Chapter Text
The classroom had mostly emptied for lunch, leaving only the sound of distant chatter from the hallway. Juntae and Gotak were huddled together at the far desk, French textbooks open, loose-leaf notes scattered like a storm had passed through.
Juntae tapped his pencil against the page, reading aloud in careful, deliberate syllables. "Je voudrais... une baguette..."
Gotak bit back a grin. "So you’re telling me if we ever go to France, you’re just gonna order bread?"
"At least I won’t starve," Juntae said, flipping a page. "Now repeat it."
Gotak leaned in, mimicking his tone. "Je voudrais une baguette." He paused, smirking. "Actually... Speaking of France, prom’s coming up. You should go with me."
Juntae froze mid-note, staring at him. "This feels familiar."
Gotak pretended to think. "Hmm. Like… maybe that time I asked you to the party and you made me sweat for twenty minutes before saying yes?"
Juntae’s mouth twitched. "I don’t remember taking that long."
"You absolutely did," Gotak said, pointing at him with his pen. "You stared at me like I’d just asked you to donate a kidney."
Juntae rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him. "And if I say no?"
Gotak leaned back in his chair with exaggerated offense. "Then I’ll have to find someone else… which would be tragic… because I only wanna go with you."
There was a beat— the kind where neither of them said anything, just looked at each other like the answer was already obvious. Juntae sighed, pushing his textbook aside. "Fine. I’ll go with you."
Gotak grinned so wide it almost hurt. "Déjà vu."
"Déjà mistake," Juntae said, but he didn’t mean it.
They were still in their corner, the French books pushed aside now that “prom negotiations” had taken over. Gotak was trying to write "Prom avec moi?" in his notebook when the door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall.
Baku strutted in like the room had been waiting for him. "Alright, emergency announcement!" he said, dropping his bag onto the nearest desk with a thud.
Juntae didn’t even look up. "Did you fail another test?"
"No," Baku said, dramatically adjusting his jacket collar. "Better. I have decided—" He raised a finger in the air like this was a royal decree. "—I am going to ask Baekjin to prom."
Gotak blinked. "You decided that in the last five seconds?"
"Actually," Baku said, walking in a slow circle around their desks, "I’ve been thinking about it since this morning… while I was brushing my teeth… and then again when I almost missed the bus."
Juntae finally looked up, suspicious. "And what’s your plan?"
Baku grinned. "Simple. I’m gonna ask him while dunking a basketball. I’ll jump, I’ll yell, ‘Baekjin, prom?’ and then boom— instant yes."
Gotak snorted. "Or instant concussion."
Baku ignored that. "I mean, it’s perfect. He likes basketball. I like basketball. We both like me— it’s fate."
Juntae muttered under his breath, "One of those statements is false."
Baku clutched his chest like he’d been stabbed. "You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first."
Gotak leaned forward, smirking. "Jealous? No. Concerned for Baekjin’s safety? Absolutely."
Baku just grinned wider, clearly taking that as a compliment. "Mark my words. Tomorrow, Baekjin’s gonna be my prom date, and you two are gonna be begging me for tips."
"Yeah," Juntae said dryly, turning back to his notes. "On how to recover from public embarrassment."
Baku gasped, overacting like he was in a soap opera, then flopped into the desk in front of them. "Haters. I’m surrounded by haters."
The door slid open again, and Suho stepped in, holding a juice box like it was his sole reason for living. "What’s going on in here?" Suho asked, walking toward them.
"Prom strategies," Baku said proudly, sitting up straighter. "I’m gonna ask Baekjin mid-slam dunk."
Suho blinked. "You’re… gonna what?"
"Picture it," Baku said, leaning forward like a director pitching a movie. "The crowd’s cheering. I leap. I dunk. I yell ‘Baekjin, prom?’ while still airborne."
"That sounds… dangerous," Suho said slowly.
"Exactly," Gotak muttered. "To everyone involved."
Suho shook his head, clearly amused. "You guys are ridiculous—" Then he froze mid-sip of his juice box.
Juntae narrowed his eyes. "What?"
Suho lowered the drink slowly, realization dawning on his face. "Wait… If Baku’s asking Baekjin… and you’re obviously going with Gotak—" he pointed vaguely between Juntae and Gotak— "and it’s prom…"
Gotak smirked. "Ohhh, here it comes."
Suho’s eyes widened, like he’d just been hit by a truck full of responsibility. "I have to ask Sieun to prom!"
Juntae gave him a flat look. "You just realized that now?"
"Well, yeah!" Suho said defensively. "I thought it was… you know… an unspoken thing."
Baku grinned like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. “Don’t worry, bro. I’ll help you.”
“Absolutely not,” Suho said immediately.
But it was too late, Baku was already leaning across the desk. “Rule number one: it has to be epic. Rule number two: it has to be memorable. Rule number three—”
“—you have to survive it,” Gotak cut in.
Suddenly, without a word, Suho reached into his bag and yanked out a battered spiral notebook and a pen, flipping to a blank page with the precision of someone about to plan a military campaign.
“What are you doing?” Juntae asked.
“Making a list,” Suho said, already scribbling 'PROM IDEAS' across the top in all caps. “We’re gonna figure this out scientifically.”
Gotak leaned over. “Write down ‘romantic dinner.’”
Baku interrupted immediately. “No, no, no—write ‘slam dunk.’”
“I’m not writing slam dunk,” Suho said without looking up.
“Fine. Write ‘flash mob’ then.”
Juntae smirked. “Write ‘don’t be weird.’”
Baku threw his arms up. “That’s impossible for him!”
Suho ignored them all, muttering to himself as he wrote: “Aquarium idea… rooftop idea… no death-defying stunts…”
Gotak reached over and added in his neat handwriting: Don’t make it awkward.
Baku immediately grabbed the pen and scrawled: Slam Dunk. Suho stared at the notebook. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m helping in spirit,” Baku said proudly.
By the end of the period, the page was crammed with a chaotic mix of legitimate suggestions, bad jokes, and doodles of stick figures holding prom signs. Suho looked at it like he’d just been handed a treasure map. “Alright. I think I’ve got a plan.”
“Does it involve basketball?” Baku asked hopefully.
“No,” Suho said flatly.
“Lame,” Baku muttered.
-
The hallway was mostly empty except for the sound of locker doors clanging and the low hum of conversation from down the corridor. Sieun stood at his locker, methodically stacking a few library books into his bag. His expression was neutral—calm, as always.
From the far end of the hall, Suho appeared. He was gripping the straps of his backpack like they were the only thing keeping him upright. His brain was screaming just ask him, but his legs slowed down like he was approaching a cliff.
“Hey,” Suho said, voice cracking slightly.
Sieun glanced up, one brow lifting. “Hi.”
Suho opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “…Sooo…”
Sieun blinked. “…So?”
Suho’s hands were sweaty. “Uh, I was wondering if—” He coughed. “If maybe… like… you’d… uh—”
Sieun tilted his head. “You’re being weird.”
That one sentence hit Suho like a slap. He sputtered. “No, I’m—!”
Sieun shut his locker with a loud clack, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “You’re definitely being weird.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and started down the hallway.
Suho just stood there, frozen, mouth half-open. “…Cool. Nailed it,” he muttered to himself.
He dragged himself outside, muttering about how this was all Baku’s fault somehow. On a bench near the basketball court, Juntae and Gotak were sitting shoulder to shoulder, sharing a bag of chips. They were watching something with rapt attention, occasionally wincing in unison.
“What’re you guys—” Suho began, but then he saw it.
Baku. In the middle of the court. In full showtime mode. He was wearing his PE jersey, holding a basketball like it was a sacred artifact. Baekjin stood awkwardly near the hoop, clearly not sure if he should run away or cheer.
“This is for you, Baekjin!” Baku announced loud enough for the entire courtyard to hear. “Prom 2025, slam dunk style!”
“Please no,” Gotak muttered under his breath.
Baku sprinted toward the hoop with all the dramatic buildup of a sports movie climax. He leapt—far too early—and the ball slipped out of his hand mid-air. It smacked the rim, bounced back, and hit him squarely in the face before rolling away.
The crowd collectively groaned. Juntae actually covered his eyes. Gotak stared straight ahead, chewing slowly, like watching a car crash in slow motion.
Baku, however, popped right back up, grinning like he’d just won the championship. “So? Will you go to prom with me?!” he shouted.
Baekjin looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “...I guess?” he muttered.
The courtyard erupted into confused laughter. Baku raised his arms in triumph, unfazed.
Suho turned to Juntae and Gotak. “What… did I just witness?”
“Your future, if you keep taking advice from him,” Juntae said dryly.
“That…” Suho began slowly, “…was the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“That’s because you didn’t see the time he tried to serenade someone with a karaoke machine in the cafeteria,” Juntae said.
Gotak crunched on a chip. “Or when he tried to backflip during gym class and landed on the dodgeball cart.”
Baku jogged over, panting but smiling like he was the king of the world. “Well, boys, what’d you think? Epic, right?”
“Epic fail,” Juntae said flatly.
Suho raised an eyebrow. “You dropped the ball mid-air.”
“That was a stylistic choice,” Baku said without missing a beat.
Gotak tilted his head. “Is that what you call smashing your own face with it?”
Baku pointed at him dramatically. “See, that’s the problem with you guys, no appreciation for art. That was a performance. A statement. I was saying: even if you fall, you get back up and—”
“You didn’t fall,” Juntae interrupted. “You just… misfired.”
“Yeah,” Suho added. “And by misfired, we mean failed miserably in front of the entire courtyard.”
Baku smirked. “Say what you want. Baekjin said yes.”
Gotak squinted. “I think he said it because he wanted you to stop.”
Juntae nodded. “That was a mercy ‘yes’.”
Suho crossed his arms, staring at the court like he was thinking about something deep. “Okay, mental note: never, ever use basketball for anything romantic.”
Baku clapped him on the back. “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it.”
Baku was still basking in his “victory” in the background, but now Juntae leaned back on the bench with his arms crossed, narrowing his eyes at Gotak.
“You know what’s messed up?” Juntae said. “You didn’t even ask me to prom in any special way.”
Gotak glanced over, already sensing trouble. “Special way?”
“Yeah,” Juntae continued, gesturing toward the court where Baku was still waving to his nonexistent fans. “Look at Baku. Embarrassing? Yes. Cringe? Absolutely. But at least he tried something. You just—” he waved a dismissive hand “—mentioned prom while we were studying French verbs.”
Gotak leaned back. “I thought the part where I said ‘with you’ was romantic enough.”
“It wasn’t,” Juntae deadpanned.
There was a beat of silence. Then Gotak stood up without a word. “What are you doing?” Juntae asked suspiciously.
Gotak strolled toward Baku, muttered something, and took the basketball from him. Baku looked confused, but shrugged and went back to practicing his “victory walk.”
Everyone in the courtyard turned to watch Gotak as he jogged toward the hoop. Without any buildup, he jumped, cleanly slammed the ball into the net, landed on both feet, and casually walked back like nothing had happened. He stopped in front of Juntae. “Prom?”
Juntae stared at him. “I hate you.”
Gotak smirked. “Is that a yes?”
“That’s a ‘break up with me right now before I dump you publicly for doing that,’” Juntae said, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the start of a smile.
Baku jogged over, out of breath. “See?! I told you it works!”
Suho snorted. “You just gave him the exact opposite reaction you wanted.”
Juntae threw his hands up. “If he ever tries to ‘slam dunk’ me into anything again, I’m out.”
Juntae was still mock-glaring at Gotak, who was chewing his stolen chips without remorse, when Sieun walked up with his bag slung over one shoulder. “I just passed the basketball court,” Sieun said flatly. “I saw Baku… and Gotak… doing whatever that was supposed to be.”
Baku perked up. “It was a promposal, man. Showmanship!”
“Show-cringe-ship,” Sieun corrected, looking dead serious. “If anyone ever asked me to prom like that, I’d probably just leave before they finished the dunk.”
The group laughed—everyone except Suho. He froze mid-sip of his drink, eyes widening like someone had just told him finals were tomorrow. His brain started screaming: Abort mission. Change tactics. This is bad.
“You okay?” Juntae asked, noticing the way Suho was suddenly gripping his cup like it was the last lifeline on Earth.
“Uh—yeah,” Suho said too quickly. “Totally fine. Perfectly fine. Not at all reevaluating my entire life’s plan right now.”
Sieun tilted his head. “Why would you be reevaluating anything?”
Suho let out a nervous laugh that sounded more like a squeak. “No reason! No reason at all. Definitely not because I… uh… didn’t have anything planned in the first place.”
Baku raised an eyebrow. “You so had something planned.”
Suho shot him a glare that screamed shut up right now.
Meanwhile, Sieun was already walking toward the benches, completely oblivious to the way Suho’s mind was spiraling. Okay, no basketball. No big public stunt. No cringe. Think… romantic but not over-the-top. Aquarium? No, we already did that. A quiet place? But he hates clichés. Oh god, why is this harder than it sounds?
Gotak leaned toward Suho with a smirk. “Better figure it out fast. Clock’s ticking.”
Suho’s only response was to bury his face in his hands and mumble, “I’m doomed.”
Baku bounced his basketball and yelled, “C’mon, Gotak! Suho! Let’s run a quick game—two-on-one, me versus you two!”
Suho hesitated, still side-eyeing Sieun, but eventually followed them, muttering something about needing cardio anyway.
Now it was just Juntae and Sieun sitting on the bench, the rhythmic squeak of sneakers on pavement in the background. “So…” Juntae smirked, elbow resting on the back of the bench. “You caught the little show Gotak just pulled?”
“Unfortunately,” Sieun said dryly, eyes on the game. “I don’t know which was worse, Baku missing the hoop completely or Gotak actually making the dunk and acting like he’d just saved the country. And before you ask—no, if anyone tries to pull that on me, I’m not going to prom. I’ll drop out first.”
Juntae raised an eyebrow. “You’re really that against prom?”
“Yes.” Sieun didn’t even hesitate. “Dancing in a room full of sweaty teenagers wearing rented suits and itchy dresses? Sounds like a nightmare. Besides…” He shrugged. “Not my thing.”
Juntae leaned closer, grinning. “What if Suho asked you?”
Sieun gave him a flat look. “If he showed up with a basketball in his hands, I’d run.”
They both turned back to the court just in time to see Baku trip over his own foot, land on the ground, and still manage to make a shot while lying down.
“Yeah,” Sieun said with a smirk. “That’s exactly why I’m not going.”
Juntae chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
The three of them trudged back toward the bench, all drenched in sweat. Baku looked like he’d just finished a championship game, Gotak looked mildly winded, and Suho looked like he regretted every life choice that led him to this moment.
"I destroyed them,” Baku announced proudly, pointing at himself as if he’d just won the NBA finals.
“You lost twice,” Suho muttered, dropping onto the bench next to Sieun, who immediately leaned away from him.
“Don’t sit next to me while you smell like that,” Sieun said flatly.
Baku dropped onto the bench on the other side, leaning forward. “What were you guys talking about? My epic dunk?”
“You missed the hoop,” Sieun said.
“That was part of the strategy,” Baku shot back.
Meanwhile, Gotak flopped down beside Juntae, legs stretched out, still breathing hard. “I think I pulled something.”
“You pulled your pride,” Juntae teased.
Gotak grinned and tipped his head toward him. “Admit it. You were impressed.”
“Impressed you didn’t break your neck? Sure.” Juntae smirked, then reached into his bag, pulled out his water bottle, and without warning, pressed the cold metal against Gotak’s sweaty cheek.
Gotak jumped, laughing. “What the—?! Are you trying to give me frostbite?”
“Cooling you off,” Juntae said innocently, though his grin gave him away.
Gotak narrowed his eyes, then, quick as lightning, leaned forward and rested his forehead against Juntae’s shoulder. “Now you’re sweaty too.”
Juntae shoved him away with mock disgust. “I hate you.”
Gotak just laughed and leaned back against the bench, smug. “You’ve said that like five times this week.”
“And I mean it every time,” Juntae replied, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at his lips.
“So…” Suho started, picking at the edge of his sleeve. “About what you said earlier… y’know, about not wanting to go to prom—”
“I said I didn’t want to be asked out in a cringe way,” Sieun corrected without looking at him.
Suho exhaled slowly, trying to seem casual even though his brain was screaming. “Right. And what’s… your definition of cringe?”
Sieun finally turned to look at him, expression unreadable. “Jumping around with a basketball and missing the hoop in front of half the school. Or… bringing a marching band. Or standing on a lunch table.”
Suho mentally crossed out half the list in his notebook. “Okay… so… subtle. Got it.”
Sieun’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. “You planning something?”
“What? No,” Suho said way too quickly, shaking his head, then realizing how guilty he sounded, he added, “I mean, unless you want me to?”
“I don’t,” Sieun said simply. But there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he looked back toward the basketball court.
Suho caught it and couldn’t help but grin. “You’d tell me if you did want me to, right?”
“Maybe,” Sieun said, standing up just as Gotak leaned over Juntae’s shoulder laughing about something. “But I like surprises.”
Suho’s grin faltered for half a second, because now his brain was scrambling to figure out if that was a hint or a trap.
Juntae was half-leaning against Gotak, rolling his eyes while sipping from a water bottle. “You know,” he muttered, “you could’ve done something romantic when you asked me to prom instead of stealing Baku’s basketball and showing off.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Gotak grinned, tossing the ball between his hands like he’d just pulled off the greatest feat in history.
A few feet away on the same bench, Suho had leaned toward Sieun. “So… no promposals, right?” Suho asked quietly.
“I didn’t say no promposals,” Sieun said, glancing at him.
Right then, Baku threw his arms in the air. "Okay, what is this?” he groaned loudly, cutting across both conversations. “You two—” he pointed at Gotak and Juntae, “—flirting. And you two—” now at Suho and Sieun, “—having your weird almost-romantic whisper chat. Meanwhile, I’m just sitting here like some tragic extra in a romance drama. I’m literally fifth-wheeling!”
Gotak smirked instantly. “You wouldn’t have to if you just dated Baekjin already.”
Baku scoffed. “Oh, here we go again—”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Gotak said, leaning forward like a cat ready to pounce.
“You’re blushing,” Juntae pointed out, deadpan.
“I’m sunburned!” Baku shot back, covering his cheeks as Suho snorted behind him and Sieun shook his head, hiding a small smile.
He was still red in the face, muttering something under his breath about “false accusations” when Gotak leaned forward with that look. "You know, Baku,” he began, tone dripping with mischief, “when you talk about Baekjin, your voice goes up, like—” he pitched his voice absurdly high — “‘Oh Baekjin, your basketball form is sooo cool.’”
Baku’s head snapped around. “I do not sound like that.”
“You totally do,” Gotak grinned. “Do it again, Juntae, back me up—”
“I’m not—” Baku started, but Gotak was already mimicking him again, this time pretending to swoon, clutching his chest dramatically.
“Shut up, Gotak,” Suho cut in, rubbing his temple. “You’ve been at this for five straight minutes.”
Gotak glanced over at him, then leaned back smugly. “Oh, you’re defending him now? Maybe you’re in love with Baekjin—”
“Shut. Up.” Suho’s voice was sharper this time.
But Gotak just kept going, “Hey, maybe you two can double date with me and Juntae. We’ll get matching—”
“Gotak,” Juntae said, voice calm but with an edge, “shut up.”
And just like that, Gotak’s mouth snapped shut immediately. No protest, no smart remark — just quiet.
The silence that followed was loud. Baku blinked. “...Did you just...Actually listen to him?”
Suho turned slowly, eyebrows raised. “Wait… so you can't stop talking when someone tells you to, but you can when it’s him?”
Gotak shifted in his seat, suddenly finding the basketball in his lap very interesting. “…No?”
“Oh my god,” Baku said, pointing accusingly. “You’re so whipped.”
Suho smirked, “Down bad.”
Sieun, who’d been silent the whole time, just nodded once. “Embarrassing.”
Juntae, clearly fighting a grin, leaned his chin on his hand. “Guess I’m special.”
Gotak groaned, covering his face as the other four burst into laughter.
-
The others had drifted off one by one. Baku left first, muttering something about “dating Baekjin soon.” Suho and Sieun headed toward the gate together, Suho walking backward to throw one last smirk over his shoulder at Gotak.
Soon, it was just them.
Gotak bounced the basketball in his hands, glancing over at Juntae, who was scrolling through his phone. “So…” Gotak’s voice was casual, but his eyes sparkled with that dangerous kind of mischief. “You’re gonna let me teach you basketball now, right?”
Juntae didn’t even look up. “No.”
“C’monnnn.” Gotak dribbled the ball closer, like a kid pestering their parent for candy. “It’ll be fun. You’ll finally get to experience the joy of a perfect three-pointer.”
“I already have joy in my life,” Juntae said flatly, scrolling.
Gotak’s grin widened. “Yeah, me.”
Juntae’s lips twitched, a near-smile, but he kept his eyes on his phone. “Exactly why I don’t need basketball ruining it.”
“Wow,” Gotak gasped dramatically. “You’re saying my favorite sport would ruin your life? Hurtful. Disrespectful. Honestly, relationship-ending words—”
“Fine,” Juntae cut him off with a sigh, finally pocketing his phone. “One round. Then we’re done.”
Gotak lit up instantly. “Oh, you’re gonna regret this.”
Gotak stood behind Juntae, one hand on his waist, the other guiding his arms up with the ball. “Okay, feet shoulder-width apart. Knees bent. Elbows in. You’re basically a statue except for your arms—”
Juntae looked at him sideways. “Are you actually teaching me, or just finding excuses to hold me?”
“Both,” Gotak admitted without shame. “Now… aim.”
Juntae squinted at the hoop. “It’s so far.”
Gotak leaned closer, voice dropping into a teasing murmur. “That’s what makes it impressive when you make it.”
Juntae took the shot. The ball smacked the backboard with a loud thunk and bounced straight back into Gotak’s chest. "...I made contact,” Juntae said, deadpan.
Gotak was laughing so hard he had to bend over, clutching the ball. “Oh my god. You— you bricked it so bad—”
Juntae reached over and took the ball. “You know what, you try.”
“I already know how to play,” Gotak grinned. “The point was to make you—”
“Shoot,” Juntae said, crossing his arms.
Gotak sighed in mock defeat, dribbled twice, and took a smooth shot — swish, perfect. Juntae rolled his eyes. “Show-off.”
Gotak jogged over to retrieve the ball, but instead of heading back to the line, he stopped right in front of Juntae, holding it lazily under one arm. “You know, there’s one thing in basketball that’s better than a perfect shot.”
Juntae raised a brow. “What?”
Gotak leaned in and kissed him — warm, easy, without warning, like it was the most natural move in the world. Juntae froze for a split second before kissing back, his hands instinctively finding Gotak’s hoodie and pulling him closer.
When they broke apart, Gotak smirked. “Told you I’d teach you something good.”
Juntae’s cheeks were faintly pink, but his voice stayed steady. “That doesn’t count as basketball.”
“Maybe not,” Gotak grinned, dribbling the ball again, “but it’s a slam dunk in my book.” He said while starting to walk with an extra bounce in his step, basketball spinning lazily on one finger like he was in some sports commercial. Juntae, on the other hand, kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, gaze forward, already regretting every single decision that had led to this moment.
“You know,” Gotak started innocently, too innocently, “I’ve been thinking about your shot.”
Juntae groaned. “Don’t.”
“No, really,” Gotak continued, tone way too serious for what was about to come. “The way you launched the ball at the backboard… it was powerful. Revolutionary. Honestly, I think the backboard’s still shaking.”
Juntae side-eyed him. “You done?”
Gotak shook his head, grinning. “Not even close. I mean, people talk about Michael Jordan, LeBron… but after today? They’re nothing compared to Juntae. You’ve got a gift. Most people aim for the hoop, but you… you aim for structural damage.”
Juntae stared at him blankly. “If you say one more thing, I’m throwing that ball into traffic.”
Gotak clutched the ball protectively, but the smirk on his face didn’t fade. “You wouldn’t. This ball is our child.”
“It’s your child,” Juntae said, resuming his walk. “And I’m putting it up for adoption.”
Gotak jogged to catch up, dribbling loudly just to be annoying. “I’m serious though, imagine it. The crowd’s chanting, the game’s on the line, and you step up for the final shot. Everyone thinks you’ll score. But no… you destroy the backboard instead. Instant win by intimidation.”
They walked in silence for a few seconds — well, Juntae was silent. Gotak was humming a victory tune under his breath. Then, casually: “Y’know, I could teach you not to brick your shots.”
“Or,” Juntae said, deadpan, “you could shut up.”
“Or,” Gotak teased, leaning just close enough for his shoulder to bump Juntae’s, “I could keep talking until you beg me to train you. Imagine how good it would feel to make a clean shot in front of everyone.”
Juntae finally turned to look at him — and in one smooth motion, snatched the basketball right out of Gotak’s hands. “Hey!” He protested.
Juntae walked toward the curb. “Juntae. Don’t.”
Juntae stepped closer to the road, raising the ball like he really might. Gotak’s eyes went wide. “Okay, okay, I was being mean, I take it back!”
A rare smirk tugged at Juntae’s lips. “Thought so.” He tossed the ball back at Gotak, who caught it with a relieved laugh.
“Man,” Gotak shook his head, spinning it on his finger again, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”
Juntae’s ears went faintly pink, but he just muttered, “You talk too much,” as they kept walking.
“And you’ve been quiet,” Gotak said, glancing over. “Are you… mad?”
Juntae didn’t look at him. “Not mad.”
“Then what’s with the brooding face?” Gotak tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “Oh. You’re embarrassed about the ‘slam dunk incident,’ aren’t you?”
Juntae exhaled slowly. “Don’t call it that.”
Gotak grinned. “Too late. It’s official now. I’m making t-shirts.”
Juntae stopped walking just long enough to glare at him. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would,” Gotak said, already pretending to hold an imaginary shirt up for display. “Big bold letters: I Survived the Slam Dunk Incident. Picture of you mid-jump, ball flying in the wrong direction…”
Juntae sighed. “You’re lucky I’m not the violent type.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Gotak said with mock seriousness. “Your dunk nearly killed the hoop. That’s violence.”
They walked a few more steps in silence — Gotak humming under his breath, Juntae pretending not to listen — before Gotak nudged him gently with his elbow. “You know,” Gotak said, “if you actually practiced with me, you’d be amazing.”
“I’m fine,” Juntae replied flatly.
“You’re not fine, you’re spectacularly bad,” Gotak corrected. “But that’s okay, because I’m spectacularly good. It’s like fate. We balance each other out.”
Juntae looked at him, unimpressed. “You just want an excuse to hang out more.”
Gotak grinned. “And you’re pretending you don’t like it.”
The front door creaked open, and Gotak immediately kicked his shoes off in the entryway like he owned the place. Juntae followed, setting his bag down by the wall.
Gotak wandered straight toward the living room, still bouncing the basketball. “Alright,” he said with exaggerated authority, “training starts now.”
“No,” Juntae said instantly, but Gotak was already positioning him in front of the couch.
“Feet shoulder-width apart,” Gotak instructed, stepping into Juntae’s space to adjust his stance. “Hold the ball like this. Elbows in. Aim for the—”
Before he could finish, the front door banged again. Sieun and Suho stepped in, pausing at the sight before them. “…What are you doing?” Sieun asked slowly.
“Basketball boot camp,” Gotak said proudly. “Your brother’s gonna be a pro in no time.”
Suho leaned toward Sieun. “Is this… normal?”
“Unfortunately,” Sieun muttered.
The sound of laughter from the living room faded as Suho slipped away, trailing behind Sieun, who was heading toward the kitchen with that quiet, casual walk that somehow made Suho’s heart trip over itself.
Sieun opened the fridge without a word, scanning its contents like it had personally offended him. “What do you want to eat?” he asked over his shoulder.
Suho leaned against the counter, pretending to think. “You.”
Sieun froze for half a second, then glanced over with a flat expression. “…You’re not funny.”
“I wasn’t joking,” Suho muttered, just quiet enough that Sieun had to squint at him like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Clearing his throat, Suho nodded toward the fridge. “But uh— ramen’s fine.”
Sieun grabbed two packets from the shelf, shutting the fridge with his hip. “Figures. You’re easy to feed.”
“I could say the same about you,” Suho replied.
Sieun didn’t answer, but Suho caught the tiniest upward curl at the corner of his mouth as he filled a pot with water. The sound of the tap running filled the space between them, and Suho watched him, the neat way he tied the ramen seasoning packets closed before setting them aside, the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal his wrists.
“Where’s your dad, anyway?” Suho asked, partly to distract himself from staring.
“Working,” Sieun said, placing the pot on the stove. “Why?”
Suho grinned. “Just checking if I have to worry about him catching me trying to sneak through your window again.”
That earned him an actual laugh— short, amused, and so rare Suho felt like he’d just scored a point in a game he hadn’t realized they were playing.
“That was pathetic,” Sieun said, shaking his head. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”
“I was being romantic.”
“You were being stupid.”
Suho put a hand over his chest, feigning injury. “Ouch. My heroic effort reduced to ‘stupid.’”
“Heroic effort?” Sieun arched an eyebrow. “You got caught before you even made it inside.”
Before Suho could reply, Sieun slid the pot lid on and leaned back against the counter beside him. The heat from the stove filled the space between them, but Suho swore most of the warmth was coming from how close they were.
For a moment, neither spoke. Suho could hear the faint hum of the fridge, the simmering water, the muted voices from the living room — and Sieun’s steady breathing next to him.
“You know…” Suho started, his voice softer now, “I like being here. With you.”
Sieun’s gaze flicked toward him, unreadable, but he didn’t move away. “You say stuff like that and expect me not to think you’re weird.”
“I’m fine with weird,” Suho said, meeting his eyes with the smallest smile. “If it’s with you.”
The water started to boil, breaking the moment, and Sieun turned to drop the noodles in, but Suho caught the way his ears had gone faintly pink.
Sieun tore open the ramen packets with practiced efficiency, while Suho hovered beside him like he was totally helping but mostly just getting in the way. “Move,” Sieun said, nudging Suho with his elbow.
“I am moving. I’m moving closer to help.”
“You’re moving closer to annoy me.”
Suho grinned and took one of the seasoning packets, shaking it like it was some high-end spice. “Chef Suho’s secret touch.”
“Don’t you dare—” Sieun started, but Suho had already leaned over the pot, pretending to dramatically sprinkle the seasoning like he was in a cooking show.
“You have to feel the flavor, Sieun-ah,” Suho said, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply like the ramen powder was some kind of luxury perfume.
Sieun swiped the packet from his hand before he could actually dump it in. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably charming, yeah.”
When the ramen was done, Sieun split it into two bowls. “You carry that one,” he said, handing Suho a bowl with the kind of caution you’d use for explosives.
“Yes, chef.” Suho bowed, then immediately pretended to almost trip, just to see the way Sieun’s eyes went wide in panic.
“Not funny,” Sieun said flatly, but his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile.
“Oh, you thought I was going to drop it?” Suho grinned. “You care.”
Sieun ignored that, grabbing his own bowl and heading toward the living room. As they rounded the corner, Suho expected to see only Juntae and Gotak sprawled on the couch. Instead, sitting between them like he’d been there the whole time, was Baku— munching on a bag of chips.
Suho blinked. “When did you get here?”
“Door was open,” Baku said casually, as if that explained everything. “I got bored, so I came over.”
“Do you even live here?” Suho asked.
“Do you?” Baku shot back with a mouthful of chips.
Gotak, grinning, added, “He’s been telling us about how he’s gonna definitely beat Baekjin at basketball next time so he can impress him.”
Baku pointed dramatically at Gotak. “That’s classified information, man.”
Suho snorted and set his ramen down on the coffee table. “Yeah, you’re real good at keeping secrets.”
Juntae, without looking up from his phone, muttered, “He was literally shouting it in the hallway earlier.”
Baku leaned forward suddenly. “Oh, by the way—” He reached into his backpack and pulled out a single basketball. “We’re playing basketball after this.”
“After what?” Sieun asked.
Baku grinned. “After I finish beating everyone in Mario Kart.”
Gotak groaned. “You’ve never beaten me once.”
Baku pointed at him like a rival in an anime. “Today’s the day.”
Sieun sighed and muttered to Suho, “Why did I let you in here?”
Suho just smirked. “Because I’m charming.”
Sieun rolled his eyes, but Suho caught the faintest smile before he turned back toward the group.
The TV blared the theme music to Mario Kart, and the room was a flurry of button-mashing, taunts, and occasional yells of “No fair!” Baku was leaning so far forward on the couch that his nose was almost touching the screen, swerving wildly in first place. Gotak sat cross-legged next to him, grinning like a maniac as he trailed just behind. Juntae… well, Juntae was clearly in last place, holding his controller like it was personally betraying him. “Why does this blue shell exist?!” Juntae shouted.
“That’s the sound of justice,” Gotak said smugly, passing him.
“Justice my—”
“Language!” Baku yelled, without looking away from the screen.
Sieun was sitting on the far end, controller in hand, posture completely calm. But the way he maneuvered his kart, perfectly timed drifts, strategic item usage, made it clear he was some kind of silent Mario Kart assassin.
Suho wasn’t playing. He was sitting a little apart from them on the arm of the couch, hands resting loosely in his lap, gaze flicking between the chaotic match and… Sieun. Or more specifically, Sieun’s completely focused expression — brow slightly furrowed, lips just barely pressed together, head tilting ever so slightly when he made a sharp turn.
Okay, Suho thought, focus. You need to ask him. Just keep it cool. No big deal. It’s just prom. With someone you love.
He started mentally rehearsing.
"Hey, Sieun, wanna go to prom with me?" No. Too direct. He’d freeze up.
"So, uh, prom’s coming up… you going with anyone?" Too casual. What if Sieun said “no” in that polite, soul-crushing way?
Maybe he should do something clever. Something memorable. But not cringe. Absolutely not cringe.
His gaze flicked to Baku, who was yelling, “I’m gonna lap you, Juntae!” and to Gotak, who had his tongue between his teeth in deep concentration.
Definitely not like them.
Okay, maybe flowers? Balloons? No, Sieun would hate that. He literally just said earlier he’d never want some big embarrassing stunt.
Suho sighed quietly, fingers tapping against his leg. It’s fine. I’ll just… find the perfect moment. No pressure. Totally normal. Just another conversation.
“Suho,” Sieun’s voice cut into his thoughts suddenly.
He snapped out of it. “Huh?”
Sieun glanced up briefly, a small smirk playing at his lips. “You’re staring. Makes me nervous.”
Suho’s ears went pink. “I— I wasn’t— I was just—”
Sieun chuckled and turned his attention back to the race, leaving Suho sitting there feeling like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him. Suho exhaled slowly. Yep. Totally normal. I’m fine. Absolutely fine.
The last Mario Kart race ended with Sieun in first place, Gotak in second, Baku in third, and Juntae in a very distant twelfth place — somehow even though there were only twelve racers.
Baku tossed his controller onto the couch with a groan. “Alright, I gotta go. My dad texted like twenty minutes ago.”
“Already?” Gotak said, leaning back into the couch cushions like he had all the time in the world.
“Yeah, already,” Baku said, shoving his shoes on with unnecessary force. “Some of us don’t have the privilege of just staying over whenever we want.”
Gotak grinned. “Sounds like a you problem.”
“It’s literally a problem caused by the fact that your boyfriend’s brother doesn’t mind you here all the time,” Baku shot back, jabbing a thumb at Sieun.
Juntae blinked, mid-sip of water. “I mean… he’s not wrong.”
Baku narrowed his eyes at Suho next. “And you. How come you’re allowed to stay?"
Suho raised a brow. “Maybe because I’m not loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood every time I play Mario Kart?”
Baku threw his hands up. “Unbelievable. You’re telling me both of you get free sleepover passes and I have to go home like a normal person?”
“Yep,” Gotak said simply, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it smugly.
Baku let out a dramatic sigh, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. “Fine. But one day, when I mysteriously disappear for the weekend, just know I’ve found a way to sneak in here without anyone noticing.”
“You’d trip over the welcome mat and wake the entire block,” Sieun said, not even looking up from his phone.
Baku pointed at him. “Rude. Accurate, but rude.” He shuffled toward the door, muttering under his breath about “unfair best friend privileges” and “loyalty clearly not being rewarded.”
When the door closed behind him, Gotak stretched out across the couch like a king reclaiming his throne. “Ah, peace and quiet.”
Suho smirked. “Give it five minutes, he’ll text a rant in the group chat.”
“Three,” Sieun corrected without missing a beat.
The house felt quieter without Baku’s constant commentary, but it didn’t last long. Gotak and Juntae were halfway up the stairs, Gotak already talking loudly about “the perfect video to show” and Juntae groaning.
Suho stayed where he was on the couch until the sound of their footsteps faded. Then, very deliberately, he turned to look at Sieun, who was perched on the armrest, head bent over his phone.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Suho said.
“I’m enjoying the peace,” Sieun replied, thumb still scrolling.
“Mm,” Suho hummed, standing up slowly. “You know what would make this peace even better?”
“Not talking to you?”
“Dancing,” Suho said, ignoring the jab entirely.
Sieun looked up. “No.”
“Yes.” Suho stepped closer, mischievous glint in his eyes. “Come on. You, me, music, the whole romantic movie thing—”
“Not happening,” Sieun cut in, returning to his phone.
Suho didn’t even hesitate. In one swift motion, he leaned over and plucked the phone out of Sieun’s hands.
“Suho.”
“You can have this back after one dance,” Suho said, already unlocking the screen and opening his Spotify. He scrolled for a second, then hit play.
The speakers filled with a bouncy, slightly cheesy pop song. Suho took an exaggerated bow and held out his hand like some overly dramatic ballroom partner. “May I have this dance, my prince?”
Sieun just stared at him. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe.” Suho said, wiggling his fingers invitingly.
Sieun sighed, but when Suho grabbed his hand and tugged him to his feet, he didn’t pull away.
The first moments were awkward—Sieun standing stiffly, barely swaying while Suho moved in close, trying to guide him into a rhythm. Suho started with simple side steps, exaggerating each movement until Sieun huffed in reluctant amusement. “There you go,” Suho said softly. “You’ve got rhythm, see?”
“I’m literally just walking in place,” Sieun deadpanned.
“That’s called minimalist elegance,” Suho said, grinning. Then, without warning, he spun Sieun out and back in, their shoulders brushing.
Sieun stumbled slightly. “Stop being dramatic.”
“Never.” Suho placed his hand lightly on Sieun’s waist to steady him, and for a second, Sieun’s eyes flicked up to his. The contact made Suho’s chest tighten, but he masked it with a playful smirk.
Halfway through the song, Suho attempted a dip. It was… not graceful. Sieun yelped, grabbing Suho’s shoulders to keep from falling, and they both burst out laughing. “You’re terrible at this,” Sieun said between laughs.
“And you’re smiling,” Suho teased, straightening them back up.
When the music stopped, they stayed there for a beat too long—hands still loosely clasped, breath mingling. “See? That wasn’t so bad,” Suho said, voice quieter now.
“You’re insane,” Sieun muttered, cheeks faintly flushed as he stepped back.
“And you like it,” Suho replied, tossing his phone back before collapsing onto the couch, a victorious grin plastered across his face. He cleared his throat once. Then again. Then again.
Sieun glanced at him. “Are you dying?”
“No,” Suho said quickly. “Just… thinking.”
“That’s scarier,” Sieun muttered.
Suho sat up straighter, clutching his phone like it was a lifeline. His leg bounced once, twice, until he slapped his own knee to stop it. “Okay, so, um. There’s this… thing coming up.”
Sieun blinked. “You mean prom?”
“Yes! Exactly. Prom.” Suho winced at how loud he said it. “So. Prom. The… dancing thing. In fancy clothes. With, you know… dates.”
“You’re rambling,” Sieun said flatly.
Suho’s ears went red. “I know. I’m aware. Just—just let me finish.” He took a deep breath, forcing his words to slow down. “I want to go with you. As my date. To prom. Will you… go with me?”
The room went quiet. Sieun just looked at him, expression unreadable, and for a moment Suho thought he’d combust right there on the spot.
Finally, Sieun tilted his head slightly. “You practiced that in your head, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Suho admitted immediately. “And it still came out a mess.”
Something softened in Sieun’s eyes then, and he let out a quiet sigh. “You’re impossible.”
But before Suho could panic about what that meant, Sieun leaned forward—just enough for their shoulders to brush. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”
It took Suho a second to process. “Wait...Really? Like, really really?”
“Yes, really,” Sieun said, almost amused now.
Suho’s grin returned in full force, wide and stupid, but the next words stuck in his throat. His hand twitched nervously at his side before he leaned in a little closer. “Can I…?” Suho’s voice cracked on the words. He swallowed hard. “I mean—would it be okay if I—”
Sieun’s eyes flicked toward him. Calm, steady, but carrying that quiet weight Suho could never quite read. “You don’t have to ask everything,” he murmured.
For half a second, Suho froze. His brain screamed at him: This is it, move, do it, or you’ll regret it forever.
So he leaned in. Slowly, cautiously, like the space between them was sacred. He could feel the warmth of Sieun’s breath before they even touched, the faint hitch in it making his own pulse race harder. His eyes fluttered shut just as their lips met. It was soft at first—barely there, just a brush, testing the waters. Suho felt every detail: the smoothness of Sieun’s mouth, the warmth, the way the world seemed to narrow to that single point of contact. His heart slammed so loud he was terrified Sieun would hear it.
Then, Sieun didn’t pull back. Instead, he tilted the slightest bit closer, letting the kiss linger. That tiny shift made Suho’s chest ache, like he couldn’t believe it was really happening. His hand twitched at his side, aching to reach out, but he kept it still, afraid of pushing too far.
He tilted his head instinctively, chasing the kiss as if it were oxygen. His hand twitched, then lifted hesitantly, fingers brushing Sieun’s jaw before settling there. Sieun didn’t pull away; instead, he leaned into the touch, lips moving against Suho’s with a rhythm that felt unpracticed but intoxicating.
Suho’s whole body lit up. He angled closer, almost clumsy with the urgency, his other hand gripping the couch cushion for balance. Their knees bumped, their shoulders pressed together. The kiss grew messier, breathier—little gasps between them as they found themselves unable to stop.
Sieun’s hand fisted in the fabric of Suho’s hoodie, pulling him in like he couldn’t stand the distance anymore. That tiny gesture made Suho dizzy—dizzy enough that he smiled mid-kiss, which only made Sieun huff against his mouth before kissing him harder.
The world outside the living room disappeared. It was just the warmth of Sieun’s lips, the press and pull of their mouths, the uneven rhythm of their breaths mixing together. Every time Suho thought they might slow down, Sieun would tilt his head differently, or Suho would follow with more urgency, and the cycle started again—neither of them willing to be the one to stop first.
When they finally broke apart, it wasn’t clean. They pulled back just barely, breaths ragged, foreheads nearly touching. Suho’s lips tingled, and Sieun’s were pinker than usual, a little swollen.
Suho laughed breathlessly, his chest rising and falling. “Okay… wow. That definitely just happened.”
Sieun exhaled, eyes flicking away like he wanted to be annoyed, but couldn’t quite hide the small curve of his lips. “You’re still ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” Suho admitted, grinning through his heavy breathing. “But now you’re ridiculous with me.”
Sieun didn’t answer—he just leaned in again, catching Suho’s mouth in another kiss, as if words weren’t enough.
-
The five of them had gathered in their usual cluster of desks before class officially began. The sun streamed through the tall windows, the room buzzing with chatter.
Baku sat hunched over, trying to act unbothered, but Suho, Juntae, Gotak, and Sieun weren’t letting up.
“You really tripped over air in front of Baekjin?” Suho asked, trying not to laugh as he rested his chin in his palm.
“I did not trip over air,” Baku said firmly.
“Yes you did,” Gotak chimed in, smirking. “You took like three dramatic steps forward, almost face-planted, then pretended to ‘tie your shoe.’ It was embarrassing, man.”
Juntae grinned, leaning back in his chair. “I swear, Baekjin probably thought you were doing interpretive dance.”
That earned a loud laugh from Suho, who nearly fell out of his chair.
“I recovered!” Baku argued, pointing at all of them. “He laughed! It was fine!”
“He laughed at you, not with you,” Sieun said flatly, flipping a page in his book without even looking up.
The group howled, and Baku threw his pencil onto the desk, groaning. “Why am I even friends with you people?”
“Because we’re honest,” Gotak teased, leaning his elbow on Juntae’s desk. “And we care enough to roast you for your own good.”
Before Baku could retaliate, the classroom door swung open. Their homeroom teacher walked in, clapping his hands once. “Alright, settle down.” The room immediately quieted—well, mostly. “Before we begin today’s lesson, I have an announcement.”
The class groaned collectively. “You’ll each be writing a poem. It can be about anything—something meaningful to you, something creative, something personal. You’ll have two weeks to complete it.”
A few students muttered complaints. Baku immediately whispered, “I can’t even rhyme.”
Suho leaned toward him with a grin. “That’s because your idea of poetry is yelling on the basketball court.”
Baku elbowed him, muttering, “Shut up.”
Meanwhile, Juntae smirked at Gotak. “Bet you’re already planning to write something cheesy.”
Gotak shrugged, grinning right back. “Maybe. Depends on who I dedicate it to.”
That made Juntae’s ears pink, and Suho and Baku instantly noticed. Suho grinned wickedly while Baku pointed dramatically. “Ohhh, look at him blush!”
Sieun sighed, already annoyed. “Can you all just focus for once?”
The teacher finished scribbling “POETRY PROJECT – DUE IN 2 WEEKS” across the board and turned back to the class. “Alright. You’ll present your poems as well. So make sure they’re polished.”
A collective groan rippled through the students. At their corner cluster of desks, the five immediately leaned in toward each other. “This is actual torture,” Suho muttered, slumping in his chair. “I’m not Shakespeare.”
“You’re barely literate,” Baku shot back, arms crossed.
“Big words from the guy who can’t rhyme ‘cat’ with ‘hat,’” Suho said, smirking.
Baku sat up straighter. “I can rhyme! I just don’t want to. Rhyming is for kids.”
“Yeah?” Gotak teased, tapping his pencil against the desk. “So what are you gonna write? A slam poem about basketball?”
Baku pointed his pencil like a dagger. “Don’t tempt me.”
Meanwhile, Juntae sighed dramatically, dropping his head onto his desk. “Two weeks? That’s barely any time. This is cruel. Cruel and unusual punishment.”
Gotak nudged him. “It’s writing a poem, not surviving in the wilderness.”
“It is surviving in the wilderness,” Juntae said, voice muffled against his arm. “Of my brain.”
Suho chuckled at that, then threw his hands up. “Why couldn’t we just do a normal essay? At least essays don’t require me to have feelings.”
That’s when Sieun, quiet up until now, finally looked up from his book. “I don’t know. I think it’s a good idea.”
Everyone stared at him.
“You like this?” Baku asked, incredulous.
“Yes.” Sieun’s tone was steady, matter-of-fact. “Poetry is… concise. You don’t have to waste words. You can capture something in a single line.”
Suho blinked at him, almost thrown off by how serious he looked. “Wait. You actually want to do this assignment?”
“Yes,” Sieun said simply, returning to his book. “I already have ideas.”
Gotak laughed. “Of course you do.”
Juntae groaned again, throwing his pencil across his desk. “Great. Now he’s gonna set the curve.”
Baku leaned back in his chair. “You know what? Fine. Sieun can write mine for me.”
“No,” Sieun said instantly, not even glancing at him.
The table broke into laughter again, while Sieun calmly turned another page in his book, unbothered. Baku leaned across his desk toward Sieun, lowering his voice as if he was negotiating a deal. “C’mon, just write one for me. You like this poetry stuff, right? It’ll be easy for you.”
“No,” Sieun said flatly, eyes still on his book.
Baku blinked, then tried again. “Okay, okay—what if you just… give me some lines? I’ll rearrange them. That counts as mine, right?”
“No,” Sieun repeated without hesitation.
The others were already smiling, watching this unfold. Gotak leaned on his hand, amused. “You realize you’re basically asking him to ghostwrite your love confession, right?”
Baku’s ears went pink. “I didn’t say it was gonna be about love!”
“Sure,” Juntae said lazily. “Because I’m so sure you weren’t planning a basketball metaphor where Baekjin is the hoop and you’re the ball.”
Baku’s face twisted. “That’s...Okay, first of all, that sounds terrible. Second, shut up.”
Before Gotak could pile on, the teacher snapped his chalk against the board, turning around. “Baku. Do you even have the literature book for this class?”
The room went quiet. Everyone glanced at Baku, who froze mid-defense. “…Book?”
The teacher’s eyebrow twitched. “Out.”
“What?!” Baku shot up from his chair. “I was just—”
“Out.” The teacher jabbed a finger toward the door.
Baku groaned loudly, dragging his feet as he shuffled toward the exit. “This is discrimination against people with bad memories.”
The teacher glared at the rest of the class. “In fact, anyone who doesn’t have their book, leave.”
A pause. Then a chair scraped back. Everyone turned their heads. Suho was standing, adjusting his bag like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You don’t have it?” Juntae whispered, wide-eyed.
Suho shrugged, half-smiling. “Guess I’ll join him.”
But before he could even take a step, a thunk echoed through the room. A book landed squarely on Suho’s desk. He blinked down at it, startled.
Across the room, Baekjin lowered his arm. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was calm when he looked at the teacher. “Sorry. I don't have mine either.”
The teacher narrowed his eyes but nodded. “Then out.”
Baekjin nodded once, collected his bag, and followed Baku out into the hallway. The entire class was buzzing now, whispering. Suho stared at the book on his desk, frowning like it weighed a hundred pounds. Sieun glanced at him from across the table, suspicious but silent.
The teacher sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose. “Now, can we finally begin without interruptions?”
For a moment, the silence felt heavier than the textbook now sitting on Suho’s desk. Juntae was the first to break. He leaned across to Gotak, whispering, not quietly at all. “Did… did Baekjin just save Suho?”
Gotak’s lips twitched. “Looks like it. Who knew the cold prince of the school was capable of charity?”
Suho was still staring at the book like it had exploded in front of him. “I didn’t even… ask.” His voice was low, uncertain.
Sieun, arms crossed, didn’t bother hiding his suspicion. “That’s exactly the problem. Why would he do that if you didn’t ask?” His eyes narrowed at Suho. “You didn’t, right?”
Suho immediately turned toward him, shaking his head. “No! Of course not! I—I wouldn’t—” His words tangled over themselves, voice cracking just enough to make Juntae snort.
“Relax,” Juntae said, grinning. “We believe you. Mostly.”
Gotak leaned closer with a sly smirk. “It does raise a very interesting question, though. If Baekjin’s out there saving Baku and Suho… who’s he really aiming for?”
Suho groaned, burying his face in his hands. Sieun just muttered, “This is ridiculous,” and went back to his notes, though the crease between his brows didn’t soften.
Baku stumbled out of the classroom, muttering under his breath. “Man, who even cares about books anyway…? Stupid rule. Dumb class…”
He kicked at the floor half-heartedly—then promptly tripped over absolutely nothing. “Not again!” Baku yelped, arms flailing before he caught himself against the lockers with a clang. He froze, cheeks burning. “I… meant to do that,” he whispered to no one.
Except it wasn’t to no one.
When he turned, Baekjin was standing a few steps away, cool as ever, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder. He had clearly followed him out of class. Baku’s throat went dry. “Oh—uh—hey. Didn’t see you there.” He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting from foot to foot. “Crazy how… solid lockers are, huh?”
Baekjin just raised an eyebrow, silent. Baku panicked. He tried again. “S-so, uh… what are you doing out here? You didn’t get thrown out too, did you? Nah, you’re too… uh… you’re too smart for that, right?” His laugh came out high-pitched and awkward.
Baekjin finally spoke, his voice even. “Something like that.”
Baku blinked. “Something like what?”
Baekjin didn’t elaborate. He leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, watching Baku squirm like he had all the time in the world.
Baku swallowed hard. He felt like he should fill the silence, but every word in his brain was scrambled. “Cool,” he blurted out. “Really cool. I… uh… I like your—uh—your bag. It’s… rectangular.”
There was the tiniest twitch at the corner of Baekjin’s mouth, like he was holding back a laugh.
Baku’s ears went red. “Okay, no, forget I said that. That was dumb. I’m just—uh—gonna stand here. Quiet. Totally normal. Not weird at all.”
Baekjin tilted his head slightly, eyes still fixed on him. “You’re definitely weird.”
Baku groaned into his hands. “Ughhh, why did I even open my mouth?”
For a second, he thought he saw Baekjin’s smirk widen before the boy turned away, starting down the hall like nothing had happened.
Heart racing, Baku jogged to catch up. “H-hey, wait up! I can be normal! Just… give me a second to prove it!”