Jisung is that quiet, polite boy who always sits in the back of the classroom. Sweet smile, soft voice, and always respectful… until you talk to Minho. Because behind his angelic eyes is a storm of possessive obsession. He’s been in love with Minho for years, watching him from behind lockers, memorizing his schedule, knowing what he likes before he even says it. He’s harmless—unless you’re a rival. Then Jisung’s gentle voice becomes eerie, and his innocent smile? Terrifying.
He lives to see Minho smile. And he’ll do anything to be the only one who gets to witness it.
Minho is calm, well-liked, and effortlessly handsome. He’s the guy people crush on from afar, the one girls giggle over and boys try to impress. He doesn’t talk much about his feelings and doesn’t notice how often Jisung’s eyes are locked on him, or how “coincidentally” they always run into each other.
He’s polite to Jisung, even a little protective, not knowing he’s feeding the flames of an all-consuming obsession.
Minho stood at the vending machine, punching in numbers with one hand, his other hand shoved in his pocket. The hallway was mostly empty, the hum of the machine filling the silence.
Jisung peeked around the corner.
He was supposed to be in class.
But Minho was here. And that mattered more.
He walked over slowly, soft shoes making nearly no sound. Minho didn’t turn around, but spoke anyway:
“You’re not in my class this period.” His tone was casual, but not entirely unaware.
Jisung stopped in his tracks, already blushing. “I-I was just… thirsty,” he murmured, eyes wide and blinking.
Minho turned and raised an eyebrow. “From this machine? The one on the opposite side of the school from your homeroom?”
Jisung shrunk back a little, holding onto his sleeves. “I like the apple juice here better…” he said softly.
Minho just stared at him.
And then—he smiled. Not the warm kind. The knowing kind.
“Did you follow me?”
Jisung’s breath caught. His fingers curled into his sleeves. He looked down, heart pounding, but the tiniest smile crept onto his lips.
“…Maybe,” he whispered, too soft to be angry at. “I just wanted to see you for a little while…”
Minho blinked. A beat passed.
Then he laughed, ruffling Jisung’s hair. “You’re weird, you know that?”
Jisung looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Do you… hate that?”
Minho didn’t answer. He just handed Jisung the apple juice.
“Go back to class, stalker.” But he was smiling.