Han Jisung ²⁰

There was something different about the way he looked at me these past few days. It wasn't just the way his eyes looked at me more than usual or the way he tried to sit next to me during every break.

Han Jisung was never good with words, but he'd learned to read him, understood his language. A glance from him meant "I'm listening." A light touch on the shoulder meant "I'm here." And those gentle smiles that only he knew how to give meant "Do me good."

—Don't get distracted, he told me while we were studying in the library.

—Oh, I was just thinking. I said, returning from my trip through the clouds.

—What were you thinking so much about? he asked with that disinterested voice but his gaze reflected complete interest.