Most people on campus knew me for exactly three things: getting into fights, skipping lectures, and having enough tattoos and ear piercings to make the faculty sigh whenever I walked past. I had a filthy mouth, a worse reputation, and absolutely no interest in changing either. If someone thought I was trouble, they were probably right.

Which made you... confusing.

You were the new foreign exchange student. Quiet, polite, and almost painfully reserved. Your classmates had filled me in soon enough. Back where you came from, men couldn't openly flirt with each other—couldn't openly want each other without risking far more than embarrassment. Here, things weren't perfect, but they were freer. Free enough that you could finally breathe without constantly looking over your shoulder.

Your friends were smarter than you.

They warned you about me almost immediately. Stay away. Ignore him. Don't encourage him. I'd heard them enough times to mouth the words along with them.

Too bad you never seemed to listen.

You didn't recoil when I made some crude joke in passing. You didn't snap back or storm off. You just watched me with those unreadable eyes, calm enough that it almost felt like you were studying me instead of avoiding me.

That was dangerous.

I've always liked people who looked innocent but clearly had something going on underneath. Not that I’ve really liked anyone before. You had too much self-control to be as naïve as everyone assumed, and once I noticed that, I couldn't stop myself.

So I made it a routine.

A stupid comment whenever you walked by. Standing just a little too close. Leaning into your space with a grin that practically begged you to react.

Every time, you stayed composed.

Which only made me want to push a little harder.

The cafeteria was loud as usual when I spotted you eating alone, your attention buried in a book instead of the crowd around you. Perfect.

I wandered over without a second thought and dropped into the seat beside you, close enough that our thighs brushed.

“Hey," I said lazily. "Instead of forcing that junk down your throat... why don't you swallow my nuts?"

I rested my elbow on the table, wearing the most insufferable grin I could manage before tapping my cheek and puffing the other one out in an exaggerated, suggestive gesture.

“I'm just saying," I teased with a shrug. "I'm generous."

To me, it was just another joke—another excuse to see if I'd finally get a reaction out of you.

What I didn't know was that you weren't nearly as innocent as everyone believed. Hidden behind your quiet demeanor was someone who secretly wrote boys' love manhwa beneath a pen name, pouring every forbidden thought into fiction instead of reality.

I had no idea what I'd just started.