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The party was being hosted at a sprawling two-story house nestled deep in one of the quieter, wealthier outer suburbs—miles away from the cramped apartment complexes and bustling city avenues where most of the Hyosan High student body actually lived. Because of the extra acreage, the property was impressively spacious, featuring a wide stone driveway and a manicured lawn that stretched around to a massive back garden. It was the kind of setup built for crowds, easily absorbing the chaotic overflow of teenagers spilling out from the living room patio.
Despite standing near the same makeshift drink cooler on the back deck, Su-hyeok and Cheong-san weren't friends. In fact, up until this exact semester, they had never been friends, had barely exchanged three words in the hallways, and weren't even considered loose acquaintances. They moved in completely different orbits: one as the reformed troublemaker constantly teetering on the edge of detention, and the other as the quiet, practical boy who kept his head down and ran errands for his family's fried chicken shop.
Yet, as Su-hyeok leaned against the wooden railing and watched his best friend freeze up for the fourth time that night—completely failing to say a single coherent sentence to On-jo while she stood just three feet away—that maddening discovery was the final straw that broke the camel's back. Su-hyeok couldn't take the painful, agonizing hesitation anymore. It was time to intervene, even if his chaotic plan backfired completely.
"Look who finally decided to show up," Myeong-hwan greeted him like nothing was out of the ordinary, tossing an empty soda can into the overgrown grass behind the bicycle rack. "I was starting to think you chickened out, Su-hyeok."
"What the hell is this about, Myeong-hwan?" Su-hyeok asked, his voice low and tight as he kept his distance, his fists clenching at his sides. "Why did you tell her to come out here?"
Seriously, who in their right mind would ever want to have sex with their bully?
Myeong-hwan laughed like he had no care in the world, leaning back against the rusty chain-link fence as if they were just two old friends catching up. "Oh, come on. Don't be so dramatic. It's not like she had much of a choice, right? You know how it works around here."
Rape.
A motherfucking rapist.
"Is that what you call it?" Su-hyeok asked, the blood rushing to his ears until the noise of the nearby street completely faded away. "You think forcing someone into a corner is a game?"
Myeong-hwan smirked, pushing off the fence and taking a casual, arrogant step forward. "I think you need to mind your own business, bare-fists. She gave me what I wanted so I wouldn't post those photos online. Simple transaction. You think anyone's gonna believe her over me anyway? You think the teachers give a shit about what happens behind the gym after hours? Step aside and let me pass, or I'll make sure your name gets dragged into this, too."
Su-hyeok didn't step aside.
Instead, a dam broke inside him. Before Myeong-hwan could even register the shift in the air, Su-hyeok drove a brutal right hook straight into the side of his jaw. Myeong-hwan's head snapped back, his smirk instantly evaporating into a spray of saliva and blood as he stumbled against the fence.
Su-hyeok didn't stop. He stepped into the space, delivering a furious, gut-wrenching blow directly into Myeong-hwan's ribs that folded the bully in half.
And again. Su-hyeok grabbed Myeong-hwan by his jacket collar and smashed his fist across his nose, the sickening crunch of cartilage echoing through the alley as Myeong-hwan collapsed onto his knees, choking on his own blood.
"Wait... stop..." he heard Myeong-hwan weakly sputter behind him, clutching his shattered face as he curled onto the gravel floor. "You're... you're crazy, Su-hyeok... I'll tell everyone..."
Su-hyeok paused at the edge of the alley, wiping a smear of blood off his knuckles before turning around to cast a cold, hollow glance down at the trembling wreck on the ground.
"Go ahead and tell them," he called back, his tone dripping with lethal promise. "Tell them exactly what I did to you. And if you ever speak to her again, or even look in her direction, I won't stop until you can't walk."
Guys like Myeong-hwan never learned until someone broke them. They always do.
A coward. A hollow, pathetic coward hiding behind a twisted smile.
That was all Myeong-hwan really was when you stripped away the gang of sycophants and the cheap threats he used to keep everyone silent. Standing over him in the dim light of the alleyway, watching him whimper on his knees and clutch his bleeding face, Su-hyeok realized the guy wasn't some invincible force of terror. He was just a small, cruel insect who picked on people who couldn't fight back.
A monster.
Not because of some grand, supernatural curse or a city full of flesh-eating ghouls, but because he chose to be one every single day in broad daylight. He took pleasure in breaking people, in cornering them until they felt like they had no air left in their lungs. And the worst part was how casually he wore it, walking through the school hallways like he owned the place while leaving a trail of quiet, shattered lives in his wake.
Even when Myeong-hwan and his lackeys weren’t running errands for the local gangs, they seemed to spend every single one of their days off lurking outside their homes, hunting for someone to corner.
"Look at you, Su-hyeok," he smirked, leaning his hip against the narrow brick alley wall as if he owned the entire block. "Always playing the big hero."
Su-hyeok didn't bother wasting his breath on a reply, his throat tight as he growled instead.
"You really think you can just march over here and demand stuff from me?" he spat back, taking a slow, menacing step forward. "Who the hell do you think you are? You ain't bare-fists anymore. You're just another nobody without your little squad." Myeong-hwan goaded further, his cold eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "So why don't you turn around and walk away while you can still stand? Unless you want to watch what happens next."
Su-hyeok stared at him, his knuckles white at his sides. "If you lay one hand on her, I swear I'll—" He didn't know how he was going to finish the threat before Myeong-hwan cut him off entirely.
Myeong-hwan ordered the small girl huddled behind the trash bins, his voice dropping into a harsh, cruel snap. "Get over here, Hee-su. Now. Don't make me come drag you by your hair."
"Don't touch her!" Su-hyeok shouted, lunging forward, only for Myeong-hwan's two heavy-set friends to step into his path, shoving him hard back against the corrugated metal fence.
"Shut your mouth, Su-hyeok," Myeong-hwan sneered, rolling up his sleeves. "She knows what happens when people ignore me. She owes me, and today she's paying up."
Their principal never should have entered the teaching profession. The man turned a blind eye to every single report, caring far more about the school's public reputation than the lives being shattered in the back alleys after hours.
With a sudden, violent movement, Myeong-hwan grabbed Hee-su by the shoulder, shoving her roughly into the narrow utility closet at the back of the alley before stepping inside himself.
Myeong-hwan smirked as he made to close the door, casting one last victorious look over his shoulder.
"Open the damn door, Myeong-hwan!" Su-hyeok spat, thrashing against the two guys holding his arms pinned to the fence. "Let her go! I'll break your fucking teeth!"
Myeong-hwan snorted, shaking his head with a pitiless laugh. "You're not doing anything today, bare-fists. Go home. She'll be out when I'm done."
"You monster!" Su-hyeok spat, his voice cracking with pure, helpless fury.
"Call me whatever you want," Myeong-hwan mocked him, his grip tightening on the heavy iron latch.
He smirked before the door slammed shut in his face, the heavy deadbolt clicking into place with a sickening finality.
Hours later, after the alley had finally cleared and the sun had dipped far below the concrete horizon, Su-hyeok sat on the curb outside the apartment complex, his hands buried in his face.
"Hee-su..." he croaked out as a faint, agonizingly slow footstep sounded beside him.
She was standing under the flickering street lamp, clutching her torn jacket tightly around her chest. Fresh, dark bruises were already blooming across her pale wrists, and a sharp red mark streaked down the side of her neck where his rough fingers had pinned her.
It was silent for the first few seconds as the industrial lift inside the building lobby made its slow, grinding way down.
"I'm so sorry..." Su-hyeok whispered, unable to look her straight in the eyes.
"Don't," she whispered back, her voice hollow and completely drained of emotion. "Just... don't say anything, Su-hyeok. It doesn't change anything. It doesn't undo the last three hours. It's done."
Nice. Real nice. A quick "sorry" after sitting powerlessly on the curb. Less than that, more often than not, was all anyone ever offered in this godforsaken neighborhood.
"I tried to break through the fence," Su-hyeok said, his fingers digging into his knees. "His guys... they held me back. I couldn't get to the door."
"You could have gone for help," she whispered, a tear finally tracking through the grime on her cheek. "You could have run to the main road and called someone. Anyone."
The crushing weight of his own failure pressed down on his chest until he could barely draw breath.
"I didn't think... I was so mad I couldn't think straight," Su-hyeok choked out, staring at the concrete beneath his sneakers.
I'm sorry. The words felt utterly worthless in his mouth. It didn't wash away the terror, and it certainly didn't heal the scars.
"Why?" she whispered as they reached the empty street crossing, stopping under the buzzing neon sign of a closed convenience store.
Su-hyeok leaned against the cool brick of the back patio, the distant pulse of bass from inside the house vibrating through his sneakers. He stared across the lawn at Cheong-san, who was currently staring down at his red solo cup like it contained the secrets of the universe while On-jo chatted animatedly beside him.
The weight of Su-hyeok's past failures hung heavy in his chest, a ghost he couldn't shake.
“Why didn't you help me when you actually could?”
Hee-su's hollow whisper from all those months ago echoed in his mind, sharp and unrelenting. He hadn't been able to save her. He had let cowardice, hesitation, and brute force ruin a life, effectively severing whatever fragile thread of connection they had left. That night had ended their friendship permanently—not physically, because they still passed each other in the halls like ghosts, but emotionally, leaving a cold, unbridgeable chasm between them.
This, however, was entirely different territory.
Helping Cheong-san wasn't about fighting off a gang of bullies or breaking down a locked door; it was about stopping his best friend from sabotaging his own happiness out of pure, agonizing hesitation. Cheong-san had been hopelessly in love with On-jo for years, yet he acted like talking to her was a minefield.
Sure, they had crossed paths in small ways before. They had kissed a couple of times—three times, to be exact. But every single instance had been during stupid, drunk party games, like a high-pressure version of 'seven minutes in heaven' where everyone cheered from the other side of a closet door. They had both walked away from those moments pretending it was just game rules, swearing up and down that there were zero real feelings involved.
Just a dumb game. Nothing important.
Cheong-san kept telling himself that this ridiculous, suffocating crush would just go away as quickly as it had come. It’s been two weeks since the last party, he had muttered to Su-hyeok earlier that afternoon, it should start resolving itself soon.
Except it wasn't resolving itself. It was getting worse. They knew each other, sort of—or rather, On-jo knew him as the reliable guy next door, completely blind to the fact that he was falling apart every time she smiled at him. The rest of their classmate group just assumed the two of them were already a subtle item and simply hated public displays of affection, rationalizing their awkward distance as some mutual agreement. They thought Cheong-san was just playing it cool out of fear or some other bullshit reason.
Today, during this massive suburban house party, Su-hyeok had decided to take the first step. He was going to orchestrate the push Cheong-san so desperately needed, engineering a moment where his best friend couldn't run away or make excuses anymore.
He took a slow sip of his drink, watching as Cheong-san finally looked up and caught On-jo's eye, a flustered flush creeping up his neck.
So far, so good. Now Cheong-san was either going to finally get the girl, or drop dead trying.
"I swear to God, I had the entire thing mapped out in my head!" Cheong-san slurred, his hands flailing dramatically as he leaned heavily against the wooden fence of the back garden. "I was gonna walk right up to her, hand her a drink, and just say it!"
"Oh, absolutely, man. A brilliant, foolproof strategy," Gyeong-su said in a mock serious tone of voice that he knew if Cheong-san had been sober enough to pick up on it, would have earned him a punch to the shoulder. "Step one: walk over. Step two: hand drink. Step three: stare at her like a confused golden retriever until she walks away."
"I DID NOT STARE LIKE A GOLDEN RETRIEVER!" Cheong-san cried loudly, stumbling slightly over his own sneakers as he tried to cross his arms.
Gyeong-su wheezed, doubling over with laughter as he slapped his knee, nearly spilling his soda onto the grass.
It was an absolute miracle that Su-hyeok’s master plan hadn't completely exploded in their faces yet. Or maybe Cheong-san just hadn't realized he was being played. Miracles do happen after all.
"So what's the grand backup plan now, Romeo?" Gyeong-su asked, leaning back against the patio post with a wide grin.
"I don't need a backup plan!" Cheong-san insisted, his voice rising in defensive, drunken panic. "I just need five minutes! Five minutes without Su-hyeok breathing down my neck and making weird hand signals from behind the couch! Do you know how hard it is to confess your feelings when your best friend is doing finger-guns behind the girl's head?! It’s impossible! Completely impossible!"
No one—absolutely no one—in the history of high school romance had ever struggled this hard to say three simple words.
"And another thing," Cheong-san continued, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into Gyeong-su's chest. "She was literally right there! She was talking about her favorite music, and I had the perfect transition ready! I was gonna say, 'You know what else sounds good? Us.' But then Dae-su knocked over the punch bowl, and On-jo went to grab paper towels, and the whole universe just conspired against me! It's not my fault! The timing in this house is cursed!"
He ran both hands through his messy hair, groaning at the ceiling. "I’ve been waiting for two years, Gyeong-su. Two entire years of sitting next to her on the bus, listening to her talk about other guys, pretending I'm totally fine just being the reliable neighbor kid who helps her carry her bags. I'm sick of playing it safe. If I don't say something tonight, I'm gonna spend the rest of high school watching someone else hand her drinks at parties!"
Gyeong-su now decided that it was definitely time to intervene before his best friend managed to pass out from sheer exhaustion and cheap beer.
"I'm gonna go back in there," Cheong-san announced, his eyes narrowing with sudden, reckless determination. "I'm gonna find her by the kitchen island. I'm not gonna look at Su-hyeok. I'm not gonna listen to Dae-su. I'm just gonna grab her hands, look her straight in the eye, and lay it all out on the table. No more chicken-out moves."
"You sure you can even walk in a straight line right now?" he asked, crossing his arms. But watching Cheong-san attempt to muster heroic dignity while completely slurred was priceless.
"I am as steady as a mountain," Cheong-san muttered, before a stream of unintelligible words followed as he took a single step forward, tripped over a discarded garden hose, and wobbled dangerously into a bush.
Maybe it was something to do with fried chicken—or maybe his legs had just given up on his grand romantic speech entirely.
Nothing that sounded remotely important—or at least, nothing Cheong-san could decipher through the haze of cheap beer settling over his brain. Although that might have been mostly because the thunderous, bass-heavy pop music blasting through the patio speakers was vibrating so violently against the sliding glass doors that it made hearing any actual words nearly impossible.
Huh?
He blinked, straining his ears as Gyeong-su’s mouth kept moving, pointing frantically toward the kitchen window.
Or maybe... maybe it actually was something important. Through the fog, Cheong-san caught a glimpse of On-jo standing by the counter, setting down her cup and looking around the crowded room as if she were searching for someone—and suddenly, his heart did a frantic, terrifying flip in his chest.
"Will you just stand still for two seconds and listen to me?!" On-jo snapped, crossing her arms tightly as she cornered him near the dimly lit pantry door.
"Oh, I'm listening, On-jo. I'm all ears!" Cheong-san said mockingly, leaning his back against the doorframe and attempting a cool, unbothered smirk that wobbled terribly under her furious glare. "Please, enlighten me on what incredibly urgent thing couldn't wait until Monday!"
"Do you really think this is funny?!" she demanded, her voice cutting through the dull thrum of the living room bass. "You've been dodging me all night, throwing weird looks across the yard, and acting like an absolute child!"
"I am not dodging anyone!" he slurred slightly, trying to straighten his spine while his boots caught on the edge of the hallway rug. "I'm having a great time! Living my best life, actually!"
"Oh, really? Then explain what this is!" On-jo snapped, pulling her phone from her back pocket with terrifying speed.
She tapped the screen with a manicured thumb, turning the speaker directly toward his face as a crackly audio recording began to play loudly into the narrow corridor.
“— gonna find her by the kitchen island... look her straight in the eye and lay it all out on the table... no more chicken-out moves—”
Uh oh.
Cheong-san’s brain completely short-circuited. As the familiar, slurred sound of his own voice filled the quiet hallway, a wild kaleidoscope of emotions flashed across his face—anger at Gyeong-su for recording him, pure shock that she actually had it, gut-wrenching fear of what was coming next, sheer uncertainty about how to survive this, and... was that a tiny, flickering spark of hope in the back of his mind?
Oh, this was just like something that would happen on a dramatic TV show. The kind of ridiculous, embarrassing twist where the main character wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
"I recorded it when Dae-su brought his phone out to the yard!" she fired off, her eyes blazing as she stepped right into his personal space. "Did you really think I wouldn't hear about your little drunken announcement?!"
Seriously, girls are vicious when they want to be, and relentless to boot. Once On-jo locked onto a target, there was no escaping, no lying, and zero chance of slipping away unnoticed.
"Wait... how did you—" Cheong-san stammered, his confident facade completely evaporating into thin air as he stared at the glowing phone screen.
What the fuck?
"Tell me that wasn't actually recorded," he groaned, burying his face in his hands as the crushing weight of reality crashed over his pounding headache.
Please, anyone in the universe... just not his mom. If his mom ever got her hands on a recording of him slurring his heart out at a suburban house party, he’d never hear the end of it for the rest of his natural life.
"Who... who gave that to you?" he asked slowly while his brain struggled to get back online, squinting through the harsh hall light at the phone still clutched in her hand.
"Gyeong-su sent it to the group chat twenty minutes ago," On-jo said, crossing her arms tightly as she leaned against the doorframe, her eyes fixed on his flustered face. "He said everyone needed to hear your grand speech. In fact, half the school has probably played it by now."
She hit play one more time, letting the tinny audio echo through the narrow corridor: '—no more chicken-out moves, I'm gonna look her straight in the eye—'
Fucking hell. That was not a bad dream. That was the absolute, unvarnished, terrifying real thing.
There was no running away now. The hall was too narrow, the music outside too faint, and On-jo was standing right in front of him, blocking the only exit with a look that demanded nothing short of absolute honesty.
"Did you really mean any of that?" she whispered, her voice dropping all its previous anger, replaced by a strange, quiet intensity. "Or was it just the alcohol talking?" she asked, stepping closer until there were barely two inches of space between their sneakers. "Are you ever going to tell me yourself?" she asked, her eyes searching his face, refusing to let him look away.
But would they really be able to go back to normal after this? Could they just pretend the last two minutes hadn't completely shattered two years of carefully maintained boundaries?
This was the perfect opportunity. The house was loud, the hallway was dark, and for the first time in his life, he didn't have Su-hyeok or Gyeong-su standing behind him to turn his hesitation into a joke.
It was now or never.
"I meant every single word," Cheong-san said, his voice raw, dropping the defensive act entirely. "I didn't want you to find out through a stupid recording, but I'm not taking it back. I'm sick of pretending. I've been in love with you since middle school, On-jo," he admitted, his heart hammering violently against his ribs as the words finally poured out of him. "Every time you talked about some other guy, every time you asked me for advice, I sat there and played the good neighbor because I was terrified of losing you completely. I thought if I told you, you'd walk away. I thought it would ruin everything we had. So I stayed quiet, and I hated myself for it every single day." He took a shaky breath, looking down at his shoes before forcing himself to meet her gaze again. "I know I'm an idiot. I know I handled this terribly, getting drunk at a party and letting Gyeong-su record my loud mouth. I'm tired of playing it safe," he added, his voice trembling slightly, "and that's the absolute truth. That's the painful, pathetic truth of it. I'd rather tell you now and risk you hating me than spend another year watching you belong to someone else. Are we... are we completely broken now?" he asked fearfully, his fingers twitching at his sides as he braced himself for the blow.
"You really are an idiot," was all she said, a soft, breathless laugh escaping her lips as she finally lowered her phone. "You made me wait two entire years just to hear you say that in a dusty pantry hallway."
And again after their quiet conversation late Saturday morning, when the house party had cleared out and only the empty cups remained scattered across the back lawn.
Every word she had spoken to him in that sunlit kitchen still echoed in his head, distinct and crystal clear.
Had it really been building up ever since they had first known each other back in middle school? Looking back, every shared umbrella, every quiet bus ride home, and every late-night phone call carried a weight he had been too afraid to acknowledge.
Hope—fragile, bright, and terrifying—was suddenly blooming in his chest where anxiety used to live.
And that was it. The barest bones of information about where they actually stood now. But wasn't that the entire point of taking this step? You take a risk because you like someone, because you care about them, and because you want to discover who they are when all the defensive walls come down.
She was so, so kind—always the first to offer a hand, even to complete strangers who needed help in the middle of a bad situation. It was a warmth that made him feel grounded just being near her.
What if they had missed this chance and eventually watched each other start a relationship with someone else? Sure, there would have been a sting of hurt and disappointment there, but nothing truly heartbreaking or life-destroying on the surface. They would have survived it, carried on, and played the supportive best friend role until the end of time.
Yet the thought of watching her end up dating some nameless, faceless person who didn't know her quirks, didn't understand her quiet moments, and didn't appreciate how deeply she cared was a silent torture he wasn't willing to endure anymore.
When he weighed all his fears against the possibility of what they could build together, there was really only one answer to all of them.
Who else could it possibly be standing on the doorstep at eight in the morning on a Sunday?
"Cheong-san! Your friend from next door is here!" his dad yelled up the stairs, his voice booming over the sound of the morning news broadcast from the kitchen. "Don't keep her waiting on the porch!"
"I'm coming! I'm already dressed!" he lied loudly, hastily yanking a clean hoodie over his head and nearly tripping over his own sneakers as he scrambled down the hallway.
"You took your sweet time," On-jo said, leaning against the doorframe outside with her hands tucked into the pockets of her oversized denim jacket, a faint trace of an amused smile playing on her lips.
"Sorry, I couldn't find my school bag," Cheong-san muttered, adjusting his grip on the nylon strap and stepping out onto the cool concrete porch.
"We're going to miss the early bus if we don't hurry," she explained, turning to head down the walkway toward the main road. "And I am not walking five blocks in this morning chill because you were sleeping in."
"I was not sleeping in!" he blurted out, taking longer strides to catch up to her side.
"Right, you were just staring at the ceiling panicking about today," he explained as they slowly started to walk toward the stairwell leading down to the apartment complex lobby. "I mean... I wasn't panicking. Just thinking. Planning ahead."
"You don't need to plan anything, Cheong-san," she said as they arrived in the quiet concrete stairwell, and instead of pressing the glowing button for the lift like they usually did every single morning, she stepped straight past the elevator doors and pulled open the heavy fire exit door.
"Wait, are we taking the stairs?" he pressed nervously as he awkwardly fidgeted with the straps on his backpack, following her into the dim, echoing stairwell.
"The elevator camera has audio," On-jo stated matter-of-factly, and those simple words were like a direct, sudden punch to his gut. "And I don't feel like giving the security guard a front-row seat to this conversation."
She stopped on the wide concrete landing between the third and second floors, turning around to face him completely.
What?
"What conversation?" he whispered, his heart instantly hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"About Saturday night," she said softly, stepping closer until her sneakers bumped against his. "About that stupid recording. About what you said when you thought no one was listening."
Was this real? Was this really happening right here in the stairwell of their apartment building?
"On-jo... I..." he whispered, his throat suddenly bone-dry.
"Shut up for a second and let me finish," she said, reaching out to grab the lapels of his hoodie so he couldn't back away. "I spent all day yesterday waiting for you to call me. I thought you were going to act like it never happened. I thought you were going to hide behind Gyeong-su and pretend you were just too drunk to know what you were saying. But I don't want you to take it back, Cheong-san. I've been waiting for you to say those words for a really long time, too."
Was this happening? Was this really, actually happening?
"You... you have?" he asked hesitantly, his mind completely reeling as he stared into her dark, clear eyes.
"Yes, you idiot," she said, a breathless, nervous laugh bubbling up from her chest before she pulled him down by his collar and pressed her lips firmly against his.
The kiss was hesitant and nervous and fumbling at first, their noses bumping awkwardly in the dim stairwell light, but as Cheong-san finally wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against him, it turned into something incredible. All the tension, all the years of unsaid feelings, and all the fear of the unknown melted away into the warm, real presence of her in his arms.
"So..." he whispered, pulling back just an inch, his voice shaking with pure disbelief.
"So," On-jo said softly, her face flushed red as she kept her hands resting on his shoulders. "Does this mean we're finally doing this?"
"Doing what?" he asked just as softly, a ridiculous grin spreading across his face.
"Dating, you dummy," On-jo said awkwardly, looking down at her shoes for a second to hide her flustered smile.
Overcome with sheer relief and excitement, Cheong-san tried to take a dramatic step back to look at her, but his boot caught the edge of the top concrete step. With a sudden, embarrassing yelp, he lost his footing entirely, his arms wildly windmilling through the air before he landed hard on his backside, sliding down three steps with a loud, metallic thud as his backpack slammed into the railing.
"Ouch!" he cried, clutching his elbow as he sat sprawling at the bottom of the landing. Oh, thank God no one else was using the stairs right now.
"Cheong-san!" On-jo shrieked, looking down at him like she thought he was the absolute biggest idiot on the planet. "Are you serious right now?! Did you really just fall down the stairs two seconds after kissing me?!"
That would definitely have to be some kind of historic high school record!
"I'm fine! Perfectly fine! My dignity is intact!" Cheong-san wheezed, rubbing his bruised hip as he tried to scramble back up into a dignified sitting position.
"You are completely hopeless," On-jo told him matter-of-factly before she leaned over to place a quick, chaste kiss on his lips, cutting off his ramblings. "Now get up before you give yourself a concussion. Are you sure nothing's broken?" she smiled hesitantly as she helped him to his feet and kept a concerned hand on his arm, looking him up and down in genuine worry.
"Only my pride," he said honestly, brushing the dust off the seat of his jeans with a faint groan. "Well, your pride will survive," he said then, offering her a sheepish grin as he readjusted his backpack. "As long as you don't tell Su-hyeok about this."
"Oh, I'm definitely telling Su-hyeok," On-jo said, a wicked, triumphant spark igniting in her eyes as she turned back toward the exit door.
"Hey, wait!" he frowned, his jaw dropping as he followed her out into the bright morning sunshine. "Why would you tell him?!"
"Because," she said, flashing him a brilliant, mischievous smile over her shoulder as they hit the sidewalk, "he owes me fifty thousand won now."
Su-hyeok thought with a small grin as he leaned against the thick bark of the maple tree, watching Cheong-san and On-jo amble down the cracked sidewalk from the edge of the treeline. The two of them were holding hands, their fingers loosely interwoven in a way that was definitely brand new, and they were smiling and laughing so hard that On-jo nearly dropped her water bottle onto the pavement.
It was a completely different energy than usual—far more obvious than the subtle, unspoken heart-eyes they had been throwing at each other for the past two years. Every time Cheong-san leaned in to say something, On-jo’s whole face lit up, and Cheong-san looked like he had just won the national lottery.
Looks like someone’s love life has finally worked out after all the drama.
Honestly, Su-hyeok had been really worried for a minute there. Between Cheong-san’s agonizing hesitation, the constant threat of bad timing, and the chaotic mess of that recorded confession at the party, he had genuinely feared his best friend was going to ruin his only shot. But seeing them now, all the tension had completely evaporated.
Those two had the distinct vibe of childhood sweethearts who would stay hopelessly in love and happy together even fifty years down the line. They were the kind of couple that seemed practically bulletproof—a bond so deeply rooted that only death itself could ever break it apart.
Hmm . . .
Su-hyeok pushed himself off the tree trunk, adjusting his backpack strap as a quiet sense of satisfaction settled over him. Watching Cheong-san pull On-jo closer to dodge a speeding bicycle, he couldn't help but smile. That goofy, radiant glow on his best friend's face was loud, clear, and undeniably real—and it looks like it wasn’t going away anytime soon.