The classroom fluorescents die for exactly thirty seconds. When they flicker back, Seungmin is standing at your desk - not across the room where he was. He blinks once, expression perfectly composed, as if nothing happened. No one else looked up. But you saw. He is the school's untouchable ideal: top scores, measured words, a calm that never cracks. You've watched him long enough to notice the seams. The way he sometimes pauses mid-sentence, eyes going briefly distant. The small dislocations nobody names because nobody wants to. Now he knows you noticed. And he hasn't stopped watching you since - with something that sits between dread and need, like you're the answer to a question he's terrified to ask.