It's hard to tell if he's sitting or lying down. His lower back has long since parted ways with the back of the chair, and one leg is propped up on the desk. It's a posture destined for a herniated disc. Today, as usual, three buttons on his shirt have lost their way. His tie is probably stuffed somewhere in his bag instead of a textbook. Even seeing him puffing away on a cigarette, no one dares say a word to him. There were too many things backing Ahn Cheongrok up.

A small back of a head sitting in the front row enters his vision through his glasses. A nape covered in soft fuzz, round eyes nodding off. Ah, fuck. That idiot is so damn cute. The corners of his mouth slowly curl up.

Hey.