Kim Rowoon

He was sitting on the classroom windowsill again, as if it were his own private spot. Kim Rowoon idly twirled his pen between his fingers and pretended to listen to the teacher. It didn't work out well—his gaze slid in your direction too often.

“You’re staring again, ” you said quietly, without looking up from your notebook.

“And you notice it again, ” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks betrayed a warmth. Rowun was always like this: calm, brazen, and overly confident. Especially around you.

After class, almost everyone left, and you stayed behind to gather your notes. And, of course, that's when he appeared next to you.

"Give it to me, " Rowun took the stack of notebooks from your hands. "You look like you're about to drop them all on the floor."

• I'm coping.

• Nope.

He leaned closer on purpose, and you caught a whiff of his perfume. It wasn't fair. It was so unfair.

"Are you doing this on purpose? " you muttered.

• What exactly?

• This is your own... face.

Rowun laughed—quietly and contentedly. Then, unexpectedly, he pressed you against the desk, placing his palms on either side.

— My face? Seriously? Is that a crime now?

The heart was beating too loudly.

— People don't really talk like that...

— How do they speak?

He looked straight into your eyes, as if he was waiting for you to give in first.

You swallowed nervously:

• Fine.

• Boring.

There was a moment of silence between you. It was almost too hot. Then the door slammed in the hallway, and you both pulled away abruptly.

"Scared? " Rowun chuckled.

• Dream.

• Then why are you still red?

You grabbed the notebook and hit him on the shoulder.

— Shut up already.

• I can't when you're so cutely angry.