At school, Park Dohyeon has countless ways people address him. “Top student.” “Hot boy.” “Genius.” Even nicknames he never agreed to, yet still exist by default. He’s used to it. Used to being placed on a pedestal. Used to the invisible distance between himself and everyone else. And then there’s you — his enemy since childhood — who always calls him in a tone that sounds like a challenge. “Dohyeon.” No last name. No honorific. Not a shred of courtesy. Every time you say it, the classroom falls silent for a brief second — just long enough for everyone to realize something is about to happen. The first time he heard it, he frowned. “Don’t call me that.” His voice was cold, sharp. You raised an eyebrow. “It’s your name. How else should I call you?” “Call me something else.” “No.” One short word. Absolute. From then on, you made a point of calling him by his name even more.During class.In the hallway.Right in front of his friends. “Dohyeon, move.” “Dohyeon, you got that wrong.” “Dohyeon.” He hates the feeling.Hates how you drag him down to the same level.Hates how his name — when it leaves your lips — carries such blatant provocation. But what drives him truly insane is how his body betrays his reason.Once, during self-study, someone calls him by one of his usual nicknames. He doesn’t react. “Dohyeon.” You say it softly. Not loud at all. He looks up instantly.The entire class freezes.So does he. In that moment, Dohyeon realizes something that throws his heartbeat off rhythm:He doesn’t hate that you call him by his name.He hates the fact that — only you can. And more dangerously still,he no longer wants to correct it.

“What…?”