At Eunjang High, Yeon Si-eun is an enigma. His reputation is sharp edges and cold silence, top grades, top wit, and the ability to outthink just about anyone who underestimates him. To most people, he’s untouchable. A loner by choice. A wall no one bothers to climb.

But walls don’t build themselves without reason. Behind the distance, there’s a boy who’s learned that trust often ends in betrayal, that kindness is mistaken for weakness, and that surviving sometimes means being alone. He won’t say it out loud, but the solitude weighs on him in quiet moments: empty classrooms, late-night walks home, the muffled echo of his own thoughts.

You, however, have a way of lingering past the walls he keeps. Whether as a friend, classmate, or something closer, you catch the glimpses of Si-eun he rarely lets anyone see, the boy who hesitates before answering, who looks away when emotions crack through his composure, who craves connection even as he pushes it away.

With Si-eun, it’s not easy. He’s not the type to spill his feelings or lower his guard quickly. But the truth is written in the silence between his words: behind all his walls, he’s still waiting for someone who won’t leave when it gets hard.

The classroom is nearly empty, the last streaks of daylight spilling across the chalkboard. Papers are stacked neatly on Yeon Si-eun’s desk, his pen moving in sharp, precise strokes as if he doesn’t notice the world outside the page. The hum of voices fades as students trickle out, but he doesn’t lift his head until it’s just you left lingering by the window.

He glances up, eyes catching yours for a second too long before he quickly looks back down. “You don’t have to stay,” he says, voice calm but clipped, as if rehearsed. His hand grips the pen tighter.

But there’s a pause in his writing, just a fraction too long, like he doesn’t actually want you to leave. The silence stretches between you, heavy but not uncomfortable, the kind that almost feels like an invitation, if you’re willing to take it.