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The lecture hall always felt too cold.
Hyunjin noticed it every time he stepped inside—how the air-conditioning hummed just a little too loudly, how the fluorescent lights flattened everything into something pale and academic. Rows of students slouched into their seats, half-awake, half-panicked, notebooks open like quiet confessions. He also noticed that statistically speaking, he is 80% sure that he would fail this subject.
And then there was him, his 20% chance of survival. Three rows ahead. Left side. Same seat every time.
Kim Seungmin.
Hyunjin didn’t mean to notice at first. It just… happened. The way Seungmin sat upright even during 8 a.m. classes, how his pen moved quickly but neatly, how he tilted his head slightly whenever he concentrated—as if the problem might reveal itself if he looked at it from a better angle.
It was irritating.
Deeply irritating.
“Stop staring,” Jisung muttered beside him, flipping a page lazily.
Hyunjin didn’t look away.
“I’m not staring.”
“You just sighed.”
“I did not sigh.”
Jisung glanced at him now, unimpressed. “You sighed like you just watched the love of your life board a train.”
Hyunjin blinked. “…You’re dramatic.”
“And you’re obvious.”
Hyunjin finally tore his gaze away, pressing his pen a little too hard against his notebook.
He wasn’t obvious.
He was just… Observant.
The announcement came on a Thursday.
Rain tapped softly against the windows, the sky outside dim and gray like a warning.
“Your final project will account for forty percent of your grade,” Professor Lee said, voice far too cheerful for something so devastating.
“Partners will be assigned randomly.”
A quiet wave of dread moved through the room.
Hyunjin sat up straighter.
Forty percent.
Forty.
He clasped his hands together under the desk, a silent bargain with the universe forming somewhere between desperation and denial. He might have even prayed for the first time in 3 months.
Please, just someone decent.
Someone responsible.
Someone who won’t drag me down.
“…Hwang Hyunjin and Kim Seungmin.”
The universe, apparently, had jokes.
Jisung turned slowly, eyes wide with delight “Oh,” he whispered, grinning. “Congratulations, Hwangs! You’re done for.”
Hyunjin swallowed. “…Academically?”
Jisung’s grin widened. “You tell me.”
Their first meeting happened at the campus café, a place that smelled permanently like roasted coffee beans and unfinished assignments.
Hyunjin arrived early. Too early.
Which is not like him at all.
He sat near the window, leg bouncing under the table, a half-melted iced coffee sweating rings onto the surface. Outside, students hurried past with umbrellas and backpacks, lives moving forward normally—unlike his, which had apparently decided to spiral.
Seungmin arrived exactly on time.
Of course he did.
He stepped in quietly, shaking a few raindrops from his sleeves before spotting Hyunjin. There was something composed about him, something steady that made everything around him feel… louder in comparison.
“Hi,” Seungmin said, sliding into the seat across from him.
“Hi,” Hyunjin replied, voice just slightly off-beat.
There was a brief pause.
Then Seungmin pulled out neatly stacked papers.
“I made a rough outline,” he said.
Of course he did.
Hyunjin leaned forward to look—and his elbow clipped his drink.
Time slowed.
The cup tipped.
Seungmin’s color-coded notes became a casualty.
“Oh my god” Hyunjin scrambled, grabbing tissues, hands shaking, too clumsy. “I am so sorry, I—this is my fault—”
The ink bled softly into the paper, colors dissolving into something blurred and ruined.
Seungmin stared at it.
Hyunjin braced himself.
“…It’s fine.”
Hyunjin froze. “It’s not fine.”
“It’s just paper.”
“It was suposed to be our paper.”
Seungmin looked up at him then—really looked.
And something in his expression shifted.
Amusement, soft and unexpected.
“You can make it up to me,” he said.
Hyunjin blinked. “How?”
“Buy me coffee next time.”
A pause.
“…That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Hyunjin nodded slowly.
Something in his chest felt… lighter.
“Okay,” he said. “Deal.”
Time, somehow, softened around them.
Study sessions became routine—late afternoons in the café, evenings in quiet corners of the library where the air smelled like old books and highlighters.
Hyunjin learned the rhythm of Seungmin’s focus. The way he tapped his pen when thinking, the way his brows knit together just slightly when something didn’t make sense.
Seungmin learned Hyunjin’s chaos. He always had to study with his iced bland ass coffee from their school cafe, the way the tip of his tongue pops out after asking a question.
They learn beyond the four walls of their classrooms.
“You can’t just rename variables because they ‘feel right,’” Seungmin said one night.
“They do feel right.”
“They’re letters.”
“They have energy.”
Seungmin stared at him for a long moment.
“…You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m creative.”
“You’re a liability.”
“And yet, here I am.”
Seungmin huffed, but there was a softness in it now—a familiarity that settled between them without asking permission.
And somewhere in between shared snacks, stolen glances, and quiet laughter that echoed just a little too long,
Hyunjin stopped pretending.
He liked him.
It was inconvenient.
It was distracting.
It was very, very real.
Midterms week dragged everything thinner.
Sleep became optional.
Thoughts became heavier. Eating became a one time thing.
One night, the library was nearly empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead.
Hyunjin stared blankly at his notes.
Numbers blurred.
Nothing stuck.
Across from him, Seungmin was still working, calm as ever.
Hyunjin sighed.
“You’re doing it again,” Seungmin said softly.
“Doing what?”
“Sighing like everything’s falling apart.”
“It is,” Hyunjin muttered. “I don’t get any of this.”
Seungmin closed his laptop.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
“You do,” he said. “You just panic first.”
Hyunjin let out a quiet laugh.
“…Why are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“So patient.”
Seungmin hesitated.
Then, quieter, “Because I like being here.”
Hyunjin stilled.
“…Here?”
“With you.”
The words settled between them, soft but heavy.
Hyunjin looked away first.
Because if he didn’t, he might say something he couldn’t take back.
And then he saw him at the café but this time, not with him, with someone else.
The girl leaned forward as she laughed, her voice bright, easy. Seungmin looked relaxed in a way Hyunjin recognized too well.
Familiar.
Close.
Something inside Hyunjin twisted sharply.
He didn’t wait.
Didn’t think.
He just left.
And for three days, he avoided everything that reminded him of Seungmin.
Which was—Everything.
When Seungmin finally confronted him, it wasn’t quiet.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
Hyunjin kept his gaze forward. “I’m not.”
“You haven’t answered anything.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“With what?”
”A lot of things”
“Was it really hard for you to spend 15 seconds of your time to let me know?”
Silence stretched too thin.
“I saw you,” Hyunjin said finally.
Seungmin frowned. “What?”
“At the café. With her.”
Recognition flickered.
“…She’s my cousin.”
The world tilted.
“…Oh.”
Seungmin’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You disappeared for three days because of that?”
“It wasn’t just that.”
“Then what?”
Hyunjin clenched his jaw.
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
The word landed heavier than expected.
And suddenly, everything spilled over.
“Why do you care so much?” Hyunjin snapped, the frustration louder than intended.
Seungmin blinked, startled.
“Because we’re partners,” he said.
The word hit wrong.
Too small.
Too limiting.
“Exactly,” Hyunjin shot back. “Partners. That’s it.”
The second it left his mouth, Seungmin went still. Something in his expression closed off, like a door quietly shutting.
“…Right,” he said.
He turned around leaving the area and just like that – distance.
Cold. Clean. Final.
The days that followed felt wrong.
They still met up in the library and spent their afternoons together, still worked until the night but the warmth was gone. Every movement felt practiced, mechanical, measured – it felt too safe.
How can someone be seated an arm’s length away from you and yet feel like they’re not close enough to be held.
Hyunjin hated it.
He hated how Seungmin didn’t look at him the same.
Hated how the silence stretched too wide.
“You messed up,” Jisung said simply.
“I know.”
“Then fix it.”
Hyunjin exhaled slowly.
He had to.
The night before their presentation, the classroom felt too big, too consuming, too quiet.
Hyunjin stood near the front, hands restless, thoughts louder than the silence.
Seungmin sat at a desk, reviewing their slides, posture straight, expression unreadable.
“Can we talk?” Hyunjin said.
Seungmin paused then nodded.
Hyunjin stepped closer, the distance between them suddenly feeling like something he had to cross carefully.
“I didn’t mean it,” he said.
Seungmin looked up. “Mean what?”
“That we’re just partners.”
A pause.
“I said it because I panicked.”
“About what?”
Hyunjin swallowed.
“…About liking you.”
The words came out softer than expected.
But they stayed.
Seungmin didn’t react immediately.
And in that quiet, Hyunjin felt every second stretch.
“I thought,” Hyunjin continued, voice unsteady now, “if I didn’t make it real, I wouldn’t ruin it.”
Seungmin exhaled.
“You didn’t ruin it,” he said.
Hyunjin blinked. “I didn’t?”
“You just… scared me.”
“Why?”
Seungmin hesitated then, almost reluctantly—
“Because I like you too.”
Something in Hyunjin’s chest loosened all at once — overwhelmed, relief, warmth.
“You do?” he asked, softer now.
Seungmin huffed lightly. “Obviously.”
“I thought I imagined it.”
“I thought you were ignoring it.”
They both laughed.
Hyunjin stepped closer.
“So… we’re not just partners?”
Seungmin’s gaze softened.
“No,” he said. “We’re not.”
The next day, the lecture hall didn’t feel as cold or maybe it still did, but Hyunjin didn’t notice.
Because Seungmin was beside him now close enough that their shoulders brushed.
Close enough that when their hands met under the desk, neither of them pulled away.
“You’re glowing,” Jisung whispered.
“I’m not.”
“You’re holding hands.”
Hyunjin glanced down.
Their fingers were intertwined.
“…This is academic support,” he said.
Seungmin squeezed his hand slightly.
“Very academic,” he murmured.
Jisung gagged. He rolls his eyes.
“I’m dropping out.”
“You’re not even enrolled,” Seungmin said.
“Exactly.”
Hyunjin laughed.
And this time, there was no doubt. No hesitation. Just something certain, settling quietly into place.
Statistically speaking, he’s 100% certain of his feelings for this boy beside him. Grades don’t define you anyway!