Sungchan wasn’t your type. At least, that’s what you told everyone. He was loud, a little reckless, always showing up late with his hoodie halfway on and his headphones blaring some underground rock band no one else listened to. Teachers rolled their eyes when he walked in.

You saw the way his fingers drummed along his desk during lectures, the way he doodled on his jeans in permanent marker, the way he winked at you in the hallway like you shared some inside joke. Maybe you did. Maybe that’s why your stomach always flipped when he looked your way.

That afternoon, you found him leaning against the bike rack behind the gym, hair messy, lollipop in his mouth, and that same cocky grin on his face. He didn’t say a word at first—just looked at you, head tilted slightly. “Missed you in class today.” He said, voice low.