#i used be kinda mean in like middle school | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diorhoon · 2 days

Text

eighteen.

❛ park sunghoon may not know what he wants to do after high school, but he knows this: he’s eighteen, and he will go wherever you go. ❜

summary. park sunghoon falls deeper in love with ice skating in the summer, ice cream at midnight, and you.

pairing. park sunghoon x gender-neutral!reader genres. fluff, angst, coming of age; friends to lovers!au, summer!au word count. 5.1k

warnings. profanity, mc twists their ankle, lots of pining a/n. last repost i promise 😞🙏 for the anon who requested this + heavily inspired by eighteen by one direction! header gif was taken from giphy. thanks for reading!

Summer arrives with a sort of sticky-sweetness that melts on Sunghoon’s tongue and drenches him in melancholy.

Graduating high school made him think he was now a Fully-Certified Adult, ready to face the real world. He had squeezed your hand while taking photos during graduation, donning his cap and gown with a certain air that he perceived as mature. You had grinned at him, and he had smiled back, glad that one milestone was over. The world felt like his for the taking.

Of course, viewing the world through rose-tinted glasses always makes everything crumble faster than it should. Park Sunghoon is now faced with the horrible, horrible decisions that every teenager on the cusp of adulthood deals with: What is he going to do with life now?

His mother brings home pamphlets and brochures, all advertising various colleges and courses. His father sends him links to different university websites. The joy of graduating quickly fades into something more sombre, and multiple times he is hit with the realisation that he must now choose what he wants to do for the rest of his life.

“Do you ever think about how temporary everything in life is?”

Your gaze is thoughtful, aimed at the tufts of grass that grow in between the cracks on the sidewalk. Sunghoon kicks at a loose pebble, hands in his pockets. He thinks it’s way too hot to be dwelling on such philosophical matters, but he humours you anyway.

“Sometimes, yeah,” he answers.

“I mean, look at us,” you say with a short laugh. You wave your hand in the air. “Only eighteen and we’re already looking to move out of this little town.”

Sunghoon hums. “But, like, some things are permanent. Mr. Kim’s always gonna give you a free donut every time we go to the bakery.”

“Yeah, I guess. But who knows how often we’re going to visit? College is… a big deal.”

“Not really,” Sunghoon mumbles. The sun is scorching, creating a trail of sweat that trickles down the back of his neck and spine.

“You don’t think it’s a big deal?” You glance at him, chewing on your lip.

“No, I mean, it is. What I mean is not everything in life is temporary. We’re still going to be friends.”

Your face softens at that, and you give him the little smile that Sunghoon has come to recognise as your you-are-such-an-idiot-but-you’re-cute smile. It makes his chest puff up with pride whenever he thinks of it—that he’s lucky enough to have a special, reserved smile for him from you.

“That’s true,” you concede. “I just—I don’t know. I can’t believe this is our last summer here as not-college students. Kinda insane.”

Sunghoon stops walking, scuffing the sole of his worn-out trainers on the pavement. “Let’s make it memorable,” he says.

You stop as well, looking at him intently. “Okay, yeah. Okay. What do you have in mind?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to learn?”

In retrospect, Sunghoon knows he shouldn’t have expected some normal, sane skill for you to pick. Pottery, baking, swimming—those are all very viable options. Years of knowing you has dulled his senses, he supposes; he’s become a little bit soft around the edges.

You beam at him when you reply, and your face looks like the inside of a lit-up lantern.

This is how Park Sunghoon ends up teaching his best friend how to ice skate in the middle of summer.

Lacing up skates shouldn’t be this hard, but, Sunghoon acknowledges, they can be tricky for a first-timer. He watches you struggle helplessly with the strings, smiling goofily to himself. God, he’s such a sap.

Normally, the local ice skating rink isn’t open during the summer, reserving its staff and services for peak winter. But Sunghoon has been skating since he was a kid, and the owner, Mrs. Jang, knows him well. He was able to call in a few favours with the promise of not breaking any equipment and to close up when both of you were done.

“Can you help me instead of smiling like a creep?”

“Nope,” Sunghoon says. “This is peak entertainment.”

“Ha ha,” you mutter sarcastically. “I shouldn’t have offered to buy you ice cream after this.”

“Can’t spare a few bucks?” he teases.

You sniff. “Definitely not for someone who can’t spare their struggling friend some assistance.”

“So righteous,” Sunghoon quips. All the same, he crouches in front of you and deftly does up your laces, patting the tip of your boots when he’s done. “It’s easy; you’re just dumb.”

He glances up at you only to find you already gazing at him. His cheeks colour. He finds his mouth running dry.

“O, my knight in shining armour,” you say, sarcasm dripping off your words. “O, my prince, who has come to save me from the depths of my despair.”

“Shut up,” Sunghoon mumbles, rubbing his nose embarrassedly. You laugh at him.

“How do you even walk in these?” You try to stand, only to flail your arms about in an attempt to stay upright. Sunghoon hurriedly lifts himself off the ground and places a hand on your shoulder to steady you.

“Here, hold on to me,” he says.

You grab his arm with a vice-like grip. Sunghoon gulps, trying his level best to tame the flush that creeps up his face and the back of his neck. He can’t possibly be this obvious—getting all flustered just because you’re holding onto him. Still, he finds some sort of delight at this proximity to you.

This close, he can hear the way your breath rattles in your throat, a mixture of excitement and apprehension. He can feel your solid weight against him, a little bit unsure. He resolves to fix that, straightening up and giving you a tiny squeeze.

“Scared?”

You turn to him, lifting up a corner of your lips. “You wish.”

“You’re shaking,” he points out.

“That’s because I’ve never worn ice skates before, you utter crumpet!”

Sunghoon’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. When you glare at him, he raises his free hand in mock surrender. “Joking.”

You roll your eyes at him, but after all these years, even that gesture has a sort of affectionate softness to it. Sunghoon’s smile turns gentle. “You’re doing great for your first time,” he reassures.

Your mouth parts, just slightly, and Sunghoon can see the sheen of your favourite lip balm coating your lips. Raspberry, if he remembers correctly. He’d tried wearing it once, in eighth grade, only to discover it tasted like cough syrup. He’s not sure what to think of it now.

“Thanks,” you say softly, almost as a whisper, “but I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“I’m complimenting you in advance.”

“That’s not a thing, Sunghoon.” Still, a laugh spills out of your mouth.

“Here, c’mon.” Together, you and Sunghoon half-drag half-hobble your way from the benches to the opening of the skating rink. Once on the ice, Sunghoon balances himself on the thin blades of his ice skates fairly easily. You, on the other hand, are not so adept at steadying yourself yet. As a result, you end up transferring your grip on your best friend to the railing on the walls surrounding the ice.

You nearly topple over, and Sunghoon catches a brief hint of panic on your face. He skates closer to you. “Almost forgot,” he says, gesturing to the helmet you’ve tucked in between your shoulder and your arm. “Let me just…”

He takes it from you and places it on your head, securing it under your chin with a small click. You look up at him, your eyes tracing every movement of his. There is something intimate about this, Sunghoon decides, though what exactly it is, he can’t name. Once he’s done, he has to force himself not to let his fingers linger on your skin. One thing is abundantly clear: He’s down terribly, horribly bad for you, and it feels like he’s about to throw up his own heart.

“Um,” you say. “You’re staring.”

Sunghoon blinks.

“Oh, right, sorry,” he chokes out. Plastering a smile on his face, he gently knocks on the top of your helmet. “Just making sure you don’t get an injury before you’ve even learnt how to skate.”

You shoot him an unimpressed look. Sunghoon guffaws, and even though it’s weird, teaching you to ice skate in the middle of summer, he couldn’t be happier.

When Mrs. Lee decided to throw a welcome-home party for her son, Heeseung, Sunghoon should’ve expected half the town to show up in her backyard. The lawn is crammed full of neighbours and relatives, all basking the sun, sweating buckets, and chatting.

The good thing is that he can finally meet all his friends who were whisked off to college in different cities the year before.

The bad thing is that he has to endure questioning from all the local aunties and uncles, who are far too nosy for their own good. Months before, when Heeseung and Minjeong were the ones being interrogated, you and Sunghoon used to laugh at their disgruntled expressions. Karma has a way of biting you back, he supposes.

He shoulders his way back into the house to get himself a can of soda—but cringes when he finds Mrs. Choi in the kitchen. She brightens up when she sees him, adopting a kind, motherly smile on her face.

“Sunghoon! It’s great to see you,” she greets him, pulling him into a hug which he awkwardly reciprocates. “Wow, you’ve grown so big.”

He chuckles embarrassedly. “Thanks, Mrs. Choi. You look nice too.”

“Oh, you flatter me.” She smiles indulgently anyway. “I heard you just graduated high school.”

Sunghoon groans inwardly; he can already see where this conversation is going. “Yes, I did, a few weeks ago.”

“Congratulations. Any plans for college?”

“I’m still thinking, Mrs. Choi,” he replies politely. It’s the same excuse he’s used with everyone who asked him some variation of the same thing: That he hasn’t decided upon anything yet, and is still looking into different opportunities. It’s not completely true, strictly speaking—Sunghoon doesn’t know what he wants to do, but he’s looking into different colleges. His parents have been surprisingly supportive, giving him time and space to come to a decision. But he can tell they’re growing more and more anxious day by day. He can’t blame them; if he was a parent, he would also be concerned at his son’s cluelessness.

He’s only researching because it seems like that’s what everyone who graduated high school is doing.

His friends, Taehyun and Jongseong, have already decided where they want to go. They’re going to move out by the end of the next month; you’re already planning a surprise farewell party for them. When he ran into Yizhuo at the convenience store the other day, all she did was ask him for his opinion on different universities she was contemplating joining. Huening Kai’s parents proudly boasted about their son joining the same reputed college as his older sister.

And you… Park Sunghoon doesn’t even want to think of where you’re going and what you’re going to do.

He would miss you on a visceral level. Every atom in his body is attuned to you; he can’t even fathom living away from you. Sure, video calling and texting each other is a way to stay in touch, but for Sunghoon it isn’t enough. How would he be able to steal candies from your secret stash and see the confused tilt of your head when you open it and find it half-empty? How could he challenge you to eating contests, a tradition you’ve had ever since you began frequenting the local ramen place?

He presses his lips into a thin line. Mrs. Choi continues speaking. “Ah, well, I’m sure you have enough time to decide. You know—” she lowers her voice into a conspiratorial whisper— “you could try applying to Yeonjun’s college. He’s pretty popular over there. I’m sure he would be willing to help his old town friend settle in.”

Mrs. Choi’s son, Yeonjun, is at a university in Seoul. Sunghoon hasn’t heard from him since he graduated high school three years ago.

“Thanks, Mrs. Choi.” Sunghoon smiles blandly. “I’ll look into it.”

“I’m sure you will.” She pats his cheek affectionately and leaves the kitchen, taking a platter of snacks with her.

Sunghoon lets his shoulders slump, walking wearily over to the fridge and grabbing a can of Coke. He’s tired of everyone’s curiosity, of their blatant interest in his life and matters. Cracking the can open, he takes a long swig, letting the liquid bubble on his tongue before swallowing.

“There you are!”

You swing into his periphery, waving at him.

Sunghoon brings the can down. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Heeseung and the rest are having a Mario Kart showdown in the living room while the adults, y’know—do their thing, I guess.” You beam at him. “Wanna come?”

“Sure,” he readily agrees. Disregarding the fact that he sucks ass at Mario Kart, Sunghoon doesn’t want to be faced with the endless stream of questions and unsolicited advice that he’s been contending with. At least when he’s surrounded by his friends, he can forget about it for a while.

He follows you out into the hallway, clutching the soda can to his chest. It feels strange. Sunghoon isn’t usually bothered by all this, but suddenly the uncertainty of it all is hitting him like a freight train. He realises with a jolt that he truly doesn’t know what he wants to do, and has no idea where he fits in the grand scheme of things.

“You look sick.” You eye him carefully. “Did you eat something funny?”

“No.”

Your eyebrows furrow with concern. Sunghoon stays rooted in place when you take a step towards him. You raise your hand and place it on his forehead, brushing his bangs away.

Sunghoon’s glad you aren’t pressed up against him—if you were, you wouldn’t miss his sharp intake of breath, or the way his gaze lingers momentarily on the dip of your lips. Your touch is gentle against his skin, soft and warm, despite your cold fingers. His eyes almost flutter shut.

“You don’t have a fever,” you confirm, drawing your hand back. He misses your touch instantaneously.

“That’s good,” he murmurs, barely aware of what he’s saying.

“It is.” You reach down and tug on his free hand, squeezing it gently. “Come on, the others are waiting. Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Yeah, I am,” he says, breath catching in his throat. You have no idea what kind of effect you have on him. Sunghoon feels like he’s a moth and you’re a flame, and he’s doomed to circle around and around you, like Icarus touching the sun.

“Okay.” You turn back around and begin walking to the living room, still holding his hand.

Later, when he sits down on the sofa, next to Heeseung, he watches you play against Minjeong and Jongseong, making fun of the latter when he loses to you. He takes small sips of his soda just to have something to do other than observe you.

“Please tell me you finally grew the balls to ask them out,” Heeseung says after a while, low enough for only Sunghoon to hear.

He chokes mid-sip, slipping into a coughing fit. Heeseung slaps his back unhelpfully, snickering the entire time.

Park Sunghoon may not know what he wants to do after high school, but he knows this: He’s eighteen, and he will go wherever you go.

A week later, Sunghoon finds himself in the ice skating rink once more.

Only this time, he’s holding your hands and dragging you along with him over the ice. He bites back a chuckle at the way your eyes narrow in concentration, your mouth twists with focus. You’re not even doing anything substantial—just letting Sunghoon pull you along with him—but he finds it incredibly mesmerising. He settles into a smooth rhythm, his legs moving back and forth fluidly, while you try to copy him.

“How are you so good at this?” you ask suddenly.

Sunghoon meets your gaze, a silent scoff escaping his lips. “Jealous?”

“...Extremely.” Your teeth worry your lower lip in that slightly embarrassed way of yours.

“I’ve learnt figure skating for years, idiot,” he gently scolds. “I didn’t learn how to skate in a week.”

“That’s… fair,” you admit, squeezing his fingers when you wobble a little bit. “It’s just—I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“Try me.”

You take in a deep breath, looking at him squarely in the eyes. “It feels like we can’t be kids anymore. We’re going to move out of here soon, and I know we’ll come back and visit… but we’re really adults now. Like, don’t you find that scary?”

Sunghoon’s not entirely sure why this sudden wave of melancholia is drowning both of you. Admittedly, you’re way more vocal about it than he is—but he doesn’t mind. Hearing you talk about it and put into words what he can’t, while reassuring you all the same is strangely cathartic.

This time, however, he doesn’t know what to say. Grappling with the same thoughts as you, he can’t think of a single word to comfort both you and him.

He settles for a soft, “Yeah, it is.”

“And it feels like I’ve wasted so much time,” you continue. “I could’ve done so much more when I had the time.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Learnt how to cook, maybe. Or even some sort of extracurricular thing, like how you learnt to ice skate. Volunteered at an animal shelter. Something.”

“You can still do all that, though,” Sunghoon points out, seamlessly navigating a turn. He slows down slightly, recognising that this is a pretty important topic for you. “We’re only eighteen.”

You give him a small, sad smile. “It’s not the same, though, is it?”

“...No, it isn’t,” he agrees. “It’s… kinda hard to accept the fact that we’re adults now.”

“Yeah, it feels weird.”

“If it makes you feel better, we can both think it’s weird together,” Sunghoon offers.

You let a soft laugh at that, your eyes crinkling at the corners. Sunghoon positively melts at the look on your face. “Thanks, that does make me feel better.”

He smiles. “Hey, wanna hear something cool?”

“What?”

Sunghoon raises both his hands and grins at you. “You’re skating on your own, by the way.”

Your jaw drops. You gape at him, astonishment filling your features. “Holy shit,” you breathe out, glancing down at the ice, then at Sunghoon, and then back at the ice. “Oh my God, I really am! Holy shit.”

“Good job,” the boy praises. Your awe and excitement is infectious, and Sunghoon feels a happy laugh bubble out of his throat. You mimic him, laughing incredulously. “Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

“You liar. You said no one could skate in a week!”

“Maybe I’m just a really good teacher,” he quips, shrugging. He’s still skating backwards, facing you. The joy on your face at having finally mastered—a bit of a loose term, but he’ll go with it—something you’ve been wanting to do for ages is palpable. Sunghoon gets the sudden urge to kiss you silly, share in the happiness you’ve found with sweet nothings and the feel of your skin against his. He curls his fingers into a fist to stop his impulsive thoughts from racing.

You spread your arms out on both sides of your body, the standard pose for someone trying to balance. But you still remain fairly steady, so he doesn’t immediately come back to your side. You’re supposed to be learning how to ice skate, he reminds himself. Not hold his hands and traipse about the ice.

Sunghoon hasn’t skated in a while. It feels nice, though—the ice greets him like a second home. He’s spent so much time on the ice that traversing it feels as natural as walking. Competitive figure skating wasn’t for him, he realised after years of rigorous training. He would rather live a normal life—hang out with his friends, cram for exams, wake up at a reasonable time in the morning instead of setting his alarm to 4 a.m the night before. Look at him now: Had a normal high school life only to turn into this confused, wayless person.

He speeds up a little, remembering bits and pieces of routines he’d practised multiple times before, to the point where they became a sort of muscle memory to him. He lets himself forget his worries, to lose himself in the fluidity of his movements, relishes in the feel of his calf muscles straining after months of neglect.

He hears a grunt of pain from behind him.

Sunghoon stops, immediately turning around and skating rapidly back to you. You’re on the floor, bent over and cradling your left ankle. Panic fizzes through his windpipe.

“Fuck.” He kneels down next to you, concern morphing his features into a frown. “Shit. Are you okay?”

“I… think so?” You sound out of breath. “I think I twisted my ankle.”

Sunghoon swears under his breath once more. He gently moves your hand away from the injured area and rolls up your pants. He presses softly on an area of skin next to your ankle, grimacing when you let out a little yelp.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, unable to look you in the eye. “We should ice that first. Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“Sunghoon,” you say, gently cutting him off. “Why didn’t you continue ice skating? You’re amazing at it.”

“What?” He barely has the time to process your words, the sudden change in topic giving him whiplash.

“I was watching you skate,” you confess shyly. “That’s why I lost balance—I wasn’t paying attention to me. I was watching you. You’re so beautiful at it, Sunghoon. You could’ve made it to the Nationals.”

Sunghoon’s face burns. “...Oh,” is all he can say. For a moment, all you do is stare at him and he looks back at you. His lips are dry; he wets them with his tongue. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes dart to his mouth and then back. His fingers are still brushing against your ankle.

This would be a horrible time to kiss you.

He’s never wanted something more.

“Ow.” You wince, pulling back. “Sorry. You pressed too hard. Sorry.”

Why are you apologising? The boy draws his hand back from your skin like he’s just touched a hot frying pan. “Fuck. Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We—we should find you an ice pack. Come on.”

He scrambles to his feet and holds out his hand, ears ringing. You stand up with some amount of difficulty, leaning onto him and hobbling off the ice.

You sit down on one of the chairs by the entrance. Sunghoon hurriedly removes his ice skates and runs to the office of the rink’s manager. It’s mercifully empty—not that he expected anyone to be there—so he slows down and waits for his blood to stop pounding.

What the fuck just happened?

Only you could drag Park Sunghoon, lover of the indoors, outside his house to buy ice cream in the middle of the night.

“I’m hungry,” is the only explanation you offer, clad in your favourite hoodie. Sunghoon shrugs in response, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Sorry,” you add as an afterthought.

“For what?”

“Dragging you out of your house at midnight,” you answer sheepishly.

“At least you’re empathetic.”

“Not really.”

Sunghoon snorts derisively.

“Okay, fine.” You lick your lips before saying, “I really am sorry. I’ll pay for your ice cream.”

“Relax, I’m just kidding.” Sunghoon runs a tired hand through his unkempt hair, stifling a yawn with the other. The nights are much cooler compared to the day; a soft breeze makes goosebumps erupt all over his exposed arms. Perhaps gallivanting about at night in nothing but a loose t-shirt and shorts isn’t exactly a brilliant idea. He notices you favouring your right leg over your left one. A wad of guilt gets stuck in his throat. “How’s your foot?”

“Eh. It’s seen better days, I guess.” You shrug, lips pursed.

You’re distracted, Sunghoon realises. Something must be weighing on your mind—why else would you be unable to sleep?

“Okay, let’s go,” he says. “Do you need help walking?” (At the end of the day, he’s still a selfish bastard who craves your touch far more than he should.)

“No, I’m good.”

He stifles his disappointment and falls into step with you. The local convenience store is open 24/7; some poor high schooler working the night shift will probably be ecstatic at the sight of customers. The walk there is quiet, only interrupted by the chirping of crickets and the shuffling of your flip-flops. You don’t say anything, and Sunghoon makes no attempt to break the silence. He lets you mull over your thoughts, knowing you’ll tell him when you’re ready.

Quietude wraps around Sunghoon like a blanket, leaving him to lose himself in his own mind. He thinks of his parents sharing worried glances with each other, debating whether or not to make the decision themselves on their son’s behalf. He thinks of Taehyun and Jongseong, set to leave this town for the foreseeable future. He thinks of high school and how it came and went so quickly, though it felt arduous and mundane at the time. He thinks of where exactly he fits in this picture—if he’s even meant to be a part of something bigger, or forever confined to the winding roads and quaint intricacies of the place he grew up in.

His head hurts. He looks at you instead, and your wind-ruffled hair and threadbare hoodie and orange flip-flops. His chest hurts, too.

Imagining a life without you in it—without your laugh, your sarcasm, your late-night ice cream runs—is far more painful than he ever thought it would be. You bring colour into his dreary life, turning his greys into vibrant hues of blue and yellow. He is meant to be by your side. In sickness and in health, and—

Sunghoon stops in his tracks, his head swirling and his heart pounding. He forces himself to tear his gaze away from you, staring down at the gravel on the path instead. His hand finds itself on the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling on the short strands of hair that grow there in some light-hearted attempt to ground himself.

You pause when you see your best friend isn’t next to you. Turning around, you ask him, with a small downward twist to your mouth, “Sunghoon? What happened?”

“Nothing,” he breathes out. Everything.

You nod, still wrapped up in your own thoughts. “We’ll be there in, like, two minutes.”

You continue on, and he jogs lightly to catch up with you.

It’s at midnight, on the way to the convenience store with you, in his pyjamas and sandals, that Park Sunghoon realises he’s in love with you.

Melted chocolate drips off his stick and onto his fingers, but Sunghoon couldn’t care less. He’s still reeling from his epiphany, delirious on the bittersweetness of what being in love with your best friend feels like.

The swings both of you are seated on creak with every movement. Sunghoon stills his legs, finding the noise annoying. He looks at you, one arm twined around the chain of the swing, and the other holding onto your popsicle that you bring to your mouth every so often. The playground looks haunted in the dark; all the various playground equipment appear to be looming figures drowned in ghostliness.

He eats a bit of his ice cream, then says, “So. Why exactly did you call me out here?”

You stiffen, and Sunghoon can see it even in the darkness. It’s probably bad news then. His heart sinks on your behalf.

“I…” You trail off, looking at him with uncertainly and then at your ice cream. “I’ve gotten accepted into a really good college.”

Sunghoon’s heart plummets deeper, down into the pit of his stomach. He should’ve prepared himself for this—for you to leave and not take him with you. He blinks once, sucking in a breath.

“That’s awesome!” he says, forcing an air of cheerfulness. “I always knew you could—”

“No, it’s not,” you interrupt, fixing your gaze on him properly this time. He gulps. “It’s not awesome.”

“Well… what do you want me to say then?”

“I don’t know!” You slump in your seat, a dejected frown marring your face. “I don’t know, Hoon.”

“Okay,” he says quietly.

“It’s in Seoul.” You let out a sardonic laugh. “The college. I’ll be in Seoul for the next few years.”

Damn.

After all these years and only now realising he’s in love with you, Park Sunghoon will now have to resign himself to the fact that he has to send you off to Seoul. He can’t even sneak in one kiss—just one, to soothe his aching, lovelorn soul. He bites his ice cream just to feel the cold seep into his teeth.

“Will you miss me?” you ask.

“Of course,” Sunghoon replies immediately. “Of course I will. It’s stupid that you even think I couldn’t miss you.”

I miss you even when you’re right next to me.

“Okay.” You let out a shuddering breath. Your next words are quiet but hopeful. “Do… Do you think you could try to get in too?”

“I…” Sunghoon flounders helplessly. He’s never thought of that. He feels dumb, now. “I could try.”

You nod, standing up and walking over to him. He looks up at you and smiles when he sees you smiling. “I found some interesting courses, too,” you say.

“That’s nice.” Sunghoon already knows he’s going to try his best to get in. He won’t rest until he does. Moving to Seoul—previously a terrifying thought—doesn’t seem too daunting now. Not when he can be with you.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you,” he says, still looking up at you. The stars twinkle behind your head—thankfully, this town isn’t that affected by light pollution yet. Even in your old and stained clothes, Sunghoon thinks you look like an angel.

“Kiss me,” you say instead.

Sunghoon grins so widely, his cheeks hurt. You always manage to surprise him, even after all this time.

He doesn’t want to waste any more time—it’s the one precious commodity the universe has given him, and he intends to make full use of it.

You bend down, and Sunghoon slants his lips over yours.

You taste like the raspberry popsicle you’re holding in your free hand. He finds he doesn’t mind the taste much now.

don’t forget to do your daily click!

85 notes · View notes