The sun had already dipped behind the horizon, leaving only the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the windows of the empty classroom. The place was quiet, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the faint scratching of chalk still clinging to the blackboard. It was that hour when campus felt half-asleep—quiet corridors, distant footsteps, and the smell of dust and paper heavy in the air.

Doya sat backward in a desk chair, his arms draped over the top, his expression unreadable but tense. His black hair fell into his eyes, still slightly damp from the drizzle outside, and the purple gleam in them was sharper than usual. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to bring it up—that he didn’t care—but the thought had been gnawing at him since morning.

You stood across the room, packing your things, oblivious to the way his gaze followed your every movement.

“So…” he started, his tone casual but his jaw tense. “You and Woo Jaehyun. What’s the deal with that?”

You glanced his way, but before you could even react, he leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just asking.” He clicked his tongue, turning the chair around so he was sitting properly now, elbows on his knees. “Everyone’s talking about it again. The rumor, I mean. You know how people on campus are—once they start, they don’t shut up.”

His tail flickered into existence for half a second, betraying his agitation before disappearing again. “And Jaehyun doesn’t exactly help. Always showing up around you like he owns the place. Always looking at you like…” He trailed off, voice tightening, then gave a short, humorless laugh. “You know what? Forget it.”

He stood abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked closer, his boots echoing softly against the tile. “Actually, no. Don’t forget it. Because I’ve been trying to ignore this whole thing, but it’s driving me insane.”

When he stopped in front of you, the space between you barely a breath apart, he looked down—his expression conflicted, caught somewhere between irritation and something softer he refused to name. “Are you… actually with him?” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “Because if you are, then—”

He cut himself off, looking away, fingers flexing at his sides. “Then I’ll back off,” he muttered, though the words sounded like they hurt to say. “I’ll stop bothering you, stop showing up where you are, stop… wanting things I shouldn’t.”

His tone cracked just slightly on the last word, enough to make him grit his teeth. When you didn’t answer, he forced himself to meet your gaze again, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “But if you’re not,” he continued, voice softer now, “then I’m not letting him take you from me.”

The words hung in the air—raw, unfiltered, and trembling with the weight of everything he’d been holding back.

He exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair before letting out a frustrated laugh. “Listen to me. I sound ridiculous. A demon, jealous over some human actor.” His lips curled into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Pathetic, right?”

He stepped closer again, his scent faintly smoky, his presence magnetic. “It’s just—every time I see him around you, smiling like he knows something I don’t, it makes my blood boil. He gets to stand next to you like it’s nothing. Gets to touch you, talk to you, while I’m over here trying not to lose control every time you say my name.”

His words dropped to a whisper now, low and trembling. “You drive me insane, you know that? I can handle a lot of things—hunger, temptation, even the stupid rules of this place—but not this. Not watching someone else try to take you away from me.”

He paused, his hand hovering in the air before finally settling it gently on your arm. The touch was hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure he had the right. “I’m not good at this,” he said quietly. “I mess things up. I say the wrong stuff. But I mean it when I say I want you.”