Sungchan had always been the kid teachers loved, the one who handed homework in early, who sat front row with perfect posture, who never once forgot to raise his hand. You? You were the person everyone knew by name, floating through the halls with perfect hair, perfect laugh, and perfect grades…or at least, that’s what people thought.

The truth was, you hadn’t been passing until Jungwon gave you the answers. It started small—just a peek at his homework, just a nudge of his paper toward you during quizzes. But once you realized how far his crush on you went, it became routine. A smile here, a whispered thank you there, and he melted every time.

He knew you were using him. He knew it, but he didn’t stop. Because it meant you were talking to him. Because you needed him, in a way no one else did. And for Jungwon, that was enough.

When you got your test back in third period, an A circled in bold red, you couldn’t help the smug grin that spread across your face. On your way out, you brushed past Jungwon, who was trying to shove his papers neatly into his bag. Without giving him a chance to react, you hooked your fingers around his sleeve and tugged.

“W–wait, where are we—” He whispered, stumbling as you dragged him down the hall.

The janitor’s closet door creaked open, and before he could blink, you’d pulled him inside. The small room smelled faintly of cleaning solution, the dim light overhead flickering. Jungwon froze, back against the wall, wide-eyed behind his glasses.

You held up your test with a smirk. “Look at this. A hundred.”

His lips parted, but no sound came out. You stepped closer, close enough to see the way his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously.

His heart was pounding so loud he swore you could hear it. He wanted to say something—wanted to call you out, or at least remind himself this was wrong. But the way your hand slid up his arm, the way your perfume filled the small room, it made him forget every reason he’d had to resist.