Chapter Text
Han Sooyoung disliked mornings on principle. They were loud, bright, and full of people who expected her to function. Unfortunately for her, Monday mornings at the university were even worse—faculty meetings full of mediocre coffee, stiff chairs, and the dean talking about “budget realignment” like the world wasn’t already bleak enough.
She arrived five minutes late on purpose, slipped into the meeting room, and scanned for the least annoying seat.
And then she saw her.
Yoo Sangah, already sitting neatly with her notebook open, pen poised, looking like she stepped out of a campus brochure titled Professionalism Made Gentle. Her soft beige cardigan matched her warm expression, and her hair fell in those effortless waves that made entire rows of students listen harder than they should.
And when Sangah saw her, her whole face lit up.
“Sooyoung!” she whispered, as if the two of them were sharing a secret. “Good morning.”
Sooyoung blinked, then quickly schooled her face back into its usual guarded neutrality. “Yeah. Morning.”
She slid into the seat beside her—she always ended up next to her somehow—and tried to pretend she didn’t notice the way Sangah’s smile softened, like she was relieved that Sooyoung had come.
The dean droned on. Something about new student initiatives. Something about resource allocation. Sooyoung stared at her cheap plastic pen and willed herself not to fall asleep.
But it was hard to ignore Sangah next to her. Hard, because Sangah had this subtle presence—quiet but warm, gentle but somehow intense in the way she paid attention to everything.
It was also hard because Sangah’s sleeve kept brushing against hers every time she wrote a note.
Sooyoung clenched her jaw. Stupid fabric. Stupid cardigan. Stupid proximity.
“Sooyoung?” Sangah whispered suddenly, leaning in just a little.
Sooyoung turned—and froze.
Sangah was close. Much too close. Her eyes, soft brown and impossibly focused, locked onto Sooyoung’s with a quiet sincerity that made Sooyoung’s breath hitch embarrassingly.
“What?” she whispered back, more defensive than she intended.
Sangah showed her the agenda. “Do you understand this point? I think the dean changed the guidelines again.”
Sooyoung’s heart thumped once, hard. She glanced at the paper mostly to avoid staring at Sangah’s face.
“It means the dean’s incompetent,” she muttered. “What else is new?”
Sangah giggled—soft, warm, and devastating. The kind of laugh that felt like a hand slipping under Sooyoung’s ribs to gently squeeze.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Sangah chided, but her tone was fond.
“You asked,” Sooyoung shot back.
Sangah nudged her arm lightly. “I didn’t ask you to insult our boss.”
“You should’ve known what you were getting into by sitting next to me.”
“I always sit next to you.”
The sentence sat between them, soft and obvious and too intimate.
Sooyoung felt her ears grow hot. She clicked her pen aggressively to hide it.
“Well,” she muttered, “that’s your problem.”
But Sangah just smiled—the same warm, patient smile she always had for Sooyoung, the one that somehow made her feel seen and understood and infuriatingly vulnerable. As if Sangah didn’t mind the sarcasm, didn’t mind the sharp edges, didn’t mind any of the messy, barbed-wire pieces of her.
The meeting moved on to upcoming campus events. The dean passed out packets, and Sangah politely thanked him. Sooyoung didn’t.
She was too busy trying not to notice how Sangah tucked her hair behind her ear while reading. Too busy trying not to notice the way Sangah’s lips parted a little when she focused. Too busy trying not to feel something stupid in her stomach every time Sangah leaned toward her.
“Sooyoung,” Sangah whispered again.
“What now?” Sooyoung hissed, a bit louder than intended.
Sangah blinked in surprise, but instead of shrinking, she tilted her head gently. “Are you alright? You seem… upset.”
Sooyoung scoffed. “This meeting is upsetting.”
“But you’re upset even when you’re not looking at the dean.”
Sooyoung’s heart stuttered. “Are you analyzing me?”
“I’m observing you,” Sangah corrected softly. “That’s different.”
“No, it’s weird.”
Sangah smiled. “Then I’ll stop.”
She didn’t.
Of course she didn’t.
Sangah’s eyes kept drifting back to her—checking, noticing, caring in a way that felt too much.
At some point, near the end of the meeting, the dean made a joke about professors being “married to their jobs.” Everyone laughed politely.
Except Sangah.
Because Sangah glanced at Sooyoung instead.
Sooyoung caught the look.
A small, amused, knowing smile.
And Sooyoung’s brain promptly malfunctioned.
“What?” she demanded in a whisper.
Sangah shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Then why are you smiling at me like that?”
“I’m just… thinking.”
“About what?”
Sangah hesitated.
Then:
“Something silly.”
Sooyoung narrowed her eyes. “Tell me.”
But Sangah bit her lip and shook her head. “It’s embarrassing.”
Sooyoung felt a flutter in her chest that she refused to acknowledge.
When the meeting finally ended, Sooyoung stood up too fast, bumping into her chair. Sangah reached out instinctively, fingertips brushing Sooyoung’s wrist.
“You’re unusually jumpy today,” Sangah said gently.
Sooyoung snatched her hand away, flustered. “I’m not jumpy. You’re just—”
She stopped herself.
Sangah’s eyes widened slightly. “I’m just… what?”
Too kind.
Too soft.
Too close.
Too much for her heart to handle.
Sooyoung cleared her throat. “Forget it.”
She tried to head for the door, but Sangah followed with her usual soft, steady steps.
“Sooyoung,” Sangah said, tugging lightly at her sleeve.
Sooyoung froze.
“Did I do something wrong?” Sangah asked quietly. “You’re being… different today.”
Sooyoung exhaled sharply. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then what’s bothering you?”
“Nothing,” Sooyoung lied.
Sangah looked unconvinced. She always did. Sangah had this irritating ability to see through her like glass.
But instead of pushing, she simply nodded, accepting it with a quiet trust that made Sooyoung feel even worse.
“Alright,” Sangah said softly. “If you want to talk about it another time… or not at all… that’s fine too.”
Sooyoung’s chest tightened.
Why was Sangah like this?
Why was she patient?
Why was she kind?
Why did she look at Sooyoung like she was someone worth understanding?
They walked together down the hallway, side by side, their steps unconsciously in sync.
Students waved at Sangah. She waved back with that bright, encouraging smile. Some greeted Sooyoung too, but theirs were more tentative. Respectful in a ‘please don’t roast me’ kind of way.
“Your students like you,” Sangah said warmly.
“No, they don’t.”
“They do.”
“They fear me.”
“That’s still a form of affection.”
“That’s not—what? No.”
Sangah laughed again. “But they smile when they see you.”
“That’s because they know I curve grades.”
“So they love you then.”
Sooyoung groaned. “Stop twisting my words.”
“I’m not twisting anything.” Sangah reached for her arm, lightly tapping it with her fingers. “You’re actually very kind, you know.”
“Stop lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
They reached the building exit, and instinctively, Sooyoung slowed before stepping into the sunlight, watching Sangah out of the corner of her eye.
Sangah noticed the pause, of course she did.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Too bright,” Sooyoung muttered.
Sangah smiled softly. “Then stay in the shade for a bit.”
She held the door open, waiting beside her, as if Sooyoung’s comfort was something that mattered.
And maybe that was the problem.
Maybe that was why Sooyoung’s throat felt tight.
Because Sangah cared too much.
And Sooyoung knew herself well enough to know she was already falling.
“Sooyoung?” Sangah’s voice was gentle. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
No.
Nothing was okay.
Not when Sangah looked at her like that.
Not when she wanted things she shouldn’t.
But Sooyoung only nodded stiffly.
“Fine,” she muttered.
They stood there a moment longer before Sangah finally stepped into the sunlight. Sooyoung followed, pretending her heart wasn’t doing traitorous somersaults.
As they walked across campus, Sangah suddenly said, “You can talk to me whenever, you know. Even if it’s something small.”
Sooyoung swallowed her emotions whole. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Really,” Sangah said, leaning closer. “I’ll always listen to you.”
Sooyoung’s breath caught.
“What if I don’t want you to listen?” she whispered harshly.
Sangah paused. “Do you not?”
“I don’t know.”
Sangah’s expression softened with something that made Sooyoung feel unsteady.
“Well,” Sangah said gently, “whenever you decide… I’ll be here.”
Sooyoung looked away quickly.
Perfect people were dangerous.
And Yoo Sangah was already a problem she didn’t know how to solve.