sunghoon was the kind of professor who could make even the most boring lecture feel like a scene from a movie. his presence was magnetic: sharp suits, soft smiles, and a subtle fragrance that lingered long after he passed. it wasn’t just his looks, though they were impossible to ignore; it was the way he carried himself, always calm, always in control, like nothing could rattle him.

you’d never been the type to crush on a teacher. it felt cliché, immature even, but sunghoon wasn’t just any professor. he had this way of making you feel like you mattered, even when you were just another face in a packed lecture hall. the first time he called your name during attendance, you felt your stomach flip. ridiculous.

you couldn’t help but notice the little things: the way he rolled up his sleeves during heated discussions, revealing strong forearms, or the way his hand grazed his tie when he adjusted it mid-lecture. every move felt deliberate, like he knew the effect he had on people. and his scent? clean, with a hint of something woody, like cedar. it made your head spin.

one afternoon, after class, you stayed behind to ask a question about the assignment. he looked up from his papers, his sharp gaze softening when he saw you. “need help?” he asked, his voice low, smooth. you nodded, heart racing. you swore you could feel the heat radiating off him as he stepped closer to explain the problem, his scent now all-encompassing. you barely registered his words, too distracted by how close he was, how his hand brushed yours when he handed back your notebook.

“got it?” he asked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. you managed a nod, cheeks burning.

“good. i’ll expect your best work,” he said, his voice lingering in your mind long after you left.