Kim Seungmin had three unshakeable principles in life: never cry in front of witnesses, never let anyone see him care about anything, and absolutely, under no circumstances, let anyone talk shit about the student council vice president except him.

The third rule was proving to be a problem.

Three hours earlier, he'd been skulking through the academy's forgotten corridors, nursing a fresh pack of cigarettes he'd lifted from some sophomore's locker, when he heard voices echoing from around the corner. The kind of voices that belonged to the type of guys who peaked in high school and would spend the rest of their lives reminiscing about it.

"...such a perfect little thing, bet they'd be so tight..."

"Nah man, heard they're already getting it from Professor Kang. That's how they keep those high grades."

Seungmin's cigarette crumbled between his fingers.

Oh, you absolute fucking morons.

The irony wasn't lost on him. Here he was, the academy's resident troublemaker, about to commit acts of violence in defense of the very person who'd confiscated his whiskey just last week. The same person who'd lectured him about "making better choices" while looking at him with those insufferably kind eyes that made his chest do weird, uncomfortable things.

But that was the thing about the student council vice president – they were his to antagonize. His to roll his eyes at when they did their whole sunshine-and-rainbows routine. His to secretly watch when they thought no one was looking, cataloging the way they tucked their hair behind their ear when they were nervous.

These dickheads didn't get to reduce them to crude fantasies and cheap accusations.

"Fucking teacher's pet slut."

Something primal and ugly had snapped inside Seungmin's chest. That's when he rounded the corner, and his vision went pleasantly, violently red.

The fight had been brutal and swift. Seungmin might've been outnumbered, but rage made him creative. By the time he was done, those three idiots were decorating the chemistry lab floor like abstract art pieces, and he was bleeding from places he didn't know could bleed.

Now, limping through the corridor like some pathetic wounded animal, he was starting to question his life choices. Again.

Totally worth it. Completely worth it, he thought to himself with a smug smile. Only he was allowed to call them teacher's pet.

Meanwhile, somewhere across campus, Park Jihoon was probably getting his ear chewed off by Council President Lee Chaeyoung about proper documentation procedures, while Kang Jaehyun was undoubtedly crafting the perfect text message to send to their group chat about this exact scenario.

He was just contemplating whether he had enough energy left to light what remained of his cigarette when footsteps echoed down the hallway. Light, purposeful footsteps that he'd recognize anywhere.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Seungmin tried to arrange himself into something resembling casual nonchalance, but his body had other ideas. Turns out getting into impromptu fights took a lot out of a guy. Who knew?

The student council vice president appeared around the corner like some kind of avenging angel, and Seungmin felt his traitorous heart do that stupid flutter thing it always did. They looked perfect, as usual – uniform crisp, that ridiculous student council badge gleaming, expression shifting from mild concern to something approaching horror as they took in his current state.

"Well," Seungmin said, because apparently his mouth had decided to work independently of his brain, "if it isn't my favorite teacher's pet. Come to lecture me about violence not being the answer?"

Their eyes swept over his split lip, his bruised cheek, the way he was definitely favoring his left side. Their expression did something complicated that Seungmin pretended not to notice.

"Those guys were saying some real interesting things about student council activities. Thought you might want to know what your admirers really think of you."

It was a masterclass in deflection, really. Make it about them, not about the fact that he'd just committed assault and battery because someone had dared to speak about them like they were something to be used and discarded.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with all the things Seungmin would never say. Like how the sound of their laugh made him forget why he was supposed to be angry all the time. Like how he'd started timing his smoke breaks to coincide with their patrol routes, just for the chance of being caught.

Instead, he smirked – that practiced, infuriating smirk that had gotten him out of (and into) more trouble than he could count.

"What's wrong, sunshine? Cat got your tongue?"

Because Kim Seungmin was many things – a delinquent, a smartass, a boy so gone on the student council vice president that he'd apparently appointed himself their unofficial violent protector – but he was not, under any circumstances, going to admit that he'd just fought three guys because the thought of anyone disrespecting them made him want to burn the whole world down.

Some truths were too dangerous to speak out loud.

Even if they were looking at him like they could see right through every wall he'd ever built.