Morning hits like a slap.
I get off the bus right in front of Gyeongwon's main gate, and the first thing I feel is the stupid cold air smacking me in the face like, wake up loser, time to suffer again.
Great. Amazing start.
My bag is heavy, my eyelids heavier, and my soul is somewhere under the road getting run over. I drag myself forward, slow as hell, like one of those NPCs in a video game that walk for no reason.
I'm not even thinking about anything—just zoning out, floating, existing like a default character skin—
Until I see him.
Baek Jiho.
Straight in front of me.
And my heart does that dumb little jump scare thing.
Like—
Why.
WHY do you still react, bitch??
We got rejected. PUBLICLY. AGAIN. Can the heart learn anything? No? Okay, cool.
He's walking ahead of me, earbuds in, uniform neat, hair doing that soft swoopy thing like he gets free lighting from the universe. I swear the air gets brighter around him. Meanwhile I look like I got dragged here by a forklift.
I slow down without realizing.
Like I'm… following him.
Pathetic.
God.
But also… I can't help it. My chest squeezes, tight and hot, like someone pressing their thumb into a bruise. And it's so stupid because I know what he'll do.
He won't turn around.
Won't notice me.
Won't even sense my existence like some people do when someone stares at their back.
Then I see it—
His smile.
He's laughing at something his classmate says. A real laugh. Teeth, eyes curved, that soft boyish look everyone falls for.
And it just—
Burns.
Why does he never smile at me?
Not once.
Not even a tiny half-smile.
Not even pity-smile energy.
Not even a "lol okay" smile.
Just… nothing.
Never looked at me the way he looks at literally ANYONE else.
Never actually saw me.
Never even tried.
And the worst part?
It still hurts.
It still aches in that embarrassing way that feels childish and grown-up at the same time.
I stare at the back of his blazer like it's the last page of a book I'm refusing to close. His classmate peels off to another hallway, and suddenly Jiho is alone.
Walking slower.
Hands in pockets.
Head down.
Quiet.
My stupid hopes kick up again.
Maybe—
Maybe today I can say something normal? Like "Morning," or "Hey," or "Did you study?"
Anything that doesn't sound like I'm confessing again like a clown in a school courtyard.
I inhale.
My palms sweat.
My heart is doing parkour.
I gather every drop of fake confidence I have left.
Okay, Jiah.
Just walk.
Go talk.
Use words.
Don't be a pussy.
Just—
go.
I step forward, picking up speed, ready to call him—
Then—
A shoulder slams into mine.
Light but annoying.
And a syrupy-sweet voice slices through the hallway:
"BAEK JIHO…!"
Oh fucking hell.
Shin Ara.
Trotting toward him like she owns the pavement in heels she's not even wearing.
Her hair swinging. Her voice all soft and cute.
Her hands already reaching toward him.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
I stop walking.
The air punches out of my lungs for a second.
Jiho turns to her—
and there it is.
Another smile.
Softer than the one he had with his classmate.
I don't wait for more.
Hell no.
I turn on my heel, shove my hands into my pockets, and walk straight toward Class without even glancing back.
No more watching him pick someone else.
No more hoping.
No more embarrassing myself in the morning air.
I just walk.
Head down.
Heart aching quietly.
Like always.
School hasn't even started yet.
And I'm already tired
By the time I drag myself into Class , my chest still feels weird. Not dramatic heartbreak-movie weird. More like… someone put a tight rubber band around my lungs and keeps pulling.
I get to my seat, drop into the chair, and just melt onto the desk. Forehead down. Arms spread. Full corpse mode.
I breathe out slow. My brain keeps replaying the morning like a damn TikTok loop.
Jiho smiling. At everyone. At Ara. At the wind probably.
But not at me.
Never at me.
I don't even know why it stings so much today. Maybe because I actually tried. Like a dumbass. Actually tried to speak. Actually built up courage like it was some expensive resource.
And then he smiled at someone else like it was easy.
I press my cheek against the desk. It's cold. I like the cold. It keeps everything inside instead of spilling out.
I whisper into the wood, "He's happy with everyone but me… why…"
It's stupid. I know it's stupid. He doesn't owe me a smile or attention or anything.
But god, it hurts. It's that slow kind of hurt that sits heavy in the ribs. Not sharp. Not dramatic. Just… weight. Familiar weight.
I can't forget him instantly. I know that. My brain's not a USB drive to unplug. But maybe I can forget him slowly. Step by step. Breath by breath. Maybe I can train my heart like a disobedient puppy.
Just… don't expect anything anymore. Don't wait. Don't look.
Chest tightness creeps up my throat. I swallow it. Hard. My eyes burn but I blink fast because hell no, I'm not crying before homeroom. I'm not giving the universe that satisfaction.
Then—
Chair scrape.
Loud. Sharp. Right next to me.
My whole body freezes for a second before I force myself back to normal. I lift my head just a bit, cheek still on the desk, and tilt it sideways.
And there he is.
Yu Enhyeok.
The cursed window-seat angel-demon hybrid. His entrance hits like someone turned the brightness up in the room. It pisses me off that he looks good every morning. Like he spawned out of a luxury advertisement with zero effort. Jawline sharp, hair slightly messed from wind, uniform perfect like gravity respects him.
A blessing to his parents. And low-key a blessing to random eyes. He's so handsome it's rude.
But he's not Jiho. Never will be. No one will.
I lift my head fully, sit up slow, my voice coming out small before I can stop it.
"Am I… annoying?"
He doesn't even bother to look at me. Not a glance. Not a twitch.
"Yes."
Just that. Cold. Flat. Immediate.
I roll my eyes so hard I almost sprain something. "Thanks, asshole."
I sit straight, grab my math workbook, slap it open like it committed a crime. My pencil is already tired and I didn't even start writing yet. Whatever. I begin solving something that looks like a cursed alien equation.
Then his voice drops, low and bored, like he's talking to his notebook.
"Pass."
I blink. "Excuse me?"
Still not looking at me. Zero eye contact. Zero mercy.
"Or else I won't teach you."
My jaw drops. I stare at the side of his face like he's actually insane.
"I WILL pass. And I don't need you to tutor me. And I won't ask even if I die."
He flips a page in his notebook like my existence is background noise.
I clutch my pencil tighter. God, he's insufferable.
Before I can insult him again—
The bell rings.
Loud. Sharp. Saved-by-the-gods type timing.
I inhale once, deep, shove all the pain and irritation and leftover heartbreak down into whatever emotional basement I use to survive mornings.
Day's starting.
Whether my heart agrees or not.
Mr. Han walks in like a tornado wearing a cardigan.
The second he steps through the door, the whole class explodes into chaos—chairs scraping, Bora yelling at Minsol to move, Taeyoung almost tripping over nothing, Minseok choking on his own bread, and Haerin whisper-panicking because she still hasn't marked her homework as "done."
I shove my math crap away like it's radioactive and yank my literature book out.
The cover smacks the desk louder than intended. Oops.
I sit up straighter, wiping whatever leftover sadness is still clinging to my face.
No more Jiho thoughts. I'm done. I'm DONE. At least until next period. Hopefully.
Mr. Han claps his hands way too enthusiastically for someone who teaches poetry at 9 AM.
"Alright, settle down! I have good news for you all!"
Immediately, the room erupts.
"WHAT IS IT??"
"DO WE GET NO HOMEWORK??"
"IS CLASS CANCELED?? PLEASE SAY CLASS IS CANCELED—"
"MR. HAN DID YOU GET MARRIED??"
"BRO WHAT—"
The man actually laughs.
Laughs.
Like he hasn't watched us slowly rot for One and half year.
"No, no, nothing like that," he says, waving his hands. "But someone in your class made us very proud."
The entire room instantly turns into that sound when you drop a pan in the kitchen—loud, sharp, waiting.
My heart sinks for no reason.
Probably trauma.
Probably Jiho-related fatigue.
Mr. Han beams like a proud dad at a sports day.
"Yu Enhyeok got first place in the math competition for our school."
And the class LOSES IT.
People cheering, hands hitting desks, Bora screaming "LET'S GO KING," Taeyoung whistling like he's calling a dog, Haerin clapping politely but aggressively, even Minseok going, "WOO— good job bro."
The noise is insane.
Chaotic.
Happy.
All eyes turn to the window seat.
And…
He's just sitting there.
Not reacting.
Not even shifting.
Not even pretending to smile.
He doesn't look up.
Doesn't acknowledge the cheering.
Doesn't give a nod or a tiny grin or even a "thanks" shrug.
He literally just keeps reading his book like the entire class didn't just scream his name three decibels away from his ear.
My eyes widen without permission.
…What?
Bro.
He got first place.
FIRST.
PLACE.
If that were me I'd already be announcing a national holiday in my honor.
But him?
Nothing.
He looks the exact same as he does during fire drills. And exams. And gym. And chaos. And silence. And earthquakes probably.
I lean back in my chair a little, staring at him like he's some kind of weird puzzle piece that doesn't fit anywhere.
Why does he look… not happy?
Not even a little?
Is he actually built different?
Like emotionally waterproof or something??
The cheering dies down slowly, students still murmuring, still staring at him, still waiting for a reaction that never comes.
He flips a page quietly.
Calm.
Like everything around him is background noise.
I exhale through my nose, confused as hell.
Why does he look like this doesn't matter at all?
Why does he—
The thought cuts off.
Because suddenly—
Mr. Han's expression shifts.
And he says,
"Oh—there's one more thing I need to announce."