Jang Woonyeong's Pov

I adjusted my hair, the black strands with subtle brown highlights falling just right over my forehead. At 19, I knew I looked put-together

—smart, talented, the kind of guy who could ace any exam without breaking a sweat. But appearances only got you so far.

I was extroverted, friendly, always flashing a smile to anyone who passed by in the hallways of this sprawling university campus. Yet, here I was, alone in a room I'd reserved for my "study group."It wasn't really about studying. Sure, I was top of my class in literature and math, but the real reason?

Connections. Friends. Real ones, not the superficial nods from classmates who thought I was "weird" because I talked too much about books or dreamed too big about post-grad life.

I had a few close acquaintances—people I'd chat with in lectures

—but no one who'd stick around for late-night talks or shared secrets. It didn't crush me; my confidence was my armor. So, I posted: Join Jang Woonyeong's Study Group! Ace your exams and make friends along the way! Meetings every Tuesday in Room 204.

That was two weeks ago. Today was the third session, and the room was as empty as my inbox. No one had signed up, not even a curious peek through the door.

I sat at the head of the long table, surrounded by neatly stacked textbooks and a whiteboard scribbled with potential discussion topics. The clock ticked past 4 PM, the golden afternoon light filtering through the windows, mocking my solitude.

My shoulders slumped. For the first time, the confidence cracked. What's wrong with me? I thought, staring at my reflection in the darkened phone screen. Am I really that off-putting? Hope flickered out like a snuffed candle.

Maybe it was time to call it quits. Pack up, go back to my dorm, and pretend this never happened

.Choi Taemin's POV

I leaned against the wall outside Room 204,— as I scanned the flyer one more time. Not the sharpest tool in the academic shed, but I had common sense.

At 19, I kept things calm, letting the world roll by without much fuss. Cocky? Maybe a little, especially when people underestimated me.

Open-minded, though—that was my edge. I didn't chase crowds or grades; I went where curiosity led.The hallways were buzzing with students rushing to clubs or cafes, but something about this flyer caught me. Study group? I wasn't desperate for help—my grades were passable—but the "make friends" part? Intriguing.

I'd seen the guy around: Jang Woonyeong, the energetic one with the long hair and endless enthusiasm. He seemed genuine, not like the fake extroverts who drained you. And honestly, my social circle was as thin as his probably was. Why not? Pushing off the wall, I straightened my jacket and stepped inside.

The room was dead silent, save for the soft rustle of pages. There he was, alone at the table, looking smaller than his reputation suggested. His eyes lifted, surprise flashing across his face.

Jang Woonyeong's Pov

The door creaked open, and I nearly jumped. In walked a guy I recognized vaguely from my economics class—Choi Taemin, right? Brown curtain mullet, calm vibe, like he owned the room without trying. He had that cocky tilt to his smile, but it wasn't off-putting.

More like... intriguing."Uh, hi," I said, straightening up too quickly, my voice brighter than I felt. "You here for the study group?"He nodded, sliding into a chair across from me without hesitation.

"Yeah. I saw the flyer. I'd like to join."My eyes sparked—literally, I could feel the warmth rush back into my chest. Hope, reignited. Just like that. One person. But it was a start. A real connection, maybe?

Choi Taemin's POV

His face lit up, that extroverted energy snapping back like a rubber band. It was almost cute, the way his confidence bloomed right there. "Cool," I replied, leaning back casually. "What're we studying first? I'm not a genius, but I've got common sense.

"As he launched into an explanation—something about literature analysis—I watched him, open-minded as always. This could be interesting. The empty room didn't feel so empty anymore. Little did I know, this was just the spark of something slower, softer. Our story beginning, one awkward conversation at a time.

Jang Woonyeong's POV

My excitement was practically bouncing off the walls. One person! One person was enough to start. I launched into my meticulously planned agenda for the study group, detailing our approach to upcoming literature essays.

"So, for the analysis of 'The Great Gatsby,' I propose we tackle it by focusing on the symbolism of the green light and the role of the American Dream," I explained, gesturing enthusiastically with my pen.

"We can also delve into the character dynamics, especially between Gatsby and Tom Buchanan.

"Choi Taemin just sat there, listening intently, occasionally nodding. His calm presence was a stark contrast to my usual whirlwind of ideas.

I paused, suddenly self-conscious. Was I overwhelming him? Was this too much for a first session with just two people? "Does that... sound good to you?" I asked, my voice wavering slightly.

He finally spoke, his voice low and steady.

"Sounds good. But before we dive into symbolism, maybe we should quickly outline the key plot points and character motivations? Just to make sure we're both on the same page, foundational stuff."My eyes widened.

He was right. Completely right. I had been so caught up in the advanced analysis that I'd skipped the basics. My cheeks flushed slightly.

"That's... an excellent point, Taemin. Thank you."He offered a small, almost imperceptible smile.

"No problem. Common sense, remember?"We spent the next hour doing just that—outlining the plot, discussing character intentions, and surprisingly, finding common ground on interpretations.

I found myself genuinely enjoying the discussion, not just the fact that someone was there. Taemin had a way of cutting through my sometimes overly academic explanations with practical, grounded observations.

He asked insightful questions that I hadn't considered, making me see the material from a fresh perspective.

When the hour was up, I felt energized, not drained. "This was actually really productive," I said, gathering my notes. "More than I expected."He stood up, stretching slightly. "Yeah, I guess it was. See you next week?""Definitely!"

I practically chirped. The empty room didn't feel so empty anymore. It felt like a space where something new, something real, could grow.

Choi Taemin's POV

Woonyeong was a lot. Like, a lot a lot. He dove straight into "The Great Gatsby" symbolism with the fervor of a seasoned professor, his long trim hair occasionally falling into his eyes as he gestured.

I just let him talk, observing. He was clearly passionate, and genuinely smart, but also a little oblivious to the fact that people might need a primer before dissecting literary theory.

When he finally paused, looking a bit uncertain, I interjected. "Foundational stuff first,"

I suggested, keeping my tone even. He seemed to appreciate the guidance, his initial enthusiasm quickly shifting to thoughtful consideration.

That was good. He wasn't just talking; he was listening.We spent the session breaking down the novel, and I found myself genuinely engaged. He had a way of explaining things that made complex ideas accessible, and my "common sense"

often helped bridge the gap to practical understanding. It was a good balance. He saw the big picture, I saw the step-by-step.His face was bright when he said, "This was actually really productive."

There was a genuine surprise in his voice, as if he hadn't expected it either. It made me smile internally."Yeah, I guess it was," I replied, standing up. "See you next week?" I meant it. There was something about Woonyeong, his unfiltered enthusiasm and underlying vulnerability, that was unexpectedly appealing.

Plus, I actually learned something. Maybe this study group wasn't such a bad idea after all. As I walked out, I thought about his excited "Definitely!" It felt like the beginning of something.

Jang Woonyeong's POV

The week between our first session and the second felt like an eternity wrapped in anticipation.

I replayed every moment in my head—Taemin's calm nods, his practical suggestions, the way his brown curtain mullet caught the light when he tilted his head thoughtfully.

It wasn't just that he'd shown up; it was how he engaged, like he actually cared about the discussion, not just passing time.

For the first time in forever, I wasn't dreading the empty room. Instead, I arrived early to Room 204, armed with fresh flyers (just in case), a stack of annotated copies of The Great Gatsby, and even some snacks—simple things like chocolate bars and iced teas from the campus vending machine. If this was going to be a real study group, even with just two of us, I wanted it to feel welcoming.

I arranged everything on the table: notebooks open to key passages, highlighters in a neat row, and my laptop ready for any digital resources.

My long trim haircut was freshly trimmed that morning, the black with brown highlights styled just so, because why not? Confidence was key, even if inside, my stomach twisted with nerves.

What if he didn't come? What if the spark from last time was a fluke? I pushed the thoughts away, humming a tune under my breath as I scribbled potential essay outlines on the whiteboard.

The clock hit 4 PM, and the door opened right on time. There was Taemin, looking effortlessly cool in a simple hoodie and jeans, his brown hair falling in that effortless curtain mullet style.

He carried a backpack slung over one shoulder, and for a split second, our eyes met—his steady gaze meeting my eager one.

My heart did a little flip, which I quickly attributed to excitement over the session.

"Hey, you're right on time," I said, flashing my brightest smile as he slid into the seat across from me. "I brought snacks. Figured we could use some fuel for round two."

He raised an eyebrow, that cocky hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he dropped his bag. "Snacks? Didn't peg you for the hosting type, Woonyeong. But sure, I'll take one."

He reached for an iced tea, popping the top with a casual flick. It was such a small thing, but it made the room feel less like a classroom and more like... a hangout. Progress.

We dove in, picking up where we left off. I started with the green light symbolism again, but this time, I incorporated his suggestion from last week, outlining the plot beats first.

"So, after Gatsby's parties and the tension with Daisy, the green light represents not just unattainable dreams, but also the illusion of hope,"

I explained, underlining a quote in my book. "What do you think—does it tie into Taemin's idea of practical motivations? Like, Gatsby's not just romantic; he's calculated."Taemin leaned forward, his calm demeanor unbroken as he flipped through his own worn copy of the novel.

He'd clearly done some reading on his own—notes scribbled in the margins, which surprised me.

"Yeah, calculated for sure. But it's that common sense gap: he chases the dream without seeing the real barriers, like social class.

Daisy's not just a person; she's a status symbol." His voice was even, but there was a spark in his eyes, like he enjoyed challenging the layers.

I nodded vigorously, jotting down his point. "Exactly! That's a fresh angle. Most people just romanticize it.

" We went back and forth like that for what felt like minutes but was probably half an hour—debating character flaws, sketching mind maps on scrap paper, even laughing when I mispronounced a character's name in my enthusiasm.

His cockiness showed in little jabs, like when he teased, "You're overthinking Tom's jealousy; it's not Shakespeare, it's just ego." But it was light, open-minded, pulling me into the conversation rather than shutting it down.At one point, our hands brushed while reaching for the same highlighter.

It was accidental—purely—but the warmth lingered on my skin longer than it should have. I pulled back quickly, focusing on the page, but I caught him glancing at me, his expression unreadable.

Was that curiosity? Or just the room's stuffy air? I shook it off, steering us toward essay structure. "Okay, for the assignment due next week, we could structure it like this: intro on the American Dream, body on symbols, conclusion on modern relevance.

""Solid plan," he agreed, his tone approving. "But add a section on how it mirrors real life. Makes it less stuffy.

"By the time we wrapped up the Gatsby deep-dive, the snacks were half-gone, and the whiteboard was a colorful mess of arrows and bullet points. I felt alive, buzzing with ideas.

This wasn't just studying; it was connecting. "Hey, Taemin," I ventured as we packed up, my voice softer than usual.

"Thanks for coming again. It means a lot. I was... kinda worried no one would stick around.

"He paused, zipping his backpack, and looked at me directly—those calm eyes holding mine for a beat too long. "No big deal.

It's actually kinda fun. Beats studying alone." There was that smirk again, but softer this time. "Plus, your breakdowns aren't half bad."My cheeks warmed, and I laughed it off.

"High praise from the common sense king." As he headed for the door, I called out, "Same time next week? Maybe we tackle poetry next—something lighter?"He turned, nodding.

"Yeah. See you." The door clicked shut, and I sank into my chair, replaying the brush of hands, the shared laughs.

Something was shifting, slow and subtle, like the first hints of spring after a long winter.

Choi Taemin's POV

Walking to Room 204 felt different this time. Last week's session had lingered in my mind more than I'd admit—Woonyeong's energy, the way he lit up over a well-phrased analysis.

I wasn't one for overthinking, but curiosity had me rereading chunks of The Great Gatsby on my own.

Not because I needed to impress him or anything; just... open-minded exploration. At 19, I kept life simple: classes, occasional hangs with vague acquaintances, no drama. But Woonyeong?

He was a puzzle—extroverted yet isolated, confident yet vulnerable. Intriguing.I pushed the door open at exactly 4, spotting him mid-setup.

The table looked like a feast: books, notes, even snacks. His long trim haircut was impeccable, black with those brown highlights catching the light, and his smile hit me like a casual wave. Friendly, genuine. "Hey," I said, sliding in. The iced tea was a nice touch—cold and refreshing amid the campus heat.

He jumped right into it, but smarter this time, building on our last talk. I liked that; he listened. As we dissected the green light, I threw in my take on social barriers, watching his face light up. "Exactly!"

he said, scribbling furiously. It was easy to banter with him—his enthusiasm pulled responses out of me I didn't plan. When I teased about Tom's ego, he laughed, a real one that crinkled his eyes. Cute, in a non-committal way.The hand brush? Accidental, sure.

But I felt it too—the brief warmth, the way he flushed and dove back into the book. I glanced at him then, wondering if he noticed how the room felt smaller, cozier. Nah, probably just the snacks.

We mapped out the essay, my suggestion for a real-life tie-in landing well. He was good at this—talented, yeah, but also adaptable. It balanced my calm with his spark.

Packing up, he got real for a second: "Thanks for coming again. It means a lot." Vulnerability peeked through his confidence, and something in me softened. I wasn't used to that—people relying on me subtly. "No big deal," I replied, meaning it. "It's actually kinda fun.

" Fun. Understatement. His laugh at my "common sense king" jab eased the moment, and as I left, his invite for poetry next week hung in the air. Lighter topics? Sounded good.Outside, the campus paths were alive with students, but my mind wandered back to the room.

Woonyeong's energy wasn't overwhelming anymore; it was... pulling me in. Slow, sure, but undeniably there. I smirked to myself, adjusting my curtain mullet against the breeze. This study group? Yeah, I was in for the long haul.

Jang Woonyeong's POV

That night, back in my dorm, I couldn't sleep right away. The room was quiet, just the hum of the fan and distant chatter from the hallway.

I flipped through our shared notes on my phone—photos I'd snapped of the whiteboard, Taemin's margin scribbles I'd glimpsed. His handwriting was neat, surprisingly so, with little doodles next to key quotes.

A stick-figure Gatsby chasing a light? It made me chuckle.I thought about the session: how he'd challenged me without dismissing, how his cocky smirks hid a genuine interest. No one had ever stuck around like this, seeing past the "weird" label. My few close acquaintances texted sporadically, but Taemin? He showed up,

engaged, made it better. The hand brush replayed in my mind, innocent but electric. Was I reading too much into it? Probably. This was just friendship budding, slow and soft.Still, as I drifted off, I pictured next week—poetry, maybe sharing favorite lines over more snacks.

The hope from that first day? It was blooming now, tentative but real.

Taemin had joined my world, and quietly, I was stepping into his.

Choi Taemin's POV

My evening was low-key: grabbing takeout from the campus food truck, scrolling through my phone in my cramped dorm. But Woonyeong's words echoed—"It means a lot."

He didn't say it dramatically, just honest, and it stuck. I wasn't the type to collect friends; my circle was small, practical. Calm suited me. Yet here I was, pulling out The Great Gatsby again,

skimming for poetry ties—wait, no, next was poetry proper.His enthusiasm was contagious, I admitted to myself. The way he gestured, hair falling just so, eyes bright with ideas.

And that flush after our hands touched? Mirror of my own subtle shift. Cocky as I could be, I wasn't blind to the undercurrent—the slow pull of connection. Open-minded, remember? This could be something. Not rushing it, though. Just... seeing where it led.I set the book aside, smirking at the ceiling.

Study group sweethearts? Nah, too early for labels. But next week couldn't come soon enough.