JIAH POV
BAM.
I hit something.
No—
someone.
My forehead literally ricochets off a shoulder that feels like it's sculpted from marble, gym memberships, and generational taxes.
I swear I heard my skull make the Windows error sound.
"OW—who the hell—" I snap automatically, rubbing my forehead like I'm massaging my dying last brain cell. And then I look up.
And freeze.
Because it's her.
Park. Freaking. Areum.
Enhyeok's… Girlfriend.
She blinks at me, soft and princess-like, like she's the human version of a violin sound.
"Oh—sorry," she says gently, touching her own shoulder like she's the one who bumped into a truck.
I blink twice and malfunction a little.
"Ah—no—my bad," I croak, trying to smile without looking like a depressed goldfish. "I walk like a blind pigeon."
She gives this tiny polite smile—so elegant, so calm, so expensive-coded—and steps around me, gliding like she's floating on air-conditioned wind.
And yeah. Okay. Fine.
She's pretty.
Like stupid pretty.
Like soft, elegant, always-wears-perfume pretty.
The kind of girl whose hair naturally falls in slow-motion.
She's also the only person Enhyeok talks to without looking like he's calculating murder.
The only one he actually smiles at.
Which is already illegal behavior from him because I thought he was physically incapable.
Whatever.
I don't care.
They look like the rich couple in a K-drama who eat brunch on rooftops and say things like "Oppa, the stock market is down."
I shuffle back to my desk because I'm embarrassed and my soul is overheating.
I plop into my seat and the universe goes silent like it's giving me time to rethink my existence.
Enhyeok's seat next to me is empty.
Bless.
I toss my bag on the floor, stretch my legs like a dead body, and try not to think about the fact I just headbutted Park Areum like an untrained goat.
The bell rings.
Students start pouring in like it's a stampede at a concert.
Then the door slides open again—
And the trio enters.
Minseok first, loud as always.
Taeyoung behind him, looking like he didn't sleep.
And finally—
Him.
Yu Enhyeok.
He walks in like he owns the classroom mortgage. Cold expression, clean hair, uniform perfect, steps too damn smooth like he rehearsed it.
He slides into his seat beside me with zero eye contact, zero emotion, zero acknowledgment that I exist on this planet.
And then—
His cologne hits me.
God.
This man smells like he's sponsored by money.
Like cedarwood and soap and "my wallet is thicker than your future."
It's so annoyingly good my brain stalls for a second.
I glare at my textbook.
Jiah, don't inhale like a weirdo.
What are you, a scent-addicted raccoon??
Get a grip.
I sit straighter and mentally slap myself.
I'd rather die than be caught sniffing the air like a Victorian ghost.
Before I can recover from my humiliation spiral, the classroom door swings open again.
Coach Lee—the PE teacher—walks in wearing a whistle and stress.
Everyone groans instantly.
"No class right now," he says, voice loud like he enjoys ruining youth. "Field. Now. Move."
The class explodes into chaos.
Groans. Complaints. Chairs screeching.
Someone yelling "I JUST SAT DOWN??"
Me?
I just drop my head on my desk and let out a long dying-cow noise.
PE.
Right now.
In THIS weather?
With THIS energy level?
This is hate crime coded.
Bora grabs my wrist. "Locker room. Let's go before he screams again."
So now we're dragging ourselves down the hallway like zombies walking to a fate none of us want.
I push open the girls' locker room door, already peeling off my blazer with the energy of a grandmother who's had enough of life.
I dig into my bag, pull out my PE uniform, and stare at it like it personally offended me.
"Ugh," I mutter. "This is my villain arc."
And yeah.
I'm already tired.
I'm already sweaty.
And I haven't even stepped onto the damn field yet.
The moment we step onto the field, Coach Lee blows the whistle like he's trying to summon demons.
"CLASS 2–3! LINE UP! Thirty crunches first! MOVE!"
Thirty.
Crunches.
My soul tries to exit my body.
Bora groans. Haerin whimpers. I genuinely consider dropping dead on the grass so he has to call an ambulance and let me skip class legally.
We line up, barely alive.
"Pair with your teammates!" Coach yells.
And instantly—instantly—
my stomach drops.
Because my teammate is—
Oh hell no.
Not him.
NOT HIM.
"I need a girl!" I blurt under my breath. "Why am I paired with—bro??? No. No. No. Absolutely not."
I look around, desperately searching for any girl I can switch with like I'm trying to escape prison.
But then—
I see something cursed.
Taehyung.
Looking at Bora.
SO. SOFTLY.
Like soft-boy-in-a-romcom-who-writes-poetry softly.
Bora's arguing with the class rep about which line we're supposed to stand in, completely unaware she has a whole man staring at her like she's glowing.
I blink.
Then blink again because WHAT THE HELL.
Han Taehyung.
Mr. Quiet.
Mr. Doesn't-Look-At-Anyone-Ever.
Mr. If-you-talk-to-me-I-might-delete-you.
Looking at my best friend like that???
And then—
Bora turns her head.
Taehyung instantly looks away so fast his neck cracks.
Like he wasn't just staring at her face like it's a puzzle he wants to solve.
I stand there looking at both of them like a mentally deranged meerkat.
What the.
WHAT THE.
No way.
No.
No no no no no.
I shake my head, laughing under my breath, because this is too insane for 9 a.m. PE class.
Absolutely not real. Delete.
I'm still laughing when I suddenly feel a warm breath hit the back of my neck.
My entire spine jumps.
I snap around so fast I almost headbutt him again.
Enhyeok.
Standing behind me.
Too close.
Too tall.
Too quiet.
"The hell—what are you doing?" I gasp, hand flying to my chest like I have heart problems.
He stares down at me, unfazed. "What are you doing, by the way?"
"I'm doing nothing!"
"Exactly." His voice is low, lazy. "That's what I'm saying."
"What??"
"Get ready."
I groan aggressively and flop onto the grass like a dying slug.
"Do you wanna switch?" I ask, already knowing he'll say no but trying anyway. "You can go to Minseok. I can go to Haerin. Perfect solution. Win-win. No one suffers."
He looks at me like I just asked him to do my taxes.
"Switch what?"
I glare up at him.
"You know what."
"I don't have the energy," he says flatly. "Start."
I hate him.
I truly, genuinely hate him.
I lay down and he crouches at my feet, big hands reaching forward to lock around my ankles, holding them steady.
His grip is warm.
Strong.
Too steady.
Great. Fantastic. Amazing. Love that for my emotional health.
I start crunching.
And then I realize—
He's looking at me.
Not like glancing.
Not like checking my form.
Like looking looking.
Straight eye contact.
Zero blinking.
Zero shame.
BRO.
HELLO???
WHY???
Why is his face that close??
Why are his eyes doing that intense staring thing??
Why does he look like he's analyzing my entire soul while I'm out here folding like a damn omelette???
Can you—stop staring? I think between breaths, avoiding his eyes because I will combust. Your face is too pretty for this situation.
He doesn't look away.
Not even a millimeter.
"Focus," he says quietly.
FOCUS???
SIR???
YOU ARE THE DISTRACTION HERE.
I do another crunch and he's STILL staring at me like I'm some math problem he's trying to solve using telepathy.
My brain short-circuits. My lungs malfunction. My soul files for divorce.
This is actually torture.
And the worst part?
Every time I lift up…
He's there.
Right there.
Watching me.
Unbothered.
Calm.
Too close.
My life was not meant for this level of eye contact.
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ENHYEOK POV
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fuck .