SUNGHOON.

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     The cafeteria is as chaotic as always—trays clattering, chairs scraping, voices blending into one big white noise. Jake and I slip through the crowd like we've done a thousand times before. He makes a beeline for our usual table, but something stops me in my tracks. My eyes flick down to my hand.

     The bruises have darkened overnight, different shades of red blooming across my knuckles, turning almost purple in some places. The cuts sting as I flex my fingers, a sharp but satisfying pain shooting up my arm. Every throb reminds me of yesterday.

     I don't regret it.

     The memory of Hajoon's smirk plays in my head, the one he wore like a badge when I mentioned the stupid note. His look had been so smug, like he expected me to just laugh it off, like it wasn't going to bother me at all. 

     And then his smirk fell with a single punch, and it felt damn good. Too good.

     Maybe I should've stopped at one hit. I could've. I didn't.

     It wasn't for her. It wasn't about Haeun, no matter how much Hajoon's note made it feel like it, no matter what was written in his disgusting handwriting. I didn't do it for her.

     Nuisances are supposed to be gotten rid of. That's all I did.

     I'm just making my life easier. I couldn't care less about her.

     I shake the thought away and follow Jake, but my pace is slower than usual, dragging behind him by just a fraction. 

     We sit down and Jake begins inhaling is food as if he hasn't eaten in years, and I'd normally be annoyed, but I can barely focus due to the throbbing pain running through my hand, and it makes me more restless than I care to admit.

     And then it happens.

     The hum of the cafeteria changes—like someone's turning the volume down, bit by bit. The noise doesn't stop, but it softens, like the whole room is holding its breath. I don't have to look up to know why.

     But I do anyway.

     Choi Haeun enters the cafeteria, Rei beside her. The entire room shifts, the chatter slowing to a murmur. The way people stare, it's as if she's a celebrity or a freak show, all eyes trained on her as she walks in like she owns the place.

     My hand shoots to my lap so that the state it's in is out of view. I don't want her to see me, not like this. Cowardly and pathetic? A little. But I'd never admit that.

     She doesn't look at anyone, doesn't even acknowledge the whispers that rise around her like a tide. Her posture is straight, chin held high, the kind of "I'm above it all" look that she's perfected. Her movements are fluid, poised—like she's untouchable.

     But I see it.

     The tightness in her grip on the tray. Her knuckles are pale, and I can see her fingers trembling slightly as she holds onto the plastic like it's the only thing keeping her from falling apart. 

     Her shoulders are stiff, but there's a tension to them that makes her seem smaller, more fragile than she's trying to let on. Her eyes flicker to the side, almost instinctively, checking to see who's looking.

     It's almost like she's pretending to be okay, trying so hard to keep up that perfect act. But I see the cracks, clear as day.

     I don't care, though. I don't.

     I glance down at my hand again, making sure it's out of her line of sight, but I can't help the tiny, mocking smile that curls on my lips as I watch her. There she is, walking in like she's some kind of queen, trying to look untouched by everything, as if the whole school isn't talking about her behind her back.

     She looks around, and I see the quick flicker of unease in her eyes. She's pretending. Pretending she doesn't care about the whispers, the stares, the way people are looking at her like she's some kind of train wreck.

     I can't help myself.

     I snort softly under my breath, keeping my voice lower than a whisper so that Jake or anyone else doesn't notice. "Isn't she cute? You'd think she'd be better at pretending by now."

     "Did you say something?" Jake looks up from his food, tilting his head.

     "No." I answer too quickly, and I internally cringe but the boy just shrugs, turning back to his food.

     The whispers are louder now, emboldened by her apparent indifference.

     "She actually showed up? What a joke."

     "After everything she said on the broadcast? She has no shame."

     "She's crazy. Didn't she go on for ages about..."

     "Fake. She's such a fake bitch."

     The comments are louder now, cutting through the air like knives, each word sharper than the last. And I can feel the weight of them, even though I'm not the target.

     "Pathetic. Little Miss Perfect. More like a desperate ass attention seeker."

     That last one hits me in a way I don't quite understand. I feel my jaw tighten, the muscles in my neck tensing as I grip my chopsticks harder than necessary. My knuckles throb against the pressure, the sting a reminder of why I punched Hajoon.

     Across the room, Haeun takes her seat by the window, Rei sitting beside her. She's still holding up that perfect exterior, but I see her smile falter every time Rei looks away, her fingers twitching against the edge of her tray like she's trying to hold it together.

     She's acting like it doesn't affect her, like she's above all of this. But I know better.

     I'm the only one who sees it.

     Jake interrupts my thoughts, his voice cutting through the silence. "Sunghoon, you okay? You've been glaring at your tray for ages."

     I blink, realising my rice is a mess. "Yeah, I'm fine," I say, my voice rougher than I intend.

     He gives me a look but doesn't push it. "Alright, just checking."

     My gaze slips back to Haeun one last time. She's still pretending. Still acting like she's untouchable, like none of this is getting to her.

     I'm almost impressed.

     Almost.

     I don't care about her.

     I hate Choi Haeun.

     If there's anything in the world that'll never change—it's that.

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     The classroom looks like a tornado hit it. Scrap paper is scattered across the floor, and there's a glue stick rolling under a desk, sticky and abandoned. One of the Year Tens must've left a box of push pins open, and I nearly stepped on one earlier. Should've taken that as a sign to bail.

     But here I am.

     Stuck in this godforsaken classroom, being forced to "give back to the school community" and "put my differences with Haeun aside" by fixing these tacky displays with her. As if anyone actually cares about them.

     Haeun stands a few feet away, her jaw set, her eyes narrow as she glares at the crumpled poster in her hands. She's clutching the roll of tape like it might bite her. Every movement is sharp, like she wants to tear it apart. If looks could kill, the whole room would be ashes by now.

     "This is a waste of time," she mutters, pressing out a stubborn crease in the paper, clearly trying to ignore me. "No one even looks at these."

     "For once, we agree," I say, leaning back against the desk, my arms folded. I can't help but grin. "Though, watching you struggle with that is kind of entertaining."

     She exhales sharply, rolling her eyes, and yanks at the tape like she's trying to rip it in half. "If you're not going to help, you can at least shut up."

     I raise an eyebrow. "Where's the fun in that?"

     She slaps the tape onto the corner of the poster with unnecessary force. "You know, I don't think I've ever met someone so useless and annoying at the same time. It's almost impressive."

     "Almost?" I place a hand over my heart in mock offense. "That really hurts, Hammie."

     Her shoulders stiffen, and I catch the way her eyes narrow just slightly. "Stop calling me that."

     I smirk, leaning in slightly. "Why? It's cute."

     "It's not cute." She glares at me like she could set me on fire with just her gaze. "And if you say it again, I will staple this to your forehead."

     I chuckle, leaning back. "I'd really love to see you try."

     She looks like she's seriously considering it, and I have to admit, I kind of want her to. But then she turns away, grumbling under her breath, clearly trying to pretend like I don't have her on edge.

     I watch her struggle with the poster for a second longer, her fingers fumbling, the paper not quite sticking where she wants it. It's honestly pathetic.

     I can't help it. I step forward, deliberately slow, just to get under her skin. "You're never gonna reach it like that."

     "I am reaching," she snaps, barely glancing at me.

     "Not very well."

     She glares at me, her eyes flashing. "I swear, Sunghoon—"

     Before she can finish, I step forward, take the poster from her hands, and pin it to the top of the display with one swift motion. I don't even pause to think about it. It's a simple task, but somehow, the moment stretches.

     She freezes, staring up at me, eyes wide like I've just pulled off some impossible feat. Not because I'm so close—I think—but because I've actually done something useful.

     "You—" She blinks, her voice soft with surprise. "Wait. You actually helped?"

     "Shocking, right?" I step back, dusting off my hands like I've just saved the world. "I'll be expecting a thank-you card in the mail."

     She scoffs, her lips curling into a small, annoyed smile. "Yeah, don't hold your breath."

     I grab another poster, unfold it carefully. The edges are curling, the paper brittle with age. "'2022 Debate Club Finalists,'" I read aloud, glancing at her. "Weren't you in Debate Club? Before you made half the school hate you?"

     She scowls, her hand tightening around the poster. "That was ages ago."

     "And yet," I say, looking her up and down with a smirk, "you're still just as argumentative."

     She rips the poster out of my hands. "Shut up and pass me the tape."

     I drag it out, making her wait just a little longer than she wants to. Her patience is already running thin, and I'm only here for the fun of it. Finally, I toss her the tape, and we go back to the usual bickering.

     But then something shifts, like the air in the room gets thicker.

     I don't notice at first, too caught up in our back-and-forth. But then, just as she's reaching for another corner of the poster, I see it.

     She stops.

     Her eyes aren't on the paper anymore. They're on me.

     More specifically—on my hand.

     Hajoon's face flickers into my thoughts almost immediately.

     The one I've been so adamant on not showing anyone—especially her. How could I have let my guard down?

     A jolt of awareness runs through me, straight to my chest. I go stiff, my heart picking up pace. I didn't even realise I'd been hiding it—keeping my hand behind my back like it's nothing—but now her gaze is fixed there, sharp and intent.

     She sees it. The bruises, the raw skin, the red scrape over my knuckles.

     I feel my chest tighten. My heart thuds in my ears.

     I try to shake it off, but it's like the world has gone quiet for a moment. The teasing dies down, and everything feels a little too loud. Too exposed.

     I move before she can say anything. I straighten up, roll my shoulders back, and shove my hand into my pocket like it's nothing.

     But I can still feel her eyes on me, burning a hole in my skin.

     She doesn't say anything at first, but then she narrows her eyes. "Sunghoon."

     I give a lazy smile, trying to play it off. "What?"

     "Your hand."

     "It's fine."

     "You're hiding it."

     "Maybe I just like standing like this." I force a chuckle, but it's hollow. I can feel the lie hanging in the air.

     She crosses her arms. "That's a lie."

     I scoff, hoping the irritation comes through enough to cover the tension building up inside me. "Since when do you care?"

     "I don't."

     "Then drop it."

     But she doesn't.

     Before I can step back, she moves. Fast.

     Her fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me dead in my tracks. Her touch is light, tentative, like she's not sure what she's doing, but she's not pulling away either.

     Everything slows.

     Her thumb brushes over the scrape, and a sharp, electric jolt shoots through me. It stings, but it's not the pain that catches me off guard—it's the way her fingers are so careful, so soft. The way she exhales, quiet and almost... reluctant. Like she realises something she doesn't want to.

     I freeze.

     A part of me wants to yank my wrist away. Another part of me wants to see if she'll do it again.

     But I don't get the chance to find out.

     She speaks, her voice softer than I expected. "What happened?"

     I yank my hand free, forcing a grin, pushing everything back down. "Nothing."

     Her brow furrows, her eyes searching me. "Sunghoon—"

     "I said it's fine." I grin wider, though it feels wrong. "Wow, Hammie, I didn't know you cared so much. Should I be flattered?"

     Her jaw tightens.

     For a moment, I think she's going to argue. To push further.

     But instead, she mutters, "You're an idiot."

     I smirk, leaning in slightly. "Say that again?"

     She spins away from me, peeling the tape with enough force to make a loud ripping sound. "I said, help me with this before I staple you to the bulletin board."

     The moment shatters, and the tension cracks.

     But something lingers.

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i dont know what it is but i really do not like this chapter 

wordcount; 2390
edited; ✘

thank you for reading, 
nana<3