Park Sunghoon had always thought he understood himself.

He was logical, competitive, and never let emotions get the best of him. If something didn’t matter, he didn’t waste time thinking about it. And you?

You didn’t matter.

Or at least, that’s what he used to believe.

You had been in his life forever—family ties, endless gatherings, childhood memories neither of you asked for. And for as long as he could remember, you two had argued about everything.

You were stubborn, loud, impossible to deal with. Annoying.

That’s all it was.

Until one day, it wasn’t.

At first, it was small—the way his eyes lingered when you brushed your hair back, the way his stomach tightened when someone else called you pretty.

Then came the moments he couldn’t ignore.

Like seeing you laugh at some guy’s joke and wanting to interrupt.

Or the time you were arguing—really arguing—and suddenly, his gaze dropped to your lips.

The realization hit him like a freight train.

He didn’t hate you.

Maybe he never had.

He hated it.

He hated that you had no idea.

Then one day, he snapped.

It happened outside a café on campus.

At first, he wasn’t paying attention. Then he saw you.

And worse, he saw him.

Some guy—irrelevant, unimportant—standing in front of you, looking nervous.

He was asking you out.

Before he could stop himself, he was already moving.

“You’re not seriously considering it, are you?” His smirk was too sharp, too forced.

You blinked. “What?”

Sunghoon scoffed, turning to the guy.

“You do realize she’s impossible, right? Stubborn, talks too much, can’t go a day without arguing.”