Chapter 1: old habits die hard
Chapter Text
Soonyoung wasn’t going to come to the reunion.
He had said no, loudly and dramatically, in the group chat. He had said no while typing in all caps and attaching a photo of himself dramatically passed out on his couch. He had said no when Seungkwan called him, and again when Jeonghan showed up at his apartment with three convenience store sojus and two pitying eyes.
And yet here he was.
Back in his hometown, standing in front of the venue entrance, dressed in a too-tight blazer he hadn’t worn since his ex-client’s product launch, trying to pretend this was all perfectly fine.
“I hate this,” he muttered.
“You look great,” Jeonghan said behind him, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “Very ‘I make brand decks for a living’ vibe.”
“Why do I feel like I’m going to a funeral?” Soonyoung groaned.
“It’s just high school,” Seungkwan says cheerfully. “Everyone’s either balding, divorced, or pretending their startup isn’t failing.”
“I look like I’m about to soft-launch a kombucha line.”
“You work in marketing.”
“I work in digital strategy,” Soonyoung snapped, which was really just another way of saying he worked in marketing but had more anxiety about performance metrics.
It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his job, he actually liked it. There was something addictive about seeing campaigns come to life, about finding the right words, the right timing, the right ad that made a client smile. He’d been with his current agency for four years now. Mid-sized. Safe. Sometimes stressful. Mostly fine.
But he hadn’t expected to still be… this single. At twenty-eight. With a closet full of unused couple hoodies and a dating history that could be summarized by ghost emojis and one man who called him “too intense.”
And he really hadn’t expected Wonwoo to look like that.
The moment he stepped inside the venue and caught sight of him: taller, somehow; his hair longer, his shirt black and slightly open at the collar—Soonyoung’s stomach had folded in on itself.
It was the kind of reaction usually reserved for surprise tax audits or seeing an ex on a dating app. Except worse. Because this wasn’t just anyone. This was Jeon Wonwoo.
And Jeon Wonwoo hadn’t even done anything… yet.
He was just standing there, casually talking to Mingyu, sipping from a champagne flute like he hadn’t cracked Soonyoung’s entire teenage life in half and then never looked back.
Soonyoung blinked. Looked away. Pretended to find the open buffet fascinating.
“You okay?” Seungkwan asked, nudging him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Worse,” Soonyoung muttered. “I’ve seen Jeon Wonwoo.”
-
Freshman Year, First Semester
Soonyoung first met Jeon Wonwoo while trying to tape a dance club recruitment poster onto a corkboard that clearly didn’t want to cooperate. One hand was holding the edge of the paper, the other awkwardly balancing a roll of tape, and for some reason, there was a pen between his teeth. Not useful. Just there.
“You know that’s the wrong board, right?” someone said.
Soonyoung turned. A guy with glasses and headphones around his neck nodded toward a small sign in the corner: FACULTY USE ONLY.
“Oh,” Soonyoung said, blinking. “Right.”
The guy didn’t smile. “Good luck, though,” he said, then walked off like that was the end of it.
Something about the whole exchange itched. Maybe it was the tone. Or the walk-off. Or the fact that Soonyoung now looked like someone who couldn’t read signs.
Two weeks later, they got assigned to the same group for an intro history project.
Of course they did.
Soonyoung, being Soonyoung, had prepped a short outline ahead of their first meeting—nothing excessive, just a few bullet points to help keep the group on track. He handed out printed copies. Wonwoo took one, glanced at it, then looked up.
He blinked once. “Oh. You’re one of those.”
Soonyoung paused. “Sorry?”
Wonwoo didn’t explain. Just sipped his iced coffee and checked his phone.
Soonyoung’s brain immediately lit up in flames.
One of those? One of what? People who plan? People who care? People who like bullet points?
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you have any feedback?”
Wonwoo shrugged. “If you’ve already done it, not really.”
And that was it. The exact moment Soonyoung decided: enemy.
After that, everything about Jeon Wonwoo became personally offensive.
Wonwoo didn’t add to the shared slides. He missed their second meeting. He submitted his script at 11:58 PM the night before their presentation—two minutes before the deadline—and it was… perfect. Clean formatting. Fully cited. Annoyingly eloquent.
The teacher loved it.
The teacher loved him.
Soonyoung, who had basically stitched the entire thing together, got a “nice job” and a thumbs-up. Wonwoo got actual praise.
After class, Soonyoung watched him walk off with his usual crowd—the sarcastic guys who cracked jokes in lectures and somehow always got deadline extensions.
And Soonyoung hated that it worked. That Wonwoo didn’t seem to care, and still did well anyway.
Even small things started to piss him off.
Once, Soonyoung dropped his favorite pen in class. Wonwoo picked it up, looked at it for half a second, and then slid it into his pencil case without a word.
Was it intentional? Probably not.
Did Soonyoung interpret it as a declaration of war? Without question.
He started noticing things. Not on purpose—just… involuntarily.
Wonwoo didn’t raise his hand often, but when he did, the room actually paid attention. He missed quizzes and still aced midterms. He wrote essays in one sitting and somehow managed to sound smarter than people who had been outlining for weeks.
And he wasn’t even mean. Just unreadable. Like school was something happening around him, not something he was in.
It drove Soonyoung up the wall.
Soonyoung, who color-coded his planner. Who turned in rough drafts. Who stayed behind after meetings to clean up trash that wasn’t even his.
“Classic underachiever,” he muttered to Seungkwan once. “Doesn’t try, still wins. It’s honestly infuriating.”
Seungkwan raised an eyebrow. “You sound jealous.”
“I’m not jealous. He stole my pen once.”
“Oh my god.”
“He looked at it. And then put it in his case.” Soonyoung deadpanned.
“You need help.”
-
The sound of clinking glasses jolted Soonyoung back to the ballroom, where the lighting was too warm and the carpet pattern was giving him a headache.
He shook off the memory like lint from a jacket sleeve. Unhelpful. Irrelevant. Completely in the past.
“This is fine,” he muttered to himself. “I’m fine. He’s just a person. A person I once loathed with the fire of a thousand suns.”
Jeongan handed him a champagne flute. “Drink this before your eyebrows lock into that position permanently.”
Soonyoung took it, downed half in one go. “I can’t believe he’s still hot.”
“I can,” Seungkwan said. “Hot people don’t suffer. That’s why God made LinkedIn Premium.”
Soonyoung narrowed his eyes. Across the room, Wonwoo laughed at something Mingyu said, the sound low and familiar, like a memory Soonyoung didn’t ask to keep.
“I bet he’s still smug.”
Jeonghan shrugged. “Or chill.”
“Chill is just smug with less words.”
Seungkwan blinked. “That made no sense, but I’m letting it go because you’re clearly spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling” Soonyoung said, already spiraling.
He could feel it happening- the petty, involuntary high school part of his brain lighting up again like a bad app update. He didn’t want to care. He’d built a career, a life, a decent skincare routine. But the sight of Jeon Wonwoo standing there, perfectly relaxed, unbothered, and attractive?
It was a personal attack.
And if Wonwoo thought Soonyoung had grown out of this? Of course not. No way. He wasn’t going to be the bigger person.
Not yet. Not tonight.
“Okay,” Jeonghan said slowly. “So what’s the plan?”
Soonyoung lifted his chin, voice tight. “Avoid him. Maybe throw up once. Get free dessert. Leave.”
“You’re definitely going to talk to him.”
“I will not.”
“You definitely will.”
Soonyoung scowled, but his eyes flicked back toward Wonwoo anyway.
He hated that after all these years, he still wanted to win. At what? Unclear.
But it was Jeon Wonwoo.
And Soonyoung was not letting his guard down first.
Chapter Text
Soonyoung had planned to avoid Wonwoo all night. Unfortunately, reunions were small, and Soonyoung’s luck was worse.
He was reaching for a shrimp canapé when a voice behind him said, "Why are you making that face? It’s not like it’s going to bite you.”
Soonyoung’s hand froze mid-air.
He turned, slowly, like a character in a horror movie about to confirm the killer was standing right behind them.
Wonwoo stood there, perfectly calm, wearing a tailored jacket and a crooked smile. His hair was longer now, curling slightly at the ends. His posture was casual, effortless. The kind of confidence that didn’t need announcing.
Soonyoung, tragically, squeaked.
“I don’t make a face,” he said, all at once. “I was just—this shrimp is suspicious.”
Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “Suspicious shrimp?”
“It’s warm,” Soonyoung lied, quickly placing it back. “Anyway, hi. Wow. You. Here.”
“You haven’t changed a bit.”
Soonyoung blinked. He tried to decide if that was an insult. It sounded like one. But it had been said too neutrally to argue against.
“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, before he could stop himself.
Wonwoo shrugged. “Not necessarily.”
And then he was gone, turning to greet someone else, leaving Soonyoung staring at the suspicious shrimp like it had personally betrayed him.
He had not planned for this.
He had not planned for how stupidly tall Wonwoo still was. Or how deep his voice had gotten. Or how being near him felt like being sixteen again, standing in the middle of the library with a broken pencil and a bruised ego.
–
Sophomore year, first semester.
The student council had split down the middle, and Soonyoung blamed exactly one person.
“I’m just saying,” Wonwoo began, not even glancing up from his neatly folded agenda, “if we’re trying to raise money, a dance battle isn’t the most practical solution.”
“So now practical and fun are the same thing?” Soonyoung shot back, arms crossed tight.
Beside him, Jeonghan scribbled something on the corner of his notebook, probably another doodle of Soonyoung stabbing Wonwoo with a cartoon sword.
Across the table, Seungcheol cleared his throat. “Maybe we can compromise? Like… a fair?”
“With themed booths,” Wonwoo added smoothly. “And a performance stage -if we must.”
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “Wow. He’s really going to allow the stage. If we must.”
Soonyoung glared. “It’s not about the stage. It’s about the spirit of the idea. Which he’s slowly murdering. With that tone.”
Wonwoo finally looked up, raising a brow in mock concern. “What tone?”
“That one!” Soonyoung waved his hands. “You’re always so…so-”
“Reasonable?”
“Condescending!”
Jeonghan let out a low hum, like a buzzer on a game show. “Oof.”
Across the table, Seungcheol chuckled under his breath. “You two fight like you’re married.”
“We’re not,” both of them said, in unison.
A beat.
“Yet,” Jeonghan added, leaning back like he was settling in for a show.
Soonyoung groaned. “Why are you like this.”
The meeting spiraled from there, mostly thanks to Jeonghan pitching a kissing booth and Seungcheol not immediately shutting it down. But Soonyoung stayed tense, jaw locked. It wasn’t just that his idea had been rejected. It was who rejected it.
Wonwoo. Who never raised his voice. Who didn’t need to. Who always got the room to bend toward him with two words and a clipboard.
It wasn’t fair.
Nothing about Wonwoo ever felt fair.
He was good at everything—and worse, he made it look effortless. Even now, when they were arguing, Wonwoo stayed calm while Soonyoung felt like he was slowly unraveling. Like he was the only one who cared enough to raise his voice.
It made him feel ridiculous. Small.
It made him want to win.
“You’ve been shooting down every single idea I’ve brought to this group for the past two months,” Soonyoung said, sharp.
“Because they’re unrealistic,” Wonwoo snapped back before he could stop himself.
Silence fell.
Even Jeonghan looked up, surprised by the edge in his tone.
Soonyoung blinked. “Right. So I’m unrealistic. Good to know what you really think of me.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s exactly what you meant.”
Wonwoo exhaled, shoulders tight. “You’re twisting my words.”
“No. I finally heard them clearly.” Soonyoung pushed his chair back. The screech was loud, jarring. “You know what? Run the damn fair however you want. I’m done.”
And then he was gone.
The door swung shut behind him, rattling on its hinges.
For a second, no one said anything. Then Jeonghan looked at Wonwoo.
“You really don’t know how to talk to him, do you?”
Wonwoo stared at the agenda. “He never listens.”
“Maybe because you talk like you’re arguing a court case.”
“I’m just being rational.”
“Yeah, and he’s being himself,” Jeonghan said. “That’s not the same as being wrong.”
Wonwoo didn’t respond.
Jeonghan studied him for a beat longer. Then leaned back and sighed.
“You know,” he said. “For someone so smart, you’re kind of stupid.”
“Thanks,” Wonwoo muttered.
“He wanted you to take his side, you know.”
“I can’t just agree with him to spare his feelings.”
“I didn’t say agree. I said take his side.” Jeonghan’s voice softened, but only a little. “You don’t have to agree with someone to make them feel like you’re on their team.”
Wonwoo swallowed, but said nothing.
-
Soonyoung escaped to the balcony with a glass of wine he didn’t really like, pretending the view was enough to keep him busy. The shrimp incident still echoed embarrassingly in his head. You haven’t changed a bit. What did that even mean? He’d aged. He’d moved cities. He went to therapy.
But the second Wonwoo had spoken, it was like no time had passed at all.
Soonyoung gripped the railing.
All it took was a look, a shrug, a line like that and suddenly he was back in that cramped classroom, his voice rising over Wonwoo’s, both of them trying to prove something neither had the words for.
–
Sophomore year, second semester
The music room was supposed to be empty.
Soonyoung had double-checked the schedule, even asked the choir president just to be sure. But when he pushed open the door, humming through the first few bars of his choreography, there was someone already inside.
Wonwoo sat cross-legged on the floor by the window, sketching something into his notebook with a mechanical pencil. He didn’t look up.
“I booked this room,” Soonyoung said, tone clipped.
Wonwoo didn’t stop drawing. “I’m not using the instruments.”
“That’s not the point.”
Silence.
Soonyoung dropped his bag by the mirror and pressed play on his phone. The beat kicked in, sharp and bright, but he barely got through the first eight counts before his limbs betrayed him—too tight, too tense, too aware of the person across the room.
He paused the track.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to leave when someone asks.”
Wonwoo finally looked up, pen still in hand. “Do you want me to leave, or do you just want to win?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You always have to make it about being right.” His voice wasn’t angry, just flat. “Even when it’s just a practice room.”
Soonyoung stared at him. “You think I care about being right?”
“I think you care about being seen,” Wonwoo said, and that landed sharper than Soonyoung expected. “Heard. Understood.”
Soonyoung scoffed. “And you don’t?”
Wonwoo didn’t answer.
For a long second, neither of them moved. Then Soonyoung broke eye contact and sat down on the floor, mirroring him.
“I liked the fair idea,” he said, voice low. “I just… didn’t like that it came from you.”
That startled a small laugh out of Wonwoo. “I figured.”
“I don’t hate you, you know.”
“You have a strange way of showing it.”
Soonyoung didn’t know what to say to that. The silence stretched, filled only by the soft rustle of pages as Wonwoo flipped his sketchbook closed.
“You can dance,” Wonwoo said, almost like an afterthought. “I won’t bother you.”
He stood and left without waiting for a reply.
–
The door slid open behind him.
Soonyoung tensed instinctively, bracing for another comment, another sharp-edged remark wrapped in a soft voice. But it was only Jeonghan, already holding out a paper napkin like he’d read Soonyoung’s mind.
“You have wine teeth,” Jeonghan said. “And you’ve been out here for ten minutes”
Soonyoung took the napkin and scrubbed at his mouth. “It’s a terrible wine.”
“And yet you’re on your second glass.”
“It was free.”
Jeonghan leaned against the railing beside him. Inside, the music had shifted to something bouncier, the start of a game or maybe just more shouting. “He looks good,” he said, unprompted.
Soonyoung didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” Jeonghan bumped their shoulders. “Wonwoo’s wearing nice shoes, Soonyoung. That’s emotional warfare.”
Soonyoung exhaled, shaky. “He said I haven’t changed.”
Jeonghan paused. “Like, as an insult?"
“No. Not really. I don’t know. I think he meant it as an observation.” Soonyoung’s voice dropped. “But I have. I’ve changed a lot.”
Jeonghan looked at him, softer now. “You have.”
Soonyoung nodded, grateful for it, but he still didn’t believe it all the way. Not when Wonwoo could say one thing… one thing- and it unspooled everything he’d built since high school.
Before Jeonghan could say anything else, the balcony door creaked again.
Soonyoung turned.
It was Seungkwan this time, cradling a drink in one hand and a knowing smile in the other. “You’re missing the main event,” he said. “Mingyu’s about to arm-wrestle Jihoon over a brownie.”
“Why.”
“Because he said it looked dry, and Jihoon took it personally.” Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “Come inside. Pretend you’re a functioning adult.”
Soonyoung didn’t move.
“Wonwoo’s not even in the room anymore,” Seungkwan added gently. “You can breathe.”
Soonyoung glanced at Seungkwan, then back at the glow of warm light inside. Laughter. Movement. Life that didn’t involve unfinished conversations.
“I’ll come in,” he said quietly. “In a bit.”
Seungkwan gave a two-fingered salute and disappeared.
Jeonghan lingered a moment longer, bumping his shoulder again before following.
Soonyoung stayed where he was, holding the railing like it might steady him.
He could still hear it, that sentence. You haven’t changed a bit.
Was that supposed to be a compliment? An accusation? A joke?
The thing was - he had changed. He wasn’t the same kid who fought with pens gripped too tightly and cheeks that flushed too fast. He’d graduated, moved out, messed up, figured some things out, maybe even grown a little. He’d stopped measuring his worth in gold stars and leaderboard rankings.
But standing in that room again, with Wonwoo there, calm and composed and tall as ever. It was like all the progress he thought he’d made quietly packed its bags and slipped out the back door.
He rubbed at his face and muttered to himself, “Get a grip, Kwon.”
Behind him, someone laughed—a bright, familiar sound. Probably Mingyu, from the way it dissolved into a rasp. Someone else groaned. A chair scraped. The party was still happening, full of people who’d moved on, moved forward.
Soonyoung stepped back from the edge of the balcony and slid the door open.
He wasn’t ready. But he went in anyway.
–
Sophomore year, second semester
The hallway buzzed with weekend energy. There were seniors yelling about booth placements, glitter spilling across floors, someone dragging a life-size cardboard tiger down the stairs. Soonyoung had no idea what their class was actually selling. He’d been too distracted during planning week, his focus narrowed to one thing: Don’t talk to Wonwoo.
Which had been going fine. Until ten minutes ago.
Until Wonwoo had cornered him by the art wing with a question that wasn’t really a question.
"Why are you acting like I did something wrong?"
Soonyoung had laughed—too loud, too fake. “I’m not. I’m just busy. We all are.”
Wonwoo didn’t flinch. “You haven’t looked at me in days.”
“Well, maybe I’m tired of looking at your face"
That had come out meaner than he’d intended, and the second it left his mouth, Soonyoung regretted it. But Wonwoo had gone quiet, only giving him a small, unreadable nod before walking away.
Now Soonyoung stood at the edge of their classroom, trying to gather himself, one foot inside, one out. The air smelled like hot glue and caramel, and a bubble machine was wheezing pitifully in the corner. Jun was shouting about coupons. Jihoon was arguing with someone about the volume of the speakers. Everything was normal.
Soonyoung ducked in.
No one noticed at first. Or they pretended not to.
He moved toward the back, heart rattling. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to explain himself. Not to anyone. Especially not—
“There you are,” Seungkwan said, appearing with a string of raffle tickets around his neck. “I thought you’d fled to the roof to become a ghost again.”
“I almost did,” Soonyoung muttered, grabbing a plastic cup of soda from the table without checking if it was his.
Seungkwan gave him a long look. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re radiating the same energy as the clown mascot that quit ten minutes into their shift.”
Soonyoung glanced across the room, instinctively—only to catch sight of Wonwoo bent over a booth table, helping Jihoon stack mini prizes. His back was to him. He looked completely unfazed.
Like the conversation earlier hadn’t happened.
It stung.
“I’m fine,” Soonyoung said again, teeth tight.
Seungkwan nodded slowly. “Okay. But you’re holding an empty cup, and I saw you miss the table when you tried to grab it.”
Soonyoung looked down.
Damn it.
He forced a laugh and turned back to the soda station, letting the noise of the classroom swallow him. Everything felt a little too bright, a little too sharp, like the difference between stage lights and daylight—both real, but one made you squint harder.
He’d entered the room. That was step one.
Now he just had to survive it.
Wonwoo had stalked off toward the back of the gym where the exhibit boxes were waiting to be packed.
The air was still thick with leftover noise — laughter, announcements, music from a half-packed speaker. Students were milling around, the fair winding down but not quite over.
Jeonghan found him by the hallway windows, staring out like he was deciding whether to escape or explode.
“So,” Jeonghan said casually, coming to stand beside him. “What happened today?”
Soonyoung didn’t look at him. “Go away.”
“I would, but you’re standing in my usual spot”
That got a slight snort out of him. Jeonghan bumped his shoulder lightly against Soonyoung’s. “What was the yelling session about?”
“I didn’t yell. I—” Soonyoung groaned, pressing his forehead to the cool window. “I just hate how he talks to me. Like he knows better. Like I’m always performing or something.”
Jeonghan was quiet for a moment. Then: “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Perform?”
Soonyoung frowned. “I don’t know.”
Across the gym, Seungcheol waved at Jeonghan with two fingers, lazy and unbothered. Jeonghan tilted his chin in response, then looked back at Soonyoung.
“You think he hates you?”
Soonyoung didn’t answer.
A few minutes later, Jeonghan finally peeled himself away to help with cleanup. Seungcheol had settled himself on the floor with a bag of leftover snacks and a half-used roll of tape.
“You let him rant?” Seungcheol asked, tossing over a grape candy.
“He ranted,” Jeonghan said. “Didn’t listen, though.”
“Sounds like him.”
Jeonghan sat, crossed his legs. “Sounds like both of them.”
They watched as Wonwoo stacked the last of the boxes in silence, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight.
From somewhere off-screen, Soonyoung’s voice rang again — exaggerated, annoyed, defensive about something small. They were orbiting again. Spinning just close enough to collide, but not enough to admit what it meant.
“They’re going to combust,” Seungcheol said.
“Or confess,” Jeonghan replied.
Seungcheol leaned back on his hands. “You really think that’s coming?”
“I think neither of them knows what to do when the other one looks at them.”
“Maybe we teach them.”
Jeonghan popped the candy into his mouth. “Nah,” he said. “Let them figure it out the hard way.”
And they sat there a while longer, surrounded by the end of things — paper cups, torn flyers, echoing footsteps as something unspoken stretched on across the gym.
–
The music was softer when Soonyoung re-entered the party, like the bass had calmed just for him. Or maybe the walls had thickened in his absence, muffled everything while he tried to pull himself back together on the balcony.
He moved slowly, slipping past the snack table and the now-empty wine bar. The living room had cleared a little, a few people danced, others were gathered around someone’s phone playing a game. Laughter curled around the corners, easy and unbothered.
Soonyoung didn’t join them. Not yet. He stood just inside the doorway, like he was testing the temperature of a pool he wasn’t sure he wanted to jump into.
Then he saw him.
Wonwoo was near the bookshelf, talking to Minghao and Jihoon. A refill in one hand, a lazy smile on his face. He looked different than he had in high school, he’s sharper around the edges, more at ease in his own skin but that same maddening calm still clung to him like a second shirt.
He laughed at something Jihoon said. Not loud, not showy. Just a small, genuine thing.
And for a second, Soonyoung felt it again.
That pang. That flare of heat in the chest that used to hit him between classes or at the back of meeting rooms when he wasn’t sure if he hated Wonwoo or just couldn’t stand not being close to him.
He looked away.
“Hey.” Jeonghan appeared at his side, appearing from nowhere like a summoned ghost. “You came back.”
“Briefly,” Soonyoung muttered.
“You missed the grand finale. Jihoon gave Mingyu a concussion.”
“What?”
“With a brownie. Long story.”
Soonyoung huffed a quiet laugh. “I don’t think I belong here.”
“You do.” Jeonghan glanced at him, then at Wonwoo across the room. “You just haven’t decided how yet.”
He patted Soonyoung once on the back. “Come sit. Before someone tries to do karaoke and you’re not there to stop them.”
Soonyoung hesitated, then nodded, just once—and followed him in.
He didn’t look back to see if Wonwoo noticed.
But a part of him hoped he did.
–
Sophomore year, second semester
The classroom was buzzing with quiet tension. The kind that followed a group project gone wrong or a test returned with blood-red scores.
Soonyoung pretended not to notice the glances. He’d come early, buried himself in notes he already knew by heart, and made a point of not looking toward the door.
He almost succeeded…until Wonwoo walked in.
A beat of silence. Wonwoo scanned the room quickly, eyes landing on Soonyoung. He crossed over with practiced calm and dropped into the seat beside him, their usual seats, assigned months ago before either of them knew they’d end up hating each other again.
Soonyoung didn’t look up.
Wonwoo cleared his throat. “Hey.”
Soonyoung’s pencil twitched but didn’t stop moving.
“I wanted to say…” Wonwoo hesitated, then leaned in slightly, voice low. “I’m sorry. About the fair. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
Soonyoung froze.
He turned his head slowly. “You didn’t embarrass me.”
Wonwoo blinked. “I didn’t?”
“No,” Soonyoung snapped. “Because nothing you say gets to me like that.”
Wonwoo’s brows drew together. “Soonyoung, come on—”
“You’ve been trying to one-up me since freshman year, and suddenly you want to play nice? Why? Because people saw?”
Wonwoo reeled slightly, caught off guard. “That’s not— I’m not trying to play anything.”
“So this is just who you are now?” Soonyoung scoffed. “Pretend it didn’t happen, sweep it under the rug?”
Wonwoo exhaled, sharp. “I’m not pretending anything. I’m trying.”
“Well don’t,” Soonyoung said, voice clipped. “You don’t get to try now.”
The bell rang. Their professor entered. Chairs scraped the floor as students shifted into gear.
Wonwoo sat back in his seat, jaw tight, the apology dying in his throat.
Soonyoung didn’t look at him again that hour.
–
Jeonghan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Seungcheol struggle to balance two iced Americanos and a stack of books.
“You know there’s a thing called a tray, right?” Jeonghan called out.
Seungcheol grinned without looking up. “Where’s the fun in that?”
One coffee teetered dangerously. Jeonghan stepped forward, saving it with a steady hand.
“Thanks,” Seungcheol said, sheepish. “This one’s for Wonwoo.”
“You’re a good friend,” Jeonghan said, accepting the unspoken offer of the second coffee. “Even if you have no sense of balance.”
Seungcheol shrugged. “He’s been kind of… off. Since the fair.”
“They both have,” Jeonghan said quietly, then took a sip. “Do you ever wonder what actually is happening between them?”
“All I know is, it’s complicated. And Soonyoung won’t talk about it.”
Jeonghan nodded slowly. “He does that. Shuts the door before anyone can knock.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then Seungcheol asked, like it was nothing, “You doing anything this weekend?”
Jeonghan raised a brow. “Are you asking me out, Choi Seungcheol?”
Seungcheol almost choked on his coffee. “What? No. I mean—maybe? Are you saying yes?”
Jeonghan smirked. “You’re terrible at this.”
“But you’re still answering.”
“I didn’t say no.”
Their shoulders bumped as they walked into the library together, laughter trailing behind.
–
Jeonghan found Seungcheol near the dessert table, pretending to choose between two mini cheesecakes but really just stalling until Jeonghan showed up.
“You always wait for me to pick first,” Jeonghan said, reaching past him and grabbing both.
“You always pick both,” Seungcheol replied, amused, letting him.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, familiar and easy in the way that made people glance twice—not because they were loud, but because they looked like they’d been doing this for years. They had.
“You see them?” Seungcheol asked, eyes scanning the ballroom.
Jeonghan nodded. “Soonyoung came in two minutes ago, did a slow pan of the room like he was in a spy movie, then made a beeline for the bar.”
“And Wonwoo?”
“Talking to Minghao. Still pretending he’s chill while actively scanning Soonyoung’s proximity every five seconds.”
Seungcheol popped a grape into his mouth. “Just like high school.”
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s worse now?”
“No,” Seungcheol said. “Now they know exactly what they’re doing.”
That made Jeonghan smile, a little sad and a little fond. “Yeah. But they still don’t know how to stop.”
Seungcheol bumped his shoulder lightly. “We were idiots once too.”
“You were an idiot. I was misunderstood.”
Seungcheol laughed. “Right. You were just emotionally evasive.”
“And you were emotionally obvious,” Jeonghan said. “And it still took you a year to ask me out.”
“I did ask you,” Seungcheol protested.
Jeonghan gave him a look. “You asked me if I wanted to help you carry iced coffee and then said ‘maybe we could go somewhere after, or something.’”
Seungcheol grinned. “And you said yes.”
“I said ‘we’ll see.’” Jeonghan turned back toward the room. “They need something like that. Not a confession. Just… a start.”
Seungcheol watched as Soonyoung lingered by the wall, clutching his drink like it was a flotation device. Wonwoo stood across the room, halfway through a conversation but visibly distracted.
“Think they’ll get it tonight?” he asked.
Jeonghan didn’t answer immediately. Then: “I think they’ve been circling long enough.”
He passed Seungcheol a cheesecake.
Notes:
i know this is a bit confusing right now but lets trust the process HAHA, expect more flashbacks in future chapters that will explain why my boy soonyoung is the way he is
As usual, all kudos & comments are greatly appreciated!!
Talk to me on twitter
Chapter Text
Sophomore year, first semester
Soonyoung was early to class. Again.
He always was, but today he’d beaten even the cleaning staff. The room still smelled like floor wax and dried marker ink. He slipped into his usual seat, pulling out his color-coded notes, tabs already sticking out at symmetrical intervals.
Midterms were next week. He’d been preparing for a month.
By the time the bell rang and students began to trickle in - some yawning, others still wiping sleep from their eyes. Soonyoung had already flipped through half the syllabus again.
Wonwoo arrived three minutes before the bell, headphones around his neck, a smoothie in one hand and nothing else.
No bag. No book. No notes.
Soonyoung watched him slide into his seat, calm and casual like this wasn’t a college-prep class that could tank your average with one pop quiz. He pulled out a single pen from his hoodie pocket and started doodling in the margins of an old worksheet.
And that was fine. Except two weeks later, Wonwoo aced the quiz Soonyoung had practically memorized formulas for. Again.
Soonyoung stared at the red 96 on Wonwoo’s paper. Then down at his own: 91.
It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t enough.
The rivalry wasn’t official. No one else called it that.
But Seungkwan did give him a look every time rankings came out.
“I think you need to meditate,” he said once, watching Soonyoung refresh the online grade portal for the third time.
“I am meditating,” Soonyoung muttered. “This is my calm.”
Jeonghan called it something else.
“You’ve got rich-kid rage,” he said. “It’s not his fault he’s naturally good at everything.”
“It is when he acts like it doesn’t matter,” Soonyoung shot back. “Like he’s above caring.”
“He’s not. He just doesn’t show it.”
“Exactly. That’s smug.”
“That’s introversion,” Jeonghan corrected, sipping his drink. “Not everything’s a competition.”
Soonyoung didn’t reply. Mostly because he knew it wasn’t a competition.
But he’d been raised to see effort as the currency of success. And when someone got more with less, it messed with the math.
After school, he headed to the library to reserve one of the private study rooms.
They were first-come, first-served—tiny glass cells with just enough space for a desk and a chair. Soonyoung had spent entire weekends in them.
He scribbled his name onto the log sheet.
But the row above his had already been filled.
JEON WONWOO. 4:00–7:00 PM.
Soonyoung stared at it. Then at the clock.
3:57.
Of course.
Later, when he passed by the room, he peeked inside.
Wonwoo was there, head bent over a physics book. Alone. Quiet. Focused.
Soonyoung hated how that made him feel. Like they weren’t so different. Like they were running the same race in parallel lanes, just never close enough to match pace.
He walked away quickly.
–
He wasn’t trying to find Wonwoo again.
Really, he wasn’t.
It just kept happening. Like gravity… or poor event planning.
Soonyoung was halfway through pretending to admire the photo wall when he turned around and nearly walked straight into him.
“Oh.” Wonwoo stepped back, just enough to avoid a full-body collision. “Hi.”
Soonyoung blinked up at him. The lighting was too warm. Or maybe it was just Wonwoo’s face, lit from one side, making him look vaguely like a sentimental indie film.
“Hi,” Soonyoung echoed
Wonwoo glanced at the photo behind him. “Is that you?” he asked, pointing.
Soonyoung turned. It was. An old class photo—everyone in uniforms, slightly sunburnt from Sports Day, his smile wide and fake like it had been pried on with pliers.
“Yeah,” Soonyoung said. “You had a bowl cut.”
Wonwoo made a face. “Tragic era.”
“Bold of you to assume it ever ended.”
That got a huff of amusement out of him. “You really haven’t changed.”
Soonyoung’s jaw tensed. “Stop saying that.”
Wonwoo’s smile faltered, just slightly. “Sorry,” he said, a little quieter. “I meant… you still talk the same. That’s all.”
Soonyoung folded his arms. “Maybe I have changed. You wouldn’t know.”
The silence that followed was short, but dense.
Wonwoo studied him for a beat. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
There was no malice in it. No sarcasm. Just something honest that landed too close to the bone.
Soonyoung opened his mouth to reply—then closed it again.
Wonwoo gave a polite nod, the conversation ending as cleanly as it had started. He turned, disappearing back into the crowd without waiting for a response.
Soonyoung exhaled slowly.
–
Junior year, second semester
The group chat was on fire.
JEONGHAN : party @ seungcheol’s sat night 🍻 don’t be lame
SEUNGKWAN : everyone’s going btw 👀 even wonwoo
Soonyoung stared at the messages, thumb hovering. He had no real reason to say no. No extra classes. No dance club performances. Nothing to do but sit at home, clean his room again, and maybe rewatch a dance practice video from three years ago just to criticize his own footwork.
He was already typing “can’t make it” when Jeonghan texted him directly:
JEONGHAN : don’t flake. you need a break. also you can’t let wonwoo be more fun than you lol
Soonyoung blinked.
He hadn’t realized Wonwoo was going.
And suddenly, it wasn’t just a party. It was a scoreboard. It was another setting where Jeon Wonwoo would effortlessly exist and be liked and probably drink exactly one cider and still walk away cooler than anyone else in the room.
Soonyoung deleted his excuse.
SOONYOUNG: fine. what time.
The party was already in full swing when Soonyoung arrived. He was late, intentionally, because he wasn’t about to look like he had nothing better to do. Music pulsed through the floorboards. Fairy lights flickered above. It smelled like chips and soda and someone’s ill-advised attempt at making a cocktail in a rice cooker.
He found Jeonghan immediately, lounging in the corner like a bored cat, already holding a drink.
“You showed up,” Jeonghan said, visibly pleased.
Soonyoung tugged at the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I’m allowed to socialize.”
“Mm-hmm. You put on lip balm. For the vibes?”
“Hydration is not a crime.”
Before Jeonghan could needle him further, someone shouted Soonyoung’s name across the room. Seungkwan waved him over to a table where Minghao, Chan, and a few others were clustered around a stack of red cups and dice.
And standing just to the side of them - drink in hand, sleeves pushed up, already in the middle of a conversation, was Wonwoo.
He looked good.
Annoyingly good.
“I thought he wasn’t the type,” Soonyoung muttered.
“To party?” Jeonghan said. “He’s not. But Seungcheol is. And they’re joined at the hip this week.”
Soonyoung didn’t respond. He watched as Wonwoo laughed at something Seungcheol said, the corner of his mouth curling slow and easy. People liked him. Of course they did. He was polite and a little mysterious and never tried too hard.
Soonyoung hated how aware of it he was.
He turned back to Jeonghan. “I’m going to crush him at whatever game they’re playing.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet.”
“I’ll learn fast.”
“God, you’re exhausting,” Jeonghan said fondly. “Go. Be weird about it.”
Soonyoung joined the circle like a challenge had been issued. He smiled too brightly. Made a joke too loudly. Positioned himself directly across from Wonwoo like that wasn’t on purpose.
Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think this was your scene.”
Soonyoung shrugged. “I’m full of surprises.”
Wonwoo lifted his cup slightly in acknowledgment. “We’ll see.”
The game was simple. Roll the dice, pick a card, answer the prompt or take a drink.
Soonyoung hated it immediately.
Not because it was hard—but because it was chaotic, disorganized, and clearly invented by people who’d never run a proper event in their lives. But he played anyway, because Jeonghan was watching with thinly veiled amusement, and because Wonwoo was still across the circle, calm and unreadable.
Minghao rolled first. Truth. “Who here has the best fashion sense?”
He pointed at himself. No one argued.
Seungkwan rolled. Dare. “Text your crush ‘I’m outside your house’ and don’t explain.”
“How is that a dare and not a felony,” he muttered, but did it anyway.
When it was Soonyoung’s turn, he rolled a five. Chan passed him a card with an exaggerated wink.
He read it out loud: “Who here would you most likely lose an argument to?”
Soonyoung’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t even blink.
“Jeon Wonwoo,” he said, too casually.
A few “oooh”s went around the table.
Wonwoo tilted his head. “That sounds like a compliment.”
“It’s not,” Soonyoung replied. “You’re just exhausting to debate. Like arguing with a spreadsheet.”
“Effective, though.”
“Oh, definitely. A spreadsheet with legs and zero emotional range.”
Wonwoo’s eyes narrowed, but his mouth quirked. “Glad to know you think about me so deeply.”
“I don’t.”
“You clearly do.”
The game moved on, but the rest of the table had tuned out, half watching them like it was a TV drama, half pretending they weren’t.
When it was Wonwoo’s turn, he picked a truth card without looking.
“Who intimidates you the most?”
Soonyoung straightened, half-expecting Wonwoo to deflect or roll his eyes.
But Wonwoo glanced at him, just for a second.
Then he said, simply, “No one.”
Soonyoung laughed—short, incredulous. “Of course.”
Wonwoo raised a brow. “Would it be better if I said you?”
“No,” Soonyoung said, too fast. “Obviously not.”
But the words stuck in his chest anyway.
They broke off from the group not long after. Mingyu was rounding people up for charades. Someone had already spilled cider on the rug. Soonyoung slipped toward the kitchen for a soda, fingers still twitching.
He didn’t notice Wonwoo following until he turned and found him there, leaning casually against the fridge like he lived there.
“What do you want,” Soonyoung said, not unkindly. Just tired.
Wonwoo shrugged. “Nothing. Just wondering why you treat everything like a battle.”
Soonyoung blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You always walk into a room like there’s something to win.”
“So what? You walk into rooms like nothing matters.”
“Maybe it doesn’t. Not the way you think it does.”
Soonyoung bristled. “That’s rich coming from someone who gets everything without trying.”
The words hung there, louder than the music.
Wonwoo didn’t react. Not visibly.
And that made it worse.
Soonyoung’s throat burned. He grabbed a can of Sprite from the counter, cracked it open, and turned away.
But before he could leave, Wonwoo’s voice followed him:
“You know, for someone who claims I don’t matter, you sure spend a lot of time proving yourself to me.”
Soonyoung didn’t turn around.
He left the room.
Soonyoung wandered aimlessly after that.
He didn’t go back to the game. Didn’t look for Jeonghan or Seungkwan. Just let himself drift through rooms thick with perfume and laughter, through conversations he didn’t want to join.
His head felt too full. Of music. Of heat. Of things he shouldn’t have said.
He ended up in the narrow hallway by the guest bathroom, sipping flat Sprite and staring blankly at a crooked painting of a lake. Maybe he could sneak out. Say he wasn’t feeling well. Say the vibes were off. Say anything, really—just so long as he didn’t have to stay and wonder what that look in Wonwoo’s eyes had meant.
Footsteps passed behind him. A group of juniors shrieking about someone spilling nail polish on the stairs. Soonyoung stepped aside to let them through, and when he looked up…
He saw them.
Wonwoo.
And a girl.
She had long hair and a glittery top and the kind of laugh that made people lean in. He didn’t recognize her. But she clearly recognized Wonwoo. Her hand was on his arm, and then it wasn’t—because it was in his hair, fingers threading through gently like it wasn’t the first time.
And Wonwoo was letting her.
He wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t laughing it off. He was—
Their lips met.
It wasn’t a dramatic kiss. Not heated. Not scandalous. Just quiet.
Soonyoung didn’t move. Couldn’t. His chest went cold, then hot, like all the air in the hallway had been yanked away.
It shouldn’t have made his heart drop, or his stomach flip, or his legs want to turn and run.
And still, he stood there a second too long. Long enough to see Wonwoo pull back, murmuring something too low to catch.
Long enough to feel like an idiot.
He turned and walked away, gripping his drink like a lifeline.
Back to the crowd. Back to the noise. He found Jeonghan by the balcony a few minutes later, halfway through a drink and a story Soonyoung didn’t catch.
“You look like you saw a ghost,” Jeonghan said, tone light.
Soonyoung forced a smile.
“Something like that.”
It was past midnight when the noise thinned out.
The games ended, someone broke a glass, Jihoon finally left in protest after being called “adorable” one too many times, and most people had migrated toward the living room floor with blankets and half-finished bags of chips. The music had softened into a playlist clearly curated by Minghao: vibey, moody, low enough to think under.
Soonyoung wandered into the hallway to breathe.
His head felt fuzzy. Not drunk, exactly—just over-saturated. Too much noise, too much energy. Too many people he didn’t want to admit he liked being around.
The kitchen was empty now. He passed through it anyway, cracking open the fridge for a cold bottle of water. He didn’t expect company. Especially not from the last person still on his nerves.
But when he turned around, there was Wonwoo. Again.
This time sitting on the back steps, the ones that led to the host’s tiny garden, hood pulled up loosely, a can of soda in one hand, and a paperback novel in the other.
Of course he brought a book to a party.
Soonyoung hovered in the doorway.
Wonwoo didn’t look up, but he said, “There’s space.”
Soonyoung hesitated.
Then he stepped out, letting the door click shut behind him. The air outside was cooler, tinged with damp grass and far-off traffic. They sat in silence for a while, knees not quite touching, the buzz of the house muted behind them.
“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” Soonyoung said eventually.
Wonwoo didn’t answer right away. “Didn’t think you would either.”
Soonyoung smiled faintly. “Guess we’re both bad at leaving things.”
Another stretch of silence. Then, without looking at him, Wonwoo asked, “Do you always come to things just to prove something?”
Soonyoung bristled, but it didn’t flare as hard this time. “No. Sometimes I come because I want to.”
“And tonight?”
Soonyoung considered lying. He considered shrugging. But the honesty slid out before he could stop it.
“I didn’t want to feel left out.”
Wonwoo turned to look at him. Just once.
“Okay,” he said. No judgment. Just a word.
“You’re annoying,” Soonyoung muttered, nudging him with his shoulder.
Wonwoo let the nudge land. “You’re exhausting.”
And still, neither of them moved.
The stars were faint above them, city lights too bright to let them shine fully. But they sat there anyway, two people who weren’t quite friends, not quite rivals, not quite ready to say goodnight.
For once, the silence between them didn’t feel like a battle.
It just felt like… space. Shared.
The night wore on.
Inside, the playlist had looped at least twice. Someone was definitely asleep under the dining table. A couple of stray partygoers shuffled by the kitchen, but no one bothered to look out at the back steps, where two boys sat shoulder to shoulder, still pretending they weren’t choosing to stay.
Soonyoung had finished his Sprite. Wonwoo had closed his book.
The silence between them was companionable now, in a weird way. Like breathing room instead of a tug-of-war.
And then—Wonwoo reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small flask.
Soonyoung blinked. “You brought a book and your own alcohol to a party?”
Wonwoo shrugged, unscrewing the lid. “I come prepared.”
“Are you secretly 45?”
“No. I’m just smarter than you.”
Soonyoung scoffed, holding out his hand. “Give me some, Professor.”
Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“I’m not driving. I’m emotionally fragile. And honestly, I deserve it after calling you a spreadsheet with legs.”
Wonwoo passed the flask over, lips twitching. “Glad you’re self-aware.”
Soonyoung took a sip, it was stronger than expected—and choked slightly. “What the hell is this? Nail polish remover?”
“Whiskey.”
“This tastes like consequences.”
Wonwoo chuckled, low and quiet. “Drink less next time.”
Soonyoung took another sip.
They passed the flask back and forth in silence, each sip warming Soonyoung’s chest a little more, softening the sharp edges in his head. The moon was higher now. The party behind them had melted into muffled laughter and the occasional thump of someone tripping over a beanbag.
Soonyoung leaned back on his palms and let out a sigh. “Do you ever think about how weird it is? That we went from fighting over class rankings to... this?”
“Drinking cheap whiskey on Seungcheol’s steps?”
“I meant sitting together and not trying to one-up each other.”
Wonwoo tilted his head, considering. “I don’t think we’ve stopped.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Wonwoo took a sip, eyes glinting. “You’re counting how many times I drink compared to you.”
Soonyoung gaped. “I am not—”
“You are.”
“I’m not that petty.”
“You are.”
Soonyoung narrowed his eyes, snatched the flask back, and took a long sip. “There. Now I’m ahead.”
Wonwoo cracked a smile, and for a second, Soonyoung forgot how to breathe.
It wasn’t fair. That a smile like that could be so rare and yet still hit him like a punch in the gut. It wasn’t the soft, polite version that Wonwoo gave to teachers or classmates. This one was slightly crooked, like it snuck out before he could stop it.
Soonyoung blinked. Looked away. He had to.
“I used to think you hated me, you know,” he said suddenly, voice quieter now.
Wonwoo didn’t answer right away.
Then: “You made it easy to.”
Soonyoung turned, offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You always had to be louder. Brighter. Faster. Like if someone didn’t look at you, you’d disappear.”
Soonyoung flinched. Not visibly—but enough.
Wonwoo noticed. “That wasn’t a bad thing,” he added, gentler this time. “It just made it hard to be next to you.”
Soonyoung took another sip. Then another.
“Yeah,” he said eventually. “Well. You made it hard to breathe.”
Wonwoo looked at him, puzzled. “How?”
“You were always just... there. Perfect. Calm. Unbothered. And it drove me insane. You’d get an A and not even care. I’d stay up three nights to beat it.”
“Did you?”
“Sometimes.”
Wonwoo’s gaze didn’t waver. “And did it feel worth it?”
Soonyoung opened his mouth. Closed it.
Then said, “No. Not really.”
They were both quiet after that.
The flask was nearly empty. Their shoulders were closer now, barely brushing when one of them shifted. Soonyoung wasn’t sure when it started to feel like gravity had tilted slightly, like leaning toward Wonwoo was easier than leaning away.
“Hey,” Soonyoung said after a moment, voice low and a little slurred at the edges.
Wonwoo hummed in response.
“If we weren’t... like this. If we weren’t always trying to win.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think we’d be friends?”
Wonwoo didn’t respond right away.
Then, softly: “I think we already are.”
And just like that, Soonyoung felt the ground shift beneath him.
Not because it was a grand declaration. Not because of the whiskey. But because the way Wonwoo said it, quiet, matter-of-fact—left no room for denial.
Soonyoung looked at him.
Wonwoo was staring straight ahead, like he hadn’t just broken the unspoken rule between them, that rivals don’t soften, don’t reach out, don’t admit they care.
The silence that followed was different this time. Not tense. Not heavy.
Just full.
Eventually, Soonyoung whispered, “Don’t tell anyone I said this... but you’re not that bad.”
Wonwoo smirked, still not looking at him. “I know.”
Soonyoung bumped his shoulder against his. “Ass.”
Wonwoo bumped back. “Drama queen.”
They sat like that a little longer, flask forgotten between them, until the sky started to lighten at the edges and the first birds began to chirp.
And in that moment—tipsy, tired, and terribly aware of the boy next to him—Soonyoung realized something he wasn’t ready to admit out loud.
He didn’t want this night to end.
–
Eventually, the cold got to them.
Sometime after the teasing quieted and the flask ran dry, they migrated inside—shuffling past half-asleep partygoers and abandoned cups, wordlessly settling on the floor of the living room. A throw blanket materialized from somewhere. Soonyoung wasn’t sure who grabbed it first, but by the time his cheek found Wonwoo’s arm, it no longer seemed to matter.
They didn’t talk about it.
Just the soft hum of someone’s playlist from a nearby phone, the low buzz of sleep creeping in, and the warmth between them that neither acknowledged.
Soonyoung woke up to the scent of something toasty and burnt, the faint buzz of someone whispering a curse in the kitchen, and the distinct realization that his hoodie was not his own.
He blinked.
Then blinked again.
The light filtering in through the windows was too bright. The floor under him was too hard. And the thing he was using as a pillow—
He lifted his head slightly.
Oh.
It was Wonwoo’s arm.
Wonwoo, who was still sitting upright, hoodie pulled tight over his head, mouth parted slightly in sleep. One leg stretched out. One knee drawn close to his chest. Head tilted at an angle that had to be uncomfortable.
Soonyoung sat up carefully, trying not to jostle him.
Memories from last night flickered back, hazy around the edges but undeniable: the back steps, the flask, the teasing, the quiet honesty between drinks, the way the world felt like it had shrunk to just the space between them.
He remembered the last thing Wonwoo said before they drifted off.
“I think we already are.”
Soonyoung rubbed a hand down his face.
This was fine. Totally fine. Just two semi-rivals sharing a weirdly vulnerable moment and then falling asleep next to each other like it was normal.
He reached for the water bottle beside him and took a sip. Lukewarm. Still, it helped. His head didn’t hurt, exactly—it just felt full. Like a balloon two seconds before popping.
Inside the house, someone yawned loudly. A door creaked open. There were murmurs, feet shuffling, the clink of mismatched mugs.
The party was over. Now came the chaos of morning-after cleanup and awkward goodbyes.
Soonyoung glanced down again.
Wonwoo’s eyelashes were annoyingly long. His hoodie was slipping off one shoulder. He looked soft. Unbothered. Like he hadn’t just upended Soonyoung’s mental image of him in the span of a single night.
“Stop staring,” Wonwoo muttered, voice gravelly from sleep.
Soonyoung jumped. “I wasn’t!”
“You were,” he said, not opening his eyes. “It’s loud.”
Soonyoung flushed. “Your face is loud.”
Wonwoo cracked one eye open. “Nice comeback.”
“Thanks. I’m working with limited brain cells.”
Wonwoo stretched, the motion slow and deliberate. “Do you always talk this much in the morning?”
“No,” Soonyoung said defensively. “Just when I’m—”
He stopped himself. Looked away.
Wonwoo sat up straighter, brushing dust off his pants. “Just when you’re what?”
“Never mind.”
Wonwoo tilted his head. But didn’t press. “Here.” He tugged his hoodie off and handed it back. “You looked cold.”
Soonyoung hesitated before taking it. The inside was warm. Faintly smelled like clean laundry and something citrusy.
“I wasn’t cold,” he said, pulling it on anyway.
Wonwoo didn’t say anything, just gave him a look that clearly said sure you weren’t.
“Do you…” Soonyoung started, then faltered. “Do you want breakfast?”
Wonwoo blinked. “Like... now?”
“There’s probably leftover toast and one semi-functional coffee machine inside. And if we’re fast, we can beat everyone else to the cereal.”
Wonwoo considered. Then stood.
“Lead the way.”
They slipped back into the house like shadows. The living room was a disaster—blankets everywhere, people groaning on the couch, Jihoon face-down on the rug with a pillow over his head. Mingyu was at the kitchen stove, flipping something vaguely pancake-shaped.
“You guys still alive?” he asked without turning around.
“Define alive,” Soonyoung mumbled.
Wonwoo grabbed two mugs, filled them with coffee, and pushed one toward Soonyoung without a word. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the counter, sipping in silence as the kitchen buzzed around them.
And just when Soonyoung thought the moment had passed completely, Wonwoo leaned in, barely—and said,
“You’re still annoying.”
Soonyoung huffed. “You’re still smug.”
Wonwoo smiled faintly. “But… last night wasn’t terrible.”
Soonyoung’s ears went pink. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Wasn’t terrible.”
Then, out of nowhere, Wonwoo added, “We should do it again sometime.”
Soonyoung choked on his coffee.
Wonwoo didn’t flinch. Just took another sip like he hadn’t just casually wrecked the few brain cells Soonyoung had left.
Notes:
well, what do we think?
HerrApollo on Chapter 1 Sun 20 Jul 2025 10:31PM UTC
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