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Game Not Fun Anymore

"That was fun."

San leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose as he spun his pen between his fingers. He let the words settle in his own head, rolling them around like they'd taste sweeter the more he repeated them.

However, they didn't.

His eyes flicked to the side, landing—again—on Wooyoung.

Stiff shoulders. Jaw locked. That familiar, biting attitude was still there, but it was... off. Not sharp, not playful. Just quiet.

San had seen Wooyoung pissed before—hell, he'd made him pissed before. But this? This was different.

And San should be enjoying it.

Shouldn't he?

His gaze dragged over Wooyoung's profile, tracing the stubborn clench of his jaw, the way his fingers curled around his pen like he was seconds away from snapping it in two.

A smirk tugged at San's lips.

'Careful, professor,' he thought, tapping the tip of his pen against his desk. 'You're gonna break something.'

He should say it. Tease him just a little more. Maybe lean in again, just to see if he could get another shiver out of him.

But for some reason, he didn't.

Instead, he just sat there. Watching.

And for the first time in a long time, silence didn't feel like power. It felt like something else.

Something more serious.

But then he frowned, shaking his head.

He shouldn't care that Wooyoung had barely looked at him since class started. Shouldn't care that, despite all his teasing, all his pushing, Wooyoung wasn't giving him the reactions he wanted. Shouldn't care that, when he finally did steal a glance at the boy beside him, all he found was nothing.

San shouldn't care.

But for some fucking reason, he did.

It was stupid. This was how things had always been between them. A push and pull, a game neither of them ever really won.

Wooyoung flirted back. Always. He'd roll his eyes, huff, act like San was annoying, but he'd blush as he would give in. He always gave in.

Except now, now, something had shifted.

And San knew exactly why.

His gaze flickered to Wooyoung's hands—still clenched, knuckles white. Then to his lips, pressed into a tight line. Then, finally, to his eyes, burning with something sharp, something unspoken.

San had seen that look before. Had seen it in fleeting moments, hidden behind sarcasm and playful insults. Had seen it in the way Wooyoung reacted to every little thing San did, as if he couldn't help himself.

But this?

This wasn't frustration. This wasn't banter.

This was hurt.

And San knew, without a doubt, that he had put it there.

He tapped his pen against his desk, staring blankly at the front of the classroom, trying to convince himself that he wasn't hyperaware of the boy sitting just inches away from him.

It wasn't like he had done anything out of the ordinary. Flirting was second nature to him. It didn't mean anything.

But maybe... maybe that was the problem.