Archive of Our Own

If you asked their friends when it all started, nobody could actually give you a straight answer.

It was just one of those things that felt like it had existed forever. It was like that one incredibly popular song; the kind that’s played in every convenience store, every street, and every campus radio station until it just becomes a part of the atmosphere. You don’t even "hear" it anymore. It just fades into the background noise of your life, a melody you hum without even realizing you know the lyrics.

Leo, who had been stuck between them since the first day of freshman orientation, usually just rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

Sangwon, the guy who caught every tiny detail but treated information like a state secret, never said a word. He just watched it unfold with a faint, knowing smirk.

Junseo was basically the group’s babysitter, always smiling like a tired teacher who knew exactly which kid started the food fight but was too exhausted to hand out detentions.

Then there was Sanghyeon. He made it his life’s mission to be the loudest person in the room. He’d just shrug dramatically, nearly knocking over a drink, and say, “Look, they were already acting like a married couple when I joined the group. I just assumed they came as a package deal.”

Like what, exactly?

Well. Take today, for example.

The campus café was a total wreck. It was that late-afternoon rush where everyone is either shaking from too much caffeine or crying over a midterm. Chairs scraped against the floor like nails on a chalkboard, and the espresso machine was screaming like it was about to explode, crumbs from a muffin nobody wanted to finish, and enough laptops to look like a tech convention.

Xinlong sat right in the middle. He was in his own world, sketchbook open, his pencil tapping a steady click-click-click against the paper. He was supposed to be listening to Junseo explain their group project, but his eyes were totally glazed over.

Across from him, Anxin was watching.

It wasn’t a weird, unblinking stare. It was just… constant. It was the kind of focus that made it obvious Anxin had a mental map of how Xinlong functioned. He knew exactly when Xinlong’s brain would check out, exactly when he’d forget his drink existed, and exactly how many seconds it took for him to start tugging on his ear when he was stuck.

Right on cue, Xinlong’s hand drifted up to his ear.

Anxin let out a long, heavy sigh. “You’re doing it again.”

Xinlong blinked, his pencil freezing. “Doing what? I’m locked in, I promise.”

“Thinking too hard,” Anxin said. “I can practically see your brain overheating from here. You're going to blow a fuse.”

Leo actually choked on his drink, coughing into a napkin. “Thinking too hard? Is that a real thing? Man, what does that even mean?”

“It means,” Anxin replied, his voice flat and calm as he reached across the table to slide Xinlong’s iced latte closer to him, “that he’s been staring at the same blank page for five minutes and his drink is watering down. It’s 90% water at this point. Drink it.”

Xinlong looked down at the paper, then at the cup, as if seeing them for the first time. “…Oh. Thanks, Anxin.”

Sanghyeon leaned toward Leo, whispering loud enough for the whole café to hear. “See? It’s actually embarrassing. Should we get them a toaster for their anniversary?”

“I can hear you, Sanghyeon,” Anxin said, not even looking up.

Meanwhile, Xinlong had already taken a long sip of the latte, looking totally unbothered. To Xinlong, Anxin wasn’t being overprotective—he was just being Anxin. He was the person who made sure Xinlong didn't walk into poles or forget to eat. This was just how their song went.

“Anyway,” Junseo said, rubbing his temples like he was warding off a headache, “if we split up the slides—”

“Wait,” Sanghyeon interrupted, pointing a finger at Xinlong’s cup. “Hold on. Didn’t you say like, ten minutes ago, that you wanted a hot coffee because the AC in here is freezing?”

The table went quiet.

Xinlong paused, the straw still in his mouth. He looked at the iced drink, then at the ceiling, trying to remember his own life decision. “…I did. Wait, yeah, I was actually shivering earlier. My hands are kind of numb.”

All eyes slowly shifted to Anxin.

Anxin froze for a split second—a tiny glitch in his protective bestie programming—before his face settled into a defensive scowl. “He changed his mind.”

“I didn’t,” Xinlong said helpfully.

“Yes, you did.”

“I’m pretty sure I wanted something warm. Like a latte? Or tea?”

“You looked like you wanted iced,” Anxin snapped, his ears turning a bright shade of pink. “The vibe changed. I adjusted. Just drink the ice, Xinlong, it’s fine.”

The silence that followed was thick. Leo slowly leaned back in his chair, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. Sangwon closed his laptop with a quiet, smug click, clearly satisfied with himself.

Arno, who usually stayed out of everything, finally looked up.

“…that’s actually kind of impressive,” Arno deadpanned.

Everyone turned to him. Arno just shrugged. “You’ve memorized his subconscious cravings better than he has. That’s either a soulmate thing or you're a psychic.”

“EXACTLY!” Sanghyeon cheered, hitting the table. “You two are basically already living together in your heads!”

“I’m leaving. I’m actually leaving,” Anxin muttered, grabbing his bag and looking like he wanted to vanish into the floorboards.

But before anyone could say more, a shadow fell over the table. “Hey.”

“Geonwoo?” Xinlong’s head snapped up.

Geonwoo stood there, looking effortlessly cool in a simple hoodie, his hands in his pockets. He was a high school friend of Xinlong’s—someone the college group didn't know much about, other than the fact that they went way back.

“Hi,” Geonwoo smiled, his eyes crinkling in that way that made him look like a lead in a teen drama. “Didn’t think I’d run into you guys here.”

Leo raised an eyebrow. Sanghyeon leaned forward, eyes wide, smelling a new plot twist. Junseo went still, sensing a change in the air.

And Sangwon? Sangwon just watched Anxin.

He watched the way Anxin’s shoulders went rigid. He saw the flicker of something sharp and bitter cross Anxin’s face—a flash of pure, messy jealousy that he tried to hide by suddenly pretending to be very busy with his phone.

Xinlong, completely clueless about the tension, beamed. “Geonwoo! You haven’t been around lately. Where have you been?”

Geonwoo shrugged, his gaze drifting over the group. “Just busy. You know how it is. College hits hard.”

Then his eyes flicked toward Anxin. It was a short look, but there was something in it—a bit of recognition, like he could see exactly what Anxin was thinking, because he’d probably been in those exact shoes once before.

Anxin was the first to look away, his jaw tight enough to snap.

It was funny, really. Because if you asked anyone in their circle—except for the classified history they didn't know—they’d all tell you the same thing:

Anxin had been hopelessly, desperately in love with Xinlong since the day they met.

Everyone knew the song. The entire campus probably had the lyrics memorized.

Everyone…

... except Xinlong.