Sunbae - means senior
Hyung - a word used by Korean males to address their older brothers and other older males whom they are close to
CSAT - Standardized test used for admissions by Universities and Colleges in South Korea
***
As the days dragged by, Min-jun slowly came to terms with the storm inside him, hiding his emotions behind a carefully constructed mask of composure. At school, the constant presence of Chang-min and Han-bin became his solace, offering him a fragile sense of relief amidst the chaos. Their easy laughter and steady companionship kept him from slipping too far into loneliness, giving him just enough strength to endure his silent battle for control — and for the pieces of his heart he was still trying to hold together.
From time to time, Min-jun found himself wandering past Seung-joon's classroom, casually dropping by under the pretense of chatting with friends. In truth, his eyes always sought out Seung-joon, observing him from a quiet distance.
He soon noticed that Seung-joon rarely left his seat, speaking only to the boy who sat beside him. The two seemed almost invisible to the rest of the class, tucked away in their own small world.
It struck Min-jun how little anyone really knew about Seung-joon. But then again, the relentless pace of their school — crammed schedules, endless assignments, and constant pressure — left little room for curiosity about quiet boys who didn't step into the spotlight. It was easy to fade into the background when everyone was too busy just trying to keep up.
School A* was a prestigious institution, a place where only the most exceptional students earned a seat (even among the rich and noble)— and among them, Seung-joon stood unrivaled. He consistently topped every subject, earning a quiet, almost untouchable reputation.
Over time, an invisible aura had formed around him, creating a silent barrier that kept others at a distance. It was as if Seung-joon moved through the school encased in a delicate, unseen bubble, gliding through his tasks with a calm, unhurried grace that somehow discouraged anyone from getting too close.
Min-jun had noticed it all — the occasional lingering glances from girls who admired Seung-joon from afar, yet none ever dared approach him. It was as if Seung-joon's self-contained world existed just slightly out of reach, too pure or too distant for ordinary intrusion.
And strangely, that untouchable solitude, that small, private universe of Seung-joon's, brought a kind of peace to Min-jun's burning, restless heart. In its quiet stillness, he found a refuge from his own turmoil — and without fully realizing it, he stopped trying to deny his feelings. Slowly, he allowed himself to simply feel, no longer fighting the inevitable pull Seung-joon had on him.
There were nights when Min-jun found himself crying uncontrollably in the solitude of his room, but he no longer fought the tears. He simply let them fall, wave after wave, until the ache inside him softened. Strangely, these moments of release made it easier to smile genuinely around his family, without needing to force the mask of happiness he had worn for so long.
His home, once a place of comfort, had begun to feel like an invisible prison — a beautiful cage that trapped his emotions and kept his true self hidden. But slowly, painfully, Min-jun learned to free his soul in secret. He allowed it to drift among the complex, aching emotions Seung-joon had awakened in him.
The bittersweet mixture of sweetness and sorrow, of yearning and quiet despair, became the pulse that kept his longing heart alive — a secret rhythm that only he could hear.
At school, Min-jun often allowed his gaze to wander until it inevitably found Seung-joon. Over time, he had quietly memorized Seung-joon's routines and habits, piecing together fragments of the boy's quiet world. So it was a surprise when he discovered that Seung-joon was a member of the art club — something Min-jun hadn't expected at all.
Without hesitation, Min-jun joined the club, eager for any excuse to be closer to him. But reality quickly deflated his hopes: Seung-joon rarely attended meetings, often taking his prop preparation assignments home instead. Days would pass without a glimpse of him inside the clubroom.
Even so, Min-jun found an odd sense of comfort just being there, surrounded by paint-splattered tables and half-finished projects, in the space Seung-joon had once occupied. It was enough — for now — to share even a sliver of the world Seung-joon touched, even if from a distance.
One day, Min-jun found himself caught off guard when he learned that Seung-joon would be joining the art club's annual trip.
He couldn't stop himself from grinning like an idiot as he watched Seung-joon from a distance, casually dressed and looking more approachable than ever. It felt almost surreal, seeing him outside the usual school setting, the sunlight catching in his hair, the quiet ease of his movements stirring something even deeper in Min-jun's chest.
But as the initial excitement faded, a new, more daunting realization slowly settled over him: they would be spending extended time together, in close quarters, throughout the trip.
Min-jun's heart raced with a complicated mix of exhilaration and panic, knowing that maintaining his fragile composure was about to become far more difficult than ever before.
"Argh... No, no, no... This can't be happening," Min-jun muttered frantically, yanking at his hair. "I should cancel the trip. I'll say I'm sick. Yeah, too sick to go..."
He paced in a tight, frantic circle before suddenly freezing. In the next second, he was clinging dramatically to a nearby pillar, his eyes locked longingly on Seung-joon.
"But I don't want to..." he whined under his breath, hugging the cold concrete like it could stop him from drowning in the sea of mess he found himself in. "Ahhh... why is he so cute? Why does he have to be this cute?"
Min-jun turned helplessly to Chang-min, who stood nearby, arms crossed and a thoroughly amused expression on his face, quietly savoring his friend's agony.
Following Min-jun's gaze, Chang-min's eyes landed on Seung-joon, who was standing by the school bus, calmly helping club members double-check their supplies. In the soft afternoon light, Seung-joon looked almost unreal — gold-rimmed glasses perched delicately on his nose, a sunflower-yellow pullover layered over a crisp white shirt and neatly pressed trousers. There was an effortless charm about him, understated yet impossible to ignore.
Still, Chang-min couldn't resist the opportunity to tease.
"He looks pretty plain to me," he said with a shrug. "Maybe you should get your eyes checked, Minjun-ah."
Feeling utterly bewildered, Min-jun looked from Chang-min to Seung-joon and back again before letting out a heavy sigh. Defeated, he slumped down onto the staircase leading from the main hall, choosing to wait until the flurry of students had boarded the bus.
When the crowd had thinned, he finally made his way toward the bus, keeping his head low, his heart hammering nervously in his chest. He slipped into the first empty seat he could find, tugging his headphones on in a silent plea for isolation. Closing his eyes, he let the gentle hum of the bus's engine and the steady rhythm of his music wash over him. Slowly, the tension ebbed from his body, and sleep claimed him.
He was pulled from his dreams by a soft tap on his arm. Blinking groggily, Min-jun opened his eyes — only to find Seung-joon sitting beside him, leaning in and speaking to him.
For a moment, Min-jun could only stare, his mind struggling to catch up to reality.
"Sunbae, we're almost there."
The gentle voice pulled Min-jun fully awake. It took him a few moments to gather himself, his heart hammering so violently it felt as if it might leap from his chest. Somehow, he managed to offer Seung-joon a smile — shaky, but sincere — even as excitement and anxiety churned wildly within him.
The next moments blurred together. Min-jun barely remembered how he stumbled off the bus or found his way to his room. After a rushed shower that did little to steady him, he slipped outside, needing air, needing space to clear his head.
He wandered along the empty beach, the cool, damp sand shifting beneath his feet. The salty breeze tugged at his hair, carrying away some of the tension coiled inside him. Slowly, with each step, the overwhelming emotions began to ebb, like waves retreating back into the sea.
Feeling drained, Min-jun finally sank down onto the sand, resting his arms on his knees as he watched the sun melt into the horizon. The sky flared with hues of orange, pink, and violet, and for a while, the world seemed to hold its breath.
The breeze calmed him, but the endless stretch of blue water tugged at his heart, inevitably reminding him of Seung-joon — of those deep, captivating eyes that had upended his entire world.
As he turned his head back toward the resort, his gaze caught on a familiar figure silhouetted by the bonfire's glow — Seung-joon, standing alone, outlined by the flickering flames against the darkening sky.
Min-jun's breath caught in his throat, the moment as fragile and breathtaking as a dream he never wanted to end.
Min-jun's thoughts drifted, circling endlessly around the question he could never quite answer — what was it about Seung-joon that held such a powerful, unshakable grip on his heart? And would he ever truly be able to let go?
With only a few months left until graduation and the looming CSAT exams casting a long shadow over their days, the thought of parting from Seung-joon had become a constant, aching presence in his chest. Every stolen moment, every brief glimpse of him, felt like a precious thread woven into the very fabric of Min-jun's life — and the idea of that thread being unraveled filled him with a deep, hollow dread he could not escape.
He knew, rationally, that separation was inevitable — that they would soon be swept onto different paths, carried away by the currents of duty and expectation. Yet, despite everything, a fragile part of him clung desperately to the hope that time might slow, that the days might stretch just a little longer.
Min-jun wished with all his heart that these final months of high school would crawl by, allowing him to savor every fleeting second spent near Seung-joon — every glance, every shared space — before the bittersweet goodbye that he feared would shatter him completely.
Min-jun's drifting thoughts were abruptly pulled back to the present when a junior arrived to escort him to dinner.
Later, as he sat across from Seung-joon at the outdoor tables, the flickering light of the bonfire danced in Seung-joon's eyes, casting shifting reflections that tugged mercilessly at Min-jun's heartstrings. Each glimmer, each small flame mirrored in those eyes, seemed to deepen the bittersweet ache already simmering inside him.
The night slipped by far too quickly, as if time itself was conspiring against him. When the gathering finally ended, Min-jun returned to his room, weighed down by a profound sadness. Seung-joon had left early, and the sudden absence carved a hollow ache in Min-jun's chest — a desperate wish lingering in his mind for just one more fleeting glimpse.
As he wearily shrugged off his jacket, preparing to surrender to sleep and loneliness, a voice startled him from behind.
"Sunbae."
Min-jun turned sharply — and there stood Seung-joon, right beside his bed, his presence quiet yet overwhelming.
Seung-joon's gaze was soft, filled with an apologetic warmth that struck straight through Min-jun's carefully built defenses, making his heart ache in a way no words could ever explain.
"Min-jun sunbae," Seung-joon said softly, his voice tinged with hesitation. "There weren't enough rooms for everyone. The teacher assigned me to yours because you have a double bed. But if you're uncomfortable sharing, I can sleep on the floor."
Min-jun turned toward Seung-joon, his heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack his ribs. It took a moment — a long, agonizing moment — for him to gather himself enough to speak.
"No, it's okay," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I don't mind sharing. It's too cold for you to sleep on the floor anyway. You can... choose a side."
He awkwardly glanced around the room, his mind scrambling for an escape before he embarrassed himself further. Spotting his nightclothes, he grabbed them hastily, nearly fumbling them out of his hands.
"I'll take a shower first," he mumbled, retreating toward the bathroom without waiting for a reply, feeling his face burning as he closed the door behind him.
The intense heat of his emotions roared through him like a raging inferno, and he craved the relief of a cold shower to extinguish it. As the icy water crashed down over his body, Min-jun closed his eyes, desperately trying to silence the storm inside him.
The shock of the freezing water against his skin was both exhilarating and numbing — a sharp, fleeting escape from the chaos of his thoughts. For a few precious moments, the cold seeped into his bones, washing away the frantic pounding of his heart and granting him a fragile, trembling sense of calm.
Shivering uncontrollably, Min-jun stumbled out of the shower, his body still burning with residual heat despite the icy water. He quickly slipped into his nightclothes and sat down on the edge of the bed, careful to keep his eyes averted from Seung-joon, who sat on the opposite side, quietly absorbed in his phone.
Min-jun's whole body trembled so violently that he could hear his teeth chattering, each clack sharp and humiliating in the quiet room. He fumbled with a towel, trying to dry his dripping hair, but his hands shook so badly that the effort felt almost hopeless.
Just as he was about to give up, a sudden sharp intake of breath from Seung-joon made him freeze. Min-jun flinched instinctively, his heart leaping to his throat.
"Sunbae, don't tell me you took a cold shower in this weather?"
Seung-joon's voice wavered somewhere between concern and mild reprimand, the mixture making Min-jun's heart stutter. Too consumed by his violent shivering to form a proper response, Min-jun only managed to shoot an embarrassed, fleeting glance at him.
Before he could say anything, Seung-joon moved closer, swiftly taking the towel from Min-jun's trembling hands. Without hesitation, he began drying Min-jun's hair with firm, efficient motions, his touch both gentle and unyielding.
Caught completely off guard by the unexpected tenderness, Min-jun sat frozen, barely daring to breathe. Seung-joon's scolding continued in a low, steady murmur, but Min-jun could hardly focus on the words — the warmth of Seung-joon's hands against him drowned out everything else, wrapping around him more surely than any blanket.
"Are you really crazy? Were you trying to kill yourself? You should have just jumped into the ocean — it would've been better than this..."
Seung-joon's relentless stream of scolding washed over Min-jun, each sharp word somehow easing the knot of anxiety in his chest. Bit by bit, the heavy tension that had gripped him began to loosen, replaced by an unexpected, bubbling warmth.
Min-jun couldn't help but marvel. He had always seen Seung-joon as quiet, distant — almost fragile. Yet here he was, fierce and passionate, his emotions spilling out in a way that left Min-jun slightly dazed. It was such a stark contrast to the timid image he'd once held that Min-jun found it almost endearing.
In a strange, comforting way, Seung-joon's fiery outburst reminded him of his mother's scoldings when he was younger — full of worry, masked by anger. The familiarity of it all made a laugh suddenly burst from Min-jun's lips, full and genuine.
Seung-joon froze mid-sentence, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, his expression a perfect mix of surprise and exasperation — as if he couldn't decide whether to be more offended or concerned by Min-jun's reaction.
Min-jun, still shivering, managed to speak through his chattering teeth.
"I'm sorry. You just... sounded like my mum."
For a brief moment, a small, shy smile tugged at the corner of Seung-joon's mouth. He quickly cleared his throat, his stern demeanor softening as he spoke, his voice laced with apology.
"I'm sorry, sunbae. I was just really surprised. You know you could get seriously ill, right? Let me go grab you a hot drink."
As Seung-joon turned to leave, Min-jun instinctively reached out, catching his arm with trembling fingers.
"It's okay," Min-jun said softly. "I'll be alright once I'm under the sheets. You should get some rest too. You worked a lot today."
For a moment, they stayed like that, suspended in a fragile stillness — Min-jun's hand lingering on Seung-joon's arm, Seung-joon looking down at him with an unreadable expression that made Min-jun's heart ache in a way he couldn't quite name.
Reluctantly, Min-jun let go of Seung-joon's arm, silently wishing he could have held onto it just a moment longer.
Seung-joon lingered for a few seconds, his expression shadowed with hesitation, as if he, too, was unsure what to do next. Then, without a word, he picked up Min-jun's jacket from the chair and gently draped it over Min-jun's shoulders, helping him slip it on over his thin night-shirt.
Min-jun watched him through half-lidded eyes, his heart swelling with a mixture of admiration and a quiet, aching affection. There was something so careful, so instinctively kind about Seung-joon's every movement that it made Min-jun's chest tighten painfully.
After making sure Min-jun was bundled up, Seung-joon turned off the lights and quietly slid into his side of the bed.
Min-jun lay still, eyes closed, concentrating on steadying his trembling body, willing his shivering to subside. The last thing he wanted was to disturb the fragile peace of the moment — the rare, precious nearness he had never dared hope for but now clung to silently in the dark.
Suddenly, Min-jun felt Seung-joon's arms wrap tightly around his waist, pulling him into a firm embrace.
The warmth of Seung-joon's body pressed against his back, sending a jolt through Min-jun's entire being. His heart raced wildly, and a flush of heat spread across his face and ears. He silently thanked the darkness that cloaked them, grateful it hid the redness blooming across his cheeks.
Startled and unsure, Min-jun instinctively tried to pull away — but Seung-joon's grip only tightened, anchoring him in place with a quiet, unwavering intensity.
The strength of that hold left Min-jun feeling utterly overwhelmed, caught between panic and an aching sense of comfort he hadn't realized he craved so badly. Frozen in place, he lay there, heart pounding, while Seung-joon's steady warmth seeped into him, chasing away the lingering chill of his earlier shivers — and leaving behind something far more terrifying and precious: hope.
"Sunbae, you might feel uncomfortable... or even embarrassed," Seung-joon murmured, his voice low and earnest against the quiet of the room. "But bear with it for a while. Otherwise, you'll get seriously ill."
At the sound of Seung-joon's gentle voice, Min-jun stopped resisting. He let himself be wrapped in the warmth of Seung-joon's body, feeling the comforting heat seep into him, chasing away the last of his trembling.
Clearing his throat, Min-jun spoke, barely above a whisper.
"Kim Seung-joon... can I ask you for a favor?"
Seung-joon's arms shifted slightly, as if adjusting to hear him better. "What is it, sunbae?"
Min-jun hesitated, his heart hammering painfully in his chest before he finally found the courage to say, "Can you call me... hyung?"
The silence that followed stretched long enough to make Min-jun hold his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting, uncertain.
Then, in a soft, almost shy voice, Seung-joon replied, "Okay... hyung."
A quiet, indescribable emotion washed over Min-jun. The night unfolded slowly around them, wrapped in an almost sacred silence — broken only by the distant whispers of the ocean and the steady, soothing rhythm of Seung-joon's breathing.
Without thinking, moved by a tenderness so deep it ached, Min-jun pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Seung-joon's head.
He let his tears fall freely, unseen and unashamed, as he finally surrendered to sleep, holding Seung-joon close in the fragile, fleeting peace of that perfect night.