Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Si-Eun

I shouldn’t have skipped dinner.

That thought hits me harder than the chill in the night air as I walk home.

My bag feels heavy on my shoulder, steps slower than usual.

The dim streetlights blur around the edges.

My stomach clenches tight, a sharp reminder of the meal I didn’t have.

Dumb move, Si-eun.

I’d been too focused on my cram class, too distracted with numbers and notes and the mess in my head to even notice the time.

Now I feel it...dizziness crawling in, blood sugar dropping fast.

My vision sways. The sidewalk tilts.

I barely register my knees giving out.

And then...arms! Steady. Strong.

They catch me before I hit the ground.

I blink up, breath hitching.

It takes a second for my eyes to focus, for the shadows to part and reveal a familiar face looking down at me with worry drawn across his brows.

Wait a minute! I know this guy! 

Isn't he the one who sleeps during every class on a pink kitty hand pillow? 

“Yeon Si-Eun?” he says, voice low, urgent.

I want to answer, to say something. 

My throat bobs, but no sound comes out. 

My head drops against his chest, and I let the world blur again.

I wake up to the soft clatter of traffic, the low hum of voices in the distance.

My head feels heavier than usual, but there’s warmth beneath it...steady, unmoving.

Not a pillow.

A shoulder.

I blink slowly, and tilt my gaze upward.

Uh-oh, that guy again! What's his name? 

Heesu? Soobin? 

He’s right there, sitting beside me on a low bench near the bus stop, red hoodie zipped up, hair slightly messy from the wind.

One arm wrapped around me, the other holding a convenience store bottle of banana milk.

Bangs hiding his wide forehead, kinda cute! 

“Awake?” he asks, not looking at me.

“…Yeah,” I say, voice dry and faint.

I push myself up slowly.

His hand stays at my back for a second longer than necessary, like he's making sure I won’t fall again.

I glance around. We’re still near the street, but not where I collapsed. He must’ve moved me here. 

"You were out for a few minutes," he adds. "Low blood sugar?"

I nod. Embarrassed. “Skipped dinner.”

He gives me a look. Not judgmental, just quiet concern.

Then he holds out the banana milk. I hesitate, but take it.

As I sip, he mutters under his breath-

“How do people even do that? Skip dinner to study? That’s like... skipping breathing to save time. Food is fuel, man. Ramen before rankings.”

I glance at him, surprised, and he goes on, waving a hand dramatically.

“You think Einstein discovered gravity on an empty stomach? No. Dude ate that apple before he found gravity.”

I blink. “Einstein?”

He frowns. “Whatever. One of those science dudes.”

The corner of my lip twitch. 

Is this guy for real? 

He grins, pleased with himself, and adds,

“Seriously, if brains ran on air, I'd be top of the class by now.”

I look down at the bottle of banana milk to hide my smile. 

“You carry this around all the time?” I ask, trying to play it off.

My head is still fuzzy.

“No. Just grabbed it on the way.” He pauses. “I was delivering food. Saw you from across the street.”

I blink again. “You…deliver food?”

He finally looks at me then, eyes calm. “Yeah. Diner near school. Evenings.”

I think back. I’ve only ever seen him slouched on the last bench, eyes closed, head on a pink hand pillow.

A ghost in class.

Never thought about what he did after school. Didn’t know I was that blind.

“…Thanks,” I murmur.

He shrugs, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Don’t make it a habit,” he says. “Collapsing in the street.”

Then, almost like it slips out before he can stop himself, he softly adds, “You’ll make your mom worry.”

My fingers tighten slightly around the banana milk. I don’t say anything.

He glances at me, noticing the shift in my silence.

His mouth opens like he might say more, but then he thinks better of it.

So we just sit there for a moment, letting the hum of the street fill the space between us.

Midnight Riders

The engine of the delivery bike hums beneath us, steady and low.

I hold onto the sides of the seat tightly, trying not to fall off.

I don’t grab him.

That would be… weird.

He doesn’t say much. Neither do I.

City lights blur past as we cut through narrow streets.

The wind stings my cheeks, but the warmth of his back in front of me is oddly grounding.

When we finally slow down in front of my apartment building, I swing one leg over and hop off, trying to ignore how shaky I still feel.

“Thanks for the ride,” I mumble.

He nods, one hand still on the throttle, the other fixing his helmet strap.

“You had dinner?” I ask, suddenly.

He pauses. “Not yet.”

I frown. “Aren’t you done working?”

He shakes his head.

“Still have a few deliveries left. My grandma’s waiting. I’ll eat with her when I get back.”

I stare at him, this boy who barely talks in class, always looks half-asleep, and yet somehow holds the world together outside school like it’s nothing.

I didn’t know. I never even thought to ask.

“You’ll get home late.”

“Midnight, maybe.”

My stomach twists. Not from hunger this time, but something else.

“You… always work this hard?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He gives a half-smile. “Someone’s gotta pay the rent.”

Then he revs the engine. The sound cuts through the silence.

“Go in. Rest. Eat something.”

“…Hey,” I say, awkwardly.

He raises an eyebrow.

I clear my throat. “What… what’s your name again?”

His eyes widen just a little.

“Wait. You don’t know?”

“I do,” I lie quickly. “I just...wanted to make sure.”

He stares at me for a moment, then deadpans, “It’s Ahn Su-joon.”

“Su-joon?” I repeat.

“Yeah,” he says, straight-faced. “With a double ‘o’." 

I squint. “That doesn’t sound right.”

He just shrugs. “Blame my parents.”

The engine rumbles again as he pulls down his helmet. “Go inside, Su-joon’s gotta hustle.”

And then he's off, leaving me frowning at the scooter trail and mouthing, Su-joon? Really?

Chapter Text

Next day at Byuksan High

The seat in the last row is empty.

No helmet tossed on the desk.

No pink pillow. 

No sleepyhead! 

Just absence.

The door slams open.

“Books away,” Mr. Lee, our physics teacher, snaps.

“Pop quiz. Or should I say, elimination round. Some of you need to be reminded that this is school, not daycare.”

Groans roll through the class. A pen falls to the floor.

He starts passing the test sheets out, grumbling the whole way.

Then his eyes lock on the empty desk at the back.

“Of course,” he mutters. “Sleeping Beauty’s not with us.”

A few students snicker.

“That Ahn Su guy...” he says louder now.

“Absent! Probably curled up in bed, dreaming of some fantasy world where grades don’t matter.”

Someone behind me says, “He’s probably hungover.”

More laughter.

“Bet he’s with that girl from the fried chicken place,” another adds.

“Or the karaoke one,” a third chimes in.

The teacher doesn’t stop them. He just sneers.

"If he wants to live like a delinquent, he can drop out and save us all the trouble.”

Something tugs at me...low, burning, unfamiliar.

I raise my hand.

The room goes still. Even the whispers cut off.

The teacher blinks. “Yes, Yeon Si-eun?”

“He wasn’t drinking.”

Silence.

“Su-joon was working.”

The teacher frowns. “Pardon?”

“Su-joon was working. Delivering food. He got home late.”

“What the hell,” someone near the window laughs. “Who’s Su-joon?”

“You mean Ahn Su-ho?” the teacher says sharply.

I hesitate. “He said… double ‘o.’ Su-joon.”

Now the laughter explodes.

“Oh my god,” someone wheezes. “He gave him a fake name.”

“No way. That’s so messed up.”

“Yeon Si-eun got catfished in real life!”

I stare ahead, ignoring the noise. My ears burn.

The teacher sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Take your test, Mr. Yeon. And next time, try not to defend fictional classmates.”

As I lower my head to start the test, I scowl.

When he shows up, I'm going to kill him.

Fifteen minutes pass.

The classroom is quiet. Only the scratch of pens, the occasional cough.

Then the back door creaks open.

Every head turns.

There he is!

Helmet in hand, hoodie half-zipped, trying to step in like a shadow.

He freezes when he sees all the eyes on him.

Then, slower, he shuts the door and walks toward his seat.

The teacher doesn’t even look up from his seat.

“Look who finally decided to grace us,” he says, voice flat. “Lord Su-joon.”

The class breaks into muffled giggles.

Su-ho stops mid-step.

“Your Majesty, was traffic too common for your noble self this morning?” the teacher goes on. “Or were you composing poetry with your double ‘o’?”

A louder laugh now. Someone slaps their desk.

Su-ho doesn’t react. 

He pulls the chair back, sits down. Helmet on the desk. Quiet.

Then the teacher throws a test paper at him. It lands on the floor. 

“You’ve got twenty minutes. Not that it matters...but fail this, and you can spend next semester re-learning Newton’s laws.”

Su-ho picks up the paper, looks at it blankly.

Then, still not looking up, he says,“If Su-joon fails… Su-ho can still stay, right?”

A beat of silence.

Even the teacher pauses.

Then lets out a reluctant snort, like he hates that it almost made him smile.

“Just sit down and write, clown.”

“I’ll try my royal best, sir.”

The room loses it.

I glance over, just once.

He’s already looking at me.

He tugs at his earlobe twice, and mouths Sorry.

I don’t say a word.

Just narrow my eyes.

He swallows, goes still.

And I look away.

The final bell rings.

Chairs screech. Laughter explodes like gunfire. Backpacks zip, doors creak.

But under all that noise, I hear it...sharp, deliberate whispers like paper cuts.

“I swear, the crazy nerd’s finally lost his mind.”

"Four months in and he still doesn’t know a classmate's name? What is he, royalty or just clueless?”

“Guess Perfect Score finally made a mistake. How tragic!”

My hands tighten around my textbook.

My blood is roaring in my ears.

I stand.

And then I’m walking, no, marching toward the back row where the idiot is slouched like he’s in a vacation ad.

Su-ho blinks when he sees me.

Then he smiles.

I slam my hands on his desk.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

He startles. “Uh—”

“Don’t you ‘uh’ me. Su-joon? Really?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, that!”

He looks around. Sees the stares. The barely contained snickers. He shrugs.

Then, like he’s possessed—

He suddenly drops to one knee beside his desk.

A wave of gasps and camera clicks ripple through the class.

“What...what are you doing?” I hiss.

But he’s already pulling out that stupid pink hand pillow from his backpack. He lifts it up like a sock puppet.

He clears his throat and goes falsetto.

“Hi. I’m Pillow Hyung.”

I blink. My brain stutters.

“I’m here ‘cause Su-ho’s dumb,” says Pillow Hyung.

“He didn’t mean to lie. He was just kinda… grumpy.”

Pillow Hyung wobbles left and right, as if shaking his head.

“Si-Eun didn’t know his name. Su-ho got all emo about it.”

A tiny pause.

“So he said something dumb. Like always.”

Su-ho makes Pillow Hyung bounce a little.

“Also… he’s sorry for making Si-Eun-ah look bad.”

I open my mouth to say something. Nothing comes out.

“Su-ho says sorry. Very sorry. Big sorry. Triple sorry with fries.”

A snort escapes someone in the back. I catch Min-jae holding his sides.

Pillow Hyung continues, unbothered.

“Anyway. Su-ho wants to ask if you’ll eat lunch with him. And me. I’m fun. I don’t lie about names.”

I blink again.

My face is burning. My spine feels like it might snap.

“Shut up,” I mutter, turning around fast and nearly tripping on my own feet.

I storm back to my seat, ears glowing, skin crawling from every pair of eyes still watching.

Behind me, I hear Su-ho mutter to his pillow, “He didn’t say no.”

Then, quietly... 

“That means yes.”

Chapter Text

Su-ho eats like he hasn’t touched food in days.

He inhales the sticky rice, devours the soup without blinking, and steals half my kimchi without asking.

I stare at him, eyebrows raised.

“What?” he says with a mouthful. “You won't finish it anyway.”

I shake my head and sigh, dropping a few capsicums on his plate. 

Down below, I catch whispers.

A couple kids are staring us up. I know what they’re thinking.

Why is the top student hanging out with the guy who sleeps through lectures?

“People are staring,” I mutter.

“Let them,” Su-ho says, mouth still full. “They’re probably jealous of my lunch buddy.”

I roll my eyes, but my chest feels oddly warm.

I don’t know what this is.

But for the first time in a while, lunch doesn’t feel like something to get over with.

It feels… okay.

The final bell rings.

Most of the class scrambles to leave like they're being chased.

I’m halfway through packing my books when Su-ho appears beside my desk, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, casual as always. “Wanna come help out at the diner?”

I blink up at him. “I have cram class.”

He tilts his head. “Skip it.”

I frown. “I don’t skip class.”

“I’ll buy you a chocolate milkshake. Best one in town. Free. On me. You just have to pretend you’re passing around the menu or something.”

I hesitate.

My calendar says Study.

My brain says No deviations.

But the memory of that midnight ride and the sweet taste of banana milk tug at me.

“…Fine,” I mutter, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “Only for the milkshake.”

He pumps a fist like he just won a bet, and we walk out together.

It’s weird, walking beside him.

He’s a full head taller and has that slow, unbothered stride, like nothing in the world can touch him.

Meanwhile, I’ve got anxiety and an overstuffed backpack.

The diner is small and tucked behind a row of laundry shops. Warm lights, handwritten signs, and a smell that makes my stomach grumble even though I had a good lunch.

“You can sit in the back if you want,” he says. “But the old lady likes when people pretend to help.”

So I wipe a couple menus and straighten napkin dispensers while Su-ho flips his apron on and gets to work.

His hands move fast—pouring water, grabbing orders, joking with the ahjumma who’s clearly known him for years.

And me?

I sit at a corner table with a tall glass of chocolate milkshake in front of me.

He keeps glancing over between orders. Smirking.

I sip slowly, watching him move like he belongs here.

I never knew he had this world.

But I’m kind of glad he let me in.

It’s almost 9 PM! 

The diner lights have dimmed slightly, humming low.

Most of the customers have left.

The air smells like grilled meat and lemon dish soap.

I’m still nursing the same chocolate milkshake, warm and gooey now, but I don’t really care.

I’ve been watching Su-ho behind the counter for the last ten minutes.

He’s got his sleeves rolled up, arms wet with soap bubbles, focused on a mountain of dishes.

He hums a little, low and off-key. And he smiles when one of the waitresses walks up beside him.

She’s maybe a few years older, hair tied back, and eyes beaming in that specific way when someone's flirting.

I tell myself I’m imagining it.

But then she leans in, says something that makes him chuckle.

She writes something on a napkin... 

Her number, maybe?

And slips it into his pocket like it’s a secret.

And then.

She kisses his cheek.

Light. Quick. 

My fingers tighten around the milkshake glass.

Something sharp twists in my chest, and I hate it.

He doesn’t push her away. Doesn’t even look surprised! 

He just laughs, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s used to this kind of attention.

I look away fast, pretending to be completely fascinated by wall decor in front of me.

Why do I care?

Why does it matter if she likes him?

Why does it matter if he lets her?

I’m still trying not to look bothered when Su-ho walks over, balancing two steaming bowls of ramen on a tray.

“Special employee perks,” he grins, setting one in front of me. “Don’t say I never feed you.”

The broth smells amazing. My stomach growls in betrayal.

I mutter a half-hearted “thanks” and pick up the chopsticks.

He slurps his first bite like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

I force myself to eat normally, though my thoughts are spinning in every direction but food.

I glance over at him between bites. He’s acting like nothing happened.

Like there wasn’t a girl kissing his cheek five minutes ago.

I try to sound casual. Detached.

“She… seems to like you. The waitress.”

Su-ho doesn’t even blink. “Yeah.”

I swirl my noodles busily.

“She gave you her number. You know her?”

“Not really,” he says, shrugging. “She’s been working here a few months. I think she wants to go on a date.”

My heart stutters.

He shovels in another mouthful before adding, with zero drama, “She’s not my type.”

I pause mid-bite.

“…Oh.”

That’s all I say.

But it feels like every muscle in my body unclenches at once.

He looks at me, amused. “Why? You jealous?”

I scoff and look away. “No. Just making conversation.”

“Sure you are,” he says, nudging my foot under the table.

I kick him back.

We finish the ramen in silence, but the silence feels lighter now.

And when he grabs both our empty bowls and heads to the sink, humming off-key again, I let myself smile into the last drops of melted chocolate.

We finish eating, and I watch as Su-ho carefully scrapes half the remaining ramen into a clean takeout box. He doesn’t say anything, but I know who it’s for.

“Granny can’t handle spice,” he murmurs, almost to himself, sealing the lid.

Something soft flutters in my chest. 

He cares so much, even when no one’s looking.

Outside, the night is cooler than I expected.

A breeze brushes the back of my neck, and I shiver slightly.

Su-ho straddles his bike and pats the seat behind him.

I hesitate for a breath.

He pulls the spare helmet from the handlebar and slips it onto my head, fingers brushing my temple to fasten the strap.

“There. Safety first, nerd.”

I stare with my stupidest expression ever. 

I climb on, and this time, when the engine growls to life and the city lights blur around us, I let my arms lightly circle around his torso.

His body’s warm beneath the jacket. Solid.

He makes a low, surprised sound.

“Hey.”

“What?” I mumble, voice muffled by the helmet.

“Nothing,” he says, and then reaches behind to tug my arms tighter around him.

“Just hold on properly, Si-eun-ah.”

I don’t answer.

I just hold on.

And the wind carries us through the winding streets, my heartbeat loud in my ears, steady and stupid and impossibly full.

The scooter slows to a stop in front of my apartment building.

I slide off, legs a little wobbly from the ride. 

Su-ho kills the engine, and for a second, it’s just us in the quiet night. He gently takes my helmet off, brushing the stray hair from my forehead before ruffling it.

"Thanks for the ride," I mutter, my cheeks warming. 

"Anytime," he says with a grin, pushing his bike off the stand.

I watch him for a second, standing there under the streetlight, about to head off into the night.

But before he can start walking away, I blurt out,

"Hey, can I get your number?"

Su-ho looks back, eyebrows slightly raised. "What?"

I shuffle my feet, a little embarrassed.

"I just… I wanna make sure you get home safely."

His expression softens, and that grin returns, though it's quieter this time.

“You’re worrying about me?”

“Of course,” I mutter, unable to meet his eyes.

“You work late. I don’t want you riding back alone and...”

“I’ll be fine,” he interrupts, but there’s something in his voice that makes me pause.

He pulls out his phone, tapping a few times before handing it to me.

“Here, copy this,” he says, the corners of his lips still twitching.

“Now you can make sure I get home safe.”

"Thanks," I say quietly. 

He nods once, turning toward the street.

"Get some rest, Si-eun-ah."

Before I can say anything else, he's already riding away, disappearing into the darkness.

Chapter Text

After changing into my night clothes, I climb on my bed with my phone and physics book. 

I open his number on WhatsApp and type... 

Did you get home safe?

Then I pause. Delete it.

I start again.

Reached home yet?

Delete.

Why is it so hard to send a simple message?

Before I can decide, my phone buzzes.

Su-ho: I’m home, Eun-momma.

A stupid grin tugs at my lips. I read it twice.

Then he sends another text. 

Su-ho: Knock knock.

Me: Who’s there?

Su-ho: You

Me: You who?

Su-ho: You're cute. 

“Idiot,” I mutter, even as my chest flutter.

Then another ping.

Su-ho: Study hard, okay? I’m gonna go chat with my gf now.

I stare at the screen, lips curling in a smile that’s half resigned, half… something else.

A few minutes pass. I try to focus on my textbook, but the words blur together.

My fingers hover over the keyboard again.

Then I give in.

Me: How many girlfriends do you even have?

The reply comes fast.

Su-ho: Zero. Tragic, right? Nobody wants to date a balloon-headed delivery boy.

I frown. 

Me: Your head’s not that big.

Su-ho: It’s like Numpty Dumpty.

Me: That’s Humpty Dumpty.

Su-ho: Same thing. Dumbo’s cousin. Round head, big ears, unstoppable charm.

I snort. 

What kind of idiot thinks Dumbo and Humpty Dumpty are cousins?

Mine, apparently.

I keep scrolling back through our chat, rereading the lines.

My head’s fuzzy with sleep, and I’ve been doodling idly. Circles, arrows, random shapes.

Then I notice what’s actually there.

In the corner of the page, I’ve drawn a round egghead with googly eyes.

Right under it, in neat writing,

Su-ho ya… My idiot.

I blink at it. 

When did I write that?

I trace the letters lightly with my finger, warmth creeping into my cheeks.

I stare at the doodle for a moment longer.

Then, before I can second-guess myself, I snap a picture of it and send it to Su-ho.

His reply comes quick. 

Su-ho: Forever single🥚

I roll my eyes.

Me: Impossible! Those forehead bangs are… very banger.

There’s a pause.

Su-ho: dat supposed to be a pickup line? 😆

I flush.

Me: Shut up. Let me study. 

He sends another message, a little sly this time. 

Su-ho: So… you like my forehead bangs 😉?

I groan, pressing my phone to my forehead.

Why does it sounds like he's flirting? 

A new message pops up.

This time, it's just a blurry selfie.

Su-ho, hair combed back to show off his forehead.

He’s pouting, lips pursed like a kiss, eyes mischievous.

Su-ho: Is that my forehead or portable car parking? 

I slap my hand over my mouth, trying not to let out the embarrassing laugh bubbling up.

My head falls forward onto my textbook, shoulders shaking.

I take a closer look at the picture again. The background seems familiar. 

Is that our classroom?! 

Me: Where exactly are you? 

Su-ho: School. Special night class. I'm preparing to beat Si-Eun-ah in studies. 

Me: No, seriously, what are you doing at school at this hour? 

Su-ho: Sleeping here tonight. Drove straight here after dinner. 

Me: You can actually sleep at school? 

Su-ho: A junior made a duplicate key for me 😁 Taught that guy some killer mma tricks. 

Me: But why? 

Su-ho: Saves time. Attendance. Granny says gotta keep good attendance at high school.

I should’ve known.

Of course it’s something weirdly Su-ho.

Sleep in the school building to save time?

Get a key from some junior he bribed with MMA tricks?

Only Ahn Su-ho would think that’s reasonable.

I rub the bridge of my nose, tapping back a reply.

Me: You're insane. Isn't it cold? You'll sprain your neck sleeping like that. 

A minute passed. Then the typing dots appeared.

Su-ho: Ex mma fighter here, in case you forgot 😎

I let out a quiet sigh, one I didn’t mean to.

My room is dead silent otherwise, only the pages of my notes flutter from the fan.

It's late. Too late to be talking to someone who's… sleeping alone in a classroom.

I stare at my phone again. No more new messages.

I shouldn’t care. He’s just being reckless again. Su-ho always does things his own way.

And yet, before I know it, I am pulling on a grey hoodie over my T-shirt, stuffing my notebook into my backpack.

I tell myself I'm just going back to school to grab some reference books from the library.

It has nothing to do with the fact that Su-ho was there.

Right.

The night air bites at my skin as I walk, quiet and cold.

The school building looms in the distance like a giant monolith. 

I climb the stairs, ignoring how loud my footsteps sound in the deafening silence.

When I reach the door to our classroom, I hesitate.

And then I hear it.

A soft snore.

I peek through the window.

There he was!

Head resting on his pink pillow, arms folded, legs stretched out over two joined desks, his loose purple t-shirt playing peekaboo with a glimpse of his torso, soundly sleeping with a stupidly peaceful look on his face.

He looks… safe.

Like nothing in the world could touch him.

I open the door without thinking.

His eyes open immediately. Always alert, even in sleep.

"Si-eun-ah?" His voice was groggy, eyes still half-lidded. "Did I dream you or are you really here?"

"You’re seriously sleeping here?"

He grins. "Told you. Saves time."

I walk over, setting my bag down with a quiet thump. "You’re unbelievable."

I pull out my notes and sit down beside him.

And as he blinks sleepily at me, still wearing that lopsided grin, I mutter without looking at him. 

“You snore.”

He laughs softly, stretching one arm behind his head. “Guess you’ll have to get used to it.”

The room is cold, the smell of old chalk and wooden desks mixing with the faint smell of detergent from the janitor’s mop bucket down the hall.

My pencil moves fast over my workbook, and once I'm done with mine, I decide to take a look at Su-ho's workbook too. It's shoved carelessly under his desk.

His notes are sloppy, all messy scrawl and half-finished sentences.

He might be good at fighting, at throwing punches, but when it comes to schoolwork… he’s hopeless.

I sigh. “You’re lucky you have me, Su-ho,” I mutter, just quiet enough that he doesn’t stir.

I start filling in the blanks, finishing his answers in my own careful script.

The ticking of the clock on the wall seems louder in the silence, almost soothing.

The numbers come easy to me.

I wonder if Su-ho would understand them if he tried a little harder.

When I’m done, I look up. His mouth is slightly open, and I know he’ll drool if he stays like that.

His t-shirt has ridden up over his torso. 

It’s only a sliver...just a glimpse of the smooth line of his waist, the gentle curve of muscle.

But it’s enough to make my breath catch, heat rising to my cheeks.

I feel it low in my stomach, a flutter I can’t control. 

He shifts in his sleep, the t-shirt bunching even higher. I force my eyes up to his face, but that doesn’t help much.

His lashes flutter in a half-dream, and he looks so soft, so unguarded like this.

My hand hovers for a moment, then I carefully take a thin blanket from my bag.

It’s worn and warm, and I spread it over him slowly. 

My fingertips brush his waist as I tuck it in.

His skin is warm and smooth, and I pull my hand back quickly, heart beating too fast.

He stirs a little, eyes cracking open just enough to see me.

“All good, Eunnie…?” he mumbles. 

“Sleep,” I whisper, trying to sound steady.

“You work too hard. Let me take care of this.”

A tiny smile flickers across his lips. He lets out a quiet breath, and then, half-asleep, he reaches out and his hand covers mine.

I feel like the world has gone still...like it’s just the two of us, in this quiet room.

Chapter Text

Next Morning, in the classroom

Su-ho rummages through his bag and pulls out a small plastic pouch.

There’s toothpaste, soap, even a tiny bottle of shampoo.

He looks at me and tilts his head.

“You can borrow my toothpaste” he says with a warm smile. 

I hesitate.

I know the shower room is quiet and probably empty this early in the morning, but I think of my own bathroom, warm and clean, with the scent of my favorite soap.

That’s what I want.

I shake my head. “I’m good. I’ll head home to freshen up.”

Su-ho just nods and gives me a lazy grin. “Alright, Eunnie. Don’t take too long.”

I promise him I won’t, but when I come back to the classroom, it’s already a little late.

I open the door slowly, trying not to make a noise.

At first, I don't understand what's going on, but the tension that fills the air is unmissable. 

Su-ho is standing stiffly beside his desk, his head bowed low.

His hands are clenched at his sides.

The classroom is too quiet, except for the homeroom teacher’s sharp voice cutting through the air.

“If you can’t pay the full semester fee, I can't let you take the mid-semester exams, Ahn Su-ho. You understand that, don’t you?”

I freeze in the doorway, backpack still slung over one shoulder.

My gaze locks on Su-ho instantly.

He doesn't respond.

Around him, a few students shift in their seats.

Someone mutters under their breath, just loud enough to hear.

“Dude’s dirt poor.”

“Bet he spent his fee on protein shakes again…”

Soft snickers follow.

I see Su-ho’s shoulders drop further, his jaw clenched. His ears are red.

The teacher keeps going, tone clipped and impatient.

“I need to speak to your parents. Have them meet me tomorrow.”

Su-ho raises his head a little.

“I don’t have parents,” he says quietly. “Only my halmeoni.”

The teacher pauses just long enough to make the silence sting.

“Your grandmother, then. Does she know you’re wasting her hard-earned money like this?”

Something flickers across Su-ho’s face.

Shame, anger, hurt.

I can see how he’s fighting to stay calm.

There’s a resignation in his eyes though, like he’s used to this, like he’s heard it all before.

But I know it must hurt.

It hurts me just watching him.

I take a step forward.

“Shin Jun Sir,” I say calmly, breaking the silence.

“Should we be spending valuable class time discussing a student’s private situation in front of everyone?”

The teacher blinks, caught off guard.

I feel all eyes shift to me now, but I don’t look away from him.

“We have a syllabus to cover.”

The teacher’s eyes snap to mine, a flicker of annoyance flashing in them.

“Yeon Si-eun, this isn’t your concern.”

“It’s everyone’s concern if you’re holding up the whole class,” I reply evenly. “We’re here to study, aren’t we?”

A murmur ripples across the room. Some students shift uncomfortably.

One boy at the back mutters, "Yeah man, that was kinda harsh!”

Another boy whispers, “So fucking rude.”

The teacher sighs heavily, his authority faltering under the weight of the moment.

“Fine. Sit down. Both of you.”

Instead of heading to my desk, I stop next to Su-ho’s.

He hasn’t moved. His face is flushed red, but his eyes… they’re blank. Numb.

Like something’s shut down inside him completely.

My chest aches at the sight.

I sit beside him quietly, unzip my bag, and pull out a bottle of water.

Without a word, I place it on his desk, next to his hand.

He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t move to touch it.

His fingers twitch once, then go still again.

And I sit there beside him, spine straight, my eyes burning quietly.

Because I don’t know what hurts more, the way he was treated, or the way he’s learned to endure it like this.

Su-ho doesn’t lift his head for the rest of the class.

His eyes are closed, but he’s not really sleeping. I can tell.

He’s too still. Too quiet in the way people are when they want to disappear.

Lunch bell rings. The others stream out of the classroom. 

It’s just us now.

Just me and him, curled up on his pillow like he might shatter.

And then I hear it.

A soft, muffled, and wet sound. 

He's crying.

Ahn Su-ho is crying! 

I don’t know what to do.

I hover for a second, completely useless.

Then, because I have no life skills when it comes to emotional support, I blurt out:

“Your pillow hyung’s all wet and snotty now. It'll catch a cold.”

No response.

Su-ho keeps his face turned away, shoulders trembling.

I fumble in my pocket and pull out a bunch of crumpled tissues. 

“Here.” 

I hope he hears the pleading in my voice.

Su-ho slowly lifts his head, eyes rimmed red, nose shiny.

He takes the tissues without looking at me, and blows his nose like a trumpet.

I grimace.

“Erm...Yeah let it all out, man."

He wipes again. Then snorts. Just once.

The tiniest hiccup of a laugh breaking through the tears.

I let out a relieved breath.

And then he balls up the tissue and tosses it onto the floor. At my feet.

I blink down at it, scandalized. “Did you just—”

He grabs another and throws it.

I leap back. “SU-HO. NO.”

He’s laughing through the tears now, still wiping his face, but definitely aiming a third snot-ball at me.

I shriek and dart behind the next desk. “You absolute cretin!"

Another tissue flies past me.

“You're a real comfort, you know that?” he calls hoarsely.

His eyes are glassy, but the heaviness in them is gone.

He’s not fine, not really, but he’s breathing a little easier.

And I’m still circling his desk like a toy monkey on springs, pretending I don’t care that my chest feels weirdly light seeing him laugh again.

Rooftop 

The rooftop is quiet except for the soft wind blowing.

The day feels warm and cloudy, but it's not stifling. 

We sit side by side on the concrete ledge. 

Su-ho unwraps the protein bar I got him from the vending machine. It’s one of the cheap ones, but he devours it like it’s gold-dusted.

I’m holding mine, unopened. I don’t feel like eating.

There’s a stretch of silence as he chews.

He’s not making eye contact, just staring ahead at the horizon spread out before us. 

Then, he speaks softly. 

“My parents left when I was four. I don’t know why. Granny says they were junkies. She doesn’t like to talk about it.”

My fingers tighten around the unopened wrapper.

“I mean, I didn’t ask to be born, right?” he laughs, but it’s a hollow kind.

“But they still left. Just like that. I’ve been with Granny since. She's all I got. And I’ve been working... Three jobs. Delivery, kitchen help, cleaning aisles in a shopping mall. Weekends too. Saved half the semester fee. But it’s never enough.”

He exhales shakily, head lowering slightly.

“I didn’t ask to be born and left unloved.”

Something cracks open in me at those words.

I don’t know what it is! Maybe anger, maybe heartbreak. Or maybe something fiercer.

I turn to him. “You are not unloved.”

He scoffs softly, eyes still trained on the ground.

“I mean it,” I say, sharper this time.

“Your granny loves you.

Our PE teacher basically thinks you’re the next Usain Bolt.

You’re one of the coolest guys in our class, and most of us think so. Except those bullies who can’t stand anyone better than them.”

He blinks at that.

Then, in my mind, I add softly, floating the words into the wind:

“And I lo- like you too.”

He'll never know it. It's better that way.

He turns toward me, eyes flickering with something soft and precious.

I clear my throat, needing to breathe. “Why’d you quit MMA?”

He chuckles without humor. “MMA’s expensive. You need protein powder, clean meals, gear. I could fight three people barehanded, maybe even take on the whole world. But not on an empty stomach. Not burning my granny's little pension." 

I nod, my throat tightening.

I slide my protein bar toward him.

“Eat this too. It's time to hit back at the world."

His smile is small. But it’s real.

The Only Friend I have

It’s off period. The classroom’s louder than usual, buzzing with gossip and half-eaten snack wrappers crinkling under desks. 

I sit still in my seat.

My heart is pounding hard.

I hate public speaking.

But I stand up anyway.

I clear my throat. “Can I have everyone’s attention for a second?”

Su-ho, curled up with his arms folded on the desk, stirs and lifts his head slightly, blinking at me in confusion.

It’s not loud, but the classroom quiets. People turn. I guess my voice is rare enough to cut through the usual chatter.

"I’m doing something. Starting today."

My fingers tighten around the edge of my desk, but I don’t let myself falter.

"I’ll take up physics and math assignments. The big ones that carry marks into the mid-semester grade. Two thousand won each. Per subject."

A ripple of interest moves through the classroom. Someone at the back whistles low.

"I guarantee an A,” I say, louder this time. “You all know my record. Math Olympiad gold, physics silver last semester. If you want top grades, I’ll make sure you get them."

Lee Jong Chan leans over with a smirk. "Whoa, look who’s starting a side hustle. Topper needs a new backpack or something?"

Hun Tae adds, “Is this, like, a gofundme for the poor?”

"Must be charity for our sleeping beauty."

The laughter is low, but cruel.

I feel a flicker of heat rise in my face, but I don’t let it burn me.

Instead, I take a deep breath.

“I’m doing this,” I say, slowly, “for my only friend.”

Su-ho's eyes fully meet mine, rippling with quiet emotions. 

I keep speaking.

“I’m not offering charity. I’m giving him a chance. A small one. To sit for the exams like the rest of us.”

I pause, then glance at the class.

“You all know him. You’ve seen him run, fight, push himself harder than anyone. Do you really want a guy like that, your classmate, to miss the exam just because of something like money?”

There’s silence for a beat.

Then someone in the back says, "I’m in for physics."

Another voice: “Both, please. Physics and math.”

“I’ll message you my topic!” someone else shouts.

The murmur grows. People start pulling out phones. The atmosphere shifts.

Someone claps. It’s awkward and half-sarcastic, but it’s followed by others.

I sit back down, not daring to look at Su-ho yet. My pulse is still racing.

When I finally glance sideways, he’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before.

No smile.

No words.

Just those dark, stunned eyes...wide open, slightly wet.

By the end of the day, I’ve done the math. Literally.

Forty-five assignments.

Physics and math.

Different students. Different handwriting styles.

My fingers ache just thinking about it.

Su-ho walks beside me down the empty corridor, the late sun spilling long shadows on the floor.

He keeps glancing at me like I might change my mind any second and say I was joking.

I stop outside the school gates. He stops too.

"We have to finish them before the deadline," I say.

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’ll draft them,” I continue. “You’ll help me copy. Neatly. Without mistakes.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “You want me to help?”

“Who else?" I roll my eyes. 

There’s a small silence. I shift my bag on my shoulder.

“Also,” I add, “you’re not sleeping in the classroom anymore.”

He blinks. “What?”

“You’re staying with me this week. We won’t get it done otherwise.”

Su-ho opens his mouth, hesitates. His face does that nervous flicker thing, where you can see him spiraling with thoughts before he even speaks.

“What about my shifts? I have to...”

“No, you don’t.” I cut in gently.

“Just for a few days, Su-ho. You need to focus on the mid-semester. This is important.”

He looks at the sky like it might give him answers.

“And Granny? She’s not used to being alone at night.”

I soften. “Go home. Eat with her. Make sure she’s okay. And then crash at my place. She’ll understand. You can call her every night before bed.”

He doesn’t respond right away. 

After quietly pondering for a while, he nods. Just once.

“Okay.”

That’s all he says. But that’s enough.

A Promise

Later that night, he’s next to me on the floor of my small room, the Daelim heater gently warming our feet.

My notes are spread out everywhere.

Empty ramen bowls sit on the desk.

Su-ho's head is bowed over a copied assignment, pen moving steadily across the page.

He’s wearing a faded anime T-shirt. His feet are in my soft white sandals that are two sizes too small for him.

At some point, the pen stills.

I glance over.

His head dips slightly, then leans... into my shoulder.

My breath catches.

He doesn’t say anything. Just rests there, like he doesn’t have the strength to move anymore.

His cheek against my hoodie.

His breath soft and slow.

His hand still loosely holding the pen.

I let him stay like that.

My hand moves without thinking, just a little, resting lightly against his back. And I make a promise I don’t say out loud.

I’ll make this work. For you.

Whatever it takes.

Even if it means staying up till dawn.

Even if it means hiding what’s building inside my chest every time you lean on me.

I won't let you fall. 

Chapter Text

The Week from Hell

By day, we survive school.

I make the first drafts of the assignments. Su-ho copies them.

By night, we survive each other.

We sit cross-legged on the floor, backs against the wall, the heater humming softly in the corner. 

My room slowly turns into a battlefield.

Highlighters, paper, snacks wrappers, textbooks half-open.

A ramen graveyard grows on the desk.

Sticky notes cover the walls. 

One night, Su-ho calls his granny after dinner, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder while he stirs our cup noodles.

"Halmeoni, you won't believe this," he says in a long-suffering voice. "I've been kidnapped by a tiny, heartless dictator. He's hiding me in his basement."

I look up from the pile of assignments. “Are you serious?”

He grins at me and adds into the phone, “Yeah, he makes me copy notes until my hand cramps. He even rationed my snacks.”

I throw a crumpled post-it at him.

He ducks and smirks, still talking.

“If I’m not back by the weekend, put up some posters of me with that red jacket..."

I snatch the phone. “Hi, Granny. He’s lying. He’s being fed three times a day and given a bed to sleep in.”

Granny just laughs.

I hang up before Su-ho can start dramatizing again.

The stress doesn’t let up.

There’s never enough time. There’s always one more paper, one more formula, one more historical event! 

Su-ho’s dark circles deepen. His smiles get looser. He starts talking in incomplete sentences.

“Eunnie, the thing, the...thing with the numbers...”

“You mean math?”

“Yeah, that.”

I make instant coffee at 2 AM. He drinks it like water.

Somewhere between exhaustion and delirium, we share a candy bar and Su-ho asks me if mitochondria is a part of an atom. 

I almost choke on chocolate. 

The sounds of our laughter ripple through the quiet corners of my apartment. 

Keeping an eye on Su must be the worst chore in the world! 

He tries to nap mid-copy. Head dipping, pen still moving, eyes fully closed.

“Su,” I warn.

He jerks up. “M’fine. Just blinking real slow.”

“You’re writing the word ‘banana’ in the middle of a physics formula.”

He looks. Blinks. “Huh.”

I threaten him with cold water.

He doesn’t believe me.

So I fill a mug, hover behind him, and casually let a drop fall on his neck.

He shrieks like a cat in the shower.

“You psycho!”

“Stay awake.”

“You need help.”

“You need to pass.”

He sulks for an hour.

I win.

We argue over handwriting.

“Why do you write like a drunk chicken?”

“Why do you draft like a robot?”

“Just copy the damn thing!”

“I am! But your '4' looks like a triangle!”

We don’t mean any of it.

Most nights, we’re too tired to brush our teeth. He crashes beside me, fully clothed, face half-buried in my pillow.

I take the couch some nights. Other times, he mutters, “Just get up here,” and makes room.

We sleep back to back at first.

By the fourth night, I wake up with his arm slung across my waist.

I don’t move.

One night, I catch him yawning into his arm, fingers twitching from hours of copying.

“Put that pen down and stretch.”

“I can still go,” he mumbles.

“You’ve copied the same page twice.”

“I remember it backwards now.”

I grab his hoodie, pull it over his head to jolt him.

“Hey!”

“Don’t test me. I’ll put wasabi in your mouth if you fall asleep again.”

“You’re not human.”

“You knew that when you moved in.”

He grins faintly. “Still came anyway.”

That makes me stop.

Just for a second.

At 3:27 AM, I look at him across the paper-strewn room.

His hoodie is half-off one shoulder. He’s fallen asleep with his head on my physics notes.

And my heart does something weird in my chest.

Like gratitude. Like guilt.

Like L o v... 

Stop! I tell myself. 

A week later... 

We’re both huddled over the phone, counting incoming transfers.

"Thirty thousand," I mutter, scrolling.

"Twenty," Su-ho echoes, squinting at my screen.

"Ten thousand from that guy who sends his gratitude to the 'MMA final boss'."

Su-ho snorts. “Hard-earned respect.”

I roll my eyes and punch in the numbers, adding them to Su-ho's current savings from odd jobs. 

We stare at the final total.

It’s enough! 

Su-ho doesn’t say anything at first. He just blinks.

Then, suddenly, he’s hugging me. Full arms. Hoodie and all.

"Yah..." I sputter. "You’re squishing the calculator app."

"I don’t care," he mumbles, voice rough. "Thank you, Si-Eun."

My hand hovers awkwardly behind his back, unsure whether to pat or punch him.

“Whatever..." I say, ears turning pink. But my fingers curl into his hoodie anyway.

He smells like caramel, and cotton, and something gently him. 

Next morning, the classroom's half-asleep with exam tension.

Su-ho stands when the teacher walks in.

"Teacher Shin Jun, I've arranged the semester fee," he says, formal, with a slight hint of defiance. 

The teacher looks up from his attendance register, eyes drifting to me for half a second before he speaks.

"Well, I can see...at least you’re not failing in the friendship department," he says, lips twitching.

Su-ho ducks his head. "Yes, sir."

The moment the teacher walks out of the door, the class wakes up like a popped soda can.

“Yah, Si-Eun, you miracle-worker.”

“My man, you wrote better than the textbooks!”

"Si-Eun for class president, I say."

A slap to my back. Another on my arm.

Even their gratitude is loud, physical, and mostly bruising.

Su-ho watches me get mildly assaulted with a weird look on his face.

And then he bites his bottom lip and grins.

That dazzling grin aimed right at me. 

My face burns all the way to my ears.

"Stop looking at me like that," I mutter.

He just shrugs, smug. “Can’t help it.”

I bury my nose into my book, hiding my flushed face.