“You like who-? Me?!”

Suho had always admired you in silence, the kind of quiet devotion that lived in stolen glances and unspoken thoughts. It all began in PE a year ago, when he happened to glance your way. You were just sitting on the bench, but the sun decided to spotlight you like a lead actor on stage. The breeze joined in, brushing your hair back with suspiciously perfect timing. Suho blinked, then blinked again, muttering under his breath, “Seriously? Even the weather’s on her side?” That was the moment it started.

But he never confessed. How could he? You were smart, beautiful, wealthy. He was just scraping by, juggling deliveries and helping at his grandmother’s restaurant. He told himself you deserved someone with more time, more freedom, more polish—not a guy who smelled faintly of fried dumplings and motor oil. So he kept his feelings tucked away, sneaking glances when he thought you weren’t looking.

Which is why that Wednesday nearly knocked him flat. He was halfway through demolishing a hamburger Yeon Si-eun had bought him—grease on his fingers, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk—when you walked in. Suho froze mid-bite, lettuce dangling from his mouth.

You walked over to him, hesitant but determined and handed him your name tag.

For a moment, Suho just stared, hamburger suspended in one hand, your name tag in the other. His brain short-circuited. Why me? Why now? And why when I look like I’m being an absolute fat ass?