Archive of Our Own

The umpire throws up his arms as Jersey Number 9 slides onto the home base, and dust flies into the air, cascading onto the catcher of the opposite team. Loud cheers from the crowd in the bleachers drown out the celebratory cries of the team, the roar of noise buoyed further as the cheer team falls into formation for their stunt.

Soonyoung’s body moves by instinct, years of training taking over, and his hand begin to lift the toe and heel of Yerim’s foot—except when he looks up to lead her into the stunt, it’s no longer Yerim, but Jersey Number 9, still decked out in his dust-speckled baseball uniform.

“Kim Mingyu?” Soonyoung says incredulously. Suddenly, all the weight and muscle of Mingyu dawns on him, and his arms wobble from the effort of holding him up. Panic surges in him. His heart jumps in his chest, and he widens his stance to stabilize Mingyu’s weight above him. It’s only then that he notices that his teammates have disappeared. He’s left alone, the stands clear, and the baseball team disappears. The bright lights shining upon the field shut down one by one, ominous clicks following each spout of darkness.

Mingyu glances down at him, his wide smile on innocuous display. “Soonyoung!” he chirps, as if his entire weight isn’t being held by Soonyoung, as if he didn’t leave mid-game to become a flyer. “Hey, watch this!”

And then Mingyu throws himself into the air. Startled, Soonyoung lets out a scream and lifts his arms up as if to catch him—but then it’s not Mingyu in the air anymore, it’s him, and he barely registers the swoop in his stomach and the rush of wind past his face as he soars in the air—before he plummets back down again. Wind roars in his ears, loud enough to nearly drown out his panicked screams. Soonyoung clenches his eyes shut.

Mingyu’s never been trained to catch anyone, he’s going to drop me, he thinks. I’m going to die.

Except he doesn’t. Strong arms wrap around him, the wind stops, and warmth envelopes him. The arms bring Soonyoung back to earth, gently, slowly, and carefully, until he has his two feet under him again.

The sound of a familiar soft chuckle registers belatedly, and Soonyoung blinks his eyes open. His heart pounds in his chest, this time for a different reason, when he sees who’s standing before him.

Jeon Wonwoo. He’s wearing his team jacket, the yellow and black colour scheme garish and ugly even to Soonyoung, yet so welcoming and comforting all the same. His glasses rest impeccably upon the bridge of his nose, and his beautiful mouth is quirked up in a small smile. And, perhaps most puzzling of all, a rather large, bejeweled crown sits at the top of his head. It sparkles under the night sky.

For some reason, Soonyoung doesn’t question it. It’s Wonwoo. Of course he has a crown on his head. He deserves it.

“O-Oh,” Soonyoung sighs out, blinking rapidly at the sight of his Prince Charming. “W-Wonwoo. You saved me.”

Wonwoo’s smile grows wider. It’s the only warning Soonyoung gets before Wonwoo suddenly sweeps him off his feet, his arms coming back around to lift him up in a princess carry. His breath hitches, caught in his throat.

“Enchanté,” Wonwoo says, “Monsieur Kwon.” Somehow, the French spills smoothly from his lips. Soonyoung understands him perfectly despite never taking a single class of French in his life. He just does. And then, Wonwoo leans in, his warm breath cascading over Soonyoung’s face. “Your legs are sexy and scrumptious. I would like to lick them.”

“Yes,” Soonyoung breathes out. “Yes, lick away, Sir Jeon—”




Soonyoung wakes up with a start. His heart pounds in his chest in tandem to the angry sound of his sister as she knocks on his bedroom door, the wisps of sleep still clouding his mind.

“Soonyoung, you’re going to be late,” she calls out through the door, sounding annoyed. “Get up already!” Her voice trails as she walks away from the door, mumbling under her breath. “Geez, 18 years old and still has his noona waking him up...”

He groans, shifting in his bed, as he blinks blearily up at his ceiling. The dream slowly fades with the sleep fog, and with it, the lingering imprint of Wonwoo with his ugly jacket and beautiful face dissipates as well.

“It was good while it lasted,” Soonyoung grumbles. He rolls over. Time to get ready for school.

“You won’t guess the dream I had last night,” Soonyoung announces. He drops the tray down onto the scratched cafeteria table and falls into his seat with a loud, blustering sigh. The force of his entry blows Seungkwan’s napkin across the table, and he casts a sidelong glance filled with ire at Soonyoung. Sheepishly, he mouths sorry.

Chan doesn’t glance up from his lunch. “We probably can.”

“Wonwoo again?” Junhui chimes in. He throws an exasperated look at Soonyoung, fond and familiar. “How many times is it now?”

Soonyoung sighs, jamming his chopsticks upright into his small bowl of rice. “It was the best one I’ve had yet—”

To his right, Seungkwan emits a small noise of protest and quickly yanks the chopsticks out, setting it back down on the tray. “Is this a funeral?” he hisses.

“—He cradled me in his arms and told me he liked my legs. My legs!” He surveys the unimpressed look on their faces. “Mine,” he adds for extra emphasis, just in case they don’t understand how utterly monumental his dream was for Soonyoung.

A passing freshman waves, wide-eyed, at their table. “Hi, sunbaenim,” he breathes out, sounding awed. Soonyoung doesn’t recognize him but he waves at him anyway, half-lost in thought, and turns back to his friends.

Their expressions don’t change. Well, Junhui still seems to be indulging him for the most part—and that’s why Soonyoung adores him—though Chan breaks out into a small smile when Seungkwan makes a noise of disgust. It’s better than nothing. Soonyoung will take it.

“We don’t want to hear about your perverted fantasies about your crush,” Seungkwan says, reaching over to steal a piece of radish from Soonyoung’s tray. “If I have to hear you wax poetry about the angles of his jawline one more time...”

Soonyoung ignores him. There’s no real heat behind the syllables, and besides, Seungkwan loves gossip more than any of them. “He even spoke French to me.” Soonyoung sighs and props his chin on his hand, gazing dreamily in the general direction of the computer lab where Wonwoo eats his lunch every day. “The most romantic language in the world.”

“You don’t speak French,” Chan points out, mouth full of rice. “And honestly, his arms are probably too lanky to hold you up. Even I have trouble holding you up when we’re practicing different formations.”

A stray grain flies out and lands on Soonyoung’s knuckle. Distracted and too lost in his thoughts, he absentmindedly wipes it off on Seungkwan’s sleeve. Once again, he ignores the squawk of protest from his friend. “It doesn’t matter, it’s the principle of things,” he insists. “What does the psychology of dreams say about this? It’d be nice if this was precognition or something.” He lets out another sigh, lovesick and forlorn, and shovels a bite of food into his mouth.

“It says that you’re a teenager who’s thinking with his d—” Seungkwan’s mouth flies to a close when Soonyoung elbows him. He elbows back, digging into Soonyoung’s side. “Hey!”

Soonyoung pouts at him. Dropping his gaze back down to his tray, he picks at his rice with a frown weighing on his lips. Despite his best wishes, Seungkwan is probably right. His dreams and daydreams alike—they’re not much more than fanciful fits dressed up in fantasy and imagination. He tries not to feel too discouraged by it. It’s hard, though, when every real interaction with Wonwoo reminds him of what he doesn’t have. At times like these, he wishes that Jeonghan—or maybe even Jisoo—hadn’t graduated. They always knew what to say.

One-sided crushes suck.

As if sensing his ennui, Chan nudges at him under the table with his foot. “Hey,” he says softly, “Have you ever thought of just...telling him? It’s worth a shot, isn’t it? Rather than all this guessing.”

An aghast look flashes on Soonyoung’s face, and he shakes his head vehemently. “No way—there’s no way he’d be into me.” He pictures the handsome angles of Jeon Wonwoo’s perfectly sculpted face, the slender lines of his fingers, the thin-rimmed glasses that perch perfectly at the tip of his nose, and his tiny smile when he slides into the seat next to Soonyoung’s in class.

Even the mere thought of Wonwoo’s little nose scrunch—especially when it appears because he’s smiling just a bit harder at whatever silly comment Soonyoung whispers to him during lectures—is enough to make his stomach swoop, churning and twisting like a thousand miniature snakes writhe in the pit of his belly.

His friends exchange a look. A beat passes. Jun turns back to him, a weird expression on his face. “Soonyoung,” he starts, slowly and carefully, “you’re the captain of the cheer team.” And then even slower, a stress placed on every syllable, “The only cheer team in a non-international high school in Seoul.”

“Personally endorsed and sponsored and trained by the Korea Cheerleading Association,” supplies Seungkwan. His tone softens, the traces of irritation—albeit having been in jest in the first place—all gone from his voice. “You were hand-picked because of your skill and hard work.” He nudges Soonyoung again. It’s a gentle touch. “Hey, what’s not to like about you?”

“And he’s the leader of the gaming club,” Soonyoung says glumly into his rice, “We have nothing in common. I don’t even know how to play any games! I got dizzy the one time Seungcheol-hyung tried to teach me Sudden Attack, and I kept dying when I played MapleStory with Jeonghan-hyung.” He slumps in his chair and buries his face into his arms. It’s probably overdramatic, but he’s allowed to be. He’s eighteen and in love. “He probably thinks I’m a bimbo.”

A hand cards its way through his hair. “You kinda are,” says Chan. When Soonyoung lets out a tiny sad sound, he hurriedly adds, “Chin up, hyung! It’s not like he doesn’t know who you are.. He clearly likes you enough to talk to you in class—I still think you should give it a shot.”

Just the thought of confessing—or anything remotely close to admitting his feelings—leaves his stomach whirling and his chest tight. “It’s hopeless,” he says darkly. “It’ll never happen.”

It’s love at first sight. Or, at least, that’s how Soonyoung describes it later to his friends after he meets Jeon Wonwoo for the very first time. It’s nothing like the movies, but Soonyoung never expected it to be, and it doesn’t make it any less perfect.

Not to Soonyoung, at least.

Maybe he even has Minghao to thank for it: if Minghao wasn’t late on their way to summer cheer practice, if Soonyoung didn’t sit in a cafe downing a cup of iced tea while he waited, if they didn’t belatedly change their meet-up location—then Soonyoung wouldn’t have had to rush into the nearest building to find a washroom while en route to their meet-up location.

It just so happens that he accidentally wanders into a library.

The building is inconspicuous and hidden in a shroud of trees, nearly indistinguishable from the autobody shop right next to it, but Soonyoung spots the public washrooms sign through the window. After a split second of hesitation, he hurries in.

Rows and rows of methodically organized books line shelves that stack throughout the room, but the musty air of dust-covered pages doesn’t permeate the library like it does at Seungkwan’s parents’ book store. Soonyoung finds himself strangely disappointed by it.

It must be a smaller neighbourhood branch, nearly empty with the warm summer air luring everyone outside. Aside from a young family with their noisy pair of twins in one corner, and an older man seeking refuge under the air-conditioned vents at the computers, the library is empty.

Behind the computers, Soonyoung spots the sign for the washrooms.

He doesn’t notice the rhythmic beeping that fills the air every thirty seconds or so until he escapes from the washroom, wiping his still-wet hands on the front of his pants, and he automatically searches for the source of the noise. His eyes land on the circulation desk sitting in the centre of the room.

A young man, half-hidden behind the wide-screened computer monitor on the desk, sits with his head buried in a book. At first, Soonyoung thinks he’s reading. But then he draws back from the desk, raising his arm to scan the barcode on the book, before dropping it into the trolley behind him. His glasses slip down the tall bridge of his nose, and the employee lanyard is tangled around the crinkled collar of his white polo.

In spite of this, even from the distance, Soonyoung can tell he’s cute.

As if sensing Soonyoung’s gaze on him, he looks up, eyes scanning across the room until they catch sight of Soonyoung, still standing there like an idiot. There’s a brief second where something akin to surprise cuts across his face, but his expression morphs into neutrality as quickly as it had appeared. Soonyoung brushes it off. Maybe he scared him, he thinks, but is jolted from his thoughts when one of the twins shove past him in their haste towards the washroom.

“Watch out!” the mother shouts out belatedly, and rushes after her son, her hands reaching out. In the same sequence, the small child tumbles to the ground and knocks against Soonyoung’s legs.

Alarm flashes on the library assistant’s face when Soonyoung lets out a surprised shout of his own as he loses his footing in his instinct to move away from the fallen child, and his arms windmill in the air for one desperate second before his body falls back onto the carpeted floor with a thud. There’s a chorus of cries as Soonyoung topples down and he lands on his butt, but his breath returns to him as soon as he realizes he landed away from the child,

To Soonyoung’s immense relief, the young boy isn’t any worse for wear. He sports a slight dazed look on his face, his hand clenched tightly in his mother’s grip as she picks her son off from the ground. She bows down deep at Soonyoung. “I’m so sorry—are you alright?” she asks, apology written all over her first. “I’m sorry—”

“Mom, gotta pee!” whines the little boy, and he fidgets awkwardly, tugging at her hands. “Gotta go!”

She shoots a panicked look at Soonyoung, and he waves her off with a smile. “It’s okay,” he says, still wheezing slightly, “Don’t worry about it.” He smiles when she gives him a grateful look before picking her son up and carting him into the washrooms behind them.

“Um— are you okay?”

Soonyoung swivels his gaze around. A brush-off comment is ready at the tip of his tongues, still smarting with embarrassment and ready to brush them off as politely as possible, only to find that the library assistant had come over in the commotion. His ears immediately heat up when he realizes the cute boy has leaned in close. His hands are braced on his knees as he peers at Soonyoung with concern.

He clears his throat. Dark hair falls into the cute boy’s eyes and the library assistant automatically shakes it out of his eyes. A small frown plays at the corner of his lips, and a furrow creases his brows as he studies Soonyoung with mild worry, like he’s assessing whether Soonyoung has injured himself in his fall. He pushes his glasses up.

He has a nice nose, Soonyoung thinks absently, and up close like this, he’s even cuter.

Soonyoung shakes his head rapidly to clear it once he registers his wayward thoughts. Heat blossoms across his cheeks. “I’m— yes, thank you,” he says hastily, hoping it covers how flustered he feels. Soonyoung pushes himself to his feet and brushes off his pants. “Sorry about that,” he adds, and he lets out a quiet laugh to disguise his embarrassment.

“It’s fine,” the cute boy says. Silence falls between them. A beat passes, and an uncertain look surfaces on his face as he regards Soonyoung with something he thinks may be hesitation. Almost as if there’s a thought resting on the tip of his tongue, but he’s unsure of how to articulate it.

He feels strangely off-kilter, thrown off and distracted by how cute he finds the library assistant, and tongue-tied in the way he gets around people he’s not familiar with yet. But despite the pressing shyness, Soonyoung finds himself wracking his brain for something to say, reluctant to walk away just yet. He’s curious about the expression he sees on the other boy. His tongue darts out as he wets his bottom lip. Maybe he can— he can introduce himself first—

The faint sound of his phone ringing startles them both. It’s coming from Soonyoung’s pocket, and he nearly lets a curse slip out when he realizes it’s Yewon calling him. Shit. He’s late for their summer bootcamp session. A glance at his notifications has his heart thudding in his chest when he realizes he’s missed at least a dozen messages from Minghao.

Shit. He’s so screwed. It’s his first year as the cheer captain ever since Seulgi graduated, and he’s late for their first summer training practice. Shit.

Soonyoung bites his bottom lip, stealing a glance at the cute library assistant who’s watching him with the same uncertain expression on his face. “Sorry again,” he says, a little awkward and not entirely sure what he’s apologizing for. But he bows slightly, and forces himself into a speed-walk out of the building, shooting a rapid text and apology to both Yewon and Minghao.

His heart pangs with regret as soon as he exits the squat air-conditioned building and into the summer heat once again. He didn’t even get a chance to catch his name. Damnit.




It’s love at first sight, he tells his friends, sotto voce, when he arrives nearly fifteen minutes late for practice.

Summer rolls through with its blue skies, sweltering humidity, and countless afternoons filled with tumbling, stunting, and getting used to being a team again. Autumn slips back into their routine when September greets them again with cooler days and golden hues.

And when Soonyoung walks into his first class as a high school senior and sees that the cute library assistant not only attends their school, but is in the same class as him, he’s convinced that it’s fate.

Fate and first love; Jeon Wonwoo.

Soonyoung returns to the classroom with just a few minutes to spare before the next period begins. The familiar shape of Wonwoo is already there, bent over his desk and reading something on his phone. He takes in a deep breath and ignores the steady thump of his heart.

“Hey you,” Soonyoung says as he slides into his seat next to Wonwoo. “Nerding out during lunch again? I didn’t see you in the cafeteria.”

He watches as Wonwoo slides his phone back into his pants’ pocket before he turns to look at Soonyoung. There’s always a measure of deliberation when he moves, slowly and carefully like each action contains a thought behind it. It’s the opposite of Soonyoung, whose body tends to move faster than his brain can work. “Hey you,” Wonwoo says back, “Why? Did you miss me?” he adds, voice full of teasing.

His glasses have slid down his nose and faint imprints of the nose pads have left reddened marks on the bridge of his nose. Soonyoung wants to kiss them.

Soonyoung’s heart skips a beat at the small smile that tugs at Wonwoo’s lips, and then another when he processes Wonwoo’s words. “Just wondering if you missed out on the kimchi fried rice today,” he says loftily, and he turns his nose up at him to disguise the way his cheeks heat up. “It’s your favourite, isn’t it?”

“What, really?” Wonwoo frowns, and grumbles under his breath, “Seokmin told me they were serving japchae again. I just went and bought some soboro-ppang instead.”

During lunch, he had considered ordering an extra portion just for Wonwoo. The lineups are always the worst during the hour-long break, though for some reason, underclassmen tend to let Soonyoung go first in line. Jihoon from the baseball team once joked it’s because he looks pitiful when he’s hungry, but Minghao claimed it’s just the Soonyoung charm, whatever that means.

As soon as he had noticed Wonwoo wasn’t in the cafeteria, Soonyoung had assumed he was holed up with the rest of the gaming club somewhere in the computer labs. With Suneung and the looming rigour of being a high school senior, there was never time for extracurriculars otherwise. But as much as Soonyoung can admit to himself that he and Wonwoo, somehow and somewhere along the way, have tripped into a friendly camaraderie in spite of his own embarrassing pining—there is a limit to how much Soonyoung is willing to lay his pining heart on the line.

While showing up to class with a container of kimchi fried rice just for Wonwoo because he knows Wonwoo didn’t have a chance to buy it might be appreciated by Wonwoo, it’s just as likely that he might be put off by how devastatingly hard Soonyoung is crushing on him.

Better to not risk it, he had long decided.

“You snooze, you lose,” Soonyoung says instead, and then yelps when Wonwoo reaches out to pinch at his cheeks in retaliation. He pouts and bats away Wonwoo’s hand, even as much as the simple touch leaves his cheeks heated and lingering with heat. “You’ll ruin my face if you keep doing that,” he says accusingly, and digs his fingers into Wonwoo’s side.

Wonwoo only laughs, and Soonyoung’s chest squeezes tight when it makes Wonwoo’s nose scrunch up from the weight of his smile. A slim hand comes down and clutches at Soonyoung’s finger, holding it in place to stop Soonyoung’s attack. “Wouldn’t want that to happen, right?” He grins at Soonyoung, bright and devastatingly beautiful, “Your adoring fans would kill me.”

He frowns and tries to pull his finger from Wonwoo’s grip. When Wonwoo only tightens his hold on him, Soonyoung lets him. “I don’t have adoring fans,” he protests. He hopes he can’t tell how flushed Soonyoung is just from his touch. The classroom feels too warm for their stuffy school uniform. Wonwoo always has this effect on him.

“Sure,” says Wonwoo agreeably, “Mr. Cheer Captain doesn’t ha—”

The door slides open and Wonwoo’s words cut short as their literature teacher walks into the classroom. His hands immediately fall open and release Soonyoung’s finger from its hold, and he faces forward again, ever serious about class, but not without sliding one last small smile at Soonyoung.

He returns his hands to his lap, already missing the warmth of Wonwoo’s hands. Soonyoung hadn’t even noticed how their classroom had filled up in the span of their conversation, and when he turns to look towards the front of the room, he locks eyes with Minghao who’s sitting a few rows in front of them. Stop flirting, he mouths at Soonyoung.

Soonyoung flushes a deeper red and slides down in his seat. They weren’t flirting. That’s just how they are—friends, but not friends, really. He’s hardly ever interacted with Wonwoo outside of their classes. It’s just a matter of coincidence and convenience; he happens to sit next to Wonwoo in their assigned seating, and they have an easy camaraderie built through spending ten hours next to each other every day.

It’s nothing.

He tries to push these thoughts out of his mind as their teacher begins the lecture. Soonyoung moves to pull his textbook out of his bag, but he freezes when he realizes he left it at home after late-night studying the previous night, still flipped open on his bedroom desk. Crap. Their teacher keeps extra copies for students to borrow for the day—but only after handing out detention to go with it. He has a cheer meeting after class, in the narrow margins of time before tutoring. Soonyoung can’t miss it.

Just as he’s working the courage to raise his hand, a hand tugs at his elbow. He turns to look at Wonwoo, who quirks his eyebrow silently, sliding over his own textbook to the centre of their shared desk. Then, as quietly as possible, Wonwoo shifts his seat closer to Soonyoung so that they’re able to both read the textbook. A silent offer to share.

He smiles gratefully at Wonwoo. His heart fills with warmth even as his stomach flutters as if it's doing some of the flips from their cheer routine. “Thanks, Wonwoo-yah,” he whispers under his breath.

That’s the worst thing about being eighteen and in love, Soonyoung thinks, when Wonwoo only squeezes his elbow once in response and leans into him. The way the simplest things can make his heart sing against his ribs.

“Sowon, pick up your weight,” their coach instructs, “remember to lock your arms, not your legs.”

Soonyoung can’t see her nod, but he feels when her weight shifts slightly in her feet. His hands tighten their grip where they’re wrapped around the soles of her shoes, and he focuses on locking his arms in place. At Coach Hyelim’s instruction, she twists down from the cupie with the assistance of Junhui. They set her down on her feet, easily and carefully.

Coach Hyelim smiles, proud and fierce, as she claps her hands twice. “Good, much better and smoother than last week. Well done.”

He breathes out and wipes a hand across his forehead. The burn in his thighs and core is familiar, welcomed after two years of practicing on the cheer team, even if the stickiness of sweat always makes him wrinkle his nose. Soonyoung’s jealous of the rest of the team—only he seems to sweat this much, a fact he used to be embarrassed by.

Slowly, they work their way through their choreography under the steadily rising sun. The baseball game isn’t for another month, but it’s the first time he’s fully choreographed a routine on his own without Seulgi—the previous captain—to help. Seeing it come together, with some minor adjustments made by Coach Hyelim and Chan, has pride soaring through Soonyoung’s chest in a way his own academics never do. It feels good.

“Okay, water break again,” Soonyoung calls out towards the end of their practice, and smiles when their coach nods at him, “and well done, everyone!” He wipes his hands on his training leggings before chugging from his water bottle, the cool relief of the liquid washing down his throat.

In the near distance on the field next to theirs, Soonyoung watches as the school’s baseball team practices their drills. Normally, the cheer team would train in the indoor gym with mats. With weekend practices becoming the norm after Minghao, Junhui, and him became third-years and no longer had time for daily after school practices, they’ve moved to the grass fields at school on Saturdays.

The faint noise of metal colliding with cork and rubber echoes throughout the fields. Even from his distance, he can see their sweat glisten under the morning sun as their bodies bend and twist and work to the coaches’ instructions. Their school is aiming to be invited to the Blue Dragon Flag National High School Baseball Championship this year. Soonyoung can tell, even from a distance, that they’re working harder than ever. One of the players pause and glances over to the field where they’re practicing—he squints, jersey #9—before one of the coaches blows his whistle, and he turns back to his team.

Soonyoung has gotten to know the baseball team since the cheer team usually performs at their games. He’s gotten to know Jihoon throughout the years, and Seungcheol before he graduated. Soonyoung isn’t as close to Mingyu, jersey #9, as Minghao is—though he doesn’t know if he’d want to be from what he’s heard of their ”friendship”.

Seungcheol had been part of the gaming club too. He wonders if he and Wonwoo were friends. There’s a part of him that regrets not paying more attention to the club while Seungcheol had still been a senior. If Soonyoung would have met Wonwoo earlier, would he have realized they were in the same grade before this year?

“Your boyfriend?” Yerim asks, poking his side with a curious finger.

Soonyoung jolts. He didn’t realize the small flyer had snuck up next to him. “No, not mine,” he says, and slides a sly glance towards Minghao. As he had expected, his friend is staring wistfully towards the baseball team. Not that he’d ever admit it.

Yerim hums like she doesn’t quite believe him. “You’re staring though. Thirsty?” She lifts her water bottle and shakes it for emphasis, drawing a laugh from Soonyoung when he hears the slosh of water inside the metal bottle.

“You’ve been paying attention to me, huh,” he remarks in a light tone, a teasing smile on his face as he turns to her, “is there something I should be aware of?”

She erupts into giggles and shoves at his shoulder. “Ew,” she says, scrunching up her nose. “Please, we all know your type.”

His mouth drops in mock offense. “And what,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “is my type?”

A hand slaps on his shoulder and he turns around to find Junhui and Chan, back from their quick washroom break. “Are we talking about Soonyoung’s taste in men?” Chan asks. He tilts his head, scanning the baseball team across the field. “Well, none of those, that’s for sure.”

He’s about to smile triumphantly at Yerim when Junhui adds, “Yeah, he’s too much of a sucker for a pretty face.” He shakes his head as he pulls Soonyoung into a loose headlock, his arm wrapping around Soonyoung’s neck. “And probably someone who spoils him rotten. Gross.”

Soonyoung sputters, his hand automatically coming up to wrap around Junhui’s wrist. He lets it rest there and doesn’t tug, but he turns to look at him with an affronted expression on his face. “Wen Junhui!” he scolds, casting a glare at him, “I’m not that bad.”

“What about Jisoo-hyung?” Chan asks with a coy smile. “You were in love with him for at least a full year.”

He can’t believe they’re bringing up Jisoo. It’s the most doomed romantic venture he’s ever embarked on, second only to his horrible crush on Wonwoo now. There was no way it was ever going to end well, even if Jisoo had somehow returned his feelings—which he didn’t, and Soonyoung had always been okay with that. He knows he can be needy, prone to lavishing in attention as much as he balks at it in equal measures, tempted to shrink away whenever it feels too overwhelming.

But Jisoo had always been kind and indulgent in similar ways that Jeonghan—yet another doomed crush to fail, but thankfully much more short-living—had been. Both had been happy to put up with the way Soonyoung sought and soaked up affection like a sunflower turned towards the sun. At least, up until it got to be too much. Soonyoung dialed it back down then. The boundaries had always been clear between them, and he’s just happy that they’re still close friends now.

Nothing more. Somehow, strangely enough to Soonyoung, even what he had felt for either of them is so different from Wonwoo now.

He doesn’t voice this. “You can’t blame me for that one,” Soonyoung protests as his face reddens, and shrinks back into Junhui’s arms when Yerim pokes at him again, “It’s Jisoo-hyung.” He says it like it explains everything, and in a way, it does.

Chan laughs. There’s no heat behind it. “And from what I see, he’s not that different from Wo—”

“Channie,” Soonyoung cuts in with a whine. He sees Yerim shoot them a curious look.

“I’m just saying,” he says with a shrug, a playful smile playing at the corner of his lips, “Handsome, indulgent, a little bit of a nerd...” Chan pauses, “Though I guess this time he’s even nerdier than your usual...”

Soonyoung shakes his head, a pout on his lips. “It’s different. It’s not the same,” he insists.

And it is different. He thinks back to their early morning cheer practice last Wednesday, when Wonwoo had arrived that morning for his own club activities. Soonyoung recalls the tentative way Wonwoo had lifted his hand up in a wave, the way his own stomach fluttered and churned with the force of a thousand butterflies, ready to burst out at a single wave of a hand.

It had never been that way with anyone else. Maybe that’s why Soonyoung is more hesitant now, more measured in how he leans into Wonwoo’s attention than he ever has been. As if there’s a delicate stability to their interactions. Just like in cheerleading, if Soonyoung can lighten his weight, balance himself, lock his heart like he does with his arms to hold the weight of his flyer during practice, then he won’t get hurt.

A foolproof plan.

Whenever Soonyoung allows himself the grace to reflect on his feelings for Wonwoo, he always returns back to the way his heart skips a beat in his chest, right from the day he met him. Even from the start, when they were first assigned their seating, both awkward and quiet around one another, both too shy in different measures to really get along well at first.

Sometimes he thinks that if Wonwoo had stayed firmly within the threshold of cute library assistant in his mind, Soonyoung wouldn’t be as affected by his traitorous heart as he is now. Soonyoung is oblivious to many things, but he knows himself better than people give him credit for—and he knows, even more than anyone else, how easily he latches onto pretty faces and how crushes blossom for him like seasons change.

And usually, it’s fun.

It’s fun waxing poetics about the fall of Wonwoo’s bangs in his eyes and the turn of his nose to his long-suffering cheer team during summer vacation. It’s fun complaining to his friends at lunch about the quiet student that sits next to him in the final year of their high school career, right at the cusp of adulthood and buried right in between exam prep and career decisions. It’s fun sneaking peeks at Wonwoo when he’s not looking, content with just drinking in the giddiness of sitting so closely to someone cute.

Time works linearly, but the matters of the heart do not. There’s no specific point in time where his relationship—acquaintanceship?—with Wonwoo morphs from awkward seatmates to tentative friends. The pedestal that Soonyoung had built him on had been somewhat in jest, but it fully crumbles once he starts to get to know him.

In its place, Wonwoo carves a place in his heart instead, a small cozy nook where Soonyoung stores all his favourite things about Wonwoo: his nose scrunch, his dad jokes that only he laughs at, and in turn, Soonyoung too when he’s helplessly charmed. It’s hard not to find delight in how Wonwoo stops tiptoeing around Soonyoung and starts teasing him instead, both careful and casual in the affection he doles out.

And just like that, his helpless crush on Wonwoo went from fun, heart-fluttering gossip to doom and gloom and heartache wrapped up neatly in one package.

“You’re being dramatic about this,” Junhui tells him the first time Soonyoung had noticed that his crush went from ‘oh no’ to ‘oh no.’ When Soonyoung pouts at him, he slips Soonyoung the remaining hargow from the bamboo steamer basket and waves Minghao off when he scolds him in Mandarin with an indulgent smile. “I’m not spoiling him!” He points his chopsticks at Soonyoung. “Look at his sad little face!”

He would be more offended if Soonyoung didn’t love being spoiled sometimes, or if Minghao isn’t one of the ones in their extended friend group that pampers him the most. It was his idea for him and Junhui to take Soonyoung out to the new dimsum restaurant in Itaewon to hear out his woes after all.

“Dimsum translates into ‘pieces of one’s heart’,” Minghao tells him sagely as he corrals him onto the subway after one particularly pouty cheer practice. They have only a sliver of time before their Saturday study sessions. Being a high schooler sucks. “Or even ‘to touch one’s heart lightly’ if you read the character for dim differently. What’s a better food to solve your problems with? It’s a meditative exercise, really.”

In other words, Minghao had been craving dimsum.

There’s no way Junhui would let them get dimsum otherwise. “There’s no good dimsum places in this country,” he’s complained more than once, “they never have proper southern Chinese cuisine.”

Soonyoung is grateful for them, and the rest of their friends too, even if it doesn’t stop his lips from puckering up in dissatisfaction at their words. “But he’s not just hot, he’s funny too. This sucks!” he whines, and then plops the shrimp dumpling in his mouth. He wonders how it’d taste with kimchi, but decides not to voice it. “And when I talk to him, I just want to keep talking to him.” He frowns, his cheeks puffed up from the food. “But he never approaches me outside of class.”

“I heard from Mingyu, who heard from Seokmin, that his jokes are kinda lame actually," says Minghao doubtfully. He revises his words when Junhui shoots him a look. "Maybe he’s intimidated by you or something,” Minghao tacks on, “You know, being the cheer captain and all. Social stratification is real, even if that in itself is an arbitrary social construction too.”

Junhui whistles under his breath. “Breaking out the vocab, huh. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“I’ve been studying for the CSAT,” Minghao says primly.

As Minghao and Junhui devolve into some petty bickering, Soonyoung swallows and wipes his mouth with a napkin. He watches them with some fondness. It’s too bad Chan or the other cheer team members couldn’t join them after cheer practice, but he had said he was meeting up with Seungkwan and Hansol. Lucky underclassmen.

He tries not to focus too much on the way Wonwoo’s shoulders stretch out their school uniforms despite his otherwise lanky build, or how his smile reminds him of the gentle black cat he’s seen Wonwoo petting behind the school building sometimes. It’s hard not to, though. Soonyoung has always prided himself for his single-minded focus and relentless drive to chase after his dreams. It’s how he’s managed to pull through as cheer captain even as a senior in high school, despite every teacher and his parents telling him to focus on Suneung first. He’s managing just fine—because he can’t afford not to, not for this.

But Wonwoo...he’s a different beast. One that Soonyoung was never prepared to deal with in his final year of high school. Maybe that’s the worst part about it all; while Soonyoung only half-believes in love at first sight and fate and all the tiny jokes he uses to cover up how deeply his feelings run, he does believe in choosing love.

It’s easy to talk to Wonwoo and get lost in his small smiles, his deep voice, the quiet jokes and banter in between period breaks. It’s even easier to fall in love with him.

It’s a choice Soonyoung makes over and over again. To choose to love.

By the time they’re a quarter way through the first semester of school, things fall into a bit of a routine. Soonyoung grows accustomed to early morning and weekend practices to accommodate for the schedules of the senior members, grows used to the ache in his arms and thighs that accompany the general exhaustion of being a student. In between, he dedicates himself to studying. More than he’d like, maybe, but he’s spurred by his own desire to prove everyone that he can cheer and focus on Suneung too.

There are less opportunities to fool around with his friends, even less chances to see Seungkwan or Chan, who are a grade younger. And when he hangs out with Junhui and Minghao outside of practice, occasionally with Mingyu tagging along with the latter, they’re used for studying.

He tries to whine a bit less about Wonwoo in front of them. They all have enough on their plates with the upcoming university admissions than to listen to him. Still, it does nothing to calm the jumpstart of his heart whenever he’s around Wonwoo, nor does it change the easy way he falls into teasing jokes and lighthearted conversations whenever they’re in class together.

That, too, seems to fall into a routine.

Soonyoung can’t believe how he used to find it awkward when they first sat next to each other. He had been frozen by the realization that he and Wonwoo had been attending the same school this whole time without him realizing it, constantly hyper-aware of his presence and self-conscious of how a library assistant would probably think he’s an idiot. Wonwoo’s silences and quiet nature had felt like an indictment against him at first.

The man before him now is sweet, quiet, but unafraid to make Soonyoung laugh, and far more invested in teasing Soonyoung and making him flush than his appearances would betray. They still don’t talk much outside of class, but Soonyoung grows to look forward to every class break where he gets to learn just a little bit more about Wonwoo. And amazingly enough, Wonwoo seems to want to know Soonyoung too.

Sometimes Soonyoung doesn’t know how it’s possible for him to fall harder and harder for Wonwoo. But then, he realizes, Wonwoo makes it impossible for him not to.

And on Tuesday, Soonyoung just barely slips into class before their teacher arrives.

He had managed to change out of his practice clothes and into the school uniform, but his breathing is still belaboured from a morning full of round-off back handsprings and accuracy drills. His hair is damp from the quick shower, and he tries to hide his embarrassment when Wonwoo casts a sidelong glance of curiosity as he slides into his chair.

There isn’t time for them to talk before class starts. Wonwoo slides him a small smile instead, barely discernible if it weren’t for the fact that Soonyoung has spent the last couple of months studying Wonwoo’s face with the will of a scholar. He’s memorized a dozen tiny details about him by now.

The small quirk of his lips, almost shy in its tentativeness, is yet one more detail Soonyoung commits to his memory.

With Suneung only continuing to rush towards them, each lecture grows in intensity, and Soonyoung finds that today is no different. There’s no time to pause from their class between scribbling down notes and in-class assignments. By the time they’re in their second period of the day, Soonyoung's stomach rumbles with discontent.

His hand freezes mid-scribble. Wonwoo is still looking ahead at the projector screen—thank god—but Soonyoung bites down on his bottom lip at the growing warmth on his cheeks. He had skipped breakfast that morning in his rush to get to practice, and the additional exertion of energy is catching up to him now. His stomach rumbles again.

The teacher continues explaining the concept of rational equations while Soonyoung does his best to focus. He squirms when his stomach grumbles in discontent. Out of the corner of his eye, Wonwoo turns to look at him, but Soonyoung steadily trains his eyes to the front of the room. His ears heat.

It’s not until class ends for another ten minute break that Soonyoung finally lets himself slump in his chair. “I’m so hungry,” he whines, and buries his head in his arms. He kicks his feet out. “Why isn’t it lunch yet?”

Wonwoo is silent for a moment, and Soonyoung wonders if he had left the room without him noticing. He’s about to lift his head and check, maybe Wonwoo had gone to talk to their teacher, or maybe he even scared him off somehow—

Something nudges gently at his hand. “Here,” says Wonwoo in a quiet voice. He nudges Soonyoung again, and this time he can hear the crinkle of plastic.

He pulls his head up, blinking at Wonwoo in confusion, and he drops his eyes to Wonwoo’s hands. Clasped in his palm is a roll of kimbap, packaged neatly in plastic wrap that he normally finds in the convenience store. The school doesn’t sell kimbap at their cafeteria or any of the vending machines. Wonwoo must have bought it himself before he arrived at school today.

Soonyoung stares at the kimbap, his mouth falling slightly open when he returns his gaze back to Wonwoo. His shoulders are tense and his eyes are averted away from Soonyoung, a tinge of pink blooming across his cheeks.

Soonyoung’s heart feels too big for his chest. He clears his throat and says, “Is this— is this yours? I can’t take your food.”

Wonwoo locks eyes with him, wide-eyed and determined even despite the growing flush on his cheeks, like he’s embarrassed by his own gesture—and shit, Soonyoung’s chest is nearly about to burst, he’s so in love.

“It’s fine,” Wonwoo says, still quiet. The words come out slow and steady, carefully chosen in a way that belies Wonwoo’s thoughtfulness. It makes Soonyoung’s heart sing against his ribs, worsened still when Wonwoo swallows back a smile. “You had cheer practice this morning, right? You’re working so hard.”

He blinks at Wonwoo and tries to ignore the somersaulting of his heart. His ears are red, he can feel it, and knows that the blush creeps down to his neck too. Soonyoung glances down at the kimbap. Back at Wonwoo again. “Still, I can’t—”

“You’re, um,” Wonwoo cuts in and rubs at the back of his neck, “you’re doing a good job. And you should eat this before our next class starts.” He looks shy, so unbearably hesitant in his offer, but so damnably earnest—like it’s meaningful for him to feed Soonyoung—that Soonyoung’s chest fills with a tender warmth; his chest feels like it’s been lit aflame.

Still, he can’t help the smile that breaks out. With a shy smile of his own, blossoming on his face under the weight of all his emotions, Soonyoung reaches out and gently wraps his fingers around the roll of kimbap.

He just looks at him for a moment, and then says, “Thanks, Wonwoo. You’re— you’re a warm person, you know.” It’s more than he’s used to saying to Wonwoo, even if it’s much less than what he admits to himself. The vulnerability of being too honest strikes a raw chord in him.

Wonwoo doesn’t seem to mind. He breathes out a short laugh, and his eyes soften, shoulders relaxing from its tense hold. “I’m glad, Soonyoung-ah.”

With the last game of the official baseball season drawing closer in October, the cheer team practices even harder. Hours sink into perfecting their routine, and by unanimous decision, the three of the senior members decide to skip their after school tutoring on Friday in order to slip in extra practice time. The big game takes place next week on Thursday. They need to be prepared.

They practice on mats in the indoor gym this time. Soonyoung keeps himself focused as he leads the team through their drills and then through their routine, over and over again until he thinks they have it all seared into their brains. Even during practice, Soonyoung pours his heart into each lift, cheer, and tumble—and he reels with pride as the team finishes the routine with few mistakes.

There’s no more minute changes and adjustments to their choreography, not this close to the performance.

Practice ends with sweat-drenched clothing as always. Soonyoung takes them through their cool-down stretch routine, and relishes in the pleasant ache in his muscles as he drops into a standing straddle stretch, his hands placed flat on the floor and legs bent straight. They’ve been at it for hours and the sun has likely slipped past the horizon by now.

“Oh,” Jihyun says, as they’re packing away the practice mats, “the cultural festival is coming up!” She turns to Soonyoung and Minghao, and then pivots to point at Junhui who’s helping Chan with the trolley. “Are the third-years participating too?”

Usually, the first and second-years of the team plan their cultural festival activities. Last year it had been Chan—he’s always been the type to take initiative, a trait that Soonyoung has always admired in him—and they had raised enough money to purchase new squad uniforms.

“I want to,” Soonyoung says, glancing at Minghao. “Are you?”

Minghao shrugs, and pauses to take a sip from his water bottle. “Maybe for a bit. I made plans with Mingyu and Seokmin that day, so I want to make sure I have enough free time.”

Jihyun claps her hands in excitement. “C’mon, it’ll be more fun with all of you there!” she says, bumping her hip against Minghao. “Besides, maybe it’ll be something Mingyu will want to see.”

He muffles his laugh when Minghao starts blushing. “I don’t know what you mean by that,” he says tersely, and then clears his throat when Jihyun only responds with a pointed look at the lettering inscribed on his water bottle: Yongsan High School Baseball.

Faintly he registers the rustle and murmur of voices outside of the gym, but he keeps his focus on affixing the mats onto the trolley. He murmurs a quiet thanks to Sowon as she passes him another stack. The doors are propped open with a chair to let the cool air into the gym. Soonyoung assumes it’s students staying late to study, or for their own club activities.

“Trust me,” Jihyun continues, her smile stretching wide and cat-like on her face, “We’re going the full fanservice. Maid cafe but instead of maid uniforms, we’re all wearing the girls’ cheer uniform.” She leans in, waggling her eyebrows. “All of us.”

Minghao chokes on his next words. “You want us to wear a skirt?”

“Yep!” She grins happily at the look on Minghao’s face. “It’ll be fun,” she insists at the doubtful look flashing on Minghao’s face.

Soonyoung lets out a small huff of laughter and shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t mind,” he says, “It’s not like it’ll be the first time I wore the girls’ cheer uniform.” He pauses, and then frowns, recalling the carwash drive they did last year. “The skirt is a bit too short for me though. Last time, my underwear kept showing each time I bent even the slightest bit over—”

Outside the gym doors, an abrupt clanging noise interrupts his thoughts. A metallic sound echoes through the small gym. Soonyoung freezes. It’s followed by a loud shout, and then a murmur of are you okay’s right outside the open doors. A spike of worry runs down Soonyoung’s spine. He exchanges a look with Jihyun and Minghao, and then silently, they hurry out the doors to find the source of the commotion.

A small chorus of worried murmurs grow louder as they step through the door. Soonyoung isn’t surprised to find a small group amassed outside despite the late hour—plenty of students stay late night into the night in their final year—but he is surprised to see Wonwoo at the centre of it.

He barely holds back a gasp at the sight of him. Wonwoo has his hand clutched tightly over his face, but it does nothing to block the blood that drips down his face. Beside him, he can hear the sharp intake of breath from Minghao, and a low cuss from Jihyun.

“Wonwoo?” he blurts out. His heart rate spikes at the sight of blood. There’s a pang of panic in his chest, only slightly quelled by the sight of Seokmin standing next to him. For a moment, he forgets about cleaning up the gym, or the fact that he’s still in his practice leggings, still sweaty from practice. Soonyoung pushes past the small crowd. “Wonwoo— are you okay?” He trades a glance at Seokmin. “What happened?”

Seokmin’s eyes are wide with shock, and his hands flutter at Wonwoo’s side in alarm. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice wavering, “we were just talking— we just finished with gaming club— and he abruptly stopped talking as we were passing the gym, then next thing I know—bam.” Seokmin gesticulates with his hands, clapping them together. “I look back and Wonwoo had somehow walked into a pillar...” his voice trails off as he shoots another worried look at Wonwoo.

“I’m fine,” Wonwoo interjects then, waving the crowd away from him. He’s still clutching his nose, but it does little to staunch the flow of blood. “Don’t worry about it.”

It sounds improbable to Soonyoung and he stares at Wonwoo with a hint of bewilderment. He’s never so much as seen Wonwoo as the type to be clumsy, even if there are occasions when he gets lost in thought. He quickly discards the thought—worry still creeping up at him from Wonwoo’s injury.

Carefully, almost gingerly, he rests his hand along the flat of Wonwoo’s back. His chest aches when he notices Wonwoo wince. Soonyoung’s lips tug down into a frown. “Let’s go to the infirmary,” he says, his voice soft, as if speaking louder would hurt Wonwoo more. “I’ll help bandage you up.”

Wonwoo tries to protest. “I’m fi—”

“Come on,” he repeats, this time firmer. There’s a small noise at his elbow and an underclassman squeaks out, “Oh, Soonyoung-hyung,” but he’s too distracted to return anything but an absentminded hello. Soonyoung leads Wonwoo out of the crowd and down the hallway. From the corner of his eye, he sees Minghao pull Seokmin back when he tries to follow them, but his focus returns back to Wonwoo when he tries to assure Soonyoung he’s fine once again.

“Seriously, it’s just a minor nosebleed,” Wonwoo says. His voice is muffled by his hand.

Soonyoung only shakes his head, gently tugging on Wonwoo’s hand as he guides him towards the infirmary. The nurse has probably returned home from the night, but she leaves the room open in case students need access to bandages. Everything else is locked up.

“Let me take care of you,” Soonyoung says, his voice soft and quiet once again, as they round the corner. He squeezes Wonwoo’s hand, “Come on, Wonwoo-yah.”

“So what happened?” Soonyoung asks, and tilts his head as he holds a wad of tissues up to Wonwoo’s nose. They’re seated next to each other on the infirmary bed, although Soonyoung has balanced himself gingerly on the edge, self-conscious of the cooling sweat on his body.

Wonwoo winces and reaches up again to take the issues from Soonyoung, but sheepishly drops his hand at the look he receives. He shifts a little on the bed. “Nothing,” he says, “Just wasn’t looking.”

Soonyoung blinks at him. He had said it lightly, quietly, but with a hint of an underlying emotion to it. Wonwoo isn’t quite meeting his eyes, and Soonyoung catches the way his eyelashes flutter before he looks away. He’s not sure how to read it.

He doesn’t want to press. Soonyoung fumbles his ways with boundaries sometimes, but when it comes to other people—when it comes to Wonwoo—he always treads with a careful touch. Easing off, he says instead, “I’m just glad you didn’t get a worse injury.”

It doesn’t seem to be much more than a nosebleed. Soonyoung isn’t an expert, but he’s been around enough cheer practice incidents to know his way around the infirmary—or at least what hasn’t been locked up for safety overnight.

Soonyoung pulls back and lets Wonwoo take the tissue this time. This, he realizes, is the first time that he’s seeing Wonwoo outside the filter of daylight. Even with the garish fluorescent lighting and the blood-splattered collar of his shirt, Soonyoung’s heart goes into overdrive. He’s not wearing his glasses, they had been knocked off when he collided with the pillar, and Soonyoung can’t decide whether he looks cuter with or without them.

The moon glows just outside the peek of the windows, the skies falling in hues of purples and blues as night takes shape overhead. He wonders what it would be like to see Wonwoo under the sheen of stars too. Soonyoung would be happy to discover Wonwoo at all times of the day.

Silence falls between them. It’s not awkward between them, but it’s not entirely comfortable either. There’s something that feels deeper, heavier and lingering in the air between them. Like Wonwoo is holding himself back from saying whatever he’s thinking. Soonyoung isn’t sure what it is.

“How was gaming club?” Soonyoung says instead, carefully neutral, hoping his expression is schooled into something more casual than lovelorn. He’s heard enough from Seungkwan that he can never fully control his face around Wonwoo. “Did you, um, win?” He tries not to wince at how clearly oblivious about gaming he sounds.

Wonwoo doesn’t seem to mind—and in fact, the change in subject seems to help, and he sits up a little straighter. “Oh, yeah, we had Seungcheol-hyung joining us from home —” he breaks off suddenly, and before Soonyoung can question him, Wonwoo shakes his head and continues, “Um, you remember Seungcheol-hyung right?”

The brief hesitation in Wonwoo’s words gives him pause. Soonyoung tilts his head and nods. “Yeah, he was on the baseball team too,” he says. “I saw him a lot because of the games.”

“I remember,” Wonwoo says, looking down at his lap, “I went to one of his games last year, um, the last one. The whole club did, just to support him.” He meets Soonyoung’s eyes again, his tongue flitting out to wet his bottom lip. “Uh, I thought you were really cool back then too. At the game.”

Words die on his lips as Soonyoung stares at him with wide eyes. Wonwoo has seen him cheering, he thinks, his heart racing in his chest. It’s as if he’s forgotten how to speak, suddenly breathless in the face with the realization that Wonwoo has known him all along. He had never shown any indication that he remembered Soonyoung even on their first day of class; now, Soonyoung grapples with the fact that Wonwoo not only knew him then, not only at the library, but for a full year now.

Wonwoo has seen him cheering. And he remembers him from it.

A moment passes. “Soonyoung...?” Wonwoo asks, a frown playing at the corner of his lips.

Hastily, Soonyoung shakes himself from his shock and rushes to respond. “After he graduated, I tried learning how to play some games from him, but...” Soonyoung laughs, a little embarrassedly and still reeling from his realization, and lets the silence speak for itself.

He doesn’t tell Wonwoo that he had specifically asked Seungcheol to teach him so that he could have something in common with Wonwoo, nor that it failed spectacularly when Soonyoung could hardly stand to stare at the monitor for that long.

“Right,” Wonwoo says. For a moment, Soonyoung thinks his voice sounds strained. He can’t imagine why though. A smile is fixed on Wonwoo’s face, “Right, uh, I heard about that.” A pause, and then Wonwoo clears his throat. “How, um, how was that? With Seungcheol-hyung, I mean.”

He pinkens at the memory of Seungcheol tossing the mouse in disgust after Soonyoung failed to get even a single shot on the enemy team. Seungcheol is as unfailingly kind as he is competitive—and maybe the competitiveness won out. “I’m not that good at games,” he admits, “I don’t know much about it. I wanted to learn, I guess.” To play with you, he thinks.

Hesitant eyes meet Soonyoung as Wonwoo bites on his bottom lip. Soonyoung is distracted by the motion, enough that he nearly misses Wonwoo’s next words: “Would you—” Wonwoo starts, sounding shy, “I could teach you, if you want.” Under the fluorescent glow, Wonwoo’s face blushes an inviting pink. “If you wanted, maybe we can— we can go to a PC bang sometime?”

And then he smiles, soft and small, and Soonyoung feels like he’s a cheerleading flyer who has been thrown into a basket toss with no base to catch him at the bottom. His heart soars into his throat.

“Yes,” Soonyoung says immediately. Wonwoo looks surprised, somehow, and he blushes at how eager he sounds. “I would love that, Wonwoo-yah,” he says, this time a little lighter in tone.

He thinks he would press the sight of Wonwoo with a soft smile playing at the edges of his lips into his memory, preserved between pages like pressed flowers, if he could. Soonyoung doesn’t want to delude himself; Wonwoo has never shown any interest in him, it’s more likely he just wants to— to thank him for helping him at the infirmary or something. It’s not a date. Not when Wonwoo is still holding a bloodied tissue to his nose, and Soonyoung is still sticky with sweat. No one could consider that romantic.

But maybe Soonyoung wouldn’t mind if it was. He would say yes in a heartbeat to Wonwoo, always, even if he was still lying on the floor of the library where Wonwoo worked for the summer, bowled over by a wayward kid. He would say yes to Wonwoo anywhere, and in any circumstances.

It won’t be a date, but Soonyoung can’t help but wish it were.

I can do this, Soonyoung thinks, and draws in a deep breath as he checks his reflection in a window for the eighth time—and he’s only been counting since he left his house. He repeats all the comforting words that his friends gave him last night in the group chat. A voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Seungkwan says, shut up and walk already, you’re going to be late.

He glances around to make sure no one is watching, and then he gives himself a resolute nod before he continues his trek to the PC bang. It’s not a far walk from his station. When he arrives, Wonwoo is already there—and it suddenly dawns on him that this will be the first time he sees Wonwoo outside of their school uniform since the summer. His heart lurches a little at the long sweater sleeves that drape over Wonwoo’s hands, almost too cute for Soonyoung to handle.

Wonwoo notices him as soon as he turns the corner. His stomach twists in anticipation as he draws closer, and he tries his best to tamp down on his nervous energy as he lifts his hand in a wave. Soonyoung notices the soft smile tugging at the corner of Wonwoo’s lips, the pink in his nose and ears from the cold, and the way his hair is styled in soft waves.

He always notices Wonwoo, riveted by every small detail.

“Hi,” Wonwoo says, and his face brightens just slightly, “You look cu— warm. Warm. You look warm.” Soonyoung blinks and wonders what Wonwoo was going to say, but he’s distracted when Wonwoo tugs lightly at the tassels on his scarf. “Ready?”

He nods. “I’ve been looking forward to today,” Soonyoung says, and then flushes when Wonwoo looks a little shy in response too. He pulls the door open and looks back at Wonwoo. “As ready as you are,” he says. Soonyoung hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.

Soonyoung follows Wonwoo into the PC bang. Dark walls are lit aglow with the technicolour computer screens, rows upon rows of high-powered computers lined with leather computer chairs. It’s busy—it’s a Saturday after all—but Wonwoo quickly guides them to two open seats next to each other.

“I’ll go pay,” Wonwoo says, and before Soonyoung can protest, he heads up to the payment machine next to the front desk to register them both into the system. He returns with their automatically generated IDs and helps them both login.

“Thank you,” Soonyoung says, embarrassed but pleased as Wonwoo makes sure their computers are both running properly. His traitorous heart flutters at the way Wonwoo takes care of him. Maybe his friends were right—he does like getting pampered. But he doesn’t want Wonwoo to think it’s one-sided either, and with as much excitement as there is nervous trepidation, he says: “Let me treat you for dinner then. In return.”

Wonwoo offers him a hesitant smile. “You don’t have to,” he says, “really, you don’t owe me anything. But dinner— dinner sounds nice.”

“I want to,” Soonyoung says firmly. His lips tug upwards when Wonwoo’s smile turns a little more confident. Another brief silence falls between them though, and to break up the awkwardness a little, he says, “What’s your favourite game to play lately?”

It helps dissipate the lingering tension in the air. Wonwoo rolls his chair towards Soonyoung’s computer and hovers his hand over the mouse in a silent question. Upon Soonyoung’s nod of assent, Wonwoo quickly clicks through the desktop menu and opens up a program. A launch window flashes onto the screen. “This one— Genshin Impact.” He points a finger at the monitor. “It’s pretty new, but it’s easy to pick up since it’s an RPG— we don’t have to, though, if you want like an FPS or a MOBA.”

Soonyoung tries to parse out the slew of acronyms and latches on the one he recognizes first. “RPG sounds good,” he says, and has to bite down on a smile when Wonwoo looks excited. He thinks he would be elated to try anything that Wonwoo likes— just to share in his joy too. He keeps that thought to himself. Instead, Soonyoung tilts his head at Wonwoo. “Teach me how to play?”

He listens as Wonwoo explains the game mechanics to him. Some—most of it—flies over his head as soon Wonwoo starts using terms like gacha and rolls but Wonwoo’s voice, deep and soothing to the ears, remains gentle as he answers Soonyoung’s questions. At first, he worries whether Wonwoo will tire of him quickly, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Still, it’s trickier than he’d anticipated. Soonyoung fumbles with the controls, moving through the open world map clunkily, but Wonwoo keeps on reminding him on the right keys to use. Slowly, he gets the hang of it.

Soonyoung faces his first obstacle once he runs into his first mob of monsters. His mouth falls into a pout as he squints at the bright monitor as he attempts to remember his different abilities while juggling cooldown periods. He does an abysmal job. Next to him, where Wonwoo is still watching, he hears a wince as his characters’ health depletes.

“Soonyoung-ah, here,” Wonwoo says suddenly, standing up behind Soonyoung. He leans in, his face so close. Wonwoo reaches over, eyes flickering down to Soonyoung’s before they return to the screen. The warmth of his palm emanates over Soonyoung’s hand as he gently guides his mouse. “Like this.”

And then he gently pulls Soonyoung’s other hand off the keyboard so that he can navigate the keys instead.

Faintly, he hears the soothing murmur of Wonwoo’s voice as he explains how to beat the monsters. Soonyoung can’t focus. Heat blooms in his face, his stomach flipping as if it's doing back handsprings, and his entire body feels on alert and attuned to the heat of Wonwoo’s body. This close, he can pick up the clean fragrance of his fabric softener and the more subtle notes of cologne: minty and earthy. His heartbeat accelerates. It thuds so loudly he’s afraid Wonwoo can hear it.

Wonwoo is still talking, but for a moment, Soonyoung is distracted by the way Wonwoo’s hair curls across his forehead, how he blinks his eyes rapidly when a few stray strands fall into his eyes. Without thinking, Soonyoung starts to reach out with his free hand, the one not held under Wonwoo’s as he guides the mouse.

His hand pauses in the distance between himself and Wonwoo. An incomplete gesture. Then, as if coming back to his senses, Soonyoung jerks his hand back. It catches Wonwoo’s attention, and he pauses mid-sentence, tilting his head towards Soonyoung.

“Is something wrong?” he asks. There’s a shift in Wonwoo’s eyes, a note of concern flashes onto his face. He leans back and his hands lift off from where they had wrapped themselves around Soonyoung in a pseudo-back hug. Immediately, Soonyoung misses his warmth.

Soonyoung panics. From all the months of sitting next to Wonwoo, of bantering with him between classes and under whispered breaths, the teasing bickerings that keep his heart thumping rapidly in his chest, he’s grown used to the yearning; the desire to reach out and to touch raging just as strongly as his desire to kiss him. In all those months, he had never come as close to as he just had now.

“Nothing,” he blurts out hastily, “Nothing, just, your hair was in your eyes—” Soonyoung hates how he can feel himself blushing again. “I just— you know—” Before he can let too much slip, he cuts himself off.

Wonwoo stares at him for a few seconds, and then he erupts into another bashful smile. “Oh,” he says softly, and there’s a searching look on his face as he studies Soonyoung intently, “Okay,” he says.

He’s not sure what Wonwoo finds, but it seems to settle him, and he leans in closer again. Soonyoung’s heart does somersaults against his ribcage, a helpless reaction to Wonwoo’s proximity. But as Wonwoo continues guiding him through the game, Soonyoung finds himself leaning back into his warmth.

It doesn’t take much longer for Soonyoung to get a better handle on the game. Despite that, Wonwoo doesn’t leave his side, happy to ignore his own computer as he shows Soonyoung where to head on the map. And as their hours are used up, the comfortable familiarity settles between them again.

By the time they’re leaving the dimmed darkness of the PC bang and into the autumn Seoul air, Soonyoung walks with a lightness in his chest and a soaring happiness. He mock-pouts as Wonwoo teases him for some for the dumb risks he took in the game that almost led to his avatar’s dying. Soonyoung doesn’t mind though. He never does.

Wonwoo doesn’t make any move to head towards the subway station, and neither does Soonyoung.

It’s unspoken. Neither of them seem to want to leave yet, and when Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate before asking where they should eat dinner, Soonyoung finally, finally lets it happen; he lets himself hold hope.

Maybe it’s a date after all.

The days leading up to the final game of the season pass in a daze. Nothing changes between him and Wonwoo after the weekend. Nothing resolute, anyway. Soonyoung is okay with it, and he tells his friends that when they ask afterwards.

Too wrapped up in cheer practice, still giddy from the newness and tentative hope he’s allowed himself to feel, to poke at the feathering bloom of their relationship.

It can wait. For now, he has a cheer team to lead and a routine to perform. Months of practice of new stunts, perfecting his tumbling, and guiding the team boils down to this performance. He’s not going to let it go to waste.

On the day of the game, the bleachers fill up. It’s not a huge crowd, nothing at all in the leagues of the annual championship tournaments. But it’s sizable enough that it motivates them as they cheer for the baseball team.

“Okay, team, we got this,” Soonyoung says to the team as they huddle before the game. He adjusts his uniform. And with a short motivational speech and a cheer, they take their positions as the game starts.

Music courses through his body. As it does with every performance, Soonyoung lets the rhythm and the beat guide him, his body flowing through the routine, crisp and quick. He lives for this. The high energy, the dancing, the performance, the cheers.

Backflips, jumps, splits. A smile for the crowd. Soonyoung grips his pom-poms tightly as he guides the team through a cheer. He knows the moves like the back of his hand, has worked and reworked the choreography with Chan and their coach. He moves through routine after routine with ease.

Soonyoung makes eye contact with Minghao and Chan as they tumble backwards in their practiced choreography, and they stick their landing, arms popped into the air, posture perfect and poised. As the baseball team reaches the bottom of the first inning, they circle off into their smaller stunt groups. He stands at the base with Junhui, and they guide Sowon into her stunt sequence. 360 to full rewind to half twist down. Tick tock from heel stretch. Each flyer twists through their routine with fluidity and flexibility, ending with a magnificent basket toss.

He catches sight of Mingyu sliding a glance in their direction as he heads to the pitcher’s mound—at Minghao, really—and he throws a wink his way. Just to tease. The crowd cheers in tandem with them, and he swears Minghao throws himself into the routine harder. Soonyoung makes a mental note to tease him about it later.

The game continues. Their school scratches two runs off of the away team, with Jihoon in the batter’s box, and they strike out the other team with Mingyu at the mound. Soonyoung rallies the small home crowd with a song, sweat dripping on his body as they dance with their heart poured into their routine. He thinks he hears his name shouted from the crowd, but his mind is too focused on leading their team into a cheer session.

At the bottom of the ninth inning, their baseball team claws their way out from a deficit with only two runs. The game ends. Soonyoung and their cheer squad celebrate with the team, their pom-poms raised high in the air in pride. Victory.

The stands roar with excitement as the rest of the baseball team filters out of the dugout and floods onto the fields. Jihoon immediately gets lost in the swarm, only to resurface moments later as Hansol tosses him into the air. Loud voices erupt around him as the cheerleaders rush towards them from the sidelines, joining in on the celebration, and Soonyoung lets himself get tugged along by Chan.

They’ve practiced and worked alongside each other enough that this victory feels like theirs too. A smile tugs at his lips, and he pulls Jihoon into a reluctant hug as soon as the catcher gets put back down on the grass by Hansol.

Junhui resurfaces from the throng of athletes. “Soonyoung, look!” he says, and turns suddenly in the direction of the stands. Soonyoung follows his gaze to the crowd, and he scans the stands to find what—who—has caught Junhui’s attention. His heart twists in his chest, quickening into an accelerated beat, in both elation and nervous anticipation. Could it be...?

He catches sight of someone familiar just as Junhui tugs at his arm again. “It’s Seungkwan!” he says, and points towards their friend, who is the only person Soonyoung recognizes in the stands. Seungkwan is standing proud, clapping with tiny little jumps in excitement. “He came!”

It’s heartwarming and adorable. As much as he bickers with Seungkwan, he’s always been their most steadfast supporter outside of the cheer team. But still, Soonyoung can’t help the sinking of his heart, and the lurch of disappointment of who he doesn’t find.

It’s fine, Soonyoung thinks to himself, and musters a smile again when he turns back to the two teams still amidst a frenzied celebration. It’s not like I asked him to come.

Their respective coaches call for their teams to file off the fields after a minute or two. They all still have classes tomorrow anyway, and while the baseball team is finishing their season, both of their teams continue to train year-round in their lead up to the championship tournaments.

Soonyoung starts walking back to the locker rooms with his team. He gets lost in the chatter with Chan, already reviewing areas of their performance that they could improve on for next time, and nearly misses the excited gasp from Junhui from beside him. His sharp elbow jabs Soonyoung in the sides.

He looks up. Wonwoo is standing there, his hands jammed into the pockets of his yellow and black gaming club jacket. And he’s smiling at Soonyoung.

“Wonwoo?” Soonyoung calls out confusedly. His heart races in his chest at the small smile on Wonwoo’s face. “What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo is still smiling as he pushes himself off of the wall, just outside of their locker room, and walks towards Soonyoung. Golden gingko trees tower around the small nook around the cheer team’s locker rooms, and the sunnied leaves filter through a soft warm glow of setting sunlight onto the planes of Wonwoo’s face. It’s a sight he can’t look away from. Soonyoung barely notices when his friends shoo the rest of the team into the locker rooms.

“Congratulations on the game,” says Wonwoo. They’re standing nearly toe-to-toe, and it does terrible things to Soonyoung’s heart. His smile is warm. “You worked hard.”

“I’m not part of the baseball team,” Soonyoung answers dumbly, and then shakes his head, wincing at himself. He feels like he’s in a daze. Wonwoo is here. “Sorry, I mean— it’s their victory, really. Not ours.”

Wonwoo laughs a little, just an airy sound, too delicate to be fully audible. “Right,” he says, and Soonyoung’s not sure if it’s just a trick of the light but he thinks Wonwoo may be blushing. “I just— you were amazing out there. You, um, you shine on stage. To me. I mean, actually, you— you shine everywhere. I just. You’re amazing, and you work so hard, and you’re so passionate, I think you’re— god, I’m not saying any of this right.”

He stares at Wonwoo. He’s definitely blushing, and the realization steals Soonyoung’s breath away.

“I—” Soonyoung begins, and then before he can properly collect his thoughts, he blurts out, “I didn’t think you would come.”

The flush of embarrassment morphs into startled confusion. “What? Why not?” Wonwoo asks, sounding puzzled.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, and tugs at his ear distractedly, “I just— didn’t think you noticed me.”

If anything, the puzzlement grows stronger. “Didn’t think I— Soonyoung, I—” Wonwoo falters. He looks at Soonyoung, really looks at him, gaze intense and filled with an unreadable emotion. “Soonyoung, I’ve always noticed you. Even— even before the first game I went to for Seungcheol last year. You’re Kwon Soonyoung, cheer captain.” And then Wonwoo laughs, not out of amusement, but maybe more to hide the growing blush on his face. “But I mean, you’re also so much more than that.”

“And you’re Jeon Wonwoo, leader of the gaming club,” Soonyoung says, unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice. “I just— I suck at games, and I’m not that good at school, and you’re always whispering the answer to me when the teacher calls on me in class—”

Wonwoo grabs his hand. Not harshly, gentle in the way Wonwoo always carries himself, but it cuts his words off at the root nonetheless. His warm brown eyes shine under the sunset glow as he looks at Soonyoung.

The pom-pom falls onto the ground unnoticed. His heart pounds harder in his chest. Soonyoung is certain that it’s just one more beat away from bursting, the warmth of Wonwoo’s hand around his.

“Soonyoung, you’re— you’re passionate, you make me laugh, you laugh at my jokes, and— and you try incredibly hard. Everything you do, you pour your heart into it. You’re charming, and your strength and determination, it’s— it’s like whenever I want to give up, I learn so much just by seeing you work so hard.” Wonwoo swallows visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “You’re so— you’re so much more in all these amazing ways and— and it’s like I can’t look away from you sometimes.” He finishes in one long breathless sentence, eyes wide as he looks at Soonyoung.

Whenever someone asks Soonyoung why he started cheerleading, he always finds it hard to answer. It’s the athleticism, he sometimes says, or maybe the performance of it. On days where cheer practice drains him more than usual, he goes back to the original reason: it’s the way their dance club folded in his first year, and he roped all of his friends into joining the next best thing with him.

Distilled into its simplest form, though, Soonyoung finds joy in it. In the moment when he does a somersault, when he does a back handspring, when he does a high flying basket toss and is suspended in midair, with nothing but his own form and precision and the ground beneath him, Soonyoung soars.

If the team didn’t need more bases, Soonyoung thinks he would’ve loved to be a flyer instead. He relishes in the way his stomach flips with him, in the vulnerability of trusting his teammates, in the capacity to build that trust. And when he sticks that landing—and he almost always does—there’s that rush, that blinding rush of endorphins and pride all swelling up in his lungs so that he can hardly breathe.

Now, standing in front of Wonwoo with the cool autumn breeze brushing past them, Soonyoung feels that now. His heart tumbles in his chest, a stunt sequence all on its own, nearly bursting with how much he feels around Wonwoo.

And then he thinks, screw it, and then Soonyoung leans up, rising up on the very tip of his toes to press his lips against Wonwoo’s. He closes his eyes as Wonwoo makes a muffled gasp, and lets everything fall away when Wonwoo’s hand, still wrapped around Soonyoung’s fingers, tug him closer until he’s pressed against his chest. Almost reflexively, Wonwoo cups his hand around the back of Soonyoung’s hips and then angles himself to kiss him harder. His lips are soft against Soonyoung.

His own hands come up to grip at Wonwoo’s shoulders, one pom-pom still clutched tight on his other hand, and he inhales in the clean scent of his fabric softener and cologne, allows all his senses to blur away until all he can feel is the overwhelming presence of Wonwoo all around him. Soonyoung deepens the kiss, his heart races, stomach flutters, drowning in the taste of Wonwoo and wanting more—

“Hell yeah!” A voice hollers, and Soonyoung pulls away, half-dazed and startled. It’s Kim Mingyu, just passing by on his way to the baseball team’s locker room, somehow alone and late when Soonyoung swears the rest of the team has already cleared off the field. “Get it, Kwon Soonyoung!” He disappears into the other locker room before either of them can answer.

Soonyoung has never hated Kim Mingyu more in that moment.

Next to him, Wonwoo’s eyes are wide and his cheeks are flushed, and looks so beautiful that Soonyoung forgets about Mingyu entirely. He stares at Soonyoung. They’re standing close enough that Soonyoung can still feel his warm breath against his face.

“I like you,” Soonyoung breathes out. He feels winded. His lips tingle from the ghost of their kiss. Biting down on his bottom lip, he peers at Wonwoo through his lashes, suddenly shy as the words pull from his mouth like he’ll explode if he doesn’t say it. “I like you, Jeon Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo smiles. Soonyoung’s stomach is swooping and fluttering, just like it does when he soars through a tumbling stunt. He tugs Soonyoung closer again, this time with his arms around his waist. “I like you too, Kwon Soonyoung,” he says.

This time, it’s Wonwoo who pulls him in for a kiss, as sweet and slow and soft as their first. And this time, Soonyoung has the presence in mind to extend his arm up, one hand gripped around his pom-pom as he raises it to shield their faces from any other passerbys, his other hand sliding up to cup Wonwoo’s perfect jawline.

They kiss, again and again, half-hidden behind Soonyoung’s pom-pom, and full of love.