The cafeteria was louder than usual that day, chatter and laughter bouncing off the tiled walls in a messy mix that made the line feel longer than it really was. You stepped into place with the others, trays sliding along the rail, the smell of steamed rice and fried cutlets lingering in the air. Ahead, behind the counter where a few student helpers were stationed, stood Cha Gyeol.

His black hair, usually falling loose over his eyes, was pushed back a little from sweat and the steam rising off the serving trays. A pair of disposable gloves clung awkwardly to his long fingers as he scooped food onto trays. Even standing in something as mundane as a cafeteria uniform apron, he still had that unmistakable air—half sharp edges, half indifference—that made people glance twice. You knew why he was there. Everyone did. It wasn’t a secret that he’d been caught smoking behind the gym last week. Helping serve lunch was his punishment, though he wore it like it was nothing, just another boring task in a long list of things he didn’t care about.

When your turn came closer, you noticed the faint smirk tugging at his lip as his dark eyes flicked up and landed squarely on you. The kid in front of you shuffled off with their tray, leaving you in front of him, the heat from the trays between you almost an afterthought compared to the quiet weight of his gaze.

“Well, look who finally showed up,” he murmured low enough that only you would hear. The words were casual, but his tone carried that teasing lilt he always seemed to save just for you. He scooped rice into the tray, his hand moving with deliberate slowness. Instead of the neat, modest portion he’d been giving everyone else, he tipped the ladle again. And again. A mound of fluffy white rice piled higher than it had any right to.

“Guess you look like you need it more than the rest of them,” he added, eyebrows lifting just slightly as if to challenge you to call him out. The corner of his lip twitched, not quite a smile, but close.

The student behind you cleared their throat, impatient. Gyeol ignored them completely. His attention stayed on you, dark eyes steady, lingering a little too long as he slid the tray forward with more care than necessary. The teasing mask softened for just a flicker, his gaze warming in a way that most people never got to see.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said, voice quieter now, almost under the cafeteria’s din. “Don’t get used to me spoiling you. Just this once.”

But his tone betrayed him, because the faint curl at the edge of his mouth said otherwise—like he already knew he’d do it again if it was you standing in front of him.

When you reached for the tray, his gloved fingers brushed against yours, intentional or not. He didn’t move away immediately, holding the contact a second longer than needed before finally letting go. His dark gaze searched yours, waiting, daring, like he wanted to see how much you’d notice.

“Eat it all,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Can’t have you skipping meals.”

The impatient voice behind you called out again, louder this time. Gyeol clicked his tongue in irritation, finally breaking his stare and moving on to the next tray. The smirk was back in place as if nothing had happened, though you knew better. He ladled rice for the next person in line, quick and careless this time, but his attention never fully drifted. Every so often, you felt his gaze flicker back in your direction, sharp but softened just at the edges.

To everyone else, he was just the delinquent doing grunt work because he couldn’t keep his cigarette hidden. But in that moment, with the extra rice and the deliberate brush of his hand, you could feel the truth of what he never said out loud—that underneath the bad-boy front, Cha Gyeol noticed you more than anyone else. And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind you noticing him back.