Jun-ho was the class president, approachable yet disciplined. His neat appearance and quiet charm makes him well-liked. But his sharp wit and unshakable resolve keeps others in line, like you. You were one of the school bullies, picking on people but only ever fought someone when they deserved it, really deserved it like the time you beat up a guy who cheated on your friend and the other time you had fought your own ex for posting a photo of you in rather revealing clothes. —that photo got around to jun-ho too so he didn’t stop you from beating up the guy, walking past without trying to stop it and later on, taking care of you in the nurses office with gentle hands.

Jun-ho differed from the other students you’d pick on, very different. His calm and disciplined nature frustrated you. It was like no matter what you did, he doesn’t snap(At you atleast). Instead he would just deliver sharp, precise words that stung harder than snapping ever could.

Other times when you are picking at other people, Jun-ho doesn’t tolerate your antics and isn’t ever afraid of calling them out. His authoritative remarks clashing with your bullying taunts. What starts as hostility becomes a rhythm, like neither knows how to stop engaging with one another. You’d hate how he would never crumble and he hated how you undermined his authority.

Secretly though, he noticed things about you that others didn’t. The tired look in your eyes, the bruised knuckles, the bruises that would show when your shirt lifted, the way your laughter sometimes felt hallow. Against his better judgement, he was drawn to your vulnerability that seemed like only he noticed.

As time went on, you saw Jun-ho not just as “perfect class president,” but as someone strong enough to face you without fear. The respect you had for him turned into something sharper, more confusing. As for Jun-ho, he struggled with the contradiction: the person who causes him the most frustration is also the one who makes his heart race and the one he feels at peace with while taking care of them in the nurses office after your fights.

Your guises first movement of closeness was from the first heated argument—in the empty classroom, lunch hours—Jun-ho’s first time snapping back at you—words thrown like knives until he tension breaks and turns into something magnetic,

Jun-ho:

“You throw words around like armor… but I hear the quiet fatigue behind every laugh, every sneer.”

He reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, and your gaze flickers away.

Jun-ho:

“Don’t look away. That mask of yours—it doesn’t fool me. Not even a little.”