.
"I do."
The voice doesn't come from me.
It comes from my left.
Low. Flat. Uninterested. Like whoever said it didn't just shove a chair into the middle of a burning room.
The hallway freezes.
Not metaphorically. Literally. Sound cuts off mid-whisper. A phone slips out of someone's hand and clatters to the floor, loud enough that it feels illegal.
Even Ara's fingers loosen around Jiho's wrist like her body reacted before her pride could catch up.
I turn my head slowly, because rushing feels illegal too.
Enhyeok stands there, a few steps away, back near the windows. Same posture as always. Hands relaxed. Expression unreadable.
He looks like he just answered attendance instead of detonating a social bomb in the middle of second period.
My brain blanks completely.
Full white noise. No thoughts. No commentary. Just a single, looping sentence screaming what the hell.
This is Yu Enhyeok.
My seatmate. My academic enemy. The guy who pretends I don't exist unless I'm blocking his elbow space or getting a question wrong. We do not defend each other. We do not agree. We barely coexist without passive aggression.
Ara stares at him like he just started speaking ancient Greek. "What did you say?"
"I said I believe her," Enhyeok repeats, voice exactly the same. No edge. No drama. His eyes flick to me for less than a second, then away, like it was an accident. Like I wasn't supposed to catch it.
Which somehow makes it worse.
The hallway exhales all at once, then immediately implodes into whispers. They spread fast, frantic, overlapping. This isn't gossip anymore. This is canon. This is going to be retold wrong by lunchtime and worse by tomorrow.
Ara opens her mouth, clearly scrambling for control, when—
"Me too."
The second voice hits like a second slap.
My head snaps around so fast my neck actually hurts.
Jeonhwa.
Kim. Fucking. Jeonhwa.
He's leaning against a locker like this is a mildly entertaining break between classes, hands in his pockets, face relaxed, eyes sharp in that way that means he's enjoying this way too much. He shrugs when everyone stares at him.
"I was there," he says easily. "Saw it myself."
I blink at him.
Once.
Twice.
What is happening today. Is there a gas leak.
Ara looks like someone just kicked the floor out from under her. Her mouth opens, closes, then opens again, but no sound comes out. Behind her, students start murmuring louder.
"I saw them too," someone says.
"Yeah, I heard about it this morning."
"He looked pretty shocked."
The whispers turn into confirmation, messy and uneven but loud enough to matter. Ara turns slowly toward Jiho, her face tight, eyes sharp with something that looks dangerously close to panic.
She drops his wrist completely.
"Did you really do that?" she asks, voice low but shaking. "Did you confess to her?"
Jiho looks like a trapped animal now. His eyes dart to me, then to the floor, then back to Ara. His mouth opens, closes, opens again.
"Babe, I can explain," he says quickly. "I was just—I didn't mean it like that. I was confused, okay?"
Ara lets out a short, broken laugh.
She doesn't yell. She doesn't cry. She just looks at him like he finally showed his real face and it's worse than anything she imagined.
She turns and walks away.
Fast.
Her heels don't click anymore. They slap against the floor, uneven and angry. Jiho panics immediately, scrambling after her.
"Ara, wait. Please. I can explain. It's not what it looks like."
They disappear down the hallway in a mess of raised voices and whispered commentary, and suddenly it's over. Just like that. The crowd slowly starts to break apart, disappointed it didn't end with blood.
My chest feels weird.
Tight. Hollow. Heavy in a way I don't want to name.
I watch them go anyway, because of course I do. Because even when you drop something heavy, your arms still remember the weight. It still hurts. Not sharp. Just dull and annoying and stubborn.
I turn without thinking and my eyes land on Enhyeok again.
He's by the window now. Park Areum stands beside him, saying something low that I can't hear. He nods once, barely listening, and starts walking away with her like nothing happened.
Like he didn't just say that in front of everyone.
Like he didn't just step into something he's spent a year pretending doesn't exist.
My stomach twists.
How can he do that?
How can he draw that line so clearly every single day, act like we're strangers unless we're arguing, and then say that out loud? For me? In public? When we're not even friends?
The question sticks in my throat, bitter and unanswered.
I shake it off and turn the other way.
Jeonhwa's still there, pushing off the locker now, eyes following the chaos like he's already bored of it. I glare at him because honestly, what the hell.
"When did you see me rejecting Jiho?" I ask flatly.
He stops, then grins.
"I didn't," he says.
I stare at him. "What?"
"I lied," he replies casually, like he just admitted to skipping homework. "Relax. I helped you out."
My jaw drops before I can stop it. "You—what?"
He shrugs. "Seemed necessary."
"You blackmailed me yesterday," I remind him. "And today you're… what. My witness?"
He steps closer, lowering his voice just enough to be annoying. "Think of it as an investment."
I laugh. I can't help it. It's short and sharp and a little hysterical. "This is bullshit."
"Probably," he agrees. "You owe me now."
I scoff. "In your dreams. Fuck off."
He grins wider, completely unbothered. "See you, baby."
He walks away before I can throw something at him.
Baby.
I make a face so hard it almost hurts.
I stand there alone in the hallway, noise slowly returning to normal, heart still racing like it doesn't trust the silence. Nothing makes sense.
Everything hurts in stupid, unexpected ways. People I didn't expect spoke. People I trusted didn't. Enemies defended me. Liars told the truth for once.
I exhale slowly.
This world makes zero sense.
--------------
---
Korean Literature smells like dust and chalk and regret.
By the time I slide into my seat, the hallway mess already feels unreal, like something that happened to a different version of me who lives in public spaces and gets dragged into drama against her will.
The classroom hums with that low, familiar noise of chairs scraping and bags dropping and people whispering even though class technically started three minutes ago.
Enhyeok is already there.
Of course he is.
Perfect posture. Bag placed neatly. Notebook open to a clean page like he didn't just publicly nuke a social hierarchy ten minutes ago.
He doesn't look at me. Not even a side glance. Just stares at the board like Korean kings personally wronged him.
Mr. Han clears his throat and starts talking about some Joseon-era king whose name I immediately forget because my brain is still replaying Enhyeok's voice in the hallway on loop like a cursed ringtone.
I sit down harder than necessary, my chair making a loud, ugly screech. A few heads turn. Enhyeok's jaw tightens for half a second, which I absolutely notice.
Good.
Mr. Han keeps talking about reforms and betrayals and power struggles, and I try to focus, I really do, but the words slide right off my brain.
All I can think about is the fact that Yu Enhyeok said he believed me. Out loud. In front of everyone. And then walked away like it was nothing.
That's not normal behavior.
That's suspicious behavior.
I nudge him.
Not gently. Not politely. A full-on elbow jab to the ribs, sharp enough to get his attention whether he wants it or not.
He hisses under his breath and finally turns, eyes flashing with pure irritation. "What," he whispers, clipped and angry, like I just insulted his ancestors.
I glare back at him. Hard. "Why did you do that."
He blinks once. Slow. Deliberate. Then rolls his eyes like I just asked the dumbest question on Earth. "I didn't do anything."
"You absolutely did," I whisper back. "You defended me."
"I didn't," he says flatly. "I stated a fact."
"That is literally the definition of defending someone."
He scoffs quietly and looks back at the board. "Don't flatter yourself. I wasn't aiming at you."
That makes my chest dip in a way I don't appreciate.
"Then what," I mutter. "You just felt like inserting yourself into hallway chaos today?"
"I was aiming at Jiho," he says without looking at me. "Someone needed to say it."
I stare at the side of his face, at the stupid calm line of his jaw, the way he acts like the world is always exactly as he expects it to be. "So you blew everything up just to spite him."
"Yes."
No hesitation. No shame.
I should be annoyed.
I am annoyed.
But also… something warm curls in my chest anyway, traitorous and unwanted. Not about Enhyeok. About closure. About the fact that it's done. Jiho is done. That version of me is done. No more waiting. No more embarrassing hope.
I look down at my notebook so Enhyeok doesn't see my mouth twitch. "You're still an asshole," I whisper.
"I know," he replies immediately.
Fair.
Mr. Han drones on about kings losing their heads, and I finally start breathing normally again. My heartbeat slows. The tightness in my shoulders eases. For the first time in longer than I want to admit, I don't feel like I'm orbiting Jiho's existence.
I glance around the room.
Haerin keeps sneaking worried looks at me from the seat in front, her eyebrows knitted together like she's deciding whether to hug me or ask me twenty questions after class.
Bora is turned halfway around, eyes bright and sharp, clearly itching for gossip like it's oxygen.
Then I notice Taeyoung.
Han Taeyoung is sitting two rows over, posture straight, expression calm, and his eyes are on Bora.
Not in a casual way. Not in a zoning-out way.
In a focused way.
I narrow my eyes.
Why is that dude looking at my girl like that.
This is the second time I've caught it. The first time I brushed it off because whatever, people look at people. But now that my brain isn't occupied by emotional devastation, it latches onto this immediately.
Taeyoung is quiet. Serious. Basketball guy with zero visible personality. Bora is a bulldozer in human form. Loud. Bold. Protective. They do not belong in the same sentence.
What is his deal.
I feel my face scrunch up in irritation as I stare, and the second he notices, he looks away immediately, pretending to take notes like his life depends on it.
Suspicious.
Very suspicious.
I'm mentally drafting an interrogation plan when Mr. Han clears his throat again, louder this time, and the room falls quiet out of instinct.
"Midterms are coming," he says.
A collective, exhausted "Yeeees," drags out from the class like a dying animal.
Mr. Han sighs like he expected that. "To help you focus and prepare better, the board has approved a study program."
My brain perks up. That sentence never leads anywhere good.
He continues, too calmly. "It will be a group study. Two students per group."
Something cold slides down my spine.
"You can choose your seatmate," he adds.
I freeze.
Actually freeze. Pen hovering. Breath caught halfway in.
Mr. Han keeps talking, oblivious to the horror blooming in my chest. "You'll be studying together after school until midterms. I expect improvement."
After school.
Together.
I feel my soul leave my body.
I slowly, very slowly, turn my head toward Enhyeok.
He's already looking at me.
Not smug. Not amused. Just… resigned. Like he saw this coming from a mile away and accepted his fate.
My brain screams.
Fuck.
I lean back in my chair, arms crossed, jaw tight, heart racing with the worst kind of anticipation.
Jiho is finally over. The universe heard that and said, cool, here's something worse.
Studying after school.
With Yu fucking Enhyeok.
Alone.
_____________
Author's Note:
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Thank you so much for reading and being here.