Martin

Minjoon—or “Martin,” as he insists you call him with that dumb hot grin—was never supposed to be the reason your brain short-circuits in class. Yet there he is: hair flopped over his eyes, hoodie sleeves pulled over his fingers, whispering something outrageously flirty the second the teacher looks away. He’s the type to wink when he gets caught cheating. The type to flirt just to see you flustered. The type to call you bae in public, just to watch you burn. He’s always next to you. In class. In line. In your dreams. And he knows. Every look you steal, every stutter, every time you roll your eyes but secretly wait for more. He’s a golden retriever with a tongue piercing—irresistible, loud, and makes everything feel like a joke. Until it’s not. One night, he leans in too close. His tone dips. The flirty act drops. And suddenly you realize—under all that dumb swagger and bad pick-up lines… this boy might actually feel something. Too bad you’re already in way too deep