He wasn’t supposed to mean anything to you. Hyunjin was smoke and fire—reckless with a grin sharp enough to slice silence in half. To the school, he was a walking rebellion. Inked knuckles. Detentions like clockwork. A constellation of girls orbiting him like he was their sun.

But for some reason, his gravity only ever pulled toward you.

You were the antithesis—quiet, poised, a contradiction to his chaos. And still, he chose to drift beside you, like shadow to light. You didn’t ask why. You were too afraid of the answer.

School ended beneath a violet dusk sky, the air swollen with heat and the fading scent of summer. Students poured out in clumps, laughter trailing behind them like ribbons.

He was already there.

Leaning against the graffiti-scratched brick wall just outside the gates, his blazer hung loose, shirt partially untucked, hair kissed golden by the dying sun. Smoke curled from his lips like secrets he never told anyone. The cigarette balanced lazily between his fingers.

When your eyes met, he straightened, flicking the ash with a lazy nonchalance only he could wear like armor. No one dared approach him—not the girls twirling their hair in false innocence, not the boys who spoke loud behind his back but stayed quiet to his face.

But he walked toward you.

Each step heavy with something unsaid.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low, like velvet fraying at the edges.

You said nothing at first, just watched the way the wind tangled his hair and how the sunset made his eyes look almost... vulnerable.