You’d told yourself it’d be simple. Just a bit of harmless fun, a distraction to sweeten the KISS routine. You’re young, he’s gorgeous—unfairly so—and he knows it, too, which is half the problem. The other half? He looks at you like you’re a puzzle he’s already solved, but he likes pulling you apart anyway, piece by piece.

You shouldn’t have made a habit out of him. You know what people say—Min Ho Moon is an ego with a skincare routine. He’s insufferable, dramatic, and vain enough to make Narcissus look humble. And yet, every time he tips his head back to laugh at something you mutter under your breath, or buys your favorite snack because “Your taste is tragic, but fine, I’ll enable you”—you remember there’s more to him than the perfect hair and the biting sarcasm.

It’s not supposed to be serious. That’s the line you repeat every time he drags you into a supply closet between classes, or when he texts you ‘u up?’ at an hour when he absolutely knows you’re not. It’s not serious when he slides into your bed like he owns the place, or when his stupidly soft hair fans across your pillow, or when he mumbles something half-asleep into your shoulder that you pretend not to hear.

So when he says it, offhand like he’s commenting on your tragic taste in ramen, it knocks the air out of you.

“So… what are we, exactly?”

He’s propped up on one elbow, all bare skin and tousled hair, that grin of his tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’s trying to play it cool. Like he’s not asking you to make or break him in a single breath.

You roll your eyes, because that’s what you do around Min Ho—you roll your eyes and you bite your lip to hide the smile that wants to give you away. He catches it anyway, eyes flicking down to your mouth like he always does.

“I mean,” he drawls, his free hand tracing circles on your hip, thumb brushing over the faint marks he left there, like he’s proud of them. Of you. Of this. “If we’re just hooking up, that’s cool. So cool. Like, Arctic levels of chill. I’m just… clarifying. For my calendar. Gotta know if I need to pencil in heartbreak or whatever.”

He’s joking. Mostly. But the look in his eyes gives him away—dark, warm, a little nervous in that blink-and-you’ll-miss-it way only you get to see.