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Geum Seongje never thought Yeon Sieun would actually say yes.
He’d spent weeks, well months realistically, trying to understand the most unreadable person he’d ever met. He barely reacted to anything unless it involved studying, responsibility or getting annoyed at Seongje’s existence. And yet, despite that stone-faced exterior, Seongje had fallen for him so hard that even he didn’t know where the line between teasing and pining had blurred.
So when he confessed, which blurted out in the middle of a random evening when he couldn’t hold it in anymore, he was prepared for rejection. Or Sieun staring at him for three whole seconds before walking away.
Instead, Sieun gave a tiny, thoughtful hum, tilted his head and said, “…Okay.”
Seongje almost fell over, well his heart definitely did.
And because that miracle had happened, because Yeon Sieun had actually agreed to date him, Seongje made a silent promise that their first date would be perfect. He’d waited too long, fought too hard and tried too many times to get Sieun’s attention to allow anything less. He wanted it to be memorable and special. Something that would make Sieun realize that saying yes wasn’t a mistake.
But of course, perfection wasn’t cheap.
And there was no way in hell Seongje was going to use his parents’ money. He hated owing them anything. He might come from a higher-class family, but he didn’t want that shadow hanging over his first date.
Seongje had delinquent money from Union burning in his pocket. Money that he absolutely did not earn through legal or morally neutral means, but as it was his hard-earned cash from fights and errands from being in Union. It wasn’t pretty, but it was honest in its own twisted way. He’d bled for that money. Worked for it. And if he was going to spend it on anyone, it was going to be Sieun.
He used it to book a nice restaurant. Nothing too extravagant because Sieun would hate that, but definitely nicer than a school cafeteria date. Seongje checked reviews, scrolled through photos and even went in person after school to confirm the ambiance with the kind of intensity usually reserved when he was fighting for Union.
He chose a place with quiet corners, decent lighting and food that looked fancy enough to impress but normal enough that Sieun wouldn’t question why he was suddenly eating something unpronounceable.
He even wanted to pick Sieun up, because he was a gentleman, obviously.
He had a motorcycle. He could’ve shown up like some cool, rebellious love interest. In his head, it was a whole scene: Sieun stepping out of his house, awkwardly clutching his bag, while Seongje rolled up, offering a helmet with a stupid, lopsided grin.
It was stylish and romantic, except Sieun crushed the fantasy in two seconds.
“No,” he said immediately. “That would be awkward.”
“…Why?”
“Seongje, with your Union background haunting Eunjang because Baku didn’t want to join Union, we shouldn’t even be dating each other.”
“…That’s their issue.”
“You do know you literally hit my close friends a few weeks before, right?” Sieun deadpanned, completely unbothered.
And Seongje, for all his witty remarks, couldn’t argue with that because Sieun was right. Definitely right. So he dropped the idea and agreed to meet Sieun at the restaurant.
Fine. Whatever. Not cool, not dramatic, but fine.
On the day of the date, Seongje put in more effort getting ready than he would ever admit. He ironed his clothes. Fixed his hair twice. Used cologne sparingly because he didn’t want to smell like he bathed in it. He spent the entire ride there trying to calm his heartbeat so it wouldn’t explode the moment he saw Sieun.
When he reached the restaurant, he took a long, steadying breath and texted: I’m here, Sieuni. But take your time, okay? No need to rush.
It was simple and clear. He believed that Sieun would find it. His boyfriend was smart and capable.
…Right?
Except Seoul was big and the restaurant had multiple branches scattered across different districts.
But Seongje didn’t know that yet.
He sat at the table, hands fidgeting under the crisp white tablecloth while the soft clink of cutlery and low chatter buzzed around him. Every time the door chimed, his head snapped up with hope, only to fall when it wasn’t Sieun.
Fifteen minutes had passed just like that — quiet, slow, agonisingly loud in his head.
At first, Seongje kept glancing up casually every time the restaurant door chimed, trying to look relaxed, like a normal person waiting for a normal date. But the tenth chime came and went and no familiar face appeared. His leg bounced under the table, fingers drumming restlessly against his knee, mind spiraling faster than he could control.
Had Sieun gotten lost? Could he have changed his mind? Maybe he realised halfway here that this was a terrible idea, that he shouldn’t entertain Seongje at all, that a date with him was something he could regret. The knife and fork in front of him blurred as his stomach twisted itself into knots, tightening with every worst-case scenario his imagination conjured.
By the time minute sixteen hit, panic had fully bubbled up his chest, tight and suffocating. He grabbed his phone with slightly shaky hands and typed, Where are you?
The reply came faster than his heartbeat had time to prepare for. His screen lit with a selfie of Yeon Sieun — perfectly framed, face calm, expression almost bored, as if he were simply waiting for a late friend instead of being on the brink of accidentally humiliating Seongje to death. Behind him stood the restaurant sign, glowing brightly in the evening air. “I’m here. Where are YOU?” the caption read.
For three full seconds, Seongje completely forgot how breathing worked. Because Sieun’s face, good god. The lighting hit him so perfectly it looked staged. His hair was soft and tidy, his lips faintly glossed, his eyes slightly narrowed like he was already unimpressed with the entire situation.
Seongje’s brain briefly short-circuited seing the selfie. His heart went all warm and pathetic and stupid. He saved the photo before managed to pull himself together and zoomed in the photo.
Seongje then frozed because first, building behind Sieun was not the same one he was in. Second, the storefront next door was different. Lastly, the district name at the bottom corner of the sign was different.
Sieun was in a completely different part of Seoul.
“Shit,” Seongje muttered, dragging a hand down his face, feeling his soul leave his body, return and then leave again. “I didn’t know this place had so many branches. Why would they do that? Why would they multiply like cockroaches?”
He had officially ruined the date before it even began. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to sit across from Sieun and compliment his shirt or pretend he wasn’t nervous out of his mind. He’d managed to mess up at the literal starting line.
With his heart pounding, he shot up from his chair, nearly knocking it over as he rushed toward the front. The hostess blinked at him as he approached, breathless and panicked, stammering out a breathless apology.
“My date, uhh, he’s at the wrong one,” he explained, gesturing vaguely at the air, completely flustered. “That’s my fault, I should’ve said the street name to him. Uhh, I have to go. I’m so, so sorry.”
The hostess giggled softly, not unkindly, her eyes sparkling with the kind of amusement reserved for witnessing a very handsome young adult being very stupid in an adorable way.
“Well, it happens a lot,” she said, smiling. “It’s okay. Good luck on your date!”
He didn’t deserve her kindness. If anything, her well-wishing made him want to sink into the floor and evaporate. But he bowed quickly, mumbled thanks and practically sprinted outside. Helmet already in hand, he texted Sieun quickly before even swinging onto his motorcycle:
I’m coming to you. Stay there.
He didn’t wait for a reply. The engine roared to life and he took off, cutting through traffic with fluid precision. His mind, however, was far from steady. Every red light he barely slowed for, every turn he made, he thought only one thing,
I disappointed him. God, he must think I’m an idiot. Ruining our first date before we even got to sit down together. Great job, Seongje, amazing start, truly peak performance.
By the time he pulled up to the branch Sieun was waiting, his heart felt like it had been marinating in anxiety. He scanned the front entrance and immediately his eyes found Sieun.
Sieun sat alone on a bench, both hands resting on the seat beside him, palms flat, his legs swinging back and forth in a tiny pendulum motion. A small pout tugged at his lips, eyebrows slightly furrowed in mild annoyance. He looked so beautifully out of place making something inside Seongje cracked a little.
He approached quietly. “Hey, Sieun…”
Sieun’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing with immediate judgment. “Next time,” he hissed, “you should tell me the exact place.”
It was a miracle Seongje didn’t drop dead on the spot. Mentally, he punched himself. Hard. Several times. Then his inner critic joined in. He wished a meteor would just fall directly on him. He had one job. ONE. And he had failed spectacularly.
Clearing his throat to salvage whatever shred of dignity was clinging to him, he said, “Well… I’m really sorry. Dinner’s ruined so how about you choose what we do instead? Anything you want. I’ll make it up to you.”
Sieun didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stood there for a few seconds, eyes narrowed in thought as if weighing the gravity of the universe itself. Then he straightened, dusted off the back of his pants with unnecessary seriousness and gave a decisive little nod.
“Movie.”
Seongje blinked. “A movie?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. Yeah. Anything.”
It wasn’t just the word, it was the determination behind it. Sieun said “movie” with the energy of a general preparing for war. So Seongje simply followed along, silently praying he wouldn’t mess up again.
After parking his bike properly, he jogged to catch up with Sieun, who was marching toward the nearest cinema as if he knew the entire layout of Seoul’s entertainment district by heart. It was kind of impressive and kind of adorable, but Seongje decided to keep that to himself.
Inside the brightly lit lobby, Sieun didn’t hesitate for even a second. He went straight to the ticket kiosk, scanned the lineup of currently showing films and clicked on the poster featuring a screaming woman, a demonic shadow and the kind of red font that promised emotional damage.
Sieun squared his shoulders. I am absolutely capable of watching a horror movie without embarrassing myself, he told himself with the confidence of a boy who had successfully convinced himself of many things he absolutely could not do.
Seongje, standing slightly behind him, saw the title, the rating, the extremely cursed trailer looping silently above their heads and still said nothing. He simply smiled, soft and crooked, and thought, If that’s what he wants, then sure. He tapped the screen, paid for two seats and gestured for Sieun to wait while he grabbed their snacks.
He returned with two sodas and a shared bucket of popcorn, handing one drink to Sieun. And god, Seongje found him cute. Adorably, comically confident. Sieun stood there with the straightest posture known to mankind, jaw set, eyes sharp, expression screaming: I absolutely could handle watching a horror movie without embarrassing myself.
⸻
Well, apparently, Sieun could not handle it.
Not even a little.
From the moment the lights dimmed, Sieun’s bravado started to crack. Every tense build-up made him shift in his seat — back straight, then hunched, then leaning forward, then leaning back like he was trying to find a position that made the soundtrack less threatening.
He muttered under his breath, trying to convince himself that he can handle this. That he had seen worse. But the second his rational brain tried to take control, his instincts rebelled when the first jump scare came.
A sharp, abrupt noise which was not even that dramatic for normal people, hit the theater. Sieun jerked violently, sending few of the popcorn flying into the air. Seongje’s eyes widened, startled despite himself, because the sheer intensity of Sieun’s reaction was both shocking and kind of adorable.
The second scare didn’t give him a chance to recover. Something sudden, loud, and unexpected exploded on-screen making Sieun gasped. He let out a tiny, strangled sound and attempted to cover it with a cough, which failed spectacularly.
Seongje’s chest tightened as he realized that the boy who had confidently claimed he could handle a horror movie was now squirming and trembling beside him.
And then came the third jump scare: a monstrous, guttural shriek that echoed through the theater, loud enough to make everyone flinch.
Sieun didn’t just flinch. He lifted off his seat entirely, propelled by pure instinct and practically launched himself into Seongje’s lap. His legs curled in on themselves, arms flailing slightly before wrapping around Seongje’s shoulder and his face pressed into Seongje’s neck.
Seongje’s soul left his body for two very clear reasons: one, the scare actually startled him too, and two, Sieun was in his lap, shaking as he nuzzled into Seongje's neck.
Seongje tried, desperately, to remain composed. He draped an arm around Sieun’s back, careful not to startle him, while the other hand clutched the popcorn. “It’s okay,” he whispered, trying to make his voice steady and comforting, though his own pulse was hammering in his ears. “It’s just a—”
JUMP SCARE.
This one had no warning at all. No music. No buildup. Just pure, unadulterated horror.
Sieun yelped — a tiny, high-pitched, inhuman sound, halfway between a gasp and a squeak. He buried his face deeper into Seongje’s neck, gripping the front of his shirt like it was a lifeline. His entire body was trembling, small shudders running from his shoulders down to his legs.
Seongje felt a mixture of alarm and amusement. He had always played enough video games to laugh at jump scares. Normally, he could handle them without so much as blinking. But with Sieun clinging to him like this, trembling, panicking, utterly, adorably human, was something entirely different.
He chuckled softly. The sound was almost involuntary, born out of equal parts relief, affection and disbelief. Sieun’s tiny shivers pressed against him, face hidden, and it was the most ridiculously cute thing he had ever seen.
He tightened his hold instinctively, murmuring into the top of Sieun’s head, “Yeah… I don’t think you can handle it.”
“Shut up,” Sieun grumbled, finally realising where he was, shoving himself off Seongje and retreating a little back into his seat, but not without lingering tension in his shoulders.
Seongje, however, was far from disappointed. He was very much enjoying this. The way Sieun kept clinging to him, the way he hid his face behind his shoulder, the way he tried so hard to act brave but failed spectacularly, it was intoxicating. Every jump scare, every flinch, every tiny squeak made Seongje’s chest warm and his heart tighten in a way he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, hide.
⸻
They managed to survive the movie, somehow making it through without Sieun having a full-blown panic attack, and now they were walking along the street, the cool night air washing over them.
Sieun’s steps were steady, almost calm, but Seongje could tell he was still a little shaken. There was a faint tremor in his hands and the way he occasionally glanced over his shoulder as if expecting some unseen horror to leap out from the shadows.
Despite that, Sieun was doing his best to play it cool in front of Seongje, shoulders squared, back straight, expression composed but Seongje wasn’t fooled. Not even a little.
Seongje, for his part, was trying to calm his own racing heartbeat, the adrenaline from the theater still lingering. But more importantly, he wanted to draw Sieun’s attention away from the lingering tension, from the way his cheeks were still a little pink from embarrassment, from the way his hands clutched his hoodie a little too tightly.
He wanted to make Sieun laugh, even if just a little, and maybe, in the process, erase some of the lingering terror from the movie.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, Seongje glanced sideways at Sieun, trying to muster a compliment that didn’t sound like the rambling nonsense in his head. “So, uh… I like your… chubby face.”
The words came out flat, awkward and entirely wrong. Sieun stopped walking mid-step, turning to look at him with a single brow arched, sharp and incredulous, eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Silence stretched for a moment, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city at night.
Seongje’s panic skyrocketed. “No, I mean, you look cute? Yeah, like very… fluffy. Wait, a good kind of fluff. Like… kitten! A kitten kind of fluff! Not—no offense! I mean, yes offense? No, I—” He waved his hands helplessly, face burning, muttering at a speed that made his words nearly incomprehensible.
Sieun bent over suddenly, clutching his stomach as he erupted into laughter. A loud, uncontrollable, breath-stealing laugh that made him double over, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. His laughter echoed in the quiet street, bouncing off the walls and lampposts like some ridiculously joyful soundtrack to Seongje’s mortification.
Seongje dragged a hand down his face, muttering under his breath, “Kill me. Please kill me. Right now. Anywhere. Just..kill me.” His cheeks burned hotter than any summer day. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
But Sieun, between giggles, looked up at him, eyes sparkling with amusement and something softer, warmer, almost shy, and said, “Well… thank you.”
Seongje froze. His brain short-circuited again. Despite the chaos of the compliment, despite the awkwardness, despite the fact that he’d made himself look like a fool, Sieun’s smile made all of it worth it. Made him forget the ruined dinner and all the ways the night had gone off script.
The city around them seemed to fade. Seongje took a slow, steadying breath and, with deliberate care, reached for Sieun’s hand.
His fingers grazed Sieun’s, carefully at first, but then he managed to intertwine them. Sieun let out a small, almost imperceptible smile, the kind that made Seongje’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t bother to hide.
For a brief moment, everything was perfect. No one else was around; just the soft glow of the streetlights and the faint echo of their footsteps. They walked slowly, swinging their hands together, Seongje stealing glances at Sieun, memorizing the way his hair fell across his forehead and the way his lips twitched when he caught his eyes.
But then, just as Seongje’s courage built, Sieun stopped suddenly, making Seongje halt as well. He raised a brow, silently asking why.
Sieun leaned in, just a little closer and Seongje blinked, heart stuttering. The air seemed to hold its breath around them.
And then, the sky opened.
Rain poured down with zero mercy. The first few drops hit Seongje’s hair and ran down his neck. Both of them let out startled shriek, breaking the near-perfect tension as they scrambled, sprinting for shelter with drenched clothes clinging to their skin. Their shoes splashed in puddles as they ran, laughter and cursing mixing together in chaotic harmony.
Finally, they managed to cram themselves under a tiny awning outside a closed storefront, pressed uncomfortably close against each other to escape the downpour.
Their clothes clung to their bodies, hair plastered to their foreheads and cheeks, droplets running down their necks and dripping onto the pavement.
“Oh god… we’re drenched,” Seongje groaned, glancing down at himself. His hair was plastered to his forehead, water running in rivulets over his collar and down his neck, mixing with the faint scent of his cologne. He shivered slightly, not from cold but from the ridiculous, overwhelming closeness of Sieun beside him.
Sieun, perfectly calm and deadpan in comparison, shot him a flat look, one brow slightly arched. “Your fault.”
Seongje blinked, incredulous. “Why is it my fault now? You were the one distracted—”
“Shut up,” Sieun grumbled, his tone sharp but it was softened by the way the rain pelted them both and the absurdity of the situation. His arms crossed in mock indignation, though the forced closeness under the tiny awning made the gesture futile.
Then something shifted. A warmth settled between them, soft and unspoken, a kind of tension that made the noise of the rain fade into background static. Their eyes met, and Seongje felt it — the quiet, electric stillness that only comes when the world contracts to just two people.
His gaze lingered on every detail: the way the rain traced droplets along Sieun’s eyelashes, the way his lips glistened with moisture, the faint quiver of his lashes as he held Seongje’s stare.
Sieun’s eyes softened in return and there's the smallest smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The mock indignation melted away. The tension between them grew taut, like a drawn bowstring, every heartbeat audible in the storm, every breath a shared secret.
Seongje’s hand rose almost involuntarily, brushing a wet strand of hair from Sieun’s forehead. Sieun leaned just slightly into the touch and that was enough. The world narrowed further. He tipped his head, closing the gap, and Seongje leaned in instinctively.
Their lips met, soft and wet from the rain. The kiss was slow, almost shy, yet urgent in its intimacy. Seongje pressed a little closer, cupping Sieun’s cheek, feeling the heat of him through the soaked fabric. Sieun responded by tilting his head, one hand reaching up to Seongje’s chest, clutching the drenched cotton of his shirt like it anchored him to reality.
They lingered there, breaths mingling, hearts hammering in tandem over the sound of the storm. Every kiss, every brush of teeth and tongue, was a conversation of its own, a quiet admission after a night of chaos and laughter, jump scares and ruined plans.
When they finally pulled back, slightly breathless, they were still pressed close, well too close to pretend the moment hadn’t changed something. Their foreheads rested against each other, breaths mingling in the cold air.
Both were soaked through to the bone. They were shivering, trembling just a little. Some of it from cold but most of it from the adrenaline humming between them.
But they were smiling.
Seongje’s hand stayed on Sieun’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly against damp skin, unwilling to let go of the warmth he’d finally gotten close enough to touch. His fingers curled gently along Sieun’s jaw, tender in a way he didn’t even realize he could be.
“…That was chaotic,” Sieun murmured, his voice quiet, breath warm against Seongje’s mouth. His eyes flickered downward, soft in a way he rarely let himself be.
Seongje let out a small laugh, nodding. “Yeah.”
The word was gentler than his usual tone, softened by something fond and unguarded.
A pause settled between them. Full of everything they didn’t know how to say yet. Full of the night’s disasters and surprises. Full of the kiss still tingling on their lips.
Then Sieun looked up again, lashes heavy with raindrops, and said quietly, “…I want another one.”
It wasn’t a whisper of uncertainty. It wasn’t forced. It was an honest confession that made Seongje’s breath caught. His chest tightened in a way he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to.
“Despite it being chaotic?” he asked, voice softer than the rain around them. A little disbelieving, a little hopeful and a little afraid to move in case the moment cracked.
Sieun didn’t speak. He just hummed, like it was the easiest choice he’d made all night.
A smile broke across Seongje’s face — wide, helpless, glowing in the dim light of the street. He leaned in, brushing a light kiss to Sieun’s cheek. It left a warm bloom on Sieun’s skin, even with the cold rain dripping around them.
Sieun didn’t flinch away.
If anything, he leaned closer.
They stayed there a moment longer, bodies pressed from shoulder to knee, fingers brushing occasionally, accidental but not really. The storm kept raging, the world kept spinning, but under that tiny awning everything felt hushed, almost sacred.
The night wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t the flawless date Seongje had tried to orchestrate. But despite it being messy, imperfect, full of detours and disasters, their first date was completely them.