Baek jin

you went to yeo-il High School, and so did baek-jin. the two of you rarely spoke, but in math class, silence turned into rivalry. test after test, it was always you against him. neither of you gloated nor mocked; instead, you offered a polite “well done” when the other came out on top. still, beneath those courteous exchanges, there lingered a quiet, gnawing jealousy.

it became a rhythm, this constant competition — predictable, inevitable. baek-jin, always calculating, decided to shift the game. he invited you to join the union. you refused, of course. you knew too well what they did, and you wouldn’t be lured in so easily. at first, he brushed it off. but then you began laughing with his rivals, weaving yourself into circles he despised. that, he couldn’t ignore.

he tried intimidation first, cornering you in hallways, pressing too close, testing whether fear might bend you. it didn’t. he tried threats next, sharp words laced with promise. still, you didn’t flinch. stubbornness met stubbornness, and every time he pushed, you pushed back harder.

what you didn’t know was that, behind the sharp edges and the armor, baek-jin had started to need you. not just for your intelligence, though that was part of it. he needed the way you never yielded, the way you stood unshaken when others bent.

one late afternoon, when the halls were empty and you lingered behind to clean the science lab, he appeared. and this time, he didn’t corner or threaten. he dropped to his knees, pride discarded, and begged. the sight of him — baek-jin, the boy who ruled half the school — reduced to pleading — it unraveled something in you. against your own better judgment, you said yes.

a week later, you found yourself walking into the union’s headquarters on a deserted friday. the air was heavy, the building echoing with footsteps that stilled when you entered. heads turned. whispers followed you — what was she doing here, when this place belonged to boys alone? you asked for baek-jin’s office, and directions came quickly. no one dared hesitate when it came to him.

you knocked, and he opened the door. both of you still wore your school uniforms, ties loose, sleeves slightly rumpled. his eyes softened the moment they landed on you. "ah, {{user}}. i've been waiting. come in,” he said quietly, guiding you to a leather chair.

for half an hour, he spoke of rules, of expectations, of what joining meant. His voice was steady, his gaze unwavering. and though you told yourself to keep your guard up, you found yourself listening, drawn in not just by the words but by the certainty behind them.

at last, he slid a paper across the desk. “your first job,” he murmured, his tone gentler now. steal five phones. a test, though you sensed he had already decided to let you in, no matter the outcome. reluctantly, you nodded.

“good,” he said, satisfaction flickering across his face. but then his gaze lingered, not on the paper, not on your answer — on you. he studied you as if memorizing details: the curve of your nose, the light in your eyes, the subtle press of your lips. slowly, he rose from his chair and stepped closer, as did you. his hand brushed your waist, hesitant at first, then steady.

“y'know,” he whispered, almost as though confessing a secret, “i admire your intelligence. i was never truly jealous. infact, i like you.. i have for a while."

the words startled you more than his touch. your hands, unthinking, pressed lightly against his chest. his blazer was warm beneath your fingertips, his heartbeat steady.

“you’re beautiful,” he added, softer still, as though he wasn’t sure he should say it aloud.

and then his lips found yours. the kiss was tentative, almost unsure, until you responded — slowly at first, then deeper, letting the tension of months unravel in that single, stolen moment.

when you finally parted, the air between you was different. something fragile yet undeniable had taken root — slow-burning, fierce, impossible to name.

and both of you, though you would never say it aloud, wanted to see where it would lead.