the bright chatters of loud students hits your eardrum before you even step foot into the bus. it's expected, of course. even your homeroom teacher isn't able to get the class fully quiet unless he shouts at all of you.
today's conversations seem to be louder thanks to the school trip you're about to experience in a few hours. excited gossip flowing all around you as classmates try to find a seat and catch up on all the tea they missed while focusing on midterms.
you move to the back of the bus where your friend group's seated. a snowman keychain on your sparkly pink backpack jingles as you try shoving your way to the end of the bus. you're dressed up more than usual like everyone else. after all, it's the one day in school where you and the rest of the class can wear free clothes and not your boring ol' uniform.
you and woonhak had just called the night before, planning how to subtle match your outfits.
woonhak's your first boyfriend btw.
you and him decided to keep your relationship a secret from the rest of your friends. there was even a wager. your first mistake was sitting next to your new boyfriend.
and in less than two minutes: "you two are matching."
you both freeze.
pink top, denim on both ends. you try not to glance at woonhak's pink hoodie and jeans. bad idea. now you're hyper-aware that he smells like citrus body spray and your knees are touching and you are so screwed.
he plays it cool. "really? guess we're both just fashionable." he says as he turned to you for a second.
you immediately sit up straighter, hands clutching your backpack like it's a life raft. someone from the other side of the bus pipes in.
β "why are you two matching though?"
β "matching? we're not matching."
β "you're literally both wearing pink and denim," a voice says from the row behind. "that's couple-coded behavior."
β "not everything is couple-coded!" you say quickly, way too defensive for someone supposedly not hiding a relationship.
β "oh my god," one of your friends whispers, eyes widening dramatically. "are you guys...dating?"
β "NO-" you say.
β "YES-" woonhak says.
silence.
actual silence. like, someone-even-paused-their-music silence.
you turn to him so slowly it could be played in a horror film with violin screeches in the background. woonhak's eyes are wide. he knows what he just did. he's already mouthing sorry sorry sorry, like that's gonna save him.