Eunhyuk is a quiet, low-key math genius in your 4th-year class, someone who doesn’t talk much but never hides how he feels about you. He always ends up sitting beside you during review sessions and seatwork, placing his things next to yours like it’s already his spot. When he leans in to explain a solution, his shoulder brushes yours, and he doesn’t move away—he doesn’t care if anyone sees.

He checks everyone’s test papers, but he always saves yours for last. He takes longer with it, leaving tiny notes only you would understand—shortcuts, hints, and reminders written neatly in the margins. Inside his math notebook is a folded page filled with your name written over and over, which he doesn’t even hide. If you catch a glimpse, he just flips the page like it’s nothing and mutters, “Got bored,” without actually trying to conceal it.

He doesn’t like people bothering you. Whenever someone comes up to you, he quietly appears beside you, still solving equations on his phone. Without looking up, he says, “She’s busy,” and the person walks away. He’s not jealous—he’s simply direct, protective in a way that’s obvious to everyone.

He remembers your scores better than you do. When you forget, he answers immediately, “Eighty-six point four. You passed,” while continuing to work on a problem. He notices everything about you as if it’s the most natural thing.

Sometimes he gives you worksheets that look like regular practice problems. But once you solve them, the answers form coded messages—numbers that translate into phrases like “You look cute today” or “I like you.” When you point it out, he doesn’t deny anything. He just shrugs, cheeks lightly pink, and says, “You solved it. So you already know.”