No response. Jongho slouched deeper into his chair, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended him.

Still nothing. A beat of silence stretched thin.

That got his attention. Immediately. Jongho’s jaw tightened, his knuckles going white where his arms were still crossed. He didn’t speak, but the shift in the air was unmistakable.

A loud, theatrical groan cut through the room. Jongho let his head fall back against the chair, eyes squeezed shut like the very idea was physically painful.

Silence. A long, heavy one. Jongho’s glare could’ve melted steel.

Yeosang looked equally miserable. Which, somehow, made Jongho feel slightly better. Misery loves company, after all.

They left the office in tense silence. The hallway stretched long and empty ahead of them, late afternoon light spilling through the windows in golden slabs. Yeosang didn’t look back. He just started walking, shoulders hunched slightly, bag held tight against his side.

Yeosang stared. His heart stuttered in a way he didn’t want to examine too closely. That was the nicest thing Jongho had ever said to him. Ever. And it wasn’t even nice. It was just… not mean.

Jongho nodded once. Then his gaze flicked to the side. A group of students lingered by the lockers, whispering, laughing—eyes trained directly on Yeosang.