Chapter Text
Sieun had always been like this.
Quiet. Smart. Rational.
He didn’t like loud noises, or loud people, or loud anything.
He liked silence — the kind that wrapped around him like a blanket and dulled everything else.
The library was perfect for that. His favorite place.
Because no one noisy ever got there. And if they did, the quiet swallowed them whole.
Or at least that’s what Sieun told himself every time.
Yeah, he liked silence. Silence was nice. But that didn’t change the fact that he was lonely.
While everyone else was out partying, laughing, and falling in love, Sieun sat in the same corner of the library every evening. His laptop open, his notes lined neatly beside it.
People thought he spent every second studying.
They were wrong.
Sieun had a secret — a dirty one.
When his studying was done, and the library got quiet enough that even his heartbeat felt too loud, he would wander to a small section near the back. The one with books that had warning labels on the cover.
It was stupid. Risky. But it made him feel alive.
Sometimes, he’d grab one with a cover so obvious it made his ears burn — the kind with a shirtless man staring down at the reader, muscles glistening under fake rain.
He’d take it to a shadowed corner, pretending to read some academic journal, and then let himself sink into it — into something warm and forbidden.
Maybe, deep down, he hoped someone would catch him. Say something teasing. Like in those books.
Because, okay — Sieun was quiet. Sieun was lonely.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t horny.
So here he was again, pretending to look serious as he reached for a book with a cover that practically screamed do not pick this up in public.
He stretched his fingers toward it — and froze.
Someone else’s hand brushed against his.
He looked up.
And met a pair of amused, familiar eyes.
Ahn Suho.
Of course. Because the universe just loved to screw with him.
“Uh—sorry,” Suho said, voice low, rough in the kind of way that made Sieun’s stomach tighten. “I was trying to grab that.”
He pointed at the book right next to the one Sieun was holding.
Not one of his usual reads.
Not adult, not even remotely.
Physiotherapy: Muscular Rehabilitation and Body Mechanics.
What the hell was that doing there?
Sieun blinked at it, then back at Suho, whose grin was just a little too amused for someone standing in this aisle.
“You also got your books switched up?” Suho asked, leaning a little closer.
“Wha—what?” Sieun stammered, instinctively holding the romance book behind his back.
“Your books,” Suho repeated, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “The dickheads I call friends have hidden mine all over the library. Their pathetic excuse of April Fools joke, apparently.”
He shrugged, eyes dropping to Sieun’s hands for just a second.
Long enough.
Sieun’s heart jumped. “Oh.”
Brilliant. Real smooth.
Suho tilted his head, his hair falling into his eyes as he smiled. “So… did they mess with yours too, or are you just into rehabilitating muscles in your free time?”
The way he said it — light, teasing, completely unaware of how wrong it sounded — made Sieun’s brain crash.
He could feel the heat crawl up his neck.
“Um. Something like that.”
Suho hummed, not convinced. “Right.”
He reached past Sieun, their shoulders brushing as he took the physiotherapy book from the shelf.
Sieun froze, every nerve in his body lit up like a warning signal.
Suho stepped back, flipping the book open casually. “Thanks, man.”
He started walking away — then stopped halfway, glancing over his shoulder. “By the way,” he said, smile lazy. “Whatever you’re reading, you looked pretty into it. Must be good.”
Sieun’s throat went dry.
When he looked down, the book he’d been trying to hide — the one with the shirtless man on the cover — was still in plain sight.
He wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
“I’m more of an M. P. Rey guy,” Suho said casually, lips quirking into a grin. “But whatever makes you happy.”
He chuckled — chuckled — and walked off.
…Who?
M…
P…
Rey…
Nah. No way.
Sieun blinked at the empty aisle, his brain buffering like a bad Wi-Fi signal. Then it hit him — and his stomach dropped.
He didn’t even think. He just ran to his usual hidden spot, clutching the damn book like it might explode.
The corner between the archives and the dusty encyclopedias — no cameras, no people. Just his personal shame bubble.
He dropped into his chair, pulled out his phone, and typed fast.
M. P. Rey author of…
Yep. Just what he thought.
M. P. Rey — writer of explicitly gay romance.
Or, to be less academic about it: gay porn.
Sieun covered his face with his hands.
“Holy shit,” he whispered to himself.
Okay. He may have read one or two—
Fine, five.
But it wasn’t like he had a problem.
It was just… curiosity. Exploration. Normal.
Except he’d learned the hard way that reading that stuff in public — specifically, in the library — was not a good idea.
Because, well… his body tended to, um, react.
He groaned quietly, pressing his forehead to the table.
How the hell did Suho even know that name?
And why did the sound of his voice saying it make Sieun’s pulse race like that?
It must be Suho’s try for an April Fools joke.
Maybe.
Yeah, that had to be it.
Just another prank.
Some random name he threw out to mess with him.
But… how did he even know the author?
Sieun frowned, staring at the dim screen of his phone like it might give him an answer.
No, seriously — how?
Because M.P. Rey wasn’t some mainstream writer you’d find on the front shelf of a bookstore.
You had to look for that stuff.
Like, late at night, incognito mode, praying no one ever checked your browsing history kind of “look.”
Ahn Suho — Mr. Golden Retriever Energy, campus’ favorite guy, rugby player, human sunshine — didn’t look like the type who even knew that genre existed.
Unless—
Sieun shut that thought down immediately.
No. Nope. Not going there.
He sighed, sinking lower in his seat.
"It’s fine,” he muttered under his breath. “He doesn’t know. He was just joking.”
Still… his mind kept replaying the way Suho said it. The casual confidence. The grin that felt a little too knowing.
And for the first time, Sieun wasn’t sure if the quiet of the library was comforting anymore — or suffocating.