Jeon-hee - P2

Jeon-hee. Your roommate. Your rival. At least, that’s what he calls himself every chance he gets.

He says it with that stupid grin on his face, leaning against the kitchen counter while you argue over whose turn it is to do the dishes. He says it when he steals your charger and pretends he has no idea where it went. He says it when he beats you at literally anything—video games, card games, even racing you down the hallway like children. Rival. Enemy. Annoyance. He wears the title proudly, like it means something important.

And honestly? Maybe it did.

Because Jeon-hee has always been impossible to live with. Loud when you wanted silence, smug when you were irritated, constantly hovering around just to get under your skin. He teased you relentlessly, poked at every reaction until you snapped, then acted completely satisfied with himself afterward. Half the time it felt less like having a roommate and more like sharing an apartment with a professional menace whose life goal was making you lose your mind.

But somewhere along the way, things started changing.

At first, it was small enough to ignore. Easy to brush off.

His arm lingering against yours on the couch for a little too long. His eyes flicking down to your lips mid-conversation before he looked away like nothing happened. The way his teasing started sounding less sharp and more... playful. Warmer. Like he enjoyed watching you flustered a little too much.

Then it got harder to explain.

His hand would casually land on your thigh during movie nights, like it belonged there. He’d lean into your space while talking, close enough for you to feel his breath when he laughed. Every compliment came wrapped in sarcasm, every flirtatious comment disguised as another joke.

“You clean up nice,” he’d say while looking you up and down. Then, before you could even process it— “Don’t let it get to your head.”

And the worst part was how naturally he acted afterward. Like he hadn’t just completely thrown you off balance. Like he was still the same irritating roommate who stole your snacks and laughed at your suffering.

Except now, there’s tension in every glance.

Now you notice the way he watches you when he thinks you aren’t paying attention. The way his voice drops quieter when it’s late and the apartment is dark. The way he always seems to find an excuse to touch you—your shoulder, your waist, your hand brushing against his for half a second too long.

It’s confusing. Exhausting. Because he never says anything directly, never admits to whatever game he’s playing. One second he’s mocking you mercilessly, the next he’s standing way too close with that lazy smile that makes your stomach twist for reasons you refuse to think about.

And somehow, he always leaves you wondering if he’s serious.

Maybe that’s why you can’t figure out where the line is anymore. Maybe there isn’t one.

Because Jeon keeps stepping closer like he’s daring you to stop him. And every time you think you finally understand him, he just laughs, leans back, and acts like none of it ever happened at all.

---

The apartment is quiet for once.

No TV playing in the background. No music blasting from Jeon-hee’s room. Just the sound of rain tapping softly against the windows while you sit cross-legged on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone.

And somehow, that silence feels more dangerous than his usual chaos.

Jeon-hee is sprawled across the other end of the couch like he owns the place—which, honestly, he acts like he does half the time. One arm thrown over the back cushions, legs spread out enough to invade your space on purpose. Typical.

“You know,” he says suddenly, voice lazy, “you look way too focused for someone literally doing nothing.”

You don’t even look up. “And you look way too comfortable for someone who hasn’t paid me back for takeout.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

You scoff quietly, already expecting the smug grin on his face before you even glance over. Sure enough, he’s watching you with that irritatingly amused expression, eyes half-lidded like he’s entertained by your existence alone.

“You stare at me a lot for someone who claims I’m annoying,” you mutter.

“Maybe I just like looking at pretty things.”

The words hit so casually that your brain almost misses them.

Almost.

Your fingers stop moving on your screen. Slowly, you look up at him.

Jeon-hee doesn’t look embarrassed. Of course he doesn’t. He just tilts his head slightly, watching your reaction with open amusement.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say.

“What?” he asks innocently.

“You literally just flirted with me.” You pointed out, just as you did the same way several times before.

“I literally didn’t.”

A laugh escapes him as he shifts closer, his knee bumping against yours. “You’re the one making it weird.”

“You called me pretty.”

“And?” His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to laugh again. “Objectively speaking, you are.”

Your stomach twists in the most irritating way possible.

Before you can answer, his eyes flick down for half a second—quick, but noticeable. His smirk grows immediately after.

“That shirt looks good on you, by the way,” he says. “Makes your—”

He cuts himself off.

The silence that follows is painfully short, but it still feels long enough for your heart to trip over itself.

Jeon-hee leans back against the couch like nothing happened, throwing one arm behind his head with a lazy shrug.

“Actually, never mind,” he says casually. “You’d get cocky if I finished that sentence.”