All the broken rules𖦹

by neo_got_ma_back

Summary:

Martin has never met someone who didn’t either fear him, follow him, or fall for him, until Juhoon transfers in.
Quiet, short, cold, and sharp-eyed, Juhoon doesn’t even blink at Martin’s antics. In fact, from day one, he seemed to outright despise Martin.
Martin becomes obsessed, not with Juhoon’s approval exactly, but with making him react.

Chapter 1

“Martin Edward Park, report to the principal’s office immediately.”

The announcement echoed across the courtyard. Heads turned. Conversations broke off mid-sentence. Dozens of curious eyes flicked toward the blond boy lounging on the stone ledge with his friends. Martin tilted his chin up toward the speakers, brows lifting in vague confusion before he smirked at his friends, like he’d been caught in some inside joke.

“Damn, what’d you do this time, bro?” James laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully.

Martin hopped down from the ledge, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Didn’t do shit,” he muttered, brushing dust off his jeans as he started toward the building. His friends’ laughter followed him across the yard, but he didn’t bother to look back.

This wasn’t new. He was practically on first-name basis with the front office. Whether it was clowning around in class, skipping work, or pulling the kind of pranks that had students howling and teachers fuming, Martin always ended up in trouble. But this time was different, he hadn’t done anything. For once, he actually had no idea why he was being called.

He slouched into one of the plastic chairs outside the office door, hood pulled up, arms folded like he couldn’t care less. Ten minutes ticked by on the wall clock. He drummed his fingers against his knee. Still nothing. Just as he was about to leave, not caring what consequences might follow, the door creaked open.

Principal Bianca stepped out, her heels clicking softly against the tile. Beside her stood a boy Martin had never seen before, short, dark-haired, his posture stiff and his gaze ice-cold.

Their eyes met. The boy didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, just stared right back with an expression Martin couldn’t read. Martin scoffed quietly and broke the stare first, leaning back in his chair and pretending the boy didn’t exist.

“...And because you joined late, you won’t have to take this week’s quizzes. You’ll start next week,” Principal Bianca said, her voice gentler when she addressed the new student.

The boy nodded once, silent.

She turned to Martin with a tired sigh. “Go inside and wait for me, Martin.”

Martin dragged himself into the office, muttering under his breath. As he passed the boy, he cast him one more glance. 

No way this shortie’s in high school, he thought, rolling his eyes.

He collapsed into the too-familiar chair across from the principal’s desk, throwing himself into it like it was his throne of punishment. He heard Bianca finish up with the new kid in the hallway before the door shut behind her.

She sat down slowly, folding her hands together on the desk. “Do you know why you’re here, Martin?” she asked.

Martin shrugged. “Nope.”

Her expression hardened, though it looked almost practiced, like she had put this face on for him many times before. “Listen. I’ve always tried to be lenient with you, but this has gone too far. Disrupting class, not turning in assignments, failing grades, fine. But vandalism of school property is a line you cannot cross.” She slid a paper forward, glancing down at it. “At this rate, you won’t graduate by the end of the year.”

Martin blinked, baffled. “What are you even talking about? I didn’t do anything.”

“We know you’re the one who graffitied the back gates.”

His head snapped up. “What? Are you serious right now? I didn’t graffiti shit!” His chair squeaked as he sat upright, defensive, anger rushing into his voice. “I’m getting accused of something I didn’t even, what the fuck!”

“Calm down, kid.” Bianca checked her watch, unfazed by his outburst. “The directors want to hold a meeting next week about whether you should be expelled. I’ll do what I can to defend you, but you need to give me a reason to believe you can change.”

Martin groaned, throwing his head back. “This isn’t fair, Miss Bianca. Check the cameras, it wasn’t me!”

She met his glare with weary eyes. “Someone came in this morning saying you bragged to them about your plan. They claimed you told them you were going to tag the gates to embarrass the school.”

Martin’s jaw dropped. “I never said that!” He threw his hands up in frustration.

“We’ll discuss it more at the meeting. For now, get to class before you're late.” She stood and opened the office door, holding it for him.

Martin got up, seething, and left. Her polite smile followed him into the hall, but it only made his blood boil.

By the time he pushed into his classroom, the lesson had already started. Every head turned at the creak of the door. The teacher paused mid-sentence. 

“Martin, just in time,” Mr. Peter said, his voice as calm and warm as ever. He gestured toward the boy. “We’re introducing our new classmate.”

Mr. Peter was the only teacher Martin could tolerate. He never raised his voice, never singled Martin out for mockery. He gave him time, gave him space, actually believed he could do better. For that, English was the only class Martin even bothered trying in.

Martin dropped into his seat, ignoring the way his friends smirked at him.

“You getting expelled or something?” James whispered, barely containing a laugh.

“Something like that,” Martin muttered, laying his head down on the desk.

“No way. For real?” Keonho pressed.

Martin didn’t answer, closing his eyes instead.

At the front, Mr. Peter chuckled softly. “Let’s say your name one more time for our latecomer here.”

The boy’s voice was quiet but firm. “My name is Juhoon.”

Martin cracked an eye open. 

He doesn’t even look old enough to be here, he thought, studying the boy’s sharp features.

He looked barely fifteen, tops.

“Welcome, Juhoon,” Mr. Peter said warmly, gesturing toward the seats. “You can take the empty one in front of Martin, if you’d like.”

Juhoon hesitated, then ignored the offer entirely, walking to the front row instead. He dropped into a chair without a word.

Martin’s brows knit. 

The hell’s his problem?

His friends snickered beside him. “Damn, new guy already hates you.”

Martin clenched his jaw and buried his face in his arms again. Sleep came fast, if only to shut everything out.

When he woke up, the room was buzzing with the sound of zippers and chatter. Students were packing up for the day. Martin yawned, stretched lazily, and slung his bag over one shoulder.

“Assholes,” he muttered when he realized his friends had already left without him.

Up front, Mr. Peter was speaking quietly to Juhoon. “Well, you can, if you’d like. But you’ll need to talk to the club manager first...” His gaze lifted, landing on Martin. “Martin, could you take Juhoon to the basketball club manager? He wants to sign up.”

Juhoon stiffened at the mention of his name. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes flicked to Martin, flat, cold, unwelcoming. Then he turned back to Mr. Peter. “It’s fine. I can find it myself.” Without another word, he gave the teacher a polite nod and walked out of the room.

Martin stared after him, face twisting in irritation. 

What the fuck does he have against me?

He shoved his headphones on, cranked up the volume of his favorite song, and walked out without another glance back.

 

 

 

★𖦹★

 

 

 

“What? Bro, are you serious?” James stared at him, wide-eyed.

Martin nodded, his back pressed against the cafeteria wall. The chatter of students filled the courtyard, laughter and shouts echoing off the brick, but he spoke low and flat, like none of it touched him. “Yeah. I’ve got a meeting next week. They’ll decide if they kick me out for good.”

“Damn, that’s brutal,” Keonho muttered, giving Martin’s shoulder a sympathetic pat.

Martin shrugged it off. He tilted back the Red Bull in his hand, gulping the last drops, then crushed the can in his fist with a sharp squeeze. He flicked it toward the trash can across the way, perfect arc, straight in. “I don’t really care,” he said, though his jaw tightened as his eyes drifted across the crowd.

James grinned. “Nice throw. You should join the basketball team.” He bit into his cookie, amused.

Martin turned his head slowly, staring at him like he’d just cursed him out. For a moment, he didn’t speak, just raked a hand through his hair as though the comment itself burned his scalp. Then finally, he groaned. “Don’t ever say that shit again.” His eyes shut, frustration dragging across his face.

“What's wrong this time?” Keonho asked with a smirk, sensing there was more to it.

“That asshole from English,” Martin muttered, opening his eyes again. “He’s got problems with me for no reason.” His gaze scanned the courtyard until, almost on cue, it collided with the person in question.

Juhoon.

The boy sat at a table with a handful of older students, tall, athletic, unmistakably the basketball team. His posture was firm, his expression unreadable, but those cold eyes met Martin’s like a mirror without reflection.

Martin chuckled under his breath, not breaking the stare. “Well, shit. He actually made it in.” A smirk tugged at his mouth. “Didn’t think his short-ass had a chance.”

He pushed himself off the wall, brushing past his friends. James and Keonho exchanged a look before scrambling after him, their confusion trailing in his wake.

Later, in art class, Martin slumped into his usual seat beside James. The faint smell of paint clung to the air, canvases and supplies cluttering the room. Students chatted easily while the teacher set up at the front.

“Great,” Martin muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes. “Another class with him.”

James followed his glare across the room and chuckled. 

The teacher clapped her hands, pulling everyone’s attention. “Alright, we’re starting a new project today. You’ll work in pairs.” She began calling out names, arranging students into groups. Martin barely listened until—

“Martin, you can group up with Juhoon.”

The words hit like a slap. His head snapped up.

Two rows ahead, Juhoon turned in his seat. His eyes met Martin’s, stony and sharp, like a blade that refused to bend. He didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. Just stared.

Martin exhaled through his nose, long and heavy.

“It’s just art,” James whispered, nudging him.

Martin stayed in his seat for a beat too long, waiting to see if Juhoon would come over. The boy didn’t move. Didn’t even shift his chair. The silence stretched.

“Unbelievable,” Martin muttered. Finally, with a dramatic sigh, he got up and dragged himself to Juhoon’s desk, dropping into the seat beside him.

He slouched back, arm hooked lazily over his chair as he leaned in close. His grin was careless, but his eyes were sharp, searching Juhoon’s face. “So? What are we doing?”

Juhoon barely turned. “I’ll do it. You stay out of it.” His voice was flat, quiet, but absolute.

For a moment, Martin just blinked at him. Then he let out a short laugh, disbelieving, almost mocking. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, new kid, but I’m not liking it.” He leaned in further, his voice dropping lower, as if daring him to react.

Juhoon didn’t. He just turned back to his supplies, unshaken. The lack of response burned hotter than an insult, and Martin felt irritation coil in his chest. He hated it, hated the idea that his words bounced off this guy like they were nothing.

Martin’s eyes roamed his face for a second longer before he finally pulled back with a sharp sigh. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

Juhoon said nothing. He bent to his work, quiet and precise. Martin reluctantly picked up his brush, throwing paint onto the page with careless strokes, the silence between them loud enough to make his teeth clench.

 

 

 

★𖦹★

 

 

 

Keonho leaned back against the headboard, brows furrowed. “So what exactly do you even gain out of this?” he asked, watching Martin sprawl across his bed like a starfish, one arm draped dramatically over his face.

“I don’t know,” Martin muttered into the ceiling.

“I do.” James’s voice came lazily from the desk across the room. He was hunched over his phone, thumbs tapping at some video game, but his tone carried a knowing edge. “You’re used to people reacting when you mess with them. Laughing, yelling, throwing a fit, whatever. But Juhoon...” He looked up, meeting Martin’s eyes with a smirk. “You poke and poke, and all you get is that same serene stare. And it’s driving you insane. You’re desperate for his attention.”

Martin shot him a glare. “You make it sound weird as fuck.”

Keonho chuckled. “It is weird as fuck. You’re acting obsessed. You wanna keep pushing him until he cracks just so you can finally see something other than that frozen face. That’s not normal, man.”

Martin groaned, dragging both hands through his blond hair before sitting up. His eyes flicked toward the window, city lights faint in the distance. “I don’t know why I’m so bothered,” he admitted under his breath.

“Alright then,” Keonho said suddenly, sitting up straighter with a grin. “Let’s go to the basketball game this weekend. My cousin’s playing, and I promised I’d go anyway. If you’re there, maybe it’ll throw Juhoon off, make him play like crap or something. Then you’ll get the reaction you’re begging for.”

James snorted. “That’s evil.”

Martin smirked faintly, but said nothing, just leaning back against the wall as their plan settled into place.

Saturday came, and the gym buzzed with life. Students crowded the bleachers, the sound of sneakers squeaking on polished wood echoing faintly as warm-ups wrapped up. The smell of sweat, popcorn, and cheap cologne hung heavy in the air.

Martin, James, and Keonho claimed seats midway up the benches, the perfect view of the court spread out before them. The energy in the room climbed as more people filed in, cheers and chants swelling the closer it got to tip-off.

Finally, both teams jogged out, jerseys crisp, eyes sharp with adrenaline.

The whistle blew.

The game exploded into motion.

At first, Juhoon was benched, sitting quietly at the edge of the row with the rest of the substitutes. Martin noticed immediately, his smirk curling. 

Perfect. Ammo for later. 

He’d use it to tear into him next time they crossed paths.

The first quarter dragged. Their school lagged badly, nearly twenty points behind. Frustration rippled through the crowd, mutters and groans filling the air. Then the whistle blew again, and suddenly the coach was signaling Juhoon in.

The room shifted. Whispering broke out all over the bleachers. People nudged each other, pointing at the boy as he stepped onto the court.

He didn’t look like a player. Too small, too young, with that face that could’ve passed for a kid. But the moment he stretched, rolling his shoulders, something in the air tightened, as if everyone could feel that it was about to get serious.

The ball was in the other team’s hands when the game resumed. A forward loomed over Juhoon, nearly six feet tall, (though Martin knew he still stood taller, the kind of build that could’ve landed him a spot on the basketball team if he’d ever cared enough to try) ready to bulldoze him. But in one swift, clean move, Juhoon stole the ball like it was nothing. Gasps rippled through the gym as he sprinted down the court, weaving past defenders, sinking the shot in a single fluid motion.

Cheers erupted.

And then it happened again. And again.

Point after point, he clawed the team back from the edge of defeat, his movements sharp, calculated, almost ruthless. By the time the scoreboard evened out, the crowd was roaring with every basket.

Martin couldn’t deny it, he was impressed.

During the break, players gulped water and coaches barked strategies. Martin leaned back in his seat, arms folded, annoyance biting at him. “This is getting boring,” he muttered, though his eyes hadn’t left the court once.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he stood.

“Where are you going?” James asked, watching him.

Martin didn’t answer. He just started down the steps, weaving through the crowd, gaze locked onto one thing, Juhoon.

When Juhoon noticed him, it was subtle. His expression didn’t change, but Martin saw it, the faint twitch in his brows, the sharp flicker of annoyance in his otherwise frozen face.

That was all Martin needed.

A slow grin spread across his lips. Satisfaction burned hot in his chest. 

Got you.

He didn’t need words. Just his presence was enough to rattle him. From now on, Juhoon was going to regret ever giving him those dirty looks. He’d make him wish he’d never even stepped foot in this school.

 

 

 

 

★𖦹★

 

 

 

It was a normal school morning. Martin strolled the halls with his friends, not even bothering to remember which class they were heading to.

At the far end of the corridor, he caught sight of the person he’d been waiting all morning to see.

He gave his friends a quick look before peeling off toward the lockers, his target already there, Juhoon, pulling out books with the same detached calm he always carried, completely unaware Martin was closing in.

Martin leaned against the locker beside him, arms crossed, eyes fixed. Waiting.

Juhoon finally turned his head, their gazes locking for a moment before he went right back to his business, shutting the locker and moving to leave.

"Not so fast."

Martin shifted quickly, his tall frame sliding in front of him, cutting off the way. Juhoon stopped, his head tilting up slowly to meet Martin’s stare.

Martin took a second to study him, soft baby face, sharp eyes, lips that seemed too big for someone who looked so young. 

Not too bad...

Before either could speak, the bell rang. Juhoon tried to slip around, but Martin moved again, blocking him.

“You scared you’re gonna be late to class or what?” Martin asked, his tone dripping mockery.

Juhoon didn’t answer. His silence felt deliberate, like a vow not to waste words on him.

Talk, damn it.

Juhoon’s eyes flicked to the hallway clock. That was all the opening Martin needed. His hand shot out, gripping Juhoon’s jaw, forcing his chin up so their eyes stayed locked.

“You’re not moving until you talk to me,” Martin muttered, leaning closer.

A few passing students slowed, watching for a second before shrugging it off. Confrontations weren’t rare here, most weren’t worth the entertainment.

Juhoon’s eyes stayed nonchalant, that same look that said Martin wasn’t worth the effort. Then, finally, his lips parted.

“Let go of my face.” His voice was quiet, low, like he hadn’t wanted to give Martin the satisfaction of a single word.

Martin chuckled, letting his hand fall as he stepped back just a fraction. Then he crouched down a little, lowering himself until they were eye to eye.

“You’ve got some attitude for a guy who’s been here a week,” he muttered.

Juhoon only stared. Silent.

Martin’s jaw tightened. “You got a problem with me?”

Finally, Juhoon blinked, slow. Then he leaned in the smallest bit, not enough to spark a fight, just enough for Martin to feel it.

“I don’t like loud dogs,” he said flatly.

The words landed sharp.

Martin’s smirk dropped, his eyes narrowing, glare burning holes into the boy. But before he could fire back, Juhoon stepped past him, walking off without looking back.

Leaving Martin simmering, angrier than he’d ever been at this boy.

 

 

 

★𖦹★

 

 

 

From that day on, Martin couldn’t help himself. He was everywhere Juhoon happened to be. Between classes, he would linger in the corridors just to catch sight of him, trailing his path like a shadow. If Juhoon sat alone at break, Martin would appear across the courtyard, watching until the boy shifted seats. In the hallways, he would deliberately wander toward the classrooms he knew Juhoon had lessons in.

Usually, he didn’t say much, just a smirk aimed in Juhoon’s direction, a deliberate little curve of the lips meant to provoke. But sometimes, he let his mouth run wild, throwing sharp-edged remarks into the air, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.

“Damn,” Martin called once, nearly bumping into him at the stairwell, his voice carrying easily above the chatter of students. “Almost stepped all over you. You need a flag or something, walking through crowds like that.”

Snickers had followed, the hallway buzzing with amusement at the boy, while Juhoon himself kept walking as if the words hadn’t touched him at all.

The days passed, and the long-dreaded meeting finally arrived.

Martin sat stiffly in the small office, his mother beside him, her phone buzzing every few minutes with work messages she couldn’t seem to ignore. She barely looked up as the teachers repeated the accusations, graffiti sprayed across the school gate, his name scrawled into the rumors as if it were carved in stone. He had told them again and again he hadn’t done it. He had told her too. None of it mattered.

By the time the meeting ended, Martin felt as though he had aged years inside that suffocating little room. His mother walked out briskly, phone in hand, already typing back to coworkers before the door had even closed.

“Mom,” Martin said quietly, dragging her attention away for the briefest moment.

She looked at him then, her face softening into a smile that felt half-forced. “Honey, just... don’t get into trouble anymore, okay?” Her tone carried the weight of dismissal, as if the meeting had been nothing more than a chore she was glad to have over with.

“I told you I didn’t-” he started, but she cut him off with a gentle nod.

“Catch up with your classes. Go on.” With that, she was gone, heels clicking across the floor until the glass doors swallowed her.

Martin let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. He turned to leave, but his eyes caught on a small figure a little further down the corridor. Someone was standing there, unmoving, watching.

He squinted, his brows knitting in suspicion before recognition sank in.

“The fuck are you eavesdropping for?” Martin snapped, voice echoing harshly. He was already shifting to turn away, not in the mood for another silent stare.

But then Juhoon spoke.

His voice was quieter than Martin expected, but steady enough to stop him cold.

“I saw the guy who did the graffiti on the school gate.”

Notes:

unbothered king juhoon

Chapter 2

“I saw the guy who did the graffiti on the school gate.”

The sentence dropped from Juhoon’s mouth like a stone into water, rippling through the air. Martin froze mid-motion, every muscle locking as if the words had struck him physically. For a second, he just stared, expression blank, caught somewhere between disbelief and alarm.

Then, without warning, he whipped around. His movements were fast, almost too fast, like instinct had taken over before thought could catch up. His shoes scuffed against the floor as he closed in on Juhoon, urgency burning in his eyes, his voice already rising before he even reached him.

“You knew who it was and didn’t think of saying anything?” he hissed, his voice low but burning, remembering the press was still gathered in the next room. His gaze darted around, and without another word, he grabbed Juhoon’s wrist and dragged him out the side door.

They cut through the corridor, out past the cafeteria. Once they were far enough, Martin let go abruptly, so abruptly that Juhoon stumbled back, catching himself just as Martin stepped forward, crowding him against the wall.

“Why didn’t you say anything before the conference?!” Martin barked, his frustration cracking through. “Now I’ve got three months of detention, and they’re still talking about kicking me out!”

Juhoon lowered his gaze, silent, unreadable.

Martin groaned, pressing his palms against his face, dragging them down in irritation. “Unbelievable...”

Finally, in a voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the breeze, Juhoon whispered, “You were mean to me.” He said, lips tugging into a half-pout, as though he was trying hard not to let his real feelings slip through.

Martin froze mid-motion. Then a sharp, disbelieving laugh slipped out of him.

I can’t tell if he’s being cute or trying to pissing me off

He looked back at Juhoon, an incredulous smile pulling at his lips. “You started it,” Martin said, stepping closer, tone half-accusation, half-disbelief.

Juhoon didn’t answer. His cold stare flicked up to Martin’s, then, just like that, he brushed past him to leave.

Martin’s hand shot out, catching his arm and pulling him back. “You have to tell them,” Martin said, his voice dropping, suddenly almost pleading. “It’s not fair being accused of something I didn’t do.”

Juhoon let out a slow sigh before speaking again, his words flat but edged. “On one condition.” He paused. “You stop talking to me.”

“Done. I’ll stop.” Martin didn’t even hesitate.

Juhoon gave a single nod, tugged his arm free, and walked back toward the building.

Martin sat there, the seconds dragging into minutes until the wait felt unbearable. His chest tightened with the creeping thought that Juhoon had left him behind on purpose, payback for the way he’d treated him earlier.

Just as that doubt began to settle in, movement stirred behind the glass doors he’d been staring at for the past forty-five endless minutes. And there he was, the boy Martin never thought he’d be so relieved, almost stupidly happy, to see.

He shot up, bag slung carelessly over one shoulder, jogging toward him. “Well? What happened?” he demanded.

Juhoon glanced at him calmly. “At first, they thought I was just covering for you because we were friends. But Miss Bianca confirmed we weren’t.”

Martin let out a dry laugh, half-frustrated, half-amused. “Of course she did, can’t they just check the cameras?” he snapped.

“Broken,” Juhoon replied simply, with a small shrug.

Martin cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Great. So what did they say?”

“They’ll call in the boy I saw. Apparently, he’s the same one who accused you.” Juhoon’s tone was steady, like he was just reading off facts. “You’ll probably be called to the office soon. Then they’ll decide whether your detentions stand or not.”

Martin exhaled, relief rushing through him, tilting his head back with a groan. “Finally. Oh my God.”

But Juhoon’s voice cut cold and precise, “Don’t come near me again.”

Martin smirked faintly, still buzzing from the relief. “Deal.”

And without waiting for a response, he jogged off, leaving Juhoon standing alone.

 

 

 

★𖦹★

 

 

 

“Damn, so who was it?” James asked, leaning back in his chair.

“I don’t know,” Martin said after a pause, leaning back crossing his arms. “I’m just glad I don’t have anything to do with either the graffiti or Juhoon anymore.”

Keonho snorted “So what, you just ditched him after he helped you?” he joked, raising an eyebrow.

Martin tilted his head, thinking it over for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah... basically.”

Keonho and James exchanged looks.

“You didn’t even say thank you?” Keonho asked.

Martin only shrugged, trying to play it off, but the way his eyes flickered toward the ground betrayed a trace of unease he couldn’t quite hide.

“That’s fucked up, man,” James said flatly.

Martin groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “He literally told me never to talk to him again.?”

Even so, that thought sat heavy in his chest.

Just like that, Martin found himself out on a cold Saturday afternoon, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he made his way toward the basketball court inside the gym. He knew Juhoon was there, one of the players had slipped out a few minutes earlier, and Martin had made sure to ask before the guy was out of earshot.

He prayed Juhoon was alone. The last thing he needed was anyone catching sight of him talking to the boy he’d spent months picking on, looking for all the world like they were... friends.

Pushing the gym doors open, he stepped inside. The smell of varnished wood and faint sweat hit him, and immediately his eyes locked onto Juhoon. The boy was seated on the bench, shoulders slightly hunched, only, he wasn’t alone. Right beside him sat the team captain, deep in conversation with him.

Martin’s jaw tightened. 

Why the hell is he still here? Shouldn’t he be at home by now?

Forcing his stride into something calm and measured, he walked toward them. Both Juhoon and the captain noticed his approach, their heads turning in unison as Martin closed the distance.

“Hey,” the captain greeted with an easy smile when Martin approached.

Martin didn’t bother replying. His expression was sharp, annoyed, like he was already regretting being there. “Can I have him for a moment?” he asked flatly, jerking his chin toward Juhoon.

The captain glanced between them, then stood. “I was already leaving,” he said casually, slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder. He turned to Juhoon with a lighter tone. “See you on Monday.” His smile lingered before he headed for the exit, the door shutting behind him.

The gym seemed quieter without him, just the echo of water sloshing inside a half-empty bottle.

Juhoon sat there on the bench, hair damp, strands sticking to the back of his neck. A towel hung loosely around his shoulders, slipping as he tilted his head back, his lips wrapped around his water bottle, chugging down without a care. Droplets of water escaped down his jaw before he lowered the bottle.

Finally, he pushed to his feet, standing before Martin. His face was unreadable.

“What?”

Martin shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, shifting his weight. “I just figured I should say thanks. Since I didn’t last time.” His tone was casual, almost careless.

Juhoon tilted his head. “That’s all?”

Martin shrugged. “Yeah I guess so.”

Juhoon’s gaze sharpened, calm and unbothered. “Eyes up here if you actually want to thank me.”

That’s when it hit Martin. He’d been shamelessly staring at Juhoon’s lips the entire time, wet, soft, distracting. Heat crawled up his neck, and for a split second, he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Nothing had ever embarrassed him like this.

He forced his face into a neutral mask, clearing his throat. “Thanks,” he said again, this time a little firmer.

Juhoon gave a slow nod, eyes unwavering. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

But Martin didn’t hear the words. There was something about Juhoon... something Martin couldn’t pin down but couldn’t resist either.

Is it just me, or does he look kind of different today...

Without thinking, he stepped forward, gripping Juhoon’s shoulders and pressing his lips against his in a fierce, unrestrained kiss.

At first, Juhoon didn’t react, but a few seconds later, Martin felt it.

Juhoon's hands pressing against his chest, steadying himself.

Martin’s own hands slid around Juhoon’s waist, pulling him closer, bodies flushing against each other.

Juhoon slowly parted his lips, allowing Martin’s tongue to explore, deepening the kiss. Wet, heavy sounds echoed through the empty gym, but Martin didn’t care. He kissed like this was his only chance, like time itself was running out, and like pulling away would make things between them even more complicated than they already were.

A low, involuntary sound escaped Juhoon, and Martin jerked back instantly, releasing him. Both of them gasping for air, chests rising and falling out of sync.

For the first time, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Juhoon’s lips. “Was that your thank you?” he asked, voice calm, almost teasing.

“Yeah,” Martin replied simply, though his heart was racing.

Juhoon stepped closer, grabbing the collar of Martin’s hoodie. “I thought I told you to never talk to me again,” he murmured, then slowly, almost teasingly,  tiptoeing to press a quick, light peck to his lips.

When Juhoon pulled back, Martin couldn’t help it. A stunned smile tugged at his mouth, a disbelieving laugh slipping out of him as he stood there, reeling.

 

 

 

★𖦹★

 

 

 

A few days later, Martin strolled down the halls with his friends. It was the end of the school day, and they were all itching to head over to James’ house to waste the afternoon playing video games. Suddenly, the announcement crackled over the speakers:

“Martin Edward Park, please report to the principal’s office immediately.”

Keonho chuckled, nudging him. “Again?” he teased.

Martin gave a small, amused smile. “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up,” he said, turning on his heel and making his way toward the office.

When he arrived, he knocked lightly on the door.

“Come in,” a voice called from inside.

Martin stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. Principal Bianca looked up from her paperwork, sliding her glasses onto the top of her head and intertwining her fingers as she regarded him.

“Martin,” she began, her tone calm but firm, “a boy came in last week claiming he saw someone graffitiing the school gates. At first, we considered the possibility that you might have been involved, or even that you’d convinced him to speak on your behalf, but I quickly realized you didn’t even know him.” She paused, adjusting the papers before her. “One of the teachers vouched for him, he’s diligent with his studies, actively participates in extracurriculars, and is remarkably trustworthy. You should be very grateful to the boy who stood up for you.”

She leaned forward slightly, her expression serious.

“Thanks to him, you avoided getting expelled. The administration agreed to drop the investigation, and they looked into the student who was originally accused.”

Martin smiled, leaning back in his chair. “Told you I didn’t do it,” he said, his confidence barely hiding a hint of satisfaction.

Principal Bianca returned a small, approving smile. “I knew I could trust you,” she said softly. “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you here any longer than necessary. Have a nice weekend.”

Martin shot up from the chair. “You too, Miss Bianca,” he replied, flashing a grin before heading out.

Music thrummed through his headphones as he made his way to his friends house, each step in rhythm with the beat. When he arrived, he knocked on the door, and James’ mother opened it with a warm smile. “The boys are in the room,” she said cheerfully.

Martin nodded and headed upstairs. Pushing open the door, he found James and Keonho completely absorbed in a video game, the TV flickering across their focused faces.

Without a word, he slouched onto the couch beside them, letting himself sink into the comfort of routine and friendship.

“When did you get here?” Keonho muttered, eyes glued to the TV, not even sparing Martin a glance.

Martin let out a soft hum, not bothering to answer.

He pulled out his phone and, almost absentmindedly, started scrolling through Instagram, flipping past the usual posts until he landed on the account he had been looking for. His pulse quickened at the sight of the name. Without thinking, he hit “Follow.”

He set the phone down, heart hammering against his ribs, but barely a minute passed before a notification popped up.

Not only had Juhoon accepted his request, but he had followed Martin back.

A grin tugged at Martin’s lips, and he didn’t waste another second. He tapped on the account, slid into the messages, and began typing, letting his thoughts spill out without hesitation, without overthinking.

Martin🎧

just got called into the office

He waited a moment, then saw Juhoon had already opened the chat and replied immediately.

Juhoon

okay.

Martin sighed at the coldness of the reply and typed again, hoping for something a little warmer this time.

Martin🎧

wanted to say thanks again

 

Juhoon

your welcome

Martin stared at his phone for a moment, disbelief written all over his face.

“Hey you gonna play or what?” Keonho asked, shoving the controller onto his shoulder.

“Nah, you go ahead,” Martin muttered, his thumb already flying over the screen as he texted back.

Martin🎧

that's it?

 

Juhoon

u want another kiss?

 

Martin🎧

was kinda hoping for it

 

Juhoon

💋

Martin’s lips curved into a half-smile, a soft chuckle escaping him.

he cant be serious

He quickly typed back.

Martin🎧

u owe it to me irl

Martin set his phone aside, a grin tugging at his lips, before leaning over and shoving James off the couch cushion he’d been hogging.

"Move it. You’ve played enough," he said, snatching the controller from James’ hands.

"Hey! What the fuck? I was mid-win against Keonho!" James shouted, scrambling to grab it back.

Keonho let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Hah, yeah right. You wish."

 

 

 

★𖦹★

 

 

 

Martin stepped out the school doors, his eyes scanning unconsciously until they landed on him.

Why is he talking to him again?

Martin strode toward Juhoon, who was sitting on a bench with the basketball captain standing just a step in front of him. 

“Hey, Juhoon!” he called, his voice carrying a hint of annoyance, catching both of their attention. A fake smile played on his lips, just enough to seem casual. “How’ve you been, man?” he added, reaching out to dap the captain, though his focus never left Juhoon.

“Not much. How about you?” the captain replied, casual as ever.

Martin ignored him, pressing a hand lightly against the captain’s chest and nudging him back from Juhoon, still grinning like it was a joke.

“Whoa, too close,” he said, chuckling after the motion.

The captain’s brows furrowed, confused. “What...?”

“Huh?” Martin shot back quickly, dismissing him.

He turned to look at the boy sitting down.

“Juhoon, Miss Bianca needs you right now,” Martin said, bending to grab Juhoon’s backpack without waiting for his approval.

Juhoon glanced up at the blonde, puzzled. “Why?”

Martin’s hand wrapped around Juhoon’s wrist, pulling him to his feet. “It’s about the graffiti,” he said, and before Juhoon could protest, he led him toward the school.

“That’s not the way to the office,” Juhoon pointed out, narrowing his eyes.

Martin looked over his shoulder, smirking. “Where do you want to go?”

Juhoon hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“Alright, skating park it is,” Martin said decisively.

Juhoon pulled his wrist back, making Martin pause and turn to him.

“...I can walk by myself,” Juhoon muttered, glancing sideways.

Martin nodded, “Sure. Let’s go,” he said, continuing down the path.

“Can I get my bag back?” Juhoon asked.

Martin didn’t look back. “I’ll carry it for you,” he replied simply, shouldering the backpack as they exited through the other side of the building, heading toward the town’s popular skating area.

Once there, they sat on the edge of the skate bowl, watching kids swoop and grind around them, laughter and the scrape of wheels on concrete filling the air.

“Why are we here?” Juhoon asked, voice quiet.

Martin didn’t respond immediately. He pulled out his phone, plugged in his earphones, and offered one side to Juhoon while keeping the other in his ear. Opening his playlist, he leaned back, gazing at the view without a word.

Juhoon said nothing further. He let himself settle into the calm, the quiet hum of activity around them, and slowly, it became almost peaceful.

They sat that way for a while, people came and went, skaters fell and laughed, some nursed scrapes, but Martin and Juhoon remained in their own bubble, untouched by the world around them.

Eventually, the sun dipped lower in the sky.

Juhoon glanced at his phone and gently tapped Martin on the shoulder.

Martin removed his earphones, meeting the boy’s eyes. “Hm?”

“I have to go home,” Juhoon said softly, gathering his bag and standing. Martin followed, his expression falling slightly, tinged with sadness.

Juhoon gave him a small, almost mischievous smile and beckoned with a finger for Martin to kneel down to his level.

Martin crouched instinctively.

Juhoon leaned in and pressed a brief, soft kiss to the corner of his lips then stepped back.

“I owe it to you,” he said, walking away as if nothing had just happened, leaving Martin frozen, heart pounding, caught between disbelief and longing.

Notes:

only single people left r me n u twin💔