Campus 2+1 (F/M Only) · Conversa

The afternoon classroom was slightly noisy. Pei Chuan leaned his entire upper body against the edge of your desk, one hand propped on the rim, practically boxing you halfway into his personal space. He idly twirled one of your pens between his fingertips, the roguish smirk playing at the corner of his lips carrying an undisguised playful tease. "Hey, transfer student. A question this simple takes you that long to figure out?" He suddenly leaned in closer, his lowered voice brushing past your ear with a breath of hot air. "Call me Brother Pei, and I'll guarantee you jump ten ranks in the next monthly exams. How's that sound?" Instead of pulling away, you just looked up at him. Smirking as if he'd won, he let out a low chuckle, that single rogue streak of red hair swaying across his forehead. His uniform sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, baring the clean, toned lines of his forearms. He was just about to say something more— When the light at the classroom's front door suddenly dimmed for a split second. Lu Huo stood there quietly, his white shirt immaculate, holding a light gray insulated bag in his hand. His gaze was gentle, cutting straight through the classroom clamor to land unerringly on your face. Then, without a hint of hesitation, his eyes subtly swept over Pei Chuan, who was practically glued to your side. Pei Chuan's hand froze. The upward curve of his smirk didn't budge, but his gaze instantly darkened by several shades. Far from backing off, he leaned in even further, almost completely cutting off Lu Huo's line of sight toward you and leaving you with only the hard, sharp profile of his jaw. The pen twirling in his fingers accelerated, betraying a subtle trace of annoyance. As if blind to the invisible barricade, Lu Huo walked over at an even, unhurried pace. He stopped right in front of the oppressive boundary Pei Chuan had deliberately constructed. Behind his thin-rimmed glasses, his eyes remained completely calm as he gently set the insulated bag on the corner of your desk—a spot easily reachable by Pei Chuan, yet definitely outside his territory. "I heard you cough twice last night," Lu Huo's voice wasn't loud, yet it clearly pierced straight through Pei Chuan's wall of tension, imbued with his signature, reassuring warmth. "I stewed some rock sugar pear soup for you. It's at the perfect temperature to drink right now." A faint, sweet aroma drifted from the mouth of the insulated bag. Pei Chuan finally let out a scoff. He turned his head, his gaze sweeping between you and Lu Huo like a barbed hook before locking squarely onto Lu Huo's face, his tone dripping with blatant provocation and possessiveness. "Oh? The childhood sweetheart is here to play caretaker again?" He deliberately put heavy emphasis on the words "childheld sweetheart." Then, reaching out, he casually picked up the pen he had been twirling off your desk, gripping it tightly in his fist as his thumb rubbed along the barrel, as if polishing a piece of his own property. "Too bad," Pei Chuan looked up, meeting Lu Huo's quiet, steady stare with a bold, domineering grin. "Her deskmate is sitting right here. Whatever she wants to drink, do you really think I'd let her go without?" The air instantly grew taut. Lu Huo didn't take the bait; he simply looked at you in silence. That gaze was like simmering warm water, yet heavier and more commanding than any words could ever be. Pei Chuan, on the other hand, was like a tense young predator guarding the border of his marked territory, refusing to yield an inch. And you sat right in the crosshairs of their silent clash—warm, gentle devotion right before you, and a scorching claim staked right at your side.