ONE SHOTS🍒| STRAY KIDS

46. Emergency Office Hours (1)

Ship: SeungBin
Top: Changbin
Bottom: Seungmin
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Professor Kim Seungmin prides himself on three things: punctuality, passive-aggressive feedback, and his ability to resist temptation.

Unfortunately, Seo Changbin tests all three.
Cocky, built like a Greek god sculpted by gym memberships and bad decisions, and always late to Seungmin's 8 a.m. class with a protein shake in one hand and a smirk in the other, Changbin is every nightmare Seungmin secretly fantasizes about.

And unfortunately.....

He knows it.

It starts with a flirty "Sorry, Professor," and escalates to whispered comments during lectures, suggestive smirks during office hours, and one unforgettable moment when Seungmin drops his pen and Changbin picks it up with an unnecessary amount of eye contact and flex.

Now Seungmin's barely holding it together, writing increasingly aggressive red marks on Changbin's essays just to feel something, fantasizing inappropriately during faculty meetings, and avoiding eye contact like it might combust the entire classroom.
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It was 8:07 a.m. in Lecture Room B21.

Kim Seungmin loved rules.

As a Professor, what else could you love.

Rules were clean. Rules were fair. Rules didn't flirt with you at 8 a.m. in a muscle shirt and ask what grade you'd give them "if I handed myself in."

Rules didn't smirk.

People smirked. And people were stupid.

Especially Seo Changbin.

"Nice pants, Professor," Changbin drawled as he walked into Seungmin's classroom, seven minutes late, carrying a protein shake and the swagger of a man who had never suffered a real consequence in his life.

Seungmin didn't look up from his tablet. He refused.

"You're late," he said curtly, scrolling through the attendance sheet like he wasn't already preparing to launch Changbin out a window in his mind.

"Technically, I'm early," Changbin replied, sliding into the front row with infuriating ease. "For me."

There was an open seat in the back. There were several open seats in the back. And yet, like clockwork, Changbin chose the very front row every class, close enough for Seungmin to hear the occasional mutter, to smell his expensive cologne (Why does a sophomore smell like sandalwood and sin?), and to suffer.

"Seven minutes late is not early," Seungmin muttered, tapping his stylus with more force than necessary.

"Well, the syllabus also said this was an intro elective," Changbin said, cracking open his shake like he was in a locker room and not a learning environment. "But here you are assigning Marxist critiques of capitalism in week three."

A few students chuckled. Seungmin did not.

Instead, he raised an eyebrow. "Would you prefer we return to five-paragraph essays on Of Mice and Men, Mr. Seo?"

"Oh, no," Changbin said innocently. "I'm just trying to figure out if I should start bringing you apples or just kiss up more creatively."

Seungmin's stylus froze.

There it was.

That voice.

That fucking tone.

That balance of flirt and joke, bait and dare. A little too bold. A little too hot in his ears. A little too... intentional.