By daylight, Professor Jeon Jungkook is sharp, controlled, exactly the man his students expect him to be.
When the camera turns on and the helmet slides into place, something else awakens-something unrestrained, magnetic, and meant to stay unseen.
A...
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Jungkook
I'm late but I'm not running. There's a difference.
The hallway buzzes with noise, first-year chaos echoing off the glass. My shirt's half tucked, sleeves rolled high, collar open just enough. Not on purpose - at least that's what I tell myself.
Jin falls into step beside me, coffee in one hand, the other buried in his pocket. "Jesus, Jungkook," he says, glancing at me. "First day and you're already dressed like the reason students fail to focus."
I grin. "It's called professionalism."
"It's called thirst trap in linen."
"Don't be jealous. You had your pretty-boy phase, Jin. Let me have mine."
He laughs. "I'm still in mine, thank you very much. But seriously-two buttons undone? You trying to kill your students or motivate them?"
"Both work," I say with a shrug. "Whatever gets them to show up."
Jin shakes his head, smirking. "You're ridiculous. Anyway, literature freshmen for me, psychology babies for you. Think they'll survive?"
"They'll adapt," I say. "Fear's a good motivator."
"You sound like my old English teacher. She used to throw chalk."
"She was effective, wasn't she?"
He chuckles, and for a moment it feels like college again-him in his worn-out denim jacket, me pretending not to care about grades and ending up top of the class anyway.
"Seulgi wants to have dinner," Jin says. "The four of us. Saturday night."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Jisoo too, right?"
"Sure," I say, pretending it's simple. "Text me the time."
He studies me a second too long. "You good?"
"Always." I flash a grin.
He doesn't buy it but lets it go. "All right, Mr. Cool Professor. Go melt some hearts. Try not to start a campus cult."
"No promises," I say, already turning toward my room. "You go read them poetry about pain or whatever it is you do."
"Better than whatever psychological flirting you call education," he calls after me.
I throw him a lazy wave. "See you later, Romeo."
And then I'm at my door, the muffled sound of laughter spilling out from the other side - a hundred voices waiting to look up.
I walk in, white shirt tucked into black pants, sleeves rolled to my elbows, the weight of the room moving toward me. You can feel it when attention clicks into place. It's not about looks-though the mirror didn't hate me this morning-it's about choosing to take up space. I set my notebook on the desk and don't say anything yet. Silence always buys more silence.
