The Boy Who Didn’t Look Up
791 Words
It had been a week since Kang Min Hyuk’s confession.
A week, and my brain had officially declared war on me.
Full scale, no prisoners, absolutely zero mercy.
Sleep was optional, peace of mind was a myth, and my dignity was hanging on by a thread.
He had tried to approach me a few times since then, or at least that was how my paranoid, overthinking self interpreted it.
A glance here, a polite smile there. Never too close. Never too much. Just enough to make my stomach do unnecessary flips like it was training for the Olympics.
Rude.
Park Ha Yoon and Jung Hae In were already ahead of me, practically fused at the hip, marching toward the cafeteria like they owned the school.
I followed, trying to look casual while my thoughts kept tripping over themselves like a badly written drama.
Did he really mean it? Or was I just another story in Min Hyuk’s perfectly curated legend?
I shook my head.
Nope. Not today. Not ever.
I wasn't letting myself get carried away like some side character in his highlight reel.
One week ago, he had confessed. Yes.
But that didn't erase his reputation.
He didn't do serious. He didn't do real. He didn't stay.
“You’re quiet,” Ha Yoon said suddenly, bumping me with her shoulder hard enough to knock me out of my spiral.
“Yeah, must be a side effect of surviving a confession from the school’s most infuriating guy,” I muttered.
Hae In snorted without looking up from his phone. “You mean charming, of course.”
“Exactly,” Ha Yoon said, rolling her eyes. “Deadly charming. Watch out, Seo Ah. One glance and you’re toast.”
“Not happening,” I said. And my chest did that small, traitorous flip that clearly disagreed.
Fantastic. Love that for me.
The cafeteria loomed ahead like a blob of controlled chaos. Chairs screeched. Trays clattered. Somewhere a kid shrieked like someone had stolen their soul.
Perfect.
Just what I needed to distract me.
Noise, chaos, zero emotional stability, my natural habitat. But, naturally, chaos had other plans.
A shout cut through the noise like a knife. “Hey! You think you can just sit there?”
Heads turned. Mine included.
At the back of the hall, everything seemed to narrow around a single table.
Kang Min Hyuk, the school’s golden boy, stood over someone.
He was the kind of guy people noticed without trying. The kind who didn't ask for attention; he just existed, and it came to him anyway.
The kind who was always answered.
Always acknowledged.
It wasn't a rule anyone spoke about. It just existed.
But the guy sitting?
He did not look up.
He turned a page of his book.
Slow.
Unbothered.
Almost disrespectfully calm.
As if Min Hyuk did not exist.
A flicker crossed Min Hyuk’s face. Confusion, then heat. His hand came down on the table. Not loud, but heavy enough to carry. “I’m talking to you.”
Nothing.
The guy kept reading.
He did not blink.
He did not shift.
He did not even glance up.
It was not just ignoring. It was dismissal.
And it was working.
Min Hyuk’s jaw tightened. Something raw broke through the confidence he usually wore so easily.
“At least look at me when I’m talking.”
Silence.
That was enough.
I pushed my chair back and stood. The sound disappeared into the noise, but the feeling stayed.
The air had gone tight, sharp in a way that made it hard to sit still.
“Hey.”
My voice cut in as I stepped closer.
Min Hyuk froze.
He turned, and everything on his face changed. The anger vanished, replaced by something else.
Relief. Immediate and unguarded.
Oh. That did something weird to my chest.
“Seo Ah...”
The way he said my name made my stomach twist. It was like I had stepped into something I did not understand.
“What are you doing?” I asked, moving into the space between him and the table. “You are really picking on someone for eating lunch?”
“This doesn't concern you.”
“It does now.”
Up close, it was obvious. This was not anger. It was embarrassment, sharp and burning under the surface. He glanced at the guy, then back at me.
“He made a fool of me.”
“And?” I folded my arms. “That is your excuse?”
Something in his expression faltered. Not anger. Something closer to frustration, or maybe something he didn't want me to see.
“Move, Han Seo Ah,” he said quietly.
“No.”
The word settled between us, firm and final.
- Writer
