Chapter Text
In an attempt—a slightly racist one, if you ask me—to keep Korea’s bloodline “pure” and boost the country’s birth rate, the government introduced the Partner Rating System for its citizens. It was a mandatory app everyone had to have installed on their devices, directly connected to the national database. With it, you could check the rating of your romantic interest in just a few seconds, as if looking up someone’s score before going out were as normal as checking the weather before leaving home.
When you ended a relationship, you were required to submit a rating for your ex. It might sound hard to accept, because in every love story there’s always a villain and a victim—and when emotions are involved, people aren’t exactly fair. But since you had to write a review to justify your rating and couldn’t lie openly without risking a defamation report, most people tried to be careful with their words. Some wrote long, almost poetic paragraphs full of explanations, while others barely managed a single sentence dripping with anger or resentment. Even though perception was always subjective, the government insisted everything was handled properly thanks to the app’s constant monitoring and control. According to them, it was a reliable, objective, and efficient system.
And so, there were people with a perfect five-star profile—those were the ones called “every mother-in-law’s dream” or “the ideal partner.” And then there were others with barely half a star, pushed to the quiet corners of romantic society, labeled as problematic, difficult, or simply unlucky in love. That was how society now decided who to date and who to avoid—all based on a number and a collection of reviews on an app. To many, it was scandalous and dehumanizing, but despite the critics who protested its ethics every day in forums and on the streets, the app and its ratings continued to operate normally. No one seemed to have the real power to stop it.
Wonwoo was just glad it was only a stupid app for dating. If there had been one for rating friends, he probably wouldn’t have the wonderful people who now made up his little world and daily emotional support. His friends were a solid, diverse group: Soonyoung, with his endless energy and silly jokes; his boyfriend Jihoon, who always looked serious but was actually a sweetheart; Jun, who looked like a prince; and his boyfriend Minghao, who always smelled faintly of lavender and green tea. Then there was Seungkwan, who never stopped talking, and his boyfriend Vernon, quiet and gentle like a sunset.
It wasn’t exactly surprising that Wonwoo was the only single one in the group—he only had half a star on that stupid app. People cared way too much about that score, as if it were the most important thing in the world. It didn’t matter that he carefully picked his clothes before going out—clothes that showed off his broad shoulders and pretty neck; that he looked as beautiful as he naturally was, with clear, glowing skin and soft lips; that he smelled nice thanks to his white tea and jasmine perfume; that he smiled with that almost shy sweetness people always said melted hearts… In the end, none of that mattered. He became invisible to everyone else just because of that half-star. As if he didn’t exist. As if he wasn’t worth it.
It was horrible. And Wonwoo could only think he’d dated all the wrong people in his life. He’d had about seven relationships in total since he turned fifteen—the minimum age when the app activated and started recording your first dates. It was a young age, immature even, if you asked him now, but still the age when most people began their romantic lives, sometimes secretly from their parents, writing reviews full of cheesy lines or unfiltered teenage insults.
His relationships lasted months—the longest barely six. Nothing remarkable, but long enough to count as “official” and deserve a rating. So all of them had the chance to evaluate him, leaving their opinions forever stored in the system. Six of his exes rated him with just one star, mercilessly, as if he had been a total failure. The last one gave him zero. Zero. That broke him inside.
Before that, his average had never fallen below one star—and even so, there were still people who decided to date him. But they always ended up saying, with a disappointed sigh, “Now I see why you only have one star.” His last boyfriend didn’t even give him that.
They were both eighteen, and Wonwoo had simply refused to lose his virginity with him. That was it. That was the reason for the zero stars. Seriously? He still remembered his words perfectly, etched into his mind like a painful tattoo: “If you hadn’t refused to have sex, maybe we could’ve saved this relationship.” That guy was an asshole—probably the worst of them all—and Wonwoo had been too naïve to give him even one star. He had always been honest with his ratings; he never gave anyone five stars because no one had ever been perfect to him, but he had given three or four when someone had been a good person, even if things hadn’t worked out.
Still, the others always gave him one star in return. But when that last ex saw the one-star rating, he got so angry he left Wonwoo a zero. And the worst part? The app allowed it. No appeal, no review, no justice. That one score dropped his average drastically. His father had been furious, ready to sue the company for negligence and emotional damage, but Wonwoo was just sad. He was eighteen. Eighteen is not an age to give up on love—but this app, which was supposed to make relationships simpler and clearer, only turned them into a cruel, impossible maze full of walls and dead ends.
The lowest possible score you could have was half a star. If your average was 0.8 like his, it didn’t round up—it stayed at half. It was humiliating. So when he started college, he was probably the student with the lowest love rating on campus.
And that was sad, because again, nobody wanted to date him. Nobody looked at him twice. And that was fine, he told himself—after all, his first year of university flew by, and he was focused on his studies. It was almost an advantage, not having to give his time and energy to someone else. He could focus on himself, on what he loved, on reading until he fell asleep on his books, watching movies at dawn, or going out with his friends to quiet cafés and small parks where they’d talk for hours.
His friends really were the foundation of his life—a pillar that held everything together. They always encouraged him, insisting that the app’s rating didn’t matter at all. Seungkwan, for example, had an average of 4.5 stars, and his boyfriend Vernon only had 2. And still, Seungkwan proudly declared that everyone else was wrong about Vernon’s rating because he was the best—the sweetest, most patient, most understanding guy ever. He said people just hadn’t taken the time to really know him.
The rest of his friends had boyfriends with similar ratings—each around four stars—and even though that sometimes made Wonwoo feel a little sad, they never left him out or rubbed his loneliness in his face.
“You’re funny and smart. I think what’s happening to you is the same thing that happened to Vernon—people just don’t understand you,” Seungkwan would say affectionately, squeezing his hand as if that simple gesture could transfer some of his confidence to him.
Vernon, for his part, had managed to raise his score thanks to the thoughtful movie and music recommendations he used to give his exes—they gave him extra points for that. But Wonwoo’s reviews… well, they were sometimes a bit cruel.
“Wonwoo is so boring, he doesn’t like parties and he’s introverted.”
“Wonwoo doesn’t like going out, so don’t count on him for that.”
“Wonwoo likes League of Legends—that’s already a red flag.”
“Wonwoo can be really cold sometimes. He doesn’t like public displays of affection, which always pissed me off, and yet when we were alone, he was too clingy, so I just couldn’t understand why he was fine with it in private but not in public.”
“Wonwoo never wants to do anything, he always prefers to rest. It’s kind of annoying.”
“Wonwoo never seems jealous, and that makes me doubt if he ever really cared about me.”
Wonwoo had read those reviews so many times that they didn’t hurt like they used to—but they still sat heavy in his chest, lodged somewhere right where breathing gets a little tighter when something hurts. He always thought jealousy wasn’t a good thing. Wasn’t it better to trust the person you were with? And he didn’t think there was anything wrong with being introverted, either. It’s not like he could change his personality just to fit someone else’s expectations. He was who he was, and he couldn’t—or didn’t want to—“fix” that.
Still, to his exes, all those traits were flaws. Warnings. Reasons not to date him again. To them, his silences weren’t comfortable—they were awkward. His pauses when he spoke weren’t thoughtful—they were boring. His calm kind of love wasn’t soothing—it was cold. And there was nothing Wonwoo could do about it except live with it, wondering if someday someone would see all of that as something good instead of something that needed to be corrected.
Sometimes he thought that maybe… maybe if someone came into his life and actually made him want to change—someone who was really worth it—then maybe, just maybe, he’d try. He’d try to be more open, more fun, warmer in public, less cold, less reserved, less… himself. But that thought hurt too, because what was the point of being loved if he had to stop being who he was?
Although honestly, it wasn’t like he even had much of a chance to try. He’d met a couple of guys who also had half a star—like him—matched together by the app’s algorithm, as if they were leftovers meant to be recycled between each other. One of them was a gambling addict, and it wasn’t a rumor. He had stolen money from several of his ex-boyfriends and even from one of their grandmothers, just to keep betting on illegal mahjong games and horse races. He was the kind of guy who was always frowning at his phone, waiting for a notification to tell him he’d won—so he could breathe easy until the next debt came due.
The other guy had a serious drug addiction. He wasn’t just a casual weed smoker or a social drinker—no, it went much further than that. He was dangerous, both to himself and to others. Completely unstable, untrustworthy, the kind of person you couldn’t be sure would still be alive the next day—or if he’d end up in a hospital or behind bars.
Wonwoo wasn’t like that. He had never hurt anyone that way. He’d never intentionally harmed someone, never stolen, never lied or betrayed anyone in a serious way. His biggest “sin,” according to the app’s standards, was being boring. And yet people still lumped him in with those types just because they shared the same rating. Half a point. Half a star. To the system, it was all the same: disposable, undesirable, problematic.
He didn’t know if he was destined for loneliness—if it had been written that way since the day he was born, like a role he had no choice but to play until the very end. But so far, he had accepted it. He’d learned to live with that idea without letting it completely destroy him, convincing himself it was fine. That it was better not to expect anything from anyone. That being alone wasn’t so bad, as long as he had his music, his books, his video games, and his friends.
Still, there were days when longing crept in, quiet but sharp, leaving a cold ache in his chest. And on those days, he thought that maybe—if everyone really did have a destiny—he hoped his wouldn’t be such a lonely one after all. Quietly, without hope, he still longed to find someone.
★★★★★
Things changed when Wonwoo started his third semester in film school. Yes, that’s what he was studying—film—because he loved watching stories unfold, creating worlds that didn’t exist, editing scenes until they felt perfect, and building atmospheres out of music and silence.
But that semester, it wasn’t any movie or script that changed his daily life. It was the arrival of new students at the university. And with those new students came the news that, apparently, the perfect boyfriend did exist. He wasn’t a myth, or a movie character, or a collective illusion.
Kim Mingyu. That was his name. It already sounded elegant before anyone even knew who he was. Everyone learned about him through the app—his profile showed a flawless five-star rating. Not four-point-five. Five. A perfect record for someone his age. This new student instantly became a campus-wide trending topic, and, of course, Wonwoo heard about him long before he even knew what classes he’d be taking that semester.
At first, he was curious—naturally. What made him so great? How could anyone maintain a perfect five-star average at only eighteen? What kind of person was capable of that? When Wonwoo only knew his name, Kim Mingyu, his mind spun in circles around those questions, imagining possible personalities, virtues, and talents. Was he a genius? Rich? A professional athlete? The kindest, most well-mannered guy in the world?
Then someone sent him a photo. Apparently, one of the new students had saved it and shared it in a group chat like they were revealing some sacred secret.
Well… he’s normal, Wonwoo thought at first, analyzing the image. He was tall, tan, broad-shouldered, with a nice smile—the kind where his canine teeth showed just enough to give him a playful, mischievous look. Okay, he was attractive, that was undeniable, but Wonwoo figured his real charm must lie in his personality—someone gentle, funny, charismatic, the kind of person everyone dreamed about but who felt completely out of reach for the rest of the world.
He looked good in the picture. Decent, Wonwoo thought, though he immediately felt bad for using that word. It was understandable why people found him so appealing, and obviously, his status on the app made him popular from the very first moment he set foot on campus. He didn’t have to try, didn’t have to introduce himself or win anyone over—his rating spoke for him long before he said a single word.
Everyone wanted to go out with him—guys, girls, people of every orientation. But Wonwoo, ever the realist, figured that Mingyu would only date someone on his own level—another five-star candidate. Maybe someone with a 4.5-star rating could stand a chance, since that was almost the same thing. All those people with shiny golden stars next to their names on the app—they were the ones who had a shot.
Except for Wonwoo. With his half-star rating, he wouldn’t even cross that perfect boyfriend’s mind. Not in a million years. It was a sad thought, but it was the truth—and Wonwoo was already used to the truth, even when it hurt.
But everything went to hell the moment Wonwoo saw Kim Mingyu in person. Because the photo hadn’t done him justice. Not even close.
He was taller than Wonwoo had imagined—devastatingly handsome, with warm tan skin that looked like it was always kissed by sunlight, an aura that radiated confidence and ease, broad shoulders and endlessly long legs. The title “perfect boyfriend” didn’t even cover it. He was the dream made flesh, the standard, the blueprint from which every Korean guy should’ve been cloned if someone had ever tried to create a generation of beautiful, flawless men.
And, obviously, Wonwoo had eyes. He couldn’t help it. His heart really did skip a beat the first time he saw him walking down the main hallway, laughing with a group of classmates, moving with that quiet confidence of someone who knows everyone’s watching. Wonwoo lowered his gaze immediately, shame flooding his stomach like a handful of cold stones.
Shame for existing—well, not exactly that. Shame for having dated such mediocre people. Shame for his half-star rating. Shame for knowing that, even if he wanted to, he’d never have a chance. Shame for even imagining that Mingyu might ever look his way.
Mingyu probably never would. He surrounded himself with people who had the same perfect rating—or at least something close. They lived in different worlds, and those worlds would never touch.
Wonwoo wasn’t even going to try. He knew people would make fun of him if they ever found out he had a crush on Kim Mingyu. So he decided to keep it buried deep in his heart, quiet and invisible. He wasn’t going to do anything about it—not like the eighty percent of single people on campus who were already finding excuses to get close to Mingyu, to ask him out, to charm him, or at least brag to their friends that they’d spoken to the five-star guy.
Things got out of hand quickly with the new student. He had so many secret admirers that within days, his locker was overflowing with scented letters, chocolates, tiny gifts tied with ribbons, and even coffee coupons. Every day he received anonymous love notes and confessions—to the point of exhaustion, and sometimes, straight-up harassment.
It got so bad that the school administration had to step in to protect him. They wanted Mingyu, as popular and perfect as he was, to have a normal college experience—without being chased around like a K-pop idol at an airport.
So they made it official: anyone caught giving him gifts or letters would get in trouble with the school. It was a strict announcement—one that broke many hearts. After a few weeks, people stopped swarming him so desperately, though they still looked at him with quiet adoration. At least now he could live like a normal student, even if everyone still knew he was perfect. People still tried to get close to him, of course, but now they did it more subtly, trying to make it look “organic,” natural, casual. At least they weren’t as obvious about it anymore.
Mingyu was studying civil engineering—a completely different world from Wonwoo’s, one that had nothing to do with film, editing, or sound. So their paths definitely weren’t meant to cross. They weren’t destined to meet.
Wonwoo, with his half-star rating, didn’t stand out much in anything—he was just one more face in the crowd. In his major, he liked editing and working with sound, which was how he quickly became friends with Vernon. Vernon was studying the same thing and also loved audio production and sound design—creating immersive atmospheres and effects for scenes.
So, naturally, Wonwoo and Mingyu wouldn’t meet. They belonged to different worlds. Separate. Distant. As far apart as the moon and the sun.
★★★★★
It was almost the end of the third semester. Wonwoo had done a good job of taking care of his heart—of his secret crush on Mingyu. He never mentioned it, and his friend group didn’t have any particular interest in the so-called perfect boyfriend, the five-star guy. So it was easy. As long as nobody brought him up, everything would stay fine.
And Wonwoo had managed to watch him—he looked at Mingyu whenever he could, like his eyes had been programmed to find him the second he arrived at school. Mingyu had joined the soccer team, so sometimes Wonwoo went to the games pretending they were boring, pulling long, disinterested faces, letting his friends beg him twice before agreeing, just so he wouldn’t seem too obvious about wanting to see Gyu without anyone knowing. He pretended to yawn during the games, to check his phone, to be there only because he didn’t want to go home alone—but actually, his attention was completely locked on the number 9 running across the field, wearing that black uniform, his messy hair, and that radiant smile every time he made a good pass or scored a goal.
He liked him. A lot. Like, a lot. Of course, he didn’t actually know him deeply. They’d never had a long conversation, and he didn’t know how Mingyu thought about the little things. He only knew he was kind, hardworking, and that he also liked to party—but even so, he was still responsible. Sometimes he’d literally go to class straight from a party, and still manage to do everything perfectly. Wonwoo had heard that Mingyu was really funny—that everyone said he was the kind of guy who made people laugh, who never left anyone out of the conversation, but who also didn’t have any issues with alcohol or drugs. He drank a little, danced a lot, talked to everyone, was friendly and social—someone who lit up any place he walked into. And Wonwoo… Wonwoo didn’t stand a chance.
Because he honestly felt like he had nothing special, nothing that could ever catch the attention of someone so bright. And on top of that, Wonwoo knew that his own relationship with alcohol wasn’t great. He couldn’t handle much—two beers and he’d already feel off, four and he was dizzy, five and he was done. His body just didn’t tolerate it. He got clumsy and teary.
And that night, he’d had about four and a half beers when he decided to go out drinking with his friends—and the alcohol was hitting, crawling into his head and loosening his tongue until he couldn’t control it anymore.
It was already late when he started talking—five beers deep, maybe more—his voice slurred and his face flushed.
“You know what? I’m sad,” he said, dragging the words out while the alcohol flooded his blood, his eyes filling with tears before he even knew why he was crying. His friends turned to look at him, went quiet, turned the music down, put their phones and drinks aside, because they didn’t often hear Wonwoo say something like that.
“Why?” asked Soonyoung, who was sitting closest to him. He put a hand on Wonwoo’s back, rubbing gentle circles to comfort him, genuinely worried—because his friend was always the quiet one, and if he was talking like this, something was really wrong.
“Because I live in this world…” Wonwoo began, voice trembling, staring down at the sticky table, eyes glassy. “Where I feel alone… Where people like me—with one, no, with half a damn star—will never, ever, ever be able to get close to someone like Kim Mingyu, who lives in this same world, just… just way too far out of reach.”
His voice cracked at the end, breaking into a choked sob that made everyone exchange worried, pained looks—because none of them had known that their quiet friend carried such an impossible, aching kind of love.
Soonyoung helped him sit back down since Wonwoo was already wobbling, and then asked softly, just to make sure he’d heard right: “You like Mingyu?”
And Wonwoo started crying—really crying, like he hadn’t in a long time—letting the tears fall freely without caring who was watching. His shoulders shook as he covered his face with his hands. His friends were stunned; maybe it was the first time they’d ever seen him like that—so vulnerable, so broken—the first time he was sad enough not to save his tears for the privacy of his room. He could blame the alcohol for making him like this, weird and emotional, or maybe it was just him—breaking a little more as he finally said out loud that he could never reach the person he liked so much.
“Yeah… a lot,” he admitted, nodding slightly, lips trembling into a small, sad pout as the tears kept streaming down his cheeks—leaving shiny trails over his flushed skin with every sob. He was crying from affection, from love, because he liked someone so much it hurt. He didn’t even know exactly why he was crying like that; it wasn’t pure sadness. It was that strange mix of emotions that come when your heart feels too big and your stomach too small—a hot, hollow ache in his chest that he couldn’t contain.
“Jihoon can introduce you to him,” Soonyoung said quickly, voice brighter, like he’d just found the solution to all of Wonwoo’s problems—like he’d just switched on a light in a dark room.
“Jihoon is friends with Mingyu?” Wonwoo asked right away, his voice hoarse and full of surprise, lifting his tearful eyes—wide and shiny like a scared deer’s. He had no idea there could be such a quick connection to Gyu. His friends usually didn’t hang out at the same places or parties as Mingyu. They went to soccer games just to support the team, not him specifically. That new piece of information made Wonwoo’s heart beat faster—so fast it thudded in his temples, making him dizzier than the alcohol.
“Yeah, they’re like distant cousins or something,” Soonyoung explained, waving a hand as if it wasn’t a big deal—but he couldn’t help smiling at Wonwoo’s reaction, watching him try to process it slowly, his drunk brain struggling to make the new connections.
“My grandpa and his grandpa were cousins—one moved to Busan, mine, the other to Anyang, Mingyu’s,” Jihoon said from across the table, as casually as if he were talking about the weather, spinning his glass between his fingers.
Well… there it was. The organic connection. That tiny invisible line that had linked their lives long before they were born—and Wonwoo felt a chill run down his spine, like fate had just revealed itself right there at that table, in the middle of his tears and his friends’ quiet laughter.
“I can introduce you to him, sure… or we could go to one of his parties. He’s always inviting me, but I never go,” Jihoon confessed, shrugging a little and looking down at his drink like he felt a bit guilty for rejecting so many invitations.
“Yeah, and… and tell him I love him,” Wonwoo blurted out suddenly, his slurred voice unfiltered, making Vernon and Hao chuckle softly—not mockingly, but with that gentle kind of fondness you feel when a friend’s too drunk and saying things without thinking.
“No, no, no, no—don’t say that, it sounds too intense! Like those stalkers who used to send him letters at the start, no—just tell him…” Wonwoo covered his face with both hands, shoulders trembling, words tumbling out too fast, all tangled up on his tongue. “Tell him that… that I’m funny, right? Tell him not to look at the rating or the reviews, that I’m funny, that you laugh at my jokes and that I’m a good catch, right?”
He lowered his hands just enough for them to see his red, swollen eyes, lashes wet, staring at his friends with desperate hope—that silent plea of someone who doesn’t want to be rejected before they even get the chance. His voice was drunk and broken, small and pleading, and it honestly made his friends’ chests tighten with sympathy with every word he said.
“Ah… Yeah, he’s definitely going to introduce you. We’ll go to that party this weekend, right? We’ll all go. We’ll support you. And you’ll get the chance to talk to him, Won. Just remember—you have to be yourself, okay?” Soonyoung said softly, gently, trying to comfort him—trying to remind him that he didn’t need to lie or change anything about himself to be liked, that his kind heart was already enough.
Wonwoo nodded slowly, almost sleepily, but something inside him flickered to life. Maybe he could be himself and still catch Mingyu’s attention. Maybe they could at least become friends, right? It’s possible… it’s possible, isn’t it? Wonwoo was going to try his best. And he was grateful—so grateful—to have his friends’ support, because in that moment, as he kept crying at that bar table, with his heart beating so hard it hurt, they were the only thing reminding him that not everything was lost yet.
★★★★★
It had been a mistake to agree to go to the party—he knew it, he’d known it from the moment he opened his mouth and said yes. Now his friends were literally forcing him to keep his word, and there he was, trapped in his room, going through every piece of clothing he owned while his hands shook. He’d already changed at least ten times. Ten. Could you believe that? Ten combinations, ten piles of clothes scattered on the bed, draped over the back of the chair, on the floor, even on top of his desk. It was too much, absurd, pathetic—but he couldn’t help it.
Every T-shirt he tried on felt either too plain or too daring. Every pair of pants seemed either too loose or too tight. Did it matter? To him, yes. He was so, so nervous he could feel the skin on his neck burning. He just wanted to make a good impression—to not look so… invisible, like he always did. He stopped in front of the mirror, holding his breath, lifting his shirt a little to look at his stomach.
And then he remembered the shower. The damn shower. That’s when the brilliant, ridiculous idea had hit him—to shave right below his belly button. He felt stupid just thinking about it. He’d run the razor carefully over his skin, feeling the hot water and the foam slide down, imagining—embarrassed—that maybe, just maybe, he could wear a crop top. Show a little bit of skin, something that might catch someone’s attention—not scream desperation, but maybe whisper: look at me, please.
But when he saw himself in the mirror wearing that top… he wanted to crawl under the bed. He looked ridiculous, vulnerable, too much. He didn’t want Mingyu to get the wrong idea, to think he was that bold—because he wasn’t. Not really. Or maybe he was, but he didn’t know how to be without feeling exposed, fragile. So he went back to his comfort zone: big clothes, safe clothes.
An oversized hoodie, his baggy jeans that nearly covered his sneakers, his beanie that hid half his forehead, his regular glasses—the ones he wore when he didn’t feel like impressing anyone. But… should he wear contacts? Wouldn’t it be better if his eyes showed? Everyone always said he had nice eyes, right? But if he took off his glasses, he’d feel naked, like someone had ripped away part of his armor.
As he debated whether to open the contact case or leave it for another time, he was biting his nails without even realizing how short they’d gotten. God. What a mess. He felt so miserable he wished he could go back in time—to that night when he got drunk—and swallow every stupid confession he’d made. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth, shouldn’t have smiled so much, shouldn’t have said he liked him, that he wanted to get closer, that he just needed a little push. Stupid Wonwoo. Stupid alcohol. Now he was stuck in a situation way over his head, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it echoing in his ears.
He sighed, sat on the edge of his bed surrounded by heaps of clothes, and took a deep breath. He had to make a decision. Come on, decide. He couldn’t let his friends see he was seconds away from crying out of sheer nerves. He stood again and looked at himself in the mirror. Okay. Oversized pants—those were non-negotiable. Crop top—discarded. Beanie—off. Fitted shirt—yes. One that hugged his chest just enough, not too revealing. A hoodie on top, not too big, but still cozy. His usual thick-framed glasses. That was him. Not the Wonwoo he wanted to be, but the one he could handle being tonight.
Soonyoung was the first to see him when he came out of the room. He had the biggest grin, like he’d been waiting for that moment all afternoon.
“Woooow…” he said, dragging out the word as he crossed his arms and gave him an up-and-down look. “Classic Wonwoo is back—I love it,” he said, giving him a couple of pats on the arm, as if transferring some of his confidence to him. “Now you just gotta prepare mentally to talk to him, okay?”
Wonwoo wasn’t ready. Not even close. He wanted to smile back, but all that came out was an awkward grimace. On the way to the car, he shuffled his feet, dragging them. He climbed into the back seat of Hao’s car, squeezed in next to Soonyoung and Jihoon, who were holding hands like they were the only two people on Earth. He watched them out of the corner of his eye as the car started moving—how they laughed quietly, whispered things to each other, how Jihoon pretended to be annoyed when Soonyoung kissed his cheek. Wonwoo just sank into his seat, thinking up every possible excuse to escape. He could fake a headache, say he had a fever, pretend his mom was calling. He could make up anything to avoid getting out of that car.
But the ride was too short to plan a decent escape. Before he knew it, they were parked outside the dorm building, where the music was loud enough to shake the sidewalk. Colorful lights, laughter, voices, footsteps rushing up and down the stairs. The party was big, chaotic—just like everything that surrounded Mingyu. And for a second, Wonwoo felt a ridiculous wave of relief: so many people, so much noise, so much chaos… maybe he’d just blend into the crowd. Maybe nothing would happen.
But the universe had other plans—because the moment they stepped inside and reached the biggest room, there he was. Mingyu. Standing next to the makeshift DJ who was mixing songs nonstop, a half-empty beer in hand, nodding his head to the beat. So tall, so bright, so impossible to ignore.
And just then, as if someone had turned down the volume on everything else, Mingyu saw him. Searched the room, found him. Wonwoo felt all the noise rush into his chest. The world kept spinning, but for him, it stopped.
Mingyu smiled. A big, genuine, warm smile that seemed to say there you are. And Wonwoo—poor Wonwoo—froze. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, with his breathing, with his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of his chest. He looked at him like it was the first time he’d really seen him.
His friends dragged him toward the makeshift kitchen, demanding beers, plastic cups, ice that was already melting. Wonwoo didn’t even have time to decide what he wanted to drink before Mingyu followed them—like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Jihoon!” he called out, setting his half-empty cup down on the table and walking over, his voice so easy, so warm, that Wonwoo’s knees nearly gave out. “You actually came.”
And Wonwoo… was already in another world just hearing that.
“Yeah, I told you I’d introduce you to my friends—and my boyfriend,” Jihoon replied, his smile so genuine his eyes curved the way they always did, full of tenderness, his hand still intertwined with Soonyoung’s, radiating a calm that Wonwoo silently envied. Jihoon started introducing them one by one, with this proud, almost glowing energy, like each name he said was a treasure he wanted to share with Mingyu.
First he pointed to Seungkwan, who waved cheerfully, then Vernon, whom Mingyu apparently already knew somehow, because they exchanged a fist bump and a laugh that echoed through the kitchen. Then came Jun, who greeted him with a soft “hey” and a polite nod, and Minghao, who gave a slight bow, calm as ever. After that was Soonyoung, who waved energetically and said, “Hey, Kim Mingyu!” with all his usual energy. And finally—almost like fate had lined them up in that exact order—Jihoon left Wonwoo for last.
“And this is Wonwoo—he’s a really good friend,” Jihoon said warmly, almost as if the word really wasn’t enough to describe what he actually thought of him. And Wonwoo felt Mingyu’s attention land on him all at once, so intensely that it made his skin shiver.
Mingyu stood there in front of him, tall enough that Wonwoo had to lift his chin a little to meet his gaze. The first thing he noticed were those big, warm eyes—full of curiosity, full of that kind of life that seemed impossible to contain. And then Mingyu spoke.
“Hi!” he said—almost shouted—like his excitement had gotten the best of him, then cleared his throat and lowered his voice a bit, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Hi, sorry... We’ve never met before, right? I’d remember you.”
And Wonwoo’s heart gave such a hard jolt that it almost hurt. His thoughts crashed into each other, tangled and frantic. Why would he remember me? he wondered, dizzy. Because I’ve got half a star on the dating app? The insecurity ran through him like an electric current, but he forced himself to smile.
“Hi, no... I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Nice to meet you, I’m Wonwoo,” he said, trying to make his voice sound steady—trying not to let it tremble as much as he was inside. He smiled, slowly and shyly, but it was sincere.
“Awesome! I love meeting new people,” Mingyu replied, eyes bright with almost childlike energy as he looked at him without breaking eye contact, as if studying every detail of his face. “What are you majoring in? Want me to get you a drink? Don’t drink that cheap beer, there’s something better for you here. How old are you? Same as Jihoon?”
The words tumbled out of Mingyu like an overflowing river—quick, easy, full of life—and Wonwoo could barely keep up. He let out a small laugh, one of those involuntary ones that just slipped out—a soft burst that echoed lightly off the kitchen walls. Mingyu tilted his head, half-curious, half-amused.
“Oh no, are you laughing at me? I’m not drunk, Wonwoo, okay?” he said, pouting in a way that made him look so young, so ridiculously adorable, that whatever inner battle Wonwoo had been fighting completely fell apart.
They talked. Wonwoo answered every one of Mingyu’s questions, though his brain was spinning so fast he could hardly remember what he said. They talked so much that he didn’t even realize when their friends had quietly left the kitchen, taking their laughter, jokes, and plans with them—leaving him there with Mingyu, who clearly had no intention of leaving. He stayed with him, standing at first, then sitting together on a pair of plastic chairs beside a half-empty pantry. And Mingyu kept talking, asking him things with that genuine curiosity that felt like a warm hug.
“So what else do you like to do? Any hobbies?” he asked softly, spinning a plastic cup between his hands.
Wonwoo took a deep breath, trying not to sound too dull. “I like reading, video games, but... I guess that’s kind of boring, huh?” he murmured, glancing down, bracing for Mingyu’s reaction—for judgment—for that familiar moment when people saw what everyone else had seen before.
But Mingyu frowned slightly, genuinely puzzled. “Why would it be boring if you like it?” he asked, tilting his head again with that naturally curious expression. “I know some games—probably the popular ones. Which ones do you play?”
Wonwoo swallowed hard, feeling a knot form in his throat. “League of Legends, but... but that’s not a red flag, right? Not at all?” he blurted out, his words rushing together, heavy with the leftover anxiety from his exes’ cruel reviews—those labels that had branded him as a ‘boring gaming addict.’ His hands tensed on his thighs.
“Well, I’ve heard of that one—I think it’s pretty popular,” Mingyu said, touching his chin as if he were thinking deeply. “A red flag? Hmm... I don’t know,” he added with a smile—one of those smiles that started deep in his chest and spread all the way to his eyes. “I think anything can be fun if it makes you happy.”
And Wonwoo could hear how sincere he was—he could feel it in his voice, in his gaze, in the very air between them. Mingyu had such a kind, gentle soul it almost hurt to think about it.
He carried that kind of curiosity you only see in children—pure, genuine, the kind that doesn’t feel intrusive but warm. Every time Mingyu asked something, his eyes sparkled, like he truly wanted to know the answer, as if even the smallest detail about Wonwoo was something precious to keep. He spoke passionately about the things he loved, and with a sweet, almost innocent curiosity about the things he didn’t know. He had such a positive way of seeing the world, like there was always a reason to smile or laugh a little—and at the same time, he was so smart that Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel small, insignificant, like a fool sitting across from someone who seemed to have everything.
But they talked. They talked for hours without feeling the weight of time, without awkward silences, without painful pauses. Wonwoo felt like he was dreaming—like at any moment, his alarm would go off, his phone would buzz on the nightstand, and he’d open his eyes with a tight chest, disappointed that the whole conversation hadn’t been real. Because there Mingyu was, really there, laughing at his jokes, looking at him with those warm eyes that seemed to wrap around him, filling him with a kind of gentle affection—not quite romantic love, not yet, but something… something more than Wonwoo had ever thought he deserved.
He adored him, now more than ever—with an intensity that burned inside him, stealing his breath. It was wonderful learning more about him, though deep down, that same conversation reminded him just how different they were—how opposite they seemed to be.
“Well, I really like staying active,” Mingyu said at one point, settling more comfortably into his chair, his broad shoulders seeming to fill the entire space. “I usually go for a run in the mornings, I play soccer on the university team, and I also hit the gym.” He let out a small laugh and rubbed the back of his neck, as if admitting it embarrassed him a little. “Sometimes if I stay still too long, I get bored. I have to be doing something.”
And those words squeezed at Wonwoo’s heart. He felt an uncomfortable little hollow form in his chest as he listened. Because how could someone like Mingyu—someone so full of energy, someone who seemed to need movement, people, life outside—ever be interested in someone like him? Wonwoo, who preferred staying home, sprawled on his bed with the fan blowing straight at his face while he played video games or read a book, munching on Cheetos until his fingers turned orange and sticky. He felt ashamed just thinking about it—ashamed of imagining Mingyu seeing him like that, seeing a boring guy with no excitement, no physical drive, nothing interesting to offer.
And yet, Wonwoo lied. He lied because the fear of disappointing him was stronger than his honesty. “Actually… I’ve been thinking about going for morning runs too,” he said, feeling like he was betraying himself a little. But when he saw Mingyu’s eyes light up in surprise and excitement, he knew that for now, that lie was worth it.
“Really? You want to run with me?” Mingyu asked, his voice carrying that excited tone he used when something made him happy. A faint blush colored his cheeks, making him look shy—so charming that Wonwoo almost forgot to breathe. “I usually go at six a.m.—not on Sundays, though, because, well… we’re here, right?” He laughed softly and gestured around them, alluding to the party still pulsing behind the door, even though for them, only that little kitchen space seemed to exist. “Yeah, so if you want to… Monday?”
Wonwoo nodded before his brain could stop him. “Yeah, of course, we should go running on Monday,” he said, almost too quickly—like he was afraid that if he hesitated for even a second, that chance would slip away forever. He felt heat rise up his neck, nervous tingles running down his arms, but at the same time, a small spark of excitement lit up in his chest. At least he had a whole day to mentally prepare—to get his body and soul ready to wake up before sunrise. But he would do it. He’d do anything for Mingyu.
They kept talking after that—long, casual conversations mixed with soft laughter. Mingyu seemed to find every single one of Wonwoo’s comments funny, even the dumbest ones, and Wonwoo couldn’t tell if it was because he was actually that charming or because Mingyu had drunk too many beers. Wonwoo himself had barely finished one and a half; he didn’t want to risk confessing his feelings that night—not when things were going so well, not when Mingyu was finally looking at him like he was someone worth paying attention to.
And then the night went on, and the hours turned to dust. It was maybe four in the morning when the kitchen door opened and one of Mingyu’s friends walked in looking for something. Wonwoo blinked a few times, trying to place him. He thought his name was Jaekyung, or something like that. The guy had a broad build and a hard stare. The first thing he did was look at Mingyu with a mix of surprise and confusion—and then his gaze landed on Wonwoo with a hint of disdain that made Wonwoo’s stomach twist.
“Time to head back to the dorms, champ,” he said in a tone that sounded half-mocking, half-tired, leaning against the doorframe. “Didn’t see you all night—were you in here the whole time?”
Mingyu nodded calmly, smiling as if there was nothing odd about spending hours talking to a stranger. “Yeah, I was here with Wonwoo,” he said casually, pointing at him with his thumb. And Wonwoo could only lift a hand in a shy little wave, his heart thudding when Jaekyung looked him up and down with clear annoyance before rolling his eyes.
“Let’s go, Gyu,” Jaekyung said, sounding impatient, like he couldn’t understand why Mingyu had wasted his time there.
But Mingyu didn’t move right away. “Wait,” he said firmly, pulling his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. With a few taps on the screen, he opened his contacts app and held the phone out toward Wonwoo, stepping closer—close enough that his soft cologne surrounded him. “Wonwoo, can I have your phone number, please?” he asked in a gentle voice, looking straight into his eyes with that disarming smile.
And Wonwoo hesitated. He glanced at Jaekyung from the corner of his eye—arms crossed, visibly annoyed. His mind raced, weighing all the possibilities: he could type his number wrong, or just write “Wonu” so Mingyu wouldn’t find his full name and look him up on the dating app. Then he wouldn’t see that half-star rating branding him as a failure for everyone to see. But… he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.
This was Mingyu. His crush. His impossible dream. Someone he’d never imagined, not even in his most ridiculous fantasies, actually having a real conversation with—someone he thought he’d only ever admire from afar. And now he was standing right there, asking for his number like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he wanted to keep talking after tonight. Just that thought made his heart pound so hard his fingers trembled.
So Wonwoo took a deep breath, swallowed, and typed his number into Mingyu’s phone. He saved the contact, not expecting much—but with his heart beating so fast it almost hurt.