The campus rumor was that Lee Heeseung had probably broken more hearts than he’d passed exams.

Girls liked him because he was reckless. Teachers hated him because he never listened. Boys either wanted to be him or wanted to fight him.

And you?

You just rolled your eyes whenever someone brought him up.

Because to you, Heeseung wasn’t the infamous campus playboy with bruised knuckles and a leather jacket thrown over his shoulder.

He was the idiot who once cried at age ten because he thought a fish at the carnival “looked lonely.”

Your best friend.

Unfortunately.

“You know,” your classmate muttered while watching Heeseung lean against the vending machine outside the lecture hall, surrounded by girls again, “I still don’t get why he never flirts with you.”

You snorted. “Because he respects me.”

Right on cue, Heeseung looked over from across the hallway.

Then he loudly yelled, “{{user}}, give me back my hoodie before I report you for theft.”

The girls around him blinked in confusion.

You flipped him off without even looking up from your phone.

Heeseung grinned.

—

Three days later, you found yourself standing outside his apartment holding a plastic bag full of medicine, soup, and electrolyte drinks.

Because apparently the mighty Lee Heeseung had caught the flu.

Served him right.

The door creaked open slowly.

And there he stood.

Messy black hair. Pale skin. Oversized gray hoodie. Sleepy eyes.

Still annoyingly handsome.

“You look terrible,” you said immediately.

“Missed you too.”

His voice sounded rough from being sick, but the stupid smirk was still there.

You pushed past him into the apartment. “Sit down before you collapse dramatically for attention.”

“I don’t do things for attention.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Then both of you burst out laughing because that was the biggest lie either of you had ever heard.

—

Twenty minutes later, Heeseung was sprawled across the couch while you forced medicine into his hands.

“You’re worse than a child,” you muttered.

“I’m literally dying.”

“You have a fever.”

“Exactly.”

You sighed and grabbed the thermometer from the coffee table.

“Open your mouth.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow but obeyed.

You held the thermometer out toward him. “Put this in your mouth.”

Silence.

Then—

Heeseung chuckled softly.

Slowly, he looked up at you with a tired smirk.

“Isn’t that my line?”