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conflict of interest | joshua hong

happy shua day everyone!! <3 i don't think there's any warnings here...there is a kiss? its tutor!josh and gn!reader (pretty sure no gendered terms were used lmk if i messed that up). extremely brief suggestive behavior RIGHT at the end.

You’re sitting in your favorite corner of the library. No one really knows it exists, but from here, during the summer, you can smell the orange groves out of the window if it’s cracked open. It’s early spring and the blossoms are just starting to bloom, and it’s still too cold to open the window, but it’s quiet and undiscovered, the only noise the sound of your pencil as it sneaks across the page.

There’s a soft knock on the door behind you. You turn to see Joshua through the small rectangular window, notebook in hand, waving at you. Your stomach turns over — he is looking extra cute with his dark wavy hair, circle-rimmed glasses, and gray turtleneck that hugs him exactly right. But you wave him inside and he smiles, shouldering the door open and sliding into the seat next to you. 

“Thought you’d be here,” he says, pulling his backpack onto the table and looking up at you with that smile -- the one that has your stomach in knots most days. He unzips the backpack and pulls out a box of your favorite snacks. “You look like you need this.”

Your jaw drops. You grab the box and pop it open, pretending to take a deep sniff from it. “I am revived,” you intone, smiling as he chuckles at your antics. “Thanks. What brought this on?”

“I bribed the teacher to show me your test grade,” he says, leaning back in the chair and stretching languidly.

Your stomach suddenly turns over. “What did I get?” you ask, lurching forward and grabbing his arm.

“I never said I’d tell you,” he teases, his eyes glittering in mischief.

“Well, it’s gotta be good, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t have brought the snacks.”

“Maybe it's in consolation,” he counters, leaning forward to place his hand over the top of yours, which is still resting on his arm.

Your heart speeds up -- partially because of the anticipation of learning your final grade, and partially because Joshua's hands are big and warm and you're kind of obsessed with them, and here you are practically holding onto one of them. “Dang,” you say under your breath. “How bad did I do?”

He gives a kind half-smile. “You got a 94.”

You gape at him. “An A?”

“An A.”

“On my accounting final?”

“On your accounting final!”

You can’t help it. Giggling with excitement, you launch yourself across the table and throw your arms around Joshua’s neck.

He catches you on impulse, but before you can realize what he’s doing, his arms begin to tighten around you. You feel him let out a deep breath, and he nestles his head on your shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” You ask him, pulling back to look at his face. He looks normal — maybe a bit flushed, but otherwise unharmed.

He still has his arms around your waist, and he’s smiling like he always does, but there’s something in his eyes that’s different. “I’m fit as a fiddle,” he says. “But I do have a question for you.”

You sit back down, suddenly nervous. “Sure, shoot,” you say.

“Would you be willing to find a new tutor for next semester?” he asks. There is something sly in his smile.

“What?” You exclaim. “Why?!”

“Because I think tutoring you next semester isn’t going to work, for one of two reasons.” He suddenly looks serious.

“What are they?” You ask, horrified.

“The first is you don’t feel the same way, and then I’d need at least a semester to recover,” he says carefully.

You stare at him, confused. He leans forward again, closer this time. “The second is that you do feel the same way, and then I can’t tutor you because it’s a conflict of interest.”

His eyes are now boring into you, and you can almost feel them. Slowly, obviously, he glances at your lips and then back to your eyes. “Joshua,” you say breathlessly, stupidly, at almost the exact same time his hand comes up to cradle your chin. 

Gently, he pulls your face to his and pecks you on the lips, a tiny, short kiss. You stare at him in shock, your mind racing and your hands somehow twisted around his sweater. 

He suddenly blushes. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Got carried away. I’ll give you some time to…well…I mean, you get it.”

He moves to stand, but you pull him down firmly into his seat. He looks at you, confused, for a split second before you kiss him back, longer this time.

Without warning, he pulls you from your awkward half-standing, half-seated position onto his lap as he reaches a hand into your hair. When you both break apart, the butterflies in your stomach have erupted into an unmanageable swarm, and you give a short laugh.

“Dang,” you say through gasps for air. “You were such a good tutor. Guess I gotta find a new one.”

He smiles widely, brushing some hair out of your face. “Or you can just pay me in other ways,” he says, his voice innocent, but his eyes decidedly not.