MIN YU — When the Air Turns Heavy
Min Yu sensed it before he saw it.
The tension.
The wrongness.
It clung to the air as he stepped out of the lecture hall, backpack slung low on one shoulder, mind still fogged from sleeplessness and unfinished thoughts. Students passed him in loose clusters, laughing, complaining, living lives that felt impossibly light compared to the one pressing down on his chest.
Then he felt eyes on him.
Not curious ones.
Not friendly ones.
Sharp. Focused. Possessive.
Min Yu stopped.
Across the courtyard, partially obscured by the shadow of a column, stood Baek Hoa.
He wasn't moving.
He wasn't speaking.
He was simply watching.
The look on his face made Min Yu's stomach twist.
It wasn't the cold, controlled expression Hoa usually wore like armor. This was darker. Rawer. Something barely leashed. His jaw was tight, shoulders tense beneath his coat, eyes fixed on Min Yu with an intensity that bordered on dangerous.
Min Yu swallowed.
What's wrong…?
Before he could take a step toward him, a familiar voice cut in from behind.
"Min Yu."
Jinwoo.
Min Yu turned instinctively. Jinwoo was smiling, but it was the strained kind—the kind people wore when they were trying too hard to be normal.
"Hey," Min Yu said softly. "What's up?"
"I was looking for you," Jinwoo replied. "You disappeared after class yesterday."
"I… had stuff to do."
Jinwoo nodded, then hesitated. "Do you have time? Maybe we could—"
He didn't finish.
Because Hoa moved.
He crossed the distance between them in long, purposeful strides, stopping so close to Jinwoo that Min Yu felt the shift in the air like the pressure before a storm breaks.
Hoa didn't even look at Min Yu at first.
His gaze locked on Jinwoo.
"You," Hoa said quietly.
Jinwoo stiffened. "Me?"
Hoa's voice was low, controlled—too controlled. "You've been hovering."
Min Yu's heart skipped. "Hoa—"
"I'm talking to him," Hoa said, not looking away.
Jinwoo bristled. "I don't know who you think you are, but—"
Hoa finally turned his head just enough to look at him fully.
The effect was immediate.
Jinwoo's breath caught.
Everyone felt it when Baek Hoa decided to let his presence be known.
"I know exactly who I am," Hoa said. "And I know exactly what you're doing."
Min Yu stepped between them without thinking. "Stop. Both of you."
Hoa's gaze flicked to Min Yu instantly—softening for a fraction of a second before hardening again when Jinwoo spoke.
"I'm his friend," Jinwoo snapped. "I've known Min Yu for years. You don't get to show up out of nowhere and act like you own him."
The word own did something ugly to Hoa's expression.
"Friend?" Hoa echoed softly. "Is that what you call staring at him like you want something he doesn't know how to refuse?"
Jinwoo's face flushed. "At least I don't corner him like a predator."
Min Yu's chest tightened. "Jinwoo—"
Hoa stepped forward.
Min Yu felt it—felt the shift from restraint to threat.
"You don't get to speak about him like that," Hoa said quietly. "Not when you've done nothing but circle him, waiting for him to collapse so you can feel needed."
Jinwoo recoiled as if struck.
"That's not true."
"It is," Hoa replied. "And you know it."
Min Yu grabbed Hoa's sleeve, fingers digging in. "Hoa, please. This isn't helping."
Hoa looked down at Min Yu.
And for a moment—just one—Min Yu saw it clearly.
Fear.
Not of Jinwoo.
Of himself.
Hoa exhaled slowly, then stepped back.
"This conversation isn't finished," he said to Jinwoo. "But it will be."
Then he turned and walked away.
Min Yu stood frozen, heart racing.
Jinwoo's voice trembled. "Min Yu… that man is dangerous."
Min Yu didn't answer.
Because somewhere deep inside, he already knew.
HOA — When Control Slips
Hoa didn't remember leaving campus.
He remembered the way Jinwoo looked at Min Yu.
The way Min Yu instinctively stepped between them.
The way something ugly and hot coiled in his chest, demanding possession, demanding certainty.
Dangerous.
That's what Jinwoo had called him.
Hoa laughed bitterly under his breath.
You have no idea.
He drove without destination until the city blurred, hands tight on the wheel, jaw aching from how hard he was clenching it.
He hated this.
Hated wanting someone so badly it made him reckless.
Hated how easily Min Yu unraveled him.
Hated that the idea of losing him—to anyone—felt unbearable.
His phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
He ignored it.
Then it rang again.
This time, he glanced down.
Min Yu.
Hoa answered instantly.
"Hoa," Min Yu's voice came out strained, breathless. "I—I need help."
Everything in Hoa went still.
"What happened?"
"My grandmother—she collapsed. She—she can't breathe properly. The ambulance is taking too long and I—"
"I'm on my way," Hoa said, already turning the car around. "Where are you?"
MIN YU — When the World Breaks
The apartment felt too small.
Too loud.
Too quiet.
His grandmother lay on the floor, lips pale, chest rising unevenly. Min Yu knelt beside her, hands shaking as he tried to keep her conscious.
"Halmeoni, stay with me," he whispered desperately. "Please—just stay with me."
Her eyes fluttered.
"Yu-ah…"
"I'm here," he choked. "I'm here."
The sirens felt impossibly distant.
Then the door burst open.
Hoa.
He moved like a force of nature—dropping to his knees beside Min Yu, checking her pulse, speaking calmly but urgently into his phone.
"Second-floor apartment, respiratory distress, elderly female—yes, now."
Min Yu stared at him, tears blurring his vision.
Hoa glanced at him. "Breathe, Min Yu. Look at me."
Min Yu did.
Hoa's hand came up, firm on his shoulder.
"I've got you," Hoa said. "I won't let anything happen to her."
Something inside Min Yu shattered.
He sobbed—quiet, broken sounds he didn't recognize as his own.
Hoa didn't hesitate.
He pulled Min Yu against his chest, holding him tightly while they waited, his hand steady on the back of Min Yu's head, shielding him from the world.
"You're not alone," Hoa murmured into his hair. "Not tonight. Not ever."
AFTER — THE NIGHT THAT BREATHED TOO CLOSE
The ambulance took her away.
The apartment fell silent.
Min Yu sat on the edge of the couch, numb, staring at nothing.
Hoa stood nearby, watching him like he might disappear if he looked away.
Minutes passed.
Then Hoa spoke quietly. "Come here."
Min Yu didn't move.
Hoa crossed the room and knelt in front of him, eyes level.
"You're shaking."
Min Yu laughed weakly. "I didn't notice."
Hoa reached out slowly—giving Min Yu time to pull away.
Min Yu didn't.
Hoa's hands slid to Min Yu's wrists, grounding, warm.
"You held yourself together for too long," Hoa said. "You don't have to do that with me."
Min Yu's lips trembled.
"I was scared," he whispered.
"I know."
"She's all I have."
Hoa's expression softened painfully. "You have me."
The words landed heavy.
Min Yu's breath hitched. "You shouldn't say things like that."
Hoa's thumb brushed over Min Yu's pulse point, slow and deliberate.
"Why?" he asked softly. "Because you might believe me?"
Min Yu closed his eyes.
Hoa leaned closer—not touching yet, just close enough for Min Yu to feel his warmth.
The air between them tightened.
Min Yu's voice came out barely audible. "I don't know how to handle what you do to me."
Hoa's breath brushed his cheek. "Neither do I."
Their foreheads touched.
Min Yu inhaled shakily.
Hoa's hands slid to Min Yu's waist, firm but careful, pulling him just close enough that their knees brushed.
"I wanted to hurt him," Hoa admitted quietly. "For looking at you like that."
Min Yu's heart raced. "Hoa—"
"And that scared me," Hoa continued. "Because I don't want to be that man."
Min Yu opened his eyes.
Hoa's gaze was dark, searching, vulnerable.
"I don't want you to be alone," Hoa said. "And I don't want to lose you."
Min Yu's hands curled into Hoa's shirt.
"That's not fair," he whispered.
Hoa smiled faintly. "I've never been fair."
He leaned in.
This time, Min tied didn't pull away.
Their lips met—slow, deep, unhurried.
Not desperate.
Not rushed.
But heavy with everything they hadn't said.
Min Yu gasped softly as Hoa kissed him again, one hand sliding up his back, the other cradling his jaw.
The kiss deepened.
Min Yu melted into it, fingers clutching Hoa's coat, body leaning instinctively closer.
Hoa groaned quietly, breath breaking as he pulled Min Yu onto his lap.
They froze.
Breathing hard.
So close it hurt.
Hoa pressed his forehead to Min Yu's.
"If I keep going," he murmured, voice rough, "I won't stop."
Min Yu swallowed, heart pounding.
"…Don't stop."
Hoa closed his eyes.
Then—slowly, painfully—he pulled back just enough to breathe.
"Not tonight," Hoa said. "You need comfort. Not something you'll question tomorrow."
Min Yu nodded, even as disappointment and relief tangled inside him.
Hoa pulled him into a tight embrace instead, holding him while Min Yu finally cried—quietly, brokenly—into his shoulder.
Outside, the storm broke.
Inside, something even more dangerous had already begun.