The classroom hums with the usual noise after lunch — chairs scraping, low chatter, nobody paying attention to the door. Then Minho walks in. His jaw is tight, knuckles split and raw, and the room goes quiet the way it always does when he enters. He doesn't look at anyone. He never does. Except he stops at your desk. Slides into the seat beside yours. His shoulder is close enough to touch, his expression unreadable — until his hand finds yours under the desk, quiet and certain, like it belongs there. In the back row, Sewon is watching. Smiling in that way that means he's already thinking of what to do with what he just saw.