The weekend had never felt so long.
Two whole days of restless tossing in bed, staring at the ceiling until my eyes burned, pretending I could distract myself with games, homework, anything. But everything I touched reminded me of him. The way my lips still tingled, the way my chest had burned with both fear and something dangerously close to longing.
Ha-neul.
That kiss—if I could even call it that—haunted me.
It wasn't like the other dares people laughed about. It wasn't silly, or meaningless. Not to me. Maybe to him. Maybe he'd already erased it from his mind. But for me, it was still there, carved deep like someone had pressed a brand into my skin.
By Sunday night, I'd convinced myself a hundred different times to stop thinking about it. And by Monday morning, standing in front of our classroom door, I was no closer to succeeding. My hands were damp, my heart beating too fast, my bag strap digging into my shoulder.
I pushed the door open anyway.
The familiar hum of the classroom greeted me—chairs scraping, chatter buzzing, the faint scent of chalk dust and polished floors. Everyone looked the same, voices spilling into the air, laughter bouncing off the walls. Normal.
Except it wasn't. Not for me.
Because my gaze went straight to him.
Ha-neul was already there, sitting on his seat as always. His bag was tucked neatly under his desk, his notebook open, his pen poised between his fingers. The morning light spilled across his face, softening the sharp line of his jaw, catching faint glints of blue in his eyes as he stared outside.
He looked calm. Untouched by everything. Like Friday night had been nothing.
I stood there longer than I should have, frozen like an idiot, before I forced my legs to move. The scrape of my chair as I sat beside him sounded louder than usual, echoing in my ears.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then he turned his head slightly, his gaze brushing mine for the briefest second before flickering back down to his notes.
"…Morning," I said, my throat dry.
"…Morning," he answered, his voice soft, flat.
And just like that, silence fell. Not the easy kind we used to share, where words weren't necessary. This one pressed down on me, heavy, suffocating, full of everything unsaid.
I gripped my pen too tightly, my knuckles pale. I wanted to laugh it off, make a dumb joke, ask him if he wanted to go grab lunch later. But the words wouldn't form. Not when every glance, every faint movement, dragged me back to Friday.
His hair fell slightly into his eyes, and he brushed it back absently. His hand tapped the side of his notebook, steady, precise. His shoulders looked tense, though, drawn tighter than usual.
He wasn't as unaffected as he wanted to look. I could feel it.
The teacher came in, and the room shifted into focus—books opening, pens scratching. I tried to listen, to copy the formulas written across the board, but my eyes slid sideways again and again.
And sometimes, his did too.
Our gazes caught once, unexpectedly. His blue eyes held mine for a moment too long, unreadable but steady. Something flickered there—something restrained, like he was holding himself back.
My chest squeezed. He looked away first.
The minutes dragged, blurred. My notes turned into a mess of scribbles I'd never be able to read. The only thing I could focus on was the space between us. Too close, too far, just a few inches of wood and air and unbearable tension.
At one point, his pen rolled off the edge of his desk. I bent down at the same time he did. Our fingers brushed as we both reached for it.
It was nothing. A second of skin against skin. But it jolted through me like fire, spreading heat up my arm.
He froze too, eyes flicking up, caught off guard. We stared at each other, both of us too still, too aware. Then he pulled his hand back sharply, letting me take it.
"Here," I said, holding it out, my voice barely steady.
"…Thanks." His reply was clipped, almost too quiet.
I let him take it, pretending to focus on the lesson again, but my heart was still hammering.
The bell finally rang, cutting through the thick silence. Chairs scraped, voices rose, students rushed for the door. I stayed seated, pretending to organize my notes. My pulse raced, waiting for him to say something—anything.
He didn't.
He packed slowly, methodically, his notebook sliding into his bag, his movements precise. Then he stood, his face calm but distant, unreadable as ever.
"Ha-neul—" I blurted, finally finding my voice.
He paused, glancing at me. Just a glance. A polite acknowledgment, nothing more. Then he walked out of the room.
The words I wanted to say—Did it mean anything? Did you feel it too? Why can't I stop thinking about you?—died on my tongue.
I shoved my books into my bag and stood quickly, chasing after him before I could lose my nerve.
The hallway was crowded, noisy with students switching classes. I caught sight of his dark hair ahead, moving steadily through the tide.
"Ha-neul!" I called.
He slowed, enough for me to catch up. His expression didn't change. Not surprise, not irritation. Just that unreadable calm that made my chest ache.
We walked side by side for a moment, the hallway noise swallowing us. My fingers tightened on my bag strap.
"About Friday…" The words tumbled out, awkward, shaky.
His steps faltered, just slightly, before continuing. "…What about it?"
I swallowed. "I just—" My throat closed around the truth. I couldn't tell him I hadn't stopped thinking about it, that I wanted to do it again, that it terrified me how much it mattered. "…Forget it."
He glanced at me briefly, his eyes unreadable. "If that's what you want."
It wasn't.
But I nodded anyway, even as my chest twisted painfully.
We reached the stairwell, where the crowd thinned. He shifted his bag on his shoulder, his gaze fixed ahead. The sunlight from the window caught in his hair, turning it faintly golden.
I wanted to stop him. To grab his wrist, to make him listen, to spill everything before it rotted inside me.
But my courage faltered.
"See you later," he said quietly, stepping away.
"…Yeah," I whispered, watching him disappear down the stairs.
The noise of the school swallowed him, leaving me standing there, hollow.
I pressed a hand to my chest, my heart still pounding, my lips still burning with the memory of his.
It had been just a dare. That's what I kept telling myself.
But if it was only a dare, why did it feel like everything had changed?