If someone had told me a month ago that I'd spend my Friday afternoon trapped in a classroom, surrounded by stacks of notes, half-eaten snacks, and Na-yeon's constant commentary, I probably would've laughed.
But here I was.
And the strange thing? I didn't mind.
Because across the desk from me, Ha-neul sat with his head bent over our project draft, blue eyes scanning the pages with quiet intensity.
It had been a week since I got his number. A week of cautiously exchanged texts—nothing too dramatic, just little things like Did you do the math part? or Don't forget the charts. But for me, each ping of his name on my screen was a spark, proof that the wall between us was starting to crack.
Now, sitting this close, I could feel the air shift every time his shoulder brushed mine. He didn't move away. Neither did I.
---
"Okay!" Na-yeon clapped her hands suddenly, startling me out of my thoughts. "We need to talk about outfits. Should we match? Should we coordinate? Should I wear red so we stand out—"
Ji-hyun groaned, massaging his temples. "It's a presentation, not a runway show."
"But appearances matter!" she shot back. "If we look boring, the teacher will be bored, and if the teacher's bored, we'll lose points!"
"That's not how grading works."
"Yes, it is!" she insisted, flipping her hair dramatically. "Psychology. Influence. First impressions. I read about it somewhere."
Ji-hyun gave her a flat look. "Instagram doesn't count as research."
Her mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?! That's offensive."
Their bickering spiraled quickly, as always. I tuned them out with a fond smile, focusing instead on Ha-neul.
"Which section are you working on?" I asked quietly.
He glanced up, our eyes meeting for a split second. "The analysis part. It needs tightening."
I leaned closer, scanning the lines he pointed at. Our heads bent over the same page, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek.
My heart stuttered.
"Yeah," I managed. "Maybe if we rephrase it like this—"
Our pens brushed as we both reached to underline the same sentence. The faintest touch, but it sent a current through me. He didn't pull back right away. Neither did I.
---
Meanwhile, Na-yeon and Ji-hyun's argument had reached new heights.
"You're impossible!" Ji-hyun huffed.
"And you're boring!" she snapped back.
"Better boring than—than you!"
Gasps and giggles erupted from the classmates nearby. Someone whispered loudly, "They fight like an old married couple."
Na-yeon froze, her face turning crimson. "W-we do not!"
Ji-hyun sputtered, ears burning. "Why would anyone think that?!"
The laughter only grew louder, filling the classroom with amused whispers.
Na-yeon buried her face in her notebook with a groan, while Ji-hyun busied himself by erasing imaginary pencil marks on his page. Neither of them dared look at each other.
I bit back a grin, glancing at Ha-neul. To my surprise, he was watching the chaos with a faintly amused expression, the corner of his lips tilted almost into a smile.
"See?" I whispered, nudging him lightly. "You don't always have to eat lunch alone. Our group's basically free entertainment."
For a moment, I thought he might roll his eyes or retreat into silence again. But instead, he said softly, "It's… not bad."
Not bad. Coming from him, that felt like a confession.
---
Class ended, but we lingered. Most students drifted out, still chuckling about Na-yeon and Ji-hyun's "domestic fight." Our project was almost done, just a few final touches left.
As Na-yeon packed her bag with exaggerated huffs, Ji-hyun muttered apologies under his breath. She didn't respond, but her ears were red, and when she thought no one was looking, she peeked at him.
I shook my head, amused. They were so obvious it almost hurt.
When they finally left, it was just me and Ha-neul.
The classroom was quiet now, the sun dipping low outside the windows, casting everything in warm gold. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, and the faint chatter from the hallway faded until it was just us.
He was still scribbling notes, focused as ever. His handwriting was precise, every letter deliberate, as though words mattered more when they came from him.
I watched him for a moment before blurting, "You know, we've got this. Together."
He stilled, then looked up at me. Our eyes met, and something unspoken passed between us—fragile, tentative, but real.
"…Yeah," he said softly. "Together."
And for the first time, I believed it.
---
I don't know when it started feeling different.
Maybe the day he asked for my number. Maybe the first time I saw his name light up my screen. Maybe today, when his shoulder brushed mine and he didn't move away.
Whatever it was, something had shifted.
I'd worked on group projects before, but always at a distance—doing my part, avoiding connection. This time, though, I couldn't. Not with Minjae sitting beside me, his warmth pulling me in, his laughter cutting through the walls I'd built.
When our pens touched, when our eyes met over the same sentence, my chest tightened. I told myself it was nothing, just coincidence. But deep down, I knew better.
And then, when the others left, it was just us. The silence stretched, not suffocating, not heavy. Just… ours.
"You know, we've got this. Together," he said, his voice steady.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
Together. That word I'd never let myself hope for.
But with him, it didn't sound impossible.
"…Yeah," I answered. And I meant it.
The sun slipped lower, painting the room in fading gold, shadows stretching across the desks. And in that glow, he looked at me—not with pity, not with curiosity, but with something gentler. Something I didn't know how to name.
As the last light faded, I realized something dangerous: I was starting to want more.
More time. More closeness. More of him.
And I wasn't sure I'd be able to stop.