I can't sleep. It's been hours—at least it feels like hours—since I first lay down, but my mind refuses to turn off. The ceiling above me is dimly lit by the soft white LED strip I forgot to turn off earlier, and the glow makes everything feel colder somehow, sharper. My thoughts trip over one another, all spiraling toward the same thing: the upcoming CSAT. The exam that everyone says will shape my entire future. The exam that feels like a storm cloud parked permanently above my head. I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to breathe slowly, but it doesn't help. I'm twenty, and yet my heart beats like I'm a child being asked to walk alone into some dark forest. I've done everything right—studied endlessly, kept my ranking steady, avoided distractions, lived as though every minute mattered—but the closer the real exam gets, the more I feel like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff. No amount of preparation seems enough. When I open my eyes again, the red digits on my desk clock glare at me: 3:12 a.m.
Great.
I roll onto my side, then onto my back, then sit up entirely, as if changing positions will magically summon sleep. My room is quiet, small, and the only place where I feel truly protected from the world. Posters of math formulas and history timelines hang perfectly straight on the walls. Not a book is out of place; not a pen is out of order. Some people call it obsessive, but the truth is… order keeps me calm. Predictable things make me feel less alone. But tonight, even my carefully arranged room can't shield me from the pressure sitting on my chest. I push away my blanket and step onto the cold wooden floor, flinching slightly as the chill runs up my legs. I walk quietly—not because I'm trying, but because I always do. People say I move like a shadow, like I'm scared to exist too loudly. Maybe they're not wrong. I sit at my desk and open one of my practice workbooks, flipping to a marked page. The moment I see the math problems waiting for me, the knot in my stomach tightens. I know studying at this hour isn't healthy. I know it won't fix anything. But doing nothing feels worse. My thoughts grow heavier if I'm lying still. At least solving problems feels like progress, even if it's fake progress at 3 a.m. I pick up my pen and begin. The room is silent except for the faint sound of graphite scratching paper. For a brief moment, I almost manage to disappear into the numbers—until I hear footsteps outside my room. Soft ones.
My door opens a crack.
"Hanbinnie?"
It's eomma.
I freeze with my pen mid-air. "...Yes?" My voice is barely a whisper.
The door opens a little wider, and she slips inside wearing her sky-blue pajama set covered in tiny cartoon clouds. Her hair is tied in a loose bun, messy in a way that tells me she went to bed early but woke up for me anyway. Her eyes soften when she sees me at the desk.
"You're studying again?" she asks softly.
"I couldn't sleep," I say, my voice low, almost ashamed.
She walks toward me quietly—she's good at quiet, unlike the rest of my family—and places her hand gently on my shoulder. "You're pushing yourself too hard."
"I'm… fine."
"You don't look fine." The worry in her voice is unmistakable.
She reaches out and touches my hair, smoothing it like she used to when I was younger. I'm too old for this, but somehow I still lean into her hand without meaning to. Her warmth makes the tightness in my chest loosen just a fraction.
"The CSAT is not your entire life," she murmurs. "You know that, right?"
"I know," I lie.
"Your appa and I aren't expecting perfection from you."
I stay silent because even if they don't expect perfection… I expect it from myself.
Eomma sits on the edge of my bed, pulling the blanket lightly over her knees. "You know, Hyuk never studied like you do."
I let out a small snort. "He still doesn't."
She laughs softly. "But he's doing well in university. Not everyone succeeds by grinding endlessly. Some people… float their way through life."
"Hyuk hyung definitely floats," I mutter.
Before she can respond, a loud knock suddenly hits my door—three strong bangs. I jump. Eomma winces. And then comes the familiar voice:
"Eomma! Are you in there? I heard you talking!"
Of course. Harin. Before eomma can answer, my little sister bursts in as though the door never mattered in the first place.
"Harin," I whisper sharply. "It's three in the morning. Can you not break the house?"
"I didn't break anything!" she hisses back, defensive. "My knock was soft!"
"That was not soft. That was loud enough to wake the ancestors," I say under my breath.
She stomps in wearing an oversized pink hoodie and shorts, her hair a messy ponytail that looks like she wrestled with it. She surveys the room dramatically, then points at my workbook.
"You're studying at this hour? Seriously? You're going to look like a zombie at school!"
"Well, maybe because someone yelled at my door," I mutter.
"How is this my fault?!" she demands.
"You're loud."
"You're alive because I'm loud," she snaps. "Otherwise you'd just shrink into a silent bean."
I sigh. "Thank you for the… poetic description."
She glares but her eyes soften after a moment. "You're stressing too much, Oppa."
"I'm not stressing."
"You absolutely are. You get this tiny wrinkle between your eyebrows when you're stressed." She pokes the air above my face. "Right there."
"I do not have a wrinkle."
She attempts to mimic my supposedly stressed face, scrunching her eyebrows together and pursing her lips. It looks nothing like me, but she seems proud of it anyway. Eomma laughs, covering her mouth to keep her voice quiet. Then another voice drifts in from the hallway:
"Why are all of you awake? Did someone die?"
Hyuk hyung appears, hair wild, wearing a KU hoodie he probably never took off. He squints at the scene inside my room, looking offended by our existence.
"No one died," I say.
"Then why is there a family gathering in Hanbin's cave?" he asks.
Eomma shakes her head and stands up. "All of you, back to bed. Let your brother rest."
"Hard to rest when Harin slams doors," Hyuk hyung grumbles.
"I didn't slam anything!" Harin protests again.
Now they're arguing. Loudly. Of course. I rub my temples, my introvert meter rapidly draining.
"Okay. That's enough," I say quietly but firmly. "Everyone out. I'm going to try sleeping."
"You promise?" eomma asks.
"Yes."
"Even if you wake up early, don't immediately start studying. At least eat breakfast first."
"I'll… try."
She gives me that look, half stern, half affectionate— ike she knows I'll still do whatever I want but she loves me anyway. Hyuk hyung pats my head before leaving. "You'll do well, little bro. I've never doubted you." Harin points accusingly at me. "If you faint on the day of the exam, I'm telling the teachers you did it to yourself."
"Thank you for your support."
"That is support!"
Finally, they all step out. Eomma turns off my desk lamp and gently pushes me toward the bed.
"Sleep now," she says softly.
"…Okay."
She closes the door with barely a sound. And then, silence falls again. I lie back down, staring at the ceiling. But the room feels warmer now. Softer. Less suffocating. Their chaotic presence, their teasing, their worry, it all sits gently somewhere inside me. I don't talk much. I don't express myself well. I don't shout or laugh loudly like they do. But somehow, they always know what I'm feeling even when I never say it. And that… comforts me more than anything. Slowly, my eyes grow heavier.
My alarm rings at 6 a.m., drilling straight through my skull.
I groan and force myself up. My eyes feel swollen, and the mirror shows a pale, tired eighteen-year-old with messy hair. But I've looked worse, so I'll take it.
Downstairs, appa is already sitting at the table reading the news on his phone while eating rice with toasted seaweed. He nods at me in greeting quiet, understated, the way I appreciate.
"Did you sleep?" he asks.
"A little," I say.
Eomma brings over a bowl of hot soup and sets it in front of me. "Eat slowly. You need energy." Soon enough, Hyuk hyung comes yawning down the stairs, followed by Harin, who complains about everything from her tangled hair to her heavy backpack. Their voices fill the kitchen effortlessly. The house is noisy, chaotic, affectionate, alive. And somehow, despite being the quietest person at the table, I feel grounded. Like their voices keep me from drifting off somewhere I can't return from. After breakfast, I sling my heavy backpack over my shoulder and head outside.
The autumn wind wraps around me the moment I step onto the street. Ginkgo leaves scatter across the sidewalk like gold shards. The neighborhood smells faintly of roasted chestnuts and the sweet bread from the bakery near the main road. Everything feels… normal. In this quiet morning, I can almost forget the pressure sitting on my shoulders. For a short walk, I'm not a top student preparing for the CSAT. I'm just… Hanbin. A silent twentyn-year-old boy walking through familiar streets. Children in uniforms run past me, laughing loudly. Elderly neighbors sweep their storefronts, offering polite nods. A cyclist rings his bell as he speeds by. Nothing extraordinary happens, but somehow the normalcy makes my chest loosen. Maybe I can do this. Maybe I'm stronger than the fear that wakes me up every night. Maybe…No. Not maybe. I straighten my posture, let the cold air fill my lungs, and take steadier steps. I will do this. Not because people expect it from me, but because I've worked for it. Because I want a future I can be proud of. Because I have a family that supports me even when I barely speak a word. I exhale. Today feels manageable. And that's enough—for now.