Chapter Text
The sharp whistle pierced the humid afternoon air, signaling the end of the match between Hanyang University and Sogang University. As everyone had expected, Hanyang emerged victorious in the U-League semi-finals, the scoreboard boasting a decisive 4-1. Two of those goals had come from none other than Choi Seungcheol, Hanyang’s captain, and arguably the hottest guy on campus.
The crowd erupted—cheers, whistles, and claps blending into a roaring sea of excitement. The teammates lifted him on their shoulders, the coaches clapped with pride, the guys grinned with admiration, and the girls… well, the girls practically melted in unison, some covering their faces, others shamelessly shouting his name. Seungcheol grinned, flashing that devilish smile, soaking in the attention.
Everyone knew him: the campus crush, the perfect combination of smoldering good looks, raw athletic talent, and that infuriating aura of unattainable charm.
Dating? Not on his schedule. Soccer was everything. His dream of going pro consumed him, leaving no space for romance… or failure.
But even perfection had its cracks.
“Mr. Choi, I really appreciate that you always try your best to bring pride to our school on the soccer field,” said the familiar, measured tone of Professor Kang, Hanyang’s strict yet caring engineering lecturer, “but if I may remind you—you’re a senior student. Graduating. College is not just about soccer. You have academics to pass as well.”
Seungcheol froze mid-smile, the grin fading slightly as the weight of her words sank in.
Yeah, he looked flawless: chiseled jawline, toned body honed by hours of practice, charisma that made everyone stop and stare. But when it came to studies? He was… hopeless. Not stupid—never that—but his schedule left almost no room for textbooks and assignments. Between endless practices and grueling matches, thoughts of his engineering classes barely crossed his mind, despite knowing it mattered.
Professor Kang softened her gaze, leaning slightly on the railing overlooking the stadium. “So I want you to make sure you prepare hard for the upcoming midterms. I know everything is taking a toll on you, but if there’s anything I can help you with, just let me know.”
He wanted to joke, to lighten the mood, but he knew it wasn’t the right time. So he simply nodded and said his goodbyes to the professor. As he stepped out of the office, a few fellow students greeted him, still buzzing from yesterday’s win. Luckily, their next match wouldn’t be for three weeks, and for the first week, they were given some free time before resuming the intensive practice schedule.
Perfect timing, he thought—it would give him a chance to finally find a solution to his academic problem.
Seungcheol walked toward the locker area, bracing himself for the dusty stack of textbooks and notebooks he had abandoned there weeks ago. Probably covered in a fine layer of dust by now. Mr. Kang had been right—no matter how much he wanted to become a professional soccer player, there was another life waiting for him, one that required planning, preparation, and a little humility.
What if he didn’t get picked? What if there really was no room for him in the pro league, no matter how talented he was? He had the skills. He never slacked. He gave everything on the field. But those things—the luck, the scouts, the openings—were completely out of his control.
Even if the thought of failing to fulfill his ultimate dream made his chest tighten and his stomach churn, he had to face the truth. He needed a plan B, a life after graduation that wasn’t just soccer, no matter how much he hated the idea.
With his arms loaded with heavy textbooks, he closed his locker and adjusted the strap of his bag. Just as he turned, someone brushed past him in a rush of movement and soft fragrance.
Strawberry and vanilla.
The scent lingered in the air long after they had passed, and instinctively, Seungcheol’s eyes followed the back of the student. An oversized off-white sweater draped over slim shoulders, casual jeans, and pristine white sneakers. Long black hair reached his shoulders, swaying with each hurried step.
Seungcheol felt a flicker of disappointment. He hadn’t even seen the person’s face—just the back as he walked quickly past. He wanted to satisfy the curiosity burning in him, but… distractions weren’t something he could afford right now. His mind already carried too many tasks, too many responsibilities.
There was no peace in his free time—only a whirlwind of worries and plans he hadn’t yet figured out.
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Jeonghan finally spotted an empty table tucked beneath the sprawling branches of a ginkgo tree on the university field. The shade was generous, the breeze light—a perfect spot to focus without distraction. He set his side bag down, stacked his textbooks neatly, and flipped open the pages, preparing for a long session of advanced midterm review.
Yes, the midterm week was still more than a week away, but to Yoon Jeonghan, studying was not just a habit—it was a way of life. A consistent Dean’s Lister, Vice President of the Architecture Student Council, and widely regarded as both brainy and beautiful, he carried a reputation that could intimidate most. Many students wanted to approach him, to strike up a conversation, but his cold, unapproachable aura kept them at bay. Most were content to admire from afar.
But Jeonghan didn’t just study because he was gifted; he studied because he had no choice. Coming from a modest family, he also juggled part-time jobs, balancing responsibilities on top of the rigors of being a graduating architecture student. For him, slacking off was a foreign concept—there was no room for laziness in his life.
It hadn’t even been five minutes when he felt the subtle shift of weight beside him. Someone had sat down. Jeonghan didn’t glance up, but he already knew exactly whose presence it was.
“What do you want, Joshua?” His voice was calm but stern, eyes still scanning the dense pages of his textbook.
Joshua tilted his head, pouting slightly, though the curve of his eyes betrayed a mischievous crescent smile.
“You always sound like you don’t want to see me,” he pretended to be sulking.
“Because that’s exactly how I feel,” Jeonghan replied without lifting his gaze.
“Mean,” Joshua murmured, but his tone carried no real offense.
Jeonghan finally allowed himself a tiny, almost imperceptible smile at the corner of his lips before returning to his notes.
He had first met Joshua, a foreign language major, in one class, and ever since, Joshua had made it his mission to insert himself into Jeonghan’s life, insisting on friendship even when Jeonghan tried to ignore or push him away.
Over time, Jeonghan had stopped resisting. Joshua’s persistence was a fact of life—annoying, yes, but harmless.
“I know you say that,” Joshua continued, “but deep down, I know you like my presence.”
“Like your presence? My ass,” Jeonghan muttered, turning a page with exaggerated patience.
“Shhh. Shut up. I am your bestie. You can never hate me. Ever.” Joshua crossed his arms with exaggerated conviction, his voice almost theatrical.
Jeonghan didn’t respond, letting his pencil scratch against the paper as he dived back into calculations and notes. Joshua, undeterred, pulled his tablet from his bag and slid on his AirPods Max, the soft hum of music filling the space between them. For a while, the two sat in comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional scribble of Jeonghan’s pen.
Finally, Joshua broke it. “Aren’t you sick and tired of studying math?” His gaze flicked to the thick textbook, eyebrows raised teasingly.
Jeonghan glanced up, a smirk hidden behind the pages. “Are you sick and tired of learning languages?”
Joshua’s eyes widened, innocent and doe-like, as though he were genuinely considering it. “No.”
“Then my answer is no too,” Jeonghan replied, tone flat but eyes flickering with amusement.
Joshua chuckled softly, the sound drifting across the shaded field.
“Makes perfect sense,” he said, leaning back slightly. “By the way… what time’s your shift at the coffee shop start tonight?”
“I quit.” Jeonghan didn’t even look up, his voice calm and nonchalant.
“Oh? Why?” Joshua removed his headphones, tilting his head to study the long-haired man still absorbed in his textbook.
“The owner wanted me to work longer hours, which was impossible,” Jeonghan explained evenly. “I’ll just look for another part-time job that’s not so demanding on my time.”
Joshua’s eyes lit up. “I can ask Seungkwan.”
Jeonghan slowly lifted his head, one eyebrow arching. “Seungkwan who?”
Joshua rolled his eyes, exasperated but amused. “What do I expect? For a smartass like you, you have the worst memory for people and names.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” Jeonghan said flatly, expression unchanged.
Joshua snorted. “Whatever. Seungkwan was in our Ethics class last year. He works in Student Affairs. Maybe I can ask him if there are any openings.”
“Okay. Thank you,” Jeonghan said simply, nodding before returning to his notes.
“Welcome! Love you too, bestie!” Joshua grinned, beaming from ear to ear. But the smile faltered when Jeonghan suddenly made a face like he was about to throw up.
“Aigoo… Yoon Jeonghan is really a mean bitch.” Joshua started, laughing.
“Yes, I am. Thank you.” Jeonghan smirked faintly at him, perfectly deadpan. Joshua just rolled his eyes again, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself.
★═★═★
Seungcheol looked around his dorm and gave a satisfied nod as he scanned the clean space. He wasn’t the type to clean regularly—most of the time, a cleaner came by three times a week—but today it wasn’t her schedule, so he had to handle it himself. It wasn’t easy; this dorm leaned toward the luxurious side, and even living alone, keeping it spotless required effort.
The room wasn’t huge, but it was comfortably sized for one person. On one side, a king-size bed was, perfectly made, with a neatly folded blanket at the foot. Opposite it was a solid oak study desk, stacked with notebooks, textbooks, and a laptop. In the corner, his exercise equipment—a pair of dumbbells, a kettlebell, a resistance band, and a yoga mat—was neatly arranged, a silent testament to his dedication to fitness. Near the window, a small shelf held a few trophies, soccer memorabilia, and framed photos, giving the dorm a personal touch.
To one side of the room was a private bathroom, modest but clean, complete with a shower, sink, and toiletries neatly arranged on the counter—a luxury not all dorms offered.
It wasn’t lavish, but it was practical and organized.
Today was the first day a private tutor would be coming over to his dorm. After swallowing his pride, Seungcheol had asked Professor Kang what he could do about his slipping grades, and the older professor had been quick to respond—almost too quick. He’d smiled knowingly and said he knew the perfect person for the job.
Seungcheol had even made it clear that he was more than willing to pay. Money wasn’t the issue. If hiring a tutor—any tutor—meant he could pass his midterms, then it was worth every won. All he needed was someone who could actually help him.
All Seungcheol knew was that this tutor was a student who excelled academically, someone highly capable and trusted by the faculty. Naturally, his mind filled in the blanks. He imagined someone serious-looking—thick glasses perched on their nose, hair neatly combed, probably wearing a checked polo tucked into slacks. Strict. Proper. The type who lived in libraries and spoke in formulas.
Honestly, he didn’t mind. Appearances didn’t matter. What mattered was surviving midterms before he got tangled up in intense training again. Three weeks until the next match. One chance to fix his academics. That was all he cared about.
He glanced at the clock. 4:57 PM.
The study sessions were scheduled from 5:00 to 8:00 PM, four times the entire week. Three hours of math. Three hours of forced focus. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about the setup, but he didn’t have a choice—so he’d just endure it.
Seungcheol lay back on his bed, phone in hand, scrolling through videos from their game the other day. Clips of his goals. Fan edits. Comment sections filled with praise and screaming emojis. He smirked, letting himself enjoy it for just a moment longer.
Then a. Knock on his door.
He sighed and pushed himself off the bed, stretching lazily as he walked toward the door. No rush. He reached for the handle, pulled the door open— and froze.
Oh.
So this was Professor Kang’s idea of the perfect tutor.
The scent reached him first—soft, warm, impossibly familiar—lingering in the space between them like a quiet betrayal of his expectations.
The person standing just outside his door was the same guy who had caught his attention the other day.
Strawberry and vanilla.