Mint Candy Love - Chapter 2.2

His mouth felt dry. The crease between his brows only deepened. Surely, this guy could see that he was a guy, just as Young-han was well aware of the person in front of him.

“Yes, I know,” Yoon Ye-jun replied, unfazed. “But the professor said it didn’t matter if it was a same-gender pair.”
What the…

At a loss, Young-han couldn’t even come up with a response. Instead, Yoon Ye-jun went on.

“If you don’t have a partner, we could team up.”

“No, thanks. I’m dropping the class.”

“Oh, alright…” Yoon Ye-jun nodded, looking genuinely disappointed, then turned and walked away.

“…Huh.”

Stunned, Young-han watched him go, unable to hold back a muttered curse. What’s with that guy? Is he… gay? Was there some kind of invisible sign on him that attracted gay guys? He was already struggling to accept his brother’s orientation, and now this? A strange new world seemed to sweep over him like an unexpected wave.

But he shook it off quickly. He might as well head to his major class instead. Talk about bad luck, he thought. I’ve seen it all now.

A week later.

Thursday, noon. Despite his adamant declarations about dropping the course, here he was, sitting in the middle of Mugunghwa Hall, staring straight ahead with a notebook open in front of him.

Damn it…

He tried to swallow back a curse, but it slipped out in his mind anyway.

The professor entered the hall, some students in the front row greeting him. He acknowledged them with a wave before flipping open his attendance list, starting with names at the back as he’d promised.

“Yoon Ye-jun.”

That familiar name again.

“Present.”

So was that familiar voice. It seemed Yoon Ye-jun had managed to show up on time today. He hadn’t made the best impression on Young-han last week, though; time management issues and fake humility were two of his pet peeves.

The professor continued the roll call, working his way down the list of students.

“Ki Young-han.”

Hearing his own name, Young-han gave a brief response, raising his hand slightly. He expected the professor to move on, but instead, the professor paused and looked his way with a slight smile.

“Ah, Young-han,” he said, as if thinking out loud.

“…”

“You’re quite handsome, you know.”

At the professor’s unexpected comment, a few students in the front row turned around to catch a glimpse of Ki Young-han. He cursed under his breath, lowering his head slightly. What’s wrong with this guy? A professor shouldn’t be saying stuff like that. If this is his idea of communication, he can keep it. He was beginning to think he’d rather spend his life chewing gum and living alone.

The professor finished taking attendance, clapped his hands, and addressed the class.

“Before we dive into today’s lesson, let’s talk a bit about partners.”

A murmur swept through the room.

“Has everyone found a partner?”

A booming voice from the back, belonging to a guy who looked like he enjoyed attention, responded with a loud, “Yep!” But Young-han, of course, had no partner. Not that he was too worried about it.

Life had mostly gone smoothly for him, and he expected this situation to work out somehow, too. True, he had stumbled into this absurd Sex and Communication class, but even when he tried to drop it, his other options either clashed with his Friday-free schedule or were spread hours apart from his other classes. If he was really desperate, he could sign up for something like badminton. Maybe if he’d refreshed the registration page more obsessively, he’d have found something else, but he didn’t care to go to such lengths. He chose the lesser evil instead.

“Raise your hand if you haven’t found a partner.”

With nearly a hundred students enrolled, it was inevitable that some hadn’t partnered up yet. And Young-han would have felt assured if not for the familiar voice he heard from behind.

“Didn’t everyone get a ton of emails?”

The students in the back clearly sounded like they’d scrambled to find partners for the group project.

“I got a ton of emails! I guess people got desperate since you can’t do the assignments without a partner.”

Emails? Not bothering to check his inbox unless he was expecting something specific, Young-han hadn’t noticed. Apparently, the unpaired students had resorted to emailing each other. He raised his hand, somewhat reassured by the thought that he wasn’t alone in this.

“Let’s see… Young-han and…” The professor scanned the list, clearly remembering his name and face now, much to Young-han’s frustration. Standing out was the last thing he wanted.

“Yoon Ye-jun.”

Oh, for… Young-han suppressed a groan.

He should have just signed up for badminton.

“Alright,” the professor continued, chuckling as though this was all part of some grand joke. “So, two male students… What’ll it be? It’s a little late to drop the class now.”

It was clear he was egging them on, waiting for the two of them to say, We’ll partner up. Young-han, his expression now stony, closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly. He might have tolerated this class if it weren’t for the “dating” theme. Any other group project—even if he ended up doing all the work himself—would have been better than this.
From behind, he heard a voice.

“I don’t mind.”

Of course you don’t, thought Young-han, bristling at the calmness in Yoon Ye-jun’s voice. If he hadn’t rejected him last week, maybe he wouldn’t feel so humiliated. His mouth went dry as he clenched his teeth. This is my punishment for living however I wanted, he told himself. That’s why I’m facing this embarrassment—why I’m about to be in a fake relationship with a guy.

He exhaled deeply.

When he looked up again, the professor was watching them with a satisfied, almost amused smile, as if he were witnessing something delightfully entertaining. Young-han forced his lips into a tight, strained smile, but he doubted it looked convincing. Smiling wasn’t something that came naturally to him.

“…I’m fine with it too,” he muttered.

Mugunghwa Hall. Although the spacious room could fit a hundred students, all eyes seemed to be on Ki Young-han and Yoon Ye-jun. After two hours of class, the professor had proposed a final hour activity: drafting a “date plan” with their partners. The two sat in silence, neither moving to start.

Young-han absentmindedly twirled a pen in his fingers, outwardly calm but inwardly anxious. Finally, he clenched the pen tightly and spoke.

“Let’s get this over with.”

He was the first to break the silence.

“Give me your student ID number and department,” he said curtly.

Only then did Yoon Ye-jun, who’d been sitting quietly all this time, respond. He was two years ahead of Young-han in terms of student ID, making him a junior, but they were both in the same grade. He was majoring in Media and Communications, which fell under the same social sciences umbrella as Political Science, so they could have crossed paths before. But, strangely, the first time he’d noticed him was last winter. And with his looks, it was surprising he hadn’t stood out sooner.

Glancing over, Young-han found himself staring. He didn’t like admitting it, but the guy’s profile was striking. Long lashes swept up at the ends, his lips were full, and his nose had just the right height, tapering off to a rounded tip. As if sensing his gaze, Yoon Ye-jun looked up from the desk, meeting his eyes. Flustered, Young-han quickly looked away.

It irritated him. He hadn’t even looked away like this when his parents or teachers scolded him as a kid. When they’d asked why he glared like that, he’d always fired back that it was just how he looked. And now he’d backed down from eye contact.

“I have a question.”

His voice was steady and calm, neither too low nor too high. Propping his chin on one hand and absentmindedly tapping his pen, Young-han lifted his gaze slightly, a silent cue for him to continue.

“Didn’t you say you were going to drop this class?”

“Yes.”

“Then… why are you here?”

“That’s my business.”

The corner of Yoon Ye-jun’s mouth lifted slightly, just enough to make a faint “Ah” sound in acknowledgment. Young-han’s brows furrowed a little at the expression—it felt oddly mocking, as though he was being laughed at. Yoon covered his mouth with his hand as if to hide it, but the damage was done.

Yoon brought the “date plan” form that the professor had handed out closer to himself and suggested, “Since we only have to meet once a week, how about after this class?”

“I have another class then.”

“Only other time I’m free is Friday,” he replied. “Are you free then?”

“Fridays are my off days.”

Though his apartment was only a ten-minute walk from campus, he’d set up his schedule to avoid Fridays. The last thing he wanted was to spend his free day on a group project.

But Yoon kept his expression friendly. “Since it’s a group project, we need to coordinate schedules.”

“Why does the professor favor me? We’re all students, aren’t we?”

That scene from last winter flashed across his mind. The expression was the same—taunting, with a hint of smugness. Young-han scowled, waving his hand dismissively.

“What about after Thursday classes, then?”

“I have a part-time job, but if you give me your number, I’ll let you know when I’m available.”

Yoon handed him his phone. After typing in his number, Young-han returned it. Yoon immediately pressed the call button, and Young-han’s phone, set on silent, lit up briefly before leaving a missed call notification. He saved the number as “Yoon Ye-jun.” It might only be a short-term connection for this semester, but they’d have to see each other often enough to make it worth saving.

Just the thought is exhausting.

“Alright, whatever. It’s not like we have to plan everything right now,” he said, glancing at the sheet. “Let’s just write what’s on the syllabus. ‘First Meeting’? What is this?”

“Isn’t this technically our ‘First Meeting’?” Yoon replied smoothly.

“Sure, sure,” Young-han muttered indifferently. Most people would probably be put off by his attitude or tone by now, maybe even click their tongues in disapproval. But Yoon showed no reaction, only drawing the date plan closer to himself as if preparing to fill it out. That irritated him even more.

“Since we’ll be writing our own reports individually, it doesn’t matter, but I’ll add the details to the plan before submitting it,” Yoon offered.

“…”

“I figured you wouldn’t want to deal with it.”

The moment Ki Young-han caught sight of the date plan sheet tucked in Yoon Ye-jun’s hand, a wave of irritation washed over him. It wasn’t just the way Yoon had rounded his eyes to seem polite or helpful—it was his words that gnawed at him, the insinuation that he’d “take care of it” because Young-han might “find it bothersome.” Who did he think he was, acting like Young-han couldn’t handle his own work? Without hesitation, Young-han stretched out his hand.

“Give it here. I’ll do it.”

Yoon glanced up at him, his gaze sweeping over him thoughtfully before he raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because I said I’ll handle it,” Young-han replied, gesturing impatiently. “I’ll write it up by the weekend and send it over. Just check it, that’s all.”

Yoon chuckled, a dry laugh that seemed laced with amusement or maybe disbelief, but Young-han ignored it. Glancing around the room, he noticed how nearly everyone was huddling together, chatting with wide smiles and excited glances. It was like a massive speed-dating event, except he and Yoon were the only ones without that spark. He stifled a sigh, crossing his arms and tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. The room was stifling, reeking faintly of stale air. Next time, I’m bringing coffee.

“Ye-jun, Young-han,” the professor called, walking over with a gentle smile. Young-han lowered his gaze from the ceiling to meet his professor’s eyes.

“Don’t let this weigh on you too much. You wouldn’t be the first male pair I’ve had in this class. It’s rare for the ratio to work out perfectly, but it usually goes just fine.”

“I think it’ll be an interesting experience,” Yoon replied, smiling politely, eyes rounded in his usual, friendly way.
Is he for real? That soft, well-mannered tone was just another act, yet the professor seemed taken in by it. Suppressing an eye-roll, Young-han turned his head away and sighed. This semester felt like it would drag on and on.