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The lunchtime rush at high school was always a chaotic mess, but Kim Dokja’s corner at the very back of the classroom felt like an isolated oasis. He was slumped over his desk, fast asleep. He had stayed up way too late last night binge-reading a webnovel, and now his eyelids felt like lead. The thin window curtain fluttered slightly, letting a harsh streak of midday sunlight hit the pale face of the resident nerd. He frowned in his sleep, instinctively burying his face deeper into the collar of his school uniform to hide from the light.
Then the chair next to him shifted slightly. Yoo Joonghyuk slid into his seat, carrying the lingering warmth and clean, fresh soap scent from his outdoor P.E. class.
He was about to sit down when his gaze instantly locked onto the soft, messy bedhead of the boy beside him. Seeing the bright sunlight hitting Dokja's eyes and making him toss and turn, Joonghyuk’s brows furrowed.
Without a single word, he stood back up, reached out a long arm, and firmly pulled the curtain shut, completely blocking the blinding glare. The space around Dokja instantly became cool and comfortable.
Yet, burying his face against a rock-hard wooden desk for an hour still seemed to bother Dokja. He let out a soft, incoherent murmur, shifting his weight to change positions, his head naturally rolling toward Joonghyuk’s side.
Joonghyuk stared down at the utterly silly—and very cute—sleeping face, letting out a faint, barely audible sigh. He unzipped his thick basketball jacket, carefully folding it into a neat, soft square. Then, he slid his hand beneath the nape of Dokja’s neck. His movements were incredibly gentle—a stark contrast to the notoriously rough demeanor of the sports star—as he slowly lifted Dokja's head and slipped his jacket underneath to serve as a pillow.
Resting on the plush cushion that carried Joonghyuk's familiar, clean scent, Dokja exhaled a content sigh. He buried his face deeper into the fabric, his brow relaxing completely.
But he didn't stop there. Driven by pure sleeping instinct, Dokja’s hand began to wander, blindly searching for an anchor. His fingers blindly grabbed the hem of Joonghyuk’s crisp white dress shirt, tugging on it tightly and pulling the Alpha closer.
Joonghyuk’s entire body went rigid. He looked down at Dokja’s slender fingers gripping his shirt, then at the completely defenseless, sleeping face.
An internal battle lasted for a grand total of three seconds. If it were anyone else, he would have swatted their hand away long ago. But looking at Dokja's slightly chubby cheek pressed against his jacket, Joonghyuk's heart melted into absolute mush.
Giving up, he leaned his body sideways so it was easier for Dokja to hold onto him. Propping his chin up with one hand, he lazily reached out with the other, using his fingertips to gently brush away the stray bangs clinging to Dokja's forehead, revealing a smooth brow.
The gaze of the school's star athlete was so extraordinarily soft that if anyone else saw it, they would have gotten chills from sheer disbelief. He sat there like a human shield protecting Dokja, occasionally giving a gentle pat on the boy's shoulder to soothe him whenever a loud noise echoed from the hallway.
"Joonghyuk-ah..." Dokja mumbled in his sleep, unconsciously calling his name.
"Yeah. Go to sleep," Joonghyuk replied in a low rumble, his voice so quiet it was meant for only the two of them. He gave Dokja’s slightly flushed ear a tiny, playful pinch, a profoundly soft curve gracing his lips.
It wasn't until the school bell rang for the next period that Kim Dokja finally blearily opened his eyes. The very first thing he saw was Yoo Joonghyuk’s magnified face staring right back at him.
"Awake?" Joonghyuk asked coldly, though his hand was still rhythmically... patting Dokja's shoulder.
Dokja blinked, looking down at the jacket he was using as a pillow, then at his own hand tightly gripping the man's shirt. His face instantly flushed as red as a boiled lobster. He frantically let go, bolting upright. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to..."
Joonghyuk casually picked up his crumpled jacket, gave it a brief shake, and draped it over the back of his chair. His tone was indifferent, but his eyes were entirely overflowing with indulgence:
"Next time you want to sleep, tell me. You can use my shoulder. The desk hurts your neck."
With that, he turned back to the blackboard to set up his textbooks, leaving Kim Dokja holding his racing heart, utterly defeated by his seatmate's sudden, devastating soft side.