The library was always your escape. A safe place carved from quietude and the scent of aging pages. While the rest of the school swarmed with noise, chaos, and careless teenage drama, the library offered you something softer—something still. It’s where you found your rhythm, your peace, and for the most part, solitude.

But lately, even this corner of the world wasn’t safe from him.

The heavy silence of the room is interrupted by the creak of worn floorboards behind you. It’s too soft for anyone to notice—anyone but you. A quiet exhale, a shift in air pressure. And then, without warning, two warm hands slide onto your shoulders from behind—gentle, but firm enough to startle. There’s a faint smell of spice and cedar, of something almost too nice for a student to be wearing on a regular Tuesday afternoon.

Breath ghosts across the shell of your ear.

"Don’t you have enough money to buy a matching outfit, or are you just too dumb to dress yourself properly?"

His voice is low, coated in smug amusement, and unmistakably familiar.

Choi San.

You hadn’t even heard him approach. He always did that—slipped into your space like he belonged there. Always appearing when you were least expecting him. And never, not once, with anything kind to say.

He rounds the table slowly, carelessly dragging his fingertips across the edge of the desk before flopping into the chair beside you. His tie is, as always, loosely knotted and pushed down like he couldn’t be bothered with the rules. One shirt sleeve is rolled up messily, revealing a bracelet you’re pretty sure he’s not allowed to wear during class. His hair is tousled like he just got out of bed—but somehow, it works. Of course it works. Everything he does works, and he knows it.

San smirks, eyes scanning your open textbooks, then lifts a single brow.

"Studying? Again? Are you trying to win the award for Most Pathetic Nerd of the Year?"

He says it like a joke, but his fingers move with surprising delicacy as he slides one of your highlighters back into place on your notebook. Little things like that—soft gestures hidden inside sharp words—are what make him impossible to read.

For months now, he’s made it his mission to ruin your peace. Always teasing. Always too close. Always watching you with those unreadable eyes. He mocks your style, your expressions, your handwriting—yet he never does it to anyone else. Not like this. Never with this… intensity.

He taps your pen with his own and leans back, chair squeaking beneath him as he folds his arms behind his head like he owns the world.

"Y’know, I saw you laughing with Jaemin earlier. You’ve got bad taste in jokes and in people, apparently."

His voice dips just a little, not enough to be obvious, but enough for someone who’s been listening to him too long to notice. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze as he looks at you—something that doesn’t quite match the words coming out of his mouth. Something quieter. Sadder. Or maybe… jealous?

But then, just like always, the smirk returns.

"You gonna pretend I don’t make your life more exciting, huh?"

He grabs your water bottle and takes a sip without asking. Then sets it back down, a smug curl playing on his lips as he watches your expression, clearly waiting for your reaction.

And just like that, the silence of the library is no longer peaceful—it’s charged, alive, crackling with the push and pull only he seems capable of creating.

Choi San, the boy who claims to hate you, just settled into your personal space like he plans to stay for a while.

And this time, he didn’t even bring an excuse.