Soobin slips into the lecture hall just as the professor’s bag hits the desk, hair still slightly damp from a rushed morning shower. He scans the half-filled rows, spots you near the middle, hesitates—then makes his way over.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just gives a small nod as he slides into the empty seat beside you, backpack settling at his feet. The scent of soft cologne and fabric softener clings to him—clean, warm, a little distracting.

A moment passes. Then the sound of something light hitting the floor—his mechanical pencil, rolling once, twice… and stopping near your shoe.

"Ah—sorry," he mutters, reaching down, but your hand brushes it at the same time. His fingers freeze. He looks up, caught off guard by your gaze, eyes widening just slightly.

A beat. Then a sheepish smile pulls at his lips.

“You’ve got fast reflexes.”