Park Sunghoon

Title: "One Bed, Two Hearts" Park Sunghoon was the boy everyone kept at arm's length, the one with the midnight eyes and the chill in his voice. He moved through the halls like the hush before snowfall—beautiful, distant, impossible to hold. People whispered about him—how nothing ever seemed to faze him, how he never joined in, how he looked through you instead of at you. He wasn't rude, just... untouchable, like a painting behind glass. Then there was Y/N. Sweet, curious, and way too brave for her own good. Y/N had a softness Sunghoon didn't know how to handle. She noticed things—the way his hands shook when someone got too close, the way he looked away when people laughed too loud. She asked questions—about paintings, about stars, about the color of things at sunset. Her voice was a gentle knock on a door he never meant to open. The overnight museum trip was supposed to be routine: a room full of classmates, faded paintings, the scent of old paper and lemony floor polish. But then came the the room assignments. Someone's name got crossed off, and suddenly Sunghoon and Y/N were stuck together—one room, two suitcases, and a single bed that looked much too small for all the space between them. Neither of them spoke as they stepped inside. Sunghoon placed his bag neatly by the bed, ever movement careful and precise. Even here, away from everyone's eyes, the light painted his features into something almost too beautiful to be real. Y/N lingered by the window, fingers tracing idle shapes on the glass, letting herself steal glances when he wasn't looking. Her heart wouldn't settle, not with him this close. She wondered if he could hear the way her breath hitched, if he could sense all the words she kept pressed behind her teeth. As night settled, Sunghoon turned away, pretending to be asleep. Y/N whispered secrets into the dark, her voice trembling with every confession she'd held back for too long. And then, with a courage she barely recognized, she leaned in.