A light wind stirred the withered leaves scattered across the moss-lined path as Seung-joon made his way through the cemetery. The towering trees, bare of blossoms, stood like silent sentinels, their branches arching overhead in solemn reverence. Marble gravestones, aged and weather-stained, peeked through the tall grass like memories half-buried in time.
He stopped before a modest tombstone, the name etched into polished granite, the edges softened by years of rain and time. A small framed photo rested at its base — the face of a man frozen in time, smiling gently beneath a protective layer of glass.
Seung-joon lowered himself slowly onto the damp earth, the silence around him broken only by the distant caw of a crow and the rustle of wind through dry grass. He sat for a moment in stillness, then spoke softly:
"Abeoji, there's something I've been wanting to share with you. It's about someone... someone who's caught my attention."
His voice wavered slightly but steadied as he continued.
"He's... different. Interesting. I'm certain he likes me, though he seems to think I'm oblivious. But his eyes betray him every time, and I can't help but be fascinated by the way his emotions play out so openly in them.
He's very popular, but surprisingly, he's not as full of himself as I imagined he'd be. And... he's quite handsome. Much like you."
A faint smile touched Seung-joon's lips as he added, almost shyly, "He's made my days more exciting... more alive."
The smile slowly faded and replaced by a frown. "But I wonder — what would happen if my brothers ever found out about his feelings for me?"
Seung-joon rose slowly, brushing dust and stray petals from his trousers. His gaze lingered on the tombstone, his eyes tracing the carefully engraved letters.
He knelt again, his fingers brushing the smooth stone before drifting to the small photograph of his father — the man who had once been the center of his world.
A wave of longing swelled within him, heavy and bittersweet. Leaning forward, he pressed a trembling kiss to the photograph, the cool glass briefly warming beneath his touch.
"I miss you, Abeoji," he whispered.
As Seung-joon descended the hill, the hush of the cemetery wrapped around him like a soft shroud. The breeze whispered through rows of stone markers and tall grass, rustling the leaves of ancient trees that stood like silent sentinels. The faint scent of wildflowers mixed with damp earth lingered in the air, bringing with it a quiet solace he hadn't realized he needed.
Marble headstones dotted the hillside, some weathered with time, others freshly adorned with chrysanthemums or incense sticks still faintly smoking — signs of lingering memory and love.
The stillness was not empty, but reverent — a solemn kind of peace that settled over him as he moved between the graves.
In that silence, his thoughts wandered. His mind drifted back to the day he first saw Min-jun standing in the stadium with that unforgettable smile — bright, open, and full of life. Even now, the memory warmed something deep within him.
A year had passed since Seung-joon had followed Tae-min to the basketball trials. The echo of bouncing balls and the sharp squeak of sneakers on polished wood filled the indoor court, blending with the occasional whistle blasts and shouts of encouragement. The bright overhead lights cast long, shifting shadows across the glossy floor, highlighting the intensity and movement of the players.
The moment they stepped inside, Seung-joon's gaze was pulled to a tall boy standing at the edge of the court, clipboard in hand and a cheerful, sunlit smile lighting up his face.
The captain of the team.
There was an undeniable energy around him, like he belonged on that court more than anyone else. His posture was relaxed but attentive, and his voice carried easily as he called out instructions to the other players.
As the trials began and Tae-min took his position among the hopefuls, Seung-joon tried to focus on his brother — but his attention kept drifting towards the captain.
His eyes were large and warm, a rich brown that seemed to shimmer beneath the gym's fluorescent lights.
To Seung-joon, there was something impossibly pure in that expression — a kind of sincerity that was rare and almost painfully beautiful. He couldn't explain it, but in that moment, he felt as though he was seeing directly into Min-jun's heart.
His eyes eventually drifted to the name printed on the back of the boy's shirt, the letters clear and sharp in bold white:
Han Min-jun.
He knew the name — everyone did.
Min-jun was handsome, charismatic, and impossible to miss. His father was a prominent government minister, and Seung-joon knew that his family owned an entire chain of hospitals. They were the kind of people who appeared in headlines and society pages — powerful, polished, untouchable.
A family of immense prestige.
As Seung-joon watched from the sidelines, his gaze lingered on Min-jun, who now stood with his arms folded, his expression composed and serious as he assessed the players.
Every so often, he leaned in to speak with the vice-captain, his voice low, his big eyes never straying from the court.
There was a quiet intensity to him — calm, measured, thoughtful — a far cry from the bright smile that had first caught Seung-joon's attention.
I wonder if you're truly the person you appear to be, Seung-joon thought, studying Min-jun as if the truth might be hidden in the set of his jaw or the flicker in his eyes.
As time passed, Seung-joon had almost forgotten about Min-jun — until the day he suddenly appeared in the infirmary, arms bruised and battered.
Min-jun had grown taller, his features more defined, the baby fat in his cheeks nearly gone. But those big brown eyes — wide, soft, and full of that same gentle, almost puppy-like sincerity — hadn't changed at all.
While the nurse handed over the painkillers and stepped away, Seung-joon watched Min-jun closely, his gaze flickering over the bruises with quiet concern. Then, without a word, he grabbed the Medi kit and knelt beside him, his hands steady as he began to clean the injuries with practiced care.
When he reached for the antiseptic, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He knew what was coming.
The moment the cold sting hit, Min-jun inhaled sharply, his body flinching on instinct — just as Seung-joon had expected.
Biting down on his lower lip to suppress a laugh, Seung-joon offered a mumbled, half-hearted apology, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.
After finishing the last of the bandages, Seung-joon lifted his head — only to find Min-jun's gaze already fixed on him.
Their eyes met.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still.
Min-jun's expression shifted, his brows rising as his wide brown eyes locked onto Seung-joon's face — as if, in that single moment of stillness, he had stumbled across something entirely unexpected.
His lips parted slightly, but no words came.
Seung-joon carefully studied the shifting emotions in Min-jun's eyes — each one unguarded, pure, and achingly honest.
In those wide, expressive eyes, he glimpsed Min-jun's heart laid bare, and something within Seung-joon stirred — unfamiliar, fragile, and quietly profound.
It was as if, in that fleeting moment, he had uncovered a hidden part of himself — a secret he hadn't even known existed.
As Min-jun turned and walked out of the infirmary, Seung-joon's gaze lingered on the dazed expression etched across his face.
He couldn't help but wonder what thoughts were tumbling through that head, what realizations might have struck him as deeply as they had struck Seung-joon.
Han Min-jun… why do I feel like you're going to cause trouble…
A single ray of sunshine filtered in through the infirmary window, casting a gentle glow across the quiet room.
Seung-joon watched the light dance along the pale walls, and in that soft golden hush, he realized something had shifted.
Min-jun had left behind more than a memory — he had ignited a warm, bright spark in the cold, shadowed corners of Seung-joon's soul.