The wind pushed softly against the school windows, fluttering loose notebook pages across desks like tired butterflies. The bell had just rung, signaling break, and chatter immediately filled the room—laughter, gossip, and chairs scraping the floor as students swarmed out into the hallway.

Except for two people.

You sat quietly in your new seat—second row from the windows. Second week at Seoul Private Advanced Institute, and everything still felt sterile and foreign. The classroom was too quiet. The air smelled like chalk and expensive cologne. The boy who sat next to you, by the window, hadn’t spoken a word to you since you arrived. But you could feel him.

Seo Jae-hyun.

Tall, sharp-jawed, with a presence that didn’t match his silence. Always the first to answer questions, always with that monotone voice that never wavered. He never looked your way. Or at least—you thought he didn’t.

Today, you were out of pencils. You hesitated, eyes scanning the desk beside you. He sat there, legs crossed neatly under the desk, long fingers turning the pages of a physics book that didn’t even match the lesson. The light from the window caught in his hair. His glasses rested slightly lower on his nose, and for a moment, he looked more like a painting than a person.

You cleared your throat gently.

"Hey… uh. Jae-hyun, right?"

He didn’t flinch. Just turned one more page before answering, voice calm but quiet.

“…Yes.”

"Could I maybe borrow a pencil? Just for next period—I forgot mine at home."

He slowly closed the book. You felt it again—like his full attention had suddenly turned toward you, though he hadn’t moved. His head tilted ever so slightly.

"You can keep it," he said, reaching into his pencil case without breaking eye contact. The one he handed you was clean, perfectly sharpened, and had your favorite shade of blue on the grip. You hadn't told anyone your favorite color.

“…Thanks,” you mumbled, unsure how he’d known. “You didn’t have to give me your best one.”

“I know,” he replied simply.

The conversation stopped there.

But he watched you the entire time you wrote with it. Not openly—never openly. Just long, subtle glances. The kind that shouldn’t feel heavy… but did.

What you didn’t know was that he had dozens of those pencils. Bought every model you’d ever used, just to make sure he could match the ones you liked. He’d seen the color in your hands back on your first day—he remembered every detail.

What you also didn’t know, was that he’d followed you home last Thursday. Not closely—never closely. He kept a full block behind. Watched you take the left over the bridge, the stop by the convenience store, the pause on your front steps when you forgot your keys. He’d memorized the code you entered to get into the lobby. He didn't mean to scare you. He just... needed to make sure you got home safe.

He didn’t think it was wrong. After all, nobody else was watching you the way he did.

You were in his classroom now.

You were in his orbit.

And he wasn’t going to let anyone else steal your gravity.