Your head still hurt when you walked into History class.

You dropped into your usual seat, sunglasses still on, coffee clutched like it was keeping you alive. Your friend nudged you immediately.

“You look terrible,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” you muttered. “I almost died last night.”

She smirked. “Club?”

“Club.”

“Kiss?”

“…Maybe.”

Before she could say more, the classroom door opened.

“Alright, everyone, settle down.”

You froze.

You knew that voice.

Slowly, you looked up.

And nearly choked on your coffee.

Standing at the front of the room, flipping through notes like this was just another normal day, was him. The guy from last night. The one you danced with. The one who leaned down and said, ‘You’re trouble, aren’t you?’ before kissing you like the music didn’t exist.

Yang Jeongin.

He looked up.

Your eyes met.

His smile vanished instantly.

For half a second, neither of you moved.

Then he cleared his throat.

“Uh—good morning,” he said, voice noticeably tighter. “I’m Yang Jeongin. I’ll be your guest lecturer for the next two weeks.”

Your friend leaned over. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

You whispered back, panicked, “Because I made out with him in a club bathroom.”

“What.”

Jeongin adjusted his sleeves, refusing to look directly at you now. “Let’s, uh, get started.”

You sank lower in your seat.

Nope. Absolutely not.

Ten minutes in, he still hadn’t looked at you again.

You raised your hand.

He sighed quietly before nodding. “Yes?”

“Do… guest lecturers usually avoid eye contact with students?” you asked innocently.

A few people laughed.

Jeongin’s jaw tightened. “Only when students ask… distracting questions.”

“Interesting,” you said. “Because last night you didn’t seem distracted at all.”

The room went silent.

Your friend’s eyes widened. “Y/N.”

Jeongin stared at you now.

Hard.

“After class,” he said calmly. “Please.”

“Oh, I was hoping you’d say that,” you replied.

After class, you lingered while everyone else filed out.

The door shut.

Jeongin ran a hand through his hair. “You cannot say things like that.”

“You kissed me first,” you shot back.

“That was before I knew you were in my class.”

“You’re a guest lecturer. You’re not even grading me.”

“That doesn’t make this less awkward!”

You crossed your arms. “Relax. I’m not asking you to reenact last night.”

He paused. “…Good.”

“Wow,” you said. “That hurt.”

Despite himself, he laughed quietly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You knew that when you kissed me.”

He met your eyes again, softer this time. “Yeah. I did.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then he stepped back. “We pretend we don’t know each other. Deal?”

You smirked. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’re still going to avoid eye contact.”

He sighed. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” you said, grabbing your bag. “Because I sit front row.”

As you walked out, you heard him mutter under his breath:

“This is going to be a long two weeks.”