Chapter Text
The music in the living room thundered so loudly that the floor vibrated beneath everyone’s feet, pulsing in time with the bass. In the center of the circle, on the carpet, an empty cola bottle spun, passing its silent verdict. When the neck finally came to a stop, two guys—amid whistles and playful jeers—jostled each other with their shoulders and headed toward the narrow closet by the entryway.
Yoon Ji followed them with a brief glance and took a sip of her drink, an uninvited question slipping into her mind: Why am I even here?
She wasn’t a bore or a stereotypical bookworm afraid of sunlight. Yoon Ji knew how to make friends, how to laugh, and how to enjoy parties like this one—celebrating the midpoint of their studies. But tonight felt different. She knew why she had really come, even though she would never admit it—not even to herself.
The reason was sitting just a couple of meters away.
James.
Her personal headache for the past six months.
From the moment he transferred into their group halfway through the semester, he had turned her life into an endless obstacle course. James somehow managed to be everywhere at once. He showed up at every loud party, played sports, shone in every social circle—and at the same time, inexplicably, delivered brilliant academic results.
Right now, he sat among his friends, lounging back in his chair. He laughed at someone’s joke—loudly, freely, without a trace of self-consciousness—commanding everyone’s attention with his insane charisma. At one point, his sharp, attentive gaze slid over the room and landed on her.
Yoon Ji immediately looked away, adopting the most indifferent expression she could muster, as if she were suddenly fascinated by the wallpaper pattern on the far wall.
“I didn’t expect you to play games like this, class president,” his voice cut through the music, carrying a distinct smirk.
Yoon Ji slowly turned her head. She didn’t avert her gaze—only narrowed her eyes slightly, letting a cool, answering smile touch her lips.
“What? Wasn’t that part of your plan?” she shot back, lifting her chin.
“My plans are a lot bigger than just watching you from a corner,” James said, winking at her. A wave of approving murmurs and laughter rolled through his friends.
He really was the life of the party. Damn it—he was ridiculously popular, and that irritated Yoon Ji more than anything. They weren’t enemies in the traditional sense; they never sabotaged each other behind the scenes. But their rivalry was so tangible it felt as if the air itself sparked whenever they were in the same room.
What hurt Yoon Ji most was how easily everything came to him. She spent hours in the library, meticulously checking every line of her notes, while James could skip half the lectures, stroll into an exam half-asleep—and still end up with the same score as hers. Or, increasingly often, one point higher.
The bottle on the table began to spin again. Yoon Ji felt everything inside her tense. She watched the glass rotate, and out of the corner of her eye saw James lean forward, his mocking gaze never leaving her.
The bottle slowed, scraping lazily against the table, until at last its neck stopped—pointing directly at Yoon Ji.
The room erupted. Whistles, cheers, applause filled the space. Yoon Ji had expected it; luck always seemed to have a peculiar sense of humor at gatherings like this.
Not a single muscle in her face twitched. Calmly—wearing the very composure that drove her rivals mad—she stood up. At that moment, the two guys stumbled out of the closet, looking dazed and wiping their lips, sparking another wave of laughter.
Yoon Ji walked over to the closet door and stopped, folding her arms across her chest. Outwardly—a rock. Inside—a tightly drawn string. She silently watched as one of the guys raised his hand over the bottle again, repeating the same phrase in her head like a mantra: Anyone but him. Anyone, just not James. She would have survived those seven minutes even with Martin, listening to his stupid ideas, or with someone from another group—anything to avoid her chief irritation.
“O-o-oh, James!” someone’s excited cry sliced through the noise, and a murmur rippled through the crowd.
Yoon Ji looked at the table. The bottle’s neck, as if mocking her, froze in a perfect line pointing at the guy in the black hoodie.
Perfect, flashed through her mind.
The worst possible scenario had just become reality.
James took his time. He rose slowly, fixed his hair, and looked at Yoon Ji as though he had already won this round. His grin widened, and those familiar sparks danced in his eyes—the ones that usually signaled another dose of sarcasm.
“Well then, class president?” he said, stepping close enough that she caught the scent of his cologne—a mix of citrus and something sharp. “Looks like the heavens heard your prayers. Or did you bribe the bottle just to get me alone?”
“In your dreams, James,” she cut in, turning toward the door. “Get in and shut up. These will be the longest seven minutes of your life.”
Martin, beaming like he’d been polished, stood by the door with a stopwatch in hand.
“Welcome to paradise, ladies and gentlemen! Time starts now!”
Inside the closet, it was so cramped that every breath felt shared. Yoon Ji pressed her back against the cold wall, trying to keep as much distance as the box-filled space allowed.
The darkness was almost tangible, yet even in it she felt his gaze on her skin. James wasn’t just looking—he was drilling into her, unblinking.
The silence pressed harder than the music outside. A minute passed, then another. He stayed quiet, and that unfamiliar absence of jabs frightened Yoon Ji more than his bold jokes ever had.
“What?” she finally whispered, unable to take it anymore.
James didn’t answer.
“What? Why are you staring at me like that?” Her voice sharpened with rising nerves. “Cat got your tongue? Where are all your quips?”
“You told me to keep quiet,” his voice came back—unexpectedly low and calm.
Yoon Ji snorted, folding her arms tighter.
“Since when did you become so obedient?”
She couldn’t see his face, but she clearly sensed his smile—that unmistakable sound of a smirk. Another pause followed, during which she tried to steady her racing heart.
“Class president,” he suddenly asked, curiosity flickering in his tone, “have you… ever kissed anyone?”
Yoon Ji froze. The question caught her off guard, knocking the wind out of her composure.
“What’s it to you?” she snapped, struggling to keep her voice steady.
“So you haven’t,” he concluded with a light chuckle, catching her defensive reaction. “Of course not. You probably spend all day buried in your textbooks. No time for anything else, right?”
She frowned in the darkness, irritation boiling inside.
And whose fault is that? she thought bitterly. If this “genius” hadn’t been breathing down her neck in every ranking, she might have let herself go on a date at least once. Admitting that to him, though, would have been surrender.
“My personal life is none of your business,” she said through clenched teeth. “Worry about your own. From what I hear, you’re already busy enough.”
James took a step forward—tiny, but enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from his chest.
“Rumors lie,” he said softly. “You weren’t there, so they don’t count.”
She tried not to betray her unease, but there was nowhere to hide in the narrow closet. Her eyes darted through the darkness, clinging to the outlines of boxes, anything to avoid his gaze, which felt like it could burn straight through her.
Noticing her hesitation, James smiled wider. A new plan formed in his mind, and leaning in slightly, he whispered into her ear:
“Class president… want me to teach you?
I mean—how to kiss.”
Yoon Ji paused, then almost burst out laughing. It was so perfectly him—bold, cocky, and completely inappropriate.
“Let’s pretend I didn’t hear that,” she snapped, trying to reclaim her cool mask.
“I’m just looking out for you,” he persisted, fake concern creeping into his voice. “So you don’t embarrass yourself when it comes to practice. Memorizing formulas and practicing kisses are very different things.”
“How noble of you—I’m about to cry from gratitude,” she shot back sarcastically.
James ignored the jab. He leaned closer, and now she felt his breath on her lips. His cologne—sharp, citrusy—filled the space, tangling her thoughts.
“Come on, class president… I don’t bite,” he whispered, his voice dangerously low.
He stared straight at her, his gaze glued to her lips. The arrogant smile stayed, but his movements were slow, deliberate. He closed the distance centimeter by centimeter, watching her reaction. Yoon Ji felt her back press into the hard shelf, her heartbeat so loud it seemed audible even beyond the music outside.
She should have pushed him away, said something cutting, put him in his place…
But for some reason, her hands froze midair instead of bracing against his chest.
He didn’t wait for formal consent. He simply erased the last few millimeters and covered her lips with his.
The kiss was unhurried, almost lazy—as if he were tasting her, savoring his triumph. Even then, he seemed to be smiling, feeling how she tensed under his pressure. She didn’t push him away or strike him, but she didn’t respond either. Shock and embarrassment made her squeeze her eyes shut until spots danced before them, her lips clamped tight, turning her into a silent statue.
James pulled back just a fraction, barely a hair’s breadth, shifting the angle. His breath scorched her cheek. Seeing her hesitation, he didn’t retreat—he pressed closer.
“Open your mouth…”
The whisper brushed her skin, a command disguised as a request.
Her mind screamed for her to stop this madness, but her body betrayed her. After a torturous second, obeying some strange impulse, she slowly and uncertainly parted her lips.
That was enough for James.
The dam broke. He surged back in with overwhelming force. The caution vanished—now he kissed her deeply, possessively, without the slightest hesitation, exploring her with his tongue.
The world began to spin for Yoon Ji. Her carefully ordered life of schedules, plans, and cool sarcasm shattered inside that cramped closet. She felt the taste of his lips, the pressure of his body, the way his audacity steadily dismantled her last defenses. Her hands, which had been held close to herself, slid up to his shoulders, crumpling the fabric of his hoodie.
What had begun as a brazen lesson spiraled into something uncontrollable and frighteningly intense. James stopped teasing—he kissed her with desperate hunger, dragging her completely out of reality.
When they began to gasp for air, instead of pulling away, they clung to each other even tighter. His hand—hot and heavy—slid from her shoulder down to her waist, pulling her close. Yoon Ji’s fingers dug into his shoulders until her knuckles turned white, and when his tongue touched her again, a soft, broken moan slipped from her throat.
That sound was the last straw for James. He lost control completely, pinning her to the wall as the kiss turned fiercely passionate and dominant, so intense her ears rang.
“That’s it! Seven minutes are up! Come out if you’re still alive!”
Martin’s triumphant shout burst into their private world along with a harsh stripe of light.
The door flew open.
Blinded by the light and horrified by the realization of what had happened, Yoon Ji shoved James hard in the chest. She clapped a hand over her mouth, staring at him with wide, shocked eyes. Her lips burned, her hair was a mess, her glasses slightly askew. Without a word, she shot out of the closet, rushed past their stunned friends, and vanished into the night garden.
Silence fell inside the closet.
Martin and the others stared at James in disbelief. He stood there, leaning against the shelf, breathing heavily. His gaze was unfocused, the taste of her kiss still lingering on his lips. Slowly, he ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, as if trying to seal the moment into memory.
“Dude?” Martin finally said with a grin. “Did that really just happen?”
James didn’t answer. Instead of returning to the group to bask in their reactions, he pushed off the wall and, ignoring his friends, headed after Yoon Ji. The familiar cocky grin was gone, replaced by sharp focus.
Now, they definitely had a lot to talk about—and this time, sarcasm alone wouldn’t get him out of it.