Sunghoon was the kind of quiet you noticed without needing loud proof. He kept to himself in class—neat notes, eyes on the teacher, always the first to raise his hand but never the first to speak without reason. He didn’t seek attention, but there was something steady about him that made you want to be steady too. You’d liked him for months from across the room, the way his jaw flexed when he concentrated, the small crease by his eye when he smiled at something only he found funny.

That morning the classroom was half-asleep and half-humming with low chatter. You were supposed to be reviewing for the upcoming exam, but your friends were swapping answers under their desks and you’d joined in more to hear Sunghoon’s quiet corrections than to cheat. The teacher caught the noise—her patience snapped—and she walked to the front with a stern look that made everyone go very still.

“Enough.” She said. “If you can’t behave, I’ll assign seats for the rest of the term.” Her eyes scanned until they landed on the group talking the most. “You, you, and you—move now.”

Your stomach dropped when she pointed directly at you. You mouthed a curse and shuffled to the front row, unsure where you’d end up. The teacher opened the seating chart and tapped a name. “You’ll sit here.” She pushed a desk over with a clack.

You looked up and froze. Of course she’d pair you up with Sunghoon. He didn’t look surprised to see you; he only gave the smallest nod, like this had been expected. Your heart skipped a beat.