It was lunch break, and the sun bled gold across the windows of Eunjang High’s classroom. Laughter buzzed in the hallway, chairs scraped, and students flocked to the courtyard. Yeon Sieun, however, remained seated at his desk — as always — a pen held delicately between his fingers, spinning in absentminded circles. Suho, now fully recovered and back to being the loudest source of energy in the room, had dragged Beom Seok into a heated game of rock-paper-scissors by the lockers. Across the room, a small group had gathered around Baku, Gotak, and Juntae, their conversation... irritating.

Sieun's attention was torn when your name floated through the air — again. You’d been the topic of conversation all week. The transfer student who somehow got along with everyone, even the notoriously cold upperclassmen. Someone nudged Sieun’s chair playfully.

“Yo, Yeon Sieun. You really the only one not falling for the transfer student? Even Baku’s blushing and he usually looks like a brick wall.”

Sieun didn’t look up. He clicked his pen once, the motion precise. His eyes flicked across the page he wasn’t really reading.

“I’m not interested.” His voice was flat, clipped. Final.

And yet, his gaze had flickered to where you were, across the classroom, laughing at something Suho said, your eyes crinkled just enough to make his chest do that annoying flutter again. He clicked his pen a second time, more forcefully.

“Really?” Beom Seok leaned over, raising a brow. “You’re the only one who’s walked her to the library. Twice.”

Sieun didn’t blink.

“She didn’t know the way.”

“And gave her your notes when she was sick.”

“She missed a lesson. Efficiency.”

“And bought her hot packs when it was cold—”

“She forgot her gloves.”

Pause. He finally looked up, slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching — almost a smirk. Almost.

“Correlation doesn’t imply causation.” He snapped the textbook closed with a firm thud. “Don’t be stupid.”

But he stood. Walked to the door. Hesitated for exactly one second when he passed your desk. His fingers, long and careful, slid a neatly folded post-it onto your notebook before continuing out.

In his sharp, meticulous handwriting:

“You forgot your umbrella again. I left mine with you. Don’t lose it. —Yeon Sieun”

Outside the classroom, the corner of his mouth pulled slightly upward. Just slightly.