Min-jun hurried down the bustling 11th-grade corridor, the air alive with the noise of students shifting between classes — laughter ringing off the walls, lockers slamming shut, and the steady rhythm of shuffling feet echoing against polished floors.
The weight of looming final exams seemed to hang in the air like static, thick and oppressive. It pressed against Min-jun's chest, tightening with every step, as if even the hallway itself was holding its breath.
As he passed Seung-joon's classroom, his eyes flicked instinctively toward the door — just a glance, no more than a second — but it was enough.
Seung-joon sat in his usual seat, head tilted slightly as he listened to something intently. The moment was fleeting, but it burned into Min-jun's mind like a flashbulb, sharp and vivid.
For that single heartbeat, the weight on his shoulders lifted — just a little. It was like inhaling after being underwater: not enough to breathe freely, but enough to remind him he was still alive.
The pressure of the exams consumed Min-jun completely, burying him beneath endless piles of textbooks, scrawled notes, and the suffocating weight of expectation.
Nights became battlegrounds of restless, broken sleep, where vivid nightmares of impossible test questions and unsettling exam scenarios played on an endless, merciless loop. His days blurred together, a relentless, grinding haze of study sessions and ticking clocks, each heartbeat hammering louder with the urgency of time slipping through his grasp.
The walls of his world seemed to close in, trapping him in a prison of numbers, formulas, and memorized facts.
And yet — even in the thickest darkness — a single, stubborn beam of light pierced the gloom: his longing to see Seung-joon.
That longing burned quietly but fiercely inside him, a fragile but steady flame that kept him moving forward, refusing to be extinguished, no matter how heavy the days became.
But reaching Seung-joon was no simple task — it felt like navigating a minefield, every step laced with risk.
Min-jun pressed himself against the cold wall of the corridor, the rough concrete chilling through his uniform as he peered cautiously around the corner. His heart thundered against his ribs, loud enough that he feared someone might hear it.
He caught a glimpse — Seung-joon walking past with his towering brothers in tow, their synchronized steps and sharp glances forming an impenetrable shield around him.
The twins' looming presence was like an invisible wall, cutting Min-jun off before he could even get close.
Every plan Min-jun painstakingly devised to reach Seung-joon — slipping in between classes, catching him alone after lunch, even "accidental" run-ins — crumbled before they could even begin, thwarted time and again by the twins' uncanny ability to appear just when the moment seemed perfect.
Frustration gnawed at him relentlessly, a bitter, familiar taste. The cruel irony of being so close yet so impossibly far clawed at his heart, eating away at the last scraps of his fragile resolve.
At first, Min-jun had toyed with the idea of confronting the twins head-on, fists clenched at the very thought, imagining himself standing his ground no matter the cost.
But he wasn't naive. Deep down, he knew a confrontation with Seung-joon's brothers would ripple outward, disrupting the peace that surrounded Seung-joon's world.
And the thought of causing Seung-joon even a moment of distress cut sharper than any frustration or wounded pride.
So, Min-jun forced himself to swallow his anger, burying it deep, and settled instead for quiet observation — watching from the shadows, bearing the silent, gnawing ache in his chest.
He took some small comfort in knowing that, at least for now, their previous altercation had gone unnoticed by the ever-hungry school rumor mill. No whisper of scandal, no curious stares. His struggle, his silent war, remained his own — invisible to the world.
For now, all he could do was wait... and endure.
Seung-joon, perceptive as ever, seemed to sense Min-jun's silent struggle.
Across the crowded, noisy cafeteria, their eyes would meet — fleeting, electric moments that made the rest of the world blur and fade. In those stolen seconds, a spark of understanding passed between them, quiet but undeniable.
Seung-joon's glances were quick, discreet, careful not to draw attention — but for Min-jun, they were everything. Each look sent his heart into a wild, chaotic frenzy, his breath catching in his throat as he clung desperately to the fragile threads of their unspoken connection.
And with every glance, his feelings deepened, rooting themselves more stubbornly in his heart.
Yet beneath the sweetness of those moments, a darker awareness grew: the strange, intricate dynamic between Seung-joon and the twins. They surrounded him like a living riddle, an unbreakable wall whose rules Min-jun could barely begin to understand — a barrier he feared he might never be allowed to cross.
The twins, with their towering six-foot frames and cool, aloof demeanor, seemed almost untouchable — their mere presence enough to keep most people at a wary distance.
Min-jun often found himself marveling at the contrast between them and Seung-joon. Barely five feet tall and seemingly delicate, Seung-joon radiated a quiet warmth that somehow softened even the twins' icy edges. It was a strange, almost miraculous dynamic — one Min-jun couldn't help but be drawn to.
Trailing them from a careful distance, Min-jun watched, hidden in the flow of students. And as he observed, he began to glimpse fleeting cracks in the twins' enigmatic facade — glimpses he knew few others ever noticed.
From his hidden vantage point, he caught them laughing once — a rich, unguarded sound that rang out in the hallway like music in an empty auditorium. The easy, genuine laughter startled Min-jun, knocking the breath from his chest.
For a moment, their harsh edges melted away, revealing the real meaning to the nickname "handsome devils."
Their smiles — brilliant and magnetic — caught Min-jun completely off-guard, leaving him momentarily lost.
But the sight that stayed with Min-jun the most wasn't their laughter — it was the way they treated Seung-joon when they thought no one was watching.
One of the twins reached out to ruffle Seung-joon's hair, the gesture casual but filled with unmistakable affection. The other slung a protective arm around his small shoulders, drawing him closer in a way that spoke of deep, unshakable bonds.
And Seung-joon's response...
Min-jun's breath caught at the sight of it — a smile so wide and unguarded that it seemed to light up the whole auditorium. It was a smile full of life, pure and rare, revealing dimples that Min-jun hadn't even known were there.
For a moment, it was as if Seung-joon belonged entirely to them.
A sharp pang of jealousy lanced through Min-jun's chest, fierce and sudden. No matter how he tried to reason with himself, he couldn't deny the ache that bloomed inside him at the sight of the closeness he could only ever watch from afar.
Why haven't you ever smiled at me like that?
The thought clawed at Min-jun, raw and merciless, as he watched the twins pinch Seung-joon's cheeks with playful affection, drawing another bright, unguarded laugh from him.
It was a sound so natural, so effortlessly happy, that it carved a hollow ache deep in Min-jun's chest.
The bittersweet truth settled over him like a heavy, suffocating blanket:
If they make him that happy... maybe it's better if I stay away.
The realization tasted bitter on his tongue, but Min-jun knew — some things, no matter how fiercely he wished for them, were not meant to be touched.
Yet even as he told himself to keep his distance, Min-jun's heart betrayed him, drawn inexorably back to Seung-joon like a moth to a flame.
There was something magnetic in every small, effortless movement — the way the light danced along Seung-joon's delicate features, the gentle curve of his lips when he spoke, the quiet, endless depth in his gaze that seemed to hold entire worlds.
Every detail was a thread, thin but unbreakable, pulling Min-jun closer, weaving him tighter into a web of emotions he had no power to escape.
No matter how fiercely he fought it, he was already ensnared — and he knew, deep down, that he never truly wanted to be free.
The rare moments when they managed to slip free from the twins' ever-watchful presence became Min-jun's lifelines — brief, stolen fragments of time that he come to treasure the most.
One afternoon, Min-jun found his chance. Seung-joon had being storing preps in the dim backstage of the school auditorium for the next day play. Min-jun caught Seung-joon's wrist and, without a word, pulled him behind the two sets of heavy velvet curtains.
The thick fabrics swallowed them whole, muffling the sounds of the outside world. Min-jun's heart thundered in his chest, a wild mix of fear and exhilaration hammering against his ribs as he stood there, barely breathing, his fingers still wrapped gently around Seung-joon's wrist.
"Hyung, what are you doing back here?" Seung-joon whispered, wide-eyed, his voice barely audible in the heavy stillness.
Min-jun pressed a finger gently to his own lips, urging him to stay silent. His heart thudded painfully as he reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against cool metal.
Slowly, he pulled out a small object and placed it carefully in Seung-joon's open palm, letting his fingers linger against Seung-joon's for a breath longer than necessary.
It was half of a wolf-and-fox keychain set — the one they had both admired in passing at the souvenir shop during the school trip to the beach resort.
The tiny charm gleamed softly in the dim light.
"They said this would keep nightmares away," Min-jun murmured, his voice barely louder than the soft rustle of the curtains around them.
Before he could stop himself, his hand moved on its own — a gentle, instinctive gesture — brushing lightly through Seung-joon's hair. The tenderness of it startled even Min-jun, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away.
Seung-joon's smile bloomed, small but radiant, his eyes lighting up with an unspoken gratitude that pierced straight through Min-jun's guarded heart.
For a moment, it felt as if the heavy clouds inside him parted, and warmth spread through him like sunlight breaking through a storm.
"Thank you, hyung," Seung-joon whispered, his voice sincere, his fingers closing protectively around the tiny keychain. Then, more softly, almost pleadingly:
"And please... don't let my brothers bother you."
Min-jun managed a sad, lopsided smile. "It's alright. I'd probably act the same way if I had a brother like you."
The words tasted bittersweet on his tongue, a pale shadow of everything he truly felt but couldn't say.
He ached to reach out, to brush his fingers against Seung-joon's cheek, but he held himself back, settling instead for another light touch through Seung-joon's soft hair — a gesture that felt achingly intimate and yet heartbreakingly restrained.
"Go," Min-jun whispered, his hand reluctantly falling away. "Before they find us. I'd like to stay alive a little longer."
Seung-joon smiled, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. "Oh, did Tae-min hyung threaten to bury you alive?"
Min-jun blinked in surprise. "How did you know?"
"He loves that line," Seung-joon said with a soft, suppressed laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly.
Min-jun chuckled too, the sound low and a little hollow, bittersweet as it echoed softly in the fragile, hidden space between them.
As Seung-joon slipped away, disappearing between the heavy folds of the curtains, Min-jun's gaze lingered on his retreating figure, each step pulling at his heartstrings like an invisible thread stretched too tight.
The final exams loomed closer now, a relentless countdown ticking louder with every passing day. Soon, these stolen moments would fade into memories — precious, but unreachable.
In the quiet stillness, Min-jun made a silent vow : Joon-ah, bear with me for a little longer. I won't cause trouble for you. I promise.
The emptiness of the auditorium closed in around him, vast and echoing, mirroring the growing hollowness inside his chest — a quiet ache that no amount of resolve could fully silence.