Chapter Text
Eom Seonghyeon considered himself a fairly likable person. He was the kind of guy who remembered birthdays, held the elevator door for strangers, and lent out his notes without expecting anything in return. He wasn't loud, he wasn't obnoxious, and he went out of his way to avoid stepping on anyone’s toes. By all standard social metrics, he was an easy person to get along with.
Which was why the glaring, undisputed fact that Ahn Keonho absolutely despised him was a jagged little pill he just couldn't swallow.
It wasn’t a loud, aggressive kind of hatred. Keonho wasn’t shoving him into lockers they were twenty-one-year-old university students, after all, not characters in a cheesy high school drama. No, Keonho’s brand of hatred was quiet. It was a suffocating, icy indifference that only ever seemed to drop below freezing when Seonghyeon entered the room.
It was happening right now.
The Friday afternoon sun was spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Student Union building, casting long, golden shadows across the sticky tables of the campus café. Seonghyeon was sitting in his usual spot, a half-empty iced Americano sweating onto his notebook, surrounded by the familiar, comfortable noise of his friends.
James was leaning back in his chair, gesturing wildly as he recounted a disastrous Tinder date from the night before. Juhoon was listening with a mild look of disgust while slowly tearing a croissant into microscopic pieces. Beside him, Martin, his Korean Canadian friend and the group's resident extrovert, was laughing so hard he was practically choking on air.
It was a perfectly normal, relaxed afternoon. Then, the heavy glass doors of the café pushed open, and Ahn Keonho walked in.
Seonghyeon didn’t need to look up to know Keonho had arrived; he could feel the atmospheric shift. Keonho was taller than Seonghyeon, broad-shouldered, and possessed the kind of beautiful features and thick eyebrows that made him a regular feature on the university’s anonymous crushes page. He was wearing a simple oversized black hoodie and faded jeans, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes, looking infuriatingly put-together for someone who had just come from a three-hour economics seminar.
"Hey," Keonho said, his voice a low, pleasant rumble.
"Keonho! My man!" James boomed, abandoning his dating horror story to offer a high-five. "Tell me you survived Professor Lee's midterm."
Keonho smiled, a genuine, warm expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Barely. I think I guessed on the last four pages, but it is what it is." He dropped his backpack onto the empty chair next to Juhoon and reached over to ruffle Juhoon’s hair. "You look like you're dying. Rough night?"
"Studio," Juhoon groaned, swatting Keonho’s hand away. "Architecture is a scam. I haven't slept since Wednesday."
"I brought you an espresso," Keonho said, pulling a small paper cup from a cardboard tray he was holding. He handed it to Juhoon, then passed a green tea to Martin. "And they were out of the almond croissants, so I got you a muffin instead."
"Thanks, man!" Martin said loudly, flashing a bright, appreciative smile.
Then, Keonho’s dark eyes flicked across the table and finally landed on Seonghyeon. The transformation was instantaneous, like someone had flipped a switch and cut the power. The warmth drained from Keonho’s face, leaving behind a blank, unreadable mask. His jaw tightened imperceptibly.
"Hi, Keonho," Seonghyeon said, forcing his voice to remain light and casual. He hated that his heart rate always ticked up a notch whenever Keonho looked at him.
Keonho stared at him for a beat too long. The silence stretched, turning the air brittle. Finally, he gave a curt, almost microscopic nod. "Seonghyeon."
There was no drink for him or a even a casual banter only the heavy, distinct feeling of being an unwanted presence in the room. Keonho turned his back slightly, angling his body toward James and Juhoon, completely cutting Seonghyeon out of the conversational circle.
Seonghyeon stared down at his notebook, the words blurring together on the page. He bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the familiar surge of frustration. What did I do? It was the same question that had been running on a loop in his head since the start of the semester, three months ago.
They had all met through Juhoon. Juhoon and Seonghyeon had grown up in the same neighborhood, going to the same middle and high schools before ending up at the same university. Juhoon had met James and Martin during freshman orientation, and he had met Keonho in a study group for a brutal calculus prerequisite. Naturally, Juhoon, with his blunt efficiency, decided it was easier to merge all his favorite people into one massive group chat rather than text them separately.
The first time they all hung out together was at a cramped barbecue restaurant near the campus gates. Seonghyeon remembered being excited to meet Juhoon’s new friends. James was hilarious, Martin was really kind an absolute extrovert it was impossible not to like him, Juhoon casually threw in witty remarks it was fun, and Keonho… well.
Seonghyeon distinctly remembered smiling, holding out his hand, and introducing himself. Keonho had looked at Seonghyeon’s extended hand as if it were covered in toxic sludge. He had eventually shaken it, but his grip was brief, his eyes cold. For the rest of the night, Keonho hadn’t spoken a single word to him. If Seonghyeon asked him a direct question, Keonho gave a one-word answer. If Seonghyeon told a joke, Keonho looked at his phone.
At first, Seonghyeon had brushed it off. Maybe he’s just shy, he had reasoned. Maybe he’s having a bad day.
But the bad day turned into a bad week, which turned into a bad month. It quickly became apparent that Keonho wasn’t shy. He was incredibly charismatic. He bantered with James, debated soccer with Martin, and babied Juhoon like an overprotective older brother. He laughed, he joked, he paid for rounds of drinks. He was a great friend. Just… not to Seonghyeon.
"So, what's the plan for tonight?" James asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "Are we hitting up Hongdae, or are we drinking in Martin's dorm until the RA threatens to call the cops again?"
"I vote dorm," Juhoon mumbled, his head resting on the table. "If I have to walk more than ten feet, my legs will give out."
"Dorm it is," Keonho agreed smoothly. "I'll pick up some fried chicken and beer on the way."
"Oh, actually, I can grab the food," Seonghyeon offered, hoping to bridge the gap. "There's that new place near my apartment that does really good garlic soy chicken. I can bring it over."
The table went quiet. Keonho didn’t look at him. He just kept his eyes fixed on James. "I'll handle the food. It's fine."
"I don't mind," Seonghyeon pressed, perhaps a bit too stubbornly. "I have to walk past it anyway—"
"I said, I'll handle it," Keonho cut in. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp. A clean, surgical slice of ice that immediately silenced the table.
Even James, who was usually completely oblivious to social tension, blinked and cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. Cool. Keonho’s got it. Thanks, man."
Seonghyeon felt the tips of his ears burn. He gripped his pen so tightly his knuckles turned white. He wanted to scream. He wanted to stand up, slam his hands on the table, and demand to know what the hell Keonho’s problem was. Did he spill something on Keonho's favorite shirt in a past life? Did he accidentally insult his ancestors?
Instead, Seonghyeon just nodded, a tight, artificial smile plastered on his face. "Sure. Sounds good."
Ten minutes later, unable to bear the suffocating atmosphere any longer, Seonghyeon packed up his bag. "I'm going to head to the library. I have to finish this sociology paper by midnight."
"You're not coming tonight?" Juhoon asked, lifting his head, looking genuinely disappointed.
"I'll try to drop by later," Seonghyeon lied. He had no intention of going. Not if it meant spending another three hours pretending he didn't notice Keonho glaring holes into the side of his head. "See you guys."
He waved to James and Martin, deliberately avoiding Keonho’s gaze, and walked out of the café.
The campus library was quiet, a stark contrast to the buzzing energy of the Student Union. Seonghyeon found an empty carrel in the back corner of the third floor, plugged in his laptop, and stared blankly at a blinking cursor.
He couldn't focus. The sociology prompt was asking him to analyze modern interpersonal dynamics, which felt like a cruel joke given his current inability to understand the interpersonal dynamics of a single business major named Ahn Keonho. He pulled out his phone and opened his private chat with Juhoon.
Seonghyeon: I'm not crazy, right? He absolutely hates me.
The three little typing dots appeared almost immediately. Juhoon lived on his phone.
Juhoon: Bro. Stop overthinking. Keonho doesn't hate you.
Seonghyeon: He literally froze me out of the conversation today. He looked at me like I murdered his dog.
Juhoon: He just has resting bitch face. And he's stressed about midterms.
Seonghyeon: He brought you all coffee! And he completely ignored me!
Juhoon: Because you already had a drink!!
Seonghyeon sighed, running a hand through his hair. Juhoon, despite his usual blunt observance, was willfully blind to it because Keonho was so warm and generous with the rest of them, they couldn't see the hostility that was entirely reserved for Seonghyeon. To them, Keonho was a reliable and nice guy. To Seonghyeon, Keonho was a brick wall with spikes on it.
He tossed his phone onto the desk and tried to force himself to read an academic journal on social stratification. He managed about two paragraphs before a shadow fell over his desk. Seonghyeon looked up, expecting to see a librarian or a lost freshman. Instead, he saw Ahn Keonho.
Keonho was standing in the narrow aisle between the bookshelves, his backpack slung over one shoulder. Without the buffer of James, Martin, or Juhoon, the tension radiating off him was palpable. The library was dead silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the distant click of keyboards.
Seonghyeon’s stomach did a complicated little flip. He sat up straighter. "Keonho? What are you doing up here?"
Keonho didn’t say anything at first. He just looked down at Seonghyeon, his dark eyes scanning Seonghyeon’s face with an intensity that made Seonghyeon want to shrink back into his chair. It wasn’t a glare, exactly. It was more like... an evaluation. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle he found incredibly irritating.
"Juhoon left his charger at the café," Keonho said finally. His voice was kept low for the library, which only made it sound more intimate, more grating. "He said he lent it to you yesterday."
"Oh." Seonghyeon unzipped the front pocket of his backpack and rummaged around until his fingers brushed the familiar white cable. He pulled it out and held it up. "Yeah, here. Thanks for coming all the way up here to get it."
Keonho didn't reach for it immediately. He looked at the cable, then back up at Seonghyeon's face. He finally reached out, his long fingers brushing against Seonghyeon's knuckles as he took the charger. Seonghyeon flinched slightly at the contact, pulling his hand back a second too quickly.
A muscle feathered in Keonho’s jaw. He shoved the cable into his pocket. "Right. See you." He turned to leave.
"Wait," Seonghyeon blurted out. The word hung in the quiet air, a little too loud. A girl two desks over shushed him aggressively.
Keonho stopped, slowly turning back around. One perfectly thick and arched eyebrow went up. "What?"
Seonghyeon swallowed hard. His heart was hammering against his ribs. He was tired of this. He was tired of walking on eggshells, tired of overanalyzing every interaction, tired of feeling like he was doing something wrong just by existing in the same airspace. He was a reasonable guy, and he needed a reasonable answer.
He stood up, putting himself at eye level with Keonho. Well, almost eye level. Keonho still had a couple of inches on him.
"Do you have a problem with me?" Seonghyeon asked, keeping his voice to a fierce whisper.
Keonho’s expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do," Seonghyeon insisted, taking a half-step forward. "You act like I don't exist when we're with the guys, and when you do acknowledge me, you act like it physically pains you. If I did something to offend you, just tell me. I'd rather you just punch me in the face than keep playing this weird passive-aggressive game."
For a long moment, Keonho just stared at him. The silence was heavy, suffocating. Seonghyeon felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck. He suddenly felt very acutely aware of how close they were standing in the narrow aisle. He could smell Keonho’s cologne something clean, sharp, and faintly woodsy.
Then, Keonho let out a short, harsh breath that might have been a laugh if it had any humor in it.
"You think this is a game?" Keonho asked, his voice dropping an octave. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them. Seonghyeon’s back bumped against the edge of his desk.
"I think," Seonghyeon breathed, refusing to break eye contact, "that you hate me. And I want to know why."
Keonho looked at him, his gaze dropping to Seonghyeon’s mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back up to his eyes. The irritation in Keonho's expression seemed to fracture, revealing something entirely different underneath. Something Seonghyeon couldn't quite figure out.
"I don't hate you, Seonghyeon," Keonho said softly. His tone was dismissive, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. "Trust me. Hate would be a lot easier to deal with."
Before Seonghyeon could even process what that meant, Keonho stepped back, breaking the invisible tether between them. The cold, indifferent mask slipped perfectly back into place.
"Finish your paper," Keonho said, his voice returning to its usual flat cadence. "I'll give Juhoon his charger."
And with that, he turned and walked away, disappearing between the stacks of books.
Seonghyeon stood frozen by his desk for a long time, the quiet hum of the library rushing back into his ears. His pulse was racing, his palms were sweating, and his mind was completely blank.
Hate would be a lot easier to deal with.
Those nine words had taken up permanent residence in Seonghyeon’s brain. They echoed in the shower. They played on a loop while he tried to sleep. They painted themselves across the projector screen during his Thursday morning elective, completely obscuring the professor’s slides on Renaissance art.
It had been four days since the incident in the library, and Seonghyeon was no closer to decoding what Ahn Keonho actually meant. If it wasn't hate, what was it? Annoyance? Disgust? A deeply rooted, visceral allergy to Seonghyeon’s specific personality type? None of it made sense. Keonho had looked at him with an intensity that felt dangerously close to violence, yet his voice had been terribly, agonizingly soft.
Seonghyeon stabbed his metal chopstick into a piece of heavily breaded pork cutlet, glaring down at his cafeteria tray as if the battered meat held the answers to the universe.
"You're going to break the plate, dude," Juhoon mumbled around a mouthful of rice. He looked worse today than he had on Friday, sporting dark purple bags under his eyes that made him look like a Victorian ghost who had been forced to study engineering.
Seonghyeon blinked, loosening his death grip on his chopsticks. "Sorry. Just thinking."
"Don't do that. It clearly hurts." Juhoon took a slow sip of his soup. "You're still coming to Martin’s dorm tonight, right? He managed to smuggle in two bottles of tequila, and James invited some of the guys from the soccer club. It’s going to be crowded, but if I stay in my own apartment tonight, I will pass out at eight P.M. and wake up next Tuesday. I need the noise to stay alive."
Seonghyeon hesitated. He had spent the last four days actively avoiding places where he knew Keonho might be. He had skipped his usual study sessions at the Student Union and had even taken a longer route to his apartment just to avoid the off-campus café Keonho frequented.
But hiding was cowardly. And besides, Seonghyeon had made a promise to himself in the library. He wasn't going to let this go. He was going to figure out the puzzle of Ahn Keonho.
"Yeah," Seonghyeon said, forcing a casual smile. "I'll be there. I need a drink anyway."
"Good," Juhoon sighed, resting his chin on his hand. "Keonho's bringing the good chasers. We're going to need them."
Seonghyeon’s stomach gave a familiar, irritating jolt at the name, but he just shoved the piece of pork cutlet into his mouth and chewed aggressively. Bring it on.
By the time Seonghyeon arrived at Martin’s dorm room later that evening, the party was already in full swing. "Party" was perhaps a generous term. It was twelve college students crammed into a space designed for two, surrounded by LED strip lights flashing aggressively to a Spotify hip-hop playlist. The air was thick with the smell of cheap citrus cologne, fried chicken, and the distinct, burning scent of tequila.
"Seonghyeon! You made it!"
Martin yelled over the bass, throwing an arm around Seonghyeon’s shoulders the second he stepped through the door. Martin was already flushed, a red Solo cup sloshing dangerously in his hand. "Come on, James is pouring shots in the corner. You have to catch up."
Seonghyeon let himself be dragged into the fray. He greeted James, who slapped him on the back hard enough to bruise, and nodded at the few soccer guys he vaguely recognized. He took the plastic shot glass James shoved into his hand, downed the tequila, and immediately grimaced as the cheap alcohol burned a fiery trail down his throat.
As he reached for a lime wedge, his eyes scanned the room. It didn't take long to find him.
Keonho was sitting on the edge of Martin's unmade bed, one long leg stretched out, the other bent with his arm resting casually on his knee. He was wearing a dark gray fitted long-sleeve shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the faint, shifting lines of the veins in his forearms. He was deep in conversation with one of the soccer players—a tall, broad guy with an easy smile.
Keonho looked relaxed. He looked approachable. He looked like the guy everyone else thought he was. Then, as if he could feel the weight of Seonghyeon’s stare through the crowded room, Keonho’s head turned. His dark eyes locked onto Seonghyeon’s across the space of the dorm. The casual ease vanished from Keonho's face in an instant. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and that familiar, unreadable mask slipped perfectly into place. He didn't look away, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Seonghyeon held his gaze for a second, his heart kicking into an erratic rhythm, before forcing himself to look away first. He turned back to James. Fine. Two can play this game.
For the next hour, Seonghyeon made a point of being the life of the party. He laughed loudly at James’s terrible jokes, he let Martin teach him an overly complicated drinking game, and he struck up a surprisingly engaging conversation with a guy named Minjae, who sat next to him on the floor.
Minjae was a photography major, funny and laid-back, with a habit of leaning in a little too close when he spoke over the music. Seonghyeon didn't mind. It was nice to talk to someone who didn't look at him like he was an impending natural disaster.
"So, Juhoon said you grew up around here?" Minjae asked, bumping his shoulder against Seonghyeon’s playfully. "That means you have to know all the good late-night food spots. You have to take me sometime. The cafeteria is destroying my will to live."
"I can give you a list," Seonghyeon laughed, taking a sip from his cup. "There's a dumpling place three streets over that's open until 4 A.M. It's basically a religious experience."
"A list isn't fun," Minjae grinned, leaning closer, his eyes dropping to Seonghyeon's mouth for a fleeting second. "I'm asking for a tour guide."
Seonghyeon blinked, a little taken aback by the smooth pivot into flirting. He opened his mouth to formulate a polite, non-committal reply, but a sudden, sharp noise interrupted him.
Clack.
A chilled, unopened can of sparkling water was slammed onto the small wooden nightstand directly next to Seonghyeon’s head, missing his ear by inches. Seonghyeon jumped, looking up. Ahn Keonho was standing over them. He wasn't looking at Minjae. His dark, intense gaze was fixed entirely on Seonghyeon. His face was blank, but there was a rigid tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there ten minutes ago.
"You're out of your drink," Keonho said. His voice was flat, devoid of any inflection.
Seonghyeon looked down at his hand. His red Solo cup was, in fact, empty. He looked back up at Keonho, completely bewildered. "I... yeah. I guess I am."
"Drink water. You flush when you drink cheap liquor. It’s annoying to look at," Keonho said coldly.
Before Seonghyeon could even process the insult or the strange, hyper-observant fact that Keonho knew what his face looked like when he drank—Keonho turned on his heel and walked toward the small kitchenette area of the dorm. Minjae let out a low whistle, shifting awkwardly on the floor.
"Wow. Intense guy. Does he have a problem with you?"
"You have no idea," Seonghyeon muttered. He stared at the condensation forming on the can of sparkling water. His chest felt tight.
He ignores me. He hates me. But he noticed my cup was empty. He noticed my face was flushed.
It made zero sense. Seonghyeon’s frustration, which had been simmering for days, suddenly boiled over. He was tired of the whiplash. He was tired of Keonho acting like he was an eyesore one minute, and then silently policing his alcohol intake the next. Seonghyeon grabbed the can of water, stood up, and muttered a quick apology to Minjae. He pushed his way through the sweaty bodies, dodging a wildly gesturing James, and headed straight for the kitchenette.
The kitchenette was really just a tiny alcove near the front door containing a mini-fridge, a microwave, and a microscopic sink. It was currently empty, except for Keonho, who was leaning against the counter, staring blankly at the wall, a glass of water in his hand. He looked up as Seonghyeon stormed into the small space. Keonho’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch, his grip tightening on his glass.
"What is your problem?" Seonghyeon demanded, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't carry over the heavy bass of the music outside the alcove. He slammed the sparkling water can onto the counter next to Keonho.
Keonho looked down at the can, then back up at Seonghyeon. His expression slammed shut. "I gave you water. Excuse me for thinking you needed hydrating before you embarrassed yourself."
"Don't play dumb," Seonghyeon snapped, taking a step closer. The alcove was too small. He could feel the heat radiating off Keonho's body. "You've spent the last three months treating me like a ghost. You won't even look at me when Juhoon introduces a topic. You shoot down every attempt I make to be friendly. And now you're aggressively slamming beverages next to my head because I was talking to Minjae?"
"I didn't aggressively slam anything," Keonho said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, soft register again. "And I don't care who you talk to."
"Right. You just care about my hydration." Seonghyeon let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "You're a hypocrite, Keonho. You tell me you don't hate me, but you act like you can't stand the sight of me. What is it, then? Am I just that annoying to you?"
Keonho set his glass down on the counter. The movement was slow, deliberate. He turned his body fully toward Seonghyeon, trapping him between the edge of the counter and the mini-fridge. The sheer size of him, the broad expanse of his shoulders, suddenly made the tiny kitchenette feel suffocatingly small.
"You want to know what it is?" Keonho asked, his voice rough.
"Yes," Seonghyeon said, refusing to back down, even though his heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He tilted his chin up, holding Keonho’s gaze. "Tell me."
Keonho leaned in, just an inch, but it was enough to make Seonghyeon’s breath hitch. "You're suffocating," Keonho said, the words biting and low. "You are everywhere. Every time I turn around, you're there, offering to buy food, or lending your charger, or laughing at jokes that aren't even funny. You try so hard to make everyone like you, and it is exhausting to watch."
Seonghyeon felt like he had been slapped. The words stung, hot and sharp, precisely because they targeted the very thing he prided himself on—being a good friend.
"I'm just trying to be decent," Seonghyeon shot back, his voice trembling slightly with a mixture of hurt and anger. "I'm sorry if my basic human manners offend you so much."
"It doesn't offend me," Keonho said, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched near his ear. "It grates on me. You act like you're perfect, but you're constantly hovering, constantly pushing yourself into spaces."
"Juhoon invited me to this party!" Seonghyeon argued, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Juhoon is my friend before he was your friend and he added me to the group chat! I'm not pushing myself into anything. If you hate my presence so much, why don't you just leave?"
"Because my friends are here," Keonho countered smoothly, though his breathing was noticeably heavier than it had been a minute ago. His dark eyes flicked down to Seonghyeon’s fists, then back up to his face. "I shouldn't have to leave just because you don't know how to give people space."
"Give you space?" Seonghyeon laughed in disbelief. "I have actively avoided you for four days! I walked the long way home on Tuesday just so I wouldn't have to see you at the café. How much more space do you want?"
That made Keonho pause. A flicker of something complicated that looked suspiciously like surprise, followed closely by frustratio crossed his face before he masked it again. He stared at Seonghyeon, the silence between them stretching tight, vibrating with an unspoken tension that was making Seonghyeon dizzy.
They were so close. Seonghyeon could smell the faint trace of tequila on Keonho's breath, mixed with that clean, woodsy cologne. He could see the slight unsteadiness in Keonho’s gaze, the way his chest rose and fell in jagged intervals. It didn't look like disgust. It looked like Keonho was fighting a war inside his own head and losing.
"Just..." Keonho started, his voice suddenly sounding incredibly tired. He rubbed a hand over his face, breaking the intense eye contact. "Just stay away from me tonight, Seonghyeon. Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Just go back to your little photography major and leave me out of it."
"Gladly," Seonghyeon spat.
He didn't wait for Keonho to say anything else. He shoved past Keonho’s shoulder ignoring the way the brief physical contact sent a jolt of electricity straight down his spine and walked out of the kitchenette. He marched straight through the crowd, completely ignoring Minjae, who called his name over the music. He found his jacket buried under a pile of coats on Martin's desk, threw it on, and walked out the front door without saying goodbye to anyone.
The cool night air hit him the second he stepped out of the dorm building, but it did nothing to cool the flush on his cheeks or calm the frantic beating of his heart. He walked down the quiet, dimly lit sidewalk toward his apartment, his mind a chaotic mess. Keonho thought he was annoying. Keonho thought he was suffocating, fake, and trying too hard. He had gotten his answer. It wasn't hate; it was profound, deep-seated irritation. But as Seonghyeon replayed the argument in his head, a nagging doubt began to creep in.
If Keonho found him so irritating, why had he looked so breathless? Why had he trapped him against the counter just to hurl insults? And why, when Seonghyeon had mentioned taking the long way home to avoid him, had Keonho looked almost... hurt?
Don't look at me. Just go back to your little photography major.
Seonghyeon stopped walking, the toe of his sneaker scuffing the concrete. He stared blankly at a flickering streetlamp. Keonho hadn't sounded disgusted when he said that. He had sounded bitter. He had sounded jealous. Seonghyeon let out a long, shaky breath, rubbing his temples. He was either completely losing his mind and reading into things that weren't there, or Ahn Keonho was the most complicated, frustrating, deeply contradictory person on the planet.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened the massive group chat Juhoon had created all those months ago. He scrolled up past the memes James had sent earlier, past Martin’s complaints about his RA, until he saw a message from Keonho from a few weeks ago. It was a simple, mundane text about a cancelled lecture. Seonghyeon stared at the name on the screen.
You want me to stay away from you tonight? Fine.
But tomorrow was a new day. And Seonghyeon was suddenly very, very determined to prove exactly how suffocating he could be.
Seonghyeon was not a naturally spiteful person, but he was currently fueled by a potent cocktail of indignation and an obsession that had reached a point of no return. Keonho wanted him to stay away? Fine. Seonghyeon could play that game better than anyone. He spent Saturday and Sunday in his apartment, ignoring his phone, avoiding the group chat, and diving head-first into his psychology textbooks with a fervor that bordered on mania.
He wasn't just studying. He was dissecting. He was treating his own life like a case study, replaying every interaction with Keonho, every twitch of the older boy’s jaw, every time Keonho had looked away just a second too soon. By Monday morning, the confusion had hardened into a stubborn, jagged resolve. He wasn't going to let Keonho’s weird, volatile mood swings dictate his life anymore. He was going to exist in the same spaces, he was going to be exactly as polite and friendly as he always was, and if Keonho had a problem with that, then Keonho could be the one to leave. Monday started with "Dynamics of Behaviour," a lecture hall filled with three hundred students, half of whom were usually asleep. Seonghyeon arrived ten minutes early, choosing a seat in the third row, right in the center. He was halfway through organizing his notebook when he felt it, the shift in the room's energy. He didn't need to turn his head. He knew the heavy, measured footsteps; he knew the subtle, clean scent of the specific shampoo Keonho used. Keonho walked down the aisle, his presence drawing eyes as it always did, and Seonghyeon felt a smug satisfaction when he heard Keonho pause, then continue walking to a seat two rows behind him.
Fine, Seonghyeon thought, clicking his pen. We’re doing this.
Throughout the lecture, Seonghyeon was pointedly and performatively productive. He took notes in his neat, color-coded script. He raised his hand twice to answer questions the professor posed, his voice clear and confident. He made sure to laugh when the professor made a dry joke, checking to make sure he sounded natural, light, and perfectly, maddeningly unbothered. He could feel Keonho’s eyes on the back of his neck. It wasn't a physical touch, but it felt like a static charge, a prickling sensation that made the fine hairs on his arms stand up. Every time Seonghyeon shifted in his seat, he imagined Keonho flinching.
When the lecture ended, Seonghyeon didn't rush out. He took his time, packing his bag with agonizing slowness. He saw Juhoon and James waiting by the door, and as he stood up to head toward them, he deliberately swung his bag over his shoulder and walked right past Keonho’s row. He didn't look at him nor did he acknowledge him but as he passed, he felt Keonho’s presence lean forward, just a fraction.
"Seonghyeon! Hey, man!" James shouted as he spotted him. "You disappeared off the grid this weekend. Everything alright?"
"Just had some things to finish up," Seonghyeon said, flashing a bright, effortless smile. "It’s been a crazy few days."
Juhoon eyed him skeptically. "You look like you haven't slept in forty-eight hours, but okay. You coming to the café? We were gonna grab lunch before my afternoon studio."
Seonghyeon paused, catching sight of Keonho coming down the aisle behind them. He could feel Keonho’s gaze burning into him, waiting for the rejection, waiting for Seonghyeon to fold.
"Actually, yeah," Seonghyeon said, his voice a little louder than necessary. "I’m starving. Let’s go."
As they walked out into the campus courtyard, Seonghyeon maintained his position as the center of the group’s attention. He cracked jokes, he baited James into a debate about the weekend's soccer results, and he ignored the silent, looming shadow of Keonho trailing just a few paces behind them. When they reached the café, Seonghyeon didn't go for the secluded table in the corner where they usually sat. He chose the one right in the center, the one where every eye in the café could see them. He sat down, placing his notebook on the table. Keonho walked up, hesitating for a split second before sliding into the seat directly opposite Seonghyeon. Seonghyeon didn't blink. He didn't look down. He just looked right past Keonho’s head as if the chair were occupied by a stranger.
"So," Seonghyeon said, addressing Juhoon, "did you manage to fix the rendering issue for your project? The one you were stressing about on Friday?"
Juhoon blinked, clearly thrown by the sudden shift in atmosphere, but he went with it. "Oh, yeah. I ended up pulling an all-nighter, but I got it. It was a stupid software error."
"That sounds miserable," Seonghyeon said, his eyes crinkling. "I told you that laptop was going to give out eventually."
"I know, I know," Juhoon groaned.
Seonghyeon was holding court. He felt a weird, intoxicating rush of power. He was being exactly who he was the friendly, engaging, likable guy and Keonho was sitting there, trapped in a seat he had chosen, forced to listen to a conversation he was being systematically excluded from. Keonho wasn't saying a word. He was staring down at his iced coffee, his hands wrapped so tightly around the plastic cup that the sides were buckling. Every time Seonghyeon laughed, a muscle in Keonho’s jaw would jump.
"Hey, Keonho," Martin said, trying to be the peacemaker. "You didn't say much about that internship you were looking at. Did you hear back?"
Keonho didn't look up immediately. He took a slow, deliberate breath, then looked at Martin. "No. Still waiting."
"Bummer," Martin said, taking a sip of his tea.
Seonghyeon decided to up the ante. He turned his attention to his phone, pulling up a photo he’d seen earlier that morning. "Oh, hey guys, look at this. I saw this on the way here someone left a puppy tied to the bike rack outside the library. It was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen."
He shoved his phone into the middle of the table, making sure it was right under Keonho’s nose.
Keonho looked down at the phone. For a second, his expression wavered the harshness in his eyes softened, just a tiny bit, as he looked at the picture of the golden retriever puppy.
Seonghyeon seized the moment. "Right? I almost took him home with me. I’m a total sucker for dogs. Keonho, you like dogs, right? I remember you saying something about that back when we first met at the barbecue place."
The question was innocent but the entire table went silent. James and Martin looked between them, clearly aware that they were walking through a minefield.
Keonho slowly lifted his eyes from the phone to Seonghyeon’s face. The look of intense, agonizing conflict that met his gaze made Seonghyeon’s heart stutter. Keonho’s lips parted, as if he were about to say something—maybe an insult, maybe a confession, maybe a request for Seonghyeon to just stop—but then he clamped his mouth shut. He stood up so abruptly that his chair screeched against the concrete floor.
"I'm not hungry," Keonho said, his voice clipped and strained.
He didn't wait for a response. He turned and walked out, his stride long and angry, the glass doors of the café swinging violently behind him. The table remained dead silent for a full ten seconds.
"Okay," James said, breaking the tension with a low whistle. "What the hell was that?"
"He's been like that all weekend," Juhoon muttered, looking genuinely worried. "He's acting like he's going through a mid-life crisis at twenty-one. Is he okay? Did he fail a class?"
Seonghyeon felt a strange, hollow ache in his chest. He had won the round, but it didn't feel like a victory. It felt like he had just pushed a wounded animal.
"I don't know," Seonghyeon lied, turning his attention back to his notebook. "He’s just... intense, right?"
"Intense is an understatement," Martin noted, shaking his head. "He’s a mess."
Seonghyeon picked up his pen, but he didn't write anything. He stared at the blank page, his mind whirling. He had wanted to prove he wouldn't be bullied out of his own life. He had wanted to prove that Keonho couldn't make him feel small. As he watched the space where Keonho had been sitting, he realized he didn't just want to exist in the same room. He wanted to understand why this was happening.
He wanted to know what would make someone as confident and self-assured as Keonho fall apart just because of his presence. He looked at his friends James, Martin, and Juhoon who were already back to complaining about their course load. They were his friends and also the reason he felt so secure, so "likable" but the thought of Keonho, alone and clearly miserable, made his skin crawl.
I'm not going anywhere, he had promised. And he was a man of his word.
Later that afternoon, after his last class, Seonghyeon found himself walking toward the campus gym. It was a long shot, but Keonho was a creature of habit. If he was stressed, if he was trying to work off an excess of nervous energy, he would be at the weights. The gym was crowded, the air thick with the smell of sweat and the rhythmic thumping of heavy plates hitting the floor. Seonghyeon scanned the room, his heart hammering against his ribs. He found him in the back, in the weightlifting area. Keonho was at a bench press, alone. He was in the middle of a heavy set, his face contorted with effort, his veins standing out along his neck and arms. He looked like he was trying to lift the weight of the entire world, not just the barbell in his hands. He finished the set with a grunt, slamming the weights back onto the rack, and slumped back against the bench, his chest heaving.
Seonghyeon walked up to the bench. Keonho heard his footsteps. He didn't look up, but his posture stiffened.
"I told you," Keonho rasped, his voice rough from exertion. "I told you to leave me alone."
"You did," Seonghyeon agreed, stopping a few feet away. "You did tell me that."
Keonho looked up, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his eyes bloodshot and intense. "Then why are you here?"
"Because," Seonghyeon said, crossing his arms over his chest, "I don't like not understanding things and I really, really don't like the idea that I’m the reason you look like you’re about to have a heart attack in the middle of a gym."
Keonho let out a harsh, bitter laugh, grabbing a towel to wipe his face. "You’re an egoist, you know that? You think everything revolves around you."
"I think this specific thing revolves around me," Seonghyeon corrected, stepping closer. "And if you’re not going to tell me what’s going on, I’m just going to keep doing exactly what I’m doing. I’m going to be everywhere. I’m going to be at the café, I’m going to be in the library, I’m going to be at every single group hangout. I’m going to be so, so suffocating that you won’t be able to breathe without me in your peripheral vision."
Keonho froze. He stared at Seonghyeon, his expression shifting from defensive irritation to genuine disbelief.
"You're actually threatening me," Keonho whispered, his voice incredulous. "You're threatening to stalk me?"
"I'm threatening to be your friend," Seonghyeon said, his voice firm. "And since you clearly don't know how to handle that, I’m going to make it my mission to show you."
Keonho stood up, his height making him feel like an looming presence in the cramped space of the weightlifting area. He took a step toward Seonghyeon, his eyes dark and burning with that familiar, intense energy.
"You have no idea what you're asking for," Keonho said, his voice dropping to a low, warning rumble. "You have no idea what it costs to be near me, Seonghyeon. You think you’re so tough? You think you can handle whatever this is?"
"Try me," Seonghyeon said, holding his ground.
He didn't move or look away. Keonho’s gaze dropped to Seonghyeon’s face, scanning his features with an intensity that felt like a physical weight. He seemed to be looking for a crack, for a moment of doubt, for a sign that Seonghyeon was going to back down. But there was nothing except the persistent, and infuriatingly steady gaze of a guy who had decided he was done being confused. Keonho let out a long, shaky breath, the fight seeming to drain out of him. He looked at the floor, then back at the ceiling, looking completely defeated.
"You’re a complete idiot," Keonho muttered, his voice sounding oddly hollow.
"Maybe," Seonghyeon said, a small, triumphant smile playing on his lips. "But I'm a very persistent idiot."
Keonho shook his head, a ghost of a smile a tiny, tired, genuine thing flickering across his face before he caught it and killed it. He turned back to the rack, starting to unweight the bar.
"Get out of here, Seonghyeon," he said, his voice back to its usual flat, cool tone. "I have more sets to do."
"I'll wait," Seonghyeon said, settling down onto a nearby mat.
Keonho paused, the bar half-way off the rack. He looked over his shoulder at Seonghyeon, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "What?"
"I said I'll wait," Seonghyeon repeated, pulling out his phone. "I’ve got some reading to catch up on. Take your time."
Keonho stared at him for a long, silent moment.
"You're absolutely insane," Keonho said, but there was no bite in it anymore.
"Probably," Seonghyeon said, tapping on his screen. "But you’re the one who started this, Keonho. I’m just finishing it."
He didn't look up as he felt Keonho’s gaze linger on him for a second longer, before Keonho turned back to the weights. Seonghyeon sat there, his pulse finally settling, a sense of strange, quiet peace washing over him. He had no idea what was going to happen next. He had no idea if this was going to end in friendship, or a shouting match, or something even more complicated.
As he sat there, reading his psychology textbook, Seonghyeon caught the reflection of the gym mirror. He saw himself, sitting patiently, and he saw Keonho in the background, working out with a new, strange kind of rhythm, his movements slower, more controlled, his eyes occasionally flickering toward where Seonghyeon was sitting.
The puzzle wasn't solved yet. But for the first time, Seonghyeon felt like he had the first piece and he was going to hold onto it with everything he had. He turned the page of his book, feeling the weight of Keonho’s presence behind him, and smiled.
Game on.