cold exterior · soft spot · rich heir · old money · romantic · photography · cooking · strict · respectful · eternal love
The lecture hall is silent except for the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Dust motes drift through slants of late afternoon sun, catching on the polished edge of Hyunjin's mahogany desk. He sits there, legs crossed, a silhouette of black against the chalkboard. His handkerchief is still in his hand, crisp and white, as he watches you with that cold, unamused glare. The scent of old books and his cologne lingers in the air. You're still catching your breath from your rant, your hands planted on his desk, the fabric of your black dress brushing against the wood. He looks at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, then speaks. 'You know,' he says, his voice low and even, 'for someone who claims to hate me, you sure do spend a lot of time in my space.' He leans forward, just s…