Chapter Text
Zhou Anxin is fifteen, a new freshman at Solar High School. He is the kind of boy who can trip even when there is nothing on the ground. His friends laugh and call him clumsy. His teachers shake their heads and say it’s lack of spatial awareness. His parents, on the other hand, simply call it a problem. But Anxin has his own word for it.
He calls it fate. Because somehow, every fall and stumble in his life feels like it was leading to this morning.
It was early September. Students of Solar High filled the streets in their neat gray uniforms. Anxin made his way toward the pedestrian crossing in front of the school gates. His backpack hung carelessly off one shoulder, and he wore his earbuds even though they weren’t working. The battery had died halfway through his walk, but he refused to take them out. It looked cooler this way, he told himself.
With no music to distract him, he started muttering lines from his favorite drama, Lovely Runner, under his breath. “Even if you were to end up in a different time... I would jump over time and space to see you.” He tried to copy the male lead’s deep, dramatic tone. The result, unfortunately, sounded less like a heartthrob and more like someone with a sore throat.
“You’re creepy,” mutters a voice beside him. Anxin turned his head to see his best friend, Chung Sanghyeon, chewing on a piece of bread from the convenience store.
“It’s called acting,” Anxin replies, stepping onto the curb to wait for the pedestrian light to change.
“It’s called embarrassing,” Sanghyeon says. “You’re going to scare people before the first period.”
Anxin doesn’t answer. His eyes are already fixed behind his best friend. There, he saw someone like who just walked out of an idol drama, standing a tall boy in a grade 11 blazer. Black hair, perfectly styled despite the wind. Tie slightly loose, like following uniform rules is beneath him.
Lee Sangwon.
Everyone at Solar High knows the name Lee Sangwon. Of course Anxin knows him too, how could he not? Sangwon is the kind of upperclassman who is very popular just for his looks. He’s tall, unfairly handsome, intelligent, and the star of the basketball team. People say he turned down ten confessions in one semester alone. Some call it tragic, others call it inspiring. Anxin pretends he doesn’t care about rumors like that, but sometimes he wonders what it would be like to be one of those ten.
To the rest of the school, Sangwon is an inspiration and a role model. To Anxin, Sangwon feels more like a jump scare. One accidental glance in his direction and Anxin’s heart rate shoots up like he’s running a marathon. It is unfair, really. One person should not be allowed to look that perfect before the first period.
The light turns green and everyone starts moving. Everyone except Anxin, who is still busy staring. His best friend yells his name somewhere from the middle of the pedestrian lane, but Anxin doesn’t hear a thing. He blinks, realizes the green light is already ticking down to red, and feels his soul leave his body. He hasn’t even taken a proper step yet. Well, technically he did when Sanghyeon shoved him forward but he froze halfway.
Now he has two options: run to safety like a normal student, or stand in the middle of the road and let the cars end his suffering. Honestly, both sound terrible, but at least one would be quick.
Up close, Lee Sangwon is unfairly attractive. His jawline could cut glass. His eyes are sharp but not unkind. And right now, they’re fixed on Anxin with the faintest hint of irritation.
“Watch where you’re going,” Sangwon says, his voice low and calm, like the world wasn’t spinning wildly around Anxin’s head. Before Anxin could respond, Sangwon had already released his wrist and stepped ahead, disappearing into the sea of students at the gate.
Anxin froze mid-step, heart pounding like he’d just run a marathon. This is it. This is destiny.
“Bro…” Sanghyeon’s voice pulls him back to reality. Anxin turns around him.
“Sanghyeon. Do you realize what just happened?”
“Yes. You looked stupid.”
“No!” Anxin slaps his hand to his chest. “He cares about me.”
Sanghyeon blinks. “What—”
“That wasn’t just helping. That was… that was fate crossing our paths!” Anxin says, starting to pace in small circles. “Think about it. He helped me, we made eye contact… He touched my wrist, Sanghyeon. My wrist!”
“You mean the part of your body people grab when they’re trying to save you from getting hit by a car?”
Anxin ignores the sarcasm. “Do you understand what this means?”
“Yes. That you’re delusional.”
“It means—” Anxin straightens his back, eyes blazing with newfound purpose— “Sangwon loves me.”
Sanghyeon nearly chokes on his bread. “WHAT?!”
Anxin’s voice drops to an intense whisper. “That's the only explanation. Out of all the people on that crossing, he chose to help me.”
“Because you were the only idiot.”
But Anxin’s brain is already spiraling into a montage of imagined moments: Sangwon waiting for him after class, Sangwon tying his necktie in the morning, Sangwon catching his cold because he insisted on carrying Anxin’s umbrella.
“This is the start of our love story,” Anxin says dreamily.
“Yeah? What about starting your homework?” Sanghyeon mutters.
They passed through the school gates, Anxin floating on air while Sanghyeon trailing beside him with the weary patience of someone who had known him for too many years.
The first period passes in a blur. Anxin’s mind isn’t on the equations on the blackboard or the teacher’s lecture about quadratic functions… it’s on the way Sangwon’s fingers had felt around his wrist. Firm but gentle. Like a prince leading a princess across a ballroom floor.
When the bell rings for break, Anxin nearly trips over his chair in his rush to get to the senior building.
“Where are you going?” Sanghyeon calls after him.
“To my love!”
The senior building is two floors taller and infinitely cooler than the middle school one. Rumor has it the vending machines here sell better snacks, and the senior guard it like a sacred temple. Anxin scans the hallways, peeking into classrooms under the excuse of “looking for a teacher.”
And then he sees him. Lee Sangwon. He’s leaning casually against the wall, chatting with another senior. Laughing at something the other boy says. His smile is—
“Are you just going to stand there staring like a creep?” Sanghyeon’s voice comes from behind him. Apparently, he followed.
“I’m observing my future boyfriend,” Anxin whispers.
“Please stop calling him that before someone hears you.”
Sangwon glances in their direction, and Anxin panics, pretending to study the notice board. His heart pounds in his ears.
“He looked at me. That’s progress.”
“Bro, he looked at you because you’re a creep,” Sanghyeon says.
Anxin ignores him. He’s already making plans. Tomorrow, he’ll wear his nicest sweater vest. Maybe “accidentally” dropped his book when he passed Sangwon so the older boy had to pick it up. Or leave a note on Sangwon’s desk, something casual but mysterious. Or offer him a snack in the cafeteria, wrapped like a gift. Anything to strengthen the bond forged on that sacred pedestrian crossing.
As the break ends and they’re herded back toward the middle school building, Anxin whispers under his breath, “Just wait for me, Lee Sangwon. Our love story is only beginning.”
Sanghyeon sighs. Loudly.
The next period is English, which is usually one of Anxin’s favorite subjects, not because he’s good at it (he’s not), but because the teacher often plays videos of native speakers. That means time to zone out and doodle in his notebook.
Today, though, his notebook isn’t filled with tiny dragons or stickmen sword-fighting. Every page has become a chaotic shrine to Lee Sangwon.
PAGE ONE:
“Sangwon loves Anxin” written in overly curly handwriting. And a wobbly doodle of a tall boy holding a shorter boy’s wrist while crossing the street.
PAGE TWO:
Signs he loves me:a. Helped me cross the road = cares about my life.
b. Made eye contact = soul connection.
c. Warm hand = warm heart.
PAGE THREE:
Future Couple Nicknames:
-
WonXin
-
Lee Anxin
He’s in the middle of trying out different signature styles for Mr. Lee Anxin when the teacher’s voice slices through his daydream.
“Anxin, please read the next paragraph.”
He freezes. The textbook is open to a story about penguins. Clearing his throat, he tries to sound calm while secretly panicking. “Uh… peng… pengu… peng—”
From somewhere in the back, Sanghyeon groans loudly. “Penguins.”
“Yes! Penguins,” Anxin says, forcing a smile. “Penguins live in—uh—Antarc… Antarc-taco—”
“Antarctica,” half the class says at once. Anxin waves it off. “Yeah, that. Anyway—”
“Just sit down,” the teacher sighs.
When class ends, Sanghyeon leans over. “You can’t even read ‘Antarctica,’ but you think you can maintain a relationship with a guy who probably gets straight As?”
Anxin ignores him, carefully tearing a small square from his notebook. On it, he writes: Thank you for helping me cross the streets. Then he drew a tiny heart in the corner.
“What is that?”
“A token of gratitude,” Anxin said proudly. “I’m going to slip it into his locker.”
“Or you could… not.”
Too late. Anxin is already on a mission. The senior lockers were on the second floor of the main building. Normally, underclassmen don’t go there, but Anxin had perfected the art of blending in (or so he believed).
“Look casual,” he whispers to himself as he approaches the rows of gray lockers.
“You look like you’re about to rob the place,” Sanghyeon whispers back.
Anxin scanned the name tags until he found it: LEE SANGWON – 11A. The locker looks like any other, but to Anxin, it glows with a golden aura. He slips the note inside, shuts the door, and takes a deep breath.
“Done. Now we wait.”
“For what? Him filing a restraining order?”
Anxin didn’t have time to answer because footsteps were approaching. Two tall seniors rounded the corner. One of them is Sangwon.
“Abort mission!” Sanghyeon hisses. Too late. Sangwon is already in front of his locker. Anxin, panic mode activated, pretended to be deeply fascinated by a nearby potted plant.
Sangwon opens the locker, reaches in… and pauses. He pulls out the note. For a terrifying moment, Anxin thinks he might crumple it, but instead Sangwon glances around, expression unreadable. Their eyes meet.
It felt like an entire K-drama OST swelled in Anxin’s head. He was sure he saw the faintest smile before Sangwon tucked the note into his pocket and closed the locker. And then he’s gone.
Anxin exhales shakily. “He kept it.”
Sanghyeon stares at him. “Yeah, because he was too polite to throw it in front of you.”
“No, Sanghyeon. This means… he treasures my words.”
“I think it means he didn’t care enough to react.”
At lunchtime, Anxin isn’t hungry. Since Sanghyeon brought a packed lunch, Anxin convinces him to eat in the courtyard instead because Anxin wants to play basketball. On the way, he’s too busy narrating, in painstaking detail, the exact way Sangwon’s fingers had folded the note before slipping it into his pocket.
“…and it wasn’t rushed, you know? Like, he didn’t just stuff it in there. It was deliberate. Gentle.”
“You’ve described it eight times,” Sanghyeon mutters.
“Because each time I remember it, I notice new details.”
Their conversation is cut off by a loud cheer from the school courtyard. Curious, Anxin cranes his neck and spots a group of students crowded around the basketball court. It’s Sangwon. Of course. He dribbles past defenders, hair slightly messy, sweat glistening on his forehead like it was placed there by a production crew. He jumps, the ball leaves his hand in a perfect arc, and... swish. The crowd erupts.
Anxin grips Sanghyeon’s arm. “Do you see that? Do you see the athleticism?”
“I see a guy playing basketball.”
“Well, I see my future husband.”
Before Sanghyeon can reply, Sangwon glances toward the sidelines. For one electrifying second, Anxin is convinced their eyes meet again. He waves. Sangwon looks away.
Anxin refuses to acknowledge that detail. “He’s just shy,” he decides.
They take seats on the bleachers. Sanghyeon opens his lunchbox and starts eating, but Anxin doesn’t even glance at the food. His eyes are locked on the group of 11th-grade boys playing basketball—more specifically, on Lee Sangwon, who, if Anxin squints, almost looks… uncomfortable.
“I think Sangwon thinks you’re a weirdo,” Sanghyeon says through a mouthful of rice. Anxin tears his gaze away for half a second.
“No. That’s just what people look like when they’re trying to hide their feelings.”
Sanghyeon stares at him. “Or when they’re trying to avoid eye contact with the strange freshman who keeps watching them.”
“Think about it,” Anxin presses, leaning in. “He helped me, he kept my note, and now he’s pretending not to see me so people don’t suspect anything. This is romance.”
“Delusion,” Sanghyeon corrects.
Anxin leans back with a satisfied smile. “You’ll see. One day you’re going to tell everyone you witnessed the beginning of this epic love story.”
“Or the beginning of your restraining order.”
Anxin is about to reply when— THUNK!
A basketball slams into the side of his head. The force knocks him sideways, nearly spilling him off the bleacher.
Somewhere on the court, someone shouts, “Sorry!”
The impact is so strong that Anxin’s thoughts turn hazy, the world tilting around him. “Is… Sangwon gonna save me?” he mumbles, swaying slightly.
“No! Wake up, Anxin!” Sanghyeon shakes his shoulder.
But Anxin’s eyes flutter shut, his last thought a blurry image of Sangwon’s perfectly styled hair... and then everything goes black.
When Anxin wakes up, his head feels heavy and his vision blurry. For a moment, he expects to see Sangwon sitting beside him, holding his hand like in a drama. Or maybe Sanghyeon, crying because he’s so worried.
Instead, it’s his cousin, Zhang Jiahao.
“What are you doing here?” Anxin croaks.
“Checking if you’re okay,” Jiahao says, raising an eyebrow.
“Where’s Sangwon?”
“Who? You mean Sanghyeon?”
“No. Sangwon, my future husband.”
“Did the ball hit you that hard? He doesn’t even know you. Sanghyeon already went home.” Jiahao stares at him. “It’s already five p.m.,” Jiahao says, glancing at the clock. “You should go home. What happened to your head isn’t serious.”
Anxin frowns. “Not serious? I got hit by a basketball in the middle of my great love story.”
“Uh-huh,” Jiahao says flatly. “Anyway, I can’t walk you home. I have class until eight.”
“So you’re abandoning your injured cousin?”
“You’re fine,” Jiahao says, standing up. “Go home, take medicine if it hurts, and stop daydreaming about that guy.”
Anxin has no choice but to leave alone. As he steps outside, the late afternoon light feels colder than usual.
That Sanghyeon! He thinks, marching toward the school gates. I thought he was a good friend!
When he reaches the school gate, a major problem appears—well, minor to everyone else, but major to him.
He has to cross the road.
There are no other students around. The street looks wider than usual, the cars are faster. Anxin freezes. Because of his past, the sacred pedestrian crossing incident, he can’t cross the road alone. Not today. Not ever, if he can help it.
What should he do? Maybe… wait for his cousin? Jiahao will be out of class in three hours. Three hours of standing by the gate doesn’t sound that bad… right?
Even if he wants to ride a bus or hail a taxi, the drop-off and pick-up area is on the other side of the road. No other way.
“I can’t cross… nope, can’t do it… not without backup.” Anxin stands at the edge of the sidewalk, muttering to himself. “Then you should’ve waited for more people,” he adds under his breath, pacing a little. “Three hours… I can wait three hours… maybe…”
A shadow falls beside him. Anxin glances up and nearly stops breathing. It’s Sangwon. Backpack slung over one shoulder, headphones resting on his nape, the late sunlight catching in his hair like it’s straight out of a drama scene.
Anxin’s first instinct is to say hi. But for the first time in his life, the words catch in his throat. How is he supposed to ask for help without sounding like a complete idiot? He doesn’t know that Sangwon has already heard him.
“Do you need someone to cross with you?” Sangwon asks, voice calm.
Anxin blinks. “Uh… I mean… if you’re offering…”
Sangwon doesn’t answer right away, he just steps forward, waiting for the traffic to clear. Then, without a word, he starts walking.
Anxin scrambles to catch up, heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the sound of passing cars. Halfway across, the wind catches Sangwon’s hair, and in Anxin’s mind, everything shifts into slow motion. The world blurs; only the two of them exist. Each step feels like it’s pulling him deeper into some fated love story.
By the time they reach the other side, Anxin is sure his soul has left his body and ascended. “Thanks,” he says, trying to sound casual but probably failing.
Sangwon gives a small nod. “See you around.”
And just like that, he’s gone again, walking away, leaving Anxin on the sidewalk clutching his chest like a lovesick fool.
“Our bond,” Anxin whispers to himself, “has leveled up.”
Days turn into weeks. Of course, there’s been progress, at least, that’s what Anxin tells himself. Maybe Sangwon looked his way twice during lunch. Maybe their shoulders almost brushed in the hallway once. The bond was growing. Slowly.
But lately, life has been sabotaging him.
School.
FUCK SCHOOL! Anxin thinks for the hundredth time as he slumps in his seat. Math problems stare back at him from the board like evil little goblins. Quadratic functions, slope-intercepts—whatever the hell calculus is supposed to be. Who cares? He’s not planning to become an engineer. He’s destined for bigger things. An idol. An actor. Someone who graces magazine covers and doesn’t have to touch a calculator ever again.
Bored, Anxin lets his gaze wander. His eyes land on the back of the guy in front of him. Kang Woojin. He remembers Woojin. The guy who laughed loud when Anxin couldn’t pronounce “Antarctica” in English class. Anxin narrows his eyes. Some sins are not so easily forgiven. That’s when inspiration strikes.
Bending down, he reaches under his desk and pulls out his most prized possession: a smooth gray pet rock with a poorly drawn smiley face, named Pigeon. (Don’t ask why it’s named Pigeon. It just is.)
Quietly, Anxin leans forward, glancing around to make sure no one’s looking. Woojin’s backpack is sitting wide open on the floor beside his chair, a perfect target. With delicate precision, Anxin slips Pigeon inside. He leans back, the picture of innocence, while inside his head, an evil laugh echoes.
“Okay, class,” the teacher says, clapping her hands. “Please bring out your math books.”
Anxin’s eyes are glued to Woojin. The moment Woojin reaches into his bag, his expression changes into shock, confusion, and just a hint of horror.
“WHO DEMON PUTS THIS ROCK INSIDE MY BAG?!” Woojin yells, holding Pigeon up like it’s evidence from a crime scene.
Sanghyeon, sitting beside him, blinks. “Why the hell is Pigeon inside your bag?”
“Rock? Pigeon? What is going on?” the teacher demands, looking like she regrets every career choice that brought her here. Sanghyeon turns his head toward Anxin, who is very badly pretending to take notes. His shoulders are shaking with suppressed laughter.
Then Woojin’s eyes widened in realization. “YAH, Anxin-ah!”
The teacher facepalms. “What is wrong with you, Anxin… really…”
Anxin just smiles sweetly. “That’s not me!”
The classroom is already loud with laughter from the rock aka Pigeon Incident, and the teacher looks about one missed coffee away from giving up on life entirely. She rubs her temples, clearly deciding whether she’s paid enough to deal with this.
“Alright,” she says finally, “since some of you are… extra energetic lately—” her eyes land directly on Anxin “—I might as well put that energy to use.”
Anxin blinks innocently. “Me?”
“Yes, you. By the way, Anxin, I’m writing your name down for the Mr. Solar Pageant.”
“WHAT?!” Anxin springs up from his seat like someone just told him math class got extended. “Noooo! Never!”
The teacher raises an eyebrow. “You sure? It’s for the school foundation week.”
Before Anxin can respond, Sanghyeon snorts. “Oh, I know that! Grade 11 students are in charge of the event, right, Seonsaengnim? What was the name of the pageant coordinator this year?”
The teacher glances up from her notes. “You all know him. Lee Sangwon, the one who won last year. He’s passing the crown to the next winner.”
There’s a full second of silence. Then Anxin, who was mid-protest, freezes. His eyes widened like a deer spotting headlights.
Sanghyeon grins slowly. “Oh, but Anxin doesn't want to join, right? That’s what he said—”
“I WILL!!” Anxin shouts, loud enough that Woojin flinches in front of him.
The teacher sighs. “Great. I’ll put your name down.”
Sanghyeon leans over, whispering with a smirk, “So you’re willing to humiliate yourself in front of the entire school just to be near him?”
Anxin doesn’t even look at him. “For love, Sanghyeon. For love.”
The teacher continued explaining the equations, but Anxin’s mind drifted far away. His pen hovers over his math book, not solving for x, but doodling himself wearing a sparkling sash that says Mr. Solar 2025.
In his head, the gymnasium is alive with cheers. Dramatic lighting cuts through the air. Confetti bursts from cannons. A suspiciously expensive smoke machine clouds the stage. There he is, Anxin, standing in a perfectly tailored suit, hair styled like a magazine cover. The crowd chants his name—well, in his head they do.
And then… Sangwon appears.
Front row, looking unfairly handsome in a suit, walking toward him with the glittering crown in slow motion. The K-drama OST swells. Sangwon smiles, raises the crown… and instead of just placing it on Anxin’s head, he leans in and whispers—
“Congratulations, Anxin. You’re mine now.”
The imaginary crowd erupts. Camera flashes go off. Somewhere, a dove takes flight.
Back in the real world, Sanghyeon is staring. “Why are you smiling like that? You look possessed.”
“Just practicing for when they announce my name,” Anxin says with confidence.
“You’re not gonna make it. I’m sure you’re gonna trip on stage before everything else,” Sanghyeon replies.
“Then he’ll catch me,” Anxin says without hesitation.
Later, after class, they decide to study for tomorrow’s quiz in the library. Sanghyeon, Anxin, and their other friend Liyu gather their things. Just as they’re about to leave the room...
“WHO PUT THIS MOP HEAD IN MY BAG?!” Woojin’s voice echoes across the classroom. Anxin bursts out laughing.
Woojin spins around, glaring. “Was it you again?!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Anxin says, clearly lying.
Sanghyeon sighs, pushing Anxin toward the door. “Come on. If we don’t leave now, you’re going to end up banned from his life forever.”
“Worth it,” Anxin mutters, still grinning.
The library is quiet when they walk in. Not peaceful quiet, but the kind that feels like everyone is daring you to make a sound. A few students sit buried in textbooks, highlighters moving so slowly it looks like they are painting instead of studying.
Anxin shuffles over to an empty table by the window, slumping into the chair like he is being dragged to his own funeral. “Why are we even here?” he whispers, already dramatic. “Math isn’t a subject. It’s just numbers personally bullying me.”
“That’s because you never listen,” Sanghyeon says, pulling out his notes.
“I listen,” Anxin protests. “It’s just that the numbers… speak a language I don’t understand.”
Liyu sets down a stack of review sheets. “We have a quiz tomorrow. You need to at least try.”
Anxin sighs dramatically, flopping into his chair like a tragic hero. He picks up a pencil, stares at the first problem, and feels his brain immediately reject it.
And then he heard footsteps.
Anxin doesn’t need to look to know. His entire body just… knows. He turns his head slightly, and saw Lee Sangwon, walking between the tables with a few other seniors.
Anxin’s grip tightens on his pencil. “He’s here,” he whispers.
Sanghyeon doesn’t look up. “Hey, so don’t do anything stupid.”
“I never do anything stupid,” Anxin says.
“That mop head incident was literally ten minutes ago,” Liyu mutters.
Ignoring them both, Anxin tries to look studious, resting his chin on his hand and pretending to read the review sheet. He even flips a page for realism. Sangwon passes by their table, glancing briefly in their direction. Anxin swears, oh he swears, their eyes meet for half a second before Sangwon takes a seat two tables away.
“That’s a sign,” Anxin whispers.
“Here we go again,” Sanghyeon whispers back.
“It’s the start of a love story,” Anxin insists.
“Is he always like this? He’s delusional,” Liyu mutters without looking up.
Anxin doesn’t care. Sangwon is in the same room. That’s all that matters. He tries to focus on the review sheet, but every number looks like Sangwon’s face. Which is unhelpful, because instead of solving equations, he’s now wondering if Sangwon’s jawline is naturally sharp or if it’s the lighting.
Across the table, Liyu is explaining how to factor polynomials. “So you just split—”
Anxin interrupts, “Do you think Sangwon likes guys who are good at math?”
Liyu groans. “Do you think Sangwon even knows you exist?”
“He knows,” Anxin says with confidence. “We’ve had multiple… moments.”
Sanghyeon glances up. “You mean the road-crossing thing?”
“Yes. And the locker note. And that time he might have looked at me during basketball—”
“You were staring like a maniac,” Sanghyeon says.
“I was being friendly,” Anxin corrects.
Before they can argue further, Anxin hears a chair scrape against the floor. He looks up and sees Sangwon is walking toward the bookshelves. Alone. This is it. Fate.
“I’m going to the shelf over there,” Anxin announces, standing up casually.
“You don’t read,” Sanghyeon says.
“I do now.”
He strolls toward the same aisle Sangwon entered, trying to appear natural. Halfway there, he realizes he has no plan. What is he supposed to say? “Hi, I’m bad at math, please date me”? No, too desperate.
He rounds the corner and nearly crashes into Sangwon. “Oh—sorry,” Sangwon says, stepping back.
Anxin’s brain short-circuits. He spoke to me.
“It’s fine,” Anxin blurts. “I like penguins.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“…What?” Sangwon asks.
Anxin swallows hard. “Uh—I mean—do you need help finding a book?”
Sangwon gives a polite smile. “No, I’m good. Thanks.” He turns and walks away, leaving Anxin standing there, replaying the conversation in his head like it was a declaration of love.
He returns to the table, looking smug.
“What happened?” Sanghyeon asks.
“He talked to me,” Anxin says proudly.
Liyu raises a brow. “And?”
Anxin leans back in his chair. “And now… we’re basically dating.”
The next day, the dreaded math quiz happens. Anxin walks into class with the confidence of someone who definitely did not review last night. Sure, he sat in the library for an hour, but between imagining a wedding with Sangwon and accidentally telling him he liked penguins, actual studying didn’t happen.
When the papers are handed back, Anxin flips his over and... 4/20.
Four. Out of twenty.
He stares at the number like it’s personally insulting him. “This is… obviously a mistake,” he mutters.
“It’s not,” Sanghyeon says from the next seat, flipping his paper so Anxin can see the big red 14/20. “This is what happens when you write ‘the answer is love’ for question seven.”
“That was a creative interpretation,” Anxin argues.
Liyu, who also scored 14, leans forward with a smirk. “Four points, Anxin? You could’ve gotten that just by spelling your name right.”
“Shut up,” Anxin says, shoving his paper into his bag like hiding it will erase the shame. “Math isn’t important. Love is important.”
Sanghyeon snorts. “Love isn’t gonna pass you to the next grade.”
“It might,” Anxin says, half-serious. “What if I marry a rich guy?”
The two exchange a look, then burst into laughter. “Yeah, sure,” Liyu says, wiping tears from his eyes. “Good luck finding someone rich enough to pay for all the math classes you’ll fail.”
Anxin pouts, slouching in his chair. “You’re just jealous because I have a better love life than you.”
“You don’t even have a love life,” Sanghyeon says.
“I will,” Anxin replies, chin lifting with determination. “Once I win Mr. Solar and Sangwon puts that crown on my head, everything will change.”
Liyu groans. “Oh no, he’s starting again.”
The same day, right after lunch, Anxin receives a piece of paper that might as well have been written in gold.
Permission Slip
Excused from class for Mr. Solar preparations.
He reads it three times, just to make sure it’s real. Then, with the seriousness of a man holding a winning lottery ticket, he presses it to his chest.
“This,” he declares to Sanghyeon and Liyu, “is the best day of my academic life.”
“You mean your entire school life,” Sanghyeon says dryly.
“Better,” Anxin corrects. “Because this isn’t just about me avoiding math! This is about me stepping into my future.”
Liyu looks at the slip, unimpressed. “It’s literally just an excuse to skip class.”
“You don’t understand,” Anxin says, eyes glinting. “This is fate. The heavens have aligned. The stars have spoken. And the school administration has blessed my union with—”
“Stop,” Sanghyeon interrupts. “You’re not married yet. Or at all.”
“Yet,” Anxin says pointedly.
By the time the bell rings, Anxin is practically bouncing down the hallway. He waves the slip at every teacher he passes, just in case they might try to stop him. His homeroom teacher gives him a look that says thank God you’re leaving.
When he pushes open the doors of the school auditorium, Anxin feels like he’s entering another world. The air smells faintly of floor polish and stage curtains. The stage lights are dimmed, but sunlight streams in from the high windows, dust floating in the beams like tiny golden stars.
There are a few teachers standing near the stage, clipboards in hand, talking in low voices. Around ten other students, maybe his fellow contestants, are scattered about, chatting or fiddling with their phones. On the far side, a cluster of grade 11 students are moving folding chairs into neat rows. These, Anxin knows, are the facilitators.
Somewhere among them… could be him. He scans the room like a detective looking for his number one suspect. But no matter how much he squints, Lee Sangwon aka Mr. Solar 2024 is nowhere in sight. Well. Fine. Fate can make him wait a little longer.
He spots a boy sitting on the edge of the stage, swinging his legs. He’s got neatly parted hair, round glasses, and an easygoing smile.
Anxin marches over. “Hi,” he says, putting on his most charismatic voice. “I’m Anxin, future Mr. Solar 2025.”
The boy blinks, then grins. “Confident, huh? I’m Kaiwen. And… you sure about that ‘future Mr. Solar’ thing?”
“Absolutely,” Anxin says without hesitation. “Unless the crown is cursed, in which case, I’ll pass it on to you. But otherwise, it’s mine.”
Kaiwen laughs. “I like you already.”
They fall into conversation easily. Kaiwen seems like the type who doesn’t mind Anxin’s… intensity. He talks about how he joined Mr. Solar because his friends dared him to, and how he’s just here for the free snacks and the fact he can skip PE for rehearsals.
“Same,” Anxin says, except he very much does not have the same motives.
While they chat, a teacher calls for everyone’s attention. “Alright, contestants, we’re going to start with introductions, then move on to showcasing your talents.”
The teacher scans the list. “Anxin, you’re first.”
His stomach drops. First?! He’s talented, sure, of course he is, but he’s not prepared. He didn’t rehearse, he didn’t warm up, and he definitely didn’t plan on going before everyone else. Maybe he’ll just sing something simple.
Still, with all the grace of a man walking toward his own execution, Anxin stands and heads to the stage. He grabs the mic, glances at the audience. The doors to the auditorium creak open. Lee Sangwon walks in.
Golden. That’s the only word for it. Not the dull yellow of a school bus but golden. Warm, dazzling, untouchable. His black hair catches the light just enough to look cinematic. A backpack hangs loosely from one shoulder, and a pair of headphones rest casually around his neck, like he’s just wandered out of a music video.
Anxin’s brain, unhelpfully, supplies a soundtrack. Golden by Huntrix.
“Are you ready, Anxin?” the teacher asks.
“Yes,” he says, swallowing hard. Then, with far more drama than necessary, “Uhm… this song is for my special someone.”
The room grows quiet with every line. Even the teachers look surprised. Kaiwen’s eyebrows keep going up. Anxin glances at Sangwon. He has stopped walking, clipboard frozen in his hand, eyes on him. That small look gives Anxin courage. He sings louder, putting all his energy into it. His voice is clear and bright, like the main character in a school festival who suddenly changes everything.
When he finishes, the applause comes and more importantly, Sangwon smiles. Just a small one, barely there, but enough to make Anxin’s chest feel like it’s about to explode into glitter and fireworks. He steps down from the stage, sliding back into his seat like a man who just signed a marriage contract in secret.
“Wow, you’re good!” Kaiwen says, leaning in. And for some reason, Kaiwen is clingy. A hand on Anxin’s shoulder here, a pat on the knee there. Not that Anxin minds—he’s a big fan of skinship too.
Kaiwen turns out to be the last contestant, so while the others take their turns, the two of them chatter like old friends. They swap random trivia, Kaiwen pokes his arm when he laughs, and at some point Anxin finds himself resting his elbow on Kaiwen’s thigh like it’s a table.
They’re so caught up in their easy back-and-forth that Anxin barely notices the shift in the air. He glances toward the facilitator’s table and nearly chokes.
Sangwon is looking right at him. Not just looking. Smirking.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
Is he… jealous?
Anxin’s brain short-circuits. He whips back toward the stage, pretending to watch the poor guy currently singing a very shaky ballad, but his heart is doing cartwheels.
Kaiwen nudges him. “What’s with your face?”
“Nothing,” Anxin says too quickly, eyes fixed forward. “Absolutely nothing. Everything is fine.”
In reality, everything is not fine. Because if that smirk meant what he thinks it meant… then Anxin might have just unlocked a dangerous, thrilling, and possibly very fun new chapter in his Mr. Solar journey.
When rehearsal wraps up and everyone starts packing, Anxin spots his golden target.
Sangwon is sitting at one of the front tables, laptop open, fingers flying across the keyboard. He looks like he’s typing something very important, probably a list of which contestants will pass or fail based on their ability to walk in a straight line.
Anxin doesn’t waste time. He makes a beeline for him, weaving past chairs like a man on a mission.
“Hi,” he says, putting on his brightest smile.
Sangwon glances up briefly, gives him a small nod, then returns to typing as if Anxin is just… background noise. “Why are you here?” he asks casually. Then, without looking away from the screen, he adds, “Where’s your friend?”
The way he says friend—just enough emphasis to make it sound like ‘oh, I mean the guy who was practically glued to your side all afternoon’—isn’t lost on Anxin.
Anxin grins so wide his cheeks hurt. In his head, alarms are blaring: He’s jealous. Oh my god, he’s jealous.
“Oh, Kaiwen?” Anxin says innocently, as if the name is barely worth remembering. “He left already.”
“Mm.” Sangwon still doesn’t look at him, but his typing slows, just a little.
Anxin leans a bit closer, elbows on the table. “Why? Are you jealous?”
That earns him an actual glance. “You’re loud,” Sangwon says flatly.
Anxin beams like it’s a compliment. “Loud and unforgettable.”
“Loud and annoying,” Sangwon corrects, returning his attention to the laptop. But his lips twitch, just enough for Anxin to catch it. And that’s all the confirmation he needs.
In Anxin’s mind, this isn’t just a casual post-rehearsal conversation. No, this is the first act of a slow-burn romance, the kind where one character pretends to be cold but is actually burning up inside.
Sangwon closes his laptop with a soft click and starts packing up his things. “I’m going home,” he says simply.
“Wait!” Anxin blurts.
Sangwon pauses, one brow lifting. “What?”
“Let’s go together! I don’t know how to cross the street,” Anxin says, slipping into English halfway through, as if that somehow makes the request less ridiculous.
Sangwon stares at him for a beat, expression unreadable. “…You really don’t know how to cross the street?”
“I mean, I can,” Anxin admits, “but only if there are no cars, no motorcycles, and preferably with someone else."
Sangwon gives him a long, flat look, the kind that feels like it could be accompanied by the Windows error sound. “…So basically, you can’t cross the street.”
“That’s… one way to put it,” Anxin says, smiling as if he’s just confessed something endearing instead of mildly concerning.
Sangwon exhales through his nose, zipping up his bag. “You’re hopeless. I thought you’re just... stupid... nevermind.”
“And yet,” Anxin says, stepping closer, “you’re still here.”
“Only because you cornered me before I could escape,” Sangwon replies, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
Anxin falls into step beside him as they head toward the exit. “So… does that mean you’ll walk me?”
Sangwon doesn’t answer right away, just pushes the auditorium door open and lets Anxin go through first. They walk down the hallway together, their footsteps echoing in the mostly empty school.
“I don’t get it,” Sangwon finally says. “You were loud and confident on stage, but you’re telling me you can’t handle a crosswalk?”
Anxin gasps dramatically. “Are you saying you watched me on stage?”
Sangwon’s ears go a little red, but his voice stays calm. “I was… of course. It’s my job.”
“Mhm,” Anxin hums, grinning. “It's your job to stare at me.”
“I wasn’t staring—”
“You were smirking too,” Anxin cuts in, absolutely delighted with himself.
They reach the school gates, where the late afternoon traffic hums by in a steady stream. Anxin stops dead on the sidewalk, clutching his bag like it’s a life vest.
“See?” he says, pointing at a car that’s still at least ten meters away. “This is dangerous.”
Sangwon pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath, probably a prayer for patience, before stepping forward. “Come on.”
He grabs Anxin’s wrist, tugging him into the crosswalk with practiced ease. Anxin’s eyes go wide, but he follows, half jogging to keep up with Sangwon’s longer strides.
The whole thing is over in about five seconds, but Anxin’s heart is still hammering by the time they reach the other side.
“There,” Sangwon says, releasing his wrist. “You survived.”
“Barely. But if you’re always around to save me, I think I’ll be okay.” Anxin clutches his chest and gasps. “I... I forgot I haven’t properly introduced myself.”
Sangwon glances at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you don’t even know my name!” Anxin exclaims. “We’ve been talking like… twice now. That’s basically the foundation of a lifelong relationship, and you don’t even know who I am.”
“I know you’re loud,” Sangwon says.
Anxin ignores that. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, turning to face him with mock solemnity. “I’m Anxin. Future Mr. Solar 2025. Occasional math class escapee. Professional street-crossing liability.”
Sangwon’s lips twitch again, but he keeps walking. “Sangwon,” he says simply, as if Anxin doesn’t already have his full name memorized, written in cursive in the margins of his notebooks.
“I know,” Anxin says with a grin, jogging to catch up. “Mr. Solar 2024. The golden standard. The reason I’m here.”
Sangwon sighs, muttering, “I regret walking with you.”
Anxin pretends not to hear the grumble, because if he does, he’ll have to admit that his cheeks are hurting from smiling too much. The late afternoon sun spills over the street, catching in Sangwon’s hair, turning it into the same warm gold that first caught his attention.
They walk the rest of the way in easy silence, well, easy for Sangwon. For Anxin, in his mind, this moment is the opening scene of something bigger.
Years from now, maybe he’ll look back and say, This was it. This was when it started. And even if Sangwon doesn’t know it yet, Anxin is certain of one thing.
This story, whatever it turns into, is going to have both their names on it.