Archive of Our Own

WONBIN.

I got myself into huge trouble because of a ridiculous misunderstanding.

First, for anyone to understand the level of the catastrophe, I need to talk about him, Lee Chanyoung.

The entire university campus knows him as Anton, since he wasn't born in Korea. He is the true golden boy of the music department and probably of the whole Korea National University of Arts. It's no wonder, Anton's father is Lee Yoonsang, the nationally renowned music producer. While his mother is the award-winning actress Shim Hyejin. It's as if he was born on a red carpet.

When Anton walks down the granite-floored hallways of our main building, everyone stops to stare. He draws looks of admiration and some of envy, not to mention the lovesick sighs from various people. Despite being the son of celebrities, his merit isn't just because of that, he is very talented, even the professors are left speechless. And, as if all of that weren't enough, he is gorgeous.

I am the complete opposite. My name is Park Wonbin, I've never stepped foot outside of Korea and my life goal is to go completely unnoticed, even if that seems impossible from time to time. I also study music, even though my dad dreams of me majoring in industrial production. Well, unlike most people in my major, I prefer to stay huddled at the back of the classroom.

Despite my strong desire to go unnoticed, I also have a different way of dressing. My hair is shoulder-length and I like wearing colorful hair clips. My clothes have tighter fits and my bags are full of keychains. People like to label a lot of what I wear as feminine fashion, which obviously earns me some weird looks. However, I've learned to ignore them by hiding inside giant hoodies.

My only safe haven in the world, other than my bedroom, is my uncle's record store. It's a somewhat forgotten space downtown, full of cardboard boxes, the smell of dust, and wooden shelves packed with old albums and indie releases. I could even wear my slightly more over-the-top clothes, and I always wore masks because of the dust, which allowed me to pick the cutest ones. I work the register in the afternoons. It's a peaceful job. Or at least it was.

Because Anton Lee started coming into the store every day.

At first, I almost had a panic attack thinking he would recognize me from music theory class and try to force some college friendship. But soon I realized something almost comical. Anton had no idea who I was. At the university, he is always surrounded by people or with his huge headphones covering his ears. He barely pays attention to his classmates. To him, I was just another anonymous person operating the cash register behind the glass counter.

So I relaxed and just started observing. And watching Anton in the record store became my secret daily routine. He always arrives at the same time, around five in the afternoon. The sun hits the storefront window and lights up his hair as he heads straight for the imported vinyl section. It's fascinating to see how immersed he gets in it. He doesn't just buy what's at the top of the charts. Anton has the curiosity of a mad researcher. He picks up records from nineties alternative rock bands, analyzes obscure european jazz albums, and then jumps to retro japanese pop.

Often, he spends hours holding a CD cover, reading the liner notes with a concentration I had never seen before. There are days when he brings to the register albums that I love and listen to in secret, things I swore no one else in our generation knew. On other days, he brings names I've never even heard of, forcing me to make a mental note to look them up when I get home. He spends a good chunk of his rich-boy allowance in that place. He stays in the corner of the store, near the rock display, listening to the test tracks on the shared headphones, tapping his foot to the rhythm of melodies I try to guess. He is dedicated, in a way that makes my heart race a little without me wanting to admit it.

The whole problem started on a rainy Tuesday.

The store was empty, except for the two of us. Anton was holding a huge stack of records near the sale section. I was dusting some nearby shelves. Suddenly, his backpack slipped off his shoulder, he tried to catch it, lost his balance, and the incredibly expensive headphones he always wears fell to the wooden floor with a loud crack.

It was pure reflex. I bent down at the exact same second he did. My hand reached the headphones at the exact same moment as his. Our fingers collided somewhat abruptly, but then ended up tangling together. His hand was warm and a little bigger than mine.

I looked up, startled. Anton's face was inches from mine. He blinked a few times, looking like he had forgotten how to breathe. His eyes roamed over my face covered by the black mask, stopped at the shiny star clips holding my bangs back, and traveled down to my fuzzy pink cardigan. I pulled my hand back, feeling my neck burn with embarrassment. I grabbed the headphones, handed them to him, and muttered a very quiet apology, practically running back behind the counter.

I thought it was going to be just another embarrassing moment for my endless collection of humiliations. But it wasn't. After that day, everything changed. Every time Anton came into the store, he wouldn't stay hidden among the shelves anymore. He kept hovering around the counter. He started looking at me in a different way. It wasn't a weird look because of my clothes. It was a look of nervous admiration. He would drop coins when paying, stutter out his thank yous, and the tips of his ears would turn red whenever I handed him his change and our hands accidentally brushed against each other.

And now, at this exact moment, the truth was finally going to hit me.

I was sitting on a secluded stone bench, drinking a juice box while hearing a loud noise approaching. It was Sungchan, from the film major, right behind him came Sohee, laughing loudly, and in between the two of them was Anton.

They sat on the bench facing away from mine. A thin wall of bushes separated us. I shrank down, praying to become invisible.

"I'm serious, you guys need to help me," Anton's voice sounded low, but very clear. "I think I'm in love."

"Oh great, here comes the rom-com script," Sungchan replied with a laugh. "Who is the female lead this time? Some wonderful rookie actress your mom introduced you to?"

"No!" Anton replied quickly. "She's not famous. She's the girl from the record store. The one I told you about. The mysterious girl with the long dark hair."

I stopped chewing on my plastic straw.

"The girl with the cute hair clips who held your hand?" Sohee asked in a tone of pure gossip. "Do you even know her name, Ton?"

"Not yet," Anton sighed, sounding like a teenager. "But her hand is so soft. She was wearing a beautiful pink cardigan that day. She is so quiet, so delicate. I swear, every time I go to the store now, I can't focus on the music. I can only look at her."

My stomach dropped. The peach juice threatened to come back up. The golden boy of K-Arts, the composition genius, the guy who I go completely unnoticed by every single day in the exact same classroom, is hopelessly in love with the girl from the record store.

Which is me. And I'm not a girl!

[WONBIN]

GUYS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

SOS

CODE RED EMERGENCY

[EUNSEOK]

who do I need to beat up?

send the location, I'm on my way

[SHOTARO]

Bin!!!!!

What happened??? I stopped in the middle of jazz stretching, my heart almost jumped out of my chest with the messages.

[WONBIN]

you guys will never believe the size of the hole I dug myself into

you know anton lee?

[EUNSEOK]

the prodigy boy you cry in my ear about every day complaining that he breathes the same air as you at the store?

yeah, we know him

[SHOTARO]

Song Eunseok!!!!!

Yes Bin, we know Anton

[WONBIN]

I was quiet in my corner drinking juice and I heard him talking to sohee and sungchan

he said he's in love!!!!!!!!!!

with the mysterious girl from the record store!!!!!!!!!!!!

[SHOTARO]

Wait, what?

[EUNSEOK]

did your uncle hire a new girl?

[WONBIN]

THERE IS NO NEW GIRL EUNSEOK

he was describing the day he dropped his headphones and we accidentally touched hands

[EUNSEOK]

my brain just blue-screened

[SHOTARO]

Bin, explain this properly for the love of God

[WONBIN]

he said he's in love with the girl in the pink cardigan and star hair clip

I AM THE GIRL DUDE

I AM THE GIRL

AND I'M NOT A GIRL

[EUNSEOK]

you swear?

no shit sherlock 

[SHOTARO]

EUNSEOK STOP LAUGHING AT OTHER PEOPLE'S MISERY

Wonbin!!!!! Oh my God!

What do we do now??? You're going to have to tell him the truth tomorrow!

[WONBIN]

sure taro, it'll be super natural

"hiii anton what's up? so, you know the girl of your dreams? it's me the weirdo from your music theory class and I heard your confession in the courtyard"

just bury me already

[SHOTARO]

But you can't keep up this lie Bin!!!

[WONBIN]

I'm going to drop out of college and go live in the store's basement forever

goodbye academic life

[EUNSEOK]

I support this

can I have your rare record collection?

[WONBIN]

I WANT TO DISAPPEAR FROM THIS PLANET SONG EUNSEOK

After a sleepless night with Eunseok and Shotaro trying to calm me down, that was definitely not one of my best days. Whether I was paying attention to the professors during morning classes or organizing the store's inventory in the afternoon, the exhaustion weighed on my shoulders and the panic continued to take over my entire body.

My hands gripped a worn yellow flannel so tightly that my fingers were red. The bell on the glass door rang, announcing the arrival of a customer, but before I could look, the familiar scent of vanilla perfume invaded the room. I didn't need to look over the indie releases shelf to know who had just walked in.

I crouched down, shrinking my body under my giant light blue knit sweater, and crawled across the wooden floor until I reached the stack of boxes at the end of the aisle. The entire store was in absolute silence, broken only by the slow footsteps of his black boots echoing on the floorboards. I grabbed the flannel and started frantically scrubbing a cardboard box that was already perfectly clean.

"Hi. Excuse me."

The voice sounded much closer than I anticipated. It was such an incredibly calm, gentle, and beautiful voice. A soft tone that perfectly matched the acoustic melodies he liked to listen to on his headphones, the kind of voice that would soothe any normal person, but that made my heart skip every possible beat.

I shut my eyes tightly, wishing the wooden floor would give way beneath my weight. When I slowly raised my head, Anton was standing exactly at the end of the aisle. He was wearing a dark coat that made his shoulders look even broader and held his backpack strap with one hand. The wind outside had messed up his dark hair, leaving a few strands falling across his forehead.

I swallowed hard, rising from the floor in slow motion and clutching the flannel to my chest as if it were a protective shield.

"I noticed you were organizing the boxes." He commented, taking a short step toward me and stopping close enough for me to notice the tips of his ears turning a reddish hue. "I hope I'm not interrupting your work."

I shook my head from side to side with excessive speed, praying for my mask to hide my burning face. I took a step back, my back hitting against the shelf of old vinyl records.

"I wanted to ask you something." He continued, his tone dropping in volume, sounding like a secret kept among the eighties rock records. He let go of the backpack strap and shoved his hand into his coat pocket. "I come here almost every day and we never get to talk. You always run to the back or seem very busy."

I don't seem busy, I thought in pure panic. I am running away from you.

"I was thinking..." He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, the screen lighting up in the darker atmosphere of the store. "If you gave me your number, we could talk later. Without me getting in the way of your shift."

I blinked slowly, frozen. My brain completely shut down. The phone screen extended toward me was terrifying. I couldn't give him my number. My messaging app profile picture was my face uncovered, and the username was Park Wonbin. My lie would crumble in five seconds.

Well, to be fair, it wasn't exactly a lie! He was the one who assumed it, and I just didn't want to tell the truth at that moment... it would be too embarrassing.

"I..." My voice came out high and scratchy, the first real sound I’d ever made in front of him. I cleared my throat, trying to deepen my voice, but gave up for fear of sounding too strange. "I forgot my phone! And... I don't remember my number, I need to check it to be sure."

I started patting the empty pockets of my sweater and baggy pants, putting on a very poorly acted display of fake desperation.

"It’s at home. I mean, in the breakroom. I don’t bring it to the counter when I'm working. My uncle's rule. No distractions."

Anton blinked, lowering the device in slow motion. A tiny smile appeared at the corner of his lips. He didn't seem frustrated by my terrible rejection. On the contrary, he reached into his other coat pocket and pulled out a dark ink pen.

"That's okay," he agreed, closing the small space left between us. "Give me your arm."

I paralyzed. Before I could invent a second terrible excuse, he reached for my free hand. His long, very warm fingers circled my wrist with absurd delicacy. My breath hitched in my throat. He pulled the sleeve of my blue sweater up just a little, revealing the pale skin of my forearm.

Anton took the pen cap off with his teeth. His gaze was fixed and concentrated on my skin as he slowly drew the numbers. The metallic tip felt like cold tickles, but his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist made me feel lightheaded.

"This is my number," he whispered, pulling the pen away and tugging my sweater sleeve back down to cover the fresh ink, as if he were hiding a shared treasure. "Send me a message when you find your phone."

He released my hand gradually, his fingers sliding across mine before pulling away completely. Anton capped the pen, turned around, and walked toward the front door, letting the bell chime once more before disappearing onto the sidewalk.

I slid my back down the wooden shelf until I was sitting on the dusty floor, hugging my knees. My hand was shaking uncontrollably as I pulled my sweater sleeve back up, revealing the perfectly aligned handwriting staining my skin.

Oh, God. I was so fucked up.

I woke up face-down on the floor, tangled in my own duvet like a giant, pathetic caterpillar. My alarm had been ringing for ten minutes, and in my desperate, half-asleep attempt to turn it off, I had somehow rolled straight off the mattress.

Normally, I would just lie there and accept my fate, but then my brain started working and I remembered why I felt like I had been run over by a truck.

My right arm felt heavy. I slowly pulled the sleeve of my pajamas up, and there it was. Ten numbers. Black ink. Perfect handwriting.

It wasn't a nightmare. I had actually let the most popular guy at K-Arts write his phone number on my wrist because I was too much of a coward to say, "Hey, fun fact, I'm actually the guy from your music theory class and I don't wear fuzzy pink cardigans on Tuesdays."

I let out a muffled groan against the floorboards.

Getting ready was a complete disaster, I needed to look like a shadow. A shadow with a very secure, long-sleeved barrier between Anton Lee and my arm.

By the time I stumbled into the Music Theory classroom, I was a sweaty, anxious mess. I tripped over the door threshold, earning a weird look from the professor, and practically scrambled to my usual seat in the far back corner.

Today, there were no cute star clips. My hair was tied up in a messy half-ponytail that was already falling apart, and my hood was pulled up so high I barely had peripheral vision. Perfect. Unnoticeable. Just Park Wonbin, the resident cryptid.

I plugged in my wired earphones, pressing play on my phone. IU's voice flooded my ears, her acoustic live version of Love poem acting as a temporary shield against my impending doom.

I crossed my arms over the desk, hiding my hands deep inside my sleeves, and closed my eyes. Maybe if I stayed still enough, I would photosynthesize and turn into a plant.

Screeech.

The sound of the chair next to me being pulled out made my eyes fly open. People never sat next to me. The back row was my designated quarantine zone.

I turned my head slightly, my heart dropping straight into my stomach.

It was him.

Anton dropped his incredibly aesthetic leather backpack on the floor. His dark hair looked effortlessly messy, and he was wearing a vintage denim jacket that probably cost more than my uncle's entire store inventory.

Why is the golden boy sitting in the loser corner?

Panic surged through my veins. I tried to casually slide my chair an inch to the left, but my foot caught the strap of my own heavy backpack. I jerked my leg to free it, which made my knee slam violently into the bottom of the desk. The jolt sent my phone sliding right off the smooth wooden surface.

"Shit!" I gasped.

I lunged to catch it, but I only managed to yank the headphone wire. The right earphone popped out of my ear, and my phone clattered against the linoleum floor.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the ground to open up and swallow me.

But instead of the cold floor, a large, pale hand reached down and picked up my phone. The exact same hand that had held my wrist yesterday.

I stopped breathing.

Anton sat back up, holding my device. The screen was cracked (a casualty from last week's clumsiness), but it was lit up, showing my playlist. And from the dangling right earphone, IU's delicate voice was still playing softly into the quiet room.

He didn't hand it back right away. He looked at the screen, then at the earphone, and finally, his golden retriever eyes met mine.

"Is this the live version of Love poem?" he asked.

His voice was completely different from yesterday. In the store, he had spoken in hushed, nervous whispers, like he was talking to a fragile glass doll. Now, his voice was casual, bright, and deeply resonant. He was talking to a classmate. To a bro.

I stared at him, my brain completely short-circuiting. "Uh... yeah."

Wow, Wonbin. You're a poet.

Anton's face lit up in a genuine, blinding smile that made the air in the room feel instantly thinner. "I love IU," he said, resting his elbow on his desk and leaning slightly towards me. "Her breath control on this specific performance is unreal... it's a masterpiece."

He handed me the phone, carefully placing it in my open palm. His fingers didn't brush mine. There was no hesitation, no tips of his ears turning red.

"Yeah," I forced out, quickly pulling my hands back into my giant sleeves. "It's... good."

Anton didn't seem to notice my absolute lack of social skills. He just nodded, adjusting his own headphones around his neck, the very same ones he had dropped yesterday.

"I'm Anton, by the way," he said, casually extending a hand toward me. "I think we've been in this class all semester, but I don't think we've ever officially met."

I stared at his hand.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to drop out of college. I wanted to die and then come back just to haunt Eunseok.

I slowly pulled my right hand out of my sleeve, terrified that the black ink would somehow shine right through my skin, and accepted his handshake. His grip was firm, warm, and entirely platonic.

"Park Wonbin," I mumbled.

"Nice to meet you, Wonbin," he smiled again, pulling his hand back as the professor clapped his hands at the front of the room to start the lecture. "You have great taste in music."

He turned his attention to the front, flipping open a notebook.

I sat frozen in my chair. He had no idea. He was sitting less than two feet away from the "girl of his dreams," complimenting my music taste, and he had absolutely zero clue. To him, the mysterious girl in the pink cardigan and the clumsy, hoodie-wearing weirdo sitting next to him were two entirely different people.

And suddenly, staring at his side profile, I realized that my problem was so much worse than I thought.

Music Theory class had never felt this long. It was ninety minutes of pure psychological torture. Every time Anton shifted in his chair next to me, every time he sighed, turned a page, or jotted something down in his notebook, I held my breath.

The moment the professor finally dismissed the class, I practically threw my things haphazardly into my backpack, the zipper almost getting stuck in my sheer desperation.

"See you around, Wonbin," Anton said, standing up and slinging the strap of his leather backpack over his shoulder. He gave me that easy smile again. "If you want, send me the link to that playlist of yours later. I'm curious."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Bye!”

That was the only thing I managed to articulate before turning my back and practically sprinting out of the classroom, completely ignoring the fact that I looked like a fleeing suspect tripping over my own feet down the hallway.

I needed air. And I needed my friends.

I hid in the emptiest bathroom in the music building, locked the stall door to ensure my total privacy, and pulled my phone out of my pocket with my hands still shaking.

[WONBIN] 

RED ALERT. 

DOUBLE RED ALERT. 

THE METEOR HAS FALLEN. 

EARTH IS DESTROYED. 

[EUNSEOK] 

let me guess, you tripped in front of him and fell flat on your face

[SHOTARO] 

Bin!! What happened?? You haven't texted me back all morning!

[WONBIN] 

he sat next to me. 

in class. 

next. to. me. 

and complimented me. 

AND SHOOK MY HAND (THE EXACT SAME HAND THAT STILL HAS HIS NUMBER WRITTEN ON IT)

[EUNSEOK] 

gross! why is the number still there? do you not shower? 

also lmaoooo 

sorry, still laughing at your misery. 

but wait, did he recognize you?

[WONBIN] 

NO!!! THAT'S THE PROBLEM! 

he treated me like a "classmate"! he acted like a bro complimenting my music taste! 

now I'm not just the mysterious girl he's in love with. 

I'm his college buddy. 

HE WANTS THE LINK TO MY PLAYLIST, EUNSEOK.

[SHOTARO] 

Wonbin, that's terrible! 😭 

But look on the bright side... at least he thought you were cool in both versions?

[WONBIN] 

Taro, my sweet, innocent angel. 

this is a nightmare. 

I'm going to have to interact with him AT THE STORE as the shy girl in the pink cardigan... 

and AT COLLEGE as the weird bro in a hoodie who listens to IU. 

my double life just started and I already want to retire.

[EUNSEOK] 

you're the hannah montana of k-arts. 

all you need is the blonde wig.

[WONBIN] 

I HATE YOU SO MUCH

I aggressively shoved my phone back into my pocket, ignoring Eunseok's subsequent messages suggesting hideous stage names for my "alter ego."

I stepped out of the stall and stared at the bathroom mirror. The dark bags under my eyes, the messy hair, the giant hood almost swallowing me whole. I looked like a sleep-deprived raccoon, definitely not the inspiring muse of a musical prodigy, much less a cool guy you'd swap Spotify links with.

I sighed, turning on the faucet and quickly splashing water on my face. The real test was yet to come. It was almost four in the afternoon. In an hour, the bell on my uncle's glass shop door would ring, and the guy who now thought we were classroom bros would walk in looking for the girl he wanted to flirt with.

And I still hadn't washed his number off my arm.  

I practically sprinted the five blocks from campus to my uncle's record store, dodging pedestrians like I was running an Olympic hurdle race. By the time I pushed the back alley door open, my lungs were burning.

"Uncle! I'm here!" I yelled, tossing my backpack onto the breakroom sofa.

"I'm heading out to the bank, kid!" my uncle shouted from the front office, completely oblivious to my life falling apart. "You're in charge of the register!"

The front door slammed shut. I was alone. I checked the wall clock: 4:45 PM.

I had exactly fifteen minutes to become a completely different person.

I ripped the black hoodie off my body like it was on fire and threw it into the darkest corner of the breakroom. I aggressively washed my hands and face in the tiny sink, scrubbing the black ink on my wrist until the skin was raw and red, but the numbers, written in some kind of ungodly permanent marker, only faded to a dark gray.

"Stupid, high-quality pens," I hissed.

I gave up on my arm and focused on the disguise. I took my hair out of the messy ponytail, brushing it until it fell softly around my shoulders, and clipped my bangs back with two bright yellow star clips. I pulled a fluffy, oversized lavender knit sweater over my head, it was soft, pastel, and the sleeves were long enough to completely hide my right wrist.

Finally, I hooked the black face mask over my ears. I looked in the small breakroom mirror. The clumsy, sleep-deprived raccoon was gone. The delicate, quiet, indie-record-store girl was back.

I took a deep breath, walked out to the front counter, and grabbed my yellow dusting flannel.

At exactly 5:02 PM, the little bell above the glass door chimed.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I didn't even need to look up to know it was him. The scent of vanilla and cold autumn air entered the room before he did.

"Hi," a soft voice called out.

I slowly turned around. Anton was standing on the other side of the counter. He was wearing the exact same vintage denim jacket from class, but his aura had completely shifted. Gone was the cool, confident guy who had praised my music taste. This Anton looked hesitant, gentle, and the tips of his ears were already turning a dangerous shade of pink.

I gripped the flannel so tight my knuckles turned white, and offered a small, shy nod in return.

"I... I brought these back," he said, pulling two vinyl records from a canvas tote bag and placing them on the counter. "I bought them last week, but I think they're scratched. Track three skips on both."

I nodded again, taking the records with my left hand, making sure my right arm stayed safely tucked against my stomach. I scanned the barcodes to process the return, keeping my eyes glued to the cash register screen so I wouldn't have to look at his unfairly handsome face.

"Did you find your phone?" he asked suddenly.

My finger slipped, hitting the cancel button on the register with a loud beep. I felt my face burn under the mask. I quickly nodded, pointing a trembling finger toward the back room.

"Good," Anton smiled. A ridiculously fond, soft smile. He leaned his forearms against the glass counter, making himself comfortable. "I was hoping you'd text me. But I understand if you were busy."

I wasn't busy, I was having a panic attack!!!!!

I handed him his cash refund, still using only my left hand. Our fingers didn't touch this time, but the way he looked at me, like I was the most fascinating thing in a room full of rare music, made me want to crawl under the counter and live there with the dust bunnies.

"I actually had a really good day today," Anton continued, completely unprompted, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate tone he reserved just for “her”.

I grabbed a stack of CDs and started pretending to alphabetize them, just to have an excuse to look down.

"I made a new friend in my Music Theory class," he said.

My hand froze in mid-air. The CD case I was holding, a Greatest Hits of ABBA, slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the wooden counter.

Anton chuckled, an adorable, breathy sound. "Are you okay? You seem jumpy today."

I nodded frantically, picking up the CD and hugging it to my chest like a shield.

"Anyway," Anton went on, completely oblivious to my internal organs shutting down one by one. "His name is Wonbin. He sits all the way in the back, always hiding in these huge hoodies. He's a bit clumsy... dropped his phone right on the floor today."

I am going to murder him. I am going to jump over this counter and strangle Lee Chanyoung with my bare hands.

"But," Anton's voice grew even softer, and he tilted his head, trying to catch my eye. "He was listening to the exact same live version of IU's Love poem that you were playing in the store last week. He has amazing taste in music."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing myself to look up at him.

Anton smiled brightly, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "I think you two would really get along. Maybe I'll introduce you guys someday."

My soul officially left my body.

Introduce you guys. My brain completely flatlined. He wants to introduce me... to me.

I think my nervous system simply stopped sending signals to my body. I took a step back, desperately needing to put distance between myself and the terrifyingly earnest look in Anton's eyes.

But I forgot about the small wooden step stool my uncle kept behind the counter.

My heel hit the stool. I lost my balance entirely, my arms flailing wildly as I fell backward. I tried to grab onto something, anything, and my left hand closed around the edge of the "Indie New Arrivals" display rack.

It was a flimsy wire rack. It was not designed to support the weight of a panicking college student.

CRASH.

It was spectacular. It felt like it happened in slow motion. The rack tipped over, taking me down with it, and a shower of plastic CD cases rained down on my head, bouncing off my shoulders and scattering across the wooden floor with a deafening clatter.

"Oh my god!" Anton shouted, his calm, soft tone completely vanishing.

I groaned, lying flat on my back among a sea of Arctic Monkeys and Mac DeMarco albums. My pastel lavender sweater was covered in dust.

"Are you okay?!"

Before I could even attempt to sit up, Anton was already rounding the counter. He dropped to his knees right beside me, his golden retriever eyes wide with genuine panic.

"I'm so sorry, don't move, let me help you," he rambled, reaching out.

My heart stopped for the second time in less than a minute.

His hand was reaching directly for my right arm. The arm currently pushed up by the fall, the sleeve of my oversized sweater slipping dangerously close to my elbow, fully exposing my wrist and the terribly smudged, dark gray numbers written there.

Pure survival instinct took over.

I let out a muffled, high-pitched gasp through my black mask and violently yanked my arm away just as his fingertips brushed my sleeve. I scrambled backward across the floor like a terrified crab, kicking a few CDs out of the way.

Anton froze, his hands hovering in the air, looking incredibly guilty. "I-I'm sorry! Did I hurt you? Is your arm okay?"

I nodded aggressively, shaking my hands in front of me in a frantic "stop" motion. I scrambled to my feet, my knees practically knocking together. I didn't even look at the disastrous mess on the floor. I pointed a trembling finger at the scattered CDs, then pointed at him, and gave two awkward thumbs-up, desperately trying to communicate I'm fine, please just pretend this never happened.

"Let me at least help you clean this up," Anton pleaded, looking up at me with such concern it made my chest ache. He was already picking up a few cracked plastic cases.

I shook my head so hard one of my yellow star clips threatened to fly off. I snatched the CDs from his hands, using my left hand only, dumped them blindly onto the counter, and took three huge steps backward until my back hit the breakroom door.

I bowed deeply, a full ninety-degree apology angle, and then pushed the door open, darted inside, and slammed it shut behind me. The lock clicked with a loud clack.

I slid down the door until I hit the linoleum floor, pulling my knees to my chest. Outside, I could hear the faint sound of Anton carefully stacking the fallen CDs, completely alone in the store.

I pulled my cracked phone out of my pocket with my left hand, my fingers still trembling.

[WONBIN] 

i just knocked over the entire new arrivals rack. 

and he almost saw the numbers on my arm. 

eunseok, please tell me how much a one-way ticket to antarctica costs.

Group projects are the universe's way of punishing college students for their sins.

When Professor Kim announced that our midterm assignment would be a collaborative acoustic arrangement, I immediately made eye contact with the peeling paint on the wall, praying to become one with the plaster. But the universe wasn't done with me.

"Wonbin," a bright voice called out from my right. "Do you want to partner up?"

I slowly turned my head. Anton was leaning over his desk, tapping his expensive pen against his notebook, looking at me with the expectant, hopeful eyes of a puppy. I couldn't say no. Not without looking like a total jerk, definitely not when my brain was still malfunctioning every time he spoke to me.

Which is how, three days later, I found myself trapped in Soundproof Practice Room 4B.

The room was small. It consisted of an upright piano, two folding chairs, and exactly zero escape routes. Anton was sitting at the piano, his long fingers casually dancing over the keys, while I sat rigidly on my chair, clutching my lyric sheet so tightly the paper was crumpling.

"So," Anton said, stopping his warm-up. "For the vocal phrasing assignment, I was thinking we could do a stripped-down, acoustic cover. Nothing too classical. Do you know any Arctic Monkeys? Maybe Cornerstone or No. 1 Party Anthem?"

I blinked, genuinely surprised. "I... yeah. I listen to them a lot, actually."

Anton's face lit up. "Really? That's awesome. Let's do Cornerstone. I'll figure out the chord progression on the keys, and you take the main vocals."

"Me? Sing?" My voice cracked slightly. "No, no, I just... I usually just do the theoretical part. You sing it."

"Come on, Wonbin," Anton smiled, adjusting his posture. "It's a duet grade. We have to show vocal harmony eventually, but I need to hear the main melody first to build the chords. Just give it a try. I promise I won't judge."

There was no way out of this. If I failed Music Theory, my dad would actually murder me and then bring me back to life just to force me into industrial production.

"Fine," I mumbled.

Anton played the opening chords. The melody was slow, melancholic, and deeply familiar. I closed my eyes. If I couldn't see him, maybe I could pretend I was just alone in my bedroom.

I took a breath and started to sing.

I didn't try to force a deep, manly "bro" tone. I was too nervous to focus on acting, so I just let my natural voice come out. Soft, a little breathy, carrying the indie-rock rhythm with a delicate tone. The acoustics of the small room amplified the sound, making the melancholy of the lyrics bounce off the walls.

Completely lost myself in the song for a full minute, navigating the melody until I reached the chorus. But when I finished the phrase, Anton didn't play the next chord.

The piano went completely silent.

I snapped my eyes open, my heart instantly kicking into overdrive. "Did I mess up the tempo? I told you I wasn't-"

"You're incredible," Anton interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper.

He was turned completely toward me on the piano bench. His hands were resting on his lap, and he was staring at me in a wat that made the small room suddenly feel a thousand degrees hotter. His eyes were tracing my face, completely captivated.

"Your tone," he continued, sounding genuinely breathless. "It's so soft, but it has this... this specific texture to it. It's beautiful, Wonbin."

I felt the blood rush straight to my face. A compliment. He was complimenting me. Park Wonbin. Not the girl from the store. Me.

My social anxiety flared up instantly. Out of pure reflex, I dropped my gaze to the floor, my shoulders curling inward. I pulled my hands back so far into the giant sleeves of my hoodie that they completely disappeared, crossing my arms over my chest to hide as much of myself as possible.

"It's... whatever. Let's just finish the chords," I mumbled to the floor.

Anton didn't turn back to the piano. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.

"You know..." Anton's voice was slower now, thoughtful.

I peeked up through my messy bangs. He was squinting slightly, looking at my arms crossed over my chest, specifically at the empty, dangling sleeves of my hoodie.

"You do this thing," he murmured, almost to himself.

"What thing?" I asked, my voice pitching up nervously.

"With your hands. The way you hide them in your sleeves when you get shy." Anton tilted his head, his eyes moving from my sleeves to the floor, where my backpack was resting against the wall.

A heavy, suffocating dread settled in my stomach.

"And your voice..." Anton kept going, his brow furrowing as the gears in his brain started turning. He pointed a long finger at my backpack. "You have a Hello Kitty keychain on your zipper."

"I like Sanrio," I said quickly, defensively. "It's ironical. A punk-rock aesthetic choice."

Anton didn't laugh at my terrible joke. He just kept staring at the little plastic cat, and then slowly brought his eyes back to my face.

"The girl from the record store," Anton said softly, the words hanging in the air like an executioner's axe. "The one I told you about. She has a My Melody keychain on her tote bag. And the other day, when she dropped a stack of CDs... she hid her hands inside her cardigan sleeves exactly the way you're doing right now."

My soul evacuated my body. It didn't just leave, it bought a one-way ticket to Mars.

"And now that I think about it..." Anton leaned a fraction closer, his dark eyes analyzing every inch of my panicked face. "Her voice is really soft, too. I've only heard her whisper a few words, but... the tone is weirdly similar."

I couldn't breathe. The walls of Practice Room 4B were closing in on me. He knew. He figured it out. I was going to have to fake my own death.

"Are you..." Anton started, his voice dropping into a low, serious register.

He's going to ask why I'm dressing in drag and lying to him.

Sister? My brain completely flatlined. I stared at him, my mouth opening and closing like a dying fish.

The universe had just handed me a get-out-of-jail-free card. A highly combustible, radioactive, incredibly stupid card... but a card nonetheless. If I said yes, I wouldn't be the weird guy crossdressing at the record store. I would just be the brother.

I took a shaky breath, making the worst decision of my twenty-something years of existence.

"Yes," I croaked out, my voice cracking horribly. I cleared my throat and tried again, sitting up a little straighter. "Yes. She is my sister. My... twin sister, actually. Fraternal twins. Obviously."

Anton’s eyes widened, shining with a sudden, brilliant realization. The imaginary puzzle pieces in his head clicked together perfectly.

"Twins!" Anton gasped, a bright, breathtaking smile spreading across his face. He actually clapped his hands together, looking like he had just solved the mysteries of the universe. "Oh my God, that makes so much sense! The same height, the same eyes, the same taste in music... and the same Sanrio obsession!"

"Yeah," I forced a painful, robotic smile, feeling a single drop of cold sweat roll down my spine. "Our parents really copy-pasted us. Genetically speaking. We're very close. Like... practically the same person."

Literally the same person, you idiot.

"Wow," Anton breathed out, leaning back on the piano bench. He ran a hand through his dark hair, looking incredibly relieved. "I can't believe it. I was so nervous around her, I didn't even realize the resemblance until now. Does she also study here at K-Arts?"

"No!" I said quickly, maybe a little too loud. "No, she... she doesn't go to college. She's taking a gap year. Just... soul searching. And dusting shelves. At my uncle's store. That's her only job."

"A gap year," Anton nodded thoughtfully, absorbing every terrible lie I was feeding him like it was gospel. "That's really cool. She seems so mysterious and artistic."

I wanted to bash my forehead against the piano keys until I forgot my own name. She's not mysterious, Chanyoung, I just don't know how to talk to you without having a panic attack!

"So..." Anton shifted on the bench, leaning closer to me again. The golden retriever energy was back in full force, and his ears were turning pink again. "What's her name?"

Panic seized my throat. A name. I hadn't thought of a name. I needed a girl's name. Quickly.

"Won... Won..." I stammered, my eyes darting around the practice room looking for inspiration. There was nothing but acoustic foam and a discarded water bottle. "Won... bi."

"Wonbi?" Anton repeated softly, tasting the name on his tongue. He smiled. "Wonbin and Wonbi. That's actually really cute."

It's a tragedy is what it is. "Yeah, my parents aren't very creative," I mumbled, pulling my hood up to hide my burning face. "Anyway. Can we please get back to the Arctic Monkeys? My sister doesn't really like it when I talk about her behind her back."

"Right. Sorry." Anton quickly turned back to the piano, placing his long fingers on the keys. But before he played the first chord, he paused, looking at me over his shoulder with a pleading, desperate expression.

"Wonbin?"

"What?" I whimpered.

"Since we're partners for this project... and we're friends now..." Anton bit his lower lip, looking incredibly shy. "Do you think you could, maybe... put in a good word for me? With Wonbi?"

I stared at him. The golden boy of the music department was asking me to be his wingman. For myself.

"I'll... see what I can do," I whispered, my soul officially leaving my body and ascending to the heavens.

[WONBIN]
need you guys to start planning my funeral.
rn. pick out a nice casket. preferably one with hello kitty on it so people know it's me.

[EUNSEOK]

what did you do now?

did you drop a piano on him?

[SHOTARO]

Bin??

Are you okay?

[WONBIN]

he noticed we have the same voice.

and the same keychain.

he cornered me in the practice room.

[EUNSEOK]

IT'S OVER.

THE HANNAH MONTANA WIG HAS BEEN SNATCHED.

[WONBIN]

I TOLD HIM I HAVE A TWIN SISTER.

HE THINKS HE IS IN LOVE WITH MY FRATERNAL TWIN SISTER, WONBI.

AND HE JUST ASKED ME TO BE HIS WINGMAN.

[EUNSEOK]

WONBI??????

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

PARK WONBIN YOU ARE THE DUMBEST BITCH ALIVE

[SHOTARO]

WONBIN NOOOOOOO 😭😭😭

HOW ARE YOU GOING TO FIX THIS???

[WONBIN]

i'm not. i'm going to fake my death in a tragic boating accident and start a new life in mexico.

tell my uncle im sorry.

I quickly realized that being a wingman for your own imaginary twin sister is a very lucrative, yet psychologically damaging, business.

It started on a Thursday. Anton had cornered me by the vending machines after Music Theory, hitting me with the golden retriever eyes.

"Wonbin," he had asked, nervously scratching the back of his neck. "I want to bring Wonbi something at the store later. What does she like? I don't want to get it wrong."

My mind went completely blank. I stared at the row of stale potato chips in the vending machine, panicking. I couldn't think of a single "girly" thing. All I could think about was how hungry I was.

"Uh," I stammered. "She likes... the iced vanilla latte from that cafe across the street. With oat milk. And extra caramel drizzle. Oh, and the strawberry tarts from the bakery next door. She really, really likes those."

Anton nodded seriously, typing the exact order into his expensive phone like he was securing nuclear codes.

The next morning, I walked into class and found Anton already sitting at our shared desk. Sitting right in front of him was a cardboard drink tray holding two identical iced vanilla lattes with oat milk and extra caramel, and a little pink bakery box containing two strawberry tarts.

"Hey," Anton smiled brightly as I dropped my heavy backpack on the floor. He pushed one latte and half the box toward me. "I bought one for you to give to her later. And the other one is for you. For helping me out."

I stared at the glorious, sugary breakfast in front of me. I was essentially scamming a millionaire's son out of premium baked goods.

"Wow," I said, taking a sip of the perfectly made coffee. "Thanks, man. You really didn't have to."

"Of course I did," Anton said, watching me take a huge bite of the strawberry tart. A small, strange smile played on his lips. "It's the least I can do. Is it good?"

"It's incredible," I mumbled with my mouth full, a little bit of pastry cream getting on the corner of my lip. I wiped it away with my giant hoodie sleeve.

Anton swallowed dryly, looking away from my face and suddenly finding the whiteboard extremely interesting. "Cool. Good. I'm glad."

I mentally patted myself on the back. This wingman thing was a piece of cake. Literally.

By the time Tuesday rolled around, I felt so secure in my new dynamic with Anton that I actually let my guard down. We had another long session in Practice Room 4B to finish our acoustic arrangement of the Arctic Monkeys.

The problem was that the air conditioning in the music building had broken down that morning, and 4B felt like an absolute sauna.

We were thirty minutes into the rehearsal. Anton was playing the piano, and I was trying to focus on the sheet music, but I felt like I was melting. My thick, oversized gray hoodie, my armor, my safe space, was slowly suffocating me.

It's fine, I reasoned with myself. He thinks I'm a guy. He's hopelessly in love with my sister. He's completely straight for 'Wonbi'. I'm safe.

"I can't take this," I groaned, putting the lyric sheet down. I grabbed the hem of my giant hoodie and pulled it over my head in one swift motion, tossing the heavy fabric onto the folding chair.

I sighed in relief as the cool air hit my skin. Underneath, I was just wearing a slightly tight, black vintage t-shirt with a washed-out band logo. It hugged my waist and shoulders, leaving my collarbones exposed. I shook my hair out, running my fingers through the dark strands to get them out of my face, and turned back to the piano.

"Okay, let's take it from the second verse-"

Anton played a chord. It was the wrong chord. It sounded like a dying cat stepping on a keyboard.

I blinked, looking at him.

Anton was frozen. His hands were still hovering over the keys, but his eyes were completely fixed on me. More specifically, on my chest, moving up to my collarbones, and finally stopping at my face. He looked like he had just seen a ghost. Or an alien.

"Anton?" I asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Did I mess up the lyrics again?"

"What?" Anton blinked rapidly, his voice coming out an entire octave lower than usual. He forcefully tore his gaze away from my waist and stared intensely at the sheet music. "No. No, the lyrics are fine. Everything is fine. It's just hot. Very hot."

He reached up and unbuttoned the top button of his flannel shirt, clearing his throat loudly. I noticed a thin layer of sweat forming on his forehead.

"You okay?" I asked, genuinely concerned. "You look a little flushed."

"I'm perfectly fine!" Anton replied, way too quickly. He slammed his fingers onto the piano keys, playing the correct chord this time, but with an aggressive force that definitely didn't fit the indie-rock vibe. "Second verse! Let's go!"

I shrugged, picking up my sheet music. Rich people were so weird.

The peak of the absolute bizarre behavior, however, happened the next day during lunch break.

Anton and I were walking across the campus courtyard. We had developed this weird habit of walking to the cafeteria together, mostly because Anton wanted to ask me more questions about "Wonbi's" non-existent life, and I wanted to see if he would buy me more free food.

We were standing near the benches when a loud, booming voice echoed across the lawn.

"Yoooo! Wonbin!"

I barely had time to turn around before a giant, heavy arm was thrown around my shoulders. It was Sungchan, from the film major, who also happened to be Anton’s absolute best friend in the entire world.

"Hey, Chanyoung!" Sungchan grinned, using Anton's real name. He pulled me flush against his side, practically squishing me in a side-hug. "I didn't know you hung out with the music department's resident hermit without me! You're bringing him out of his shell!"

"Sungchan, let go, you're crushing my ribs," I wheezed, trying to squirm out of his grip.

Sungchan just laughed, ignoring my struggles. He ruffled my hair aggressively, completely messing up my bangs. "Look at him, he's like an angry little cat! Isn't he cute, Ton?"

I expected Anton to laugh. I expected him to make a joke with his best friend, maybe agree that I was weird but definitely not cute, because my sister was the cute one.

Instead, the temperature around us seemed to drop below zero.

I looked at Anton. His golden retriever smile was completely gone. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter. His dark eyes were fixed on his best friend's arm wrapped around my shoulders, and he looked genuinely murderous.

"Let go of him, Sungchan," Anton said. His voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp. Cold.

Sungchan paused, his smile faltering. He looked at Anton, then at me, clearly confused by the sudden, intense hostility coming from his lifelong bro. "Whoa, chill out, man. It's me. I'm just playing around. Wonbin and I are friends too."

"I said let him go," Anton repeated, taking a step forward. He reached out, grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of Sungchan's grip with surprising force.

He pulled me slightly behind him, positioning his broad shoulders between me and the giant film major.

"We need to get to the cafeteria," Anton muttered, his glare still fixed on his best friend. "Come on, Wonbin."

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and started walking fast, his hand still wrapped tightly around my wrist, dragging me along.

I stumbled over my own feet, looking back at Sungchan, who was standing on the lawn with his hands raised in surrender, mouthing ‘What the fuck is his problem?’ to me.

I mentally echoed the exact same question.

What the actual fuck?

[WONBIN]

EMERGENCY MEETING.

I THINK THE WINGMAN MISSION IS FAILING.

[SHOTARO]

Did you get caught??

[WONBIN]

NO.

BUT HE JUST BARKED AT SUNGCHAN FOR HUGGING ME.

LITERALLY BARKED. GROWLED.

HE PULLED ME AWAY LIKE I WAS A PRINCESS IN DISTRESS.

I AM SO CONFUSED. DOES HE HATE ME?

[EUNSEOK]

oh my god.

he doesn't hate you, you absolute moron.

the boy is having a crisis.

he's realizing he wants the brother, not the sister.

[WONBIN]

SONG EUNSEOK DON'T BE DISGUSTING.

HE IS STRAIGHT.

HE BOUGHT MY SISTER A STRAWBERRY TART YESTERDAY.

[EUNSEOK]

WHO ATE THE TART, WONBIN?

[WONBIN]

I DID, BUT THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT!

Anton made me walk with him until we were completely out of sight of the courtyard, hidden in a quiet corridor near the old rehearsal rooms.

He finally stopped walking, his chest heaving slightly as if he had just run a marathon instead of fast-walking across campus. He dropped my wrist, and the sudden loss of his warm grip made the cool air hit my skin like a shock.

"What was that?!" I gasped, leaning against the brick wall to catch my breath. "Are you crazy? You practically dragged me halfway across the university! He's your best friend!"

Anton didn't answer immediately. He was staring at the floor, his jaw still tight. He looked incredibly frustrated, running a hand through his perfectly messy dark hair, making it look even messier.

"I don't know," he muttered, his voice thick. He finally looked up at me, his golden retriever eyes looking more like a confused, defensive wolf. "I just... I didn't like the way he was touching you."

"Well, he needs to learn some," Anton snapped, stepping closer to me. The space between us shrank dangerously. "You're..." He hesitated, his eyes darting down to my lips before snapping back up to my eyes. "You don't like being the center of attention. I know you don't. He was making you uncomfortable."

"I was fine," I whispered, though my voice betrayed me by trembling slightly.

"Your hair is a mess," Anton said softly, completely ignoring my protests.

He raised his hand. For a second, my brain screamed at me to dodge, to hide my face, to do the crab-walk away from him. But my body betrayed me. I stood perfectly still, glued to the brick wall, as Anton's long, warm fingers reached out.

He didn't just fix my hair. He carefully brushed the dark strands out of my eyes, his fingertips lightly tracing the line of my forehead, lingering just a second too long near my temple. His touch was so gentle that my breath hitched audibly.

Eunseok's annoying, all-caps message echoed loudly in the back of my skull.

HE IS REALIZING HE WANTS THE BROTHER, NOT THE SISTER.

No. No way. That was impossible. He was Anton Lee. He had bought 'Wonbi' a strawberry tart. He wanted to date the quiet, mysterious girl from the record store.

But looking up at him now, at the way his dark eyes were intensely focused on my face, at the way he was leaning in so close I could smell the vanilla and cedarwood of his cologne... he wasn't looking at me like I was his girlfriend's brother. He wasn't looking at me like a wingman.

He was looking at me like he wanted to kiss me.

"Anton," I breathed out, terrified of what would happen if we stayed in this quiet corridor any longer. "Don't we need to talk about... Wonbi? You said you wanted to ask her out this weekend. I'm supposed to help you plan it."

It was a defense mechanism. A desperate attempt to put the wall back up between us.

Anton flinched. The mention of the name seemed to break the spell. He pulled his hand back quickly, taking a step away from me, a sudden wave of extreme guilt washing over his handsome features.

"Right," he swallowed hard, looking at the floor again. "Wonbi. Your sister."

"Yeah," I squeaked out. "Do you still want me to text her for you?"

Anton was silent for a long. He looked completely torn, fighting a war inside his own head that I had accidentally started.

"Actually, Wonbin," Anton said, his voice quiet, almost sad. "Could we... not talk about her today? I think I just need a break."

My stomach did a complicated flip. "A break?"

"Yeah." He adjusted his leather backpack on his shoulder, giving me a small, hesitant smile. "Are you free after your shift at the store tonight? Maybe we could just grab some dinner. Just the two of us. I want to show you this new indie rock place downtown."

Just the two of us. Not Anton and Wonbi. Not the lovestruck guy and his wingman. Just Anton and Wonbin.

I should have said no. I should have made up an excuse, faked a stomach ache, or quit college on the spot. But standing there, looking at the hopeful vulnerability in his eyes, I realized something terrifying.

I didn't want to run away anymore.

"Okay," I whispered, hiding my hands inside my sleeves again. "Just the two of us."

Anton's smile widened, completely erasing the tension from before. "I'll pick you up at the store at seven. Don't be late."

He turned and walked down the hallway, leaving me alone against the brick wall.

I slowly slid down until I was sitting on the cold floor, pulling my knees to my chest. I buried my face in my arms, letting out a long, muffled groan.

My name is Park Wonbin. I got myself into huge trouble because of a ridiculous misunderstanding. I lied, I created a fake twin sister, and I dug a hole so deep I would never be able to climb out of it.

But as my heart raced in my chest, thinking about dinner at seven, I realized the absolute worst part of this entire catastrophe.

I didn't want the misunderstanding to end. Because I was completely, hopelessly in love with him, too.