𖦹 juhoon

Juhoon. Well... he's been your biggest problem since day one. The moment you stepped into that hellish classroom, he chose you as his target—his new target. You wished you could have transferred or never come to this school. But wishing was all you could do.

"The mathematical prodigy, the ethereal voice, the stunning appearance"—that's what everyone called him, and none of it was a lie. He was brilliant, he had that voice that made people swear they could fall asleep listening to it, and his presence was so striking that no one could ignore it in a crowd.

He was perfect—at least, that's what they said. But you knew it wasn't quite like that. You wanted to scream that it was all a facade, that they didn't know the real Juhoon, but the words wouldn't come out of your mouth. If you said anything, he would only make things worse. So you remained silent, swallowing every joke, every dig, every laugh at your expense.

You remembered everything: him stealing things from your locker, hiding your belongings in impossible places, the permanent hearts he scribbled on your desk with a pen, the blame falling on you unceremoniously. And worst of all, the fake love letters—signed with your crush's name, but handwritten by him. That was the worst of his tricks, and you hated yourself more than anything for believing it, even if only for a second.

You endured it, week after week, until—suddenly—it ended. Maybe he got bored. Maybe he found someone else. You didn't ask, and you didn't want to.

Then came that afternoon, with the sunset tinging the windows with gold. The students were packing their things, locking their lockers, and laughing in groups. You were left alone, rummaging through your belongings, half expecting something to be missing again. But nothing was. Relieved, you closed the door and turned the key, ready to finally leave.

"Still here?..."

he approaches