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__________________________________________
Before anything else, Jaeyun learned to disappear.
It wasn’t that he wanted to be invisible. It was just easier that way, easier than explaining the bruises on his voice, the way his hands curled protectively around silence, the way he flinched at kindness like it was a trap.
Being overlooked meant no one could hurt you. Being small meant you could slip away before anyone decided you were worth ruining.
So he became the boy people forgot when counting chairs. The one who always took the last seat in a row. The one who laughed softly but never too long, smiled politely but never too wide. The boy who dated someone who shattered him in silence, then walked out with his pieces.
He never let anyone close again.
Not until Jongseong.
Rumor said he was a playboy. Cold. Reckless. The kind of guy who didn’t even know how to love anyone except himself. Jaeyun didn’t care if any of it was true.
Because people like Jongseong?
They never stayed.
So Jaeyun avoided him, until fate decided otherwise.
__________________________________________
It wasn’t dramatic, how they met.
No slow-motion music. No instant spark.
Just Jaeyun, arms full of books and wet paper, stepping off a curb in the rain, and a black motorcycle skidding to a perfect stop a foot away from crushing his knee.
Jaeyun stumbled back.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, heart pounding.
The rider pulled off his helmet, rain hitting his jaw like it belonged there.
And Jaeyun froze.
Jongseong. Of course.
Tall. Ridiculously handsome. A reputation that stretched across campus like folklore. Heeseung and Sunghoon always flanking him like bodyguards. Illegally fast. Intimidatingly smart. Rumored to be everything Jaeyun avoided: selfish, thrill-chasing, emotionally unavailable.
“Didn’t see you there,” Jongseong said, not even breathless.
“Maybe use your eyes next time,” Jaeyun snapped, adjusting the soggy papers in his arms.
“You always this charming?”
“You always this reckless?”
Jongseong smirked. “Want a ride?”
Jaeyun blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re soaked. And cute. And I’m offering.”
Jaeyun turned. “I’d rather drown.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He just walked away, rain in his hair, spine stiff.
He told himself that was the end of it.
He told himself he wouldn’t look back.
He did.
__________________________________________
Jongseong didn’t chase him that day. Or the day after. He didn’t text, didn’t call, didn’t corner him with demands or apologies.
But he showed up.
Not loudly. Not in a way that could be blamed. Just… present.
Two rows behind him in lecture. In the library café line once, quietly scrolling through his phone. By the vending machine near the dorms late at night, pretending to debate between orange juice and soda.
Always just far enough to claim coincidence. Always just close enough for Jaeyun to notice.
It made him nervous.
Because boys like Jongseong didn’t linger without reason. And Jaeyun had nothing left to give.
He started rerouting his days, waking up earlier, taking the longer path to class, switching study spots. Even changed café locations. It was exhausting, trying not to be seen by someone who didn’t even call out to him.
And yet.
One afternoon, outside the printing station, Jongseong appeared beside him. Said nothing. Just handed over the papers Jaeyun had forgotten to collect, their edges still warm.
Another day, during a quiz, when Jaeyun had stayed up all night and showed up to class half-alive, Jongseong quietly placed a cold bottle of water beside his elbow without a word.
A week later, Jaeyun pushed open the heavy library doors after a long shift at the tutoring center and nearly bumped into him. Jongseong was leaning against the frame, two drinks in his hands. One clearly for himself. The other held out.
Jaeyun stared at it, tired and already on edge.
“Do you make a habit of stalking people who almost end up under your wheels?” he muttered.
Jongseong smirked, but his voice was soft. “I make a habit of noticing people I don’t want to forget.”
Jaeyun blinked. That wasn’t the answer he expected. “That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
For a moment, the world shifted, just a little. Jongseong wasn’t all angles and distance anymore. He wasn’t just the handsome boy with rumors tangled around him like static.
He was real. And something in his expression, behind the calm, behind the effortless charm, looked unsure. Gentle. Like he didn’t quite know how to do this, either.
Jaeyun hated how much that mattered.
So he walked past him, muttering a half-hearted “thanks,” pretending it didn’t touch something soft inside him.
But the next time Jongseong handed him a drink. He took it. No questions. No accusations.
Just a quiet, reluctant peace offering.
And maybe, just maybe, a beginning.
__________________________________________
“You’re running,” Jungwon said, sprawled across Jaeyun’s bed like he lived there, half a granola bar crumbling in his hand.
“I’m maintaining boundaries,” Jaeyun muttered, eyes glued to his laptop but not really reading.
Jungwon didn’t even blink. “You’re panicking.”
Jaeyun sighed. “I’m surviving.”
Jungwon sat up, brushing crumbs off his hoodie. “He’s not your ex.”
“I know that.”
“Then why does he scare you?”
Jaeyun didn’t answer right away. He swallowed hard, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth like that might hold the words in. But they came anyway, quiet and bitter.
“Because he might not leave.”
Jungwon didn’t say anything after that. He didn’t need to.
Because they both understood.
Jaeyun could handle being ignored. He’d learned how to live with silence, how to stitch up the absence and pretend it didn’t ache.
But being loved? That was different. That meant being seen. That meant being known.
That meant being hurt in a way he might not come back from.
__________________________________________
He didn’t call it friendship. Not really. But Jongseong kept showing up.
Not loudly. Not with grand gestures or heavy confessions. Just… consistently.
A coffee left beside Jaeyun’s usual library spot.
Memes at 2 a.m. that made him laugh into his pillow.
Book recommendations sent with brief messages like “This one reminded me of you.”
And then there was the playlist — For When It Feels Too Loud — no explanation, no comment, just a link.
Jaeyun clicked on it when his chest felt too tight to breathe. And it helped.
There was one day he didn’t think he’d survive, a full-blown panic attack in the middle of the computer lab. His vision had blurred, his hands had gone numb. He’d tried to breathe, but his lungs refused to cooperate.
People stared.
No one moved.
Except Jongseong.
He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t try to touch him or fix him. He just sat beside Jaeyun, quietly lowered the brightness of the screen, dimmed the lights in the lab, and waited. Breathing slowly. Matching Jaeyun’s trembling exhales with his own.
He stayed there until Jaeyun could stand again. Neither of them spoke about it afterward. But something shifted.
Because after that, when Jongseong texted, Jaeyun finally replied.
Not with full sentences at first. Just emojis. Short answers. But then longer replies. Conversations that bled into the night.
He didn’t say it out loud, but it scared him, how much Jongseong’s quiet presence was starting to feel like safety.
And Jaeyun had never believed in safety before.
__________________________________________
There were days when Jaeyun wanted to let himself fall.
Wanted to believe that Jongseong’s quiet attention meant more. That he wasn’t another passing phase. That maybe, just maybe, someone was choosing him without needing to fix or claim or cage him.
But fear is louder than hope.
So he tested him.
Pulled away.
Didn’t respond for days.
Snapped at him in front of others. Threw a wall up mid-conversation and walked off like nothing mattered.
And every time, Jongseong came back with the same softness in his eyes.
Not demanding. Not angry.
Just there.
“I’m not leaving,” he said once, after Jaeyun had pushed him too far.
“I didn’t ask you to stay.”
“I’m not staying for you,” Jongseong replied. “I’m staying because I want to. That’s different.”
__________________________________________
It was raining again. Not a dramatic downpour, just that kind of steady, aching rain that made everything feel heavier. Like the sky had finally let go of what it had been holding in.
Jaeyun sat on the library steps, soaked to the bone, his hoodie pulled low over his face. His hands trembled slightly in his lap, and he didn’t bother hiding it. He’d just come off another call with his mother, another sharp-tongued conversation where every sentence was a reminder that he wasn’t enough. He didn’t remember what she said exactly. Only that her voice echoed long after the call ended, and it left him feeling like a ghost in his own skin.
He didn’t hear the footsteps at first. But then someone sat beside him, quiet, calm, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
It was Jongseong.
He had no umbrella, no jacket shielding him from the rain. Just his presence, silent and steady, like he’d been looking for Jaeyun and knew exactly where to find him.
“You’re cold,” he said after a pause, not as an observation, but almost like it hurt him to notice.
Jaeyun didn’t respond. He didn’t want to talk. Not about the call. Not about himself. Not about anything.
Jongseong didn’t push. Instead, he gently pressed a warm cup into Jaeyun’s hands, something he’d picked up on the way there, still steaming. “Hold this,” he murmured. “I won’t talk if you don’t want me to.”
So they sat there, under the dim library light, in the soft hush of the rain. Neither of them said a word. It was the kind of silence that didn’t need filling, the kind that wrapped around them like a shared understanding.
Jaeyun didn’t know how long they sat like that. But eventually, his hands stopped shaking.
And when he finally looked over, really looked, he saw Jongseong’s expression, quiet, open, and unbearably kind.
That terrified him more than anything else.
Because kindness, in his world, never came without conditions. But Jongseong wasn’t asking for anything. He wasn’t demanding answers or explanations. He was just… there. Soaked and shivering and still choosing to stay.
And Jaeyun didn’t know what to do with that kind of love.
__________________________________________
The next few weeks were quiet.
Jaeyun let himself lean a little.
Shared more in the spaces between questions. Started walking next to Jongseong instead of behind him. Laughed more. Slept better.
Fell harder.
That was the problem.
Because falling always meant crashing.
He told Jongseong everything. About his father leaving. About the toxic ex who made him feel too small to be loved. About how he thought Heeseung was the safest boy to admire, because Heeseung would never love him back.
And Jongseong listened.
Didn’t flinch. Didn’t pity. Just… stayed.
“I hate needing people,” Jaeyun confessed, voice cracking.
“You don’t need me,” Jongseong said. “But I’ll be here if you want me.”
__________________________________________
It happened suddenly. And yet, it had been building for weeks, in the spaces between glances, in the quiet of held breath, in everything Jaeyun refused to admit out loud.
They stood outside his dorm. The night was still, cool air brushing past like a warning.
Jongseong leaned against the railing, a shadow carved out of starlight, looking like he wanted to say something but was afraid it might break them both.
And maybe it did.
“You ever wonder what this is?” he asked, eyes on the dark sky.
The question slid through Jaeyun’s ribs like a slow blade.
He didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to look at him. He could already feel the truth pressing against his lungs, threatening to make him real.
He forced a laugh that sounded nothing like one.
“This?” he asked, eyes avoiding Jongseong’s. “It’s nothing.”
Silence.
Heavy. Dense. Familiar.
But Jongseong didn’t look away. His voice stayed soft.
“It doesn’t feel like nothing.”
Jaeyun’s stomach twisted. He hated that voice, not because it was cruel, but because it was kind.
He met Jongseong’s gaze, but only for a second.
“That’s what you do, right?” he said. “You chase things that feel interesting. Until they’re not.”
The shift was instant, not in Jongseong’s expression, but in the energy around them. Like the ground cracked a little underfoot.
“I’m not a project,” Jaeyun continued, sharper now, each word pulled from the oldest scar. “You’re bored. And I’m convenient.”
The hurt in Jongseong’s eyes was quiet, not loud enough to shout, but just enough to be undeniable.
“I’m making it easier,” Jaeyun whispered. “Before you leave. Because you will. Everyone does.”
Jongseong took a step back, like he’d just realized Jaeyun wasn’t fighting him, he was fighting the ghost of everyone who came before.
His voice was barely audible.
“I never lied to you.”
But Jaeyun wasn’t listening. Not to that. Not when his own fears screamed louder.
“Maybe you just lied to yourself.”
That did it.
Jongseong’s shoulders slumped. The hurt flickered into something sadder, softer. He stood still for a breath too long, like he wanted to say something else. Like he didn’t want to go.
But he didn’t beg.
Didn’t try to convince him.
He just looked at Jaeyun one last time, the way people look when they know they’ve already lost, and whispered,
“I liked you. Exactly as you are.”
Then he turned.
And this time, he didn’t come back.
__________________________________________
Days passed.
The silence was unbearable.
Jaeyun stopped going to class. Ignored texts. Barely spoke to Jungwon.
Everything felt heavier without Jongseong’s quiet presence.
Then, a note, slipped under his door.
“I never needed you to love me back. I just needed you to believe I meant it.”
He read it until the words blurred. Then he ran.
He found him on the empty basketball court behind the gym, under a flickering light. The world felt muted. The night was cold.
Jongseong didn’t notice him at first. He was bouncing the ball slowly, mechanically. Like the movement was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
Jaeyun stood still, watching him. Trying to breathe.
Then—
“I didn’t mean it,” Jaeyun said, his voice barely above the wind.
The ball stopped. Jongseong didn’t turn around.
“I was scared,” Jaeyun continued, stepping forward. “Of you. Of how it felt to matter.”
Silence.
“I didn’t know how to handle something real,” he said. “So I ran before it could ruin me.”
Jongseong finally turned.
“I know,” he said softly, eyes dim with something that looked too close to hurt.
“You stayed longer than anyone else ever has,” Jaeyun whispered.
“I didn’t stay for anyone else,” Jongseong replied. “I stayed for you.”
There was a tremble in his voice that hadn’t been there before. Like he didn’t know if he’d be welcomed back, even now.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” Jaeyun said.
“But you did.”
“I know.” Jaeyun looked down, fingers curling into fists. “I hated myself the moment I shut that door on you.”
Jongseong stepped forward slowly. His voice gentler now.
“Why did you do it?”
“Because I thought…” Jaeyun swallowed. “If you saw everything wrong with me, you’d leave. So I tried to leave first.”
“But I did see everything.”
Jaeyun looked up.
“And I stayed.”
The words hit like rain after drought. Quiet. Cleansing.
“I still don’t know how to let people love me,” Jaeyun admitted. “Not without feeling like I owe them pain in return.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Jongseong said. “I’m not waiting for you to be perfect.”
“I’m not perfect. I’m messy. I’m angry. I shut people out when they care.”
“I know.”
“I don’t always want to be held. But sometimes I do.”
“I’ll learn when.”
“I have baggage.”
“I’ll help you carry it.”
Jaeyun took a slow step forward. His hands were trembling.
“I don’t know how to love without fear.”
“I’ll love you gently.”
His breath hitched. “I’m not ready for forever.”
“I’m not asking for forever. I’m asking for right now.”
They stood a foot apart, the air thick with all the things they hadn’t said until now.
“Can I hold your hand?” Jongseong asked.
That time, Jaeyun didn’t hesitate. He nodded.
Jongseong reached out, fingers brushing carefully against his, like Jaeyun might still vanish if he touched too quickly.
When their hands finally met, it wasn’t perfect. Their fingers didn’t interlace cleanly. Jaeyun’s knuckles were cold. Jongseong’s palm was trembling.
But it was real.
It was enough.
“I’m here,” Jongseong said.
Jaeyun’s throat tightened. “Please stay.”
Jongseong stepped closer. The space between them disappeared.
“I will. As long as you’ll have me.”
Jaeyun pressed his forehead against Jongseong’s chest, breath shaky.
And in the quiet between their heartbeats, something softened. Something healed.
“I believe you,” Jaeyun whispered.
__________________________________________
They didn’t call it love, not yet. But they lived like it was.
Late-night study sessions. Quiet touches. Words left unsaid but always felt.
Jaeyun still had bad days. So did Jongseong.
But they held space for each other, softly, fully, honestly.
“Do you still think I’ll leave?” Jongseong asked one morning, their hands laced together across the bed.
Jaeyun looked at him, eyes swollen from sleep, chest full of something too big to name.
“No,” he whispered. “Because even stars get tired. But you… you stayed.”