Chapter Text
The thing about working at a café is that you develop a very specific kind of superpower.
Sangwon had noticed it in himself sometime around the third month of his job at Euphoria, the small but perpetually beloved coffee shop tucked between the university's main building and the arts block. It wasn't the ability to make latte art without looking, or the ability to memorize twelve orders simultaneously, though that had come in useful more times than he could count.
It was the ability to hear the door open and know, before he even turned around, exactly what kind of person was walking in.
There was the shuffle of sneakers that meant the engineering students, usually arriving in packs of three, always slightly sleep-deprived and ordering things with at least four shots. There was the particular push-and-hesitate rhythm of the door that meant first-years, still nervous about ordering correctly. There was the confident swing-and-release that meant upperclassmen, people who'd been here before, people who'd claimed their tables like small kingdoms.
And then there was a sound he hadn't heard in almost six weeks: a sound he'd trained himself not to think about, that lived somewhere between a memory and a bruise.
Sunho.
Sunho, who was standing at the counter right now, next to a boy Sangwon didn't recognize. Shorter, round-faced, cute and laughing at something Sunho had just said with an ease that made Sangwon's chest clench in a way that was deeply, deeply inconvenient.
Sunho looked up, and his eyes found Sangwon's with the kind of immediate precision that felt practiced. "Sangwon," he said, and smiled, "Hey. I didn't know you were working today."
That was the thing. He absolutely knew.
"Sunho," Sangwon replied, quietly proud of how completely steady his voice was. Six weeks ago, he'd cried for approximately four consecutive hours while eating instant ramyeon from the pot. He deserved a medal for how steady his voice was. "What can I get you?"
"Americano," Sunho said, settling against the counter in that familiar way. "Two, actually." He glanced sideways at the boy next to him. "Jinho takes it the same way I do."
Jinho smiled up at Sangwon with the expression of someone who had no idea he was standing in the wreckage of something. Who had no idea that six weeks ago, this counter had been the place where Sangwon had spent approximately nine hours a day thinking of how not to think of Sunho without tears coming out of his eyes every other second.
"Sure," Sangwon said, already reaching for the cups.
"You're looking well," Sunho said, and there it was — the edge beneath the pleasantness, the little needle. "Better than I expected, actually."
"Thanks."
"Jinho's a business major," Sunho said, conversationally, like this was information Sangwon had asked for. "Third year. We met at the arts faculty networking event last month." A pause. "You know, the one right after."
Sangwon looked up from the cups.
Right after. Right after they'd ended things. As in Sunho had barely waited. And here was the proof, standing next to him in a soft blue jacket, that Sangwon had been replaceable. That the month Sangwon had spent putting himself back together, piece by piece, had been approximately the same amount of time it had taken Sunho to move on entirely.
Sangwon turned to the espresso machine, blinking hard as his eyes began to sting. He hated this about Sunho, how easily he could make you feel small without ever saying anything in particular.
"Are you seeing anyone?" Sunho asked and God. Fuck Sunho and his way of messing with his own head because, "He's here actually," Sangwon said, the words coming out of his mouth before he'd made any decision to say them.
Sunho raised an eyebrow.
"At the university," Sangwon continued, because apparently, he was doing this now, and his brain had decided that the optimal response to this situation was to make it significantly worse. "He's a uh, music major."
Jinho blinked, pleasantly neutral. "Music major," Sunho repeated, "Anyone I'd know?"
“Well, uh,” Sangwon mutters, shuffling uncomfortably, glancing out over the counter. His eyes catch the university newspaper on the counter, a large, clear photograph on the front page.
“Him!” Sangwon blurts, stabbing a finger at the photograph. He belatedly notices that the person in the photograph, well, his boyfriend supposedly, was standing at a microphone on a stage. His head slightly bowed, dark hair falling forward, one hand raised like he was feeling the music through his palm.
There was a silence.
Sunho looked at the newspaper. Looked at Sangwon. And then, slowly, his mouth curved into something that was not quite a smile and not quite a laugh and was somehow worse than both. "Lee Leo," he said.
"Yes," Sangwon stammers, LEE LEO?
Sangwon knew who Lee Leo was, the way everyone on campus knew who Lee Leo was. Crescendo was the university's most talked-about student band with Leo being their main vocalist and producer. They had enough of a following that the university newspaper ran profiles on them. Which meant he was, by all accounts, completely out of Sangwon's social orbit.
Fuck.
"You're dating Lee Leo."
"Yes," Sangwon repeated, with considerably less confidence, because now the adrenaline was starting to wear off and what was replacing it felt a great deal like terror.
Sunho looked at him for a moment longer, something unreadable moving through his eyes. Then he glanced at Jinho, and back at Sangwon. "Good for you," he said, voice smooth, grabbing the coffee cups across the counter.
"I'll have to look him up," he said lightly. "Make sure he's good enough for you." The smile again. "You know how I worry."
The bell rings as he spins to leave and Sangwon stares at the door long after it shuts.
Shit.
---
“Okay, Sangwon, you can do this,” Sangwon mutters under his breath as he paces in front of the band room for the fifth time in one minute.
During his quick search on Instagram and the student portal, he found out three things about Lee Leo. First, he was a third year in music composition and a student representative for the arts faculty. Second, he had 100K followers on Instagram, yes, a hundred. Third, they had no mutual classes. No mutual extracurriculars. Not even mutual friends. And as far as Sangwon could guess, they had probably never been in the same room at the same time.
Great.
The plan was simple: find Leo, explain the situation, apologise profusely, and determine if there was any possible solution that would not end up with his own photograph on the weekly campus newspaper. He could already see it in his head: Breaking News! Year 2 dance Major, Lee Sangwon, lies about dating the campus heartthrob in a cowardly attempt to keep what is left of his pride in front of his ex-
Sangwon groans.
This is so stupid. He can’t just walk up to a stranger and say hey, sorry, I know you don’t know I exist, but I told my ex we’re dating. That’s grounds for a restraining order.
“Hey.”
Sangwon freezes.
Leo looks just like how he does in the pictures. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair pushed back like he’s run his hands through it one too many times. There’s an easy confidence to the way he stands, guitar slung over his right shoulder, eyes sharp as he stares at Sangwon.
“You looking for someone?” Leo asks. “You’ve been standing here for like ten whole minutes.”
Sangwon opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
“I—uh,” he says eloquently. “Hi.”
“I need to talk to you,” Sangwon blurts. “For like. Two minutes. Maybe three. And then I will never bother you again. Promise.”
Leo looked at him with an expression of mild, unreadable interest. "Okay," he said, “You’ve got three.”
“I’m Sangwon. Lee Sangwon.” he says, rubbing his palms against his jeans. “I’m a dance major. Second year and I work at the café across campus. We’ve never met and I know you don’t even know who I am but—” He laughs weakly. “My ex came into my café. With his new boyfriend. And he was being… him. And I got mad. And I told him I was seeing someone.”
Leo nods slowly. “Okay.”
“And then,” Sangwon continues, dread pooling in his stomach, “I said I was dating you.”
There’s a beat.
“I am so sorry,” Sangwon says, “I panicked, and your picture was right there and I just wanted to…”
“Sorry,” Sangwon mumbles again, for what feels like the millionth time.
“Sunho?”
Sangwon blinked. “You know him?”
"I know of him," Leo says, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. "He's in the arts faculty social scene. I've been at the same events as him a few times. He's—" a brief pause, something moving through Leo's expression that Sangwon couldn't entirely read "—memorable."
"That's one word for it," Sangwon mutters.
"What did he say?"
"He didn't say anything," Sangwon pauses, "He just. He was at the cafe. With his new boyfriend. And he looked at me like I was something he was waiting to see fall apart." He becomes aware, with some horror, that he was telling all of this to someone he had met approximately ninety seconds ago. "Sorry. That's more than you needed to know."
"No, I don't think it is." Leo looks at Sangwon for a moment. "So, what do you need from me?"
"Um. I don't know. I was thinking I'd explain, and you'd be reasonably upset, and then I'd say we could tell Sunho it lasted a week and that we broke up and that would be the end of it. You wouldn't have to do anything. I'd handle the fallout."
Leo tilts his head slightly. "You want to fake a breakup with someone you're not actually dating."
"I recognise that this is insane.”
"It is a little insane," Leo agrees. Sangwon tenses, but when he looks up at Leo, the corner of his mouth is curved up. Like they’re sharing a joke. As friends.
Leo adds, "How long have you and Sunho been broken up?"
"A month. A bit over."
"And he was already at your workplace with someone new."
"Yes."
"And he asked you directly. If you were dating anyone."
"Yes."
Leo was quiet for a moment. The sounds of the music building carried through — someone practicing piano a few doors down, something that might have been a loop playing through a speaker somewhere.
"Come in," Leo says, stepping back from the door.
The practice room was small and organized in a way that felt deliberate rather than tidy — there were notebooks stacked by one wall, a laptop open on the piano bench, a guitar leaning against the window, various pieces of equipment arranged on a small folding table in the corner. It smelled faintly of the coffee someone had clearly been drinking before Sangwon had been pacing in front of it like a total idiot.
Leo sat back down on the piano bench, not at the keys but sideways, facing Sangwon. He picks up the bottle beside the laptop, takes a drink, seeming to be thinking about something.
"The problem with your plan," Leo says carefully, "is that a week isn't long enough to be convincing."
Sangwon blinked. "I— what?"
"If we broke up after a week," Leo continues, "Sunho is going to think one of two things: either that you lied about the whole thing, which makes you look worse, or that you dated someone for a week and it fell apart, which means you still look worse than him. Neither of those does what you want it to do."
Sangwon stares at him. "I'm sorry. Are you— are you analyzing the strategic implications of my panic lie?"
"Someone should," Leo replies mildly. "You clearly didn't have time to."
A beat.
"I don't actually know what I want it to do," Sangwon said. "Honestly. I just. I didn't want to stand there and have him look at me like that."
Leo set his coffee down. He had, Sangwon was noticing, a quality of stillness about him — not coldness, but the particular calm of someone who had decided a long time ago not to be rattled by things. It was disarming in a way that was slightly difficult to look directly at.
"I don't like Sunho," Leo says simply.
"You said you barely know him."
"It’s not uncommon to dislike someone you barely know," Leo quips. "I saw enough. He's the kind of person who takes up space that isn't his to take." He looks at Sangwon. "How long did you date him?"
"Eight months."
Something unreadable moves through Leo's expression. "And he was like that for all eight months?"
"More or less," Sangwon grimaces. "Though at the time I was better at convincing myself it was something else."
Leo nods, slow. "I'll do it.”
Sangwon's brain took a moment to catch up. "You'll—"
"Fake date you," Leo explains, voice smooths. "For long enough that when we break up, it looks like a normal relationship that ran its course. Not a week. Longer." He pauses slightly. "We can figure out the details."
"I can't ask you to do that," Sangwon cuts in, because what is even going on right now?
"You didn't ask," Leo says lightly. "I offered."
A small, brief curve of his mouth. Not quite a smile but leaning toward one. "Besides. The idea of Sunho believing it will annoy him considerably more than the idea of you dating someone for a week and breaking up."
"That's— why do you care about annoying Sunho?"
"I told you," Leo folds his hands together. "I don't like him." “Do you want to sit down? You look like you're about to fall over."
Sangwon, realising he had been standing in the same spot for the entire conversation like someone waiting for a bus, sat down on the small stool in the corner, face ablaze. "I really am sorry about this," he said. "You don't have to—"
"Sangwon," Leo huffs, and the use of his name, just like that, makes Sangwon look up. "I'm aware I don't have to. That's why it counts."
“Well,” Leo offers him his hand. “Let’s start afresh. I’m Lee Leo, third year music production major.” Sangwon tries hard to pretend that he didn’t already know this. “Your boyfriend for the next few weeks. Apparently. It’s nice to meet you”
Sangwon hesitates a second before taking it. The touch is warm, as he laces his fingers between Leo’s.
“I’m Lee Sangwon. And it’s nice to meet you too, boyfriend.”
---
They exchanged numbers before Sangwon left, with Leo saying he would think through the logistics and text him. Sangwon pulls out his phone as he taps into his group chat.
dance squad
sangwon
i did something
geonwoo
?????
define something
xinlong
DID U MURDER SOMEONE.
sangwonie hyung i love you but i’m too young to go to jail
i’m gg to have to turn u in 😭😭😭😭😭
sangwon
wtf
no
u guys know the music guy? leo? from crescendo?
geonwoo
…yes
SANGWON
WHAT DID U DO
junseo
LEO? LEE LEO?????
from: the snu student column
Anonymous submission, Arts and Culture section:
can anyone confirm whether leo (crescendo) is actually dating someone? my friend was at euphoria this morning and overhead something. asking for a friend. (i am the friend)
---
It appeared that Leo was a pretty quick thinker because the logistics took approximately four hours to arrange, during which time Sangwon learnt several things.
The first was that Lee Leo texted the way he spoke — plainly, with minimal variation of small and large caps, and with the style of someone who'd decided early on that words were worth measuring before spending. His first text was: i talked to the band guys. they're fine with it. we should meet somewhere that's not a practice room.
His second was: tomorrow? there's a place on the east side of campus, jeongdal café, quiet in the afternoons.
His third, when Sangwon had responded with a time: see you
The second thing Sangwon learned was that Xinlong, the youngest of his dance friends, had been a fan of Crescendo. And had an extremely phased reaction to his arrangement with their vocalist. Phase one had been disbelief. Phase two had been something very close to hysterical laughter. Phase three had been a rapid series of questions. Phase four had been a detailed analysis of everything Sangwon knew about Leo, which was not much, which led to phase five, which was Xinlong on his phone conducting research that he presented to Sangwon with the energy of someone giving a briefing.
"Okay so," he said, cross-legged on the end of Sangwon’s bed, phone in hand. "Lee Leo, twenty-three, third year, music comp and performance. Born in Sydney. He and the band have been together since first year — Anxin on keys, Arno on bass, Sanghyeon on drums. They've played ten, ten! campus events and five off-campus gig that I can find. He even produced an EP that's on streaming services, I'll send you the link." He looked up. "He's also apparently quite private, which is interesting, because the band has a following but his own accounts are basically non-existent?"
"Xinlong," Sangwon said.
"I'm helping," he retorts serenely.
"You're snooping."
"I'm helping."
---
Jeongdal café was quiet on Tuesday afternoons the way Euphoria was never quiet on any day — a smaller space, fewer seats, wooden everything, the windows slightly fogged from the cold outside and the warmth within. Sangwon got there first, which he'd done on purpose, because he'd wanted a moment to arrange himself before Leo arrived.
Leo arrived four minutes after Sangwon, which meant Sangwon got approximately four minutes to arrange himself, which was definitely not enough time. He was wearing a dark sweater and carrying a notebook, and he moved through the café with a quiet assurance, scanning the room once and then settling his gaze on Sangwon and making a straight line toward him. He sat down across the table, put the notebook beside him, looked at Sangwon.
"Hey.”
"Hi," Sangwon smiles.
A brief silence that was not precisely awkward but mostly just the particular quality of two people who have an unusual arrangement to discuss and are deciding who goes first.
"I ordered," Sangwon offers. "I didn't know what you wanted, so I just—"
"I don’t drink coffee so—”
"I got you a vanilla latte—"
Oh.
“I’m sorry,” Sangwon says quickly. “I didn’t know. I can get you something else—”
“It’s okay,” Leo’s mouth curves, faintly. “Though you should probably get used to ordering me lemonades. You’d be a pretty bad boyfriend if you didn’t know that.”
Sangwon exhales, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “Right. Yes. I will.”
“Foundational,” Leo agrees. “We’ll add it to the list.”
“There’s a list?”
“I came prepared,” Leo says, entirely serious.
A beat. Then, lighter: “For the record, vanilla is a solid guess.”
Sangwon huffs out a laugh despite himself. “I’ll remember that.” He wraps both hands around his own cup as Leo flips open the notebook. It had things written in it, a few sketches that might have been musical notation, and something that looked like a list.
"Okay," he flips to a fresh page, uncapping a black gel pen carefully, "Let’s set some basic rules. You know, for simplicity's sake.”
Outside, the September afternoon had gone grey and flat, the kind of cold that didn't bite so much as simply persist. Inside, the café was warm and smelled like cinnamon and ground espresso and the faint undertone of old wood.
"I don't know what rules to have," he admits quietly. "I've never done this before."
"Neither have I," Leo shrugs. He clicks the pen. "But there should be terms. Things we agree to upfront. It'll be easier than figuring it out as we go."
"Right," Sangwon says slowly. "Practical."
"Practical," Leo agrees.
A brief silence in which both of them appears to think.
"Appearances," Sangwon says eventually. "We have to actually be seen together. That's the whole point."
Leo writes something. "Your showcases," he says. "You're a dance major. You have showcases."
"Every other Saturday," Sangwon provides. "Not every week, but — yeah. Through the end of the year."
"I'll be there," Leo says, like this was a simple administrative fact, and writes it down. Sangwon watches as he writes Leo must attend Sangwon's dance showcases every other Saturday for the remaining of the year in neat, slanted handwriting and felt something he couldn't quite name move through him. The plain willingness of it. The lack of negotiation. "My concerts," Leo continues, glancing up. "I told you the band has a few lined up. When they happen, you should be there."
"Obviously," Sangwon agrees. And then, because he was genuinely curious: "When's the next one?"
"End of the month, probably. Or next month. It’s during the faculty end-of-semester event." Leo paused. "You would have been in the audience regardless. We're fairly well attended."
Sangwon raises an eyebrow. "That's cocky of you."
"You know I’m right," Leo grins, "Am I not?"
"I’m not answering you.”
Leo hums, as he writes Sangwon attends Crescendo concerts, and moves on. "Meals," he says. "We should be seen having meals together. At least once a day when we're both free."
"Once a day feels like a lot.”
"Does it?"
"I mean—" Sangwon reconsiders. He ate at campus cafes most days anyway, and he'd spent the last month eating alone or with Geonwoo, Junseo and Xinlong. "No, actually. Once a day is fine.” He adds, “When our schedules allow.”
"Right. When schedules allow." Leo scribbles. "Hand-holding," he continues, with the same tone he had used for meals and appearances, as if they were equally logistical.
Sangwon blinks. "Sorry?"
"Hand-holding," Leo repeats. He looks up at Sangwon with the same mild, even expression. "We're supposed to be dating. We should be comfortable with basic physical contact. If we flinch every time someone's watching we're going to look—"
"No, I know!" Sangwon cuts in. "I just — you said it very casually."
"It's a logistical element.”
"Right," Sangwon says. "Yes. Obviously."
He was aware, very faintly, of the specific absurdity this conversation had. Two people in a café on a grey November afternoon negotiating the terms of hand-holding as if they were discussing a group project deadline. He couldn’t help but think: This is my life now. I did this. "How much?" he hears himself ask.
Leo looks at him pointedly. "How much what."
"Hand-holding. Like, is there a— are we just doing it when people are watching, or—"
"Let's say daily," Leo writes, “Thirty minutes."
Sangwon stares at him. "Thirty minutes."
"It should feel natural," Leo raises an eyebrow. "If we only do it when someone's looking it'll be too obviously performative. Doing it regularly when we're alone means that when we're in public it's just — habit." He paused. "Is thirty minutes unreasonable?"
"No!” Sangwon says a bit too fast, and then in an attempt to lighten the mood, adds: "I don't know. I've never timed hand-holding before."
Leo lets out a soft chuckle. "Neither have I," and writes it down with the same unhurried neatness. Thirty (30) minutes of hand-holding per day. He underlines the thirty and put it in parentheses, which is, Sangwon thinks, possibly the most unnecessary piece of formatting he'd ever seen. As if Sangwon was going to contest the number of minutes.
"Did you just put that in parentheses?”
"For clarity.”
"Thirty minutes is thirty minutes, Leo, there's only one way to read—"
“Is it thirty minutes or not," Leo drawls.
Sangwon presses his mouth together as he tries hard not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. " Well, yes.”
Leo nods and continues writing. Sangwon glances at the notebook — at Leo attends Sangwon's dance showcases and once daily meals when schedules allow and thirty (30) minutes of hand-holding per day — and can’t help but feel that there was something both completely absurd and oddly steadying about seeing it written down. Like the act of writing it meant they were agreeing to show up. That this would actually happen and not dissolve the way things sometimes did, in the in-between space between intention and action.
He can’t help but think: I asked a stranger to fake-date me and he is making a list.
Leo looks up from the notebook. He seemed to be thinking something over. The pen rested against the page. "One more," he starts.
"What?"
Leo meets his eyes across the table. His expression was even, but there was something in it that was also careful. Deliberate. Like the item he was about to add was one he'd considered. "No actual feelings.”
A beat.
"What?"
"Under no circumstances," Leo continues, "are we to develop actual feelings for one another." He held Sangwon's gaze. " The moment it becomes something else it gets complicated, and complicated is—"
"Messy," Sangwon finishes.
"Messy," Leo repeats. "This is clear. It works because it's clear." He taps the notebook lightly, as if to underline the structure of the list above. "This way nobody gets—"
He doesn’t finish the sentence. Sangwon thinks: hurt. Nobody gets hurt. He thinks about Sunho, and the eight months. The specific quality of being left standing in the wreckage of something that had been real for only one of you.
"No actual feelings. Agreed."
Leo holds his gaze for one more second. Then he looks down and writes it. Under no circumstances are they to develop actual feelings for one another.
He caps the pen.
"Okay.”
"Okay." Sangwon repeats dumbly.
"Should we—" he starts.
"Sign it?" Leo asks.
"I was going to say shake hands," Sangwon laughs. "But sure. If you want to sign it."
Leo considers this with apparent seriousness. Then he pushes the notebook across the table. "You’re signing it then.”
Sangwon glances at him. Leo's expression gave nothing away, but there was something that wasn't quite amusement but was somewhere in the same vicinity, waiting to see what Sangwon did.
Sangwon picks up the pen and signs his name quickly at the bottom of the list. His handwriting was slightly messier than Leo's, which felt appropriate somehow. He pushes the notebook back.
Leo signs beneath him. Then puts the pen down. Tears the page carefully from the notebook, and tears it in half with clean precision, pushing one half across the table.
Sangwon stares at it.
"Your copy," Leo explains.
"My—" Sangwon looks up. "Leo. It's a list of rules for a fake relationship written in a café."
"We’re both in the relationship!” Leo lifts his hands briefly in emphasis. “I can’t be the only one with the contract."
Sangwon picks up the half-page. Looks at his own signature, and Leo's below it, and the five neat items above.
The rules of fake dating are as follows:
- Lee Leo (herein referred to as “Leo”) must attend Lee Sangwon’s (hereinafter referred to as “Sangwon”) dance showcases every other Saturday for the remainder of the year.
- As his “boyfriend”, Sangwon will be present at Leo’s band concerts, should and when they take place.
- Leo and Sangwon will share at least one (1) meal together per day when their schedules allow.
- Leo and Sangwon must hold hands for thirty (30) minutes every night.
- Under no circumstances are they to develop actual feelings for one another.
He folds it once, carefully, and puts it in his jacket pocket. "Right," he says, “Should we talk about the backstory? How we met?"
Leo nods quieltly and opens the notebook to the next page. He turns it around so Sangwon can see. Written were two separate headers: things we need to establish and things we can figure out as we go.
Under the first: how we met (story). timeline of relationship. who knows (real). public vs private.
Under the second: schedules. end date.
Sangwon reads it twice. "You're very calm about this.”
"I do have myself a fake boyfriend quite often."
Sangwon’s head shoots up.
“I’m kidding Sangwon!” Leo pauses. “Names. We should decide our names as well…” He writes what we are calling each other.
They work quietly through the list. The meeting story was the first thing, and Leo suggests. "We say we met at the arts faculty social three weeks ago. It's neutral, we could both plausibly have been there, and it's far enough back to make sense as a starting point."
"Were you there?"
"I was," Leo sighs. "Anxin dragged me. I hated it."
"I wasn't," Sangwon frowns.
Leo thinks. "Then if anyone asks you specifically, you can say you almost didn't go but Geonwoo or someone convinced you. People always believe the story where someone almost didn't show up. It sounds more true."
The timeline: they would say they'd been building toward something since a month ago, officially dating for two weeks. A two-weeks relationship looked stable. Stable enough. Not so long that it would seem odd that Sangwon hadn't mentioned it, and not so short that it looked fake.
"Who will actually know?" Leo asks.
"My dance friends," Sangwon says quickly. "Junseo, Xinlong and Geonwoo. That's it. I can’t really keep things from them. They’re—" he pauses, trying to find the right word "—they’ll be on our side."
"Our side," Leo repeats, and something in his expression flickers briefly in amusement. "Right. Okay." He notes it down. "The guys in the band know. Anxin, Arno, Sanghyeon. I didn’t tell them it’s about Sunho.”
"They're okay with it?"
Leo makes a small sound that might have been a laugh. "Anxin said, and I'm quoting, 'finally, something interesting is happening.' Arno said it was very dramatic. And Sanghyeon asked if you were a good person."
"What did you say?"
Leo looks at Sangwon with the steady, unhurried attention that was, Sangwon was starting to understand, just how he looked at things. "I said I thought so. Based on the fact that you came to find me immediately instead of just hoping I wouldn't hear about it." A small pause. "Sanghyeon approved."
Leo clears his throat, "End conditions. When does this end?"
"When Sunho stops looking at me like that," Sangwon catches himself, because that was a lot more honest than he'd intended to be. "I mean. When it seems— when it would be natural for a relationship to have run its course. Three months? Four?"
Leo considers this. "Three months is probably the minimum for believability. We'll say no fixed end date. When it feels right."
"When it feels right," Sangwon echoes.
"To end," Leo clarifies. "We should also figure out what to call each other."
"We know each other's names."
"In public," Leo adds, "Couples have things they call each other. If we're around people and we're just Sangwon and Leo all the time it's—"
"Totally fine?”
"Boring,” A sigh. “You’re boring, Sangwon.”
“Hey!” Sangwon thinks about couples he'd observed on campus, the particular shorthand of people who'd developed their own language. He thinks about Sunho, who had called him Sangwon and only ever Sangwon, which he had at the time thought was just how Sunho was but, "Okay," Sangwon says. "What do you have in mind."
"Jagiya.”
"Jagiya," Sangwon repeats.
"It’s a classic!" Leo protests, "Universally understood as couple terminology."
"It's very—" Sangwon tries to find the word.
"What."
"It sounds like we're in a drama," Sangwon frowns. "Like at any moment someone's going to appear with a camera and a wind machine."
"A wind machine," Leo laughs.
"You know what I mean."
Leo shrugs. “Fine.” A pause. "Darling."
"In English," Leo adds, helpfully.
"I know what language it's in, Leo." Sangwon deadpans.
"It has a certain—"
"Leo."
"Classic quality!" Leo finishes.
"No one calls their boyfriend darling," Sangwon sputters. "It sounds like you're about to ask me to pass the newspaper. It sounds like we've been married for forty years and you want me to take the trash out."
Leo's expression didn't change, but something behind it now was very amused. Sangwon could tell, somehow. "So you don't want to take the trash out," Leo says.
"I don't want to be called darling.”
"Okay fine," He appears to consider. "Honey."
"Leo—"
"Babe."
"You're just making fun of me now."
"I'm helping you," Leo reminds. "There's a difference."
"There really—"
"Dear," Leo offers.
"No."
"My love."
Sangwon looks at him flatly. "You're really enjoying this huh."
"Just a little," Leo grins.
"Come up with something that's actually—"
"Sangwonie.”
There was a brief pause. "Sangwonie," Leo says again, just as easily. He tilts his head slightly. "It's natural. It shortens well. It's—" a small consideration "—very you."
Sangwon processes it. Sangwonie. It was familiar in a way that didn't feel performed, the way jagiya had felt performed. It sounded like something that had happened gradually rather than been decided.
"Okay," Sangwon agrees. “Okay, fine, Sangwonie. That’s fine."
"Good."
“But sometimes—" Leo grins. "Baby."
Sangwon went very still.
"Occasional use," Leo says, with total composure. " When necessary."
"When necessary," Sangwon repeated.
"You never know," Leo chirps.
"You planned all of this," Sangwon grunts. "You had all of these ready."
"I brainstormed in advance," Leo objects. "There's a—"
"If you say there's a difference one more time," Sangwon grumbles.
Leo smiles. A small, real one. “There’s a difference, Sangwonie.”
"Fine. And— fine. Occasionally." He looks at Leo, who had an annoying grin split across his face. "And what do I call you."
"Leo," Leo says easily.
Sangwon stares. "I get the full catalogue and you get Leo."
"It's my name.”
"That's not—" Sangwon makes a wild gesture at the preceding conversation. "That's not fair, you get Sangwonie and baby and I just call you—"
"Hyung," Sangwon continues. “I’ll call you hyung, Leo hyungie.” He adds. “When necessary, of course.”
Leo's expression does a slight chance. Not the amusement. Something slightly flustered, which was — new. It lasted approximately one and a half seconds before the composure came back, but it was there, and Sangwon saw every millisecond of it and filed it away with enormous satisfaction.
"That's—" Leo started.
"The occasional use," Sangwon smirks. "When necessary."
"Fine," Leo relents, after a moment. "Sangwonie."
"Hyungie.”
Leo's composure cracked. A laugh came out — not the full helpless rain version, but a real one, quick and genuine. He turns his head away, like he could hide it in the direction of the window, but his shoulders were shaking slightly.
"Sangwonie," Leo says again, when he'd gotten himself back together, in the voice of someone reclaiming ground.
"Yes, Leo hyung," Sangwon repeats.
Leo shakes his head once, slowly, in the manner of someone accepting a situation. But the warmth was everywhere in his face, uncontained, and he scribbles sangwonie, baby and leo (hyungie).
Leo caps the pen and closes the notebook with a small, decisive click. “Okay,” he says. “I think that’s everything.”
They both look at the table. The two coffee cups, both nearly empty. The closed notebook. The little folded half-page now sitting in Sangwon’s jacket pocket, which contains, among other things, the words baby and hyungie written in Leo’s neat handwriting, which Sangwon is choosing not to think about.
“So,” Sangwon says.
“So,” Leo says.
A brief silence that is not uncomfortable, which is already slightly remarkable given that they have known each other for approximately twenty-four hours.
“Can I ask you something?” Sangwon says.
A nod.
“Why did you actually agree to this?” Sangwon asks, because he’s been turning it over since the practice room and he still hasn’t found the bottom of it. “And don’t just say you don’t like Sunho.”
“I did say that.”
“I know. But that’s not—” Sangwon tries to find the shape of what he means. “That’s not a reason to do this. To actually commit to it. You could’ve just said sorry, that sounds rough, and closed the door.”
Leo is quiet for a moment, in the way that means he’s thinking rather than stalling. He turns his coffee cup slightly on the table. Once, twice. A small, habitual motion.
“I think,” he says finally, “that some situations have a solution that’s right in front of you and most people don’t take it because it’s inconvenient.” He glances at Sangwon. “This one had a straightforward solution.”
“But you don’t even know me.”
“I know you didn’t deserve what he did to you,” Leo says, simply.
Sangwon looks at him. At the easy composure of him, the particular quality of someone who genuinely means what they say without needing to dress it up. “That’s a very you answer.”
Something moves through Leo’s expression.
“Is it.”
“I’ve known you for a day,” Sangwon admits. “But yes.”
Leo makes a small sound that might be amusement. “You’re observant.”
“I’m a dancer,” Sangwon says. “I watch how people move. How they hold themselves.” He pauses. “You hold yourself like someone who’s thought about most things already.”
Leo looks at him with something Sangwon can’t fully name yet — something attentive and slightly curious, like Sangwon has just done something he hadn’t anticipated. He doesn’t say anything for a moment.
Then: “Most things,” Leo allows. “Not all things.”
“What hasn’t been thought about yet?”
The corner of Leo’s mouth does the almost-smile.
“You,” he says plainly. “You’re a new variable.”
He picks up his coffee cup, finds it empty, sets it back down. He doesn’t seem embarrassed by what he’s just said. He says it the way he seems to say most things — because it’s true, and true things are worth saying. It’s deeply unfair, Sangwon thinks distantly. He should come with some kind of warning.
“Okay,” Sangwon says, after a moment. “Fair.”
Leo stands, pulling on his jacket. “Ready?”
Sangwon looks at the table. At his own empty cup. “Yeah,” he says. “Ready.”
Outside, the evening cold has settled in properly. Sangwon pulls his jacket closer and falls into step beside Leo, who has apparently been born with an internal thermostat that finds evening weather completely okay. They walk back in the direction of campus, the light going blue and the street lamps coming on, the particular atmosphere of a city moving from one part of the day to the next.
“How far are you?” Leo asks.
“Fifteen minutes,” Sangwon says. “The building by the east arts entrance.”
Leo nods. They walk. The streets are not empty but not busy, a few students moving in each direction, the occasional couple, someone on a bike.
“So,” Leo says, after a while. “Thirty minutes.”
“Now?” Sangwon asks.
Leo glances at him sideways. “We’re already walking.”
“That’s—” Sangwon looks at the space between them. “That’s not hand-holding, that’s just walking beside each other.”
“Fifteen minutes of walking,” Leo says reasonably. “Another fifteen minutes when we get there.”
Sangwon looks at him. Leo’s expression is completely mild, completely composed, in the way Sangwon is starting to recognise means he is having a good time. “You want to combine the walk with the thirty minutes.”
“Why not.”
“That’s—” Sangwon stops talking, because Leo has simply, without additional preamble, held out his hand. Just — offered. Open, at his side, steady. Patient in the way Leo seems to be patient about most things, like there is no correct amount of time to wait and he is genuinely fine with however long it takes.
Sangwon looks at the hand for half a second. Then he takes it.
Leo’s fingers close around his, warm and easy, and they keep walking.
It is — fine, actually. More than fine. Leo’s hand is warm in the evening cold and he walks at a pace that matches Sangwon’s without adjusting for it and the streets are quiet enough that it is just them and the sound of their footsteps and the ambient hum of an evening city.
“Does this feel weird to you?” Sangwon asks.
He doesn’t know why he asks.
Leo considers it for a beat. “No,” he says. “Does it to you?”
“Not as much as I expected,” he admits.
“Good.”
And that’s all. No elaboration. No performance of what that means. Just good, easy and warm, and they walk the remaining fifteen minutes to Sangwon’s building in the kind of quiet that doesn’t require filling.
His building comes up on the left and they stop. Leo looks at the building. Looks at Sangwon. He still has Sangwon’s hand, and Sangwon is still holding his, and neither of them has moved to change that.
“Ten minutes left,” Leo notes.
“And you’re planning to stand outside my building for ten minutes?”
“The contract says thirty minutes.”
“Leo.”
“The parentheses were for clarity, you know.” Leo grins. “I feel like you should be honouring them.”
Sangwon laughs. It comes out before he can do anything about it — the surprised, genuine kind, the one that happens when something catches you off guard. Leo looks at him when he laughs, and there is something in the looking that Sangwon clocks and files away, the particular quality of Leo’s attention in that moment, focused and quietly warm.
“I’ll honour them tomorrow,” Sangwon says. “There are twenty-three hours and fifty minutes left in the day.”
“Efficient,” Leo hums.
“I have a good teacher.”
Leo’s mouth curves. He lets go of Sangwon’s hand, which is supposed to be normal. But it’s cold, slightly, where the warmth was, and Sangwon puts his hand in his jacket pocket.
“Same time tomorrow?” Leo asks.
“For the thirty minutes?”
“And food,” Leo says. “We should start being seen. Sooner is better.”
“Okay,” Sangwon agrees. “Noon? There’s a place near the arts building that does—”
“I know the place,” Leo says. “Noon is fine.”
Sangwon nods. He takes one step toward the door. Looks back. Leo is standing on the pavement, jacket collar turned up slightly, hands in his pockets, looking at Sangwon with the steady, easy attention of someone who has nowhere urgently to be.
“Hey Leo,” Sangwon starts.
“Mm.”
“Thank you,” Sangwon says, and means it more than it sounds. “Genuinely. You didn’t have to—”
“We established,” Leo cuts in, “that that’s what makes it count.”
Sangwon looks at him for a second. He puts his hand on the door.
“Bye, Leo hyung,” he says.
Leo’s expression does the fractional, barely-there flicker. And then says, with total composure, as he turns to walk back down the street, “Bye, baby.”
Sangwon stands in the doorway of his building for a moment.
He watches Leo walk away, unhurried, hands in his pockets, entirely unbothered by what he has just said and the specific effect it has had on the general structural integrity of Sangwon’s chest.
He goes inside.
He makes it all the way to his floor before he takes out his phone and opens the chat.
dance squad
sangwon
i think i’m in trouble
geonwoo
not again
sangwon
fake boyfriend trouble
xinlong
ITS BEEN THREE DAYS SANGWON
junseo
elaborate????
sangwon
he said bye baby when he dropped me off and he said it like it was nothing
geonwoo
OH
xinlong
OH NO
sangwon
yeah oh
geonwoo
bro you signed a contract that said no feelings
sangwon
I KNOW THAT GEONWOO
and i don’t like him okay???
im js saying he’s sweet
junseo
we need details
sangwon
tomorrow
i need to sleep
xinlong
goodnight pretty boy
---
student forum – arts faculty thread: “anyone w music recommendations please”
Post from user sunbird: okay I know this is supposed to be about music reccs but can we talk about the fact that i saw lee leo from crescendo walking across the east plaza this afternoon with a guy i didn’t recognise BUT who was really tall and really pretty. they were just walking and talking but my friend says she’s seen them together twice this week. CONTEXT NEEDED.
Reply from @coffeeandchaos: oh my god who is this mystery guy
Reply from @sunbird: i don’t know!!! he had a canvas tote bag and had dance major vibes honestly. somebody find out
Reply from @melodramatic: i think ik who u r talking about AND ithink he goes to snu I LITERALLY SEE HIM AT JEONGDAL SOMETIMES. he orders vanilla lattes and reads while he waits. someone tell me if this is really the same person.
Reply from @sunbird: describe his face rn.