The morning began with the scent of toasted gim and fresh rice. Minjun, still sleepy, came out of the bedroom, adjusting his shirt as he went, and froze at the kitchen doorway. Hyuk was standing at the table, the sleeves of his home T-shirt rolled up, his hair slightly messy from sleep, and his fingers deftly rolling bright strips of gimbap.
"I thought you were still sleeping," Minjun said, slightly surprised.
"Did the noise of the pot wake you up?" Hyuk chuckled, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "Good. Otherwise, you would have left without breakfast again."
He carefully sliced the rolls, placed them on a plate, and pushed it toward Minjun. A glass of warm broth and a small bowl of kimchi were already on the table.
"Eat up. You have a tough day today," Hyuk said gently but with a hint of firmness.
Minjun sat down and took a piece of gimbap with his chopsticks. The taste was simple but surprisingly homemade. He smiled, feeling the familiar warmth spread through his chest.
"Thank you... you always think of everything," he murmured, a little embarrassed.
Hyuk moved closer, briefly touching his cheek with his fingers, and as if it were an afterthought, leaned in to kiss his temple.
"Have a good day. And... please don't overwork yourself."
Minjun nodded but didn't reply. Deep down, he knew he would have to work to the limit.
***
The street greeted him with a soft morning light and the city's usual hum. Cars stretched in a line, and students and office workers hurried along the sidewalks. Minjun walked his familiar route: past a small flower shop, past a street cafe that already smelled of fresh bread and roasted coffee beans.
But today, everything seemed different. The smells were too sharp, the sounds resonated in his temples. The aroma of baked goods, which usually brought a smile to his face, now hit his nose with such a wave that his stomach clenched unpleasantly.
He quickened his pace, but the crowd at the bus stop only intensified the dizziness. Minjun felt his shoulders break out in a sweat and his palms become damp. Even the faint scent of perfume from a girl nearby caused a sharp wave of nausea.
He gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. "It's just fatigue. Just stress," he tried to convince himself. But anxiety was brewing inside, pulling with it memories of the last nights with Hyuk.
***
The library cafeteria smelled of paper, an old air conditioner, and other people's lunches. Minjun sat down at a table and tried to focus. But the lines blurred as if they were being washed away with water.
The person at the next table took out a container of boiled eggs. The scent hit his nose instantly - sharp and unpleasant. His stomach twisted, and Minjun quickly turned away, closing his eyes. His heart was pounding, and his breathing became heavy.
"No... it can't be..." The thought flashed too clearly. A few days ago, he and Hyuk were together. Without protection.
He swallowed, trying to calm himself. But every little thing turned into a trial: other people's perfume, the smell of coffee, even plain water - everything caused nausea. Minjun ran to the bathroom several times, splashing cold water on his face to try to regain some composure.
With each hour, it became more difficult to work. His hands trembled, the numbers on the screen swam, and his thoughts increasingly returned to one thing: "What if it's true...?"
***
By the end of the day, Minjun could barely stand. He went outside, inhaled the cool air - and for a second, he felt better. But his heart continued to beat irregularly, and his palms remained damp.
The walk home seemed endless. Every step echoed in his temples, every sign, every scent from the street was irritating. And yet, a thought warmed him inside: "It will be easier at home. Hyuk is there."
And indeed. When he opened the door, the first thing he saw was Hyuk. He was sitting on the sofa, leaning his elbow on the armrest, and he immediately stood up when he noticed Minjun's paleness.
"Minjun..." he called softly, walking closer. "What's wrong? You look tired."
A warm palm rested on his shoulder, and his fingers gently squeezed him.
"Is everything okay?"
Minjun wanted to answer, but the words got stuck in his throat. He could only nod.
Hyuk frowned but didn't ask any more questions. He took his hand, intertwined their fingers, and squeezed gently - as if to convey with the gesture, "I'm here."
"Do you want me to make you some tea? Or should we just sit together?"
Minjun nodded again. His chest tightened with a sense of guilt - he couldn't tell him about his suspicions, but it was also difficult to hide the heaviness in his body.
***
They settled on the sofa. Hyuk brought a tray with tea and cookies, sat down next to him, and put his arm around his shoulders. His hand slowly stroked Minjun's back, and his breathing was even and calm.
Minjun closed his eyes and allowed himself to lean on him. His head was still buzzing, but next to Hyuk, the anxiety lost its power.
"Thank you..." he murmured.
"You don't need to thank me," Hyuk replied softly. "I want you to feel at peace."
He touched Minjun's forehead with his lips, then lightly kissed the corner of his lips. This short gesture became an anchor, holding back the panic.
They watched a movie, sometimes laughing at the scenes, sometimes sitting in silence, their fingers intertwined. Minjun often found himself thinking that it was on evenings like these that he felt truly alive: when there was warmth nearby, when he could simply breathe next to another person.
But every time the last few nights and the thoughts of possible consequences surfaced in his memory, his heart clenched. He secretly placed his palm on his stomach, not even noticing the movement himself.
Hyuk noticed but didn't ask. He just held him closer.
And in that silence, under the steady rhythm of Hyuk's heart, Minjun fell asleep.