"If you crave independence so much - prove it."
His father's voice was cold, sharp as a blade, slicing through the air of the spacious living room where soft music had just been playing moments ago. Minjun froze in the middle of the room, gripping the straps of his leather backpack - a backpack that had once been just a stylish accessory, but now felt like an unbearable weight.
His father sat in an armchair, arms crossed, his gaze not angry but indifferent. That indifference hurt more than any shouting could. His mother stood nearby, turned away as if it was painful even to look at him. Her fingers trembled on the armrest of the sofa, yet she didn't lift her eyes.
"We gave you everything," his father continued. "The best schools. Tutors. Money. But you decided you could live without us. Then live. Let's see how far your stubbornness will take you."
Minjun tightened his grip on the straps. He wanted to answer. To say he wasn't ungrateful, that he only wanted to choose his own life. But the words stuck in his throat. Pride and pain twisted together until no sound would come out.
"You'll return once you understand what it means to value home," his mother added quietly. Her voice trembled, but she still wouldn't look at him.
The click of the lock behind him rang louder than all their words combined.
Cold night air struck his face as Minjun stepped onto the porch. For a moment he stood still, realizing it was real. He was no longer the son who'd be looked after, welcomed home with dinner. He was just a boy now, with a backpack and a few bills in his wallet.
I can handle this. I must.
His feet carried him forward on their own.
***
The city looked unfamiliar at this hour. The asphalt gleamed from recent rain, neon signs rippled in puddles, the few passersby hurried along clutching their bags. Minjun walked slowly, testing every step. His sneakers were new, still spotless, yet they slipped against the wet pavement.
He felt out of place. Too neat, too polished to be wandering at night with a backpack and an empty gaze. The world saw him as an outsider.
So this is what it feels like - to be alone.
He had never known it before. Even at summer camps or nights spent at a friend's house, there had always been comfort inside: home was waiting. Now, no one was.
His shoulders ached under the weight, though the bag was nearly empty. His chest tightened with longing, but he forced his head high. Pride would not let him curl up and disappear, no matter how much he wanted to.
***
He reached a convenience store. The fluorescent lights were too bright, but to him they looked like salvation. Minjun sank onto a plastic chair outside, drawing his knees close and wrapping his arms around them.
The world carried on around him. Inside, refrigerators hummed, the register rang softly, someone picked out ramen and soda. And he sat outside, as if on the other side of the glass.
"I'll manage," he whispered. "I can do this."
The words were so quiet they nearly vanished into the noise of cars, but to him they were an oath - the last thread to hold on to.
He glanced at his sneakers. New, perfectly white, out of place against wet asphalt. Everything about him seemed wrong here: neat clothes, clean hands, skin without a scratch. But inside, he felt scraped raw, hollow.
The scent of wet pavement mixed with the smell of instant noodles drifting from the store. His stomach twisted painfully, but Minjun turned away. He wouldn't look pitiful.
***
"Are you alright?"
The voice startled him so much he flinched.
Minjun looked up. A man stood before him - tall, broad-shouldered, dressed simply in dark clothes. His hair was cropped short, his eyes deep and dark. And in those eyes there was no mockery, no pity. Only calm.
Something in that calm made Minjun's heartbeat falter.
"It's late," the man leaned slightly closer. "And cold. Aren't you freezing?"
Minjun opened his mouth to give the usual "I'm fine." But then the scent reached him - warm, faintly bitter, like tea. The man was holding out a paper cup.
The aroma wrapped around him, stirring something deep inside. His body responded before his mind could argue not to trust.
He hesitated, but his fingers reached out on their own.
Steam brushed his face. Warmth seeped into his palms, melting a thin layer of ice in his chest.
"I… I'm just a little tired," he murmured. His voice shook, betraying more than he wanted.
The corner of the man's lips twitched, almost a smile.
"My name's Hyuk. This store's mine. If you need anything - come in."
The name imprinted itself in Minjun's mind, as clear as the heat lingering in his hands.
***
Minjun took a careful sip. The tea was hot, strong, and somehow tasted real - unlike the cold emptiness of everything else around him.
He held the cup to his chest, desperate to keep the warmth. For the first time all day, his breathing steadied. But a new fear crept in: could he trust someone he had just met?
Hyuk didn't ask questions. Didn't pry about who he was or why he was sitting there. He simply stood close, as if to say: you have a choice. Speak if you want. Leave if you wish.
Minjun stole glances at him. His tall frame, his steady stance, the calm expression on his face… And that strange undertone in his scent that made Minjun's blood race.
Alpha.
The thought pierced his mind. His throat went dry, and he took another sip just to hide his unease.
His world was falling apart, and the last thing he wanted was to attract an alpha's attention. Yet somehow, beside this man, the cold didn't feel so unbearable.
***
He sat there for a long time. Watching the glow of streetlights blur in puddles, listening to the rumble of passing cars. The tea warmed his hands, his shoulders slowly stopped trembling.
His mother's voice echoed in his memory: You'll return once you understand…
Minjun clenched his teeth. Return? Never.
He hugged the cup closer, clinging to the small warmth he'd been given. Fragile, but his.
And not far away stood the man with dark, steady eyes - his presence more reassuring than any words could be.
Minjun didn't know yet that this encounter would change everything. But in that moment, for the first time all day, he felt it: maybe not all was lost.