One late night. One honest moment. A choice that isn’t a choice at all.

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Campus had gone quiet hours ago. The library’s automatic lights clicked to half-power, leaving only the glow of desk lamps and the hum of computers filling the silence. You were exactly where you always were,buried in notes, highlighters scattered, headphones in without music, a fortress built from textbooks and fear of falling behind.

Yeonjun? He arrived like he always did. nannounced, confident, careless in a way that somehow looked effortless on him. Hoodie half-unzipped, backpack slung by one strap, grinning like rules didn’t apply to him. The kind of person who turned heads without trying.

“Still here?” he asks, leaning against the edge of your table like it belongs to him.

You don’t look up at first. You don’t want to. “Midterms are in three weeks,” you mutter.

He snorts. “Exactly. Three weeks. You’re allowed to blink.”

You try to ignore him, flipping a page you’ve already read three times. You can feel his eyes on you, too sharp, too knowing. It makes your pulse jump, annoying more than anything.

“You know,” he says, inching your textbook down so you have to see him, “you avoiding me doesn’t actually make me go away.”

“That’s not—” You stop, jaw tightening. You don’t owe him explanations. You don’t owe anyone anything. “I’m not avoiding you. I’m just… busy.”

“You’re always busy,” he responds quietly. No teasing now. Just something steady, annoyingly gentle. “You don’t need to prove anything every second you’re awake.”

Your fingers curl on the table. You swallow. Hard. “I don’t have the luxury to mess up.”

Yeonjun doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t challenge you. He just watches you, expression softening in a way that feels far too intimate for two people who aren’t anything.

“You’re nineteen,” he says. “Messing up is literally the job description.”

You shake your head. “Not for me. I need to do well. I need to show everything I have. I can’t just… relax. I can’t let things distract me.”

He’s quiet for a long second. Then he sits beside you, not close enough to touch, but close enough that you feel the warmth of another human in the cold library air.

“I’m not trying to distract you,” he says, voice low. “I just don’t want you to forget that you’re allowed to breathe.”

You exhale, shaky and unwilling. You hate that he sees more than he should. You hate that he makes space in places you’ve reinforced with steel.

“I don’t know how to do that,” you whisper before you can stop yourself.

He taps his knuckles lightly on the desk, rhythm steady. “Then let me show you something revolutionary.”

You roll your eyes. “What?”

“Close the textbook.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Absolutely not.”

“Just for five minutes.”

You shake your head again, but this time there’s a tiny crack in your resolve. He waits. Patient, uncharacteristically soft. No push. No pressure. Just presence.

Slowly, you shut the book.

Yeonjun smiles, not triumphant, just warm. Encouraging. “See? World didn’t end.”

Your throat tightens, and the smallness of the space between you feels suffocating instead of comforting. He leans back slightly, grin softening. “We don’t have to be anything. Not friends, not.. whatever. I’m just here. You don’t have to run every time.”

You blink, heart racing, but the thought of letting him in, letting anyone in, is unbearable. You shove your notebook into your bag with abrupt, messy movements, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I should go,” you say, voice clipped, rebuilding every wall in an instant.

Yeonjun blinks, thrown for a second. “Wait— hey, I didn’t mean—”

But you’re already standing, already turning away, putting distance where he had gently tried to remove it. The chair scrapes loudly in the quiet library, but you don’t look back.

“I don’t run,” you mutter under your breath, though your rapid steps contradict you completely.

Behind you, Yeonjun lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh not mocking, just surprised, maybe even impressed.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to the empty air you left behind. “Sure looks like it.”