𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓙𝓲𝓱𝔂𝓸 | 𝓦𝓮 𝓢𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓹

The house party is entirely too loud, the heavy, muffled bass from the cheap setup downstairs vibrating through the floorboards of the off-campus house and rattling the empty plastic cups cluttering every hallway table. The air upstairs is thick with humidity, spilled drinks, and the chaotic noise of drunk college students shouting over the playlist. You've been wandering the second-floor corridor for a few minutes just looking for a quiet breath of air, escaping the suffocating crowd on the ground floor.

That's when you run into Jihyo standing near the shaded end of the hallway. She’s leaning back against the heavy wooden door of an unlit, empty dorm room, looking slightly out of her element. Her cheeks are flushed a deep, warm pink from the drinks, a few stray dark locks of hair falling messily across her forehead. The moment her eyes catch yours in the dim hallway light, her breath catches slightly, but she doesn't move away.

As you step closer, her left hand reaches out and rests flat against the front of your shirt—fingers subtly hooked into the soft fabric as if she can't quite decide whether her goal is to push you firmly back into the hallway or yank you completely into her personal space.

"This is an extraordinarily bad idea," she whispers, her voice slightly raspy and quiet as she tilts her head back to meet your eyes. She makes absolutely no effort to move her hand or step away from the door frame. "Seriously. We should turn around and go back downstairs right now. My friends are going to notice I'm gone, your friends are going to start asking annoying questions, and people are going to start making up ridiculous rumors about us."

Despite her perfectly logical lecture, her fingers tighten even further into your shirt, pulling you an inch closer. Her dark, attentive eyes drop down to trace your mouth for a long, quiet second before rising back to hold your gaze with intense, unyielding focus.

"…One time," she adds firmly, lowering her voice until it barely carries over the pounding music below. "That's the deal. We do this once, we get it out of our systems so we stop looking at each other strangely during group study sessions, and we never bring it up or talk about it ever again after tonight. Okay?"

Without waiting for a verbal response, her free hand sneaks behind her back, turning the brass doorknob until the latch disengages with a sharp, quiet click. She pushes the door open, her eyes locked onto yours as she steps backward into the pitch-black room, dragging you along by your collar without missing a single beat.

"Okay?" she repeats against the darkness, her breath hitching as her back hits the edge of the mattress inside, her tone demanding an agreement she’s already prepared to break.

Harsh morning sunlight streams through the narrow gaps of the window blinds, casting long, pale bars of light across the messy hardwood floor of the dorm room. The ambient air still holds the faint, lingering scent of last night's perfume, warm skin, and the faint stale smell of cheap party drinks from hours before. The quiet hum of the campus waking up outside is the only sound filling the space.

Jihyo is sitting squarely on the edge of the mattress with her back turned to you, her posture surprisingly stiff as she pulls a grey oversized university hoodie down over her head. Her dark hair is thoroughly ruffled, falling around her shoulders in messy, unstyled waves as she bends over to retrieve her discarded jeans from the carpet.

When she finally turns her head to look at you lying among the tangled white sheets, her expression is completely schooled—her voice steady, deliberate, and entirely too formal for someone who was holding you tightly and whispering into your neck just a few hours ago.

"This was a one-time thing," she announces clearly, standing up and zipping her jacket with sharp, efficient movements that look almost rehearsed. "Okay? I want to make sure we're on the exact same page before I open that door and step out into the hallway."

She paces briskly across the room, scooping her canvas sneakers off the floor and rapidly checking her phone screen, tapping away at notifications as if she has an extremely urgent, high-priority morning meeting to attend.

"We were both drunk, the music was loud, and we made a careless decision," she continues, her tone sounding like an official presentation she practiced in her head while getting dressed. "It doesn't mean anything deeper. It was just a mistake, so we don't need to make things awkward or weird when we inevitably see each other on campus later today."

She stops right beside the doorway, placing her hand flat on the cold metallic handle. She hesitates for a long, heavy beat, staring at the painted wood before finally casting a slow, guarded glance back over her shoulder at you.

"…Don't text me about last night," she adds quietly, her dark eyes searching your face for any sign of argument. "And if anyone from our friend group asks, we left the party completely separately. Got it?"

A long beat of silence hangs in the air. She lingers at the door, her grip on the handle loosening just a fraction, looking like she’s waiting for you to say something—or reach out and pull her right back onto the bed—even as her official words demand the exact opposite.

"I'm serious," she murmurs, though her hesitant posture completely betrays her.

The afternoon sun is bright across the central university courtyard as you step out of the heavy glass doors of the campus library, holding a stack of reference textbooks under your arm. You barely make it three steps down the concrete path before a hand shoots out from behind a stone archway, grabbing your jacket sleeve with surprisingly firm grip.

Before you can even react, Jihyo forcefully yanks you sideways into the secluded, shaded space behind a massive stone pillar, effectively cutting you off from the main walkway like she’s conducting a high-stakes covert operation. Her cheeks and the tips of her ears are flushed a dark, furious shade of red, though her expression is locked into a stern, defensive glare.

"What was that back there?" she demands immediately, crossing her arms tightly across her chest and staring at you with sharp, unblinking eyes.

Noticing your completely bewildered expression, she lets out an exasperated noise, gesturing vaguely back toward the outdoor library benches with a flick of her wrist.

"With her," Jihyo elaborates, her voice dropping into a tense, hushed whisper. "From your group project. You were smiling at her. She was smiling at you. You were leaning in ridiculously close over that laptop. It looked entirely—"

She catches herself mid-sentence, cutting her words off abruptly. She snaps her mouth shut, clears her throat loudly, and turns her head away, staring intently at a random patch of grass on the lawn.

"It's fine," she mutters defensively, her tone turning clipped and overly formal. "It’s not like we’re dating or anything. We don't have a label. I just think it’s wildly unprofessional to look that overly friendly and distracted while discussing... whatever academic assignment you were supposed to be focusing on."

Listening to her lecture about a completely standard study session, you watch as her foot taps impatiently against the concrete pavement.

"I’m not jealous," she insists loudly, catching the amused look on your face and shooting you a lethal glare. "That would be utterly ridiculous. We have rules. Very clear, established rules. So if you want to be all soft, helpful, and charming with your female classmates, fine. Go right ahead. Do it."

She pauses, her posture softening for a fraction of a second as her voice drops an octave, her gaze flickering briefly to your lips before darting back to the wall.

"…Just not where I can see it," she grumbles under her breath. "It’s distracting. For my own studying. That’s the only reason."

She turns sharply on her heel and begins marching toward the dorm quad, before suddenly stopping three paces away. She spins back around, pointing an index finger directly at your face.

"And stop looking at me like that!" she snaps, her flushed face betraying her entirely. "This conversation never happened. I am going back to my dorm room. Alone. To study. Completely alone."

She takes three steps down the path, hesitates without turning her head back around, and lets out a loud, miserable sigh.

"…You’re free later or you're not. Whatever," she calls out grumpily over her shoulder. "Don't go reading into it if I end up texting you later tonight."

It’s nearly midnight, and the quiet interior of your dorm room is illuminated only by the soft, warm glow of a desk lamp. You’ve spent the last two hours pretending to read through a textbook, periodically glancing at your phone screen on the desk, waiting for a message you explicitly told yourself wouldn't arrive tonight.

Then comes the knock—three short, firm, rhythmic taps against the wood that you would recognize anywhere.

The moment you pull the door open, Jihyo steps directly past you without waiting for an invitation. She’s wearing a thick, dark hoodie with her hair pulled back into a loose, slightly messy bun, holding her phone tightly in one hand. Her face is completely serious, devoid of any friendly smile or greeting.

"Don’t look so happy to see me," she states flatly, stepping into the center of the room as you close the door behind her. "I’m only here because I couldn't focus on studying for my midterms, and it was getting ridiculously annoying trying to read the same page over and over again."

She drops her heavy canvas tote bag onto the floor by the desk, turns around, and immediately reaches out to twist the deadbolt lock into place with a sharp, definitive click.

"This doesn't mean anything," she reminds you smoothly, turning back around and walking straight toward you. "Same rules apply. I leave immediately after we're done. No staying over until morning, no cozy sleeping, no exceptions."

Despite her rigid, practical speech, she closes the remaining distance between you in two long strides. Her hands reach up, palms resting firmly against your shoulders as she uses her weight to push you backward toward the edge of the unmade bed, operating with the exact same focused, efficient energy she applies to every other task in her life.

"Stop being so gentle," she mutters softly, her hands sliding up to frame your neck as she guides you down onto the mattress. "I didn't walk all the way across campus at midnight for gentle."

She leans down and kisses you with sudden, demanding intensity—a kiss born from hours of built-up stress, repressed thoughts, and stubborn longing during her late-night study sessions. She climbs effortlessly into your lap, her hands gripping your shirt firmly to pull you closer against her body.

"We’re getting entirely too used to this," she breathes heavily against your lips, her forehead resting against yours for a fleeting, tender second as her fingers trail down your chest. "We really need to stop doing this soon."

Yet, her arms wrap tightly around your neck, her body melting completely into yours as her voice drops into a quiet, breathless confession against your skin.

"…After tonight. Maybe."