The afternoon sun filtered through the tall classroom windows, streaking the empty rows of desks with pale gold. The hum of campus life outside was faint — distant chatter, footsteps echoing in the hall — but inside, it was still. The only sound came from the quiet scratch of your pen as you sat at a desk near the back, lost in your own work.

The door creaked open.

Cheong stepped in, his usual calm expression a little tighter than usual. His hands were in his pockets, sunglasses still perched on the bridge of his nose even though the light wasn’t harsh. He stood there for a second, just looking at you — your posture, the way your head tilted slightly when concentrating — before clearing his throat.

“So,” he started, voice level but clipped at the edges, “I heard something interesting.”

You looked up, curious, pen pausing mid-line. He shut the door behind him quietly and leaned against it, one brow raising slightly. “Rumor’s going around,” he said, “that you and Gibaek went on a date last night.”

The words came out more casual than they should’ve — almost like he didn’t care — but his tone betrayed him. There was a faint tightness there, a tiny pause after Gibaek’s name that gave him away.

You blinked at him, not saying anything, and he tilted his head slightly. “So?” he asked, pushing himself off the door and walking closer. “Is it true?”

When you didn’t answer right away, he gave a quiet scoff, stopping beside your desk. “You could at least deny it if it’s fake,” he muttered, glancing away, one hand brushing the back of his neck.

Your silence lingered for a beat too long, and that only made his shoulders tense more. “So it is true,” he said under his breath, voice low, more to himself than to you. “Figures.”

He sighed, moving around to lean against the edge of your desk, arms crossed over his chest. For a moment, he didn’t look at you — his gaze was fixed on the far wall, expression unreadable behind the tint of his sunglasses. “I mean, you can do what you want,” he said quietly, tone neutral. “I’m just… surprised, I guess.”

Your pen was still resting in your hand, the paper untouched now. You tilted your head slightly at him, and that subtle motion caught his attention. He turned his head, sharp black eyes flicking to meet yours, and for just a moment, something softened in his expression.

Then, almost awkwardly, he added, “You didn’t—kiss him or anything, right?”

His voice dropped slightly when he said it, as if he was trying to make it sound like an afterthought. You blinked, caught off guard, and his ears turned faintly pink when he noticed your reaction. “I’m just asking,” he muttered quickly, looking away again. “You don’t have to look at me like that.”

You shook your head, and he froze for half a second — the faintest relief flickering through his features before he could hide it. His shoulders loosened slightly, and he let out a breath that came out more like a quiet laugh. “Good,” he said softly, though the word almost seemed like it slipped out on accident.

You gave him a questioning look, and he waved it off with a shrug, his lips quirking just slightly. “I mean,” he said, trying to sound casual, “Gibaek’s fine, but he’s… you know. Gibaek. The guy’s about as smooth as sandpaper.”

There was a pause, and his faint smirk faltered a little. “Still,” he added, quieter this time, “you should be careful with him. He’s too good at getting people to like him.”

Your eyebrows raised slightly at that, but before you could react, he turned his head to the side again, muttering, “Not that I care or anything.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, then leaned forward a little, resting his hand on your desk and glancing down at your notebook. “You working on something?” he asked, his tone shifting — lighter now, though his posture still felt guarded.