oh, I saw that this morning when I walked out of the room,” he said casually. “Why?”

Heeseung stared at him, his mind racing. If the sketchpad was out… then that means…

Sunoo’s voice cut through the silence, his tone sharp with curiosity. “No way.”

Jake turned to Sunoo, frowning slightly before glancing at the sketchpad. “What? What’s wrong?”

Sunoo’s eyes widened slightly, his voice quiet but filled with disbelief. “That’s… Heeseung, don’t tell me you—”

Heeseung felt his chest tighten painfully as the weight of realization settled over him. He let out a deep sigh, his gaze falling to the floor as he tried to form the words that wouldn’t come.

Sunoo leaned closer, his expression shifting from disbelief to something more cautious. “You… Heeseung, are you serious?”

Heeseung finally looked up, his lips parting slightly as he let out an apologetic breath. His expression said it all. And the ache in his chest grew heavier, sharper, as he realized just how much he’d let slip—how much he might have ruined.

“Wait, wait,” Jake interrupted, his brows furrowing as he noticed the way Heeseung’s entire demeanor had shifted. “What’s going on? What are you guys talking about? Explain.”

Sunoo turned toward Heeseung, pointing a finger dramatically, his voice carrying an edge of disbelief. “Explain, please—how do you have Sunghoon’s sketchpad and haven’t even bothered to tell us?”

That made everyone freeze.

Jay, who had been sipping his coffee lazily, put the cup down with a loud clink, his gaze sharpening. “Wait— what? ”

Jungwon, still looking haggard from his hangover, slowly lifted his head from where it rested on his arms. “Huh? Sketchpad? Sunghoon’s sketchpad?”

Niki blinked rapidly, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief. “Hold on. You mean that sketchpad?”

All eyes turned to Heeseung as the words sunk in, the weight of the revelation settling heavily over the room. Heeseung felt his throat tighten, the pressure building as he tried to form an explanation. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come—because what could he even say?

“I’ll explain,” he said quietly, the words barely above a whisper, but even as he spoke, his heart sank deeper with every beat. He wasn’t sure if there was a way to fix this. But he had to try.

The air in the living room felt heavier after Heeseung finished explaining everything to the group. The words had been hard to get out, his chest tightening with each detail he shared. By the time he stopped talking, there was a thick silence, everyone processing the weight of his confession.

Jay was the first to break it, leaning back with a small frown. “So, you didn’t know it was Sunghoon at first?” he asked, though his tone suggested he’d already pieced some of it together. “But… I mean, we kind of had a hunch. Whoever ‘Inkspillhoon’ was, it made sense it could be him.”

Niki raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed as he processed this new revelation. “Sunghoon? Famous? I mean, sure, he’s good, but I never thought he’d be, like… y’know, known .”

“That’s not the point,” Jake cut in, his voice firm as he turned toward Niki. “The point is, what happens now? Sunghoon’s not replying to messages. Heeseung, you need to talk to him—like, now .”

The suggestion sent a pang of urgency through Heeseung’s chest. He hesitated, glancing at his phone as Jake’s words echoed in his mind. He needed to talk to Sunghoon, but where would he even start? Before he could dwell on it too long, his phone buzzed softly in his hand, pulling his attention.

As Heeseung scrolled through his phone, his heart thudded harder when the post from Inkspillhoon appeared on his feed. His fingers hovered over the screen, a tinge of unease blooming in his chest as he read the caption:

@InkSpillHoon

"Hello, guys. This is just something quiet I wanted to share today. We all carry little fragments of ourselves that we don’t always show, don’t we? I guess this is one of mine. It’s not perfect, but… sometimes, it’s okay to sit with those quieter moments."

The undertone was melancholic—nothing overtly despairing, but the weight behind the words was impossible to miss. It felt like Sunghoon had peeled back a layer of himself, just enough to let a glimpse of something raw shine through.

The accompanying artwork was no less moving. A grayscale sketch showed a park bench under the shade of a tree. The details were meticulous but subdued—the rough texture of the wooden bench, the soft shadow of leaves dappling the ground, and the faint outlines of distant parkgoers blurred into the background. But what stood out was the emptiness. The bench sat unoccupied, with a pair of shoes sketched beside it as if someone had left in a hurry. A crow perched on the backrest, its stark black outline in sharp contrast to the softer tones around it, watching over the lonely scene.

The lines carried a quiet ache, deliberate and unpolished in a way that made it feel personal, like a fleeting memory captured just before it could slip away. There was no heavy despair in the drawing, but the emptiness of the bench and the soft angles of the tree branches whispered of solitude—a lingering sense of quiet pain.

Heeseung’s chest tightened as he stared at it, a dull ache settling behind his ribs. The sadness in the drawing felt so undeniably Sunghoon—subtle, understated, but deeply felt. His fingers trembled slightly as he scrolled back up to reread the caption.

He knew where Sunghoon was. He could feel it in the drawing, in the shadows of the park scene that told him more than words ever could. Heeseung stood quickly, his chair scraping against the floor as he grabbed his jacket. His determination overpowered the unease swirling in his chest.

“I think I know where he is,” Heeseung said, his voice steady even though his heart wasn’t. As he moved to leave, Jay nodded, his expression soft.

“Alright,” Jay said gently. “Just… make things right, okay?”

The rest of the group watched him pack up in silence. Sunoo eventually spoke, his tone quieter than usual. “Let’s hope it goes well. Just—good luck, Heeseung.”

Heeseung nodded in acknowledgment, glancing back at them briefly before heading for the door. The image of the park sketch lingered in his mind, its quiet solitude pressing against him like a whisper. He just hoped he could find the right words when he got there. He wasn’t sure he could bear it if he didn’t.

Heeseung’s breath came in short bursts as he sprinted down the sidewalk, a faint sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his steps hurried and uneven as he darted toward the bus stop. The weight in his chest didn’t ease as the bus finally pulled up, its brakes squealing faintly against the pavement.

“Finally,” Heeseung muttered under his breath, stepping inside quickly and fumbling for his fare. He found an empty seat near the middle and sank into it, leaning forward as he tapped his foot nervously against the floor. His phone sat clutched in his hand, the clock ticking closer to 3:30. Each passing minute only added to the tension knotting in his stomach.

The bus rumbled forward, the scenery blurring past as Heeseung’s thoughts swirled. He barely noticed the other passengers or the occasional announcements—the only thing grounding him was the time, moving steadily against him. When the clock struck 3:30, Heeseung’s heart skipped a beat.

As the bus pulled to a stop near the park, Heeseung shot out of his seat, his movements hurried and almost frantic. “Sorry!” he called to the bus driver, his voice a rushed apology as he darted off the bus and onto the sidewalk.

The park stretched out before Heeseung, its familiar paths winding under the soft shade of the trees. He slowed his steps as his gaze landed on the bench—the one Sunghoon often chose, sketching quietly while the world passed around him. But today, it was empty, sunlight warming its worn wooden surface.

A pang of defeat hit him, sharp and unrelenting. Heeseung’s shoulders sagged as he stood still, his breath uneven and his chest tight. Doubt crept in, whispering cruel thoughts: He’s not here. He doesn’t want to see me. I’m too late.

He tried to push the feeling down, dragging his gaze across the park as the breeze rustled softly through the leaves. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone—a figure walking along one of the far aisles with their hood pulled up. The person’s gait was slow, deliberate, their hands tucked into their pockets as if shielding themselves from the world.

Heeseung’s focus sharpened as he looked closer, his heart skipping when the figure turned their head slightly, meeting his gaze.

Sunghoon.

They held eye contact for a moment—just long enough for Heeseung to notice the faint redness in Sunghoon’s eyes, as though he’d been rubbing them or holding back emotions he didn’t want to show. Heeseung’s chest tightened, a dull ache blooming as concern twisted through him. Sunghoon’s expression shifted, surprise flickering in his eyes before he quickly turned away, his pace accelerating into a brisk speedwalk.

“Wait! Sunghoon!” Heeseung called, urgency breaking through his voice as he stepped forward.

Sunghoon glanced back, his eyes wide. And then, without hesitation, he started running.

For a moment, Heeseung blinked in disbelief. But as Sunghoon bolted down the path, Heeseung surged forward, his feet pounding against the pavement. “Hey! Sunghoon! Hold up!”

The chase was almost absurd—the sight of Sunghoon sprinting while Heeseung ran after him, their hurried footsteps echoing through the park. The sheer ridiculousness might have been funny if Heeseung’s chest hadn’t been tight with desperation. He wasn’t going to let Sunghoon slip away—not this time.

Sunghoon threw a glance over his shoulder, his hood slipping slightly as he tried to maintain his pace. His bewildered, almost panicked expression only fueled Heeseung’s determination, pushing him forward as the gap between them slowly began to close. Even in the absurdity of it all, Heeseung’s thoughts focused on one thing. I need to reach him before it’s too late.

The chase continued, Sunghoon weaving past the park paths and darting into narrower alleys, his hood bouncing slightly with each hurried step. Heeseung stayed on his tail, his breaths coming in gasps now as the pursuit took them past neighborhood corners and even the edge of a schoolyard. Kids playing basketball paused to stare, their laughter faint in the distance as Heeseung raced past, his legs beginning to burn.

“Oh my god,” Heeseung huffed to himself between breaths, his thoughts tangled between frustration and disbelief. “Since when—since when is Sunghoon a runner?!” He could barely keep up, his heart thudding wildly as his determination fought against his exhaustion.

Sunghoon kept glancing back, his brows furrowed as if weighing the cost of continuing this absurd chase. But as soon as their eyes met again, Heeseung yelled through his gasps, 

“Sunghoon! Just stop already!”

Sunghoon’s pace quickened slightly, as if the urgency in Heeseung’s voice propelled him forward. He ducked under low-hanging branches as the path led them to a small grassy area near the bridge. The soft rush of water below was faint but steady, mingling with the sound of Heeseung’s increasingly labored breaths.

Finally, Heeseung stumbled to a halt, crouching down and bracing his hands on his knees, sweat dripping down his temple. His chest heaved as he gasped, “I—I can’t—I can’t run anymore! ” His words came out in sharp breaths, his voice tinged with frustration and exhaustion.

Sunghoon slowed, his steps hesitant as he glanced back over his shoulder. He watched Heeseung for a moment, his posture unsure, as if trying to decide whether to keep going or to stop. Maybe, just maybe, he thought he had pushed Heeseung too far.

That moment of hesitation was all Heeseung needed.

In a sudden burst of energy, Heeseung straightened and lunged forward, closing the gap in an instant. “Finally! Got you!” he exclaimed, his voice triumphant as he grabbed hold of Sunghoon’s arm.

Sunghoon yelped in surprise, his footing faltering as they both tumbled to the ground. Heeseung let out a startled laugh as they rolled into the grass, the soft blades cushioning their fall.

They came to a stop with Heeseung pinning Sunghoon down, his breath still coming in sharp gasps as he grinned down at him, victorious despite his exhaustion. “You’re not running away this time,” Heeseung said, his voice a mix of relief and determination.

Sunghoon groaned, his face flushed from both the exertion and the sheer ridiculousness of what had just happened. “You tricked me,” he muttered, half exasperated and half incredulous.

Heeseung’s grin widened, his chest still heaving as he caught his breath. “Yeah, well, you deserve it after making me run this much. ”

The tumble into the grass left them tangled, Heeseung’s hands braced against the ground while Sunghoon shifted awkwardly beneath him, his hood slipping back to reveal his face. Heeseung couldn’t help the triumphant smile tugging at his lips—he’d finally caught him.

But that smug satisfaction didn’t last long. Sunghoon’s expression darkened, his brows furrowing as he glared up at Heeseung. “Well, you deserve it,” he spat, his tone sharp, “for making me think all this time you’ve been genuine.”

The words hit like a slap. Heeseung’s grin faded instantly, a pang shooting through his chest. 

“I can explain—” he started, but Sunghoon wasn’t having it.

“Explain? How did you even have my sketchpad in the first place?!” Sunghoon demanded, his voice rising as he pushed Heeseung off slightly, though he stayed seated in the grass. “That thing’s been missing for months! ”

“I didn’t know it was yours at first!” Heeseung blurted, his words rushing out defensively.

Sunghoon’s eyes widened, his jaw clenching as he leaned forward, his tone sharp. “At first? So you knew it was mine?”

Heeseung hesitated, his breath catching as he tried to form the right words. “I mean—yes, eventually, but—”

“Wait, wait, what do you mean ?” Sunghoon cut him off, his voice incredulous as his gaze bore into Heeseung. “You knew all along?! Who are you, my stalker ?”

“No!” Heeseung protested quickly, shaking his head, though his chest tightened painfully at the accusation. “No, listen—wait, hold on. The big question here is, why were there so many sketches of me in that notebook? Are you sure I’m the stalker?!”

Sunghoon’s expression faltered, surprise flickering across his face before his frustration came roaring back. “You’ve only acknowledged I existed when the sketchbook went missing!” he snapped, his voice carrying an edge of bitterness that cut straight through Heeseung. “How was I supposed to know you already knew or had other intentions?”

Heeseung opened his mouth to reply but faltered, his thoughts swirling with too many things to say and nowhere to start. The weight of Sunghoon’s words settled heavily over him, the tension between them crackling like static. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen—for the sketchpad to go missing, for things to spiral into such a mess. But here they were, every unspoken thought and unresolved emotion finally laid bare in the grass beneath them.

Heeseung swallowed hard, his chest tight as he braced himself for whatever came next. “Sunghoon, I didn’t mean—” he started softly, but his voice faltered, the words sticking in his throat as Sunghoon’s glare bore into him, sharp and unwavering.

Without a word, Sunghoon reached into his bag, his movements deliberate and tense. Heeseung’s breath hitched, his mind racing with the possibilities of what Sunghoon might pull out. When Sunghoon finally withdrew a folded piece of paper, he held it up like evidence, his expression steeled.

“How about this?” Sunghoon snapped, his voice cutting through the silence. He unfolded the paper and thrust it toward Heeseung, revealing a drawing—a detailed, unmistakable sketch of Sunghoon’s face. “You drew this, didn’t you?”

Heeseung froze, his eyes widening as the image sank in. The sketch was one of his—soft lines capturing the curve of Sunghoon’s jaw, the subtle arch of his brow, the quiet intensity of his gaze. It was raw and unpolished, but undeniably personal.

“How did you get that?” Heeseung blurted, his voice trembling with disbelief. His stomach churned as Sunghoon’s accusations loomed heavy in the air.

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes, his grip on the paper tightening. “Are you seriously asking me that? You’re the one who drew it! And you’re acting like you don’t know how I got it? My sketchpad’s been missing for months, Heeseung!”

The tension between them was palpable, the weight of their argument settling heavily in the quiet air around them. Sunghoon’s chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, the crumpled drawing clutched tightly in his hand. Heeseung, standing only a few feet away, watched him carefully, the words he needed to say stuck in his throat.

Sunghoon’s voice broke the silence, sharp and trembling, edged with desperation. “Explain then!” he demanded, his brows furrowed as he stepped closer. “Please, Heeseung. Explain! ” He sounded as if he might burst, his frustration bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

Heeseung flinched slightly, the urgency in Sunghoon’s tone cutting through him like a blade. He let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides before finally speaking, his voice soft but trembling. “At first…” He paused, his gaze dropping to the ground as he struggled to find the right words. After a moment, he lifted his eyes to meet Sunghoon’s, his shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of his confession.

“At first, I thought I was hallucinating when I saw it. Your sketchpad, I mean. Those drawings of me… I didn’t know what to do with them. I didn’t know what to feel.”

Sunghoon’s fingers tightened around the paper. He didn’t say anything, but his posture shifted slightly, his shoulders tense as his jaw clenched. His silence felt heavy, like a dam holding back the flood of emotions threatening to break through.

Heeseung took another shaky breath, his voice steadier now but no less vulnerable. “And then, when I realized—when I realized Inkspillhoon was the one who drew me—I thought, wow. ” He let out a quiet, almost bitter laugh, his gaze flicking away as he said softly, “A famous person… someone with thousands of followers… liked a college student like me.”

Sunghoon froze, his grip faltering as his lips parted slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows. He wasn’t prepared for the self-deprecating edge in Heeseung’s tone, the quiet bitterness that hinted at something deeper.

“And you know what I thought?” Heeseung continued, his voice tinged with something like regret. “I felt sorry for them. I felt sorry for whoever was wasting their time on someone so… ordinary. ”

Sunghoon blinked, his throat tightening as the words sank in. He hadn’t expected this—not the raw vulnerability, not the quiet ache in Heeseung’s voice that echoed something painfully familiar. He shifted, his gaze dropping to the paper in his hand before flicking back up to Heeseung’s face.

“Sorry for them?” Sunghoon said softly, his voice carrying an edge of disbelief. His brows furrowed, his emotions bubbling closer to the surface as he added, “You thought I was… wasting my time?”

Heeseung nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah. I didn’t say anything because I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. He glanced down, his fingers curling slightly at his sides. “Afraid that the version of me in your sketches—the one you spent so much time on—was better than the real me. Afraid that if you got to know me, you’d realize I’m bland. You know, nothing special.”

The admission hung between them, heavy and unrelenting. Sunghoon swallowed hard, the ache in his chest twisting deeper as he stared at Heeseung, his thoughts tangled in the weight of what had just been said.

“You really thought that?” Sunghoon asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper. His grip on the drawing loosened slightly, the edges crinkling against his trembling fingers. “You thought you’d ruin it?”

Heeseung glanced up, his gaze meeting Sunghoon’s, and the vulnerability in his eyes hit Sunghoon harder than he had anticipated. The air between them felt heavier with every passing second. “I didn’t know what you were thinking,” Heeseung admitted softly, his voice cracking as he spoke. “All I knew was that you drew me, and I didn’t know why. I didn’t know if it was just a fleeting interest or something… more. And I didn’t know how to ask without ruining everything.”

He hesitated, swallowing hard before continuing. “You know,” Heeseung started, his tone quieter now, more hesitant, “people… they’ve complimented me on my looks before. I hear it, sometimes even a lot. But it’s always so… shallow.” He paused, dragging his gaze downward, his fingers brushing nervously over the fabric of his shirt. “It’s just words, things people say because they think it’s what I want to hear. Most of the time, it feels like it doesn’t mean anything.”

He took a shaky breath, the weight of his emotions pressing against his chest. “And honestly? Sometimes I have a hard time believing it. Believing any of it. Because it’s easier to think they don’t really see me. That they just see something surface-level, and that’s all there is.”

He looked back at Sunghoon then, his gaze more raw, unguarded. “But you…” His voice softened, trembling slightly as he spoke. “You spent hours, maybe days, sketching me. Not just my face, not just surface-level things. The way you drew me—it felt like you actually… saw me. Like you were looking at more than just what’s on the outside. And I didn’t know how to handle that.”

Sunghoon’s lips parted, but no words came out as he stared at Heeseung, his chest tightening painfully. Heeseung’s honesty caught him off guard, the self-doubt and quiet ache in his words making Sunghoon’s own frustration waver. Slowly, his gaze dropped to the paper in his hand—the careful lines of Heeseung’s face, captured with such tenderness and quiet intensity. It was a drawing he had poured so much of himself into, and now it felt like part of a puzzle he wasn’t sure he knew how to solve anymore.

The moment stretched between them, heavy and charged, until finally, Sunghoon broke the silence. His voice was quieter now, trembling slightly as he began to speak. “I didn’t draw you because of some fleeting interest,” he admitted, his tone steady but soft. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, his gaze flickering between the sketch and Heeseung’s face. “I drew you because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Because I didn’t know how else to… deal with it. It was… always you.”

Heeseung’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as Sunghoon’s words sank in. The weight of them was as heavy as his own confession, yet they carried something that felt painfully delicate—like they might break under the wrong reaction. Slowly, Heeseung took a small step closer, his heart thudding in his chest as he struggled to find the right words.

“You felt the same way?” Heeseung asked hesitantly, his voice a mix of disbelief and hope. His eyes searched Sunghoon’s face, desperate for confirmation.

Sunghoon nodded slowly, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks as he loosened his grip on the drawing. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked down, his gaze flickering to the crumpled paper in his hand. “But I didn’t think… I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same way. I thought if I kept it to myself, it’d be easier. Safer.”

Heeseung stayed silent, but his expression softened, his features open and waiting as Sunghoon continued. Sunghoon bit his lip, hesitating, before finally lifting his gaze to meet Heeseung’s. The quiet vulnerability in his eyes carried the weight of everything he had been holding back.

“You…” Sunghoon began carefully, his voice trembling as if testing the words. “You’re kind of out of reach for someone like me, you know? I mean, we’d barely even spoken before all of this. Two times, maybe? And that was just to pass papers in class. You were always…” He hesitated again, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You were someone everyone noticed, but I always figured you’d never notice me. Not really.”

Heeseung’s brow furrowed slightly, something unspoken flickering across his expression, but Sunghoon pressed on, his voice growing quieter as he spoke. “It’s like… at first, it felt like a fleeting thing. Like a crush, nothing more. The kind you keep to yourself because it’s safe there. It felt easier that way.” He let out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening briefly around the paper before relaxing again.

“But then,” Sunghoon continued, his tone softening, almost unsure, “when we started hanging out… it changed. You were still out of reach, but suddenly it felt like maybe—just maybe—there was a chance. My feelings started to… manifest, I guess.” He let out a quiet laugh, the sound tinged with self-deprecation. “I thought I was imagining things, you know? But I couldn’t help it. I let myself hope, and that’s when everything started to feel harder. Like maybe hoping was the most dangerous thing I could’ve done.”

Heeseung’s chest tightened as he listened, his lips parting slightly as the weight of Sunghoon’s confession settled over him. “Hoping isn’t dangerous,” he said softly, his voice laced with emotion. He hesitated for a moment, his thoughts swirling, before adding, “But I get it. I do. Because for the longest time, I didn’t think I deserved to hope either.”

Sunghoon blinked, his expression faltering slightly as Heeseung’s words sank in. The weight of their shared vulnerability hung in the air between them, fragile but grounding.

“I thought I was imagining things, too,” Heeseung admitted, his voice just above a whisper. “I thought someone like you couldn’t possibly feel the same way. But… here we are.”

Heeseung let out a small, breathless laugh, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. “And here I was, thinking I’d ruin everything by even trying to talk to you.”

The delicate silence between them stretched for a moment, Sunghoon’s eyes still flickering between Heeseung and the paper in his hand. His cheeks were faintly red, the earlier confession from Heeseung clearly replaying in his mind. Heeseung watched him, his lips quirking into a small, mischievous smile as an idea struck him.

“You know,” Heeseung started, his voice soft but carrying just enough weight to pull Sunghoon’s attention back to him. Heeseung leaned forward slightly, his tone taking on a playful edge. “For someone who thought I was out of reach… you sure drew me like you had me wrapped around your finger.”

Sunghoon’s eyes widened, and almost immediately, the faint flush on his cheeks deepened into a full, fiery blush. “I-I didn’t—what? That’s not—” He stammered, his voice pitching higher as he clutched the drawing tighter, clearly flustered.

Heeseung grinned, the sight of Sunghoon’s wide eyes and nervous mumbles warming something deep in his chest. “It’s true,” he said, shrugging with mock innocence. “That many sketches of me? Feels like I didn’t stand a chance.”

Sunghoon buried his face in his free hand, groaning softly as he tried to will the heat in his cheeks away. “You’re unbelievable,” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

Heeseung’s grin softened into something gentler, his gaze lingering on Sunghoon as his blush only seemed to grow. After a moment, he tilted his head, his tone turning more curious. “So… you’re not mad anymore?” he asked, his words carefully measured, as though he didn’t want to break the tentative truce between them.

Sunghoon peeked out from behind his hand, his expression still flustered but calmer now. He let out a small, resigned sigh before saying quietly, “It’s hard to stay mad at you.”

Heeseung’s smile widened, a quiet laugh escaping him as he stepped closer. Sunghoon shifted slightly, his fingers brushing the edges of the paper as he hesitated. “Uh… so since you, um, already know…” he started, his voice trailing off as he glanced away, his words quickly dissolving into nervous mumbles.

Heeseung tilted his head, his chest tightening slightly as he noticed the faint puffiness around Sunghoon’s eyes. The redness lingered, a quiet reminder of everything that had led them here. Heeseung felt a pang of guilt, his voice softening as he said, “Hey… I’m sorry.”

Sunghoon blinked, startled, and opened his mouth to say something, but Heeseung didn’t give him the chance. Instead, he reached out, tugging lightly at Sunghoon’s shoulder. Sunghoon froze, his breath catching as Heeseung leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

The touch was fleeting but warm, and it left Sunghoon completely stunned. His blush, impossibly, deepened even further as his thoughts came to a screeching halt. He stood there, frozen like a statue, his eyes wide as he tried to process what had just happened.

When Heeseung pulled back, he couldn’t hide the affection in his gaze. His lips curved into a soft smile as he took in Sunghoon’s utterly flustered state—his wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and stunned silence. The moment hung delicately between them, and then Heeseung let out a quiet laugh, warm and teasing.

“Wow,” Heeseung said, his voice light and playful. “For someone who dresses in all black and tries to look so put together… you really need to work on your shoes.”

Sunghoon blinked rapidly, still frozen as he struggled to process both the kiss and Heeseung’s sudden comment. “My… shoes?” he managed to stammer, his voice faint and distracted.

“Yeah.” Heeseung’s grin widened as he gestured downward, pointing at the scuffed leather shoes on Sunghoon’s feet. “They’re dirty now. You’re not as neat as you want people to think, huh?”

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked down instinctively, but his mind stayed stuck on the kiss, the warmth of Heeseung’s touch lingering on his skin like static. His lips parted slightly as if to reply, but no words came out—his thoughts refusing to cooperate.

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, watching Sunghoon with an unmistakable fondness. His playful teasing faded into something softer, quieter, as his gaze lingered on the other boy’s flustered expression. Even through Sunghoon’s frozen state, Heeseung’s heart swelled as he took in every detail—the way the blush painted Sunghoon’s cheeks, the way he seemed entirely overwhelmed, the way his lips trembled as he tried and failed to form words.

As Sunghoon stood frozen, the warmth from Heeseung’s kiss still lingering on his cheek, his phone buzzed loudly in his pocket. The sudden vibration snapped him out of his daze, though he didn’t immediately reach for it—his fingers trembling slightly from his still-flustered state.

Noticing Sunghoon’s hesitation, Heeseung chuckled softly, his voice teasing but warm. “Need me to help with that?” Heeseung reached out and slid the phone from Sunghoon’s pocket, glancing at the screen. The name ‘Sunoo’ flashed brightly, accompanied by the buzzing vibration.

Heeseung swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello?” he said casually, a playful grin on his lips as he glanced at Sunghoon, who was still too stunned to react.

“ Thank god! ” Sunoo’s voice burst through the speaker, loud and frantic. “We thought the two of you were out in the wild, killing each other off! What happened? Are you finally alright? Or should we call for backup? Spill, now! ”

Heeseung couldn’t suppress a laugh, his amusement spilling over at Sunoo’s dramatic tone. “Relax, Sunoo. We’re fine—no casualties here,” he said, glancing at Sunghoon with a smile. Sunghoon blinked, still caught off guard by the whirlwind of events.

Before Sunoo could reply, the sound of overlapping voices filtered through the phone’s speaker. “What’s going on?! Are they okay now?” another voice—Jake’s—interrupted. “Tell us what happened!”

“Sunghoon’s alive, right?!” Niki chimed in.

“Just let them talk, guys,” Jay cut in, his voice tinged with exasperation.

Sunoo’s voice came through the speaker again, this time carrying a playful, exaggerated tone. “Alright, alright, you two cheesy lovebirds, let’s go! It’s clear we’re interrupting a very important moment here.”

Sunghoon’s blush deepened further, his hand tightening slightly around Heeseung’s as his gaze darted away. Heeseung chuckled softly, his heart feeling light as the teasing washed over them.

Before Sunoo could hang up, Jungwon’s voice cut through in a casual, supportive tone. “Heeseung, don’t let us stop you! Do what you gotta do!”

Sunghoon’s jaw dropped slightly, his face growing impossibly red as the comments piled on. Heeseung grinned, glancing at Sunghoon with a warmth in his eyes that spoke volumes.

Then Niki’s voice broke through the chaos, his words hurried and laced with nervous energy. “Hyungs, d-don’t—don’t eat each other’s faces off!” The comment was so out of the blue that both Heeseung and Sunghoon froze for a moment, before Heeseung let out a hearty laugh.

Jake’s voice immediately followed, his tone pragmatic yet amused. “Niki, it’s just a phrase. That’s not literal, okay?”

Sunghoon groaned softly, burying his face in his free hand once again, thoroughly embarrassed by his chaotic group of friends. Heeseung, still holding his hand, gave him a gentle squeeze and leaned slightly closer. His teasing grin softened, replaced by a look of quiet affection as he glanced at Sunghoon.

Heeseung’s gaze lingered, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of Sunghoon’s hand. The touch was light but firm, grounding them both in the moment. Sunghoon’s heart skipped as he felt the warmth of Heeseung’s palm against his, his blush deepening rapidly, spreading across his cheeks like wildfire as his eyes darted to their entwined hands.

Heeseung let out another quiet laugh, his voice soft and warm as he slipped the phone back into Sunghoon’s pocket. His gaze didn’t waver, his lips curving into a small, playful smile. “So…” Heeseung began, his tone teasing but laced with something deeper, something tender. “This is awfully poetic, but it’s a bit late, don’t you think? Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Sunghoon’s breath hitched, his eyes widening slightly before his lips parted in a soft, almost disbelieving smile. “Of course,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but the sincerity in his tone was unmistakable.

Heeseung’s grin widened, his heart swelling at the sight of Sunghoon’s shy but radiant expression. Without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed another kiss to Sunghoon’s cheek, this one lingering just a moment longer. When he pulled back, his eyes sparkled with mischief as he asked, “Better than your sketches?”

Sunghoon blinked, his blush deepening impossibly further as he stammered, “More than better.” His voice was soft but filled with a quiet certainty that made Heeseung’s chest tighten.

Before Heeseung could respond, Sunghoon tugged him down gently, his fingers curling into the fabric of Heeseung’s shirt as he pressed their lips together. The kiss was tentative at first, but it quickly melted into something warmer, something that felt like a culmination of everything they hadn’t been able to say before.

Heeseung’s hand slipped around Sunghoon’s waist, pulling him closer as the warmth between them grew. Sunghoon’s thoughts swirled, but one thing was clear—the warmth of Heeseung’s touch, the way it felt so right, so grounding, was something he never wanted to let go of. And in that moment, everything else faded away, leaving only the quiet certainty of them.

And as Heeseung stood there, hand in hand with Sunghoon, he realized that love wasn’t something you could capture on paper—it was something you lived, something you breathed. And for the first time, Sunghoon understood, too: that maybe being found out wasn’t so scary after all—it was just the beginning.