Back in his warm, cluttered bedroom, Haneul lay on his stomach, his feet kicking idly in the air. His English notebook was open to a fresh page, and his pencil hovered over the lines. The title read: "My Deskmate - Han Ji-won."
But this wasn't for an assignment anymore.
He bit his lip in concentration, his mother's words and the night's events swirling in his head. He began to write, his handwriting looping and earnest.
"My deskmate is not what he seems. He is like a black and white photograph that someone tried to throw away. But if you look really, really close, you can see all the colors hiding in the shadows."
He paused, a soft smile touching his lips as he remembered the fierce protectiveness in Ji-won's eyes.
"He pretends he doesn't care about anything. But I think he cares too much, and it hurts him. So he built a castle around himself with really high walls and no door. But tonight, I saw a knight inside that castle. He came out to fight a dragon for me."
His pencil moved faster, the words flowing easily now.
"His voice is usually very quiet, but it can get really loud when someone is in trouble. He says mean things, but he does kind things. He acts like he wants to be alone, but he didn't leave me alone in the dark."
Haneul rolled onto his back, holding the notebook above his head, reading his own words. He wasn't just describing Ji-won anymore. He was trying to understand the beautiful, painful contradiction of him. The boy who pushed everyone away but had run back when it mattered.
He closed the notebook and hugged it to his chest, staring at the ceiling. The curiosity was still there, but it was now mixed with a deep, unwavering sense of gratitude and a hopeful, fluttering feeling that maybe, just maybe, those high walls had a hidden window after all.
The classroom was still mostly empty, the early morning light casting long, sleepy shadows. Ji-won sat at his desk, head propped heavily in one hand. Dark circles were etched under his eyes, a testament to a night spent wrestling with the unnerving image of a smiling boy and the sound of a soothing laugh.
The door creaked open, and the very subject of his sleeplessness walked in. Haneul looked bright and well-rested, a complete contrast to Ji-won's exhausted state. In his hands was a small, neatly wrapped package.
He approached Ji-won's desk with a cautious but determined step. "Good morning, Jiwon-ssi," he said, his voice softer than usual.
Ji-won didn't lift his head, only grunting in response.
"I... I know you said you don't like sweets," Haneul began, placing the package on the desk. "And I know cookies were a bad idea. But this is different. It's a thank you. For last night." He carefully unwrapped it, revealing a rich, fudgy brownie studded with walnuts. "It's my mom's recipe. They're really dark and not too sweet, I promise. It's... it's impossible for anyone to ignore a good brownie."
Ji-won finally lifted his head, his tired eyes narrowing. "I told you. I don't want—"
"I know what you told me," Haneul interrupted, his voice firm but kind. "And I heard you. But 'thank you' is non-negotiable. You can throw it away after I leave if you want. But I had to give it to you. You helped me."
Their eyes met. Ji-won saw the genuine gratitude there, completely devoid of the pity or expectation he was used to. He saw the faint shadow of last night's fear, and the bright resilience that had already overcome it. The refusal he had ready died on his lips. He was just so tired. Tired of fighting this, tired of the constant push and pull.
He let out a long, weary sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He looked from Haneul's hopeful face to the brownie, then back again.
"Fine," he muttered, the word barely audible. He didn't take it, but he didn't push it away either. He just left it sitting there on his desk, a small, chocolatey peace offering that was slowly, undeniably, chipping away at his resolve.
The math teacher's voice droned on, a monotonous hum about quadratic equations. Haneul had long since given up trying to follow. His notebook was filled with absent-minded sketches—flowers, clouds, and several detailed studies of a certain sharp-jawed profile.
"Han Ji-won," the teacher's voice cut through his doodling. "Please come to the board and solve problem number seven."
Haneul's head snapped up. He watched as Ji-won rose from his seat with that same unnerving grace and walked to the front of the class. He picked up a piece of chalk, his posture perfectly straight as he began to write the solution.
The numbers and symbols flowed from his hand without hesitation. But Haneul wasn't looking at the equations. His artist's eye was caught by the way Ji-won's school shirt stretched taut across his shoulders as he reached for the top of the board. The fabric clung to the defined shape of his biceps, hinting at a strength that wasn't just academic.
A sudden, vivid heat rushed to Haneul's cheeks. He looked down at his own sketchbook, at the dozens of faces he'd drawn. He'd captured the intensity in Ji-won's eyes, the sharp line of his nose, the stubborn set of his jaw. But he'd never drawn the rest of him.
And now, his treacherous imagination was filling in the blanks. He wondered what those shoulders would look like without the constriction of the uniform shirt. How would the muscles of his back move? The thought was so startling and inappropriate that Haneul dropped his pencil with a clatter that made a few students turn and look.
He quickly snatched it up, his face burning. He stared hard at his notebook, trying to force his mind back to math, but all he could see was the image of Ji-won at the board, a new, confusing layer of complexity added to the boy he was already so fascinated by.
Ji-won returned to his seat, the faint scent of chalk dust trailing him. His sharp eyes immediately caught the frantic movement as Haneul slammed his notebook shut, his face flushed a deep, telltale crimson.
A flicker of thought crossed Ji-won's mind. Is he sick? The memory of Haneul's vulnerability from the night before surfaced, stirring an unwelcome pang of concern. His lips parted, a quiet "Are you—" almost forming.
But he caught himself. It doesn't matter. It's none of my business. He clamped his jaw shut, forcefully re-erecting the wall between them. He turned his attention rigidly back to his own notes, ignoring the flustered boy beside him, deciding the redness was just another one of Haneul's inexplicable, emotional quirks.
Meanwhile, Haneul's mind was in a tailspin. He stared blindly at the closed cover of his notebook, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Why would I imagine that? Why would I think about… that?
He'd sketched male models in life-drawing classes before. It was academic, technical. This was different. This was… personal. The heat in his cheeks wasn't from embarrassment at being caught doodling; it was from the specific, unbidden image of Ji-won without his shirt, an image that had felt both shocking and intriguing.
Why would I blush at a man's body?
The question echoed, terrifying and thrilling at the same time. It was a new color on his palette, one he'd never used before, and he had no idea what to name it or what kind of picture it would eventually paint.
The art room was a comfortable chaos of splattered paint and the soft scratch of charcoal. Haneul, however, was miles away, idly mixing a shade of grey on his palette while his cheeks maintained a persistent pink hue.
Min-seo, working on a dramatically shadowed portrait beside him, nudged him with her elbow. "Earth to Haneul. You've been blushing at that blank canvas for ten minutes. What's going on in that head of yours?"
Haneul jumped, nearly dropping his brush. He bit his lip, leaning closer to her so no one else would hear. "Min-seo... can I ask you a weird question?"
Her eyes immediately lit up with predatory interest. "My favorite kind. Proceed."
He took a shaky breath. "Can a... can a man blush? You know, just from... thinking about another man?"
Min-seo's paintbrush clattered onto the table. Her eyes widened into saucers, a massive, knowing grin spreading across her face. She grabbed his shoulders, her voice a hushed, ecstatic whisper. "Haneul! Are you for real? Is this about a certain human ice cube who apparently has hidden muscles?!"
Haneul's flush deepened to a spectacular crimson. "W-what? How did you—"
"Because it's the oldest trope in the book!" she squealed, shaking him gently. "And the answer is YES! A thousand times, yes! Why do you think I watch all those dramas?"
She pulled him closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Listen. Feelings don't care about things like gender. They just... are. A person is a person. If someone makes your heart do a little flip, if you can't stop thinking about them, if the idea of them makes you feel warm and flustered and excited all at once... it doesn't matter if they're a boy or a girl. That's just... attraction, Haneul-ah."
She gestured dramatically with a paint-stained hand. "Maybe you admire his strength! Maybe you're drawn to his mysterious, brooding nature! Maybe you just think he's really, really good-looking! It's all valid! It's all part of the beautiful, chaotic spectrum of human emotion!"
Haneul stared at her, his world tilting on its axis. Attraction. The word landed in the center of his chest, resonating with a terrifying truth.
"So... it's normal?" he whispered, his voice small.
"Normal?" Min-seo beamed, looking like a proud mother. "Honey, it's the plot of, like, half the greatest love stories ever told. Welcome to the club." She handed him his brush back with a flourish. "Now, you have to tell me everything. Does he know? Have you talked to him since the brownie incident? The people demand details!"
"Lee Haneul! Yoon Min-seo!"
The art teacher's voice cut through their hushed, frantic conversation like a whip. Both of them jumped, snapping to attention.
"This is an art class, not a gossip cafe," the teacher said, arms crossed. "If you have so much energy to whisper, you can use it to clean. The two of you will stay after class. You're on cleaning duty. I want every brush washed, every palette scraped, and all the supplies put back in perfect order. Understood?"
Haneul's shoulders slumped. Min-seo, however, simply sighed with dramatic resignation, giving Haneul a look that said, 'See? Our drama even comes with consequences.'
When the final bell rang and the rest of the class filed out, they were left alone in the messy, paint-scented room.
As Haneul began meticulously rinsing black paint from a set of brushes, Min-seo nudged him, her eyes sparkling. "Okay, so. Punishment. But this is just more alone time for us to plot. Now, back to the important stuff. This attraction... you need a plan of attack."
Haneul shook his head, a small, flustered smile on his face as he carefully wiped down a sticky table. "Min-seo, we don't need a 'plan of attack.' Please, calm down. He's a person, not a mission objective."
Min-seo let out a dramatically disappointed sigh, slumping against a shelf of clay. "But why not? This is the most exciting thing to happen all year! You can't just feel things and not do anything about them! That's not how my dramas work!"
Haneul picked up a stack of canvases to put away, his voice gentle but firm. "Because pushing him is what got me in trouble before. My mom said to be patient. To be like sunshine, not a hammer." He glanced at her over the canvases. "Now, let's just clean first before the teacher comes back. We can talk about your... theories... later."
Min-seo pouted, but she reluctantly grabbed a broom. "Fine, fine. But I'm not dropping this. Sunshine is good, but even sunshine needs a little strategy to get through a stubborn cloud cover." She began sweeping with exaggerated vigor, already plotting in silence.
Ji-won stepped into his apartment, the silence a heavy blanket after the day's low-grade chaos. He mechanically placed his school bag by the door and shrugged off his jacket. It was then he realized he was still holding the small, neatly wrapped box of brownies.
He stared at it, his brow furrowed. Why did I even bring this home?
A part of him argued for immediate disposal. It was the logical thing to do. But another, quieter part remembered the earnest look in Haneul's eyes—not pushy, just grateful.
With a sigh that felt more tired than annoyed, he untied the string and opened the box. The rich, dark chocolate scent wafted out. He broke off a small piece and tentatively tasted it.
To his surprise, it wasn't cloying. It was deep, slightly bitter, with a nutty crunch. It was... nice. He was about to take another, more deliberate bite when a voice slurred from the hallway.
"Oh? What's this?"
His mother, Han Mira, shuffled into the living room, her robe hanging open. Her eyes, still hazy from sleep, zeroed in on the box in his hand. Before he could react, she plucked it from his grasp.
"Since when do you eat sweets?" she said, her tone a mix of curiosity and dismissal. She took a large bite herself. "You don't like them. Don't force yourself." She began to walk away, box in hand, as if it were now her property.
Ji-won's hand twitched, an automatic urge to reach out and snatch it back. That's mine.
But the thought itself shocked him into stillness. Why? Why does it matter? It's just a brownie. From him.
He watched her retreating back, a cold wave of confusion and anger washing over him. He wasn't angry at her for taking it; he was angry at himself for caring that she had. He was angry at the sudden, possessive impulse, at the way a simple baked good had become something he wanted to defend.
Without a word, he turned and walked to his room, shutting the door with a quiet but firm click. He leaned against it, clenching his fists. He didn't understand the sudden, sharp emotion. He just knew he had to stop it. He had to stop caring about the brownies, about the gratitude, about the boy with the unsettling laugh. It was the only way to maintain control. But for the first time, the control felt less like a strength and more like a cage.
The electronic chime of the convenience store door announced another customer. Ji-won, restocking the beverage cooler, didn't need to look up to know who it was. He could feel it—a shift in the air, a subtle brightening of the sterile, fluorescent-lit space.
He glanced sideways. Haneul had settled onto a stool by the window, a cup of ramyeon steaming in front of him. He made a show of slurping the noodles, but his eyes kept drifting toward Ji-won.
Ji-won tried to ignore him. He focused on aligning the drink cans, creating perfect, orderly rows. But the feeling of being watched was a persistent itch between his shoulder blades. Minutes ticked by. Haneul didn't leave. He just sat there, occasionally sighing, playing with his chopsticks.
The silence became more demanding than any noise Haneul could have made. Finally, Ji-won snapped. He walked over, his expression a mask of pure annoyance.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice low and tight.
Haneul looked up, a bright, innocent smile instantly gracing his features. "Oh! I'm just waiting for you to finish."
"Waiting for me? Why?"
"I didn't pay attention in math class today," Haneul admitted, his smile turning a little sheepish. "I can't finish my homework. I thought maybe you could... help me? After your shift?"
Ji-won let out a short, exasperated sigh. "I still have two hours left. Go home. Do something else."
But Haneul just shook his head, his determination clear. "It's okay! I'll wait. I don't mind." He gestured to his ramyeon and a textbook he'd now pulled out. "I've got everything I need right here."
He turned back to his book, effectively ending the conversation and settling in for the long haul. Ji-won stood there for a moment, stunned into silence by the sheer, brazen stubbornness. He wanted to argue, to order him to leave, but the set of Haneul's shoulders told him it would be useless. With a final, frustrated click of his tongue, Ji-won turned and stalked back to the coolers, the weight of a two-hour, sunshine-filled wait settling heavily upon him.
The next two hours passed with a strange, new tension. Ji-won went through the motions of his work—mopping the floor, wiping down the counter, inventorying the snack aisle—but his focus was fractured. His eyes kept being drawn to the window.
Haneul was still there, bathed in the warm glow of the ramyeon machine's light. His head was bent over his math textbook, his brow furrowed in concentration. He'd chew on the end of his pencil, then scribble something down, a little puff of frustration sometimes escaping his lips. He looked… dedicated. And undeniably cute.
A strange, unfamiliar feeling began to uncoil in Ji-won's chest, warm and unsettling. It wasn't annoyance. It wasn't anger.
It was the simple, profound realization that someone was waiting for him.
No one had ever done that before. His mother didn't wait for him; she either demanded his presence or was oblivious to it. He was the one who waited—for her to sober up, for the chaos to settle, for a moment of quiet. He was always the one waiting.
But Haneul was here. Voluntarily. Spending his own time, on a hard plastic stool, just to be there when Ji-won's shift ended. The concept was so foreign it felt almost disorienting. The high, impenetrable walls he'd spent years building felt suddenly transparent under the persistent, patient glow of that window-side light. For the first time, someone was on the outside, not trying to break in, but just… waiting to be let in. And for the first time, Ji-won felt a terrifying, traitorous urge to open the gate.
Finally, the clock hit the end of his shift. Ji-won wordlessly clocked out, changed out of his apron, and walked toward the door, giving Haneul a slight nod. Haneul scrambled to gather his things, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to follow.
They walked in silence to the nearby 24-hour library, a place Ji-won considered a second home. He led them to a quiet corner table, the only sound the distant hum of the air conditioner and the soft rustle of pages.
"Show me the problem set," Ji-won said, his voice low.
Haneul eagerly slid his notebook over, open to a page filled with more frustrated doodles than equations. Ji-won scanned it, then let out a soft sigh. "You're overcomplicating it. Look."
He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, his movements precise. "Start here. Isolate the variable first."
Haneul leaned in, his shoulder almost brushing Ji-won's. He watched, mesmerized, as Ji-won's slender hand moved with confident grace, the pencil creating a perfect, logical pathway through the numbers.
"I don't get this part," Haneul whispered, pointing to a step.
Instead of sighing in frustration, Ji-won paused. He looked at Haneul, then back at the paper. "Think of it like... mixing paint," he said, his voice still quiet, but softer now. "You have this color, the X, and you need to separate it from all the other colors. This step is like adding a clear medium to dilute the others so you can see X alone."
Haneul's eyes widened. No one had ever explained math to him like that. A slow, dazzling smile spread across his face. "Oh! I get it now!"
He bent his head, his tongue peeking out in concentration as he tried the next problem. Ji-won watched him, a foreign feeling stirring in his chest. It wasn't pity or obligation. It was... satisfaction. Seeing the confusion on Haneul's face clear away, replaced by understanding, felt like solving a difficult problem himself.
When Haneul successfully solved one on his own, he looked up at Ji-won, his expression so full of genuine joy and gratitude that it was almost blinding. "I did it! Thanks, Jiwon-ssi!"
In the quiet library, under the soft glow of the study lamp, with Haneul beaming at him as if he'd hung the moon, Ji-won felt a crack widen in the ice around his heart. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, the ghost of a smile touching his own lips for the first time. "Just... keep going."
The scratch of Haneul's pencil filled the quiet space between them as he worked through another problem, his focus complete. Ji-won watched him, the question that had been burning inside him all night finally rising to the surface, unable to be contained.
He reached out, his hand landing gently but firmly on Haneul's notebook, closing it.
Haneul looked up, startled. "Huh? Was I doing it wrong again?"
Ji-won's gaze was intense, searching. His voice was low, barely a whisper in the silent library. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you stay?" The words came out, raw and unguarded. "Why do you keep trying? I've been... I've been cold to you. I've pushed you away. I told you to leave me alone. So why are you still here, waiting for me, asking for my help?"
He leaned in slightly, his icy composure melting into genuine confusion. "No one else does. No one else would. So... why do you?"
Haneul met his gaze, his own eyes soft and unwavering. The bright, playful energy was gone, replaced by a deep, startling sincerity.
"Because I see you, Jiwon-ssi," he said quietly. "I see the person who came back for me in the dark. The person who pays for taxis and explains math like it's art. I see the knight, not just the walls." He offered a small, gentle smile. "And I think... maybe you need someone to see that, too. So I'm staying. It's really that simple."
Ji-won's breath hitched. Haneul's words—"I see the knight, not just the walls"—struck a chord so deep and vulnerable it was physically painful. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, panicked rhythm. He couldn't breathe. This was too much. The walls were crumbling too fast.
He abruptly clenched his fists, the knuckles turning white, and shot up from his chair, the sound screeching in the quiet library.
"I have to go," he muttered, not looking at Haneul.
Haneul's face fell into concern. He tilted his head. "Jiwon-ssi? Are you okay?"
"I'm not feeling well," Ji-won bit out, already striding towards the exit, needing to escape the overwhelming warmth, the terrifying sincerity.
Haneul scrambled after him, his voice laced with worry. "What's wrong? Are you sick? A cold? A fever? A headache?" His steps quickened to keep up. "Is it me? Am I being too much? I'm sorry, I'll—"
Ji-won didn't answer. He reached the curb, his eyes scanning the street desperately until he flagged down a taxi. He yanked the door open. "Get in," he commanded, his voice tight.
Haneul moved to get in, then stopped, planting his feet firmly on the pavement. He looked at Ji-won, his expression a mixture of stubbornness and concern. "I'll get in… if you give me your number."
Ji-won froze. "No."
"Then I'm not getting in." Haneul took a step back from the car.
"Don't be ridiculous," Ji-won hissed, his composure shattering. He tried to gently but firmly push Haneul toward the open door, but Haneul stood his ground, a determined pout on his lips.
The taxi driver sighed impatiently. "Are you getting in or not?"
Trapped between the waiting car and the immovable, stubborn sunbeam, Ji-won felt all his resistance drain away. It was futile. With a frustrated, defeated growl, he snatched his phone from his pocket. "Fine. Give me yours."
A triumphant, radiant smile broke across Haneul's face. He quickly recited his number, watching as Ji-won typed it in with furious stabs of his thumb.
"There. Now get in the car," Ji-won ordered, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
This time, Haneul obeyed, sliding into the backseat with a happy, final wave. "Get home safe, Jiwon-ssi! Text me!"
Ji-won slammed the door shut a little harder than necessary, watching the taxi pull away. He stood alone on the dark street, his heart still racing, but now for a completely different, equally terrifying reason. He had just voluntarily given Lee Haneul a direct line into his life.