Chapter Text
༊·˚ Chapter 1
October 4 , 2040
Thursday
₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡
Seoul, South Korea
The cold air bit at his skin as he darted down narrow streets with a hurried pace only a stressed college student could possess. The sun had already risen since early in the morning, and people were long since gone to fulfill their occupations for the day. Shadows cast around alleyways and buildings, balanced by the sunlight decorating the walls like glimmering paint. It was a generally tranquil day; furthermore, the energy in the atmosphere was more vivacious—like the thought of Friday being a day away excited everyone.
As he rushed, he held several items. He hadn’t packed well beforehand, so he left the house with a cluster of things in his arms: his sweater, a lunchbag he could strap over his shoulder, an iced tea he managed to buy on his way here, and his phone. Somehow, he hadn’t toppled everything from his grip.
His lunch bag contained the breakfast his mother had, oh so sweetly, prepared for him even as he insisted it was alright, that he could go without a proper breakfast, eat a pack of cookies or something. She hadn’t allowed him to skip. Not since it was the “most important meal of the day”, as she liked to say.
Surprisingly, his backpack wasn’t as heavy as the things in his arms. It was light as a feather, or perhaps he simply ignored its weight.
He watched as a few students with oversized backpacks jostling behind them ran past him, even more frantic and messy than he was. There was a bus stop ahead, so maybe they were about to miss the bus if they didn’t hasten their jogging. He recalled those days back in middle and high school when he took the bus.
Then he fell back into the present and remembered he still took the bus, just not the school buses anymore. He turned on his phone and glanced at the time—8:45 AM. The public bus would arrive in less than fifteen minutes, so he had to hurry even if he had plenty of time.
He adjusted the strap of his lunch bag and shuffled forward, not wanting to miss his bus. If he did, he would still have to walk all the way to the university campus. That wouldn’t be amusing. He was careful not to bump into a pair of elderly women carrying their plastic shopping bags.
A soft wind rustled the amber leaves still clinging stubbornly to the trees lining the street. He almost smiled at the mundane beauty, but the thought disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by the mental checklist of his day ahead—classes, part-time shift, homework, practice.
By the time he reached the bus stop, a few students and office workers had already claimed spots on the bench, earbuds in, scrolling through their phones, quietly nodding to the music only they could hear. He found a place to stand, balancing his items in his arms, and took a careful sip of his iced tea. The cold liquid slid down his throat, refreshing him enough to forget, briefly, how hurried he truly felt.
He tapped the screen of his phone absentmindedly, scrolling through notifications. A message from his mother flashed on the screen: Call me tonight if you can, busy day. Don’t skip lunch. He felt a warmth at the reminder of her care. She’d been working longer hours recently, the bills piling up faster than usual, and he hated that she had to sacrifice so much. It was why he didn’t complain when she fussed over him, insisted he eat well, or reminded him to take care of himself. Even though he was an adult perfectly capable of caring for his body.
The rumble of the approaching bus caught his attention, and he stepped closer to the curb, adjusting the items in his arms so he could hold onto the railing as it slowed to a stop. Doors hissed open, and passengers shuffled on. He slipped in, finding an empty seat near the window, and set his breakfast bag on the seat beside him.
Outside, Seoul passed in blurred motion—shimmering sunlight on glass, the occasional pigeon taking flight, people crossing streets with phones and dozens of distinct bags. He leaned back and sighed quietly.
He caught sight of a lady holding an umbrella, and he briefly wondered if it was going to rain. Dismissing the thought and minimal possibility, he opened his lunch bag and retrieved the rice porridge his mother prepared. With the plastic spoon she meticulously added, he began taking small sips of the easy meal, a warm smile blooming on his features. Even if she made it quickly, it still tasted like a Michelin star chef made it.
The bus hummed along the streets, weaving past storefronts and the occasional stray cat stretching lazily in the morning sun. He nibbled at his porridge, eyes tracing the rhythm of the city outside the window—the neon signs still faint from the early hour, a delivery truck rumbling past, the crispness of October lingering in the air.
Soon, the bus turned onto a wider avenue lined with tall buildings, and a sprawling campus emerged on the horizon. His university, Seoul International University, loomed ahead with its sleek glass structures and neatly trimmed courtyards.
Students in various uniforms and casual clothing hurried across the walkways, some juggling coffee cups, backpacks, or animated phone conversations. The familiar sight brought a mix of relief and resignation; despite his fatigue, the routine of campus life offered its own comfort.
The bus slowed to a stop at the main entrance, the doors folding open with a pneumatic hiss. He gathered his things, securing the lunch bag over one shoulder and balancing his sweater in the crook of his arm. Stepping onto the pavement, the cool breeze teased at his hair and brushed against his face, carrying the scent of wet leaves and distant street food stalls. Students swarmed around him, a river of chatter, laughter, and hurried steps flowing past.
He weaved through the crowd with practiced ease, mindful not to spill his porridge or drop his iced tea, finally heading toward the central quad where classes were held. But before he could arrive, a girl practically bolted in his direction, a bright, mischievous grin across her face.
He halted abruptly, thinking the girl would crash into him accidentally. However, even as he stopped, the girl ran towards him still, intentionally bumping him before throwing her arms around his neck.
“Hyesung!” she exclaimed, pulling back to look up at him. She was one of Hyesung’s many friends he made his freshman year, even before, though rare. Her black hair streaked down to her waist, blonde highlights adorning the dark strands. She wore baggy jeans and a dark red crop top, tight around her torso.
Hyesung smiled. “Hi, Yeseo,” he greeted.
Yeseo pulled out her phone to respond to a message. “You got here earlier than usual.”
He nodded with a polite smile, scanning their surroundings. The area was gradually growing crowded, and the entrance was way worse. “Yeah, I managed to leave my house early. I woke up before my alarm could wake me up,” he clarified, his voice soft and silky.
Yeseo indicated the university’s entrance with a cock of her head. “Let’s go before it gets more packed. Y’know how it is.” She didn’t wait for him to follow and was already walking ahead, leading the way confidently.
Hyesung trailed after her, keeping a close, keen eye on her so she wouldn’t suddenly disappear on him.
The central quad of Seoul International University stretched out before them, wide and paved with light-colored stone, lined with benches and tall maple trees, their leaves a mosaic of amber, gold, and burnt sienna. Students milled about in clusters, backpacks slung carelessly over one shoulder, some gesturing wildly as they argued over assignments or upcoming tests. A distant bell rang from the main hall, signaling the start of the first lecture period, and the buzz of early morning campus life seemed to fold around Hyesung as he walked.
Yeseo, as usual, strode with effortless confidence, weaving between groups of chatting students without breaking her pace.
Hyesung adjusted his grip on his lunch bag, careful not to bump anyone, and followed close behind, letting his eyes roam briefly over the familiar sights: the cafeteria tucked behind a low brick building, the fountain glinting in the sunlight, the banners announcing the upcoming sports events.
“You know,” Yeseo said suddenly, glancing back with a teasing smirk, “since you’re here earlier than me… You could’ve at least gotten me a drink too.” She indicated the Starbucks drink in Hyesung’s hand.
Hyesung chuckled under his breath. He knew Yeseo had an obsession with coffee, more than he would ever in his life. He would have purchased her a cup if he hadn’t forgotten, his mind occupied with other things. “I’ll get you one next time,” he said.
Yeseo rolled her eyes dramatically, clearly unimpressed. “Next time? That’s what you always say, Hyesung. You better remember.” She jabbed him lightly in the arm, though it was more playful than painful.
They reached a quieter stretch of the quad, the hum of the main crowd fading slightly as the students dispersed toward their respective lecture halls. Hyesung exhaled slowly, letting the rhythm of his steps match hers.
“So,” she said, spinning to face him briefly, meeting his dark eyes, “how’s life treating the busiest guy in our year?”
Hyesung’s lips twisted into a small half-smile, the warm sunlight catching the faint sheen of his black hair. “Busy, as usual,” he admitted. “Classes, practice, part-time shifts… you know the drill.” His voice held a softness that contrasted the brisk efficiency with which he navigated the campus.
Yeseo nodded knowingly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I get it. But seriously, don’t forget to eat. Or, you know, at least something that isn’t a cookie from the corner store.” She fixed the black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose absentmindedly.
“I’ve got breakfast,” he replied, patting the lunch bag over his shoulder. “Thanks, though.”
She glanced at it, then back at him with a devious, expectant gaze. “Anythin’ for me?” she teased, already rubbing her hands together enthusiastically.
Hyesung rolled his eyes and didn’t reply for a long moment. He looked around, drawing out the impatience and suspense Yeseo felt, before finally responding. “I brought some cookies..”
Yeseo tapped her glossy lips, unable to hold back the enthusiastic grin. “Can I get one? I’m hungry,” she asked, swaying side to side, feigning innocence.
Hyesung, of course, didn’t say no. He was already pulling out the bag of cookies inside his lunch bag, and he offered one to Yeseo, who instantaneously snatched it from his hand. “You’re welcome…?”
“Thanks!” she said brightly, munching on the snack hungrily.
Hyesung nodded and looked at the time on his phone before slipping it back inside his pocket. “My first class is gonna start soon. See you later?” Yeseo gave him a thumbs up, fixed her glasses, and was already off.
Hyesung watched her weave through the dispersing crowd with her usual ease, the swish of her baggy jeans and the bounce in her step leaving a faint echo in his mind. He adjusted the strap of his lunchbag and entered the lecture hall for his first business and marketing class. The room was already filling with students, some chatting quietly in clusters, others settling into their seats with the casual ease of those who had made this routine their own. The air smelled faintly of paper and coffee—a comforting, mundane scent.
He chose a seat near the middle of the hall, close enough to see the professor clearly but far enough from the front to blend into the crowd. Around him, classmates trickled in—some familiar faces from his freshman year, nodding greetings his way, others strangers whose names he didn’t remember after the semester started.
Hyesung’s posture was relaxed, but his eyes scanned the room with quiet attentiveness, a habit from years of balancing social ease and personal observation.
When the professor entered, the room settled instantly, the chatter dwindling into whispers and the occasional rustle of notebooks and pens.
Hyesung pulled out his notebook and pen, careful to organize the pages, even if he mostly relied on mental notes and his phone for reminders. Marketing strategies, consumer behavior, market analytics—it was all stuff he enjoyed, especially the parts where theory intersected with real-world application.
The lecture began with the quiet shuffle of Mr. Choi to the front of the room, a tall man in his late forties with wire-rimmed glasses and a crisp gray blazer. He carried a slim tablet in one hand, tapping it lightly as he adjusted the microphone clipped to his lapel. “Good morning, everyone,” he said, his voice calm but carrying clearly across the hall. “I trust you’re ready—because we have a test tomorrow, and I hope you’ve reviewed the chapters on consumer segmentation and behavioral analytics.”
Hyesung scribbled the reminder at the top of his page, a faint furrow crossing his brow. Mr. Choi didn’t waste time with small talk. “Let’s begin with market segmentation,” he continued, pacing slowly in front of the first row.
“As you know, dividing your market into precise, actionable segments allows for targeted campaigns that speak directly to consumers’ needs and desires. Today, I want to focus on both the theory and how it’s applied in real-world cases.”
He tapped the tablet, and a slide appeared on the projector showing overlapping circles of demographic, psychographic, and behavioral data.
“Take, for example, luxury cosmetic brands. Understanding psychographics—values, lifestyle, attitudes—can be more influential than age or income alone. A twenty-five-year-old with a high interest in sustainability may respond differently to campaigns than someone with no concern for eco-friendly products, even if their income is identical.”
Hyesung copied the diagram in his notebook, writing down brief notes on psychographics versus demographics, and how segmentation strategies could be layered for maximum impact. Around him, students scribbled furiously, muttered quietly to friends about concepts they didn’t yet fully grasp, or tapped pens impatiently.
Mr. Choi’s voice shifted slightly, drawing the room in. “Behavioral analytics also plays a key role,” he said. “Purchasing history, browsing behavior, response to previous campaigns—all of this can inform not just what products are offered, but how they’re advertised. Let’s look at a recent case study.”
He swiped the tablet, and another slide filled the screen, showing graphs of online shopping behavior for a popular Korean cosmetics brand. “Notice how email campaigns timed after cart abandonment see higher conversion rates than generalized ads sent indiscriminately. Targeted messaging matters, and tomorrow’s test will include examples of both demographic and behavioral segmentation.”
Hyesung made sure to underline “behavioral segmentation” and jotted a few keywords about conversion metrics and campaign timing. Mr. Choi’s lectures were precise, and his expectation was that students understood the nuance, not just the definitions.
“Now,” Mr. Choi continued, walking closer to the center aisle, “let’s discuss marketing strategies that stem from this segmentation. Brands use multi-channel approaches, integrating social media, email, and in-store promotions to create cohesive narratives. Consider, for instance, a limited-edition launch timed for social media hype—how does the brand balance exclusivity with accessibility?”
He paused, scanning the students. “You there… Taehyung, am I right? Can you give an example from your part-time experience or observations of consumer behavior?”
Taehyung shifted in his seat, a relaxed grin spreading across his face. Athletic build, sharp jawline, dark hair slightly tousled, he leaned back casually, exuding an effortless confidence that drew attention without him even trying.
“Uh… sure, Professor,” he said, his tone easy, a little teasing. “At the sportswear store I work at on weekends, we have seasonal limited-edition sneakers. Some designs drop online first, then in-store. Fans wait outside, and the excitement on social media fuels the whole buzz. People stand in line for hours just to feel special, even though a similar version will be released next month.”
Mr. Choi nodded approvingly. “Exactly, Taehyung. That’s a practical example of using behavioral insights—scarcity, hype, and timing. You see how segmentation and targeted campaigns can generate excitement and maximize sales?”
Taehyung shrugged lightly, eyes glinting with amusement. “Yeah, it’s kind of crazy how predictable people are when it comes to brands.” He grinned, tossing a glance around the hall at a few classmates snickering quietly at the casual but accurate observation.
Mr. Choi returned to the projector, switching slides to a chart detailing conversion rates and engagement statistics for multiple brands. “Now, take these metrics,” he said, pointing with the stylus, “and consider how they inform follow-up campaigns. Students, think about not just who you target, but when and how. Tomorrow’s test will ask you to apply these principles to a small case scenario. Prepare accordingly.”
A murmur ran through the room as students quickly adjusted notes, flipping pages and scribbling calculations.
Hyesung leaned back slightly, pen hovering above the page, absorbing both the data and the atmosphere. He was getting slightly drowsy. Even if he was interested in this topic, his mind couldn’t restrain the boredom that always filled him at some point during the day.
Mr. Choi continued to pace, gesturing at various graphs. “Finally, remember that while data is critical, creativity is what turns insight into results. The best campaigns are those that merge analytical rigor with imaginative execution. Marketing isn’t just numbers—it’s storytelling. And tomorrow, I want to see evidence that you understand both sides.”
Hyesung made a mental note, underlining “creativity” and “storytelling” alongside the statistical metrics.
Mr. Choi reminded, “Complete the discussion assigned yesterday. It’s due today at twelve, so I want zero excuses tomorrow. I’ve reminded you plenty.” He gestured to the class, receiving silence as expected, and then snapped his fingers, which was a signal to start working and cooperate with peers.
A rustle of movement followed—desks shifting, chairs scraping lightly against the floor, notebooks closing or sliding aside as everyone slowly began to reorient themselves into smaller groups.
Hyesung stayed where he was for a moment, twirling his pen between his fingers. A familiar voice called out across the row, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Yo, Hyesung!”
Hyesung lifted his gaze. It was Jiwon, one of the guys from the volleyball team who also happened to be in this class. He saw the group of his friends sitting by a corner. He grinned, completely forgetting about the assignment. To be fair, he already turned it in yesterday night. He gathered his things, stepped down rows, and slid into the empty chair near them.
“Okay, okay,” Jiwon said, clapping his hands together dramatically, “so you guys are going to the party tomorrow, right?” He exchanged glances with all five guys sitting around him, each one just as ecstatic as the last.
Minjae leaned forward, his elbow on the desk, eyes bright with mischief. “Bro, are you serious? Of course we’re going. Friday night, no excuses. Fuck the midterms.”
“Midterms, huh?” another one of their friends—Donghyun—chimed in, snickering. “You just want an excuse to drink until you pass out.”
“I don’t pass out,” Minjae retorted. “I got a high tolerance.”
Hyesung leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he listened. Parties weren’t really his thing—too much noise, too many people pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in dim rooms—but with this group, it was hard not to get pulled into their energy. They carried conversations like waves, reckless and loud, and he often found himself swept along whether he planned to or not.
Jiwon leaned in, pointing a finger at Hyesung. “You’re coming too, right? Don’t even try to ghost us. I’ll drag your ass out of your house if I gotta.” The others hooted in agreement, some pounding the table in mock threat.
Hyesung tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I didn’t say I wasn’t.”
“Good,” Jiwon said, satisfied, leaning back like he’d just won a battle. “Because I need you as my wingman. You’re like… chill. Girls love that.”
Sungmin said, “Wouldn’t the girls go for Hyesung then?”
Jiwon scoffed indignantly. “No,” he said too quickly, clearly offended in some way.
“They’ll definitely love him more than you,” Donghyun muttered under his breath, earning another round of laughter.
Mr. Choi’s voice cut sharply through the noise, forcing the group to settle, though their grins lingered. “Gentlemen. This is not free time—it’s discussion time. Get back on task.”
“Yes, Professor,” they chorused half-heartedly, barely suppressing laughter.
Hyesung nulled over the group’s words. Are girls actually into chill dudes? Guys that are more likely to enjoy solitude or being with a small group instead of a massive crowd of friends, to be fond of deep conversations instead of small talk. He muttered under his breath, “I don’t want a girl though…”
Sungmin thought he heard Hyesung say something, so he asked, “What was that, Sung? Did y’say somethin’?”
Hyesung quickly shook his head. “No, nothing.”
For the rest of the period, the room buzzed with a low hum of voices, some earnest, some only half-invested. Hyesung contributed when Jiwon poked him for ideas, but otherwise, he let the others carry the noise. His mind drifted in and out of the discussion, snagging on fragments of their earlier conversation.
When Mr. Choi finally called time, snapping his fingers again for attention, the room shifted as students began packing up. Backpacks zipped, chairs screeched against the floor, and the buzz of conversation swelled into the kind of restless energy that always came before freedom.
꧁ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ꧂
✧₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
October 5 , 2040
Friday
Friday always carried a different rhythm—the kind that made students quicken their steps, their laughter sharper, their conversations drifting toward weekend plans instead of assignments.
Hyesung stepped out of his last class of the day, exhaling a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The hallway was crowded, filled with clusters of students buzzing about the upcoming night, but he lingered for a moment near the door, checking the grade notification glowing on his phone screen.
97.
His lips twitched upward at the sight. He wasn’t the type to gloat, not even to his closest friends, but a quiet warmth spread through his chest anyway. It wasn’t just the grade—it was the validation. Proof that the hours of note-taking, the late-night study sessions fueled by his mother’s tea, the moments of dull repetition had amounted to something tangible.
Still, the glow of pride dimmed almost as quickly as it came. He knew Monday, the focus would shift again—more classes, more projects, more expectations. Nothing ever really stopped in the cycle of university life. No, Tuesday. There was a holiday on Monday.
Adjusting the strap of his backpack, he began weaving through the corridor when he caught sight of Yeseo. She was standing with two friends near the stairwell, her laugh carrying lightly above the noise. Baggy cardigan draped over her shoulders, hair tied loosely back, she didn’t stand out in the obvious way some people did, but there was something about her—an ease, a quiet energy or pull—that seemed to tug him closer.
Aside from being best friends since high school, it felt like he was barely getting to know her each time they talked. She was so nostalgic that it made him forget who he was talking to, made him forget she wasn’t a stranger.
He hadn’t noticed he was zoning out until Yeseo appeared right in front of him. She held up a hand, ready to dap him up.
Hyesung smiled and connected their hands in a clap, softly bumping into Yeseo’s side. “Hey,” he greeted.
Yeseo smirked and released her hand from his loose grip. “What’s up? Anythin’ new?”
He nodded. “Yeah. There’s a party tonight.”
“You’re going?” Yeseo inquired, her eyebrow lifting in confusion. She knew Hyesung was an extrovert, but parties weren’t his style since it often involved drinking, hookups, complaints, and hangovers.
Hyesung knew that look she was giving him; it was the one that said “You? Of all people?”. He answered, “Yeah. I wanted to try something new this week. Plus why not, we have Monday off.” He shrugged casually, but behind his indifference, he was a little apprehensive.
Yeseo lifted her hands in surrender. “Alright,” she muttered, her tone subtly uncertain and dumbfounded.
“Why’d you say it like that?” Hyesung rubbed the back of his neck and indicated Yeseo despite her being right in front of him.
“Like what?” said Yeseo.
He shook his head, erasing the doubt from his mind, at least for now. “Nevermind..”
Yeseo tilted her head at him, lips twitching like she wanted to either laugh or press further but thought better of it. Instead, she adjusted the strap of her tote bag and glanced toward the exit doors where the crowd of students spilled into the cool October air.
“You’ll survive,” she said finally. “Make sure to tell me anything interesting that happens though.”
“You’re not going?” he asked.
Yeseo giggled like he said the funniest thing ever; she even smacked him on his arm playfully. She fixed her glasses, pushing them slightly higher. “You’re joking, right?” she teased.
Hyesung smiled awkwardly. “Uh.. No?”
Yeseo paused. Her grin faltered briefly before rising full force. “Dude, y’know I don’t do parties. Everyone there is crazy. I’d rather spend my time shopping or watching a K-drama.”
Hyesung chuckled under his breath, averting his gaze briefly. “I know, I know.. You love K-dramas. I guess I can’t argue with that.”
Yeseo gave him a look—the kind that was half-fond, half-exasperated. “You better not come crying to me if you regret it tomorrow,” she nagged.
“Who said I’d regret it?” he countered, though even he could hear the thin edge of hesitation behind his words.
“Mm.” She leaned back slightly, studying him like she didn’t quite buy it. “Sure. Whatever.”
“What? Don’t believe me?” Hyesung confidently teased.
Her smirk softened, and her eyes grew solemn. For a moment there was an easy silence between them, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled. Finally, she adjusted the strap of her tote again and took a step backward. “Alright, let’s go. We’ve got a bus to catch, right?”
Hyesung was reflexively going to fall in step behind her, but then he recalled one thing. He froze. He and his friend, Minseong, had already made an agreement. Minseong would drive Hyesung to his place. In return, he would undoubtedly—without a single thought of hesitation—go to that party at nine.
He lifted his gaze and saw Yeseo striding ahead. She hadn’t seemed to notice he wasn’t trailing after her. “Wait, Yeseo—” he called.
Yeseo paused when she heard Hyesung calling her. She turned. The first thing she spotted was Hyesung with his arm outstretched, as though he would’ve grabbed her shoulder to stop her. Now he looked like an idiot. “What? Something wrong?”
Hyesung shook his head. “No, I just forgot to tell you I’m riding with Minseong today. I’m not taking the bus.”
Yeseo’s eyes momentarily widened, surprised. Their routine had been set since the last week of August. Hyesung would hardly require a different form of transportation. The public bus did a satisfactory job. Something was definitely off. “Oh,” she finally uttered. “Okay.” She shrugged, placing back an earbud into her ear. “Text me later.” Then she was off.
Hyesung stood in the corridor for seconds longer than necessary. He didn’t know what was worse, knowing he had a party to attend which would either be a complete disaster or an exciting success, or being aware of Yeseo’s feelings. The silence he was given said more words than her mouth could.
He swiftly spun on his heel. He couldn’t be distracted now. If he didn’t meet up with Minseong early, that guy would definitely leave him. Impatience always was and will be a negative aspect in one’s personality.
Hyesung arrived outside the campus, standing beside the students’ parking lot. He didn’t know which of the dozens of parking spaces belonged to Minseong. Even as he texted the man, he hadn’t received a reply. Not even a small message that said he read his text.
Where is he? Hyesung thought. He’s the one so eager to go to that party, and he’s not even here.
He scratched the side of his neck awkwardly, dumbfounded. However, before he could stress about it further, a sleek matte black convertible approached the space closest to him. The vehicle didn’t park, just stopped to wait for someone.
“Hyesung! Get in!” A voice—easily recognizeable—called to him.
The car’s window rolled down gradually. A figure appeared from behind the dark glass. It was Minseong. Relief spread across Hyesung’s body like ecstasy after consuming a drug. He sighed to himself, glad to see a familiar face in the sea of college students.
Quickly scurrying forward, Hyesung opened the door to the passenger seat, sat down with a thump, and closed the door. He avoided the evidently luxurious car, not wanting to compare himself to Minseong because his brain sometimes thought the worst—unwillingly. Instead, he tried making conversation.
“You do know where I live, right?” Hyesung asked.
Minseong cocked his head forward, his silent manner of replying with a “yes”. He muttered, “I got a fucking forty on an exam today,” frustratedly. “The professor sucks. I swear.”
Hyesung didn’t answer. The last thing he wanted was to utter the wrong thing to an aggravated, impatient Minseong, who was accurately comparable to a ticking time bomb.
Minseong scoffed. “Y’know what she told me?” He glanced at Hyesung, who looked ahead. Minseong was oblivious, so he didn’t know Hyesung was purposely trying to avoid his eyes. “She told me I had to ‘study and talk less in class’. Shit, I wanted to swing right on the spot.”
He scowled as a group of students walked in front of his car, forcing him to hit the brakes, not drive above the speed limit and pray no poor soul obstructed his path. “Anyway, I heard the party’s gonna be at Joonsuk’s place. It’s closer to your house, so you can just walk there.”
Hyesung nodded faintly, eyes still fixed ahead at the thinning crowd outside. “Yeah, I know the way.”
“Good,” Minseong said, one hand drumming against the steering wheel in restless bursts of rhythm. His jaw was tight, shoulders wound up with the kind of energy that looked like it could either spiral into laughter or break something or someone.
The hum of the engine filled the silence between them. Hyesung shifted in his seat, fingers brushing over the strap of his backpack. He wasn’t sure what to say. Conversations with an angry Minseong always felt like balancing on a wire—one wrong step, and the drop was inevitable.
Finally, Minseong spoke again, his tone lighter but still strained as if barely containing rage. “Ay, Hyesung, I’ve been meaning to ask you somethin’.”
Hyesung looked at Minseong, who had his eyes fixed on the road ahead, fortunately. “What is it?”
Expecting an infuriated or whiny question, he was greeted with the complete opposite. “I—.. I heard about the situation your mom’s in..” he murmured, his voice audibly softening, almost velvety and smooth as satin to Hyesung’s ears.
Hyesung paused.
The situation his mom was in? What was that supposed to mean?
He dragged his gaze elsewhere. The air within the car suddenly changed, dropping in temperature to something colder because of one thing—a touchy, tense subject. From the corner of his eye, Minseong saw how Hyesung’s eyebrows furrowed, his lips tightening into a shaky line. And still, he was attempting composure and a lighthearted exterior. The smile he put on was unconvincing, even to oblivious Minseong.
Minseong treaded lightly. “I don’t wanna offend you or your mom. I just wanted to know… if she needs help? Is she good on…” His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He finished his query, “... money?”
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Minseong could practically feel the palpable mixture of ranging emotions from Hyesung. He didn’t want to touch the ones that would react violently, so he chose his words carefully. “I just need an answer. If she needs help, just tell me… My parents are rich. They could probably help her out.”
Hyesung’s throat felt dry, his tongue heavy against the roof of his mouth. He opened it to speak, but no words came out. He couldn’t decide what was worse: the fact that Minseong knew about his mom’s financial strain at all, or that he had the audacity to bring it up in such a casual, offhand way—like it was gossip shared between classes.
He hadn’t told anyone. He had kept it secret perfectly. He had told only two people within their university, out of about 40,000 students. Not a single smear in the clean mirror. Until now…
He forced himself to exhale, his hands tightening over the strap of his backpack. “She’s fine,” he muttered finally, his voice even but clipped. “We’re good.”
Minseong glanced at him briefly, his brows pinching together, but his gaze returned to the road. “You don’t sound fine,” he said flatly.
Hyesung’s jaw worked, a muscle ticking as he turned his face toward the window, watching the blur of passing buildings. “It’s not your business,” he said, quieter this time, though the firmness in his tone left little room for argument.
For once, Minseong didn’t immediately bite back. His drumming fingers stilled against the wheel. The silence stretched, weighed down by words unsaid. Then he leaned back against his seat, sighing through his nose. “Aight,” he said eventually, his voice low. “But I just want you to know… if you need help. Just ask. I’m here for you.”
Hyesung’s chest tightened. The words I’m here for you landed strangely—like they didn’t belong in Minseong’s mouth. Too heavy, too genuine, coming from someone who usually joked, cursed, or barked.
He swallowed, not trusting himself to answer, not trusting his own voice to come out steady. He could feel the nerves in his veins whirling around like volatile winds. Above all, there was a small lump forming in his throat. He didn’t want to know the cause of it. The urge to defend his mother, to insist they were fine, clashed with the reluctant flicker of gratitude that Minseong, in his own clumsy way, cared enough to ask.
The car slowed at a red light, the glow casting both of their faces in crimson. For a second, Hyesung thought Minseong might press further, but instead, he leaned back, tapping the steering wheel again, though slower this time. Less restless, more thoughtful.
“I got you cookies,” Minseong muttered, gesturing to the backseat with his chin. “They’re in the back.”
Hyesung blinked, his head snapping slightly toward Minseong. “...Cookies?”
“Yeah.” Minseong’s lips curled into a faint, almost sheepish smirk. “From that bakery downtown. The one with the long-ass line. My mom made me buy extra this morning, and I figured you’d want some. Better than letting them go stale.”
For a moment, Hyesung didn’t know whether to grab the cookies or ignore the offer by staying silent. Minseong had mentioned a topic Hyesung hadn’t shared with anyone in years so casually, like he didn’t know the true struggles poverty threw at faces. He nibbled his bottom lip.
After a while though, he silently searched for the cookies. He eventually found them and tucked them into his lunch bag without a word.
Minseong seemed to take that as a small sign that Hyesung wasn’t completely shutting him out. Or perhaps he just heftily enjoyed cookies and would still stay primarily silent—which was uncommon with a guy like Hyesung. “I usually never let people eat in my car… but I’ll let it slide. Just this once,” he said with a tender smirk.
Hyesung kept his eyes forward, shoulders stiff. “Don’t worry. I’m not eating them now.” His voice was flat and disinterested. Again, uncommon when it came to Hyesung.
“Mm.. Aight, suit yourself,” Minseong muttered, easing the car forward when the light turned green. “I just got it cleaned yesterday. Some asshole got the seat all dirty a week ago. I was pissed.”
The attempt at humor hung awkwardly in the air. Hyesung didn’t laugh—not because it wasn’t funny, but because his mind was still replaying Minseong’s earlier words, the blunt way he had pried into things that weren’t meant to be shared. The air conditioning hummed, filling the space where a laugh should have been.
For a few minutes, neither spoke. The city blurred by—gray buildings with flickers of neon, storefronts glowing against the early evening dimness.
Finally, Minseong broke the silence again, though his tone was noticeably softer, careful. “Look… I know I probably crossed a line earlier. But I wasn’t tryna piss you off. I just—” He paused, his jaw tightening before he forced the words out. “I just hate seeing you keep shit bottled up. Especially things like… that.”
Hyesung flinched almost imperceptibly, his hand loosening from the strap of his backpack. He didn’t look at Minseong. He didn’t want to. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do,” Minseong admitted. “Trust me.”
Hyesung scoffed under his breath. He peered out the window, focusing on the city instead of Minseong. If he concentrated on his best friend’s words, he would certainly pop from all the immense emotions wandering in his mind. Or cry. He wasn’t sure which.
He grumbled, “Right, like a rich guy knows how it feels.”
The jab came out sharper than Hyesung intended, his voice edged with bitterness. The second the words slipped past his lips, he regretted them, but he didn’t take them back either.
Minseong’s hands stilled on the wheel. His smirk vanished in an instant, replaced by a tightening around his mouth. For a beat, all that filled the car was the faint growl of the engine and the muted honk of a car somewhere behind them.
Then he let out a dry laugh, sharp and humorless. “Rich guy, huh? That all you think I am?” His tone wasn’t angry—yet. But it carried weight, like the calm before a storm.
Hyesung shifted uncomfortably in his seat, lips pressed together. He hadn’t meant to spit it out like that, hadn’t meant to sound so venomous. But the words lingered between them now, poisonous and thick.
“You think just ‘cause I got money in my pocket, I don’t know what it feels like to be fucked over?” Minseong continued, his grip tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles showed pale. “Newsflash, man—money don’t fix everything. Don’t fix shit half the time.”
Hyesung opened his mouth, then shut it, unsure if saying anything would make it worse. His chest burned with guilt, but pride kept his eyes fixed on the passing streetlights.
“Sure, I could get the newest phone. I live in a nice place. But shit still stucks. My parents are rich but they’re assholes,” Minseong added sharply, a hand gesturing wildly while he spat his words out. “Life ain’t perfect just ‘cause I have money.”
Hyesung’s eye twitched. The last thing he remembered before he snapped was the word “money” echoing in his mind.
“At least you have a choice. At least money can fix half your shit. At least you can walk around with new things. New phone, new car, new clothes. At least you can enjoy the life you have without ever having to worry about rent, bills, prices, and your only fucking family ever going bankrupt and homeless!”
His voice cracked on the last word, louder than he intended. It tore out of him raw, unpolished—like a dam breaking after years of strain. The air in the car thickened instantly, the tension pressing against the windows.
Minseong froze. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
“I don’t get to have a fucking choice!” Hyesung cried, his fists trembling as they clenched around nothing but his palm. His chest rose and fell in rapid bursts, like his lungs couldn’t keep up with the sudden fire in him. “Every day, I gotta think about what we can’t afford. What we can’t buy. What I gotta give up just so my mom doesn’t break down from carrying it all alone!”
The words were tumbling now, spilling faster, jagged and unstoppable. Years of silence condensed into a flood.
“You don’t know what that’s like, Minseong! To pretend everything’s fine when you’re terrified it’s all gonna collapse tomorrow! To smile while your mom’s sitting at the table with her head in her hands, wondering how the hell she’s gonna keep a roof over you!”
His throat tightened, strangling the last word until it came out as a near sob. His eyes burned, the sting unbearable, and before he could stop himself, hot tears blurred his vision. He turned his head sharply to the window, pressing his fist against his mouth, muffling any sound.
Crying. Fuck. He hated himself for it. The shame shot through him hotter than the anger, twisting in his stomach. Guys weren’t supposed to cry. Guys weren’t supposed to break down like this. Especially not in front of someone like Minseong.
He tried to hide it—the way his shoulders shook, the way his breath hitched. He pressed his forehead to the cool glass, willing himself to be silent, to not give Minseong the satisfaction of seeing him weak.
But it was too late. The dam was broken. The city was flooding.
Minseong’s grip on the wheel loosened, his expression flickering with something Hyesung couldn’t see, too blinded by the tears streaking down his face. For once, Minseong didn’t have a sharp retort, didn’t smirk or bite back. His jaw flexed, but his voice, when it came, was quiet, almost fragile.
“Hye-ah…”
One nickname. Nothing more.
It was enough to make the lump in Hyesung’s throat swell painfully. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently, as if the motion alone could erase what had just happened. As if he could take the words back. “Just—shut up,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and cracking. “Just… drive. Please.”
Minseong obeyed. His hands tightened once more on the steering wheel.
The rest of the ride was silent, but it wasn’t the kind of silence Hyesung was used to. It wasn’t the light, teasing quiet that usually filled the air after one of Minseong’s dumb jokes. This silence was suffocating—thick with everything unspoken, everything spilled, everything neither of them knew how to take back.
The hum of the engine filled the space between them, the only sound cutting through the heavy air. Hyesung kept his forehead pressed to the glass, his breath fogging faintly against the window as the city lights smeared into streaks. His chest still heaved, though quieter now, as he tried to steady himself.
The car curved into the wide parking lot that branched toward the neighborhoods. Rows of dim streetlamps stood tall, their pale glow spilling over the asphalt. Hyesung’s neighborhood was just a few minutes away, but he couldn’t take it anymore. His skin felt too tight, his thoughts too loud, and the shame twisting in his gut made it impossible to sit still another second.
Before the car could even round the bend, Hyesung’s hand shot for the door handle.
“Wait—Hyesung—” Minseong barely got the word out before Hyesung shoved the door open. The car hadn’t even fully stopped, but the second there was space, he was out. His shoes smacked hard against the pavement, his lunch bag slung over one shoulder as he pulled it close to his chest.
“Hye-ah!” Minseong’s voice called after him.
Hyesung ignored it. He didn’t turn. He didn’t wave. He didn’t even bother to slam the door shut harder than necessary. He just kept walking, long strides carrying him deeper into the lot, away from the car, away from Minseong, away from everything that had unstitched the hideous cut and let it bleed—worsen.
His tears came freely now, hot and relentless, sliding down his face with no one around to see, no one around to judge. The only presence around him was the air and the man he left behind without a goodbye, without a single word. His shoulders shook, his breaths breaking unevenly as the sobs finally clawed their way out. It was raw, of course, from being suppressed for so long.
Behind him, Minseong sat motionless in the driver’s seat, headlights cutting into the empty lot, his mouth half open as if he might call again. However, those words never came. He watched instead as Hyesung’s figure blurred further into the distance, swallowed by shadows and streetlights. “Fuck—” He sighed sharply, a hand running through his chocolate hair, sliding down his face with frustration. “Shit..”
He lifted his gaze once more. The silhouette of the young man wasn’t visible anymore. Either shadows consumed his figure or he was gone. In the blink of an eye, just gone.
Minseong sighed once more, shaking his head to himself. He blamed himself. If it weren’t for his questioning, trying to help when help wasn’t wanted, nagging, this wouldn’t have happened. Right?
“Shit… If he don’t show up at the party… I’ll know for sure it’s my fault,” he muttered to himself, then drove back onto the road, his mind weighted with deep thoughts. The whole ride home, he sat in silence. Not even music played, and if it did, only solemn, depressing music played in the background.