The soft murmur of pages turning, the faint rustle of jackets, and the occasional squeak of a chair against the polished floor filled the serene atmosphere of Seung-joon's classroom. Recess had just begun, and while most students hurried into the sunlit corridors or clustered by the vending machines, 11-C remained an oasis of quiet. Seung-joon sat near the window, bathed in gentle morning light, his pen moving steadily across his notebook. Around him, a few classmates spoke in hushed tones or scrolled lazily through their phones, the classroom exuding a calm distinct from the chaotic energy buzzing just outside its door.
Then it came—
"WHAT?!!!" a voice boomed from the upper floor, its powerful resonance rippling through the building like a sonic blast. The entire classroom fell into stunned silence as every student looked up in surprise, caught off guard by the sheer volume and intensity of the cry.
The serenity shattered.
Everyone immediately recognized it — Won Han-bin.
His voice had become something of a legend at A*, more iconic than even the gleaming line of gold medals he'd brought home from national swim meets. That voice had announced victories, startled teachers, and now had clearly erupted from something bigger than just school gossip.
From his seat in the quiet corner of 11-C, Seung-joon stiffened.
Han-bin was one of Min-jun's closest friends.
What's going on, Han Min-jun?
Outside the window, the school courtyard buzzed with life—students dashing between classrooms, laughter echoing down the corridors, and the distant squeak of sneakers on the gym floor. But inside, where Seung-joon sat, the classroom felt like a pocket of stillness. The light slanted gently across the desks, catching the glint of open textbooks and casting soft shadows. Seung-joon's face remained composed, but his heart had picked up a curious rhythm.
Seung-joon felt a bit worried. Lately, Min-jun had looked unusually haggard and desperate. It seemed that falling for Seung-joon had affected him more than Seung-joon had expected.
He is more sensitive than I thought.
Without a word, Seung-joon slipped from his desk. He moved quietly, unnoticed, slipping past classmates still murmuring about the shout. The hallway outside was alive with speculation—a hive of whispered questions and curious glances as students clustered near the stairwell. Yet Seung-joon walked through it with effortless calm, his mind drifting elsewhere.
Initially, he had believed that Min-jun's fascination would fade with time. But days turned into weeks, and Min-jun's feelings only grew more persistent, more tangled in sincerity. Now, Seung-joon didn't know how long it would last—or whether it should.
We might make a mess of everything if we do as our heart desires.
For a fleeting moment, Seung-joon wondered whether his heart even had desires. That had never been like him. Yet somehow, Min-jun had lit something within him—small and uncertain, but undeniably present. A warmth that stirred where there had once only been quiet.
The 12th grade corridor stretched before him, unusually quiet for recess. Only a few students lingered near their classrooms, clearly startled by Han-bin's outburst but too engrossed in their own routines to linger. Their hushed conversations flickered out as Seung-joon passed, their curious glances trailing him for a moment before returning to their devices and idle chatter.
Seung-joon walked with deliberate calm toward the room he knew belonged to Min-jun's class, his steps soft against the polished floor. He didn't rush. He never did.
Inside the room, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a pale, artificial glow on the polished desks. The air was still, but charged—like the silence before a summer storm. Only three figures stood within the room: Min-jun, Chang-min, and Han-bin.
They sat in a tense triangle, silent now — but the heat of whatever had been said moments ago still lingered in the air like static after lightning.
Leaning casually against the wall just outside, Seung-joon adopted a relaxed posture, his eyes gliding over the nearby notice board as if he were studying it. But his ears were tuned to the classroom window behind him, where faint voices bled through.
Chang-min's voice filtered out, low and steady. A soft whisper laced with worry.
"Jun-ah. Get a grip on yourself."
"Hyung… should I transfer to a different school?"
"Don't be crazy," Han-bin said, his voice low and firm, trying to mask the concern beneath his words.
"I can't let anyone know. Especially Seung-joon. I don't want him looking at me with disgust."
"Why would he look at you with disgust? Loving someone isn't a crime. And I don't think that kid is that shallow. Besides… he doesn't even know you love him."
"It's the first time I've heard you say something sensible."
A sudden thud followed—sharp and solid, like a notebook hitting the floor. From where he stood, Seung-joon could almost see the smirk forming on Han-bin's face as he likely tossed something at Chang-min.
"Anyway," Chang-min continued gently, "just let it be. Be true to yourself. Pushing things away only makes things harder."
There was a surprising tenderness in Chang-min's tone, steady and patient. Han-bin's voice joined his in soft agreement, a quiet thread of support holding the moment together.
Then came the shrill ring of the bell, slicing through the tension and announcing the end of recess. The noise stirred the hallways into motion once more, but Seung-joon didn't move right away.
After a pause, he turned and walked away from the door, footsteps quiet as his thoughts stayed behind—lingering, tangled in the words he was never meant to hear.
When Seung-joon returned to his classroom, the chatter from the hallway filtered in behind him like a fading echo. Inside, the room had settled back into its usual rhythm. The scrape of chairs and rustle of paper created a soft backdrop to the muted murmur of students easing into their seats.
Tae-min, hunched over his desk, was frantically copying equations from Seung-joon's notebook, his handwriting progressively sloppier the closer the teacher's arrival drew near. His brows furrowed in desperation as he mumbled formulas under his breath.
As Seung-joon passed by, he calmly plucked the notebook from under Tae-min's pen.
A low groan escaped Tae-min. "Oh, come on, baby."
"No. Do it on your own," Seung-joon said flatly. "Or I'll tell eomma."
Tae-min threw him a dramatic, wistful glance, lips curling into a pout as he unleashed his signature puppy eyes. It was a routine that never failed to amuse Seung-joon, who smirked in response.
But the moment the sound of approaching footsteps signaled other students returning, Tae-min immediately dropped the act. His expression turned neutral, and he bent over his work again as if the exchange had never happened.
Still smiling faintly, Seung-joon returned to his seat and opened his textbook. Yet his mind remained tangled in the memory of what he'd overheard outside Min-jun's classroom.
Han Min-jun, you're making it so much harder for me to walk away. Regardless of whether I return your feelings or not, it seems you're destined to suffer.
Lost in thought, Seung-joon unconsciously bit the inside of his cheek.
A gentle poke to his cheek snapped him out of it. Tae-jon had returned from his music class and was watching him closely.
"Don't do that," Tae-jon said, his voice low, with a hint of sternness layered under his calm.
Seung-joon offered Tae-jon a small smile before turning his gaze toward the front of the classroom. The teacher entered moments later, and the hum of idle chatter quickly faded into orderly quiet. Without thinking, Seung-joon picked up his pen and began taking notes, his hand moving on instinct while his thoughts drifted elsewhere—far from conjugations and formulas.
Han Min-jun, I wish I could spend a day with you. I want to know everything about you.
The thought surfaced like a sigh inside his chest, and a real one escaped his lips before he could stop it.
Both Tae-min and Tae-jon glanced at him immediately, their eyes sharp with concern. Seung-joon cleared his throat and tucked the sigh away.
"Just feeling a bit tired," he murmured, feigning nonchalance. His brothers didn't press, but their eyes lingered a moment too long.
Oh man, this is going to be a hassle, Seung-joon thought as he flipped to the next page, deliberately avoiding their stares.
To his brothers, Seung-joon was still their beloved baby—their bright, obedient younger brother. And he played the part dutifully, always yielding, never rebelling. They were his cherished ones, the center of his world.
But lately, something had shifted.
He wondered, with calm detachment, how they would react if they realized he'd grown in ways they hadn't expected—if they knew he had begun to want something that belonged only to himself.
His encounter with Han Min-jun had sparked something unfamiliar—a glow of desire, a longing that flickered like a candle in the dark. And though faint, it was steady. Persistent.
Seung-joon closed his eyes for a brief moment and made a wish from the quietest place inside him:
Han Min-jun, let's meet for one day and spend time together like a couple.
He knew it was foolish—impossible, even.
But it was the only wish he truly wanted.