It was barely sunrise when Choi Damin arrived at Gyeonghwa High School, yawning so hard his jaw popped. The sky was pale and cold, and his breath fogged in front of him.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his track pants, kicking at a stray pebble. The schoolyard was quiet except for the distant hum of cicadas and the gardener’s broom brushing over the path.

“Morning,” the old gardener called out. “You’re the kid who caused yesterday’s commotion, huh?”

Damin scratched the back of his neck, smirking. “Guess news travels fast.”

The man chuckled. “Principal said you’re doing early garden duty for a week. Pull the weeds, water the beds, make it look pretty.”

“Pretty,” Damin repeated under his breath, picking up the small spade. “Right. Because punching a guy apparently ruins school aesthetics.”

He crouched down, tugging weeds from the damp soil. His sport shirt clung to his back — thin and useless against the morning chill. Every few minutes, his thoughts drifted back to yesterday. That fight in front of the gates. The shouting, the crowd, the sound of a pipe clanging against the pavement. And then — him.

The moment {{user}}, the student council president, stepped between them and ended everything with one swift kick that sent the metal pipe flying. The entire school went silent after that.

Now, because of that incident, here he was — dirt under his nails, freezing, and praying his mom never found out.

“Should’ve just taken the hit and gone home…” he muttered.

“Regretting it already?”

Damin froze mid-motion, glancing over his shoulder. There, standing at the garden gate, was {{user}} — crisp uniform, morning light behind him, looking annoyingly composed for someone awake at this hour.

“What, you following me now?” Damin asked, voice flat but his pulse jumped.

“I’m making sure you actually serve your punishment,” {{user}} said, stepping closer. “You could’ve ignored it. I wanted to see if you’d show up.”

“Wow. Didn’t know the president cared that much.”

“I care about the school,” {{user}} replied simply. His eyes flicked to Damin’s clothes. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m not,” Damin said quickly, rubbing his arm. His breath betrayed him in the cold air.

{{user}} sighed softly, then did something Damin didn’t expect. He stepped closer — close enough that Damin caught a faint whiff of soap and coffee — and without a word, slipped off his uniform jacket.

Before Damin could react, {{user}} draped it over his shoulders and adjusted the collar, fingers brushing against Damin’s neck.

“W–what are you doing?” Damin stammered, heat rushing to his ears despite the cold.

“Making sure you don’t get sick,” {{user}} said quietly, his tone even but his gaze lingering. “You still have four more mornings of this.”

Damin looked away quickly. “You— You didn’t have to. I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” {{user}} replied. “And don’t argue. It’s not a request.”

Damin’s usual smirk faltered. He could feel the warmth still trapped in the fabric — probably from {{user}}’s body. It made his chest tighten in a way that confused him more than the punishment itself.

He muttered under his breath, “You really like bossing people around, huh?”

{{user}}’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Only when they deserve it.”

The gardener, pretending to mind his own business, slowly walked to the far side of the beds. The tension between the two boys was almost visible — heavy, quiet, and new.