kidnapper's protection | seongjoong

2

The soft scratch of pens and the shuffle of papers filled the classroom as the professor handed back their exams. Seonghwa sat quietly in his seat, drumming his fingers against the desk in a steady rhythm. Around him, students buzzed with nervous anticipation, craning their necks to peek at the marks scribbled on their tests.

Seonghwa's breath stayed even as the professor finally reached him, pausing for the briefest second before sliding his test onto the desk. The man gave Seonghwa a glance—a look that was neither subtle nor kind, as if it was personally offensive that someone like Seonghwa could sit at the top of the class.

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. The tight-lipped expression and the subtle shake of the head said it all: A shame. So much potential, wasted on...this.

Seonghwa flipped over the paper without a word. A perfect score, as usual—100/100. The red circle around the number gleamed like a hollow reward. Even the comments in the margins felt forced.

"Well-written. Thorough arguments."

The praise was there, but it was reluctant, as though the professor had begrudgingly acknowledged his work out of obligation. They're supposed to like me for this, Seonghwa thought bitterly, tracing the score with his finger. Isn't this enough? But it wasn't. Not when they could only see the crop tops, the earrings, and the way his long hair framed his delicate features.

His classmates whispered among themselves, exchanging quick glances in his direction. Some were jealous, no doubt, seeing his grade. Others just stared, confused as to how he of all people kept acing every test.

Seonghwa knew the question running through their minds: How could someone like him be this good?

He kept his face neutral as the professor continued down the aisle, handing out the rest of the tests. But inside, something clenched uncomfortably in his chest. Even after all his hard work, he was still reduced to a spectacle—a curiosity, something to be dismissed or judged.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Seonghwa gathered his things slowly, watching his classmates filter out in pairs or groups, chatting happily about their weekend plans. No one approached him, of course. They never did.

Just as Seonghwa slung his bag over his shoulder, a familiar voice called out.

"There you are!"

Wooyoung bounded into the classroom with his usual bounce, waving excitedly. He stopped short when he noticed Seonghwa's expression—or lack thereof.

"You okay?" Wooyoung asked, tilting his head as he leaned against the desk beside him. His playful grin faltered slightly, replaced with genuine concern. "You look like someone kicked your ass."

Seonghwa offered a small shrug. "It's nothing."

Wooyoung didn't buy it. His eyes flicked to the paper peeking out from Seonghwa's notebook and the faint crease in Seonghwa's brow. "They gave you crap for your grades again, huh?"

Seonghwa nodded, slipping the test into his bag without another glance. "Same thing. Guess I'm not 'good enough' even when I'm perfect."

Wooyoung's playful demeanor softened, and he reached out, giving Seonghwa's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, fuck them. You're the smartest guy I know—and the prettiest, for that matter."

That earned the slightest quirk of Seonghwa's lips, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"You don't have to let them get to you, you know," Wooyoung continued, voice low and gentle. "They're just jealous they can't be as awesome as you."

Seonghwa let out a quiet breath, slinging his bag onto his shoulder. "Thanks, Woo. I mean it." His tone was casual, as if Wooyoung's words were no big deal, but the gratitude lingered underneath.

Wooyoung gave him a lopsided grin. "Anytime, hyung."

Without waiting for further conversation, Seonghwa headed toward the door. Wooyoung watched him go, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, biting back the urge to say more.

As Seonghwa disappeared down the hall, Wooyoung whispered to himself, "One of these days, they're gonna see what I see."

Hopefully. Hopefully they would.