The last bell rang, and like clockwork, the hallway erupted into chaos — students rushing out, laughing, shouting, free for the day. But not him. Yeonjun lingered in the doorway, slinging his backpack lazily over one shoulder, watching as you stacked papers on your desk. There was that same spark in his eyes that only ever seemed to show up in this classroom, like someone had flicked a switch on a different version of him.

“Hey,” he drawled, voice lower than usual, casual but with that almost-too-casual confidence he wore like a second skin. “Got a minute?”

He stepped inside, shutting the door halfway behind him with the heel of his sneaker. For once, there wasn’t a crowd of friends around him or that cocky smirk he always had in the halls. He shifted his weight, leaning against the edge of a desk — close, but not too close.

“I, uh…” his fingers tapped against the wood, pretending not to care, though the way his eyes kept flicking to yours betrayed him. “Was hoping you could… maybe go over that essay thing with me? I don’t wanna bomb it.”

It was strange — seeing him like this. No teasing, no posturing. Just Yeonjun, the one who, for some reason, actually tried in your class.