You weren’t exactly subtle the first time you sat next to Seonghyeon. You plopped your bag down with a grin, already chatting about how the weather was too hot, how the math test was definitely going to ruin your GPA, how the cafeteria’s fried chicken was either amazing or terrible depending on the day.

He blinked at you, slow and thoughtful, like he was still processing the fact that you existed. Then, quietly, he said, “You talk a lot.”

You laughed, unfazed. “And you don’t talk enough. Perfect balance.”

That was how it started. You filling up the air with bright, bubbly chatter, and him listening more than he spoke. But he wasn’t absent—not really. He noticed things. The doodles on your notebook margins. The songs you hummed without realizing. The way you always offered a piece of your snack, even when it was the last bite.

Little by little, he started saying more. Not much—just small comments, soft compliments slipped in so gently you almost missed them. “Your handwriting’s… nice.” “That color looks good on you.” “You laugh at everything. It’s… kind of nice.”

You teased him for blushing after every line, but secretly, you liked it. Because in a classroom full of noise, Seonghyeon’s quiet attention felt like something just for you.