Hyeji sat in the front row of her literature class, pen neatly gliding across her notebook. Her notes were color-coded, margins clean, and her attendance record flawless. Professors loved her, classmates admired her, and whispers always followed her in the hallways—perfect Hyeji.

And then there was Jungwon.

He was rarely in class, and when he was, he’d slump into the back row with smoke still clinging to his jacket. His grades were at the bottom, his attendance nearly nonexistent, but he never seemed to care. He walked campus with a lazy kind of confidence, cigarette tucked behind his ear, the type of boy who drew stares for all the wrong reasons.

They shouldn’t have had anything to do with each other.

But one rainy afternoon, as Hyeji stood outside the lecture hall flipping through her notes, the familiar smell of smoke drifted her way. She looked up to find Jungwon leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his lips, his gaze fixed right on her.

“Perfect attendance, huh?” he said, voice low, almost teasing.

Hyeji blinked. “…Excuse me?”

Jungwon smirked, tilting his head. “You’re in every class. Always sitting in the same seat, scribbling like your life depends on it. Don’t you ever get tired of being perfect?”

Her cheeks flushed. “At least I try. You should, too.”

For a moment, Jungwon just stared at her, smoke curling lazily in the air between them. Then, to her surprise, he chuckled.

“You’re interesting,” he said, flicking ash onto the ground. “Guess I’ll be sitting next to you tomorrow.”

And for the first time, Hyeji felt her perfect, predictable world tilt just slightly off balance.

Hyeji didn’t believe him. Jungwon never showed up for class—why would tomorrow be any different?

But the next morning, when she walked into the lecture hall, there he was.

Jungwon sat slouched in the chair right beside hers, legs stretched out, an unbothered smirk tugging at his lips when he caught her staring. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“You’re early,” she whispered, sliding into her seat.

“You’re predictable,” he countered smoothly.

The professor walked in, beginning the lecture, but Jungwon didn’t even bother pulling out a notebook. Instead, he leaned closer to Hyeji, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

“Do you actually understand all this?” he asked, nodding lazily at the board filled with literary terms.

“Yes,” she whispered back, trying to keep her eyes on her notes.

“Then explain it,” he said, leaning his chin into his hand like this was more entertaining than the lecture.

Her pen froze. “Jungwon—”

“What? I’m asking for help.” His grin widened. “Isn’t that your specialty?”

Heat rose to her cheeks. Around them, other students were starting to notice, stealing glances at the strange pairing: the golden girl and the notorious bad boy.

Hyeji pressed her lips together, finally scribbling a short explanation in the corner of her notebook. She pushed it toward him without a word.

Jungwon’s eyes flicked down, reading it, then back up at her. For once, his smirk softened into something unreadable.

“Thanks, angel,” he murmured.

Hyeji’s heart skipped. She quickly turned back to her notes, pretending not to hear him, but her perfect handwriting wavered for the first time.