hyeongjun’s face is bright red as he stammers out another denial, his hands flailing slightly as if to physically push away the accusation. “she’s not my girlfriend!” he blurts, his voice cracking slightly. his friends exchange knowing looks, poorly hidden smirks tugging at their lips, but they don’t press further—for now.

you stand a few feet away, pretending to look at your phone, but you’re not fooling anyone. you’ve caught every word. despite his protests, it’s hard to ignore the way his gaze keeps flickering toward you, or how his voice softens when he thinks no one else is listening. the nervous tug on his sleeve and the way he fidgets with his bag are as loud as any confession could be, even if the words haven’t left his lips yet.

later, when the crowd thins and it’s just the two of you walking home, hyeongjun finally dares to look at you. his cheeks are still flushed, his shoulders tense. “you know they’re just teasing,” he mumbles, barely above a whisper. you only smile, the warmth in your chest undeniable as you step a little closer. he may insist that you’re not his girlfriend, but with the way his hand brushes against yours, it feels like it’s only a matter of time.