I did not sleep that night.
Even after I left Minho's apartment, my mind refused to quiet down. Every blink brought back the look on his face—half-expectant, half-defeated. Like he was daring me to deny something he already knew.
The air in my room felt stifling. I changed clothes, washed my face twice, and even opened the window, hoping the winter air would slap the confusion out of me.
But it didn't.
I sat on the edge of my bed, hands clenched in my lap.
What was that?
Was it a confession?
Was it a joke?
Was I… seriously considering the possibility that Jeong Minho—my rival, my constant headache—liked me?
I groaned, falling back against my pillows.
This was bad. So bad. Terrifyingly bad.
Because the worst part wasn't that he might like me.
The worst part was that I didn't hate the idea.
Not entirely.
The next morning, I avoided the gym. I avoided the cafeteria. I even skipped a lecture, which I never did. Seojin called three times, and I ignored every one of them.
I couldn't face anyone.
Not while my head was still swimming in what-ifs.
Not while my heart refused to settle.
By the time evening rolled around, I was holed up in the campus library, half-reading a script and half-staring into the void.
Of course, fate had a way of mocking me.
"Sunbae."
I didn't even need to look up.
"Go away," I muttered.
Minho dropped into the seat across from me anyway, plucking my pen from the desk and twirling it between his fingers.
"I gave you a day," he said. "That was generous of me."
I glanced up, glaring. "A day for what?"
"To think about it." He leaned forward slightly. "The date."
I hissed under my breath, slapping my script closed.
"Are you incapable of understanding rejection?"
"I didn't hear a no."
"It was implied."
Minho tilted his head. "So was the blush on your face when I asked."
My ears burned. "That was rage."
"Sure it was."
He was infuriating. Unshakable. Annoyingly calm.
I stood, ready to leave, but he reached out and gently tugged my sleeve.
His voice dropped, barely audible in the quiet library.
"Don't run, Sunbae."
I stared at him.
Not just looked—stared. Because in that moment, he wasn't smirking. He wasn't being cocky or teasing. He was being honest.
And honesty from Jeong Minho was rare. Rare enough to make my chest tighten.
"I don't know what this is," I admitted, my voice low.
He nodded. "Neither do I."
"Then why—"
"Because it's something. And I want to find out what."
I didn't respond.
I couldn't.
So I sat back down.
And we stayed like that. No teasing. No glares. Just silence.
It felt strangely like the beginning of something.
Something terrifyingly real.
It wasn't a date.
I told myself that a dozen times.
It was just coffee.
Two people sitting across from each other at a café near campus, talking about absolutely nothing important. Weather. Campus events. A movie Seojin had dragged me to last week.
Minho didn't push. He didn't flirt. He just… listened.
And maybe that was worse.
Because I kept waiting for the punchline. The mocking grin. The offhanded "Just kidding, Sunbae."
But it never came.
Instead, he watched me with that unreadable gaze of his, like he was trying to memorize every word I said.
At one point, his knee brushed mine under the table.
I didn't move away.
By the time we left, the sky had darkened into soft twilight, the campus streets bathed in golden lamplight.
I felt lighter and heavier at the same time.
"I should go," I said, shifting awkwardly on my feet.
Minho shoved his hands into his pockets. "Okay."
I turned to leave, but he called out.
"Haru Sunbae."
I stopped.
When I turned back, he wasn't smiling.
"You don't have to figure everything out right now," he said. "Just… don't shut me out."
I bit my lip.
"I'm trying," I whispered.
Then I walked away.
The problem with liking someone you're not supposed to like is that every emotion feels like a betrayal.
I wasn't just betraying my reputation. Or my rules.
I was betraying me.
Because for the past year, I had built my entire personality around hating Jeong Minho.
He was my academic rival. The guy who always walked a little too confidently. Who stole the spotlight without trying. Who pushed every one of my buttons with alarming accuracy.
He wasn't supposed to be the one who looked at me like I mattered.
But he did.
And every day, it got harder to ignore.
Especially when he started texting me.
Minho [8:22 PM]
You forgot your scarf in the café. Want me to drop it off?
Me [8:25 PM]
No. Burn it.
Minho [8:26 PM]
I'll keep it. Smells like you.
Me [8:27 PM]
You're disgusting.
Minho [8:27 PM]
You're adorable.
I threw my phone across the bed.
It wasn't a relationship.
I refused to call it that.
We weren't dating. We weren't even friends.
We were something else. Something undefined and delicate.
A fragile thread stretched tight between two people too stubborn to admit they cared.
But it was real.
I saw it in the way Minho looked for me at lunch.
In the way he walked me back from rehearsal without being asked.
In the way he waited outside the drama building even when it was raining, holding an umbrella just for me.
And maybe… maybe I showed it too.
In the way I didn't push him away.
In the way I started waiting for his messages.
In the way I smiled when I saw him in the hallway.
I was slipping.
And I didn't know how to stop.
The moment things truly shifted, it was quiet.
No fireworks. No dramatic declarations.
Just a quiet evening, a cold rooftop, and the city lights stretching out below us like stars scattered across the ground.
Minho and I sat side by side, knees brushing, silence settling between us.
He offered me a can of hot coffee from the vending machine. I took it wordlessly.
"Do you ever think about what happens after graduation?" he asked suddenly.
I blinked. "That's… random."
"I mean it."
I hesitated. "I guess? I haven't really planned everything yet."
He nodded, sipping his coffee.
"I think about it a lot," he said. "Where I'll be. What I'll do. Who'll still be around."
He glanced at me.
"Will you?"
I looked away.
"Don't ask me that."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know the answer."
Minho was quiet for a moment.
Then, softly, he said, "I hope it's yes."
I didn't reply.
But I didn't leave either.
And maybe that was answer enough.
Of course, nothing stays simple for long.
Especially not when you're trying to hide something as loud as affection.
It started with whispers.
People noticing we were spending too much time together.
Seojin gave me a look during lunch.
"You and Minho… are you okay?"
I nearly choked on my rice.
"What does that mean?"
He shrugged. "I mean, I saw you two walking back from rehearsal yesterday. And today. And the day before."
"So?"
He gave me a pointed look. "Just saying. People talk."
I felt cold.
Because he was right.
People talked. And if anyone found out—
No. They couldn't.
Not when everything felt so new. So uncertain.
Not when I didn't even know how to define what we were.
So that night, I did the one thing I hadn't done in weeks.
I pushed Minho away.
Literally.
He reached for my hand as we walked past the art building. I flinched and pulled back.
He stared at me, confused.
"Haru—"
"Stop," I said sharply.
His eyes darkened. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just… stop."
"You're lying."
I avoided his gaze. "We can't keep doing this."
There was silence.
Then his voice, quiet but firm.
"So that's it?"
I swallowed. "Maybe it should be."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then nodded once.
"Okay," he said.
And he walked away.
I didn't sleep that night, either.
Because I knew I had made a mistake.
I just didn't know how to fix it.
Not yet.
Not when my heart still refused to admit what it wanted.