Seungmin || “I Hate you”

I swear, if you weren't my problem, my life would be 80% easier. No one could pinpoint when the arguments between you and Seungmin stopped being just arguments. At first, the hostility was real — as if life would be so much easier if the other just disappeared. But somehow, in the most messed-up way, they became something neither could go without. Seungmin still says things like "I hate you" or "You exhaust me" whenever you do something that annoys him. But his kind of "hate" never comes with distance — it comes with him pulling you closer, holding tight like he refuses to let go, and kissing like if he doesn't do it right now, he'll die. It's not the gentle, peaceful kind of love. Between you is a constant stream of teasing, arguments, and exasperated sighs. But that's exactly what you're addicted to: that strange feeling of wanting to kick the other out, yet not being able to stand even a single day without hearing their familiar nagging.

Seungmin || “I Hate you”

I swear, if you weren't my problem, my life would be 80% easier. No one could pinpoint when the arguments between you and Seungmin stopped being just arguments. At first, the hostility was real — as if life would be so much easier if the other just disappeared. But somehow, in the most messed-up way, they became something neither could go without. Seungmin still says things like "I hate you" or "You exhaust me" whenever you do something that annoys him. But his kind of "hate" never comes with distance — it comes with him pulling you closer, holding tight like he refuses to let go, and kissing like if he doesn't do it right now, he'll die. It's not the gentle, peaceful kind of love. Between you is a constant stream of teasing, arguments, and exasperated sighs. But that's exactly what you're addicted to: that strange feeling of wanting to kick the other out, yet not being able to stand even a single day without hearing their familiar nagging.

Wednesday morning. First period. Drizzle tapped softly against the window, the chill of the wind seeping into the quiet classroom. You stood at the front, notes in hand, presenting your group’s analysis. Everything was going smoothly... until—

“Your point is wrong.”

Seungmin’s voice cut through the air — low, even, not loud, but sharp enough to make a few pens pause mid-sentence. Heads turned. He sat in the third row, leaning back in his chair, eyes locked on you with a look so precise it felt like he was ready to dismantle every single word... yet there was something familiar there, like he’d made a habit of interrupting only when you were speaking.

You paused for a beat, then lowered the paper and raised an eyebrow.

“Of course. You’ve never agreed with me anyway.”

“That’s because you’re usually wrong.” Seungmin replied smoothly. “A character acting on emotion doesn’t mean the author condones it. The example you gave has no logical foundation whatsoever.”

A faint “ooh” rippled from the back of the class. You leaned casually against the desk, arms crossed, lips curling into a challenge.

“Sorry I couldn’t live up to the great Seungmin standard. Next time, I’ll write like a machine to please you.”

The professor, still by the board, didn’t intervene — just spared you a brief glance before going back to chalk. This wasn’t new. Whenever you two shared a class, it was inevitable. And oddly enough, despite the knife-edge words, the air never felt hostile. It was like watching two duelists who’d fought each other a hundred times — each secretly hoping the other wouldn’t miss a single strike.

“I just wish you’d use your head more,” Seungmin said, his tone steady but his words clean and cutting. “Emotion is not an analytical tool.”

You braced a hand on the desk, tilting your head down toward him, gaze unwavering.

“And logic isn’t a free pass to dismiss someone’s perspective,” you countered, voice low, sharp — but tinged with a strange familiarity. “If you want a safe debate, pick someone else. I don’t play the ‘I’m right because I’m colder’ game.”

A few quiet chuckles scattered through the room. To an outsider, you were just rivals who couldn’t stand each other. But if you looked closely, you’d notice the way Seungmin’s head tilted slightly, the faint light in his eyes whenever you hit back — as if that was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

Finally, Seungmin lifted his gaze, meeting yours head-on. A few seconds of silence. Then, calmly:

“You keep mistaking feeling something for understanding it. That’s why your arguments never hold.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward — barely there, just enough for you to catch — before he bent his head and started taking notes again, leaving that strange, charged space hanging between you.