Chapter Text
Leaning back in your chair with feet on the window sill and student work in your lap, you take in the scene outside of your window. Your office faces the prettiest courtyard on campus, and today, blanketed by a thick layer of snow, the area looks like a veritable painting.
“Professor Y/N!”
The hiss of your name jolts you out of your hot chocolate musings, and you swivel back to your desk, face pulled into a mask of indifference. In the hallway is Professor Jihoon, bundled in his usual parka, scarf, and winter hat. White dusts his shoulders, but it’s quickly disappearing in the building’s heat.
“My office hours are posted by the door, but since you’re here, feel free to take a seat.” You gesture to the couch along one wall. He steps into the room but stays standing. “How can I help you today?”
“You know what I’m here for,” he snaps, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair. The strands are damp from the weather, leaving behind mussed waves. He’d be good looking if he wasn’t so grumpy all the time. “Where are my folders?”
Without breaking eye contact, you reach down to your bottom drawer and take out the stack of papers. “Oh, these?” you ask casually, flicking your wrist. “I found them earlier. Was going to drop them off at the lost and found before lunch.”
“Yes, those. I wrote my name in the corners.” He holds out his hand. “Would you stop taking my things?”
“Have you considered not leaving them behind after every class?” You raise your eyebrows and get up to circle your desk. You perch along the front edge. “You’re not the only one who uses that lecture hall, y’know. I always have to clean up before my classes.”
“You could just put them off to the side; I’d get them later.”
“And miss the opportunity to teach you a lesson? You may have a Ph.D, but you can still get schooled, Professor Jihoon.”
“Y/N―” he starts to huff, but he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.
Professor Jeonghan, whose office sits across the hall from yours, is trying to hold back his amused eye roll. “Hi, professors, I know you both hate each other―really, I’m suffocating in the sexual tension here―” he waves like your argument produces something tangible in the air― “but I’m trying to have a student meeting. So if you could keep it down, that’d be appreciated.”
You and Jihoon exchange a look before turning back to Jeonghan.
“Okay, why don’t I just do this, hm? Carry on, you two.” Jeonghan mouths a good-bye to you and pulls the door closed behind him as he leaves.
A beat of silence.
Jihoon exhales, exasperated. “Alright, I need to get back to work,” he says, drawing closer.
Folders still in your hand, you move them behind you, out of his reach, and the sudden movement has him stumbling forward. His arms shoot out to catch him. You find yourself caged against your desk, Jihoon’s face inches from your own. He sighs your name again.
“I have a class I need to prepare for,” he says, not moving.
“And I’d like some sort of payment for their release,” you say.
Another beat of silence.
He finally whispers, “You’re so silly, you know that?”
Like the snow, his annoyed expressions melts, and you’re left basking in the soft adoration of your boyfriend. He drops a feather light kiss on your forehead. You shake your head with the slightest pout. Not enough. He presses one to each cheek, one to your nose, and―when you tilt your chin―one to your lips. The last one is longer than the others, keeping you distracted enough for him to snatch his things from your grasp and step back.
“Thanks for these,” he quips loudly, tone sharp and sarcastic. Then he drops his voice. “I have to bring work home tonight; can we order chicken?”
“Chicken’s good. Let me know if you need anything?”
“Of course. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
You walk to the door and yank it open, pinning him with a glare for the sake of the student on the bench outside. “Be more professional, Professor Jihoon, and we’d stop having these issues.”
“Stop meddling, Professor Y/N. Your department’s the one borrowing my department’s spaces,” he says coolly. He nods at the student on his way out, one that’s in both his advanced classes and your introductory language class. “Have a nice afternoon.”
As you move aside to let your student in, you mentally chuckle at how long you can keep up this image of bickering rivals.
“Professor Y/N?”
“Yes? Sorry, you’re here to talk about your essay?”
“Yeah.” The student stops taking out their notes to level you with a thoughtful look. “You could try being a little nicer to him. Maybe he leaves a mess as an excuse to talk to you.”
And maybe I’m taking his things as an excuse to talk to him.