Your knuckles nearly turn white from tightly gripping the steering wheel.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you whisper to yourself while looking at the red light, as if chanting an incantation-like plea will magically turn it green.

Seconds truly feel like hours when you’re running late.

What’s even more frustrating for you is that it’s not your fault that you’re running late. You woke up early, finished getting ready early, got on the road early — and yet here you are, stuck in traffic and on the verge of tears because some stupid traffic light is about to cost you your first class of the term.

The more you live in this hole of a city, the more you realize that it doesn’t matter how early you adjust for the traffic. Every hour is rush hour.

You glance at the clock on the dash. 7:06 a.m. Your first class — a major subject, no less — starts in less than thirty minutes. After making mental calculations, you conclude that you can make it if nothing else comes up. Campus is only an avenue away, a homerun after you make this goddamn U-turn. You can arrive on time. Worst case scenario would be a few minutes late, but professors are usually lenient on the first meeting of the term.

But the traffic light’s still red. “Jesus ing Christ!” you shout, slamming your palms onto the wheel.

Heaving a deep breath, you begin to count to calm yourself down.

One, two, three, four…

You look at the time again. 7:08 a.m.

Five, six, seven…

The light finally turns green.

You slam your foot on the pedal and make the sharpest turn you’ve ever done, the sound of screeching tires resonating all around you. You couldn’t care less if people thought you were crazy. You’re not going to be late on your first day of senior year.

As you inch closer and closer to the U-turn of the avenue, your chest begins to loosen, gaining more confidence that you’ll make it on time. You prepare to turn, looking carefully to your right to make sure you don’t hit any cars as you join the lane. You finally complete the turn, and then…

BOOM.

Your entire body jerks forward. Your chest crashes onto the steering wheel, but the blow is softened thanks to the seatbelt. You’re certain that you’re hurt somewhere, but you can’t feel anything but the violent thrashing of your heart in your rib cage. There’s a deafening ping ringing in your ears, reminiscent of the sound of microphone feedback. The world is spinning and spinning and spinning…

You’re anchored back to earth by the sound of harsh knocks on your car window and a muffled voice yelling.

You unclasp your seatbelt and step out of the car.

“Are you alright?”

You look up at the source of the voice, surprised when you see a strikingly handsome face. His pale skin is almost blinding under the heat of the city sun. His eyes are kind but his brows are furrowed, and then the reality of what just happened hits you like a… well, a car.

“ you,” is the first thing that slips out of your mouth. There’s no way you can make it to your first class now, not when some idiot who’s obviously too dumb to be carrying a license has plowed your trunk.

“Excuse me?” the handsome stranger says. His face contorts in irritation, and you begin to feel more irritated as well because he still looks good even with the sour expression on his features.

You roll your eyes at him. “I said you,” you repeat. “Didn’t you see that I was trying to join the lane from the turn? Ever heard of slowing down, you dimwitted ?”

The man laughs, not because of joy, but because of disbelief. “Who do you think you are to talk to me like that? To talk to anyone like that?”

“You hit my car and you expect me to be nice to you?” you scoff. He doesn’t even look that much older than you, but even if he is, you have no intention whatsoever in rolling out the honorifics for him. “I’m already gonna miss my first class because of your ty driving, so might as well just miss all of them.” You fish your phone out of your pocket and dial a three-digit number.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling the police.”

The stranger then snatches your phone out of your hand and raises it way above his head so that you can’t reach it. “You don’t need to do that,” he says. He seems less irritated now, as he should. He doesn’t have a strong case if this reaches the police, anyway. “I’ll just settle with you. Less hassle for the cops, for me, and for you.”

“Why? Do you have some hard cash on you right now?”

“You’re a smartass,” he remarks, but it’s more of an honest observation rather than an insult. He lowers his arm and types something on your phone. He then pulls something out of his wallet and hands it to you along with your phone. “Here. There’s my number. Take a photo of my driver’s license too, so that if I bail on my promise, you can call the entire police force on me.”

You squint your eyes in suspicion but eventually do as he says, examining the details on the little plastic ID card before snapping a picture of it.

The handsome stranger finally has a name: Kim Junmyeon. He’s thirty-two, has a blood type of AB positive, and you probably know more about him than you want to know no thanks to all the specifics printed on his driver’s license.

“You don’t look like you’re thirty-two,” you say as you pass him his license back. “You look…”

“Younger?”

“Stupid,” you correct him. You dial the number he saved on your phone to make sure that he’s not making a fool out of you, and lo and behold, a ringtone fills the air and it’s coming from his jeans pocket. “If you don’t pay for my car like you promised, I’m gonna take your suggestion and call the entire police force on you.”

Junmyeon raises his hands in resignation. “Okay, tiger. You’ve backed me against a wall. I’m not going anywhere.” He flashes the most dazzling smile you’ve seen and it makes your blood boil even more because you’re supposed to hate him, not to be smitten by his stupid grin. “You’re in college?”

“None of your business,” you say, turning around to walk back to your car.

“Yeah, I know, I just… You said you missed a class because of this. I’m sorry,” he says. “Don’t miss your other classes for the day, though. Every lecture’s important.”

You turn back around, scoffing as you say, “You’re not the boss of me.” Without waiting for his reply, you get in your car, slam the door shut, and drive away with a busted trunk.

* * *

“You look like you had a rough morning,” is the first thing that Jihyun says when you take the seat next to her.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Jihyun smiles and leans over your desk, mischief and curiosity gleaming in her eyes. “What happened? Had another fight Chanyeol? What is it this week? Are you two still playing cat and mouse? Not gonna lie, it’s getting—”

“Don’t,” you say with an exhausted sigh. You have a lot on your mind right now, but Chanyeol’s dead last on the list. “I got into an accident on my way here.”

“YOU WHAT?” Jihyun shouts. The entire room turns to look, the unwanted attention making you sink in your seat. Jihyun apologizes for the outburst and then says again, this time more quietly, “You what?”

Just then, Kyungsoo enters the room, kissing Jihyun on the cheek before taking the seat in front of her. “Dr. Song was looking for you,” he tells you when he’s settled down. “She said it wasn’t like you to use your cuts so early into the term.”

“She got into an accident this morning,” Jihyun explains to him.

“What happened?” Kyungsoo asks.

You hunch over your desk, resting your head on the cool metal in an attempt to suppress the incoming migraine from your friends’ inquisitiveness. You just want some peace and quiet, but, of course, you never get what you want.

“Some idiot rammed the back of my car while I was U-turning on Grime,” you say without lifting your head.

“Were you hurt? Did you take him to the police? You shouldn’t have gone to class…” Kyungsoo goes on and on and on, and you can feel the headache growing bigger and bigger in your head.

Sitting straight up, you say, “I’m fine. Really. I settled with the aforementioned idiot and he’s gonna pay for it. I don’t wanna think about it anymore so please, just… Don’t ask me about it.” You go back to hunching over your desk, your eyes suddenly heavy. You’re more tired than you thought.

Jihyun and Kyungsoo didn’t bother you anymore after that, instead turning to each other to talk about annoying things that couples talked about. They’re cute together, you admit that much, yet you can’t help but feel envious of how happy they are together, how everything just makes sense between them.

You and Chanyeol, on the other hand…

You sigh, shaking the thought away. Chanyeol’s the least of your problems right now.

After a few more minutes of peace, you feel Jihyun poking your arm. “The professor’s here.”

“Don’t care,” you say, keeping your head down. “So tired.”

“I haven’t seen him before,” you hear Kyungsoo say.

“He’s kinda… cute,” Jihyun says.

That piques your interest, because Jihyun doesn’t usually find any other guy cute aside from her boyfriend. For her to say that about the new professor, well… Let’s just say Jihyun’s taste isn’t that bad.

You raise your head and rub the fatigue out of your eyes. When your vision clears, it’s as if you’ve gone back in time, back to this morning when that idiot crashed his car into yours.

You stare at him. It doesn’t seem real. The guy you called a dimwitted just a few hours ago is there on the opposite side of the room.

“Let me introduce myself first,” he says with a kind smile, the dazzling smile you’ve already seen before. He pulls out a marker from his pocket and writes his name on the whiteboard, in neat handwriting: Kim…

“…Junmyeon,” you whisper.

Jihyun throws you a look of confusion. “You know him?” she asks. “I don’t think I’ve seen him on campus before, though. And we’ve been here for four years…”

“I’m Kim Junmyeon,” the professor says. “We can go by first name basis when we’re not on campus but otherwise call me Mr. Kim.”

The migrain that’s been hinting a while ago is definitely coming now.

“You look nauseated,” Jihyun remarks.

Ignoring Jihyun, you continue to look at the man in front. His eyes finally meet yours after roaming around the room, and they stay there. Junmyeon — Mr. Kim, rather, has his gaze fixed on you. His lips curl into a knowing smile.

“Good to see familiar faces,” he says to the class, but you know that was meant for you. “Anyway, welcome to Contemporary Literature. Let’s have a good term together, shall we?”

“Familiar… faces?” you hear another student whisper in curiosity.

“Isn’t he new?” asks another.

Jihyun’s still looking at you for answers. Kyungsoo has turned around to face you, too, absolutely weirded out at the fact that a professor none of them has seen before seems to know you.

You sink deeper and deeper in your seat in a futile attempt to hide yourself from your friends’ curious stares.

The next fourteen weeks are going to be difficult, you tell yourself.

* * *

“Not to say I told you so,” Jihyun says, “but I told you so.” She passes you back your phone, the screen displaying the photo of a certain someone’s driver’s license. “Didn’t I tell you to do something about your anger management issues?”

“I don’t have anger management issues.”

Jihyun scoffs. “Sure. And the Earth isn’t round. And climate change isn’t real. And there aren’t twenty-four hours in a day.” She then leisurely raises her feet and props them onto the table as she slouches back on her chair.

The lowerclassmen, especially the freshmen, all look at Jihyun nervously. They seem completely taken aback by her indifference, given the fact that you’re in a conference room for the folio’s first general assembly of the term, but Jihyun — and the rest of the seniors and most of the juniors — couldn’t care less.

Senioritis comes in many shapes and forms, and being completely void of interest in an organization you’ve been part of for the duration of your entire stay in college is one of them.

You and Jihyun were once like your neophyte counterparts: bright-eyed and eager to have their first work published in the folio. Four years and countless deadlines barely met later, you’ve become a mere shell of the writer you used to be. Tired and uninspired, just waiting for the term to be over so you can finally say goodbye to the organization that has the life out of you more than your major.

It doesn’t help that you’re the current editor-in-chief while Jihyun is your associate editor, which means that the two of you are confined to managerial work. You can’t even remember the last piece you wrote for the folio, whether it was a half-assed nonfiction entry or a pretentious venture into poetry.

“What’s taking our new adviser so long?” Jihyun says impatiently while she looks at her wristwatch, her feet still comfortably positioned on the polished wooden table. “Ms. Jeon was never late.”

The mention of the folio’s previous adviser’s name hushes the indistinct chatter in the room.

“Maybe they’re new, like our Contemporary Literature professor. Got lost on the way,” you say a little too loudly to lighten the dampened atmosphere.

The rest of the room goes back to their conversations, but you can tell from their toned-down voices that they’re talking about Ms. Jeon.

It was a pretty big scandal last term. What started as an anonymous post in a Facebook group turned into a show of insane proportions: Ms. Jeon was fired, the student that she was allegedly dating got expelled, and then the university administration started investigating more people after that.

To say it was a mess would be an understatement. It was more difficult for you and the rest of the folio since Ms. Jeon was your organization’s adviser. It was natural for people to be suspicious of the relationship she had with the folio’s male staffers, which meant that you and Jihyun and the whole team got called into the Discipline Office for questioning.

“Speaking of Mr. Kim…” Jihyun interrupts your train of thought.

“What about him?”

“He’s cute, isn’t he?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Yeah. Tell that to the trunk of my car.”

Jihyun bursts into maniacal laughter. “I can’t believe you called a professor a dimwitted ,” she says as she guffaws, holding onto her stomach for dramatic effect. “A professor! I mean, I’ve cursed at a few professors myself, but never out loud.”

All you can do is glare at your best friend.

To be fair, you absolutely had no idea that Junmyeon — er, Mr. Kim would be your Contemporary Literature professor when you were hurling profanities at him. Who would? You were expecting to meet him again in an auto-shop when he’s paying for the damages he did to your car, not in a lecture. It’s a massive of luck (or is misfortune a better term?) that he turned out to be more than a stranger you met by — quite literally — accident.

It’s a relief that you only have Contemporary Literature for three hours once a week. That means for the remaining six days, you won’t have to think about Mr. Kim at all.

Or so you thought.

“Ms. Nam, please sit properly,” an unnervingly familiar voice resounds as its owner enters the room. His tone is kind enough, but unmistakably commands authority.

Jihyun immediately takes her feet off the table and sits straight up, an embarrassed smile creeping onto her face. “Sorry, sir,” she apologizes sheepishly.

For the second time that day, you find yourself dumbfounded at your rotten luck.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

You meant that to be a whisper, but of course Mr. Kim heard you anyway.

“You again,” he offers you another smug smile. “This is turning out to be the weirdest day of my life.”

Tell me about it, you wanted to say, but of course you hold yourself back given the fact that you’ve humiliated yourself enough in front of Mr. Kim.

Instead of your usual snarky remark, you wordlessly stand up from your seat and place last year’s organizational report in front of Mr. Kim. He stares at the document for a while, his eyes lingering at the EDITOR-IN-CHIEF written below your name on the cover of the report. You notice the corner of his lips curling upward as you make your way back to your seat.

“Some of you already know me, but for the sake of those who don’t, I’m Kim Junmyeon,” he introduces himself. “I’m filling in for Ms. Jeon as the Malva Literary Folio’s new faculty adviser. I’ve heard… quite a lot about her.”

Nervous laughter fills the room.

The remainder of the general assembly goes smoothly as far as assemblies go. As editor-in-chief, it’s your responsibility to introduce the rest of the editorial board to Mr. Kim, to open the floor for suggestions regarding the theme for this term’s publication, and to basically moderate the entirety of the assembly.

Usually, you have no problem in spearheading meetings. But with Mr. Kim smirking at you from his seat, you can’t help but lose your focus a few times.

Is this your punishment for having such a terrible temper?

You soldier through the next hour and a half despite Mr. Kim’s distracting gaze. You can tell that he’s judging you as you speak, perhaps forming horrible opinions about you in his mind.

You can’t blame him, really, not after that show you put up earlier today.

To save yourself from further embarrassment — which you’ll definitely have more of in the coming months — you make a beeline for the door as soon as Mr. Kim declares the assembly adjourned.

“Not so fast, Ms. Editor-in-Chief,” he says, stopping you in your tracks.

You turn around against your will, conjuring up the fakest smile you can muster. “Sir.”

“Oh, it’s sir now?” he laughs as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What happened to ‘stupid’? Or ‘dimwitted—”

“Yes, yes, I get your point,” you cut him off. “We’re on campus, so I think ‘sir’ would be the most appropriate.”

Mr. Kim hums in amusement. “Are you free this weekend?” Naturally, you take a step back from him as soon as the question leaves his mouth. He lets out a chuckle, holding his hands up as a gesture of peace. “I’m not asking in that way. I have no intention of following Ms. Jeon’s footsteps.”

“What is it, then?” you ask with an arched brow.

“Your car,” he says. You relax almost immediately. “I know a great mechanic. How ‘bout I start paying you back this weekend? I don’t like being indebted to people.”

You think about it for a few moments, then you finally say, “Okay.”

“I’ll text you the address of the shop. I can pick you up too, if…”

“No, I’m good. I’ll meet you there.”

Mr. Kim gives you another smile. You’ve had plenty of those for today. “See you this weekend.”

* * *

It’s always weird to see professors outside of campus.

It reminds you of that one time you and Jihyun went clubbing in sophomore year and you ran into your Drama professor, Mr. Jo. Long story short, it was awkward for everybody, and you and Jihyun had to bounce before your second bucket of beer.

You guess what makes it weird is that school seems like a different reality the moment you step outside campus; the life that you live inside of it is compartmentalized from the life that you live beyond it, so when the two realities crash, it’s unnerving.

What’s even more unsettling is seeing Mr. Kim, as casual as can be, clad in a loose-fitting light yellow shirt with nearly half of the buttons undone, faded denim shorts that stopped just above his knees, and a pair of simple slip-ons. He definitely doesn’t look like a professor with that look. It’s more of the speed of boys your age.

He’s already waiting for you out front when you arrive, smiling and waving in your direction as you park on one of the multipost runways of the huge garage. Once you’re settled, you turn off the ignition and step out.

“Sir.”

He stifles a laugh. “We’re not on campus. You can call me Junmyeon. Or any of the interesting nicknames you’ve given me.”

Like flipping a switch, you immediately drop the act and throw him a glare. “Can we move on from those… nicknames? Please? I was late and you crashed into my car and I couldn’t think of anything except that I was mad.”

“Myeon!” a voice interrupts.

A good-looking man appears into the garage. Judging from what he’s wearing — a white tank top underneath a pair of overalls — he must be the mechanic Junmyeon was talking about.

He’s a bit taller than Junmyeon, and certainly more muscular. You can’t help but get distracted by his biceps when he offers his hand.

“Who do we have here?” the man says in a more-than-friendly tone, gently squeezing your hand into the handshake. “I didn’t know you had a new girlfriend.”

Junmyeon simply looks on with an easy smile on his face, like he’s seen his friend like this more times than he can count. “She’s not my girlfriend, Siwon. She’s my student. So back off.”

Siwon laughs apologetically as he inches away from you a little. “I’m so sorry. That was… inappropriate.”

No , Sherlock, you say to yourself.

“What’s the damage?” Siwon asks.

Junmyeon scratches the back of his neck. “Well…”

Rolling your eyes, you lead them to your car. Siwon immediately winces at the sight of it: the trunk is ajar and crumpled like a soda can, the right taillight is shattered, the rear bumper hanging like a dropped jaw.

“Myeon,” Siwon says, “What the did you do?”

“It was an accident…” Junmyeon replies in a small voice.

Siwon turns to you. “Must’ve been embarrassing for you to drive it all the way here looking like this.”

“You have no idea,” is all you can say. “How long is it gonna take?”

The mechanic thinks about it for a while, his gaze shifting back and forth between you and Junmyeon as he makes mental calculations in his mind. “A month. Give or take. It’s gonna cost a fortune, though, for a college kid…”

“I’m paying for it, so she doesn’t have to worry about that,” Junmyeon says.

“Oh, you better,” Siwon scoffs. “This…” he points to the mess that used to be the backside of your car, “...is all your fault.” He then looks at you. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ve got this. This is gonna look good as new. I’ll text you when you can pick it up.”

“Actually…” you begin to say, “I think I wanna keep an eye while you work on it.”

Junmyeon and Siwon exchange confused looks.

“But that means he can only work on it on weekends,” Junmyeon realizes. “Because that’s the only time when you’re free the whole day.”

You shrug. “I’m okay with that. It’s not that I don’t trust you…” you look at Siwon, offering him an apologetic smile, “It’s just… I think I can sleep better at night when I know what you’re doing to my car. No offense.”

“None taken,” Siwon replies. “It’s gonna add another month to it, though…”

“That’s cool. I don’t mind commuting to school for a couple of months.”

Siwon shrugs, then gets right to work, starting to make calls to order parts for your car model. He disappears back to where he came from, leaving you and Junmyeon alone in the garage.

He looks at you curiously, jamming his hands into his pockets. “You’re really spending every weekend here while your car’s out of commission?”

“Why not?” you ask. You take a seat on one of the benches against the wall. “I’m a senior in my last term. I literally have nothing to do other than wait for graduation.”

“Fair enough,” Junmyeon says. “Two months, though… That’s half the term, isn’t it? You sure you can handle commuting for that long? Traffic’s gonna be much much worse…”

“Sounds better than having the back of my car rammed.”

He flinches at your brutal honesty. “Yeah, sorry,” he says, sitting beside you. “If you want, we could carpool. I figured you lived nearby since we took the same route to campus. It’s the least I can do.”

At this point, you’re starting to get suspicious of him. Who would blame you, really? With what happened to Ms. Jeon and that student last term… It wouldn’t hurt to be a little cautious in dealing with professors from now on. You can’t have your diploma taken away from you because of something so scandalous. Your parents would disown you.

But the sane part of your brain reminds you that maybe you’re just getting ahead of things, that maybe Junmyeon doesn’t even see you that way, that maybe he simply wants to help.

He sounds sincere enough, you’ll give him that, but still…

“I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea…”

Junmyeon’s features harden, like he’s only realized that possibility just now. “Oh,” he says. “Oh. Right. Sorry. It would look weird, wouldn’t it?”

“Better safe than sorry,” you nod.

Siwon enters the garage again, this time accompanied by two other guys who are dressed like him, carrying large tool boxes that looked painful to carry.

“Some parts can be delivered tomorrow, some in the coming weeks,” he explains. “We’ll start dismantling the parts that are no good.”

They get to work after that, while Junmyeon keeps you company.

You learn that he and Siwon met in college, but Siwon had to drop out to take care of his sick dad, the previous owner of the auto-shop. Siwon didn’t go back to school and just ran the shop.

Junmyeon, on the other hand, pretty much overstayed in the academe. He dove straight into his master’s degree after graduating, worked as a part-time lecturer in a couple of universities while he was at it, and then finally got his PhD four years ago.

He does have that certain look in his eyes, like this glint of wisdom that goes deeper than being booksmart. You can tell from the way he held himself that he’s wiser than his age, even if he’s already a decade older than you.

Despite that, you don’t feel intimidated by him at all. Maybe the highest kind of intimidation you feel for him would be the fact that he’s your professor and therefore he commands some degree of respect from you, but apart from that, it isn’t a burden at all to talk to him.

Perhaps that has something to do with him insisting that you drop the honorifics and call him by first name now that you’re not in a school setting, but Junmyeon still seems to be in touch with his youth, like he still resonates with how college students feel, think, and talk.

It’s a good thing, you figure. Most professors tend to have this superiority complex once they have a couple of post-graduate degrees under their belt, as if they weren’t dumb twenty-something-year-olds at some point in their lives.

“Have any plans after college?” he asks.

“Not really,” you say without missing a beat. He furrows his brows in confusion, like most people do when you tell them that you’re not really thinking about doing anything after graduation. “I wanna take a break,” you explain. Junmyeon seems to relax a bit after that. “I’ve been studying for most of my life. I wanna take back a year, maybe two.”

“Let me guess,” Junmyeon says, “Your family’s rich.”

You purse your lips, unsure of what to say. He isn’t entirely wrong, but still, you ask, “What makes you think that?”

He leans back against the wall, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Well, first of all, you drive a Lexus GS. Not exactly cheap, if you ask anyone who knows anything about cars. Second, you can afford to not work for a year or two and not starve. Lastly, you carry yourself like a rich kid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Junmyeon shrugs. “Whatever you want it to mean.”

You exchange more playful banter after that, temporarily forgetting that there are some lines that shouldn’t be crossed no matter how harmless they seem.

A woman named Jiwon shows up at the shop later that afternoon. She looks exactly like Siwon but softer around the edges, and you can immediately tell that they’re siblings. She mistakes you for Junmyeon’s girlfriend like her brother did earlier, vehemently apologizing after she learns that you’re his student.

To make it up to you, she invites you and Junmyeon to stay for dinner, and you spend the rest of the day exchanging more stories and laughter. You begin to feel like you’ve known these people your whole life instead of a single day.

If this is what you have to look forward to on weekends for two months, it sure as hell doesn’t seem too bad.

After dinner, Junmyeon offers to drive you home. It took a while for you to agree, but eventually you ended up in the passenger seat of the car that wrecked yours earlier this week.

“Huh. So this is what it looked like from your point of view when you rammed my trunk that day,” you tease.

Junmyeon blushes in his seat. “You’re never gonna let me forget that, aren’t you?”

“Hmm. Maybe not until my car’s fixed.”

“Understandable,” Junmyeon chuckles.

A few more minutes later, you arrive at your apartment building. An awkward atmosphere settles inside the car, neither you nor Junmyeon knowing what to say. After a couple of heartbeats, the two of you open your mouth at the same time, stuttering simultaneously with the other.

“You go first,” Junmyeon says, a small smile plastered on his lips.

“Thanks, uh, for today. Your friends are lovely.” You wish your cheeks aren’t as red as you think. “Also… I never apologized for saying all those mean things to you that day. I’m sorry. I was just…”

“Frustrated,” Junmyeon finishes for you, nodding. “I understand.”

“Right. Well…” you open the door and hop out of the car. You hunch over and give Junmyeon one last smile. “See you in class, Mr. Kim.”

Junmyeon laughs, probably a little too loudly than he intended. “See you around.”

You shut the passenger side door. Junmyeon drives away, his car soon disappearing into the night, and you begin to doubt if anything that happened this week was real or if it’s just all in your head.

“Who was that?” a deep, accusatory tone startles you back into reality.

You turn to where the voice came from, only to see a familiar — but unwelcoming — gaze piercing right through you. He’s sitting on the steps leading up to your apartment building with his arms resting on his knees. He looks like he’s been waiting for you all night.

“Who was that?” Chanyeol repeats.