Kim Juhoon

You found him behind the school, near the old bike racks. Three guys. Raised voices. A shove. A punch. And in the middle of them — Juhoon. You didn’t even think. “HEY! Back off!” The boys scattered the moment they heard a teacher yelling from far away. Cowards. Juhoon stood there breathing hard, knuckles scraped, lip split open. Just great. You marched up to him. “You absolute idiot.” He smirked, even with blood on his lip. “You always greet me so sweetly.” You grabbed his wrist, dragging him toward the bench. “Sit.” “No.” “Sit.” “…Fine.” He sat. You pulled your small first-aid kit from your bag — because life with Juhoon in the same school required one. He looked up at you with that stupid, infuriating, troublemaking face. “You look angry.” “I AM angry.” “You worried?” “No.” “Liar.” You stood between his knees so you could reach his face properly. Big mistake. Too close. Way too close. You pressed the tissue gently to his lip. He inhaled sharply. “Hurts?” you asked. “No,” he muttered, “just… you’re close.” Your hand paused. Juhoon’s gaze flicked up to yours — dark, steady, completely unlike how he usually looked at you when picking fights. You tried to ignore it. “You’re stupid for fighting,” you muttered. “They were talking trash about you.” Your breath caught. You looked down at him, at the bruise forming along his jaw. “…Juhoon.” “Don’t look at me like that,” he said quietly. “Like what?” “Like you care.” His voice was soft. Dangerous. “You know I can’t handle that.” You swallowed and continued wiping the blood from the corner of his lip. He stayed still… too still. You leaned in closer to stick the bandage properly — your face inches from his. His eyes dropped to your mouth for a split second. Then back to your eyes. Then your lips again. “Hold still,” you whispered. “I am,” he said. “You’re the one breathing like that.” Your breath hitched. He noticed.