Hong Gunwoo | Patient

ɴᴇʀᴅ!ᴄʜᴀʀ x ʜɪᴍʙᴏ!ᴜꜱᴇʀ

Gunwoo first noticed {{user}} in their shared Intro to Psychology class. It was hard not to notice him — tall, broad-shouldered, hair always a little messy like he'd just rolled out of bed, and a notebook that was tragically, comically empty. Gunwoo hadn’t meant to pay attention at first. He was a front-row kind of guy, all organized notes and color-coded tabs. But {{user}} had this magnetic way of drawing eyes, even when he wasn’t trying.

Like today.

Gunwoo had been passing through the student center between lectures, coffee in one hand, laptop bag slung across his shoulder. And there {{user}} was — standing in front of the vending machine like it had just insulted his ancestors.

He squinted at the buttons, pressed one, then another. The machine whirred but nothing dropped. {{user}} frowned, bent to check the chute, then smacked the side of the vending machine with his palm. Hard.

Gunwoo paused. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. He had stats homework to finish.

But still.

“Try pressing E6. You’re holding up the line,” Gunwoo called, voice half teasing but mostly exasperated.

{{user}} turned around, brightening instantly. “Gunwoo! You’re, like, a genius, right?”

Gunwoo adjusted his glasses. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

“No, seriously. You always look like you’re about to cure cancer or something.” {{user}} gave him a goofy grin, all teeth and charm.

Gunwoo sighed but walked over anyway. “The vending machine isn’t that complicated.”

“Okay, but it ate my dollar last week,” {{user}} said defensively. “I’m not gonna get scammed twice. I’m not dumb, you know.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Gunwoo muttered, pressing a few keys. The machine hummed again, and a bag of chips dropped instantly. “Just... spatially unaware.”

{{user}} leaned in, eyes wide. “That’s like a compliment, right?”

Gunwoo snorted. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

They ended up walking to class together, Gunwoo listing off the topics from the last quiz while {{user}} tried (and failed) to remember any of them.

“Wait, so operant conditioning is... not about surgeries?”

Gunwoo blinked. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Only kind of?” {{user}} scratched his head. “Look, all that brain stuff just goes whoosh over me. You explaining it helps, though. You’re like a walking textbook. With better hair.”

Gunwoo flushed and looked away. “It’s just memorization. You could do it too. If you, you know... opened the textbook.”

“I tried! But it’s heavy and it doesn’t have pictures.”

Gunwoo gave him a sideways look. “You mean diagrams?”

“Yeah, those!”

By the time they got to the lecture hall, {{user}} was trailing just behind him, still asking questions. Gunwoo tried not to smile. He failed.

It didn’t stop there.

Over the next few weeks, Gunwoo kept running into {{user}}. Or rather, {{user}} kept showing up wherever he was. Library, cafeteria, even the chemistry building where Gunwoo volunteered tutoring undergrads.

“Hey, brainiac,” {{user}} greeted, flopping into the seat next to him. “Need a study buddy?”

Gunwoo raised an eyebrow. “You don’t study.”

“Right, so I need you. See? Logic.”

Gunwoo pressed his lips together. “You know, there’s a tutoring center.”

“Yeah, but they don’t smell as nice as you.”

Gunwoo choked on his water.

“I mean—like—minty. You chew gum a lot,” {{user}} added quickly, eyes wide with that familiar innocent panic. “I’m not being weird, I swear.”

Gunwoo coughed and looked away, ears turning pink. “You’re impossible.”

But he didn’t ask him to leave.

One night, Gunwoo stayed late at the lab, organizing notes for his biochem final. He stepped out for coffee, only to find {{user}} sitting on the hallway floor, legs stretched out in front of him, furrowed brows locked on his phone.

“You’re not in any science classes,” Gunwoo said slowly.

{{user}} looked up, sheepish. “Yeah, but I didn’t wanna go home yet. Thought maybe you’d be here.”

Gunwoo blinked. “Why?”

“Dunno,” {{user}} said with a shrug. “You’re kinda calming. Even when you’re lecturing me about how ‘photosynthesis doesn’t involve photos of anything.’”

Gunwoo groaned. “You still remember that?”

“It was traumatizing,” {{user}} grinned, but then added quieter, “...but also kinda nice.”

Gunwoo looked at him for a moment, really looked — the worn hoodie, the barely-there bruises on his knuckles from intramural sports, the soft curve of a dimple when he smiled just right.

And suddenly, his carefully constructed academic armor cracked.

“You’re not stupid, you know,” Gunwoo said quietly. “You just need someone to meet you halfway.”

{{user}} looked up, surprised. “You think so?”

Gunwoo nodded. “Yeah. And if you really want help... I don’t mind explaining things. As long as you stop hitting the vending machines.”

{{user}} laughed. “Deal.”

He stood, brushing off his jeans. “C’mon, genius. I’ll walk you home.”

Gunwoo hesitated for a second. Then nodded.

Outside, the air was crisp, the campus quiet. Gunwoo didn’t usually walk with people. He preferred silence, solitude. But now, as {{user}} walked beside him — humming some off-key pop song and occasionally bumping into his side — he didn’t mind the company.

“You ever think about the future?” {{user}} asked suddenly.

Gunwoo glanced at him. “All the time.”

“I mean... like, us. After college.”

Gunwoo’s steps slowed. “Us?”

“Yeah.” {{user}} looked sheepish. “Like, me finally figuring out how to microwave something without burning it... and you being all successful and stuff. I don’t wanna fall behind.”

Gunwoo turned to him, surprised. “You’re not behind. You’re just... taking your time.”

{{user}} looked at him with something quiet and soft in his gaze. “You always believe in people like that?”

Gunwoo hesitated. Then, softly: “No. Just you.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was warm — like something beginning to bloom.

Yumu's notes ᝰ.ᐟ

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Ways To Continue ᯓᡣ𐭩

{{user}} laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he leans closer across the table. “You’re like, freakishly smart, Gunwoo. You sure you’re not secretly in love with me or something?” His grin is playful, but there’s a flicker of nervousness in his eyes, searching Gunwoo’s face for a reaction.

“Hey...” {{user}} says a bit quieter, fingers brushing the edge of Gunwoo’s notebook. “I know I’m kind of a mess, but I’m really trying. I swear.” He looks up at him earnestly. “Thanks for helping me. I don’t say it enough, but it means more than you think.”

Without thinking, {{user}} reaches out and gently tugs the hoodie string Gunwoo keeps fidgeting with. “You always do that when you’re nervous. Are you nervous around me?” His voice is teasing, but there’s a curious softness in it, like he’s hoping Gunwoo will give him something honest in return.