Amidst the banter, teasing, and occasional moments of oddly normal conversation, something... no, someone, catches your attention.
Minghao.
Not his usual composed demeanor. Not the way he swirls his drink like it's part of a performance. It's how often his eyes wander to Yraiza.
You tilt your head slightly, catching the movement from the corner of your eye. Another glance. Quick. Curious. Borderline fascinated.
Then, Yraiza turns, catching him off guard. He abruptly looks away, suddenly engrossed in the texture of his food like it holds the secrets of the universe.
You bite the inside of your cheek to stop from smiling.
Oh no. Oh no no no. This is better than my emotional breakdown. A brand-new mystery to sink into.
You lean back, arms crossed, muttering under your breath with a smirk, "Funny how he teased Seungcheol… and now, look at him."
"Hm?" Seungcheol glances at you.
"Nothing." You wave it off, pretending to be casual, barely restraining a grin.
Yraiza, either blissfully unaware or dangerously perceptive, leans a little closer to Minghao. "So, Hao," she says lightly, "just so you know, we're going to be classmates in Professor Myra's class."
Minghao's fork pauses mid-air. Just a fraction. But you catch it.
He clears his throat, replying a touch too formally. "Oh. That's… good to know. Should be interesting."
You nearly snort into your drink.
This man is currently boiling in a romantic pot.
"What's wrong with you?" Hoshi frowns at Minghao's odd tone.
Before Minghao can respond, Dino, face lit with mischief, leans in."He's thinking about his next sketch."
Minghao gives him a look filled with eternal gratitude.
Jeonghan chuckles. "Ah, right. That's his 'contemplating composition' face."
Minghao seizes the opportunity like a lifeline. "Yeah. I've got a piece due. Still figuring out the visual balance."
Then Jeimyka leans forward, eyes glittering with barely disguised amusement.
"You should use Yraiza as your model," she suggests, all sweetness. "She knows art. Great with color, and expressions, and—"
"No."
Too fast. Too loud. Everyone freezes for a beat.
"Why not?" everyone asks, almost in unison.
Even Yraiza raises an eyebrow, amused. "I don't mind. Haven't posed in a while. Could be fun."
Hoshi slaps the table, beaming. "Roses in her hair or a blue sapphire necklace?"
The table erupts into excitement.
Nikki clutches her chest dramatically. "This is so romantic. Do it! The greenhouse at sunset is perfect!"
"Or the beach!" Jeimyka adds, hands gesturing a whole aesthetic. "Golden hour, loose linen, wind in her hair."
"The greenhouse would be nice. More privacy. Or maybe in my room?"
"What?" Minghao nervously asks. "Are you—?
"ABSOLUTELY NOT!"
The voice cuts clean through the room.
You all look up.
Joshua. Standing at the edge of the table, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.
Yraiza, unfazed as ever, lifts her glass. "Relax, dear brother. Where's your sense of humor?"
She turns back to Minghao, who looks like he wants the floor to open up beneath him.
"Hao," she says smoothly, tucking her hair behind her ear, "I'll pose for you. But if that sketch makes me look anything less than a Greek statue, I'm walking. I want cheekbones. Real ones. Don't mess it up."
The laughter returns like tension was never there.
Minghao chuckles, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. His fingers move unconsciously, sketching lines only he can see: angles, curves, the shape of her mouth when she smirks like that.
You glance his way.
He's not looking at his drink anymore.
He's looking at her.
Later that afternoon...
The greenhouse is almost too quiet.
Sunlight spills through the old glass panes in fractured gold, catching on floating dust. Vines dangle lazily overhead, swaying with each whispered breeze.
Yraiza steps in, right on time. Of course she does.
She moves like she doesn't know what she does to a room, like she isn't made of silk and sunlight and gravity.
Minghao watches her cross the space, unable to look away. Visibly spell-bound.
He's already there. Sketchpad open. Graphite sharp. Composure? Long gone.
"You're early," she notes, amused.
"You're on time," he replies, too quickly.
She grins. "Hey! This still counts as early in my book."
He gestures to the chair, carefully angled for light. "Sit. Please."
She settles in, relaxed but poised, her features landing perfectly in the sunbeam slicing across the floor.
"Comfortable?"
"As much as I can be while sitting perfectly still." She glances around the room. "Honestly, this place is too cozy. I might fall asleep."
He exhales a small laugh. "You wouldn't be the first."
She turns her head slightly. "So, what's the vibe? Tragic muse? Enigmatic goddess?"
"Just… be still."
"You're always this bossy when you're flustered?"
"I'm not flustered."
"Oh, I know!" She stretches lazily in the chair, completely unaware of how magnetic she is. "Haven't drawn people in a while?"
"I don't draw people," he says.
She smiles, trying so hard to keep still. "I knew it! Then, why start now?"
He doesn't answer right away. Just keeps sketching: the gentle line of her jaw, the curve of her mouth, the way her eyes catch the light even when she's teasing.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low. Quiet. Like the words are heavier than they should be.
"Because some things are worth drawing. Even if they ruin you a little."
She stills. Just for a beat.
Then lets out a soft, amused laugh. "God. Who broke your heart?"
He winces. "Don't be dramatic."
"Should I be honored, then?" she asks, adjusting her seat.
"Stop moving," he mutters.
She smirks. "You get extra cute when you're annoyed."
"Yraiza."
"What?"
"Keep still."
Yraiza settles into the chair, crossing one leg over the other with practiced ease. She smirks, chin tilted slightly.
"Still bossy and impatient. You really are like a little brother sometimes."
Minghao freezes for half a second, then looks up at her, steady and unreadable.
"Says who?" he says quietly.
Her smile falters just a touch. "Why not? You are younger than me."
He sets the pencil down slowly. Not irritated. Just… deliberate.
"Age doesn't decide everything. You're just two years older than me." A pause.
"And I've never once looked at you like a sister."
For a beat, she's completely still, expression unreadable.
Then, like she's covering something, she exhales a light laugh. "Well… that's bold."
Minghao doesn't smile. "Nope. It's honest."
She shifts in the chair. But her tone stays playful, deflecting.
"Fine. Maybe not like a sister, but you still have younger-brother energy.
You're quiet, observant, brooding. It's adorable."
Minghao huffs a breath, setting the sketchpad down on the table with quiet finality. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes aren't.
"You keep saying that like it'll make it true."
Yraiza arches a brow. "I mean… look at you. Always lurking around the edges. Always so polite. Kind of emotionally mysterious, like a K-drama second lead." She smiles, teasing. "Sweet, a little tragic, and completely off-limits."
His jaw tightens at that."Off-limits to who?"
"To me...er... to anyone," she says with a casual shrug, too casual. "It'd be weird if the guy is younger."
He steps closer now. Not threatening. But no longer passive.
"Weird for you, or inconvenient?"
Her smile sharpens, trying to reframe the moment. "You're really leaning into this tortured-artist energy, huh?"
"I'm not tortured," he says, stepping in again, closer now. Her knee almost brushes his hip.
"Then what are you?" she challenges, voice soft but not backing down.
His gaze doesn't waver.
"Sure." He nods once, eyes narrowing. "Call me your little brother if it makes you feel safer. But don't lie to yourself about what this is." A beat."You see me. Whether you want to or not."
Yraiza swallows, her throat working. "You're impossible."
He tilts his head. "And you're deflecting."
"You're not supposed to talk to me like this," she mutters, quieter now.
"Why not?" he shoots back. "Because it doesn't fit your version of me? Because I'm not playing the role you gave me in your head?"
She stands suddenly, like the chair's burned her. But she doesn't move away. She meets his stare, chin high, pulse visible in her neck.
"I told you. This is just a sketch."
Minghao's voice drops to a murmur, dark and quiet. "No. This...," he gestures between them "...has never been just a sketch."
The air thickens again. Neither of them moves.
Then.
She laughs. Nervous. Deflecting. "God, Minghao, you're so..."
He snaps.
In one fluid movement, he grabs her wrist, gentle, but firm, and pulls her to him. Her gasp barely leaves her lips before his mouth is on hers.
Not rough. But not careful, either.
It's desperate. Conflicted. Charged with everything he's bitten back for month, maybe longer.
His hand finds the back of her neck. Hers fists the front of his shirt out of instinct, not resistance.
For a second, she doesn't kiss him back.
Then she caves.
Her fingers twist into the fabric at his collar, pulling him closer as her mouth moves with his, answering him, challenging him, meeting every word he didn't say.
The kiss is heat and gravity and inevitability.
When they finally pull apart, her breath is ragged. His thumb brushes the corner of her mouth like he can't quite believe it happened.
She stares at him, wide-eyed, stunned, somehow still speechless.
He leans in, voice low against her cheek.
"Still think I'm your little brother?"