𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐃𝐄; boysnextdoor

game of hearts ; leehan

Leehan was the type to make hearts race and break them just as effortlessly. He didn't bother with rules; he made them. The smooth smirk, the lazy charm, the calculated vulnerability—it was all part of the act. Leehan played the game of love like a professional, always a step ahead, always in control.

And then there was Y/N.

She was the kind of girl who radiated innocence, a magnet for admiration cloaked in a facade so delicate it felt cruel. But those who knew her—or thought they did—understood the truth. She was every bit as much of a player as Leehan, but with a crucial difference: her game didn't rely on deception. She let people walk willingly into heartbreak, no tricks, no lies. And they let her.

Because being destroyed by Y/N wasn't a mistake—it was a privilege.

Leehan noticed her first during a lazy autumn afternoon in their shared literature class. She wasn't the loudest in the room, nor the prettiest by conventional standards, but there was something intoxicating about her aura. The way she leaned back in her chair, seemingly disinterested, her pencil absently tapping against the edge of her notebook—it all screamed indifference. But then she'd speak, and it was like she'd flipped a switch. Everyone would lean in, captivated by the soft, almost teasing cadence of her voice.

It wasn't long before Leehan saw the patterns. The stolen glances she pretended not to notice, the subtle gestures that left her admirers yearning for more. She played her part so perfectly that even the people she left in pieces looked back at her with gratitude.

Intrigued, Leehan decided to make his move.

"Y/N," he drawled one afternoon as they walked out of the classroom, his tone just shy of cocky. "I've been meaning to ask—do you break hearts as a hobby, or is it a full-time job?"

She glanced at him, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "I don't break hearts, Leehan. People hand me the pieces willingly."

He chuckled, impressed. "And you're okay with that?"

"Are you?" she countered, her tone so nonchalant it felt like a challenge.

It was the beginning of a dynamic neither of them could quite define. They weren't friends, not exactly. Their conversations were too loaded with unspoken tension for that. But they weren't lovers either. Both of them had built walls too high, too fortified, to let the other in completely.

Still, their connection grew. It was in the lingering glances across the classroom, the accidental brushes of hands that neither of them bothered to pull away from, the late-night text conversations that started off sarcastic but somehow always turned introspective.

Leehan found himself drawn to her in a way he hadn't expected. She was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve, a challenge he couldn't resist. But Y/N was different. She wasn't another conquest; she was a mirror. And what he saw in her reflection terrified him.

Y/N, on the other hand, wasn't blind to Leehan's charm. She knew his type—she'd played his type—and she had no intention of becoming another name on his list. But Leehan was persistent, and there were moments when she caught herself faltering, her carefully constructed defenses cracking under the weight of his attention.