JIAH POV
"Should I tell everyone," he says lightly, voice almost bored, "that you followed a boy down an alley like a detective with no budget?"
I scoff before I can stop myself, sharp and ugly, because if I don't laugh I might actually combust. "That's none of your business," I snap, yanking my wrist free finally.
My skin feels hot where he touched it, like irritation more than anything. "Why the fuck are you making such a big deal out of this? From the first day. Do you get paid for being annoying or is this a hobby?"
He watches me with that calm expression that makes me want to throw something. Anything. Preferably heavy.
"It's fun," he says.
I blink. "What?"
His lips curve, slow and deliberate, like he's enjoying every second of my confusion. "Having someone who's scared of me," he adds casually. "First day at a new school. It's efficient."
I stare at him, incredulous. "You're a psycho."
He doesn't deny it. Just smirks, eyes dark and amused, like I just confirmed something he already knew. "Isn't it funny?" he says. "You told me you hope we wouldn't see each other again. And now we're going to see each other every single day."
He tilts his head slightly. "Ironic, right?"
"It's not," I say immediately, because I refuse to give him that.
"It is," he counters without missing a beat. Then his gaze sharpens, sliding over my face like he's reading fine print. "That boy from Saturday," he continues, voice deceptively calm. "Is that your crush? Your ex? Or just some guy you like embarrassing yourself over?"
Something snaps.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a clean, sharp click in my chest.
"Shut up," I say, stepping forward before I think better of it. My hands shove into his chest, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make space. "You don't get to talk about that. You don't get to talk about me like that."
He stumbles back half a step, more surprised than anything, then straightens, eyes flicking with something sharper now. Interest, maybe. Or annoyance. Hard to tell.
"You better behave," I warn, voice low, pulse roaring in my ears. "And stay the hell away from me."
He raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Yeah?"
"Or else," I say, jaw tight, "you'll see a version of me you won't like."
That's probably a bluff. I don't know what that version even looks like. But he doesn't need to know that.
For a second, the air between us feels charged, like a held breath. He studies my face, searching for something. Weakness, maybe. Fear. He's not going to find it.
I turn away sharply, already done with this, hand on my bag strap, heading for the door. I just want out. Art room. Noise. People. Anywhere that isn't this weird, silent pressure cooker.
Then
The door slides open.
I freeze.
Enhyeok steps inside like he owns the space, tall frame filling the doorway, expression neutral but eyes sharp. His gaze flicks to me first, then to Jeonhwa standing too close behind me, then back to me again.
Why does he look like that.
Why does he always look like he's about to ask something.
Why the fuck does he look… concerned?
My stomach tightens, irritation bubbling fast. Everyone is weird today. Everyone.
I start walking again, pretending nothing is happening, when—
"Seo Jiah?"
I stop so abruptly it's embarrassing.
I turn back despite myself, already annoyed, ready to snap—
But Jeonhwa isn't smirking anymore.
His expression is calm. Neutral. Almost polite. Like the last five minutes didn't happen.
He bends slightly, picks something up from the floor, then holds it out.
"You dropped this," he says evenly.
My pencil.
The stupid yellow pencil that caused half of my problems today.
I stare at it for a second, then at his face, searching for the joke. The threat. The trap. There's nothing there. Just a guy handing back a pencil like a normal human being.
I snatch it from his hand, glare sharp .
He doesn't react.
I turn and walk out without another word, heart still pounding, brain still loud, dignity hanging on by a very thin thread.
Behind me, I can feel two sets of eyes.
I don't look back.
I head straight for the art room, grip tight on my pencil like it's a weapon, telling myself one thing over and over.
This year is going to be hell.
________________
ENHYEOK POV
The art room smells like paint water and dust, the kind that settles into your clothes no matter how careful you are. I sit near the back, stool pulled out just enough to be comfortable, sketchbook open even though I'm not really drawing yet. Taehyung is beside me, already spinning his pencil like this is a talent worth cultivating.
Five minutes in, I feel the weight in my pocket.
My phone.
I click my tongue quietly. Art room rules are stupidly strict. One buzz and Ms. Yang will look at you like you personally insulted her ancestors.
I slide my stool back and stand.
Taehyung glances up. "Where you going?"
"Classroom," I say, already turning. No explanation needed.
He hums like he doesn't care, which is a lie, but lets it go.
The hallway is louder than the art room, shoes scuffing, voices bouncing off lockers. I walk at an unhurried pace, hands in my pockets, already mentally placing the phone into my bag like this is a chore I've done a thousand times.
I'm almost there when I hear it.
"What do you want?"
The voice is sharp. Angry. Tight around the edges like it's been holding back for too long.
Seo Jiah.
I slow without meaning to.
She doesn't sound like that normally. Loud, sure. Chaotic. But this is different. There's teeth in it.
Another voice answers her. Male. Calm in an irritating way.
"Seo Jiah? That's your name, right?"
I stop completely.
That voice is unfamiliar. New. I run through faces automatically. The transfer student. Tall. Polite smile. Kim… Jeonhwa. That's it.
Why is he—
I don't move closer. I don't need to. The classroom door is half-open and sound carries easily.
"You've been avoiding me," he says, like he's pointing out a stain on the floor.
Jiah snaps back, words overlapping, heated. I don't catch all of it, but I don't need to. Whatever this is, it's not friendly.
Then—
"Should I tell everyone," Jeonhwa says lightly, "that you followed a boy down an alley like a detective with no budget?"
My hand tightens in my pocket.
A boy?
My brain supplies the answer immediately, unhelpfully. Jiho. Obviously. There's no one else she'd do something that stupid for.
I exhale slowly through my nose.
That's… not actually a big deal. It's embarrassing, sure, but Jeonhwa's tone makes it something else. Entertainment. Leverage.
Jiah's footsteps move fast, sharp against the floor. She's coming toward the door.
I slide it open before I think about it.
The classroom freezes into a weird still image. Jiah's eyes flick to me for half a second, wide and pissed, then away. Jeonhwa is standing too close to her, posture relaxed like he owns the space.
I take it in quickly. Distance. Body language. The way her shoulders are tight like she's bracing for impact.
She looks like she wants to bolt.
I look at Jeonhwa. He looks back at me, expression neutral, like he wasn't just poking at someone's raw nerve for fun.
Jiah moves first, heading for the door, clearly done with whatever this was.
"Seo Jiah."
Jeonhwa says her name again, softer now.
She stops, visibly irritated.
He bends, picks something up, and holds it out to her. A pencil. Yellow. Worn down from chewing.
"You dropped this."
The audacity is impressive.
Like nothing happened. Like he didn't just corner her with words.
She takes it without a word, glares at him like she's committing his face to memory for later violence, and walks out. Fast. Shoulders stiff. Gone.
The room goes quiet.
It's just us now.
I step fully inside and set my phone into my bag, slow and deliberate. I don't look at him while I do it.
"You know her?" I ask finally.
"Not really," Jeonhwa says easily. Too easily. "We've met."
That's not an answer.
I turn to face him properly now. "I'm Yu Enhyeok."
I hold my hand out. Neutral. Polite.
He looks at it for a beat, then shakes it. "Kim Jeonhwa."
His grip is firm. Testing. I don't change mine.
"I hope we'll be good classmates," he adds, smiling.
I let out a quiet chuckle before I can stop it. "You can hope."
Something flickers in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or irritation. Hard to tell.
I step past him toward the door. As I do, my gaze flicks once to where Jiah disappeared down the hall. Fast walker. Angry walker.
She's been weird all day. Avoidant. On edge. That thing in class earlier when Jeonhwa approached her desk wasn't subtle. Neither was the way she flinched just now.
There's a story there.
Probably something stupid. Probably Jiho. Probably embarrassment layered on top of bad timing.
Jeonhwa making it a game is the part that bothers me.
I slide the door open again, heading back toward the art room, my expression settling back into something neutral. Unreadable, if I'm doing it right.
Jiah doesn't need saving. She never has.
But Jeonhwa?
He should learn when to stop pushing.
Because she wasn't bluffing earlier.
And if he keeps treating her like a joke, she's absolutely going to teach him something.
I just hope he's smart enough to catch on before that happens.
________________
Join the discord server: bambamhub
🍧