Chapter Text
It started with one look.
Transfer student Yoon Jeonghan stepped into the classroom like he belonged in a movie. Silky hair tucked behind his ears, sharp jawline, soft eyes that somehow looked both warm and unreadable. The girls gasped quietly. Even a few guys paused mid-convo.
“Dude,” Mingyu whispered. “He’s, like, pretty pretty.”
“I guess,” Seungcheol muttered, not looking up from his phone.
Except he did look up.
Their eyes met for a second. Jeonghan smiled. And Seungcheol blinked, looking away quickly.
"Cheol, that's exactly your type," Mingyu whispered.
"Lalaki yan?" Seungcheol replied.
"Eh ano naman?" Wonwoo quickly rebut.
“I’m straight,” he mumbled.
“You keep saying that,” Wonwoo teased.
------
Jeonghan adjusted fast. Too fast, in Seungcheol’s opinion. He was charming without trying. He’d mastered that perfect mix of soft politeness and subtle snark.
Teachers loved him. Students were obsessed.
Even Seungcheol’s own group was falling under his spell.
“He’s joining theater?” Mingyu said. “That’s dope! We need someone to replace Jaemin in the lead.”
“He barely joined a week ago,” Seungcheol argued.
“Exactly. And he already memorized three monologues,” Wonwoo added.
When Seungcheol walked into the rehearsal room that Friday, Jeonghan was on stage practicing a dramatic scene—with tears.
“Gagi,” he muttered. “Is he for real?”
“Director Choi!” Jeonghan called brightly from center stage. “You’re here.”
Don’t blush. Don’t blush.
Jeonghan was naturally flirtatious. It wasn’t overt.
It was in the way he lingered a second longer when passing Cheol a script.
The way he’d casually say, “You’re kinda cute when you’re annoyed.”
And he was annoyed.
Except not really.
Except totally.
Especially when people kept talking about Jeonghan.
“Diba, parang anghel yung smile niya?” one girl whispered.
“Bet ko siya,” said another guy.
But it was Hyungwon who made Seungcheol’s jaw clench.
Hyungwon—tall, calm, devastatingly handsome—joined the music club.
Conveniently rehearsed in the same building. Always there to walk Jeonghan home.
“I’ll wait for you after practice,” Hyungwon told Jeonghan one day.
“Okay. Text mo ako kapag nandiyan ka na,” Jeonghan replied, voice soft.
Seungcheol didn’t like that. At all.
“He’s clingy,” he told Wonwoo while eating lunch.
“Hindi kaya. Maayos naman siya kausap,” Wonwoo replied.
“He’s fake.”
“Selos ka lang.”
“I’m not!”
Jeonghan also had this habit of popping up beside Cheol at the worst moments. Like that one time Seungcheol was half-asleep in the student lounge.
“Tulog ka ba o nag-iinarte lang?” Jeonghan whispered by his ear.
Seungcheol flinched. “Tangina, Jeonghan!”
Jeonghan just laughed and handed him a bottled water.
“Chill. You looked tired. But even tired ka, pogi ka pa rin.”
“Anong problema mo?”
“Wala. I just want to be near you.”
At lunch, Jeonghan took Cheol’s food without asking.
“Oy!” Seungcheol snapped. “Ba’t mo kinuha ‘to?”
“Gusto ko lang tikman,” Jeonghan said with a grin, munching on his fries.
“Ipagluto kita ng sarili mong fries, gusto mo?”
“Pwede rin. Ang sweet mo naman.”
Mingyu choked on his drink. “Bro, kilig ako para sa inyo.”
“Hindi nakakakilig!” Cheol yelled, flustered.
One afternoon in the hallway, a girl handed Jeonghan a love letter.
“Salamat,” he said, politely folding it.
Then he looked toward Cheol, who was watching from his locker.
“Uy, Cheol,” Jeonghan called. “Fanmail din dapat bigay mo sakin, ha?”
“Sa’yo? Dream on.”
“Why? You already stare at me enough.”
Seungcheol slammed his locker door shut.
At rehearsal, Jeonghan insisted on practicing lines up close. Too close.
“‘I never stopped loving you,’” Jeonghan recited, holding Cheol’s wrist.
Cheol froze. “That’s not even your line.”
“I know,” Jeonghan said. “But it felt right.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re blushing.”
“I’M NOT!”
Jeonghan easily became close to Cheol’s circle. Mingyu adored him. Wonwoo found him hilarious. Hansol—Cheol’s younger brother—admired how effortlessly Jeonghan played piano in one scene.
“He’s cool,” Hansol said. “Do you think Seungkwan would like him?”
Seungcheol blinked. “Why would he—wait, do you like Seungkwan?”
Hansol turned bright red. “W-what? That’s not—just forget it!”
Jeonghan caught the interaction and laughed. “Cute. Very high school romcom energy.”
Cheol grumbled.
---
One afternoon, after rehearsal, Jeonghan approached Seungcheol.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been sulking like I killed your dog.”
“It’s your face.”
“My face is sulking?”
“No. It’s your face that makes me sulk.”
There was a long pause.
Then Jeonghan laughed. “God, you’re fun.”
Seungcheol wanted to melt into the floor.
“Straight ako,” he muttered to himself as Jeonghan walked away.
“Paulit-ulit,” Wonwoo called from the side.
“Parang broken record.”
The auditions came. Jeonghan nailed them. Cheol had no choice but to cast him in the lead.
And now, he was stuck with him.
Every day.
Every rehearsal.
Every laugh.
Every look.
Every flutter in his chest.
“Straight ako,” Seungcheol repeated like a mantra.
But Jeonghan was pretty.
So. Damn. Pretty.