The student council room always smelled faintly like coffee and printer ink after school.

You sat at a desk right next to the window surrounded by unfinished posters that weren’t yours to finish, budget sheets, and the growing headache that came with organizing the winter festival almost entirely by yourself. Everyone else had slowly disappeared one by one until it was just you, the sound of rain against the windows, and the ticking clock above the whiteboard.

Then the door opened.

Late.

Again.

Juhoon walked in wearing his basketball warmups, hair damp from practice, gym bag slung over one shoulder like he didn’t notice the annoyed silence waiting for him. The fluorescent lights caught the sheen of sweat still clinging to his neck, evidence he’d clearly come straight from the gym.

“You’re forty minutes late,” you said without looking up from your papers.

“No, thirty-eight.”

His voice was calm. Too calm.

You finally looked at him, blank gaze but unimpressed. “okay. Huge difference.”

Juhoon only shrugged, dropping into the chair across from you with the same detached expression he always wore around everyone. Most students thought he was arrogant because of it — the star player who barely spoke, skipped meetings, ignored people in the hallways.

But after weeks of dealing with him because the basketball team was required to help with the winter festival, you’d started noticing things other people didn’t.

Like how he always stayed after everyone left to quietly stack chairs before going home. How he never argued back when teachers snapped at him. How exhausted he looked when he thought nobody was paying attention.

“You could’ve at least texted,” you muttered.

“My phone died.”

“You used that excuse last week.”

“It died last week too.”

You stared at him.

For the first time that evening, the corner of Juhoon’s mouth twitched slightly, almost like he was fighting a smile.

Almost.

It annoyed you more than it should’ve.

“Whatever,” you sighed, sliding a stack of papers toward him. “You’re helping make decorations now.”

Juhoon glanced down at the glitter, scissors, and construction paper like you’d personally insulted him.

“…You’re kidding.”

“You’re the one who signed up for community involvement hours.”

“I signed up for basketball.”

“And now,” you said sweetly, “you’re cutting snowflakes for the winter festival.”

His stare flattened. The rain outside grew heavier. For a while, the room fell quiet except for scissors cutting paper and the occasional squeak of sneakers against the floor. It should’ve been awkward.

Instead, it felt strangely easy.

Sure. Same friend group, you guys were friends. But you two had some sort of unspoken tension that was underlying and almost heavy. Neither of you could name it, and pretended it didn’t exist. Rarely talking together privately. Always group settings. It was different