Chapter Text
Most people were surprised when Seo Kyoungbae showed up in the Advanced Placement Modern History class — not because he wasn’t smart, but because no one expected the loud, always-late, basketball-playing transfer student to care about politics and revolutions.
Turns out, he’d aced the placement test by accident ( “I thought it was a survey,” he admitted), and Ms. Park, intrigued and slightly amused, let him stay. Kyoungbae didn’t mind. The class was small, the desks near the window got good light, and apparently, someone in the third row — someone with sharp eyes and sharper comebacks — made the lectures a lot less boring.
The first time Seo Kyoungbae walked into the advanced class though, he was five minutes late and annoyingly confident about it.
“Sorry, got a little lost,” he said with a grin, ruffling his hair like that would somehow distract from the interruption. The teacher sighed, but most of the class chuckled — except for the girl seated by the window, arms crossed and face unreadable.
That was Ryu Sarang.
Kyoungbae caught her gaze for a second. She looked unimpressed.
Perfect.
He scans the whole classroom once again for a seat, about to be washed with a huge wave of regret when he finally realizes he’s surrounded by seniors . Kyoungbae never expected to feel like the odd one out in any classroom, but walking into an advanced placement class as a junior — youngest in the room, by a year no less — definitely did the trick. He wore confidence like a favorite hoodie, casual and familiar, but even he couldn’t bluff his way through being the new kid among seniors.
Luckily to him, he saw a familiar face. Song Seungho raised a hand first, and he rushed his way over. Seems like the world was on his side when he realised the seat next to Seungho was the only one left, and once Kyoungbae dropped into it, Seungho gave him a half hug instantly.
“Yo – How?” he asked, already half-smiling. Seungho was in the basketball team, one of his best friends too.
“Bumped up,” Kyoungbae said, tapping the edge of his desk. “Academics or something. Don’t ask.”
Seungho laughed like that was the best answer he’d ever heard. “You talk like you’re already over this class.”
“I kind of am.” Kyoungbae gets himself comfortable on his desk, but suddenly stops, looking at his friend suspiciously. “Wait, how are you in this class?”
“Yah!” Seungho yells, loud enough for Ms. Park to shush him. They glance at each other and can’t help but share a laugh.
From that day on, Seungho had a new partner-in-chaos — someone who could match his volume and shamelessness joke for joke. Which meant Sarang’s peaceful study environment was officially over.
She turns to her left to secretly glance at the junior, and when she meets his eyes, she makes sure he knows how displeased she is with his existence. Though she least expected Kyoungbae to smile back at her, and it annoys her even more.
The next day, she expresses her dislike towards him to her long-time friend Seungho, who raises an eyebrow.
“He’s not that bad though,” Seungho says. “He actually got Ms. Park to laugh. Like, genuinely.”
Sarang didn’t look up from her notebook. “She only laughs when students suffer.”
“Exactly,” Seungho said, delighted.
Just then, another round of laughter echoed from the front of the class — Seo Kyoungbae again. He was scratching the back of his neck, flashing that easy, too-sure grin that had the whole class eating out of the palm of his hand. Even Ms. Park didn’t scold him for not reading up on the topic handed to them the day before. In fact, she looked like she was trying not to smile.
Sarang narrowed her eyes.
“He’s too confident,” she muttered. “He’s late and never does his reading homework.”
“You’re just mad he’s funnier than you,” Seungho teased. “And he can get away with it too.”
“I’m funnier in ways that don’t get me detention.”
“Sure,” he said. “But admit it — he’s kind of charming. Girls his grade are crazy over him.”
Sarang didn’t answer. Her eyes briefly flicked toward Kyoungbae, who met her gaze and tilted his head like he was trying to read her mind.
She looked away.
It was just her luck that the next group project paired her with him. Seo Kyoungbae. The boy who was allergic to silence and allergic-er to sitting still.
She watches Seungho dramatically letting go of Kyoungbae, rolling her eyes at the scene.
“Oh Romeo, don’t ever forget me,” Seungho clasps his hand tighter with Kyoungbae’s, who shares the same mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh Juliet, how could I ever! You are my forever love, my – ”
Sarang was getting annoyed each second of it, especially when she’s waiting for Seungho to get up from her new designated seat for the year. Yes, being partners meant being seatmates too.
“Song Seungho!” All three heads turn to the seat behind them, and see a furious Choi Jungeun glaring at him. “I’ll give you three seconds or you’re dead.”
Sarang stifles a giggle when Jungeun starts counting, and Seungho scrambles off of his seat to move, afraid of Jungeun’s wrath. She meets Jungeun’s eyes, who winks at her, causing her to smile.
“Heyyy, partner.”
Her smile fades.
She sighed as she slid into the chair next to him. Mentally grumbling to herself as she starts organizing her now new desk, partially aware with how he’s staring at her every move but she tries her best to ignore it.
Kyoungbae leaned over, and her breath hitches. “I promise I’m smarter than I look.”
“That bar’s underground,” she murmured, but the corners of her mouth twitched despite herself.
“Still counts as flirting,” he said easily, and Sarang almost dropped one of her books.
“So, when do you wanna work on the project?” Kyoungbae asked after class ended, already slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
“I’m free after school. Most days,” Sarang said, already pulling out her planner.
“I’ve got basketball practice three times a week,” he said. “Minwook-hyung’s training us for the Olympics.”
Sarang bites back a smile. “I’ve got newspaper editing on Mondays and Thursdays.”
He groaned. “You’re one of those students, huh?”
“One of what?”
“The organized kind. With color-coded notes and probably ten backup pens.”
“So what if I am?” She glares, and he raises both of his hands defensively. “I respect the hustle.”
She smiled, despite herself. “Library every two days? After school?”
“Deal. But if you bring highlighters, I'm walking out.”
“No promises.”
Their first library session was supposed to be all about research and structuring arguments for their presentation. It became half an hour of bickering over font choices and who got to title the shared Google Doc.
“You can’t call it Death and Democracy: The Remix!” Sarang hissed.
“Why not?” Kyoungbae grinned. “It’s catchy.”
Still, she couldn’t deny he had ideas—good ones, sometimes better than hers. And he was earnest, in his own distracting, infuriating way. He even showed up to the second meeting on time, hair damp from practice, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands like it was cold, even though it wasn’t.
Sarang tried not to look. Failed.
It wasn’t just that he was loud and chaotic and a little too observant. It was that he noticed things. Like how she tapped her pen three times when she was stuck on a sentence. Or how she preferred the table near the back window. Or how she never packed a snack, even when they stayed late.
“I got an extra,” he said once, sliding a choco pie across the table without looking at her.
“I don’t want—” she started, but he just shrugged.
“Okay. I’ll eat it later then.”
She stared at it. Then at him. Then took it without a word.
And maybe that was the beginning of the problem.
Because somewhere between the late-night editing sessions, the hallway teasing, the not-quite-smiles and almost-confessions, Sarang found herself looking forward to the next time he’d talk too much.
Even if she’d never admit it out loud.
Another thing about Seo Kyoungbae was that he stares a lot too. Just like how the other day, when Kyoungbae leaned back in his chair, watching Sarang highlight her notes with laser precision.
“You know,” he said, tapping his pen against the table, “you highlight like it’s a sacred ritual.”
She didn’t look up. “That’s because it is. You’re just mad you don’t even own a highlighter.”
“I do. It’s pink,” he said smugly.
She raised an eyebrow. “And you use it to…?”
“Make flowers in the margins.”
“…you’re a child.”
“You’re just mad my notes are prettier than yours.” Kyoungbae shows her one of his doodles. “See? It’s cute.”
Sarang fought back a smile and failed. “You doodled a hamster wearing sunglasses next to the word ‘democracy.’”
“Historical context,” he said. “Hamsters are always watching.”
She snorted, then quickly covered her mouth. He stared at her for a second, like he was trying to bottle that moment.
“Do you ever act normal around anyone else?” she asked. He tilted his head. “Nope. Just you.”
Her ears turned pink.
The next meet up, it was cold. It was raining all day, and Sarang just happened to leave her sweater at home. Anyone in the vicinity could see how terribly she was shivering.
“I think we should read up on the – ”
Kyoungbae sees Sarang rubbing her arms as she scans through her notes. She looks at the book he was showing her, unaware of his stare.
“You cold?” Kyoungbae asked, and she looked up at him, shaking her head. “I’m fine. What were you saying earlier?”
Quickly, he peeled off his hoodie and handed it to her without looking. “You lie like a straight-A student who forgot an assignment.”
“…That’s oddly specific.”
“You did that once,” he said smugly. “Didn’t you?”
She gave him a face, holding the hoodie in her hands with hesitation, but since he offered, she might as well take the opportunity. She pulled it over her head, smiling slightly. It was warm. Smelled faintly like laundry detergent and something comforting — something him.
Kyoungbae glanced over once, just long enough to see her tug the sleeves over her hands.
He looked away quickly and bit the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling like a fool.
After that, it started happening more often — little things.
“Wait up.”
Sarang turned, surprised to find Kyoungbae jogging a few steps to catch up with her as she exited the classroom.
“What is it?” she asked, clutching her books closer.
He scratched the back of his neck, casually falling into step beside her. “I, uh… forgot what page we were supposed to summarize for next week’s reading. Was it from the supplementary packet or the main text?”
Sarang blinked. “We literally wrote that down. Together.”
“Yeah, but my handwriting’s kind of tragic, and I trust your notes more.” He offered her a lopsided grin.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s page 142 to 156. Supplementary.”
“Cool, cool.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You heading to your locker?”
“Obviously.”
“I’ll walk you there.”
She slowed slightly, not used to people offering. “You don’t even know where it is.”
“I’ll learn,” he said. “Besides, what if you get ambushed by rogue underclassmen asking for tutoring help? I’d never forgive myself.”
“Tragic,” she said flatly. “Truly heroic of you. Especially when you’re an underclassmen yourself.”
Kyoungbae rolled his eyes. “I’m only a year younger.”
When they reached her locker, he leaned on the one next to it like he’d been doing this forever.
The next day, it happened again.
He’d show up by her locker just as she was closing it. At first, he’d pretend he needed to clarify something about the project. “Wait, did you say we needed to cite that paper in APA or MLA again?” he’d ask, holding up his phone.
She caught on quick.
“You’re here too often for someone who claims he doesn’t care about grades.”
“Maybe I just like the walk.”
The next few days, he’d walk with her. Always with an excuse. He’d ask about history notes or say he forgot the homework or pretend he needed a reminder of which hallway had the vending machine he already visited every morning.
But eventually, the excuses got lazier. Until one day, he just appeared next to her and said, “Hey.”
And all she said was, “Hi.”
So they got used to it — walking to and from their lockers, their conversations flowing from homework to random debates about which snack combo was elite.
No question. No excuse. Just them.
It slowly became automatic, too. How they kept gravitating toward each other.
Wherever Sarang sat, Kyoungbae always quietly pulled the chair next to her. Even if it wasn’t during one of their meetup days. If Kyoungbae’s practice was cancelled, one would always find him sitting next to Sarang in the library, studying–teasing her.
At this point, Kyoungbae was used to it. Sitting next to her. It felt weird not to.
She noticed, of course. Noticed the way he always chose her side of the table. The way his notebook would slide ever closer to hers when they were working.
She never said anything, but she started saving the chair next to her every time — pushing her bag into it, claiming it before anyone else could.
It was dumb. But it made her feel like maybe — maybe — he felt what she felt.
One day, he finally got around to asking her the one thing he’d been rehearsing since the week they met:
“Wanna eat lunch with me and the guys? I promise they’re not as annoying as they look.”
It took her five excruciatingly long minutes to decide, but Sarang eventually agreed to eat lunch with Kyoungbae’s friends—some of the guys from the CYE basketball team. But only on one condition: that she could bring her own friends too, which meant the usual crew from IZNA, the school’s newspaper club.
Halfway through lunch, Sarang had already memorized all their faces. Jeon Minwook, the captain of the basketball team, sat at the far end with his second-in-command, Ma Jingxiang. They seemed to be deep in game strategy, unbothered by the chatter from their younger group. Jang Yeojun and Kim Sungmin held down the middle, the designated mood-makers, busy dividing their attention among everyone. Song Seungho sat opposite them, clearly trying to join the “beagle line” by wedging himself into the chaotic middle zone.
Sarang picked a seat at the far end, and like clockwork, Kyoungbae slid into the spot beside her—planting himself squarely between her and Seungho. She didn’t pay it much mind, scanning the cafeteria for her friends, who said they’d be there in a minute. From the crowd, she spotted Jeemin and Saebi waving, and her eyes lit up.
They joined the table so naturally, greeting the boys like they were already long-time friends. Jungeun happily took the seat next to Seungho, who gave her a disgruntled look.
“Ho Seung Song!”
“It’s Song Seung Ho to you, Choi,” he muttered, glaring. Jungeun just smiled.
Jeemin and Mai slid into the free seats next to Jungeun, across from the two older boys, who paused their strategy talk to greet the newcomers. Jiyoon and Koko sat down near Sungmin, initially shy but quickly warming up thanks to his energy and jokes.
Saebi was the last to sit—because the first person she saw was Kyoungbae.
“Kangbae?”
Sungmin’s head shot up at the nickname, an edge of possessiveness in his voice. “Oh? I call him that, though…”
“Ohhh, Saebsaeb!”
“Wait, you two know each other?” Sarang blinked, eyeing Saebi, who took the seat beside her.
“Same homeroom last year,” Saebi explained. “He helped me pass algebra.”
“He’s weirdly good at math,” Yeojun added, poking at his food. “Don’t let his face fool you.”
“Hey,” Kyoungbae said. “My face is delightful.”
“Is it now?” Saebi hummed. Kyoungbae only shrugged, exchanging a look with her that only the two of them seemed to understand.
They laughed, and Sarang smiled along—but for some reason, her stomach twisted a little as she watched them. There was something easy and familiar in the way they talked.
It shouldn’t have bothered her.
But it did.
The lunch table buzzed with overlapping conversations—Sungmin arguing with Jiyoon about pineapple on pizza, Yeojun dramatically faking a cough to try skipping P.E. (which Jungeun absolutely didn’t buy), and Minwook telling Jeemin and Mai an embarrassing story about Jingxiang.
Kyoungbae returned from the cafeteria line and casually placed a strawberry yogurt in front of her.
Sarang blinked. “I didn’t ask for—”
“You like strawberry, right?” he asked, already unwrapping his chopsticks. “If not, I’ll eat it.”
She looked down at the yogurt, lips twitching. Kyoungbae didn’t look at her—he was too busy shaking his chocolate milk carton like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you being so—?”
“Charming? Thoughtful? Irresistible?”
“Suspicious,” she said flatly.
Kyoungbae leaned in, eyes dancing. “Then maybe stop accepting my lunch offerings if you’re gonna be so suspicious.”
“I didn’t ask for it.”
“You didn’t have to,” he said smugly.
She rolled her eyes, but the heat creeping up her neck was impossible to ignore. The rest of the table watched with barely concealed amusement as Sarang peeled back the yogurt lid. She muttered a soft thank you, and Kyoungbae just kept eating, humming in response like it was nothing.
The worst part was that he kept doing it. Every. Single. Day.
Especially after he found out how much she hated queueing in line.
Jungeun, who had been watching the whole thing unfold, nudged Seungho and tilted her head toward the two of them.
Together, they watched the way Kyoungbae leaned in just a little closer when Sarang spoke. The way Sarang smiled without realizing it. The way they looked at each other, like something unspoken was quietly taking shape between them.
“How long do you think before one of them cracks?” Jungeun asked, smirking.
Seungho grinned. “Two weeks. Tops.”
Sarang let out a loud laugh at one of Kyoungbae’s jokes, and Jungeun raised an eyebrow, smiling.
Seungho leaned closer again. “Five dollars says Kyoungbae confesses first.”
Jungeun rolled her eyes. “Please. Sarang’s gonna crack before he does. She’s already saving him a seat in the library.”
“She does that?”
“Every. Time.”
They exchanged a grin—conspiratorial and very, very entertained.
Seungho reached a hand under the table, discreetly. “Bet?”
“You’re on.”