Lessons After Hours

Chapter 1: The First Lecture

"You didn't hear a word he said, did you?" Yeosang whispered, sipping his iced latte as they exited the lecture hall.

Wooyoung blinked. "What?"

"Exactly." Seonghwa chuckled, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. 

"You were too busy eye-fucking Professor San to absorb anything."

"I was not—" Wooyoung began, but Yeosang cut him off with a dramatic gasp.

"Wooyoung! You cursed! Is love turning you into a bad boy already?"

Wooyoung shoved Yeosang's shoulder with a groan. "You guys are insane."

"Not insane," Seonghwa said with a smirk. "Just observant."

The three of them wandered toward the courtyard, the morning sun casting a soft glow on the stone pathways and cherry trees in bloom. 

It would've been a peaceful scene if Wooyoung's heart hadn't still been racing from... whatever the hell that lecture had been.

He hated how much he remembered—not of the actual lecture material, but San's voice, the way he leaned on the edge of the desk, arms crossed casually, as if commanding a room full of students was second nature.

 And those eyes. Too sharp. Too knowing.

He had smiled at Wooyoung twice.

Only Wooyoung.

Or maybe he was imagining it.

"You know," Yeosang said, biting into a croissant

"You're allowed to be curious. He's not just hot. He's, like, stupid hot. And allegedly single."

Wooyoung frowned. "That's not the point."

"What is the point then?"

He hesitated. "He's my professor."

Yeosang gave him a deadpan stare. "So?"

"So—so it's inappropriate," Wooyoung replied, trying to sound firm.

"Because he's your professor, or because you're scared of what it would mean to want a man openly?"

Wooyoung flinched.

Too real.

Too fast.

Seonghwa touched his arm gently. "Yeosang," he warned.

But Wooyoung shook his head. "No, it's fine. He's not wrong."

They sat in silence on a campus bench. Around them, students chatted, laughed, and lived freely. 

Wooyoung hated how it all seemed so simple for everyone else.

"Look," Seonghwa said quietly. 

"We're not pushing you. We just want you to know you don't have to be alone in this."

"I know," Wooyoung murmured, eyes on the pavement. "I just... I need time."

They nodded, and no more words were needed. That's why they were his best friends—because they knew when to joke and when to just sit beside him and let him breathe.

Later that week, Wooyoung stayed after class to ask a question about the midterm project. 

Not because he needed help—he'd already outlined his strategy in a separate notebook—but because something in him itched to talk to San again. Just once more.

"Hey, Professor," he called, walking down to the front as the last student filed out.

San looked up from his laptop and smiled. "Wooyoung, right?"