The classroom was already loud when you walked in, but your attention locked onto the same spot it always did—Si-eun sitting by the window, head down, book open like nothing in the world could reach him.
It used to be different.
You passed his desk without slowing, your hand brushing the edge just enough to knock a stack of papers slightly out of place. A pen rolled off and tapped the floor. Nothing dramatic, nothing worth calling out—just enough.
Si-eun looked up immediately.
“…You really can’t stop doing that?” he asked, tired already.
You didn’t fully turn around at first. “Doing what?”
He glanced at the mess beside his desk. “That.”
You finally faced him, letting out a small laugh. “It’s a desk. It’ll survive.”
“It’s not about the desk.”
That made you pause for half a second before you shrugged it off. “Then what is it about?”
Si-eun didn’t answer right away. Instead, he bent down, picked up his things, and straightened them like he was trying not to waste energy on you. That calmness again—always that calmness.
“You always do this,” he said flatly. “Every day.”
“And you always react.”
“Because you’re right in front of me doing it.”
A few students nearby were watching now, pretending not to.
You leaned slightly against the desk, voice lower but sharper. “You really think you’re innocent in all of this, huh?”
Si-eun exhaled through his nose, like the conversation already bored him. “I don’t think anything. I just want you to stop.”
That irritated you more than an argument would’ve.
“Stop what? Talking?”
“Stop this,” he said, gesturing loosely between you and the scattered papers. “Whatever this is supposed to be.”
You scoffed. “You act like I started it.”
“You did,” he said immediately, then shook his head like he regretted even engaging. “Actually—forget it. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
That hit a little differently, even if you didn’t show it.
Si-eun grabbed his book again, already trying to shut it down.
“Just move on already,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, like he was done trying to make sense of it.
That should’ve been the end of it.
But he looked up again anyway.
Not angry.
Just tired.
“…What do you even want from me?”