Archive of Our Own

The gym always felt different after school.

During the day, it was loud in a way that blurred into the background, full of squeaking sneakers and half-hearted effort, teachers shouting instructions no one really followed. But now, with the late afternoon sun stretching long across the polished floor and only a handful of students scattered around setting things up, every sound seemed sharper, more deliberate. A ladder scraped across the court, the sound echoing farther than it should. Even a laugh near the bleachers seemed to hang in the air with nowhere else to go.

Martin lingered near the entrance longer than necessary, one hand still wrapped around the strap of his bag, even though he had already been told twice to put it down somewhere and help.

He had every intention of doing that. He really did.

It was just that Juhoon was here, and that alone was enough to throw everything off.

Martin spotted him almost immediately, like he always did, even in a crowd. Juhoon stood near the center of the gym with a small group of students, sleeves pushed up just enough to show his forearms, listening more than he spoke. He wasn’t doing anything particularly attention-grabbing, and yet Martin’s eyes kept finding their way back to him anyway, like there was something quietly magnetic about the way he carried himself. Calm, grounded, handsome, completely at ease in a space that made everyone else feel a little out of place.

Martin adjusted his grip on his bag, then immediately let go of it again, realizing he had been holding it too tightly. He dropped it onto the floor near the wall with more force than intended and winced at the sound it made, glancing around quickly to see if anyone had noticed.

No one had. Except, maybe—

He looked back toward the center of the gym without meaning to. Juhoon wasn’t looking at him.

Martin exhaled, a little too relieved for it to be normal, and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back before it fell right into place again. He told himself, firmly, that he was overthinking things. This wasn’t a big deal. They were just at the same after-school setup like a dozen other students. It wasn’t like they were paired together or anything.

“Martin.”

He turned too fast at the sound of his name, nearly bumping into the rolling cart someone had left behind him.

“Oh.. yeah?”

Their teacher (who was also one of the sports coaches) stood a few feet away, clipboard in hand, already halfway through assigning the next task. “We’re short on equipment for the booths. I need someone to grab the extra boxes from the storage closet.”

Martin nodded immediately, eager to have something—anything—to do with his hands. “I can go.”

“Good. Take someone with you.”

Martin opened his mouth to say literally anyone’s name. He didn’t get the chance.

“Juhoon,” the teacher called out, not even looking up from the clipboard. “Go with him.”

For a second, everything in Martin’s brain seemed to stall out at once, like it couldn’t process the words in the order they had been said.

“Oh.”

It slipped out before he could stop it.

He cleared his throat quickly, hoping no one had noticed, even though his ears already felt warm. “I mean.. okay. That’s fine.”

Of course it was fine. There was no reason it wouldn’t be. Martin just needed to act normal. That was it. Just normal.

Easy peasy. 

Martin bent down to grab his bag again before realizing he didn’t need it, then straightened back up a little too quickly, nearly knocking his shoulder into the rolling cart this time. He steadied it with one hand, pretending like that had been intentional, and then turned toward where Juhoon was already walking over.

Up close, it somehow felt worse. Or better. He couldn’t really tell the difference anymore.

“You know where it is?” Juhoon asked, stopping in front of him like this was just another task, just another moment in the day.

Martin nodded too quickly. “Yeah. I mean—yeah, it’s by the back hallway. Near the locker rooms.”

“Okay.”

That was all he said, and then he waited for Martin.

Like this was normal. Like they did this all the time.

Martin forced himself to start walking, aware of Juhoon falling into step beside him almost immediately. The distance between them wasn’t even that small, but it felt noticeable in a way that made him hyper-aware of every movement, every shift in pace. He kept his gaze forward, fixed on the exit doors ahead, even though he could feel Juhoon there matching him without effort.

The hallway outside the gym was quieter, the noise from inside fading as the door swung shut behind them.

For a moment, all Martin could hear was the sound of their footsteps. Side by side and in sync.

He swallowed, adjusting his pace by half a step without thinking, just to make sure he didn’t accidentally brush against him. This is fine. We’re just getting some boxes. 

Surely, nothing else will happen. 

The silence stretched longer than it should have.

Martin told himself it wasn’t awkward. People walked in silence all the time. It was normal. Completely normal.

Still, he became aware of everything anyway—the faint hum of the overhead hallway lights, the way their footsteps echoed slightly against the tiled floor, the quiet shift of fabric every time Juhoon moved.

He risked a glance. Juhoon was already looking at him.

Martin snapped his gaze forward so fast it almost hurt. “Sorry,” he said immediately, even though nothing had actually happened.

There was a brief pause. Then, quietly, “For what?”

Martin blinked, his steps faltering for half a second before he corrected himself. “I— I don’t know. I just—”

He let out a small, awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Habit, I guess.”

Juhoon hummed, like he was considering that.

“You say it a lot.”

Martin let his hand drop, suddenly very aware of what he was doing with it. “Do I?”

“Yeah.”

There was no judgment in it. Just an observation, stated plainly, and that somehow made it worse.

“I didn’t realize,” Martin admitted, quieter now.

Another few steps passed between them.

“You’re different today.”

Martin’s brain stalled again. “…What?”

Juhoon didn’t look away this time. “You’re quieter.”

“Oh.” Martin let out another laugh, softer, more uncertain. “I mean, it’s not like I’m always loud.”

“You kind of are.”

There was a hint of something there. Not quite a smile, but close enough that Martin felt it anyway.

His ears warmed.

“I’m not that bad,” he muttered while starting to pout, more defensive than he meant to sound.

“I didn’t say it was bad.”

That stopped him. Martin glanced over again, slower this time, like he couldn’t help it.

Juhoon’s expression hadn’t changed much, still calm, still easy, but there was something more attentive in the way he was looking at him now. Focused.

Like he was actually trying to figure him out.

Martin looked away first.

“I’m just tired,” he said, because it was the first excuse he could grab onto. “It’s been a long day.”

“Mm.”

It didn’t sound like Juhoon believed him.

They turned the corner into the back hallway, where the lights were dimmer and the air felt cooler, quieter than the main part of the building. The rows of lockers gave way to a more closed-off space, the kind most students didn’t really pass through unless they had a reason to.

Martin slowed slightly as they approached the storage area, his chest tightening for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

He could feel it again. That awareness.

Not just that Juhoon was next to him, but how close he was. How easily he matched his pace. How, if Martin moved even a little to the side, their shoulders would brush.

He wondered if Juhoon noticed things like that too.

“You don’t have to be nervous, you know.”

The words landed so suddenly that Martin stopped walking altogether.

“…I’m not nervous,” he said, too quickly.

Juhoon stopped a step ahead of him, then turned back. He definitely didn’t look convinced.

Martin felt his face heat up almost immediately under that steady gaze. “I’m not,” he repeated, weaker this time. “I just—”

He gestured vaguely toward the hallway, like that explained anything. “It’s just quiet.”

Juhoon tilted his head slightly, as if considering the answer rather than challenging it, and after a brief pause, he gave a small nod.

“Okay.”

The response was simple, almost too easy, and that alone made Martin feel like he hadn’t been believed at all.

He exhaled slowly, more aware of himself than he wanted to be, and stepped forward again, closing the small distance between them as they reached the storage closet. The door sat slightly off its frame, something he had noticed in passing before but never paid much attention to until now.

Up close, it looked older than the rest of the building, the paint worn faintly around the handle from years of use.

Martin reached for it, his fingers brushing the metal before he wrapped his hand around it properly. For a brief moment, he hesitated. There wasn’t any real reason to. It was just that the quiet of the hallway and Juhoon’s presence beside him made everything feel more deliberate than it should have.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, shifting slightly to make space as Juhoon followed after him. The air inside was cooler, carrying the faint scent of rubber mats and stored equipment. The space felt narrower than it had from the outside, lined with metal shelves stacked unevenly with folded mats, plastic bins, and cardboard boxes labeled in faded marker. The single overhead light cast a soft, yellowed glow that didn’t quite reach the corners, leaving parts of the closet in a dim, quiet shadow.

Martin stepped forward first after letting the door go, scanning the shelves as if that would give him something to focus on other than the fact that Juhoon was now directly behind him, close enough that he could feel the subtle shift of air when he moved.

“Coach said the extra booth supplies should be in here somewhere,” he said, more to fill the silence than anything else.

“Probably those,” Juhoon replied, nodding toward a stack of boxes on the middle shelf.

Martin followed his gaze and moved toward them, grateful to have a clear objective. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

He reached up, fingers brushing the edge of the nearest box, and paused. At the exact same time, Juhoon reached for it too. Their hands met first. It was a brief, unmistakable contact.

Martin pulled back like he had touched something hot, his hand dropping immediately to his side. “Sorry,” he said, too fast, the word slipping out on instinct.

Juhoon didn’t move right away. For a second, his hand stayed where it was, resting lightly against the side of the box, as if the interruption hadn’t quite registered in the same way. Then he glanced over, not at the shelf, but at Martin.

“You keep apologizing,” he said, quiet but clear.

Martin let out a small, awkward laugh, already rubbing his palm against his pants like he could erase the feeling. “I told you, it’s a habit.”

“Even when you don’t need to?”

Martin opened his mouth, then closed it again, realizing he didn’t actually have a good answer for that.

“I just—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not a big deal.”

Juhoon watched him for a moment longer, his expression unreadable in a way that made Martin’s chest feel tight for no reason he could explain.

Then, without saying anything else, Juhoon reached up again and pulled the box down from the shelf with ease.

“Here,” he said, holding it out.

Martin hesitated for half a second before taking it, careful this time, like he was making a conscious effort not to brush against him again. “Thanks.”

Their fingers didn’t touch. He wasn’t sure why that felt just as noticeable this time. 

Martin shifted the box against his hip, turning slightly toward the rest of the shelves to look for anything else they might need. “There should be more,” he said, forcing his attention back onto the task. “Maybe on the lower ones.”

He settled the first box down on the side and then crouched down to check the shelf beneath, trying to ignore how aware he still felt, like the space around him had changed in a way he couldn’t undo. The closet wasn’t that small, but with both of them inside it felt closer than it should have, the air warmer and quieter.

Behind him, he heard Juhoon move. Martin froze for a fraction of a second before continuing, slower now, like he was trying not to draw attention to the shift.

“There’s another one here,” Martin said, reaching forward again, though his focus wasn’t entirely on the other box.

It was on the distance between them, or rather the lack of it.

He became aware of it in pieces—the faint brush of fabric when Juhoon leaned in to look, the way their shoulders nearly aligned despite the difference in height, the quiet steadiness of him just… being there.

Martin swallowed, fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the box.

This is getting ridiculous. We’re just in a closet together. Ha, in a closet. 

The sound of the door shifting behind them cut right through Martin’s thought.

A soft, dull click followed, barely louder than the hum of the overhead light.

Martin stilled, his hand still resting on the box.

“…Did you hear that?”

Juhoon didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he turned, his attention shifting toward the door as if he had already come to the same conclusion but wanted to confirm it for himself. The movement was unhurried, but there was a subtle change in his posture now, something more focused beneath the same calm exterior.

“Probably nothing,” Juhoon then said, though it sounded more like a placeholder than a certainty.

Martin straightened, still holding onto the edge of the lower box, and watched as Juhoon crossed the small space in two easy steps. The distance that had felt so noticeable a moment ago disappeared entirely, replaced by something quieter but heavier, settling into the room without asking for permission.

Juhoon reached for the handle and turned it. Nothing happened, and Martin felt something in his chest tighten.

It didn’t immediately register as concern. For a brief, fleeting second, his brain chose a far worse conclusion. 

If this door doesn’t open, I am going to be stuck in here with him. The thought landed, fully formed. Alone.

He blinked. Then, almost instantly, 

No, wait. That’s not… that’s not the problem. The problem is that we’re stuck. That’s the problem.

“…It’s just stuck, right?” Martin said, the question coming out more tentative than he intended.

Juhoon didn’t respond immediately. He adjusted his hold on the handle, bracing his other hand lightly against the door as he pulled, then pushed, testing it in both directions like he was working through the possibilities one by one.

The door didn’t budge. Not even a little.

“It’s not opening,” he said finally, his tone still even, but more certain now.

Martin let out a small, breathy laugh.

That was fine. Doors got stuck all the time. This was a normal, everyday inconvenience that would be resolved in approximately ten seconds.

Probably. Definitely.

“Okay, but like… just stuck, right?” he asked again, because hearing it phrased differently might somehow improve the situation.

Juhoon stepped back half a pace, glancing briefly at the frame before reaching for the handle again, this time turning it more deliberately, as if expecting a different result.

There wasn’t one.

“It shouldn’t be this tight,” he murmured.

Martin pushed himself fully to his feet now, setting the box back onto the shelf without really thinking about it. “Maybe it just needs more force,” he suggested quickly, already stepping closer. “Sometimes these doors—”

“I tried.”

The words weren’t sharp, but they cut through Martin’s sentence anyway, stopping him mid-thought.

Juhoon shifted slightly to the side, giving him space.

Martin stepped forward, because of course he was going to try anyway. He wrapped his hand around the handle, bracing himself like this was a test of strength rather than a faulty door, and pulled.

Nothing.

He tried again, harder.

Still nothing.

Okay. That’s fine… No, this is actually not fine.

He adjusted his grip and pulled once more, putting more weight into it, as if the door might respond differently if he just committed harder to the effort.

It didn’t.

A small, strained sound slipped out before he could stop it.

“Wait—”

He tried again.

Nothing.

Martin stilled, his hand still wrapped around the handle, staring at it like it had personally betrayed him.

This is so embarrassing.

Why is this embarrassing? No one is watching.

Juhoon is watching, you dummy. 

“…Okay,” he said slowly, releasing the handle and stepping back. “That’s… weird.”

Behind him, he could feel Juhoon there, close enough that it made the back of his neck feel warm.

“It was loose when we came in,” Juhoon said.

Martin nodded automatically. “Yeah. I noticed that too.”

Of course you did. You notice everything. That’s not helping me right now.

A brief pause followed.

“I think it locked.”

Martin’s brain took a second longer than it should have to process that. Locked?

His grip tightened slightly before he let go of the handle completely, turning around to face him.

“…Locked?” he repeated.

Juhoon met his gaze, steady as ever. “Yeah.”

Martin let out another short laugh, softer this time, edged with something that was quickly losing its humor. “That doesn’t make sense. You can’t get locked in from the inside.”

That is not how doors work. That is actually the opposite of how doors are supposed to work.

“It’s an old door,” Juhoon replied. “If the latch shifted when it closed…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Martin glanced back at the door, then at the handle, like it might suddenly fix itself if he stared at it long enough.

The quiet in the closet settled differently now, no longer just the absence of noise but something more contained, pressing in at the edges.

Okay. Martin, you gotta think.

We knock. Someone hears us. We get out. This is resolved. No problem.

Unless no one hears us. Why would no one hear us? There are still people in the school. And there’s other people waiting on us in the gym.

What if they leave? Why would they leave? It’s an after school event.

Events end, but they can’t start anything without the stuff we need to grab. And now I’m going to look horrible for taking too long and the event will be a mess and everything will go to sh—

“…Okay,” Martin said again, more to himself this time. “So we just—what—knock?”

“Probably.”

Juhoon’s voice remained calm, unchanged, as if this was just another minor inconvenience.

Martin nodded.

This is fine. This is completely fine. I am trapped in a small closet with the guy I have liked for months.

He swallowed.

This is not fine.

“…Okay,” Martin said, more firmly this time, like he could force the situation into something manageable if he just approached it correctly. “I guess I.. we should knock now.”

“Yeah.”

He turned back toward the door, lifting his hand and knocking twice, the sound sharper than he expected in the enclosed space.

“Hello?” he called, trying to keep his voice loud but steady. “We’re—uh—we’re stuck in here.”

The sound carried, hitting the walls and folding back into the room in a way that made the space feel more enclosed than it had a moment ago.

They both waited.

Martin found himself holding his breath without meaning to, straining to catch any sign of movement outside—footsteps, voices, even something faint from the hallway—but nothing reached them, not even the distant echo of activity, and the space beyond the door remained completely, unsettlingly quiet.

He knocked again, louder this time, the impact reverberating through the metal handle and into his hand. “Hey… can someone open the door?”

Silence answered him again.

It wasn’t just the lack of a response that made something in his chest tighten, but the absence of any background noise at all, as if this part of the building existed separately from everything else that was happening.

“Oh,” he said, quieter now, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

Juhoon stepped forward after a few seconds and knocked once himself, more measured, more controlled, as though he were testing the situation rather than reacting to it.

“Hey,” he called, voice even but carrying clearly. “Door’s stuck.”

They waited again, but the outcome didn’t change.

Martin shifted his weight, already feeling a restless energy building under his skin, the kind that made it difficult to stay still or think in a straight line. “Maybe there’s someone just further down the hallway,” he said quickly, the explanation coming together as he spoke. “Or everyone’s still in the gym and it’s just not carrying this far, because these walls are kind of thick, and we’re not exactly near the main area, so it would make sense if—”

He stopped himself, but only because he had run out of breath rather than reaching any real conclusion.

Juhoon watched him, calm and attentive, as if following every step of that spiraling thought without getting pulled into it.

Martin let out a small, tight laugh and dragged a hand through his hair. “I mean, it’s not like no one’s going to come by,” he added quickly, as though correcting himself in real time. “Someone will eventually, and they’ll notice we’re gone because they’ll definitely need something from here. And.. this hallway isn’t completely abandoned or anything, it’s just—less used, I guess.”

The more he talked, the less convincing it sounded.

He became aware of that halfway through and pressed his lips together, shifting again as if movement alone might settle the unease.

“We could try again,” he said, already turning slightly back toward the door before stopping himself. “Or maybe knock louder, or—actually, if we keep knocking nonstop, that might just blend into the background, so maybe that’s not—”

He exhaled sharply, cutting himself off, and shook his head.

“Or we could just wait a second,” Martin finished before taking another breath, though the suggestion carried less confidence than the rest.

“Yeah.”

Juhoon’s response came just as evenly as before, unchanged by the growing tension in the room.

Martin glanced at him briefly, something almost incredulous flickering through his expression before he looked away again.

The quiet settled differently now, no longer just empty but distinctly isolated, the kind that made it clear how far removed this hallway was from the rest of the building.

Juhoon took a slow look around the closet, his gaze moving over the shelves, the stacked boxes, the narrow space between them, as though assessing it for what it was rather than what it might become.

Then, without any sense of urgency, he leaned back against the wall. “We’re probably going to be here for a bit.”

Martin’s attention snapped back to him.

“For a bit?” he repeated, the words coming out more sharply than he intended.

Juhoon shrugged lightly. “Until someone comes by.”

The phrasing settled into Martin’s thoughts in a way that immediately made them worse, because it suggested something passive, something dependent on chance rather than certainty, and his mind followed that thread further than it should have.

He shifted again, unable to stay still, his fingers tapping lightly against his leg before stilling.

“How often does anyone actually come back here after school?” he asked, the question slipping out in a rush. “Because I feel like it’s not that often, which means this hallway is basically empty until someone realizes they need.. whatever, and I don’t think any of the sports teams have practice to use the locker rooms today so if no one needs anything, then—”

He stopped himself from rambling again, pressing his lips together as the implication caught up to him.

Juhoon watched him for a second, and there was something subtly different in his expression now, something quieter and more deliberate, like he was taking in not just the situation but Martin’s reaction to it.

Then, as if he had already decided how he was going to handle both, he pushed himself off the wall and slid down to sit on the floor.

The movement was easy, unhurried, almost deliberate in its lack of concern.

“Come sit,” he said, nodding toward the space beside him.

Martin blinked at him, thrown off by the contrast more than anything else.

“You’re sitting?” he asked, the disbelief softening his tone rather than sharpening it.

Juhoon glanced up at him, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “Standing is going to help?”

Martin opened his mouth, then closed it again, because there wasn’t actually an argument to be made there.

“…Okay,” he said, quieter now.

He lowered himself down after a brief hesitation, the motion less graceful as he folded his long legs into a space that didn’t quite accommodate them, his shoulder brushing lightly against the shelf behind him as he adjusted. He tried, without much success, to make himself smaller, but the awareness of the confined space and Juhoon’s proximity made that feel impossible.

He shifted once, then again, before finally settling, though the restless energy didn’t fully leave him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke and all that could be heard was Martin’s deep breaths. 

Then, without any warning or buildup, “So,” Juhoon said, turning his head slightly toward him, “you’ve liked me for a while?”

Martin’s thoughts, which had already been moving too fast, seemed to collapse in on themselves entirely, leaving him staring at Juhoon without any immediate response.

“I—what?” he managed, the words catching somewhere between confusion and realization.

For a moment, he simply stared at Juhoon, as if staying still long enough might make the question lose its weight, but the silence only seemed to press it further into the space between them, making it impossible to ignore.

“I mean,” Juhoon continued, still calm, still watching him with that same steady attention, “you kind of gave it away.”

Martin felt the reaction before he could stop it, the heat rising fast and unrestrained from the back of his neck up into his face, spreading across his cheeks in a way that was so familiar and yet never any less humiliating. There was nothing gradual about it, nothing subtle, and judging by the way Juhoon’s gaze shifted slightly as if taking in the change, it was completely obvious.

He lifted one hand to his face on instinct, then the other, covering most of it as he leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees like he could contain the damage if he just hid enough of it.

“I didn’t give anything away,” he said, the words muffled behind his hands and already undermining themselves.

Juhoon didn’t argue, which somehow made it worse.

“You’re doing it again.”

The quiet observation sent another wave of warmth across his face, and Martin let out a low, defeated sound, pressing his palms more firmly against his skin as if that might somehow undo it. He could feel the heat there, could practically picture how red he must look, and the awareness made it impossible to recover any sense of composure.

“I’m not doing anything,” he insisted, though his voice dipped slightly, betraying him almost immediately.

“You’re really easy to read,” Juhoon added, not unkindly, just stating it the same way he had everything else.

Martin dragged his hands down just enough to uncover his eyes, though the rest of his face remained partially hidden, as if that compromise might make any difference. “That’s not a good thing,” he muttered.

“It’s not a bad thing either.”

Martin let his hands fall completely at that, more out of reflex than intention, and immediately regretted it when the full weight of Juhoon’s attention met him again. His face was still warm, probably worse now, and without anything to hide behind, he felt it all the more.

“It feels like a bad thing,” he admitted, a little too honestly, his gaze flickering away before he could hold it for more than a second, his fingers curling slightly against his knees with nowhere else to go.

Juhoon didn’t respond right away, and the pause that followed wasn’t empty but instead filled with something quieter, something that made it harder to brush past what had already been said.

“How long?” he asked after a moment, his voice just as even, but softer in a way that Martin noticed immediately.

Martin blinked, the shift in direction catching him slightly off guard. “What?”

“How long have you liked me?”

The question was simple, but it landed heavier this time, not because it surprised him, but because it left less room to avoid it.

Martin hesitated, his gaze dropping again as he tried to gather his thoughts into something that wouldn’t fall apart the moment he said it out loud. “I don’t know,” he said at first, though it was more of a delay than a real answer. “A while, I guess.”

Juhoon didn’t interrupt or rush him, just waited with the same patience he had shown this entire time, and that alone made it easier, somehow, to keep going.

“It just kind of… happened,” Martin continued, quieter now. “We had that group project last semester, and you were just—” He stopped himself, shaking his head lightly, a small, almost embarrassed smile flickering across his face despite everything. “You were normal,” he finished, like that was the part that mattered most. “You didn’t make anything a big deal, you just did what you needed to do and helped when it was necessary, and you didn’t act like it was annoying or anything.”

He glanced up briefly, then away again just as quickly, the warmth in his face never fully fading.

“And then I started noticing things,” he went on, his voice softening further. “Like how you hold the door open even when no one says anything, or how you remember what people tell you even if it’s not important.” He let out a small breath, shaking his head again. “And the way you made sure to let me speak every time Keonho kept talking over me… I know that sounds kind of stupid, because those are just normal and.. and respectful things, but I noticed them more with you, and then it didn’t really stop after that.”

His words picked up slightly toward the end, the rambling edge returning as his embarrassment crept back in alongside the honesty.

“So, yeah,” he finished, a little awkwardly. “That’s basically it.”

The explanation lingered between them longer than he expected, and Martin had to resist the urge to immediately take it back or soften it into something less revealing.

Instead, he risked a glance at Juhoon.

Juhoon was still looking at him, but there was something different in his expression now, something softer than before, something that made Martin’s chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment anymore.

No answer has been spoken yet from Juhoon’s mouth. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening just enough to make Martin’s chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with panic. He could feel Juhoon’s constant attention weighing on him even more, and it was the kind of attention that made every thought in his head trip over itself.

“I didn’t think it was stupid,” Juhoon said finally, his voice low, even, but carrying something that felt more intimate than the words warranted. Martin blinked, caught off guard by how quickly a single sentence could unknot the tension coiling in his stomach.

“You notice things about people,” Juhoon continued, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That just means you pay attention, and you know what you want for yourself.” He leaned back slightly against the shelf, arms crossed loosely, but the tilt of his body and the warmth in his voice made Martin acutely aware of how close they were.

Martin’s hands itched to cover his face again, but he couldn’t move fast enough. His stomach felt like it had been dropped into a blender, and the heat across his cheeks was relentless. He could see every detail of Juhoon up close—the way his hair fell into his eyes, the curve of his jaw, the gentle expression in his eyes—and his brain refused to function around it. He’s so close. He’s really close. And he’s beautiful. Soft. Calm. Perfect. I want to hug him so badly.

Juhoon shifted slightly toward him, brushing shoulders ever so lightly, and Martin’s heart practically leapt out of his chest. The contact was minimal, but for Martin it was an electric shock that made him want to reach out and melt into Juhoon, or at the very least throw his arms around him and never let go. He pressed his lips together to keep from gasping and internally kicked his legs like a teenage girl in a movie, desperate to release some of the energy that his body refused to contain.

“You’re doing it again,” Juhoon said softly while smiling, a hint of amusement in his voice, but also something warmer now, more curious than teasing. His gaze stayed fixed on Martin’s flushed face, and there was a quiet patience to it, like he wanted Martin to see that he was safe, that Juhoon wasn’t going anywhere.

“I—I don’t know how to not do this,” Martin admitted, his voice shaking slightly even though he tried to make it sound steady. His large hands fumbled in his lap, and the flush across his face made him feel simultaneously exposed and unbearably alive.

Juhoon let out a quiet, soft laugh, a sound so low and gentle it made Martin’s stomach do flips. “You don’t have to,” he said simply, leaning closer, the subtle movement making Martin’s pulse spike again. There was nothing urgent in it, just the quiet acknowledgement that he saw Martin, and that alone was enough to make Martin feel like he might actually combust.

Martin’s chest tightened and his heart was thumping so hard it was almost painful, but he couldn’t stop looking at Juhoon. His entire body wanted to move, to collapse into him, to touch him, to feel the warmth radiating off him—but all he could do was sit there, blinking, breathing, and feeling everything at once. He’s here right next to me… and he’s smiling at me like I’m the only thing that exists right now.

Juhoon’s expression softened even more, his calm demeanor now paired with a flicker of something else, a quiet warmth in his eyes that betrayed just enough emotion to make Martin’s heart trip over itself. “You’ve been holding this in for a long time, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and rich, carrying more affection than words should reasonably hold.

Martin wanted to nod and admit everything, but instead he just sat there, cheeks burning, heart pounding, and felt entirely, gloriously undone. His stomach flipped, his hands tingled, his knees almost knocked together, and every rational thought had deserted him. 

And for the first time, Martin realized he didn’t care about being embarrassed anymore. He didn’t care that he was flustered, that his heart was racing like a runaway train, that his legs wanted to kick or his arms wanted to reach out. He just wanted to be near Kim Juhoon, to feel him, to exist in the same small, impossibly perfect space.

Juhoon caught the shift, leaning just a fraction closer again, and Martin’s breath hitched. The room felt impossibly small, impossibly intimate, and his heart soared and stuttered all at once again. 

Juhoon didn’t look away.

If anything, he seemed more focused now, his attention constant in a way that made Martin feel like there was nowhere to hide even if he wanted to. The faint curve at the corner of his mouth softened slightly, like he was weighing something before saying it out loud.

“You know,” Juhoon said after a moment, his voice quieter than before, “I wasn’t just noticing that you liked me.”

Martin blinked, the words taking a second longer than they should have to settle.

“…Huh?”

Juhoon exhaled softly, shifting just enough so that his shoulder rested more comfortably against the shelf, though he didn’t create any distance between them. If anything, the space felt smaller now, more intentional.

“I noticed you before that,” he continued, glancing at Martin briefly before meeting his eyes again. “I actually... really liked hearing you talk about music in class even though I wasn’t part of the conversation. Also… I’ve heard your singing before and thought you were amazing.” 

Martin’s brain stalled again, but for a completely different reason.

“And you make everything less awkward during conversations,” Juhoon added, a small, almost self-aware smile appearing for a second. “Which is kind of useful, because I don’t always know what to say myself.”

That did something to Martin’s heart that felt dangerously close to unbearable.

He stared at him, completely caught off guard by everything just spoken, his face already warm but somehow getting worse.

“I just thought you didn’t talk because you didn’t want to,” he admitted, quieter now.

“Sometimes,” Juhoon said, shrugging lightly. “But not always.”

There was a brief pause, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt like something was building in it. Then, more quietly and directly, “I like being around you.”

The words were simple, but they landed with a kind of certainty that made Martin’s chest tighten all over again.

“And I like you,” Juhoon added, just as calmly, like it wasn’t something complicated or dramatic, just something true.

Martin forgot how to breathe.

The warmth in his face spiked instantly, spreading all the way up to his ears, and he lifted a hand halfway to cover it before stopping himself, like he didn’t want to miss this by hiding again.

“…You do?” he asked, and he hated how small his voice sounded.

Juhoon’s expression softened, just slightly, enough to make it obvious he had noticed.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

Martin’s heart felt like it was finally trying to break out of his chest.

He became painfully aware of everything all at once—the closeness, the warmth, the way their shoulders were still brushing, the way Juhoon was looking at him like he wasn’t going to look away anytime soon. His thoughts scattered completely, replaced by something softer and far more overwhelming.

He likes me.

The realization didn’t hit all at once. It spread, slow and steady, until it filled up everything else.

He actually likes me.

And suddenly, all that nervous energy from before shifted into something else entirely, something lighter but somehow more intense, like his entire body didn’t know where to put it. His chest felt too full, his hands restless, his long legs practically buzzing with the urge to move.

I want to hug and kiss him so bad.

The thought came without warning, immediate and strong enough to make his fingers twitch.

I want to…. I don’t know, just…stay here next to him. Like this. Forever.

He swallowed, trying to keep himself grounded, but it was getting harder the longer Juhoon kept looking at him like that.

Juhoon leaned in slightly then, slow enough that Martin could see it happening, could feel the subtle shift as he turned more fully toward him where they sat side by side on the floor, knees angled in the cramped space and shoulders already brushing.

“I was going to ask you something,” he said, his voice low, steady, but softer than it had been all afternoon.

Martin’s breath caught. “What?” he managed.

Juhoon’s gaze flickered briefly to his lips, then back up, like he wasn’t hiding it.

“Can I kiss you?”

That was the moment everything in Martin just completely gave out.

His face burned hotter than ever, his heart racing so fast it almost hurt, and for a second he could only stare at him, overwhelmed by how real it all suddenly felt.

He nodded too quickly at first, then forced himself to slow down, even though the energy inside him felt like it might spill out of him if he didn’t do something with it soon.

“Yeah,” he said, breathless, a small, almost giddy smile slipping through. “Yeah… yes you can.”

Juhoon smiled then, something soft and certain settling into his expression as he shifted closer, one leg angling slightly toward Martin’s as he leaned in, closing the already small distance between them.

Martin didn’t even realize he was moving until he was—his body tipping forward instinctively, shoulders turning toward Juhoon, his height forcing him to dip his head slightly as he met him halfway.

The first touch was gentle, but not tentative.

Juhoon’s lips were warm against his, steady and grounding, and for a brief second Martin forgot how to respond at all, his body going completely still as the reality of it caught up to him.

He’s kissing me. My crush is kissing me.

The thought barely had time to form before Juhoon shifted, tilting his head just enough to deepen the contact, his hand lifting slowly to rest along Martin’s jaw. His thumb settled just beneath his cheek, guiding him in a way that felt natural, like he already understood exactly how to meet him there.

That was what broke Martin.

He melted into it, leaning down more fully now, his own hand coming up almost instinctively to find Juhoon’s waist where he sat in front of him. His fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, grounding himself as the rest of the world seemed to fall away.

Juhoon didn’t rush him.

He kept the pace slow and steady, letting Martin follow, his thumb brushing lightly along his cheek as if to reassure him he was doing just fine.

The contrast between them only made it worse in the best way—Martin, taller and folded awkwardly into the small space, leaning into the kiss with a kind of soft eagerness, while Juhoon, smaller but completely steady, held him there with quiet confidence.

Martin felt it everywhere.

In the way he leaned closer without thinking, in the way his chest tightened, in the way his grip at Juhoon’s waist anchored him as he dipped his head just slightly to follow the movement of the kiss.

I want to stay like this forever.

The thought came softer now, settling somewhere deep as he adjusted naturally, his body finding a better angle, one knee shifting slightly closer as he leaned in, responding with a little more certainty.

Juhoon’s hand moved then, sliding from his jaw into his hair, fingers threading lightly at the nape of his neck, holding him just a fraction closer. The touch sent a quiet shiver down Martin’s spine, his grip tightening as he leaned in again, unable to stop himself.

Everything felt warm. Light. Easy in a way that didn’t feel embarrassing anymore.

When Juhoon finally pulled back, it was slow, lingering just long enough that the loss of contact felt immediate, their lips brushing once more before the space between them returned—though not by much.

Martin didn’t move.

He stayed there, still slightly leaned toward him, close enough to feel his breath, his one hand still resting at Juhoon’s waist like he had forgotten they were there.

Oh my god.

The realization hit late, but hard, something bright and overwhelming settling into his expression before he could hide it.

He looked at Juhoon like he hung the stars.

Juhoon’s gaze softened at that, something warm flickering across his face as his hand slipped from Martin’s hair, though he didn’t move away.

“…You okay?” he asked gently.

Martin blinked, like he was coming back to himself piece by piece, his grip tightening for a second before he forced it to relax, though he still didn’t pull away.

“Yeah,” he said, breathless, a small, disbelieving laugh slipping out. He shook his head slightly, trying to process it all. “I just—”

He stopped, because there was no way to say it without saying everything.

Instead, he ducked his head slightly, a helpless smile tugging at his lips as warmth flooded his face all over again.

“…Yeah,” he finished, softer this time.

And even without saying it outright, it was written all over him—bright, soft, completely, hopelessly gone—that okay didn’t even begin to cover it.

A few quiet minutes passed with neither of them saying anything.

Somehow, it didn’t feel awkward.

Martin had ended up leaning into Juhoon without really noticing when it happened, their shoulders pressed together, their legs angled close in the cramped space. At some point, their hands had found each other, fingers loosely intertwined in Martin’s lap, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about it—the warmth of Juhoon’s hand, the way it fit so easily with his, like it had always belonged there.

It made everything else linger, too.

The ghost of Juhoon’s touch still seemed to exist everywhere it had been—at his jaw, in his hair, along the back of his neck—and instead of fading, it only made the moment feel softer, deeper, like it had settled into him instead of passing.

Martin swallowed and glanced up.

The second their eyes met, something in his chest tightened so suddenly it almost caught him off guard.

Juhoon was still close. Still looking at him with that same calm, softened expression, like none of this had been uncertain for him, like everything that had happened—every step, every touch—had been intentional.

Martin’s heart reacted immediately, racing in a way that made it impossible to think straight.

Say something normal. Say something cool. Say literally anything.

“…Can I—” he started, only to stop halfway through, his confidence collapsing as fast as it had come. He let out a quiet, nervous laugh, ducking his head slightly. “Wait. No. That sounded weird. Hold on.”

Juhoon didn’t interrupt, though there was a faint shift in his expression—something warmer, almost amused, like he was perfectly content to let Martin work through it.

Martin took a breath, then another, very clearly overthinking it.

“I just mean—” he tried again, his fingers tightening slightly around Juhoon’s before he forced them to relax. “Do you… want to—like—”

He stopped again, wincing at himself.

Juhoon’s lips curved just a little. “You’re doing it again.”

“I know,” Martin said immediately. “I know, just—give me a second.”

He dragged his free hand through his hair, then smoothed it back down like that was somehow helpful, before letting out a breath that sounded halfway between determination and panic.

And then, before he could lose his nerve, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

The question came faster than he intended, with no buildup, no careful lead-in, just pure, unfiltered honesty.

And then, silence.

Martin froze where he sat, his entire body going rigid as the reality of what he had just said caught up to him in one overwhelming wave. His face burned hotter than before, his thoughts scrambling over each other as he immediately began preparing to take it back, to laugh it off, to say something else—

Juhoon smiled. Not the small, almost-hidden one from earlier, but something fuller, softer, teeth showing.

“I thought you were never going to ask,” he said, his voice low, touched with quiet amusement but grounded in something far more certain.

Martin’s brain stopped working entirely.

“…What?” he managed, the word coming out faint and disbelieving.

Juhoon leaned in slightly, not enough to close the distance, but enough that Martin could feel the shift again, that quiet pull that made everything else fade into the background.

“Yeah,” he said, more softly this time, his gaze steady. “I want that.”

That was all it took.

Something bright and uncontainable broke across Martin’s expression before he could stop it, and this time, instead of freezing or overthinking it, he moved. He leaned in first, a little too fast to be smooth, but with a certainty that hadn’t been there before, closing the distance between them again as if the answer had unlocked something he couldn’t hold back anymore.

The second kiss felt different.

It still had the same warmth, the same softness, but there was less hesitation now, less uncertainty in the way Martin leaned into him. Their hands stayed linked between them, fingers tightening slightly as if neither of them wanted to lose that connection, and Martin shifted closer without thinking, his shoulder pressing more firmly against Juhoon’s.

Juhoon met him easily, steady as ever.

His free hand lifted again, settling along the side of Martin’s neck before slipping into his hair, fingers warm and familiar as he tilted his head to meet him properly. The movement was slow, grounded, guiding without overwhelming.

Martin melted into it.

His chest felt impossibly full, like everything had landed there at once—relief, excitement, disbelief, something softer and deeper he didn’t even have words for yet. He leaned in more fully, his grip on Juhoon’s hand tightening as if to anchor himself in the moment.

It felt right in a way that made everything else seem distant, like this small, tucked-away space had become its own world, separate from the rest of the school.

Which was exactly why—

The door slammed open.

The sound echoed sharply through the hallway and into the closet, sudden and jarring enough to tear the moment apart instantly.

Martin then proceeded to yelp. Not just a startled sound, but a full, unfiltered, high-pitched reaction as he jerked backward so fast he nearly knocked into the shelves behind him, their hands breaking apart as he scrambled away.

“Oh my god—!” he blurted, his voice climbing in panic as his eyes locked onto the doorway.

Their teacher stood there, a clipboard still in hand, looking directly at them with an expression that hovered somewhere between confusion and the slow realization that they had just walked into something they had not been prepared for.

For a long, painful second, no one said anything.

Martin could feel his entire soul attempting to leave his body.

“I’m so sorry,” he said immediately, the words rushing out as he brought both hands up to cover his face, as if that might somehow undo what had just happened. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The teacher blinked once, then glanced briefly at Juhoon, who had straightened up but looked far less shaken, before returning their attention to Martin, who was still visibly unraveling.

“…We got the door open,” they said finally, like that was the most relevant piece of information.

Martin made a muffled noise behind his hands that might have been acknowledgment or might have been despair.

“…Right,” the teacher continued slowly, clearly reconsidering everything about the situation. “Well. Next time you need equipment, maybe don’t—”

They stopped mid-sentence, thought better of it, and shifted direction entirely.

“Just come out when you’re done.”

Martin did not move. He genuinely could not.

“I live here now,” he said into his hands, his voice thick with embarrassment.

Beside him, Juhoon let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh, then stood up, brushing his hands off casually before glancing down at him.

“You coming?” he asked, like this was a completely normal situation.

Martin shook his head immediately, still hiding his face. “No.”

Juhoon didn’t argue. Instead, he reached down, taking hold of Martin’s thin wrist and pulling him up with an ease that made it clear he wasn’t giving him the option to stay.

Martin stumbled to his feet, still flushed, still mortified, but unable to completely suppress the small, helpless smile that tugged at his lips anyway.

A week later, the shift was obvious.

It wasn’t subtle, it wasn’t private, and it definitely wasn’t something Martin seemed interested in hiding.

If anything, he leaned into it.

“Martin hyung,” Keonho said flatly, setting his tray down across from him with a level of restraint that suggested he had already reached his limit for the day, “if you don’t remove yourself from Juhoon in the next five seconds, I’m going to physically separate you.”

Martin didn’t even look up.

“That sounds like a you problem,” he said, entirely unbothered, his attention still fixed on the person sitting beside him.

Juhoon, for his part, looked completely at ease with the situation, which was arguably worse.

They were sitting closer than necessary, close enough that their shoulders were pressed together and Martin’s knee was hooked loosely against Juhoon’s under the table, like he had no intention of existing independently ever again. One of Martin’s hands rested absently at Juhoon’s sleeve, fingers tracing idle patterns in the fabric, while Juhoon’s hand lingered near his wrist, occasionally brushing against it in a way that seemed unconscious but definitely wasn’t.

Across the table, Seonghyeon stared at them like he was reconsidering every life decision that had led him to this moment “…It’s been a week,” he said slowly. “A week. That’s it.”

“And?” Martin finally looked up, though only briefly, his expression bright and entirely unapologetic before his attention drifted right back to Juhoon. “That’s not that long.”

“That’s exactly the point,” James cut in, gesturing vaguely in their direction like he couldn’t even decide what part of it was the problem. “You’re acting like you’ve been married to Juhoon for ten years.”

Martin frowned slightly, like he was genuinely considering that comparison.

Then he shrugged. “Okay, but what if this is just my personality now?” 

“It’s not,” Keonho said immediately.

Juhoon huffed a quiet laugh beside him, the sound soft but clearly amused, and Martin’s head turned toward him almost instantly, like that was the only reaction that mattered.

“What?” Martin asked, his voice dropping slightly, softer now, even though everyone else was still very much present.

“Nothing,” Juhoon said, though the faint smile on his face said otherwise. His hand shifted just slightly, brushing more deliberately against Martin’s wrist this time, his fingers curling loosely around it for a second before letting go.

Martin visibly melted. Actually melted.

Keonho made a noise of deep suffering. “I can’t do this.”

“You’re not even doing anything,” James said.

“I’m watching it,” Keonho snapped, which somehow made it worse.

Seonghyeon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression somewhere between disbelief and secondhand embarrassment. “You weren’t even like this with your last crush,” he pointed out.

Martin froze for half a second. Then, very slowly, he turned his head. “That was different,” he said, with the kind of seriousness that suggested he fully believed it.

“How?” James asked.

Martin didn’t hesitate. “He didn’t like me back.”

There was a brief pause.

Keonho blinked. “…Okay, that’s—”

“—actually kind of fair,” Seonghyeon admitted, though he still looked deeply uncomfortable.

Martin smiled, clearly pleased with himself, and shifted just slightly closer to Juhoon, which did not go unnoticed.

“Oh my god,” James muttered. “He moved closer.”

“I hate this,” Keonho said, dragging a hand down his face.

Juhoon, completely unbothered, reached over and adjusted the sleeve of Martin’s hoodie where it had bunched slightly at his wrist, his movements absentminded but careful, like it was something he had already gotten used to doing.

Martin watched him like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You’re staring again,” Juhoon murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

“I know,” Martin said, not even attempting to deny it.

That earned him another small smile, softer this time, and Martin’s entire expression brightened in response like it had been flipped on.

Across the table, Keonho pushed his tray away with a sharp exhale, clearly reaching the end of his tolerance. “I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not,” James said immediately.

“I am,” Keonho insisted, already halfway out of his seat. “I refuse to sit here and watch whatever this is for another second.”

“This is just a normal relationship,” Martin called after him, his tone bright and entirely unbothered.

“It’s not normal,” Keonho shot back. “It’s aggressive.”

Seonghyeon, who had been quietly enduring all of this, nodded once, slow and pained. “It feels targeted,” he added, like he had been personally wronged.

Martin blinked at that, then tilted his head slightly, like he was genuinely trying to understand the issue. For a second, it almost looked like he might let it go.

He did not.

“I mean,” he said, his voice taking on that thoughtful, far-too-casual tone that never led anywhere good, “if you weren’t such a coward, you could literally be doing this with Seonghyeon right now.”

Everything stopped. Keonho froze mid-step like someone had hit pause on his entire body.

Seonghyeon made a noise that sounded suspiciously like he had inhaled his drink.

James leaned back so fast the chair he was sitting on squeaked. “Oh, we’re doing this now.”

“Excuse me?” Keonho said slowly, turning back around with the kind of controlled expression that suggested he was about three seconds away from losing it.

Martin, unfortunately, looked completely sincere.

“I’m just saying,” he continued, gesturing between them with absolute confidence, “you’re sitting next to each other every day, you talk all the time, and neither of you are doing anything about it. That’s kind of on you.”

“It is not on me,” Keonho snapped immediately.

Seonghyeon, meanwhile, had gone completely still, his ears turning red at an alarming rate as he stared very intently at the table like it had personally offended him. “Why am I involved in this…” he muttered, clearly to himself.

“Because you’re part of it,” Martin said, like that explained everything.

“I am not part of anything,” Seonghyeon said, a little too quickly.

Juhoon let out a quiet laugh beside Martin, low and warm, clearly entertained now as he leaned back slightly, watching the situation unravel with open interest.

James pointed between Keonho and Seonghyeon like he had just discovered something life-changing. “Wait—no, hold on. Is this real? Have we all just been ignoring this?”

“There is nothing to ignore,” Keonho said, his voice tight, though he still wasn’t looking directly at Seonghyeon, which did not help his case in the slightest.

Martin hummed, unconvinced, and shifted a little closer to Juhoon like he was settling in for a show. “Okay, but hypothetically,” he continued, clearly unwilling to drop it, “if I wasn’t here, you’d probably be sitting like this too.”

“We would not,” Keonho said.

“You would,” Martin insisted. “You’d be like—” he leaned slightly into Juhoon as a demonstration, resting there comfortably for a second, “—and then you’d both pretend it wasn’t happening.”

Seonghyeon covered his face. “I need to leave,” he said into his hands.

“You can’t leave,” James said. “This is important now.”

“It’s not important,” Keonho snapped. “None of this is important!”

Martin tilted his head again, studying them both with exaggerated seriousness before delivering, “You’re both actually really bad at this.”

That pushed Keonho over the edge, who then proceeded to point at him. “I was minding my business!”

“And now you’re not,” James said helpfully while smiling.

Juhoon shook his head beside Martin, still smiling faintly as he nudged his knee under the table. “You’re starting problems again.”

Martin turned toward him immediately, completely unrepentant, his expression softening without losing any of its satisfaction. “I’m just helping,” he said.

Juhoon’s gaze lingered on him for a second, amused and a little fond in a way that made Martin visibly brighten, before he looked back at the others. “You’re really not helping.”

Across the table, Seonghyeon was still hiding his face, Keonho looked like he was reconsidering every decision he had ever made, and James looked delighted.

“I was fine with the PDA,” James said. “But this.. this is so much better.”