HAEUN.

───────────────────────‧★ ˎˊ˗

      I've only ever been called to the principal's office for good things.

     Like, "Wow, Haeun, you're amazing! Thanks to you, your homeroom won the sports festival!" Or, "Haeun, congrats on being school captain!" Or, "Look at you, raising the most money for the fundraiser!"

     Until now.

     And it's all Park Sunghoon's fault.

     So here I am, sitting in one of Mrs. Jeon's fancy office chairs that are so plush, I'm honestly wondering if she insisted for us to sit down in them to make us suffer more comfortably. Meanwhile, Sunghoon slouches back as if we're here for tea and biscuits instead of being interrogated over some petty, pointless argument—one he started, might I add.

     I swear he's trying to annoy me on purpose.

     Mrs. Jeon hasn't said a word for the past five minutes. She's just sitting there, staring us down like she's auditioning for a role as an intimidating judge in a legal drama. Every few seconds, she lets out this dramatic sigh, and I can't tell if it's for emphasis or if she's genuinely that exhausted by our existence.

     Then, finally, she speaks. "What is the matter with you two?"

     Great opener, Mrs. Jeon. Love the enthusiasm.

     Neither of us says a word. Obviously. What are we supposed to say? Actually, Mrs. Jeon, Sunghoon started it because he's a petty man-child? Yeah, no thanks.

     "I mean, you two are practically as good as gold normally." She sighs again—this one is extra long for dramatic flair. "I'm afraid I don't understand what's happened."

     "Miss Choi from your broadcasts and now... this?" She shakes her head slowly, like she's breaking the tragic news of our downfall. "I'm afraid this isn't going to work out."

     Oh no.

     This is it.

     She's going to put a big red mark on my record that says Horrible Student, Do Not Admit.

     She's going to take away my school captain title.

     She's going to make sure every single Ivy League school knows I'm an embarrassment to education and that they should burn my applications before even opening them.

     But no. It's worse. And that says a lot.

     She slides a paper across the desk like it's some sort of top-secret file. I glance down, and the title alone makes me want to crawl into a hole.

     TEAM BUILDING ACTIVITIES—Park Sunghoon & Choi Haeun.

     Are you serious right now?

     How old are we? Five? Is she going to hand us matching t-shirts and make us sing campfire songs next? She may as well hand us some crayons and put us in a room with rainbow walls and alphabet rugs.

     I glance at Sunghoon, who can't contain his scoff. He doesn't even try to hide it. "I'm sorry, Principal Jeon... Team building activities?" His tone is so sarcastic it's practically dripping.

     And the worst part? This is no one-and-done deal. No, these activities are scheduled, dates and all, for the next month.

     One. Whole. Month.

     Did Mrs. Jeon spend her entire night planning this? Over one little situation? Because wow, the dedication.

     "If you two aren't going to get along, I'm going to make sure of it myself," she says with the kind of finality that makes it clear there's no room for argument. "You will attend every single one of these until they are over."

     There's an if. I can feel it.

     "And if you do not attend every activity," I knew it, "I'll have you know you will no longer find yourselves with the roles of school captains."

     Correction—I'm the school captain. Sunghoon's just the co-captain. But you know what? I'm not about to point that out. I like being alive.

     Mrs. Jeon gives us her signature death glare—a piercing mix of disappointment and quiet rage—before finally dismissing us with a clipped, "You are dismissed."

     I'm out of that office faster than a kid running to an ice cream truck.

     As soon as I hit the hallway, I grab the stupid paper and hold it so tightly, the edges crumple between my fingers. The first activity on the list? Cleaning the sport department's storage closet.

     That "closet" is bigger than my entire bedroom. Maybe my entire house, actually. It's filled to the brim with dusty equipment, random boxes, and things that look like they haven't seen daylight since the school was built.

     And the instructions? Hose, mop, sweep, scrub—basically, they want us to clean this oversized junkyard from top to bottom. I thought we had cleaners for this stuff.

     "Hope you're happy, Hammie."

     I don't even need to look to know who it is. Sunghoon, of course, standing right behind me like some smug shadow.

     "It was your fault," I snap, spinning around to face him. "You know it was—"

     "I'm well aware it was my fault." His smirk only deepens. Of course, he has to say it in that infuriating way that makes it sound like it wasn't actually his fault.

     "I hate you," I mutter, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. And as soon as they're out, I want to shove them back in.

     But Sunghoon just smirks, his stupidly handsome face lighting up like I've made his day. "You keep saying that, Hammie. Yet you're my biggest fan."

     "Please, don't make me laugh. I'd rather die than be so stuck on you." And okay, that's only half true. I'm not "stuck" on him like some love-struck weirdo. He just makes himself so hateable it's impossible not to complain.

     "Yet that seems to be all you are."

     "Go away—"

     "Don't worry, I am." And, because he's Park Sunghoon, he gets the last word.

     He strolls off, leaving me standing there with the stupid team-building paper still clenched in my hands.

     Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

     The "s" in Sunghoon stands for stupid.

───‧★ ˎˊ˗

     This is ridiculous.

     I should be out at some cosy café with Wonyoung, Gaeul, and Leeseo, sipping on hot chocolate and picking at puff pastries, but instead, I'm stuck wrestling with this ridiculously long hose, trying to shove it into the cramped storage "closet" of the sports department.

     And of course, Sunghoon is late. And of course, I'm left to deal with the dullest of the tasks, like getting the equipment ready for him to breeze through the easier stuff. Typical.

     The moment I finally wrangle the hose into the room, he strolls in, looking too casual for someone who's supposed to be helping, holding a bottle of banana milk in one hand. Banana milk.

     I'll never understand it—people go on about how disgusting mint chocolate is, but the moment anything remotely related to banana comes up, it's like the world's greatest gift. How can they not see how revolting it is? The taste lingers like something rotten, and yet, they treat banana-flavoured things like gold.

     "Your watch is lovely, Sunghoon!" I mutter, my eyes narrowing, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Where did you get it?"

     Sunghoon smirks, not missing a beat, and takes a leisurely sip of his precious banana milk before responding, "Oh, this? It's a gift from my mother that she gave to me last year. She got it for me after I came first in the math tournament."

     He says "first" with such pride, practically glowing with self-satisfaction. I can't help but feel a tight knot in my stomach. I wasn't even able to take part in the last round of that tournament—had to miss it because I was too busy helping out with the art exhibit.

     That left the substitute on our team to be the kid who got dead last in our math class exam the semester before, who literally fell asleep halfway through the test because he couldn't be bothered.

     "Yeah, sure, whatever," I mumble, barely holding back a grimace. "Just sweep up, will you?"

     "What happened to manners, Choi Haeun?" he says with exaggerated offense, catching the broom in a smooth motion—because, of course, he has to make it look effortless. He sets his precious banana milk on the floor as if it's the Holy Grail, and we both start sweeping. 

     The whole process takes forever, but we finally finish and move on to the vacuuming. The vacuum hums like it's the only thing keeping us from a complete mental breakdown.

     Sunghoon sighs loudly as I flick the vacuum off, groaning like he's just climbed Everest with a broken leg. "Okay, Haeun, I get it, you hate my guts and all, but seriously, couldn't we have just vacuumed from the beginning instead of sweeping? We could've saved so much time."

     I click my tongue. "Men. Know. Nothing. I swear." I wave a hand around, gesturing to the unorganised chaos of the room. "Sunghoon, if we vacuumed first, the whole place would've turned into a disaster zone. I know you're... special and all, but come on—use that brain power of yours."

     I give him the most exaggerated eye roll I can muster, watching his groan deepen as he leans dramatically against a shelf. "We're not done yet. Don't act like you just ran a marathon in the Sahara."

     I sigh, turning toward the corner where I left two buckets of bleach, detergent, and dish soap all mixed with water. The smell hits me before I even get close. I grab the hose like it's a weapon, pulling it towards the center of the room.

     "Didn't you read the sheet? We have to scrub the walls."

     "No..." Sunghoon whines like a child who just got told they couldn't have ice cream before dinner. He has his own full-on Shakespearean tragic main character moment. Honestly, he looks like a kid about to throw a tantrum, and I can't help but want to laugh.

     But I can't blame him. This isn't just some random storage closet. This is the spot. The hangout zone. The secret lair of all the students who don't mind making out in public. I wouldn't be surprised if there's every been more than making out in here. 

     The thought of that makes me disgusted to be standing where I am.

     Privacy? Never heard of it. And naturally, when you have that many students squeezing in here, vandalism becomes an art form.

     And let me tell you, these vandals? They deserve a gallery. 

     Some of these walls look like they were painted by modern abstract artists (and that's not a compliment), with colours so bright, they could probably be seen from space. 

     And then, in the middle of it all, there are patches of pristine white that stand out like a fresh stain on a white shirt. The contrast is jarring. 

     I almost feel bad for the walls.

     I flick the hose on, aiming the stream at some random spot on the ground, making sure it works. "Get up. The walls would've scrubbed themselves by now if they could've."

     Sunghoon groans like he's just been asked to fight a tiger, but somehow manages to get to his feet, all the while looking like he's one bad decision away from collapsing. I drag the two water-filled buckets into the middle of the room, surprised I actually have the strength to do it.

     "I'll use the hose, you scrub. Hurry up, get a move on."

     He stares at me like I've just insulted his entire lineage, then yanks the hose out of my hands. "Why do I have to scrub? Why can't you do that?"

     I tap my foot against the floor, acting like I'm deep in thought, "Hmm, let me think... Maybe because you came late, waltzing in here with your disgusting milk, and I was the one who had to set all this up for you?! Give me the hose!"

     But he's already holding it over his head, well out of my reach. Curse his ridiculous height.

     "I don't think I will. Also, I'm sure you're well aware I have beautiful hands, considering you seem quite obsessed with them."

     My face feels like it's about to combust from embarrassment. He smirks, probably enjoying the sight of me turning into a tomato, and gestures toward the buckets. "Who knows what chemicals are in there?"

     I open my mouth to fire back, but he cuts me off like the smug jerk he is. "And if you think that's not a good enough excuse, you're probably also aware I've got fantastic hair. I'm sure you've noticed, considering you spent exactly six minutes and thirty-three seconds talking about it."

     I want to kill him on the spot. No, scratch that—I want to strangle him slowly, make him suffer. Worst part—he's right. 

     I spent six minutes and thirty-three seconds talking about his hair. After school that day, I put all my energy into checking if I'd actually been right, so I stalked the gossip Instagram page, desperate to prove him wrong, even if it was just by a second.

     It was exactly six minutes and thirty-three seconds. I spent that time, just... on his hair.

     What is wrong with me?

     "How am I supposed to know you won't intentionally spray me with the hose? Who knows what kind of bugs and bacteria are hiding in there, just waiting to ruin my day? If my hair gets damaged, it's entirely your fault, you know."

     I feel my face catch fire, probably as red as a cherry now. "Fine! Okay! Fine! I'll scrub! Just turn the stupid hose on, Jesus."

     He smirks, looking like he just won a gold medal in the Olympics. As I turn to grab the sponges, I hear him fumbling with the hose, "Hey, Haeun, did you already break this thing? It won't turn on."

     I groan, wringing out one of the sponges, already regretting my existence in this moment. But as I turn around to give him a piece of my mind, something wonderful happens.

     The hose turns on. And ice-cold water absolutely drenches me from head to toe.

     I blink rapidly, trying to comprehend what just happened. And when my eyes finally open, I'm met with Sunghoon standing there, trying so desperately to hold back his laughter that his face looks like it might explode at any moment.

     He's dead. He doesn't know it yet, but he's already dead.

     But before I can unleash my wrath, he panics, stumbling over his words, laughing in between, "I'm so sorry! I didn't— that wasn't on purpose! It was just perfect tim—"

     "Perfect?" I snort, cutting him off with a laugh that's way too dry to be anything but sarcastic. "Park Sunghoon," I walk toward him slowly, my drenched bangs clinging to my face like I've just been dunked in a pool.

     But, for some reason, I notice the way his jaw tenses and his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nervously. Huh. "If you leave this room alive today, I hope you know you're still not safe."

     A look flashes across his face, so quick and unexpected that I can't quite read it. It's unlike any expression I've seen on him before, and for a second, it catches me off guard. But before he can say anything, I snatch the hose from his hand, cranking it to the highest setting. Without a second thought, I turn the stream on and spray him from head to toe.

     The water hits him with a satisfying splash, and I can't help but grin at the sight of him soaked through. I keep the water on him a little longer than necessary, just to enjoy the way his hair flattens against his forehead and his shirt clings to him like he just jumped into a pool. Finally, I let the hose drop, aiming it at the floor.

     "Choi Haeun..." He gasps, wiping his face with one wet hand, but I can hear the laughter in his voice. "You're so done!" And before I can even prepare myself, he grabs one of the buckets and splashes a ridiculous amount of liquid all over me.

     And just like that, we're locked in this ridiculous back-and-forth. I spray him again, and he retaliates by tossing the rest of the water from the bucket at me. I get bored of the hose and switch to the next bucket, but before I can even start, he grabs the hose and sprays me back.

     We're both drenched, laughing and making a mess of the room. It's like nothing else matters right now except the absurdity of it all.

     This is ridiculous. The fact that we're chasing each other around this stupid room, throwing water at each other like we've lost our minds. It's a strange kind of fun, the kind that makes me forget everything—the fact that we hate each other, that we're stuck together for an entire month doing menial tasks, that Sunghoon is literally the last person I ever want to see on any normal day.

     But somehow, I lose track of time. It's like the world outside has stopped, like nothing else exists. The air is thick with laughter, and for once, there's no weight on my chest. No tension between us, no bitterness. Just us, soaked to the skin, laughing like idiots.

     I forget who I'm with. I forget who I'm dunking water on, who I'm chasing around like a fool, who I'm laughing with in this moment of ridiculousness. Park Sunghoon. The boy who goes out of his way every single day to make my life a living hell. The one who's responsible for me being stuck here in the first place.

     I hate Park Sunghoon. But for some reason, this time, when I say it in my head, there's a flicker of something I don't recognize. Something I don't like.

     I hate him. So why does this feel so... okay?

───‧★ ˎˊ˗

     The buckets are empty. And we're both drenched, head to toe. The dampness is so uncomfortable that, with every movement, I feel the squelch of my socks in my shoes, like they're trying to hold onto every drop of water we've spilled.

     Sighing, I try to pat my hands down on my skirt, but it's no use—it's soaked through too. "I hate you," I mutter, knowing exactly how Sunghoon will respond with some snarky comment about me being "obsessed" with him.

     He cranes his neck up at me from where he's sitting on the floor, hands propping him up, long legs sprawled out lazily. "Whatever rocks your boa—"

     But then something happens. Something I never, ever expected to see from Sunghoon. He doesn't finish his usual snark. His mouth opens slightly, but then his words falter. 

     And then he does something I never thought I'd see—he blushes. He actually blushes.

     I blink a few times, my mind racing to understand what I'm seeing. This can't be real. But when he deliberately turns his head away from me, I can see it—the faint red creeping up the back of his neck and the tips of his ears, now a brilliant shade of crimson.

     "Hey," I ask, unable to stop myself. Normally, I wouldn't care, but this... this is definitely not the Sunghoon I know. "Are you okay? You're a little—"

     He jumps up so fast, I barely have time to register the movement. "Don't!" he yells, his voice so sudden, so urgent. I freeze, blinking at him. He's still not looking at me. "Stay there. Don't."

     "Umm, okay... Are you sure you're okay?" I ask again, my voice trailing off in confusion.