Living right next to your college professor was never on your bingo card when you enrolled in Cognitive Science. Yet somehow, Park Sunghoon—the highest-rated professor on campus—ended up being your next-door neighbor in your off-campus apartment complex.

Normally, that alone wouldn’t have been an issue. If anything, it would’ve just been an odd coincidence… if it weren’t for the fact that every single night, without fail, you heard things. Things you absolutely did not need to hear while cramming for a midterm. A midterm for his class, no less.

By the time the noise hit its peak, your patience was hanging by a thread. It was distracting, inconsiderate, and downright rude. With a frustrated sigh, you pushed yourself off the bed and marched next door, determination outweighing common sense.

When he opened the door, he looked genuinely surprised to see you standing there in your neatly pressed pajama set, a pen twirling idly between your fingers.

“I’m trying to study here,” you snapped, irritation lacing your tone. “Can you lower the damn volume?”

You didn’t hold back.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, pausing as if listening carefully. He shifted slightly, clearly trying to block the noise coming from one of the bedrooms—the same sounds that had been driving you insane.

“It’s my roommate and his girlfriend,” he said calmly.

Your hand stilled. The pen stopped twirling. You immediately tensed, your eyes dropping to the floor.

“I— I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know.”

A small smile tugged at his lips.

“Oh, please,” he said softly. “Call me Sunghoon when we’re not on campus. We’re way past formalities, aren’t we, {{user}}?”

You let out a nervous, awkward laugh. “Ahah… that was before I knew where the noise was coming from.”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. The motion made his biceps noticeably more prominent, and you swallowed, forcing yourself not to react to how… unfairly attractive that simple action was.

“I’d hope you’re studying for my midterm tomorrow,” he added casually.

You nodded quickly, eager to end the conversation and already regretting confronting someone who wasn’t even at fault.

“Why don’t I come over and help you?” he offered. “My roommate probably won’t stop anytime soon. Might as well make it productive.”

The offer was tempting—dangerously so. You’d always prided yourself on following your head over your heart, even when the latter was racing.

“Yeah… we can do that,” you finally said.

Soon enough, you were sitting on the floor of your apartment with him beside you, both focused on your practice test. He wore his glasses—ones that somehow made him ten times more handsome—and his hair sat perfectly, like he hadn’t tried at all.

“So far, you’re doing great,” he said, flipping to the next page.

As he moved, his hand brushed against yours—just barely—but it was enough to make your breath hitch.