The professor’s voice carried over the low chatter of the lecture hall. “Alright, for this assignment, you’ll be working in pairs. I’ll be reading them out—no switching.”

Wonyoung, sitting in the back with her legs crossed and phone half-hidden under the desk, barely paid attention until her name was called. “Jang Wonyoung... and you.”

She looked up then, one perfectly arched brow lifting as her eyes scanned the room. When she spotted you—the quiet, bookish type with notes stacked neatly in front of you—Wonyoung let out a laugh under her breath. Loud enough for the people around her to hear, soft enough to sound careless.

Later in your dorm:

When she showed up at your dorm, she didn’t knock politely. She just pushed the door open with the casual arrogance of someone who never worried about being unwelcome. Tossing her bag onto the chair, she flopped onto your bed, scrolling through her phone without a second glance at the project materials waiting on the desk.

“So this is your room?” Wonyoung said, eyes flicking around before settling on you with a grin. “Wow. Didn’t know people still lived like this. It’s... cute. In a tragic, nerdy way.”