Eun-ji sat at her usual spot in the campus courtyard, notebook open, pretending to focus on notes. But her eyes kept drifting.
Ji-ho was nearby, sorting through some papers for the group project, not looking at her… at least not openly. Yet, the way he adjusted a pen on her notebook ever so slightly, straightening it just as she reached for it, made her heart skip.
A small gesture. Tiny. But it felt like he'd left a footprint on her chest.
She smirked to herself and whispered, "Always the perfectionist, huh?"
He froze, eyes flicking to hers for a moment before he looked away quickly. His hand lingered near the notebook longer than necessary before he picked it up.
Internally, Ji-ho cursed himself. He shouldn't care this much. He shouldn't notice. He shouldn't feel the way he did every time she laughed, every time her hair fell into her eyes, every time she was just… Eun-ji.
Yet he did. And it scared him.
"You're watching me again," she teased, voice soft, playful, but with a hint of hurt buried underneath.
"I… I'm… paying attention," he said quickly, his voice low and uneven.
Her lips curved into a teasing grin. "Uh-huh. Sure. You just can't help yourself, can you?"
He stiffened at the words, jealousy flaring in the most subtle, dangerous way. She noticed it, of course. She could feel it, even without a word. And she let herself tease him more, softly, lightly, testing the edges of his control.
Their classmates chatted around them, but their small world felt private, suspended between moments of laughter, soft glances, and unspoken tension. Every time another student glanced at Eun-ji, Ji-ho's jaw tightened imperceptibly. A soft pang of jealousy mixed with guilt. He couldn't touch her. He couldn't show her why he reacted like this.
Later, walking back from the library together, the silence grew thick. Their shoulders brushed, and for a heartbeat, he almost spoke.
"I… if you knew—"
He stopped abruptly, swallowing hard, the words catching in his throat.
Eun-ji tilted her head, curious. "Knew what?"
He didn't answer, only tightened his grip on the books in his arms. His pulse quickened, his senses on high alert. She could hear it. She could feel it. She misread it entirely, thinking he was struggling with… emotions.
"You're acting weird," she said softly, her hand brushing against his arm as she walked past him. "Something's on your mind."
He turned his gaze briefly to hers, dark, conflicted. "I… I just… can't…" His voice faltered.
That pause said more than words ever could.
Eun-ji smiled faintly, touched his arm lightly. "It's okay," she said, her voice softening. "You don't have to say anything."
He inhaled sharply, wanting to say more, almost confess something ambiguous about what he was fighting inside—but he couldn't. Not yet.
The minor hint of something strange lingered in his eyes, a flicker she couldn't place, a shadow she couldn't name.
By the time they parted ways near the campus gate, Eun-ji walked alone, notebook pressed to her chest, thinking about the fleeting moments and gestures she hadn't noticed before.
Ji-ho turned down another street, hands clenching, struggling to calm himself. He pulled back slightly when she walked away, yet a part of him softened—just a little—while another part of him whispered a warning: Stay close, but not too close. Not yet