Chapter Text
The leaves were now starting to turn into varying shades of oranges and reds as the Republic City University gleamed under the breath of the coming autumn. Gaggles of students dressed in tailored robes and heavy boots walked across the courtyards, their laughter ringing in the air. Overhead, the sky was clear and blue. And somewhere in the east garden, a group of young airbenders were balancing apples on their heads with stifled giggles.
Yoon Jeonghan blinked, standing beneath the statue of Avatar Aang with a posture too perfect to be comfortable, spine tall and shoulders drawn back. His scarf was wrapped twice around his neck, more like a noose rather than for his comfort, and his Legal Theory textbook weighed heavily under one arm. With a sigh, he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, pretending the fog on his lenses didn’t irritate him.
He was never fond of autumn, though he could admit it was picturesque. The wind was too sharp against his skin and the leaves were too dramatic, always falling so slowly without a care in the world and landing everywhere. Even now, a crimson one clung to his sleeve, a bold contrast against the baby blue fabric of his robes. He flicked it off with quiet indignation.
To any passerby, Jeonghan looked immaculate. His robes were crisp and his blond hair, dyed in open defiance of his mother’s taste, spilled past his shoulders. His skin, smooth and pale as porcelain, caught the sun with practiced radiance. He was flawless, unmarred and untouched.
But if anyone bothered to look closer, past his carefully rehearsed smile, they would notice the strain beneath the surface, the tension in his jaw and the way his hands held still not out of calm, but control. And if they looked longer still, if they saw him and not just his lineage or the weight of his surname, they would understand this: Yoon Jeonghan did everything with elegance, but always with gritted teeth.
Jeonghan was in some type of mood and not even the sanctuary of silence could smooth out the edges of it. Perhaps it was because of the lecture he had received from his parents that morning about legacy. Or maybe it was the sound of glee echoing from across the courtyard, where the young airbenders were now spinning joyfully atop spheres of wind. He was surprised he hadn’t frozen someone solid by accident just yet.
The statue garden was usually empty after the first bell, reserved for those in need of stillness before the pressure of legislation and peacekeeping theory came crashing down like boulders from the Earth Kingdom. Jeonghan had come here for exactly that; to breathe and to pretend, if only for a moment, that he wasn’t Jeonghan of the Yoon family, heir to a pristine and shiny political future that he didn’t even want in the first place.
Taking in a deep breath, Jeonghan hugged his book close to his chest and closed his eyes, counting from one to ten over and over again, an attempt to quell the frustration stirring in his stomach. A minute had passed, maybe even more, and he had just begun to unclench his jaw when a voice rang out across the courtyard.
“My snowflake!” It bellowed, slicing through the still air. Jeonghan’s eyes opened, one already twitching as the vein near his temple pulsed in protest.
“Sometimes, I despise you for granting the Fire Nation redemption,” he muttered dryly, casting a pointed glare up at Avatar Aang’s unbothered stone expression before turning around to witness the last person he wanted to see crashing through an archway with a wide, self-assured grin. “Oh, spirits above, have mercy.”
Choi Seungcheol had the decency to right himself up before swaggering towards Jeonghan, dragging what looked like half the fallen leaves of the season behind him. His scarf hung loosely around his neck, boots barely tied and hair a spiky mess as if it had been styled with nothing but static. A battered satchel hung off one shoulder, and in his hand, he clutched a wilted flower. Jeonghan hoped that wasn’t for him.
He took a couple of steps back as the firebender dropped to his knees with his typical brand of theatrical flourish, scattering more leaves with his bold movements and piquing the interest of the other students loitering around.
“You’ve returned to bless the earth with your icy glow,” Seungcheol cried, hand pressed dramatically to his chest. His eyes sparkled and his grin had widened like Jeonghan’s mere presence had undone him completely, a simpleton like the rest of the student body. “Look at you! Moonlight incarnate. A dream carved in snow— ”
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” he muttered, voice clipped as he cut Seungcheol off with a practiced glare. He gave the other boy a slow onceover and his blood curled at the sight of his red robes, already creased, the hem disgracefully tainted with dirt as though he had used his free will to walk through mud instead of the clean, cobbled pathways on the way here.
“Embarrassment is the tax of loving beauty,” Seungcheol said breezily, remaining unfazed as if he had been waiting all morning to say that very phrase. He had always been like that, witty and shameless, too quick for his own good.
If he wasn’t so obnoxious, Jeonghan might have found his shenanigans mildly tolerable. But alas, the firebender’s mouth was as big as the muscles he had been unabashedly flexing around the campus for the past month. Blessed were those who spent their summers not ducked over century-old scrolls about treaties and sanctions.
Jeonghan tried not to look at the firebender too long and give him some kind of satisfaction, but Seungcheol made that difficult. By society’s standards, he was a handsome young man with shoulders too broad for someone his age and a gummy smile, all teeth and mirth, that drew eyes whether he meant to or not. His skin was milky, even fairer than Jeonghan, glowing under the sunlight. And his hair, short and dark, only added to that boyish recklessness he donned.
“Spare me the poetry next time,” he muttered, rolling his eyes when Seungcheol laughed with delight, looking and sounding like his contempt was the most precious thing he had heard all day. “Better yet, spare me entirely.”
“You wound me.” Seungcheol pouted, still on his knees, extending his hand and offering the flower he probably picked somewhere like how a devotee would do for his idol. “But I don’t mind how mean you are, snowflake. I’m just here to make a bigger fool out of myself to hopefully wring out a smile from you— no one can resist my cha—”
“I’ve been resisting your charms for years,” he grumbled, deadpan as he ignored the scattered laughter from nearby students who had paused to watch the spectacle that was Choi Seungcheol. It happened often enough, but everyone thought it was still entertaining. The firebender would spot Jeonghan across the grounds and go into one of his ridiculous performances; declaring his devotions, tripping over his own feet, comparing Jeonghan to the clouds, the snowfall and the turtle ducks. “Keep hoping.”
Schooling his features, Jeonghan decided to walk off, his robes fluttering in his wake as their audience parted for him. The last thing he wanted to do was give Seungcheol more time of his day. He knew not to encourage his behavior and show any signs of amusement. Even when the firebender had the right mind to leave him alone when he was studying, Jeonghan never once felt anything towards him except irritation, and at times, apathy, despite his ego being pleased by the fact that of all men and women who had shown interest at Seungcheol, his eyes never left Jeonghan.
“Someday, snowflake!” Seungcheol called behind him, probably still on his knees and probably still holding on to his stupid flower. “I'll make you smile so much your jaw starts aching!”
Jeonghan didn’t turn around; he never did, his ears burning from the humiliation.
Seungcheol was trouble.
Not in the way delinquents were, sullen and edgy, all leather jackets and narrowed glares. No, his kind of trouble was bright; the kind that arrived like a summer storm, or a festival that spilled past curfew and refused to end. He laughed like someone who had never been told to quiet down, who didn’t care what anyone thought, and who wore confidence like a second skin.
There was always something dangerous about people like that. People who moved through the world like it owed them nothing and people who looked like they had nothing to lose. And Jeonghan knew, based from what he had learned through gossip, that Seungcheol grew up with nothing.
Jeonghan had barely made it halfway across the garden when he heard the unmistakable rhythm of heavy footfalls, the smell of fire making his nose scrunch. He didn’t stop walking, fists clenching at his textbook.
“Your ears are pink,” Seungcheol commented, much quieter now without an audience. “If you want the flower, I still have it with me. You can take it now that no one’s looking. I won’t tell a living soul, but I will brag about it to Avatar Aang.”
“I don’t want your stupid flower,” he said without looking, keeping his back to Seungcheol, who had remained quiet until they reached the bridge connecting the garden to the East Academic Wing. Jeonghan hoped the building would intimidate the firebender, but the other man continued following, caught up with two long strides and was now walking backwards in front of Jeonghan, facing him with a contemplative look on his face.
“I heard you were the only one who aced Elemental Law last term,” Seungcheol started, sounding mournful for someone who didn’t care about his grades. “When will you stop shaming your batchmates, huh? You’re making them look like… I don’t know… like undercooked dumplings.”
“Undercooked dumplings,” he echoed back, keeping his gaze fixed ahead as he mulled over Seungcheol’s choice of words.
“I didn’t want to use the term stupid because anyone taking Legal Studies and Peacebuilding isn’t stupid.” Seungcheol shrugged, still walking backwards and still looking at Jeonghan, arms now folded across his chest. “You’re just incredibly smarter than everyone else— as expected from Governor Yoon’s successor.”
Jeonghan stopped, just briefly, just long enough to look at Seungcheol, who had also halted and almost bumped into someone.
“I didn’t think you pay attention to politics,” he mumbled, continuing his trek with his gaze glued ahead again. Jeonghan wondered how long the other man knew he would be inheriting his father’s position, it was obvious and didn’t need an announcement, but for the people outside the usual political circle, the governor’s chair could be given to anyone with the right head on their shoulders.
“I don’t,” Seungcheol answered, his tone almost wistful. “But I pay attention to you.”
It should’ve been infuriating how easily Seungcheol said these things and how freely the words came like breathing. He didn’t whisper his sentiments or wait for a moment to pounce, he simply said what he felt and let the world carry the weight of it. And on the other hand, Jeonghan had spent his whole life finding the right words to say, weaving sentences over and over again in his head before opening his mouth, and here was a boy who just simply spoke without preamble.
“You’re wasting your time on me,” he said, calm and clipped as he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, pointedly ignoring the sincerity in the firebender’s tone. “There are easier people to flirt with.”
“True,” Seungcheol agreed with a hum, shrugging. “But I don’t like easy.”
“Is that meant to be flattering?” He muttered, noticing the pairs of eyes watching the two of them walk along the long hallways of the easy wing, most of the onlookers eyeing Seungcheol like he was a piece of freshly baked pie. The other man only answered his question with a smile and knowing look. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here you are. Walking beside me instead of turning the other way,” Seungcheol drawled, teasing, one thick eyebrow raised. That had Jeonghan stopping dead in his tracks. Not because it was wrong, Jeonghan would argue that the hallways left little room for detours, but because it was somewhat true in a way he didn’t like.
“I wasn’t aware proximity meant fondness,” he argued, clutching his textbook harder than he should. There was something so grating with that grin on Seungcheol’s face. One of these days, he thought, he would wipe that grin off the other man’s mouth. He didn’t know how, but he would.
“It doesn’t,” Seungcheol replied coolly, slightly towering over Jeonghan, who straightened his spine a tad more to appear taller than he was. “But fondness makes proximity sweeter.”
Jeonghan didn’t have anything to say about that, so he turned sharply and headed for the stairwell toward the Law Faculty. “I have classes, stop following me around.”
“Don’t miss me too much!” Seungcheol called after him again, but was obedient enough not to follow. “See you later, snowflake!”
Jeonghan chose not to answer and went on about his day.
The second floor of the east wing smelled of parchment, pressed flowers, and anxiety. This was the kind of place where voices lowered instinctively and every footstep was muffled as much as they could. Light poured through high windows in soft beams, the only brightness in the dark sea of jittery scholars preparing for multitudes of exams and recitations.
Jeonghan walked through the halls and passed by everyone, nodding at students who he knew and ignoring anyone else. He slid into a classroom ten minutes early and took the same seat he always did: middle row, the one closest to the window. He didn’t like being too near the front, but sitting in the back invited conversation, and Jeonghan wasn’t in the business of making new friends.
He opened his textbook and stared at the same sentence he had read three times already.
"True peace is not the absence of conflict, but the art of resolving it,” he muttered under his breath. What a lovely thought, and an utter lie. He closed the book just as quickly as he had opened it before letting his gaze drift to the window.
Outside, the trees burned with the golds of early November. A pair of earthbenders passed by, laughing, flicking pebbles between their fingers. With a blink, Jeonghan’s reflection stared back at him in the glass; a face that looked more like an idea than a person.
He knew what everyone said about him, what they all thought of Yoon Jeonghan. Ask anyone and they would say that he was perfect and that he made diplomacy look effortless; that he was the next politician to watch. His professors loved his essays and the way he spoke, strangers looked at him like he was made of gold, and his parents… his parents certainly loved his potential more than they loved him as a son.
And Jeonghan?
Jeonghan hated the image he created for himself.
He had spent twenty-one years smiling for photographs he didn’t want to be in, speaking words he didn’t mean and wearing robes tailored for the image of a future he didn’t believe in. What he wanted was to be a journalist; to write the truth and not statements and policies meant to save the corrupt. He wanted to stand in the middle of a story and say that this is what’s really happening . His fingers itched to hold a pen and write, not sign treaties that meant more harm than good.
But that dream had been pushed further away from his grasp, journalism was not for the youngest of the Yoon family.
He traced the corner of his notebook with a thumb, eyes sharpening as he started entertaining the idea he had been toying for months. This was his final year in Republic City University. Graduating was his last obligation before the internships, the council mentorships, and the world of polished lies. But if he failed, he would derail his father’s plans and he would have more time to evade the fate his family had sealed him in.
Expulsion was his one and only ticket to his freedom.
All he needed was one bold, unforgivable mistake, a scandal loud enough to ring past his surname, something that would shame his parents enough to kick him out and allow him to figure things out on his own. Jeonghan didn’t just want to slip through the cracks, he wanted to fall out in flames.
And he knew exactly when it could happen.
The Unified Civic Evaluation was not just an exam, it was a rite of passage.
Mandatory for all final-year students across Republic City University, it was designed to measure a graduate's readiness not just for a career, but for citizenship. It didn’t matter if one studied Legal Studies or Healing Theory, Mechanical Engineering or Culinary Integration. Everyone, bender or non-bender, had to pass the UCE
The test was exhausting and vaguely sanctified. Designed by the Republic Council themselves, it was said to test more than knowledge, it tested allegiance to peace, order, and the values that Republic City was built upon. It was meant to produce not just professionals, but model citizens that were loyal, accountable and useful.
Jeonghan had considered other options before, failing a core subject, walking out of class mid-debate, talking back at the masters. But those could be salvaged. His professors would write letters and his parents would make calls, and all would be forgiven. The only thing that couldn't be undone by influence was tampering with the UCE. It was sacred, in the cold, bureaucratic way Republic City did sacred things.
Getting caught stealing the answer sheet would guarantee disgrace. There would be no diploma, no prestigious placements, and no council internships for him if he was caught. It would stain the family name just enough to cut him loose, but not enough to drag them down.
It was clean and perfect.
Jeonghan had spent his whole life doing what was expected, failing could be the one thing he could do on his own terms. But for that, he needed someone brave and reckless and had a penchant for trouble. His mind flickered, and without wanting to, he pictured Seungcheol on his knees in the garden, hands outstretched like a fool, calling him snowflake with his whole chest.
Jeonghan exhaled slowly, and for the first time all week, he smiled.
If he was going to ruin everything, he might as well do it beautifully.
Classes dragged, as they always did when Jeonghan had something on his mind.
He sat through lectures on transitional justice and regional diplomacy with his hands folded neatly, nodding at the right intervals. His notes were a flawless mirror of the board, impressive but entirely hollow. Every answer he gave was correct and every argument was persuasive, but none meant anything to him.
At lunch, he ignored the whispers that trailed behind him, the way underclassmen lingered just a little too long to catch a glimpse of his glinting glasses and his impossibly good posture. He passed by familiar faces who greeted him with easy smiles, who called him by his full name. Conversations went to one ear out of the other, and he offered them nothing in return.
Today, his world felt like paper, and he needed a firebender to help set fire to it.
One second, Jeonghan was in the library, and the next, he was under the waning light in the middle of a bustling plaza by the heart of Republic City. The smell hit him first, something greasy and smoky wafted in the air, making him wrinkle his nose. All around, open carts greeted him with varying goods, spirit foxes tugged wagons, and people crowded between stalls with zero concept of personal space.
Jeonghan had intended to walk straight through, buy his lychee nuts, and return to his dorm. He hated the main plaza at this hour, he didn’t like the noise and the jostling elbows. But his cravings won, and there he was, slowing down his pace as he found Seungcheol sitting on a bench with chopsticks in one hand and a takeout box in the other.
The other man didn’t see him at first. His head was ducked down, shoveling noodles into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days. His scarf was nowhere in sight now, and his robes were replaced with a cotton shirt with its sleeves rolled to his elbows and a pair of khakis and sandals. By his temple, a thin trail of soot dragged downwards, stark against his skin.
Jeonghan should’ve walked past, turned away and angled his step toward the far end of the plaza, but his plan to fall from grace had him slowing down, standing idly until Seungcheol noticed his presence and looked up from his food.
“Snowflake!” Seungcheol exclaimed, cheeks round and eyes bright. “Did you come to slum it with the common folks?”
“Something like that,” he uttered, brows furrowed as gingerly lifted a finger to point at the firebender’s face. “You’ve got something on your—”
“You caught me in a bad time, snowflake. I’ve got everything on my face.” Seungcheol chuckled, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand, only smudging the soot further. Jeonghan had not seen the other man outside the university before, and there was something different about him that he couldn’t pinpoint. The firebender certainly still looked smug, but he seemed more carefree here, if that was even possible. “Are you hungry? I ordered too much.”
Jeonghan blinked, watching the other man take out another box from the bag beside him. Seungcheol looked earnest like that, eyes owlish and hopeful, his smile easy as he held out the food towards him. Jeonghan hesitated for a tiny bit, swallowing hard because the food did smell good; soy and pepper, something fried in oil and a hint of seaweed that reminded him faintly of home.
“Take it,” Seungcheol urged, nodding toward the space beside him on the bench, his usual flourish tamed. “Eat and sit while you judge me up close.”
Jeonghan, to his own surprise, took the box and sat, expecting jest but received nothing but a fleeting beam. He poked at the noodles with his chopsticks, mouth watering at the sight of charred greens and fried tofu glossed with a savory glaze. It smelled familiar in a way that had him feeling nostalgic, the scent too close to the kind of food he used to sneak in bites of between lessons as a boy, before table etiquette and silver utensils replaced comfort.
Beside him, Seungcheol chewed contentedly, legs stretched out, spine curled in a lazy curve against the bench. He looked completely at home like this, his hair sticking up as if he had just rolled out of a nap, carefree and young. But there was nothing careless about the way he ate despite his pace. Each bite seemed to be precise, purposeful, as though feeding himself was the only thing in the world he took seriously.
Jeonghan glanced down at his own food again, then back at Seungcheol, who he thought wasn’t the same boy who shouted poetry across courtyards and knelt in the dirt like a lovesick idiot for him. This Seungcheol was quieter, still flushed with laughter, yes, but... subdued. And that unsettled him more than any grand gesture.
They ate in silence for a minute, Seungcheol comfortably and Jeonghan with hesitation, but the quiet wasn’t suffocating.
“How’s Peacebuilding?” Seungcheol asked, his voice unusually sincere like he wasn’t just making conversation, but genuinely wanted to know how Jeonghan’s day had gone.
“Fictional,” he replied with a shrug, the answer slipping out too honestly to regret. It was rare, this ease.
“That bad?” Seungcheol laughed, bright and sudden, startling a group of rooster pigeons that had been pecking at a pile of seeds scattered on the sidewalk.
“Worse,” he muttered, sliding a piece of tofu into his mouth. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully. It caught him off guard how nice it felt not to measure his words. With Seungcheol, who didn’t care about anything that much, it was as if he didn’t need to rehearse his sentences or sand down the sharp edges. He could just... speak. “They don’t teach us how to fix anything, just how to make it sound fixed on paper.”
“Sounds like my Public Communication and De-escalation class. Say something nice, wear the right smile and hope no one notices the burning building behind your back,” Seungcheol said, making a low noise of agreement. Their eyes met then, brief but unflinching. And then, with perfect timing and the subtlest smirk curling at his lips, Seungcheol broke it. “Are you sure you’re not secretly in love with me?”
“Positive,” he scoffed, breaking eye contact a little too quickly as he resumed picking at his food, chopsticks moving with sudden purpose. He ignored the warmth creeping up his cheeks because obviously the flush was from the noodles, the sauce was spicy, that was all.
“Then why are you sitting so close to me?” Seungcheol leaned in just a fraction, enough to make Jeonghan notice. Their knees were nearly touching now, the bench wasn’t that big.
“You told me to sit here,” Jeonghan muttered, stabbing a slice of fishcake with more force than necessary. “I’m merely tolerating your existence. Don’t read into it.”
“Oh, I will be reading into it.” Seungcheol dipped his head lower, eyes glinting with amusement, voice dropping into that soft, dangerous lilt he used when teasing meant something more. “And your eyes are saying, Seungcheol, you chaotic masterpiece, you are exactly the kind of destruction my perfect, perfect life has been missing .”
Jeonghan didn’t answer. He just took another bite, chewed slowly, stubbornly, as though silence might protect him from the other man’s words. But his eyes betrayed him, sliding, almost involuntarily, to Seungcheol’s hands— calloused and he just now noticed, a small bandage curled around one knuckle, worn and frayed. He worked hard, that much was clear.
“You work at the pro-bending arena, don’t you?” He asked suddenly, feeling slightly bad for assuming Seungcheol was lazy. Just because someone didn’t do well in school, he reminded himself, that didn’t mean they were lazy. “I’ve heard the kids in school talking about it.”
“At night, yeah,” Seungcheol answered, packing away his empty takeout box before pointing at the soot on his face. “My shift in the arena doesn’t start until nine in the evening… this one’s from helping out repair a steamship. I’m pretty cool, aren’t I?”
“Yeah,” he exhaled, wondering how the other man could fit all into that in a day while studying.
“What’s with the tone?” Seungcheol queried, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back on the bench, arms crossed and legs spread wide. Their knees were definitely touching now, and Jeonghan allowed the contact, not sure if he would offend the other man if he moved away even a tiny bit. “Disappointed I’m not a hooligan?”
“I didn’t think you were a hooligan,” he protested, packing his food away and tossing it right back at Seungcheol’s paper bag before hauling himself up, not allowing the silence between them to stretch this time. He needed to return to his dorm before sundown and he was still craving lychee nuts. “Thank you for the food.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Seungcheol exhaled, sounding too in awe as he tilted his head up to hold Jeonghan’s gaze, one hand coming to rest above his heart. “You’re welcome, snowflake. If you need more food, just come and see me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he drawled, walking off before he could do something stupid like wipe that soot off Seungcheol’s face. Jeonghan kept his eyes ahead, not at all inclined to look back. But he allowed the firebender’s warmth trail behind him, curling at his heels like smoke. The gears in his mind whirred quietly, convinced that his plan might actually work.
By the time Jeonghan reached the student residence towers, the sun had dipped below the skyline and his craving had been sated. The Republic City was now the color of amber, the tallest buildings catching the last rays of the sun and on his desk were more lychee nuts that he would snack on while he schemed. Far below, the streets simmered with life; runners darting between alleys, Satomobiles weaving through the streets.
Jeonghan stood by his window, one hand resting lightly against the frame. His reflection stared back at him; pale, polished, perfectly composed. Forgettable, perhaps, if not for the gravity of his name. He looked tired, not in the way Seungcheol did, with smudges of sleepless nights and the sharpness of someone who had lived hard and burned brighter for it. No, Jeonghan’s tired was quieter. He looked like the ghost of a boy who once believed a good life was waiting for him, if he just behaved.
His jaw tightened. Even now, the edges of his plan had begun to take form.
A bond with Seungcheol was inevitable, everyone had said so, even upperclassmen, half in warning and half in awe. Seungcheol was persistent, the kind of boy professors dismissed until they couldn’t. Trouble followed him but so did charm. Befriending him would reach Jeonghan’s parents fast. They would bristle, panic and ask Jeonghan why he was wasting his time on a nameless firebender. They would focus so hard on finding Jeonghan a group of friends who were much deserving of him that they should miss the bigger picture he was trying to paint.
All Jeonghan had to do was move a little closer and let Seungcheol believe he needed someone who didn’t care about family trees or futures mapped out in ink. Maybe he would even flirt a little, nothing harmful and permanent, just enough to nudge things into motion. He wouldn’t lie, not exactly, he would just perform, push for a gentle misdirection.
He wasn’t proud of what he was about to do, but what had pride ever done for him?
In a few months, the Unified Civic Evaluation was going to commence. And if everything went right, that would be the end of the life Jeonghan didn’t choose but was born into. He smiled to himself, thin and quiet, already picturing it— the fall from grace, the soft thud of expectation crumbling behind him.
If there had been anyone else, anyone who wouldn’t run tattling to his parents and fold under the weight of his name, he wouldn’t have needed to worry himself with forming some sort of friendship outside his circle of admirers. But Seungcheol was perfect and Seungcheol needed to do. Jeonghan just needed help, nothing more. Besides, he told himself, nothing was going to happen to Seungcheol, he would make sure of it. Jeonghan wasn’t completely heartless.