Ellie tells him to stop the first time under her breath. "Seojoon," she mutters, eyes still on the board. "Stop talking."

"I am not talking," he whispers back, far too amused. "See? Whispering." He leans back in his chair, tipping it onto two legs like he owns the space. "Relax. She hasn't noticed."

As if summoned, the teacher's voice cuts through the room. "Seojoon. Ellie. That's your first warning."

Ellie's stomach tightens instantly. She straightens, shoulders back, pen poised. "Sorry," she says, sharp and polite, the kind of apology that means I'm done.

Seojoon flashes an easy grin. "Won't happen again."

Ellie cuts him a look that very clearly says don't test that.

He does anyway.

Ten minutes later, she feels it before she sees it, his foot nudging hers under the desk. A folded piece of paper slides onto her notebook, brushing the edge of her notes.

You're tense today.

She doesn't look at it. She pushes it back with the tip of her pen, neat and decisive, so that the piece of paper is out of her sight. 

He chuckles. Quietly. Too quietly. Just loud enough.

"Second warning," the teacher snaps. "Both of you."

Ellie's pulse pounds in her ears. She turns slightly, voice barely audible.

"Are you trying to get me in trouble?"

He shrugs, unfazed. "You're already in it with me."

Her jaw tightens. "I didn't agree to that." She shifts her chair away, creating space where she can. Keeps her head down. Writes notes she already knows by heart just to anchor herself to something safe.

Seojoon doesn't stop.

A comment murmured under his breath. A tap of his pen. He leans closer again.

"Seriously," Ellie hisses, "leave me alone."

"I'm bored."

It happens fast after that.

"Enough."

The teacher slams her hand on the desk.

"Ellie. Seojoon. Gather your things."

The room goes dead silent.

Ellie's heart drops straight into her stomach. "I wasn't "

"I said gather your things," the teacher repeats, voice cold. "You've disrupted my class enough today. Principal's office. Now."

Heat floods Ellie's face. Every single eye in the room is on her. She stands slowly, movements controlled, dignity clinging by a thread. Her reputation, her clean record, her effort with teachers  flashes through her mind like something fragile slipping from her grasp.

Seojoon mutters, "Wow."

She doesn't look at him.

The hallway feels endless. Ellie walks two steps ahead, spine straight, hands clenched at her sides. Seojoon trails behind, scuffing his shoes like this is mildly entertaining.

"This is stupid," he says.

She stops abruptly and turns on him. "Don't," she says quietly. "Not now."

He frowns. "You're acting like I'm the only one responsible."

"You're not innocent," he adds. "You talked too. You could've ignored me."

Her breath catches. "Excuse me?" She stares at him, genuinely shocked. "I tried ignoring you. Multiple times. You wouldn't let me."

The office door looms ahead, solid and final. Inside, the principal gestures for them to sit. The room is colorless, cold. It smells like paper, old carpet, and embarrassment.

The teacher explains everything without pause. Repeated disruptions. Multiple warnings. No improvement.

Ellie opens her mouth to defend herself, then stops. Because Seojoon says it first.

"We were both talking," he says. "So yeah, it's on both of us."

Ellie turns slowly toward him. Her chest feels hollow. The anger is there, sharp and burning, but it steals her voice completely.

"Miss Langford," the principal says, disappointment clear, "this is very surprising from such a smart student with a bright future ahead of her."

Seojoon rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed by the praise even in the middle of trouble. Ellie looks down instead, heat crawling up her neck.

"Shared responsibility, then," the principal concludes. "Detention. Both of you."

Ellie's head snaps up. "What?" "I told him to stop," she says, voice tight but controlled. "I asked to be left alone."

The principal raises an eyebrow. "Yet you continued engaging."

Ellie looks at Seojoon. He doesn't meet her eyes.

Outside, the office door clicks shut behind them.

Ellie doesn't speak at first. She focuses on keeping herself together. On keeping her fists unclenched.

"Thanks," she says finally, voice sharp with sarcasm. "Really outstanding, Seojoon."

He shrugs. "It was going to happen anyway."

"No," she snaps, turning on him. "It was going to happen to you. Not me. Only you."

He laughs under his breath. "You're acting like this ruins your life."

"You don't get it," she says, stepping closer. "I don't get in trouble. Ever. And you dragged me into it because you didn't care enough to stop. I put everything into school, everything, and you did this. That's selfish." She stops then continues her monologue. "Maybe you don't care, but I do." 

She steps back, walls sliding firmly into place.

"Don't talk to me in class again," she says, voice steady now, colder than before. "Don't sit near me. And don't ever assume I'll clean up your messes."

She turns and walks away before he can answer. Her footsteps echo down the hallway, each one measured, controlled. She keeps her head high even as her chest burns, even as the humiliation clings to her skin like something she can't scrub off yet. Students pass her, whispering, curious. Ellie doesn't slow. 

Only when she reaches the stairwell does she pause. She exhales slowly, forcing the air out of her lungs, forcing the anger down with it. Detention. A note in her file. Something small, rationally, but to her it feels like a crack in glass she worked years to keep perfect.

She hates that he caused it.

Meanwhile, Seojoon hadn't moved. He stands where she left him, hands shoved into his pockets, watching her disappear around the corner. The hallway feels quieter than it should, like the building itself is holding its breath. For once, he doesn't have anything smart to say. No joke rises to the surface. No careless grin comes to his rescue.

He hadn't meant for it to go that far. That's the problem, he realizes too late. He never means for anything to go anywhere, it just does. 

He scuffs his shoe against the floor, jaw tightening. Detention barely registers. He's had worse. What lingers is the look she gave him in the office, sharp and wounded, like she'd finally decided exactly what he was worth. And it wasn't much.

The bell finally rings, shrill and unforgiving.