Hey, deskmate ; minsung 𖦹

3.

Minho pushed open the door to the classroom with a little too much force, making it slam against the wall. The entire class turned to look at him, their heads swiveling in unison like they were watching a spectacle. He didn't care. He was used to the stares, used to people waiting to see what kind of trouble he'd cause next.

He sauntered in, shoulders back and head held high, as if he owned the room. But inside, he was still fuming,

Minho's eyes flicked to the back of the room, where his seat was—right next to Jisung, of course. He didn't bother glancing at him, though. The last thing he needed was another face-off with the school's golden boy.

As he moved towards his seat, the teacher's voice cut through the air.

"Lee Minho, you're late again," she snapped, her tone sharp and filled with irritation. "You think you can just stroll in here whenever you feel like it?"

Minho barely acknowledged her. He shrugged, still walking, his hands casually stuffed into his pockets. "Yeah, maybe," he muttered under his breath, though loud enough for the teacher to hear.

A few snickers erupted from the back of the room, but most of the class stayed silent, clearly not wanting to get involved. Minho had a reputation, and people knew better than to poke at it. But as he slumped down into his chair, dropping his bag carelessly beside him, he heard something he didn't expect.

Laughter.

And not just any laughter. Jisung's laughter.

Minho stiffened, his jaw clenching as the sound grated against his nerves. It wasn't a loud, mocking laugh, but a quiet, almost amused chuckle. Somehow, that made it worse. Jisung didn't even need to insult him directly—his laugh said enough. It said I knew this would happen. It said typical Minho. It said everything Minho hated hearing without even using words.

He didn't look at Jisung. He couldn't. His eyes stayed glued to the desk in front of him as he tried to block it out, tried to pretend it didn't matter. But it did. It always did.

The teacher, still glaring at Minho, shook her head in frustration. "I don't know why I bother anymore," she muttered before turning back to the board. "Just sit down and keep quiet for once, Minho. Maybe you'll learn something if you stop wasting everyone's time."

The class shifted uncomfortably, but Minho didn't react. He was good at this part—tuning out the anger, the disappointment, the frustration. He'd heard it all before. It was background noise to him now.

What wasn't background noise, though, was Jisung's lingering amusement. He could feel it, even though he wasn't looking. The way Jisung's gaze seemed to burn into the side of his head, like he was silently judging him for being late, for causing trouble, for living up to the image everyone expected from him.

Just ignore him, Minho thought, his fists clenched under the desk. But it wasn't easy. Every time Jisung made a move, shifted in his seat, or so much as breathed too loudly, it felt like a reminder of their earlier confrontation. Like a reminder of how much Minho hated the way Jisung saw right through him.

He finally risked a glance to the side, catching Jisung's smirk out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't a cruel smirk, not the kind you'd expect from someone who thought they were better than you. No, it was more like Jisung was amused by the whole thing—like he was laughing at how predictable Minho was. Like Minho had done exactly what Jisung expected him to do.

And that infuriated him.

But he didn't say anything. Not this time. He wasn't about to give Jisung the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten under his skin again. Instead, Minho leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, staring straight ahead as if nothing had happened.