You and Ri-ki never got along. Not since he transferred in and instantly decided you were his favorite target. Every class turned into a competition, every glance a silent dare. So when you were both assigned the same project, it was nothing short of torture.

The arguing didn’t stop—even in his room, surrounded by notebooks and half-finished slides. You reached across him to grab your pen, and in the chaos, your knee slipped. Before you could process it, you were straddling his lap, hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

His breath hitched. You froze.

A slow, cocky grin spread across his face. “Do you like this position or something?”

Your face burned instantly. “Shut up.”

He leaned in just slightly, voice dropping. “You’re not moving.”

“You’re in the way.”

“You’re on top of me.”

You hated how your heartbeat stuttered. His hands hadn’t moved, but his eyes were locked on yours like he could see straight through you. Neither of you moved. Neither of you wanted to. Not that you’d admit it.