Work Text:
“Number 120”
At the sound echoing across the schoolyard, Gyeong-seok stood up and leaned out the window. Even from the second floor, she was easy to spot—taller than anyone else in the club. Probably being called by number for the upcoming competition, she took her stance with practiced ease. Her long legs, visible even through her tracksuit, caught the golden light of the setting sun.
“You still drawing that tranny?”
Mi-nyeo, her long curly hair tied back, scoffed as she chucked paint at a canvas nearly three times her size. She wiped her mud-streaked hands on a rag. Gyeong-seok didn’t even look at her—his pencil was already moving again, fast and focused.
“Let me draw what I want.”
“I swear, I’ve got her number memorized now. Every time they say ‘120,’ you’re up like a meerkat.”
“…You could’ve just joined a uni club. No need to come all the way back to this tiny school.”
“Those university kids all bitch about my style! You’re the only one here who doesn’t. So, watch out—hiya!”
A splash of wet paint landed squarely on Gyeong-seok’s uniform. The eye-popping green left speckles across the mostly white canvas.
“…Ugh.”
“Did it get on you? If you end up entering that, list me as co-artist.”
“I’m not entering this.”
He quickly wiped it with his apron, only to smear it further. Clicking his tongue, Gyeong-seok looked back outside. Her turn seemed to be over. He sat back down and layered more black over the silhouette she had left on the canvas.
The first time he saw her was while walking down the second-year hallway. She was walking with Yong-sik—a repeat student—and a girl who was either in the same year or one below. He remembered the arc her hair made as she moved. Whatever Dae-ho had been saying next to him about getting scolded in the hair inspection being proof of his masculinity or some rock ‘n’ roll crap—it all just faded. Like a burst of petals. A moment. Maybe some people felt weird about her looks or gender, but to Gyeong-seok, that didn’t matter. Whether she was hiding her tall height, similar to his, or just walking hunched to match her friends, her presence always caught his eye. He didn’t need a reason. If anything, that was the reason.
“Hey—”
“Pretty sure today’s not a free-draw day.”
“I already… kinda finished.”
Gi-hun, suddenly energized by his discovery, ignored the completed assignment and instead picked up the sketch Gyeong-seok had been trying to hide.
“You… This is Hyun-ju, right?”
“Hyun-ju?”
“Yeah, Cho Hyun-ju. She’s the ace of the shooting team.”
A name that fit her composed presence perfectly. Gyeong-seok was a little scared of how easily he was convinced, considering he’d barely seen her a handful of times. Judging by the way Gi-hun’s usually stern face softened a bit, she must be seriously talented. He felt lame just thinking about how he, unlike her, was still scared of his unavoidable military service.
“She looks exactly like this. No mistaking it.”
“She’s… in the shooting club?”
“Dude, you can see the range from this window. How did you not notice?”
Sure enough, when Gi-hun pointed it out, the range was right there. Gyeong-seok vaguely remembered hearing number calls through the window now and then.
“Huh? Oh… yeah, no. I didn’t realize.”
“You’re hopeless. Next time we’re practicing and you see me, wave or something.”
“…Why tell me that?”
“No reason. Just bored.”
Gi-hun took Gyeong-seok’s assignment, walked over to the teacher’s desk, and pinned it to the blackboard. From afar, the highlights that looked decent before now seemed a little too blurry.
“Okay, if you’re done with your assignments, you’re free to draw. But don’t slack off—at least put in as much effort as Gyeong-seok here. Then you can enjoy some quality time with your muse.”
“……!”
Gyeong-seok shot to his feet, mouth opening and closing like a fish. A ripple of chuckles passed through the room. Yeah, even to outsiders, this was totally a crush. He couldn’t even remember how it started, how he fell for someone he’d never spoken to. Nobody warned him first crushes could feel this frustrating.
“Number 120.”
She was called again. Gyeong-seok jumped to the window. The sunlight was almost gone now; he had to rely on the last glimmers of light on the ground to track her form.
“…How do you even talk to someone like that?”
“Just go for it next time you see her in the hallway. Like, ‘Excuse me, señorita.’”
Dae-ho, done with club activities, sat on a desk and formed a heart with his fingers. The impression was obviously of someone familiar.
“I’m not… that purple-haired guy.”
“Yeah, Thanos has freaky social skills, but you could still learn a thing or two. You just keep watching her from a distance—you don’t even know what her voice sounds like. You okay being a silent stalker forever?”
“If I could just talk to her, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
At school, Thanos’s shameless flirting was already part of the background noise. In the pause, the pop pop of her hitting targets could still be heard.
“You like her enough to ditch your contest entry just to draw her. You even left your friend hanging so you could finish this.”
“…Contest… right. Actually… maybe I should’ve done this all along.”
“…Wait, you’re seriously gonna submit this?”
Even just thinking about facing her made his mind go blank. For someone as awkward as him, drawing might be the only real communication he had.
“I mean… this just feels like all I’ve got.”
“You’re so weirdly bold sometimes.”
“When they put it up, only the submission number shows. She’ll never know it was me… I just want her to know someone’s cheering her on.”
She had already started packing up. Gi-hun, standing by the targets, looked up and made eye contact. Remembering the wave, Gyeong-seok hesitated, then just gave a half-smile and slipped back into the room.
When Gi-hun saw the drawing, he smirked slightly and accepted it without a word. The next day, after it was announced that Hyun-ju had done well in the regional competition, the drawing was displayed right in the center of the art room. It even got a little buzz among students.
“You see the art club’s stuff?”
“Yeah. That one of her, right?”
“Guy’s got weird taste, huh?”
Thanks—or maybe no thanks—to her success, Gyeong-seok’s crush was nicely camouflaged. During the assembly, while she stood tall receiving her award, the whispers behind her seemed louder than usual. Maybe it was just guilt—he couldn’t stand the idea that his own selfish feelings might get her judged unfairly.
On the way back from the assembly, she was standing in front of the art room. Had she heard the gossip? But no—she was smiling. Maybe Yeong-mi, her always-present little friend, had urged her, because she was shyly taking a picture beside the painting marked “246.” The orange background Gyeong-seok had added to cover the green splotches from Mi-nyeo actually suited her well. Dae-ho, walking next to him, nudged him in the back.
“…Nah, not now.”
“If not now, when?! Go!”
“…?”
Startled by Dae-ho’s shout, Hyun-ju looked up. Crap. For the first time ever, Gyeong-seok locked eyes with her. His heart clenched. His throat went bone-dry.
“Ah! Second-floor prince!”
“…What?”
Yeong-mi lit up the moment she saw him.
“Unni, I knew it! You’re Number 246, right? You’re always watching Hyun-ju! I’ve been calling you that in my head—‘the prince from the second floor!’”
“Uh, I was just…”
“Pfft, prince.”
Gyeong-seok had no energy to shush Dae-ho’s laughter. His cheeks were burning. All he could do was look down and scratch his head. Hyun-ju was watching him. She traced her own outline on the canvas with her fingers.
“…Thank you. This is… just really…”
“She looks just like this! So pretty!”
“Yeong-mi…”
“…It’s… beautiful.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them. Hyun-ju’s eyes softened.
“You looked so beautiful… standing tall at the line, aiming straight ahead.”
“…Thank you.”
Her voice was lower and softer than he’d imagined. Gyeong-seok gave a quiet nod, gripping his sweaty palms tightly.