JIAH POV
The art room is way too quiet for my current mental state.
I'm sitting between Bora and Haerin, canvas propped up, charcoal untouched, leg bouncing so hard the stool keeps making this tiny, annoying squeak. Bora keeps nudging my arm like she's trying to shake gossip out of me physically, while Haerin is whispering like we're in a library instead of a room full of teenagers armed with paint.
"I'm serious," Bora murmurs, eyes sparkling like she's found religion. "Did you see his jawline? That's not natural. That's generational wealth."
Haerin nods, tucking her hair behind her ear. "He looks very… composed," she says carefully. "Like he knows people are looking."
I stare at my blank canvas and hum noncommittally, because if I open my mouth I might scream. Or confess a felony. Or both. My leg keeps bouncing, fast and uncontrollable, like my body is trying to vibrate out of existence.
Yeah, he's handsome. I get it. Everyone with functioning eyeballs gets it. But all I can think about is my dignity, currently hanging by a thread and apparently fully in Kim Jeonhwa's possession.
The door slides open.
The sound is soft, but my body reacts like it's a gunshot. My leg freezes mid-bounce. My shoulders tense. I don't even have to look to know.
I do anyway.
Jeonhwa steps inside, scanning the room slowly like he's taking inventory. Calm. Relaxed. Annoyingly comfortable. He doesn't look rushed or awkward or new. He looks like he's deciding where he wants to sit in a place he already owns.
Bora sucks in a breath beside me. "Oh my god," she whispers. "He's even hotter under art room lighting."
I want to die.
Jeonhwa's gaze flicks around, then lands—briefly—on me. Not lingering. Not obvious. Just enough to say, yeah, I see you. Then he turns away and takes an empty seat a few rows ahead, posture easy, like this morning never happened and he didn't pin me against a wall with his words.
My leg starts bouncing again. Faster this time.
Then the door slides open again.
I don't even need to look.
I feel him.
Enhyeok walks in like he always does, quiet but heavy, like the room subtly rearranges itself around his presence. I glance up despite myself, and my stomach does this stupid, uncomfortable drop because his eyes go straight to me.
Not searching. Not scanning.
Straight.
Like he knew exactly where I'd be sitting.
There's no expression on his face. No smile. No curiosity. Just that calm, unreadable look that makes you feel like you're the one being watched instead of the other way around.
I freeze. Fully. Like if I move, I'll get caught doing something illegal.
Then he looks away and walks over to Taehyung, pulling out a stool and sitting down like nothing happened. Like he didn't just lock eyes with me for half a second and short-circuit my nervous system.
How the fuck does he do that every time?
The teacher walks in right after, clapping her hands lightly. "Alright, everyone, settle down. I heard our class has a new student today?"
The entire room turns toward Jeonhwa in perfect unison, like a horror movie.
He stands smoothly, bowing slightly. "I'm Kim Jeonhwa. Nice to meet you."
His voice is polite. Warm. Completely normal. I scoff under my breath before I can stop myself, eyes rolling as I pretend to adjust my canvas. Bora shoots me a look like I just committed a crime.
Ms. Yang smiles, genuinely pleased. "Oh, he's quite handsome," she says cheerfully. "Like Enhyeok."
Every single head snaps toward Enhyeok.
He doesn't react. Doesn't look up. Doesn't even blink. He keeps sketching like being publicly compared to a walking art exhibit is just another Tuesday.
How does he act like this every time?? Maybe genetics.
Ms. Yang claps again. "Then Kim Jeonhwa should be our model today. How's that?"
The room explodes.
"Yes!"
"No fair!"
"Oh my god!"
Jeonhwa chuckles lightly, nodding like this was inevitable, and walks toward the chair in the center of the room. He sits down, crossing his legs comfortably, hands resting loosely on his thighs.
"Jeonhwa has a great face," Ms. Yang continues, gesturing enthusiastically. "Very balanced symmetry. Strong features. And those double eyelids are doing the job beautifully." she start to guide.
I grip my charcoal harder than necessary.
Everyone starts drawing. The scratch of charcoal fills the room. I glare at my canvas, half-tempted to throw it directly at him.
Then he looks at me.
Just a glance. Quick. Sharp.
There's something there. Quiet. Satisfied. Like he's thinking, I just started.
My jaw tightens.
Oh, hell no.
I straighten my posture and start drawing, strokes confident and aggressive. If he thinks he's going to mess with me, he's wrong. I refuse to lose to anyone, especially some transfer student with a god complex and too much free time.
My eyes flick to the side without permission.
Enhyeok is focused, sketching with slow, precise movements. His lashes cast shadows as he looks down, and when he glances up at his subject through them, it's unfairly hot. Like he doesn't even know he looks like that.
I quickly look away, heart doing something stupid.
I don't know if Aerum is bouncing on that but if she is, fuck, she is the most luckiest one.
I smirk to myself and refocus on my canvas, charcoal moving fast and sure.
Whatever this is, whatever today is trying to throw at me, I'm not backing down.
Let him play his little games.
I'll play better.
----------------------------
The bell rings and the art room exhales like it's been holding its breath with us.
I pack up fast, shoving my charcoal into my bag like it personally offended me, canvas still half-wet in my head even though it's dry in reality. Bora hooks her arm through mine immediately, Haerin falling into step on my other side, and just like that I'm trapped between opinions.
"I'm telling you," Bora says, already energized by the concept of food and gossip. "If Jeonhwa doesn't get scouted by an agency by next week, society has failed."
Haerin laughs softly. "You're being dramatic."
"I'm being accurate."
I nod like I'm listening, but my brain is still stuck in the art room, replaying eye contact like it's a crime scene. My body finally stops buzzing once we hit the hallway, the noise grounding me. Lockers slam. People shout. Someone almost runs into us because they're walking backward for no reason.
We head toward the cafeteria, the smell hitting first. Rice. Oil. Something fried beyond recognition. I feel hunger kick in aggressively, like I've been personally wronged by skipping breakfast.
Then I see them.
Enhyeok's table.
Of course.
He's sitting with Taehyung, Minseok, and Yijun, all spread out like they own the place. Enhyeok's posture is relaxed, one arm resting on the table, gaze lowered to his phone or tray or whatever he's pretending to focus on. The others are loud, laughing, fully alive.
And then Areum walks toward them.
Of course she does.
She stops near Enhyeok, leaning down slightly to say something. Her hair falls forward, smile soft, familiar. Comfortable. The kind of comfortable that comes from history, not effort.
I slow without meaning to.
Bora notices immediately. "Oh," she says, grinning. "There she goes."
I squint, watching them. Enhyeok looks up, expression barely changing, but there's a shift. Subtle. He listens. Nods once.
I tilt my head, curious despite myself. "Have you ever actually seen Enhyeok and Areum do couple stuff?" I ask casually. Too casually. "Like… holding hands or whatever?"
Bora shrugs. "Nope. They're super private."
Haerin nods. "Yeah, me neither. But you can tell they're crazy for each other."
I don't respond..
We grab our trays and move down the line. I let Bora argue with the lunch lady about portion sizes while my mind wanders again, unhelpfully.
Then—
"Seo Jiah."
The sound of my name hits me straight in the spine.
My heart jumps so hard it's embarrassing. Like full-body reaction. I turn slowly, already knowing who it is, already wishing I didn't.
Jiho stands behind me, hands in his pockets, smile easy. Familiar. Too familiar. The kind that used to make my day better just by existing.
"Hey," he says. "How are you doing?"
I smile back automatically, muscle memory kicking in before logic can intervene. "Good," I say. "Yeah. Good."
I can feel it instantly.
The looks.
People noticing. Whispering. Because apparently Jiho talking to me is now a public event. Something worth observing. I hate that I know exactly what they're thinking.
He asks, "What did you do over the weekend?"
My brain flashes the alley. The girl. His back walking away. The smile that wasn't for me.
"Nothing much," I say, light, easy. "You?"
"Well," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "Me too."
Liar.
My heart starts pounding, loud and traitorous, like it hasn't learned its lesson. I swallow, forcing it down, the disappointment sharp but contained. I don't let it show. I'm good at that now.
Then he says, "Can you wait for me after school? By the gate?"
I freeze.
Like actually freeze.
My fork hovers mid-air. My brain bluescreens. "Why?" I ask, too fast.
"I want to talk to you," he says.
Hope spikes before I can stop it, bright and stupid. I nod. "Okay," I say. "I'll wait."
He smiles, nods back, and turns to leave like he didn't just rearrange my entire emotional schedule.
I stand there for a second too long.
Then—
Movement.
Jeonhwa enters the cafeteria with a group of guys I don't recognize. New friends. Already laughing. Already fitting in. He scans the room casually, then his gaze flicks—
To Jiho.
My stomach drops.
Fuck.
If Jeonhwa and Jiho recognize each other, it's over.
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