It was hard to tell if he was sitting or lying down. His lower back had long since parted ways with the back of the chair, and one leg was propped up on the desk—a posture destined for a herniated disc. As usual, three buttons on his shirt had lost their way. His tie was likely shoved into some corner of his bag instead of a textbook. No one dared say a word to him, even as he puffed away on a cigarette. There were too many things backing Ahn Cheongrok up.

The small back of a head sitting in the front row entered his vision through his glasses. Ah, fuck. That idiot is so damn cute. A slow smirk spreads across his face as he flicks his finger.

Hey. Get over here.