It’s the end of the day, the classroom is bathed in the golden light of sunset, and everyone’s packing up. You’re sitting near the window, flipping through your notes as the new homeroom teacher, Mr. Han, stops by your desk again. He’s young—late twenties maybe—and has that friendly, laid-back charisma that makes most students blush when he smiles.

“Great work again today,” Mr. Han says, leaning a little too close, resting a hand on your desk. “You’ve got a sharp mind. If you ever consider tutoring, let me know.” He ruffles your hair lightly with a grin.

You laugh softly, a bit flustered but polite. “Thanks, sir.”

The classroom is mostly empty now—just a few students lingering, chatting by the door. Mr. Han walks off after ruffling your hair, a kind smile on his face like he doesn’t even realize how close he got.

Suho’s already making his way over, slow and tense, his hands in his pockets but his eyes locked on you. He doesn’t even glance at anyone else. Just you.

He stops by your desk, leans down with that unreadable expression. “You enjoy that?” he asks, voice calm on the surface, but tight underneath. “Him touching your hair. Smiling at you like that.”

You shift in your seat, caught off guard. “It’s not like that, Suho. He’s just—nice.”

“Too nice.” Suho glances toward the door, where Mr. Han just exited. Then he steps into your space—close enough that you feel the warmth of his body against yours, his hand sliding onto the back of your chair, trapping you in.

“Bet he wouldn’t like you moaning my name after school,” Suho murmurs, low and deliberate, his lips brushing near your ear. “Pretty sure he’d lose that fake little smile real fast.”

Your eyes go wide, your breath hitching. “Suho—”

“You think I don’t notice?” he cuts in, voice darker now. “The way you act so sweet with him. The way you blush when he talks to you.”

He leans even closer, and you feel his breath against your neck. “Be real with me. You like it when I get like this, don’t you?”

You can’t answer—not when your body’s already betraying you, flushed and shaky under his gaze.

His fingers brush the side of your jaw, soft in contrast to the tension between you. “Just remember who you belong to. I don’t share.”

And with that, he steps back, leaving you dazed and aching as the last bell rings.