Seung-joon woke before dawn, the sky outside the window still cloaked in a deep indigo hush. The faintest light touched the edges of the curtains, hinting at the coming morning. Min-jun was nestled against him, his cheek resting lightly on Seung-joon's arm, his breathing soft and even—like a child lost in a dream.
With practiced gentleness, Seung-joon lifted Min-jun's head just enough to slip his arm free, careful not to wake him. He paused for a heartbeat, watching as Min-jun shifted slightly, murmuring something incoherent before settling again into stillness.
After a quiet trip to the bathroom, the chill of the room brushing against his skin, Seung-joon returned to find that Min-jun had turned slightly in his sleep, his arm now lying where Seung-joon had once been. Without hesitation, Seung-joon slid back under the covers and nestled close, letting his head rest on Min-jun's arm this time.
He lay there in the hush of early morning, letting the slow rhythm of Min-jun's breathing calm him. His eyes lingered on Min-jun's serene face—so vulnerable, so still—and slowly, with a small, content sigh, Seung-joon let himself drift off again, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around him like a secret.
The next time Seung-joon woke, the room was awash in the soft gray light of early morning. He turned his head slightly and immediately noticed that Min-jun was feigning sleep. The subtle flutter beneath his eyelids and the faint tension in his jaw gave him away.
Seung-joon allowed himself a few quiet seconds to admire the contours of Min-jun's face—the gentle slope of his nose, the way his lashes cast faint shadows across his cheeks. With a soft, affectionate smile, he reached out and gave Min-jun's shoulder a gentle shake.
"Hyung, are you feeling okay?" he asked, his fingers brushing Min-jun's forehead in a light, lingering touch. The skin was cool beneath his fingertips.
"I'm fine. Thanks, Joon-ah," Min-jun murmured in a low, drowsy voice.
Seung-joon froze for a moment—he hadn't expected the way Min-jun's voice would sound so velvety, so intimate in the quiet hush between them. The sound stirred something deep in his chest.
There was a fond familiarity in the way Min-jun said his name that made Seung-joon's heart flutter, filling him with a sweet, unexpected warmth. A smile crept onto his lips, soft and sincere.
"Alright then. I'm glad to hear that," Seung-joon replied, reluctantly pulling himself away and slipping out of bed. "Hyung, I'll take a quick shower. We should hurry if we don't want to be late for breakfast."
At the breakfast table, the air buzzed with the soft murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of cutlery against porcelain. Seung-joon took his seat beside Min-jun, joining in on the casual chatter with the other club members. He laughed politely, nodded at the right moments, but his mind was elsewhere.
Despite his best efforts to stay engaged, Seung-joon's gaze kept drifting toward the boy beside him.
Min-jun was focused on his meal, unaware of the eyes fixed on him. His cheeks were adorably puffed out with food, making him look like a baby chipmunk mid-chew. Seung-joon found himself smiling at the sight. There was something so pure about Min-jun in that moment—his bright, round eyes sparkling with the simple joy of a warm breakfast, his expression unguarded and sweet.
Seung-joon rested his elbow on the table, his hand lightly covering his mouth to hide the grin tugging at his lips.
You're dangerous when you're like this, Han-ah, he thought, heart tightening with fondness he could no longer deny.
Seung-joon spent the entire day yearning to be near Min-jun. From the wide windows of the dining hall, he watched with quiet longing as Min-jun played beach volleyball with the other students. The sunlight danced across Min-jun's lean frame, his skin glowing with the sheen of sweat under the early summer sun. His laughter rang faintly across the sand, carried by the warm breeze, and every sound seemed to pull at something deep within Seung-joon.
Yet Seung-joon couldn't leave. As a member of the club committee, he was required to attend a string of meetings about the upcoming academic year's activities. He sat through them in restless silence, fingers tapping against his notepad, his thoughts never straying far from the beach. Time dragged, each ticking second thick with impatience. He kept glancing at the clock, silently begging it to move faster.
By the time Seung-joon was finally released from his obligations, the golden warmth of the day had faded. The sky was streaked with deep violet and amber as the sun lowered towards the ocean's edge. He made his way back to their room, the hush of the calm evening settling around him like a breath held too long.
When Seung-joon stepped into the room, the soft click of the door seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet. He halted in his tracks the moment his eyes landed on Min-jun.
Min-jun stood by the bed, towel slung low around his waist, his damp hair clinging to his forehead as he lazily ran a hand through it with a towel. Droplets of water traced slow paths down his bare torso, catching the dim evening light that filtered in through the curtains.
Seung-joon froze, his breath hitching as a wave of heat surged up his neck and settled in his ears. A sudden itch crawled across the back of his neck, and he resisted the overwhelming urge to scratch at it, knowing full well it was a symptom of the blush rapidly spreading beneath his skin.
His heart pounded erratically, far too fast, as if warning him that he was treading in dangerous waters. The sight before him felt like walking a razor's edge—beautiful, overwhelming, and far too tempting.
He turned his head slightly, pretending to fumble inside his bag, desperate for something—anything—to calm the storm building in his chest.
"Hyung, do you work out often?" Seung-joon asked, his voice slightly higher than usual as he tried to steer his thoughts away from the sight he'd just witnessed.
"I play a lot of sports," Min-jun replied, tugging his shirt over his head. His cheeks had taken on a faint pink hue, and Seung-joon felt his own ears burn in response, the heat spreading embarrassingly fast.
Turning away quickly, Seung-joon pretended to search through his bag, his fingers fumbling with the fabric as he avoided eye contact.
Just as he thought he was regaining composure, Min-jun's voice floated toward him, casual but warm. "Would you like to go for a walk?"
Seung-joon's heart jumped, thudding in his chest like a drum. He looked toward the glass wall, where the last light of sunset still lingered like a golden brushstroke across the sky, and managed a soft, sincere smile.
"That would be great," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "I'll have a quick wash and come."
"Sure. I'll be waiting outside," Min-jun replied, already heading toward the door. "Come find me when you're finished."
As the door closed behind him, Seung-joon let out a slow breath and pressed a hand to his chest, as though to quiet the wild rhythm inside.
Inside the bathroom, Seung-joon stepped under the warm stream of water, letting it cascade over his tense shoulders. He closed his eyes tightly, but the image of Min-jun—bare skin glistening beneath the soft light, hair damp, eyes shining—flashed vividly behind his lids. A soft groan escaped him as he leaned forward, pressing his palms against the cool tile wall.
Ugh... What's wrong with me? he thought, water mingling with the heat rising in his face. At this rate, he's going to figure it out... and then what?
He stood there for a moment, letting the water soothe his nerves while his thoughts raced.
He is not ready for that. He's barely begun to make sense of what he's feeling. If I throw mine on top of his...
A heavy sigh left his lips, fogging up the glass.
Besides, what good would it even do to tell him how I feel... if I can't offer him a future?
The question hung in the steam like an echo, unanswered.
Seung-joon knelt on the bathroom floor, the steam curling around him like a fragile veil. Hot water cascaded over his back and shoulders, but it couldn't wash away the sting of the tears streaming silently down his cheeks. With his forehead pressed against the cool tiles, he let the sobs come—quiet, desperate, and raw.
For the first time, he wished he could be just an ordinary person. Not someone surrounded by protectiveness and affection, not someone constantly cherished by others—but someone with the freedom to give love freely, without fear or consequence.
Why can't I give back what they offer me? he wondered bitterly, his chest tightening with guilt.
Tilting his face upward into the spray, he let the water flood over him, as if it could rinse away the heaviness inside. His lips parted in a silent plea.
If only I could disappear... melt into this water... fade from the hearts and memories of the people who love me. Maybe then... they wouldn't hurt anymore because of me.
The stream blurred his vision, but it was no longer clear what came from the water or from his tears.
With a heavy heart, Seung-joon stepped out of the resort, the fading warmth of the shower clinging faintly to his skin. His eyes immediately found Min-jun standing near the entrance, bathed in the amber light of the setting sun. Min-jun's figure was still, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where the sun melted into the sea in a blaze of crimson and gold. There was a quiet sorrow etched in his profile, a weight in his eyes that tugged painfully at Seung-joon's heart.
Seung-joon's hands curled into fists at his sides, resisting the overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around Min-jun from behind—to offer comfort, or maybe to seek it himself. Instead, he exhaled slowly and walked ahead without a word, his footsteps light against the wooden steps and shifting gravel.
The sky deepened in color with every passing minute, painting the beach in hues of fire and longing. Without needing to ask, Min-jun followed. Together, they made their way down the narrow path to the most secluded corner of the shore, where only the hush of waves and the call of distant gulls accompanied them.
There, surrounded by the soft sigh of the ocean and the rustle of breeze-stirred reeds, the world felt still—just the two of them suspended in the quiet flame of twilight.
They sat side by side on the quiet beach, the golden glow of the setting sun casting long shadows behind them. The tide whispered as it brushed against the shore, soft and unhurried, like a lullaby meant only for the two of them. Neither spoke. The silence between them wasn't awkward—it was the kind of silence that held everything unspoken, heavy yet oddly comforting.
Seung-joon sat hunched slightly, his shoulders drawn in against the cool breeze sweeping in from the sea. He was tired—bone-deep weary from the endless battle he'd fought for as long as he could remember. A quiet war waged within him day after day, and now, under the bleeding hues of twilight, he felt the sharp pang of futility. The fight had no ending, not one he could win. Whether now or later, he knew it would claim its toll.
A shiver slipped through him as the wind picked up, brushing his skin with a biting chill.
Then something warm appeared before him.
Min-jun's hand, steady and gentle, held out a small can of hot drink—its steam curling in the cool air. Seung-joon turned, startled out of his thoughts. His eyes met Min-jun's—wide, earnest, and full of quiet care.
Seung-joon's expression softened into a fragile smile.
"Thank you, hyung," Seung-joon murmured, his voice barely rising above the hush of the waves. He accepted the warm drink with both hands, letting the heat seep into his chilled palms as he sipped it slowly. The warmth spread through him, quiet and steady, but it did little to calm the growing urge within him—the longing to reach out and take Min-jun's hand.
And in that moment, Seung-joon wished—more fiercely than he ever had—that he could win his battle.
Because sitting there beside Min-jun, he finally understood something: Min-jun made the struggle worth enduring. Every aching, complicated second of it.
He stole a glance sideways. Min-jun's profile was bathed in the fading gold of twilight, his expression soft and thoughtful. For a heartbeat, time seemed to halt. The world around them faded—the sea, the murmuring breeze, the etheral sky—until all that remained was this moment between them. Seung-joon closed his eyes and let it settle in his soul, knowing this was fleeting, irreplaceable. It felt like standing still inside a dream he didn't want to wake from.
"Thank you, Joon-ah," Min-jun said suddenly, his voice hushed but heartfelt.
Seung-joon turned toward him, eyes searching.
"Just... I feel grateful for this moment," Min-jun added, offering a shy but sincere smile.
Seung-joon followed his gaze out to the endless stretch of ocean, where the horizon blurred into the velvet sky. The sound of waves brushing the sand was steady, like a lullaby. He took a deep breath, letting the sea air fill his lungs.
With a quiet, serene smile, he replied, "I feel the same, too."
***
Dinner passed in a blur of casual conversation and laughter shared among Seung-joon's club members. He offered smiles, nodded along to jokes, and contributed just enough to seem engaged—but beneath the surface, a persistent unease gnawed at him. It crept in like a cold draft, subtle but insistent. No matter how many times he tried to dismiss it, the feeling lingered.
Later, back in their room, he and Min-jun exchanged quiet words under the low glow of the bedside lamp. Seung-joon recounted the day's meetings—minor updates, plans for next semester, decisions on club leadership—all while stealing glances at Min-jun, whose presence always made the room feel warmer.
Eventually, the conversation faded, and they settled into bed, the silence between them soft and familiar. But as sleep began to pull Min-jun into its depths, Seung-joon lay awake, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
No matter how hard he tried, Seung-joon couldn't silence the nagging thought at the back of his mind—a feeling that something terrible was about to unfold.
***
Seung-joon knew he was dreaming—knew it in the way one senses a storm before it breaks—yet no matter how desperately he clawed at the edges of consciousness, he couldn't wake himself. The moment was familiar, a haunting echo of the unease that had gnawed at him all afternoon, now taking form in a world twisted by fear.
He tore through narrow, crooked lanes that shifted with every step, the walls looming in closer with each frantic breath. His heartbeat pounded like war drums in his chest, matching the echo of footsteps—too steady, too deliberate—to be his own.
The darkness around him was thick, suffocating, as if the night itself were alive, brushing against his skin with cold, invisible fingers. Shadows pulsed at the corners of his vision, shapes that shouldn't have been there slipping just out of reach. Every time he looked back, there was nothing—and yet, something always seemed to be just behind him. Watching. Waiting.
The silence was worse than sound—unnatural, oppressive, broken only by the rustle of wind that carried whispers he couldn't understand. The air was heavy with the scent of earth and something faintly metallic, like the ghost of blood in a closed room.
He didn't know where he was running to. Only that he couldn't stop. If he stopped, it would catch him.
Suddenly, Seung-joon glimpsed a shadow in the distance—at first vague, almost imagined, a ripple in the darkness. But as it crept closer, it solidified into something far more chilling: a dark, foreboding figure that seemed to devour the light around it, warping the air like heat rising off asphalt. Its shape was barely human, featureless and fluid, as if darkness itself had learned to walk.
Seung-joon's breath stalled mid-inhale, his lungs tightening as though the very air had turned to smoke. Panic surged, but his legs refused to move—frozen, as if the earth beneath him had swallowed his feet. An unseen weight pressed down on his shoulders, anchoring him in place as dread coiled in his gut like a living thing.
The figure advanced without sound. No footsteps. No breath. Just the relentless silence of something that didn't belong in any world he knew.
Seung-joon tried to scream, but the sound caught in his throat—trapped, like him.
Seung-joon knew he had to keep running—but the shadow was closing in, its presence swelling like a tide of dread. Every heartbeat felt louder than the last, pounding in his ears as his feet pounded against the unseen ground. He could feel it now—its breath, cold and unnatural, ghosting across the back of his neck like the kiss of death.
Panic clawed at his chest.
If it caught him, he knew instinctively—viscerally—it would drag him away. Away from his family. Away from Min-jun. Into a place where light could never reach, where time would stretch into eternity, and nothing would remain of him but silence and shadow.
He opened his mouth to scream—to call out the one name that might save him.
Min-jun.
But no sound came.
His throat moved, desperate, straining, but the air refused to carry his voice. It was as if the dream itself had swallowed his words, sealing him in helpless silence as the shadow reached for him.
"Han-ah… Han-ah…" Seung-joon tried to scream with every ounce of strength he had left, but his voice was swallowed by the void. His lungs felt hollow, emptied of breath and will. A crushing weight settled over him, and he collapsed to the ground, trembling. His tears streamed freely, hot trails cutting down his cheeks, vanishing into the cold, endless dark.
A suffocating sense of helplessness wrapped around him like chains. He felt small—insignificant—adrift in a nightmare with no end.
Then, through the choking darkness, his eyes caught a faint flicker on the distant horizon—a tiny light, like a firefly blinking in defiance of the void.
Hope.
With trembling hands, Seung-joon reached out, his fingers stretching through the gloom as though he could grasp it, cling to it, and pull himself free from the nightmare.
Please… let me see him once… just once…
Just as Seung-joon teetered on the edge of surrender, the flickering firefly light dimming into nothingness, something shifted.
A sensation—subtle but unmistakable—brushed against his skin. Soft lips, warm and trembling, pressed gently against his tear-streaked face. A voice followed, low and desperate, calling his name like a plea sent straight from the heart.
The sound didn't echo through the void like the dream's hollow whispers. It pierced straight through, striking the very core of his soul. Though distant, it felt achingly real—familiar in a way that shattered the grip of fear.
H-Han-ah…
The name rose from within him like a forgotten prayer, carried on a thread of yearning. With it came warmth, a slow, radiant bloom that reached through the numb coldness and wrapped around him like an embrace.
Little by little, the shadows recoiled, his senses stirring from slumber, drawn back by that voice and the warmth it carried.
'H-Han-ah…' The name filled every corner of his being, bringing with it a warmth that slowly pulled him back, his senses returning, little by little.
Seung-joon lay there, utterly helpless, his heart breaking as he sensed Min-jun's desperate sobs of fear. He couldn't open his eyes, but every trembling inch of his body felt Min-jun clinging to him, the raw emotion so tangible it hurt. At that moment, Seung-joon's hatred for himself was overwhelming—more than he had ever despised his own fate, he despised his inability to protect Min-jun from this agony.
Deep within, he promised himself that he would never let Min-jun suffer like this again. He would do everything in his power to shield Minjun from ever feeling this kind of pain because of him.
'Han-ah, you deserve someone who can keep you happy for the rest of your life. Let me be just a faint memory of the past,' Seung-joon thought, a soft, defeated sigh slipping from his lips.
"Baby... Baby, wake up... Joon-ah... Joon-ah, I'm here. Please, wake up..."
Seung-joon's heart shattered as he heard Min-jun's pleading voice. Tears flowed silently down his face, his chest tightening with each word. Unable to bear the weight of his emotions, he cried until exhaustion took over, slipping into a sleep so deep that he wished he would never wake from it again.