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Hanbin should’ve known better than to bring all his friends together.
Mixing friend groups was never a good idea, but Hanbin had been dating Hao long enough to think it would be fun.
“It’ll be chill,” he said. “Just talking and hotpot.”
It was not chill.
For one, Hotpot nights were supposed to be simple: good food, gossip, and watching Haobin be grossly in love across the table.
They were not supposed to involve Gyuvin making eye contact with an angel and immediately short-circuiting like a malfunctioning vending machine.
The angel in question walked into Haidilao fifteen minutes late, hair perfect, outfit perfect, aura dangerously perfect.
Haobin waved like he’d just blessed the table with divine presence.
“Sorry I’m late,” said the calm stranger that screamed effortlessly cool.
Hanbin smiled. “Ricky! You made it!”
Ricky was his name.
Gyuvin turned to see who it was and forgot how to function. His body decided, at that exact moment, to betray him. The glass of water in his hand tipped forward in slow motion, spilling straight onto his lap.
The world froze. For three full seconds, the entire table stared.
Then chaos: napkins flying, Hanbin shrieking “NOT THE SEAT,” Yujin laughing so hard he almost dropped his fishball, and Gyuvin dying internally.
“…Oh my god,” Gunwook said.
Hao looked alarmed. “Are you okay?”
Gyuvin stared down at his soaked pants. His brain supplied no useful answers, only a loud
ERROR 404: DIGNITY NOT FOUND.
Ricky blinked, surprised, and then smiled. “You’re fine?”
“I—uh—yes! Totally fine. Just, you know. Practicing… water management.”
The table went silent. Yujin physically turned away to hide his laughter.
The restaurant owner, pity in her eyes, brought him spare pants — bright yellow pajama pants covered in cartoon ducks.
Gyuvin wanted to melt into the floor.
While he changed in the restroom, he could hear his friends’ laughter echoing through the thin walls.
He leaned against the sink and muttered to his reflection, “This is how legends of humiliation are born.”
When he returned, Ricky gave him a small smile—polite, gentle, maybe even amused?
Gyuvin’s brain bluescreened again.
system error: smile detected. rebooting in 3…2…
The rest of dinner blurred into fragments—Ricky quietly eating while Gyuvin tried not to breathe too loud, the group teasing Hanbin for stealing Hao’s tofu, laughter bouncing between chopsticks and clinking glasses.
But Gyuvin kept stealing glances, and every time Ricky smiled, he felt his soul ascend one step closer to heaven.
Gunwook kicked him under the table. “Stop staring.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m just observing.”
“You’re gawking.”
“I’m studying aesthetics.”
Ricky looked up for half a second, and Gyuvin’s brain stopped buffering. That was it. He was done.
Hanbin leaned over. “Why do you look like you’re about to faint?”
“Low blood sugar,” Gyuvin muttered weakly.
“Bro, you’ve had three bowls of meat.”
“High blood sugar then.”
Hao snorted into his soup.
When dinner ended, everyone gathered outside. The night air was cool, full of laughter and post-meal contentment.
“We should do karaoke soon,” Hao said. “It would be fun.”
“Yeah,” Hanbin added. “Next time everyone comes on time.”
Ricky rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, I overslept.”
Gyuvin blurted out, far too quickly, “It’s okay! Sleep’s important. Rest is the foundation of—uh—life!”
Ricky blinked. “…Thanks?”
Gunwook stared at him like he’d just witnessed a car crash.
When it was time for goodbyes, Gyuvin tried to play it cool — except his mouth forgot how to coordinate with his brain.
“Bye, Rick—rocky—Ricky. Bye.”
Ricky looked faintly amused. “Good night, Gyuvin.”
“Yeah! Haha! You too! Uh…have a safe hotpot— Night! I meant night.”
Ricky blinked. Smiled again. Left.
As soon as Ricky turned away, Gyuvin groaned audibly into his hands.
On the walk home, his friends gave him no mercy.
“A safe hotpot night, huh?” Gunwook giggled.
“What was that?” Yujin asked. “You were fine all evening, then he shows up and you malfunction.”
“I did not malfunction.”
“You spilled water, stuttered like an NPC, and wore duck pants.”
Gunwook laughed. “Be real, bro. You’re whipped.”
“I’m not whipped!”
“Sure you’re not.”
“I just got… shy.”
The street fell silent for three seconds. Then both Yujin and Gunwook burst into uncontrollable laughter.
“Kim Gyuvin, the most extroverted person alive, got shy.”
“Yeah yeah,” Gyuvin muttered. “Laugh all you want. You’re banned from my dorm.”
They immediately stopped laughing. “We take it back.”
“Thought so,” Gyuvin said smugly.
But Yujin wasn’t done. “No, no, he’s right. Our Gyuvin Hyung can totally get shy sometimes.”
Gunwook nodded solemnly, playing along. “Yeah, absolutely. Remember orientation? You were basically radiating humility and restraint.”
“Oh, definitely,” Yujin said. “He’s like a delicate flower. Quiet. Mysterious. Never loud, never chaotic.”
Gyuvin frowned. “Wait—what?”
Gunwook kept going. “I can still hear the whispers: who’s that modest young man doing karaoke on the table?”
Yujin gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, that was you!”
“Hey!” Gyuvin finally yelled, realizing. “You’re mocking me!”
“Us? Never,” Yujin said, deadpan. “We’re celebrating your personal growth.”
“Yeah,” Gunwook added, clapping him on the back. “From shirtless karaoke menace to shy boy with a crush. Character development.”
Gyuvin groaned so loud a nearby stray cat yowled back at him.
“I do not have a crush!“
Two weeks later, Gyuvin still hadn’t recovered.
He told himself it was not a crush.
But even if it was one it would be a tiny, harmless, temporary crush — the emotional equivalent of a paper cut. Annoying, but survivable.
Except this particular paper cut was named Ricky and somehow infected his entire bloodstream.
So why was he thinking about Ricky every morning, every night?!
He saw Ricky everywhere.
In the blonde guy crossing the street. In the reflective glass of the science building. Once even in a cardboard cutout at the convenience store (“that one was low-key traumatizing,” he later told Gunwook).
Every time he remembered the spill incident, his brain replayed it in 4K: the splash, the gasp, the smile.
He screams into his pillow.
Out of desperation (and denial), he Googled:
Is it normal to think about someone you barely talked to?
The results came in fast.
“You’re in love lol.”
oh, so we’re starting with slander. Alright bet.
“Seek therapy.”
bold of you to assume I can afford that.
“Maybe you’re just lonely.”
okay? and what about it??And the fact that I have friends who love and cherish me doesn’t make me lonely! That only means you are projecting your own self in me which I don’t claim tf?
“He lives rent-free in your head.”
and YOU live rent-free in my browser, what now? Pay taxes bitch.
“Try journaling your feelings.”
Thanks, Dr. Phil. Should I light a candle too?
What are those for answers?! They don’t help me at ALL!
He slammed his phone down, glaring at it like it personally betrayed him.
“Fake news,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”
He was not fine.
Yet he kept scrolling, each result more offensive than the last.
By page two, he was typing angrily into the search bar:
“ok but what if i just think he’s funny”
“ok but what if i just respect his vibe”
“ok but what if i just like his face and his voice and his smile shut up google”
Google, unbothered, responded with a cheerful:
“Did you mean: you’re in love?”
Gyuvin nearly threw his phone on his desk like it had insulted his ancestors.
“I’m not in love,” he muttered. “I just appreciate. Aesthetic symmetry.”
In a burst of denial, he decided to visit Hanbin at work. Just to hang out. Definitely not because he decided to touch grass or at least touch caffeine.
Hanbin was on shift at the campus café anyway.
It wasn’t that Gyuvin was lonely. He just… wanted to bug someone until his brain stopped looping that smile.
He didn’t even bother dressing up — messy hair, baggy sweatpants, “Hot People do Chemistry Major” T-shirt that definitely had bleach stains.
He looked like someone who’d lost a fight with a group project.
And it wasn’t like he’d see Ricky there.
Right?
.
.
.
.
The universe was cruel.
No.
The universe hates him and wants to see him suffer and dead.
The moment he pushed open the café door, the bell chimed like a death knell.
And there he was.
Ricky.
Sitting at the window seat with Hao, a strawberry latte in hand, hair perfectly tousled like he’d just woken up from a beauty sleep commercial.
Gyuvin froze mid-step. His soul briefly left his body.
brain: pretend you didn’t see him.
body: stands completely still.
heart: starts beatboxing.
Mission: abort, abort, ABORTTTT
Hanbin’s cheerful voice betrayed him instantly.
“GYUVIN! HEY!”
Ricky’s head turned at the exact same time. Their eyes met.
Gyuvin forgot how to exist. (nothing new atp)
“Come sit!” Hanbin called, waving him over. “We were just talking about you!”
He wanted to decline. His dignity wanted to flee an—WAIT RICKY WAS TALKING ABOUT HIM?!
He sat.
They talked. Well, they talked. Hao and Ricky exchanged stories while Gyuvin sat there nodding, throwing in noises of agreement like “Right,” “Wow, that’s crazy,” and “Same,” even though he hadn’t understood a single detail.
Then Hao switched to Chinese, lowering his voice just a little.
“你打算什么时候跟他讲话?” (When are you planning to talk to him?)
Ricky blinked. “谁?” (Who?)
Hao gave him the look. “你知道我在说谁. 这不是机会吗?” (You know who. This is literally your chance.)
Ricky groaned softly, covering his face with one hand. “不行啦, 我现在好丑.” (No way, I look so ugly right now.)
Hao stared at him, deadpan. “…丑在哪儿?” (Where?)
Ricky whispered back, “Everywhere.”
Hao rolled his eyes. “你在开玩笑吗? 我求求你了, 别装害羞.” (Are you kidding me? I beg you, stop pretending to be shy.)
Gyuvin, who’d caught none of this except the tone of teasing, blinked in confusion.
Then, desperate to not feel left out, he blurted the first thing that came to mind:
“Uh..对不起”
The table went silent.
“You speak Chinese?” Hao asked, fascinated while Ricky looked like he was close to faint.
“No!” Gyuvin said quickly. “I just—felt left out.”
Both of them stared for a beat.
“Then how did you even know duìbuqǐ?”
Gyuvin blinked. “Uh… maybe from a drama? The one with swords? And… tragic crying?”
Hao smirked. “That’s ‘sorry,’ you know.”
Gyuvin nodded solemnly. “Oh, good. I am sorry. For… everything that just happened here.”
That did it. Hao burst out laughing first, and Ricky followed, his laugh spilling out like sunlight—bright, unrestrained, completely disarming.
Gyuvin froze.
Ricky was really laughing now, cheeks pink, eyes curved, hand half-covering his grin.
And just like that, all the humiliation in the world stopped mattering.
Because Ricky was laughing. (at him btw but he didn’t care)
GYUVIN.EXE CRASHES IN 3….2…
And Gyuvin was doomed all over again.
He left the café later that day with Ricky’s number.
Technically, it was a group chat number. But to Gyuvin, that was a mere detail.
Details were for boring, non-panicking people.
That night, he lay sprawled across his bed, staring at the chat box.
Just say hi. Be normal.
He typed hi. Deleted it.
Typed hey. Deleted it.
Typed hello, future soulmate — immediately deleted it.
Finally, he gave in to minimalism: simple, safe, neutral, totally not indicative of the emotional maelstrom inside.
He hit send.
And then threw his phone across the room like it was an actual grenade.
Two minutes later, it buzzed.
Ricky: hi :)
Gyuvin’s heart dropped straight to his stomach.
He panic-called Gunwook.
“Yo what’s-”
“RICKY TEXTED ME.”
Gunwook, gaming headset on, controller in hand, sighed like someone who’d seen this exact disaster before.
“Then text him back.”
“I can’t just text him back!” Gyuvin yelled.
Yujin’s voice floated faintly through the speaker, full of amusement. “Why not?”
“I’ll sound desperate! He’ll think I’m—he’ll know! The whole world will know!”
“Know….know what.“
“That im a loser and that i can’t make friends!!“
From the background, Matthew’s calm but teasing voice piped up.
“You… sound like you have a crush.”
Silence.
.
.
.
Total, crushing silence.
Gyuvin’s brain short-circuited.
Crush crush crush (pls read it as Ricky singing crush)
“Oh no! This… this can’t be! I—I have DONT HAVE A cr…!”
Yujin groaned dramatically. “Matthew hyung, you broke him.”
Gyuvin was shaking now, phone trembling in his hand. “NO! I HAVE NOT A CRUSH!”
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
He hung up.
Gunwook laughed in the background. “Oh he so has a crush.“
Yujin whispered to someone else. Matthew just chuckled faintly.
Gyuvin sat on his bed, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling, utterly convinced that the universe had betrayed him.
For the first time in his life, Kim Gyuvin—certified extrovert, chaos generator, master of embarrassing himself in front of entire classrooms realized something terrifying:
He might actually be in trouble.
It had been a few months since that fateful hotpot night. The group had grown close; Haobin were still in love, and the rest of them had learned to tolerate each other’s chaos.
Except Gyuvin.
Gyuvin’s crush had only intensified. Whenever Ricky came near, his brain short-circuited.
His friends called it:
The Ricky radar = Double R tingling.
For the people who don’t know, the Ricky radar was basically Gyuvin’s internal warning system — a finely tuned, highly sensitive, slightly malfunctioning detector that screamed danger every time Ricky appeared within range.
It was activated by:
Visual cues: Ricky smiling, blinking, walking into the room, existing in a radius smaller than five meters. The subject (Gyuvin) begins to panic immediately.
Auditory cues: Ricky laughing or saying something polite. The subject (again Gyuvin) drops everything mid-action, unable to process basic motor functions.
Proximity alarms: Ricky passing by on the sidewalk, brushing a shoulder, or standing too close. Gyuvin’s legs turn to jelly. Balance = optional. Dignity = lost.
Imaginary threats: Ricky interacting with literally anyone else, smiling, laughing, or existing happily. The radar interprets this as critical danger. Immediate panic. Wild daydreams of disaster.
Full system overload: Simply thinking about Ricky triggers the radar. Heart rate skyrockets. Breathing optional. Normal thought patterns collapse. Friends often wonder how someone can simultaneously vibrate, sweat, and stare blankly all at once.
Gyuvin, of course, refused to admit that the Ricky radar was real. It was, obviously, a purely theoretical construct. Completely scientific. Totally under control.
So then tell me why was he losing at his favorite activity bowling—just because Ricky was sitting behind him, casually watching. Just existing. Just breathing. Just looking.
Gyuvin gripped the ball like it contained the fate of the universe. Every muscle in his body screamed: Ricky radar = nuclear meltdown. Maximum danger. System malfunction imminent.
He stepped up. He swung. The ball veered violently left, bounced pathetically into the gutter.
Again.
By the third round, his score was a disaster — single digits. Even Yujin, who’d spent half the game eating fries and talking about anime, had double his points.
“Bro,” Gunwook said, glancing at the scoreboard, “you’re ranking last.”
Gyuvin groaned. “The pins are just… emotionally unavailable right now.”
Yujin leaned over, snickering. “You’re literally shaking. Are you okay? Or is the double r radiation too strong?”
“I’m fine,” Gyuvin insisted, voice cracking. “Totally normal. Nothing to see here. Stop making it a big deal.”
“Big deal?” Yujin said. “You just threw the ball backwards once.”
“That was one time!”
“Still counts.”
Every polite cheer from Ricky just—a “nice try!” or “you’ll get it next time!”—made Gyuvin’s hands shake worse. Every glance, every tilt of Ricky’s head, every faint smile sent sparks through his nervous system.
Pins were ignored. Gutter balls were thrown. Gyuvin’s dignity? Completely lost.
Meanwhile, Ricky had no idea he was doing this to Gyuvin. He was just… enjoying the evening, watching a friend act exactly like himself—utterly chaotic and painfully endearing.
And thus, Gyuvin realized, mid-gutter ball, that his favorite activity had officially become the most dangerous activity in existence—solely because Ricky existed behind him.
Then Gunwook came with a brilliant idea:
(“Brilliant” in this group usually meant terrible, don't listen to it, yes it’s really that bad, but Gyuvin was too desperate to notice all those warnings.)
“Bro,” Gunwook said, sliding into the seat beside him like he was about to share ancient wisdom. “You gotta stop being so obvious.”
Gyuvin blinked. “Obvious?”
Yujin snorted. “Yeah. You’re basically glowing in neon letters every time Ricky walks by.”
“I am not!”
“You literally dropped your ball because he said ‘nice try.’”
“That was… unrelated!”
“Sure it was.”
Gunwook leaned in, conspiratorial. “Listen. You’re being too available. Too eager. You gotta play it cool. Be mysterious. Act like you don’t care.”
“Mysterious?” Gyuvin repeated.
“Yeah. Act like you don’t care. Like you’re too busy being awesome to notice him.”
Yujin nearly snorted out his soda. “You’re telling him to act mysterious? He once tripped over a chair and apologized to it.”
“Hey!” Gyuvin protested. “That chair was in the way!”
“Exactly,” Gunwook said. “Channel that same energy but… sexy.”
Gyuvin groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You guys are the worst.”
“Correction,” Gunwook said with a grin, “we’re your only hope.”
“Get out!”
But Gunwook was already committed to his terrible coaching role. “No, seriously. You just have to ignore him a little. Let him chase you. That’s how you get them hooked.”
“Play hard to get,” Yujin echoed dramatically.
“Yes. Hard to get,” Gunwook said, nodding.
“No thats mean…“
“Do you want him or do you want him not to take interest in you?“
“I do…“
“Suck it up then.“
“Step one: stop acting like a cartoon character when he smiles.”
Gyuvin glared. “Tf I do not.”
“Step two,” Gunwook continued, “pretend you didn’t hear him when he talks to you. Be chill. Shrug. Like, ‘Oh, Ricky? Yeah, I know him.’”
“I can’t just ignore him! He’s… he’s Ricky!”
“Exactly,” Yujin said, smirking. “That’s why it’ll work.”
Across the lane, Ricky turned to wave. “Gyuvin, it’s your turn!”
Gyuvin froze. Everyone watched in suspense.
He tried to remember Gunwook’s advice. Be calm. Be chill. Mysterious. He nodded once, trying to look detached, maybe even a little bored.
Then he stood up, tripped on his own shoelace, and face-planted into the lane.
The group erupted into chaos. Yujin nearly fell off his seat laughing and Gunwook was wheezing.
And Ricky—Ricky ran over immediately, concern written all over his face. “Are you okay?”
Gyuvin looked up, dazed, mortified, and a little bit in love.
“Yeah,” he croaked. “Just… mysterious.”
Ricky blinked, confused. “What?”
“Nothing!”
Ricky had no idea what was happening.
One minute Gyuvin was all sunshine and noise — the kind of person who filled a room with laughter before anyone else could and the next, he was weird.
Weird-weird.
Gyuvin, who normally high-fived anyone within reach, suddenly pretends not to hear him. When Ricky said hi, Gyuvin nodded like a celebrity acknowledging a fan. When Ricky complimented his outfit, Gyuvin did the whole, “Oh, this old thing?” routine — except he left the tag sticking out.
At first Ricky assumed Gyuvin was busy, or tired, or that he’d said something clumsy. Sigh. What should he do now?
He sprawled across his bed, phone in hand, staring at the quiet group chat like it had personally offended him. It had been silent for an hour — sixty-three minutes and forty-one seconds, if he wanted to be dramatic about it. Not that he was counting.
He wasn’t waiting for Gyuvin to text first. Obviously not. He was just… making sure his phone was still working.
From the other bed, Hao didn’t even look up from his laptop. “You’re acting like a housewife waiting for her soldier to return from war.”
Ricky slowly turned his head, blinking. “Excuse me?”
“You keep sighing and checking your phone every ten seconds. At this point I expect a tragic violin soundtrack and a window.” Hao didn’t bother masking the smirk.
“I’m not waiting for anyone,” Ricky said too quickly.
“Uh-huh. And I’m not dating a man who collects part-time jobs like Pokémon.” Hao shot back.
Ricky pretended to glare. “I’m just—checking notifications.”
“Really? Because you opened the same chat five times in one minute.”
“I was… adjusting my brightness,” Ricky offered.
Hao snorted. “You like him. Just admit it.”
Ricky pulled a face. “Who?” he asked, playing dumb.
“Gyuvin. Tall, loud, perpetually dramatic—rings a bell?”
Ricky sat up. “No! He’s just… funny. And nice. And surprisingly thoughtful. And—” He stopped himself, face heating. “Anyway, he’s just friendly.”
“Yeah, friendly enough to choke on his own drink because you said ‘hi.’”Hao raised an eyebrow.
“That was once.” Ricky protested.
“It was three times.”
“Okay, maybe four— but that doesn’t mean anything!”
Hao stared at him, arms crossed. “You like him. He likes you. You’re both dumb. Case closed.”
Ricky sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the bed. “He’s probably just being nice. He’s loud and outgoing and cool, and I’m…” He gestured vaguely at himself. “…me.”
Hao blinked at him. “You’re kidding, right? You’re you. The guy who made half the freshman class cry during art evaluations.”
“That’s not a good thing!”
“It’s an impactful thing.”
Ricky ignored him. The memory of once wearing matching shades of off-white with Gyuvin both accidental, both tiny — surfaced, warm and ridiculous. “We even matched outfits once. Accidentally. I had a cream hoodie, and he had something off-white. That’s basically matching.”
“Oh my god.” Hao deadpanned.
“That’s fate, Hao ge.”
“That’s laundry coincidence.”
“No, it’s a sign.” Ricky’s voice was earnest.
Hao stared like this was the funniest thing he’d heard all week. “You’re beyond help.”
Ricky, undeterred, continued. “Every time I think I’m over it, something small happens. Like—he texted ‘lol’ with two Ls yesterday. Two Ls. That means something.”
“It means he found you funny,” Hao said flatly.
“Or it means he was flirting.”
“It means he found you funny.”
Ricky huffed and turned away, pretending to scroll through his phone. “He’s probably too cool for me anyway.”
“Pathetic,” Hao declared. “You’re both pathetic. Get up.”
“For what?”
“We’re getting boba. The one where Hanbin works. Maybe Gyuvin’s there.”
That got Ricky attention and made him sit up. “How many times has Hanbin changed jobs now?”
Hao’s eye twitched. “Don’t ask me. He’s so booked and busy, it’s actually annoying. Why do I need to share my boyfriend with his multiple side hustles and college work? The next time—”
Ricky tuned half of it out. Hao’s voice faded into background noise as Ricky was already standing in front of his closet, scanning through it.
He couldn’t wear something too nice — that would look like he was trying too hard. But he couldn’t go too casual either that would look like he wasn’t trying at all.
“Like, he’s working at the library, then the café, then tutoring some freshmen who don’t even listen?! I swear, he’s spreading himself thinner than my patience—”
“Yeah, totally,” Ricky said absently, already halfway inside his closet.
“—and then he tells me, ‘Hao hyung, it’s good experience,’ like I’m not enough experience?!”
“Mhm, absolutely,” Ricky said, nodding while holding up two sweaters.
Hao brightened. “I’m so glad you understand. Because the other day he canceled our dinner because someone needed latte-art practice. LATTE. ART.”
“Tragic,” Ricky said, trying on another shirt. “Maybe the greatest injustice of our time.”
“I know, right?” Hao said, fired up again. “And I said, ‘Hanbin, you’re not even good at latte art,’ and he said, ‘That’s why I need practice,’ and then I had to sit there watching him pour milk like it’s a personality trait—”
“Mhm, no, yeah, you’re totally right,” Ricky said, hair half-fixed, deciding the blue sweater might be the one. “Maybe the blue sweater… I mean — uh, yes, totally right.”
“Yes, I am right!” Hao trilled. “Finally, someone gets it! He should spend some time with me! Is that too much to ask?!”
“Not too much…” Ricky said vaguely, now comparing shoes.
By the time Hao was mid–rant about capitalism and the ethics of overworking boyfriends, Ricky was already planning his route to the café and muttering to himself:
“Something casual… but with taste. Approachable but mysterious. If Gyuvin happens to be there, it’s not like I dressed up for him. Obviously.”
Hao kept ranting in the background: “And if he picks up another shift without telling me I will kill him—”
But then paused only when Ricky reached for cologne. “…Wait. Why do you smell like that?”
Ricky blinked innocently. “Like what?”
“Like someone who’s trying not to smell like they’re trying.”
Ricky shrugged. “Coincidence.”
“Uh-huh.” Hao squinted. “You’re planning something, aren’t you?”
“Of course not,” Ricky said, smiling faintly. “You’re just paranoid.”
He turned back to the mirror, fixing his hair. “Totally paranoid.”
The bell above the café door jingled as Ricky and Hao stepped inside.
Hanbin’s newest workplace was small but cozy — a perfect mix of espresso and chaos, which, if Ricky thought about it, described Hanbin perfectly. The place smelled like vanilla syrup and roasted beans, with quiet chatter in the air and sunlight spilling across the wood tables.
Hao inhaled deeply. “Mmm, capitalism and caffeine. My boyfriend’s two favorite things.”
Ricky rolled his eyes. “You say that like you’re not his third.”
“I’d better be first,” Hao muttered darkly.
Before Ricky could respond, Hanbin’s voice cut through the air. “Hao-ge!”
They both looked toward the counter. Hanbin stood there in his beige apron and messy hair, a foam heart sitting perfectly on the latte he’d just made. His grin was wide and boyish, bright enough to outshine the café lights.
“Oh, look at him,” Hao said, sounding both proud and exasperated. “My overworked boyfriend, who doesn’t have time for me but still manages to look disgustingly good while ignoring my messages.”
Hanbin looked up from behind the espresso machine, face lighting up. “You guys came!”
“Of course,” Hao said, walking up to the counter. “Someone has to check if you’re eating actual food and not just living off caffeine and spite.”
Hanbin leaned over the counter and pressed a kiss to Hao’s cheek. “I’m eating,” he said cheerfully. “A croissant counts, right?”
Hao frowned. “You mean the air that used to be bread?”
“Technically, yes.”
Ricky looked away politely, pretending to be absorbed in the pastry display while muttering, “You two need your own sitcom.”
Hanbin grinned at him. “You’d watch it.”
“Only if it gets canceled after one season.”
“Still a view,” Hanbin said smugly.
Hao pouted. “I’d never cancel us.”
Ricky sighed. “God, seeing you both is physically painful.”
“Thank you,” Hanbin said, as if that were a compliment. “Now, what are you having?”
Before Ricky could answer, Hao said, “He’ll take a brown sugar milk tea. Extra ice. Because he’s cold and dramatic.”
“Hey!”
Hanbin giggled and turned to the espresso machine. Hao leaned against the counter, chin propped on his hand, watching his boyfriend with the kind of soft look that could melt even the iciest soul.
“You’re staring,” Ricky said dryly.
“I call it appreciating my investment.”
Hanbin turned around just then. “Stop calling me your investment!”
“You are! I’ve poured too much emotional labor into this relationship to let it go bankrupt.”
“Then I deserve interest!” Hanbin shot back.
“You get kisses. That’s your interest.”
“Not enough!”
“Fine,” Hao said, reaching over the counter and pulling Hanbin in for a quick kiss. Hanbin giggled against his lips, mumbling, “You’re lucky my boss isn’t here.”
“I would still kiss you in front of your boss,” Hao said, pulling back just enough to glare affectionately at him. “Then she’d see your beautiful, heartbroken boyfriend wasting away, deprived of affection, and she’d take pity on me and cut your shifts in half.”
Hanbin snorted. “That’s not how jobs work, babe.”
“It’s how love works,” Hao said seriously.
Hanbin leaned on the counter, voice soft but teasing. “Baby, you know I always make time for you.”
“Then why,” Hao shot back, crossing his arms, “am I visiting you at work and not at your place?”
“Because my place doesn’t come with free coffee,” Hanbin said, smirking.
Hao blinked. “Are you bribing me?”
“Is it working?”
“…Yes,” Hao admitted, trying to stay annoyed and failing miserably. “But that’s not the point.”
Hanbin tilted his head, lowering his voice just enough for it to sound like a secret meant only for him. “The point is—if you came over, you’d just fall asleep on my couch again.”
Hao gasped dramatically. “Hanbin.”
Hanbin raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “Am I wrong?”
Hao paused then sighed in defeat. “…You’re not.”
“Exactly.” Hanbin grinned, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Now stop pretending you’re mad. You’re just jealous of my barista apron.”
“I am jealous of that apron,” Hao muttered, grabbing the front of it and tugging him closer. “It gets more time with you than I do.”
Hanbin laughed softly, warmth spreading through his voice. “Then maybe you should apply here. We can be coworkers.”
“Oh, baby, no one would get their drinks. We’d be too busy making out in the storage room.”
Hanbin blinked, pretending to think. “…Tempting.”
“Hanbin.”
“Yes, ge?”
“Don’t ‘ge’ me right now.”
Hanbin smiled that infuriatingly soft smile — the one that could melt Hao’s entire storm in seconds. “Then stop pretending you don’t love me working hard.”
Haos gaze softening. “Hanbin…”
“Yeah?”
“You’re impossible.”
Hanbin grinned and leaned in to kiss him again — longer this time, slower, until Hao forgot why he was even mad.
When they finally pulled apart, Hanbin whispered, “See? You can visit me anywhere.”
Hao exhaled, eyes flicking down to Hanbin’s lips. “…Fine. You win.”
“I always do,” Hanbin said smugly, giving him one last peck before turning back to the coffee machine.
Ricky made a face. “You two are going to get arrested for PDA.”
“Then we’ll make it a couple’s crime,” Hanbin said proudly.
“You’re insufferable.”
“Thank you, bestie.”
Ricky smiled faintly despite himself — it was impossible not to. Watching them was like watching a romcom in real life. HaoBin just worked, in all their chaos. They were loud, loving, ridiculous… and weirdly comforting.
Then he turned and froze.
There, in the corner by the window, sat Gyuvin.
Hair a little tousled, sleeves rolled up, sunlight catching the strands like spun gold. He was laughing — head thrown back, eyes half-mooned, hand slapping the table in pure joy.
Ricky’s chest tightened immediately. Because across from Gyuvin sat someone else.
A tall guy. Smiling. Too close.
Way too close.
Ricky blinked. His brain stuttered. Maybe the caffeine fumes were making him hallucinate.
“…Hao,” he whispered.
Hao, still gazing at Hanbin with lovesick (game) eyes, hummed. “Mhm?”
“Who’s that?”
“Who’s who?”
“That guy,” Ricky hissed. “With Gyuvin.”
Hao followed his gaze and instantly perked up. “Ohhh. Interesting.”
“What do you mean interesting?”
“Nothing, just… data collection.”
Ricky glared. “Hao.”
Hao sighed. “Baobei, come here.”
Hanbin, hearing his name whispered, turned around. “What’s happening?”
“Who’s that?” Hao demanded, pointing blatantly toward Gyuvin’s table. “The one with the suspicious hairline flirting with Gyuvin.”
Hanbin blinked, squinting. “Oh! That’s his lab partner, I think. They’ve been working on a chemistry project for weeks.”
“Lab partner,” Hao repeated flatly. “The most dangerous two words in a relationship dictionary.”
“It’s not that serious,” Hanbin said, returning to the drinks. “They’re just studying.”
“Yeah,” Hao muttered. “Studying each other’s eyes.”
Ricky’s lips twitched, but his pulse was pounding too hard to laugh. He couldn’t look away.
Then, as if sensing his stare, Gyuvin looked up.
Their eyes met.
Gyuvin froze mid-laugh, his smile faltering. His posture stiffened — too quick, too awkward. Then he waved. Hesitant. Nervous. Like someone waving to a teacher outside school.
Ricky forced a small, polite smile back, even though his heart was falling straight through the floor.
Gyuvin turned away a second later, fumbling with his straw.
“Oh my god,” Hao whispered. “That was tragic.”
Hanbin frowned. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Ricky said quickly. “Totally fine. Just—forgot something at home.”
Hao blinked. “We literally just got here.”
“Yeah, and now I have to go.”
“What did you forget?” Hanbin asked.
“My charger.”
“You don’t have your phone out.”
“My sanity,” Ricky muttered.
Hao groaned. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Ricky, sit your ass down—”
“Nope.”
“Talk to him, maybe—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then at least look at him without combusting!”
Ricky grabbed his drink, head down. “I’m fine, Hao.”
“Liar.”
“Goodbye, Hao.”
“Ricky, if you walk out that door—”
The bell jingled overhead as Ricky pushed it open. “I’m not picking up your calls!” Hao shouted after him.
.
.
.
.
.
Ricky sniffled. “He was LAUGHING, Hao.”
Hao sighed. “People do that sometimes.”
“With someone else.”
“Oh my god.”
Before Hao could reply, the screen split — Jiwoong’s camera came on. His face was calm, serious, the picture of a man who regretted answering. “What happened this time?”
Ricky sat up, clutching his pillow like it was a life raft. “Jiwoong hyung, I saw Gyuvin with another guy.”
“Okay,” Jiwoong said slowly. “And?”
“They were smiling.”
“…Okay.”
“They were close! Like shoulder-touching close!”
“Ricky…” Jiwoong groaned, exasperated. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous! Imagine if Hanbin—” Ricky’s voice broke dramatically.
“Ricky,” Taerae interrupted, crunching a chip. “Hao and Hanbin are dating. That’s… not hypothetical.”
Hao’s eyes suddenly went dangerous, like someone had just dared him to test his limits.He muttered, voice low. “If anyone tried to get near my boyfriend like that—” He jabbed a finger at the screen. “—I would jump that person's ass.”
The call went quiet. Then Jiwoong coughed, trying not to laugh. “Hao… you said that out loud.”
“Loud and clear,” Hao said, leaning back with a smug grin. “And don’t think I won’t do it if necessary.”
Ricky blinked at him. “…See? Even Hao would fight for me.”
Hao waved a hand like he was dismissing a minor objection, but his grin was feral. “I would fight to protect my territory. Words first, fists maybe second. Don’t test me.Also, I would text Hanbin and be like: ‘Your coworker is committing emotional trespassing. Please respond in one second or I’ll whup your ass.’”
Taerae shrugged. “Or… you could just talk to Gyuvin instead of imagining him as a drama villain.”
“I can’t talk to him,hyung! My voice does this thing! It goes all high-pitched and stupid and I forget how to human!”
“Maybe just text him?”
Ricky gasped like Taerae had suggested murder. “I can’t text him first again. That’s desperation.”
Ricky flopped onto his bed, face buried in his pillow. “I can’t believe that… that he was laughing with him! Right there! That should’ve been me!”
“Ricky,” Jiwoong groaned, rubbing his temples. “Gyuvin is not your boyfriend.”
“I know that!” Ricky yelled, voice cracking. “But in my mind—my mind—he is! And I was supposed to be the one he was leaning on, joking with, smiling at!”
Taerae, crunching another chip, muttered, “Your mind doesn’t count. Reality does.”
Ricky shouted, lifting his pillow like a battle flag. “I’m heartbroken!”
Jiwoong pinched the bridge of his nose. “Heartbroken over someone who isn’t even your boyfriend. That’s… new levels of pathetic.”
“I am pathetic!” Ricky admitted. “But also, tragically correct in my feelings!”
“Then what do you want to do?” Hao asked.
“Move to Busan.”
“Oh for fucks sake.” Hao rubbed his temples. “He looked at you, Ricky. He waved. You bolted like he pulled a gun on you.”
“I panicked!”
“You panicked because your crush smiled!”
“HE WASN’T SMILING AT ME, HAO! HE WAS SMILING AT HIS LAB PARTNER WHO PROBABLY HAS BETTER HAIR AND A COOLER MAJOR!”
“…You realize you sound insane, right?”
“I’M IN LOVE, LET ME LIVE.”
Hao rolled his eyes but muttered, “Good. At least someone’s honest.
Ricky buried his face in the pillow, muttering, “God… someone intervene before I die of feelings.”
Hao hit send, leaning back with a smirk.
Gyuvin’s dorm room was a disaster zone: textbooks scattered, hoodie half-on, papers tumbling from his desk. In the middle of the chaos stood Gyuvin, pacing in tight circles, hands flailing, and eyes wide.
Sitting on his bed was Hanbin, phone in hand, scrolling through Hao’s all-caps emergency text:
“OUR IDIOTS ARE BROKEN. FIX THEM.” He raised an eyebrow. “Oh boy…”
“I ruined everything!” Gyuvin shouted, nearly knocking over his water bottle. “He probably saw me laughing with someone else and thinks I’m flirting!”
Matthew lounged on the floor, munching chips like the apocalypse had nothing on him. “Let me guess. Ricky-related?”
Gyuvin wailed, kicking a stray sock across the room. “Now it’s all gone. I need to move to Busan. Or maybe Siberia. Somewhere far away.”
Hanbin looked up from the phone, scrolling one-handed. “You live in Seoul, Gyuvin.”
“Exactly,” Gyuvin said, spinning on his heel. “Busan is far. Siberia is farther. And I need maximum distance from the humiliation I just caused!”
Gunwook rolled his eyes. “You barely flirt with life, Gyuvin. Chill.”
“I am flirting with life!” Gyuvin yelled. “And now I’m ruined. Completely. My dignity? Gone. My soul? Left the building!”
Matthew shrugged, crumbs falling onto the carpet. “Accurate assessment.”
Hanbin finally looked up from Hao’s dramatic text, sighing. “Gyuvin… breathe. You’re overthinking.”
“Overthinking?!” Gyuvin shrieked, flopping onto the bed. “I’m spiraling! Spiraling, Hanbin! He probably thinks I’m a fuckboy, and my life is—”
Yujin snorted. “I’m taking notes. This is art.”
Gunwook muttered, “This is why we can’t have nice things.”
Gyuvin threw himself face-first into a pillow, muffling a dramatic groan. “Someone save me! Someone—”
Matthew tossed him a chip. “Here. Fuel for your suffering.”
Hanbin shook his head, finally smiling. “Relax, Gyuvin. Ricky probably didn’t even notice. Calm down.”
Gyuvin raised his head, eyes wide. “Didn’t notice? Or is this part of some plan to humiliate me?!”
Yujin groaned. “Dude… maybe just admit you like him and stop inventing drama.”
“I—NO! I—am not—” Gyuvin stammered, flailing again. “I’m perfectly fine! Totally fine! Just spiraling a little!”
Gunwook smirked. “Yeah… little spiraling. Sure.”
And there they all were: Gyuvin, a tornado of panic; Gunwook, Matthew, and Yujin, casually absorbed in their own world, not helping at all; and Hanbin, silently texting Hao, totally not planning on bringing anyone together… nope.
A few days later, Yujin had suggested the next group hangout: arcade night. “Come on,” he’d said. “We all need to play some claw machines, win ridiculous prizes, and bond.”
Everyone had agreed enthusiastically in the chat.
But as the time drew near, the notifications began to trickle in…3…2..1
Guneku: Grandma scheduled a Zoom bingo. Can’t make it. Y’all know I’m her emotional support.
Yujeh: Stomach decided too much candy is evil. Doctor says no going out. 😩😭
Mattchuu: My oven exploded. Don’t ask how. It just… did. 💔
Woongwoongie: My mom’s group chat just guilt-tripped me into attending my cousin’s violin recital. I think I’m the designated clapper.
Taeressa: I promised to help fix the sound system for the student concert.
Hambitna: The café’s short-staffed again. Hyung, my knight in shining patience, I’m
summoning you.😚🫶
Haocita:…You’re lucky I’m in love with you. Fine. Duty calls.
A pause.
Rwick: You can’t all be serious… right?😐
Gyubeen: Wait… what? Everyone? EVERYONE???😭😭😭
Guneku: Yeah bro, family first. Bingo waits for no man.
Gyubeen: You don’t even like your grandma’s bingo nights!
Guneku: Yeah, but she likes me. I can’t break her heart.🥺🥺
Gyubeen:Yujin, you too?
Yujeh: Bro I’m literally dying. Candy poisoning. My organs are filing for divorce.💀💀
Gyubeen: You were fine yesterday!
Yujeh: Yeah well, I lived too fast. Ate too sweet. Died too young.🕊️🕊️ here lies my body rip
Gyubeen: Matthew?
Mattchuu: Oven. Explosion. Chaos. 🧍🏻♂️
Gyubeen: YOU DON’T EVEN COOK?! 😃
Mattchuu: I KNOW RIGHT!! That’s what makes it scary.🤷♂️
Gyubeen: Jiwoong Hyung, please tell me you’re coming🥹
Woongwoongie: I want to, man. But the recital starts in twenty. My aunt already sent me three crying emojis.☹️☹️
Gyubeen: …Unbelievable.
Taeressa: Bro, I’m literally knee-deep in wires. If I touch the wrong one, the entire stage might explode.
Gyubeen: I swear half of you are making this up.🥸🥸
Gyubeen: Fake ass bitches
Gyubeen: why am I even here? Just to suffer?!
Hambitna: Aw, don’t be mad. We’ll hang out soon, promise❤️
Gyubeen: YOU STARTED THIS! YOU SAID IT’D BE FUN!
Hambitna: I said Yujin said it’d be fun. Big difference.
Haocita: You’ll live Gyub
Haocita: Think of it as… character development.
Gyubeen: What kind of character building involves abandoning your friends?!
Guneku: Emotional resilience.🧘♂️
Gyubeen: EMOTIONAL?!
Mattchuu: You’ll be fine. Just channel your inner main character.✨
Gyubeen: I don’t WANT to be the main character! I want background character rights!
Taeressa:Too late. You’ve been promoted.🫂
Gyubeen: No no no. No promotions. Someone UNpromote me.
Rwick:…Wait, so it’s just us?
Silence.
Gyubeen: I mean…well
Hambitna: Yeah Gyuvin, is it a problem? 😇
Haocita:Be honest, you hate spending time with him, huh 😔
Yujeh: wow can’t believe this betrayal… we just wanted our besties to bond 😭
Guneku: do it for the plot bro. for us. for cinema. 🎥
Mattchuu: For the romantic tension.😝😝
Mattchuu: I mean friendship arc.😅
Mattchuu: mannn typos are scary…
Taeressa: It’s what the fans would want.
Gyubeen: WHAT FANS?!
Woongwoongie: us. we’re the fans.
Gyubeen:YOU GUYS ARE INSANE
Hambitna: 7 p.m., same place. Have fun 😘
Rwick: …so, 7 p.m.?
Gyubeen: yeah. fine. whatever. not like I care or anything 🙄
Haocita: He cares
Guneku: He so cares
Gyubeen: BLOCKED. ALL OF YOU. BLOCKED.
Rwick: I’ll meet you there at seven :)
The arcade was alive with noise — flashing lights, the clatter of coins, the triumphant beeps of victory and Gyuvin was dying inside.
He wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that he was alone with Ricky, or the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he was alone with Ricky.
Totally casual, he reminded himself. Just two friends hanging out. Nothing weird. No reason to panic. Except for every reason to panic.
Ricky looked unfairly good under the neon lights, the glow of the claw machines softening the sharp angles of his face. He turned, smiling slightly and Gyuvin’s brain short-circuited.
“Wanna try that one?” Ricky asked, nodding toward a claw machine full of plush sharks.
“Yeah—uh, yeah. Sharks. Love sharks. Big fan,” Gyuvin stammered, immediately dropping his coin and having to scramble awkwardly to pick it up.
Ricky chuckled quietly. “You okay?”
“Me? Yeah. Fine. Never been more normal.”
He was not normal. His hands were sweating so much the joystick slipped. The claw missed entirely, snagged on air, and dropped back down with a pathetic clunk.
Ricky leaned in beside him, close enough that Gyuvin could smell his cologne — light and clean, like laundry and heartbreak. “Here,” Ricky said softly, reaching out to guide his hand. “You have to time it right when it swings back—”
And just like that, Gyuvin forgot how time worked.
His brain screamed, don’t look at him, don’t look at him, don’t look—
He looked.
Ricky’s focus was pure, unbothered. His lashes were too long, his smile too gentle, and his hand was still loosely over Gyuvin’s, like it belonged there.
The claw missed again.
“Ah, so close,” Ricky murmured, and Gyuvin was ninety percent sure his soul left his body.
Meanwhile across the arcade, at a table by the slushie machine — the rest of the group was absolutely not being subtle.
Hanbin sat with a baseball cap and sunglasses like he was undercover. Hao had an iced drink, stirring it with the intensity of a man watching a live-action soap opera.
“I swear, if he doesn’t confess tonight, I’m gonna lose it,” Hao muttered.
“He’s doing great,” Hanbin lied, watching Gyuvin accidentally walk into a pinball machine. “So natural.”
“Natural my ass,” Hao said. “He just high-fived the air.”
Next to them, Yujin was holding up his phone at an angle that was definitely recording. “For science,” he whispered.
Gunwook leaned back with popcorn. “You’re all freaks,” he said but didn’t stop watching.
Taerae and Jiwoong joined late, pretending they were just “passing by.” Jiwoong carried a bucket of tokens, trying not to laugh. “What’s the mission status?”
“Disaster level two,” Matthew said dramatically. “Ricky smiled and Gyuvin glitched.”
Hanbin sighed. “We should’ve given him a script.”
“You did give him a script,” Hao reminded him. “He burned it.”
“Fair,” Hanbin said. “Still. This is painful.”
Later on Matthew had discovered a Pokémon card drawer tucked between a claw machine and a skee-ball lane. “Gunwook! Quick, check this out!” he hissed, dragging him over like it was a matter of life and death. Gunwook, ever the reluctant accomplice, leaned over while Gyuvin and Ricky were inches away, completely oblivious.
Yujin, meanwhile, had fixated on cotton candy. “Cotton candy,” he muttered repeatedly, wandering between machines as if chanting a spell. “Cotton candy… cotton candy… cotton candy.”
Taerae groaned, Jiwoong sighed, but no one corrected him — the lure of sticky pink sugar was irresistible. Eventually, someone (Jiwoong) bought him a stick, and he floated off, happily sticky, leaving the others to their non-existent stakeout.
Back at the claw machine, Ricky actually managed to win a plush shark of course he did and handed it to Gyuvin.
“For you,” he said simply.
Gyuvin blinked down at it, processing. “For… me?”
Ricky smiled. “You looked determined. Consider it a joint victory.”
Joint victory. Gyuvin’s brain repeated the phrase like it was poetry.
“Thanks,” he said weakly. “I’ll, uh… treasure it. Forever. Probably name it. Maybe Greg.”
Ricky blinked. “…Greg?”
“Greg the Shark. He’s symbolic.”
“Symbolic of what?”
Gyuvin panicked. “Teamwork!”
Ricky laughed — genuinely, brightly and Gyuvin felt his lungs stop functioning for a second.
“Aw, he named it,” Yujin whispered from across the room.
“Greg the Shark,” Gunwook repeated. “Iconik.”
“Shut up, you’ll blow our cover,” Hanbin hissed, ducking lower behind the table.
Hao, without looking up, said, “You literally wore sunglasses indoors.”
“For the mission,” Hanbin snapped. His voice was sharp, clipped. “You’re impossible.”
Hao raised a brow, unbothered. “Impossible? You’re the one sulking like a child over nothing.”
“I’m not sulking!” Hanbin barked, throwing a finger toward the claw machine. “I’m… strategizing!
Tactical positioning! Priorities!”
Hao sighed, unimpressed. “You’re literally inventing rules now.”
“I am not! You just don’t understand the gravity of the situation!” Hanbin’s voice wavered, part irritation, part embarrassment.
Hao smirked. “Oh, I understand perfectly.” He leaned in, pressing a firm, decisive kiss to Hanbin’s lips before the argument could escalate further.
Hanbin froze, eyes wide, fingers gripping the counter. “H-Hao—!”
“Silent,” Hao murmured, pressing him down, his hand resting on Hanbin’s waist. “You’re grumpy. I don’t like it. Mission comes first.”
Hanbin squirmed, cheeks red, muttering, “…I’m not grumpy.”
“You are.” Hao pressed another quick kiss to his temple. “And I will fix it. For the mission.”
Hanbin groaned, trying to pull back, but Hao’s persistence was relentless. A soft kiss to the neck.
Hanbin flinched, caught between irritation and something dangerously like surrender. “…H-Hyung!”
“Nope,” Hao whispered, smirking. “Mission first. You can pout later.”
Hanbin swatted at the air in a mild panic, cheeks red as Hao finally pulled back, holding his gaze.
“Do you… do you understand now?” Hao asked, thumb brushing over Hanbin’s jaw.
Hanbin blinked, heart racing. “…Yes,” he muttered, voice quieter than he intended.
Hao leaned in again, resting his forehead against Hanbin’s. “Good. Now, breathe. We still have a mission.”
Hanbin groaned, exhaling sharply, cheeks still hot. “I hate that this works.”
Hao chuckled softly. “You love that it works. Admit it.”
Hanbin scowled but couldn’t stop the tiny smile tugging at his lips. “Shut up.”
“You… you couldn’t wait until you were out of a public space?” Yujin whispered while rolling his eyes.
Hanbin flushed scarlet, voice squeaky. “I-I wasn’t—”
“Nope.” Hao kissed him again, smug, shutting him up completely.
Hanbin groaned, flustered and defeated, while the friends groaned in mock horror, completely aware of how ridiculous the scene looked—but the couple remained lost in their own chaotic little world.
Ricky walked toward the basketball machines next. “You up for a challenge?”
“Always,” Gyuvin said automatically then realized who he was challenging and regretted every life decision.
Three rounds later, Ricky was calmly sinking shots like an NBA player while Gyuvin looked like he was performing interpretive dance with the basketball.
“Your form’s… enthusiastic,” Ricky said between laughs.
“It’s called artistry,” Gyuvin replied, out of breath. “You wouldn’t get it.”
Ricky raised an eyebrow, amused. “Uh-huh.”
From the table, Matthew whispered, “He’s losing on purpose.”
“No,” Taerae corrected. “He’s just bad.”
Hanbin groaned. “At this point, I’d pay them to kiss just so we can stop watching this slow-motion trainwreck.”
When they finally sat down with their drinks, Gyuvin thought he might have finally tamed his racing heartbeat. Maybe. Just a little.
Until Ricky leaned his chin on his hand, eyes soft and focused, and said, almost casually, “You’re fun to hang out with, you know that?”
Gyuvin froze mid-sip, straw still balanced between his teeth. “Me? Fun? Uh—yeah, I mean, I try to… fun-ify. Things. You know. Make them… uh… more… fun?”
Ricky’s lips quirked into a faint smile, shaking his head slightly. “You’re ridiculous.”
Gyuvin blinked. Blinked again. “Thank you?” he said earnestly, like Ricky had just handed him the crown for Most Ridiculous Human Alive.
And then Ricky laughed. A quiet, genuine laugh that made Gyuvin forget every embarrassing spill, every awkward glance, every moment he’d stumbled over words around Ricky.
Somehow, all the humiliation seemed tiny compared to the warmth of that sound.
Gyuvin’s hands fumbled with his cup. “I mean—fun, yeah, I do fun things. Science-y things. Fun science things. And… uh—”
Ricky leaned back slightly, amused, letting Gyuvin ramble. But every so often, his gaze would drift down to Gyuvin’s lips, just a fraction too long.
“And then oh!—we had this lab partner mix up the solutions again, which was hilarious because, I mean, imagine trying to explain to Professor Kwon why your beaker exploded pink when it should’ve been—”
Ricky, at first listening intently, slowly started to zone out. His gaze drifted, subtly, to the curve of Gyuvin’s lips as he talked. The way they moved, animated and slightly awkward—he could watch that all day. And maybe he was doing exactly that.
Gyuvin noticed the shift mid-sentence. “Uh… hello? Are you… paying attention?” His words stumbled out faster, panicked. “I mean, I know this is boring—uh, chemistry stuff but wait you were listening, right? Right?!”
Ricky’s faint smile widened, affectionate. “I was… mostly.”
“Mostly?!” Gyuvin’s eyes went wide. “Mostly doesn’t count! I need like—full attention! I’m giving you full story here!” He gestured wildly, knocking his straw across the table.
Ricky finally snapped, unable to hold it any longer. His voice was soft, firm, and impossibly exasperated all at once:
“Oh my god, just shut up and kiss me already.”
Gyuvin froze. His brain refused to compute. “O-okay,” he stammered, words a pathetic excuse for action.
The next second, it happened—lips met, sparks flew, and the world melted down into perfect calm.
For Gyuvin, the kiss was everything and nothing like he’d imagined. It was soft at first, tentative, like dipping a toe into a freezing lake. Then it was firm, grounding, as if Ricky was telling him wordlessly that it was okay to be messy, chaotic, ridiculous… and still wanted. His chest felt like it might explode, brain short-circuiting in a spectacular display of adrenaline and nerves. Every worry, every embarrassment, every gutter ball, every spilled drink—it all disappeared.
Ricky’s hands were warm against Gyuvin’s shoulders, steadying him, guiding him, and somehow making Gyuvin feel like he was the only person in the universe. Ricky’s lips were soft, insistent, demanding, yet careful, and it made Gyuvin’s knees threaten mutiny. He felt bold and utterly vulnerable all at once, and the paradox made him stumble over his own arms, fumbling for something—anything to anchor himself.
For Ricky, it was like catching lightning in a bottle. The world narrowed to Gyuvin—the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way his nervous hands fidgeted, the slightly panicked, slightly triumphant glint in his eyes. The kiss was an affirmation, a release, and a warning all at once: that he would never be able to leave this man behind. Every nerve ending in his body seemed to spark. His usual composure melted, replaced with the delicious panic of finally giving in, finally letting himself feel exactly what he’d been denying for months.
Somewhere between the sparks and the racing hearts, both of them knew without needing to speak—that this was only the beginning. A kiss that erased boundaries, ignited everything, and somehow made all the secondhand embarrassment, the mess, and the chaos completely worth it.
In the distance, their friends were supposedly keeping watch, making sure nothing went completely off the rails. Only… they forgot they were supposed to be hiding. Instead, they ended up cheering. Clapping. Whispering things like, “Finally!” “Bout time!” and “Lovebirds!”
It wasn’t subtle. Not even close. But Gyuvin and Ricky were so caught up in each other— that they didn’t notice a single friend losing their sanity.
Surveillance?
Plotting?
Keeping the chaos contained?
Pfft. Nope. Their friends had completely abandoned the mission. They were just… fans. Pure, unashamed, overly dramatic fans of their best friends finally finding each other.
And somehow, the world felt a little lighter for it.
The End.
Y’all thought right?
Of course not.
Because in true Gyuvin and Ricky fashion, “The End” is never really the end. It’s just a pause like the calm after a storm, or the moment before someone trips over a chair and accidentally confesses their feelings again.
The apartment smelled faintly of instant noodles and textbooks. Gyuvin sprawled across the couch with a chemistry textbook balanced precariously on his knees, scribbling notes while muttering to himself. Ricky sat cross-legged on the floor, laptop in front of him, headphones on, occasionally glancing up to check Gyuvin’s work.
“You’re writing the wrong formula again,” Ricky said, voice calm but amused.
Gyuvin froze mid-pencil stroke. “I—I’m not! Wait… maybe I am?” His cheeks flared. “Chemistry is cruel, okay?”
Ricky chuckled, reaching over to nudge his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Thank you,” Gyuvin said seriously, as if that were the perfect response.
Minutes passed in a quiet rhythm—pages turning, pens scratching, keyboards clicking. Occasionally, Gyuvin would lean over to ask a question, and Ricky would patiently explain, his hand brushing Gyuvin’s accidentally, making both of them pause and smile softly.
A bowl of popcorn sat between them, and Gyuvin was constantly stealing handfuls, offering some to Ricky, who pretended to be annoyed but secretly liked the gesture.
“Stop leaning on me,” Ricky said softly as Gyuvin rested his head on his shoulder.
“I’m not leaning,” Gyuvin protested, though his warm cheek against Ricky’s arm said otherwise.
Minutes passed in relative peace until the door burst open.
“GYUVIN! RICKY!” Yujin’s voice rang like a warning siren. “We come bearing moral support!”
Matthew peeked in behind him, snacks in his hands. “And study aids. Also, competitive spirit.”
Gunwook followed, carrying a pile of notebooks and pens. “If anyone needs tutoring, I volunteer as tribute.”
Gyuvin groaned, burying his face in his textbook. Ricky just lifted an eyebrow.
“Wait, why are you all here?” Ricky asked, secretly amused.
“Because it’s STUDY TIME!” Taerae shouted. “And you two clearly can’t be trusted alone. Too much domesticity. Too much… chemistry.”
Hao and Hanbin suddenly appeared behind them, carrying drinks. “Did someone say study party?”
Hanbin smirked. Hao rolled his eyes, clearly not wanting to be there.
Within minutes, the apartment had transformed into controlled chaos: textbooks stacked everywhere, pens rolling across the floor, and snacks disappearing faster than anyone could keep track of. Gyuvin was trying to explain an equation to Ricky while Matthew loudly challenged Gunwook to a card duel. Yujin was narrating every move like a sports commentator, and Hao was teasing Hanbin about stealing all the popcorn. Jiwoong fell asleep and Taerae was actually the only one learning.
Ricky leaned back against the couch, exasperated but smiling. “This is… not what I had in mind.”
Gyuvin, notebook on his lap, whispered, “I think it’s kind of perfect chaos.”
Ricky looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “You think chaos is perfect?”
Gyuvin shrugged, grinning. “Only when it involves you.”
And somehow, between the noise, the snacks, and the ridiculous antics of their friends, the study session became less about exams and more about laughter, teamwork, and the kind of domestic chaos that felt like home.
One thing was clear: nobody else in the world could make studying and life this chaotic, this fun, and this utterly theirs.
“HEY WHO ATE MY STRAWERRIES?!“
The end.