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The dance studio slowly emptied as the evening wore on. Music that had been loud enough to rattle the mirrors only minutes ago had long since given way to the squeaking of rubber soles against polished wood and the occasional zip of gym bags being closed.
Someone was still complaining dramatically about tomorrow's eight o'clock lecture, only to be reminded that they'd willingly stayed three hours after practice. A chorus of tired laughter followed before the remaining club members filtered out into the hallway one by one.
Han lingered by the speakers, crouching to untangle the charging cable someone had managed to wrap around itself for what looked like the hundredth time. He wasn't even sure why he bothered. Whoever packed the equipment always seemed capable of recreating the exact same knot by the next practice anyway.
"Hani."
He looked up instinctively.
Shuaibo stood by the doorway with his backpack hanging lazily from one shoulder, already changed into an oversized hoodie that somehow made him look even taller. He twirled his keys around a finger before remembering—like he always did—that he didn't even drive. With a small grimace at himself, he shoved them back into his pocket.
Han had noticed he did that a lot.
Little absentminded habits that nobody else seemed to pay attention to.
"You done playing hero?"
Han glanced down at the hopeless tangle of cables in his hands before shrugging.
"Somebody has to."
"They survived before you joined the club."
"They survived badly."
Shuaibo laughed, one of those annoyingly effortless laughs that made people around him smile too. Han hated how susceptible he was to it. There had to be some scientific explanation for why hearing one person laugh could improve someone else's mood so quickly. If there wasn't, someone should really conduct a study.
By the time Han finished packing the cables away, the hallway had emptied. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and fell into step beside Shuaibo, the two of them heading toward the campus gates at an unhurried pace. After nearly two semesters of walking home together whenever practice ran late, the route had become second nature.
The evening air was noticeably cooler than it had been earlier. Students drifted across campus in little groups, some making their way toward the library while others debated what to have for dinner. Near one of the benches outside the student center, a small crowd had gathered around someone who looked equal parts embarrassed and amused.
Han's eyes lingered there for only a second.
"...That was the third one this month."
Shuaibo looked over. "Hm?"
"The person who confessed to you."
Realization flickered across his face.
"Oh."
His response was almost comically casual.
"They'll be okay."
Han hummed, though he wasn't really agreeing.
Earlier that afternoon, just before practice started, someone from the photography club had been waiting outside the studio carrying what looked like homemade cookies in a neatly wrapped box. Han hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but when two people were standing directly outside the only entrance, it was hard not to overhear fragments of the conversation.
Shuaibo had thanked them.
Apologized.
Smiled in that gentle way of his.
Then declined.
No awkwardness.
No false hope.
Just honest kindness.
It wasn't even the first time Han had witnessed something like that. There had been students from other departments, seniors, first-years, someone from the debate team, another from the university orchestra. Some had written letters. Others confessed face-to-face. One person had somehow convinced nearly half the cafeteria to clear a path just so they could dramatically walk up to Shuaibo with flowers in broad daylight.
The answer had always been the same.
Kind.
Gentle.
Firm.
Han had always wondered how someone managed to reject people without making them feel rejected.
It wasn't really the confessions that fascinated him.
It was what came after.
The people who confessed always looked disappointed, sure, but never humiliated. Somehow, Shuaibo had mastered the impossible balance of being gentle without being misleading.
Maybe that was why the question had been sitting quietly at the back of Han's mind for weeks now.
"So..." Han began, trying to sound as though the thought had only just occurred to him. "How many people have confessed to you?"
Shuaibo turned to him, eyebrows lifting slightly.
"I don't know."
"You seriously don't?"
"I stopped counting."
Han stared at him for a second before letting out a disbelieving laugh.
"That's... a ridiculous sentence."
"I know."
"No, I'm serious."
"I am too."
"You never got to, I don't know... number twenty and thought, 'Wow, that's a lot'?"
Shuaibo laughed again.
"Should I have?"
"I would've."
"Why?"
Han opened his mouth.
Then closed it again.
"...No reason."
The question had been itching its way into Han's mind since they'd left the studio, surfacing and sinking every few minutes before finally slipping out almost on its own.
"So... what was the first confession you remember?"
Shuaibo didn't answer immediately. He looked up for a second, as though mentally flipping through years' worth of memories, before a quiet laugh escaped him.
"Middle school, I think."
There wasn't even a hint of certainty in his voice.
Han turned to look at him, genuinely baffled.
"You think?"
"It was a long time ago."
"You don't remember your first confession?"
"I remember there was one." Shuaibo smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "The details are fuzzy."
That... felt absurd.
Han could remember what he'd eaten last Tuesday if someone asked him unexpectedly. Shuaibo, meanwhile, couldn't remember the first time someone confessed to him.
Then again, maybe that was what happened when it stopped being a once-in-a-lifetime event and quietly became part of your normal life.
Han couldn't even begin to imagine what that was like. If someone confessed to him, he'd probably remember it for the rest of his life. Not because it happened often—quite the opposite—but because someone liking him enough to gather that kind of courage felt like the sort of thing a person simply... carried with them.
Maybe that was why he found Shuaibo so unbelievable. It wasn't just the confessions. It was everything else that seemed to come effortlessly to him.
Professors remembered his name after one semester. Seniors greeted him in passing. Freshmen who had never spoken to him somehow already knew who he was. Even during practice, people naturally drifted toward him, asking for help with choreography or lingering just a little longer after everyone else had packed up. None of it ever seemed to go to Shuaibo's head. If anything, he looked mildly embarrassed whenever someone complimented him.
Han stole a glance beside him. The evening breeze had made a mess of Shuaibo's hair again, strands falling into his eyes as he absentmindedly brushed them back with the sleeve of his hoodie. His backpack hung lopsidedly over one shoulder because he could never be bothered to tighten the straps properly. A tiny crease formed between his brows as he listened to Han, the kind that always appeared whenever he was genuinely paying attention to someone.
Seriously...
It almost felt unfair.
Shuaibo was pretty without even meaning to.
Ridiculously talented.
Kind in ways that never felt performative.
The kind of person who remembered the smallest things about other people but somehow forgot to take care of himself.
Han looked away before Shuaibo could catch him staring.
No wonder people confessed.
Sometimes Han wondered how anyone managed not to. The thought landed so naturally that it took him a full second to realize what he'd just admitted to himself. He cleared his throat.
"So..." He tried to sound casual, hoping his voice hadn't betrayed the sudden warmth creeping into his face.
"You said you rejected them because you didn't really know them?"
Shuaibo nodded. "Mostly."
Han let out a quiet hum, though his mind had already wandered somewhere entirely different.
We've known each other for almost two years now.
The realization arrived uninvited.
Not that it meant anything.
It didn't.
...Probably.
He really should've let the topic go and kept the thought in his head.
Instead, Han heard himself ask, "So... does knowing someone make a difference?"
The question came out quieter than the others, almost swallowed by the chatter of students passing them in the opposite direction. A group squeezed between them and a row of parked bicycles, laughing loudly over some inside joke, forcing Han and Shuaibo to step aside before falling back into step.
Shuaibo didn't answer immediately.
"It does," he said after a moment.
"How much?"
"I don't know." He shrugged. "Enough."
Han frowned, unconvinced.
"That's annoyingly vague."
A quiet laugh escaped Shuaibo.
"Are you interviewing me?"
"...Maybe."
"You've been asking about this for almost the entire walk home."
Han blinked.
Had he?
Now that Shuaibo pointed it out, he couldn't remember the last time they'd talked about anything else. Usually they'd spend the walk complaining about professors, making fun of whoever had forgotten the counts during practice, or debating where to eat after club activities.
Today, somehow, every conversation had circled back to confessions.
Han rubbed the back of his neck.
"...Sorry. You don't have to answer if it's weird."
Shuaibo looked genuinely surprised.
"It's not weird." He smiled to himself before adding, "Just unusual."
"How?"
"Most people only ask if it's true."
"What is?"
"That I've rejected a lot of people." He glanced sideways at Han. "They usually want gossip."
Han hummed absentmindedly.
Who confessed?
How many were there?
Did they know each other?
Questions like that probably made more sense.
Somewhere along the walk home, though, Han had stopped caring about the people themselves.
The number had stopped mattering too.
Without realizing it, he'd begun collecting something else entirely.
Reasons.
Didn't know them.
Didn't see them that way.
Timing wasn't right.
Different priorities.
He turned each answer over in his head like puzzle pieces, searching for one that sounded impossible to overcome.
So far...
None of them did.
The realization should've comforted him.
Instead, it only encouraged the next question to slip out.
"So... has there ever been someone you almost said yes to?"
The words hung between them.
Han immediately regretted asking.
That was far too personal.
But Shuaibo only shook his head.
"No."
The certainty caught Han off guard.
"...Never?"
"I don't think so."
His gaze drifted toward the orange sky stretching beyond the campus buildings.
"If I have to convince myself to like someone," he said quietly, choosing each word with care, "then I probably don't."
Han fell silent.
There was something strangely comforting about that answer.
And strangely terrifying.
Feelings apparently weren't something you reasoned your way into.
They were simply there.
Without permission.
Without logic.
Without any consideration for whether they would make your life significantly more complicated.
Unfortunately, Han knew that feeling all too well.
"I think I'd be terrible at confessing."
The admission slipped out before he could stop it.
He squeezed his eyes shut for the briefest moment.
Why had he said that?
Shuaibo looked at him with open curiosity.
"You've thought about it?"
"...Hypothetically."
"If you ever liked someone?"
Han nodded a little too quickly.
"Yeah."
"But you don't."
"No."
The answer came almost immediately.
Too immediately.
Shuaibo's lips curved into the smallest smile.
"...Right."
Han narrowed his eyes.
"You definitely meant something by that."
"I said one word."
"You said it weird."
"I didn't."
"Mhm."
Shuaibo only laughed, offering no further explanation.
That, somehow, felt even more suspicious.
The conversation drifted after that.
Not because Han had run out of questions.
Quite the opposite.
His mind was embarrassingly full of them.
He wanted to ask if Shuaibo believed people could fall for their friends. Whether he'd ever looked at someone one day and realized they weren't just a friend anymore. Whether feelings could grow quietly instead of arriving all at once.
He wanted to ask a hundred things.
Instead, he finally decided to keep them all to himself.
The two of them settled into an easy silence, the kind they'd never found uncomfortable. Shoes scraped softly against the pavement as they crossed the last intersection before their routes split in opposite directions. The campus had thinned behind them, giving way to quieter residential streets. A convenience store on the corner buzzed beneath fluorescent lights, and somewhere nearby, someone was frying something that smelled overwhelmingly like garlic.
Han shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his hoodie.
"...I ask weird questions."
Shuaibo glanced over.
"A little."
Han let out a groan, dragging a hand down his face.
"I knew it."
"But I didn't mind."
"You didn't?"
Shuaibo shook his head.
"I figured you were just curious."
Han laughed quietly.
Curious.
That was one way to put it.
The truth was harder to admit.
He hadn't been curious about the people who had confessed.
He'd been curious about the one person who'd rejected them.
Without realizing it, he'd spent the entire walk trying to answer a question he'd been too afraid to ask directly.
Would you reject me too?
The thought settled over him with surprising clarity.
It had always been that question.
Every why?
Every what if?
Every attempt to understand Shuaibo's reasons.
None of it had ever really been about anyone else.
"...Hani."
Han looked up.
They'd reached the familiar corner where they always went their separate ways.
"Guess I'll see you on Monday." Han adjusted the strap of his backpack. "Don't be late this time."
"I was two minutes late."
"You were six."
"It felt like two."
Han rolled his eyes.
"Sure."
He lifted a hand in a lazy wave and turned to leave.
"I know why you were asking."
His footsteps stopped.
The words hadn't been loud.
If anything, Shuaibo had said them almost absentmindedly, as though he were commenting on the weather instead of bringing Han's entire world to a halt.
Slowly, Han turned back around.
"...What?"
Shuaibo was smiling.
Not teasing.
Not smug.
Just... smiling.
"You asked a lot of questions today."
"I was just—"
"Curious," Shuaibo finished for him, amusement lingering in his voice. "I know."
Han's mouth opened.
Then closed again.
Shuaibo took another slow step backward toward the road leading home.
"You never asked about the people."
Han frowned.
"What?"
"You never asked what they looked like." His smile softened. "Or what they studied. Or whether we stayed friends afterward."
Han stared at him.
"You only cared about why I said no."
His heart lurched.
He hadn't even realized.
Somewhere between I know why you were asking and you only cared about why I said no, every carefully constructed excuse he'd been hiding behind quietly crumbled.
Shuaibo knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
"I..."
The word caught in his throat.
Nothing came after it.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Shuaibo laughed.
Not at him.
Just softly, warmly, like he'd finally solved a puzzle that had been sitting unfinished for a while.
"I should get going."
He adjusted his backpack and turned toward his street.
"...Shuaibo."
"Hm?"
Han didn't know what he wanted to say.
His mind was blank.
His heartbeat wasn't helping.
Shuaibo looked back over his shoulder.
The last of the evening sun caught the edge of his smile, softening it into something almost unfairly pretty.
Then he winked.
"I won't reject you though."
And just like that, he kept walking.
Han stood perfectly still.
The breeze stirred the loose strands of his hair. Somewhere behind him, a bicycle bell rang as someone rode past. The pedestrian light changed from green to red.
He noticed none of it.
I won't reject you though.
His brain refused to move beyond those five words.
"...What does that even mean?"
There was, of course, no one left to answer him.
Han remained where he was for another full minute, backpack hanging awkwardly off one shoulder as he replayed the last ten seconds over and over again.
A wink.
I won't reject you though.
A smile.
He groaned, pressing both hands over his face.
"...There's no way I'm sleeping tonight."