Another week.
Another godforsaken philosophy class.
Another hour spent sitting next to Choi San, who had made it his personal mission to drive Wooyoung to the brink of insanity.
Wooyoung sighed, already exhausted before the lecture even started. He slumped in his chair, arms crossed, eyes fixed stubbornly on his laptop screen as if sheer force of will could make time move faster.
The only thing worse than sitting next to San was the fact that they had a project due—one they had barely made any progress on. And whose fault was that?
San's. Obviously.
But as if the universe loved testing him, the moment Wooyoung's thoughts darkened, he appeared.
San strolled into the classroom with that effortless, all-consuming confidence—the kind that made it feel like every space naturally belonged to him.
Wooyoung's grip on his pen tightened.
His body reacted before he could stop it—eyes finding San, pulse jumping slightly. It was unfair. Annoying. Because San didn't just walk into a room. He claimed it. Like the very air bent around his existence.
And he was headed straight for Wooyoung.
The moment their eyes met, something shifted—an invisible pull, a silent challenge, a battle Wooyoung was always losing before he even realized he was playing.
San grinned, stopping right in front of his desk, head tilting slightly.
Why did he have to be so fucking pretty?
Wooyoung hated him. Hated the way his heart betrayed him at the simple stretch of San's lips. Hated that San still acted like the last two weeks of distance meant nothing—like he hadn't completely upended Wooyoung's mental state and carried on as if he wasn't the root of all his problems.
He exhaled sharply. "Need something?"
San's grin widened. "Your attention."
Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but his fingers twitched around his pen.
San, ever the menace, leaned in closer, and Wooyoung's body tensed before he could stop it.
"But," San continued, voice thick with amusement, "I know I've somehow made my baby mad... so here."
With a grand gesture, he lifted a small bag of chocolate snacks.
Wooyoung blinked. Then frowned.
"I told you enough times that these won't make me like you," he muttered, trying to ignore the small voice in the back of his mind whispering liar.
San only smirked. "That's why—" He lifted his other hand, revealing a two-cup coffee tray. "I got you your favorite."
Wooyoung wanted to ignore the way his heart did a stupid little flip. He wanted to roll his eyes, wanted to shove San's gifts right back at him, but—
San was standing there with that smug, knowing look, and that alone made Wooyoung's fingers itch to shove him instead.
"I already bought my coffee," he scoffed.
San's smirk deepened.
Without warning, he snatched Wooyoung's cup and, with a damn waltz, marched straight to the garbage bin—tossing it inside without a second thought.
Wooyoung's mouth dropped open in genuine offense. "You—"
San plopped into his seat, sliding the fresh cup towards him with a wink.
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Fanfiction"Hey San... wanna fuck?" It was supposed to be enough. It was never enough.
