𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 | (𝐆)𝐈-𝐃𝐋𝐄

𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐌𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫



Soyeon hated the camera. And she hated the girl behind it even more.

Well, sort of.

"Can you not point that thing at me every five seconds?" she snapped, shielding her face with her palm as yet another shutter clicked.

Yuqi didn’t even flinch. The yearbook photographer just lowered her camera slightly, expression unreadable. "It’s candid season. That means everyone gets caught slipping. Even the queen of the quad."

Soyeon narrowed her eyes. “Delete it.”

Yuqi smirked. “Make me.”

God, she was infuriating. Always lurking in the hallways with that ancient Canon, snapping shots like some artsy little stalker. Always wearing those oversized hoodies and messy ponytails, acting like she wasn’t trying to get under Soyeon’s skin.

They had never liked each other—not since freshman year when Soyeon accidentally called Yuqi’s zine “hipster trash” during an open mic night. Yuqi never forgot. Or forgave. And Soyeon never apologized.

Now they were seniors, and somehow—somehow—Yuqi had gotten herself appointed as head photographer for the senior yearbook. Which meant every time Soyeon so much as walked down a hallway, that stupid camera would rise like it was summoned by rage.

"You know what," Yuqi said, tilting her head as she checked the preview screen, "This one actually came out cute. You’re scowling, but like, hot-scowling. You could pass for someone’s crush."

Soyeon’s heart did a weird little thing she didn’t have time to unpack.

She scoffed instead. “You're obsessed with me.”

Yuqi shrugged. “I mean... the lighting’s really good in this hallway.”

“Sure,” Soyeon said, brushing past her. “Blame the hallway.”

A week later, they were assigned to work together.

"Why am I doing this again?" Soyeon muttered, slumping into a plastic chair in the yearbook room.

“Because your cheer captain duties include ‘school spirit,’” Yuqi replied, not looking up from her laptop. “And nothing screams spirit like captioning group photos until your eyes bleed.”

“I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Then leave,” Yuqi said casually, fingers flying over the keyboard.

But Soyeon didn’t leave.

She stayed.

She complained, rolled her eyes, tapped her pen loudly against the table—but she stayed.

Maybe because she was too stubborn to give Yuqi the satisfaction. Or maybe because, beneath the passive-aggressive snark, she was curious.

Curious about the girl who only spoke in dry humor and Polaroids. Who wore sarcasm like armor but had calloused fingers from hours of cropping and editing. Curious about why she suddenly noticed the way Yuqi’s lashes curled when she concentrated, or how she hummed softly when she worked.

It was... unsettling.

“You’re staring,” Yuqi said one afternoon without looking up.

“No, I’m not.”

“You always do that when you’re pretending to hate me.”

Soyeon flushed. “I do hate you.”

Yuqi finally looked at her then, eyes sharp but something else soft beneath them.

“You’re really bad at it.”

The shift was slow. But obvious.

They started meeting even when there were no assignments due.

Sometimes, they sat in silence, laptops open, music playing through shared earbuds. Sometimes, they bickered about fonts and captions. Sometimes—like today—they just… talked.

“I didn’t actually hate your open mic zine,” Soyeon blurted out one evening. “That night, freshman year. I was nervous. You looked really confident and... cool. So I lashed out.”

Yuqi blinked at her. “That’s the first time you’ve admitted you were nervous.”

Soyeon looked down at her hands. “That’s the first time I’ve admitted a lot of things.”

A quiet beat passed.

“Hey,” Yuqi said, voice lower, gentler. “You were kind of my high school villain for a while.”

Soyeon smiled. “You were definitely mine.”

Yuqi tilted her head. “But now?”

“I don’t know,” Soyeon said honestly. “Maybe... rival turned accidental muse?”

Yuqi laughed softly. “You sound like one of my captions.”

“I read them,” Soyeon said. “All of them.”

The latter blinked. “Seriously?”

“You write like someone who gets it,” she murmured. “Like someone who sees more than people let on.”

Yuqi’s gaze dropped to her lap, cheeks dusted pink. “And you... you’re not as shallow as I thought.”

“Well, thanks,” Soyeon said dryly.

“You’re just kind of annoying,” Yuqi added with a grin. “In a ‘makes my chest hurt’ sort of way.”

Soyeon stared at her. “Did you just flirt with me?”

“Possibly.”

“Do it again.”

Yuqi leaned closer, voice soft and daring. “I like taking pictures of you because you’re so bad at hiding how you feel.”

Soyeon’s breath hitched.

“Is that so?” she asked, inching forward.

“Mm-hmm,” Yuqi murmured. “Right now, you want to kiss me, don’t you?”

“Delete the last ten photos of me and I might.”

“No deal.”

They were already kissing before the next shutter clicked.

A week later, the final yearbook proofs were submitted.

Soyeon flipped through the pages in homeroom, eyebrows raising as she reached the senior candid section.

There, dead center, was a photo of her mid-laugh, head thrown back, sunlight hitting her face just right. Below it, in tiny italic text, was the caption:

|"Maybe it wasn’t the lighting. Maybe she really is that beautiful." — anonymous

Soyeon looked up across the room.

Yuqi caught her stare. Smirked. Raised a brow.

And this time, Soyeon didn’t hide her smile.