The doors closed behind him like a final verdict. He stood on the steps for a couple of minutes - it seemed the entire world had forgotten its existence for a moment. His heart was still pounding, his ears ringing. A week. Seven days - and the fate he had begun to build for himself could be crushed by a simple movement of a stranger's hand.
He walked down the familiar streets on autopilot. The evening light streamed over storefronts, people hurried by, and the air smelled of roasted chestnuts and gasoline. Everything around him seemed too bright, too alive compared to the emptiness inside. Inside - a cauldron of sharp cold and infuriating helplessness.
Fragments of the conversation flashed in his mind: "I will ruin his life," "come back home," "just do." His father's words weren't a plea - they were an ultimatum, designed to break him. Minjun tried to remember what Hyuk's strength was, what he possessed besides his neatness, kindness, and ability to run a store. But his father spoke of connections, supplies, and leases - logistics in which personal qualities were not measured by warmth but by accounts.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, unable to focus. The screen was filled with messages, notifications - nothing important. His hand trembled. He didn't call Hyuk. How could he explain? How could he say, "My father is threatening you, and I have a week" - and at the same time, the man he had begun to love could be caught in a trap he hadn't even considered? He imagined one call, one document - and the store would be without goods, without a lease, locked up.
His thoughts scrambled, running into his own fears. The past, which he had tried to hide for so long, re-emerged like a spotlight from the darkness. Remember when you left back then? - a voice whispered inside him. And it was true: he had left on his own, packed his bags, and started over. Now, however, he was standing between two worlds - a home where the rules were dictated by iron, and a place where he had found warm hands and quiet care. And in both, there were people whose lives depended on his decision.
A traffic jam stopped him in the road. He leaned on the steering wheel and closed his eyes for a second. Where should I run? To whom should I run? The answer was simple: to the one who made the air lighter, who gave him support and looked at him without judgment. To Hyuk.
Returning to the store felt like entering another world: here, boxes smelled of potatoes, paper smelled of fresh stickers, and the lamp on the counter cast a warm circle of light. Hyuk noticed him from a distance - he lifted his head, his lips curving into a soft smile. And at that moment, the world came back into focus: all the difficulties again boiled down to one thing - he had to find a way to protect the one who had become his home.
"Where have you been?" Hyuk was already at the door, his face showing concern that quickly turned into a light playfulness; he didn't know that Minjun carried a storm within him.
Minjun opened his mouth, wanting to say everything, to spill out his father's threatening words, but his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. He took a step inside and simply leaned against the counter.
"Nowhere," he managed. "Just things. I'm tired."
Hyuk looked at him closely, his eyes a rich blue that Minjun now saw with particular clarity: the color seemed deeper than before, as if it contained both a sea and a storm at the same time. He moved closer, and there was no reproach in his movements - only care. Hyuk placed his palm on Minjun's shoulder, his fingers clenching lightly, as if checking if he was still alive, and in response, Minjun felt something inside him soften a little.
"You look bad," Hyuk said calmly. "Sit down, I'll pour you some tea."
He reached under the counter, took out a thermos mug, and poured some fragrant hot tea. Minjun took it, the steam hitting his cheeks - the warmth was almost palpable. He took a sip; the tea was slightly bitter and strong but warmed him.
"You said you'd be here at seven," Hyuk added, and in that simple sentence, there was a hope for normalcy, for a routine, for being able to hold onto something everyday while everything around you was crumbling.
Minjun squeezed the mug with both hands and suddenly understood: hiding meant putting Hyuk in danger. On the other hand, telling him meant making Hyuk go through what he had just heard, and possibly face his father's blow. The difficult choice weighed on him like a burden.
"There's something..." he said quietly, finally deciding not to reveal all his cards now. "I can't come tomorrow. I need to stay late at the library."
Hyuk nodded, not asking any unnecessary questions, but a flicker of caution crossed his eyes: he had noticed the tone of his voice, the tension in his shoulders. In response, he simply hugged Minjun with a quick movement, and it was the same gesture as in the evening, in the store: support without words.
"Okay," Hyuk whispered, "just don't disappear for too long."
Minjun smiled, an empty smile that no one else would have noticed. He picked up his bag and, as he approached the door, turned around one more time. Hyuk stood behind the counter, his hands in the pockets of his apron, and a quiet determination played on his face. Minjun had no plan, but he had one promise that he made before stepping outside:
"I won't leave you."
And despite everything that could happen, the weight of his father's words, the threat of everything Hyuk had built being destroyed, a sense of calm returned to Minjun's chest - not from confidence in his decision, but from the fact that he was not alone.