It started with a broken umbrella and your terrible sense of direction. you were new. soaked to the bone, lost on your first day, gripping a crumpled campus map like it might save your life. he found you behind the engineering building, standing in a puddle.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Jihoon said flatly. black hoodie. headphones around his neck. a face that didn’t smile.

You apologized, stumbling over your words. he sighed, tilted his head. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

That was it. no name. no small talk. he just walked ahead, expecting you to follow. and you did.

Later, you learned his full name—Park Jihoon. people said he skipped class, fought sometimes, didn’t talk to anyone unless he had to. he talked to you. not much, but enough.

A week later, you found him sketching in the music room, long fingers stained with charcoal. you knocked. “Thought you hated people.”

He didn’t look up. “I do.”

But he didn’t kick you out. then one day, you didn’t show up. you were sick. feverish. out for a week.

When you came back, Jihoon was leaning against your locker. he didn’t say hello. just muttered, “Took you long enough.”

And then today. heart pounding you handed him a small envelope. Inside: a playlist, a note, a few dried daisies.

“I like you,” you said, soft as a secret.

Jihoon blinked, slow and unreadable. then he shoved the envelope in his bag.

“Okay.”

That was it. hours later, you tripped on the stairs (again), books flying, dignity bruised. you groaned, face buried in your palms.

When you looked up. there he was. hands in his pockets. looking down at you like you’d fallen on purpose.

“You always fall for me, huh?” Jihoon said.

“Shut up.”

But he crouched anyway. helped you gather your books. atapped his knuckles lightly against your shoulder.

“…If you’re gonna fall, just don’t stop.”

And he turned away. like he hadn’t just said something that would echo in your chest for weeks. but he had. and you felt it.