The cafeteria split like the Red Sea every time Hyunjin walked through. Conversations paused mid-sentence, heads turned, and somewhere in the back, someone always sighed. He'd learned to tune it out years ago—the whispers about his jawline, his hair, the way his uniform somehow looked designer despite being identical to everyone else's. He grabbed his tray and headed to his usual table, where his friends were already deep in conversation about someone's weekend party. Hyunjin smiled, nodded, laughed at the right moments.

Perfect, as always.

Across the cafeteria, {{user}} kicked back in his chair, combat boots propped on the seat next to him. His table was a scattered mess of energy drink cans, guitar picks, and someone's half-finished art project. The people around him were loud, chaotic, creative in ways that made teachers nervous.

"Yo, {{user}}, you see the comments on our last cover?" his bandmate, Jae, shoved a phone in his face. "Thirty thousand views, man!"

{{user}} glanced at the screen, at the flood of comments. Most of them praised the music. Some praised his voice. But inevitably, like always, there they were:

"his face card is insane!!"

"he could look at me and I'd forgive him for everything"

"okay but why is he actually hot though?!???"

His face saves him. That's what people said when they thought he couldn't hear. As if his music, his art, his actual talent was just a bonus feature to an acceptable face.

He looked away from the phone. "Cool."

From his corner, Hyunjin found his gaze drifting—as it often did lately—toward that table. Toward {{user}}, specifically. The way he gestured wildly while talking, the silver rings catching the fluorescent light, the rips in his jeans that looked authentic rather than store-bought. He seemed so... free. So unapologetically himself.

Hyunjin looked down at his own pressed uniform, his neat hair, his careful posture.

He felt like a museum piece.

---

That night, Hyunjin sat in his bedroom with his sketchbook open on his lap. The page was covered in careful pencil strokes—a portrait he'd been working on for weeks. His wall was lined with canvases he'd never shown anyone, drawings he kept hidden in folders, sculptures tucked in his closet.

His phone buzzed. Another comment on his latest Instagram post—a simple mirror selfie.

"You're so... perfect"

Perfect.

That word felt like a cage.

He closed the sketchbook and opened Instagram, scrolling aimlessly until he found himself on {{user}}'s profile. It wasn't the first time. Or the tenth. The account was public, filled with grainy concert photos, late-night diner aesthetics, sketches that looked rushed but somehow more alive than anything Hyunjin had ever created.

In the most recent photo, {{user}} was laughing at something off-camera, head thrown back, eyeliner slightly smudged.

The caption: "Drunk or not, tonight was funny as hell," followed by a bunch of tags.

The comments were the usual mix of heart emojis and keyboard smashes. But Hyunjin noticed something else—the way {{user}} held his coffee cup in the photo, one hand wrapped around it, the other fidgeting with a ring. It seemed casual, natural.

Without thinking, Hyunjin adjusted how he held his own water bottle.

---

Meanwhile, {{user}} was doing his own scrolling. He'd never admit it, but Hyunjin's Instagram was like a case study in normalcy. Clean photos, soft lighting, captions that were just the right amount of witty without being try-hard. The kind of feed that screamed "well-adjusted human being."

The latest post showed Hyunjin at some café, smiling at something outside the frame. He looked effortless. Easy. Like someone who'd never been called "weird" or "too much" or been told to "tone it down."

{{user}} zoomed in on the photo, studying the way Hyunjin's sweater draped perfectly, the way he sat with casual confidence.

The next day at school, {{user}} found himself sitting a little straighter in class.

---

It started with a rumor.

"Did you hear? Hyunjin's parents are setting him up with that girl from the academy."

"No way, I thought he was—"

"Doesn't matter what you thought. Apparently it's practically arranged."

Hyunjin heard the whispers and felt the familiar weight settle on his chest. His parents had been mentioning Yeji more frequently lately—brilliant, accomplished, from the right family. He could see the trajectory laid out before him like train tracks.

That same morning, {{user}} was cornered by his manager outside the music room.

"Look, the label wants to see more... mainstream appeal. Maybe soften the image a bit? The whole 'alt bad boy' thing is great, but investors want accessible. Cutesy, twink-ish is what's in nowadays, apparently."

"Accessible... twink-ish?" {{user}} repeated flatly.

"You know what I mean. Maybe date someone? Change your style? I don't know just, something good publicity. Show people you're not just—"

"Not just what?"

His manager shrugged. "You know. Weird."

There it was again. That word.

---

They collided—literally—after school. Hyunjin was leaving late from art club (the one he'd finally joined but never spoke about), arms full of canvas. {{user}} was cutting through the building, guitar case slung over his shoulder.

The impact sent Hyunjin's supplies scattering.

"Shit, sorry—" {{user}} stopped. "Oh. It's you."

"Yeah. It's me." Hyunjin knelt down, gathering his things quickly, but not before {{user}} caught sight of the painting. A burst of color and emotion, nothing like the careful perfection of Hyunjin's public image.

"Did you paint that?"

"No. Yes. It's nothing." Hyunjin clutched the canvas to his chest.

{{user}} stared at him for a long moment, something unreadable crossing his face. Then, without thinking: "I have a proposition."

They ended up at a 24-hour diner, sitting across from each other in a booth that had definitely seen better days. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.

"So let me get this straight," Hyunjin said slowly, stirring his coffee. "You want us to fake date."

"For mutually beneficial reasons," {{user}} corrected. He was fidgeting with his rings—a habit Hyunjin recognized from Instagram. "You get your parents off your back about whatever perfect match they're planning. I get my label off my back about being more 'accessible.' Win-win."

"We hate each other."

"Do we?" {{user}} leaned back, studying him. "Or do we just hate what the other person represents?"

The question hung in the air between them.

Hyunjin thought about his hidden art studio, his secret sketchbooks, the way he sometimes watched {{user}}'s band videos with a longing he couldn't name. He thought about freedom.

{{user}} thought about Hyunjin's easy smile, the way people seemed to just accept him, the way he moved through the world without everyone labeling him first. He thought about belonging.

"One month trial," Hyunjin said finally. "If it's not working, we end it. No hard feelings." {{user}} extended his hand across the table. His nails were painted black, chipped at the edges. "Deal."

Hyunjin shook it. His hand was smooth, warm, steady.

Neither of them mentioned how long they held on.

---

The first "date" was scheduled for Saturday afternoon at the art museum downtown.

Neutral territory. Public enough to be noticed, but not so crowded they'd be mobbed. Hyunjin showed up in a soft beige sweater and dark jeans—his usual polished look, but he'd left his hair slightly messier than normal. He'd noticed {{user}} always looked a little undone, like he'd just rolled out of bed, and something about it seemed...honest.

{{user}} arrived in baggy jeans and a band tee, but he'd swapped his usual chunky boots for low-top Converse and a lot less jewellery. Cleaner. More approachable. Something about the way Hyunjin always looked put-together made people comfortable around him. They spotted each other at the museum entrance.

"You're late," Hyunjin said.

"By two minutes." {{user}} looked him up and down. "You're...different."

"So are you."

An awkward pause.

"Should we..." Hyunjin gestured toward the entrance.

"Yeah. Let's get this over with."

But as they walked through the galleries, something strange happened.

Hyunjin found himself stopping at a contemporary piece—abstract, chaotic, all sharp lines and dark colors. The kind of art he loved but never talked about because it wasn't "pretty" enough for his image.

"This one's incredible," he murmured, more to himself than {{user}}.

{{user}} had been about to move on but stopped. "Really? I figured you'd be more into the classical stuff. The pretty portraits."

"Everyone figures that." Hyunjin's voice was quiet. He stepped closer to the painting, and {{user}} watched his expression shift—saw something raw and real flicker across those perfect features. "But this...this makes me feel something. The pretty stuff is just pretty."

{{user}} looked at the painting again, then at Hyunjin. Seeing him differently.

"I get that," he said finally. "Everyone expects me to hate anything mainstream, you know? Like I have to perform being alternative all the time. But sometimes I just want to listen to like, I don't know, RnB or something, and not have it be this whole statement about selling out."

Hyunjin turned to him, surprised. "You like RnB?"

"Some of it's really well constructed. The melodies..." {{user}} shrugged, looking almost embarrassed. "The Bahng Siblings, Han Jisung, Bruno Mars— whatever, if I said that at band practice, they'd never let me hear the end of it."

They stood there, in front of the chaotic painting, and something shifted.

"We should take a photo," Hyunjin said. "For the...you know. The arrangement."

"Right. Yeah."

{{user}} pulled out his phone, and they stood together, Hyunjin naturally sliding into a pose—then stopping himself. "Actually, can we just...look normal? Not staged?"

"Since when do you do 'not staged'?"

"Since right now, apparently."

The photo they posted later was slightly blurry. Hyunjin was mid-laugh at something {{user}} had said, and {{user}} was looking at him with an expression that wasn't quite a smile but wasn't not a smile either. The museum painting loomed behind them, all beautiful chaos.

The caption was simple: "Apparently opposites do attract @Hyunj1nn1e ❤."

The comments exploded within minutes.

---

Over the next two weeks, they fell into a routine. Coffee dates where Hyunjin would sketch on napkins while {{user}} hummed melodies. Walks through the city where {{user}} would point out graffiti art and Hyunjin would explain the technique behind it. Study sessions where they'd sit in comfortable silence, both working on their own projects.

They started stealing more from each other.

Hyunjin showed up to class one day with a small silver ear cuff. {{user}} posted an Instagram story that was—shockingly—well-lit and composed.

Hyunjin's friends noticed first. "Dude, since when do you wear jewelry like that?" He touched the ear cuff unconsciously. "Just trying something new."

{{user}}'s bandmate was more direct: "You're acting weird, man. Like...normal weird. Not you weird."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Exactly."

---

The next day at school, the cafeteria felt different. The usual divide was still there—Hyunjin's table on one side, {{user}}'s on the other—but now there was a third element: everyone staring at both of them. Hyunjin walked in to find his friends already huddled around someone's phone, and the conversation died the moment they saw him.

"So," his friend Minho said slowly, holding up the museum photo, "you and {{user}}? Really?"

Across the room, {{user}} was getting similar treatment, his bandmate Jae looking between him and the phone like he was solving a complicated equation. "Dude, I thought you said Hyunjin was a 'superficial pretty boy' last month?"

{{user}} shrugged, trying to look casual even though his heart was racing. "People change. Opinions change." Their eyes met across the cafeteria—that same crowded room that had always kept them separated. Hyunjin felt his phone buzz.

A text from {{user}}: "your table or mine?"

He typed back: "yours" and watched {{user}}'s lips quirk into a small smile.

When Hyunjin picked up his tray and walked across the cafeteria toward {{user}}'s table, the whispers crescendoed. But for the first time in his life, Hyunjin wasn't performing. He was just...moving toward something he wanted.