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Baekjin is an excellent student. His grades are flawless — and it’s not like he was born a genius. He worked for it. Studied relentlessly, refined his methods, figured out the most efficient ways to learn and succeeded, obviously. Because Baekjin is the kind of person who gets what he wants. No matter how much effort it takes. If he decides something will be his, then it will be.
And right now, what he wants is Park Humin, a culinary student and basketball player.
Seongje, his best friend, has been insufferable ever since he found out about Baekjin’s… interest in that bimbo, Park Humin, his words, not Baekjin’s. Not that Seongje has any right to judge. He lost that privilege the moment he slept with Go Hyuntak, Humin’s best friend. If anything, he’s worse. At least Baekjin has standards. Hyuntak is… well. He’s tolerable at best. Cute, sure — but far too temperamental, and constantly desperate for Humin’s attention. Irritating.
So Baekjin has a plan: He’s going to win Park Humin over. Make him his. Eventually, they’ll get married, live together, get a dog, maybe. It sounds excessive, but Baekjin doesn’t do things halfway. He plans ahead. Always. Long term.
The problem is Humin himself.
He barely pays attention to him. Keeps calling him “dude” or “bro,” which — frankly — is unacceptable. Baekjin has no interest in being his friend. He wants more than that. He wants to be his boyfriend. His lover. Whatever label applies — as long as it’s not “friend.” It’s frustrating. Humin is painfully oblivious, completely unaware that Baekjin wants him for himself. And it’s not a matter of sexuality — Humin is practically infamous for being a casanova, with both girls and guys. So why not him? Na Baekjin is attractive, and that’s not his ego talking, it’s simply a fact. People are constantly confessing to him, despite his “ice queen” reputation. He turns them all down, of course. Even Seongje tried his luck once and it didn't end well. He wasn’t Baekjin’s type: too impulsive, too erratic. Completely unhinged.
Tonight, he actually has a party to attend. He expects Humin to be there — Seongje assured him he would be so, reluctantly, he agreed to go. He even asks Seongmok for help putting together an outfit — something attractive, but not too revealing, because Baekjin is not a slut (like Hyuntak or Seongje).
So here he is, in an apartment packed with people. It’s Seongje’s party, of course he’s known for throwing the wildest ones on campus. There’s always good beer and expensive drinks, all thanks to his parents’ money. It almost makes up for the fact that they’re terrible parents who somehow managed to “raise” a demon like Seongje.
Now he watches as Seongje is caught between two guys, dancing far too close — an obscene sight. Honestly, it would be less inappropriate if they were just fucking right there. Baekjin clicks his tongue and heads to the kitchen. He has no interest in watching his best friend hook up, and he just hopes Hyuntak doesn’t see it. If it were him, he’d lose it — he’d kill both guys and Seongje on the spot. No one would ever find the bodies, and no one could pin it on him, not even with proof.
When he walks into the kitchen, he spots a few people he vaguely recognizes from university. He’s never really bothered getting to know anyone outside his circle. He’s polite, sure, but he never manages to build real relationships or connections — nothing beyond a quick greeting or helping some idiot out by lending his notes.
He takes his time grabbing one of Seongje’s expensive tequila bottles, pouring himself two shots. He'll need all the strength he can get to survive tonight. After successfully getting a little buzzed (it takes four shots of tequila), he heads to the living room to see if Humin has arrived.
The living room is way more crowded than before. He has no idea where all these people came from, he seriously doubts Seongje even knows all of them, but whatever, not his problem. He scans the crowd quickly, looking for his future boyfriend, and there he is: near the TV. Park Humin, with his usual group of friends and a few others he doesn’t recognize: Sieun, that cute small guy… Juntae? And Go Hyuntak, who looks like he’s about to murder someone, so he assumes he saw Seongje’s little show.
He watches Humin for a moment. He’s completely in his element: a social butterfly. There’s a girl, though, that gets on his nerves. She’s glued to Humin’s arm, her chest pressed against him. He has to hold himself back from going over there and pulling her away. He tells himself he’ll just watch for now — but that changes when she grabs Humin’s hand and drags him off to dance. He follows them with his eyes every step of the way until she stops and presses her back against Humin’s chest, moving in an unnecessarily sensual way. The music doesn’t even match those moves.
Baekjin has a lot of self-control, but this is too much. He grabs a beer from a nearby table and takes a sip, psyching himself up before pretending to stumble. When he’s a few steps away from the dancing pair, he “accidentally” spills his beer all over the girl. She lets out an outraged scream and finally pulls away from Humin’s chest.
“Dude, watch it, what the hell is wrong with you?” she snaps, glaring at him like she wants to kill him. Good — the feeling’s mutual. He just stares at her, feigning confusion as he sways, and then a pair of hands catches him by the waist to steady him.
“Baekjin, are you okay?” Humin’s voice asks, ignoring the girl entirely. He looks so genuinely concerned that Baekjin has to stop the smile threatening to form on his lips.
He nods instead, still pretending to be drunk, letting his weight lean into Humin’s warm body. The other boy ignores the girl’s complaints completely, already focused on him as he guides Baekjin away.
“Come on, let’s get you some air,” he says.
They step out onto Seongje’s massive balcony. There are a few tables and chairs scattered around, quieter than inside, the noise of the party dulled by the distance. Humin helps him sit, taking the seat right next to him. Close and still not close enough.
Baekjin exhales slowly, steadying himself, letting the night air brush against his skin as he keeps up the act just a little longer. His attention goes back to the boy next to him. He looks good tonight — no sign of that stupid sleeveless red puffer jacket he always wears. If Humin were his boyfriend, Baekjin would buy him as many ridiculous jackets as he wanted no matter if he hated those. God… maybe he really did have too much tequila.
“You’ve been… busy lately,” he says after a moment, tone casual, pretending he’s not annoyed about it. Bitter, even.
Humin glances at him. “Busy?”
“You’re always surrounded by people,” Baekjin adds, gesturing vaguely toward the party, like he’s encompassing everyone inside. “I don’t see you around as much.”
“I mean, yeah,” Humin shrugs, easygoing as ever. “I like hanging out, talking to people. You know how it is.”
“I don’t,” Baekjin replies simply. Because he doesn’t. He has a small circle of friends — people who practically forced themselves into his life. He could never understand the appeal of spending time with strangers.
That makes Humin laugh. “Yeah, okay, fair.”
Baekjin looks at him again, studying him. Humin is handsome: strong jaw, broad shoulders, even broader than his own, and that’s… attractive. And don’t even get him started on his hands.
“I don’t see the point,” he continues. “Pointless conversations. Making small talk with people I’m not interested in.”
“Oh,” Humin counters with a grin, “so I’m interesting enough for the ice queen to talk to me?”
Baekjin hums, unconvinced. “Maybe,” he says, then quieter, “you’re fine, I guess. And you’re not ugly, so that helps.”
Humin tilts his head. “You’re beautiful,” he says instead.
That catches Baekjin off guard. Heat rises to his cheeks before he can stop it. “Shut up. I know I’m not ugly,” he mutters, almost shy. There’s a small pause. Baekjin doesn’t look at him when he adds, “Anyway… I like our little conversations.”
That lands softer than he intended.
Humin goes quiet for a second, then smiles — wide and warm, a little surprised. “Me too. You’re one of the smartest people I know — and I’m friends with Sieun.”
Baekjin glances at him. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” Humin nods, leaning back. “Smart and pretty. And… I kinda like this version of you.”
Baekjin raises an eyebrow. “This version?”
“Yeah,” Humin laughs. “You’re less scary like this. Maybe it’s the alcohol or something.”
Baekjin scoffs lightly. “I’m not scary.”
“You are,” Humin insists, still smiling. “But right now? You’re just… easier.”
Baekjin considers that, then leans slightly closer, just enough to shift the space between them. “Careful,” he murmurs. “I might start wanting to spend more time with you.”
Humin grins, completely unfazed. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
Baekjin’s lips twitch — almost a smile, but it fades when a loud cheer erupts from inside, followed by something crashing, interrupting the moment.
Humin glances over his shoulder. “Seongje really knows how to throw a party.”
“Of course he does,” Baekjin mutters, judging. “He’d take any excuse to get drunk.”
Humin snorts. “Those two are insane.”
“Which two?”
“Seongje and Hyuntak,” Humin says like it’s obvious. “They’re so stupid. Like, just date already, you know?”
Baekjin hums, watching him instead of the party. He doesn’t like how easily Humin brings up Hyuntak. It’s unnecessary. “Yes,” he says, sarcasm laced in his tone, “it’s… obvious.” Because it is. Those two have been playing that game forever and still do nothing about it.
“Seriously, it’s painful to watch,” Humin adds.
Baekjin tilts his head slightly, eyes fixed on him. It’s almost funny — how Humin talks about them like he isn’t completely oblivious to what’s right in front of him. He’s so dense it would be cute if it weren’t so exasperating.
“Some people,” Baekjin says, tone thoughtful, “are just… slow.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Humin laughs.
Baekjin just looks at him. The joke tells itself. He almost laughs, but stops himself — he’s already broken character enough tonight. He leans back slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “So,” he says, changing the subject before he does something irrational — like slapping Humin for being just as slow, if not worse than those two —“do you always dance like that?”
“Like what?” Humin asks.
“With strangers,” Baekjin clarifies. “That close. You seemed very… comfortable.”
Humin chuckles. “Jealous?”
Baekjin doesn’t answer. He doesn’t trust his selfcontrol right now. “I was just observing,” he says instead.
“Sure, bro,” Humin teases, nudging him lightly.
There it is again. That irritating word. Humin is testing his patience — and of course, he doesn’t even realize it. He just keeps smiling, completely unaware of the damage he’s doing. Baekjin exhales slowly, something tightening in his chest despite himself. It’s stupid to feel this affected just because he calls him that. Bro.
“And hey,” Humin adds suddenly, like he just had a brilliant idea, “if you want, I could show you. Or introduce you to that girl — she dances really well.”
Baekjin blinks, thrown off by the abrupt shift. For a second, he thinks he misheard. But he didn’t. Something in his chest settles — colder now. He tries to control his expression, his disappointment, but he’s had enough.
“No, thank you,” he says, polite but distant, though he’s not sure he managed not to sound rude. “I’m not interested.”
“Oh… okay,” Humin frowns. “I just thought—”
“You thought wrong.”
It comes out sharper than intended, but Baekjin doesn’t correct himself. He stands, smoothing out his clothes, already putting space between them. He wants to leave. Suddenly, he has no desire to deal with all these people just for the chance to be alone with Humin.
“I’m leaving.”
“Wait already?” Humin pushes himself up slightly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Baekjin doesn’t look at him again, he’s too confused, too irritated by everything. Without another word, he walks back inside, straight through the noise and the crowd, past people he doesn’t bother acknowledging. He doesn’t look for Seongje to say goodbye, he’ll text him when he gets home, when he’s back in his own safe space.
He barely makes it past the hallway when he hears footsteps behind him.
“Baekjin— wait.”
He stops. He doesn’t even understand why, but something in Humin’s tone makes him. You’re overreacting, a voice in his head tells him. He shuts it down immediately.
He turns slowly, expression already composed, like nothing is wrong.
Humin catches up, slightly out of breath. “Hey, what was that?” he asks, frowning. “Did I say something—?”
Baekjin doesn’t let him finish. Humin looks worried again, a faint blush across his cheeks, and he looks… adorable. And that’s enough. Baekjin steps forward, grabs him by the collar, and pulls him in, kissing him without thinking. It’s not careful, because he can’t be in this situation, it’s sharp, frustrated, months of restrained interest collapsing into one impulsive decision. His hand tightens in Humin’s shirt, like he might slip away otherwise.
And then… nothing.
Humin doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t kiss him back. He hasn’t even lifted his hands to hold him, like he should. This isn’t how his first kiss was supposed to go, Humin isn’t even kissing him back. He’s just… there.
Baekjin pulls away quickly, breath uneven for the first time that night. He’s so embarrassed. He shouldn’t have lost control like that. Because now it’s confirmed: Humin isn’t interested. And he just humiliated himself in the worst possible way in front of him.
“That was a mistake. Sorry,” he says quickly, composure slipping for a second. Alarm bells are ringing in his head — he needs to get out, get home, be alone, lick his wounds in private. This is the first time he’s felt this off balance, this… small. And it’s all because of one stupid boy.
He doesn’t wait for a response. He doesn’t even look at him again. He turns and practically rushes down the hallway, out of the building.
—
Baekjin locks himself in his apartment that entire weekend, avoiding everyone. It’s not unusual — he does it all the time — but this time it’s not for studying or because he simply doesn’t feel like dealing with his friends. This time, it’s for a completely humiliating reason. He’s hiding because he’s embarrassed, because he feels like a total failure, and all because of one stupid boy. God, he’s really hit rock bottom.
So he pretends the world outside his four walls doesn’t exist. His phone hasn’t stopped buzzing the entire time, his friends talking nonstop in the group chat. At first, he doesn’t even want to check it; hope and disappointment are both equally unbearable. There are no messages from Humin, but his name keeps appearing in the chat. Apparently, after Baekjin left, Seongje and Humin got into a fight. Punches, shouting — Wooyoung mentions blood, and that’s where Baekjin stops reading. He doesn’t actually want to know. He doesn’t care. Park Humin is no longer his problem — he’s decided that much. End of story.
Just thinking about him leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. This whole situation affects him more than he’d ever admit, because this is his first real failure. He tried — he even went as far as kissing him — and nothing happened. Na Baekjin, twenty one years old, a failure. He couldn’t win over the only boy he’s ever actually been interested in. He was rejected, plain and simple, and now he’s left with a pounding headache and an even worse ache in his chest. He’s not used to losing, not used to failing. That’s not how his life works. He achieves what he sets out to do, for fuck’s sake.
Stupid Park Humin and his pretty smile, his easy warmth, his stupidly friendly aura, his big, well built body. Seongje was right. He never should’ve gone after a pretty faced idiot with no brain.
After thinking about it long enough, he decides: this is it. Park Humin can go to hell along with all his nice qualities, his ugly puffer jackets, and his stupid friends. Especially Go Hyuntak.
Na Baekjin is done. For good.
By Monday, Baekjin is back to normal. Or at least, he looks like it he hopes. Perfect posture, composed expression, sharp gaze. Untouchable. No more nice guy, at least not for Park Humin or any of his friends. If anything, he looks even more put together than usual, like he’s overcompensating; like nothing ever happened. Because nothing happened. Not the kiss in that hallway, not his stupid crush — nothing.
But life has a way of messing with him, so of course he runs into the very person responsible for all these feelings.
He spots him before Humin sees him. Of course he does — like a moth to a flame.
Humin is impossible to miss, stupidly loud and always surrounded by people. Sieun is there, Juntae too, and Hyuntak — as usual, glued to them like they’re attached at the hip. Baekjin’s gaze lingers half a second longer than necessary before he looks away. He doesn’t want to deal with this, so he straightens up and walks past them without acknowledging anyone.
“—Baekjin?”
He hasn’t even taken two full steps when he hears that voice — the one that, under different circumstances, would have his inner cat perking up and purring. God, how pathetic.
He stops before he can think about it too much, maybe out of habit more than anything. Then he turns, his expression already neutral, like he hasn’t spent the entire weekend thinking about this exact moment.
Humin looks… off. There’s a faint cut on his lip, not fully healed. Baekjin notices immediately. Of course he does. His mind supplies the answer before he can stop it: Seongje. So the fight wasn’t an exaggeration. Baekjin raises an eyebrow when Humin just stands there for a second without saying anything.
“Hi,” Humin says finally, a little unsure.
Baekjin inclines his head slightly. “Humin.” No greeting, nothing more. He doesn’t think it’s necessary. There’s no warmth, no bite either just… distance. The way it should’ve always been.
Apparently, that’s enough to make the others go quiet. Baekjin catches the way Humin bites his lower lip, nervous, and good — he should be uncomfortable. After all, Baekjin spent the entire weekend feeling like that because of him.
There’s another awkward pause. Humin shifts his weight like he doesn’t know what to do, and Baekjin watches it happen with detached precision.
“You, uh… disappeared this weekend,” Humin says, scratching the back of his neck.
“Did I? I’m not sure what you mean, we don’t exactly see each other regularly. Still, I didn’t receive any texts from you asking to hang out or anything.”
His tone comes out more ironic than he intended, but he’s still hurt, still humiliated. He doesn’t understand why Humin would even bring that up. Of course he disappeared — what did he expect?
“You’re right. Sorry,” Humin says, and Baekjin hears a quiet, mocking laugh behind him, Go Hyuntak. That idiot. “Anyway… are you—are you okay?”
Baekjin almost laughs at the audacity of the question. He takes a slow breath before answering.
“I’m fine,” he says evenly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
It’s a loaded question. He wants to see if Humin will bring it up — what happened — or if he’ll pretend like nothing happened. He’s not even sure which one he wants.
Humin opens his mouth, then closes it again. He looks like he wants to say something more, but whatever it is gets stuck somewhere between thought and action.
Typical.
Baekjin lets the silence stretch just long enough to make it uncomfortable, but he doesn’t have the time — or the patience — to deal with this. He raises an eyebrow slightly, already done with the interaction. He gives Humin a minute, maybe two, to say something.
Nothing comes.
“It was good seeing you,” he says finally, polite, way too polite, not like him at all.
He doesn’t wait for a response.
He just turns and walks away.
—
Baekjin throws himself back into his study routine, determined not to let some stupid boy distract him ever again. He manages to keep it up until Friday, when — almost without thinking — he texts Seongje and asks him to take him out for drinks. Of course, Seongje accepts immediately, practically euphoric. Alcoholic.
Despite how badly he wants to drink, to forget everything, Baekjin isn’t entirely sure how he ends up there. If anyone asked him later, he’d probably blame Seongje — because, technically, it is his fault. Still, the truth is simpler and far more inconvenient: he wanted the distraction. He wanted the noise, the alcohol, the brief illusion of losing control he usually guards so carefully.
And that alone is enough to unsettle him.
Because really over a boy?
He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t go out just to drink, doesn’t sit at crowded tables with half empty bottles and overlapping voices, doesn’t let himself slip.
And yet, tonight he does.
And it’s fine. He doesn’t care anymore. Not tonight, at least.
Seongje doesn’t question it out loud, but Baekjin can feel his eyes on him from across the table — sharp, observant. The table is covered in expensive alcohol, as expected. Seongje never does anything halfway.
Baekjin reaches for a glass.
He drinks. And drinks. And drinks. And drinks. The tequila burns all the way down his throat at this point, but he doesn’t care.
“So,” Seongje says after a while, tone casual in that way that means it’s not casual at all, “you’re finally done sulking?”
“I don’t sulk, excuse me.”
Seongje snorts. “You disappeared for days and then, out of nowhere, you text me to get drunk together. I’m not stupid, Jinnie.”
“I was busy. And you said yes immediately, don’t act like you don’t want to be here now.”
“With what? Staring at your wall and thinking about fucking Doku?”
“His name is Humin, not Doku,” is all Baekjin says before taking another shot of tequila. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thanks Mexicans for inventing something this strong—and this good. Maybe he should move to Latin America. Open a clinic there. Forget about broad shoulders and stupid jackets.
Seongje hums, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t fucking care about his name. What did that imbecile do?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re unbelievable. Just tell me,” he presses, demands, and then, without thinking, adds, “You look like you got rejected for the first time in your life.”
That—
That hits too close.
Baekjin’s jaw tightens slightly as he takes another drink, slower this time. He doesn’t want to talk about it tonight, especially not with Seongje. If he tells him how it happened, he might actually go find Humin and break his nose, leave him in a hospital bed. Seongje might be insane, but he’s fiercely loyal. A guard dog.
“I didn’t,” he says flatly. “Now stop talking about it. I just want to drink.”
“Sure you are,” Seongje replies, eyeing the amount left in the bottle. The hypocrisy is almost funny, Seongje has finished a whole bottle on his own before.
“I’m serious, Je. Drop it.”
Seongje watches him for a second longer, like he’s deciding whether to push further, then just shrugs. “Whatever you say.”
The conversation drifts after that, turning into something else. Baekjin barely listens. The alcohol is doing its job now, dulling the edges of his thoughts, softening everything.
It would be nice if his mind would stop going back to the same place.
HuminHuminHuminHuminHuminHumin.
He exhales through his nose, annoyed, and reaches for the bottle this time instead of the glass. A shot isn’t enough. Maybe drinking straight from it will finally shut his brain up.
“Careful,” Seongje comments, watching him. “You’re going to regret this.”
“I don’t regret things.”
“Whatever you say, princess.”
Baekjin stills for a fraction of a second.
Then drinks anyway.
The room feels louder now or maybe it’s just him. Everything is softer and slower. like there’s a delay between what he sees and what he processes. His thoughts slip easier now, less controlled. More… dangerous.
Before he can stop himself, he’s already sent a message to a number he swore he had blocked. Apparently, he didn’t.
you’re an idiot
He stares at the screen, frowning like it’s his phone’s fault there’s no reply — despite it being 3 a.m. and Humin probably asleep. Or out with someone. A girl. A guy.
A second passes, and he starts typing again.
i really want to kiss you again
Then:
nah forget that, i’ll kick your ass next time we see each other
He lets out a quiet laugh, a laugh, at his own message. That’ll show him. No one rejects Na Baekjin and then acts like nothing happened.
There’s a shift beside him, Seongje going quiet but Baekjin barely notices.
He keeps going. He can’t stop now. Now he gets it, people who wait until they’re drunk to text their exes. Not that Humin is his ex. That would require them to have dated in the first place.
Right.
we could’ve had a corgi
A pause.
His lips press together slightly.
but you’re playing
“…What are you doing?”
Seongje’s voice cuts in, low and suspicious. He’s leaning over Baekjin now, staring straight at the screen.
“Nothing,” Baekjin mutters, angling the phone away.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
Seongje doesn’t ask again. He just reaches over and takes it, faster than Baekjin can react.
“Hey—”
Too late. Seongje scrolls through the messages, his expression shifting — surprise, amusement, then irritation.
“Oh, this is bad, my dear Jinnie. You are so fucked.”
“Give it back.”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Seongje.”
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” he laughs, holding the phone just out of reach. “And for him? Really? It’s fucking Boku. You’re better than having a crush on that 99 IQ idiot.”
Baekjin scowls, reaching for it again, missing completely. Of course, he’s drunk. “I don’t care.”
“That’s the problem,” Seongje shoots back. “You should care. You’re going to regret this tomorrow.”
He sighs, locks the phone, and slips it into his pocket. “You’re done for tonight.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he cuts him off. “You can thank me tomorrow.”
Baekjin leans back in his chair, frustrated, his head spinning. The room feels heavier, slower. Suddenly, he feels overwhelmingly nauseous.
He pushes himself up and stumbles toward the bathroom.
It’s a miracle he makes it. After a moment — after getting rid of everything he ate that day — he feels a hand in his hair. Seongje, steady and grounding. Baekjin doesn’t remember if he thanks him or curses him.
But he knows one thing for sure — he has good friends.
—
Baekjin wakes up abruptly the next morning, breath catching as consciousness crashes into him all at once. His head is pounding, his mouth dry as hell, and for a second he has no idea where he is. Then it settles. His apartment. Of course.
He doesn’t remember how he got there, Seongje, probably. There’s a glass of water on his nightstand, his phone (dead, obviously), and a small collection of pills neatly arranged beside it, along with a note in Seongje’s messy handwriting: for the hangover, take them, princess <<3333 had a great time last night ;)
Baekjin stares at it for a long moment, expression blank. Maybe he needs a new best friend.
He groans softly and lets his head fall back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Regret comes in waves, each one worse than the last. Every decision from last night lines up neatly in his head — too much tequila, losing control, texting Humin — and then it hits him properly.
Oh.
Oh no.
His eyes squeeze shut. He doesn’t need his phone to confirm it — he already knows it was a mistake. A terrible one. He exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face as a second wave of regret hits harder than the hangover.
This is humiliating. Na Baekjin — twenty one years old, perfect in everything — and this is what he’s reduced to: drunk texts at three in the morning like some desperate idiot. He lets out a quiet, humorless scoff, something bitter settling deep in his chest.
Pathetic.
A loud, aggressive pounding against his door cuts through the spiral. Baekjin’s eyes snap open immediately—and then it comes again. And again. Not knocking — pounding, like whoever’s out there is trying to break the door down.
He frowns, pushing himself up, wincing at the way his head protests the movement.
“Jesus—”
Another bang.
“Baekjin!”
His entire body stills.
That voice — no. No, absolutely not.
“Open the door! I know you’re in there!”
Park Humin.
Baekjin freezes for half a second, his heart kicking up in a way that feels completely unfair given the circumstances. His brain is still sluggish from the alcohol, but panic cuts through it cleanly.
What the hell is he doing here?
He throws the covers off, standing up too quickly — and immediately regrets it when the room tilts.
Another bang.
“If you don’t open this door, I swear—”
“Shut up,” Baekjin mutters under his breath, already moving.
He doesn’t even check the time. He doesn’t need to. If Humin keeps that up, his neighbors are going to call the police.
He makes a quick detour to the bathroom, flicking on the light and immediately squinting at the brightness.
“Fuck—fuck.”
His reflection looks exactly how he feels: pale, tired, hair a mess, lips dry. There’s no fixing this properly, not now. He splashes water on his face, quick, trying to look at least somewhat presentable, then brushes his teeth even faster while the pounding doesn’t stop.
“Baekjin!”
“I’m coming!” he snaps, sharper than intended.
He dries his face, runs a hand through his hair, and doesn’t bother with anything else. There’s no time.
Another bang.
“Jesus fucking Christ, stop it!”
He walks out faster now, irritation mixing with something more complicated. By the time he reaches the door, his expression is already back in place — controlled, neutral. Like nothing happened. Like last night didn’t happen. Like he didn’t kiss him and got rejected.
He unlocks the door and pulls it open.
And there he is. Park Humin stands right in front of him, slightly out of breath, hair a mess, eyes intense in a way Baekjin has never seen before.
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
Baekjin lifts an eyebrow, detached — even if his pulse is anything but calm.
“You’re being very loud,” he says, voice even, almost bored. “If you break my door, you’re paying for it.”
Humin doesn’t respond to the provocation. He just stares at him, jaw tight, hands curled into fists, something tense and determined in his expression. After a moment, he speaks, his voice low and controlled in a way that feels off. “Are you going to let me in, or are we doing this in the hallway?”
Baekjin blinks once, unimpressed. “There’s nothing to do. Whatever this is, you can say it here.”
Humin’s jaw tightens, and for a second it looks like he might argue, but instead he exhales sharply and drags a hand through his already messy hair. “You sent me some texts last night.”
Baekjin tilts his head slightly. “Did I?”
“Yes.”
“So?”
Something flickers across Humin’s face, frustration and disbelief. “You don’t remember?”
Baekjin shrugs lightly, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe as if he has all the time in the world. “I remember deciding you’re not worth my time, so please leave.”
He sees it immediately — the shift, the way Humin’s expression hardens, something sharper replacing the urgency.
Good.
“Then why did you text me?” Humin shoots back, stepping closer despite himself. “At three in the morning.”
“Who knows. Drunk people say stupid things.”
“Yeah?” Humin’s voice tightens. “Was that all it was?”
Baekjin meets his eyes, steady and cold. “Yes.”
The silence that follows is heavy, uncomfortable. Humin stares at him like he’s trying to peel something back, like Baekjin is a problem he can solve if he just looks hard enough.
“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters.
“I’ve been told.”
There’s another pause, longer this time, and something in Humin shifts, less hesitation, more decision in his face.
“You’re going to listen to me.”
Baekjin lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Humin doesn’t back off. If anything, he steps closer, closing the distance between them. “You don’t get to just shut me out and pretend nothing happened.”
There’s something in his tone — firm, certain, almost commanding — that catches Baekjin off guard. It does something to him, annoyingly so, and before he fully realizes it, he’s already taken a step back. Then another. Humin follows without hesitation, pressing forward until they’re both inside the apartment.
“You don’t get to decide that,” Baekjin replies, quieter now but just as sharp, trying to gather what little control he has left. This is slipping out of his hands, and he doesn’t like it.
“I do,” Humin fires back immediately. “Because you don’t get to kiss me like that and then act like I don’t exist.”
Baekjin exhales, short and humorless, his gaze flicking away for half a second before returning. So that’s what this is about. Of course it is. He’s hungover, he looks like shit, and Humin is acting completely out of character—he doesn’t even know how to react to that.
“You didn’t kiss me back,” he says, voice flat, though there’s something under it now, something less controlled. “So what exactly is there to talk about?”
Humin goes completely still, like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Baekjin lets out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking his head once.
“Right.”
He turns and starts walking back toward the door, already done with the conversation. “Conversation over.”
“Yah, Na Baekjin.”
That stops him.
Stronger this time. There’s no room to ignore it.
Baekjin closes his eyes briefly, irritation flashing through him before he answers, “What?,” without turning to look at him.
Humin exhales sharply, like he’s been holding it in for too long, like if he doesn’t say it now he never will.
“I didn’t kiss you back because I’m an idiot,” he blurts out.
That makes Baekjin turn.
Slowly.
Humin runs a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated, pacing once like he doesn’t know what to do with himself before stopping right in front of him again and pushing the door closed behind him.
“It’s not that I don’t like you or that I’m not interested in you,” he continues quickly, words starting to trip over each other. “I never rejected you, okay? That’s not what that was.”
Baekjin frowns slightly, confusion creeping in despite himself. “…What?”
“My body didn’t react, my brain didn’t react, nothing did,” Humin says, still a mess but painfully sincere. “Not because I don’t want you—” he cuts himself off with a frustrated shake of his head. “It’s because I couldn’t believe it.”
Baekjin’s expression tightens. “Believe what.”
“That you would be into me.”
The silence that follows is different. Real.
Baekjin just stares at him, like his brain lagged behind for a second too long.
“You couldn’t believe it,” he repeats slowly.
“Yes,” Humin insists, stepping closer again, firm, like he’s not backing down from this. “Of course I couldn’t. Why would I?”
Baekjin blinks at him once. Then again.
“You’re popular,” he says, sharper now, genuinely confused. “You’re always surrounded by people. Half the campus is in love with you. How is that hard to believe?”
Humin looks at him like he’s the unreasonable one.
“Because it’s you,” he says.
Baekjin’s expression tightens slightly. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Yes, it does,” Humin shoots back immediately. “You’re the ice queen, Baekjin. You’re smart, you’re ridiculously pretty, you don’t talk to anyone unless you have to—and when you do, it feels like you’re doing them a favor.”
Baekjin’s jaw tightens. Is he being insulted right now?
“You’re impossible,” Humin continues, his voice softer now but no less intense. “Untouchable. Like a dream.”
The silence stretches again, and Baekjin doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, because he genuinely doesn’t know what to do with that.
“…You’re unbelievable,” he mutters finally.
Humin huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”
Baekjin looks at him properly then — messy hair, split lip, tired eyes, still slightly out of breath from showing up like a storm at his door. And stubborn. So stupidly stubborn.
“…You thought I was out of your league,” Baekjin says slowly.
“I didn’t know what to think,” Humin admits. “It didn’t feel real. You’re smart, you’re—” he gestures vaguely, frustrated. “You’re you. And I’m just… me.”
Baekjin exhales through his nose, long and controlled. “Still, you didn’t say anything when we saw each other on campus. You had time to process. Why would I believe you now?”
“That’s fair,” Humin says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Another pause follows, heavier this time.
Humin shifts, restless again, then steps closer, like distance itself is the problem.
“What do you want me to do, then?” he asks, frustration bleeding through now. “What does it take for you to believe me?”
Baekjin doesn’t answer, because part of him already does—and that’s exactly what he hates.
Humin lets out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair again.
“Do I have to go to campus and shout it?” he continues. “Tell everyone I like you? That I want you? That you’re the only one I’ve been thinking about since that night? Because I have a megaphone I can do that, just for you”
Baekjin’s pulse stutters, but his face remains carefully composed.
Humin watches him for a moment, waiting, and then something in his expression shifts again. Settles. Decides.
“Or maybe,” he adds, quieter now, something more dangerous slipping into his tone, “I need to get on my knees for you.”
Baekjin’s breath catches.
Just barely.
Humin doesn’t hesitate. He drops to his knees right there, in the middle of the room, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The sound is soft, almost insignificant, but it lands heavy all the same.
For a moment, Baekjin just stares at him.
Completely blank.
Humin looks up from where he is, steady, unwavering, like he has already decided he’s not backing down from this.
“Is this enough?” he asks, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “Or do I need to keep going?”
Something tightens in Baekjin’s chest, sharp and unfamiliar. He never — never — thought he’d see Park Humin like this, on his knees in his living room, looking at him like that.
“…Get up,” Baekjin says, but his voice isn’t as steady as he’d like.
Humin doesn’t move.
“Not until you stop acting like I rejected you,” he replies, stubborn, his gaze never wavering. “Because I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”
Baekjin’s fingers twitch slightly at his sides.
God.
“…You’re unbelievable,” he mutters again, softer this time.
Humin’s lips twitch. “Yeah. You said that already.”
And, damn it, Baekjin almost smiles.
He exhales slowly, the tension in his chest shifting into something warmer, something far more dangerous, and finally reaches out, grabbing Humin’s hand.
“Fine,” he says, like it costs him something. “I believe you. Now get up.”
Humin takes his hand immediately, pushing himself up in one smooth motion, his entire expression lighting up so suddenly it almost catches Baekjin off guard, like he’s just been handed the best thing in the world.
“Just so you know,” Humin says, already grinning, “I love corgis. So we’re having two.”
“God, shut up,” Baekjin mutters, but there’s no real bite to it anymore.
He grabs him by the belt, pulling him closer without hesitation, and kisses him — properly this time. And Humin kisses him back.
His hands come up immediately, firm around Baekjin’s waist, pulling him in like he’s not letting him go anywhere. The kiss is warm and overwhelming, a little messy, a little desperate, and completely consuming in a way that makes Baekjin’s breath catch for an entirely different reason.
Finally.
It feels right.
Baekjin exhales softly against his mouth, fingers tightening just slightly against Humin’s clothes, and for the first time since last night, something in him settles.
Maybe this didn’t go as wrong as he thought.
Maybe he didn’t completely ruin it.
And maybe Na Baekjin didn’t fail after all.
THE END.