ENHYEOK POV
"Why do you keep doing that?"
The question lands quieter than everything before it, but it cuts deeper. The kind of quiet that makes people listen without meaning to.
"Doing what?"
Jiho sounds relaxed. Too relaxed. Like he's leaning back, like this is funny, like none of this matters beyond the moment.
"Making her feel chosen," he says. "When you already have a girlfriend."
The word lands wrong.
Girlfriend.
It doesn't echo. It doesn't explode. It just… stops everything. Like someone cut the sound in the room but left the picture running.
My fingers are still on the edge of the door. The smoke is still crawling out in thin, lazy lines. Jiho is still in there, breathing, existing, being himself.
But my brain stalls.
Girlfriend?
No one knows that.
Not the school. Not the idiots chanting his name in the stands. Not Seo Jiah, screaming herself hoarse for him like that loyalty means something. Especially not her.
Jiho snorts. "Well, yeah."
The other guy goes quiet. "You're serious?"
Jiho laughs, short and amused, like this is funny instead of rotten. "I really like Jiah, you know. That's the problem."
My jaw tightens without permission.
The problem.
He keeps talking.
"She's fun. Loud. Always doing stupid shit for me," Jiho says casually, like he's listing traits off a menu. "But I've got a girlfriend."
A pause. Then, lighter. "Kind of inconvenient."
Bastard.
The word forms clean and sharp in my head.
The other guy frowns. "What are you even saying right now?"
Jiho shrugs. I can hear it in his voice. "I want both."
There it is.
Not even dressed up. Not justified. Just dropped on the floor like it's a reasonable want instead of a confession that should embarrass him.
"You're insane," the guy says flatly.
Jiho laughs again. Louder this time. "Maybe. But I can't lose Jiah. Even if I break up with my girlfriend, I still can't lose her."
My grip on the door tightens. Wood presses into my palm. I don't feel it.
The other guy scoffs. "So what, you're just gonna keep her around?"
"Obviously," Jiho says. No hesitation. No shame. "I like the attention. The way she looks at me. The way she does all this dumb stuff thinking I'm worth it. It's cute."
Cute.
Something hot crawls up my neck.
"I almost took her to the amusement park," Jiho adds, like he's sharing trivia. "Bought the tickets and everything."
I stop breathing.
"But my girlfriend saw them," he continues, irritation creeping in. "Thought they were for her. Took them. And I got pissed because—" he clicks his tongue "—I almost had Jiah."
Almost had.
The room tilts.
The other guy lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and disbelief. "You're actually horrible."
Jiho laughs with him. "Relax. I'll go with both .
My stomach drops.
That's it.
That's the moment something in me snaps clean instead of loud. Not a rush. Not a surge. Just a cold, precise break. Like a line finally being crossed so clearly there's no pretending it wasn't.
Is he a man or not?
No—wrong question.
He's exactly the kind of man this always ends with.
I imagine it for half a second without trying. Jiho's mouth opening again. My fist connecting this time without interruption. The sound it would make.
The way he'd look shocked, not because he got hit, but because someone finally treated him like what he is.
My arm twitches.
I don't move.
I step back instead, slow and controlled, the door easing shut without a sound. The hallway swallows me immediately, bright and empty and unreal, like nothing just crawled under my skin and made itself at home.
I walk.
Not fast. Not slow. Just forward.
Every step feels deliberate. Heavy. Like I'm pressing something down with my feet to keep it from spilling over.
Seo Jiah flashes in my head without permission.
Her voice. Her stupid poster. The way she looks at people like she believes them. Like she assumes they're decent until they prove otherwise. Loud mouth, messy energy, zero armor.
Stupid.
Not evil. Just… honest.
That's the part that pisses me off.
She didn't chase him thinking he was a game. She chased him thinking he was kind. Thinking rejection meant something. Thinking no meant no, not maybe later if you keep humiliating yourself enough.
Turns out he's just collecting her.
The field opens up ahead, sunlight washing over the court like nothing happened. Like people aren't rotten. Like intentions don't hide behind smiles and calm voices.
I stop at the edge.
My hands curl and uncurl at my sides.
Fuck.
How will she react when she finds out?
I don't picture tears. I picture that blank look she gets when something doesn't compute. The pause. The delayed hit. The way she'll probably laugh it off first because that's what she does when things hurt too much to face head-on.
She's really stupid to like him.
But she doesn't deserve that.
No one does.
I stare out at the court, jaw tight, chest steady, everything locked down where it belongs.
I don't feel protective.
I don't feel soft.
I feel irritated.
At him. At the mess. At the fact that people like Jiho walk around untouched because they're charming enough to get away with it.
I hope she finds out.
I hope it hurts less than it could.
And I hope—briefly, sharply—that when it happens, I'm nowhere near it.
I turn away from the field.
Whatever this is, it's not mine.
________________
JIAH POV
Sweeping the main field is not on my bingo card for "how my life derailed this week," but here we are.
Day two.
Two whole days of after-class punishment under the sun, armed with one sad broom each, pushing leaves around like the school's budget landscaping team.
The court smells like dust and grass and that weird rubber scent that never leaves sports places. The sky is too blue for someone being punished. Rude, honestly.
Enhyeok is three steps to my left.
Silent. Obviously.
sweat darkens the collar of his uniform in a way that feels personally offensive. He's sweeping like the broom insulted his ancestors. Sharp, aggressive strokes. Leaves don't stand a chance.
I, on the other hand, am having the time of my life.
Not because of the punishment. I'm not a psycho. But because watching Yu Enhyeok—Mr. Untouchable, Mr. Top Student, Mr. Looks Like He's Never Been Yelled At—forced to clean leaves with me is objectively funny.
I hum under my breath, sweeping in lazy arcs that absolutely do not help efficiency. The leaves scatter instead of cooperating. I don't care.
"I did good for you," I announce, glancing sideways.
He stops.
Not slowly. Just—stops. The broom freezes mid-motion. He turns his head and looks at me like he's trying to figure out if I hit my head recently.
"What," he says, flat.
I grin. "It's called exercise. Good for your spine. Builds character. Probably fixes whatever's wrong with your personality."
He stares at me for a second longer than necessary, then goes back to sweeping. Harder this time. "You talk too much."
"Wow," I say, sweeping closer to his pile on purpose, "and here I was thinking we were bonding."
He drags the broom back, reclaiming his leaves with clear irritation. "This is not bonding."
I shrug. "Everything's bonding if you're miserable together."
I grab a handful of dry leaves from the ground and toss them lightly in his direction. They scatter against his shoes, dramatic but harmless.
He pauses again.
Slowly, he turns his head. Side-eye. Sharp. The kind that makes people apologize for existing.
I smile sweetly.
"Are you enjoying this more than you should?" he asks.
"Of course I am," I say immediately. "You think I don't appreciate irony? The universe finally did something nice for me."
He exhales through his nose, annoyed. "You're the reason I'm here. Don't forget that."
"Oh," I say, feigning innocence. "Then don't do it. I'll tell the principal you're refusing community service."
He looks at me again, this time with something close to disbelief. "You would not."
"I absolutely would," I say. "I'm petty, not loyal."
That earns me a quiet, irritated scoff. "You're unbelievable."
"Yet here you are," I say, nudging another clump of leaves toward him with my broom. "Still sweeping."
We fall into a rhythm after that. Not a friendly one. Just parallel misery. Brooms scraping. Leaves moving from one useless place to another.
The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the field. Somewhere nearby, a whistle blows. Practice ends. Life continues. Apparently without my permission.
I glance at him again.
He's focused. Jaw set. Eyes down. Like this task personally wronged him. There's a faint crease between his brows that makes him look permanently annoyed, which is comforting because at least something in this world is consistent.
My brain, which hates peace, starts narrating.
Look at him. Sweeping. Silent. Probably thinking about grades or murder or whatever goes on in that head.
I snort quietly.
"What," he says without looking.
"Nothing," I reply. "Just appreciating the view."
He shoots me another look. "You're disgusting."
"Thank you," I say. "I work hard at it."
A gust of wind sends more leaves tumbling across the court, undoing ten minutes of progress. I groan loudly and lean on my broom.
"This is pointless," I say. "They're just gonna fall back."
"That's how consequences work," he replies. "Pointless but unavoidable."
I blink. "Wow. Did you read that off a motivational poster?"
He ignores me.
I watch him for a second, irritation buzzing under my skin in a way I don't fully understand. Not attraction. Not admiration. Just… friction. Like we're two sharp edges forced too close together.
"You know," I say, dragging my broom again, "for someone who never talks, you're surprisingly annoying."
"And you," he says, not missing a beat, "are exactly as loud as I imagined."
I laugh. Real laugh. It slips out before I can stop it, sharp and unfiltered.
He pauses. Looks at me again.
"What," he says.
"Nothing," I repeat. "Just… you're not wrong."
We sweep a little longer. The sky shifts orange. My arms start to ache. Sweat sticks my hair to my neck. I don't hate it, which feels suspicious.
I glance at him again, then away. Don't get comfortable. Don't be stupid.
"So," I say casually, because silence makes me itchy, "if we're doing this for a month, do you think we get matching uniforms?"
"No."
"Shame," I mutter. "We'd look awful."
He snorts before he can stop himself.
I freeze.
He freezes too.
Our eyes meet.
Did he just—
His expression hardens immediately, like he hates himself for it. "Don't."
I grin slowly. "Was that a laugh?"
"No."
"Yu Enhyeok," I say dramatically, "are you enjoying this?"
He steps closer, lowering his voice. "Careful."
"Or what?"
He leans in just enough to invade my space, eyes flat. "You'll make this worse."
My heart jumps in the stupidest way possible, and I hate it, so I shove a pile of leaves at his shoes again.
"Relax," I say. "I hate you too."
He says nothing.
The broom drags over the concrete with a sound that makes my teeth itch. Dust lifts, sunlight catches it, and for half a second it looks almost pretty. Like punishment has aesthetics now.
I push another useless pile of leaves forward and feel sweat trickle down my back, sticky and annoying, like my body is also mad at me.
Enhyeok suddenly stops sweeping.
Not in the dramatic way he usually does when I annoy him on purpose. This time it's quieter. Like he decided something internally and his body followed before I could ruin it.
"Why do you like Jiho?" he asks.
I freeze so hard the broom handle digs into my palm.
The question doesn't land gently. It drops out of nowhere, no warning, no tone shift, no sarcasm buffer.
Just straight to my face like he's asking what time it is. My brain slams the brakes so aggressively my thoughts pile up and crash into each other.
"What?" I say, dumbly.
He looks at me now. Really looks. Not annoyed. Not bored. Just… assessing, like I'm a math problem he doesn't respect but still has to solve.
"Why," he repeats, slower, "do you like Baek Jiho?"
I open my mouth and nothing comes out for a second. My chest feels weirdly tight, like someone pressed pause on my lungs.
The audacity alone should offend me. We are not friends. We barely tolerate each other. This is not a conversation he gets to initiate.
"He's kind," I say finally, defensive before I even realize it. "He's good-looking. He doesn't flirt with everyone like an attention-starved idiot, and he's… loyal. At least to himself."
The words sound rehearsed, which I hate. Like I've said them in my head too many times. Like I needed them to be true.
Enhyeok doesn't react the way I expect.
He just hums.
Low. Thoughtful. Almost distracted.
It crawls under my skin immediately.
"What's with that?" I snap. "Why are you asking this out of nowhere?"
He looks away, dragging his broom through the leaves again like the conversation bored him halfway through. "You're an idiot."
There it is.
My temper sparks. Immediate. Familiar. Comforting, honestly. "Oh wow," I say, voice sharp. "Says the guy who doesn't even know how to sweep properly. You're literally just pushing leaves in circles."
He doesn't rise to it. Doesn't even look at me. "You don't like Jiho as a person."
I stop again.
"What?" I say, louder now. "Why are you saying that? Do you really wanna fight again, bro? Because I was being nice to you. Remember that?"
He goes quiet.
Doesn't answer. Doesn't correct me. Just keeps sweeping like the ground personally owes him money.
And that's when it hits me, slow and uncomfortable.
I was being nice.
Not because I like him. God, no. But because I felt… responsible. Because technically I dragged him into this mess too. I wore the jersey. I made noise. But He started this .
So yeah, it's shared blame, shared punishment, shared misery.
And now he's asking questions he has no business asking.
Something stings my eye suddenly. Dust or pollen or karma. I blink hard and turn my head away, rubbing at it with the back of my hand, annoyed at my own body for betraying me like this.
That's when I see it.
Pink.
Small. Bright. Familiar in a way that makes my stomach drop before my brain catches up.
The same bow-shaped hairpin.
My hand stills.
My eye stops watering. My pulse spikes so fast it's like my body recognized the threat before I consciously did.
The girl wearing it is walking ahead of us, toward the side path that leads down to the rose garden. Her back is to me. Her steps are casual. Unaware.
My chest tightens.
No.
No no no.
My brain tries to talk me out of it immediately. This is stupid. This is coincidence. This school is full of girls. Pink hairpins are not illegal. I am not a detective. I am not doing this.
My feet move anyway.
I stop sweeping.
The broom clatters softly against the ground.
The girl turns down the path toward the garden. The one spot on campus that's quiet. Secluded. Full of stupid flowers and couples pretending they're in a drama.
I start walking.
"Where are you going?" Enhyeok asks behind me.
I don't look back. "Shh."
He pauses. "What?"
"Come with me," I whisper sharply.
He hesitates. I can feel it without looking. That slight delay where he decides whether this is worth the trouble.
Then his footsteps follow mine.
The path slopes downward. The rose garden opens up below, framed by tall bushes and stone edges.
The girl stops near the far end, adjusting her bag. I slow, crouching instinctively behind a thick cluster of plants.
Enhyeok stops short. "What are you—"
I grab his wrist.
Hard.
Pull him down with me behind the bush.
"Quiet," I hiss.
He stiffens. I can feel it through my grip. His arm is solid, warm, way too close to my body now. Our shoulders brush. My heart is beating so loud I'm terrified he can hear it.
We're crouched together, knees almost touching, hidden by leaves and branches. I hold my breath like a child playing hide-and-seek.
The girl shifts.
She turns just enough for her face to come into view.
Shin Ara.
My blood runs cold.
My fingers tighten around Enhyeok's wrist without permission. My brain goes completely blank, like someone wiped the board clean mid-thought.
Ara lifts her head, smiling softly.
She almost turns toward us.
I yank Enhyeok down further, pressing us deeper behind the bush. My other hand flies up to cover his mouth without thinking.
Don't move.
Don't breathe.
Please don't look this way.
Footsteps approach.
A voice cuts through the air, casual and familiar in the worst possible way.
"Hey, baby."
My heart drops straight through my body.
That voice.
No.
No no no no.
I look at Enhyeok, eyes wide, silently begging him to tell me I'm wrong. That this is some cruel auditory hallucination. That stress finally broke me.
He looks back at me steadily. Calm. Too calm.
"I missed you," Ara says, sweet and soft and intimate. The kind of voice you don't use unless you mean it.
Something cracks in my chest. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a quiet, internal splintering that hurts more than it should.
I slowly, stupidly, part the leaves just enough to see.
It's Jiho.
And
He
Is
Kissing
Her.