By the time the last bell rings, my shoulders feel like they've been carrying weight all day.
Not physical. Not exactly.
Just…accumulated.
I pack my bag more slowly than usual, not because I want to linger, but because leaving at the wrong time costs more than staying a minute longer. The classroom empties in layers. Loud ones first. Confident ones next. The careful ones wait.
I'm in the careful group.
My body knows it before my mind does. The slight stiffness in my neck. The dull ache between my shoulder blades. I roll my shoulders once, subtly, then still again.
Socially cautious. Slightly tired.
That's my default now.
I stand when there's space and step into the hallway with the second wave. Noise swells immediately, lockers slamming, shoes scraping tile, voices overlapping in unfinished sentences.
I move close to the wall, eyes forward, attention split between reflections and sound. No one blocks my path. That's good. Halfway to the stairs, someone calls my name. Not loud. Not aggressive.
"Joon-seok."
I stop without freezing and turn just enough to see who it is.
It's Jae-hwan. Lee Jae-hwan. I know him by reputation more than interaction. Solid build. Cropped hair. Knuckles are always marked with old scabs. He's not a leader, not a follower. One of the ones who drifts between groups without belonging fully to any.
Two other guys hover near him.
Choi Min-ho is one—loud even when he's quiet, energy coiled tight under his skin. The third one I recognize, but don't know the name of. Thin. Sharp eyes. Always watching.
They're leaning against the lockers like they've been waiting, but not specifically for me.
That matters.
"Yeah?" I say.
Jae-hwan pushes off the lockers and steps closer, stopping at a respectful distance. Not crowding. That's deliberate.
"We're grabbing ramen. Down by the station." He says. Min-ho grins. "You in?" The way he says it makes it sound like a joke. Like he expects me to say no. Like the invitation is a formality.
I don't answer immediately. Ramen after school isn't nothing. It's a test wrapped in casual language. A way to see who shows up, who doesn't, and what that means. I weigh it fast.
Going means visibility. Association. People notice who eats with whom. Not going can look like disinterest. Or fear. Or arrogance. None of those are good.
"Just ramen. Nothing crazy." Jae-hwan adds, reading my pause. Min-ho snorts. "Don't make it sound weird." It already is. I nod once. "Okay." The word lands more heavily than it should. Jae-hwan looks faintly surprised. Min-ho's grin widens, like he didn't think it would work.
"Cool. Let's go." Min-ho says.
We head for the stairs together. I adjust my pace to stay half a step behind them. Not leading. Not lagging. In the stairwell, the sound changes. Echoes sharpen. Footsteps become louder than they should be. I keep my eyes up, scanning landings and corners.
Nothing.
Outside, the air is cold and damp. Late afternoon light reflects off wet pavement. Traffic hums in the distance.
We walk toward the station in loose formation. Min-ho talks the most, filling the silence with complaints about homework, teachers, and some guy who mouthed off earlier. Jae-hwan listens, responding in short bursts.
The third guy, Soo-bin, I realize, walks quietly beside me. Park Soo-bin. Glasses. Calm eyes. He glances at me once, measuring, then looks ahead again.
"So. Back-row king. You always this quiet?" Min-ho asks, twisting around to walk backward for a few steps. I keep walking. "Most days." He laughs. "We'll fix that." Jae-hwan shoots him a look. "Don't."
Min-ho shrugs and turns back around. We're two blocks from the school when it happens. A voice cuts in from behind us. "Ramen?" Female. Bright. Amused. I feel it before I see her, energy entering the space like a draft.
Seo Min-ji falls into step beside Jae-hwan without asking.
She's in her third year, taller than most girls, and her posture is relaxed in a way that makes people unconsciously adjust around her. Her uniform jacket is unbuttoned, tie loose, like rules are suggestions she's already evaluated and dismissed.
She smiles like she knows something.
"Didn't know you guys were going. Mind if I join?" She asks. Min-ho lights up immediately. "Noona!" Jae-hwan sighs. "You were eavesdropping."
"Listening." She corrects. Her eyes flick to me. Sharp. Curious. Warm, but not soft. "You must be the quiet one."
I nod. "Joon-seok."
"I know. Everyone knows the quiet ones." She grins wider. The joke turns real instantly. This isn't just ramen anymore. Seo Min-ji doesn't invite herself to places unless she wants something or wants to see what happens.
I adjust my expectations down to zero.
That's safer.
We reach the shop near the station. Small place. Yellowed sign. Steam fogging the windows. The smell hits me as soon as we open the door: broth, garlic, something spicy. It's crowded, but not packed. Office workers at the counter. Two tables open in the back.
We take one.
I sit at the end, back to the wall, facing the entrance. Habit. No one comments on it.
Min-ji drops into the seat across from me like it's already hers. Jae-hwan and Min-ho take the sides. Soo-bin sits quietly beside Min-ho. Menus come and go quickly. Orders are shouted to the kitchen. Bowls clatter.
Min-ji talks.
About nothing. About everything.
She tells a story about a teacher losing his temper last year. About a fight that broke out near the arcade two streets over. About how the ramen here used to be better before the owner changed suppliers.
She doesn't ask me questions.
Not directly.
She watches instead.
How I hold my chopsticks. How I listen. Whether I laugh at the right places. I don't try to impress her. That's not a strategy. That's instinct. Trying would cost too much.
When my ramen arrives, steam rising thick and fragrant, I pause a second to let it cool. Heat hides pain. Pain hides mistakes. Min-ji notices. "You eat slow." She says. "I like tasting it." I reply.
That earns a small laugh.
Conversation ebbs and flows. Min-ho dominates when he can. Jae-hwan reins him in. Soo-bin adds comments that land quietly but shift the direction of the talk. Min-ji steers without seeming to. At one point, she leans back in her chair and studies me openly.
"You're not nervous." She says. I glance up. "Should I be?" She smiles, amused. "Most second-years are."
"I get tired instead."
That does it.
She laughs. Really laughs this time. Not loud. Genuine. "I like that answer. No posturing." She says. I shrug. "Posturing gets expensive."
"True. Especially here." She says. She doesn't elaborate. She doesn't need to. The bowls empty gradually. Sweat beads at my temples from the spice. My fingers tingle slightly, capsaicin, heat, and circulation.
The night outside darkens.
When we pay, Min-ji waves away Jae-hwan's protest and covers the bill. "Upperclassman privilege." She says. We step back into the cold. The group lingers on the sidewalk, conversation drifting toward nothing. Plans for tomorrow. Complaints about exams.
Min-ji stretches, arms over her head, then looks at me.
"You walking home?" She asks.
"Yes."
"Same direction. I'll walk a bit." She says easily. The others exchange glances but don't comment. We peel off one by one. Min-ho and Soo-bin head toward the arcade. Jae-hwan nods at me once before turning down a side street.
Suddenly, it's just us.
The city feels quieter without the buffer of others. Footsteps echo differently. My awareness sharpens automatically.
Min-ji notices.
"You always this alert?" She asks.
"Usually." I say. She hums. "Must be exhausting."
"It is."
She laughs softly. "At least you're honest." We walk in companionable silence for a block. Neon lights reflect off puddles. Cars hiss past. She breaks it. "You know people are watching you, right?" I don't deny it. "I know."
"And you don't care?"
"I care. I just don't react." I say. She glances sideways at me. "That's worse."
"For them." I agree. She stops walking suddenly. I stop too. Half a step ahead, then back even. She turns to face me, expression unreadable. "You're interesting. Not in a flashy way. In an inconvenient way." She says.
I say nothing.
She studies me a moment longer, then smiles and steps back. "See you around, Joon-seok." She turns and walks off, hands in her pockets, disappearing into the flow of people near the station.
I stand there for a second longer than necessary, then resume walking. The rest of the way home feels different. Not heavier.
Just…altered.
At home, I shower, letting hot water loosen the tension in my shoulders. My reflection in the mirror looks the same. Nothing about me has changed physically.
But something sticks.
At school the next day, I noticed glances from people who weren't looking before. Whispers that stop when I pass. Min-ji catches my eye once across the courtyard and lifts her chin slightly. Not a greeting. An acknowledgment.
I don't respond.
I don't need to.
Some connections form without intent. Those are the hardest to control. And as I take my seat in the back row, wall at my shoulder, I realize something quietly unsettling. Avoiding attention doesn't mean you're invisible anymore.
It just means you're harder to read.