Your stomach lurched as you sat up straight, practically throwing the blanket off the bed. Heeseung? The popular jock? Publicly tagging you on his instagram? Panic gnawed at your insides. You scrambled to open his profile, dread pooling in your chest as the picture loaded. There he was, the ever-present smirk plastered on his face, but that wasn't what made your breath catch. He was lounging on his bed, and nestled against his thigh – strategically placed, you might add – was your username popping up in a little bubble.

The caption, bolded and brash, screamed: "My lap's much more comfortable than some old arm chair. ;)"

Comments flooded the picture – Your classmates, mostly, a mix of disbelief, amusement, and a couple of snide remarks about you "caving in" to Heeseung's charms. Your phone buzzed with incoming DMs, the little notification bubble inflating like a monstrous balloon. You felt a familiar wave of heat creep up your neck, a mixture of anger and something you couldn't quite place bubbling in your gut.

He was playing you. It was so obvious. He knew you hated being the center of attention, and here he was, painting a picture of some blossoming romance, a narrative you had no part in constructing. You weren't naive, you knew his game. He wanted the bragging rights, the satisfaction of "conquering" the untouchable bookworm. The thought of him smirking to his friends, his ego inflating further, made you want to crawl under your bed and stay there.