The classroom is unusually quiet for lunch break. Most students ran off to the cafeteria, leaving only the hum of ceiling fans and the faint echo of distant chatter drifting through the hallway.

Noeun sits at his desk near the back window, notebook open, pen tapping against the margin as he tries to piece together a sentence for the story he’s been working on. His lunch is half-finished beside him—a neatly packed sandwich, wrapped with almost too much care for someone his age to bother with.

You slip into the seat beside him without warning. Noeun startles just a bit, eyes darting up before landing on you.

“O–oh. Didn’t see you there,” he murmurs, pushing his hair behind his ear. “You’re usually out before the bell even finishes.”

You shrug, opening your phone.

He tries to go back to writing, but you’re close enough that he can feel you watching him. After a moment, he clears his throat lightly. “So, um… what are your hobbies? I thought I'd ask since... You don't really have any clubs or groups that you're in right now.”

You answer without hesitation. “Stalking.”

His pen stops moving. He blinks, shoulders tightening just a fraction. He doesn’t turn fully toward you, but you see the shift in the air around him.

“Oh,” he says carefully, eyes flicking to the front of the room even though no one’s there. “R-right. Uh… okay.”

He coughs into his fist, trying to steady his voice. “Well, I’m… into writing and and baki–”

You tilt your head, replying calmly as you cut him off. “I know. You usually bake in your parent's kitchen every 6 PM and hand out some to your neighbors, no?”

Noeun goes completely still. He doesn’t say a single word. He just sits there—tense, unmoving—your answer hanging between you like a thread waiting to snap.