Min-jun released a heavy sigh, the sound dissolving into the soft rustle of leaves stirred by a passing breeze. He kept his eyes fixed on the still surface of the small lake before him. The university grounds, usually humming with life, now felt almost eerily silent. The peaceful hush of late afternoon cloaked everything in a delicate calm, broken only by the occasional chirp of a distant bird.
The lake reflected the sky perfectly—an endless stretch of pale blue interrupted by the drifting shapes of cotton-white clouds. Min-jun slowly lowered himself to the grassy shore, resting his arms on his knees.
His eyes lingered on the glassy surface of the water, and with it, the memory of soft lips and trembling hands returned to him with vivid clarity. A deep yearning stirred within him—a longing that nestled into his ribs and refused to be dislodged. It was a quiet ache, piercing and persistent.
Joon-ah… where are you now?
The question hovered unspoken in the space around him, echoing in the stillness like a prayer waiting for an answer.
It was early summer, and although the weather was still chilly enough to make prolonged walks uncomfortable, Min-jun found himself wandering without a clear direction.
The cold seemed to deepen his yearning, bringing back memories of those two perfect summer days he had shared with Seung-joon at the beach resort.
Even though he knew the person he longed to see wouldn't appear, Min-jun couldn't resist searching for him, holding tightly onto a faint glimmer of hope.
More times than he could count, he found himself chasing after fleeting shapes and shadows, fooled by the ache in his heart.
Two and a half years had passed since Min-jun parted from Seung-joon, yet for him, time seemed to have stopped altogether.
Days drifted by unnoticed, blending into each other without leaving a clear memory. Often, he questioned how he'd managed to survive all this while without breaking down completely.
The thought that Seung-joon never wanted to see him again pierced deeply, almost shattering his heart, yet in some painful way, it made their separation easier to bear.
Quietly and without ceremony, Min-jun had left everything behind, not even saying goodbye to his friends, deliberately distancing himself from anyone who might remind him of Seung-joon.
Even now, after all this time, whenever Min-jun closed his eyes, the memory of Seung-joon's gentle kiss lingered vividly—as fresh as if it had just happened yesterday.
***
"Joon-ah…"
Min-jun's eyes fluttered open slowly, only to be met by emptiness where Seung-joon had stood moments before. He stood frozen for a few seconds, the bitter reality sinking heavily into his chest.
Suddenly, his legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed onto the cold ground, holding his head tightly as it throbbed painfully. A quiet sob escaped his lips, mingling with his soft murmurs of Seung-joon's name. In the distance, he heard the rapid footsteps of Chang-min drawing closer.
Weakly lifting his gaze upward, Min-jun stared at the softly glowing window of Seung-joon's room. The gentle white curtain swayed slightly, but there was no shadow, no sign of life within.
He knew instinctively that this was a goodbye. Whether Seung-joon's kiss had come from the depths of his heart or merely fulfilled Min-jun's desperate wish didn't seem important anymore. Deep inside, a crushing certainty settled—he would never see Seung-joon again.
As darkness began to cloud his vision and his strength faded, Min-jun felt Chang-min's strong arms wrap around him protectively, gently catching him before his head touched the cold ground.
Physically, Min-jun recovered in about a month, but the hollow feeling inside him didn't fade. The ache in his chest lingered, untouched by time. Most days, he sat by the window, staring out quietly, his eyes always drifting toward the road that led to Seung-joon's house.
Many times, he told himself he would go—just walk over and see him, even for a second. But every time he stood up, heart pounding with fragile determination, something would stop him. Doubt crept in, and fear followed. And in the end, his courage always slipped away, leaving him seated once again, watching the same quiet road and hoping for a glimpse that never came.
Min-jun had lost weight, and the spark he once carried seemed to have dimmed. He no longer cared about his appearance the way he used to. His hair grew out unevenly, and his once neatly arranged clothes often hung loosely on his thinner frame. He knew Chang-min was worried.
For Chang-min, watching Min-jun—usually so full of laughter and mischief—turn quiet and withdrawn was unsettling. But Min-jun couldn't bring himself to pretend. The energy to smile, to laugh like before, simply wasn't there.
They spent most of their time indoors, side by side at their desks. The silence in the room was broken only by the rustle of pages and the soft scratch of pens on paper as they studied for the university entrance exams. For Min-jun, the focus was a refuge—something to keep his thoughts from drifting too far into memories he wasn't ready to relive.
By the time they enrolled in university, Min-jun had become a different person—almost unrecognizable from who he used to be. The bright, lively boy who once filled every room with his presence had turned quiet, distant, and almost invisible.
He kept to himself, rarely speaking unless necessary, and moved through campus like a shadow. Most of his free time was spent tucked away in the library or sitting quietly by the lake, watching the water in silence. While other students laughed and gathered in buzzing circles, Min-jun kept his distance, drawn instead to the quiet spaces where no one asked questions and no one expected him to smile.
Even though Min-jun remained popular for his intelligence and quiet charm, he showed little interest in making friends. His indifference was unmistakable—he kept conversations brief and avoided social gatherings altogether. It was clear he longed for solitude, as if he wanted to disappear from everyone's memory.
Ironically, this very detachment only made him stand out more. His professors admired his focus and calm demeanor, often singling him out with quiet praise. It frustrated some of his classmates, especially those who had tried—and failed—to win the kind of attention Min-jun seemed to attract without effort.
Won Dong-hyun had held a grudge against Min-jun from the very beginning. He saw Min-jun as a rival, resenting that Min-jun's family owned the most prestigious hospital chain in the country, while his own—despite its wealth—always came in second. Every time a professor praised Min-jun, Dong-hyun's envy flared hotter. What made it worse was Min-jun's calm, unbothered demeanor, which only deepened Dong-hyun's sense of inferiority.
"Eh... Ya... Han Min-jun! Come here!"
Min-jun stiffened at the sharp edge in Dong-hyun's voice. His heart sank as he turned and saw him standing in the corridor, arms crossed, flanked by his usual entourage. Their presence formed an unspoken wall, cutting off Min-jun's path.
With a quiet, resigned sigh, Min-jun walked toward him, silently wishing Chang-min were nearby. But his brother was caught up with his own classes—and Min-jun was alone. As he drew closer, Dong-hyun stepped forward, closing the distance with deliberate menace. He jabbed a finger into Min-jun's shoulder, his lips curling into a mocking grin.
"Ya... Han Min-jun. You think you're some kind of big shot just because your father's a minister, huh?"
Min-jun knew that no matter how he responded, it wouldn't make a difference. He lifted his eyes to meet Dong-hyun's, his gaze steady but drained, a quiet blend of indifference and exhaustion written across his face. Dong-hyun sneered and raised his arm —
"Won Dong-hyun!!!"
The voice rang out, loud and cutting through the corridor like a whip. It was oddly familiar, yet distant in memory.
Before Min-jun could turn, a strong hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him back.
"Han-ah, get out of the way," the voice ordered, calm but firm.
Two figures surged forward, positioning themselves on either side of him. Min-jun blinked in surprise, his breath catching as he turned his head. A wave of gratitude and quiet relief washed over him as he recognized the twins—Tae-jon and Tae-min—their stances firm, expressions carved in stone.
But it was the figure standing directly in front of him that sent Min-jun's heart into a wild, uncontrollable rhythm. The silhouette, though unfamiliar at first glance, radiated a fierce, protective energy that made him feel both safe and utterly exposed.
"Put one finger on his body, and I'll bury you alive."
Seung-joon's voice cut through the air like a blade—low, steady, and laced with a quiet fury that sent chills down Min-jun's spine. It wasn't just a threat—it was a vow. And in that moment, the sound of Seung-joon's voice—so deep and resolute—wrapped around Min-jun like a shield, making him tremble with something he couldn't quite name.
"Sorry, I borrowed your line," Seung-joon murmured to Tae-min, his eyes never leaving Dong-hyun, who still stood frozen, trying to process the sudden turn of events. Suspicion flared in Dong-hyun's expression, his eyes narrowing as he studied Seung-joon, contempt simmering just beneath the surface.
"No problem," Tae-min replied coolly, a confident smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He stood tall and relaxed, as if daring Dong-hyun to take another step.
"Joon-ah," Min-jun whispered, tugging gently at Seung-joon's shirt. His voice was shaky, filled with confusion and emotion. He glanced at Tae-min and Tae-jon, hoping for some explanation. Why hadn't they stopped Seung-joon? But instead of concern or hesitation, he saw a fierce determination in both their eyes. They weren't holding Seung-joon back—they were standing behind him.
"Did you just call him Han-ah?" Dong-hyun asked, a sly grin creeping across his face as he seized the chance to stir trouble. Min-jun's heart skipped a beat, caught between panic and a fragile glimmer of hope. He scanned the faces around him, desperate to stop things before they spiraled out of control.
"What if I did?" Seung-joon shot back, his voice calm but edged with steel. He stepped closer, his posture radiating quiet defiance.
"Looks like all that attention's going to your head," Dong-hyun sneered. "You must be losing it. Popularity doesn't last forever, you know."
Seung-joon took another step forward, undeterred by the fact that Dong-hyun loomed larger. His gaze was steady, unflinching. "Do you really want to find out just how crazy I can get?"
"Joon-ah…" Min-jun's voice trembled as he reached out, hoping to stop him—but Seung-joon didn't flinch.
"You bastards are insane," Dong-hyun spat, his fists clenched at his sides.
"Now you know," Tae-min said with cool satisfaction, his smirk returning just as a group of students rounded the corner. Dong-hyun and his lackeys exchanged one last venomous glare before melting into the crowd.
Min-jun's jaw nearly dropped as Tae-jon let out a low chuckle. "Well, that was fun," he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips, though the glint in his eyes hinted at something far more dangerous.
For a moment, Min-jun could only stare at the three brothers, completely stunned. His mouth hung open slightly as his mind scrambled to process what had just happened. It felt surreal—like watching a scene unfold from someone else's story, not his own.