Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kang Seongjun had mastered the art of watching without being seen.

Two rows behind, one seat to the left. Close enough to notice the way Park Gyujin tapped his pen against the desk whenever he was thinking, but far enough to keep himself safely invisible. Gyujin was the kind of person people gravitated toward without realizing it: warm, effortless, a gravity that pulled laughter and attention into his orbit.

Seongjun wasn’t in that orbit. He was the kid who tripped over his own feet on the way to the whiteboard, the one whose voice cracked during presentations, the one who constantly forgot where he put his notebook. If Gyujin noticed him at all, it was probably as background noise.

And yet, Seongjun noticed everything.

He noticed the way Gyujin’s hair curled slightly at the ends after PE, the way he leaned over his desk to whisper something to his seat partner, the way his smile dimmed when he thought no one was watching. All of it lodged itself in Seongjun’s chest, too heavy to ignore, too dangerous to say out loud.

It was just a crush, Seongjun told himself. A stupid, hopeless crush on a classmate who didn’t know his name. He could live with that. He could live in the quiet.

Until their teacher announced a new project.

“Pair work,” she said, writing instructions on the board. “I’ll assign partners this time, so no complaints.”

Seongjun didn’t even look up when names started being called out. He was already preparing himself for the usual, getting paired with someone who didn’t show up half the time, or worse, someone who rolled their eyes at his clumsy attempts to contribute.

But then he heard it.

“Park Gyujin… and Kang Seongjun.”

Seongjun’s head snapped up so fast his neck hurt. Gyujin was already turning in his seat, scanning the room until his gaze landed on Seongjun. His smile bright, polite, and blinding hit him square in the chest.

“Looks like we’re partners,” Gyujin said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Seongjun forgot how to breathe.

-

Working with Gyujin was like stepping into sunlight after years of shade. He was patient, easygoing, and kind. He didn’t sigh when Seongjun stumbled over words, didn’t laugh when he knocked his pencil case onto the floor for the third time. Instead, he bent down to help pick up the scattered pens, brushing Seongjun’s fingers in the process.

That tiny, accidental touch replayed in Seongjun’s head for the rest of the night.

They met in the library after school to plan their project, Gyujin sitting cross-legged in a chair like he owned the place, Seongjun hunched over his notes like they might protect him from saying something stupid. Conversation flowed easier than Seongjun expected. Mostly Gyujin asking questions, Seongjun fumbling answers, and Gyujin laughing in that way that made everything feel less like failure and more like… maybe it was okay to be exactly as he was.

Still, every smile, every casual brush of Gyujin’s arm, felt like a secret Seongjun shouldn’t be allowed to hold.

He went home that night more lovesick than ever.

-

The project stretched over two weeks. Two weeks of sitting across from Gyujin, pretending not to notice the way his hair fell into his eyes, the way he chewed his lip when he was concentrating. Two weeks of Seongjun’s heart betraying him, beating too fast whenever their knees bumped under the table.

It was torture. It was bliss.

And then came the night before their presentation. They were sitting in Gyujin’s room, finalizing slides on his laptop. Gyujin leaned closer, pointing at the screen, his shoulder brushing against Seongjun’s.

“You did a lot of work on this,” Gyujin said quietly. “Thanks for carrying the team.”

Seongjun blinked. “I didn’t... I mean, you...” His tongue tangled itself into knots.

Gyujin just smiled, softer this time, like he knew something Seongjun didn’t.

And for a terrifying, exhilarating second, Seongjun wondered if maybe, just maybe, Gyujin saw him after all.

-

When Seongjun walked home that night, the air felt lighter. His heart still ached, but not with the sharp edge of hopelessness. More like the kind of ache that said: something had shifted. Something small, something fragile, but something real.

For the first time, Seongjun let himself hope.

Chapter Text

Presentation day arrived, and Seongjun thought he might actually throw up.

The classroom was louder than usual, everyone buzzing with nerves. Seongjun gripped the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles turned pale. Their slides were polished, their script rehearsed, but the thought of standing in front of thirty pairs of eyes and worse, standing next to Gyujin, made his stomach twist itself into knots.

“Relax,” Gyujin murmured, sliding into the seat beside him. His voice was low, casual, but it sent Seongjun’s pulse racing. “We’ve got this. You’ll do fine.”

Seongjun wanted to believe him. But when their turn came, his brain betrayed him halfway through his part. Words scattered like startled birds, leaving him stammering at the front of the class. Heat crept up his neck. He wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

And then Gyujin stepped in. Smooth, calm, seamlessly picking up where Seongjun faltered. He didn’t make it obvious—just gently wove Seongjun’s half-sentences into complete thoughts, like they’d planned it that way all along.

When they sat down again, Seongjun whispered, “Sorry.”

Gyujin leaned closer, close enough that Seongjun could smell his clean laundry scent, faintly sweet. “Don’t be. We did great.” He smiled, and Seongjun's shame dissolved into something softer, something far more dangerous.

-

After class, Gyujin slung his bag over his shoulder and caught Seongjun’s sleeve. “Hey, Seongjun. Want to grab something to eat? My treat.”

Seongjun blinked. “Uh. Me?”

“Yeah,” Gyujin laughed. “Unless you know another Seongjun in this class.”

Seongjun’s heart hammered the whole walk to the little convenience store near school. They bought instant ramen cups and sat outside on the low stone wall, steam rising into the cool air. Gyujin talked about random things, music he liked, a movie he wanted to see and Seongjun tried desperately to look normal while his brain screamed he invited me, he invited me.

Halfway through, Gyujin glanced sideways at him. “You’re quiet. Nervous stomach, or just sick of my voice?”

Seongjun choked on his noodles. “No! I mean, no... I’m not sick of you. At all.”

Gyujin grinned, clearly amused. “Good to know.”

-

It kept happening after that. Little things. Gyujin asking him to walk together after class. Saving him a seat without being asked. Texting him a dumb meme at midnight. It was casual, natural like Gyujin did this with everyone.

Except… he didn’t.

Seongjun started noticing the difference. Gyujin’s easy smiles were for anyone, sure. But the way his gaze lingered when Seongjun spoke? The way he leaned just a little too close when showing him something on his phone? Those weren’t things he did with other classmates. Were they?

Seongjun couldn’t tell if he was imagining it, if his crush had rotted his brain into wishful thinking.

Until one afternoon in the library.

They were sitting side by side, supposed to be studying, when Seongjun’s pencil rolled off the desk. Both reached down at the same time, and their hands brushed. A stupid cliché but Seongjun froze like he’d been caught committing a crime.

Gyujin didn’t move his hand away.

Instead, he looked at Seongjun with an expression Seongjun couldn’t read, soft, almost curious. “You’re always staring at me,” he said quietly.

Seongjun’s blood ran cold. “I... I wasn’t...”

“You were,” Gyujin said, not unkindly. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was piecing together a puzzle. “Why?”

Seongjun’s mouth went dry. His carefully built walls, weeks of keeping it all inside, threatened to crack wide open. He could lie, laugh it off, say anything else but Gyujin was still looking at him, patient, waiting.

The truth slipped out before Seongjun could stop it.

“Because I like you.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Seongjun wished he could rewind time, shove the words back down his throat. He stared at the floor, waiting for the inevitable laugh, the awkward rejection, the quiet pity.

But then Gyujin’s hand pressed lightly against his, deliberate this time.

“Good,” Gyujin said, voice steady. “Because I like you too.”

Seongjun’s head snapped up. Gyujin was smiling, not the wide, but something softer, smaller, just for him.

It didn’t feel real. “You… do?”

“Yeah.” Gyujin leaned in, shoulder brushing his. “I was waiting for you to say it first.”

Seongjun sat there, stunned, heart thundering so loud he was sure the librarian would shush him for it. Gyujin’s fingers curled gently around his own, grounding him in the moment.

For once, Seongjun didn’t care who saw.

Chapter Text

Two weeks.

That’s how long it had been since the library confession, since Gyujin had laced their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. And yet Seongjun still woke up every morning wondering if it had all been a dream.

Except dreams didn’t send him good-morning texts with heart emojis. Dreams didn’t press soft kisses to his temple when no one else was looking.

No, this was real. Somehow, impossibly, Gyujin was his.

-

They were in the park on a lazy Saturday afternoon, textbooks forgotten in favor of lying on the grass. Gyujin was stretched out beside him, one arm tucked under his head, the other absently playing with Seongjun’s hand. He traced little circles against Seongjun’s palm, as though he had all the time in the world.

I still don’t believe this is real.” Seongjun murmured

Gyujin’s smile softened. “Want me to prove it?”

Before Seongjun could respond, Gyujin leaned in and pressed the lightest kiss to the corner of his mouth. Just a brush, quick and playful but enough to send Seongjun’s brain short-circuiting.

“Real enough now?” Gyujin asked, grinning.

Seongjun’s cheeks burned. “Y-you can’t just do that in public…”

“Why not?” Gyujin tilted his head, feigning innocence. “We’re dating. Pretty sure that’s allowed.”

Seongjun covered his face with his hands, groaning. Gyujin only laughed, gently prying Seongjun’s hands away to drop another kiss onto his forehead this time.

-

The thing about dating Gyujin, Seongjun discovered, was that everything felt lighter. Even the little things like walking home together, sharing snacks during breaks, sitting shoulder to shoulder in the library carried a quiet happiness.

It wasn’t perfect, of course. Seongjun still stumbled over his words, still dropped his books at least twice a day, still blushed furiously whenever Gyujin so much as looked at him for too long. But instead of embarrassment, it was Gyujin’s soft laughter and a reassuring squeeze of his hand that followed.

One evening, they sprawled on Gyujin’s bed, a movie playing half-forgotten on the laptop. Gyujin’s head rested against Seongjun’s shoulder, hair tickling his chin. Seongjun was too aware of the weight, the warmth, the steady rhythm of Gyujin’s breathing.

“Hey,” Gyujin said suddenly, voice muffled. “You never told me when it started.”

“When what started?”

“When you started… liking me.” Gyujin tilted his head up, curiosity shining in his eyes.

Seongjun swallowed. “Um. Probably the first week of class. You let me borrow a pen and smiled at me like it wasn’t a big deal.”

Gyujin blinked, then laughed, pressing a kiss to Seongjun’s jaw. “That’s it? A pen?”

“You don’t get it,” Seongjun mumbled, ears turning red.

For a moment, Gyujin didn’t reply. Then he shifted, climbing onto his elbows so he was hovering above Seongjun. His expression was serious now, the teasing gone.
Gyujin kissed him, properly this time, slow and lingering, the kind of kiss that stole the air from Seongjun’s lungs. Seongjun clutched at Gyujin’s shirt, pulling him closer, and Gyujin smiled against his lips like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and laughing, Seongjun thought he might actually float off the bed.

-

One day, as they walked home hand in hand, Gyujin squeezed his fingers. “Still don’t believe it’s real?”

Seongjun looked at him, at the boy who had once been just a classmate, now his. He smiled, heart full to bursting.

“No,” he said softly. “Now I do.”

Gyujin leaned down, kissing the tip of his nose. “Good. Because I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

And under the fading light of the evening, Seongjun knew he is head over heels, completely gone, that this was exactly where he wanted to stay.