The next morning, Haneul practically vibrated with purpose, a small, carefully wrapped box held securely in his hand. Inside were handmade cookies, shaped like little suns and clouds, a direct homage to the doodled eraser. His mother's words echoed in his mind: "You can be the sunshine."
He spotted Ji-won at his desk, already immersed in a book, his posture a perfect line of "do not disturb." Haneul took a deep breath and marched over.
"Good morning, Jiwon-ssi!" he chirped, placing the box on the corner of Ji-won's desk with a soft thud.
Ji-won's eyes didn't leave his page.
"I, uh, I brought you something," Haneul continued, his cheerfulness undented. "A peace offering! For the eraser. And... you know. Everything."
He unwrapped the box, revealing the golden, meticulously decorated cookies. "I made them myself! They're butter cookies. See? A sun, like the one I drew. And a cloud, but a happy one, not a grumpy one..."
Ji-won's jaw tightened. He slowly lowered his book. His gaze was not on the cookies, but on Haneul's face, cold and flat. "Take it away."
Haneul's smile faltered for only a second. "Oh. Well, you don't have to eat it now! You can have it later. You might be hungry during—"
"I don't like cookies," Ji-won stated, his voice low and final.
"Really? Who doesn't like cookies?" Haneul laughed, a nervous, breezy sound. "Maybe you just haven't had the right kind! These are really good, I promise. My mom said the secret is—"
"Lee Haneul." Ji-won's voice was like a shard of ice. "What part of 'no' is confusing for you? I do not want your cookies. I do not want your peace offering. I want you to take this," he pointed a slender finger at the box as if it were contaminated, "and yourself, and leave me alone."
The words were meant to sting, to push him away like all the others. But Haneul, bolstered by his new mission, just blinked. The "language of thorns."
He pushed the box an inch closer. "Just one? For luck?"
That was the final straw. A flash of pure, unadulterated irritation crossed Ji-won's normally impassive face. His hand shot out, not to take the cookie, but to close the lid of the box with a sharp, definitive snap.
"The only thing I need luck with," he hissed, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper, "is getting through this class without your incessant noise. Now. Leave. Me. Alone."
He picked up his book again, the dismissal absolute. Haneul stood there, the rejected box in his hands. The sunshine tactic hadn't worked. The thorns were sharper than he'd anticipated. He felt a flush of embarrassment, but underneath it, a stubborn seedling of determination took root. Ji-won was a storm, just like his mother said. And Haneul was terrible at giving up.
Ji-won stood up and walked away, the air around him cold and final. The sharp snap of the cookie box lid seemed to echo in the sudden silence he left behind.
Haneul sat there, the carefully wrapped box feeling heavy and foolish in his hands. The bright, determined energy that had filled him just moments ago drained away, leaving a hollow ache in his chest. His mother's words replayed, but now they carried a sting of failure. "You can be the sunshine… You can only make sure your own actions are full of light."
But his light had just been violently extinguished.
He realized, with a sickening clarity, that in his eagerness to be the sunshine, he had become a nuisance. He was pushing, not patiently waiting. He was trying to force a flower to bloom instead of gently tending the soil.
I'm just making it worse.
A hot pressure built behind his eyes. He bit his lower lip, hard, trying to physically force the tears back. It's nothing. Don't cry. He's just… he's in a storm. He didn't mean that.
But the words had felt very meant. The look of pure irritation on Ji-won's face was seared into his mind.
He bit down harder, focusing on the sharp, physical pain to override the emotional one. A coppery taste bloomed in his mouth. He'd bitten clean through the skin. A tiny bead of welled up, but he didn't care. He just sighed, a shaky, defeated sound, and rested his forehead on the cool surface of the desk, hiding his face.
The metallic taste of blood was a stark contrast to the sweet, buttery scent of the rejected cookies still clinging to the air. He closed his eyes, the question circling in his mind not with anger, but with a profound, weary sadness.
Why do you have to build your walls so high? What happened that made you think you need to keep everyone out?
For the first time, the sunshine boy felt the chilling shadow of the fortress, and he had no idea how to scale it.
The rooftop sun felt different today—less warm, more glaring. Haneul poked at his lunch, the events of the morning playing on a loop in his head.
"I just don't get it," he mumbled to Min-seo. "I was trying to be nice. I made cookies. I used the sun and cloud design and everything. He looked at me like I'd brought him a box of spiders."
Min-seo sighed, swallowing a bite of her kimbap. "Haneul-ah, I love you, but you're trying to hug a cactus. Why are you even trying so hard? Just let him be. He wants to be miserable, let him. You should enjoy your life, too."
Before Haneul could reply, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Hey, saving a spot for me?"
Park Doyun slid onto the bench beside Haneul, his easy-going smile a stark contrast to Haneul's gloomy mood. His eyes immediately landed on the open box of cookies between them.
"Ooh, what are these? They look amazing!" Doyun said, already reaching for one shaped like a sun.
"Haneul made them," Min-seo said casually, a mischievous glint in her eye. "He was trying to give them to a certain someone in Section A, but someone has terrible taste."
Doyun's hand froze halfway to his mouth. The cheerful expression on his face tightened. "You… made these for Han Ji-won?" The name came out coated in frost.
Haneul winced. "It was a bad idea. I know."
Seeing Haneul' dejection, Doyun's jealousy was quickly overshadowed by a protective urge. He took a deliberate bite of the cookie.
"Mmm! This is incredible, Haneul," he said, his voice full of genuine enthusiasm. "Seriously, it's perfect. Buttery, not too sweet. His loss. A huge loss."
He nudged Haneul playfully. "Hey, forget about him. If he can't appreciate something this good, he doesn't deserve your attention. You're too bright for that, anyway."
A small, grateful smile finally broke through on Haneul's face. The weight on his chest felt a little lighter. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Doyun said, his tone firm and warm. "Now, are you going to eat that last cloud, or can I have it?"
Haneul laughed, a real one this time, and pushed the box toward Doyun. The sunshine was slowly, tentatively, finding its way back.
"Alright, that's enough moping," Min-seo declared, slamming her hands on the table. "We are officially declaring a state of emergency fun. This calls for extreme measures."
Doyun caught on immediately, a grin spreading across his face. "Karaoke. Tonight. My treat."
Haneul looked between them, his expression still a little uncertain. "I don't know, guys..."
"No arguments!" Min-seo insisted. "You need to scream-sing your feelings out. There is no problem in the world that can survive a passionate, off-key rendition of a trot song. It's scientific fact."
"Come on, Haneul," Doyun added, his voice softening. "It'll be fun. Just the three of us. We'll get some fried chicken, you can pick all the cheesy ballads you want. We'll make sure you forget all about... well, everything else."
Seeing the genuine concern and excitement on their faces, the last of Haneul's resistance crumbled. A small, real smile finally returned to his lips. The image of a dark, loud room where he could just be loud and silly with his friends was suddenly very appealing.
"Okay," he agreed, nodding. "Okay, let's do it."
"Yes!" Min-seo cheered, pumping her fist in the air. "Operation: Sunshine Retrieval is a go! Prepare your vocal cords, Haneul, because we are going to murder some high notes."
As they gathered their things, the gloomy cloud that had been hanging over Haneul began to lift, replaced by a flicker of anticipation. For a few hours tonight, he could just be Lee Haneul, with his friends, and not worry about scaling any impenetrable walls.
AFTER SCHOOL..
The familiar hum of the convenience store's fluorescent lights usually brought Ji-won a sense of calm. The repetitive tasks—scanning items, restocking shelves, mopping floors—were a welcome purge for his mind. But not tonight.
As he mechanically wiped down the counter, his thoughts kept circling back to the same, infuriating subject: Lee Haneul.
Why won't he just give up?
He replayed the morning's scene for the tenth time. The hopeful look in Haneul's eyes, the stupidly cheerful box of cookies, the way that look had shattered into hurt. A familiar, cold irritation rose in his chest. It was Haneul's own fault for being so persistent. For being so... present.
He's a distraction. An illogical, emotional, noisy distraction.
He aggressively scrubbed at a non-existent stain on the counter. But then another memory surfaced, unbidden: the feeling of Haneul's scared, wide eyes in the hallway. The way he'd bitten his lip so hard it bled, trying not to cry. Ji-won's own hand, the one that had been cut on the glass, throbbed faintly in sympathy.
Tsk. Stop it.
He tried to focus on the equation for his physics homework, but the numbers blurred together. All he could see was that dejected slump of Haneul's shoulders as he'd rested his head on the desk.
He was getting annoyed all over again, but this time the annoyance was directed inward. Why was he even thinking about this? Why did he care about the emotional state of some naive, sunny boy he had no interest in? Lee Haneul was a variable that needed to be eliminated from his equation, not one he should be constantly recalculating.
Yet, as he stacked a pyramid of coffee cans with brutal precision, his mind offered no solution. Only the persistent, colorful, and utterly frustrating image of the boy who painted sunlight.
The karaoke room was a sensory explosion, a welcome assault on the melancholy that had clung to Haneul all day. The walls throbbed with a pounding bass line, and multicolored lights swept across their faces in a dizzying rhythm.
Min-seo was on her feet, belting out a high-energy pop duet with Doyun, who was surprisingly into it, dramatically clutching his heart during the chorus. Haneul sat curled in a plush booth, a half-eaten plate of fried chicken in front of him. For the first time since the cookie incident, a genuine, relaxed smile was on his face. The noise was a comforting blanket, smothering his anxious thoughts.
"Your turn, Haneul-ah!" Min-seo yelled, shoving the microphone into his hands as the song ended. "No sad ballads! We need something to wake up the neighbors!"
Doyun collapsed onto the couch next to him, grinning and slightly out of breath. "Yeah, show us how it's done, artist."
Haneul laughed, the sound feeling good in his throat. He scrolled through the song list, his eyes landing on a perfectly ridiculous, upbeat trot song. "Okay, you asked for it!"
As the cheesy, synthesized intro filled the room, Haneul stood up, grabbing a tambourine. He closed his eyes, and for three minutes, he wasn't the boy who was rejected by Han Ji-won. He was a performer, pouring all his energy into the silly lyrics and exaggerated dance moves Min-seo was mirroring beside him. Doyun cheered him on, clapping along, his earlier jealousy forgotten in the shared, joyful chaos.
When the song ended with a final, dramatic cymbal crash, they all fell back onto the couch, breathless and laughing, the weight of the day finally, completely, lifted. In this tiny, loud, colorful room, surrounded by his friends, Haneul felt like himself again. The sunshine, for now, was burning bright.
The last notes of a power ballad faded away, leaving the karaoke room buzzing with residual energy and the clatter of empty soda cans. The mood had shifted from energetic to a warm, lazy hum. Doyun, who had definitely indulged in one too many soju cocktails, was slumped heavily against Haneul's side, his head resting on Haneul's shoulder.
"You're just... so nice, Haneul-ah," Doyun mumbled, his words slurred and thick. "Why're you so nice? And you smell good." He nuzzled closer, his grip around Haneul's arm tightening possessively.
Haneul let out a good-natured, slightly awkward laugh, patting Doyun's shoulder. "Hey, Doyun-ah, maybe you should drink some water."
From the other side of the table, Min-seo watched the scene with the rapt attention of a film director watching her masterpiece unfold. She had her phone out, not-so-subtly taking pictures.
"This is it," she whispered dramatically, though loud enough for them to hear. "The iconic drunk confession scene. The strong, usually stoic male lead, weakened by drink and emotion, confessing his feelings to the pure-hearted lead. The tension! The proximity! Look at the way he's clinging! It's textbook!"
Haneul shot her a pleading look. "Min-seo, don't encourage him."
"But it's happening!" she insisted, zooming in with her camera. "This is premium content. The 'Sunshine Artist and the Jealous Jock' arc is reaching its peak!"
Doyun, oblivious to the commentary, just sighed contentedly against Haneul's neck. "Don't waste cookies on him... I'll eat all your cookies... 'S a waste..."
Haneul sighed, resigning himself to his fate as a human pillow. He gently tried to extricate himself, but Doyun was like a stubborn, affectionate octopus. As Min-seo continued her live-stream narration of their "bl drama," Haneul couldn't help but smile. It was chaotic, and a little ridiculous, but it was also undeniably heartwarming. For now, in this loud, messy, and affectionate bubble, being the center of attention didn't feel so bad.
The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the stuffy, loud karaoke room. Haneul watched the taxi carrying a drowsy Doyun and a still-chattering Min-seo disappear around the corner. A comfortable quiet settled over the street. Deciding to clear his head, he began the walk home.
A block away, a familiar, solitary figure caught his eye under a streetlamp. It was Ji-won, walking with his usual rigid posture, a box of books tucked under his arm, probably returning from the library. The sight sent a little jolt through Haneul, the night's confidence bubbling up.
He sped up his pace, his shoes making soft clicks on the pavement until he fell into step beside him. "Jiwon-ssi! Fancy meeting you here!"
Ji-won didn't break stride, but his entire body tensed. He visibly sped up, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
Haneul matched his pace, a playful pout forming on his lips. "Hey, don't walk so fast! It's really dark and scary. What if someone tries to hurt me? I'm all alone out here." He laid the helpless act on thick, batting his eyes for good measure.
"Then take a different route," Ji-won bit out, his voice cold and clipped. He walked even faster, his long legs making it difficult for Haneul to keep up. "Stop following me."
"I'm not following you!" Haneul insisted, a little breathless now. "My house is just in this direction! It's a free street!" He was practically jogging to stay alongside the furious pace.
Ji-won clenched his jaw so hard it looked painful. Without another word, he put on a final burst of speed, his dark form quickly putting distance between them. Within moments, he was just a retreating silhouette, swallowed by the shadows further down the road.
Haneul finally slowed to a stop, his shoulders slumping. He watched the empty space where Ji-won had been, the playful pout now a genuine, disappointed sigh. The wall was still impossibly high, and he was left standing outside in the dark, once again.
The brief peace Ji-won had found was immediately soured by a gnawing, unfamiliar sensation. The street was too quiet. The absence of Haneul's chattering and shuffling footsteps was somehow louder than his presence had been.
He's not following me.
He should feel relieved. This was what he wanted. Silence. Solitude.
But a cold knot of dread tightened in his stomach. The image of Haneul—naive, bright, and utterly defenseless—flashed in his mind. "It's really dark and scary. What if someone tries to hurt me?"
He cursed under his breath. It was illogical. Irrational.
But his feet were already moving before his mind could finish the thought. He turned and ran, his heart hammering against his ribs for the second time that day, his school bag bouncing heavily on his back.
The sound reached him first: ragged, fearful breathing and low, slurred laughter. He rounded the corner and the scene made his blood run cold.
Three drunken men had Haneul cornered against a wall. One had a hand fisted in the front of his shirt, the fabric tearing with a sickening rip. Another was leering, reaching out to touch his face. Haneul was trying to push them away, his movements panicked and weak, his eyes wide with pure terror.
"Hey! Get away from him!"
Ji-won's voice cut through the night, sharp and commanding, laced with a fury that surprised even him.
The men turned, their drunken smirks faltering at the sight of him. He wasn't particularly large, but his expression was glacial, his eyes burning with a dangerous, predatory light. He looked like he wasn't afraid to break bones.
"The hell are you?" one of them slurred.
"I said," Ji-won repeated, stepping forward, his voice dropping to a deadly calm, "get your hands off him. Now."
He didn't wait for a response. He moved with a swift, brutal efficiency, grabbing the wrist of the man holding Haneul's shirt and twisting it back. The man yelped in pain and stumbled back, releasing his grip.
Ji-won didn't even look at the others. His gaze was fixed on them, a silent, unwavering challenge. "The next one who touches him loses a hand."
Something in his cold, absolute certainty spooked them. Muttering curses, the three men shuffled away, disappearing into the darkness.
The second they were gone, the fierce tension drained from Ji-won's posture. He turned to Haneul, who was slumped against the wall, trembling violently, clutching his torn shirt. His breaths came in ragged gasps.
For a moment, they just stood there in the dim light—the boy who built walls, and the boy who kept trying to climb them, now silent and shattered at its base.
Ji-won stared at Haneul, a war raging inside him. Every logical part of his brain screamed to walk away. He'd done his part; the threat was gone. But the image of Haneul trembling against the wall was seared behind his eyes.
"Where do you live?" The question was gruff, torn from him against his will.
Haneul, still shaky, mumbled his address.
Ji-won's eyes widened slightly. It was in a nice neighborhood, but it was far. Too far for someone in a torn shirt, shaken and alone, to walk to at this hour.
He clenched his jaw, the frustration and fear of the last few minutes boiling over. "Are you insane?" he scolded, his voice low and sharp. "Your house is that far? And you decided to walk home alone, at night, after clearly being incapable of defending yourself? What were you thinking?"
Haneul blinked, surprised. But the scolding didn't feel cold or hateful. It was laced with something else, something that felt an awful lot like worry. A slow, wobbly smile spread across his face, followed by a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Jiwon-ssi… are you… worried about me?"
The sound of that laugh—soothing, melodic, and utterly genuine despite the circumstances—hit Ji-won like a physical blow. He froze, staring at Haneul. He had never heard a sound like that. It wasn't loud or annoying. It was… cute. The thought unnerved him more than the drunken men had.
He cleared his throat sharply, breaking the spell and looking away. "Don't be ridiculous," he muttered, the heat of a blush creeping up his neck. "Let's see if we can find a taxi for you. It's the most efficient solution."
He began walking towards the main road, his steps deliberately brisk, trying to outpace the confusing warmth that Haneul's laugh had sparked inside his chest.
Finally, a taxi with a vacant light rounded the corner. Ji-won flagged it down with a sharp, efficient wave. He opened the door for Haneul, who slid inside, still clutching his torn shirt.
Before Haneul could even fumble for his wallet, Ji-won leaned in and handed the driver a crisp bill. "Take him to this address," he instructed, his voice all business.
Haneul stared up at him from the backseat, his eyes wide and full of something unbearably soft. "You didn't have to pay... Thank you, Jiwon-ssi. Really. You're... you're actually really kind."
The directness of the praise, the sheer admiration in Haneul's gaze, was too much. Ji-won felt a hot flush creep up his neck. He looked away, his jaw tight. "Just get home safely," he muttered, and shut the taxi door a little harder than necessary.
He stood on the curb, watching the red taillights disappear into the night. Only then did he let out a long, shaky breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He brought a hand up, pressing his palm against his chest where his heart was hammering in a frantic, irregular rhythm.
What was that?
The question echoed in the silent street. What was that feeling when Haneul laughed? It wasn't annoyance. It wasn't anger. It was a strange, fluttering warmth that spread through his chest, making it feel tight and unfamiliar. And the way his heart was still racing... it was the same frantic beat he'd felt when he saw Haneul cornered, a surge of pure, protective panic.
He clenched his fist over his heart, as if he could physically quell the confusing sensation. He had spent years building walls to keep feelings out. But one laugh from Lee Haneul had found a crack, and a single, warm, terrifying ray of sunlight had slipped through.
Haneul lay on his bed, the adrenaline of the night slowly fading into a warm, buzzing feeling. His sketchbook was open on his lap, and his pencil was flying across the page, capturing the sharp line of a jaw, the intense focus in a pair of eyes. He was sketching Ji-won, not as the cold statue in class, but as he was tonight—tense, protective, and unexpectedly heroic.
A soft knock came at the door before it creaked open. His mother, Lee Sun-hee, peeked in, her face etched with worry. "Haneul-ah, you're so late. I was getting—" She stopped, her eyes landing on the sketchbook. A gentle smile replaced her concerned frown. "Oh? And who is this?"
Haneul's face lit up. He sat up, practically vibrating with excitement. "Mom! It's him! The boy from my class, Han Ji-won! You won't believe what happened!"
He launched into the story—the karaoke, the walk home, the drunken men, and how Ji-won appeared out of nowhere. "He was so brave, Mom! He told them to get away, and he was so scary they just listened! And then he paid for my taxi and everything!"
Sun-hee listened intently, her smile growing softer but a hint of concern in her eyes. She sat on the edge of his bed, looking at the detailed sketch. "He sounds like he has a strong sense of justice underneath all those thorns." She paused, her gaze knowing. "You've been talking about this boy a lot lately, Haneul-ah. First, you were interested in knowing why he was distant. Now, you're sketching him after he protects you." She tilted her head. "Is it still just about understanding him? Or is there something more there now?"
Haneul's cheeks flushed a bright pink. He looked down at his drawing, his finger tracing the lines of Ji-won's sketched shoulders. "I... I don't know. It just... feels different now."
His mother reached out and gently smoothed his hair. "That's okay. Feelings are like colors, Haneul-ah. They mix and change. What starts as one shade can become something entirely new and beautiful." She took his hand. "But remember the most important lesson about tending to a plant with thorns. You must be even more careful with your own heart. You can offer sunshine and water, but you cannot force it to grow towards you. And if you get too close, you might get hurt."
She squeezed his hand. "Be patient. Be kind. But also, be smart. Watch his actions, not just his words. Tonight, his actions spoke very loudly, didn't they?"
Haneul nodded, his mother's words sinking in. The initial curiosity had indeed deepened into something warmer, something filled with admiration and a fluttering hope. "They did, Mom. They really did."
"Then let that be your guide," she said, standing up and kissing his forehead. "Now, get some sleep. And no more late-night walks alone, you hear me? You gave your mother quite a scare."
Back in his sparse, quiet room, Ji-won lay on his bed, the day's events refusing to leave him. The streetlamp outside cast a pale, lonely glow across the floor. In his hand, he turned the doodled eraser over and over, his thumb tracing the raised lines of the smiling sun.
His mind was a chaotic mess, a stark contrast to the usual orderly silence. He kept seeing it: the terror in Haneul's eyes, the way he'd trembled. The surge of pure, unthinking fury that had propelled him forward.
But louder than that was the memory of the laugh. That soft, surprised sound in the aftermath. The way Haneul had looked at him in the taxi, his gaze full of an admiration so genuine it was painful.
Why?
Why did he run back? Why did he pay for the taxi? Every action went against his own rules of non-involvement. It was inefficient. Illogical.
He stared harder at the eraser, at the stupid, happy sun. This small, insignificant object had started it all. This boy, Lee Haneul, was a variable he had never accounted for—a splash of vibrant, stubborn color on a canvas he had painstakingly painted grey. And for the first time, staring at that little drawn sun in the dark, Han Ji-won wasn't annoyed.
He was terrified.
Because the walls he had built so high and so strong, the walls that kept everything out, didn't seem to work against sunshine.