Chapter Text
Woongki liked mornings best.
The world was still half-asleep, shadows clinging to the corners of the hallway, and it felt like he had space to exist before everyone else crowded in with their opinions. He leaned into the bathroom mirror, carefully dragging a line of eyeliner across his lid, tongue peeking out in concentration.
Perfect.
He slicked on a layer of pink gloss and popped his lips together with satisfaction. The boy who blinked back at him from the mirror was pretty, and he liked that. Pearl-studded clips glittered in his hair, bracelets jangled on his wrists, and he smiled at himself like a secret promise: You’re exactly who you’re meant to be.
At school, of course, the stares came. They always did. But Woongki was good at brushing them off. He walked with his head high, nails catching the light, hips swaying a little just because he could. When a group of boys snickered near the lockers, he blew them a kiss and laughed when they turned red.
Confidence was armor, and Woongki wore it better than anyone.
“Morning, princess,” JL greeted, slinging an arm around his shoulder.
“Jealous?” Woongki shot back, wiggling his fingers. His nails gleamed with fresh lavender polish. “You could never.”
JL rolled his eyes, but his grin softened. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you love me,” Woongki sang, twirling a little before heading toward class.
He loved mornings like this. Loved being unapologetic. Loved the way his presence filled the room.
And then his eyes caught on Jeongwoo.
Golden, easy, beloved Jeongwoo, laughing with his friends near the window. His smile was bright enough to warm the coldest day, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room.
Woongki’s steps faltered just slightly, his chest hitching.
For a heartbeat, he let himself imagine Jeongwoo’s eyes turning toward him with that kind of warmth.
But Jeongwoo’s eyes weren’t on him. They were on JL.
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Woongki always said no one could dull his shine.
But sometimes, when the house was quiet and he was curled up in bed scrolling through his phone, the silence pressed too heavy, and he thought about every boy who had said no.
The first time, he laughed it off. Kyungho from chemistry, tall and polite, had smiled apologetically and said, “Sorry, Woongki. You’re really cool, but… I don’t like guys like that.”
Woongki had tossed his hair and replied, “Your loss,” with a wink, even though his chest stung.
The second time, it was Gunwook from choir. He’d said, “You’re more like a friend, you know? Not someone I’d date.”
Woongki had laughed louder than necessary, blowing a kiss before strutting away, but later, he spent twenty minutes scrubbing glitter polish off his nails until his fingertips ached.
The third time, the fourth, the fifth—it became routine. You’re fun, but not my type. You’re great, but I couldn’t see myself with you. I like guys, just… not guys like you.
Woongki smiled through all of it, sharp and dazzling. Confidence was armor. Glitter was a shield. He would not let anyone see the cracks.
But the cracks were there. Chipping away, bit by bit.
One night, at dinner, his mother had sighed, watching him twist spaghetti around his fork with painted nails.
“Do you really need to wear that much lip gloss at the table? What if your father comes in?”
Woongki’s fork clattered against the plate. His father, always absent, always a looming shadow, didn’t need to walk in to feel like a threat. He muttered something about homework and left the table, retreating to the sanctuary of his room where the posters on his wall—bright idols in makeup and sequins—smiled down at him like a promise.
He stared at his reflection in the darkened phone screen. Glossy lips, pearl clips, painted nails. He loved it all. He did.
So why did no one ever want him?
---
The next day at school, he found JL waiting at his locker, holding out a latte with a grin.
“Cheer up, princess. You look like you lost your crown.”
Woongki rolled his eyes, grabbing the cup. “Who says I ever take it off?”
JL leaned against the lockers, watching him. “Seriously, though. What’s up? You’ve been… quieter.”
“Nothing,” Woongki lied, sipping the latte. It was sweet, just the way he liked it. “Maybe I’m just tired of being fabulous all the time. It’s exhausting, you know?”
JL raised a brow. “Since when do you get tired of attention?”
Woongki flicked his wrist dramatically. “I’m allowed to be mysterious sometimes.”
But when Jeongwoo walked past just then, clapping JL on the shoulder and laughing at something, Woongki felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.
Because Jeongwoo’s eyes never even glanced his way.
---
Woongki had never been a morning person, but he always showed up to school like he was strutting a runway. Even if his stomach churned from another night of restless thoughts, his eyeliner was sharp and his bracelets jingled like armor. He told himself: Fake it until it feels real again.
But Jeongwoo was making that harder.
It was small things, at first.
The way Jeongwoo held the classroom door open a second longer when Woongki was walking behind him. The way his laugh softened when it was directed toward him, not the booming, showy laugh he shared with his friends but something gentler, warmer. The way he lingered after group projects to ask, “Did you get home okay last night?” like he actually cared about the answer.
Woongki hated the way his chest fluttered every time. He hated the way he noticed Jeongwoo’s smile like it was a spotlight aimed straight at him.
Because Woongki knew better.
He knew that smile wasn’t for him. Not really. Not when Jeongwoo’s gaze always seemed to drift toward JL.
It was obvious, wasn’t it? JL was the kind of boy who fit—handsome without being intimidating, charming without being flamboyant. JL could sit in a locker room and talk sports, but also paint his nails with Woongki on the weekends without anyone questioning his masculinity. He was the kind of boy people wanted to date, the kind Woongki had tried and failed to be.
Jeongwoo laughed the loudest at JL’s jokes. He leaned a little closer when JL spoke, his eyes lighting up in a way Woongki tried not to notice. And every time, Woongki’s chest tightened, the confidence he’d built for years slipping further through his fingers.
At lunch one day, Woongki picked at his food while JL told a story about some embarrassing middle school moment. Jeongwoo threw his head back laughing, nearly choking on his rice.
Woongki’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“You good?” JL nudged him under the table.
“Of course.” Woongki flashed a grin too bright, too sharp. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
But later, when Jeongwoo leaned across the table to grab a napkin, Woongki caught his gaze for just a split second. There was something there—confusion? Concern? It was gone too quickly to be sure.
And it left Woongki’s heart in shambles.
Because hope was dangerous.
Because every time Jeongwoo’s smile lingered on him, Woongki wanted to believe it meant something. And every time he saw Jeongwoo looking at JL, it crushed that fragile hope to dust.
That night, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Woongki whispered to himself:
“Don’t be stupid. He doesn’t like you. He could never like you.”
But even as he scrubbed the glitter from his nails, his chest ached with something dangerously close to longing.