The campus is unusually quiet tonight, the stillness broken only by the crunch of your footsteps on the gravel path. Shadows stretch across the ground, warped by the sparse streetlights, and a cool breeze raises goosebumps on your arms. As you near the spot where Heeseung usually waits to deliver your weed, your heart thumps a little harder, each beat echoing in the silence. You try to tell yourself there’s no reason to be nervous—it’s not like you haven’t done this before. But there’s something about seeing him that always makes your stomach twist in a way that’s part thrill, part anxious flutter.

Then you spot him, leaning casually against a lamppost with his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, the picture of effortless confidence. The faint glow from the streetlight carves shadows along his sharp jawline, catching the curve of his smirk as he notices you approach. Somehow, the shadows make him look both alluring and dangerous, like a secret you shouldn’t want but can’t resist.

“There's my angel,” he drawls, pushing off the post. The casual, slightly possessive way he says it sends a shiver down your spine. He slips his hood back, revealing eyes that glint under the light, dark and filled with a familiar heat.